Main / 1105-001-Pioneer

Calendar

1104-365 -- 1105-001 -- 1105-002

Timing of events
6:00 - Morning Meeting on Pioneer
7:00 - Depart Pioneer for Royal Docks
8:00 - The Royal Run on Floating Palace
12:00 - Meeting with King Oleb in the throne room of the Floating Palace
15:00 - Continued Meeting with King Oleb in the throne room of the Floating Palace

1105-001 6:00 - Morning Meeting on Pioneer

Mikhel was up and at it early, packing his kit for the Race. With the schedule of events being the Race in the morning, with the audience later in the day, Mikhel laid out his best suit and accoutrements for a quick change. Or, depending on the wishes of the Captain, he could bag the suit to be brought along this morning. The suit could be left on the Voyager for the quick change, if necessary. Perhaps, that should be Plan A, rather than need a trip back to the Pioneer. Yeah. That. Much better Plan A.

Let's see what the Captain and crew want for a schedule for the team...

1105-001 6:00 - Coffee in maintenance bay 004

T. N. Tennyson is a red-headed four foot tall overall-covered fireball. She wears a belt with assorted tools stuck in it and a button on her left breast pocket that reads 'If you can read this Fuck Off'. The firey maintenance worker gives her coffee a sip... she's only on her first cup of the day so naturally it's half whiskey... and frowns. She stomps over to the lockers and opens locker number two, gives a glass sphere with tubes connected to it a thump with her finger - "Bad still! Why aren't you up to Proper Cask Strength?" More grumbles as she examines the assembly. Then closes the locker with a sigh.

"Ah well. Time to go over today's maintenance list." She pulls the datapad off the wall and traces her 'signature doodle' with her finger on the pad to get the screen to light up.

"Okay. Let's see... hemo lab needs the centrifuge calibrated... one of the particle labs has..." She squints. "...parasites in the what? Oh no. I told them to just irradiate... ah. Immune to radiation. Gonna punt that to one of the bio labs. Those assholes probably made them anyways." She grins at the thought of making the bio-lab people's day more interesting.

She runs down the list and mutters to herself, occasionally makes notes, occasionally curses... "Right." She heads over to her workbench and looks over the tools neatly arrayed for her inspection. "Okay, time to save these idiots from themselves." The diminutive technician scoops up the tools and drops them into an open metal case, the kind of toolkit you see in those ancient holo vids. It makes an awful racket whenever even slightly nudged. And is covered with stickers for a variety of hard metal and retro-thrash punk bands. She prefers this style over the more modern soft-sided toolkits. For good measure she tosses in the datapad and slams the kit shut. She then grips the handle, hefts it up with a grunt and 'coffee' in the other hand marches off to the delightful cacophony of rattling metal.

1105-001 7:00 - Maintenance Bay 004

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe woke up feeling things were not as they should be. He hated waking up that way. It always made the rest of the day go . . . difficult. It would only get worse. Things were supposed to go as they were supposed to go. Like the stars, moving through space, unless acted upon by some other force, sometimes unknown. And then that, whatever it was, had to be discovered, solved, or accounted for so everything could work as it was supposed to work. But it was not. Not here in the quarters of Tepawabpeperfobaweafe.

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe unwrapped himself from the curled circle form he usually slept in. He sniffed the air. It was dry. “Bawabkaerwa-paaba-a,” Tepawabpeperfobaweafe called out to his digital friend. A soft beep responded. “Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part in domicile what is?”

Bawabkaerwa-paaba-a responded immediately with a soft melodic tone, “Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine parts per ship atmospheric standard unit is.”

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe slowly opened his eyes in disbelief. His thin lips pursed in an unhappiness he knew he would wear for the rest of the day. He did not like when things did not work as they were supposed to work. The bwap crawled out of his bed. Even the floor felt too dry on his bare feet. He looked toward his environmental replicator. The lights were green. “Bawabkaerwa-paaba-a, efficiency environmental replication device function what is?”

The same soft melodic voice came from the portable computer sitting on the nightstand, “Efficiency environmental replication device function 100% is.”

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe picked up a foot and stamped it down again with the sound of flesh slapping water. He repeated the action with the same sound only a little louder. Then he did it three more times in quick succession. If the environmental replicator was working at 100% efficiency, then the atmospheric controls of the ship were not working properly, again. Unacceptable.

Setting aside his morning ritual, Tepawabpeperfobaweafe marched out the door of his quarters in a billow of steam. Only one person was responsible for the catastrophic failure of life support, one-who-on-ship-exists-mechanical-things-to-correct-make, Tennyson. The bwap stormed off looking for the red-headed woman and her racket, naked.

There was no answer at the quarters of Tennyson. Tepawabpeperfobaweafe thought that certainly one-who-on-ship-exists-mechanical-things-to-correct-make was already aware that life support was not working properly and was already working on the repair. After all, that was her job. But no, she was not at the life support module either. Tepawabpeperfobaweafe thought perhaps he should fix it himself. He couldn’t do a worse job after the number of times he had insisted Tennyson correct the environmental controls to appropriate humidity levels. But no, that would take more time away from the stars Tepawabpeperfobaweafe loved. It was when stomping through engineering that Tepawabpeperfobaweafe picked up on the aroma of burnt beans and followed it to maintenance bay four.

Arms folded across his chest, the naked blue-skinned gold-yellow marked bwap tapped his foot waiting for one-who-on-ship-exists-mechanical-things-to-correct-make to notice him. Trying to get her attention over the sound of machines begging for mercy and humans crying in pain would have simply been a futile effort.

1105-001 7:00 - Maintenance work in Hemo Lab 01

The old centrifuge... no, wait. That's not fair. The ancient centrifuge had its usual buildup of crud. Of course. Before testing anything she had cleaned that out and replaced the bearings. Some other minor work and an hour later and it was spinning away happily within spec.

There was a beeping from the toolbox. Tennyson stared at it for a moment wondering why someone would be paging her. She opened it up and pulled out her datapad. Movement around her workbench. That earned a frown... everyone knows better than to mess with her stuff. Especially the lockers and anything in proximity. She thumbed the connection to the local cam. Right there was -

"Hey Tep." The little cam has a speaker and a mic for just such an emergency. "You need something?"

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe looked around to find the voice, and the camera. Tepawabpeperfobaweafe pinches his face into something of a grimace, almost like someone was moving his face from the inside like a frown on a felt frog.

“Tennyson look, Tennyson look.” The bwap holds up an arm in front of him bent at the elbow to show his forearm, “Flesh of Tepawabpeperfobaweafe dry. Flesh of Tepawabpeperfobaweafe dry should be not. Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine parts per ship atmospheric standard unit is . . . should be not. Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine-eight parts per ship atmospheric standard unit should be. Control of atmospheric saturation work not. One-who-on-ship-exists-mechanical-things-to-correct-make correct make. One-who-on-ship-exists-mechanical-things-to-correct-make correct make not, Tepawabpeperfobaweafe survive not. Tennyson Tepawabpeperfobaweafe survive not? Tennyson, One-who-on-ship-exists-mechanical-things-to-correct-make correct make then."

[Translation]:

“Tennyson look, Tennyson look.” The bwap holds up an arm in front of him bent at the elbow to show his forearm, “My skin is dry. It shouldn’t be. The humidity in my quarters is 90%. It should be 98%. Atmospheric controls are not working properly. You need to fix it. If you do not, I will die. Tennyson, do you want me to die? If not, then fix the atmospheric controls.

Thank the ghods for AI translation software. She tapped the button to activate it and read the text it spit out over Tep's face. Ah. Humidity. She struggled to not roll her eyes.

"Forty percent humidity is within normal parameters for the ship, Tep." She started to pack up her testing equipment. "We've got a number of sensitive projects on board that would be disrupted with a higher count, I've already had 'the talk' with the braniacs." Bag shouldered she started walking to her next project. She continued to hold the data pad up to continue the conversation. "Anyways you and I don't get a say in what the ship's humidity is gonna be. Except in your quarters which, as you say is ninety percent. That's nice, right? If you want it that close to a hundred percent you're just going to have to climb into a bathtub. We can't consistently get the humidity up that high without special, very expensive equipment. Why don't you just talk to the smart people around here and get, oh I don't know... some kind of cream? Or moisturizer for your skin?"

Cue rant in five... four... three...

Translation below response

The bwap takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out as if everything in his world had suddenly crashed down around him . . . and then starts to pace back and forth across a short two-meter span motioning wildly as he speaks, “Waweta? Waweta?”

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe pauses to look directly at the camera throwing his arms out broadly, a look of absolute misery on his face, tears welling in his eyes. “Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine parts per ship atmospheric standard unit Tepawabpeperfobaweafe exist must Waweta?”

He returns to pacing and gesturing with every point. “Existence universal totality Tepawabpeperfobaweafe manage perfect alone. Environmental replication device Tepawabpeperfobaweafe parameters within 100% function correct.”

He puts his hand to his chest to emphasize his efforts, “Environmental replication device Tepawabpeperfobaweafe parameters Wawathwa-pabessab Tepawabpeperfobaweafe make. Requirements occupation Tepawabpeperfobaweafe do. Exist requirements life not Pioneer exist crew Tepawabpeperfobaweafe plead not. Pioneer exist crew respect Tepawabpeperfobaweafe present, Tepawabpeperfobaweafe respect present Pioneer exist crew ask . . .”

He stops pacing to pound his fist into his open palm with each following word, “Domicile Tepawabpeperfobaweafe plead.”

Looking directly at the camera he makes a pleading shrug with his shoulders and arms spreading palms up, “Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine-eight parts per ship atmospheric standard unit.”

The pacing resumes. “Domicile Tepawabpeperfobaweafe not Pioneer exist crew respect Tepawabpeperfobaweafe present, Pioneer exist crew respect Tepawabpeperfobaweafe present not?”

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe does not stop his pacing, but looks at the camera representing Tennyson, “One-who-on-ship-exists-mechanical-things-to-correct-make not, not, Pioneer exist crew respect Tepawabpeperfobaweafe present not!”

The bwap clenched a fist in front of him with the last word.

As he turns to continue pacing, Tepawabpeperfobaweafe looks mournfully at the ground in front of him, “Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine-eight parts per ship atmospheric standard unit domicile Tepawabpeperfobaweafe Tepawabpeperfobaweafe asks. Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine-eight parts per ship atmospheric standard unit more not. Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine-eight parts per ship atmospheric standard unit.”

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe’s voice rises in tone to less angry, more remorseful, “Flesh Tepawabpeperfobaweafe pepasa-babbaba not percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine-eight parts per ship atmospheric standard unit not. Bawapa-waweta Tepawabpeperfobaweafe suffer. Bawapa-waweta Tepawabpeperfobaweafe forthcoming exemplify exist. Pawab-sab Tepawabpeperfobaweafe not.”

He stops pacing and his entire body slumps in upon itself somehow making the small bwap seem even smaller.

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe turns to face the camera but does not look up at it, just stand looking at the floor in front of him in dejected and diminished, voice barely a whisper. “Domicile Tepawabpeperfobaweafe. Percentage saturation compound hydrogen two-parts oxygen one-part nine-eight parts per ship atmospheric standard unit. Pawab-sab Tepawabpeperfobaweafe correct. Grateful Tepawabpeperfobaweafe forthcoming exemplify exist. Atmospheric controls domicile Tepawabpeperfobaweafe One-who-on-ship-exists-mechanical-things-to-correct-make correct make. Pawab-sab Tepawabpeperfobaweafe correct save.”

[Translation]:

The bwap takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out as if everything in his world had suddenly crashed down around him . . . and then starts to pace back and forth across a short two-meter span motioning wildly as he speaks, “Why? Why?”

Te’pe’fe pauses to look directly at the camera thowing his arms out broadly, a look of absolute misery on his face, tears welling in his eyes. “Why, must I live under these conditions?” He returns to pacing and gesturing with every point, “I do everything I can to manage everything myself. My own environmental device compensates as best it can, functions at 100%.”

“I,” he puts his hand to his chest to emphasize his efforts, “keep it functioning properly. I do my job. I don’t ask anyone to live in unpleasant conditions anywhere on Pioneer. I only ask that I am afforded the same respect that I give everyone else . . .”

He stops pacing to pound his fist into his open palm with each following word, “in my own quarters.”

Looking directly at the camera he makes a pleading shrug with his shoulders and arms spreading palms up, “Simple comfort.”

The pacing resumes. “I take it upon myself to accommodate others when outside my quarters, but is the same accommodation afforded me?”

Te’pe’fe does not stop his pacing, but looks at the camera representing Tennyson, “No, Tennyson, no, it is not.”

The bwap clenched a fist in front of him with the last word.

As he turns to continue pacing, Te’pe’fe looks mournfully at the ground in front of him, “Just eight percent more in my quarters. That is all I am asking. Nothing more. Just eight percent.”

Te’pe’fe’s voice rises in tone to less angry, more remorseful, “Without it, my skin will dry out. Without it, I will suffer. Without it, I will grow weak. And eventually, without eight percent, I will die.”

He stops pacing and his entire body slumps in upon itself somehow making the small bwap seem even smaller.

Te’pe’fe turns to face the camera but does not look up at it, just stand looking at the floor in front of him in dejected and diminished, voice barely a whisper. “Just my quarters. Eight percent more. And my life will be saved and I will forever be grateful. Tennyson, please fix the atmospheric controls. Please save my life.”

Don't eyeroll. Don't eyeroll. "Alright Tep. If that last little bit of moisture means that much I'll draw up a request for the new HVAC equipment that can handle it. It's only a quarter meg-cred so what the hell, right? Not to mention the extra power from the ship's plant. That'll need the captain's okay. Watch for it in your email and give it your signature. Meanwhile I'll go over the seals for the existing system, see if I can't get you a couple more points of humidity. Okay, buddy?"

She didn't think poorly of the Bwap. He was a decent fellow as far as she could tell. But damn those enviro-mods are a pain in the ass. Still, maybe some judicious use of duct tape would get some improvements. And who knows? If the captain does sign off on the upgrade she can divert some of it's capacity for that greenhouse she's been considering setting up...

The little bwap takes in a deep breath and it seems to inflate him back to normal and even seems to put a broad smile on his face. Even his tone takes on a much more aggregable nature. “One-who-on-ship-exists-mechanical-things-to-correct-make understand Tepawabpeperfobaweafe knew. Tepawabpeperfobaweafe grateful exist.”

Tepawabpeperfobaweafe, not unhappily, turns and walks back to his quarters to put on his Kaftan and start his day.

[Translation]:

The little bwap takes in a deep breath and it seems to inflate him back to normal and even seems to put a broad smile on his face. Even his tone takes on a much more aggregable nature. “Te’pe’fe knew Tennsyson would understand. You have my gratitude.”

Te’pe’fe, not unhappily, turns and walks back to his quarters to put on his Kaftan and start his day.

She thumbed the 'break connection' key, "Another happy customer. Thank you for your custom." With a snort she tucked away the datapad. Fortunately enviro is on her task list for the day. A little extra time going over seals won't put much of a crimp in her day. As long as the 'braniacs' left her alone and didn't have any weird complaints about random things that aren't a problem.

"Just nobody make me deal with those stupid parasites in the particle labs..." she muttered low.

1105-001 13:00 - Message From The Captain

All data pads from those on and off the ship who are crew on the Pioneer lit up. It is very rare to get a high priority message from the Captain which intrigues many, and unlike other messages they may ignore until they can pause in their experiments, prompts all to check it as soon as possible.

To Pioneer Researchers and Crew - A tour of the Pioneer will commence tomorrow morning at 0900. His Majesty and Council will be in attendance. I will answer questions this evening when I return to the ship. Commence preparations in the meantime.

1105-001 13:01 - Maintenance bay 004

She had just settled in to watch her stories and enjoy a well-earned supper of 'Tasty Tacos' and a fresh batch of gin she'd been working on...

"Aw damn. Inspection, yaay." She looks around the tidy maintenance bay and realizes this perfection of order will certainly not be replicated around the ship. With a sigh she thumbs off the show and gathers up cleaning and polishing materials.

"Let's see. A quick tidy of the other maintenance bays I suppose, and a little yelling should get things in shape there." She starts loading up a bag. "Maybe a visit to engineering, we don't want any muck or grease stains from accidentally rubbing against something..." As not quite an afterthought she picks up a couple of rolls of hazard tapes. Something to discourage closer inspection if something is particularly unsightly. Like Tep's quarters, she smirks.

She quickly scarfs the tacos, downs the gin and hooks the bag over one shoulder. "Nothing for it I suppose but to work, work, work... Ohhh... Backsiiide rules the Nayy-veee... Backside rules the sea!! If you want a bit of bum, better get it from my chum..." Exit stage left.

1105-001 17:45 - Maintenance bay 004

A few hours later a tired and slightly grubby Tennyson returns to her favorite hidey-hole. She casually disposes of the five cores to the ungodly amount of duct tape she used today along with some candy-bar wrappers and miscellaneous junk. She doesn't tolerate others making a mess around the equipment and makes certain to be an example of good behavior. Then a washup at the basin and she's mostly clean.

Minutes later she's propped up in an impromptu lounger with her datapad up in front of her, the 'Androids' theme song playing and a cool drink in her hand. She even added a little umbrella to the glass for frills.