To be fair, too, Tasha was two centuries separated from the 21st - lot of pub quiz history in between; Jim's own personal history included.
"They must have. We can't be the only ones. There were 430 people on the Enterprise." Jim shakes his head, fingers flexing as he resists the urge to dig his nails into his own palm. He's used to crisis scenarios, hell, it might honestly be where he's the most comfortable - the Enterprise is the fastest ship in the fleet at this point, and with the back-to-back devastation of Nero and Khan, Starfleet had a lot of ground to cover and a severe deficit in manpower. But they couldn't be the only survivors, because that wasn't even a situation Jim was willing to entertain. No.
The weathered wood of the docks begins to give way to a short stint of dirt, before they hit the cobblestone edge of the town's path. Jim doesn't think he's seen actual cobblestone in - shit, probably a decade or more? He vaguely remembers a class field trip to an old vestige of a time gone by; the Iowa State Capitol building. The United States, of course, was no longer a governing body, but the trip had been historical in nature.
Jim tilts his head at Tasha, brow furrowing at the question. "A piece of paper? No, I didn't notice anything like that. Why?"
Though Jim hasn't noticed, somehow the paper had managed to stay attached to his phaser holster, through all the sprinting and flailing.
Just 430? Amazing to think that a ship with such a storied record had a complement that small. Her Enterprise-D had over twice that, although it was true that many of that number were civilians of one sort or another.
She hesitated when Kirk asked why she wanted to know. The slip she'd found wrapped around the vines on her plinth held an accusation that was... whoever wrote it... they didn't know, they couldn't understand. But having asked, she realized that she didn't have any other choice but to explain.
"I found one. It--" She stopped when something caught her eye, a well-timed breeze. "No, sir, look. There's one on your belt."
Just goes to show how much the times change, how far the Federation goes in the future - not that Jim is aware of this, still operating under false assumptions. The hesitation from Tasha doesn't go unnoticed, more pronounced as they walk, and he cocks his head to the side, silently assessing what it could be she was reluctant to talk about.
He wasn't kept in the dark for long.
Jim looks down, spying the paper now that she's pointed it out, and frowns as he frees it. A paper missive was odd enough, but the script on it makes his blood freeze in his veins.
James Tiberius Kirk: You are hereby charged with Criminal Negligence, with respect to your assumed Command Responsibility as Captain aboard the USS Enterprise.
Starfleet Code Violations: - Starfleet General Order 17 - Starfleet General Order 29
"...Lieutenant." Jim's voice is surprisingly even, though he feels like there's blood rushing in his ears. His gaze flits up from the paper to Tasha, cold blue; it's not that he's upset with her, but if he doesn't keep himself in chest he's liable to scream. "What the hell is this?"
Tasha's lips moved slightly as she read the accusations upside-down. General Orders 17 and 29... wait.
"That's impossible. You?" James Kirk, negligent of his ship and the lives in his command? That was as unthinkable as Captain Picard being negligent of them. "I can't believe that. Someone has got things completely wrong."
She pulled out her own accusation again, forgetting her own feelings in her anger on his behalf. The wording was a lot less official than Kirk's--no references to rules and regulations--but it said clearly You have been charged with ABANDONMENT. She had a damn good idea what it meant and she didn't like it. "Whoever's writing these might have read a computer record about our lives, but they don't know a damn thing about us! Sir."
Tasha's immediate assertion that it must be false is reassuring, yes, but Jim's trying not to give in to the numbness. He thinks he does a pretty good job of keeping himself in check - not that he was as good at emotional control as his Vulcan First Officer, but he did a good job, didn't he? He kept calm under pressure, kept control of his crew. This - this strikes at the heart of his greatest fears, with just a handful of words on a page, and it's hard to maintain that facade in the face of it.
Still. He's Captain James T. Kirk. He manages, somehow.
The Lieutenant reveals her paper, and with it brings the cold crash of confusing reality. He folds his own, sticking it back in the phaser holder, and shakes his head. "I don't understand. Is this someone's idea of a joke?"
It's clear neither of them find it very funny. Jim doesn't know Tasha - what department did she work in, anyway, why wasn't her name at least familiar from crew manifests? - but he can already tell from the steel in her spine that she was not a deserter.
"If it is? I don't like their sense of humor." Tasha crumpled up the paper in her fist. She'd already tried tearing it up. It had proven disappointingly resilient.
She walked over to one of the buildings and prodded it. Already she'd noticed that the style seemed to change from street to street. Some neighborhoods looked like they were only a couple of centuries behind, others seemed as though they were from the more ancient parts of human history, where people fought with swords and horses. But the buildings certainly felt real. "I've met beings who think they have the right to judge humanity. But it was a lot more obvious then dropping us in a weird city with no guidance but this."
"I'd have to concur." Jim snorts, drifting off to the side with Tasha as she moves to poke at the building. It did seem like an eclectic grouping, different architecture all jumbled together. It's hard to tell if it was designed that way, or simply by happenstance - but everything about this place feels real. It's too seamless to be a sim, at least, not a sim from Jim's time. His gaze cuts to the ocean, watching the waves for a moment - but there's no pattern to them he can discern.
"They could be holding us for something." Jim doesn't want to think it, but intergalactic death match isn't out of the question just yet. "Waiting until they've gathered enough of us."
But then - where is the rest of the crew? Were 430 not enough? Or maybe there was some criteria only the two of them had hit? Jim frowns, considering the possibilities - nothing was adding up.
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expiationlogs2024-04-14 10:44 pm
no subject
"They must have. We can't be the only ones. There were 430 people on the Enterprise." Jim shakes his head, fingers flexing as he resists the urge to dig his nails into his own palm. He's used to crisis scenarios, hell, it might honestly be where he's the most comfortable - the Enterprise is the fastest ship in the fleet at this point, and with the back-to-back devastation of Nero and Khan, Starfleet had a lot of ground to cover and a severe deficit in manpower. But they couldn't be the only survivors, because that wasn't even a situation Jim was willing to entertain. No.
The weathered wood of the docks begins to give way to a short stint of dirt, before they hit the cobblestone edge of the town's path. Jim doesn't think he's seen actual cobblestone in - shit, probably a decade or more? He vaguely remembers a class field trip to an old vestige of a time gone by; the Iowa State Capitol building. The United States, of course, was no longer a governing body, but the trip had been historical in nature.
Jim tilts his head at Tasha, brow furrowing at the question. "A piece of paper? No, I didn't notice anything like that. Why?"
Though Jim hasn't noticed, somehow the paper had managed to stay attached to his phaser holster, through all the sprinting and flailing.
sorry for late! the week was a Week
She hesitated when Kirk asked why she wanted to know. The slip she'd found wrapped around the vines on her plinth held an accusation that was... whoever wrote it... they didn't know, they couldn't understand. But having asked, she realized that she didn't have any other choice but to explain.
"I found one. It--" She stopped when something caught her eye, a well-timed breeze. "No, sir, look. There's one on your belt."
no worries!! Monday Funday amirite
He wasn't kept in the dark for long.
Jim looks down, spying the paper now that she's pointed it out, and frowns as he frees it. A paper missive was odd enough, but the script on it makes his blood freeze in his veins.
Starfleet Code Violations:
- Starfleet General Order 17
- Starfleet General Order 29
"...Lieutenant." Jim's voice is surprisingly even, though he feels like there's blood rushing in his ears. His gaze flits up from the paper to Tasha, cold blue; it's not that he's upset with her, but if he doesn't keep himself in chest he's liable to scream. "What the hell is this?"
just another manic monday in starfleet!!
"That's impossible. You?" James Kirk, negligent of his ship and the lives in his command? That was as unthinkable as Captain Picard being negligent of them. "I can't believe that. Someone has got things completely wrong."
She pulled out her own accusation again, forgetting her own feelings in her anger on his behalf. The wording was a lot less official than Kirk's--no references to rules and regulations--but it said clearly You have been charged with ABANDONMENT. She had a damn good idea what it meant and she didn't like it. "Whoever's writing these might have read a computer record about our lives, but they don't know a damn thing about us! Sir."
no subject
Still. He's Captain James T. Kirk. He manages, somehow.
The Lieutenant reveals her paper, and with it brings the cold crash of confusing reality. He folds his own, sticking it back in the phaser holder, and shakes his head. "I don't understand. Is this someone's idea of a joke?"
It's clear neither of them find it very funny. Jim doesn't know Tasha - what department did she work in, anyway, why wasn't her name at least familiar from crew manifests? - but he can already tell from the steel in her spine that she was not a deserter.
no subject
She walked over to one of the buildings and prodded it. Already she'd noticed that the style seemed to change from street to street. Some neighborhoods looked like they were only a couple of centuries behind, others seemed as though they were from the more ancient parts of human history, where people fought with swords and horses. But the buildings certainly felt real. "I've met beings who think they have the right to judge humanity. But it was a lot more obvious then dropping us in a weird city with no guidance but this."
no subject
"They could be holding us for something." Jim doesn't want to think it, but intergalactic death match isn't out of the question just yet. "Waiting until they've gathered enough of us."
But then - where is the rest of the crew? Were 430 not enough? Or maybe there was some criteria only the two of them had hit? Jim frowns, considering the possibilities - nothing was adding up.