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@quantumstarpaths
PINNED POST!
Hi! This is an independent, non-exclusive roleplay blog for Paul Stamets from Star Trek: Discovery, written and adored by Jamie (25+, est, they/them). Discord is available on request for whoever wants it.
RULES / ABOUT / MEME TAG
Something about the bluntness of the question was achingly familiar, but also comforting. Elnor returned the faint smile. "I am not Vulcan." He grinned brightly. "I am the first of my species in Starfleet. I could say that I am one of the Rigellian Vulcanoid species... but that would be a lie. It would, however, be closer to the truth than it is not."
That would be because the Rigellian Vulcanoids were an offshoot of the Romulan exodus. But he could not say that part of it. The scans, however, confirmed that: at least, neurologically. They could not yet account for the other physiological differences. Otherwise, however, he seemed to be in perfect health. Abnormally perfect health.
Still, his excitement about this, his joy at his own truth, overrode some of the fear that threatened to overwhelm his heart. In the moment, that meant that joy was all that he had there: joy, beauty, the delight of discovery, at the entire universe of things. It chased away the shadows as if they had never existed. The scans showed that too--a decrease in stress chemicals, neurons lighting up in different patterns.
"... What you said before, about mycelium? It makes sense." His smile faded. "I wish more of my species thought that way: to share the universe. I-- I shouldn't... say more, but... I want to?"
He looked at Paul searchingly. This was why he had joined Starfleet after all: to explore, to meet new species, to share his own culture with them, to find those similarities and differences, to help people. Paul seemed to share that, he thought, if only a little. He came alive when they spoke of time, or fungi, and now about his species.
"It's why I joined Starfleet. That, and to aid my friends. To learn and explore. You feel that way, I... think. Why aren't you happy here?"
It was probably too prying, to candid, but he decided he did not care. This officer was the opposite of what he had been warned about when he started at the Academy. He didn't treat him differently, didn't seem to be taken aback by earnest curiosity. That was comforting, as well.
Maybe, if this man had a place in Starfleet, Elnor could have one too.
There, now he understood. He looked between Elnor and the nurse who was looking him over, and received a nod. Everything he said was in place. An unfamiliar biology, but close enough to a Vulcan that it wasn't entirely impossible that, instead of a strange series of birth defects, he was, rather, part of an offshoot series. A separate branch of evolution that was currently unknown to Starfleet in Paul's time. Fantastical, maybe, but so was being trapped within a realm of mushrooms with a man that claimed to be from another time. So was the fact that Paul believed him without reservation.
"Then we'll leave it at that," he agreed with a small smile of his own. He knew what it could feel like to feel the need to hide himself away, and despite so many less desirable facets of his personality, the parts that were so often labeled as prickly, he didn't think that anyone should have to pretend to be something they weren't. Even if Rigellian Vulcanoid was as close as they were going to be able to get.
As Elnor's stress decreased, as he opened up back to Paul, he could feel his own neurons firing, could feel the release of pleasant chemicals. (It had always been difficult to be such a brilliant man, to rely so heavily on facts and to dislike the idea that he was a slave to chemicals in his brain. It was made all the more harder to come to understand that he was a man who felt deeply. It was a constant point of contention between the body and the self that made him long for a Vulcanoid purging of emotion. Or, perhaps, a body of wires incapable of feeling. A man could dream, couldn't he?)
"If there's anything I've learned since coming here, it's that everything is connected." He didn't mean it as though Starfleet had awakened some deep, previously unknown spirituality, but in a very literal way. "This place connects to everywhere. If some people knew that, they'd want to use it for power." A pause. "I only ever wanted to find out what that meant." Which was all to say that he understood. He wished more of his species thought that way, too.
When this had started, he'd thought of everything that could be done. Travel in an instant, transport of medicine and food before disease had the chance to become a plague. Clean, instant access to anywhere. And Starfleet took his work and attached it to their flagship in the war against the Klingons. He might not know anything about the Romulans, but he certainly knew what it was like to feel like the lone scientist in a room of soldiers.
If Elnor was from the future, there was no reason to keep anything a secret. This should all be public knowledge, shouldn't it? Though his lack of familiarity with the little Paul had shared so far was suggesting a few unpleasant ideas about what happened to his work. His lips pursed for a moment as he thought of how to explain himself, how to turn his thoughts into the right words.
"I joined Starfleet because my research was going to end up with them whether I liked it or not, and I thought it would be better if I was there. I always thought they would find a way to use it to make a new weapon. Instead, we used it to travel in order to fight a war. The war's over, and I'm hoping we can help now, but...I lost people. Being a part of this hurt people I cared about." He paused, sighed. He hated talking about himself like this, about the things that he felt, especially before a roomful of people. "Starfleet talks about exploration and discovery, but they told me that this was a science vessel. I'm still waiting for the science."
Elnor's curious squint narrowed. "How is that any different from wires? They are very thin, they connect systems, they are used to communicate, and... cells can be programmed... sort of... right? And, why is that obvious?"
Not that he could explain why he was asking, anyway. From the era he guessed this ship was from, he had to keep knowledge of the Borg to a minimum. And, anyway, he was quickly distracted by the medbay.
Images and sensations flooded his mind as he stared at the biobed: burning in his chest, flashes of green--green light, green blood--darkening the brightness of this open, white-flooded room. Gold. Raffi's hair, glowing warmly against the green, her eyes lit up by it.
He backed up closer to Paul, the only friendly face here, then turned to look at him. Something about his expression, that strained smile, brought his courage back. He took a breath, nodded slowly, and walked over to the medical station. He took a seat, just a seat, on the edge of the bed, gripping the edge so hard his fingers turned pale.
... This wasn't like him. That was, for some reason, difficult to voice.
He looked at the doctor, then at Paul, grounding himself in the explanation that needed to happen. "There will be some anomalies on your scan from what you expect from a Vulcan." He touched the base of his palm on one hand with the other. "A much more pronounced wrist-spur and more robust skull features, although--" No, wait, too much information. Don't start talking about regional differences on Romulus-that-was. "--not... excessively. And... different... neurological structures. I ask forgiveness. I cannot explain completely why."
That would mean explaining what Romulans were. And it would mean getting into the history of Romulan genetic engineering, something he was unsure if the Federation even had detail about in his time. So, he kept silent, frowning in frustration at the lack of candor. He was annoyed. And annoyed was better than frightened or confused.
"I wish I could tell you everything. I think I dislike protocols. A lot."
What a beautiful question, Paul thought. He looked to the younger man with a smile, small, almost hesitant. He was not much one for smiling, and lately had become even less so, but he liked the comparison that was being drawn here. Physics as biology, wires as mycelium. He was so set on dismissing him, on insisting that they weren't wires, but, really, what could Paul say to tell him otherwise? He shrugged. "I guess it's not. You'd be surprised just how many things we've invented that mirror nature. We think we know better, that we've mastered the universe, but how can we say that? We don't own the universe. We share it." But that was enough of his soapbox for the moment. "Everything comes down to biology in the end."
He was distracted, distracted by himself, when Elnor moved closer. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked to the younger man. So this protectiveness went both ways, it seemed. But did Paul feel for him as a person, or an experiment? And did it matter, when Paul had always loved his experiments more than people? For a moment, he felt almost nervous. He was not interested in being imprinted upon. Even if he'd already done the same. He wished he'd adopted a cat instead.
Despite his hesitancy, Paul nodded. There was no danger here, and that was something he could promise. At least, not from other people. Not anymore.
He took a small step closer to the bed as Elnor sat on it, and he told himself it was only so he could get a better look at the screens. What it ended up doing, though, was giving him a better look at the man as he spoke. Anomalies? He didn't suppose that was all that strange, but the anomalies themselves seemed odd. He wasn't sure if he was a half-Vulcan, though his understanding was that the case of Burnham's brother was rare. Though that could have been his own ideas of the species, that they didn't seem terribly interested in anything outside of it. Maybe, though. Maybe. Or they could have been birth defects.
Or...
He was from another time, wasn't he? It was possible that he wasn't Vulcan, at least not in the way that they thought of them now. That theory was given significant support by his plea for secrecy. Paul wanted to know, but he understood. And it thrilled him.
"You're...not a Vulcan, are you?" A pause, then a smile. "And you can't answer that. Never mind."
get to know your mutuals! ( answer & tag six people ! )
favorite color: pink and turquoise that hurts to look at
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currently reading: angels of music by kim newman (not great. actually really stupid but i love the phantom so i had to try) and on my phone i have gwendy's final task by stephen king and richard chizmar that i started because i couldnt get angels on my phone for bed time and honestly forgot about
currently watching: uhh therm stream
currently playing: tomodachi life & legend of zelda skyward sword
currently craving: the ice cream i was supposed to get today that they didnt have
tagged by: @heartsrising tagging; you!
Oops. Elnor had assumed that Absolute Candor would be his worst enemy when it came to the Prime Directive... but in this case, it was a simple mistake. He blinked in surprise, then corrected, "Um, you probably know it as General Order One. It... also... applies... in situations like this. Situations outside of... time. I think. I haven't taken Temporal Mechanics yet." He admitted quietly, "I've failed the prerequisite."
He listened carefully as they walked, only very occasionally eyeing the security team. He had decided they were no longer in danger of throwing him back out and could easily be ignored. He was much, much more interested in what this Science officer had to say.
"... Between normal planes of space... connected... like... wires? There was a species, one we, um, acquired the aid of to travel across time? They are connected to every version of themselves, across all times. They are very dangerous." His brow furrowed in thought. "But they do not use fungi to communicate. I... think. And it does not explain-- it does not explain why I am here when I remember dying."
It was not the only thing this reminded him of, but he filed the superstitions away for later. He did not want to begin speaking of something he was not sure was the truth. Instead, he stopped in the middle of medbay, watching the biobed with a sudden pit of unease, and took a single step back. He looked at him helplessly.
"Am... Am I required to lie down on the biobed?"
General Order One. Paul may never have set foot within the halls of Starfleet Academy, but he'd been briefed on what mattered when it came to the rules and regulations of the organization. Of course, knowing Hugh had given him a bit of exposure beforehand, but he'd never thought he would need any of it. (He couldn't stand it, just how much every part of his life was colored with him. Grief, it turned out, was a terrible thing.) "Right," he said, nodding. "Even if it doesn't, it's probably best to avoid it, anyway. Those things seem to have a way of getting complicated."
He spoke like this was normal, and to him, it was. Or, if not normal, it was exciting. He could say that he didn't have much more than anyone else on the ship, but the fact that he had more experience at all was probably saying something. His understanding that the majority of people's experience with temporal phenomena was usually zero.
"Like mycelium," he corrected, the sparkle in his eyes probably not one that many people get when speaking of fungus, but that had never bothered him before. "They're the roots of fungi, very thin, that they use so communicate. This specific species is very special, and, yes, it connects everywhere. This place is the common space for every universe." Which was to say dangerous. He shook his head. "Of course it does. This place uses fungus." He said it like it was obvious, which, to him, it was.
What wasn't obvious, though, was the connection between Elnor and the network. His eyebrows furrowed, and for a moment he turned it over. It was a good question, that much was certain. "I'm going to figure out why you're here," he assured, and that much he could do. His lips pursed in a tight smile, though. He knew that this promise couldn't be worth much. At the other's concern, he looked between him and the others, unsure, though he was already feeling somewhat protective over him. "I'm sure they could look at you standing...?"
Elnor nodded quietly, pressing his palm to the ship, feeling the coolness of it, the sleek flat plane. It was calming. He took a breath. "Q. A powerful... being. I don't know how to explain without breaking the Prime Directive." He looked around the ship again, trying to date it. "I think." He let out his breath with a sigh. When he did, he felt calmer.
He stepped away from the wall, nodded, and started to follow, pointing out, "It's the only ship I could have come to. Unless there are other ships trapped here..." He squinted. "Where is here?"
The fact that they were going somewhere that could help kept him focused, kept him from breaking again. He was, instead, trying to determine what to say when they reached the medbay. If he was correct for how old this ship was... medical scans were going to get interesting. But he was just as soon distracted by another thought.
"... You seemed... excited about something in what I said? Interested? Your demeanor changed. You were no longer agitated."
Q. The name ignited nothing within Paul's mind, and he didn't like that. Still, any unknown fact was something he could learn, right? Something to tell himself, something to get through the moments of that itch. Still, he wasn't entirely sure that he would learn who Q was, especially with the inclusion of the--Prime Directive? His eyebrows furrowed, though a small smile pulled at his lips. He looked to the officers behind him, and they shook their heads. "We don't have that yet." It made enough sense to imagine that it was something that they would have, right? Maybe he shouldn't be accepting of all of this so quickly, but he was. He had seen too much not to.
He started to lead him away, the security team clearly annoyed behind him, but he didn't care. He believed this boy, and he was going to help him. "Not that I know of. I would think that we're the only ones here." A beat. "But I also would have said that there's no reason for you to be here, either." Which was another question to answer.
He led him through the halls, ignoring the looks from others, the comments from the security team that very much did not like what he was doing. "This is the mycelial network. We're in subspace. It's..." his hands move, one beneath the other, "between the normal planes of space. It's the realm connecting the roots, the mycelium of a remarkable species of fungus." Of course he knew how it sounded, but it was the truth.
He didn't like medbay anymore. He hadn't always minded it, but now... Well, that wasn't anyone's problem but his own, so he focused his attention on the others as they entered the room, and if it was a little more focused than it had been, well, that was fine, wasn't it? He was asked a question, and that helped. "I am excited. This place, it's everything I've spent my life working towards. None of us belong here, but finding you...it's incredible."
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Elnor watched all of them with the same attitude as a cat watching a bird, or perhaps of a bird watching a cat. He stood very still, hands behind his back, as his eyes flicked over each person observantly.
He gave Paul a faint squint. "You don't like Starfleeet. Even though you are Starfleet?" And not Confederation. There were non-Humans among the crew. He hesitated and looked away, less to avoid the question as to process what he knew to be true. Or did he? A crease furrowed his brow, and his voice grew softer, quieter.
"I was on a training cruise. We were responding to a possible threat. And then-- and hen I was somewhere else. On Earth, but it wasn't my Earth. It was cruel. The 'Confederation' were conquerors, not explorers." He shifted uncomfortably, uncertainly, hunching his shoulders as he looked to Paul as if he could explain it somehow. "I was a rebel. Most of my friends were... evil. But we remembered our own universe."
The discomfort grew until it felt visceral. His stomach churned near his heart. He touched one hand to his side, to remind himself it was still beating. It was. His eyes could no longer quite meet theirs.
"We were brought there by a powerful alien, um... to test us. We found a way to go back in time, to fix it. But... I was... injured. I remember dying." He hesitated. "Then I woke up here. I don't understand it."
He felt very, very small all of a sudden, and the corridor felt like it was spinning. Was it spinning? He reached out a hand to brush the wall, seeking stability. The cold metal brought a sense of calm. Sort of. He drew on his qalankhai training, trying to name the emotion. Grief, he decided. Overwhelming, unrelenting, crushing grief and confusion.
"... Can you get me home?" he asked, his voice breaking. "You aren't Confederation. We-- we must have succeeded. I will be grieved." He paused, then added as if he was pleading with them, "I grieve."
Naming it did not lessen the pain. It brought it sharply to the surface. He began to shake as he resisted the urge to curl up and cry. It was not how he had been taught... but it was what a Starfleet cadet would do. As he fought with himself, he eyed the Security officers, who were eyeing him with the (justified) tension of someone watching a 'Vulcan' begin to break down.
"... Your Security officers do not trust me. I will answer all of your questions. But I want to eat? And sit?"
He gave him a look, not one of judgement, but of irritated acknowledgement. "It's a long story." It wasn't actually, not really, but it wasn't one to get into now. For one, if he started, it wasn't likely that he was going to stop any time soon, and aside from that, there were more important things to focus on. And aside from that, he'd found that security was usually the group of people, not counting command, that felt most strongly about Starfleet. If he started on his tirade, as it had been called once or twice by those closest to him, it might end him with a phaser stun to the back just to shut him up.
He doesn't know what the man's talking about. Training cruise, sure. Another Earth...well, he knows something about that, too. But it doesn't make sense. He understands, but it doesn't make sense. But it does. Of course it does. There's no attention on the others behind him anymore, and he's sure they can't stand it, but he wants this man to come into the ship. They can help him. Maybe he can help them. There's an almost supernatural call to him, but of course that's not real. There's nothing in his blood that sings to the other man's. It's only a light of recognition. He doesn't believe in fate, doesn't believe in destiny, but this feels like the sort of thing that might make a man change his mind.
He nods, and he even smiles. He doesn't care if anyone else has something to say later, if anyone thinks he's acting out of rank--which he is. He is, but he has to. "I think you came to the right ship," he says, and he reaches out for the man's arm, hand resting right above his elbow. He's never one for touch, except for what he initiates. He doesn't like to be touched, but he's surprisingly tactile, especially when he gets excited.
"The Confederation. I haven't heard of that." A beat. "You say that someone changed the timeline?" He didn't know, of course, because if this man was from the future, Paul would be long dead by the time that anything changed. It was almost a shame, though, because Paul would know. The tardigrade DNA would help him keep both times in his mind. Right now, though, he could be of no help. What mattered more importantly, though, was that he died. When Hugh died...Paul had been with him, and he had linked him to the network. Why was this man here? What a wonderful question to answer.
Elnor reached out to balance himself, and Paul understood that he was doing it again. Asking questions, trying to solve mysteries, and not paying attention to the people he was asking them of. But he needs to know. No one ever seemed to understand that he needed to know. It was an itching beneath his skin, a squirming within his chest. He couldn't stand not knowing, having questions unanswered. But now he was getting upset. His voice was breaking, and Paul didn't know what to do. He hated having to comfort people. Weren't Vulcans supposed to have more control? He'd envied it, at times throughout his life. But now he envied nothing, except the people who weren't in this room.
"I don't know," he answered, figuring he may as well be honest. "But we'll try." He would try. But they were already unhappy with his opening the door. He softened his voice slightly. "I think we can arrange that." He looked over to the others, expression asking for him. It wasn't pleading, only questioning. Whatever he was, whoever, he was just a kid. He didn't deserve this. The security team looked between themselves before nodding. "How about we get you to medbay?"
Nodding, Fox chewed the inside of her cheek. Of course it would involve the medbay. In which would be witnesses to their mistake. Or victims to whatever they might now be harboring. No, that sort of thinking was going to get them nowhere. Yet, shouldn't it be something they thought about? The risk to others? She continued worrying over it as she watched him gather the sample. Watched the spores continue to float around his head. "Y-Yeah, we'll be fine." Though she didn't feel confident, she hoped she at least sounded it. "We're never going to hear the end of this, I bet."
At least she wasn't any more eager to get to medbay than he was. Which was probably a problem right now, given their current situation, but it wouldn't be the first time Paul had put himself in danger out of desire to avoid worrying Hugh, and it wouldn't be the last. The last, he was sure, would be immortalized on his grave. He hoped this wasn't it, at least. Killed by spores was higher on the list of possible deaths for him than it was for most, but it would still be humiliating. He wasn't worried, though. Not like her. This wouldn't be his first poisoning, either.
"No, we won't," he said as he worked at securing the sample, looking at it through the clear casing. "But when you work with fungus, you get used to some things. One is people thinking they're funny, asking if you sample your specimens." A beat. "Another is accidentally sampling your specimens. You hear about it for a while, but they'll forget eventually."
okay...hopefully things will be getting back to normal now! i have a few replies piled up over the blogs that will probably take a few days to get through, but that's okay
Unfortunately for Paul, it was not just a hug: it was a Vulcanoid-strength hug from a very desperate person. Fortunately for Paul, Elnor felt him tense up in response and let go quickly.
He stepped back uncertainly and looked at the security officers, then looked between them all with a smile. "It's alright. I'm Starfleet. Cadet Elnor, Third Class. You-- you can look me up on your ship's computer. I thought that... was why you let me in? I signaled to the ship?"
He looked around the room. It still seemed like an old ship to him. The hallways were so closed-off, the metal exposed, and he actually saw a wall comms panel on one of the corridors. He tilted his head, squinting at it, then stared at Paul with an unasked question on his face.
"... How is your ship brand-new if it's an antique?" he asked. There really weren't such things as unasked questions for Elnor.
But his eyes flickered away, thinking, piecing some things together even as he asked the question. Truth: Q had sent them to another reality, one where things were different. Truth: They had traveled back in time to try and avert that reality. Truth: ...
He touched a hand to his chest, where he remembered a flash of agonizing heat, where he remembered bleeding out, where he remembered drowning in his own blood, where he remembered dying.
Truth: His shoulder was now whole. Truth: He was breathing, and the breath felt real. Truth: This stranger had substance, and claimed they were not dead. Truth: The burns on his skin hurt like they were real.
Story: The soul survives after death. Story: The dead go to an afterlife, where they suffer or find rest. Story: The afterlife looks like Vulcan.
Truth: Spock's katra returned from the dead in a regenerated body.
"... I'm alive," he concluded, taking a quick, audible breath. "I'm alive, and this body is... real. And this is not the afterlife." He smiled confidently as he refocused on the crew. "And you're time travelers, or I'm a time traveler, and that's why your ship looks new." He looked so proud of this insane conclusion. "We must be in another reality. Q sent me to another reality. He must have sent me back! And sent you here."
His grin as he pieced things together was incandescent. He seemed to have no self-awareness how this sounded.
Well, he might be feeling this particular hug for a while, he thought, as he the wind was just about literally squeezed out of him. He was just about to pry himself away as the other released him, something which surprised him. The preferred answer was, of course, to let go of someone who didn't want to be hugged, but it seemed more often than not that people thought the answer was to hug someone longer, just in case they could convince them they did, in fact, want to be hugged. Or maybe that was just his family. Aunts and grandparents did have a way about them, didn't they? But his release was a pleasant surprise, and he wasn't going to look that particular gift horse in the mouth, even if he did have a habit of doing just that.
His eyebrows furrowed less in reaction to how quickly he was let go, and more in response to what the young man said. Starfleet. He was Starfleet. Paul's first reaction was somewhere between irritation and blind fury as he considered the idea that Starfleet was sending expeditions into the mycelial network without his knowledge, likely using his research. A different man may have swallowed that, might have saved it for later, but Paul had never been known for his tact.
"Did they send you here? Is that what this is about? Are there other people here with you?" He wasn't mad, not outwardly, but Paul could be as prickly as they came, and he wasn't happy. There was a murmur from someone behind him, but he ignored them. He was sure he would hear about it later, but for now, he wasn't listening. "I saw you. You don't belong here, so I had them open the door. How did you get here?"
He was probably missing something important, but he'd been shaken by his frustration, by what he thought of as his righteous furry. And there was, of course, the fact that his head still felt strange, at once too sharp and too cloudy. "It's not an antique." He wasn't as offended as the others surely were, more trying to state a fact, though already his mind was racing, trying to find a solution.
It was no secret, at least to him, that the mycelial network existed outside of the normal flow of space-time. It was somewhat more of a secret, though, unfortunately, an open secret, that Paul now did the same. If they were here, in this place, at the same time as this man who looked at Discovery and said it was an antique, while they knew it was nothing of the sort, there was a very simple answer that was, in this place, entirely plausible. One that he reached at the same time as their visitor, one that felt...right. Maybe Starfleet had sent him, and maybe they hadn't, but it wasn't who that mattered, not even why, was it? Certainty soothed him. No, it was when.
So when Elnor spoke, it was entirely natural. There was no hesitation from Paul. The security team behind him no longer mattered, because this man, who didn't really look exactly like a Vulcan, the longer Paul looked at him, was not from the same time that they were. "This is a plane of subspace called the mycelial network. It's..." a pause, a shake of his head, a wave of his hand, "not important right now. But what is important is that it doesn't follow the same flow of time that we do." Another pause, and a small breath, more like awe. "I should have known. The Discovery is new, to us. I don't know if you're from another reality, or just another time." His anger was gone, now. He was practically giddy. "But we have a lot to talk about."
Starfleet training, especially Starfleet training that was only two years in, did not cover what to do when you found yourself dead, in a strange glowing universe where everything was trying to hurt you, and face to face with an antique starship. Well... maybe it did... maybe in the third or fourth year... or maybe in Spock's memoir that Elnor had never had the chance to finish reading. Now he would never finish it.
The thought distracted him briefly from the starship before he realized what he should do. His courses had not covered this specific situation, yes, but they had prepared him to communicate without comms. He looked for the highest possible point he could see where the bridge might be able to see him, raced to climb it, and began to signal with his arms and hands in the air: open palm, fist, dots and dashes, signaling an SOS and his service number.
Nothing happened. Nobody transported him onboard. The motes continued to sting him, but he persisted until finally... finally... the loading bay door opened up. Breathing a sigh of relief--he had a moment to cherish the familiar alive-ness of breathing--he jumped down and dashed towards it. It was clear once he arrived what a terrible state he was in: a shaking, adrenaline-fueled kid with green burns now covering his exposed arms, neck, and face.
But he was alive. He grinned and immediately went to hug his nearest savior. "Thank you!! You have saved me... I think... it's very strange out there..." He peered around. "Why is your ship so old? Are you dead? How did you get here--" He stopped talking abruptly, turning a little pale and unsteady. "... I don't feel well. Do you have food and water?"
It wasn't Starfleet training that gave Paul any idea of what to do, for no small part because he'd had none. He'd been recruited from the hall where he'd held a seminar, never to set foot within the halls of the Academy. Actually, Paul had not agreed to be recruited. Justin, in the type of decision making most often done by the sort of man looking down the barrel of a divorce as he had been, had thought it was best, leaving Paul with no choice but to follow him, if only to ensure his work was used in a way he approved. No, what drove him now was something deeper. It wasn't from Starfleet, wasn't even from anything he'd learned in his years as a terrestrial mycologist. No, he hadn't understood any of this before connecting with the network. He could thank Starfleet for that, but he wouldn't.
He had no psychic powers, no supernatural abilities, only alien DNA that allowed him to exist as the aliens did, outside of time, and, occasionally, when something went very wrong, to see. It was not pleasant, and if it happened too often it was more likely than not to--possibly literally--melt his brain, but in this case it told him two things. One, that they were not welcome here. They were a foreign object, and they needed to be removed. And two, that they were not the only thing here that didn't belong.
He knew it was dangerous to open the door, to lower their defenses to whatever was out there. Already, as the hatch lowered, he and the team of security that stood with him could see specks of something that looked like rust and rot land on the surface of the ship. They needed to get inside. He could hear the others muttering amongst themselves. They didn't want to be here, and Paul didn't blame them, but still he stepped forward. He didn't know why, only that it called to him. Not in the way of the tardigrade, but of the mycologist. He had to see.
The network spread before them, vast and beautiful and deadly, and there, coming closer, was the form. A form that quickly defined itself into a person. A person who looked bad. A person who looked bad and who was very grateful for being saved, it seemed, as Paul found out by having the misfortune of being a step ahead of the others, and in turn by being the recipient of gratitude in the form of a hug.
He didn't like hugs. At least not ones that he didn't choose to initiate, and he certainly didn't choose this one. He could practically feel the officers behind him tense for entirely different reasons. He hadn't gotten a good look at the other before being embraced, but he'd seemed...Vulcan? In the mycelial network? Who was so outwardly happy? Who would hug? There was no telling where he came from, or how long he'd been there, but it seemed odd. No more odd than finding him there in the first place, though.
Tense, Paul looked down to the other man. He felt solid, but that didn't necessarily mean anything here. A fellow traveler, he assumed. But how did he get here on his own? "Uh--" was Paul's first word, which he didn't at all like. "Yes, it's strange, no we're not dead, and our ship is brand new." He answered these not entirely without irritation, but that wasn't the Vulcan's(?) fault. Food, at least, he could handle. "I can take you to the mess hall? But I think my friends here--" a nod of his head to the accompanying security, "might not agree with that."
Thread: Lost Souls
(( @quantumstarpaths Reply in your own time, and I am very excited for this thread!! ))
Elnor had always imagined that, if it was real, the afterlife would at least resemble the stories he had heard about it. If he was damned, it was the ashes of Areinnye and the smoking pits of frozen Erebus. If he had honor--and he hoped he did--he imagined an oasis in a desert, not too unlike Vashti, with clear, cool water, and familiar faces. He imagined warmth and light and coming home, as he had experienced with the Orb of the Prophets he and Raffi had encountered.
He had not imagined a storm-wracked wilderness of fungal trees, glowing vividly with blues, violets, and pinks. Motes drifted in the air like sparkling stars, swirling as if he walked underwater, or in a breeze he could see but not feel. When they touched his skin, they hurt. He was whole, somewhat, and able to explore. The only rivers he could find were filled with the same sparkling stuff, tasted horrible, and burned his lips. It was neither hot nor cold. He supposed a poet could describe it as an ash-pit or a desert. It reminded him of space. It was beautiful.
It was also lonely. There were no hellbeasts, no khalagu, no demon-gods, no other lost katra but his own. So he began to talk to himself.
"... I don't know where I am. I don't know where I'm supposed to go. I don't like this place..." He stopped to scrape another swarm of the motes from his skin, hissing as he saw the green burns across his hands. "... It's beautiful, but I really, really hate it. I miss Raffi..."
Not just Raffi. He missed everyone else, too. But thinking about that hurt, so he kept walking... and walking... and walking... until--
He found IT. A starship. A Federation starship. An old starship. A massive starship. His training told him it was at least 23rd Century. He stared at it for a while, ignoring the stinging motes. "Why are you here?"
Within the ship, Paul Stamets was having a remarkably bad day. It wasn't that the day was 'cursed', that it was anything deserving of a children's book with an overuse of synonyms and an angry red cover, but it was, from where he stood, particularly bad. It had started fine, had even started decently, but then they'd tried to jump, something he'd done more times than he could keep track of, and even if he couldn't say it had always been without side effect, it had been, for the most part, without incident. Things had been bad before, but they'd been good.
Then came the catastrophic failure.
It had hurt. That was the thing that no one could really understand. It hurt when something went wrong. That was the problem with using himself as the navigator. If something went wrong while he was hooked up to the drive, it hurt. He didn't like it, not only the pain, but the knowledge that everyone in the room could see his pain.
The drive flashed, lights and power flickering, and pain lit his body aflame. But something was wrong. He knew something was wrong. He could feel it. He couldn't explain how, but he could feel it. He disconnected from the drive, brushing off the people that worried over him, the ones that wanted him to stop. This wasn't right. He ran a hand through his hair, slicked with sweat.
He moved through the ship almost blindly, without acknowledgement for anyone that he came across. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew where he was going. He barely heard the voices of the people around him, some confused, most taking action. Starfleet. They were good under pressure, Paul had to admit.
Finally, he was where he needed to be. He wasn't on the bridge, but at a viewport, at a window that looked outwards to the world they had found themselves in. Because thy certainly, it could be said, were not in Kansas anymore. Looking back at him was the landscape he knew. It was beautiful, it was terrible, and it was not right. They shouldn't be here. The spores wouldn't like this. The plane would not like this. If they weren't spit out, they would be swallowed.
But what was that? His attention was drawn to a form, little more than a speck at the Discovery's height, but somehow his eyes landed on it anyway. Not a tardigrade, no, it was tall, and thin. It was a person. Someone was out there.
Someone was out there.
Making his way to the bridge was easier, because he was clearer, but it was far more difficult, because that was where the traffic was heaviest. Finally, though, he reached it, and he earned the right attention.
Which was how, after far too much time spent convincing, far too much irritating time, far too much time realizing no one was going to be transporting anywhere for the time being, the loading bay door was lowered.
just posting to let everyone know i added a section in my rules about how i am really bad at responding to dms sometimes. mostly just that im avoidant and im sorry.
via fungimap.rbg.vic.gov.au
@notofthisxworld
Despite a non-insignificant role in the current Starfleet roster, Discovery did not tend to attract the attention of ambassadors. Maybe because it was a secret, or because of its position in the war, but for the cutting edge that they fly on, no one seemed either welcome or interested in coming on board. Which didn't bother Paul, not at all.
What bothered him was when it was announced that there would be an ambassador. That someone would be coming onto the ship, and that he would be expected to meet them. He didn't like having to meet people, especially people that he knew that he was going to have to explain his work to. People tended not to understand, and it frustrated him. That, and he'd never been a people person.
But that didn't matter, did it? Because the woman was coming, whether he liked it or not. And come she did, being led into the test bay, where Paul was frowning at the screen of his console. The drive's performance wasn't where he wanted it to be, and this wasn't a good time. But Starfleet had never worried about what worked for him.
Names were exchanged, and Paul glanced to the woman, lips pursing in as close to a smile as she was going to get. "Is there any chance the tour can wait?"
Regulus has been busy too. His fur puffed up, tail curled. He has been trying to get help of his situation, but to no avail. He has been running into a wall. Reggie has been busy. < I have been trying to recruit people, and give them the power.. but no luck.> Reggie’s ears flopped. His golden fur was still puffed.
< I have not gotten a chance to.. take on other forms yet either.. so the only form i have at this point is human.> He loved his human shape. There was always a feeling at the back of his head. Should he remain human? His tail swished. Reggie made a furrow of his brows. < So far, we are doing well.. i wish to thank you in trying to assist.>. His voice was calm, but a melancholy tone.
He didn't suppose he could really understand the problem that the other was going through. Sure, Paul wanted to tell people about the wonders of mycology, the beauty of science, but he wasn't trying to recruit anyone into doing anything but thinking about things differently. He wasn't asking people to carry on a secret of his species. No matter how often it felt like he was.
"I'm sorry," he said, lips pursing, eyebrows furrowing into a sympathetic triangle. He wasn't good at sympathy, but he was trying. "You would think that a starship would be a decent place to find new species, but Discovery doesn't take a lot of downtime, and using your crewmates is..." He paused, the furrow between his eyebrows becoming more thoughtful, "weird." Another pause. "Have you considered trying somewhere else?"
