LT JG Imril - [BEGIN ACT ONE] Down But Not Out
Chris Taylor
((Escape Pod Sabre Class-D12))
Screeching sirens. Shaking metal. The iron grip of a safety harness the only constant against the rolling whims of gravity, which changed direction as often as it notably grew in strength. The gritty sting of teeth biting down on teeth. The ratting of bones. The pounding blood racing through Imril’s ears.
With nothing their engineer’s hands could do to control, or even mitigate, the escape pod’s wild fall, Imril’s mind escaped into scenes of the recent past.
((FLASHBACK - Bryyk’s Boffles, Ferenginar - Not long ago))
Cole: I’m starting to think the real puzzle isn’t stopping the train—it’s figuring out which solution doesn’t immediately kill us.
Natasha crouched beside a pressure gauge, tapping it lightly. Imril scoured the room again as she spoke. Taking in her words and trying to fit them into the visuals of an old-timey vehicle. The mechanics of steam engines hadn’t changed in 500-plus years. If only they could determine the missing piece of this puzzle.
Cole: Looks like it was sabotaged, but not sloppily. Whoever did this wanted a spectacle. Cause panic, a story worth telling afterward.
She stood, turned her head to either side causing a popping noise to be heard, eyes sharp and focused despite the time pressure.
Cole: Which means the fix won’t be obvious. It’ll be the option that feels wrong… but elegant.
The whistle screamed again … longer this time.
Cole: ::glancing at the clock mounted above the door:: We’re running out of forgiveness from history.
The clock! There had been a grandfather clock in each and every car but this one, even the sleeping car. Not a gilded mantle clock nor a clock nor a conductor’s pocketwatch on a chain, or any other timepiece which Imril might have connected to either the Western or Victorian genres. Always a grandfather clock. Something Imril had taken as a conceit of the game, an obvious means of pointing out the time limit to the players. But something which, from an in-game perspective, met both of Natasha’s suggestions. Wrong, and elegant.
And if there was a clock on the wall, why was there also one embedded in the control panel? Designed to look like a plain old gauge that just happened to be stating the time rather than pressure, heat, water volume and so on. Reading ten to the hour, like all the others.
Imril: ::Pointing to the clock gauge:: There! That clock doesn't belong there!
Natasha stepped toward the final control panel, fingers hovering just above the switches.
Imril: “It ends at High Noon.” That’s what Swampfoot Sam said, and the diary we found in the dining car. So we make High Noon come sooner.
Cole: Alright. One last gamble. Let’s make sure it’s the kind we walk away from.
Imril handed one the tools they had found in the cargo car to Natasha, and raised another. Together, they set the gauge so that so that both of its hands pointed to Twelve. Something rumbled behind them, and underneath them. The sounds from outside changed, and the vehicle began to slow but not enough. Imril opened the side window, and looked outside. Plums of smoke and steam trailing away from behind them indicated that the engine was still chugging away, but the coupling rods which drove the power they generated into the wheels had been blown free.
Imril: We’re coasting! Try the break again!
Imril felt the screech of metal on metal as much as they heard it, and the train came to a halt amid the rising valley mountains. A moment later, the door changed shape and opened. The Ferengi Cowboy smiled at them both, ready to congratulate them and escort them back to the 25th Century.
((END FLASHBACK))
((Escape Pod Sabre Class-D12))
The voice of Imril’s commander cut through the roar of freefall.
Munro: Brace yourselves!
How long now, before impact?
((FLASHBACK - Elysium, Deck 6 - USS Artemis - Slightly less long ago))
Bergmen: Time… Yeah. Time. One Gideon forever…
Time.
Time for a Gideon and a Bactrican were very different things, in the long run. Whatever Ollie was hoping for in his and Imril’s collective future, the two of them were not going to grow old together. Even reciprocating his affection could end in heartbreak.
Ollie straightened his back and nodded to Imril. He smiled again, sighed, and let his immediate emotions out. Stood up from the table and glanced at the raktajino on the table.
Bergmen: I should go. Your raktajino is getting cold, and if I delay you any longer... then you will need ice to make it a proper raktajino again… So... (beat) Good night, Imril. See ya… Someday… Around. ::smiles::
Imril: :Softy, with a breaking voice:: See ya.
Ollie let his hand linger on the table's surface, his fingers gently tracing the polished wood as he walked away. As he moved, he brushed lightly against Imril's little finger, their hands barely making contact in that fleeting moment. And then he was gone, and only his steps sounded through Elysium for a little while more.
Imril sat there and looked towards he finger he’d touched. The skin tingled with too many possibilities to sort out then and there. They’d asked for time to think, and they’d better get to using it. They gave Ollie time enough to get clear of the place, and then rose. Picked up the padd, and made for a different door.
About a minute later, Imril came back and picked up the coffee cup.
((END FLASHBACK))
((Escape Pod Sabre Class-D12))
A woman’s shout reached into Imril's mind and pulled them from unconsciousness.
So, people’s lives could and did flash before their eyes in a moment of deadly crisis. There were, of course, more worrisome images to witness in such times.
Imril: ::Groggily:: I didn’t see a koala, so I must not be dead.
Before attempting to undo the restraints, Imril patted themself down. Feeling for any injury which might be made worse by a fall to the ceiling. Which they came to realize was situated underneath them. Their long dark hair already pointing in that direction, having shaken loose from their back over the course of the crash.
Imril: I don't think I’m wounded. Nothing feels broken, anyway. I don't taste any blood.
Silveira/Jaran: Response
Munro tried to crane her neck to see outside the pod's small window. The only source of light.
Munro: I think we might be caught in a tree.
Imril: Because why should plummeting onto an unknown world in the middle of an electromagnetic dead-zone be easy?
Emergency Supply Inventory… Gallows humor: Check!
Silveira/Jaran: Response
The First Officer allowed her legs to bend downwards before she released the fasteners that held her in place and allowed herself to drop on to what had been the roof of the pod - now it was the floor.
The whole of the pod shifted slightly in response to her motion. An ominous creak whispered across the pod’s hull.
When she went to the window, she cursed under her breath. Much as they wanted to see whatever she was looking at, just dropping beside her could be disastrous for everyone.
Munro took a breath and tried her commbadge. No response. No light or sound from her tricorder. Lovely.
Then the escape pod jolted before stabilising again.
Imril bit back a shout. It’s force bounded around in their skull for a bit instead.
Munro: First priority is to get out of the escape pod. No sudden movements. :: to Imril :: Help me with the manual release for the door?
Imril: Aye.
The engineer mentally reviewed the procedures for safe removal of the harness before acting. They repeated Munro’s action of bending their legs into the fall before enacting it and did what they could to spread the force of impact out onto all four limbs.
They landed with a soft thunk, and the weight of worry landed on them. All those personnel running to the escape pods. Who had made it into one? How many of them had survived the fall? Who was left to fight for survival on this rock?
Silveira/Jaran/: Response
Imril carefully rose to a stand, and took their first look outside.
Not. Good.
They took up a space opposite Munro by the door. Even if they’d had their toolkit with them -- it had vanished somewhere in the evacuation -- none of it was necessary to open the manual release panel. Opening it upside down in a hurry was something of a challenge, tho. Smooth operation of the crankshaft mechanism was critical though, given the precarious perch in the tree. They motioned Munro to take up part of the lever with them, a simultaneous application of strength.
Imril: On three… One… Two… Three.
Silveira/Jaran/Munro: Response
The door slowly opened in slow, tedious motions. Letting in first more light, and then the view of one of the thick branches that held the pod (somewhat) still. The scent of sap suggested that at least some of the branches had been broken off by the impact, already lying at the floor of the chasm below. A floor too drowned by shadows to be seen.
The branch was situated half a meter or so below the (top of the) door. Necessitating a short climb to reach.
Imril: Mind the step.
Someone had to say it!
Silveira/Jaran/Munro: Response
Another shudder rocked the pod, forcing Imril to slap a hand against the wall to keep from falling over. As useful as it might be to search the pod for survival gear, the team likely didn’t have the time. And the very act of doing so might cause enough motion to further destabilize the tree and doom them all.
Silveira/Jaran/Munro: Response
TAGS/TBC
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Lieutenant JG Imril
Engineering Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240110I12