Home Is Where... Your Stuff Is?

Posted on Sat 23rd Mar, 2013 @ 1:04am by Commander Mikaela Locke
Edited on on Sat 23rd Mar, 2013 @ 1:19am

740 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: http://sb109.sim-station.net/index.php/sim/missions/id/3
Location: Deck 27: Mikaela Locke's Quarters
Timeline: MD-05: 1034 hours

[ON:]

"So, this is home then?"

Mikaela Locke stood inside the door and looked around the large living area that was before her.

"Bigger than I expected," she continued with a shrug.

It was a bad habit that she had retained for many years - talking to herself - and, despite her best efforts not to allow it to take hold it seemed to have stuck. At least for now. It was something she would need to break out of if she was going to be a communications officer.

She took off her large shoulder bag, that contained her few personal effects, and placed it on the floor beside her. The bag had seemed to increase in weight as she had wandered the corridors of this enourmous station for what seemed like an eternity.

Of course, that was only half the story of the morning. The USS Regent, which had transported her to the station had not been cleared to dock for a good thirty minutes - something about 'issues with the docking ports', which, to Mikaela had sounded completely implausable, especially given the number of vacant ports she had noted when the ship was finally allowed through the giant space doors and into the docking bay.

But, eventually, she was able to disembark and begin the rather tedious search for her quarters - a search which, thankfully, was now complete.

Leaving her bag by the door, she briefly investigated the other areas of the berth. She stopped briefly to test out the comfort level of the couch, before continuing on to look into the bedroom and bathroom areas. The bed was already made, covered, as usual with the standard replicated sheets.

She shivered as she headed back into the main living space.

"Computer," she instructed, "Increase ambient room temperature in these quarters by three degrees and save setting."

"Unable to comply," the computer responded in its usual female monotone. "Voice-print not recognised. Please report to security to obtain appropriate clearence level."

Locke sighed, mentally adding a trip to security to the list of other things she needed to do 'as soon as possible', which, she had been informed in her pre-assignment briefing, also included reporting to the station CO and having routine physical and psych evaluations done.

"That should be fun," she said outloud, at the thought of having a counsellor trying to verbally prod her in to revealing her inner feelings... Or some such crap. She may have just been an analyst, but a spell at Starfleet Intelligence, combined with a mostly insecure, introverted personality, pretty much ensured said counsellor would not be getting much out of her. Of course, she would go through the motions, just as she had every other time so far.

Of course, this time was different. This was her first deep-space assignment. Research and Analysis, while rewarding and challenging, had been based on Earth. At the end of her duty shift, she had left the Intelligence Headquarters and returned to her apartment. The apartment that, for the majority of the time, she had shared with him. She sighed, lamenting the fact that that situation had changed, but also concious that it had been her decision to leave. For several years 'home' had been synonymous with his presence. Something that would no longer be the case. From now on, 'home' would be associated with the few effects that she had packed into her shoulder bag before she left Earth.

She looked over at the bag, still by the door, and decided that personal effects could wait.
She had never been a great horder of 'stuff' and this was reflected in the size of the single bag that she had brought on to the station with her. This may, indeed, be her new home, but there was a wider home to explore - including some people to meet. The CO seemed as good a starting point as any... and perhaps she would also find out what that whole 'docking port problem' was actually about.

She walked passed the bag, through the doors and stepped outside into the corridor, immediately stopping as she cleared the threshold, suddenly concious of a new problem.

"So," she said outloud, "Where the hell is Ops?"

[OFF:]

---

Mikaela Locke
Chief Communications Officer
Starbase Protector

 

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