Lt. Commander Jona ch'Ranni - Now We Copy Cell Q343 to V343

[Jona ch'Ranni]

((Chief of Operations Office, Deck 13, USS Gorkon))

Jona tapped at his computer console, thin blue fingers dancing a mambo over the flat faces of the keys. Just a few more additions and ...

ch'Ranni: There!

The duty roster for the next week was filled out and ready to forward to each member of his team. He swiped at the screen and sent the spreadsheet lines hurtling upward as he quickly reviewed the list. There were few things more satisfying than a freshly finished spreadsheet. In the Andorian's opinion, if there wasn't a spreadsheet to accompany a project, then no real work had been accomplished.

The red flash of an errant cell as it warped upwards caught his eye and he quickly returned to the spot on the page. One ensign, Karo Vander, had no assignments for the week. His snowy eyebrows knit in confusion. The name wasn't familiar to him, which was a strange occurrence on the Gorkon. He made it his business to be aware of the ship's population. A quick referral to the computer and he realized the Centauran was a new transfer from the Eindhoven. The man was a comms specialist, but from the looks of the computer records he'd been snatched up by the Engineering department and put to work there.

ch'Ranni: ::shaking his head and smiling good-naturedly to himself:: Vultures.

The man had found a niche where he could make himself useful and Jona couldn't fault him for that. Perhaps he'd send a genial note to Lephi - another fairly recent arrival to the task force's flagship - about the importance of sharing.

The Ops Chief made the necessary revision of his document and sent it speeding on its way to every member of his department.

He rose from his chair to stretch the muscles in his back and shoulders. Taking the opportunity to refresh his cup, he called out for a new coffee (hot, cream, two sugars) and perused his shelf while he blew across the lip of the cup. He gave a quick glance at the Dickenson poetry book and the shattered dilithium crystal that could have been confused for rose quartz by the untrained eye. Jona wiped a bit of dust from an astrolabe cradled in the velvet-lined box.

Then his eyes alighted on the most recent addition to the shelf. A stylized rendering of Sol 134340a, more commonly called Pluto, sat perched upright on a wooden easel. It's gray and white surface showed evidence of the battering of millenia of ice and rock. The reddish brown nitrogen-rich area called the Tombaugh Regio filled the lower quarter of the planet. An artistic marking outlined the region in a wash of red with a scrawled message splayed across the face of the minor planet.

ch'Ranni: ::reading the message:: For my Pluto-nic best buddy!

Jona shook his head in amusement. He had requested a kitschy gift from the Trill's tourist lap of the solar system and Serren had delivered. So, so bad ... and yet so good.

The Andorian plopped back in his work chair, cracked his neck, and turned back to the computer screen. Just a few more spreadsheets to attend to.

--

Lt. Commander Jona ch'Ranni

Chief of Operations
USS Gorkon (NCC-82293)
C239510JC0

Poll of the Month Team, Co-Facilitator