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deep_space_final) wrote in
deep_space_fine2014-12-04 07:50 am
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Shuttle/Docking Bay [1]
This is your standard shuttlebay and/or docking station. Going somewhere? Coming from somewhere? Here's where you can come and go, leave your ships, and the like.
This is an open post. It will be replaced when it reaches a certain limit. Until then, create threads for any plot you want!
This is an open post. It will be replaced when it reaches a certain limit. Until then, create threads for any plot you want!
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Today she just sat on the nose with her lunch, her legs hanging over the edge, chewing on a protein stick and eying passers-by suspiciously, offering various remarks to anyone that got too close. ]
Hey, keep walking. [ Or: ] Your wife know you look at another woman's MECS like that? [ Or just plain: ] Bite me.
[ She's not there to make friends (she is, she just doesn't know it), but she can admire persistence, too. ]
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[Jim smiles slightly, but it's rueful.]
She'd be here, if she fit in the bay. I don't think she's the jealous type, though. Probably doesn't know I'm gone.
[It's a fine ship, though. Not at all the sort of thing Jim ever gets a chance to pilot, or even admire. Starfleet isn't much into fighters.]
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She smooths her hand once more against the chassis, then makes the nearly six foot jump down onto the deck, landing lightly on her feet, sizing him up. ]
Is that right. A big girl? [ She can't help but think of the Galactica; she wouldn't fit in here either. ] What's her name?
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[Jim's pride is undeniable, and he doesn't bother to hide it.]
More of a starship. Doesn't handle quite the same, I'd guess, but you'd be surprised.
[After a moment he holds out his hand. They're all in the same boat, right? And the woman's warmed up a bit. Maybe she needs a friend as much as he does.]
Jim Kirk.
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STANDARD REPAIR CHECKUP PROCEDURE, CAPTAIN KARA THRACE? SCANNERS SHOW YOU HAVE NOT HAD A STANDARD REPAIR CHECKUP PROCEDURE IN APPROXIMATELY --4-- DAYS AND --20-- HOURS. [The speech is, of course, synthesized. Clipped. Mostly a mockery of actual English, but it's trying its programmed best.]
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After all, he might stumble upon something interesting. Who knows?
As always, the TARDIS doesn't land so much as materialize: there's a wind in the docking station, and then a whooshing, humming, clanging. The police box fades into view in time with the pulses of sound, until, with a low bong, it's fully materialized.
There's a pause, and then the door opens with a little creak. The Doctor pokes his head out, craning his neck to try and find the ceiling before he steps through, and neatly closes the door behind him.
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It hadn't been him. He's being good, he swears!
But the blue box, materializing out of thin air--that's exciting. Loki's sitting on a pile of cargo, one leg swinging down, as the door opens and a very old young person pokes his head out. Loki cocks his head.
"You don't look much like the fuzz," he observes cheerfully.
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"You don't look much like a crewman," he counters just as lightly, as he steps away from the TARDIS, "so what're you doing on those cargo boxes?"
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"Like what?"
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T-800 extends a slow look around to access the situation and gather data. Coordinates and communication with John and Sarah Connor have been cut. These coordinates are not correct. His mission has been interrupted. This is problematic. He must return to the mission. Connor must survive and T-1000 has not been terminated.
So he simply continues to among the gathered people. His systems analysis indicates none of these lifeforms are hostile threats. He has identified that he is on a space station but he has not identified how. So, T-800 approaches someone.
Aren't you lucky. The automated voice speaks up, "What year is it."
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The guy working on the motorcycle was a little odd in the fact that he was wearing odd goggles that brought to mind insects and the like, and was fiddling with a silvery haze that had settled over a perfectly normal engine. At the question, he sighed and looked up, the green lens of the goggles showing a pattern of equations that really haven't been invented by humans written in a language that wasn't really human save for a for symbols here and there.
"The year is whatever you think it had been before you appeared here," he said, sounding a little peevish that someone was disturbing his train of thought. Then the displays on his visor changed and the narrow-eyed glare he had slowly changed.
"Wait... what are you?"
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"Negative, this technology does not exist in 1995." There is a mark of silence that might have been considered a little strange, but T-800 is assessing both items before him. "T-800. Cyberdyne System Model 101. I must reunite with John Connor and terminate T-1000."
Yeah, he's great at Human Interactions.
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"1995?" he replied, blinking as a few more figures flashed across his scanners before he pulled the set off and rubbed his eyes. The figures did not make sense, especially for the advanced fusion his readings had gave him. "Last I recall, Earth was at the year 2012, but I'm sure that we're beyond that point. The dimensional shift is off-balanced, and I wouldn't be surprised if Space/Time had fractured in the process."
He wasn't that good with Human Interactions as well, though it could be blamed for being a scientist.
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He looks around a moment. 2012 was after the nuclear fallout according to the time he has been brought back to but that action alone changed the continuum. There was no possible way this man was from that past. What he says makes it more clear that he was not but he must inquire.
"Affirmative. I was sent back to 1995 to protect the child that would grow up to lead the resistance against the machines. T-1000 was sent to destroy him." A moment. "Do you know who John Connor is."
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"I do not." A pause as he thought of one thing - Blame it all on Tsukasa - before dismissing that idea. From where he stood, there were a lot of time meddlers bumbling about this station. One more would only be normal by this point of the equation.
"Your reality is part of several that manage to co-exist along the same boundaries of others. Think of them all potential Earths, each one with a story that marks it differently than the next. This station seems to exist at a crossroads of sorts in which several stories collide. On the bright side, your story will be there when you get back. On the other side, it may take a while for the dimensional shifts to bring you back to where you came from."
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His programming only gives him enough to react to a situation that is out of place by accessing a new alternative method to achieving the end result. He had guidance and someone to learn from when his mission was to protect Connor. Having no sequence to follow is a difficult thing to register for a Terminator. Being left entirely to his own. It is possible, however. T-8XX's self-aware re-write abilities are highly advanced. Skynet will recognize this flaw in the T-8XX series and initiate their termination.
He has that information already.
"How have you collected this data." He inquires in the midst of re-writing his current mission perametres.
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"I am a scientist," he said and then made a slight snort at his claim. Depending on which world he was on, the flimsy from DaiShocker was probably not worth anything.
"The organization I worked for had cataloged nine separate worlds outside of our own. Each one of those worlds were almost exact replicas of our Earth save for slight changes. We developed a... method to access those worlds so we can explore the differences, but in my travels across them, I have a feeling that ten worlds are just the beginning of the infinite possibilities. I have yet to find anything that does not cast light on a possibility of multiple Earths."
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"Time is a variable." A complex equation but an equation and it was almost humorous, if he knew what humour was, that while mankind was so fluid in their functioning the world and the universe was a system- a series of equations.
"I am a terminator." Guess what that means! "Your bike. I can fix it."
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"Space is a fixed point but when you move Time, the point Space becomes fluid in relative notations." Thus the ability to monitor and mimic the designs and powers of Riders, or even to craft replicas from the particles floating in the air when the proper sequence was reached. It was so simple and yet no one but him managed to create the two Drivers that worked off of that principle.
"So you end the function of those that you were tasked to end? That seems like a waste of a potential." Because there was so much that could be done with someone like the T-800. "You can?"
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"Correct. I was created on an assembly line by a complex machine designated Skynet. My series and model was created for infiltration and termination of mankind." He steps toward the bike. He's not a gentle creation but at least he knows what he is doing.
"Our CPU's were created with advanced learning program codes in order to better infiltrate the resistance. Skynet will realize this as a flaw as more of my series type joins mankind against the machines and will initiate our termination. I was reprogrammed by John Connor and sent back to protect his young self against a more advanced prototype sent to terminate him."
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It takes him a second to even realize the voice is speaking to him. He only looks up after catching a glimpse of the man in his peripheral vision.
And then he realizes he has no idea what the question was.
"Sorry?"
His eyes flick to the silver being revealed under the skin... maybe not exactly a man, then.
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"What." Which could also be a question and technically it is but his vocal processor does not have the same range of function that mankind possesses.
He wants to understand man, honestly. His curiosity just doesn't read in his expression or voice. Maybe he will clarify. "I do not understand why you are sorry."
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For a microsecond, T-800 considers the response and questions how that is a logical reaction but stows it away in the event it might be useful to apply. The uniform looks dated and foreign. He cannot find a match in his database.
"What year is it."
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"On the station--" Martin looks down at his notes. Still adjusting to some aspects of this. "--Year Prime-7."
Elsewhere, it gets rather more complicated, and Martin has the feeling they're about to get into that. But you've got to start somewhere.
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"Do you know John Connor?"
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"Is... he on the crew roster?" No, probably not, stupid. Take Two: "Is he your maintenance operator?"
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But there is no mistaking that he isn't human and that he has no clue how to react like a human should or would react. Work in progress. Safe to say, though, that if he meant harm it would have been done by now.
"A maintenance operator is not required. I am fully automated and programmed for self repair," he clarifies. "John Connor is the leader of the Resistance in the war against the Machines and is the last hope for mankind. I must ensure his survival. I require data to re-adjust my mission parameters."
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But that's only the first part of the problem: the second is that he has no idea where the TARDIS is going, only that she's going somewhere. But when the TARDIS materializes on the station, preceded by the usual whooshing sounds and distinctive sound that she makes when traveling anywhere, there's a second's pause and then the police box door creaks open.
He peers out from around the door, upon which two conclusions occur to him: 1) this is a space station, and 2) if there are any Daleks here, he's getting right back inside the TARDIS and leaving without a second's thought. He's had enough of Daleks to last several lifetimes, thanks.
[Locked in a Room event] [locked to Malekith]
The cargo bay was one such place. How did anyone expect him to leave it alone? A man needed things, after all. And if you left bloody great boxes of merchandise just lying around, well, he was going to take advantage.
This particular box was proving a little more difficult. It was fairly large, which was exciting, but the only way into it he'd found was through the top. Which led to him rummaging around inside, sorting through various familiar and unfamiliar items in the hopes of finding something useful, or at least fun. And if he was caught at it? He'd just put on his best innocent "I'm a poor ignorant sod from the past who doesn't know your strange alien customs" face.
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Truthfully, he was sleeping when the other being decided to drop in but instead of making himself known he simply watches from the corner quiet as ever. No, none of these things were his and few of it seemed to be worth his investment but it was one of the least filled cargo boxes and when he didn't want to be seen or heard from he was exceptional at disappearing.
It's after a long while of observing that he decides to pipe up from the other side of the corner. "Do you knowwhat you're looking for?"