A day in the life of… A Starfleet Transporter Chief.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or its related trademarks - Paramount Pictures does. If I owned Trek, Spock would break dance and everybody would go "Well, duh!" after every line Counselor Troi says. But I digress…
If you like this story, or if you think it's pants for ten minutes work on a bus, please review it. It's the only way authors can find out what people think of their work. If it's a signed review, who knows? I might read & review your work.
In this little piece, we will explore the deep inner feelings and experiences of an ordinary crewman/woman. Ok, maybe not…
Transporter Chief Robert Mayr. Personal Log, Stardate 5642.2
Life on the Enterprise was just about as normal today. I woke up, dressed and went to my duty station as per usual. I called in at Claire's quarters on the way to see if she wanted to have dinner later. She said no, she had some data analysis to run or something. Yeah, right.
Anyway, after the inspections and grousing by Lieutenant Commander Scott, I was stuck doing diagnostics all day. I mean, here I am, with a degree in transporter science and I'm running diagnostics for eight hours straight. Staring at that tasteless green and silver transporter rear wall. Who designed that thing? If this were the twentieth century, I'd go blind from the eye strain from that thing. But no… genetic therapy and protoplaser treatments mean I can stare at that piece of junk for hours.
Captain Kirk ordered a landing party to map a planet we found, so the highlight of my day was waiting for five people to step onto the pads, check the co-ordinates, and move a lever up. That's all I do. Four years of Academy training and all I do today is beam five people down, and four up. (Those Redshirts sure are an accident-prone breed!)
That took three minutes each way, tops. Perhaps I should bring a PADD and write a novel, I know that's what some people do on this ship. Or maybe at my next psychological evaluation they'll certify me crazy, and I'll get to go to a nice, stimulating rehab colony. One thing's certain - I'm ready for shore leave!
So when my shift was done, I ate dinner, alone, watched a few two-dees for entertainment, and wondered what they were doing on the Rec. Deck. Still, at least I can get a transfer once we get to Deep Space K-7.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or its related trademarks - Paramount Pictures does. If I owned Trek, Spock would break dance and everybody would go "Well, duh!" after every line Counselor Troi says. But I digress…
If you like this story, or if you think it's pants for ten minutes work on a bus, please review it. It's the only way authors can find out what people think of their work. If it's a signed review, who knows? I might read & review your work.
In this little piece, we will explore the deep inner feelings and experiences of an ordinary crewman/woman. Ok, maybe not…
Transporter Chief Robert Mayr. Personal Log, Stardate 5642.2
Life on the Enterprise was just about as normal today. I woke up, dressed and went to my duty station as per usual. I called in at Claire's quarters on the way to see if she wanted to have dinner later. She said no, she had some data analysis to run or something. Yeah, right.
Anyway, after the inspections and grousing by Lieutenant Commander Scott, I was stuck doing diagnostics all day. I mean, here I am, with a degree in transporter science and I'm running diagnostics for eight hours straight. Staring at that tasteless green and silver transporter rear wall. Who designed that thing? If this were the twentieth century, I'd go blind from the eye strain from that thing. But no… genetic therapy and protoplaser treatments mean I can stare at that piece of junk for hours.
Captain Kirk ordered a landing party to map a planet we found, so the highlight of my day was waiting for five people to step onto the pads, check the co-ordinates, and move a lever up. That's all I do. Four years of Academy training and all I do today is beam five people down, and four up. (Those Redshirts sure are an accident-prone breed!)
That took three minutes each way, tops. Perhaps I should bring a PADD and write a novel, I know that's what some people do on this ship. Or maybe at my next psychological evaluation they'll certify me crazy, and I'll get to go to a nice, stimulating rehab colony. One thing's certain - I'm ready for shore leave!
So when my shift was done, I ate dinner, alone, watched a few two-dees for entertainment, and wondered what they were doing on the Rec. Deck. Still, at least I can get a transfer once we get to Deep Space K-7.