I
N
T
R
O
L
O
G
|
old but unfamiliar faces
"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once."
The Ingress has pulled you in. Your body experiences several sensations at once: being pushed forward as if a hand is resting on your back, momentary and startling blindness, a gentle ringing in your head. You have difficulty discerning whether it is hot or cold, but where you have been prodded is noticeably warmer than the rest of you. Some may suffer from dizziness while others are perfectly fine. Once equilibrium has been reestablished, you will notice you are standing on a long platform and that the room is filled with a soft cerulean light. It's slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you, and nothing is familiar. Shortly after, you are led out and toward the medbay.
Inside this room, you are given a physical scan and offered a contract to sign that states you are now part of the crew of the Moira with a specific job. Any questions you might have would be answered in a straightforward manner as well as an explanation about how the Ingress, the thing that has pulled you onto the Moira, is broken and bringing people here unintentionally. This process also consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health, and afterwards, you are given your MID, a device that is integrated into your hand or wrist with only the slightest pinch. From there, you are guided out of the medbay and to your living quarters.
At first, this month seems no more unusual than the previous one for those who have been aboard the Moira for any amount of time. The crew who had landed on the slaver outpost were rescued, and with everyone aboard, the ship has pushed forward into the darker parts of the Runoff. Anyone arriving through the Ingress follows the same routine—moving from the Ingress room into the Medbay for their physical and contract before being assisted by seasoned crew members and helped to their assigned decks. But all familiar things must eventually come to an end: two final travelers come through the Ingress. The first, and most noticeable difference between them and all the others, is their clothing. Both are dressed in standard Moira uniforms, though they bear the insignia of one sharing the same rank as Captains Cúrre and Thán. After a moment to take in all the people on the platform ahead of them, one of the two latest arrivals approaches one of the Ingress panels and begins to manipulate the controls. The Ingress completely shuts down. Unlike before, however, there isn’t an imbalance felt across the ship; everything remains normal and stable.
Utilizing the computer systems located in the Ingress room, they send out the following message to the crew via the MID:To all those aboard this vessel: I am Ira Phirun, assigned captain of the Moira. First Mate Egan and I will be commandeering all rights to the ship as soon as word is sent to those currently in charge. Expect a more detailed report as soon as all records and logs in Navigation have been reviewed by myself and the First Mate. All questions will be answered in a timely matter. For now, there will be no interruption of daily routine or reprimand if conduct among ranks is broken. Thanks for your time. Heading to Navigation, the Captain and First Mate, for seemingly unknown reasons, approach Navigator Manasseh and have her show them all records and logs of the Moira. Those working in Navigation when the Captain and First Mate arrive will see Mana greet them in a professional manner. Oddly, the Captain and First Mate act very familiar with the Navigator. They review all documents, but when they come upon news that the Ploiatos is on board, their mostly friendly demeanor shifts quickly. The Captain issues a sharp order, unintelligible to those who are close enough to overhear parts of their conversation, and without any warning at all, Mana loses consciousness and collapses right there on the bridge. Within minutes of this happening, the ship as a whole falls into a low power state with basic functions only. Mana’s MID alerts Medbay, and without hesitation, Captain Cúrre places her in cryo with strict orders to those who work there not to disturb the unit.
As promised, the Captain and First Mate soon address the crew.☄ lights down low The lighting has dimmed in all the rooms and halls, the normally crisp air that is pumped from the vents low, and all machines and tech are running at half-speed. These effects can be found throughout the ship. Water in the showers remain hot for only a few minutes before reverting to cold. Recreational equipment powers off not long after it has been turned on. The sanitation and water filtration systems require an hourly manual reboot, and all unused areas of the ship have no power allotted to them until a crew member steps inside. Even then, most functions are not optimal. It’s as if the Moira has been transformed into a dark house with only a candle flickering on the window sill. ☄ reuse & recycle The Captain and First Mate are quick to establish that this is a new regime and go about making the ship and its crew more efficient in the wake of their change in course and the low power state of the ship itself. This means they will systematically inspect each occupied barracks room and leave notes for what needs to be disposed of or stowed away. Unlike before, this is no longer a pleasure cruise, and each member of the crew is a guest on board; they will not tolerate useless clutter. Anything seen as unnecessary will be either placed into storage in the Cargo Bay or disposed of through the airlock. This new need for efficiency also extends to the need to conserve resources until they reach their destination. The showers are set to an automatic timer to minimize water waste. Those few minutes of hot water are all a crew member is now given. Meals are smaller, bordering on ration sizes, and luxuries are done away with entirely in order to preserve supplies so that the ship can go longer before needing to dock at a planet. ☄ new jobs, same faces The Captain and his First Mate, as expressed in their addressing of the Moira, explain that work efficiency is a priority. Applications for a head of the following departments will be accepted for a short period: Navigation, the Tower, Medbay, Defense, the Hold, Sanitation, Ingress work, and the Galley/Mess Hall. (Here.) After reviewing what they receive, one head of department will be chosen and tasked with helping crew find positions relevant to those departments and their own skillsets. They will be allowed to retain any positions that they held before that aren’t ship-functional jobs, but they will have to be done in leisure time. In two weeks time, they’ll be accepting department position applications which will be approved, and all those that do not apply will be assigned in accordance with their initial work application. They will also choose three individuals to act as guards of Ploiatos to ensure that there is a rotation available at all times. Will you choose to follow this new decision and promote yourself into a position of responsibility? Or will you simply wait for a reassignment?
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-08-01 12:13 am
no subject
At the moment Sam looks up at the pile of latest confiscated stuff. ]
Where did all this come from anyway?
no subject
He lifts a hand, indicating the MID.] Not sure how you could've missed it.
New captain's cracking down on things around the ship. That includes keeping any possessions deemed "frivolous" out of the barracks.
[Judging by the crap, it seems that a fair amount had turned out to be frivolous, too (lucky for the new cargo bay technician!) The novelty of checking out it all out had quickly worn off as Adam's restlessness grew – he and menial work had never really gotten along. It's probably the reason why he'd gladly taken the opportunity for a challenge.
Hence, the bike.]
Can't say I do any riding myself, but she's a nice machine. [A hint of apologeticness creeps into his otherwise neutral tone.] Didn't mean to alarm you, though.
no subject
At the moment Sam makes a very dubious face at the pile of unsorted stuff. ]
So what do they expect you to do with all this? Sort it...and then what? If it's 'frivolous' then how do you expect people to find it?
no subject
[It's his modus operandi far more often than he should probably admit, but it's never failed him yet. So that's gotta count for something.
He sighs.] Not saying it's difficult work– but it's not exactly what I'm good at, either.
no subject
No. There probably aren't too many people on board who are doing something they're good at.
no subject
Guessing it's too much to say that you were assigned to be some sort of technician, then?
[That is what the guy seems to be good at, anyway– unless that bike's just an extremely passionate pet project of his.]
no subject
Actually I got made into an MID technician.
[ The bike is a pet project in a way. Sam has been riding motorcycles for years, but chose Ducati for himself. ]
no subject
(It's not a perfect metaphor.)]
Good to know they got it right with someone, at least. [Maybe there's hope that he'll get reassigned. There's a pause, and then he adds:] Adam Jensen, by the way.
[He doesn't offer a hand, or anything – the curt introduction's tossed out there offhandedly enough that it comes off as being just a matter of courtesy.]
no subject
Unfortunately that meant Sam had blamed Encom for somehow 'taking' his dad, and had no idea for a long time what he wanted to do. ]
Sam Flynn.
[ No hand is offered on his end either. Though that was more a lack of social skills than any introduction. ]
no subject
Pushing up off the table behind him, he crosses over to his "work station," which is essentially just another table closer to the to-be-sorted pile of crap. Not exactly fancy digs.]
Well, Flynn, sorry about the damage. [It's a courtesy more than it is a real apology – not like he'd taken a hammer to the thing or anything like that. But given how infrequently he bothers even with courtesies, it says something that he's offering one at all now.] Going to assume you've already got your own tools, but feel free if you need them.
[He motions with a wave of one hand, indicating the tools spread on the table he'd just departed. Appropriated, naturally – who knows who they actually belong to?
Wryly, he adds:] Might have to find a better hiding place for the bike, though.