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The wrong Enterprise (open)
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."
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."
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He raised his arm, calling a waiter over.
"What'll you have?"
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"I don't think I need classes in warp theory," he said, chuckling. "I'm the chief engineer on Enterprise. I've worked on a few warp engines in my time." If he really was in the future it would have changed by now, but not that much. The warp engine theory was sound, he was sure of that.
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He shook his head. "My point being, Commander, that while this future-Starfleet might be more advanced, they're going to need the help of the cavalry to get us back where we belong."
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"I'd like to help. I guess I can take some classes if it means they'll let me at their engines." Which had got to be amazing. He just wasn't so good at sitting down and listening. "Working helps me learn better than classes, but I'm not sure I'd even let Zefram Cochrane loose on my engines without someone watching him."
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There's something refreshing about Tucker. Something... not backwards, exactly, but old-fashioned, but in the way someone not being too polite is. It's passion, Jim realizes. And cockiness. And the complete lack of comprehension that he's been flung into a technological era he hasn't imagined yet.
In that sense, Jim thinks, they're more than a bit alike.
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His drink arrived and he took a cautious sip. "That's good stuff," he concluded, smiling. "At least the future has good whiskey." He held his glass up in a salute to the whiskey of the future.
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He realizes, suddenly, that it's probably not just him they're giggling about. How must it look, James T. Kirk and Commander Trip Tucker sitting together?
"Another word of advice," he says. "Don't let it unbalance you. The fact that, well, you're going to be recognized. You and me? We're in a fishbowl."
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He'd assumed that being new and drinking whiskey was what they were staring at. He hadn't thought he'd be recognized. Archer, maybe, but not him. He frowned at Jim. "I'm not that famous," he protested. "What did you do that gets you recognized?"
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"I guess," he said, turning back to his own drink. "It is something, to step on a planet that no other humans have ever been on before. I'm not too keen on the shuttles they used to go to the moon in the 20th century, but imagine being the first person to set foot on the moon." He certainly romanticised the unexplored himself.
"Doesn't this Enterprise explore new civilizations too?"
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Despite some very important socio-political differences.
"From what I've been told? Yes. Just further out than you or I reached. Or, well..." Jim paused, musing. "I think there are a few instances which would give them a run for their money, but whenever my ship reached the edge of the unknown, it was usually due to outside influence. Some part of me hopes that there will always been an unknown, or we'll cease to be what we are." He smiled. "Then again, shoved into the future as I am? I very much feel a relic."
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He sipped his drink, while considering what being in the future would be like, once he'd been here for a bit longer. "Even being from the past you've got some useful skills. The first man on the moon wouldn't have a clue about the warp drive, but I bet he'd be better than anyone here in zero g."
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And Jim so hated to be jobless. It made him restless.
"Honestly, I think they're just trying their damnedest to figure out how to get us all back."