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Posted on Sat Sep 3rd, 2022 @ 2:09pm by Lieutenant JG Rafe Hunnicutt

444 words; about a 2 minute read

"Dear Mums,

I hope you're both doing well, and that the weather has been fair to you both. To be honest, the weather here is constant. I look out of the window and its black, unless we are at warp and then I really don't recommend anyone looking out of the window unless they want their breakfast to revisit them.

I've been on the Wolff now for a while. It's a decent ship, a Luna class, not my first one but I like them. Steady ships. Nice ships. Good engines. My crew mates aren't that bad either. Unfortunately, I've found myself in a terrible predicament. The sort that seem terminal.

I thought I was going to be a Terminal Ensign, but some joker at Starfleet Command decided that my age was better than my sloppy record of confusion and more raps over my fingers than I have hands and went ahead and promoted me before I stepped foot on the ship!

Luckily for me, I am still in that sort of state where I can slip between the cracks. And the toilet paper is a lot better at this level, so I am seeing the positives.

Anyway, where was I? Oh! The people. I've managed to avoid my Chief so far, but I doubt that will last. She's a joined Trill according the scuttlebutt, which means that she is hiding a lot of lifetimes behind her grey perky eyes. The lower ranks are nice, but I haven't yet made any firm friends. It takes a while, but I'll get there. I am expecting to be here for a good handful of years, possibly two handfuls, or four if someone helps me carrying.

I will find my social circle. In fact, I am to have several circles. Maybe even a tango or two, provided we can hum along. Anyway, I really just wanted to let you know I am okay, I'm settling in and I love you both very much.

Take care of each other.

Bye Mums..."

Rafe Hunnicutt saved the message, scheduling it to be sent whenever the ship was sending personal messages to the nearest relay, stretching his back out before he reached for his coffee. He took a sip and then spat it out into the mug again, grimacing. "Oh...cold..." he shivered, putting the mug down. He was still getting used to the Wolff, and the coffee in the replicator was one of the many things he was figuring out. One day, he'd find the perfect combination of orders for a warm cup of coffee that didn't have the texture of mud, or the flavour of burned shoe polish.

One day.

 

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