Transfer, Wright?

Posted on Sun Dec 6th, 2020 @ 7:47pm by Lieutenant JG Steven Wright

Mission: Not Where I Belong
Location: Starfleet shuttle en route to Starbase 10
Timeline: Current

ON

Staring blankly at the stars streaming by the shuttlecraft, Steven Wright looked somewhere between a zombie and a statue sitting in the copilot seat. Having just graduated the Academy a year earlier, he was still proving his value to Starfleet, but he had little concern for how his career progressed. At this point, the pilot, who Wright saw no purpose in, had long since given up on conversation, which suited him fine. He'd responded of course, it would be impolite to not engage a fellow member of Starfleet, but his responses had all been measured to discourage conversation. 17 hours in this chair, with nothing but a well reviewed padd and a pilot to keep him company, almost enough to test a man.

He'd spent the first several hours reading, typing, and speaking random words from dozens of languages out loud, much to the confusion of the pilot, who never got an explanation. After reviewing the assignment, and accessing all relevant data at his disposal, far more than his rank should have afforded him, he was confident he was aware of everything not sequestered in a random ship's network somewhere. An unknown, appearingly Romulan, vessel had been committing acts of supposed piracy for a while, but all targets had been destroyed, not captured, ransomed, or salvaged.

Every target was destroyed. That is by no means the act of a pirate. Pirates hope to gain something, this vessel was either making war, or saw itself as defending itself or its territory. The patterns were unclear, but Wright was certain there was one, or perhaps more. This was the point at which he put away his padd, and simply stared out at the stars. They'd always relaxed him, even when sliding out of perception at the mindboggling speeds of warp travel.

Finally, just before the pilot spoke up again, Wright engaged in conversation.

"30 minutes to Starbase 10, correct?"

"Yep," replied the pilot, tilting his head at Wright. He'd taken the words out of his mouth.

"What's unique about this station? Everywhere I've been in the federation has something different, something unique, something... Human? I realize that's not always the right term, but I hope you get my meaning."

Smiling at the question, the pilot thought for a moment. "Well, there's some unique shops, but its like most every starbase I've been to. Rigid structure with organics and commercials shoved in to near capacity. Frankly, I prefer to walk on solid ground, but here I am shuttling fresh meat around the galaxy."

"I much prefer soil under my feet, but I would never be satisfied with remaining on just one world," Wright replied. "How's the air on board? I shouldn't be there long, but a few days perhaps."

"How, how is the air?" The pilot seemed confused.

"I don't know if we'll meet again, but I have sharper senses than most humans. Most ships and starbases have heavily recycled, if purified, air. Those processes leave different molecules in the air based on how worn out the filters are, what materials are used in the filter, what species live on board, how many and what plants are onboard in large numbers, etcetera. Is the air clean, is it fresh, does it carry the reek of Gagh from one too many Klingon cafes, or remind you of the hibiscus growing in hydroponics?"

"Oh, um, I don't know." he stumbled back. "It really doesn't smell like anything to me, unless I'm walking the market."

Wright didn't respond to that verbally, besides to grunt out "ah."

After a few minutes, the pilot spoke again. "This is why you shut down conversation earlier, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is." Wright responded after a few moments. "I don't experience much of anything the same as those around me. It often proves problematic to discuss things besides work, as neither side can understand where the other is coming from. I can extrapolate their position and viewpoint, but usually the other party cannot do the same. It makes for few personal attachments, and little sense of true comraderie."

"That just sounds lonely lieutenant."

"It is," Wright replied, before fixing his gaze back on the stars in front of them.

OFF

Lieutenant Junior Grade Steven Wright
Encryption Specialist
USS Chuck Norris