Scientia et Labor
Posted on Wed Apr 19th, 2023 @ 5:29pm by Lieutenant Commander Nolan Marc & Ensign Hulio Xe'ceda
Edited on on Wed Apr 19th, 2023 @ 5:43pm
Mission:
Shakedown Shake-Up
Tags: nolan
3496 words - 7 OF Standard Post Measure
The feeling of dislocation subsided.
In a cascade of blue light, the world around the boy was re-made. Fashioned into a likeness that was similar, but distinct from where he’d been standing just a moment before. As the child blinked, his vision began to clear as he found himself in what was obviously a Starfleet transporter room.
A Bolian woman in the jacketed uniform stood behind the controls. The color of the shoulders taking on an almost dusty brown with the leatherette. Nolan couldn’t but find it drab, even in comparison to the uniform that had become popular with the Dominion War, particularly contrasted against the powder blue of the woman’s skin.
“Welcome to the Nelson, Commander,” the woman chimed politely, as the tow-headed boy took his first step onto the new ship. Stepping out behind the console, the woman held her hands folded in front as she smiled and said, “If you’ll just report on board, I’ll get you settled.”
Putting a hand behind his head, the boy ran his hands through his hair in a nervous gesture. This was never not awkward somehow. Finally, letting his arm drop, the boy spoke and announced, “Computer, Lieutenant Commander Marc reporting as ordered.”
There was a muted chirp, and a moment where Nolan and the Bolian just stared at each other that seemed to dwell well into awkward silence territory before Nolan heard a familiar disembodied voice.
[ Please state the authorization code you would like to use for this assignment. ]
“Marc,” the boy uttered. “Gamma-One-Three-Seven-Echo.”
He tried to smile up at the Bolian.
Had the woman blinked?
The hair on the back of the boy’s neck seemed to stand on end, as gooseflesh crept through him in a momentary sense of...
...well, to be honest, he wasn’t sure. Just that there was something creepy about the Bolian in front of him.
[ Lieutenant Commander Nolan Marc is now Chief Science Officer, USS Nelson. Authorization code registered. Access privileges set: Level Six, Priority Three. ]
At that moment, the Bolian’s facial expression changed. Her head tilted to one side as the smile seemed to widen as she said, “Welcome aboard, sir.”
“Arigato. Yoroshiku ne,” the boy answered, slipping into an automatic response that lapsed upon a cultural muscle memory. He gave a slight bow to the Bolian, straightening up as he began, “But people usually just call me…”
Her smile. The head tilt. The body posture.
Something finally clicked in the boy’s mind. As the realization sank in, the Only trailed off. A look of confusion gave way to surprise, and then skepticism as the boy blurted out, “...you’re a hologram?”
“Correct,” the (not) Bolian answered, creepy smile and all. Whoever had implemented the behavioral modeling, the uncanny valley was real. “Non-essential functions aboard the Inquiry-class are carried out by semi-autonomous holographic programs in order to further reduce manpower requirements while increasing efficiencies by reducing administrative burdens or routine operations.”
The small Okinawan just blinked.
Maintaining the same, just-slightly-unnatural posture, the Bolian gestured toward the door as she ushered the boy into the corridor. “This way, please, Commander,”
Eyes wide, Nolan just drew in a deep breath as he tried to push down the oddly negative feeling that was forming in his gut. He’d worked with holograms before. He worked with holograms all the time. The LKH was practically his lab partner. This was fine. This was workable.
This was the dawn of the Twenty-Fifth Century. They had the technology. Give it a chance, and it’ll be...
“This one is Hologram Eight-Four-Four-Nine-Jay. But you may address this one as simply Jay if you prefer, sir.”
As they walked, the boy turned his head to glance up at the Bolian -- or Faux-lian – and asked, “How do you want to be addressed?”
Was it likely to go anywhere? No. Thirty years and the LKH was still dodging the question, but it still seemed polite to have the conversation.
“This one is not programmed to express a preference to that inquiry,” the hologram supplied.
Nolan’s jaw hung open. The boy just stopped in the hallway as he tried to process what he’d just heard. Or, rather, what he hadn’t.
Oblivious, the hologram merely paused, turning toward the boy as it continued, “Your quarters have been assigned on Deck Four, Section Twelve. The primary science lab is located on Deck…”
“Wait, wait, wait…” the boy began, throwing up his hands as he motioned for the hologram to stop. He was still trying to dissect just how many ways this was wrong. Lowering his arms just slightly, the boy looked up at the blue-skinned simulacrum and echoed, “This one? Not programmed?”
Holograms didn’t talk like that. Or, rather, the AI packages that scripted their individuality didn’t talk like that. “Is your personality matrix off-line?”
The Bolian seemed to freeze for just a half a second long enough to be noticed, and send another shiver up the boy’s spine.
Okay. Whoever designed this thing was in serious horror holographic program territory.
Finally, tilting her head to the left once more, the Bolian’s creep-tacular smile returned as she stated, “The design of the holographic assistant interface does not require the use of a fully developed behavioral model in order to carry out each ordinary operation requiring a minimum of interaction. And would represent an inefficient demand on system resources.”
With that, the hologram made a quarter turn as a turbolift opened just a few steps away. Gesturing to indicate that they were headed into the lift, the hologram continued as the pair stepped inside.
Nolan tried not to feel even more creeped out as the doors shut and the turbolift began moving even without a command.
“Those holographic units intended for dedicated support to the crew have more substantive personality development,” the simulacrum supplied, before looking down at the boy and adding, “I hope that this explanation has provided an answer to your satisfaction, Commander.”
As the doors popped open and the hologram stepped out, the boy just gave another blink as his mind was still working to process the level of bad ideas that were playing out in front of him.
This wasn’t even poor design. This was a trainwreck in space.
“Awesome,” the boy uttered dryly, taking another breath as he followed and deadpanned, “The ship’s FAQ is running the transporter.”
The Bolian’s creepy smile returned, as the likeness of a blue-skinned woman stood by the door to what he assumed were his new quarters. Motioning to the open door, the Bolian seemed to provide a false cheer as it answered, “I am glad that you feel this is awesome.”
The boy just stared up at the blue-skinned simulacrum for a moment, then turned and walked into the open quarters.
Large. Sterile. Empty.
These were definitely standard crew quarters.
“E.. Domo,” the boy began, realizing he was being rude and turning back to thank the crewman. Hologram or not.
The corridor behind him was empty.
As if hit by a jolt of electricity, Nolan felt his hair standing on end.
This ship wasn’t a horror holo. It was a nightmare. A fact that wasn’t helped when the tow-headed boy turned and looked around the cold, unfamiliar interior.
…maybe he could sleep with Jack for this cruise?
“Nanisore,” the boy uttered softly, stepping further within.
A new uniform was laid across the bed. Obviously set out for him. Unlike the style worn aboard the Vesta, this one had trousers that seemed much more relaxed. And a jacket that was made out of only the most synthetic-looking leather the replicator could produce.
Picking it up, Nolan seemed skeptical as he regarded the shoulders.
Was that supposed to be purple?
===========
DECK 17
Primary Science Labs
===========
“You have got to be shitting me.”
He was standing before a large, vaulted chamber. A vast, open chasm, with alcoves tucked into the wings that each held the same, identical generic consoles and equipment.
“I am not detecting any fecal matter in the surrounding environment.”
Nolan jumped at the voice behind him, a squeal shattering the quiet of the ship as the Only turned to discover a Benzite-looking crewman in the same dark indigo-colored jacket.
He’d broken into a sweat. His heart pounding in his chest, the boy had to catch his breath before he could asked, “And you are?”
The Benzite demonstrated the same, slight head tilt to the left as it answered, “Scientific Analyst Holographic Assistant Four-One-Two-Five.”
Still panting, Nolan held up one finger to indicate he needed a moment as he tried to get everything back under control. Okay. Another hologram. “Should I call you Five?” the boy asked, trying to find some middle ground with these… whatever they were.
“Holographic Crewman nickname Fives has been assigned as support to Engineering,” the Benzite simulacrum answered neatly, before adding, “You may address this one as Twelve.”
Again with the this one.
And, wait, twelve? What had its number been again? Nolan’s hand came up, his expression and hand going through a series of forms that demonstrated the full breadth of confusion, frustration, and finally acceptance.
How did that even make sense?
You know what? He wasn’t even going to ask.
“Twelve,” Nolan said. There. It was a name. It worked. Who cared if it made sense? Instead, gesturing to the wall of generic science terminals, the boy asked, “What is this?”
“The primary science labs, sir,” the Benzite answered succinctly.
Nolan’s mouth hung open. That couldn’t be the answer.
His mouth moved, as he tried to get his brain and tongue to work off the same proverbial page. When he finally found his voice, he uttered, “The only thing more vanilla than this would be a cadet lab at Starfleet Academy.”
This was a deep space explorer.
This couldn’t be it.
“The Inquiry-class is designed as a multi-role platform,” Twelve stated as if explaining the theory behind the design to a child. Which, it was, to be fair. “The primary science lab is a modular complex that can be modified and partitioned to best fit assigned mission parameters.”
Of course.
When he’d been assigned to the Nova-class refit, it had been the same. A struggle each day to justify why dedicated resources for specific scientific disciplines had a place on ship’s intended as a one-size-fits-all to whatever problem the Federation might come across.
Holding up both hands, Nolan’s mouth fell open again as he started to say something.
Then he seemed to think twice about it. Taking a step off to the side as he turned his head and took a deep breath.
He was starting to get angry.
Then, approaching the Benzite, the boy held up one hand as he began, “You can’t get any long-term research done if you’re constantly swapping…”
Why was he explaining this to a hologram?
Blinking, the boy realized he was practically talking to the wall.
A wall of photons, but a wall nonetheless.
And, if possible, the wall had more personality.
Exhaling forcefully, the boy seemed to be talking to himself as he uttered, “Okay, daijoubou, whatever.”
Turning back to regard the open chamber around them, the boy gestured to one alcove as he said, “Sore wa. Let’s get a planetary geology lab set up over there, and then…”
“Altering the configuration of the primary science lab requires Level Seven clearance,” Twelve interjected.
Startled at the interruption, Nolan shied back as if afraid he’d said something wrong. “Nani,” the boy uttered softly, as he tried to replay the last part over in his mind.
The computer was refusing to comply with what he’d asked.
And the reason was...
“…e to ne…,” the boy stammered, as realization sank in. The confusion rapidly evaporated into a surprise that only served to reignite the earlier anger. “Nan de. The Chief Science Officer doesn’t even have the clearance to run the science lab!?”
They were way, way beyond use of inside voices at this point.
The Benzite was completely nonplussed by the outburst. “The primary science lab is a modular complex that can be modified and partitioned to best fit assigned mission parameters,” the hologram answered in the same, faux neutral tone as it elaborated, “As mission parameters are defined at Priority Two, a Level Seven authorization is required.”
He’d known when he came on board that there were some bad ideas going into this ship. He’d born witness to poor design. But, wait, act now and the Starfleet Corps of Engineers will throw in some circular logic for free! Holographic operators were standing by…
To be completely honest, Nolan had no idea what to even say to that.
Blowing the whole deck and building a science lab from scratch was a thought. A nice thought. A very nice thought the more that the Benzite just stared at him like that.
Which was the moment that a familiar, and thankfully not holographic furry ensign wandered in.
“Oh, good,” Xe’ceda uttered, oblivious to the scene that the S’ti’ach had just walked into. The koala-like alien had traded his usual blue collar for a jacket like the one Nolan wore. Fidgeting with the article of clothing, the furry ensign admitted, “I wanted to ask if this was supposed to be zipped up.”
Ensign Hulio ‘Newbie’ Xe’ceda. A welcome distraction to say the least.
Glancing down at the open front of his own jacket, Nolan felt as though he knew what the answer was supposed to be.
He could still hear his Academy drill instructor. If it’s got clasps or closures, that’s because you plebs are supposed to zip it up, cadets!
In contrast, the boy seemed dismissive to whatever the regulations might be as he answered, “The ship isn’t cold enough for that.”
With a nod, the diminutive S’ti’ach seemed to agree.
The large ears seemed to rotate slightly as Xe’ceda got his bearings. Which, was easy given the uniformity of the room they were in. “I thought the science labs were down here,” the ensign remarked finally, turning his head up at Nolan as he asked, “Where is it?”
Wouldn’t Nolan like to know.
“Apparently neither of us has the clearance to find out,” the Only quipped.
The Benzite’s head tilt gave a split-second warning of what was about to happen. “Level Seven clearance…”
“Finish that sentence and I will delete you,” Nolan snapped, uncharacteristically enough that Xe’ceda floofed backed a step when he did.
The Benzite’s expression went blank for a moment before the same uncanny valley appeared. “This unit will deactivate so that you may return to your duties,” the simulacrum stated, before vanishing from sight.
At least now Nolan felt like he could give a sigh of relief.
Creeping forward, Xe’ceda’s ears seemed pointed as if scanning for predators as he admitted, “Part of me wants to ask what was that, but the other part is worried I’m not going to like the answer.”
Xe’ceda was worried he wasn’t going to like the answer?
Nolan was certain he didn’t like the answer, and he hadn’t even figured out just what the question was yet. Though a good start would be...
“WHO DESIGNED THIS THING?” Throwing his arms up in the air, Nolan did a slow circle as he tried to imagine, for just a moment, how he was supposed to make any of this functional. “For one, there’s twelve decks of separation between my office and astrometrics.”
He was just going to make astrometrics into his office, wasn’t he?
As if coming to the sobering reality, Xe’ceda’s ears drooped down toward the floor. “This is really it, isn’t it?” the ensign asked meekly.
Even an ensign could see it.
“...and apparently whoever came up with this just expects us to blandly go with cheap and generic set-ups because all science disciplines are interchangeable,” the boy snapped, planting his hands on his hips.
Infuse the EPS with enough tripolysilicate from the insulation in the replicators, they could totally just blow this deck and start over...
“It looks like they just copied the cadet lab at Starfleet Academy,” Xe’ceda uttered, turning his head up toward Nolan. “You know, the one in T’Pol Hall?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Nolan remarked dryly, running a hand through his hair. He was definitely ready to start pulling his hair out.
Glancing down at the blue-furred alien, the boy asked, “Any good news?”
“There’s an aquatics center!” the small ensign chimed, literally bouncing as he did. Then, seemed to pause, as if questioning whether he had any other highlights. “...that’s... that’s about it,” the S’ti’ach admitted finally.
Reaching into his jacket, Xe’ceda pulled out a padd, extending it up for the boy to inspect as he said, “I did take a look at the sensor configuration.”
The boy started to flip through the specs as the diminutive archaeologist continued, “There are some... I mean, just... They made some design choices that I don’t know...”
“Why is there a single matrix?” Nolan blurted out, as his eyes landed on what he imagined Xe’ceda’s hemming-and-hawing to be about. Glancing over the top of the padd, the boy seemed aghast as he posed a rhetorical he felt any third-year cadet ought to have been able to answer. “How do you run correlation? Do they have any idea how easy it’s going to be for the sensor array to generate false positives?”
The S’ti’ach was nodding vigorously. But, extended up a claw as if to indicate for the boy to continue reading as he said, “Supposedly, its error rate is so low that a secondary matrix was, well, redundant.”
Rolling his eyes, Nolan uttered, “That’s the point!” Redundancy in deep space was a good thing. Unless, apparently, one was designing a Starfleet deep space explorer. “These ships don’t sit in orbit next to repair facilities and when your sensor array is hard down for a particulate of protomatter that’s borked your astrogation calculus in the middle of deep space is not the time to call a tow truck.”
“I feel like there’s a Vulcan at the Corps of Engineers who has the mathematical numbers on how unlikely calling for a tow truck would be,” Xe’ceda remarked, adopting what seemed Nolan’s own acerbic style.
“Oh, I’m sure there is,” the Only agreed, handing the padd back to the S’ti’ach. “This whole efficiency for efficiency sake has Vulcan written all over it.”
“I don’t know,” Xe’ceda remarked, gesturing to the room around them and making the point, “Vulcans would probably view that science lab as an academic hate crime.”
Nolan wouldn’t have argued with that assessment. “I’ll talk to Njalia and see if I can get the lab sorted,” the boy said finally. “Hopefully without having to resort to talking to Doctor Doom.”
Level Seven clearance? “Maybe Jack has Level Seven clearance...” the boy mused aloud.
“Doctor Doom?”
Glancing down at the small S’ti’ach, Nolan explained, “Doctor Sorenson. He’s First Officer.”
Wait.
If Doctor Doom was on the bridge then who was..? “Ugh. That means there’s probably one of those holograms in Sickbay.”
Nightmare fuel.
One hundred percent.
The S’ti’ach’s ears seemed to run through a few emotions of his own, quietly asking, “Isn’t the LKH a medical holographic program?”
Gesturing to the empty air where Twelve had been earlier, Nolan remarked, “You want to compare an EMH Mark One that’s thirty years old against one of these cutting edge automatons?”
“You have a point,” Xe’ceda admitted. “Did they forget to load the behavioral modeling?”
“You should ask them when you see one next,” the boy answered dryly.
This was the ship they gave Ewan?
Man must have serious enemies at Starfleet Command.
