PNPC Mullan-Abha - An Ode

[Toryn Raga]

((Transporter Room 4 - USS Constitution))

 

::If one wandered into the rarely-used Transporter Room 4 during the Beta shift, they would spy a lean, lanky and tall Grazerite behind the control console. Day in and day out, he stood there, sometimes running minor diagnostics, sometimes rearranging the layout of the LCARS panels, but mostly he ruminated. And the odd time, one would see him at his journal.::

 

::An archaic keepsake, that journal. Hide-bound, tied with silk ties, it was emblazoned in gold leaf on its cover in florid Grazerite cursive - "THE STYLISTIC WRITINGS OF THE ESTEEMED MULLAN-ABHA". See, for when Mullan-Abha wasn't running minor diagnostics or rearranging the layout of the LCARS panels, which honestly didn't take hardly any time at all, then there was nothing else to do. It wasn't like he had responsibility for the prestigious Transporter Room 1 or anything, or even Transporter Room 2, which though not as prestigious, still had its charms.::

 

::Mullan-Abha didn't mind, though. Blessed with the calm demeanor and easy temperament of his ancestors, he was content just knowing that he could be depended on if Transporter Room 1 failed. And Transporter Room 2. And Transporter Room 3. All at the same time. It was important work, being quaternary in line as a backup. His parents were proud.::

 

::Long story short, Mullan-Abha had a lot of free time on his hands. And he fancied himself a bit of a pithy and sharp-witted writer. Just because he was a docile sort didn't mean his wit wasn't as sharp as a razor - after hours of contemplation, of course. So, when the minor diagnostics had been run, and the LCARS panels had been rearranged, and there was little chance of unexpected transporter users (which, let's be honest, was par for the course in Transporter Room 4), Mullan-Abha would crack out his journal, take out his archaic inked stylus from it's worn groove at the spine of the book, and write a pithy short story or poem. Today, he was hard at work at his latest masterpiece.::

 

====

 

T'WAS THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS - CONSTITUTION EDITION

 

 

Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the ship

Every creature was stirring, because of a blip

An Away mission had been planned out with care

But before too long the Away teams weren't there

 

The shuttles were jostled but landed in place

Despite a rough landing all had gone apace

With dust in the air and a cave very near

The teams had gone forth without nary a fear

 

When up on the bridge there arose such a clatter

The crew were all gone! No-one knew by what manner

The sensors were blinded, the probe was no aid

Those left behind felt clueless and dismayed

 

An odd old transmission was all that was heard

Static and shadows and all else perturbed

When what to the crew's efforts finally appear?

Exotic machinery spanning the years

 

Temporal displacement was its main aim

Sent to the past, this tech must be to blame

More rapid than transporters, shuttles, subspace

The teams had been whisked to a new time and place!

 

Now Rajel! now, Lystra! now, Yito and Atan!

Gone, Mason! Gone, Saveron! And gone Sh'Thelzan!

To the past they have gone! To the far land of Earth!

The cause is quite dire, please suspend your mirth!

 

The bridge crew did scramble and fight with the scans

The static too random, it messed with their plans

Commander Blair sat in the big chair ill-eased 

Too stoic to show just how much it displeased

 

And then, just like magic, they heard very faint

Away team transmissions, an image did paint

Of their crew safe and sound, if a little bit lost

They had to retrieve them, no matter the cost!

 

So what would they do, could they beam them away?

The distortions meant that this wasn't the way

A feverish effort to hash out a plan

Taxed the brain of every woman and man

 

They had to resort to another shuttle

But how to avoid a similar muddle?

Metaphasics and displacement shield

Untested theories with hope of a yield

 

So now with another Away team at risk

Activities aboard the ship are quite brisk

Except for a locale where all is a bore

Here I am stuck in Transporter Room Four

 

I'll watch from afar and hope for the best

The action will go to the best and the rest

I'll quietly exclaim as they fly out of sight

"Good luck to you all, and have a safe flight!"

 

====

 

::Mullan-Abha lowed quietly in humor as he put away his stylus and closed and tied up his journal, slightly embarrassed to be making light of the current situation... but one could never deny their afflatus, no matter how inappropriate. Yes, a pithy writer he was indeed, though he would never dare show his work to others. His journal was for his eyes only, and he would continue to document the lives of the crew around him, so long as he didn't have a minor diagnostic to run or an LCARS panel to rearrange, of course.::

 

 

CPO Mullan-Abha

Transporter Chief

 

~as simmed by~

 

Commander Tanin Kelbi
Operations, USS Constitution

A239111MT0

[+ Saveron]

::Applauds.::