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New Galaxy-class Smell

Posted on Sun Nov 25th, 2018 @ 11:24am by Lieutenant JG T'Shan

Mission: Spoilt Settlers
Location: T'Shan's Quarters
Timeline: First Day Aboard, Late

It wasn’t a precise odour that could be identified, like vanilla or effluent, but T’Shan was convinced there was a smell left behind in a newly cleaned set of quarters. Perhaps it was just some chemical reaction between the carpets and the portable baryon sweeps, but perhaps it was just the natural composition of scent hydrocarbons in perfect hygienic balance.

T’Shan dumped her pack on the bed. She hadn’t brought much. Even with the security of a Galaxy class ship, she knew better than to bring anything of true value to her ship’s quarters. Valuables like that had a tendency to get sucked into space.

She’d checked in with the XO, her tenure was official, she was Chief of Security. She’d tested some locks just to try it out, it didn’t feel real to be the supreme authority for all matters of internal security and external defence, but it was so.

Her first act was to overwrite the replicator safety subroutines and create a bottle of arctic-blue Romulan ale, a vintage all but extinct since the vineyards were incinerated by the Hobus cataclysm. “Computer, music. Bajoran Drum and Bass compilation T’Shan five.” She said, moving to the central screen behind the workdesk, placing her bottle on the table as she exchanged her uniform for workout clothes, and took a skipping rope from her bag.

“Display Federation News Network. 80% volume.”

“..Council Elections on Andor have seen the ousting of Councilman Zhor Patrell as the planet’s representative to the Federation, replaced instead by upstart 24-year old Shizha Aitanovar, an advocate for reforms to Andorian Imperial Law and cultural dispensations for eugenics, aligned with the recently elected genetic progressive Chancellor Thileos Shrav.” T'Shan began to skip as she watched, stopping every hundred or so jumps to breathe and take a sip of the cold blue ale with worryingly high proof.

“Representatives for the Tholian world of Vv’vrr are reportedly considering an application for Federation protectorate status, after the piezoelectric collapse of their primary dilithium mines on the submoon of the hot gas giant Vv’vrr 3’s largest moon. “ The Bolian reporter continued in her mellifluous tones. T’Shan recognised her from the Federation Cultural Mission Christmas and Remembrance of Surak concerts. She was a mezzo-soprano of no small ability.

By the time she’d reached two thousand, the ale was done, and she replicated another bottle.

“Sports.” T’Shan instructed the screen. “Maximum volume, all rooms.” She instructed as she skipped quickly through the sonic shower, and returned to lounge on her couch, muscles tense and twitching as she rubbed cold Andorian heatrub on them.

“Vulcan’s team have once again taken out the Nhuk’leth championship gauntlet on Kronos, though Doctors are dismayed to report that team Captain Volok’s arm was not recoverable, and he will require a cybernetic that will exclude him from competition in next season’s gauntlet lead-up until an approved clone limb can be arranged.”

T’Shan stood up after half an hour of figures and numbers on the quadrant’s contests, replicating herself a dinner of medium-rare chicken-fried whale steak and frostbloom salad, chewing it quietly as she finished her second bottle of ale.

“Computer, change music. Vulcan meditation chants Rovak alpha. 40% volume.”

The pressed the button on the display to disable the sports feed, and sat on her bed, beginning to meditate. Before long, she had tipped backwards and fallen asleep, and would unconsciously roll like an alligator, cocooning herself in her bed's covers as she slept, to awake fully refreshed three hours later.

 

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