In a fit of fight or flight, leap rolling towards one of the sidearms, Scotty attempts to grab the dropped weapon. With this sudden movement, the Goose rushes Scotty with all it's might. Despite the flimsiness of his Hazmat Suit and the friction against the floor, Scotty reaches and seizes one of the sidearms and fires two quick warning rounds around the Goose's direction while screaming to the top of his lungs. Roaring once more, the Goose falls over trying to stop itself. It proceeds to cough up more phlegm before quickly getting back up and scurrying off through the airlock down one of the corridors. Was it my weapon, or my screaming that made it stop?
Scotty leans over, hands on his knees, breathing slowly to settle his heartbeat. What did I just do? I didn't wound it, but I did fire... two shots? Scotty looks at the sidearm to see the visual numeric counter is 8 instead of showing 10. Slouching against the wall, he slides down to sit and take deeper breaths. A few minutes later, convincing himself that what happened did happen, Scotty stands up to hear a hissing sound.
"What's that?"
Scotty follows the sound, it leads him right into the Captain's chair. One round ended up hitting the backside of the chair. Scotty chuckles, what if he shot Seabourne's backside? The hissing sounds was coming from the main viewer. Round two, right in the centre of it. A small crack, a small hiss.
"We aren't in space, though I'm sure Seabourne is not going to like that... I'm so lucky we are still in atmosphere..."
Seeing the second sidearm on the floor, Scotty exchanges the weapons and makes his way into the Orlando. The distant faint roaring of the Goose was all he could hear, seeing there's only three ways to go deeper into the Orlando, Scotty opts to try find the room housing the vessels Power Core. This is the reason why he is here, to learn if the ship can be used by the Starfliers. He makes his way down the centre corridor, leading deeper into the belly of the Liner.
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Godspeed, Pilots.
It took Seabourne a minute to realize he'd never actually told his partner in crime the plan. They never established what to do if separated. Seabourne hadn't even given him a communicator. This last point was moot as the communicator Seabourne was yelling into had no battery in it anyway, but all in all things were going quite pear shaped, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing as the plan had been rubbish to being with.
"Guess I'll have to go on without him, hope the alarms don't spook him too much."
Seabourne continued to confidently make his way down the corridors to the bridge. He knew the route well, Orlando was a sister ship to his last command, Breezewood. While the Enterprise class liners all had their peculiar charms, their amenities were modular in nature. His own ship had kept a cabaret where most put a forward resturant, for example, but the hallways deflected around whatever what in that location all the same. Of course, normally Seabourne would have made use of the crew passages behind the scenes that allowed Orbital personel to seemlessly transfer from deck to deck without disturbing the guests. Given the current status of his Orbital credentials, Seabourne stuck to the public areas that were less likely to dead end in a locked door.
He checked a clock: 8 minutes since the goose was loosed. Not long, now.
The door to the bridge was open, a good stroke of luck, but there were two crewman inside. They looked up when he entered.
"Who the hell are you?"said the crewman closest to the door. Her companion continued to rewire the cove lighting around the edge of the bridge."I really don't have time for an inspection, right now, we're behind as is."
"Ah, inspection, right, can see you're terribly busy. I suppose I'll just have to come back in, say, 30 seconds."
"What happens in 30 seconds?"
"That's when the biological hazard alarms go off."
The other technician stopped his work and looked to his supervisor. She raised a concerned eyebrow back at him before klaxons started wailing.
"I'd be evacuating this bird if I were you, which is ironically how we got into this mess to begin with."
Somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship, the digestive track of the goose had stopped its somersaults and decided to stick its fiery finale. Seabourne knew from past experiences that the resulting explosion of fluids, for lack of a better term, would necessitate replacing the entire bulkhead, but it wasn't his ship this time so he wasn't really concerned by it. That first cruise on the Breezewood with Gaian wildlife aboard had taught the xenobiological world all sorts of new things about the creatures, including that their digestive tracks do NOT handle eggs well.
The technicians, well trained to never ignore an alarm and jaded with indifference to the corporation's property in any case, decided to make for evac. If this was a trick, they weren't being paid to stop it, and if there really was a contaminant aboard, they certainly weren't being paid enough to risk their lives over it."Hit the lights when you leave, would you?" said the electrician as he made for the door.
Seabourne sat down in the chair and had a moment of nostalgia for his old ship. The captain's console was much more limited than the full desk he had installed on his own ship, but then again Orlando's captain had worn significantly fewer hats than the former chairman of the board and editor of wanderlust. Still, the interface was the same, it just displayed fewer things at once. It had been kept open to facilitate running diagnostic tests, which was a good thing as Seabourne had no idea what his old passwords were or if they were still valid. A few swipes and the doors to the bridge were closed and sealed. Another few and Seabourne could see the dots of the tracked crew making for the starboard Runabout to evacuate, all of them accounted for. The ship was initiating an emergency departure and didn't need permission from the bridge to disembark. There was one unidentified lifeform lethargically pacing near the source of the alarm and a significantly more active one in the power core. He opened the intercomm to the room with the ship's reactors.
Cargo Bay One... Cargo Bay Two... Scotty walks through the main hallways of the Orlando. Looking for anything resembling a door or path leading to the main power core. Familiar with how the NX-01 operates all of it's hyperspatial equipment, Scotty wants to see if the Enterprise-Class can muster enough nuclear output to operate the same set of equipment. Cargo Bay Seven... Cargo Bay Eight... Eight? How many are there!? Opening the door, it leads into a sizable storage room. Completely empty. Eight of these, eh? Leon would surely love this for all that fuel he's using! Closing the door behind him, the Hazmat Suit wearing Starflier continues on.
The hallway yet again splits, one leading towards the engines, and the other to the powercore. As Scotty takes his first step down the corridor to his left, the alarm suddenly starts blaring from a nearby console. A biological contaminant has been released, please evacuate. Startled, he trips over one of the flaps of his suit and falls face-first into the dirty carpet. A couple of nearby doors slide open and a mix of crew members, technicians and maintenance workers run out.
"Hey, Frederick! Move it! We have to go! Hey, you!"They pointed to Scotty and then back down the hallway he came from."We have to evacuate!"
"What the hell is going on, lad?"Getting up, he sees a crack in his faceplate. Just his luck. Scotty pulls off his faceplate and looks back at the worker.
"Biological contaminant! Who are you? Doesn't matter, let's go, let's go, let's go!"
With all the commotion happening, Scotty manages to scramble back to his feet and quickly moves to the doorway with a strange glow inside. Looking back towards the group, he locks eyes with the worker who told him to evacuate. Scotty awkwardly waves at them, then the security bulkhead closes between him and the group. Seeing the kind of circuitry, pipes, conduits and the like running over the walls near the door, Scotty turns around to see that he is in fact in the observation platform just outside the powercore. All it took was one look at the construct in the middle of the room for Scotty to say
"Well this won't work at all! It's tiny!"
The sounds of turning gears, pistons sliding and suction pads being separated fill the room, albeit very muffled. Are those the docking clamps!? What in the he- The speaker starts popping, as an internal connection was established. A familiar voice speaks,
"I hope you're not a goose."
"Seabourne you crazy bastard! Where are you? Did you release the clamps?"
Seeing as this entire situation is now possibly even worse than before, Scotty places the sidearm on the desk and proceeds to take off his Hazmat suit. Assuming Seabourne is going to order him around, Scotty is going to make sure he can move quickly as to not trip over... again. Once back into his regular outfit and the pillowcase tied to his belt, Scotty reconsiders his decision to take the sidearm. While waiting for Seabourne's reply, he activates the safety and stuffs it into a nearby drawer. Leon doesn't have to know about that.
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Godspeed, Pilots.
"Technically no, though I do believe I am what the insurance underwriters would call an "ultimate cause." Wouldn't be the first time, won't be the last I'm criminally liable for a ship evacuation. In any event, under traditional maritime salvage law we're technically in charge of Orlando. Under Liberty's anti-piracy laws, we're in charge until we get killed or until they find someone better. In any event, did you know I used to have lunch every week with Breezewood's legal council? A young woman named Jenkins. I kept her VERY busy at night, if you know what I mean..."
After a few moments of no reply, Seabourne supplied the ending.
"Lawsuits, friendo. So. Many. Lawsuits. We once did an edition of our inflight magazine that consisted of nothing but case summaries. I remember the first time we went out with the Gaian wildlife and exploding geese were the LEAST of our concerns. One of our passengers ended up getting pregnant off the damn things! Well, pregnant is not the operable term, more like implanted with-"
Scotty interrupted the captain with more pressing concerns.
"Enough of that! We're inside a Liner, of which you have ~cleverly~ evacuated, and possibly on the verge of disembarking. Am I missing something, lad?"
Scotty waving his hands around as if Seabourne was standing right in front of him. A brief pause fills the room. With no response, he continues.
"I came here for a genuine inspection of a beautiful craft. Now look where we are... I don't know what to do!"
A nearby chair gets turned around and Scotty sits on it. Staring into the glowing powercore, he gets a little distracted thinking about what kind of power couplings are needed to house a bigger core. He then proceeds to pull out his personal device, and marks off the powercore and storage lines of his checklist.
"What's the plan? And try not to dilly-daddle."
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Godspeed, Pilots.
"I assure you, neither dilly nor daddle are my middle names. I've set course for a leisurely stroll for the Orlando out near the pristine ice fields. If you've never had a glass of something with pristine ice cubes, I highly recommend it. It's like licking the cosmos itself, if said cosmos was in cube form and slowly melting in a mug of root beer. The ice particles works a number on scanners, but being on the Bretonia side of the Treaty of Curacao line means a few more legal loopholes the Navy needs to jump through to deploy someone to find us. Also, the views outside are super sparkly, which is an adverb I don't get to use often enough."
Several beeps, a few whistles, and at least one curse word followed by a solid thud came over the speakers.
"That should do it. Hopefully the autopilot can dodge anything that risks damaging the ship. Well, damaging it further I should say. I'm heading to you, I'll give you a VIP tour before the ship is counter-commandeered. I should warn you, I'm not nearly as informative, or attractive, as the young lady we have on the holovid for this sort of thing. But if you give me a few minutes I can probably find a female uniform around here somewhere and give a reasonable impression."
Seabourne got up from his chair and walked out the bridge. He paused and stepped back inside.
"Whoops! Almost forgot."
With a swipe, Seabourne turned out the lights, leaving the bridge in the glow of its display panels.
"The lad is making his way here? Hmm... okay. Let's use this time to study this lady from the inside, shall we?"
The speaker pops as the connection ends. Scotty puts his personal device on the table and sees the screens and menus open across the observation deck dashboard. After a few minutes trying to figure out how to access the power diagrams, he takes note of the power distribution and how it works within this class of Liner. With the power core being this small, the circuitry and lines within the liner must be configured for extreme efficiency. Only needing to access power when a primary system absolutely needs it. Scotty takes note that secondary systems do get some power - but not a lot, considering most of the allocated power is probably used to entertain the guests and operate the engines. Scotty starts up an application on his device, allowing his words to be magically transformed into a text report. He begins...
The NX-01 has a huge nuclear powercore. There is enough space here to house it, but we'll be needing polarized plating above and below it to keep it suspended in the air. This way, the plating can absorb the power without being melted by actually touching the unit. This also means that a big enough shake to the ship could in theory yank it out of it's magnetic cage. We should be able to make sure that never happens, adding additional plating and the like. As for the circuitry... we can't afford to have our core be slowed down by these efficient step-down transformers. Have to install at least four main conduits. Maybe six. Three primaries, one for our rift-jump device, another for our hyperspatial survey hardware, and a third for... something, there's enough space here to mount a third piece. The other three are backups, just in case. To put it short, we only have a handful of primary systems on board the NX-01, so having direct power to everything is a must.
As for the cargo storage areas... Yes, there is way more than enough there to carry the fuel we need. However, getting it from the eight cargo bays to the injector is another thing. I propose to restructure one of the hallways on the liner to act as a tunnel. These tunnels will start from each Cargo bay, all connect into one big tunnel and then this will be built along one of the corridors and finally lead into the fuel injector for the survey hardware. We won't be having more than a couple hundred people on this ship, so shaving down some walking space isn't going to hurt us too badly. Speaking of space we won't really need. I could use Seabourne's tour to get info on internal layouts. If they could be easily changed for research, or if the Enterprise and Oasis-Class liners have a fixed internal layout. We may need a shipyard to remove and reorganise everything. This will come in handy for configuring the power systems too. As of now, I'll be waiting for Seabourne to arrive. More will come later.
Scotty saves his work and puts his device away. After a while spinning in his chair, whistling a good tune or two, he hears the bulkhead open outside the room's door. A few moments later, the observation deck door slides open to reveal...
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Godspeed, Pilots.
...Seabourne. Scotty noticed for the first time the eccentricities of Seabourne's uniform. Having seen the "real thing" on the backs of those fleeing the ship, Seabourne's outfit looked more like a bad cosplay than a proper get up. The green was slightly the wrong shade of emerald. The guilding was not golden threat but rather metallic permanent marker drawn on something that certainly wasn't the leather trim he saw on the other officers. They also didn't have two round objects stuffed under the tunic to puff out the chest, nor a snapped off mop on their heads.
"This was the best I could do at such short notice. I'm several shades of blonde and a few cups shy of Jessica, the virtual tour guide, but I hope I make up for that with zest! Both literal and metaphorical! That's double the cals!"
A small stain started to leak out of Seabourne's left temporary implant and the smell of citrus filled the air.
"Or is it only lemons that have zest? I think this was some sort of grapefruit."
He bent over and licked his tunic where the stain continued to spread.
Yup, definitely grapefruit. Seems our first stop will be in the direction of the infirmary as I'm terribly allergic to the stuff and we have about... 30 minutes to get there before my windpipe closes up to the point where I can no longer continue the tour. Shall we?"
Seabourne's actions were not of a normal man. Scotty looks on with a mix of disgust and confusion. After being prompted to move on, Scotty hastily says,
"Goddam- Alright, lad. We'll get you fixed up, then we'll start the tour properly."
Getting up from the chair, Scotty pushes it back in under the desk and checks himself before moving out. Noticing he still had the pillowcase full of bolts and washers tied to his belt, he asked
"Do we still need this? Doesn't matter, we should probably hurry."
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Godspeed, Pilots.
"Why would we need a soiled pillowcase full of assorted hardware? Seriously, man, be reasonable."
He turned out of the doorway, assuming Scotty would follow, doing what could be charitably called a sashay if you squinted hard enough. He lacked high heels but stood on tiptoe, legs crossing over with each step. The man moved with surprising grace for someone of his years, but then again he was playing a part now and you don't spend twenty years in the luxury fleet without learning how to slip into character, even if it's someone else's character. Especially if it's someone else's character. He dove into a well rehearsed narration.
"The Enterprise-class is the flagship of Orbital Spa and Cruise. While we use the Oasis as the workhorse of our commuter routes and newer Kusari designs for deep space excursions, the Enterprise is the face of the luxury fleet. When the movers and shakers of Sirius need to do their moving and shaking, this is the first and only choice of vessel. Every inch of her is designed to see and be seen. Peter Englund first designed the Enterprise for White Spa Lines, a subsidiary of the corporation, with the intention of providing luxury accomodations to passengers en route to the spa worlds of Curacao and Baden Baden. Many travellers, especially first time travellers, were spending their first days on the worlds simply decompressing from the journey with low intensity acitivities like massages and beach lounging. Englund thought, why not build a vessel that makes the journey as plesant as the destination? And let the people get to purchasing higher end excursions that much more quickly once they're planet side?"
"The first vessel, the original Hawaii, became a status symbol among the elite of Sirius. Tickets became hotly contested and the fleet was expanded to accommodate the increased need but capped to keep that sense of status. Orbital started to build a mythos around the ships, and custom printed mementos of the journey like paper tickets, ship itineraries, and menus become valued collector items. Parties of the rich and famous would eventually feature at least one lively discussion comparing the merits of the various ships. Groups would take fiercely contested sides in debates about which vessels and captains they fancied. There are rumors that the Gas Mining Guild's final pivot from Samura to Kishiro technologies started with a chance conversation that found two high level executives defending their recent trips on Hawaii from a group stressing the benefits of Shetland."
"Eventually, the business model started to change. The liners had been greatly expanded and improved with their amenities over the years, becoming destinations in and of themselves. Eventually, the percentage of passengers using them as cruise ships surpassed those using them as liners, and the company shifted gears as a result. Now the venerable vessels would be parked as destinations around the most beautiful planets Sirius had to offer. Hawaii was modified to re-route her powercore from propulsion to defensive assets and parked in orbit over Planet Hiran in Sigma-19 and the others soon followed suit. Now serviced by lesser ships, the "classic" Enterprises sit in court, entertaining their newer brethren as glorified runabouts."
"That's not to say the updated Enterprises are anything to sneeze at. While the iconic fascades are identical, we're now up to version six of the ships. Orbital has learned from decades of logistics and luxury management to produce a ship that is capable of quickly and effortlessly meeting every need its passengers may have. The latest iterations, of which my beloved Breezewood was counted among..."
Seabourne suddenly stopped and stared off into the distance. His hand gently stroked a railing for a few seconds before it clenched into a fist and the rest of him shuddered. A smile snapped back onto his face and he continued as if nothing had happened.
"...the most flexible ships ever produced. The ship is networked with a series of tunnels and accessways that allow the crew to service any section of the ship instantly without being seen by passengers, giving the crew a bit of mystique. Many passenger's first memory of our cruises is opening the doors to their stateroom only to find their luggage has already been delivered ahead of them. On a large scale, the ships are very modular, with dedicated spaces for passenger amenities able to be changed or swapped out at the captain's discretion with only moderate downtime in dock. Passenger rooms themselves have automated bulkheads that can be re-arranged from the bridge to change room configurations and open or seal doorways to turn a dozen utilitarian berths into one large stateroom. The real genius is in the furniture, which is likewise designed to fold up and out of the way on command or deploy as needed. An Enterprise can go from hauling passengers on a budget to accommodating VIP suites in less than 10 hours. Why, I remember when we tore out most of the ship manually to accommodate refugees from Leeds during the tail end of the war, you would not BELIEVE the mountain of accoutrement we left on California Minor. We could have flipped a switch and gone into our ballroom configuration for maximum space, but even folded up the furniture still takes up cubic. The redecorating let us put another couple of hundred refugees in. Hell, we even ran a skeleton crew for those trips and opened up the crew quarters for it."
"Speaking of which, welcome to the crew quarters! As you can see, they are much more utilitarian than the rest of the ship, but they feature generous laundry and uniform storage to keep our Orbital attire in ship shape for passengers. They also feature more generous showers than most vessels for similar reasons. You'll also notice a lack of soundproofing down here compared to the passenger modules. Most of the ship's critical systems are routed down the middle of the crew sections. Englund was adamant that the crew should be always surrounded by such things to hear the heart of the ship, as he called it. New crew complain about compromised sleep schedules at first, but it's been a lifesaver on several journeys. Engineers will notice that something doesn't sound right long before a diagnosis reveals a problem."
"Ah, here we are! Crew infirmary. Not as accommodating as the passenger medbay, of course, but we don't need any fancy diagnostic equipment or autosurgeons, just a shot of good old epinephrine!"
Seabourne rummaged through a cabinet or two before extracting a small cylinder that was vacuumed sealed in plastic. He ripped open the plastic with his teeth, extracted the cylinder, and offered it to Scotty.
"Be a dear and stab me with this somewhere that isn't terribly painful?"
Seabourne collapsed to the floor, smiling all the way down. A squashed and leaking grapefruit tumbled across the floor.
![[Image: PVArGCT.png]](https://i.imgur.com/PVArGCT.png)
