He could count in nanoseconds, in bits of positronic decay, down to the last instant before the crash. His visual sensors actually even recorded the flash of light as the ship exploded
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"Intriguing's an interesting word for this mother-meddled place," said an acidic (if muffled) voice nearby, where a tall man was unfolding himself from a maintenance panel. "This isn't Ragnarok. Where is it. Who are you. Why was I crammed in a maintenance panel."
Serge of Wheatfields had been having almost a decent day, because Ragnarok was going to spit in the face of the Bench and go cause trouble, and now he wasn't, because this wasn't his damn ship and what manner of hominid was it with golden skin and an expression like a dazed calf.
That expression didn't change, even as the man climbed out of the maintenance panel.
"I am Data, and I am an android... but as for your other inquiries, I am afraid I can not answer. I was aboard the Excelsior. I do not know what this place is."
But he offered out a hand to help the man if he should need it to rise.
"What, AI? You? My left testicle you are." Wheatfields ignored the proffered hand and pulled himself to his feet by support of the wall. He towered a solid seven feet once he was up, all bony limbs and thick neck and malice. "Wheatfields," he said shortly. "Ship's Engineer. Ragnarok." His uniform was probably blue when it wasn't covered in dust, the braid trim on his sleeves silver.
"I assure you that my programming has nothing to do with your left testicle," he responded, glancing down at his empty hand as the gentleman moved past it. Not that he was unused to people acting in such a manner. War had worn most of the more amicable habits of the human populous down, especially in a Klingon dominated atmosphere.
Shrugging off the ignorance with a short purse of his lips, and then stared up at the very, very tall man. He must have been very pliable to fit into such a confined space.
"Perhaps we could benefit from working together. Excuse me-" he tried to stop someone walking by, only to have them ignore him. "...Excuse me?" He continued, reaching for the next person, who dodged out of the reach of his arm.
Comments 43
Serge of Wheatfields had been having almost a decent day, because Ragnarok was going to spit in the face of the Bench and go cause trouble, and now he wasn't, because this wasn't his damn ship and what manner of hominid was it with golden skin and an expression like a dazed calf.
Reply
"I am Data, and I am an android... but as for your other inquiries, I am afraid I can not answer. I was aboard the Excelsior. I do not know what this place is."
But he offered out a hand to help the man if he should need it to rise.
Reply
Reply
Shrugging off the ignorance with a short purse of his lips, and then stared up at the very, very tall man. He must have been very pliable to fit into such a confined space.
"Perhaps we could benefit from working together. Excuse me-" he tried to stop someone walking by, only to have them ignore him. "...Excuse me?" He continued, reaching for the next person, who dodged out of the reach of his arm.
Reply
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