Star Trek Sim/ Star Trek RPG
USS Eagle, NCC 2185
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Title: First Sight
Setting: Small Personal Transport Vessel
Time: 2275 ( about twenty years ago)
A small personal transport vessel drops out of warp near a trinary system. Its destination -- the second of six planets.
"Here it is, the 40 Eridani system, just 16.5 light years from home. A mere fraction of the distance we just journeyed from our last assignment," announces the male copilot.
The woman pilot answers firmly, "It was that rabbit chase that got us this one."
"True, . . . My turn," the copilot replies. "I know how you can't resist making landings, er, more interesting than they need to be. "
"Very funny," Dr. Woo comments and reluctantly taps on the controls transferring them over to her husband. Sure, she liked to make landings more interesting, but was it her fault if her husband and the others had such weak stomachs? If this were not Vulcan she would have most likely kept the controls, but she didn't trust herself to resist a more fun arrival in front of their welcoming committee. She always found spicing up a boring old landing compelling for some odd reason, but did at lease recognize that it wasn't always appropriate.
Dr. Kematsopoulos holds back a grin and takes charge. His staff will not only thank him for this later, but pay him handsomely on the bet they had going.
He flips a switch on the intercom and says in an overly sunny voice, "Kir-Alep, Kal-Apton, Tel-Alep, Valdena, and . . . Vulcan our destination with a nice," he pauses to check the instrument panel, "temperature of 100 in the shade, . . . if there was shade, . . . so that makes it 155 for Shi'Kahr."
Dr. Woo winces and thinks, ~~Oh please, oh please, don't say ... ~~
". . . just remember it's a dry heat, " he continues.
She gently punches her husband, unable to remember how many times he or someone on their staff had cracked that joke.
Dr. Kematsopoulos taps the console and begins his descent to the planet, his approach flawless and smooth as the body of water that was coming into view.
"Coming up, the Voroth Sea and L-langdon Mountains on the main view screen," punching the viewer's button.
"Chook chook!" Dr. Woo yells at high speed in Cantonese at her son over the intercom. "Fie dee . . . we must make a good impression," again in Cantonese until she catches herself and switches to Vulcan. "The Vulcans are a very formal and punctual race," Dr. Woo admonishes to no one. The intended recipient of her instructions, her son, is busy in one of his mechanical diversions again and doesn't hear her. He disabled the comm to the room he was in hours ago to make sure he was not interrupted. Well, that and he was sick of listening to the Vulcan poetry and opera that his mother had piped in over the intercom. Young Nouristao wasn't sure which was worse sounding, Klingon or Vulcan opera. Klingon opera he thought was better over all since it had more fight scenes.
"Where is your son???" Dr. Woo says to the boy's father.
"Your son, is mostly likely lost reading about some war, playing starship captain, or trying to put something back together he took apart before we notice -- or need it," Dr. Demetrious Kematsopoulos replies wryly.
He remembers for an instant that the last thing his bored son took apart to amuse himself ended up being the waste reclamation system and cost them five days behind schedule not to mention the incalculable cost on the olfactory senses as the smell was quite, er, unique.
~~Oh Theos,~~ Demetrious thought to himself. ~~I hope whatever it is doesn't smell bad. The Vulcans have very sensitive noses.~~
"Nouri!" he shouts, wondering why it always felt better to shout than turn up the volume on the intercoms.
"Nouristao Kematsopoulos!" the mother yells using his full name. Lucky for the child, his parents didn't give him a middle name so that he'd have three unpronounceable names.
"Don't be so hard on him, he's a lot like you ... smart, stubborn, linguistically gifted, ... strong stomach, ... and not very punctual," he says landing the craft with a precision and elegance that would certainly aesthetically and technically please the Vulcans and not raise any eyebrows.
"bochmoHwI' (Flatterer)," she replies, deliberately switching to Klingon and using the term in the pejorative sense.
"Flatterer," he switches to Romulan for this one word, transforming the interpretation to one with of a courtship tone as he removes tenderly a strand of her black hair from her face. She blushes.
"He'll come out eventually . . . for food if nothing else," the father jokes, tucking the strand behind her ear. Demetrious was finally understanding that his boy had no interest in old artifacts and things that didn't move anymore and found his parents' profession quite boring and had turned to taking things apart and sometimes even putting them back together to amuse himself. Dr. Kematsopoulos sighed. He was hoping illogically, he knew, that their son would follow in their footsteps and be part of their archeological team one day.
Demetri checked the chronometer. "We'd better go now ... you know how punctual the Vulcans are," he chides his wife, Luin'dro
"Aiyee!", she snaps playfully at her husband, her mood changing. "You and that sense of humor."
Dr. Kematsopoulos says nothing, but his eyes twinkle merrily in laughter as he removes the wayward strand again from her face.
Together, Drs. Woo, Kematsopoulos and their team exit the craft and walk measuredly and deliberately to meet the welcoming officials gathered at the ramp to the ship. With or without the youngest occupant, their son, it was time to begin.
Very quietly, an impish face, belong to a boy of eight with twinkling dark eyes and smudged in a black lubricating oil peaks out of the hatchway. Young Nouristao gets the first look at Vulcan that he will remember. He wrinkles his nose. It was hotter than he had imagined and the Vulcans below looked like even less fun than he had pictured.
Nouri's mother senses him come out. She turns to see him and dies the death of a thousand deaths, that only mothers in these circumstances seem to suffer from. She shoots her son "the glance" and takes a breath to calm herself before returning her gaze to her colleagues and the diplomats. On her face is now plastered a polite smile. She now hopes her boy will go back into the ship and wait; She also hopes that no one else saw him.
Almost imperceptibly another small face peeps out. This time from behind one of the Vulcan archeologists' formal dress. A shy young child, a daughter of the two archeologists here to escort Nouri's family, peers out to see the boy her parents had told her about. She was bored, as was he, following parents on the digs and museum work and hoped for a playmate. Being half Human and half Vulcan made socializing hard for her on Vulcan.
The two young children step out from their respective places. The boy is attired in what, three hours ago, was a nicely pressed suit. It was now quite wrinkled and covered in grime as was the child from head to toe.
The girl dresses as a smaller version of her mother, finely arrayed, her long black hair flowing wildly (for a Vulcan) down her back and framing her lovely face and pointed ears.
Her name, of course-T'Nar.
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