[USS Vanguard] RPG: Waking

  • From: "Vanguard Staff" <vanguard.staff@xxxxxxxxx>
  • To: vanguard <ncv80221@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • Date: Wed, 1 Nov 2006 11:08:08 -0600

The first thing Dominic Santos noticed when he woke was the smell. It seemed
to permeate everything in the room. If stale dreams could be bottled and
re-released, then this was its essence.
Santos tried rising to a sitting position, but he felt unusually sore, as if
his muscles had atrophied. Finally, he managed to sit on the edge of his
bed. His bare feet touched an unusual substance. It was cold. In his
sleep-daze, he wondered if his quarters aboard Vanguard or the starbase had
carpeting. He knew they did. This felt like something that tried to resemble
tile, although it fell woefully short.

Santos ran his hand against his jaw, as was his habit when he was
preoccupied. He felt uneven stubble, as if he had been growing a beard for a
week. But that couldn't be right. His goatee was neatly trimmed. He ran his
hand through his hair. It felt limp, overly long and, worse, dirty, as if he
hadn't bathed recently.

Santos ran his hands along his chest. He was wearing a rough material. It
felt like the material long-distance traders sometimes used to haul their

Santos felt the first prickly waves of panic at the back of his mind. He
took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He tried to remember where he was
last night. The picture that came to his mind was distant, foggy, as if he
were trying to make out a shadowy figure through a foggy lens.

The door rattled as someone entered. She wore a white medical shift over
loose green pants and carried a tray of food.

"Good morning, Mister Santos," she said cheerily.

"Where am I?" Santos asked. His voice was a hoarse croak.

She put the food on a table between Santos' bed and the door. She seemed

"You're in the hospital," she said. "Do you remember? Have you taken your

Santos fought down his panic.

"My name is Dominic Cesar Santos. I hold the rank of commodore in Starfleet.
My serial number is SP-1021-339. I am a citizen of the United Federation of
Planets. If I'm being held prisoner I demand to speak to a Federation
representative. Barring that, I demand to speak to the head of this

The nurse looked at him as if she had heard all this before.

"What year is it?" she asked.

It took him a moment to answer. "Currently, it's 2383, old style."

She nodded, her eyes trained on his. "Dominic, I want you to listen to me
carefully. The year is 1985. There is no United Federation of Planets. There
is no Starfleet.

"You are a patient of the Vanguard Psychiatric Hospital, and you are being
treated for acute schizophrenia."

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