Our continuing mission
Captain's log.
Stardate 08.01.06
The yoghurt in the ship's kitchen expires today. Writing the Stardate just jolted my memory. I will have to insist the cook serve it as a snack later on.
Oh, wait. I am the cook. I sometimes forget that I have more than one role upon the ship. I'm also Chief of Security and Manager of Housekeeping Services. For some reason this vessel is not equipped with robots or androids to do some of the most menial tasks. Nor do we have a food replicator. Next time I meet with Captain Picard I'm so going to try and steal one off the Enterprise. Those jerks have everything.
I spent a good part of the night negotiating with an alien species. We've only been in contact with this form for slightly over a year and we call it The Spawn. The specific entity we've been dealing with has been attempting to assimilate us into a sleep cycle the human race simply cannot tolerate for long durations. The alien has been waking us up at 11PM through 1AM, then again from 5 until 6AM. Surely it is trying to wear us down so that we will bend to its whim more easily. If The Spawn win, all will surely be lost. I must come up with a new battle plan and soon.
Lieutenant Intrepid has a visitor on board from a neighbouring planet. He's always here. Every weekend. From shortly after breakfast until shortly before dinner. They play on the holodeck, sometimes with the exclusion of other crew members. In fact, I would say they outright hog the Wii... er.. holodeck and I get to field complaints from the ensigns. Being the captain sucks sometimes.
Geekster, our Chief of Engineering, is shoveling an unknown substance off our ship's hull. It's white and cold and there's a lot of it. We fear damage to the vessel if we don't rid ourselves of it. Besides, our satellite isn't working because it's covered in it and I can't watch any BBC Canada, or, rather, monitor activity in the solar system. Yes. That's what I meant.
Starfleet would not be happy with me if there were lasting damage. Picard and Ryker would probably giggle like little schoolgirls at my reprimand. Laugh on, ladies. You look ridiculous in your spandex suits. We get to wear denim under my command.
Update:
To return to the original task at hand, I am pleased to report that The Spawn seems to now be bending to my whim. The specimen we have on board has fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Of course, we shall see what happens later tonight. Will I need to get up again and leave my quarters to negotiate with a lively alien? Where's my damn night crew? Aren't all starships supposed to have those?
I shall get some rest until tonight. A captain's job is never done. Or cook's. Or Chief of Security's. Or Manager of Housekeeping Services'. Or stupid Night Crew's.
Earl grey, hot.
Captain out.
Stardate 08.01.06
The yoghurt in the ship's kitchen expires today. Writing the Stardate just jolted my memory. I will have to insist the cook serve it as a snack later on.
Oh, wait. I am the cook. I sometimes forget that I have more than one role upon the ship. I'm also Chief of Security and Manager of Housekeeping Services. For some reason this vessel is not equipped with robots or androids to do some of the most menial tasks. Nor do we have a food replicator. Next time I meet with Captain Picard I'm so going to try and steal one off the Enterprise. Those jerks have everything.
I spent a good part of the night negotiating with an alien species. We've only been in contact with this form for slightly over a year and we call it The Spawn. The specific entity we've been dealing with has been attempting to assimilate us into a sleep cycle the human race simply cannot tolerate for long durations. The alien has been waking us up at 11PM through 1AM, then again from 5 until 6AM. Surely it is trying to wear us down so that we will bend to its whim more easily. If The Spawn win, all will surely be lost. I must come up with a new battle plan and soon.
Lieutenant Intrepid has a visitor on board from a neighbouring planet. He's always here. Every weekend. From shortly after breakfast until shortly before dinner. They play on the holodeck, sometimes with the exclusion of other crew members. In fact, I would say they outright hog the Wii... er.. holodeck and I get to field complaints from the ensigns. Being the captain sucks sometimes.
Geekster, our Chief of Engineering, is shoveling an unknown substance off our ship's hull. It's white and cold and there's a lot of it. We fear damage to the vessel if we don't rid ourselves of it. Besides, our satellite isn't working because it's covered in it and I can't watch any BBC Canada, or, rather, monitor activity in the solar system. Yes. That's what I meant.
Starfleet would not be happy with me if there were lasting damage. Picard and Ryker would probably giggle like little schoolgirls at my reprimand. Laugh on, ladies. You look ridiculous in your spandex suits. We get to wear denim under my command.
Update:
To return to the original task at hand, I am pleased to report that The Spawn seems to now be bending to my whim. The specimen we have on board has fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Of course, we shall see what happens later tonight. Will I need to get up again and leave my quarters to negotiate with a lively alien? Where's my damn night crew? Aren't all starships supposed to have those?
I shall get some rest until tonight. A captain's job is never done. Or cook's. Or Chief of Security's. Or Manager of Housekeeping Services'. Or stupid Night Crew's.
Earl grey, hot.
Captain out.