The wrong Enterprise (open)

[tript]

Anyone familiar with the history of Starfleet - at least when it came to uniforms - would recognise that the man who appeared in Ten Forward was from two hundred years ago. His uniform was a lot like a blue boiler suit, with red stripes, three pins denoting his rank of Commander, and a lot of pockets.

Commander Charles Tucker III was confused. A moment ago he'd been on Enterprise and now he was somewhere else. It looked like it could be a bar, but the stars outside and the feeling beneath his feet of a warp engine, told him it was a starship. So this was a mess hall, perhaps. He didn't feel like he'd been transported. And if something had wiped his memory his shoulder would have improved. He moved his left arm experimentally in its sling. No, definitely no memory wipe and he'd definitely just been on Enterprise.

Trip unzipped a pocket and came across a hyper spanner. "I wondered where that went," he muttered to himself. He put it back and pulled out his communicator. Flipping it open he said, "Tucker to Enterprise." There was nothing - not even static. It was as if Enterprise was not in range, but if that was the case how did he get here? If only he had two hands free and the right tools, he'd take the communicator apart to check it was working. He tried it again, not really expecting an answer this time. "Tucker to Enterprise."

Comments

[writes_with_digital_ink]

"It'd be in the archives, or theoretical papers if you mean ideas for the current conception of speed..."

She stops. Shifts her weight from one foot to another and back.

"But you can't take the technology back with you. Violation of the Temporal Prime Directive, and trust me, those guys play hard."

[tript]

He sighed. "The Temporal Prime Directive is an ass." And something he had every intention of getting round at the first opportunity. "What's the point of being in the future if you can't learn anything useful?"

[writes_with_digital_ink]

Not being dead?

She doesn't say that. It just invites too many questions, and she's really not in the mood to get into what happened to Vulcan and Starfleet in her timeline. Certainly she doesn't feel like getting into her ship exploding around her.

Particularly not to a guy who is probably putting her into a Syndicate dancing girl outfit in his head.

"Uh, so you don't go back and split the timelines or cause paradoxes or try and take over a few star-systems with the new technology?"

She likes the Prime Directive. Both of them. They protect.

(Congratulations, Trip, you've run into the local Orion idealist.)

[tript]

He frowned. They were bad things, he didn't disagree with that. Although they seemed ephemeral in comparison to learning how to make engines that went at higher warp. And if he'd been talking to someone he trusted he might have gone along with it. Hell, he might even have gone further towards accepting it if it hadn't been an Orion telling him this.

"Why do you care?"

[writes_with_digital_ink]

She fixes him with a long, slightly scornful stare.

"Have you ever had to fight future technology, Commander Tucker?"

[tript]

He shrugged. And then winced when that pulled at his shoulder. He wasn't bothered by that stare. He'd had Orion women look at him in different, but worse ways. Maybe pissing her off was the best way to make sure she didn't turn those pheromones on him.

"Kind of, yeah. But it wasn't the technology so much as it was the aliens." And their genetic enhancements, but mostly their attitudes.

[writes_with_digital_ink]

Kind of, yeah.

"So, no, is what you're actually saying. Okay. I have. There was nothing, technology-wise, we could do to beat them, and so billions of people were murdered."

It still makes her upset. Still. Always will. Dropping out of warp into sirens and explosions, and then learning what happened to Vulcan...

Her posture has shifted, without quite her knowing it. Stiffened into formality.

"So. Yeah. I take the Prime Directive, and it's temporal variant, very seriously. And so should you."

[tript]

He clenched his fist around his communicator. She could talk about billions of people being murdered as much as she liked, but he could talk about the millions of humans murdered, due to future knowledge. Not to mention the whole race nearly being wiped out. But he wasn't, because this was an Orion and she was hardly going to care.

"I bet they weren't your people, were they?" His tone was definitely argumentative. With anyone else he might have got a bit closer, tried to loom a bit, but that was a bad idea with her.

[writes_with_digital_ink]

"Excuse me?" She barely draws breath. "Yes, they were! Starfleet. Federation. I'm a Federation citizen, and an officer of Starfleet, and seven ships were blown up as soon as we dropped out of warp. And Vulcan-"

Gaila stops as quickly as she started, her hands clenched into fists.

"Or wouldn't you care what happened to Vulcan? They're not human. Not your people. Is that what you mean?

Or, oh, is it because I'm Orion? That's your problem, isn't it?"

[tript]

He did care about Vulcan - he'd like the place (at least the bits that were less deserty) and he liked some Vulcans. He looked a little worried about what might have happened, until she mentioned her species.

"Yes, it is," he said frankly. "I've met Orions before and I know what you're like."

[writes_with_digital_ink]

"What we're like? Right. Yes. Congratulations, Commander, you're a bigot." She could stay an argue - although it never does any good - or stay, and be icily formal and correct. If she was more in practice at dealing with his kind of attitude, she would. But here, people rarely are this upfront about it, and she's out of practice and she hates, hates, hates talking about what happened at Vulcan. So instead, the next thing Gaila snaps is, "And you can find your own damn way to the temporary living quarters."

There is a side-effect of Orion pheromones that is little known: their emotions can spill out into a room. It's not empathy, it's just that the air starts to taste a little like anger and unease along with the distinctive Orion scent.

That's why she should leave; it's not why she does.

No, Ensign Gaila betIlley turns sharply on her heel in a parade-perfect gesture and stalks off for the simple reason that if she stays any longer, she's going to start to yell.

Admiral Pike would probably be disappointed in her if she did that, and he's not an officer she ever wants to disappoint.