ID10T

Posted on Jan 11, 2017 @ 7:13am by Commander Jacob Crichton
Edited on on Jan 11, 2017 @ 7:13am

Mission: Holodeck Havoc

= ID10T =

(cont’d from “Perfect Relaxation”)

LOCATION: USS PHOENIX

SCENE: Holodeck 3 - Office Building, Call Center Floor

STARDATE: [2.17] 0110.1941

Jake Crichton’s eyes landed on the screen mounted to the top of his desk. There was blue background, its color somewhat reminiscent of Federation Blue, and a number of small, cartoonish icons arrayed in a stack on the far left side of the screen. At the bottom, a grey toolbar stretched across of the display, with a number of boxes piled side by side along its length. These boxes said things like “Explorer”, “Excel”, and “TPX Database”, none of which meant anything to Jake. Above him, a kind of harsh white light buzzed audibly out from rows of lights mounted inside the ceiling; Jake thought they were called “fluorescents”, and the main thing he could remember about them right now was that they apparently gave you cancer. Jake was glad this was only a simulation; this was a dangerous place.

{{So, like, what should I do?}} the voice on the other end of Jake’s headset droned.

“Are you sure it’s plugged in?” asked Jake. There was a moment of silence, and the sound of faraway rustling at the other end of the line. Jake imagined his caller stuffing himself under a desk very much like the one before him, sticking his hand into the tangle of cords and wires and hoping to pull the right one. There came a muffled thump, and Jake realized his caller must have banged his head on the underside of the desk.

“How we doing over there?” Jake asked, trying to keep the smile from his voice.

{{Sorry,}} the caller said, from far away, as though he was no longer holding his communicator close at hand. {{Yeah, dude. That did the trick.}}

“We’re always here to help,” Jake said. There was a *click!* in his ear, and the caller was off the line. Jake shrugged, then removed the headset and set it on the desk.

The desktop was mostly empty, except for his telephone and a few small plastic containers. One of the containers had various writing implements jutting out the top. Next to it was a small stack of yellow slips of paper, and another container of twisted bits of metal. Jake noticed what looked like a drawer mounted to the front of the desk; he pulled it out, revealing what Jake recognized as a keyboard, though in a style unlike what was used by the modern computers that he was used to. Next to the keyboard was a small, oval-shaped object with what looked like two button at the top front end, separated by a small, rubber wheel. Jake recognized it as a “mouse”, and he reached out, gripping it in his hand and sliding it easily across the surface of the desktop. As he did so, a small cursor slid across the image on his computer screen, mirroring the movements Jake made with his hands.

So far, so good.

Next, Jake stood up. He was tall enough to see over the walls of the cubicle that housed his workstation, and he glanced around, seeing row after row of similar cubicles. At the far end of the Jake’s row, there was what appeared to be some kind of water-dispenser, around which several other employees had gathered. Jake inhaled slowly through his nostrils; he detected a mixture of human sweat, various perfumes, and the sterile odor of over processed air underlying it all. It wasn’t an openly offensive smell, but Jake had an idea that it was the kind that would weigh on you over time. He didn’t fancy the thought of being cooped up in this place day after a day, and he wondered why nobody bothered to open a window.

Still, the whole place looked and felt genuine, and that was what Jake was looking for. He knew some of the other crew had probably dialed up more exotic fantasies for the holodeck test, with famous characters or fantastic creatures, and adventure and daring escapes and all that, but Jake thought he got more than enough adventure over the course of his *real* job. Jake didn’t take a lot of rec time in the holodeck, but one of the things he did enjoy was what he thought of as “sightseeing tours”; a chance to simulate historical settings or events and interact with them. He didn’t usually go in for the “adventure” elements of such programs, as they usually compromised historical accuracy for the sake of excitement. But even with shoehorning in a gunfight, Jake had enjoyed walking the streets of Tombstone, as he had enjoyed observing at the court of Queen Victoria, or browsing the various exhibits at the 1889 World’s Fair - in the city of Paris, which was now a necropolis.

Jake put Paris out of his mind and returned his attention to the people around him. He wasn’t sure of all the customs and social cues of this environment, but he was reasonably sure he was working as an engineer of sorts, helping to solve technical problems remotely to ensure the smooth operation of some larger apparatus. Jake doubted it was anything as grand as a starship, but he supposed there was still some pride to be found in contributing to a larger whole. He didn’t see this pride on the faces of any of his coworkers, though; most looked, at best, neutral, and more than few looked positively sullen. They looked like they’d long ago surrendered to their situation, but had just enough soul left to still resent it.

On the desk behind him, Jake’s telephone began to ring again. Jake ignored it. A moment later, it was quiet again.

A man with a thick tangle of untrimmed beard rounded the corner near the water dispenser and began moving up the row towards Jake. He was large, tall with broad shoulders, and his stomach hung out over the edge of his belt. He had eyeglasses which Jake could tell were fogged, even from here. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt made out of some thin fabric; the shirt was wrinkled, and had pulled out from the places where the bearded man had obviously stuffed the ends into his pants as he’d gotten dressed that morning. His skin was pale, and sallow, and he wore the same expression as the rest of the damned who roamed the corridors here. He didn’t look at Jake as he passed, entering the cubicle next to Jake’s own, but he mumbled a greeting.

“Hi,” Jake said. The bearded man looked up, apparently annoyed by the sunniness of Jake’s tone.

“Jesus,” said the bearded guy. “Are you drunk or something?”

“We’re at work.”

“Right, so why are you wearing your pajamas? And why the hell do you sound so goddamn cheery?”

“Oh,” Jake said. He glanced down at his uniform, then at the clothes that the bearded guy was wearing, and realized his faux pas: he’d forgotten to request period-appropriate clothing as part of the simulation’s parameters. Jake slouched a little and adopted a defeated tone, and hoped this would make up enough of the difference. “You know, just glad to see you.”

The bearded man stared at him levelly for ten full seconds, before shaking his head and sinking into his chair. “Weird.”

Jake leaned on the cubicle wall that separated them and peered down at his cubicle neighbor. The bearded man was already clack-clack-clacking away on his keyboard (**they’re so loud,** Jake thought). Behind him, Jake’s phone started to ring again, and again he ignored it.

“What’s your name?” Jake asked. The bearded man stopped typing, turned, and gave Jake a skeptical look.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” he asked.

“Uh, just… not feeling myself today, I guess,” Jake shrugged.



“I’ve worked next to you for three years,” the bearded man said. Jake didn’t have anything to say to that, so he only stared back, hoping his expression was affable enough to elicit some sympathy. Eventually, the bearded guy rolled his eyes.

“Dave,” he said, as though it was a great effort to force the word out.

“Dave!” Jake said, pointing at him. “Right! Sorry. Just haven’t had my coffee today.”

“Whatever,” said Dave, turning back to his computer screen. “Are you going to answer your phone, man? If you keep rolling calls all morning, even Rob’s gonna have to come down on you.”

“Nah,” Jake said, waving this off. “I’m pretty sure Rob likes me.”

“Rob’s pathetic,” said Dave, as though he were stating a well-known fact.

“Okay,” Jake shrugged. “So! This is what we do, huh? You like working here?”

“Is this a nervous breakdown thing?” Dave asked, swiveling about in his chair to face Jake. “Like, are you gonna come in her after lunch with a rifle or something?”

“People do that?” Jake asked.

“I wish,” groaned Dave. “They’d have to give us so much time off if that happened. Just say we’re ‘traumatized’ or something.”

“You don’t seem that worried.”

“That’s because I’m kidding, you moron,” said Dave, shaking his head. Something behind Jake caught Dave’s eye; he glanced at it, then back to Jake. “Rob’s coming, man. Answer your phone.”

Jake turned, but didn’t sit. Instead, he smiled at a small man with ears that stuck out too far stepped into the door of his cubicle, smiling an unctuous smile. He was wearing a long-sleeve shirt made out of the same material as Dave’s, though it was a gentle blue in color and not wrinkled whatsoever. A long necktie hung from beneath the new arrival’s starched collar, decorated with what appeared to be a piano keyboard design. The new guy also wore glasses, though his were clean, unlike Dave’s.

“Whoa!” the new arrival - Rob, if Dave was to be trusted - said. He looked Jake up and down, apparently noticing Jake’s inappropriate attire. “Did I miss the memo? Is it Casual Friday already?”

“It’s Tuesday,” Dave droned from his own cubicle.

Rob ignored Dave and grinned at Jake. “Say, man! You gonna answer that phone or what?”

“Oh,” Jake said. He turned, and made a show of reaching for the phone. It stopped ringing a moment later. Jake was relieved; he spent enough time solving problems in the real world to have much patience with solving imaginary problems for people who didn’t even exist.

Behind him, Rob whistled. “Too slow, man,” he said. “Gotta watch those rolled calls, Jake, they can add up on ya.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake shrugged. “Can’t win them all, right?”

Rob took this without the slightest change of his expression, and for a moment Jake thought maybe Rob was some kind of badly disguised robot.

“Yeah, but you still gotta watch them, they can add up on ya,” Rob said, repeating himself with almost the exact same tone and cadence he’d managed the first time around.

“...okay,” Jake nodded. “I’ll watch them.”

This was apparently what Rob had been waiting for. His grin somehow got even wider, and he stepped forward, holding up the flat of one hand about a foot and a half away from Jake’s face, and he said: “Hey, man.”

Jake stared at the offered hand, then at Rob. He had no idea what was expected.

“Oh man, don’t leave me hanging!” said Rob, adopting mock worry. The flat of his palm somehow became more urgent, until Jake realized what Rob was waiting for. It’s not that the high-five was alien to Jake’s experience - people still high-fived each other in the 25th century - but Rob’s approach had been so bizarre that Jake had genuinely not recognized the gesture. Had he done something to make Rob want to high-five him? As far as Jake knew, he’d just messed up on doing his job, not exactly the kind of thing people celebrated.

Jake reached out and slapped Rob’s hand with his own. Rob nodded, and did a “double finger guns” gesture at Jake, before turning and making his way up the corridor from whence he’d come. Jake watched him go, still a little disoriented from their brief interaction.

This was a very strange place, indeed.

=[/\]=

Shawn Putnam

A.k.a.

Jake Crichton

Executive Officer

USS PHOENIX