Arrival

Posted on Fri May 26th, 2023 @ 4:24am by Commander Deron Brack

1,172 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Untested
Location: USS Malinche, Excelsior II

Deron approached the transporter room of the Malinche with a sense of anticipation, aware that the Horizon was ready to receive him. This was what probably was keeping him awake, but he could feel himself beginning to fade. It was very late, at least for Starfleet Coordinated Time. As he stepped inside, he was immediately struck by the room's recent updates. Its sleek, modern design radiated a sense of brightness and spaciousness that lent the room a futuristic elegance. Even the Transporter Operator looked sharp, resplendent in Starfleet's latest uniform design.

Acknowledging the Chief with a nod and an easy smile, Deron strode up onto the transporter pad. His boots echoed with a definitive click against the polished metal surface. "Chief," he greeted, his voice reverberating lightly in the open expanse of the room. Indicating his readiness, he added, "One to transport to the Horizon, please." His words were crisp and clear, brimming with the energy of a new journey about to unfold.

The transporter chief, a model of practiced efficiency, swiftly maneuvered the controls. His fingers danced expertly over the glowing touch-sensitive display as he established a firm lock on Deron's coordinates and interfaced with the Horizon's transporter system. The delicate hum of advanced machinery filled the room, a soft backdrop to the imminent transport.

His eyes skimmed over the console, ensuring that all systems were functional. The array of lights before him twinkled in the affirmative - the board was green, signifying operational readiness. He cross-checked the pattern buffer, a device crucial for ensuring the accuracy of transport, and confirmed the stability of the annular confinement beam that would secure Deron's pattern during the transition.

With all systems vetted and validated, he lifted his gaze to meet Deron's. The hint of a confident smile played at the corners of his mouth as he assured, "Energising." His focus then snapped back to the console, his hand moving with purpose. He selected the appropriate key, his fingers poised over the luminous control panel. In a single smooth, practiced motion, he dragged his fingers upward, engaging the teleportation sequence and launching Deron onto his new assignment.

Deron stood poised on the transporter pad, a faint sense of anticipation tingling along his nerves. In an instant, his corporeal form dissolved into a swirl of sparkling light, his physical pattern deconstructed into infinitesimal units of data. As his consciousness wavered, he experienced the disconcerting sensation of a brief, profound dislocation.

The moment of disorientation passed in a heartbeat. His pattern was captured, held, and then gently reconstituted within the transporter chamber aboard the Horizon. Subatomic particles swirled and coalesced into solid form, reforming his body as precisely as before, from the strands of his hair to the sole of his boots.

Once fully materialised, he found himself facing the welcoming gaze of the Horizon's transporter chief, who greeted him with a professionally amiable smile. "Welcome aboard the Horizon," he said, the words an official welcome, yet warm and hospitable.

Deron reciprocated the smile, offering a nod of gratitude to the officer who had smoothly facilitated his transition between the two ships. "Thanks, Chief," he responded with practiced ease. His voice held a note of genuine appreciation, but he didn't linger. Without breaking stride, he stepped off the transporter pad and strode purposefully out of the room, ready to explore his new command.

Deron knew it was still late. It wasn't yet 0400 when he had left the Malinche and he doubted very much the Captain would be awake. Not in dry dock and not at this hour without good reason. Having already checked the schematics, Deron knew his quarters were on Deck 2 and he had already found the appropriate turbo lift. "Deck 2." He instructed as he entered.

Deron could feel the tangible quiet of the ship, that distinct lull that permeated the corridors during the ship's "night" cycle. The ship's chronometer read just before 0400; the early hours when only the most necessary of personnel were actively on duty. Even in dry dock, the ship maintained its rhythm, an echo of life amidst the vast expanse of space.

The captain, he reasoned, was unlikely to be awake at such an hour. The ship was stationary, tucked safely within the confines of the dock; no pressing emergencies necessitated a commander's attention in these quiet hours.

Having previously familiarized himself with the ship's schematics, he knew that his designated quarters were nestled on Deck 2. As such, he navigated the sterile, ambient-lit, empty, corridors with purpose, his path unerring.

Reaching the turbolift, he stepped into the spacious, softly lit cabin, a hint of coolness enveloping him as the doors whispered shut. The sleek, modern design of the lift's interior was a testament to Starfleet's ever-evolving technological prowess.

"Deck 2," he commanded crisply, the familiar timbre of his voice reverberating gently against the lift's interior. A hum of acknowledgment from the ship's computer echoed his order, and the turbolift smoothly glided into motion, carrying him to his destination.

The turbolift's doors slid open with a barely audible hum, depositing him into the quiet hush of Deck 2. His memory, sharpened by years of training, quickly recalled the layout he had studied earlier: his quarters were conveniently located the second closest to this lift. This strategic placement would allow for rapid access to the Bridge during emergencies, a feature that spoke volumes about Starfleet's attention to practical details.

The nearest quarters, naturally, were assigned to the captain. With a clear purpose in his stride, Deron located his own door, which recognized his bio-signature and parted obediently, revealing the warmly lit space within.

Stepping inside, he took in the sight of his belongings already transported and neatly arranged in the corner by the diligent quartermaster from the Malinche. His eyes lingered on the bed, already made and inviting, serving as a tangible reminder of the sleep he had forsaken during his interstellar journey.

Peeling off his uniform, he retained his undergarments for comfort and modesty. The bed was a welcome sight; he could practically feel the soft mattress and crisp sheets inviting him into their comforting embrace. With a contented sigh, he crawled into bed, his body instantly relaxing onto the plush surface.

Lying there in the dimmed light, the weariness that he'd kept at bay throughout his nocturnal journey descended on him with full force. He felt it in his bones, a deep-set fatigue that turned his limbs heavy and his mind foggy. He couldn't fight the gravitational pull of sleep, nor did he want to.

His eyelids felt heavy, a comforting weight that was a silent testament to the sleep his body craved. Surrendering to the tiredness that beckoned him towards rest, he allowed his eyes to close, his body sinking further into the soft mattress.

However, before sleep completely claimed him, his disciplined mind surfaced long enough for him to mumble a final command to the room's computer, "Computer, wake me at 0730." Then, with the assurance of a wake-up call in place, he drifted off into the peaceful oblivion of much-needed sleep.

 

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