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SD 241805.18 Well. . .that's different.

Posted on Fri May 18th, 2018 @ 8:59pm by Commander Andrea Malone

Mission: Comedy of Errors

Spitfire didn't often get much sim time for herself, and since the simulators were swapped over to the Valk III specs, she decided to get dibs on sim time before launching her wing through more sim runs and figuring out where to put her latest cadre of pilots. As was her usual, she was decked out in her flight suit, complete with helmet as she put the sim through its paces. All seemed to be going well. . .until it wasn't. It barely registered at the back of her mind when the edges of her vision seemed to shrink. Just before passing out, she thought it odd.

Next thing she knew, Andrea was being poked.

Poked again.

Poked a third time, "Hey. . .you got to move on. This room is for panelists, and despite how good you look, you ain't a panelist."

Malone's mind was slow to register what the woman was saying, and her eyes slow to focus. Eventually, though, the woman who was speaking to her came into focus just as she poked Andrea again. . .with a cane. "Kids these days. . .on all sorts of drugs. Look. . .I don't want to know. If you need medical help, go down the hall and to the left. If you don't go down the hall and to the left to where the rest of you lot are supposed to be. I don't really give a damn, but you can't stay here."

"Right. . .right," Malone replied, feeling more than a bit disoriented and groggy. She pushed herself to her feet, and looked about, "Where am I?"

The woman rolled her eyes, "You're at the Boston convention center. . .you know? For the trekkie convention? ain't my business, but whatever you took, you might want to avoid it. You look like hell. Now move along before I call security."

Pushing herself to her feet, Andrea's hand hit something, and she looked to her right to find her helmet sitting right next to her. She picked it up as she managed to stand, then took a few tentative steps before she found her balance to be ok. She didn't understand what the woman meant by trekkie convention, nor did she understand how she got to Boston.

Making her way down the hallway the woman pointed to, Malone tapped her comm badge, but didn't hear the chirp to suggest it was 'listening.' Before long, she came out to the main hallway, where she found a lot more people. As she looked around, she realized a lot of them were in what looked like. . .Starfleet uniforms of different ages. Some were familiar, but others? Others looked like they could be uniforms, but not of any era she was familiar with.

A man who looked as if he'd never stepped foot in the sun stopped and looked her up and down before sneering, "Fighter pilots are not canon. What a waste."

A woman who looked to be a bit taller than Malone stopped and scoffed, "Not canon? What about Deep Space 9? I mean the war against the Dominion? Helloooooo????"

Spitfire couldn't help but look confused. The man and woman started bickering. She was quite happy to step around them and looked around, hoping to see any familiar faces. As she wandered around, someone handed her a program, and when she read the date on it, she stopped in her tracks. 2018? Boston? Star Trek Convention? Well. . that's different.

To be continued...


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