Sammy Khoa
Morianrhod's Espurr Hivemind
For any of you second generation Trekkies who may be reading, you probably already have an idea of where I'm going with this — take that and insert some ambiguous logic-based malignance/benevolence, and you're on the right track.
I've always been bored to tears by fantasy; it's always seemed so plain, to me — so transparent. Science fiction, all but the softest of it, managed to maintain a tone of plausibility in my eyes: Not in the sense that it was actually possible, but in that it was bound by predictable limits. And that foolish position of mine is why I have been brought here —.
At least, I should hope that's why we've been brought here.
In an accident born of folly or ill-intent — which, we do not know —, this vessel has been transported to an edge we had assumed was infinitely distant from any star or any eye of Man. Our navigations array quit in a hissy fit when it realized that there was simply nothing to chart off of; our chief engineer spat profanity when the core took a dump, claiming the anti-matter "just plain disappeared."
The Vulcan and the android couldn't make heads or tails of what'd happened; the Betazoid could only speculate as to what that brief synesthetic heat was. Is this what happened to Voyager all those years ago? No; we must be millions of times farther than them.
Oh, but there are the tales from the flagship bumping into something they called the edge of the universe. Our science officer felt the need to point out that there was no way to be sure — and yet we're looking at a familiar pink nebula with dancing lights and friendly delusions to go along with it.
Perfect.
Except — what Admiral Picard described wasn't like this. He saw visions of his past — the universe practically spoke to him, smoothing over his characteristic flaws. No, this is something right out of Q's manic mind. The illusions toy with us, fooling our eyes and ears. They even make the computer doubt the integrity of its own sensor readings!
People are getting lost in their own quarters; the turbolifts are opening up into holonovel fantasies and upside-down decks; the bridge has been turned into a blasted star system from time to time!
Oh, were it not for my insignificant human mind, how I would tear through these delusions and wipe this madness out of existence; how I would Sleuth our way out and home again. Perhaps seeking Q's guidance wouldn't be such a bad ide— behold the trickery that befalls us! Behold this cruel joke which has been played upon us, that a Captain buries his fears into the breast of a veritable madman!
What's worse is that even now that the illusions have gone and we wander through a meaningless pink haze, our paranoia has put us all away from our very sanity. We're lost and too far from home to work our way back; we've nowhere to go, and don't even know which direction — if any — is in or out of the universe. All we can do is wander, wander, wander — and hope we bump into whatever lunatic thought this was a wonderful idea.
And the cruelest trick of all: I can't even leave my ready room.
I have been isolated from my crew, and they I. Oh, they've tried to get in. I could hear them — feel their determination; it was truly palpable — as they attempted to burn the door down. It sounded as if they'd gotten in. I heard the shutters slam to the ground — heard them calling my name — but I could see only their voices; nothing more.
———
And here I break the illusion.
Or, at least, you hope I do. I have a fascination with the mystery made out of purported nonsense. I love to play mind games, building scenarios in which a guessing game is as good as any other model — toe the line between virtually unpredictable and actually incomprehensible. But I feel that if there's no intelligence behind it — no purpose; no law to it — then it's both vain and in vain. And so hereth becomes an alloy thus:
A Star Trek roleplay, in which a bunch of sciencey characters on a science fiction ship do fantastic things in a fantasy part of the universe.
I'd say it's a fandom proposal, but it really isn't, ultimately. I just happen to like Star Trek's canon a lot.
The point of the roleplay is to gather something of an understanding of this crazy situation. The Captain is missing, and all there is to remind us he is even still alive is an occasional entry into his personal log. A TNG context may fit the bill, but I truly have no intentions of taking the canon any farther than that. It's our ship in our little nonsensical part of the universe, and the best we can hope for is a solution to come out of the blue.
Well; out of the pink, as it were.
So, what do you think? Have I struck a chord?
I've always been bored to tears by fantasy; it's always seemed so plain, to me — so transparent. Science fiction, all but the softest of it, managed to maintain a tone of plausibility in my eyes: Not in the sense that it was actually possible, but in that it was bound by predictable limits. And that foolish position of mine is why I have been brought here —.
At least, I should hope that's why we've been brought here.
In an accident born of folly or ill-intent — which, we do not know —, this vessel has been transported to an edge we had assumed was infinitely distant from any star or any eye of Man. Our navigations array quit in a hissy fit when it realized that there was simply nothing to chart off of; our chief engineer spat profanity when the core took a dump, claiming the anti-matter "just plain disappeared."
The Vulcan and the android couldn't make heads or tails of what'd happened; the Betazoid could only speculate as to what that brief synesthetic heat was. Is this what happened to Voyager all those years ago? No; we must be millions of times farther than them.
Oh, but there are the tales from the flagship bumping into something they called the edge of the universe. Our science officer felt the need to point out that there was no way to be sure — and yet we're looking at a familiar pink nebula with dancing lights and friendly delusions to go along with it.
Perfect.
Except — what Admiral Picard described wasn't like this. He saw visions of his past — the universe practically spoke to him, smoothing over his characteristic flaws. No, this is something right out of Q's manic mind. The illusions toy with us, fooling our eyes and ears. They even make the computer doubt the integrity of its own sensor readings!
People are getting lost in their own quarters; the turbolifts are opening up into holonovel fantasies and upside-down decks; the bridge has been turned into a blasted star system from time to time!
Oh, were it not for my insignificant human mind, how I would tear through these delusions and wipe this madness out of existence; how I would Sleuth our way out and home again. Perhaps seeking Q's guidance wouldn't be such a bad ide— behold the trickery that befalls us! Behold this cruel joke which has been played upon us, that a Captain buries his fears into the breast of a veritable madman!
What's worse is that even now that the illusions have gone and we wander through a meaningless pink haze, our paranoia has put us all away from our very sanity. We're lost and too far from home to work our way back; we've nowhere to go, and don't even know which direction — if any — is in or out of the universe. All we can do is wander, wander, wander — and hope we bump into whatever lunatic thought this was a wonderful idea.
And the cruelest trick of all: I can't even leave my ready room.
I have been isolated from my crew, and they I. Oh, they've tried to get in. I could hear them — feel their determination; it was truly palpable — as they attempted to burn the door down. It sounded as if they'd gotten in. I heard the shutters slam to the ground — heard them calling my name — but I could see only their voices; nothing more.
———
And here I break the illusion.
Or, at least, you hope I do. I have a fascination with the mystery made out of purported nonsense. I love to play mind games, building scenarios in which a guessing game is as good as any other model — toe the line between virtually unpredictable and actually incomprehensible. But I feel that if there's no intelligence behind it — no purpose; no law to it — then it's both vain and in vain. And so hereth becomes an alloy thus:
A Star Trek roleplay, in which a bunch of sciencey characters on a science fiction ship do fantastic things in a fantasy part of the universe.
I'd say it's a fandom proposal, but it really isn't, ultimately. I just happen to like Star Trek's canon a lot.
The point of the roleplay is to gather something of an understanding of this crazy situation. The Captain is missing, and all there is to remind us he is even still alive is an occasional entry into his personal log. A TNG context may fit the bill, but I truly have no intentions of taking the canon any farther than that. It's our ship in our little nonsensical part of the universe, and the best we can hope for is a solution to come out of the blue.
Well; out of the pink, as it were.
So, what do you think? Have I struck a chord?
