Task Force: Gamma

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Talbert leaned back and rubbed his eyes. The PADDs on his desk were many and scattered. He looked at his personal computer console, and thumbed the controls, bringing the screen to life. Since the Guardian docked at Panthenael IV, his efforts had been directed at oversight of the refit. The captain's grieving process had left him largely in charge, which meant 700 people hunting him down for his opinion on everything from the deflector dish power couplings to the replicator menus.

Meanwhile, the shore leave rotations continued and Talbert received regular reports on recreational injuries, bar fights and other activities which seemed endless. All this time his own passion, writing, sat on the sidelines. His novel "Starlock, a Traveller's Tale", hadn't seen more than a dozen pages in the last month, let alone the past few days. The attacks of the Tal'harton, the discovery of Professor Dorin and the loss of Roekil had captured everyone's attention fully. Now, after several days of constant running, Roger's willpower was run out. He hadn't even hit the gym in three days, and his body was rebelling. His chime sounded and he slumped, staring at the intercom. "What?" he growled into the speaker.

"Sorry to disturb you sir," came the voice of Bennet, a ship's yeoman. "But, the galley wants your opinion on the Myosian offer of fruits."

Talbert leaned back and he stared at the ceiling, he chuckled while shaking his head in disbelief. "You know what? Tell them to figure it out themselves. That's what they get paid for!" He snapped the channel closed and rubbed his temples. Unbelieveable. A final glance at the computer as his sense of duty overwhelmed him.

"Sorry, Starlock," he said to the glowing screen. "I'll have to get back to you later." He rose wearily and moved to the door. The chef better be there in person, thought the Whip, or someone's head is going to roll!
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Live a life of action...not reaction.