Note to Galley...

Posted on 31 Jan 2024 @ 2:46pm by Chief Petty Officer Katja Becker

494 words; about a 2 minute read

...Romulan Ale no longer to be served at diplomatic functions. - James Tiberius Kirk

[ON]

Blood shot eyes suddenly fluttered open. A low groan echoed, and phantom pain throbbed in her bioprosthetic leg to the time of her heart. “Ach…”

The woman slowly sat up. She was lying in a strange bed, her uniform rumpled. Did a targ take up residence in her mouth?!

As the lights slowly came on in the ‘penthouse’ of her mind, Katja ran her hands through the untamed mass of pale hair in a subconscious effort to scrub the fog out of her mind.

Shit. There it was. The horrible knowing that she had somehow missed something important. Where was she? What was the stardate? Who was gunning the impulse engines in her brain?

The last thing she remembered was finally arriving to the Siberia of postings...but she walked into a party of sorts. Katja distinctly remembered Klingons – and they knew how to throw ein fest, that was for sure. The blood wine was awful, true…but the kick – she had forgotten. The war had been a long time ago, and also, just yesterday.

Staggering out of bed, Katja pulled a new uniform out of the recycler and plodded to the bathroom to evict the targ and make herself presentable. There was no use in rushing – her own internal clocked told her she was screwed. Late…Late…Late it screamed.

The dressing included a significant number of colorful metaphors, especially once the pants were involved. Getting her bio-prosthetic leg to cooperate fully after such a rude awakening was always a big ask.

That done, Katja looked around. It was shared berthing, that was not a surprise, but no one was there. A pounding headache was forming behind her eyes, and her stomach was a touch queasy. She really shouldn’t have had the blood wine. Past Katja was such a selfish jerk. She cared nothing for future Katja, who was now present Katja. Suffering.

Aw Scheiße, she was gonna be sick. Such a noob error.

Yeah, tell that to the toilet. Katja thought mirthlessly as she barely made it before the wine—and everything else she had ever eaten in her whole life made another appearance. Wait, was that Nietzsche?

Teeth brushed for the second time, Katja figured it was time to face the music as it were. Time to show up to sickbay, tail tucked between her legs and—

“Operations to Chief Becker.”

Eh? Was this the axe...or an executioner’s stay?

Katja tapped her commbadge and replied, “Becker hier.”

“Please report to transporter room 1 immediately; you have been assigned to debris duty aboard the ‘B.’”

Debris duty? The ‘B?’ Was zur Hölle was the ‘B?’

“Ah...Understood. Becker out.”

Something had happened. Just what exactly had she slept through???

[OFF]

--

Chief Petty Officer Katja Becker
Medical Officer
USS Galileo-A

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