STAR TREK

THE HUMAN ADVENTURE #1

"Man's Greatest Journey…"

Relative Date: Between Catspaw and Metamorphosis (2267). This placement is only for people like me who need to know exactly where any story happens on the timeline; neither of those episodes have any particular relevance to this story.

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Author's Note: For those of you who have read countless Star Trek fanfiction stories and encountered far too many "Mary Sue" type stories, I want to take this opportunity to assure you that this story is not of that type. It is a "lower decks" type story (that is, it is told from the point of view of a crewman that is not one of the main bridge officers), and the POV character does bear some similarities to the author, but this character does not save the day on a regular basis, and is, in fact, quite average in every way (which is, essentially, the point of this series of stories—to chronicle the life and times of a member of Starfleet that is not one of the "select few," as it were; a common man, so to speak). But, lest I spoil the story too much, I'll stop now and let you judge for yourself.

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Ricky Bateman pulled at the neck of his bright red Starfleet uniform shirt. Though the material of the shirts had been designed for maximum comfort, the shirt didn't fit exactly right. Ricky was a fairly thin man, but it seemed that the size of shirt he had been given was made for someone just slightly thinner than he. At least he didn't have to endure the turtleneck design of a couple years ago, which was said to be uncomfortable even when it did fit correctly.

In fact, he'd never had to wear them. He had entered Starfleet Academy just as the Academy was discontinuing the gray turtlenecks as the cadet uniform, in favor of something a little more unique. But he was out of the Academy now, and he was going to be a crewman on a Starfleet space vessel.

A transporter attendant motioned Ricky forward, and he stepped on to one of the transporter pads as five other crewmen stepped onto the others. In a moment, the large starbase transporter room dissolved into a much smaller transporter room that could only belong to a Starfleet ship. As the new crewmen stepped off of the transporter pads, a man stood at the door and greeted each of them, going through a brief list of questions.

"Hi," the man said, very casually, as he shook Ricky's hand. "I'm Lieutenant Virgil Hendricks, the First Officer." Hendricks wore dusty blond hair that was a bit longer than would've been allowed before they had relaxed the regulations a few years ago. Ricky thought he heard a slight hint of an accent from the western part of North America.

"Bateman," Ricky said, after a moment's pause. "Richard M., Sir. Non-commissioned officer."

"Nice to meet you, Bateman," Hendricks replied. "Have you sent up your belongings?"

"Yes, Sir. Beamed up in the first cargo transport."

"Good," Hendricks said, marking off a box on his electronic clipboard. "They'll be in your quarters, room 2-C. Your roommate's name is Lee Komura; he's already arrived." Hendricks paused, sweeping his hair back with his hand. "The ship's still undergoing some final maintenance; we wanted to get everybody up here so that they could get unpacked and take a look around the ship. Just try to steer clear of areas where people are working and you should be fine. Oh, and we're having a little meet-and-greet tomorrow morning and 0830, before we ship out. It'll be back on the Starbase to give the maintenance crews time to finish up, so you can wear casual civilian dress."

"Thank you, Sir," Ricky said, and Hendricks stepped slightly to the side, indicating that he was done with Bateman.

Ricky exited the transporter room and entered a curved corridor, something of a trademark in Starfleet ship design. He had toured a Surya-class once while at the Academy, and one of the Republic-class museum ships. Those ships were much bigger than this one, a small Dover-class patrol ship, but the design principles remained the same, for the most part.

The Dover class of ships was Starfleet's solution to the problem of patrolling and policing large areas of space in the interior of Federation territory. This inner area was calm, for the most part, but still required routine patrols and minor interventions by Starfleet. Almost fifty years ago, the Starfleet Chief of Operations had determined that this space was far too safe to expend even a small scout ship in patrolling it, so he commissioned a vastly smaller ship design, with minimal armaments and crew, to be mass-produced for the steady patrol of the inner-space territory.

The U.S.S. Dover was the result of that, and the Dover-class had been enough of a success that the ships of the class had been steadily refitted through the years, always staying a step or two behind the power curve, but close enough that they, and their crews, could continue to perform their duties adequately.

Of course, Ricky Bateman didn't care about any of that. Nor did he care that the ship he was on, the U.S.S. Capistrano, was one ship among a large number of Dover-class ships, or that there were three other ships of the kind patrolling the same sector as the Capistrano. That didn't matter because this ship, this ignominious assembly-line job, was going to be Ricky's home for the foreseeable future.

It wasn't that Ricky had a bad childhood, or that he disliked his family. That wasn't the case at all. He loved his family, and remembered his childhood fondly. But now, as an adult, the man named Ricky Bateman had never truly found his identity. He had never figured out where he wanted to go in life; now, as a crewman another Starfleet ship Capistrano, Ricky had a place that was not his family's, but his. A home; a life. Somehow, even a small ship as this seemed to Ricky like the real beginning of his journey as a man.