YE/D06 - Holodecks

[Paul]

==

[Riley Wright]

Time has this way of smudging the edges of things when you’re on a ship. Shifts come and go. Hallways fill, then empty again. The lights never change. And your brain—it tries, stubbornly, quietly—to shove everything into tidy little boxes you won’t flinch opening.

Riley hadn’t figured out how to do that yet.

So she ended up standing outside the holodeck in civvies—soft pants, short-sleeved top, her right arm bare. The tattoo along it caught the corridor lights, a tangle of dark lines she could feel even when she wasn’t looking at it. She should’ve felt lighter being off-duty. But it didn’t feel like freedom—it felt like walking around without armor. Her hands were locked behind her back, fingers woven tight enough to turn her knuckles pale. Like if she just held on hard enough, she’d hold herself together. The ship hummed all around her—steady, familiar—and something about that calm made her jaw twitch.

She stopped at the control panel, not the door. Let the screen bathe her hands in soft blue while she keyed in the program list. Skimmed past a bunch she’d already tried. Forced herself to pick something. No overthinking.

Zero-G Racing. Competitive Course. Full Field.

She hesitated, one breath, then dug into the settings—because if she was going to do this, she had to do it right.

[Simulated opponents: enabled.
Opponent count: full roster.
Opponent difficulty: advanced.
Collision safety: engaged.
Course: Gate Run Alpha-Seven.
Reset on injury: immediate.]

She stared at the confirmation screen longer than she needed to. Her thumb just hovered over the key. “Advanced” meant no easing in. No space to wobble. Screw up, and you’d feel it fast.

She hit it anyway.

The tone was soft. The screen blinked: [PROGRAM READY]. Then: [WAITING FOR ENTRY].

Now she moved.

The doors slid open, quiet as always. She stepped through.

For a second the grid blinked into place—those bright white lines in empty space—then it dissolved into a massive, dark stretch of nothing laced with glowing gates and floating markers. No floor, no ceiling. Just movement. Just force. The track hung there like someone had tossed neon rings into the stars and called it a game. In the distance, fake constellations sparkled like they were trying too hard.

Environmental settings kicked in. Her feet lifted a little off the floor as gravity peeled away. Near the door, a suit rack waited—padded flight rig, forearm thrusters. Slick. Practical. Kind of ridiculous next to the clothes she’d walked in wearing.

She floated over, caught the rack with two fingers, dragged the rig over her head and shoulders. Tightened the straps until the whole thing hugged close. Something solid. Dependable. The tattoo on her forearm shifted when she pulled one strap tight—ink over pale skin, one of the only real things in a place built on code.

Farther out, the racers drifted into position—humanoid figures in matching flight gear, holding still with tiny, perfect bursts of thrust. They moved like this was muscle memory. No one looked her way. No one cared. They weren’t here for her.

The countdown flashed in the corner of her vision.

Riley flexed her hands once. Then let them go.

Stop thinking about it.

Zero.

They launched.

They didn’t just go—they exploded off the line. Riley kicked off and punched her thrusters. Clean launch. But the pack was already ahead, tearing through the first gate like a swarm. Tight formation. No gaps. Two racers cut across her path—one above, one low—and she had to make a call fast. She rolled and dropped under, barely threading the gate’s center before the warning tone chirped.

Already?

The next gates came fast. One racer stole the inside line and Riley had to hit the brakes hard, her harness biting in. Another slid past her on the left, smooth and unbothered, the wash of their thrusters brushing her shoulder. Nothing personal. Still sucked.

She clenched her jaw. Not angry. Just done being pushed.

Next sequence, she adjusted early. Cut tighter. Clean pass, then another, and another. She started clawing her way back. Found a rhythm in the pressure—pick a line, commit, live with it. And for a little while, the noise in her head just... shut off.

Then the choke point hit.

A mess of gates bunched together into a bottleneck. Markers floating so close together that one wrong twitch would cost her. Riley pulled in behind another racer, shadowed their line. Waited. Watched. A sliver opened on the left.

She went for it.

Same moment, the racer beside her made their move.

No wobble. No drift. Just a clean, sharp lateral shove straight into her path like they owned it. She snapped the thrusters to avoid a shoulder-check, but there was no room. Her hip slammed into theirs with a dull, rattling thud. The safety buffers kicked in, but it still knocked the air out of her lungs.

She spun. The gate she’d aimed for whipped past in a smear of neon.

A red flash: [CONTACT / LOSS OF CONTROL].

She barely had time to curse before another racer clipped her rig mid-spin, knocking her into a full tumble. Stars and gates spun around her like some kind of slow-motion nightmare carousel while the rest of the field disappeared.

She tried to correct—quick bursts, left thruster, right—but her inertia was all wrong and the course didn’t care. She missed one checkpoint. Then the next.

[DISQUALIFIED] lit up in her vision. Red and loud and final.

Nobody stopped.

They just kept going like she’d never been there.

Riley drifted in silence, her rig slowly bleeding off the spin. Her chest still tight—not from the hit, not from pain, just the leftover punch of being shoved out of the way and knowing no one even noticed.

She didn’t move.

Not right away.

And then, in the quiet that followed, the thing she’d been trying to outrun slipped back in. Slow. Inevitable.

Of course.

She closed her eyes. Swallowed. Forced her hands to release the controls. When she looked again, the gates were still there. Waiting. Like it didn’t care what just happened.

She didn’t restart.

Didn’t ask for another shot.

She just eased herself toward the edge of the course, moving slow and steady, like maybe if she went gently enough, she wouldn’t feel the shake in her fingers or the hollow behind her ribs.

She’d come here because the rules were supposed to be simple.

Tonight, even the holodeck had called her bluff.

[Artemis d'Tor'an]

Artemis walked into the holodeck -stomped, really- allowing her thoughts and mood to turn stormy again. She knew it. She knew it. That damn Trill hadn’t gotten away because she lost him; he hadn’t gotten away because he stupidly crawled into a duct and got burned alive and turned into an untraceable pile of ashes; and he hadn’t gotten away because he was smarter than she was. Thanks to the dogged efforts of the more scientifically-minded, there was now a theory of what had happened to the sorry excuse for a man. Time travel. She didn’t like it more than anyone else, and certainly hated using it as an excuse, but during the Race of First Contact, they had gone through an anomoly that had forced parts of the ship into different parts of the past. Before the whole concept made her head hurt, it made a sort of sense that had someone theoretically moved between time-bubbles, they could have unintentionally -or intenionally?- gotten stuck.

That didn’t help Art’s spiraling thoughts.

Had Tomer known about the time-travel-causing anomoly? Had that been why he had chosen this ship to impersonate an Ambassadorial assistant? Tomer most likely wasn’t his real name, but they had nothing else to call him. Or had this been a crime of opportunity? Had he known he was about to be found out, and slipped into the past as a way of escape? What else had he done that Art didn’t even know about?

“Computer,” She said through gritted teeth, “Load program ‘Kaden Execise One-Two-Five’ and start with a delay of three seconds.”

The Security Chief found herself with her back against a wall, a hand pressed into her chest, and a weapon pointed at her head. Good. This was how she felt. There were four assailants surrounding her; which one did she go for first? The one restricting her? Or the one with the weapon? Besides feeling the pain of it pressing into her head, she had to assume they were all armed. She had to act without thinking, had to strategize without getting herself killed. That meant a quick punch to the abdomen of the person on her left, causing the phaser-like weapon to drop, and due to the closeness of the person holding her against the wall, a headbutt square against their weaker skull. She gained precious little space, which the other two filled almost instantly, their own fists flying towards her. She ducked and turned, crouching and hitting both against their kneecaps. She hadn’t even looked at their faces yet to see what species they were – all she knew was that the one that had been holding her against the wall had been vaguely humanoid.

A punch from behind her brought her upright again, the blow landing in the small of her back. A blind donkey kick met something solid, pushing it back and away from her. Art wanted to turn, to face the three enemies that were now behind her, but the movement cost her. From the side, a closed fist met with her nose, an unfortunately lucky angle that made the soft tissue give way to blood that poured down her face. There was no time to pause though, as someone had both her arms, and was pulling them behind her. Another grabbed her between the legs, and she snarled like a feral animal. She leaned back, putting her weight on the person behind her, launching herself up and using both legs to kick the person away from her. He hit the stone wall she had been against, the satisfying crunching sound of a skull being cracked echoing around them. Artemis couldn’t stop to appreciate it though, as she was too busy turning and grabbing the person that had been holding her arms.

Three left. She grabbed the front of the enemy’s shirt, holding him close as she threw her punch. This time, she aimed for the throat, and she felt everything collapse as she drove her fist through. The faceless foe tried to gasp for air, falling backwards as the wheezing sound signaled his end of life. Whirling, Art tried to find the two that were left. She couldn’t see them. Where had they gone? Her heart pounded, and the sound of blood rushing in her ears mixed with the sound of rain, which was now coming down in heavy sheets, accompanied by booming thunder overhead. The mostly-Klingon heart sank: she now had no visibility, and would not be able to hear any assailant coming.

There was no choice: she would have to let them have the first move.




==To be continued…… ==

[Peter Jensen]

== This takes place before what happens on the bridge ==

Peter had asked the computer where she was, and been told "Holodeck 1". He had "rung the bell", for lack of a better term... and then again when there was no response. This was unusual. Normally he'd at least have gotten an unhappy grunt at the interruption. Now there was none. Has she done something brave but foolish like disable the safety precautions? 
He was not one to barge in on others' holodeck time unwelcome, but...well, this counted, he thought, as an emergency.

"Computer. Override lock, and open door. Standby for authorization", he said, unwilling to just blurt out his command code in the hallway. He entered it via a touchpad on the screen next to the door, though, and the door opened. 

When it did, his worry increased slightly. Then he quickly asked the computer for a standard Bat'leth, and advanced.

And that's when he spotted them. There were two attackers. Both came out of the shadows and advanced towards Art while her back was turned.
"Flee from my Lukara, P'Takh!", he said in a loud, authoritative voice as he advanced on them. He held the weapon up in what he thought was the correct "at rest but ready to fight"-position. 
To call Peter Jensen a master of the Bat'leth would be a truth with so many modifications that one would have to classify it as untrue. His sole experience with the weapon had been in simulations he'd run by himself, beginners' scenarios. He wasn't ashamed of that. It was, truth be told, a clumsy weapon, at least in human hands. But right now, he did not care. 

Taking advantage of the momentary confusion on the enemies' part, he charged forward and swung at the one of the two assailants who was closest to him. 
If he had imagined a swift death blow so they could 2-v-1 the remaining attacker, he had another thing coming. The attacker snapped out of surprise and dodged his blow, leaving Peter stumbling forward next to Art, and would have slammed his face against the wall if he hadn't held up the upper part of his arm to brace the blow. 

He immediately spun around and held teh weapon back up. Looking at her with...that specific look in his eye. A mix between mischief and mirth. 

"Do you come here often?", he grinned, using the standard pickup line, which is used across the galaxy's bars in various forms and with various degrees of success. 
Then he dodged a blow from the assailant he'd attacked, and quickly followed up by landing an uppercut, and then used the Bat'leth to slid the attacker's throat.
Though, to be fair, that was more a matter of luck as he had just swung the pointed end towards the man's throat and been lucky. 
As the second-to-last attacker clutched his throat andf dropped, gurgling, this was the point where he saw her face. She was bleeding too. He made a mental note of asking her just what the fiddlestick she thought she was doing, disabling the safety mechanisms, but that would have to wait. He looked around for the second guy, and couldn't quite find him....

== Btw, this "intrusion" is with player's permission ==

[Kal-Geal Beinn]

==Same Artemis timeline, posted with player permission==

Kal-Geal watched as Jensen entered the holodeck where Art had gone into to blow off steam, or at least that's what he thought she was doing. Following doctor's orders, and the implicit idea that the safeties would be turned off, caused the Lieutenant to go to the panel and observe the parameters of the mission. He used his own medical officer codes to view the parameters, and said,

"Computer. Medical override entered, do not halt program in progress. Load San-Tarah battle armor from program Beinn-KA-021 around me when I enter. Do not reveal my location to the occupants."

The computer responded,

"Override accepted, warning, safety protocols disengaged. Enter at your own risk."

"Acknowledged. Render San-Tarah broadsword with battle armor for additional protection. Medical supplies are being carried in case of emergency."

Kal-Geal entered the simulation within a bank of mist, his tricorder and medical kit hidden under the battle armor the holodeck had materialized around him. San-Tarah battle armor was issued for use in San-Tarah shock troop deployment and boarding actions. It was thick duranium plating that held up under fire, though it slowed down most Children of San-Tarah when it was used. A helmet and gorget protected their head, while gauntlets, boots and greaves protected exposed sections that would be targeted by opportunists. Elbows, knees and other mobility joints weren't as armored, but such was the price of wearing armor. Traditional broadswords were used alongside it, to give them greater reach than their claws could give them, and take advantage of their strength. The Lieutenant let out a hunting howl, used to harry a Child of San-Tarah's prey, and began to stalk around Art and Jensen, broadsword in claws. The bigger form of werewolf materialized in the mist, absent the mysterious last attacker that was part of the original program.

"Weaklings, are what I must deal with today. House Mo'Kai will not be pleased." Came a distorted growl from the helmet of the armored Child of San-Tarah.

==tag==

[Artemis d'Tor'an]

There was a long, heavy moment where Artie stood in the pouring rain, waiting for the enemy to make the first move. All she could ‘sense’ was the rain, and the sound of the rain, and the soaking wet seeping into her skin. Her clothes stuck to her, became a part of her, and she knew their current state affected her agility. She resigned herself to knowing she would have to be on the defense, which she hated.

A voice called out into the near-darkness.

“Flee from my Lukara, p'takh!”

What the f#ck?

They were Kahless’ words, but spoken with a definitively Human-accented voice. She turned to peer through the sheets of rain behind her, vaguely seeing a Human form holding a bat’leth, shouting no doubt at the two other forms that were but yards from her position. He ran towards one, availing his weapon, but the enemy in question ducked away, sending who Art realized was Peter stumbling towards her. Her eyes widened, especially when she saw his expression. He wasn’t disappointed, or frustrated, but seemed to be rather enjoying himself. Her mouth quirked in amusement at him.

“Do you come here often?” Her beloved asked, jokingly. Artie’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

The faceless man that Peter had chosen to attack came back to strike against him, and the Yeager’s First Officer made quick work of him. The roughly-human form fell on the ground, and disappeared from the Holodeck. Peter looked at her, a flash of concern passing over his face before Art made a pointed look back out into the deluge,

The last man standing was not expecting to hear a haunting howl, and neither was Artemis. Whereas Art merely started in surprise, the man in question fell forward with a thump that all could hear. The Klingon whipped her head around, looking for the source of the former sound, finding a bulky shadow carrying a large weapon, poised and primed to strike. She knew at once who it had to be, and choked back a laugh.

Can’t even kill anyone in peace! She thought, but now she was jovial.

“Weaklings are what I must deal with today. House Mo'Kai will not be pleased.” The voice was slightly muffled, telling Art that her friend was in full battle armor, and her eyebrows creased as she let that amusement show on her face.

The rain in the program lifted slightly, showing the last attacker get up, covered in mud, and then realize who he was up against. The faceless humanoid saw a bleeding Klingon, a weapon-yeilding Human, and what looked to be a highly-armoured werewolf. He froze, his face full of fear, and then the group heard him speak.

“NOPE!”

As he turned heel and ran, Art started laughing. Taking a breath, she glanced at Peter, holding the bat’leth wrong, and started laughing again. The program, sensing that the game had been won, tapered off the rainflow to a drizzle, and then merely to a humid, wet air. Art sucked in a breath, and turned towards Beinn, and then doubled over, laughing again. “Why…” She shook her head and dismissed the rest of the question.

Taking a few deep breaths, Art gave a happy look to the San-Tarah, and then gave Peter a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the help, guys.” She said, wiping the blood from her face. Looking around, the setting without the thunderstorm wasn’t much too look at, and Art told the computer to end the holodeck program. Her clothes instantly dried, but her skin and blood did not, causing her to shrug her shoulders in slight discomfort. “Ow.” She said, grinning.


==Taggies!==

[Peter Jensen]

Once the fight was eventually over, and they were out of earshot of Beinn, Peter looked at her. The thrill of battle was still in his face. He was no Klingon, but he was Human. 
And humans had seen their fair share of wars and fighting after all. 

"That was a good fight", he admitted, but then he looked worried. 

"But...I saw you at first...why did you turn off the safeties? I have no doubt that you could handle them", he held up a hand to stifle what he was sure was coming: A protest that she hadn't needed his help. 
"But you and I know very well that in a fight, it doesn't take much for something to go wrong. A moment's lack of attention. That's what these combat drills are supposed to help us learn to anticipate and deal with", he pointed out. "In relative safety. It's not about shying away from a fight, but saving the danger for the enemy", he gave her a slight affectionate smirk.

== Tag d'Tor'an!  ==

[Kal-Geal Beinn]

Kal-Geal looked in confusion as the simulation began to end. He thought he had entered on the opposing side, and yet, Art who was in command of the holodeck, had them running away. Beinn's confusion grew as Jensen seemed to be trying to keep a conversation away from him.

Are they trying to hide something? Dishonor? A loss of Klingon fury? This doesn't make any sense. Unless Commander Jensen is attempting to court Lieutenant D'Tor'an, but no true Klingon runs from a fight.

Kal-Geal strode up to the pair, even as the simulation began to fade. He decided on a middle route, that would satisfy both the Klingon inside of him, and clear up any confusion in the end. Drawing on some of the Klingon operas he knew, Beinn said in Klingon,

"Shame upon your House, daughter of D'Tor'an. I enter to give you a challenge, and you shy away to bleed in fear while in the shadow of your guardian. Stand and defend your House with your choice of weapon, or face discommendation. Or....if you're in need of medical attention, I'll render that instead of a duel."

He hadn't released the armor just yet, but duels in armor were very infrequent for Children of San-Tarah anyways, mostly due to the lack of agility and the desire for speed and strength, rather than durability.

==tag==

[Artemis d'Tor'an]

Beinn was far enough away from them that she had to raise her voice slightly to make sure both men heard her, though her voice was easily carried now that the were all standing in a hollow box.

Peter took her aside, and though his face was shining with adrenaline and victory, his eyes were worried. “I saw you at first... why did you turn off the safeties?”

Art knew that the answer of ‘because it’s more fun’ wouldn’t fly with a First Officer or a boyfriend, let alone someone who was both.

“I have no doubt that you could handle them,” he continued, clearly not wanting to insult her, “But you and I know very well that in a fight, it doesn't take much for something to go wrong. A moment's lack of attention.” Though his hand had been up to hold off her protest, she opened her mouth to interject all the same. “That's what these combat drills are supposed to help us learn to anticipate and deal with.” He added. Art closed her mouth and frowned, knowing that she had probably spent too much time in private when she should have been running drills with her team. “In relative safety. It's not about shying away from a fight, but saving the danger for the enemy.”

He smiled at her, something michevious and familiar, which thankfully told Art that she wasn’t in ‘official’ trouble. “Because I knew I could handle it?” She said, a bit of a playful tone in her voice. She didn’t offer more of an explanation; she guessed that ‘I had to bleed out my anger’ would get her in the Counselor’s office regardless of who she was speaking to.

Before she could attempt to offer up another weak explanation, the armored-up wolf came over for a chat. Speaking strictly in Klingon, he challenged, “Shame upon your House, daughter of D'Tor'an. I enter to give you a challenge, and you shy away to bleed in fear while in the shadow of your guardian.” Art’s lip immediately curled up and she growled, gathering what strength she had left so she could at least punch him in the snout. What was he here for in the first place, anyway? Didn’t anyone on this ship know the meaning of ‘alone’?

“Stand and defend your House with your choice of weapon, or face discommendation.” The armored, furry beast continued, and Art’s growl grew louder. “Or....if you're in need of medical attention, I'll render that instead of a duel.”

Artie’s entire demeanor changed. Her shoulders slumped again, her posture even more so, and she let out a huff that sounded somewhat like a laugh. “Oh, shut up, you hintele!”

Looking up at Beinn again, Art let go another laugh, and wiped the blood from her head, looking perhaps a bit sheepishly at Peter now. “Should I really go to Sickbay before heading back to Security?” She asked. “I didn’t think this would take long, to be honest.” Managing a side look at Kal-Geal, she added, “You’re not our counselor too, right?” This was asked with a hint of teasing.



==Unfortunately could not look up for the Klingon word for “puppy” at work, so I went with the Yiddish, which sounds kinda like Klingon anyway lol==

[Kal-Geal Beinn]

“Oh, shut up, you hintele!”

Kal-Geal made a noise that sounded like a wolf trying to giggle, and he told the computer to convert the armor on him back into energy. The Medical Lieutenant had his uniform underneath, and pulled out his medical tricorder and a dermal regenerator.

"Just hold still Lieutenant, and I'll spare you the humiliations of our sickbay. As for counselor, you know that as a Klingon Academy medical graduate, I'm considered to be capable of being your counselor. We have a ship's counselor yes, but your Klingon side requires a Klingon's understanding. Now, as for turning off the safeties, Klingon holodecks don't have safety protocols, and since you are following medical orders to indulge your Klingon side, only the First Officer can enforce that you turn them on if they discover you." Kal-Geal said as he began to mend the cuts on Art's forehead.

He looked at Jensen and added, "Would you be adverse to taking Lieutenant D'Tor'an to a rendered performance of one of J'Dan's Klingon operas the next time the two of you are off-duty, with the resulting fight in the opera house due to J'Dan declaring a blood feud against another House?"

==tag==

[Artemis d'Tor'an]

Beinn joined in on Art’s laughing, though she had to admit she felt a bit lightheaded afterwards. Like old friends, their laughter ended at the same time, and both straightened up to regain their own, professional posture. “Just hold still, Lieutenant,” the medical officer said, resuming their use of rank and workplace respect. “and I'll spare you the humiliations of our sickbay.” Art responded by smiling wryly and leaning on Peter -the First Officer- as she pulled a hair tie out of seemingly nowhere, and pulled her messy hair back into a slightly-less-messy ponytail.

He went on to speak of their counselor, to which Artie prompty ignored, as well as a thinly-veiled offer to be her personal conselor, which she also -pointedly- ignored. But then he then also went on to give her an out, so she would have a valid excuse should Peter want to press the issue of her use of the holodeck sans safetys, which was nice.

She straightened up, and the doctor began healing the bleeding cuts and abraisions, speaking to the ship’s First Officer now. Art’s facial expression could only be described as incredulous as she realized Beinn was making a date suggestion for the two of them, and resisted the urge to burst out laughing again. It was sweet of him, and crazy, and Art found herself looking towards the door of the Holodeck, waiting to be released so that she may start her way back to Security. With no detours this time.


==Tags==