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Spoiled Rotten

Posted on 07 Oct 2019 @ 9:20pm by Lieutenant Warren Paige

Mission: Once Upon A Time
Location: Rigel IX
Timeline: 2291

Victori spolia

Or more correctly, “To the Victor, the spoils”. Warren did not feel victorious and his reward was less than stellar. Having completed the Starfleet Command course, his reward was not the coveted centre chair of a starship or even the first officer’s posting to a scout, he had found himself posted to Rigel IX to command an orbital satellite maintenance unit.

Command was not an onerous task, however, as the various specialist teams were on stand-by in the event of a satellite failure were ably run by a taut cadre of Petty Officers. Warren rarely issued an order more complex than ‘Carry on chief’, approve a requisition form, or sign off on a leave pass. Indeed, the excitement often came when one of his men enjoyed himself too much on leave and had to be brought to account.

The unit was quartered in a prefabricated compound located 100 km west of the nearest urban centre; built in sections by the Corps of Engineers to utilize the local geology; i.e. they were on the plateau of mountain, meaning good elevation for satellite signal monitoring. The compound’s buildings were of different sizes for different uses, sprouting from the ground like metallic mushrooms. Living quarters and canteen, a large engineering workshop and power generator, and probe storage. One functioned as the administration building.

Warren wasn’t an engineer and felt that the posting was a disappointment. His superiors had seen potential in him, and had put him forward as the next generation, the future of the fleet. And now he was here. He had neither excelled nor failed, in fact he had done well in the diplomatic scenarios, even the scientific taskings, but his tactical solutions had been uninspired. Still, he didn’t deserve to be among the UFP’s forgotten.

Dragging himself out of his self-pity, he glanced out the window, its transparent surface frosted opaque with cold. A storm was raging outside. He had done his survival training in the woods near Alta in Norway, being from a tropical island, he had never been so cold. But some days on this rock had been colder still. His office in the administration building was small and functional, a desk, some chairs, and a computer terminal. In deference to his position and his rank, Warren was allowed a bunk to himself tucked away in an alcove built into his office and separated by a metallic, geometric privacy screen.

There was the howl of wind and the slamming of a door close by. No fancy automatic doors here, the mechanisms couldn't stand the temperatures.

“Coffee, sir?” A youthful crewman bundled in a crimson issue- winter jacket that looked a size too large proffered a steaming cup with snow on its rim. Warren should see about getting a food slot put in the admin hut.

“Thank you.” Warren replied taking the cup.

“When will it end sir?” the youth asked.

“Soon I hope.” Warren responded.

 

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