06-24-2025, 01:42 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-24-2025, 01:43 AM by Robin Mayfair.)
"Sol Station Orbital Control, this is Runabout Orion, climbing through 1500 meters, bound outsystem to Proxima Centauri."
There were only a few low clouds nearby, a perfect summer day as the runabout rapidly ascended, accelerating as the air thinned out but maintaining subsonic speed. Below the state of Florida was clearly visible. Robin pointed the nose up as the orbiting spacedock responded.
"Orion, spacedock has you on sensors. Continue standard ascent profile. Remain on this channel until 250 kilometers, then transfer to System Departure Control. Current weather has a thunderstorm 8 kilometers to your south-southwest. Moderate turbulence, tops at 10,700 meters.."
"Roger, Control. I have the storm in sight. No factor. On-channel until 2-5-0, then contact SDC. Thanks, Orion out."
The runabout accelerated as it climbed, the atmosphere thinning as it reached speeds no vessel that was bound by aerodynamics could come close to. The 250 kilometer limit rapidly approached. Sol Station was in view to the south, a massive structure that had finally been fully repaired after the Borg-possessed Starfleet had nearly knocked it out of orbit a few years ago. Tapping the controls the Augment steered the ship into a standard orbit, checking sensors for local traffic. As busy as the skies were around Earth, nothing was nearby. But then this was the most basic level of the pilot training simulation. Trouble would come in future simulations when she'd passed basic certification.
The nurse was grateful not to have been involved in that mess (having been on the other side of the galaxy as part of the Pathfinder Task Force), but the thought that she had had Borg-altered DNA implanted in her system was disturbing enough. As far as Robin was concerned her DNA had been messed with enough, grateful as she was for her life-saving enhancements. Too many people had died that day in the last gasp of the Collective. Between the destruction of the Megasphere and the death of the last Borg Queen she hoped the Borg were now truly gone from the galaxy, though she suspected they still lingered out there in the unknown depths of space.
She tapped the communication panel. "System Departure Control, this is Runabout Orion requesting permission to depart Earth orbit, outbound for Proxima Centauri. Flight plan has been logged."
A pleasant female voice, lightly accented French, responded. "Runabout Orion. You are cleared for system departure along projected flight plan, half impulse. Past Mars orbit adjust to 320 mark 2 to avoid cometary debris, then resume. Past Neptune orbit maintain Warp 5 until Proxima-8 orbit, then contact Proxima insystem for further instruction. Have a safe trip."
Robin repeated the directions, as she'd been trained. "Roger, adjust 320 m-2 past Mars orbit, resume. Warp 5 past Neptune until Proxima system edge, then contact Proxima insystem. Much obliged, Orion out." The niceties weren't strictly necessary, but the former farm girl had been raised to always show a friendly and respectful attitude when possible. It was part of her core being and came as naturally as breathing. And true, the voice she was speaking to was just a computer simulation with no more real intelligence than a toaster, but she saw no reason to behave otherwise.
Earth began to shrink as she accelerated the large shuttle to Warp 5, maintaining control herself (rather than engaging the autopilot) until she heard a tone. "Program Completed" said the pleasantly neutral voice of the Artemis computer. The shuttle disappeared, space disappeared, and she was left sitting on a chair in an empty holodeck. "Score recorded."
The purple-haired nurse stood up and stretched. "Computer, read score."
"Simulation passed. Score 100. Basic Runabout Piloting Level-1 completed. Do you wish to load the next simulation?"
Robin was tempted, but she was more tempted by the idea of curling up in bed. She had fourteen more of these simulations to complete before she'd be allowed to sit in a real Runabout cockpit and take the controls. This was the easiest one, utterly routine. They didn't stay that way. Every graduate of Starfleet Academy had to pass basic shuttlecraft flight training, and she certainly had done that, but she hadn't sat at the controls of even a Shuttlepod since then. Just too busy.
But in the last few months the young Augment had decided that she needed to resume her training. She'd felt herself settling into too much of a routine, spending more time than necessary in Sickbay. Doctor Sonaalk had warned her against micromanaging. Her people needed space to breathe and she needed to start pushing her enhanced brain, learning skills beyond how to play yet another new musical instrument or reading up on the early voyages of the USS Enterprise. Whatever dangers the Artemis and her crew faced, she intended to be as ready as she could be for them.
"No. Computer, end program." The chair disappeared and Robin headed for the door.
There were only a few low clouds nearby, a perfect summer day as the runabout rapidly ascended, accelerating as the air thinned out but maintaining subsonic speed. Below the state of Florida was clearly visible. Robin pointed the nose up as the orbiting spacedock responded.
"Orion, spacedock has you on sensors. Continue standard ascent profile. Remain on this channel until 250 kilometers, then transfer to System Departure Control. Current weather has a thunderstorm 8 kilometers to your south-southwest. Moderate turbulence, tops at 10,700 meters.."
"Roger, Control. I have the storm in sight. No factor. On-channel until 2-5-0, then contact SDC. Thanks, Orion out."
The runabout accelerated as it climbed, the atmosphere thinning as it reached speeds no vessel that was bound by aerodynamics could come close to. The 250 kilometer limit rapidly approached. Sol Station was in view to the south, a massive structure that had finally been fully repaired after the Borg-possessed Starfleet had nearly knocked it out of orbit a few years ago. Tapping the controls the Augment steered the ship into a standard orbit, checking sensors for local traffic. As busy as the skies were around Earth, nothing was nearby. But then this was the most basic level of the pilot training simulation. Trouble would come in future simulations when she'd passed basic certification.
The nurse was grateful not to have been involved in that mess (having been on the other side of the galaxy as part of the Pathfinder Task Force), but the thought that she had had Borg-altered DNA implanted in her system was disturbing enough. As far as Robin was concerned her DNA had been messed with enough, grateful as she was for her life-saving enhancements. Too many people had died that day in the last gasp of the Collective. Between the destruction of the Megasphere and the death of the last Borg Queen she hoped the Borg were now truly gone from the galaxy, though she suspected they still lingered out there in the unknown depths of space.
She tapped the communication panel. "System Departure Control, this is Runabout Orion requesting permission to depart Earth orbit, outbound for Proxima Centauri. Flight plan has been logged."
A pleasant female voice, lightly accented French, responded. "Runabout Orion. You are cleared for system departure along projected flight plan, half impulse. Past Mars orbit adjust to 320 mark 2 to avoid cometary debris, then resume. Past Neptune orbit maintain Warp 5 until Proxima-8 orbit, then contact Proxima insystem for further instruction. Have a safe trip."
Robin repeated the directions, as she'd been trained. "Roger, adjust 320 m-2 past Mars orbit, resume. Warp 5 past Neptune until Proxima system edge, then contact Proxima insystem. Much obliged, Orion out." The niceties weren't strictly necessary, but the former farm girl had been raised to always show a friendly and respectful attitude when possible. It was part of her core being and came as naturally as breathing. And true, the voice she was speaking to was just a computer simulation with no more real intelligence than a toaster, but she saw no reason to behave otherwise.
Earth began to shrink as she accelerated the large shuttle to Warp 5, maintaining control herself (rather than engaging the autopilot) until she heard a tone. "Program Completed" said the pleasantly neutral voice of the Artemis computer. The shuttle disappeared, space disappeared, and she was left sitting on a chair in an empty holodeck. "Score recorded."
The purple-haired nurse stood up and stretched. "Computer, read score."
"Simulation passed. Score 100. Basic Runabout Piloting Level-1 completed. Do you wish to load the next simulation?"
Robin was tempted, but she was more tempted by the idea of curling up in bed. She had fourteen more of these simulations to complete before she'd be allowed to sit in a real Runabout cockpit and take the controls. This was the easiest one, utterly routine. They didn't stay that way. Every graduate of Starfleet Academy had to pass basic shuttlecraft flight training, and she certainly had done that, but she hadn't sat at the controls of even a Shuttlepod since then. Just too busy.
But in the last few months the young Augment had decided that she needed to resume her training. She'd felt herself settling into too much of a routine, spending more time than necessary in Sickbay. Doctor Sonaalk had warned her against micromanaging. Her people needed space to breathe and she needed to start pushing her enhanced brain, learning skills beyond how to play yet another new musical instrument or reading up on the early voyages of the USS Enterprise. Whatever dangers the Artemis and her crew faced, she intended to be as ready as she could be for them.
"No. Computer, end program." The chair disappeared and Robin headed for the door.