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OPEN: Canon-Compliant
Scenario #1: Your Universe...
There is an old Russian saying: nothing in life is certain but death and taxes.
This is an outdated saying, of course, because the United Federation of Planets does not tax its citizens, so Lieutenant Pavel Andreievich Chekov much prefers his own version: Nothing is certain in life but death and Enterprise missions going horribly awry.
Today's proof: what began as a relatively simple negotiation on the Antaran homeworld has deteriorated rather rapidly. Because the universe is never satisfied with a single mishap, negotiations devolved into running away from angry Antarans mere moments before the Enterprise reported an oncoming ion storm. Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Uhura had beamed safely aboard before electromagnetic interference from the storm had a chance to destabilize the transporter's lock-on.
Chekov, however, is not so fortunate.
The tingle and glow of the transporter's initial phase dissipates around him, torn apart by the rising wind. Chekov is fast, but the hostile Antarans are gaining rapidly.
"Scotty," he hisses into his crackling comm, "now would be good!"
He can almost make out Chief Engineer Scott's voice in the answering static. "...stay ... try--"
"Try harder, please!"
Perhaps Scotty hears him because, just as the Antarans come into view, the telltale glow of the transporter envelopes the Russian. It seems that death, inevitable though it is, won't be coming for him today.
He rethinks this once his surroundings solidify around him. Instead of the Enterprise's transporter room, he's in a wholly unfamiliar place. "Derr'mo..."
Scenario #2: ...Or Mine?
Starbase 17, operating under Starfleet but staffed largely by civilian scientists, is the Enterprise's first return to charted space since leaving on its five-year mission. It also happens to be located near a hotbed of anomalous subspace activity, the discovery of which had prompted the starbase's creation nearly a hundred years ago. Ruptures, distortions, fractures -- the space surrounding the outpost has it all and, more recently, the anomalies have been appearing in the base itself.
This was the primary reason for Captain Kirk's detour into Federation space: provide support for Starbase 17's scientists as they investigate the increased activity. Most of the Enterprise's crew is treating the stopover as a vacation, making the most of the starbase's (somewhat limited, as its design is old and less spacious than more modern bases) recreational facilities. For the science officers aboard, however, it is another mission.
Pavel Andreievich Chekov is not technically a science officer, but Commander Spock has recruited him regardless. "Being a well-rounded genius can be such a burden," he opines to the computer before him as he scans through the local scientists' most recent reports.
The computer does not respond. No one else does either; the local scientists have retired for the evening, and Commander Spock had seen no sense in sending more than one (extremely capable, thank you) officer to search the base's archives.
Chekov sighs and pushes away from the computer console. He loves his work and no one appreciates a good subspace anomaly like he does, but a drink and a conversation with someone who doesn't live on the Enterprise would be very welcome right now.
"I would at least like to see an anomaly for myself," the Russian tells the empty room.
As if in answer, the air on the other side of the room begins to crackle with an unusual energy. White-blue sparks spring into being and dance in mid-air, forming a thin horizontal line.
Chekov immediately reaches for his tricorder, only to remember that he didn't bring it with him. He grabs his holstered phaser instead. With the utmost caution -- anomalies can be very dangerous, and what can potentially come out of them can be more hazardous still -- the Russian approaches the growing anomaly.
There is an old Russian saying: nothing in life is certain but death and taxes.
This is an outdated saying, of course, because the United Federation of Planets does not tax its citizens, so Lieutenant Pavel Andreievich Chekov much prefers his own version: Nothing is certain in life but death and Enterprise missions going horribly awry.
Today's proof: what began as a relatively simple negotiation on the Antaran homeworld has deteriorated rather rapidly. Because the universe is never satisfied with a single mishap, negotiations devolved into running away from angry Antarans mere moments before the Enterprise reported an oncoming ion storm. Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Uhura had beamed safely aboard before electromagnetic interference from the storm had a chance to destabilize the transporter's lock-on.
Chekov, however, is not so fortunate.
The tingle and glow of the transporter's initial phase dissipates around him, torn apart by the rising wind. Chekov is fast, but the hostile Antarans are gaining rapidly.
"Scotty," he hisses into his crackling comm, "now would be good!"
He can almost make out Chief Engineer Scott's voice in the answering static. "...stay ... try--"
"Try harder, please!"
Perhaps Scotty hears him because, just as the Antarans come into view, the telltale glow of the transporter envelopes the Russian. It seems that death, inevitable though it is, won't be coming for him today.
He rethinks this once his surroundings solidify around him. Instead of the Enterprise's transporter room, he's in a wholly unfamiliar place. "Derr'mo..."
Scenario #2: ...Or Mine?
Starbase 17, operating under Starfleet but staffed largely by civilian scientists, is the Enterprise's first return to charted space since leaving on its five-year mission. It also happens to be located near a hotbed of anomalous subspace activity, the discovery of which had prompted the starbase's creation nearly a hundred years ago. Ruptures, distortions, fractures -- the space surrounding the outpost has it all and, more recently, the anomalies have been appearing in the base itself.
This was the primary reason for Captain Kirk's detour into Federation space: provide support for Starbase 17's scientists as they investigate the increased activity. Most of the Enterprise's crew is treating the stopover as a vacation, making the most of the starbase's (somewhat limited, as its design is old and less spacious than more modern bases) recreational facilities. For the science officers aboard, however, it is another mission.
Pavel Andreievich Chekov is not technically a science officer, but Commander Spock has recruited him regardless. "Being a well-rounded genius can be such a burden," he opines to the computer before him as he scans through the local scientists' most recent reports.
The computer does not respond. No one else does either; the local scientists have retired for the evening, and Commander Spock had seen no sense in sending more than one (extremely capable, thank you) officer to search the base's archives.
Chekov sighs and pushes away from the computer console. He loves his work and no one appreciates a good subspace anomaly like he does, but a drink and a conversation with someone who doesn't live on the Enterprise would be very welcome right now.
"I would at least like to see an anomaly for myself," the Russian tells the empty room.
As if in answer, the air on the other side of the room begins to crackle with an unusual energy. White-blue sparks spring into being and dance in mid-air, forming a thin horizontal line.
Chekov immediately reaches for his tricorder, only to remember that he didn't bring it with him. He grabs his holstered phaser instead. With the utmost caution -- anomalies can be very dangerous, and what can potentially come out of them can be more hazardous still -- the Russian approaches the growing anomaly.
sigh, these icons will just have to do
Instead, the gate closes between them, trapping Orion with the monsters that had killed her father before she'd even been born, himself a young romantic teenager with delusions of heroism. She collapses to the ground, sobbing and vomiting and pounding her fists, so lost in her pain she doesn't notice the emptiness from her power sharer or the fact this is not where the gate was supposed to take her.
Even without the screaming, vomiting and sobbing, El would have presented an alarming picture: a extremely malnourished teenager with badly cut hair, a threadbare New York City t-shirt and ill-fitting cargo pants who was carrying a stunningly gorgeous purple wood backpack, just large enough to cradle a single book, with an elaborate silver inlay. More than that, there was simply an energy about her that made people uneasy -- her best friend described it as "feeling like it's going to rain and you don't have your umbrella". Few people were brave enough to get close to her when she was in a good mood ... the way she is right now? Most people would go running.
new journals are hard, man
Now is when Chekov ought to place some calls -- first to the starbase's security staff, then to Commander Spock -- but both of those parties, he thinks, would be very frightening to someone who is not expecting them. Security would also take the girl directly to the brig, as is protocol in such situations. Surely no one would fault him for wanting to assess the situation first...
He quietly reholsters his phaser and takes a few steps closer to the girl, hands empty and readily visible. She looks unwell -- an underfed, undergroomed sort of unwell that Chekov seldom encounters -- and the violent screaming and crying are making it difficult to determine if she has any injuries that need to be seen to right away. The Russian is entirely oblivious to any unusual energy that might surround her; he only sees a ragged girl who has clearly experienced something terrible.
"Miss?" he ventures in Standard, still a few meters away from her.
Just behind her, a sanitation bot whirs to life and detaches from the wall. Contaminant detected, it says in a flat, feminine voice. Sanitation protocol activated.
they really are
This isn't where the gate was supposed to take her -- and her mother is nowhere to be seen. When you think there's nothing left to break, the universe accepts the challenge.
El pushes herself to her feet, refusing to wobble or show any signs of weakness. Her eyes dart about the room, trying to piece together any clues. She can't place the young man's accent with just one word, but it was an English word, and the robot had also spoken English, with a clearly definable American accent. Could this be New York? Had the gate messed up and sent her to Orion's enclave? That would be a nightmare. Hi Dominus Lake, my name's Galadriel. I'm the girl who destroyed the Scholomance and killed your son.
She coughs, her mouth sticky from dehydration. Please let this not be the New York enclave.
"Where am I?" Her accent is clearly Welsh, but colored by the years she's spent living in close quarters with students from around the globe.
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The girl speaks Standard, which means she must be from somewhere within the Federation. That's promising. Traveling through a subspace anomaly is an inherently alarming experience, but hopefully it will be less alarming if she's not so far from home.
Chekov takes a few steps closer. "Starbase 17, in the vicinity of the Caldik system." No, that's not helpful. If she's a civilian who doesn't study Federation star charts for fun, that information will mean absolutely nothing. "We are on the outskirts of the Alpha Quadrant, in Federation Space. A very long way from New York City," he adds, nodding to her t-shirt.
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Not that it matters, because the real question is: how did the gate go SO WRONG? It was one thing for it to send her to Orion’s place, given he’s the one who shoved her through; there’s no rational explanation she can think of for the gate to send her to outer space. Or maybe there is? Her specialty is magic of mass destruction, not transportation.
A dawning horror creeps over her as she registers the lack of magical energy around her. Even if she did know anything about transportation magic, it wouldn’t do her any good, because the young man is clearly mundane. She won’t be able to do any kind of magic around people who don’t believe it’s real.
She doesn’t notice her legs giving out or her world going black as she passes out.
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Pavel pauses a moment, contemplating the most appropriate course of action. He really should call in security and a superior officer, but that would lead to the girl being confined to the brig (unless Commander Spock opts to disregard protocol, which seems unlikely at best). She's ill and clearly not an immediate threat, so how can he, in good conscience, leave her to that?
It's just past 23:00; nearly everyone on Starbase 17 and the skeleton crew that remains on the Enterprise will be asleep, in their quarters, or at the starbase's bar. It should be entirely possible to go from the starbase's archives to the Enterprise's medbay without being seen. There are other issues to consider once they're on the Enterprise, but at least they will be among friends who are less likely to throw ill visitors in the brig than Starbase 17's staff might be.
Chekov returns to the computer just long enough to put the starbase's hallway cameras on loop for the next five minutes (making a mental note, of course, to contact Starbase 17's command staff to suggest an upgrade to their internal security system) and log out. That done, he approaches the unconscious girl. It seems highly inappropriate to carry her to the ship without her express permission -- would that be considered abduction? yes, he thinks it would -- but his options are severely limited.
Better to ask for forgiveness later than permission now, Captain Kirk has been known to say. Even though he usually says this immediately before doing something stupid, it sounds like fine advice in this circumstance.
Mind made up, Chekov carefully picks the girl up off the floor. She's almost startlingly light, which is fortunate for this ill-conceived plan of Pavel's. He can only hope that she either remains unconscious until they're off the starbase or, if she wakes, doesn't mind that she's being bridal-carried by a stranger.
Chekov and his abductee exit the archives and make their way through the quiet halls of Starbase 17. Security does a sweep on the hour, he remembers, so they won't pose a problem. They're much more likely to come across an Enterprise crew member returning to their quarters, and Pavel is almost certain that he can talk most of his peers into helping him. Maybe. Probably.
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I love you, have courage, her mother's note, written on a tiny scrap of onion skin, had said, but El has already used up every last scrap of courage she'd had. Spite and hope had carried her through those hellish years at the Scholomance, but spite alone wouldn't be enough to fight back the tidal waves of grief and despair.
She really should have listened when her mom said to stay far away from Orion Lake.
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The girl stirs occasionally, but does not fully wake.
When they enter medbay, the blonde woman on duty (and, in another stroke of good fortune, the only person present) looks up from her datapad at the woosh of the automatic doors. Her blue eyes widen at the rather unexpected sight of the Enterprise's head navigator carrying a bedraggled-looking young woman.
"I can explain, I promise," Chekov says before Lieutenant Commander Chapel can formulate a sentence. Pavel has known Christine Chapel since his first year at the Academy; he sincerely hopes that their long acquaintance will deter her from summoning the Chief Medical Officer. Doctor McCoy would undoubtedly call Kirk, and Chekov simply can't deal with both of them immediately after committing at least two crimes.
"I'm sure you can," Chapel replies dryly, waving Chekov and his unconscious guest to the nearest bed. Pavel places the girl on the indicated bed and Chapel immediately checks her vitals by hand. "Well? Start explaining, lieutenant."
"Ah, well..." Chekov pauses, trying to assemble a story that sounds better than she came through an anomaly, threw up, fainted, and then I brought her here. "I was on Starbase 17."
"Yes?"
"I was in the archives on Commander Spock's orders..."
"Mmhm."
"...And an anomaly manifested and she came out of it."
Satisfied that her new patient isn't in immediate danger of dying, Chapel boots up the bed for a full scan and preps a rehydrating hypospray for the young woman. No surprise registers on her face. "Did she say anything?"
"She asked me where she was, and then she fainted after I answered." Chekov shifts nervously. "She has said nothing since."
Chapel administers the hypospray. The bed hums as it runs though its diagnostic program. "She fainted on Starbase 17?"
Chekov nods. "Yes, in the archive room. I brought her here."
"That was certainly a choice." Fortunately for Chekov, Chapel is too busy reading and recording the girl's diagnosis to examine the wisdom of that choice too closely. "Have a seat, Pavel, but don't leave medbay. Once this young woman's stable, we're going to have a talk."
"Yes, sir." Chekov is immensely relieved -- partly because Chapel didn't mention calling Doctor McCoy or the Captain, partly because the girl doesn't seem to be in a terrible physical state. Surely Chapel would tell him if he'd brought her someone who was actively dying. The Russian takes a seat off to one side (sufficiently out of Chapel's way, but close enough to see the girl just in case she wakes up) and begins composing a report in his head.
I promise she’ll wake up next tag
Worse still is the wound in her gut, made by something shiv-like. It’s been almost a year since she was stabbed, so it’s mostly healed, but it will be clear to Chapel that the injury never received proper medical care.
El would hate to know just how much of her story her body tells. The idea of being pitied repulses her, particularly by those who cannot possibly understand how the Scholomance was as much salvation as it was hell.
She stirs slightly, almost on the brink of consciousness, but her exhausted body is loathe to stop resting.
look, she clearly needs the rest
"She's in good shape," Chapel announces for Chekov's benefit as she completes her report and readies another hypospray. "With a few weeks of regular sleep and decent food, she'll be as healthy as you or me." Aside from the old gut wound, but that's a difficult fix. Poorly-healed injuries need to be reopened in order to heal properly.
Chekov lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Thank you, Chris -- er, Lieutenant Commander Chapel."
"Don't thank me just yet," she replies with a wry smile. Chapel administers the second hypospray, which contains a standard vaccine and a nutrient boost. That'll be enough to help the girl's body defend itself against any unfamiliar germs it encounters. "I have some more questions for you... and a report to file with my superior."
Chekov's face falls, but he nods. "Would you allow me to send my report to the captain before you file yours?"
"Of course." Chapel offers Chekov a spare datapad and a conspiratorial glance. "Do you have a story that you need me to corroborate, lieutenant?"
"No story," he sighs, rubbing his suddenly-tired eyes with the back of a hand. With all of the evening's excitement, if was easy to forget that he had been working well into his sleep cycle. "I will tell the captain what I told you."
"With some additional details, I hope."
Chekov smiles. "Yes, I will be sure to include all of the incriminating details that I withheld from you."
"Good idea," Chapel replies, hoping, for Chekov's sake, that there aren't too many of those. She drapes a thin blanket over the girl and checks her vitals a final time. It's tempting to give her a mild sedative to ensure that her body gets the rest it needs, but they do need to get her side of the story. A name would also be helpful.
very true
And then promptly nips her earlobe.
El screams as she jerks awake, clutching her abused ear -- yet making sure at the same time that she doesn't accidentally hurt Precious.
"What the hell was that for?!" she asks peevishly, before becoming aware of three things:
* This is the most well-rested she has ever felt in her entire life.
* She has absolutely no idea where she is.
* The strange boy who told her she was in space has company.
"Oh bloody hell."
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Chekov jumps to his feet, sending his borrowed datapad clattering to the hard floor in the process. It's a bit of an overreaction, but in his defense, he has been having a very strange evening and his nerves are somewhat frayed. When it becomes clear that nothing terrible is happening, he sheepishly retrieves the pad and sits back down. As much as he would like to try talking to the girl again, he's quite aware that Chapel is better equipped to deal with this than he is. He'd already made her faint once, after all.
Chapel sets her own report aside (calmly -- it takes more than a little screaming to surprise her) and approaches the girl. The mouse gets a small frown, but as it seems to be with their guest, she doesn't make a move to escort it out. "Hello to you too," she says evenly, as if oh bloody hell is what all patients say when they wake up in medbay. "There's no need to be alarmed," Chapel continues, shooting a glance at Chekov since he apparently needs to hear that as well. "This is a medical facility. You're safe here."
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"How did I get here?" she asks -- with remarkable calm, all things considered. She frowns at Precious, who's trying to direct her attention somewhere ... the boy's uniform? Not right now! she thinks, even though there's no reason to believe that Precious is psychic. I can admire the uniforms later! Though there is something kind of familiar about them...
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Chekov takes it upon himself to share the rest of the story, brief as it is. "You came out of a subspace anomaly that appeared spontaneously on Starbase 17. I'm sorry, I don't know the exact nature of the anomaly." She fainted the last time he gave her a blunt answer, didn't she? He quickly adds, "But that does not mean that you will be unable to return home! I'm certain that we will find a way to send you back."
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“Do you often get people coming through spontaneous subspace anomalies?” she asks … and okay, her voice is a little more peevish than necessary, but she’s been through a lot.
Frustrated with the girl’s lack of attention, Precious climbs up into El’s hair and YANKS, pulling El’s head to look directly at Mr. Chekov. And — finally - El recognizes what her familiar has been frantically pointing out.
His Starfleet insignia.
She’s in the freaking Star Trek universe.
Well, Mom, looks like your stoner quantum philosopher friend was right. Fictional universes ARE real. She isn’t particularly bothered by the implication that her own world might be fictional as well — it’s real enough for her — but she does wish her mother had let her go see the new Star Trek movies so she’d know what to expect from this new world. This man is clearly not Walter Koenig.
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He glances at the rodent in her hair. Animals aren't typically allowed onboard, particularly not in medbay; he's reluctant to mention it on the off chance that Chapel will be reminded of it and take it away.
As things are, Chapel has other things she's more concerned about. "I'm Dr. Chapel, and I'd like to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?"
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She reluctantly turns her attention to Dr. Chapel. “What kind of questions?” she asks.
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"I'd like to know your name, for instance. And your mouse's name, too." Chapel picks her datapad back up and takes a seat in a low stool by the girl's biobed. "Would you be more comfortable if I had Mr. Chekov leave?"
Mr. Chekov is a little put out by this offer, but Chapel knows best.
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"El," she answers awkwardly. "And this is Precious."
It's...really weird, having to introduce herself to people. Since entering the Scholomance, everyone's already known her name -- and wanted nothing to do with her. The fact that neither Mr. Chekov nor Dr. Chapel seem to register the negative energy that's driven most people away her entire life is also surprisingly uncomfortable, like walking into a different branch of a chain grocery store.
She needs time to think. Not just to process everything that's happened, but to figure out her next course of action so she can act and not just react. But she can't just ask to be left alone or for access to a library or a computer or something, not while the doctor is clearly trying to determine whether she represents a threat to their starbase.
Since El's never been an actor, she settles for just answering Dr. Chapel's questions with as little information as possible and hoping the woman leaves soon.
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Chapel nods and notes the girl's name (and the mouse's, for completion's sake). She's pleased that El is remaining calm and willing to communicate, but she's going to try to keep this as brief as possible. The girl seems reluctant to speak to her. Some peace and quiet might do her some good.
And, to be honest, Chapel wants to cut the interview short for her own sake. Something about El unnerves her.
"Thank you, El," Chapel says pleasantly. "I just have one more question: where and when are you from?"
this is all canonicaly accurate but i promise she's not an angst muffin in the books lmao
"Er...2021, Wales...Earth?"
An irrational panic began building in her chest. Technically speaking, the Scholomance didn't exist on Earth -- it occupied a void only loosely connected to the U.K., so that it would be more difficult for mals to break into the school and attack the vulnerable children. But it's not like she was born in the void. And it's not like she's bothered by the concept of the void; she'd slept next to an opening into the abyss for four years. There's absolutely no reason for this question to trigger a panic attack, except she can hear her mother saying Our bodies aren't rational, love and Sometimes people fall apart because it's finally safe enough to let go.
I love you, have courage, and stay far away from Orion Lake.
She chokes, almost bruising her throat as she stifled a sob. She wants to scream so loudly the universe puts itself to rights just to shut her up. She wants to tear a hole through the fabric of reality until she feels her mother's arms around her. She wants to kick Orion in the nuts so hard it rewinds time and he never pushes her through that damn gate.
And of course, because she's Galadriel, "all shall love me and despair," prophesized to a fate so heinous her devoutly non-violent extended family thought about killing her ... she doesn't come across as sad or vulnerable or in any way sympathetic. She looks like she's ready to blow up a planet.
it's been a rough day!
"Thank you," Chapel responds, already taking a few steps back. "You've had a long night. You can rest here until the captain is prepared to meet you. There's a shower room behind the door to your right, along with a clothing dispenser." And with that, Chapel excuses herself to a desk on the other side of the medbay. She has a good view of the entire room, as well as both exits, from that vantage point; El won't be able to go anywhere undetected.
Chapel hasn't forgotten about medbay's other occupant in her haste to put some distance between herself and El. "Mr Chekov, you may finish your report here or in your quarters. If you choose your quarters, I'd advise you to stay there until you're called."
"Yes sir," Chekov answers, getting to his feet. He looks from El to Chapel, somewhat perplexed by Chapel's behavior. The girl seems angry, yes, but it's not like the doctor to walk away from a patient, especially one who is experiencing some kind of emotional turmoil. He cautiously approaches El.
"The technology here is likely not what you are used to," he says. She'll likely be able to figure out the shower and the dispenser -- medbay has a traditional water shower, and the clothing dispenser is a simple touchscreen menu -- but it's bound to be a little strange for her. "Would you like me to show you how the facilities are operated? Or, ah... if you want to know more about where you are, there is a very good library that you can access from any pad."
Chekov sets the datapad down on the chair that Chapel had previously occupied (he already opened a guest account for El while he was pretending to work on his report, in the off chance that she'd want to use the device herself) and then steps back awkwardly. Chekov feels responsible for the girl -- he is, after all, the reason she's here and not secured in Starbase 17's brig -- and he'd like to make sure she's comfortable before heading to his quarters, but he also doesn't want to make her angrier.
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“Thanks,” she says, reaching for the pad. She’s never used a tablet before, but she’ll figure it out. She has to.
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Chekov waves to both Chapel and El and retreats to his quarters, wondering the whole way if he has made a very dire mistake.
[ooc: Part II!]