Ensign Alok Munshi - The Atmospheric Variable

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Alok Munshi

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Mar 1, 2026, 2:16:01 AM (3 days ago) Mar 1

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The air in the shuttle bay was heavy with the smell of scorched duranium and the sharp tang of fire suppressant. Alok’s tricorder was chirping with a frantic, oscillating rhythm that felt like a needle-prick against his thumb. To anyone else, it was just noise. To Alok, it was a data stream confirming his worst fear: the "mental static" vibrating in his own skull wasn't a natural phenomenon. It was an engineering problem.

oO Thakaya. Focus on the carrier wave. The heat on my neck is environmental, not a memory of the Astraeus. Kaihdt. What is, is. Oo

Munshi: Commander, the "boom" Mrs. Vanderly reported wasn't a structural failure.

He adjusted the sensor sweep, narrowing the aperture to isolate the cargo hold of the Beau Soleil.

Munshi: It’s a localized chronometric distortion. This might be what is affecting the station... it didn't just start here. It was delivered.

McLaren: Delivered?

Alok looked up as Mrs. Vanderly stepped clear of the medical team.

Vanderly: Well I can tell you that the boom came first - shook the shuttle, flashed the lights, all that fun stuff, and then a few moments later, that poor pilot stumbled out of the cockpit looking ‘bout as pleased as a tickled cave sloth. Had to be tucked in with a lullaby to calm him down.

sh’Sonora: Been there. I thought I was getting my learner’s permit. Next thing you know the cockpit changed and I smack into a Starbase. Poor kid though, that’s gotta be way more traumatizing.

Alok felt a sharp pang of dissonance. It was one thing to process technical data; it was another to watch a fellow officer—someone he knew was a veteran pilot—refer to herself as a student. He quickly looked back at his tricorder, the scrolling green text a safer reality than the sight of Mi'shune's drooping antennae.

McLaren: I dont see anything out of the ordinary.

Vanderly: If ya’ll have the information you need from me, I’ll get out of your hair. Commander, I’ll have that case of brandy sent along and the two of you… ya’ll old enough to drink?

Alok stiffened, his face heating up—a very human reaction that his Vulcan training could only dampen, not delete. He felt the weight of his uniform, suddenly acutely aware of how young he likely appeared to the proprietress.

Munshi: ::with a faint, awkward cleared throat:: I am of legal age, ma'am, though I suspect ethanol consumption would… complicate my current task. Thank you.

sh'Sonora: Mmmmm… I’m technically legal… but… sure, why not? I promise to enjoy it responsibly.

Vanderly: Well I’ll send you something too, don’t you worry. And if ya’ll ever end up on Alvania, Vanderly Distilleries’ll have a drink waiting for you, on my word.

McLaren: I appreciate that, Mrs. Vanderly. :: She turned her attention to Alok as the other woman moved away. :: What could cause such a distortion?

sh’Sonora: Beats me, I only got a B+ in quantum physics… is that the one we need to solve this?

oO A failing power core. A chronometric echo. The data is clear, but the 'delivered' variable suggests intent. I want to stay. I want to pull that shuttle apart and find the truth. But life support is failing. Kaihdt. What is, is. Oo

Munshi: It’s a subspace carrier wave, Commander. Very high frequency, likely originating from an unstable, non-standard power cell. If the pulse is leaking into the station’s grid, it could be acting like a recursive loop in the neural pathways of anyone nearby. I can perform a deeper scan once we return, but...

As Alok finished his explanation, McLaren’s commbadge chirped—a loud, demanding sound that seemed to cut right through the tension of the bay.

McLaren: Then maybe we should start tracking it down... the station is a large search area.

Alok quietly tried to analyse the stations current condition by calmly listening to the exchange between the Commander, Acting Chief Petty Officer and Mi’shune.

McLaren: Well looks like the chronometric distortion will have to wait... sounds like the weather systems in the Commercial Sector are our priority now.

sh’Sonora: Yeah, I can do basic repairs! Just don’t ask me to swap out a MA/AM reactor core.

Munshi: ::Wiping his tricorder screen, his voice steady despite the adrenaline:: Understood, Commander. Logic dictates that the environmental grid takes priority over forensic intelligence. If the climate controls are failing, we’re looking at a station-wide life-support crisis.

Sol gestured toward the exit, and the corridors beyond.

McLaren: We can take one of the stations site to site transports... theres a station not far. Be quicker than the turbo lift. Get us closer to weather control as well.

sh’Sonora: ::salutes, rather sloppily:: You got it, Missus Star… Commander McLaren ma’am.

Sol grinned nodding.

Munshi: I’ll coordinate with the Hub's quartermaster on the move. We’re going to need more than just standard welding kits if the moisture vaporators have regressed to their baseline states.

McLaren: Grab an engineering kit and whatever tools you think might be useful...

Mi’shune knew toolkits! Toolkits for cars, for snowmobiles, for atmospheric flyers, and for shuttlecraft…

sh’Sonora: ::She dashes over to the equipment locker and pulls out two toolkits, handing one to Munshi.:: I know I’m not exactly a fully trained officer, but I’ll do what I can. Besides, I like… ::she appears crestfallen:: …have no place to go and I don’t know what I’m doing. I could use a crew to ride with right now.

Munshi: ::Accepting the kit, his hazel eyes offering a brief, grounding look of recognition:: You did a lot today, Mi'shune. That wasn't just training; it was competence. You're already part of this crew. Stay focused on the technical variables, and the 'where' will take care of itself.

sh’Sonora: ::tucks the toolbox under her arm and claps her hands together, her antennae mimicking the motion:: Well, thavan always says disasters don’t ask politely. Best be about it!

Sol nodded, gesturing for the both of them to follow.

McLaren: Sounds like a smart individual.

Sol headed out into the corridors and took a left headed only a short distance away fromt he shuttlebay to the nearests transport station. Because the station was so large, turbolifts could take many minutes to traverse large distances, so the station had site to site transporter stations dotted through out it, allowing crew to transport closer to their destinations. It reaqlly saved time when needed to traverse the station. As they entered the transporter room, Sol was relieved to see the transporter operator seemed to be coherent.

McLaren: Trinity City.

The crewman nodded, and gestured to the pad as he set the coordinates. Sol stepped up and waited for the pair following her to step up as well. She nodded the transporter operator once everyone was on the pad. It took only a few second for the transporter to activate, but the smell and slight taste of ionization was very familiar to her as they were all whisked away to Trinity City.

((Trinity City - Commercial Sector - StarBase 118))

The transition through the site-to-site transporter was a jarring flash of white that Alok fought to keep from becoming a memory of Astraeus. When he stepped out, the heat hit him like a physical blow. It was sweltering—a dry, oppressive weight that made the air feel thick and dusty.

McLaren: That's the central weather control tower. Something must be going on in there...

Alok wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. His hazel eyes scanned the sky above the "San Francisco" buildings. Dark, heavy clouds were churning in a pattern that defied standard meteorological modeling for a space station.

sh'Sonora: ::Pants, her antennae sagging as sweat drips down her face.:: Gods, it’s hotter than a Mugato’s taint out here. ::She fans her face with her toolbox.::

Munshi: ::Adjusting his grip on the heavy engineering kit:: The humidity is climbing at a rate of 1.2 percent per second. If the moisture vaporators don't cycle down soon, we won't just be dealing with heat; we'll be dealing with a localized flash flood.

They jogged toward the tower, dodging civilians who were looking at the sky in a mix of awe and terror. The lobby was a brief, air-conditioned relief, but the silence inside was wrong. At the far end, two security officers were fruitlessly slapping at a lift control panel.

McLaren: Well... I think our first problem is going to be getting up to the control room... Looks like the lift might be out of the question.

sh’Sonora: I nearly got heat stroke out there, Commander McLaren ma’am. There’s gotta be some way to override the lift.

oO The heat is becoming a physical weight. 2387 security protocols. Logic suggests a physical override, but the sweat in my eyes is making the coordinates blur. Stay centered. Thakaya. Oo

Munshi: It isn't just "out of the question," Commander—it’s locked in a legacy feedback loop. The computer thinks it’s still the year 2387. It won't recognize our current authorization because, according to its internal clock, we haven't been commissioned yet.

Alok moved toward the elevators, but Mi'shune was already ahead of him. She reached into her kit, pulling out a hyperspanner and a flat-edged tool with a grin that was far too youthful for the situation.

sh’Sonora: Taaaa-da! Alright, let’s jerry-rig this…

The access panel popped open, revealing a dense nest of duotronics and optical relays. Mi'shune peered inside, her antennae twitching in confusion. The confident grin faltered.

sh’Sonora: ::looking back to her companions and giggling sheepishly:: …on second thought, maybe someone else can have a look at this?

Alok stepped forward, offering a small, reassuring nod to the regressed pilot. He could see her frustration—the muscle memory was there, but the technical knowledge was gone.

Munshi: You found the right access point, Mi'shune. That is fifty percent of the solution.

He leaned into the panel, his fingers moving with a rhythmic precision. He bypassed the legacy security lockout, his tricorder chirping as he re-routed the lift's logic core.

Munshi: The computer thinks this is 2387. I’ve updated its temporal baseline. The system is now... aware of our presence.

The screen on the lift flickered from a red warning to a friendly, functional amber.

McLaren: Response(s)?

oO Ambient temperature: 21 degrees Celsius. Efficiency returning to baseline. My heart rate is still elevated—a biological variable I must compensate for. Thakaya. Oo

As the lift hummed upward, Munshi felt the weight of Mi’shune’s gaze. She was relying on them—on the Commander and him—with a silent, wide-eyed intensity that felt heavier than the engineering kit in his hand. It was an uncomfortable variable to integrate; only hours ago, she had been a seasoned pilot, and now, he was her colleague in a reality she didn't recognize.

By the time the lift slowed to a halt, the oppressive heat of the district had finally been scrubbed from his skin. The doors hissed open to disgorge them onto the operations floor, and Alok stepped out first, boots echoing with a lonely, metallic thud on the deck.

The architecture of the corridor was a perfect match for the lobby downstairs, but the lighting had been switched to a deep, after-hours dimness. It wasn't the peaceful quiet of a graveyard shift; it was the expectant, hollow silence of a system that had forgotten its purpose.

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.

oO It’s too quiet here. In a functioning tower, you can hear the hum of the moisture vaporators. Here, all I hear is the silence of a system that has forgotten its purpose. Stay in the now. Oo

Munshi: 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.

McLaren/sh’Sonora: Response(s)?

((OOC: Ig this brings my character up to speed. Sorry for the delay, the week has been quite unprecedented and therefore i couldn' t put out any sims. But the good news is, my exams are over so now I can be almost regular. Thank you for bearing with me!😁))

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