JUNE 2003

Author: Lt Cmdr Chris Stephens
Title: "Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us"
ON:

<<USS Arizona>>
<<Ready Room>>

Stephens: Are you seriously considering we destroy a ship full of innocent people! They're going to be expecting a rescue!

Vahl: We can't rescue a people who are a risk to the entire Federation.

Crowley: As I said, if you can come up with anything viable in two hours I will consider it.

Stephens:*to Dr. Kelly* There has to be some form of medicine or quarantine that we can institute.

Dr. Kelly: I agree, Commander, but as the Captain said, no known medicine is capable of treating or curing this disease.

There was a long silence in the room. No one knew what to say or do. It was obvious that no one wanted to destroy the Amundsen, but what else could everyone do.

<<Bridge>>

Everyone started leaving the Captain's Ready Room. Chris stopped Dr. Kelly and began to ask her a few quaestions.

Stephens: Doctor, can I have a word with you?

Kelly: Yeah. What is it?

Stephens: The Captain said that the Bug V virus only affects humans. Now would it be possible to mask the DNA of the victims and make it appear as though it were alien?

Kelly: I doubt it. You're talking about a virus that was genetically engineered to kill humans, specifically.

Stephens: There has to be some way to save those people. Look at the diseases of the 20th and 21st centuries. AIDS, Cancer, Alzheimer's Disease. All of them were treated and cured because of the dedication of concerned and confident people.

Kelly: It's not a fact that we aren't dedicated, but we can't cure something we know nothing about. Their are many ways to cure or treat these types of infections: Vaccines made from herbs, medicines, certain isotopes...

Stephens: What did you say? Isotopes?

Kelly: Yes, why?

Stephens: The nebula we passed contains sirrilium.

Kelly: So.

Stephens: It's a rare isotope. Do you think we could develop a type of treatment with it?

Kelly: I'd have to see the composition of it and the virus.

Stephens:+taps+ Stephens to Gol'Khar.

Gol'Khar:+Here, sir.+

Stephens: Meet Dr. Kelly in Sickbay with all the information on the Sirrilium in that Nebula.

Gol'Khar:+ Aye, sir.+

Stephens:*to Kelly* I'll talk to the Captain and see if he's willing to allow us to pursue it.

Kelly:*getting in turbolift* Good luck.

<<Ready Room>>

Crowley: What is it now, Commander.

Stephens: I wanted to apologize for my behavior, sir.

Crowley: You were upset. It was understandable.

Stephens: I was talking to Dr. Kelly, and we thought that maybe we could develop a type of treatment for the virus or maybe even a cure.

Crowley: And how's that?

Stephens: I believe that if modify the sirrilium, from that nebula we passed, into a gas, we should be able to flood the Amundsen with it. What do you think?

<<USS Amundsen>>
<<Bridge>>

Mallory was at the Ops station. Although she was acting Executive Officer, there was no one left who was qualified for the Ops position.

Bucknor: What's the status of the Arizona?

Bartlett: Uh....they'll be in transporter range in....one hour, thirty minutes.

Bucknor: Good. Prepare the crew for departure. Ask the Chief if the Amundsen would be able to withstand warp tow.

Bartlett: Aye, sir.

<<Engineering>>

Mallory stepped off the turbolift and walked around the pieces of debris. Engineering hadn't been to lucky in the last few battles. Lieutenant Valia was standing at the warp core making calibrations.

Bartlett: Valia?

Valia: Yes, Lieutenant?

Bartlett: I hate to interrupt you, but Commander Bucknor wants to know if the Amundsen could survive being towed at warp.

Valia: I'll have to check some of the systems, but I don't think it would be a problem.

Bartlett: Good. I'll be on the Bridge if you need any help. Oh and the Arizona will be here in an hour or so. Spread it around.

OFF:

Lieutenant Commander Chris Stephens
Chief Science Officer & 2nd Officer
USS Arizona
NCC 79101

MAY 2003 - Winner #1

MAY 2003 - Winner #2

Author: Captain Michael A. Crowley
Title: "Found: One Uncle Jesse, Used, In IrritableCondition"
Author: Lt Grella
Title: "Nav Buffer Blues"
ON

==Trenetor IV==
==TOLLESTON==Medical Clinic==

*It didn't take Dr. Grace Kelly too long to differentiate the man known locally as "Uncle Jesse" from the rest of the patients in the overcrowded clinic's lobby. A few steps closer to the group the old woman had pointed to, and Grace had deduced Jesse Duke to be the eldest in the group, a cranky, fat, grey-bearded man in farmer's overalls and baseball cap who was swatting away the probing hands of a nurse practitioner.*

Uncle Jesse (NPC): Oh, just gimme' the darn shot and get it over with!

Dr. Kelly: Would you be Uncle Jesse?

Uncle Jesse:*squints a suspicious eye at her* What's it to ya'? *nurse injects hyposrpay & he jumps* OW!! *rubs spot on arm where nurse injected him & gives nurse the evil eye*

Dr. Kelly: It's a hypospray. That should not have hurt.

Uncle Jesse: It's the principle of the matter. She done snuck up on me with that... thing... when I wasn't lookin'. Besides, how'd you know? You some doctor?

Dr. Kelly: Why, yes, I am. Dr. Grace Kelly.

Uncle Jesse: Can't be. You're too pretty... and green... *stands up from chair and is still looking up at her* and SWEET JESUS, woman, you're tall! What those Starfleet people feedin' you? *yells to folks in lobby* Nobody eat the Starfleet food! You bound to turn into a tall, skinny, green bean!

Dr. Kelly: I assure you this is purely cosmetic. It has nothing to do with what I eat.

Uncle Jesse: Now that don't beat all. I heard of some offworld Jezebels paintin' their eyelids and cheeks to look pretty, but you're whole dang _body_?! You Starfleet people got some strange morals.

Dr. Kelly:*trying best to be patient with the old man* We can discuss morals later. I was told you can help me identify this fungus. *shows him picture on her PADD*

Uncle Jesse:*glances at PADD* Now why would I do a fool thing that?

Dr. Kelly: Because it may just save your colony from a lot of sickness and death.

Uncle Jesse: Now how could a harmless little fungus from a compost heap cause all this? *nods to sick folks in clinic*

Dr. Kelly: So you do recognize it?

Uncle Jesse:*jerks PADD from Grace's hand* Gimme' that! *looks at PADD* It's called "scat rot", or at least that's the nicer word we have for it. I couldn't tell you the fancy Latin name. I think it clung to some of the farm equipment when the colony transferred from Trenetor III some decades ago, before I wasn't even a twinkle in my pa's eye. 'Til now it's never made anyone sicker than a few belches and runs to the can. Didn't seem a bother since it grows mostly in compost and seems to improve the crops. *hands back PADD & taps the picture on it* But what you got on that there picture, Doctor Green Bean, looks like a bigger, meaner version of it. A normal scat rot spud can't grow no bigger than a pinhead. Your scat rot looks twice that big. Those brown stripes there are what keep the bugs from eatin' it, a sort of insecticide, but your sample has a lot a more stripes than it should have.

Dr. Kelly: So you're saying you've never seen this type in the wild?

Uncle Jesse: In the wild? Heck, hardly anything on this world grows wild except the grass. I've been called to every farm and ranch on this planet at one time or another and I ain't ever seen it. If you tell me that scat rot of yours grew on Trenetor IV I'd call you a bald-faced liar, or green-faced as it be.

Dr. Kelly: Actually, this was found on your planet.

Uncle Jesse: Then you's a bald-faced liar! Or someone's been tinkering with scat rot using some of that Satan's magic you people love so much.

Dr. Kelly: Satan's magic?

Nurse (NPC): It's what some of the old folks call modern technology.

Uncle Jesse: Now DARN IT! I ain't old!

Dr. Kelly:*whispers to nurse* Is he always like this?

Nurse:*whispers back* Only if he likes you, otherwise he's worse.

OFF

Capt. Michael A. Crowley,
Commanding Officer, U. S. S. ARIZONA
ON

*** Alien Ship, Bridge ***

Now that power had been restored and the ship had landed on the surface, Grella proceeded to the bridge. A careful examination of the shuttle's computer would indicate the origin of its last journey. Just as others were looking for contaminates in other parts of the captured vessel, the Chief Engineer was looking for information to help solve the puzzle facing them.

Specifically, they needed to know where the ship came from, and what their payload was. Only a brief examine of the helm station proved her task wasn't going to be easy. An attempt to conceal the data Grella sought had been made. On the side of the station, a noticeable phaser burn showed. Presumably the Ferengi pilot had tried in haste to blown it apart. But the boarding parties from the Arizona had arrived before he could finish this task.

Inside the casing, Grella found several burnt or melted optilinear chips. But this was just on the surface level. The first clue she noted was that whatever maneuvers had brought the ship here, they had been completed at impulse speeds.

That indicated local origin within this star system. The Tellarite spent the next hour repairing the damaged memory, but some of the chips were beyond repair.

"Diets!" she exclaimed. Grella might be getting a bit paranoid or closterphobic inside the small craft, which seemed only a tad larger than an escape pod. She looked around, but Commander Vahl was not in sight. The last time the engineer wanted to talk to her boss, she was right across the room. (Of course, there was a large power generator between them, and she had the shock of discovering the Styotian pig-being the Arizona had captured).

Grella: +Grella to Vahl. The Navigation computer buffers have been damaged, but I've discovered this little ship came from within the Trenetor system. What was readable indicated its travel here was done at impulse speeds.+

Vahl: +Good work. What do you plan to do next?+

Grella: +The rest of the helm data is non retrievable. I'm planning to check the ship's logs for clues next, unless there is something else you need done first.+

Vahl: +You're correct, the ships logs might include important clues. Go ahead and examine them next. I'll come up and check on things in a little while. One of the other search teams has discovered some possible contaiminate residue in the waste disposal system. I need to follow up on that first.+

As the channel closed, Grella moved to the command chair and took a few minutes bypassing the voice activation system. This allowed her access to the Captain's logs, since the computer didn't check her voice print first. Fortunately, this small smuggling ship didn't have the safeguards of Federation craft, or the bypass would have taken much longer. As it was, several jumper cords replaced the normal activation of the security device protecting these logs.

The Styotian Captain appeared. He was careful not to mention any illegal activities directly. It was going to take quite a while for him to make a slip which disclosed any relevant information.

OFF:

Lt Grella
Chief Engineer
USS Arizona.

APRIL 2003

Author: Lt(jg) Reese Chance
Title: "A little legwork"
ON

==Main Shuttlebay==

While waiting to depart the Arizona, Chance took the time to remind everyone of the captain's policy. He made sure all of them had their phasers concealed.

Chance: Okay, this should be a cake run but we all know Murphy's Law. If it can go wrong, it will.

This raised a small chuckle from the gaggle.

Chance: Anyway, we have four hospitals and clinics to visit. After all the deliveries are made, the Hohokam and the Hopi will return to the Az. The rest of us will remain planeside to investigate the source of the contamination. I'm sure some one has seen or heard something unusual or out of place.

Dr. Kelly: +Dr. Kelly to Chance.+

Chance: +tap+ Chance here.

Dr. Kelly: +The medical supplies have been replicated and should be delivered to the Main Shuttlebay momentarily.+

Chance: Okay, Doctor. We will be departing as soon as we're loaded up.

Dr. Kelly: +Be safe. Kelly out+

The supplies arrived and were loaded onto the shuttles. Everyone boarded and began the preflight checks.

Chance: Flight Deck Control, this is the Flagstaff requesting departure clearance.

Ryan: +Flagstaff, you are cleared for departure at your convenience.+

Chance: Copy that.

The Flagstaff eased out of the shuttlebay followed shortly by the other three shuttles assigned to this mission. They fell into a loose formation as they assumed a vector for entry into Trenetor IV's atmosphere. Once in the atmosphere, the Casa Grande and Hohokam broke formation and headed for one of the outlying clinics. The Flagstaff and Hopi landed in front of the hospital in Trenetor Village. A small detail of deputies met them as they disembarked from the shuttles.

Chance: *walking up to the one who seemed in charge* I'm Lieutenant Chance. We're here to insure the delivery of the supplies to the proper personnel.

Deputy Fife: *sniffing and pulling up his belt* That'll be no problem with ol' Deputy Barney Fife on the job. I don't see a need for you Starfleet bubbas to be here. I've got it all covered. I can guarantee it.

Chance: *keeping a straight face* I'm sure you can. We're only here to offer assistance.

Several orderlies came out of the hospital with a dolly to unload the supplies and carry them inside. About twenty minutes later, everything manifested for the Trenetor Village facility was offloaded. The whole thing went off without a hitch. The two shuttles ascended and headed for the next drop off point.

==Tolleston==
==20 minutes after departing Trenetor Village==

The Flagstaff and Hopi settled down in the town square almost exactly where Chance had landed on his first visit to the town. Sheriff Coltrane met them.

Coltrane: I'm sorry but I'm the only one of my men not still sick.

Chance: That's okay. We should be able to handle any thing that pops up. *looking around at the deserted square* Not many people out today, I see.

Coltrane: Most are at home recovering. The more severe cases are at the clinic. Luckily, we didn't lose anyone. Thanks to the help provided by you guys.

Chance: Well, these supplies should insure more speedy recoveries.

As the supplies were unloaded and taken into the clinic's service door, Coltrane and Chance walked in the front door. Chance looked around at the facility as they walked through the halls. By Starfleet standards it wasn't all that bad. It wasn't all that good either.

Coltrane: So, have your science weenies figured out what's making everyone sick?

Chance: They are isolating the source now. However, we have no specific cause determined.

Coltrane: *with a knowing look on his face* I get it. Tell us what we "need" to know, not what we "want" to know.

Chance: Actually I'm trying to do a little legwork and see if there as been any suspicious activity reported by any of the residents.

Coltrane: So, I scratch your back and you'll scratch mine.

Chance: You can say that.

Coltrane: The only thing that's been reported lately is a rash of unsolved burglaries.

Chance: Really? Where have the reports come from?

Coltrane: Farmers mostly. The outlying tracts had the most activity.

Chance: What items were taken?

Coltrane: Small portable items mostly. You know, jewelry, trinkets, knick-knacks and the sort.

Chance: I see. Can I get a report of these break-in's and their locations?

Coltrane: Sure, what's up?

Chance: I've got a hunch but I need to contact the Arizona to verify. These burglaries and the contamination may be connected. But we'll have to wait and see.

Coltrane: Right. Let's go get those reports for you.

==Shuttle Flagstaff==
==Fifteen minutes later==

Chance had returned from the Sheriff's office with the locations of the burglaries. He entered the data into the console on the Flagstaff. The readout showed a rough map of the inhabited areas of the planet. A red blip represented where a break-in had been reported.

Chance: *opening a channel to the Arizona* Chance to Commander Stephens.

Stephens: +Stephens here+

Chance: Sir, I've gathered some data concerning the location of break-in's on the planet. I thought you might want to cross- reference them with the soil samples that were collected. I'm transmitting the data now.

OFF:

LT(jg) Reese Chance
Deputy Chief of Sec/Tac
USS Arizona

MARCH 2003

Author: CPO Kassandra Korelle
Title: "Waiting for your arrival"
ON

==283 Light-Years Away (and closing)==
==Star System J-53 Theta==

*Once again we see the view from space of the small moon orbiting the class-J gas giant planet below, it's craggy, dusty surface punctuated only by a small grouping of buildings - the only sign of life on the moon's inhospitable surface. Yet those few small structures represent only the barest fraction of the Federation starbase hidden within the moon.*

*And again the tranquility of the scene is pierced by the appearance of a Federation runabout, arcing in low and fast over the dusty surface to come to an immediate halt above the circular entrace to the starbase that lay hidden beneath layers of moondust. Once the platform has appeared, the runabout lowered itself gracefully onto the platform, the pilot quickly and efficiently shutting down the engines as the circular opening whisked shut above the runabout. The co-pilot breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to have arrived safely and headed aft to gather his gear, leaving the pilot to finish the power down sequence without a word.*

==DEEP SPACE 31==
==Hangar Bay==

The co-pilot exited the runabout as quickly as humanly possible, practically running over to the flight deck officer's desk. A young Klingon exchange officer, he'd travelled here under duress, angered that his posting was to this backward, frontier refit observation outpost rather than a border patrol vessel or some other assignment with a chance of combat and honor. But at the moment that anger had left him - now he thanked Kahless to have finally arrived at his new home.

The flight deck officer, a young, clean-shaven human looked up from his desk to the rapidly approaching Klingon. "What's your hurry, Mr...?" he asked.

"Kavot(NPC). Sergeant Kavot." was his reply, his dark eyes occassionally looking back in horror at the runabout that lay behind him as he practically forced a PADD with his orders into the flight deck officer's hands.

The flight deck officer leaned back in his chair, reviewing the orders leisurly. "Well, I'm Lieutenant De Marco. Welcome to Deep Space 31, Serg-"

"Just-", interrupted Kavot, "just tell me who I should report to." he said abruptly.

"Is there a problem, Sergeant?" asked the officer, curious as to what could cause such a reaction in what he had heard was a fearsome, warrior race.

"My pilot." was Kavot's only response.

De Marco checked his arrival manifest. The runabout the sergeant had arrived on had been en route for the last three weeks, with only the pilot and himself aboard. "Yes, she's here to await transfer to another ship." he said to Kavot. "The station commander's office is on level 3G, section 47. You should go there first." De Marco informed the sergeant.

"How bad could she be?" interrupted a young, fresh-faced Bolian engineering ensign(NPC) beside the flight deck operator, who had been listening in on their conversation.

The co-pilot looked at the questioner for a moment, making the ensign worry that he'd overstepped his bounds. Then the Klingon shook his head, looking the young engineer straight in the eyes. "Imagine your worst nightmare - the thing that makes you wake up deep in the night screaming until your lungs ache, your body trembling and covered in a cold sweat and your mind and body refusing to resume it's slumber for fear of returning to that place. And she" he said, indicating the pilot still within the runabout. "is worse - much, much worse." he reply omniously.

Just then the doors to the runabout opened again. A small travel bag and two cases were tossed out. Kavot's eyes were fixed on the open doorway to the runabout, a mixture of fear and something else indescribable on his face.

The co-pilot looked away quickly, his face blanching white. "I-I-I've got to go." he said quickly, his hand shaking as he grabbed up the PADD from the flight deck officer's hands and headed to the turbolift doors. "And Kahless help whatever ship she's here to meet." he muttered back over his shoulder as he left.

The young engineer caught on quickly. "I'd..ummm..better go get my work done. Over there. Far, far over there." he said, fumbling for his toolkit and barely making his escape even as the pilot exited the runabout, gathered her gear and steadily approached the operator's desk.

Realizing he had no choice, the flight deck officer steeled his nerves, resisting the urge to watch in what could only be described as morbid fascination while the pilot approached. He listened intently, the whine of the tractor beam that moved the now vacant runabout overpowered by the stacatto beat of her approaching boot heels as they struck the duranium hangar floor; continually growing louder to match the pounding of his heart. His eyes plastered to the display that lay embedded in his desk, he waited until the pilot chose to make her presence known before looking up.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, a cold sweat breaking on his brow, he could resist no longer. He glanced up into the face of the waiting pilot.

And down.

And to the left.

And to the right.

Where was she? He looked around hurriedly, hoping she hadn't taken his apprehension for rudeness and already left, forgoing the routine reporting in at his station that all first-time arrivals were expected to do; yet at the same time praying to whatever deities he held dear that she had, just to spare him.

And then he noticed, just beyond the edge of his desk, two small tufts of long hair poking up above a head that was shorter than the desk itself.

The flight deck officer self-consciously cleared his throat. "C.. can I help you, sir? Err...ma'am...ermmm...sir?" he asked, his flustered nerves causing his voice to crack.

Two small hands reached up over the edge of the desk and braced themselves as a small humanoid pulled herself up to lean over the flight officer's display, her feet left dangling in the air. The officer couldn't help but stare as what appeared to be a five year old human child in a crimson-collared Starfleet uniform hoisted herself up on his desk, stared at the young, cherub-like face, the large, playful eyes and the cheerful yet mischevous grin that graced the pilot's face.

"Not a 'ma'am' -or- a 'sir', I work for a living, Lieutenant!" she said with a smile, balancing momentarily on one arm to raise the other in an archaic yet puckish salute. "Chief Petty Officer Kassandra Korelle reporting in." she said, her grin widening to show twin rows of sparkling white teeth. She reached her small hand over to shake De Marco's much larger one. "But you can call me Kassy." she told him. "Pleased to meet you!"

With that, she pushed herself back off the desk, landing gracefully beside her gear. She quickly slid the pack onto her back and picked up a case in each hand.

"I'm here to meet the Arizona!" she told the officer, who could only stare after her, his mouth hanging open in mute shock as she walked - or more precisely skipped - over to the turbolift doors.

OFF:
New crewmember waiting at DS31!!! :-)

CPO Kassandra 'Kassy' Korelle
Quartermaster
USS Arizona NCC-79101

FEBRUARY 2003

Author: Lt Cdr Natasha Cruix
Title: "About to lose it"
ON

== USS Arizona, Mess hall

Stanley Staines paused between serving drinks and surveyed his bar for a moment.

It was busy, as it was only a few minutes till the Arizona became no more, and the place had been stormed by most of the beta and alpha shift regulars, demanding synthaholic redemption. He had been pleased to pass the drinks along the bar to them all, smiling and nodding pleasantly to their toasts, and small rembrances.

The bustle in the bar had grown considerably, and now far more people were sitting at tables and at the bar, drinking and talking, voices occasionally rising enough for the bartender to catch some of the conversations. People joked and complained, laughed and cried, same as every day.

Life went on.

Stanley looked around at the happy faces, inwardly wondering what was really to become of them all.

== Nat's Quarters.

The door slid shut behind Nat with an uncomfortable hiss as she entered her quarters for the very last time. As she stepped over the threshold, she stopped, and took a quick look about. A bed, a bathroom, a replicator, all very basic, nothing spectacular, but it was 'home' and had been for more than a year.

She sighed, once again starting to move. She was tired, and what she really wanted now was a good soak in a deep tub of hot fragrant water, but instead, she stepped towards her replicator. "Cranberry juice." She growled, and waited for the requested beverage to appear.

And waited.

And waited.

Nat's eyes furrowed, realising that the machines had probably been taken offline in preparation for the Arizona's arrival at the station, and she sighed heavily once again. She was not normally the most patient of people, and now she was quickly losing her temper. She was really about to lose it, as a matter of fact.

Nat growled, and stepped cautiously away from the
offending piece of machinery to sit down on the couch, head in her hands.

"What a day." She mumbled to herself.

OFF:

Lt Cmndr Natasha 'Nat' Cruix
Chief Security / Tactical Officer
USS Arizona

JANUARY 2003

Author: Ens. Reese Chance
Title: "Feeling guilty"
ON

==Ship's Main Armory==

Mr. Chance stood in the middle of the armory with a PADD in hand, supervising the inventory of weapons. The security personnel buzzed about scanning phasers, explosives, and armor. Mr. Chance doubted the delegates would look favorably upon any discrepencies in the weapons inventory. Mr. Chance hardly notices as SCPO Dalton(npc) walks up to him.

Dalton(npc): Sir? If you want, I can finish up here. We're almost done anyway.

Chance: That's okay, Senior. I need to keep busy to keep my mind off things. *pauses, looking around at the activity*

Dalton: Very well, sir. If you need me, I'll...

Chance: *cutting Dalton off* Will you miss her, Senior?

Dalton: Miss the Az, sir? I guess I'll miss the ol' girl. She's a helluva fighter. Why ya ask?

Chance: I don't feel anything. I mean, I haven't been on here but so long. I didn't even get the chance to get to know her. I guess I feel kind of guilty that I'm not getting bent out of shape about all this.

Dalton: Permission to speak freely, sir?

Chance: Granted.

Dalton: Son, be happy you don't have to lose a good friend like the Az. Most of us have been with her for a long time, sacrificed a lot to stay with her. You haven't gotten used to her like we have. When you're used to steak, anything else won't stand up to it. Besides, we're like a family on here. No one's happy to see a happy home broken up.

Chance: But I don't feel like much of a part of the family yet.

Dalton: Trust me, you're like the little brother I never wanted. *smiling* We're all kindred spirits.

Chance: I guess, you're right.

Dalton: *slapping Chance on the back* Of course, I'm right. I'm a Senior Chief. Rule #1: The Senior Chief is always right. Rule #2: If the Senior Chief is wrong, refer to Rule #1. *laughing aloud*

Chance: *laughing* I'll have to remember that.

Dalton: You do that. Now, if you don't mind, I have to say goodbye to my weapons. *walks away*

Chance watches the senior chief walk away. He makes a mental note to look him up whenever they get shore leave. Chance walks out of the Armory leaving Dalton to his work. He felt better about not knowing what was going to happen next. He decided he needed a break and headed for the mess hall. He was suddenly hungry, realizing he hadn't eaten all day. He hoped the replicators were still online. He was in the mood for a gooey slice of pepperoni pizza.

OFF:

Ensign Reese Chance
Security Officer
USS Arizona



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