Lurking Krog — Roleplayer Guild

Vekta Prime Orbital
127-7-11
1800


The view of the shipyards was entirely new to Jessica. She gazed out at the roiling plumes of smoke coming off the surface of the once barren world now thriving industrial center. The sharp contrast from her homeworld of New Terra was making her more nervous as it was out of what was normal for her. As a nervous habit, she began to play with the series of tags she kept on her father's old dog tag chain. Each tag was a reference to an equation except one, that one had the name Jeremiah Ghaller on it. She ran her hands over each tag all through the docking process and even as she disembarked from the public shuttle. 

From the shuttle, she heads towards the customs and immigration desks passing by mechanics, dock officers, workers, customs officials, and a few others in the crowd that were still trying to decide where they needed to go. She let the chain of tags fall to rest on her left wrist while she pulled out her documents to make sure she would be ready and pass through immigration quickly. Once the line finally allowed for her to get to one of the terminals she entered her Union ID, filled out the questionnaire, and headed deeper into the station when she was done. She stopped briefly to check her outfit, a knee-length skirt a button down shirt with a well-tailored overcoat. The color was simple black for the skirt and the overcoat and the shirt was a dark grey. She straightened the skirt and jacket and then proceeded to the interview area stopping at the desk.

“Excuse me, I am here for an interview. My name is Jessica Ghaller.”

The desk attendant is a young man with an almost plastic smile, worn from having to delegate people throughout his shift. Rings around his eyes and the odd strand of hair all tell-tale signs that this just may be the busiest day of his life.
His eyes flick from side to side for just a moment while he undoubtedly brings up some relevant details on his augmented reality interface, before his gaze meets with that of Jessica.
“Miss Ghaller, thank you for attending.” He states courteously with a brief nod. 
“You will be expected in room 2-13. That’s second floor, room thirteen. Right hand side after you leave the elevator, then the evens are on the left, odds on the right.” he drones on, in a voice that is obviously worn, but the courteous smile never leaves his face. “Have a nice day!” a big, toothy grin punctuates the monotone, the enthusiasm of being rid of another person to direct coming through the customer service visage. 
“Thank you.” She walks away from the desk heading for the elevator. Well he was rather pleasant, least there till the end. She thought to herself as she went up to the second floor and walked up to room thirteen. She knocked on the door then waited patiently for someone to answer.

The door hissed open, revealing a dimly lit room from a single light source above, and an unassuming table with a chair on each side. A well-dressed man, sporting a full suit and tie, buttoned up and brown hair combed to the side stood up from the chair opposite, his piercing, blue eyes now set on Jessica.
He raised his eyebrow. “You needn’t knock, just step in. Take a seat, please.” He beckoned, motioning to the seat while holding his hand out at the same time, clearly expecting the customary handshake.

Jessica entered the room going to the seat and quickly shook the man's hand. Remember what dad taught you. People expect a certain level of social formalities that you might not think to do.  “Thank you, sir. I am glad that I was selected for the interview process and I am sure you have had hundreds if not thousands of others apply for this position.” She said as she took her seat. 

“Yes. Quite.” His eyes dart from her to a folder, from which he quickly produces a printed paper copy of what can only be assumed to be information regarding Jessica’s application. He slowly raised the stack of papers up that were held together by a simple, metal paperclip.
His eyes darting through the page before him as he raised it to be almost between Jessica and himself. This made it all the more poignant when his gaze locked onto her again, those piercing blue eyes almost boring into her.
“Top of the class, it says here. New Oxford, that’s not a small feat. Now running for master’s? Not bad, especially for someone your age.”
He slowly lowers the page and his gaze alongside it, almost in a disarming fashion. The pause punctuates a mounting tension.
“However..” he begins, almost drawing out the word. “At some point during your career, you may hear something similar-” His gaze meeting hers once more, this time in a more relaxed posture, scanning for responses. “- you should consider your options if you’re not successful.”

“Afterall” he paused and took a deep breath. His hands clasped together on the table, he leaned in slightly. “You still have all of your life in front of you, and generally people of your qualification don’t usually prepare for a career shift.” His lips purse and he takes his hands off the table as he leans back in his chair.
“You see, my father was in a similar situation once. Qualified, passed all the grades, jumped over every hoop they put in front of him. But we’ll get back to that later.”
He shifted his seat uneasily, before adjusting himself, closing his eyes, as if rehearsing something internally, then returning to that piercing gaze. A smile slowly crept across his face.
“First question.”
He leaned forward and placed his hands back on the table, palms down, wide apart, occasionally gesticulating to punctuate his meaning. “A Core specialist is not only expected to know how to maintain and interpret readings within nominal levels. They are also expected to respond to and contain any discrepancies or fluctuations that may be.. disruptive to the overall health of the Core. Sometimes that will require difficult choices to be made…”
He trails on that last word, leaving a pause to let the gravitas sink in.
“Can you tell me of any time where you would have had to make a choice you knew would result in the loss of one thing or another?”

Jessica shifted some, slightly nervous from how piercing his eyes were, as she thought back. “It was about five years ago when it happened. I was beginning a project as the final part of my masters for nuclear physics. The project that two other students, they were both friends of mine, and I had decided on was to make our own small fusion reactor. We had done several tests, calculations, measurements, and redone all those in the effort to ensure that it would work. During the presentation the containment system started to leak.” Jessica takes a deep breath remembering how bad it got so quickly. “The system we had designed to contain the reaction did have fail safes as well as an alarm. The alarm sounded but the reaction grew past what the failsafe parameters could handle. We were all dumbfounded by what was happening and we were not sure what went wrong. My friends panicked and started to clear the others out of the room we were in.” Absentmindedly she rubbed her left hand over her right arm remembering the radiation burns she sustained from what she had done. “I went to the control panel we had made to monitor and control the entire system. I knew I could save the experiment but it was risky and if I failed it would have probably accelerated the reaction. Ending the reaction was viable as well and less risky in the result. Well I suppose that depends on how you define risk. To end the reaction I would have needed my two friends to come back and help, a poor design in hindsight, and expose themselves to the now larger leak and possible get radiation poisoning. With saving it I could do it myself and not risk them getting additional exposure. So I took the risk, managed to barely contain the reaction again, and got it safe for my friends and professor to come back in and end the experiment in relative safety. Unfortunately I had severe burns to my arms, mostly my right, and eyes.” With a brief pause she looks at the man. “I am sure that is in that report there. Do you want me to continue on or do you wish to ask another question.”

The man listened intently. At some point during the relation, he opened the folder and began making notes to some of the passages already written down. Back and forth between different parts of the document in what would have been quite a feat in multi-tasking. He would also look up and scan for the emotional state of the storyteller in between.
“Very good.” he added, with a nod.
“These friends of yours. Have you been working with them long, or.. since?” He played with his pen, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“I have worked with one since my freshman year in high school, even until the end of my recent job with Retiven Power Corporation. She still works there. The other I met sophomore year of college. After he got his doctorate and went on to work for a company in Terra Dyson we stopped talking to each other.”

He made one mark on the sheet of paper in front of him, that may have just been a tick mark. “How has this impacted you?” He added nonchalantly, without even looking up.

“Which do you mean? Having lost contact with one friend or the result of the experiment I was part of?” If you refer to the loss of contact with a friend, I would have to say it happens but I can still get a hold of him if I wished.” She paused for a moment in contemplation and realization. “Then again of you are also referring to having kept in contact with a friend for years while losing contact with another, I would say it's part of life and I can go make more friends and lose some.”

The man smiled. “I’m sorry, I must not have been clear.” he looked up at Jessica, cleared his throat and spoke. “How has this event with the fusion reactor impacted you.. personally.”
He put an almost sarcastic level of emphasis on the final word.

“On a physical level, I lost my right arm and my sight from the burns. On a mental level, I berated myself for so foolish not considering to have a single person shut off function and leaving the containment system unprepared for variables. After my recovery and cybernetic augmentation we attempted the project again and exceeded the prior project. The last one is still an active reactor that powers the science building on the University of Greymonte’s campus.” The last part was said with some pride while the first part was said without much regret but as a point to be learned from. 

The man nodded briefly, then added what was likely another tick mark on the sheet.
“And this was before or after you were contracted by Retiven?” He added.

“A year and six months before.” She replied with no hesitation. 

“Makes sense.” He added curtly, making a quick note. “Now tell me about your experience at Retiven. What sort of challenges did you have there, if any?”

“Mostly designing reactors to fit in areas you wouldn't expect that still produce sufficient power for about ten thousand residents. Or powering a large hospital, again with a small reactor. Then with these there is the challenges of providing sufficient failsafes and easy maintenance. In my short stint I have designed three such reactors.” She begins to pull out a sketch pad to show the designs. “I still have the initial concepts that I can show. The final designs stated with the company however.”

A visible frown stretches across the man’s face as he drops the paper at a lower angle for a short while. “...That bad, huh.”
“Do you have any trouble sleeping, interacting with others.. jitters? Second-guessing yourself?” He poised his pen above the sheet, ready to tick off responses rapid-fire.

“Not to many issues with sleep unless I am trying to work out a problem. Longest I've gone without sleep… Two days. I know lack of sleep does not help with problem solving.

With interacting with others, I can though at times I am bit reclusive.

Jitters… only if I drink too much coffee, which I prefer only in the mornings maybe mid-afternoon the latest.” Her reply was calm and thought out. She had realized the only time she stayed up for forty-eight hours it was a bad result. She had passed out and missed a day of classes, one having an important paper due. 

He was making marks on the sheet as soon as the provided the answers. “Thank you, Miss Ghaller.” He remarked, before finally raising his gaze to meet hers. “How about a sensation of… losing time? A feeling of life passing you by? Do you ever experience anxiety about what you may be… missing?” As far as his questioning went, this was one of his more poignant ones, with a full return of the piercing gaze’s undivided attention this time.

“Losing time… not really. With the augmentations available I can live for a long time, theoretically forever if I choose though the process is still in development. Missing events or things, not particularly. Yes I may miss old friends, maybe even going to an event or two but sometimes that is a cost we must pay to further ourselves. New friends can be made, old ones contacted again if possible, and other events happen.” Jessica was starting to wonder the reason for this question and the one prior. She figured the prior one was sort of necessary, she would have to work with people, lack of sleep would affect her work, and jitters would as well. This last one however drew more of her curiosity. 

“Pardon me but that last question, are we expecting longer than usual deployment, extended cryosleep, possible time travel?” Her tone was genuinely curious, and wanting to know the answer.

The man nodded. “I mean it both in a very physical as well as emotional sense.” He placed his paperwork to one side for the moment, and leaned in towards her. “It has not gone unnoticed that throughout this entire interview, you have declined to discuss the emotional impact of these events on you, even when prompted.” The man stared intently at her. “I will dock the question for now, because we really need to hone in on this.” He left a brief pause before continuing. “How do you cope?”

“I cope by working and making things. It may not sound usual but I find being busy helps me deal with loss of close family. Granted I get to be reclusive and not want to talk to people but I try not to remain that way for long. Three years ago when my father passed I started the concept for the synthetic flesh that covers my cybernetic limbs. Why, because it was what I felt was a better for me to do. Yes it hurt losing him and I miss him but it doesn't bring him back.” She sits back a bit trying to think of a better way to explain her thoughts and feelings on what was being asked.
“I hope I am making some sense here sir.”

“And you’re confident in your ability to process trauma? This is very important.” He brought out the paperwork again, ready to mark the next box.

“I wouldn't have applied if I didn't think I was able to.” She said confidently. 

He ticked the box on his paper. “Thank you.”
He arranged the papers and re-placed them in the folder.
“Now we return to the question -losing time. You’re a physicist, among others, so this should come as no surprise to you. You, me, all of us are travelling through time already, inevitably forward. The arrow of time is fixed, but the rate at which we travel through it is not.” He was becoming increasingly animated, using his hands at parallel to illustrate two different speeds at which they were moving along the same line.
“In a post-FTL society, time dilation has become a reality of daily life. You may have experienced some of it in long-distance commutes or when travelling on a holiday; what is moments or minutes for you would be months for everyone else. Studies have been done on the effects of this phenomenon on people most impacted by it -all of them have shown positive correlations between anxiety, depression, loss of social interactions. People have to be on medication for this sort of thing.” He continued. “They always invariably express it as a depression stemming from a sensation of losing time, of not being there -the crushing realisation that the world has already moved on without them.”
He adopted a more relaxed posture once he realised that he was leaning in closer and closer in the heat of the moment. “Two out of ten people today are affected by this.”
“And aboard a ship destined for deep space exploration, there is no telling how much time dilation you will face. Additionally, there may be unforeseen factors, which may lead to even more severe dilation.”

“And you wondering is if I am one of five people affected by that mental state. No sir I am not and do not feel that way. The galaxy spins and so does the Universe. Even if I never traveled through FTL again everything moves on. I see no reason to be depressed about it but see a chance to see what has changed. Maybe a new algorithm was developed that makes an idea I had work. Maybe someone develops or improves something I’ve worked on, maybe I can improve it more. While time has passed on months for others for me it has been minutes that leaves me with time still to do other things.” Jessica pauses for a moment. “I am sorry I was beginning to ramble on. I hope I made my point and answered your question.”

The man nodded. “You have indeed, Miss Ghaller.” He placed the papers back in the folder and sealed it. “And with that, this interview is concluded.” He added with a smile. “I wish you luck in the selection process, Miss Ghaller-”
He put the folder to one side. “- but before you go, consider this: my father was in a similar position once, he acquired the certifications, expecting the Apollyon to launch just in time for him to have a crack at it. But there were unforeseen delays, shifts, adjustments to the time-table.. months turned to years, then decades. He has ushered me to follow in his footsteps, to succeed where he couldn’t. It consumed his life, Miss Ghaller.”
His fingers were stroking his chin as he suddenly got a distant look in his eyes.
“So instead, I became an interlocutor for this position. To better serve the public good by preventing a repeat of what this did to our family from happening potentially hundreds of times over…”

He paused, for what seemed like a while. “Actually, I could use a break after all these sessions.” He rose from his chair slowly, placing the folder underneath his armpit. He then opened the door, expecting Jessica to follow.

Jessica gets up from her chair and heads to the door. As she passes him she turns to look at him. “While it would be an honor to get this position I still have much I can, either as part of the ship's crew or other jobs. I do thank you for your advice sir.”

No sooner had the man opened his mouth to speak, Jessica could see his expression change suddenly and drastically. Whatever he was about to say became:
“GUN!”

A man emerged from the crowd, aiming what was unmistakably a weapon at them both. “YOU RUINED MY LIFE YOU BASTARDS!” A distressed call from the gunman, madness in their eyes. Some people ran, most froze in sheer panic.

Jessica pushed the interlocutor to the ground before going the opposite way to the ground. 

Shots flew through the air. Wild, unfocused and sloppy. Motivated moreso by rage than calculation. Nevertheless, they hit the walls and caused chunks to tumble down as the alarms blared and the room was sealed.
The man was one of those interviewed earlier. Either he was denied or he was convinced he would be.
The interviewer realised he had been pushed down, so he turned over and began crawling away. No sooner had the man seen and recognised his suit, he immediately began running toward the pair, shooting wildly as he approached. Shots whistled in the air, snapping against the tile surfaces and splintering the wooden ones. 

Please be out of ammo… please be out of ammo…  she kept repeating in her head while trying to crawl away from the man. As a shot flew over head breaking a wooden tile over her head she froze for a second fighting the urge to cry out cringing into a tight ball. 

She rolled over to look at the man briefly at least wanting to see the face of the man that was, least from her perspective from this moment, going to take her life. The man was in his forties, balding, and wearing his suit from earlier. He was now running towards them and she had little time to think out the problem completely. She quickly got to her feet and made for the open door to her interview room while shouting. “It's not his fault it is mine!!” It was a bluff but it might catch the madman’s attention long enough for the interviewer to get to safety.

Once in the room she grabbed the chair she was previously sitting in hoping to use it against the man. She tried to get to the side of the door before he entered to negate his ranged capability.
It worked. the man rounded the door threshold, the interviewer no longer in sight, so he directed his attention to the person that to his mind had cost him his future.

As he rounded the corner Jessica swung the chair at his head and then kicked at his legs to try to knock him down.
The man lost his balance, but did not entirely fall either. It threw his aim off though. At this moment, the interviewer lept out from behind the man, both arms crossing in front of him, one right below the gun arm’s armpit, the other above the opposite arm’s shoulder, locked tightly as he struggled to keep his centre mass as close to his own as possible.
Finally, he swept his one stable leg and the man went down tumbling. Still having the wherewithal to at least try and roll onto his back against the fall, the man slammed the interviewer locked to him onto the ground, falling side by side as the gun went off again into the ceiling. 
By now, rapid steps from combat boots could be heard echoing down the hallways against the constant blaring of the alarms. Like a rope climber, the interviewer then crossed his legs over the man’s knees in an attempt to control his legs too, but the grip between his arms was broken and the man rolled over enough to bring the gun’s barrel right against the interviewer’s bicep and fired point blank. He didn’t get a chance to fire again, as the security staff rushed him and pinned him against the floor in the midst of him uttering every profanity he could.
The interviewer cried out in pain moments later. “I’ll be fine, Miss Ghaller. They missed the bone.” He tried to reassure Jessica as his face was gradually going pale. His head was nodding off.

Missed a bone maybe but probably grazed of not fully hit an artery…  She thought for a split second before grabbing the interviewer’s arm and applying pressure to stem the bleeding. She knew some medical but not enough to deal with this level of trauma. “We need a medic here now!” she shouted as she took off her jacket to make an improvised tourniquet. It would serve better than her hand was but she wasn't sure it would be enough.

The man was disarmed and escorted out of the room. One of the guards produced something that resembled a nozzle with a trigger on it, connected to a container of swirling material. He pointed it in the immediate vicinity of the gunshot wound, pressed the trigger which released a vapour that drifted almost with intent to the spot of the trauma. As soon as it contacted bare flesh, light sizzling could be heard as it was likely cauterising the wound. By now, the interviewer was already passed out, so there was no reaction.
The guard then signaled the others with a thumbs up, indicating the situation was under control. The majority of them vacated, but one other stayed behind and deployed a portable stretcher. They then lifted the man onto it and carried him away.
“Sorry you’ve had to see this ma’am, but this shit sometimes happens.” One of the guards remarked on their way out.

She stood there in the room for about five minutes looking back over the event that had just transpired. Drawing the gunman’s attention probably was not the best on her part, but it probably made some difference. She started walking to the elevator,  jacket held in her left hand still, both hands covered in blood. Once back on the first floor she located a refresher so she could wash the blood off her hands. After which Jessica went to find a meal and work on something she had started a few days ago. 
Lurking Krog Member

Caffeinated Lurker.

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