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» LCARS » Newspaper: The Federation Tribune » Newspaper Archives » 2007 » April 2007 » "Spending too much time at Frontier Fleet", by Rob Versteegt
 | "Spending too much time at Frontier Fleet", by Rob Versteegt |  |
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Outside, the air was cold. I kept warm inside, by putting an extra blanket around me. Well, not only because it was cold outside: apparently yesterday I got careless, thinking the weather was nice, and went outside without a jacket. The result: I'm stuck at home with a cold, today. Figures. Ah well, time enough to write the newspaper then. Why not use the time I would otherwise use lying in bed, to do something constructive?
Anyway, here I was, at my computer, writing newspaper things. My head hurt, and I was feeling light-headed. ~Great Rob,~ I thought to myself, ~Instead of lying in bed, getting better again, you're making yourself more ill by writing this newspaper.~ I spend *way* too much time in Frontier Fleet: that much was painfully obvious right now. (literally)
Nevertheless, I kept working. If I could just finish this newspaper quickly, then I would be able to go to bed again quickly as well. Ah, the warm bed. Sleeping… sleeping…
I thought I had closed my eyes for just a moment. . . but when I woke up, it seemed as if I had been gone for a *looong* time. I was still sitting here, at my desk, staring at my computer screen. But something was different. It was night time. . . yeah, that had to be it. Had I slept that long? ~All that time, wasted.~ I thought to myself. And still, I hadn't had the chance to finish the newspaper.
And now it was night already. Bah. Would I even be able to sleep now? Probably not. No, I would most likely just stay awake all night, getting tired again when dawn announced a new day. Figures.
I stood up, and walked out of my room, to the kitchen. I really needed something to eat: if it *was* night-time already -which it seemed to be- then I had skipped lunch and dinner! Truth be told, I *was* feeling a bit hungry. A good sign of course: that cold was obviously being defeated by my immune system at that very moment.
When I entered the kitchen, the feeling that something wasn't right just kept persisting. How could I have slept this long? And why? I wasn't *that* tired, now was I? And besides, even if I was, I wouldn't just fall asleep like that at 11 o'clock in the morning! I. . .
~What time is it, actually?~ I wondered. I grabbed a sandwich to eat, walked back to my living room, and looked at the clock. ~2 o'clock.~ I mentally repeated what I saw on the clock. I had slept for about 15 hours! "Something must be seriously wrong with me." I said to myself. "Maybe I should see a Doctor, tomorrow."
"Why wait until tomorrow, if you can see one today?"
I turned around, startled at the sound of another voice in my otherwise empty living room. Nobody else lived here. But then where was this voice coming from? As I turned around, I realised that somewhere, I knew this voice. But I couldn't quite place it.
When I saw the face of the person I heard, I swallowed, hard. My head pounded with headache and confusion. I felt I had to sit down, otherwise I would *fall* down. What I was seeing couldn't possibly be:
"Doctor Threnn Vok," The Andorian said. "How can I help you?"
I was speechless. Vok. . . a character I had created for Frontier Fleet. How could he *possibly* be here, right now? No, that was impossible. I had to be hallucinating, or something like that. Andorians didn't even *exist*! They were just a fantasy race, created from the mind of Star Trek writers! And Vok. . . Vok was just a character in FF. No, he couldn't be here.
And yet, he was! "Who. . . what. . ." I uttered, feeling threatened by the tall, blue Doctor who was suddenly standing in my room. "I don't believe this. . ."
"Believe all you want." Vok said, his face now displaying a frown. "You needed a doctor, right? Well, I'm here. Now sit down, and let me have a look at you."
"No. . . what. . . I. . . but. . . how. . ." The words which came from my mouth made no sense. How could Doctor Threnn Vok order *me* to sit down? *I* was always the one who wrote for him, right?
"Better do as he says." Came another voice. . . a familiar voice as well. Now, I turned to where that voice came from. It was. . .
"Jalando?" I muttered. Right in front of me stood Captain Jeff Jalando, CO of the USS Odyssey. . . and the first character I had ever created. Jalando was my PC: the character I used the most. From Cadet to ACSO to CSO to 2O/CSO to FO to CO. . . I had written for Jalando for almost 4 years. And now. . . now he was standing in front of me. How was that possible?
"Good, you know who I am." Captain Jalando said to me. "I for one, know who you are too." He shrugged. "Although I *did* think you would be somewhat. . . more imposing. But maybe that's because you're ill now, at the moment." He gestured to the Andorian. "Now, if you would be so kind as to let the Doctor here take a look at you?"
I hesitated. What was Jalando saying? And why was I even listening to what two figments of my imagination were saying?
Jalando though, didn't budge. "Don't let me make it an order, Mr. Versteegt." He said to me. It sounded strange, hearing my last name said like this. Intimidating too, almost. So I sat down on a chair. Doctor Vok, smiling faintly, began to scan me with a tricorder, while Captain Jalando merely watched me, and smiled.
"You know," Jalando said, probably just to pass the time to wait for Vok to finish scanning me, "There's one thing I always wanted to ask you."
"What?" I asked, still confused by what was happening. I didn't know if this was real or not. The best course of action was, probably, to just co-operate. Maybe this would all soon be over. "What's that then?"
"Why make me half Betazoid, if you won't let me use my empathic abilities?" Jalando asked, looking serious. He really seemed to be upset by that. "I mean, what's the point? You've clearly let me wonder about my Bajoran heritage. . . me being uncomfortable with Cardassians, me wondering about the Prophets, me having a *vision* of the Prophets even. But isn't my Betazoid heritage important too?"
"I. . ." I stammered. "I'm sorry. I just always thought that. . . that if I let you, the Captain of the ship. . . feel things that other characters couldn't. . . well, you wouldn't need the help of the other characters anymore, would you? And the other players of the ship wouldn't have that much to do then, right?" For some reason, I was beginning to feel more comfortable talking to Jalando. Why, I don't know. I just did. Maybe I was slowly beginning to accept that Jalando and Vok weren't real. So what was the harm in talking to them?
"Hmmm." Jalando said, nodding. "Well, you've got a point there. However, wouldn't you think that as a Captain, I would make use of every available resources I have, to get the job done? Including my own empathic abilities?" He paused, but before I could say anything else, the Odyssey CO continued. "I would even go this far, as to saying that by not allowing me to explore my Betazoid heritage, and my empathic abilities, that you're being unfair to me. You're denying me a chance to grow. Is that what you want?"
I blinked. Maybe Jalando had a point. "Uhm. . . no. . ." I once again said, not really sure *what* to say. In posts, I can write a lot of good stuff, use a lot of excellent words to make my point, because I have time to think about what I'm going to say. When I just have to make things up, out of the blue, at that very moment, my creativity is. . . well, shall we say, not as developed as I want it to be.
Still, I managed. "But. . ." I continued. "Wouldn't a CO with empathic abilities be. . . I don't know. . . a bad example to the rest of the crew? I mean, you should have weaknesses too, you know."
At this, Jalando let out a frustrated sigh. "Oh come on! Have you ever seen me *in control* of any given situation? You've given me so much weaknesses, and developed those so much, that I can hardly function as Captain of the Odyssey! By the Prophets, don't you think a Captain should at *least* be a little sure of himself? The way you've made me now, is that even Doctor Vok here is more comfortable with himself and his decisions than I am! And he's not even a Captain!"
"Sorry Sir," Vok then said, taking a step back. "But the 'great writer' here also seems to have violated me. I mean, look at me. First I was oh so happy with Truesdale, and then he and other writer decided to let us break up. And if that wasn't bad enough: Mr. Versteegt here *continuously* let me be in a bad mood, crying whenever possible, and making the once-so-tough Doctor look like a. . . an immature, unprofessional cry baby! No Sir, I am clearly *not* happy with myself either."
"Apologies Doctor," Jalando said in response, "I didn't know it was that bad." He paused, looked around, and smiled. "Ah, apparently there are more characters here with complaints." He picked up a PADD from my desk, which apparently had just appeared there. "Let's see. CSO Jomorr of the Atlantis writes that while he's enjoying his position, he wishes he wouldn't always have to be reminded about his terrible results with women. SCC Sally Simpson of Pandora Station states that she wishes you'd pay more attention to her: you've been neglecting her, Mr. Versteegt!"
I swallowed. What was going on here? My very own characters were *complaining* to me? "I’m sorry if I. . ." I started, but Jalando continued, without mercy.
"Then there's Counsellor Linda Lando and her family." The Odyssey CO shook his head. "By the Prophets! What kind of mess have you gotten them into? Sure, you let her make a mistake, but by your hand she has to suffer from that mistake *every* single time you write with her. Show some mercy, man!" He paused, and bit his lip. "Ah, here's an entry from Alan Nerell, AOPS of the Odyssey. He says that you're trying to let him become stronger, emotionally. While that's a good thing, he also writes that you're making him suffer, to do that." Jalando glanced at me, while Doctor Vok moved away. "Don't you know that this is torture, Mr. Versteegt? Punishable by a lot of time in a Federation penal colony?"
"I. . ." I started. "I'm sorry! That was just interesting character development! Nothing more!" I swallowed. "I. . . I just wanted to make an interesting story, that's all. A good, interesting, realistic story. I never meant to hurt any of you!"
"But you did." Jalando continued, reading off of the PADD again. "Here, Ensign Hequill of the USS Calhoun. About to be sent onto a dangerous mission. And instead of writing him being confident about his own abilities, you've made him weak. . . making it more difficult for him to do his job." He paused again, reading another bit of the PADD. "And what about this then? You've deliberately killed a crewman on the USS Atlantis, just to let the EMH have a difficult time with the consequences. What kind of a brutal, savage man are you anyway?" Jalando was almost shouting now.
"And don't forget one of the worst things he's done so far." Vok interjected. "Few people know this, and it's probably not on the PADD. . . but he gave the reporter of the Federation Tribune, Iana Darnena, a terminal illness. In a couple of years, she'll die. There's no known cure."
"WHAT?" Jalando shouted out loud. "To think that I'm the creation of someone who committed such. . . atrocities. . ."
"Please. . ." I said, trying to make my voice sound anything but feeble. . . and not succeeding in it. "I'm sorry. I'm terrible sorry! But they're all parts of the story. *You* are all parts of the story. To make the story look interesting, I *have* to add some dilemmas! I'm a writer! That's what I do!" I paused, and swallowed, feeling slightly more sure about myself. "And if I do say so myself, those stories were pretty good. . ."
The looks that Vok and Jalando gave me, will be left undescribed in this article. The very thought about those looks still gives me the creeps. Nevertheless, my little speech seemed to have helped. "You are the writer." Jalando finally said after a lengthy pause. "We are 'just' your characters. There's nothing we can do about that, now."
Another, ominous pause. "But be warned. We will be watching you. And some day, some how, you will be brought to justice. You have until then to at least make some amends. Make the good doctor's life less miserable, make me more sure of myself. . . do that and more, and maybe, next time, we will be forgiving." Another pause. "Maybe."
I swallowed, but I couldn't respond: Doctor Vok beat me to it. "Now," He started, as if nothing had happened, "The results of my scans. You're ill, Mr. Versteegt. But we knew that already. Also, you're hallucinating, which is most likely why you're seeing us. Stop working on that newspaper for a while, and go to sleep. Take it easy." After this rather confusing message, Vok approached me with a hypospray, which he placed onto my neck. I felt the cool touch, I heard the hiss. . . and then everything went black.
When I woke up again, I was sitting at my desk. Looking at the time, I noticed it was a quarter to 12: I had only slept about three quarters of an hour! Blinking, I looked around. No PADD to be found anywhere. No hypospray. And most important of all, no characters of mine.
~I really am spending way too much time in Frontier Fleet.~ I thought, as a response to this horrible dream.
I looked back at my computer monitor again, to continue working on the newspaper. But when I looked there, I saw these words, right inside the newspaper document:
"Until we meet again, Mr. Versteegt."
I swallowed, and decided that now, it might be better to go to sleep, than to work on the newspaper. . .
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