sixthiterationlogs | I'll go where answers can be found/Kick the door and smash it down [OPEN]

WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: The Tubes
WHEN: Spread out across early November
OPEN TO: YOU, YES, YOU (OTA)
WARNINGS: Standard warning for Sam's mouth, will update if needed

Sam liked to spend the occasional evening down in the tubes. She'd volunteered to watch for new arrivals, as was her 'civic duty,' or whatever. But it was more the peace she enjoyed. Living in the Inn came with a lot of dorm-y frustrations, between the single bathroom, the occasional neighbors punching her damn walls, and what she assumed were sex noises echoing through the halls.

But she had a new reason to go down there now: Stealing shit.

That was the idea, anyway. Although, so far, she hadn't found much worth taking. But all scientific endeavors, she knew, came with their fair share of setbacks. True, she and Bruce didn't have to worry about IRB approval or grand funding. No, they just had to deal with a serious lack of any equipment worth having. Not to mention anything that actually had the power to give her any kind of insight into the proteins swirling around the inmates' DNA. But Sam was nothing if not stubborn. So for a few nights, she crept down to the tubes, carrying a kitchen knife, a metal rod, and a canvas bag. Just in case she found something.

The biggest problem was the lists of names. No matter what Sam did, no matter what she told herself, she always and inevitably found herself reading them, again and again. The pain of seeing Avery on the list had dulled from a knife in her heart to an annoying ache. But the trouble with annoying aches was that they were fucking annoying.

Kind of like Avery, she supposed.

And if she wasn't scavenging through the equipment or reading the lists, she would sometimes take a small break, crouching down in a corner and sketching. At least now she wasn't obsessively drawing the sky. She had plans. Maybe unrealistic, irrational plans. But forward momentum wasn't something to sneer at. So she sketched all the equipment she wanted to build or have or make. Everything she and Bruce would need to conduct their work.

You know, in a perfect world.

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"Yeah," she sighed again. Those in the soft sciences tended to think of engineers as cute. And while Sam liked to think that she was above that kind of snobbery, she had to admit, she didn't know as much about putting things together as she would have liked.

Then again, how was she supposed to know she'd end up in a freak show like this?

Fuck, she never thought she would miss Max of all...she hesitated to even think the word...people.

"It's nice to dream, though." It was a decidedly un-Sam-like thing to say. But in her defense, things had been pretty fucking weird, as of late. And that was even before people started getting the plague.

For all that Starfleet makes sure that its officers are familiar with at least the basics of survival on an alien planet, that doesn't exactly extend to the idea of building complicated machinery. Largely because the assumption tends to be that any given stay on an alien planet is only going to be a temporary situation until a proper rescue mission can be mounted, but either way it doesn't really do much to help in this specific situation.

"It is, I agree. And as much as I suspect they're deliberately keeping us in the dark, it would be nice to have even some sort of insight into what they were trying to hide."

And he's pretty sure there has to be something, given that it's become abundantly obvious of late that the Observers had access to computers at the very least, for all that the villages themselves don't have anything near that level of technology. It's just a question of figuring out exactly what that something is.

"Probably wouldn't be good science, if we knew," she said dryly. "And they terminated at least five experimental studies before us." Hopefully, not because the subjects had figured out how things were working but...

Who knew?

Whatever it was, she was pretty sure it wasn't about their DNA. That was more of a Sam thing. She just had to know. It was exhausting being The Great Experiment. Forcing her to go through it again, that was a karmic level of wrongness.

She sighed, brushing a few curls back over her shoulder. "What brings you down here, anyway?"

"I would hope not all of those were because the subjects in question started asking too many questions."

He can't be sure, of course. But for all that he's well aware that are those who would no doubt do exactly that if an experiment started going less than well, he'd still like to imagine that the Observers aren't quite that cruel. Even if they do seem to be perfectly willing to throw things that could easily be enough to break a person at them.

"I wanted to make certain there weren't any new arrivals down here."

Which, at least for the time being, there aren't.

"You?"

"Oh, I came down here to steal shit," Sam replied.

She wasn't apologetic or shy about it. Why bother? They were already living on a kibbutz. It wasn't like she was going to get cash on some mechanical black market that no one else knew about.

And what would she fucking buy anyway?

No. No, Sam was, like everyone else, operating in a more socialist style.

"Tony Stark and Bruce Banner and I want to conduct some experiments, but we don't have enough salvage to build the equipment yet."

Picard, to his credit, doesn't so much as bat an eye at Sam's declaration. It's true that it's not something that he would normally encourage, but it's not like they're going to be getting any help from the Observers anytime soon, and if the intent is to put together at least some semblance of technology, then the components are going to have to come from somewhere. And the bunker is most likely place one might find the requisite odds and ends.

(Even if there's no guarantee that the components will work correctly.)

"What sort of equipment were you looking to build, if you don't mind me asking?"

He might not be much of an engineer, but if he can help, he absolutely means to.

She cringed. "Among other things, a microscope powerful enough to read DNA proteins," she admitted. Impossible? Probably. Did she have anything better to do? Most assuredly not.

And it wasn't like she was getting older.

"I have a theory," she said, grinding the knuckles of her right hand into the heel of her left palm. "About the way that we were reconstructed or reconstituted when we arrived here. I believe that the Overlords" she refused to call them 'Observers' "intentionally left key DNA sequences out of us. The ones that would make the most dangerous of us the most dangerous. All I have is anecdotal evidence so far. But if I can prove it..."

Well. At least they'd start to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Impossible or not, he can't deny that he absolutely understands the curiosity. The urge to know what's been done (or not done) to them, when the answers have been withheld for longer than even the most patient of people would consider to be a reasonable amount of time. Especially when what few answers they have managed to find have only brought along a score of new questions besides.

"Assuming we have been reconstructed in the first place. But I can't say that it isn't a possibility, either. Not with some of the things we've found here."

The lists are the most damning piece of evidence pointing to that particular possibility. But he's not ruling out the possibility of something like a holodeck simulation either. Or at least, not just yet.

"And regardless of what they've done, having concrete proof of anything would help, at this point."

Baldy had a unique talent for just getting Sam. She didn't really know what to make of it, but it was so fucking refreshing. And so unexpected from an old dude. Then again, where she'd been, she'd been used to dealing with really old dudes. Like, in triple digits.

Maybe he wasn't all that ancient.

Even if he was bald.

"Hey, if they're not reconstructing us, they still may be finding ways to remove the sequences. There are some truly horrifying possibilities out there. And I want concrete as much as the next guy."

He's not as old as he could be, it's true. Admittedly, he only has a normal human lifespan to work with, but even so, he could still be older than he is. Even if it's doubtful that he'll ever reach the sort of ages that involve triple digits - or rather, not for too terribly long. But that, for now, is a question for the future. For when he actually manages to get back to the Enterprise and whatever should happen to be waiting for him still.

As for right now, however, he's more focused on the discussion at hand - and the less-than-comfortable possibilities raised by same.

"They very well could be. Or finding ways to suppress those particular sequences, and either way, I can't say that it bodes well. Especially given what else they might be capable of doing, if they can manage that much."

I'll go where answers can be found/Kick the door and smash it down [OPEN]

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