Sightseeing - part 2

Posted on Fri Jan 11th, 2019 @ 7:15pm by Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox & Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Asa Dael

Mission: Section 31-B
Location: USS Hera, Deck 11, Holodeck 7
Timeline: 2396, en route to the Section 31 base

Red alert lights flashed across the bridge of the 23rd century starship, the U.S.S. Exeter as it was stared down by a D-7 class Klingon cruiser across space. On the bridge, Commander Rita Paris, Chief Medical Officer Asa Dael, and Lieutenant Melanie Dox of the 24th century Starship Hera were at a loss for what was happening.

What had begun as a simple, informal tour of a holographic representation of a starship from the era Rita Paris had recently hailed, had become something else altogether- something troubling. The Holodeck had taken what was an empty replica of the Exeter, and filled it with holographic simulacrums of it's crew while it created a conflict scenario, seemingly out of nowhere. And they appeared to be trapped here.

The Holodeck had failed to halt the program or respond to orders in any way, and Rita Paris' communicator wasn't functioning. From the helm, the young part-Romulan pilot looked at the antiquated warship with a nervous expression. Following Paris' lead, she tapped the badge on the left breast of her uniform. But like the uniform itself, which had been replaced by the Holodeck with the short, velour gold minidress of 2265, her comm badge was now nothing more than an embroidered patch of the Starfleet Delta.

Leaning slightly towards Paris, who was seated next to her at Navigation, Dox whispered. "C... Commander, this is not good. If the Holodeck rearranged the molecular structure of my uniform without approval, it's a good indication that the safely protocols might be disengaged."

At the communications station, Dael was beginning to panic. They had inkling of the beginnings of an idea how to work the station, and were not entirely sure how to make an exit or talk to the other two.

"Um Captain, I think I hit my head, permission for Commander Paris and Lieutenant Dox to escort me to sick bay?" The El Aurian inquired.

"This is why we don't want women on the bridge," Captain Tracey muttered none too subtly. Swiveling to look at them and leaning in from his chair, he eyed Dael like a disapproving father. "You can be relieved without every girl on the bridge going with you if you can't take it, Lieutenant Dael. Man your post or stand relieved, I don't have time for you. If you're staying at your station, open hailing frequencies."

Suppressing indignation at both the insult and incorrect gender, Asa replied, "Hailing frequencies open, sir."

At the helm, Dox's eyes narrowed as her cheeks flushed green, angry at the Holographic Captain for his comments towards Asa.

For her part, Rita rolled her eyes and nodded subtly to the pilot with an unspoken, Yeah, he can get away with that. Glancing over her panel, she realized she didn't have any way to message the comm station. Score another one for the future.

Suddenly, the viewscreen filled with the image of a decidedly unusual looking Klingon Commander, bearing a gold sash that looked like it was woven rather than armored mail. "I am KRALL , Commander of the Klingon cruiser Toj Wov! As you no doubt are now aware, you are surrounded, and very soon your pathetic starship will be overrun by the instruments of your imminent destruction."

Flashing an extremely confused look over to Paris, Dox tilted her head at the image of Krall on the screen. He appeared almost human, with a messy, short cropped haircut, bushy eyebrows, a thin moustache and a generally mottled, brownish hue to his skin. "To whom do I have the... pleasure of addressing?"

That got her a confused shrug, as from what Rita had heard the Klingons were still around, so she didn't understand the confusion. Because Rita had not actually encountered a 24th century Klingon in person, nor in image.

"This is Captain Ronald Tracey of the United Federation starship Exeter. We haven't attacked you and we aren't at war. What's the meaning of this?"

"Of course the ever benevolent Federation always cries in the face of war, but relishes in stabbing others in the back. Or did you think there would be no... retaliation for your sister ship's affront to the Klingon empire with the very same destructive parasites we now... return to you?!" Krall sneered on the screen, almost cartoonishly.

Dael thought the Klingons were somehow being projected wrong by the malfunctioning holodeck, but upon seeing Rita's expression, they realized this is how Rita thought Klingons looked. Huh.

Suddenly, the headpiece Asa was wearing was filled with a high pitched musical purring. It felt almost calming.

The captain rose to his feet to swagger a step forward, raising his finger to point at the Klingon commander onscreen with righteous indignation. "If you think a few tribbles can cripple a Starfleet starship, you've got another thing coming, mister! If we were surrounded, the rest of your cowardly Klingons would be visible out there right now. So I'd get out of here if I were you, while you still can. Before Miss Paris here slips and I launch a photon torpedo straight up your-"

The image onscreen vanished as the Klingon commander cut off the rant of the gold-clad starship captain, who smugly settled back into his chair. "Commander Bhattacharyya, mobilize security to start gathering up the tribbles. Clear cargo bay 13 on Deck 19 and seal it so we can begin dumping the tribbles in there, since they're mostly isolated in the engine room-"

Pressing a finger to their ear, Asa listened and then announced, "Captain, we have reports coming in from Deck 6, Sickbay, Deck 10, Primary phaser control and Deck 20, the botanical garden and lab section of... tribble infestations."

Slamming his fist down on the arm of the chair, the Captain swore. "Dammit! They knew just where to hit us! All nonessential personnel are on tribble hunting duty, as of now! Withdraw the shuttles and dump them into the shuttlecraft bay. I want those things off my ship before they overrun it. You two," Captain Tracey faced forward to point at first the pilot then the navigator with his piercing blue eyes. "Take your poor injured galpal there to sickbay, and help them clean up some tribbles. Make yourselves useful."

Wordlessly Asa walked to the entrance of the bridge, holding their head with one hand and hoping their grimace was taken for one of pain and not the disdain it actually was.

Rushing from her seat at the helm, Dox shot past the insufferable Holographic Captain to move towards Asa. "Aye, Captain" She said with a bit more venom in her voice then she should have let show before stumbling slightly in the too-tight velour mini-dress and significantly higher heeled boots that she didn't think about on her feet. "Hnave." She muttered, cursing under her breath in Rihan as she tugged down on the dress, awkwardly clomping towards the turbolift door.

The captain caught the arm of the lost navigator as she passed the command chair, even as her replacement slid into her station. Yanking her in closer to the chair with a continuing disregard for her personal space and the professional boundaries of officers, the holographic Captain Tracey hissed to Rita Paris. "I thought Vulcans were supposed to be emotionless. Is she cracking up?"

The placid expression that settled onto the face of the career Starfleet officer native to this era was one that would be at home on a cheerful schoolgirl, as she leaned in and conspiratorially whispered something in the ear of the tough-as-nails Captain that made him go white, look back at Dox somewhat fearfully, then back to Paris.

"Eh, best to keep her off the bridge then..."

With a chipper cheer that would have been at home coming from a yeoman on her first cruise, Paris smiled that million-watt smile of hers and declared, "I'll see to it personally, Captain!"

In three long strides she was up off the bridge, and with the fourth Rita Paris was stepping into the turbolift. Grasping the handle at shoulder level, the doors slid shut, and she turned the lever, declaring, "Deck 3."

Turning to Rita, Melanie was still fussing with the bottom of her skirt. "Did I hear him right? He thinks I'm Vulcan? What did you say?" Then Dox turned towards Asa sharply, "Wait..." She interrupted mid-thought. "Are you okay, Asa?"

Standing up in a flash, Asa smiled nervously and said "And best actor goes to...? But seriously, Rita? Did those Klingons look....right to you ?"

Rolling her eyes with a smirk at the doctor's performance that had worked on her, Dox turned back back to Paris. "Uh... yeah, there's that, then the other question, then literally everything else!" A flight challenge was one thing, but Dox was feeling aggressively uncomfortable and out of her element and it was showing.

The doors slid open, and Paris strode out with authority, taking a sharp turn to starboard before marching down the corridor. Clearly she expected the other two officers to be in step behind her as she briefed while she moved. "If this simulation is doing the mishmash that I think it is, which is bizarre in and of itself, then my office should be here, and if not it's a conference room, either of which will serve."

Following behind, Dox was a little slower than usual, still trying to get used to the boots while nervously tugging the short cut skirt down over her more than ample middle and wide rear.

The plaque on the wall read "LTCDR Paris, R. 2nd Officer". Taking a deep breath, Rita tabbed the door control, and with the slightly slower and lower 'whoosh' than her 23rd century compatriots were accustomed to, the door slid open.

The sight that awaited them inside was a conference room that had been converted into an office, the triangular table and plastic chairs were still here, although only three of the chairs- one at the point that was clearly the seat behind the desk, the other two facing the broad flat edge of the triangle.

The surface of the desk was cluttered with piles of the clunky PDDs of the period and flimsiness jutting out from between, on top of, below and all over the desk. There were also a few models of starships on the desk, who apparently lived in fear of demolition by a PDD avalanche. Additionally there were more than a couple alien artifacts of some sort or another stacked on the desktop, with tags on them but still clearly between destinations. There was no part of Starfleet in which this compartment could pass inspection.

On the walls were various bookshelves covered with actual books and bricabrac interspersed with pictures and images as well as awards and honors. One entire shelf held a collection of children's toys that were a uniform greenish-yellow color. There were a number of images featuring Sonak, Rita and a handsome dashing fellow in command gold and a complex pattern of ribbons on his sleeve that probably made him the captain, given the ones on Rita's sleeves. Images of the trio on what looked like a sailboat during a breathtaking sunset, the trio on the bridge, each flanking that handsome fellow in the center chair. The three of them in the odd formal uniforms of the period at what looked like a trial. A photo of a young man who looked like he could be her brother, with the same blonde hair and bright blue eyes and a smug smile that gave the impression that he might be a jackass. And directly behind the desk was the autographed image of Admiral Jonathan Archer himself, smiling benignly.

"This... it can't be, this is... this is my office, from the Exeter..." Rita Paris, who had planned for this to be a sanctuary to regroup, was knocked off-balance by the bizarre sight of her old office. "This never existed in this reality, only in the universe we came from..."

"So this isn't just a malfunction, then, Commander?" Dox replied.

"Give me a scientific reason how this could be happening..." Rita muttered as she moved in, running her fingers along one of the shelves on the wall that held a model of the space shuttle USS Colombia. "The only place this all exists in this reality is in my head and Sonak's. No records, no holos... besides, the Rita Paris of this reality was turned into a ghost in 2260. She never served on the Exeter in 2265. Besides," Rita was snapping out of the shock of seeing her old office and coming round to bear on the issue at hand. "We WERE at war with the Klingons in 2265, and the Federation didn't come into contact with tribbles, nor did the Klingons, until 2267. All of this is a hodgepodge, and we've somehow been shoehorned in as the rats in the maze. And I don't get it, what about the Klingons is strange, Myx Dael?"

Fixated on Paris' earlier comments, Dox interjected before Asa could respond to the Klingon question. "Sorry. I was just thinking. When I was attacked by the trickster god, Anansi, he could pull out your memories... trap you in them." The memory gave Dox a momentary flash of old fear that she quickly worked to squash. "But Sonak has been tutoring me... Helping me strengthen my mental defenses. If this was Anansi, I feel like I would... feel something at least trying to get in, and I'm not."

Feeling momentarily embarrassed to have interrupted, Dox turned towards the doctor, deferring back to them. "Krall didn't look like any Klingon I've ever met. What about you Doctor?"

"Um, no, definitely not. The lack of ridges along the forehead is inconsistent with any known modern Klingon physiology" Asa replied, tapping their chin thoughtfully.

"This is only in your mind, Rita, but the ship did recently undergo a massive psychic occurrence when approaching the world ship. Could that somehow have altered the adaptive circuitry in the holodeck?" The doctor inquired.

"No, this isn't only in my mind, because you two are seeing it. I mean, you are seeing this, right?" the time-tossed temptress gestured to the cluttered chaos of her office a universe away. "But this is exactly what was happening when we were caught in that dark matter ion storm and the holographics started going haywire. It was creating and running us through scenarios like tests. Like it was trying to test our morality, our determination and our intelligence. Like specimens. This reminds me a lot of that, and that's what I'm guessing is happening. Because there are far too many inconsistencies here to be a fluke of the holographic system, the ship's computer or the Holodeck."

Carefully touching the model of the Columbia, Dox turned to Paris. "We're all seeing this. But if this is some kind of test... what do we do next? What worked best during the ion storm incident? Ship reports weren't specific." Then the young part-Romulan tilted her head again and tapped her recently restored ear. "Wait, Commander. I heard what HE said, but what did YOU sat that made him turn white?"

The smirk that graced the curvaceous commander's face as she turned to face the shorter pilot was priceless. "I'm from this era, so I knew what would throw him off the trail easiest. You notice all of the crew here are human, right? Remember, most people in this day and age have never even met a Vulcan, forget about serving with one. So since the simulation wanted to play on that, I just played right back. I told him you were on your Vulcan monthlies, and that you get a little aggressive around this time of the month. Which, being an average starship captain of this era, he easily accepted as fact since he knows practically nothing about a menstrual cycle, women or Vulcans. I just instilled in him fear of the emerald tide."

Going flush with that same green blood, Dox's eyes went wide with embarrassment at the idea. "Oh, Nouhha, I am SOOO glad he technically doesn't exist." She buried her face in her hand before readjusting her awkwardly short dress that kept riding up her more than ample rear. She kept to herself the fact that since the Doctor had restored her Romulan DNA, and with it get green blood, she was actually dreading her first cycle.

"As for what we're going to do, we play out the scenario and save the Exeter from being overrun by tribbles. Doc, we need to get into sickbay with a sample so we can determine their reproductive rather and see if there's a way to interfere with it, because for the scenario I suspect they're breeding faster than usual. Then we need to figure out how to get them off the Exeter and ideally not space them like Tracey is clearly planning to do, because they're still sentient lifeforms, and we're not monsters. Easy, right?" While she spoke with confidence and outlined a plan, Rita Paris had no idea how they were going to accomplish any of this. But first, a direction. As for a plan, she was stuck in this scenario with two of the Hera's best and brightest- they'd work it out.

Thinking for a moment and grateful for a task to focus on, Dox had a thought. "You were at navigation, Commander. Where are we, celestially? Anywhere near a class-M planet we could transfer them?"

"Welllllll, about that," Paris looked a bit sheepish as she rolled her eyes, sliding behind the desk to lower herself gracefully into her chair. "We're on course for Omega IV. Which has an awful contagion that's going to be brought up from the planet by Tracey, which will wipe out the crew and strand Tracey on the planet, where he'll throw in with one of the local tribes and become a warlord. So short answer yes, we'll be in standard orbit around a class-M planet within the hour."

"So, Klingons hovering nearby, an infestation of Tribbles AND an oncoming plague." Dox stood for a moment, thinking on the scenarios unfolding before the trio. "And we need to solve all three crisis's to get out of here." Then, a thought came to the young pilot. "Wait, this all happened 130 years ago. What was the contagion, Commander? Do you remember?"

"Not sure," the statuesque starship siren admitted. "It didn't play out quite the same way in my universe, and the CMO managed to cure some of the crew before it killed them all."

Turning towards Doctor Dael quickly, Dox continued. "Maybe it's something that's since been cured or solved since all this originally happened in our universe?"

"If this were a normal scenario, I would agree," Asa replied, "But if the simulation is trying to test us, I doubt it will be anything quite so easy as that," the young doctor mused for a moment before continuing, "Tribble birth control would be easy enough to come up with though, and the Klingons could be out maneuvered by Melanie I'm sure, or we could at least boost the shield with our knowledge of the technology from our time, correct? And if we know there is contagion, basic bio-hygiene practices will go a long way. Or is that somehow interfering…?"

The chronal cosmonaut considered and chose her words carefully before answering. “If we can gas the tribbles to slow their birth rate without harming the crew, that would be ideal. I assume we’ll need access to Sickbay for that, then Engineering for environmental control- no, scratch that, it’s on Deck 7,” Paris amended as she spoke, recalling the layout of the starship she knew like the back of her hand.

“The Klingons don’t want a fight, otherwise they wouldn’t have started by shooting off their mouths instead of disruptors. They are aiming at an ironic victory, I’m sure. So hopefully we won’t have to engage, although if we do I have confidence in Ms. Dox’ ability to fly circles around them, even in this old girl.” Rita reached up to pat the bulkhead affectionately. “And if it comes to that, I’ve yet to meet a lone D7 I couldn’t cripple with some well-placed torpedoes and phaser fire.”

“As for the Omega IV contagion, with a little luck we’ll be able to handle this scenario before the plague comes home to roost. We will need cooperation from Engineering to use the cargo transporters to get rid of the tribbles, or the main transporter rooms, but since the cargo transporters are on Deck 19, we should be able to use them while we invent site-to-site transport, using the buffers for a bit longer than they were intended in this day and age. I can coordinate it with Michael down in Engineering, and if he presents the idea to Tracey it might fly, since he’s a man and his ideas are always far better than any female crew member might offer.” The alluring anachronism smirked at that, given that equality was much more firmly established in the time period from whence her fellow officers hailed.

"If we can get the Klingons to engage their cloak, their shields will have to go down. D7's couldn't manage the power to cloak and do almost anything else." Dox added, deep in thought and pacing slightly. "And I cut my teeth learning how to maintain cloaks. That model has a ton of holes we can pinpoint it's exact coordinates through with the current sensors on the Exeter. It's just... elements they didn't know to look for back then. Gravometric distortion, poor optical refraction, ionized plasma discharge."

Turning to look up at Commander Paris, Dox stopped pacing. "We could send the tribbles right back where they came from if we wanted to."

“Except that while the Klingons would have to gather them up, in order to be beaming our shields would be down as well, so there’s nothing to stop them from beaming them right back aboard. Better to drop them off on Omega IV I think, so that the tribbles are no longer the victims in a custody battle,” the curvaceous commander replied, thinking it through.

Scrunching her face as she thought, Dox replied. "What about the contagion? We don't want to send them there just to sentence them to death somewhere else?"

“Miss Dox!” Rita drew herself erect, and behind her old desk with the founder of Starfleet and the Federation looking over her shoulder, somehow one got the impression that her presence in this place was considerable in its day. “The contagion on Omega IV is neutralized by a sufficient stay on the planet, and I would never condemn lifeforms to a death like that. Even holographic simulated semi-sentient life. That was the point of not letting Tracey vent them to space, which is why he is having them gathered in the shuttle bay I am quite sure. I would never mistreat a sentient lifeform like that- well, semi-sentient. And yes, I know the crew of this vessel will suffer that precise fate, but it has been drilled into all of us that changing past events can have hazardous repercussions on the future.”

Embarrassed by both her comment and her ignorance about the Omega IV contagion, Dox lowered her head slightly as Rita Paris spoke. She hadn't intended to imply that she thought they would actually choose to condemn the holographic tribbles, but felt that if the implication was there, then she needed to re-evaluate how she chose to express her thoughts in the future. And study her history better, obviously.

"Aye, Commander." Dox replied with a hint of sheepishness to her voice, hoping to not dig herself into a deeper hole. "I agree, it makes the most sense that we should proceed as if this scenerio we're taking place for real. Do everything as we would with all of the real stakes on the line. Protect the timeline. Maintain the Prime Directive."


“Quite right, Miss Dox,” Rita Paris replied, realizing that her strenuous objection might have been a touch too forceful in remanding the junior officer.” Your point was not ill-conceived, you just didn’t have sufficient facts. I know about this situation only because I studied up on what should have been my past here, and I lived through a version of the aftermath of this scenario once myself. At least your objection is raised in the defense of compassion, and that is something of which we must all be keenly aware, yes?”

"Aye." Dox replied, picking her head back up slightly and looking towards both Paris and Doctor Dael as the knot in her stomach loosened slightly.

"Never thought I would be gassing a Starfleet crew, but hey, if it works, it works," Dael replied, already mentally making calculations in their head based on what they knew of Tribbles, "Um, are there any Caitian's on board? As long as no, I can safely put a stop to the next 10 reproductive cycles of the tribbles, give or take a cycle or two," Dael concluded.

Fingers tapped away at the clunky old-fashioned PDD in Paris’ hands, which she managed to make look natural. “How about that, my old login still works too. Definitely an odd scenario. One Tellurite in the engine room, one Andorian in science and the rest of the crew are all human. You are a go, Doctor. How can we accomplish this? I don’t think you can reprogram or filter the environmental controls from here- can you?” While her knowledge of this particular vessel was comprehensive, Rita Paris was no engineer nor biologist, so she wasn’t certain how the good doctor was going to accomplish this feat.

"Pfft, not bloody likely," Asa replied, "We need to go to Sickbay and run them out. Once there, I can combine birth control agents common in mamalian creatures that stops implantation with a metabolic agent designed to eliminate their hunger. When the metabolic processes cease all energy will go into keeping the Tribble alive, and they can live for upwards of 20 days on stored calories as long as they are not reproducing. There is still going to be a batch born from those currently pregnant, but none of the new ones will be born in the family way, and all of them will cease reproduction for at least 10-15 days, giving us more than enough time. We will then take the medicine to where all air goes to be cleaned and inject the meds directly into freshly cleaned air, where it will be taken all over the ship and absorbed within minutes. I can target the metabolic alterations to be specific only to those with the NG-H helix along secondary RNA, which will narrow those impacted to be only our furry little friends."

The doctor had been walking while talking and only then realized, "Um, Rita, where is sickbay?"

Listening to the young doctor speak, the corners of Rita Paris’ mouth curled up in a smile that was wry and a little sad, perhaps a touch forlorn. Once the moment came to answer the frail physician, the blonde bombardier sighed. “Sickbay is Deck 6, and occupies most of the deck. That’s the center of the saucer section… well, in this day and age at least,” Paris added. “As for kicking everybody out, that’s likely not going to happen. I can get us a lab more than likely and get us some privacy to work, but, ah… how to put this so that it won’t sound terrible…”

“We’re in the 23rd century. Earth took a great big jump back to ‘conservative’ values in my lifetime, and suddenly they were revisiting earlier conservative eras. Which meant a return to the societal inequality of the sexes. Which means that wearing that minidress means your opinion is mostly discounted as you not knowing what you are talking about and expecting to be patronized, condescended to and generally considered mobile scenery.” While it all sounded insane coming out of her mouth and explaining it to a woman and person who grew up in the far more progressive 24th century, it was solidly factual and Rita needed to prepare her shipmates for the truth of the matter, in case they hadn’t picked up on it when they were on the bridge. The holodeck was doing a great job of reproducing the sexism of the era, to be certain, and she needed to inform her shipmates what to expect from the ‘locals’.

"But, I'm a doctor? And I know more than them? That has to count for something, right? Besides, I'm not mobile scenery...I'm not any kind of scenery, just look at me! And how dare they treat ANYONE like that?! It's unconscionable. " Asa replied, frustration evident in their tone.

With a sigh of resignation, Dael continued, "OK, well, what do you recommend? Aren't they going to want to know who Dox and I are? They may recognize you, but we should be strangers....so why weren't we?"

"The Captain identified us by name, and our tasks on the ship seemed to be dictated on where we were sitting when all this started. It seems like the holodeck incorporated us into the program based purely on that, since he was barking communication orders at you." Dox was thinking out loud in response to Doctor Dael's question. At least the question she felt qualified to answer.

"As for the rest, I guess we just need to imagine we're stuck on a Ferengi ship and we're not allowed to just stun everyone no matter how much they might deserve it." Dox hoped a lighter tone might help. "Or throat punch them." She was angry but wanted to try and hold that in for Asa's sake.

“This is where I get to point out that I come from an age far less enlightened than yours, and apologize for where I come from,” a chagrined Commander Paris admitted. “Seeing a lady starship captain was a revelation to me. But I should be able to secure Doc a lab and supplies, although you need to remember replicators just make food around here. Industrial replicators for the ship’s stores are strictly controlled by the Quartermaster, so we’ll need a shopping list in advance so we can get it all together for you in one place.”

“Fortunately, feminine wiles work wonders in this day and age, given the sexual repression so prevalent in such societies. So, you two leave getting a lab up to me. Doc, you work on sterilizing the little buggers. Meanwhile, how’s your hand with a transporter, Miss Dox?” Rita Paris asked it with a casual air, but the mere consideration of getting near a transporter caused beads of sweat to form on the transporter accident prone adventurer.

"I'm no engineer, but I had to learn how to work with or fix just about every system on the freighter I grew up on at one point or another." Dox could read the anxiety on Rita Paris' face and hated seeing it knowing everything that her friend and first Officer had been through. "I can handle the transporter room and get it reworked to our needs."

While she was moderately confident that she could do what was needed, Dox had no intention of letting Rita anywhere near the transporter room, Holographic or not, if she could help it.

"Hopefully a little bluff and bluster can get us what we want, but if not we might need a backup plan, and that's often a do it yourself project," The old school Starfleet officer observed, spinning her chair to take in the walls of her old office wistfully. Idly waving a hand to it, she shared a bit of truth. "My therapists recommended that I become more materialistic because it helped me feel more present if I could see changes to my environment that I caused. Plus stuff," she sideyed her shipmates, "Surrounding myself with little mementos and treasures served as reminders of places I'd been, things I'd done, people I'd known served to remind me that I existed, that I was real, and that I'd touched lives."

Taking down from the wall the autographed photo of Admiral Archer, Rita Paris sighed and shook her head. "But sometimes you have to leave the past in the past, because that's the only place it still exists. Time to deal with the present to build ourselves a future. Doctor Dael, got that Tribble neutering gas shopping list just about ready?"

With a determined nod, Asa replied, "Yep. All of it should be in Sick Bay...or the zoology center. I'm assuming foreign creatures were routinely examined in Sick Bay, so everything should be there. The only other things we will need is a bit of the breathable fire suppression foam from engineering and a way to engineer an opening into the ventilation system- a pipe cutter and welding sealant will work just fine. And I leave the feminine wiles to the two of you...I am neither feminine nor wiley....except perhaps Wile E. Coyote, but I doubt anyone needs an anvil dropped on them today.,..." the nervous doctor trailed off.

While Dox had no idea what Asa was referring to, she certainly felt qualified to comment on her own lack of feminine wiles. "If feminine wiles are required here, I think only Commander Paris is making it out alive." She followed the half-joke with an extremely nervous laugh, trying to bolster her own confidence.

"Hopefully it's still standard for the maintenance equipment for the transporter systems to be kept in the cabinet in the control base. That should be all I'll need to rework it for a site to site beaming." Dox continued. "But once Asa's set up to work, we might need you on the bridge to run interference, Commander."

While it was partially said out of strategy, Dox also wanted to make sure Rita was nowhere near the Tribbles if their plan worked and a mass beaming was possible, but hoped she wasn't projecting that concern.


“We shouldn’t have to cut into the environmental control system, there are accesses on deck 7,” the Constitution-class expert offered. “As for the transporter access and the medical supplies and feminine wiles, leave all of those to me. There’s a first officer on this ship, and he’s a 23rd century man. I’ll do what I always did back in the good old days before I was assigned to the Exeter under Sonak- I’ll make a great plan, then hand it to a man, to make him think it’s all his idea, after which he’ll take credit but it’ll get done.”

The CMO cum Communications Officer shuddered at disgust at the thought; the doctors opinion of Rita had improved from its already lofty opinion. Anyone who could survive this....mess.....with a smile deserved high praise indeed.

“That will get us access and authorization. Doctor Dael can devise our contraceptive, Dox can rewire the transporter for site to site beaming. We’ll need to get a cargo container in the shuttlecraft bay to collect the tribbles- Lieutenant Dox, you handle that as well. Doctor, go to engineering and secure the supplies we need once the first officer is on board, then we’ll reconvene in Sickbay. Then I’ll go make that distraction on the bridge as necessary. We’ll keep it on channel 13 on our communicators to coordinate as needed. Everyone clear?” Taking charge was not native to the plucky gal sidekick from this era, but she was very familiar with the art of concocting a plan and delegating duties. Plus a few months of acting as first officer on a starship of her future had done wonders for her practical command ability.

"Aye, Commander... Um..." Dox replied, before pausing with a puzzled look on her face as she looked down at the embroidered patch on her skimpy good velour uniform, then around her waist and rear.

Rolling her eyes at even needing to ask the question to the far more experience temporal astronaut, Dox followed up. "Uh... this is going to be... stupid. But, uh... where is the communicator on this uniform?"

At that Paris facepalmed. “Of course we don’t have communicators on, because we were on bridge duty. Communicators are issued for away missions. I’m an idiot- sorry Lieutenant. I’m used to keeping mine clipped onto my uniform, and I forgot you two are unaccustomed to communicators that are not part of the uniform. We’ll just have to go our separate ways and assume we all succeed in what we’re after. Give me a 10 minute headstart so that you’ll have authorization from Commander Bhattacharyya, and we’ll make this work.”

While she was still anxious, being able to focus on a task always calmed Dox down. "Rewire the cargo transporter on deck 19 and find something to collect the actual tribbles IN once they're gassed. Aye."

“Remember, they are being dumped on the shuttle bay deck right now, so just organize the crews. You are…” Paris paused to tap at the PDD in her hand to confirm, then nodded and continued. “You are still chief helmsman in the manifest, so those fellows down there might be a little less than eager to take your orders, but they’ll obey them. So use your command influence.” Unconsciously Rita slipped and used the more archaic term for flight control, but to be fair she'd been using it for a lot longer than the modern equivalent.

Trying with all her might to not let her facade crack in front of her Commander, Dox thought to herself, 'WHAT Command influence?'.

But with a nod, she shorred up her confidence as best as possible and replied. "Aye."

Fidgiting with the too-short hem-line and running their hands through their hair, Dael was not feeling over confident in their part of the plan, but pasted on a smile and responded, "Um, aye, engineering then sick bay. Right, I mean, aye." The usually manic look in their eyes was a bit overwhelmed, but the young doctor was trying their best.

While she was no supragenius like her better half, one thing Rita Paris understood was people. Seeing the anxiety clearly written on both the faces of the junior officers in her care, Rita knew this was weirdness to which she was accustomed- but these were officers who lacked her experience with the odd curveballs the universe seemed to delight in sending her way. Placing one hand on each of their shoulders, she looked down at both Dox and Dael, and tried her best to inspire them.

“I know this wasn’t the tour that you signed on for today, and while I am sure the Academy has changed a lot in 130 years, I suspect nothing like this was ever covered anywhere in your training.” At that Paris offered a wry grin and neglected to mention that it wasn’t covered back in her day, either. “But I know you- both of you. You are capable, exemplary Starfleet officers, and you can do this. The plan will go wrong and we’ll have to improvise, and that’s okay. I believe in both of you, even when you have trouble believing in yourselves. You are going to go out there and make Starfleet proud, because you are both so much greater than you know. Failing that, ask yourself what a hero would do, and make me proud, okay?”

Tilting her head slightly, Dox scrunched her face into a wry smile as the absurdity of the situation hit her. "No pressure there." She said with a somewhat unexpected lightness in her voice before resuming a more professional posture and tone. "Aye, Commander."

Face brightening, Dael looked genuinely chipper once more, and they replied, "Wasn't What Would So-and-So do some trend on 20th century Earth? With some minor demi-god or something? Well, nothing for it, let's go kick some holo-butt!"