[[Alrighty, it's time for everyone's favorite Scotsman to take his turn. We'll be falling back on the old 'Enterprise
becomes sentient, plays matchmaker' routine. I'm not quite sure how this is going to work itself out, but I'll be playing both Scotty and the Enterprise
herself. I suppose you can just post your as characters, interact for a couple posts, and then I'll step in and, dunno, lock you two into a supply closet or summat.]]
Ion storms. It was always ion storms.
Somehow, sub-atomic particles always managed to flit their way in to each and every situation and wreak havoc. It seemed to Scotty that every other week his beautiful ship was converging with parallel universes, mucking about in the past, and generally fucking with every law of physics.
Most of the time he could rectify the problem before it got too out of hand - sometimes the crew didn't even notice the difference.
But as Scotty stood there, slack-jawed staring at the computer console, he decided that today would be different.
Against the shiny white plasma screen blinked seven words in dark, stylistic text:
'Would you like to play a game
And yes, he really, really would.