ten_fwd_meme | TEST DRIVE #16 - Turbolifts and Ten Forward

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test drives

TEST DRIVE #16 - Turbolifts and Ten Forward

Option 001. Trapped in a Turbolift: This space travel thing is new to you, and you're starting to think the ship is purposely out to get you. A turbolift is just a grandiose name for an elevator, which should be the safest way to travel after all! But someone out there is out to get you, you're sure of it. Because the next thing you know, the lights flicker and the lift grinds to a stop. You're trapped, with whomever was unlucky enough to be in the lift with you.

It could be hours before you're rescued. These turbolifts span the entire massive ship, and don't just travel straight up and down. No, they can travel horizontally, vertically, sometimes even diagonally. You could be stuck between any deck now. There is a small access panel on one of the smooth walls, but how good are you with getting these things to work? Let's not forget that sudden stop tossed everyone around a little, and people could be hurt. Time to put your emergency thinking cap on, and make friends with the people beside you fast. You could be the only way back to freedom.

Conversely, you could slide that pack of cards out of your pocket and start a rousing game of gin rummy. Really it's up to you.

Option 002. Ten Forward: You have no idea what just happened. One minute you were home, minding your own business, and now you're on a spaceship in the middle of a crowded room! It looks like a bar. There are people eating and drinking, some in uniform, others not. Some are clearly aliens, and some of the food is looking rather strange too.

You've managed to land in Ten Forward. A long bar with barstools and a bartender span one side of the room, with a bank of strange computers on that same wall. It looks like people are ordering food and drinks from them. Tables are sprinkled throughout, and the far wall is nothing but floor to ceiling windows with a view out to space. It looks like a nice lounge, low conversation making the room hum.

Better ask some questions and find out where you are, or just tap the closest person on the shoulder and try to make friends. The bar is open.

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"Ugh." Sam shuddered. Because that sounded like literally the worst. But it just made his shoulder hurt again, and he winced and rubbed it, unthinking. "So um... I guess you got pulled into the hunter thing."

He kind of wanted to apologize again but it would probably get him hit.

She caught the wince and immediately felt guilty. She shouldn't have gone off half-cocked, but her instincts just had a way of taking over where Winchesters were concerned. She'd probably do the same and worse if she ever saw Dean's stupid face again.

That was a score that still needed to be settled.

Dropping her messenger bag, she leaned over it, pulling out the first aid kit Beverly had put together for her. She didn't know how to work half of the stuff in it, but she figured it would be polite to offer.

"Well, I didn't grow up in the backseat of a '67 Impala," she said, popping the case open to look for something vaguely familiar, "but I was born in the life. Like you."

"Huh." He wondered what it would be like, meeting someone around his age, attractive, eligible, who'd actually been there. It sort of... made sense. "And hey, it'll be fine--hot shower once we get out of here and I'll be fine."

He hadn't really been thinking about getting out since she'd noticed him--first because of the attack, and after that, the distraction of the bizarre revelations.

The words 'hot shower' raised her eyes for a fraction of a second, but then she covered, locating a bottle of pills that Beverly guaranteed her could take care of minor stuff like that. Wordlessly, in spite of his protestations, she handed it over.

"Getting out of here sounds...shouldn't the security guards be here already? Isn't everything automated on this stupid Hilton?"

Her mind had decidedly been elsewhere, but now she started to scan the lift, looking for some kind of emergency button or something. She briefly contemplated the doors, but decided they were too heavy to pry open. And then her gaze lifted and she noticed the emergency hatch on the roof.

Oh, yeah. Still weird. Still, this awkwardness was preferable to the whole attack thing, so he was kind of preferring it.

"Apparently they've solved hunger and world peace, but elevators are another thing altogether."

He glanced at the hatch, then back at Fatima. "I could lift you up there."

She frowned thoughtfully, biting the inside of her cheek. There was no way to know where they were. Nor how far they could fall. Which was poetic. Also a little terrifying. Still. She didn't want to wait for eternity in this awkward predicament. Fatima liked action. And she was going to have to prove her mettle to Sam all over again.

Shit.

"Lemme see if I can open it," she said, biting down hard enough to draw blood.

Concentrating, she focused solely on the hatch. Three seconds and an Aramaic chant in her head and it swung open.

Sam watched her for a long moment, not comprehending what was going on or what she meant until a sound from above drew his attention. His gaze darted to the door, then back to her.

"How did you...?"

"How did I..."

And then it hit her. She let out a few choice words in Hindi. Directed mostly at her own carelessness than at Sam. This was the point of awkward. It was a reminder that she needed to tread carefully.

Sighing, she shook her head and started taking off her boots, hoping to pass it off as 'nothing serious.' "I have incredibly messed up blood," she said lightly. "It's a long story and we really shouldn't get into it while trapped in an elevator."

Sam nodded, exhaling sharply. "Yeah. Okay." He wonders what she knows about him. Shit. If all this is true, she might know a future version of him. "I know a little about... messed up blood."

Swallowing, he peered up at the opening, and joined his hands in a stirrup for her to step up on.

Fatima slipped out of her boots. And her toes were, indeed, quite suckable. Whorehouse red nails, a gold toe ring, and a bracelet around her ankle with a charm shaped like a devil's trap. She'd taught the replicator how to make that.

With an athletic bounce, she hopped up into the foothold. They made such a weirdly efficient team.

They would again. She would see to it.

"And up we go."

Of course, his eyes were drawn to her feet, but he shoved the thought down. It wouldn't do for him to make thing more weird. He hoisted her up, one fluid motion between the two of them.

"See anything?" he called up.

Gracefully, she pulled her legs up onto the top of the lift. It was only after she was out of his grip that it occurred to her that they'd actually been touching. She'd been too distracted to notice the electricity but now...

No. Priorities, Merali.

Looking up at the metal tube, she was suddenly, painfully aware of the scale and size of the ship. It was way more than a floating Hilton. It was enormous and from the looks of things...

"We're on Deck 36," she called back. "Actually, kind of halfway between 36 and 37 and..."

Her eyes fell on a beam that was connecting the lift to the wall. A very, very broken beam.

"...and we have a problem."

Jesus. How big was this thing? A thought, unrelated, wormed its way around in the back of his mind: how did you get trapped on an elevator on a spaceship in what was probably an alternate future with a girl you apparently dated in yet another alternate world?

Was he sure this wasn't angels, or demons, or some thing he'd yet to hear about? Because it wasn't, shouldn't be, possible.

"You mean, beyond being stuck," he prompted. "What is it?"

"The...thing that's holding the thing to the...thingy..." science and engineering weren't in Fatima's wheelhouse, "...is broken." She'd at least seen enough movies in her life to know that was bad.

Even as she said it, there was a low groan from the metal or plastic or whatever the thing was made of.

Her telekinesis definitely wasn't powerful enough to hold up the lift.

Shit. Okay. "So, technical talk aside, I need to get out of here. How strong are you?"

He might be able to reach the top by jumping, but it was touchy. Sam shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it up to Fatima.

"I'm going to try to jump, but just in case, can you tie that to anything and hang it down? So I can grab it if I miss the top."

It was a good jacket--it'd probably hold his weight.

No way he was going to make that jump. He was tough, but no Michael Jordan. Not that Fatima had much of a better idea. She was strong, but not up to hefting moose around. Not even with her powers.

"Okay," she called back, snatching the arm of his jacket to tie around the rung of a ladder going up the side of the shaft. "But if you die, I'm not telling Dean."

Sam huffed at that, rolling his eyes unseen, and set about preparing to get out. He just had to. Jumping didn't cut it, so he managed to wedge his foot into a small ledge on the wall and, with a lot of reaching, grab the end of the jacket and use it and the leverage of his legs on the wall to pull himself out. Not, perhaps, the most graceful of exits, but it wasn't as if he was trying to impress anyone.

Did his not-relationship with this girl give him an in, or the opposite? It was unclear. And deeply weird.

He heaved himself out on top of the lift, brushing hair out of his eyes to look for the reported breakage. As he did so, the floor--or, well, ceiling--shifted under their feet and Sam pushed Fatima towards the ladder.

"Come on," he said. "We've got to get climbing."

He didn't need to tell her twice. Fatima grabbed the nearest rung with one hand reaching behind her with the other to snatch Sam's wrist, just in case.

Knowing her own strength--or lack thereof--wasn't exactly going to stop her from saving his ass, if necessary. Or, well, trying.

Only seconds after looking back, she saw the lift shudder. The metal or plastic or whatever they used to build things in the future started to moan. And then something snapped, something that made the whole shaft shake.

"Hold on!"

Racing after her--though he hadn't much choice, really--Sam reached for the ladder as soon as she had cleared enough to give him the chance. But he was just slightly too late, and grabbed for the jacket, still tied to the ladder, as the lift gave out from under him. He gripped it tightly and swung into the wall as the elevator began to plummet.

He was going to be so sore tomorrow.

Gripping the ladder, and groaned under his breath and began to untie the jacket with one hand.

"You okay?" he called up.

"Oh, yeah," she called back. "I do this sort of thing every day before breakfast."

Which, in Zelien, might have had something of a ring of truth to it. But here, she was mostly playing the game she always played, trying to make it abundantly clear that she did not and would not sit at the kiddie table of life.

...even if these stupid Starfleet types in their space pajamas were forcing her into a fairly powerless position.

"Leave it," she said of the jacket, "we've gotta get the hell out of here."

"It's my only jacket," he says, frowning. He looks up at her. Okay, the elevator probably isn't going to fall up, but if something that shared this track did start working, they'd be in trouble. "Can you see any openings?"

She refrained from pointing out that it was an especially ugly jacket and it made him look like he had hepatitis. At some point, she'd introduce him to the replicators. They were by far her favorite thing about being stuck on the Hilton.

Apart from the fact that she wasn't being tortured and experimented on any more, of course.

Sometimes, she had the right priorities.

Turning to look up, she came face to face with the giant and very shut doors to Deck 37. "I might be able to blow these open," she mused. "But I'll need both hands free." Which was a problem when you were on a ladder.

Sam was struck, a moment, with the reality that some version of him (an emo hoodie version, apparently) had once dated a woman who could blast doors open, and had been ok with that. But it isn't something he wants to think about right now, so it's unfortunate that the solution he comes up with to their current predicament is what it is.

"Um," he says, having to swallow past the weird lump in his throat. "I could hold you up?"

It'd mean climbing up behind her and pressing himself against her, supporting her from behind and leaving her hands free. But it'd also mean... well, pressing himself up against her from behind.

The incredible weirdness of the situation didn't escape Fatima either. Even after surviving four different versions of Dean, the multiverse still knew how to completely mess with her head.

But as weird as it all was, she preferred weird to dead.

And this whole elevator shaft just felt like five million accidents waiting to happen.

So she tried to put on her game face, a look that said nothing could faze her, nothing could get under her skin. She was too jaded to ever be wide-eyed again. "There isn't enough salt in the galaxy to stop me from haunting you if you drop me," she replied. And she slid over to one side of the ladder, as far as she could, eyeing the doors dubiously to avoid looking at him.

There was weird and uncomfortable, and there was necessary. Sometimes they dovetailed awkwardly. Taking a deep breath, Sam edged his way up the ladder, favoring the side with more room until he'd positioned himself with his feet on the rung below hers. Left hand gripping the edge, he pressed his right on the bulkhead on the other side of her, and leaned in close.

"Okay," he said. "No plans on dropping you." It was a toss up, whether this or being haunted by her ghost was more awkward, and he didn't really want to find out.

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dust_of_life - 2015-12-15 19:02 (UTC) - Expand

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