Shipboard I Guess

Posted on Tue Aug 18th, 2020 @ 5:25pm by Ensign Zinzeria Cavanaugh
Edited on on Tue Aug 18th, 2020 @ 5:25pm

Mission: Welcome Aboard!
Location: Q'Tahl Science Station

Four years. That's how long they had been translating ruins on a science station only begrudgingly permitted to hang out near the Klingon planet of Q'Tahl. Zinzeria thought back fondly to their pre-Starfleet days, living on the edge of Ferengi space with a bunch of liars, cheats, and drunks. At least there when a fight broke out they had often been the tallest body in sight. Here? With Klingon warriors coming and going all the time, looking over their shoulder as if they could possibly understand a fraction of what they were doing... it was darned unsettling. The Klingons were a suspicious bunch, that was certain. What even did they think could be found in ancient ruins that would be anything resembling a security risk to them? If Zinzeria's translations were correct, and they usually were, the civilization that these ruins originated from wasn't even Klingon.

At least the miniature station had replicators and the Ensign didn't have to eat what the Klingons felt passed for food. They shuddered, remembering the one time they had been goaded into actually eating gagh. Sighing they pushed back from the desk, thoughts of replicators starting up a rumbling in their stomach that could no longer be ignored. Had it been 8 or 10 hours since they had last risen from their task? Running their fingers through their hair they shrugged, finally noticing the message notification on their personal terminal. With one last lingering look at the replicator across the room, they sighed and braced themself for another long chatty message from their mother.

But that wasn't what they received.

Zinzeria sat back, confused, but unable to deny the frisson of excitement running through them. Reassigned? To a STARSHIP? When they'd first left Lappa IV to enroll in Starfleet, their friends had thought them certifiable. Working the bar and chatting up customers for Morl had been a blast, and they'd certainly had fun, but they had felt there had to be more to life than that. Maybe one day running a place like that themself, way out in space where the clientele was a little more varied. Maybe even using their knack for languages to help communicate with a new species. Daydreams. That's what their mother had called them. Then, just to prove mother wrong? Starfleet. In their 20s. Being the oldest cadet in their class had been rough, but they'd coasted through, neither failing nor excelling. After that? Q'Tahl. Four years of grouchy Klingons and galactic translations of languages that didn't even exist anymore. Younger classmates made it seem like they should have been disappointed, but why? It was all about the languages. Plus, there was that look of shock when they would smile and respond to a Klingon in his own language that was really hard to suppress.

The linguist bounced up and raced out into the corridor, a wide grin on their face. Better tell that grouch Mit'ak that they would be losing the ever-cheerful company of one green-skinned translator, sooner rather than later.

_____

Interstellar travel was a gift clearly granted by some heretofore unidentified deific force. That was all that Zinzeria had to say on the subject. Four years stuck in one spot made you forget the excitement that cruising through the vastness of space could engender in a person's body and mind. Of course, the Vulcans manning the science ship that they had caught a ride on were a little less pleased with the Orion's boundless energy and enthusiasm, but being stodgy was the schtick of the frowny brows, not Zinzeria. Several times they were reprimanded for emotional displays, each of which they took with good humour and a smile. If these Vulcans wanted to put the fear of logic into someone, they really needed to take lessons from the Klingons. Zinzeria had received pleasant accolades from Mit'ak that were scarier than the lectures of a stuffy Vulcan.

Finally the USS Liberty was in sight. Startling the nearest occupants of the viewing deck, Zinzeria practically plastered themself against the port as they took in the size and wonder of the ship they were about to serve on. They trembled in anticipation, imagining all the adventures they were about to have, all the new friends they were going to make. They bounced up and down on the balls of their feet, almost incapable of controlling their emotions. The nearest Vulcans turned away, giving the Ensign a chance to regain some semblance of dignity, which really by now they should know was going to be completely unnecessary. Hollering in excitement, Zinzeria did a lap around the room, almost knocking several respectable individuals over before hauling butt to their temporary quarters to gather their sentimental items up. Everything else they might need could be replicated aboard the ship, but some stuff you needed the real thing. A photograph of their Mother and Routh, who had been in their life long enough that he was who they considered to be their father. The first bar of gold-pressed latinum that Morl had ever conceded to them in a game of Dabbo. A ticket stub from a movie night out with the cadets at Starfleet. The d'k tahg they had received from Mit'ak as they left the science station. thirty-two years of life summed up in four items. It was almost sad, really. Or at least, it would be if they were the kind to dwell on such nonsense. Instead, head full of possibilities, they headed to the transporter room and prepared to beam aboard their new life.

-Ensign Zinzeria Cavanaugh. Language Specialist