AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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The very first Walker they saw surprised them all. It surprised Daryl and Carol because they had lost that feeling of simply being accustomed to seeing ambulatory corpses. It had surprised B'Elanna and Tom because neither of them had ever become accustomed to such a thing.
Daryl had to admit that he'd programmed the Walkers to be, possibly, a little stealthier than they were in real life, though he was finding that already his memories of their lives in the so-called Millennium Plague were beginning to become fuzzy and dreamlike and, in some places, not at all sharp and crisp like they'd once been.
The Walker practically popped out from behind a tree with the same kind of element of surprise that a Jack-in-the-Box might have. Carol had barked out a noise in surprise, being the closest to it when it emerged with overly rapid reflexes for a Walker, but she'd still managed to sink her knife into its half-rotted skull without too much hesitation. Her own reflexes, clearly, were still there, even if she and Daryl had grown capable of being surprised by Walkers.
Tom had dropped his knife in surprise, and it didn't take long before B'Elanna launched into teasing him about being her fearless protector.
"Yeah, yeah," Tom said, walking around the Walker and examining it with extreme care during his first opportunity to be up-close and personal with one. It was clear that he wasn't interested in even engaging B'Elanna's teasing, and he wasn't going to deny that he'd been startled into losing his weapon for a moment. He leaned down close to the Walker. "This is really incredible. Did you program this?"
"Dixon programmed it," B'Elanna said.
"Is this really what they were like?" Tom asked.
"They smell worse now than they used to," Carol said. It was clear, from her facial expression and the fact that she'd backed a little distance away from the corpse, that her stomach wasn't exactly pleased with the realistic aroma of the rotting flesh.
"I'da said it don't smell as bad," Daryl said. "Not quite the same smell of death everywhere. This time it's comin' just from that corpse and it don't smell like the whole damn world is rotting." Carol let out a soft sound of disgust and covered her mouth. Daryl laughed to himself and gave her the best sympathetic look that he could. "Sorry. I'm guessin' it's the alien that's got you smellin' it super strong. You wanna stop?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"No," she said. "No. I'm just—glad it's a game. If I felt like this all the time? I'd lose weight instead of gaining it. I don't think the alien would ever get to eat."
"You'll get used to it soon," Daryl offered. He directed his words at B'Elanna and Tom, then. "Everybody does. Eventually you don't smell it no more. Don't even smell yourself."
"Not unless something—or someone—starts to get particularly pungent," Carol offered with a laugh, her hand pressed hard against her stomach as she mentally steeled herself to keep going despite the smell.
"I'm guessin' that seein' the first one means the game's fully workin' now," Daryl said. "There's gonna be more comin' soon."
"Let's keep going," Carol said. "I don't really have a feeling for how this works, but I can tell it's getting later. We're going to have to think about camp."
"Before we go," B'Elanna said, "I need something more comfortable. I understand that we're using bladed weapons instead of phasers, but…this is hardly efficient." She was clearly disgusted at the thought of her knife now that she'd personally seen a Walker up-close and personal. "Computer—produce one Klingon bat'leth."
The sound that issued forth from the computer was one that Daryl normally identified as the "cancel" sound. He didn't know if the computer sounds had real names, but it was one that he often heard if he tried to make the computer do something that he either wasn't authorized to do or, in most cases, was not yet talented enough to pull off for one reason or another.
B'Elanna's face only showed a slight bit of confusion.
"Computer," she repeated, louder this time, so Daryl looked over his shoulder to start keeping an eye out for the next approaching Walkers that were programmed, like real Walkers, to respond to things like light, sound, and movement. "Produce a Klingon bat'leth."
The cancel sound rang out again. B'Elanna looked at Daryl.
"What's going on, Cowboy?" She asked.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Why the hell you askin' me?" He asked. "You're the Chief Engineer."
"This is your project."
"Maybe it won't let you have that shit 'cause you're cheatin'," Daryl said. "You gotta make do with what the hell the rest of us got. There weren't no bat'leth's to be had in the Millennium Plague."
"I've heard stories of your friend with the sword," B'Elanna said. "At the very least, I want something like that."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Michonne was a force to be reckoned with with that damned sword," Daryl said. "Still—if anyone can swing a damn sword, it oughta be your ass. Computer—make a sword." The cancel sound beeped again.
"Computer," Carol offered, stepping closer to Daryl. He couldn't figure out what was wrong with the stupid program, but he heard at least a hint of uneasiness in Carol's tone. "Produce a katana." The cancel sound rang out again. "Computer—produce a…machete." The cancel sound sounded again.
"Maybe we have to make it to certain point before we can request more weapons?" Tom asked. "Did you program it to have supply points?"
"We did," Daryl said.
"That's probably it," Tom said. "Probably—when we find the next supply point? We'll have all of this—a pile of weapons."
"The only thing that's making me uncomfortable," B'Elanna said, "is that the computer isn't responding. There's no—unable to comply. There's no information on why we aren't getting what we request. Computer—what's the status of the program?" The cancel sound beeped again. It was the sound of the computer signing off—the sound of it ending a dialogue, but it had never responded to them in the first place. "Computer—is the program online?" The sound came again.
Daryl's heart beat fast in his chest as confusion wrapped around him. Beside him, he was almost certain that he could hear Carol's breathing. It was fast and shallow. Too fast. He reached a hand over, and touched her back to ground her.
"Computer—end program," Daryl said. The only response was the sound, again.
"Why isn't it ending?" Carol asked.
"Prob'ly just a glitch," Daryl said, deciding that he wasn't going to let anyone know how nervous he suddenly felt. He wanted Carol to remain as calm as possible for as long as possible.
"Computer—stop the program," B'Elanna said. The beeps came again. They made Daryl's stomach ache. He could see something in B'Elanna's eyes. It wasn't exactly fear—he didn't know if Klingons really knew or registered fear in the same way as everyone else, but it was something.
"Computer," Tom tried, "is there a problem with the program? Report." He got the same response.
"Computer—exit the fucking program!" Carol said. Everything she was feeling—everything that any of them were feeling, came through in the sound of her words. She sounded like she could have torn the throat out of someone with her teeth. The cancel sound made her growl and Daryl pulled her close to him.
"It's OK," He said. "It's just a game. None of this shit is real. It's just a game." He looked at B'Elanna. That feeling, whatever she might have called it, had darkened her eyes a bit more. "Right?"
"Maybe the program's stuck," she said. "Or—there's a technical issue on the ship. Maybe there's an ion storm or…some kind of natural interference with our systems. We have to remember that the program makes us feel like time is passing at an accelerated rate. It could be something they're working to fix right now. They'll know we're in here, and they'll end the program as soon as they can."
Daryl felt a tremble run through Carol's frame, though she did her best to hide the emotions she was clearly feeling.
"It's only a game," she said. "There's—no danger, right? No actual danger?"
"There's no virus," Tom said.
"No," B'Elanna said quickly. "There's no viral component to the program. And it is a game, but…"
"I don't like the sound of no damn buts right now, Klingon," Daryl growled at her. She eyed him, hard, but he could tell she forgave him for the harshness of his words. She would understand that he and Carol had never imagined to find themselves back in the Millennium Plague, and that what was some piece of ancient history and a passing interest for most of them had been a harsh, terrible reality for Daryl and Carol both.
"My only concern is that—while it's a game, the Walkers were programmed to be realistic. The environment was programmed to be as realistic as possible," B'Elanna said. "And if nothing is functioning, then we have to assume that the safety protocols might also be offline."
"In other words," Tom said, "these things can kill us?"
B'Elanna didn't have to say anything. They all knew.
"Then, we just have to make sure they don't catch us," Carol said. "Keep your eyes and ears open. And watch your backs." Carol turned and looked at Daryl. "You only programmed Walkers, right? No…people?"
"I programmed people," Daryl said.
"Good or bad, Daryl?" Carol asked.
"We fed in the historical information that we had," B'Elanna said, her voice sounding rather somber. "We installed a randomizing element."
"Great," Carol said. She sighed, looked at the ground between her boots, and started walking. "We're burning our light, and we're going to need cover and something to eat—and it wouldn't hurt to find more water."
Daryl looked at Tom and B'Elanna. They all exchanged glances, but there was nothing to be said. They simply started to follow Carol.
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"Well, we know we can get in," Kathryn said. "Hopefully, that means we can get out—and we can get them out, too."
"How are we going to find them?" Chakotay asked. "Do we have a plan yet?"
"We just have to keep looking," Kathryn responded. "Unfortunately, the program is pretty advanced and it appears to be rather extensive." She laughed to herself. "B'Elanna never does anything with minimal effort."
"This would be one time I wish she had," Chakotay said with a sigh. "Still—Daryl doesn't exactly push her to give less than her best, either."
"This program is remarkable," Kathryn said, looking around. She reached out and touched the leaves on one of the trees. "I mean our holodeck technology is usually almost indistinguishable from reality, but a program is only as good as its designer."
"You can tell they put a lot of time and effort into it," Chakotay said. "My feet are bogging down here—if it's accurate, there must be a water source nearby."
Kathryn laughed to herself.
"Oh—it's beautiful," she said. "The attention to detail…some of this had to be Daryl's doing. You know that all that time in the Millennium Plague would have given him an eye for detail."
"I have a feeling that he had an eye for detail before the Millennium Plague. That might be what helped him survive so long. I'm sure most of the realism in this program was his doing."
"I do hope we can shut the program down without destroying it," Kathryn said. "If I didn't know we were being transported in—and if I didn't trust Tuvok's skill in getting us inside the program? I might believe that the Araulian's had transported us all back to the time of the plague."
Chakotay was studying his tricorder.
"I'm reading life signs," Chakotay said. "Besides us…five organic and…virtually endless photonic. They certainly didn't skimp on creating characters for the program."
"Five?" Kathryn asked.
Chakotay laughed to himself.
"Just the same as our party reads three," Chakotay said, "the youngest Dixon is registering as a member of our lost group."
Kathryn smiled, warmed briefly by the mention of both of the youngest little participants in this excursion.
"Do we have a direction?" She asked.
"With the continual perception of the program skewing the tricorder readings, nothing is exact," Chakotay said. "The general direction, however, seems to be that way." He indicated, with his finger, which way they should go.
"Are there any photonic life forms in our immediate vicinity?" Kathryn asked.
Chakotay laughed to himself.
"There are thirty currently surrounding us from all sides," Chakotay said. "The good news is, they're moving around. We may be able to slip past them without too much trouble. Just remember—sound draws their attention."
"And remember, too, that we have plenty of reason to believe that the safety protocols are offline," Kathryn said.
"Trust me," Chakotay said, touching her back to usher her forward in the direction of where they hoped to find their missing people, "I'm not going to forget that."
