Hollow Decked

Posted on Thu May 18th, 2023 @ 1:12pm by Cadet Freshman Grade Poppy Koppelman & Lieutenant Michael Slatterly

0 words; about a 1 minute read

Mission: Mission 3: The Peace Ship
Location: An Empty Wild West Saloon
Timeline: After 'Bedridden'

Koppelman's 'Wild West Fantasy' scenario on the prototype holodeck had been stripped bare. Due to various GDPR infractions and other code violations, especially the use of the Captain's face on the hero in the scene, the whole thing had been wiped, deleted. Except the base area. It was an empty shell: an empty Wild West saloon: no barkeep, no dancing girls, no good guys with white hats, no bad guys with black hats, no pianola, no musical numbers where she sang like an angel and won everybody's hearts.

She didn't even have her cowgirl outfit on: HE had told her not to wear anything but her red Starfleet uniform from now on, and she had obeyed him. She even slept in it now, boots and all. So here she was in a crumpled uniform, sitting on a stool in an empty, silent saloon: an electronic clipboard on the bar in front of her with her diagnosis on it.

She didn't even flinch, let alone turn around, when the holodeck door opened. They had probably come to take her away before she did anything... regrettable.

"So, this is the infamous program I've been hearing about." Slattery walked through the swinging doors and entered the saloon.

Poppy didn't even look up; gone was the usual eager beaver who would have snapped to attention, especially for the adored Doctor Slattery. "It was. It's been cleared out, just like me" There was a glass in front of her, and it looked more like red-eye than sarsaparilla. "Welcome to the last chance saloon, Doc." she slurred. Was she... drunk??

"Cadet. Have you been drinking?" Slattery asked.

"Just a couple o' fingers of red eye, Doc. Why don't you join me, yuh big handsome lug!" she told him irreverently with a maudlin smile on her face.

Slattery walked over to the bar and took the glass away from her.

"Ooh!" squeaked Poppy and twisted on her stool to face him, looking up into his handsome visage.

"You have had enough. Now, I want you to listen to me.....I apologize about the way I spoke to you in Aze's quarters. I had no right to say the things that I said. Next, while off duty, you can wear whatever outfit you want. On duty, you will wear a clean and tidy uniform. Finally, I know you have a crush on me, that has to stop, Nothing will ever happen between us. Do you understand me?"

She gave a sad, philosophical smile "Don't worry Doc, you're safe from me... look." She pushed the electronic clipboard along the bar so he could see it. "I got a confirmation report back from Star Fleet medical on the tests you did, they confirm your diagnosis: I've got Plutonian Dimorphism Syndrome. And it doesn't just affect the body, apparently it affects the mind too: I'm being drummed out of the service: finished, kaput, 'end of' ..."

She drew some little circles in the dust on the illusionary bar.

"Funny really, you ordered me to wear this uniform and now I'm not even entitled to put it on." she looked around "I was just getting the hang of this place, too. The wild West saloon was just the first scenario I created: watch this..." she clicked her fingers and commanded "Computer: run Scenario 3.3 recurring"

The room suddenly changed: they were now in a replica of Doctor Slattery's office, with the unlikely addition of a sort of sadomasochistic bondage frame and a replica of the doctor himself sitting at his desk working away.

"I made this one where you give me some treatment and make me beautiful and then make love to me on the operating table" she hiccupped, feeling woozy from the synthol "Pretty sick, huh?"

Slattery pulled out his medical tricorder and searched Plutonian Dimorphism Syndrome. "I'm going to research this syndrome and see what I can find. I will find a way for you to stay in the fleet."

Poppy couldn't believe it, she teared up as she gazed up at him - this wasn't helping to assuage her crush on the man, that was for sure! "You'd do that... for me?" she asked incredulously "After all the trouble I've been?"

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't give up hope. Now, I want you to return to your quarters, take a shower, then get into bed and get some sleep." He smiled at her, then he exited the holodeck.

"Yes Sir!" she replied, but as he went, she knew she couldn't: there was a fire within her that could not be dampened. The sensation on her shoulder where HE had touched her still resonated. She clicked her fingers again, and thought through the programmes she had created: should she be the helpless barbarian queen captured by the cruel Roman General Marcus Slattarus? Should she be the Mata Hari spy, taken for questioning by the cold Prussian, duelling-scar covered Oberleutnant Michael von Slattery? She finally settled on one.

"Computer, run scenario 11.1 recurring" she stated, wishing that she were in her Indian squaw outfit as the medical office suddenly transformed into a Wild West Fort interior and two 7th Cavalry men appeared at her elbows and seized her arms while, before her, a Colonel appeared who looked a lot like Dr Slattery. "Caught this squaw spying by the fort, sir. We asked her where the redskins is camped but she won't talk!"

"She'll talk for me" sneered the officer, taking off his gloves.

Yep, it was going to be a rough 60 minutes for Sitting Bull's poor little daughter!

The Colonel bolted the door shut. Took off his gloves and held the gloves under her chin. "Last chance to talk, squaw." The girl remained silent. The Colonel took off his jacket, pulled out a knife, held the knife under her chin, then cut the top of her clothes, then ripped off the clothes, until she stood there, naked.

...

 

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