Lt JG Imril - Last Train To Golden Gulch
Chris Taylor
(( Bryyk’s Boffles, Ferenginar ))
Imril: ::To Cole:: I’m vaguely familiar with the Wild West era. Do you know much about the time period?
Cole: ::rolling one shoulder, thoughtful:: Enough to know it’s often heavily romanticized by people who didn’t have to live in it.
Imril: As are a lot of historical periods, really.
Practically every place Imril had visited on Earth while a cadet -- Las Vegas, Rome, Machu Picchu -- came with little asterisks. Notations of how things hadn’t been all that kind to all of the inhabitants, in spite of the more stalking stories that had built up around each in their prime.
Cole: ::glancing sidelong at Imril:: There were some genuinely fascinating engineering feats, though. Railroads, telegraphs, systems built fast, cheap, and under pressure. Not unlike early lunar habitats, actually. Different stakes, same improvisation.
Imril: ::Darkly:: No Lunar natives to clear out first.
She slowed slightly, letting Imril walk half a step ahead as the corridor widened, her tone softening just a touch.
Cole: I grew up hearing stories about Earth that skipped over the messier parts. Turns out history’s a lot more interesting when you admit people were complicated and often wrong.
Imril: Words that often apply just as well to the present. Just ask the Boraxians.
And to the cultures of the Federation as well. Maybe it was the folks that thought they had it all figured out that you had to worry about.
The host’s arm ratched into the air twice.
Ferengi Cowboy: ::imitating a train’s whistle:: Whoot woot! Keep them tickets handy, now! Yoo’all have an iron horse to catch! One whose engineer has up and taken a powder for reasons unknown! ::A devious grin:: Or reasons you may yet hear tell about! Yoo’all will be wanting to get to the engineering car to slow her down!
It was a clear attempt to ‘corral’ the conversation back on track, so to speak. Sold with a Ferengi’s well-practiced salemanship and a touch of playful innocence. As though he hadn't heard everything being discussed. Imril gave a quiet nod of thanks, and suspected that the man heard that too.
Cole: Alright. Let’s see what version of history we’re about to escape from.
The passageway led to a new title, a new hologram. “Last Train To Golden Gulch”. The image was that of a mid-19th Century steam chugging down a dry and dusty valley. The tumbleweed-strewn hillsides pocked with mines.
Ferengi Cowboy: Bryyk’s Boffles thanks you kindly for your patronage. If for any reason you want to pull the brakes on this here challenge, just tap your tickets together. Or call us up on them thar communicators. Ask for Swampfoot Sam. Once paused, the game is over and all hope of refunds forfeited.
Imril: Understood, Thanks. ::To Cole:: Shall we?
Cole: response
The cowboy tapped a few hexagonal glyphs on the control panel. The door opened, and there before them all was a well-furnished, clearly upscale, train compartment. Likely someone’s mobile office, telling by the ornate desk situated to the far end. He waved the pair in.
Imril was the first to step inside, scanning the room for clues as they did so. Anything and everything might be useful in traversing the upcoming challenge.
Cole: response
Ferengi Cowboy: Oh, I reckon I forgot to mention a particular piece of information. There’s only so much time before this train runs out of track and makes a right mess. Which, at the present speed, will be nigh about High Noon. Earth Time.
He pointed to an ornate grandfather clock situated near the desk, which was sitting at 11:00. Then smiled, and closed the door, himself on the other side. It was immediately replaced by another door which arrived in a shower of holographic pixels. One of wood and brass, the only one in the cabin. This, then, was the last cabin of… how many?
The pendulum on the clock began to swing. Tick… tock…
Beneath Imril’s feat, the low and regular rumble of metal wheels rolling over metal tracks. Outside the long windows, the very hills from the holo-sign. And a vulture, high up in the air keeping pace with the vehicle.
A trickle of excitement went through Imril’s arms as they tried the door. It was, of course, locked.
Imril: No points for guessing that. Now to find a key or something to jimmy the lock.
Or anything else worth getting ahold of. Like an idea of how many cabins they needed to work through.
Cole: response
Imril: I’ll search the desk. Maybe there's a clue in there why a train would have lost its engineer.
Cole: response
Tags/TBC
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Lieutenant JG Imril
Engineering Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240110I12