Prologue: How to get into trouble, by me, Pallee.
I opened my eyes and blinked. Of course, opening your eyes and blinking at 6:30am, after only four hours worth of sleep, was perfectly normal and perfectly acceptable. Opening your eyes at 2:20pm and blinking, after crying yourself inevitably to sleep four hours previously after asking the Captain if you could work alone in your quarters because you found it too intimidating to work on the bridge was neither normal nor acceptable. Never mind about perfectly.
I looked down at the padd I'd been working on. It, and the bed sheets around it, was caked in dried mascara.
'I'm dead.' I realised. Surely, if, in ten minutes when the Captain was coming to collect my 40 reports, he didn't throttle and kill me when he learned I had, in actual fact, only done 10 before falling asleep, I would surely die of embarrassment. For that is the sort of girl I am and I'm not proud of it.
I got to my feet and looked in the mirror. There, a five foot five, brown haired, brown eyed girl with black cheeks stared back at me, 'and, on top of that, when I arrive at Satan's gates I'm gonna look like hell!'
Without even realising I'd just made a kind-of funny pun up in my head, I dashed around the room, trying to clean myself and it up in the nine minutes forty five seconds I had left. Which wasn't very long, seeing as though I lived in a pigsty that I, and no-one else, was proud of.
Even in that nine minutes forty five seconds and counting, I only managed to clean myself and the bed up. Which was pathetic: I'd only done too little because my hands were shaking too much.
"Well, Ensign?" The Captain asked, "where are those 40 reports?" He seemed cheerful enough. I stared at his boots, wondering how much shoe polish he went through a month, and, consequently, only managed an "um." in reply.
"Um? That sounds very unproductive, Ensign Chenna." Not only had Captain Kirk come to collect my reports, whilst he was at it he managed to bring along Spock and McCoy as well. Spock, I had the strange feeling, was looking at me sceptically. Maybe someone should tell him that's an emotion.
"Well.you see."I tired again, and failed again.
"No, Ensign, I don't see." Kirk was beginning to sound a little etchy, "what are you trying to say? Look up when you're being spoken to."
I thought the last order sounded a bit.lame, but I didn't dare say so. I looked up - and froze. I had been wrong. Not only had he brought Spock and McCoy, but he'd also brought along Chekov, who was standing in my door way, looking around thoughtfully. Especially at the clothes spread around on the floor. And, to my absolute horror, I saw I'd left my knickers out too. I looked at Chekov's face. He didn't seemed to phased, thank God.
"Ensign?" Kirk snapped, no longer very happy, as far as I could tell my head snapped back round.
"I.I only managed to get ten done, sir." I trailed off, blushing as I felt everyone's eyes on my face. And that included Chekov's.
"Only ten? I gave you four hours. The reports take about three minutes each. I understand from your record you were the fastest typer in your class at school, and indeed at the academy. Let's see," he started pacing around my room whilst I stood there, trying not to look at anyone or anything, feeling myself drowning in shame, "four times sixty is.240. 240 minutes. Three minutes a report. Forty reports. Forty times three is.?"
"120, Sir."
"Yes, so, it should have taken you 120 minutes to complete the reports, and I gave you 240. Am I sensing you are working too hard? Well? Am I over- working you, Ensign?" He was being sarky. I hated it when people went all sarky.
"No, sir." I felt the first twinges of horror start to overtake me. Please, not again.
"Well. This seems to be a little unfair on me then, doesn't it? Because this isn't the first time this has happened, is it?"
'Please. Please. Not whilst Chekov's here. Please no!' I felt myself flush further.
"Remember that time on Ryhnia? When I was frantically calling the transporter room where you worked, trying to attract your attention, to find you were asleep? You were risking three lives there, girl. Do you think that was acceptable?"
I didn't know what he was trying to get at. Three lives, yes, that was dangerous. Forty safety reports regarding hand rails etc? Not so.
"No sir, I don't."
"Let me guess. You fell asleep this time, too." Kirk sneered. Oh, how I wished I was pretty. Kirk never sneered at the pretty girls.
"Yes." My voice was barely audible.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Yes.sir." I looked as far up as I could, which was about face-level with him.
He sighed, folded his arms and tapped his foot irritably.
"So. What are we going to do with you, then, Ensign?" He asked, mocking kindness and affection. I knew he knew I knew he was faking it.
"I don't know.sir." I heard a snigger. 'Please don't let that be Chekov.' I glanced at him. He looked back, dead-pan. It wasn't him. Or, at least, I hoped not. Kirk stepped on my foot. I squeaked. Chekov smiled.
"Alright. Then I'll tell you. Three days cleaning out the air ducts," he saw the look on my face, "don't you think that's fair, Ensign?"
"I'm.I.I'm claustrophobic, sir." I didn't think this a complaint, but he took it entirely the wrong way.
"And also workophobic, by the looks of things," he turned to go, "I don't care if you're claustrophobic or not. You can start in Engineering. Report to Scotty tomorrow at 6am. And no pity-stabbing."
"No, Sir." He left, with McCoy and Spock. Chekov hung back for about ten seconds, watching me, then, shaking his head, he went, too.
'Great. Not only do I have to do a job for three days that'll probably give me a mental breakdown, Chekov thinks I'm a right loony.'
I opened my eyes and blinked. Of course, opening your eyes and blinking at 6:30am, after only four hours worth of sleep, was perfectly normal and perfectly acceptable. Opening your eyes at 2:20pm and blinking, after crying yourself inevitably to sleep four hours previously after asking the Captain if you could work alone in your quarters because you found it too intimidating to work on the bridge was neither normal nor acceptable. Never mind about perfectly.
I looked down at the padd I'd been working on. It, and the bed sheets around it, was caked in dried mascara.
'I'm dead.' I realised. Surely, if, in ten minutes when the Captain was coming to collect my 40 reports, he didn't throttle and kill me when he learned I had, in actual fact, only done 10 before falling asleep, I would surely die of embarrassment. For that is the sort of girl I am and I'm not proud of it.
I got to my feet and looked in the mirror. There, a five foot five, brown haired, brown eyed girl with black cheeks stared back at me, 'and, on top of that, when I arrive at Satan's gates I'm gonna look like hell!'
Without even realising I'd just made a kind-of funny pun up in my head, I dashed around the room, trying to clean myself and it up in the nine minutes forty five seconds I had left. Which wasn't very long, seeing as though I lived in a pigsty that I, and no-one else, was proud of.
Even in that nine minutes forty five seconds and counting, I only managed to clean myself and the bed up. Which was pathetic: I'd only done too little because my hands were shaking too much.
"Well, Ensign?" The Captain asked, "where are those 40 reports?" He seemed cheerful enough. I stared at his boots, wondering how much shoe polish he went through a month, and, consequently, only managed an "um." in reply.
"Um? That sounds very unproductive, Ensign Chenna." Not only had Captain Kirk come to collect my reports, whilst he was at it he managed to bring along Spock and McCoy as well. Spock, I had the strange feeling, was looking at me sceptically. Maybe someone should tell him that's an emotion.
"Well.you see."I tired again, and failed again.
"No, Ensign, I don't see." Kirk was beginning to sound a little etchy, "what are you trying to say? Look up when you're being spoken to."
I thought the last order sounded a bit.lame, but I didn't dare say so. I looked up - and froze. I had been wrong. Not only had he brought Spock and McCoy, but he'd also brought along Chekov, who was standing in my door way, looking around thoughtfully. Especially at the clothes spread around on the floor. And, to my absolute horror, I saw I'd left my knickers out too. I looked at Chekov's face. He didn't seemed to phased, thank God.
"Ensign?" Kirk snapped, no longer very happy, as far as I could tell my head snapped back round.
"I.I only managed to get ten done, sir." I trailed off, blushing as I felt everyone's eyes on my face. And that included Chekov's.
"Only ten? I gave you four hours. The reports take about three minutes each. I understand from your record you were the fastest typer in your class at school, and indeed at the academy. Let's see," he started pacing around my room whilst I stood there, trying not to look at anyone or anything, feeling myself drowning in shame, "four times sixty is.240. 240 minutes. Three minutes a report. Forty reports. Forty times three is.?"
"120, Sir."
"Yes, so, it should have taken you 120 minutes to complete the reports, and I gave you 240. Am I sensing you are working too hard? Well? Am I over- working you, Ensign?" He was being sarky. I hated it when people went all sarky.
"No, sir." I felt the first twinges of horror start to overtake me. Please, not again.
"Well. This seems to be a little unfair on me then, doesn't it? Because this isn't the first time this has happened, is it?"
'Please. Please. Not whilst Chekov's here. Please no!' I felt myself flush further.
"Remember that time on Ryhnia? When I was frantically calling the transporter room where you worked, trying to attract your attention, to find you were asleep? You were risking three lives there, girl. Do you think that was acceptable?"
I didn't know what he was trying to get at. Three lives, yes, that was dangerous. Forty safety reports regarding hand rails etc? Not so.
"No sir, I don't."
"Let me guess. You fell asleep this time, too." Kirk sneered. Oh, how I wished I was pretty. Kirk never sneered at the pretty girls.
"Yes." My voice was barely audible.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Yes.sir." I looked as far up as I could, which was about face-level with him.
He sighed, folded his arms and tapped his foot irritably.
"So. What are we going to do with you, then, Ensign?" He asked, mocking kindness and affection. I knew he knew I knew he was faking it.
"I don't know.sir." I heard a snigger. 'Please don't let that be Chekov.' I glanced at him. He looked back, dead-pan. It wasn't him. Or, at least, I hoped not. Kirk stepped on my foot. I squeaked. Chekov smiled.
"Alright. Then I'll tell you. Three days cleaning out the air ducts," he saw the look on my face, "don't you think that's fair, Ensign?"
"I'm.I.I'm claustrophobic, sir." I didn't think this a complaint, but he took it entirely the wrong way.
"And also workophobic, by the looks of things," he turned to go, "I don't care if you're claustrophobic or not. You can start in Engineering. Report to Scotty tomorrow at 6am. And no pity-stabbing."
"No, Sir." He left, with McCoy and Spock. Chekov hung back for about ten seconds, watching me, then, shaking his head, he went, too.
'Great. Not only do I have to do a job for three days that'll probably give me a mental breakdown, Chekov thinks I'm a right loony.'