Ensign Alok Munshi - The Master Game
Alok Munshi
(( Main Weather Control Tower - Trinity City - Starbase 118 ))
sh’Sonora: Okay, now what?
Munshi: ::His hazel eyes darted across the darkened consoles, his brow furrowed with concentration:: Now, we find the atmospheric master control. We need to isolate the San Francisco district’s grid. If the computer is running on a historical weather archive, it’s currently trying to recreate a storm that hasn't happened in twenty years. We need to shut down the primary vaporators manually before the humidity reaches the saturation point for the life support scrubbers. If we don't, this entire deck is going to become a swamp. Mi'shune, see if you can find the terminal for the moisture collectors—your muscle memory might recognize the interface before I can scan it.
He watched the Commander move. McLaren looked as unnerved as the environment suggested she should be. Alok appreciated the technical clarity of the situation—a ghost in the machine was easier to handle than a ghost in the head. She moved to one of the terminals, tapping a few of the controls. It simply buzzed at her, and didn't seem to change anything.
McLaren: This terminal is locked out too. What about over there, Mishune?
Mi’shune tested several key on the moisture collectors console, chirruping in protest every time.
sh’Sonora: Me three! I’m locked out too.
Sol frowned.
McLaren: This is all wrong... even without officers here to monitor it... the system shouldnt be acting on its own...
Alok knelt by a maintenance access port, his fingers tracing the cool duranium casing. He could feel the vibration of the moisture vaporators working at dangerous levels.
sh'Sonora: Ewwww…. I just warped into the grody sector. ::She pulls the sticky mess off her hand, appraising it with a disgusted eye and antenna.:: Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Whoever was here left their lunch. ::She tossed the sandwich away and wiped her hand on the edge of the console.::
Alok looked at the discarded crusts, then back at Mi'shune. For the first time since the Beau Soleil had tumbled into his reality, he felt the heavy door of his mental discipline finally holding firm without the constant, white-knuckled effort. The monsoon of memory had settled into a manageable background drizzle.
Munshi: ::Offering a small, surprisingly dry smirk as he adjusted a sensor calibration, his voice carrying a hint of genuine human levity:: Your luck with abandoned nutrition is becoming a statistical outlier, Mi'shune. I would suggest using the localized sanitizer in your kit; grape jelly is notoriously difficult to remove from cerulean skin once it sets.
oO The partition is holding. I can breathe. I can notice the room again without having to filter every breath through a mnemonic. The door is shut. Kaihdt. Oo
Munshi: But you are right to be disgusted. The presence of food implies this area was recently occupied, yet the climate data is nearly two decades out of alignment. According to the environmental archives I reviewed upon arrival, the San Francisco district hasn't experienced a storm of this magnitude—or any unprogrammed precipitation—in over twenty-two years. We aren't just looking at a system failure; the computer is quite literally reliving a past that never existed.
McLaren: I also find it hard to believe that there would have been a storm that bad over the San Francisco district at any point in this station's history.
Alok looked up from his tricorder, a genuine flicker of surprise crossing his hazel eyes as he appraised the regressed Ensign. For the first time since the crisis began, the 'mental static' in his head had settled into a manageable hum, no longer requiring his full internal weight to hold the door shut against the past. He could actually breathe, and in that space, he found a bit of his own dry humor returning.
Alok looked up, a genuine flicker of surprise crossing his eyes. He realized he was seeing Mi'shune's training fighting its way through her regression—competence without context. It was a variable he hadn't fully factored in.
Munshi: That is a… remarkably astute assessment, Mi'shune. I am almost tempted to award you extra credit. Logically, a space station shouldn’t possess 'fronts' at all—we have climate-controlled partitions. But since the primary grid is currently suffering from a twenty-year-old bout of atmospheric nostalgia, we are witnessing a spectacular barometric collision. Essentially, the thermal processors are engaging in a high-energy thermodynamic slap-fight, and unless we intervene, the San Francisco district is going to be the first sector in Starfleet history to be officially decommissioned by a textbook-perfect tornado.
Sol frowned again. She ran a hand through her hair, toying with a strand of it for a moment.
McLaren: Ok... first we need to get access to the system... then we can start addressing all of the issues in commercial sector, including the storm, and the heat, and whatever other issue the system is causing.
Munshi: ::He adjusted the sensitivity on his tricorder, the blue glow of the screen reflecting in his focused hazel eyes. The silence of the room was no longer an obstacle, but a baseline he could work from.:: Logic dictates that the central command node would be at the apex of the relay architecture. My scanner is isolating a residual power draw from the primary logic trunk approximately twelve meters to the—
Alok stopped mid-sentence. He noticed Mi’shune’s antennae suddenly twitch and spring upward—a sharp Andorian biological reaction. She wasn't looking at the consoles anymore; she was staring into the darkness of the far alcove, her head tilted as if listening to something beyond the hum of the computers.
Munshi: ::A dry, slightly sarcastic edge entered his voice as he lowered the tricorder:: Ensign? Is there a specific atmospheric anomaly located in that darkened alcove, or have you decided that the 'master control' is best located by staring into the void? I was under the impression we were here to fix the weather, not practice for a career in professional haunting.
sh’Sonora: Hey! You! What are you doing?
Alok stood up, his engineering kit rattling as he followed the Andorian around the corner. He saw a blonde-haired male in an engineering uniform, hunched over the very console they needed. The man stood up, towering over Mi'shune, but the physical threat was immediately undercut by the grape jelly smeared across his mouth.
???: What? I was bored! I thought there were games on these computers but all they got is some dorky weather simulator program. Lame!
sh’Sonora: ::Disgusted:: Ugh, seriously? What do you think you are, like five cycles or something?
???: I’m eight, STUPID!
sh’Sonora: I don’t care if eight is your IQ. Stop messing with the computers or else!
???: Or else what?! You can’t do anything about it! I’m bigger than you!
sh’Sonora: ::Balls up her fist.:: Oh that’s it you little fu…
Alok saw the tension coil in Mi’shune’s shoulders a split second before her arm snapped forward. Even in her regressed state, her Andorian biology was primed for a strike. He moved with a sudden, fluid grace, his hand shot out, his fingers closing firmly but carefully around sh’Sonora’s wrist just as her fist cleared the line of her hip.
He stepped into the narrow gap between them, his presence acting as a physical and mental circuit breaker. The harsh reality of gravity hardened warrior species’ brute strength made Alok regret his choice of jumping in between.
Munshi: ::His voice was dry, carrying slight hidden pain and an edge of weary sarcasm that felt more human than he had permitted himself all day:: While I am certain the structural integrity of this tower would benefit from you knocking some sense into this particular variable, Mi'shune, I believe Starfleet still frowns upon assaulting fellow officers—even if they are currently having a playground dispute over a 'dorky simulator.'
Alok didn't let go of sh’Sonora’s arm immediately, ensuring her cerulean face had faded from its angry flush before he turned his hazel eyes toward the blonde engineer. He looked at the man’s jelly-flecked collar, then back to his petulant expression.
McLaren/sh’Sonora: Response(s)?
Munshi: ::To the blonde engineer, voice smooth:: If you find the simulator 'lame,' perhaps you’d prefer a real challenge. We are trying to find the 'Master Game' hidden behind these lockouts. It requires biometric authorization from someone with your specific rank. If you help us win, I might be able to find where the rest of the peanut butter is hidden.
McLaren: Response(s)?
He looked back at Mi'shune, offering a very small, almost imperceptible tilt of his head—a signal of solidarity.
Munshi: Logic suggests that hitting him will only result in a louder noise, not a cleared system. Let’s try to use the... unique perspective... to our advantage.
Mi’shune: Response(s)?
???: Response(s)?
Mi’shune/Mclaren: Response(s)?
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Ensign
Alok Munshi
Engineering Officer
StarBase 118 Ops
A240204AM1