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CHARACTERS: THE NANOTECH SCAVENGE/REPAIR TEAM
LOCATION: SCI and MED areas
WARNINGS: The current plot? Will update if necessary
SUMMARY: The nanotech extraction equipment has been discovered in the Medbay. A similar machine has been found in the Science department. Neither machine will turn on. But by their powers combined...! Open to Scavengers and Repairers alike.
NOTES: An open log for the purposes of building new CR around the scavenging and repairing of the nanotech extraction equipment. Some of the happenings in this plot are handwaved, but this is for those of us who would like to play it out. Comment in and make your own thread, toss your character at someone else's, and have a good time! Further details of the equipment under the cut although the full ooc run-down is here, and plotting is happening here!

Located on level one of the Science Department, there is one irreparably damaged piece of equipment that has, up until this time, been sitting mostly ignored. Once its sister machine is discovered in Medical, identical, also damaged but in pretty good condition, however, the wheels start turning. It's impossible to repair both, with the equipment they have on hand. But if they were to scavenge the parts, piece the better one together from the parts of the worse, it just might be possible. It just might work. It's going to need a lot of delicate repairs and parts from its sister machine in the Science Department, and an extra bit of hope and prayer on top of that, but with enough elbow grease and technical expertise, this thing really does stand a chance.

How does it work? Well, there's only one way to find out - get it working. Although, with an identification such as the nanotech extraction equipment, and knowing that nanotech is undoubtedly the cause to this, it just might be their only hope... A call to action has been made. And now is the time for that action to be taken.

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Jack has experience with nanotech. A lot of experience. It's great technology, and it does a lot of good when used for good. Of course, it can do a lot of harm when it's gone wrong as well. It's what happened before, all those years ago when the confused little nanogenes Jack had accidentally introduced onto Earth came into contact with an unfortunate little boy killed in the blitz and wearing a gas mask. Made that the pattern that it thought humans should follow - gas mask faces, severe injuries, mostly dead. It wasn't until the Doctor figured it out and convinced the nanogenes of the right blueprint to follow that everything went back to normal. Jack doesn't think that they're going to be able to do the same thing here, but with this nanotech extraction equipment working? They can do it one better and maybe even remove the offending things entirely.

If they can just get the damn things to work. He leans on the machine tiredly, running the back of his hand over his sweating forehead. He's seen similar technology before, but it's not the same, and he hadn't studied it to the t, and add the fact that he's feeling awful on top of that? "What I would give for an instruction manual right about now..." he mutters to himself.

Edited 2014-09-06 18:34 (UTC)

"C'mon now," comes Raven's voice from a little lower down - she's got her top half slid halfway under the machine, like you see with car mechanics in some of the old Earth vids in the TQ library. She sounds like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag, but there's a note of humor in her tone anyway. "That's cheating."

But then there's a clatter of something metal hitting the floor, and - "Shit -" she's jerking to the side a little. There's a pause, only long enough for her to take hold of the part now sitting beside her head, and eyeball the hole it came out of. Then comes a dry, "Found one of the problems..." Technically, it's probably the seventh - eighth maybe? That they've found. On the bright side, not a single one of them's seemed like anything she absolutely can't repair.

Jack stands up a bit straighter, leaning to the side to peer down at her. They've been working on this thing together for what seems like years now, although Jack knows it's really only had to be a day or so. Maybe two. He's losing track of time. Where he might have had some sort of smart-ass comment about instruction manuals and cheating, he's now trying to get his eyes to focus on something besides the panel in front of him so that he can make sense of what she's trying to say.

"I'm not above cheating if it gets this done in time," he comments, before adding, "What've you got?" They're slowly patching the repairs as they find them, but the more the find, the more work they realize they've got to put into this, after all.

She's taking hold of the part that dropped out, sliding it out from under the machine and handing it up to Jack. It's shot, she could tell that much at a glance. Just one more piece for Charles and whoever else to hunt down the spare for down in Science.

"That, and a big gaping hole." Which isn't a problem, don't worry. Hand her anything even remotely close to the right part for the job, and that hole'll be filled in no time. But that part's a waiting game for now, so Raven plants both palms on the floor and scoots herself back out from under the machine, smoothing back the few chunks of hair that have escaped her ponytail as she looks up his way now. "How 'bout you?"

Luke's hardly left the medbay since people who had started mutating began filing in to be looked after. He'd tried to divide his time between checking on Biggs, who is passed out on a bed in a quiet corner of the medbay, and helping to make repairs on the nanite machine. Eventually it became clear that the repairs needed more of his attention and he's regretfully had to leave Biggs alone for hours at a time.

Despite being exhausted and in pain and occasionally being persuaded into getting hooked up to a portable IV drip for fluids, Luke is as determined as ever to get this thing working again. His experience is mostly in droids and moisture vaporators but his knowledge of extremely advanced technology (compared to what most others on the ship are familiar with) has given him a pretty good idea of how to at least restore power in the machine, if not figure out the more delicate functions. He'll leave the nanotech parts to people who know that sort of stuff.

"I don't like instruction manuals. They're not usually written the way I think." Luke pops a panel back in place after doing a thorough inspection for damage. "We'll get it." He sounds a bit more hopeful than he feels, but then holding onto hope is about all Luke's got left.

Biggs' quickly deteriorating condition has him more than a little worried ~~(read: anxious and desperate)~~ and Luke keeps glancing over at his friend's bed every couple minutes or so.

Jack glances back in the direction that Luke keeps glancing, realizing where he's looking and what he's looking at, before turning back to the younger man. "Yeah," he says, and this time his voice is more reassuring and less whining than he had been moments earlier. He reaches a hand out to place on Luke's shoulder for a moment, squeezing it tightly. He's scared too. Ianto looks like a ghost of his former self. He's still on his feet, but he's lost about a stone in the span of a few days or so, and it's frightening, the way he looks, the way he sways on his feet sometimes. He's in an upswing right now, otherwise Jack would have forced him into a medical bed as well, instead of letting him help with the repairs as best he can.

"We'll get it," he reassures, gently. "You'll see."

Luke had needed to hear that from a second voice to really believe it himself. He nods solemnly, his lips pressed together tightly in thought. When things look grim, though he sometimes struggles with holding onto his idealistic nature, Luke keeps his dark thoughts to himself and prefers to take action.

Right now that translates to fixing this darned machine so he'll do whatever it takes.

"This thing needs new parts." He'd come to that conclusion seconds ago while inspecting it but he hadn't spoken it out loud because... where are these new parts going to come from exactly? But there's really nothing else for it because this needs to get done. The more brains they have figuring it out the better.

He looks at Jack grimly.

Dick. Dick has experience with all sorts of tech, even if he's usually not the lead on it (there are always people with more specific use, when it comes to just about anything.)

He's also sick as a semi-drowned kitten, and there may be something like feathers on the back of his hand, the side of his throat.

But he's there, quietly working. On the plus side, there's little left to eject, anymore?

At Jack's words, he peers around the corner of the machine, trying to focus on what Jack's working on. "Which part's giving you trouble right now?"

Jack shakes his head slightly, before standing up straight. "If I said the whole damn machine, would that be too broad a statement for the moment right now?" he asks, before shaking his head, knowing that's a bit harsh, even for a moment like this.

"Sorry," he says. "Ianto says I've got a flair for the dramatic." Who is he kidding, everyone probably says that, not just Ianto. "It's not really anything in particular, it's just. This is damn frustrating. Of course when we find the machine that would do the job to fix all of this, it would need repairs."

Robin manages a wan smile over at him.

"Don't worry, flair for the dramatic is downright familiar, for me." Because Batman. "I won't think any less of you.

"And, well." He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes behind the lenses - of course he's wearing his mask, the Robin lenses are an advantage he can't forgo! - to ward off a wave of nausea. "At least we do find a way that may fix it. It seemed all running into walls, to begin with. Medically, I mean."

The black-haired head looks around. "And we have enough people who can work on it that I think we'll be able to do it, too. So long as nobody with superstrength gets super frustrated and kicks it into worse shape, I mean."

Fitz is used to impossible deadlines. He's also used to watching people fall apart in front of him as the deadlines loom, though not to quite this degree (or quite this literally). Feeling terrible on top of everything else means that this ranks fairly high on the "worst times of his life" scale, but to its credit, it's a bizarrely nostalgic scenario.

He's spent the past few hours working and avoiding breaks, offering a smile whenever someone looks like they're about to tell him to go lay down, playing it off. To be completely fair, he's doing better than some, hanging back in the earlier stages — he's had flues worse than this. Well, not really, but almost. When Jack speaks, Fitz glances up from where he's working. He's sitting amid a small array of tools near the back of the machine, and aside from an occasional quiet curse, he hasn't spoken up yet himself since they'd worked out a task order.

"We'll find it five minutes after we've fixed the damn thing, you know."

Is this the part where he's supposed to be cocky and say instruction manuals are no fun? That might have been an option a few hours ago, but now he's way too tired and grouchy to manage it.

Thank you for the lack of that comment, Fitz. While manuals are for newbies and it's much better to learn by trial and error, it's true, it's less fun when there are definite stakes on the line and this is not the same universe of tech you're used to, regardless of whether there are similarities or not.

Jack laughs at the comment, shaking his head as he does. "Don't I know it," he replies, stepping back to rub another hand across his forehead. God, he's exhausted, and he's burning up. He reaches down for the water that he's set aside for himself - he has to keep reminding himself to drink it, and not too much, it feels like he's always thirsty these days. He nods to where Fitz is working. "How's it going on your end?" he asks.

"Oh, it's fantastic. It's just like—," there's a short, electric buzz, then a light curse as Fitz drops the tool currently in hand. "Just like home. You know, impossible stakes, impossible machinery, not nearly enough compensation."

Which sounds a lot like bitching. It is, but it's offset by an undercurrent of enthusiasm. He's gotten more used to the challenge than he'd probably admit; going back to bouncing theories around in a lab for knowledge rather than saving lives wouldn't be dull, exactly, but it wouldn't be half as exciting.

"What about you? Home, that is, not this. I never did get your qualifications."

As if he's the one in charge here. He's absolutely not and he doesn't even think he is, it's just that grilling people on their degrees and grades and whatever is old habit in certain circles.

[ more than a year on the ship, most of that time spent among machinery and computers, and arya stark has to admit she is completely useless.

mayhaps not completely. she did learn. well enough, in fact, to be able to do her job on a good day.

this is not a good day. such are arya's thoughts as she races back to the medbay holding a little delicate piece in her hands. this is not a good month. there hasn't been a good month in a long time. but this is certainly one of the worst. with little sleep and less appetite, her heart racing, a constant fever that has her fleeing from heat and her skinny frame become skinnier still... sansa would be horrified if she saw her, arya is certain.

don't be stupid, she chides herself. now isn't the time to be thinking of those who aren't here. she gets to the medbay, hands off the piece, waits to be instructed on what t get next and races back to the science department. a strange job for the head of engineering to be sure, but arya is not so proud that she cannot admit when she is entirely out of her element.

at one point, she opts to get food and water for those working. sandwiches from the kitchens are the end result, quick to make, quick to eat. she enlists bran's help, has him distribute his half to those in the medbay while she runs to the science department with hers. she's happier with bran someplace safer, though nowhere is really safe; the danger lies under their skin.

during the last trip, she almost doesn't make it to the medbay. arya passes off the piece given to her — a pretty circular thing that reminds her of a baby bracelet she owned — and sinks to the floor. despite not running hard, she's covered in a sheen of sweat, her skin cool and pale. her heart beats much too fast. she should rest; in this, however, she is too proud. ]

[Jack's been pretty hard at work, trying to repair this machine and get everything working in time for the jump. The whole team has been pushing themselves harder than they should, Jack himself included. He knows that once he dies, he'll be able to revive and if not be alright again, then be as alright as anyone on this place can be. Everyone else, though? This is their one chance, this is it for them. So he's keeping as close an eye on them as he can.

Which is why, when Arya sinks to the floor, he pauses in his tinkering and steps forward to put a hand on her shoulder.] Easy. Can't have my boss passing out on me, right? [He quirks a smile at her - sorry, Arya, that will never not be amusing to him.] How you hanging in there?

Fine.

[ you lie, she hears the disappointed sound of the kindly man's voice. she wants to cry, but she can't. in the temple, there were many times she wanted to cry from frustration but she couldn't then either. crying is for children, and children could not stay.

she raises a shaking hand to wipe at her forehead. when she sees how badly her fingers are trembling, she drops it. her hand falls a little harder than she meant. it feels so heavy.

arya summons as much confidence as she can before snapping: ] You keep working. We need that.

[Jack raises his eyebrows at her.] You're right, we need to get the machine fixed. But we're not going to do anyone any good if we wear ourselves into the ground before we manage to do so. Here.

[He reaches down and hands her the thermos of water that he's been keeping by his side as of late. It won't hurt to share, considering this isn't a real illness. Hell, it wouldn't really hurt to share, even if it were, considering then they'd both have it anyway.] Drink some of this.

[ she has to hold the thermos with both hands. it trembles as she raises it to her lips. some water leaks out and courses down her neck and chest. it does little to settle her. arya doesn't know if she wants to sleep or wants to throw up so she presses her lips together and lets her head loll against the wall.

she hands back the thermos with a brief thumbs up sign. completely fine this one. convincingly so. ]

[ now raven's got the part in her hands, and her weight's already shifting to turn and head back toward the machine - because what the hell's she gonna do? she's no doctor. all she really do to help is fix the damn thing.

but she can't help it. she sticks in place just a second too long, and the momentum keeping her relatively on her feet's been lost, so she drops to a knee herself with her part-free hand against the wall. ] Hey, [ she's saying, but everything coming to mind sounds stupid considering who she's talking to. so instead: ] You want to give me a hand in here? I'll talk you through it, I just-... [ she lifts up a hand to show how bad it's shaking, exhaling a near-inaudible sigh of resignation through her nose at having to admit she's not completely at the top of her game. ] Figure you've got a steadier hand than I do right now. [ don't worry, raven's not down for the count. this comes and goes, and as soon as jasper's back with some kind of food she can suck down, she'll be back in business. ]

[ her fingernails will leave marks in her palms. arya can feel the points of pain where they meet in her clenched fists. raven's voice sounds like it's coming through water. she rubs her eyes and tries to focus on the other girl. when she lowers her hands, both are badly shaking. her hair slides over her face when arya shakes her head. ]

I'm not very steady. [ arya tries to get up. ] What do you want? If it's food, I can —

[ dizzy she falls back, clutching her head. ]

[ okay, maybe she overestimated arya. maybe the girl's worse off than raven thought. either way, she's already abandoned the 'wanna help me out?' idea in favor of the flat-out concern she was trying to avoid. ]

Hang on, [ she says, like 'slow down'. ] Did you even eat?

Yes. [ circa eleven or so hours ago. arya tries to wave her off. ] I'll be fine. I just need -- sit for a bit.

[ she makes another shooing motion that may have been convincing if not for how frail it looked. even her head feels too heavy. arya chews on her bottom lip. she can't remember the last time she felt so weak. ]

Bullshit, [ she says, moving closer with the intent to slip under arya's arm, shorter though she may be, to brace her and get her back into the medbay. ]

[It is Summer who finds Arya. But soon, Bran thinks, he will have a nose as Summer does, and he will not need to wear his direwolf's skin at all. Their skins will match. You are a boy, he tells himself, a lord and a prince of the north, a Stark, not a true wolf, but what had started as an itching at his scalp and jaw has become hair that grows thick like fur. Not a man's beard, but the same sort of ruff of dense fur that Summer wears. His fingers have grown blunt too, and end in fingernails that grow in black. They throb and they hurt, but Bran does not give himself to tears or to horror. They have a task. They have a way to cure this illness. He must help Arya. He must act as a man grown.

The week has changed him, made him weaker. There is something wrong with the shape of his legs. It is difficult to tell in the braces that he wears, and he still cannot feel them--but Bran woke one night and knew that they were wrong, twisted in a way they ought not to be. It makes walking all the harder, even with the robotics. But beneath the pain, and the fur, and the fear that he tastes when he looks too long at Arya--barely a skeleton, barely a girl, thin and wan and sickly, but still lit from within with her stubbornness--beneath all of it, Bran can taste the air the way that Summer tastes it, the way that it tastes when he wears his direwolf's skin. There is something thrilling about that.

He is carrying a sandwich for Arya when Summer runs ahead, ears back against his skull. The smells of sickness unnerve the direwolf, too. He does not shy away from Bran, though surely Bran must smell different to him. Bran runs after his direwolf as best as he can, following his smell, like a little wolf shadow.

Summer is standing over Arya, sniffing at one of her hands. Bran slows his clumsy run, staring at his sister. She looks worse today. He thinks of Sansa, when she was still Alayne, and the illnees that had plagued them all those years ago, tinted her face blue and made her dark-dyed hair damp with sweat. Arya's hair has a similar dampness. The lines of her face look sharper, bonier. She is wasting into nothing.

Bran's legs are so heavy in their robotic braces. He lowers himself to the floor with a little gasp that becomes a sigh of relief.]

Arya.

[Her name sounds funny in his numb mouth. His teeth feel just as strangely as his legs do, as everything else.]

[ any other day she would smile at the tickling sensation on her fingers. the presence of the wolves makes her feel better. they're a comfort as is her red blanket and needle. this too, if summer is here, bran will be close by. she hears his awkward steps and tries to invigorate herself.

no one deserves to be so ill. arya hopes the queen and the kingslayer both die, but the other’s don’t. however, arya would not be trying so hard if bran were not changing.

arya looks up. she has to squint through the luminescent spots that multiply across her vision to see bran’s deformed features. her stomach is a leaden ache. they’re wolves. but not like this. ]

I can’t get up. [ she continues quickly before he worries: ] I just need to rest for a while.

[Worry prickles at him anyways, but he nods. Even as he thinks of the stories of men who laid down for a rest in the snow and never got up again--stories of sleep so deep that even the strongest men could not find their way out--and his own sleep, too, that had crept over him and kept him trapped until long after Mother had left Winterfell, until it was nearly too late--even as he thinks of these things, Bran thinks, too, that this fate will not befall Arya. She is stronger than many men that he knows. And if she would fall into such a sleep, Bran would fetch her out again. He could enter her mind and free her. He knows that he could.

Instead, he reaches to push some of her damp hair back away from her forehead, smooths it away, working to keep his hand steady. The black nails that end each of his fingers look queer and strange against Arya's pale skin. There is a little hair that grows at his wrist, spreading down over his hand. He smooths back Arya's hair again, gently.]

We will stay with you.

[If she lingers here long, perhaps Summer could be convinced to carry her. Bran dares not borrow Summer's skin, not now. The effort of it only leaves him tired.]

I made a sandwich for you. If you ate a little, you might find your strength again. You have been working very hard.

[ she doesn't know if she's hungry or not. she doesn't feel hungry. but arya remembers when was the least time she ate — many, many hours before — and she knows she needs it. dutifully, she takes the sandwich. to swallow she has to rip it into little pieces before eating them one by one otherwise she will only be sick.

the stroking of her hair feels nice so arya lets herself be selfish and doesn't swat him away. not even his new claws give her pause. while she has seen others flinch away from someone's new gruesome appearance ( a few even gave her a start, though she was never afraid ) she could never be scared of bran. for him, always. it's a cold terror in her breast that always freezes her immediately before and after a jump and doesn't release its hold on her heart until she sees bran and robb are still here, still with her. with hair or fur. ]

How are you feeling?

[ her eyes are on his legs, twisted now and still useless. a terrible thought passes through her head: that she's glad he cannot feel them. but only now and only because of their appearance. they are painful to look at; best that he not feel it. ]

Sick.

[He's careful with the ugly black claws, careful not to snag them on Arya's skin or tangle them in her hair. As he strokes his fingers against her forehead, he thinks of their lady mother. Surely when he was asleep she sat with him, just like this, the way she always sat with them when they were feeling poorly. Her duties were too many to give them a whole day, but she would sit with them for as long as she could, and she was always sorry to leave.

He does not waste time wishing that their mother was here. Of course he wishes that. But he must think of Arya, only Arya, and of Robb. They are the ones that need his help, what little help that he can give.]

Sometimes I feel very dizzy, like the floor is moving under my feet--but it isn't. And sometimes I can hear things--Summer hears them, too, but they are very quiet things. Like a door opening very far away.

[He scratches at his cheek with his free hand. The sound is a loud scrape, claws against fur.]

But it isn't so bad. I'm not cold. I wonder why the sickness is working differently on everyone.

[ her head jerks toward the sound. though small it was abrupt enough to leave her lightheaded. the bright splotches in her vision grow larger; the edges go white. arya gasps. her hand shoots out to close around bran's arm. ]

I need to lie down, [ quietly so only her brother will hear. her hand doesn't drop from his arm. ]

[There's a twinge in his belly at her gasp, fear and regret all mixed together. He should not have wasted time with talking to her about small and trivial things. He should have helped her back to a room first.

Summer is nearly laying down already. It takes only a small push from Bran to get the direwolf to lay down the rest of the way. He is not small; he takes up nearly half the corridor, his great head laying on his paws and his body half-curled toward Arya: the perfect pillow. Bran does not shake lose from his sister's grip, but presses her hand to his arm--and with his other hand, he reaches out to take hold of her shoulder, to ease her back toward Summer. The black claws on his fingers curl in the fabric of her shirt. There is hair on his arm, thick and dense, more a wolf's fur than a man's hair.

Only when he has her more settled does he dare to speak again:]

Should I fetch water?

Don't —

[ though she doesn't finish the sentence, the surprisingly strong grip she maintains on her arm completes it for her: don't go. arya misses nymeria in that moment. she had left her wolf with gendry who was being stupid and refused to stay still. arya wants her badly. summer is good, but summer isn't nymeria.

a second later she feels guilty for thinking it. though he couldn't have heard her, she strokes summer in apology. arya's eyes flick toward bran. ]

Stay. Talk.

[Summer turns to nose at Arya's arm a little, as if to offer some extra comfort. Bran does not flinch away from his sister's sudden strong grasp, but looks down at her with worry plain on his face. She is ill, in a way so different than him. Sometimes he feels weak, but there is strength to the changes that twist at him, strength even in the claws and the fur that he has grown. Arya is always so strong and full of authority. She does not cry. She barely sleeps, sometimes. His admiration for his sister has doubled and tripled, in the months aboard the Tranquility--but his worry for her has not diminished. She is no lady, to be protected, but she is still his sister.

Carefully, he reaches out to stroke at her hair once more, a soothing gesture. It will not help. What is there to help now?]

I can tell you a story.

[He offers it, quietly.]

Would you hear of a knight, or would you hear of a dragon?

[ too ill to pretend not to be, arya allows herself the chance to not mind someone fretting. it's strange the many things she never knew she took for granted until they were gone. the kindly man would have waited patiently for her to get better; the hound would have threatened her. maybe lord beric would have cared, but lord beric was truly dead now and she didn't care to hear of magic or anything related to it. ]

The knight.

[When he looks at Arya's face, Bran sees Jon Snow, and their Lord Father. She is more Stark than the rest of them. But though she has grown thin from illness, there is something of their mother in her too, some hint that is not always obvious when she knits her brow in scowls, or pinches her mouth in her teasing smirks. In rare and quiet rest, Lady Catelyn becomes more plain in Arya--or perhaps that is only Bran's fancy.

And perhaps it is because he is thinking of Mother and Father--and perhaps because sitting beside Arya like this reminds him of sitting by the fire at Winterfell, all of them grouped around Old Nan's feet, listening to one of her stories--but when Bran opens his mouth to tell his tale to Arya, he does not think of any of the tales he has heard here, aboard the Tranquility. He thinks instead of an old story, one Old Nan told them often, because Bran so loved it: a story of Symeon Star-Eyes. He does not tell her the tale of the hellhounds at the Nightfort, but instead of Symeon's journey from Brightwater Keep, all the way down the Honeywine, where he met the great pirate lord of legend, and fought his champion.

And it does not hurt to think of the brave blind knight, walking on two legs. Bran is not jealous in the way that he used to be, when he refused to hear the tales of the knights that he used to love so well. Symeon's story has magic in it, and magic is true in the world. He is not so stupid to think that some magic will cure Arya, or untwist his legs where they are snarled unnaturally in the robotic legs. That will be science. A knight can know bravery, and magic, and science.

And anyways, the battle with the pirate lord's champion is one of the best of the Age of Heroes. Bran does his best to tell it, trying to be better than Old Nan was. Summer curls closer to Arya, his great golden eyes fixed upon Bran, as if he hears the tale, too.]

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OPEN

Jack Harkness | Medbay Repairs | OTA

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the team's roadie | ota | time anywhere, location anywhere, pick your poison

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hope it's okay that i'm using the same prompt... thing... as jack?

<3!

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