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Entry tags:
arrival . ota
Hugh Cambridge is partway through an analysis of an artifact - an old one, part of an extended paper that he'd never finished - when the transition comes.
At first, he assumes the ship's entered some sort of anomaly, and he turns away from the viewport (the stars have shifted, how odd), his hand moving to his combadge. A quick touch, and he starts, "Cambridge to -"
This isn't Voyager. In fact, this is the Ten-Forward of a Galaxy Class starship, unless he misses his mark. Populated with a few handfuls of people, some out of uniform, some in uniform, but those in are wearing the style that was in use twenty years earlier. Cambridge's uniform has shoulders of a grey-purple, and the turtleneck inside is medical/science blue. His combadge is thinner and sleeker.
"- Oh, bugger," finishes Cambridge. It's an illusion or it's time travel - neither of those bodes well.
At first, he assumes the ship's entered some sort of anomaly, and he turns away from the viewport (the stars have shifted, how odd), his hand moving to his combadge. A quick touch, and he starts, "Cambridge to -"
This isn't Voyager. In fact, this is the Ten-Forward of a Galaxy Class starship, unless he misses his mark. Populated with a few handfuls of people, some out of uniform, some in uniform, but those in are wearing the style that was in use twenty years earlier. Cambridge's uniform has shoulders of a grey-purple, and the turtleneck inside is medical/science blue. His combadge is thinner and sleeker.
"- Oh, bugger," finishes Cambridge. It's an illusion or it's time travel - neither of those bodes well.
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"You said your name. Mine's Lorna." She isn't rude but she is clearly somewhat deflated.
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Neither of the two seem particularly to bother him, but he wanted to know.
"Lorna," he says. "Yes, I'm Hugh Cambridge. Doctor, Lieutenant, but I prefer Counselor. How long has it been since you arrived?" Given that she used the word home, and that she doesn't introduce herself with rank, as an off-duty Starfleet officer would.
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"What a description," he says. "I see you hold my profession in such high esteem." But he wouldn't take it personally; the attitude is common, and even somewhat understandable, if generally rooted in defensiveness. "The latter, I'm afraid."
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Vulcans being touch telepaths, of course.
He has a fair amount of mental discipline, as a result; if a telepath is nearby, he is well accustomed to quieting both his thoughts and emotions, making them more difficult to casually read. This is done out of courtesy for telepaths as much as Cambridge's own privacy.
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After a moment of contemplation she shakes her head at herself and scoots the chair opposite her out with her foot. "Have a seat, Counselor. Want something to drink? You're taking all this pretty well."
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"Well," he says, "it could be worse: I'm in familiar surroundings, on a familiar starship, and I was alive f- in this time period, so I'm familiar with both technology and cultural context. On top of that, I know Q can be bloody annoying, and I'm quite adaptable."
And he has no problem tooting his own horn, evidently.
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Actually, now that she thinks about it. . . "Of course my father alone could keep you busy for a month." Now she leans forward conspiratorially.
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"I wonder if you underestimate my abilities," he says, "overestimate your father, or state with accuracy an extremely improbable situation."
Extremely.
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Her expression becomes softer, less judgemental. "He's been through so much." Despite it all she can't hate her father. It would be easier if she could.
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It's an invitation to tell more, but he isn't directly asking until he has a better idea of what he's asking about.
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The conversation is getting uncomfortably close to her own issues. She's not ready to deal with them just yet, so she tries to think of a different topic.
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"Really," he says. "I mean, something of that is to be expected, given that this is the fleet's flagship, and those aboard are all unknown quantities. On the other hand, I've generally found Starfleet to be trusting to the point of foolishness, as a matter of principle."
Voyager is a bit different, especially when stranded in the Delta Quadrant, but even then Voyager went out of its way to make friends, explore, solve problems, when it could have descended into paranoia.
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"From what I know of Jean-Luc Picard," he says, "and, in fact, of any well-known Starfleet captain, is that his bounds of duty extend their furthest not to respect and obedience of superiors but to respect for the principles underlying the Federation. To hurt or kill without being attacked first does not comport with those ideals."
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"That's not how it works in my time and I just don't know who I can trust, if anyone, except for the people I knew back home."
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And if this turns out to be something other than the Starfleet he knows - he doubts it, not if the trappings are so similar, the immediate first impression of attitudes and emotions present in Ten-Forward - he will take that advice back at a later date.
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He glances up as a pair of security officers enter Ten-Forward, scanning for a new arrival.
"Ah, I believe that's my queue," he says, moving to his feet.
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