SD241710.15 - Duty Log - Sails - "Post-Party Party"

Posted on Sun Oct 15th, 2017 @ 3:07pm by Sails-at-Dawn Mr

429 words; about a 2 minute read

Mission: Test Mission
Location: USS Versailles

=^= Recreational Hall 99 =^=

The last child ran into her mother's arms and promptly fell asleep from exhaustion, her head dropping onto the brunette's shoulders and leaving a drool mark. Stepping over an errant balloon, the mother made her way out of the hall, triggering a "no presence" sensor as she left.

The sensor told a database that the hall was empty.

Nothing happened for five minutes.

Then the door whooshed opened as a group arrived; five worker-types wearing overalls and carrying gear.

Two human men held bags and multi-function pincer sticks; making a bee-line for the larger drifts of birthday-party trash. Napkins were snagged, cake was scooped, and balloons were Popless (tm) popped with disquieting silence.

Another pair, this time female (one Bajoran, one Klingon octogenarian) took care of the hardware. The Bajoran handled the furniture; moving chair into regimented lines, and collapsing all but a few tables. In her hand was a padd showing the requested layout for the next group using the hall. With a push, she activated the VR-overlay mode, and the parts in the wrong place were highlighted red.

The Klingon, meanwhile, was running a diagnostic on the hall's systems. Some of the interfaces were showing red; probably a spilled drink or bit of cake in the guts somewhere. Her own padd linked wirelessly with the interface and downloaded the locations of suspect hardware as the diagnostic flagged them. Already, one hand drifted to the hyperspanner at her waist.

Sails was the fifth person, and had the unenviable task of purging the biologicals. This meant he held a portable anti-bacterial energy projector, and wore a face mask. The former cast a beam of energy over surfaces and killed germs, while the latter kept the overpowering stench of the restrooms from making him vomit.

Opening a side door, Sails noticed the handymen nearby edging away from the vile odours that leaked out. Wielding the Projector like a charm against evil spirits, he set the beam to its widest setting and hosed the bathroom down with its clensing rays.

As the door hissed shut behind him, and the smells started to overpower the face mask, he questioned whether the money was worth it. Only a little above his base rate, filling in for the broken self-cleaning mechanism in these halls was great for consistency, but terrible for his self esteem.

Plus, he was sure the Projector was making him itch.

Sails scratched a red patch on his wrist, and swore to find better work in the morning.

This job just stunk.

*Literally.*

=^= End of Log =^=

Sails-at-Dawn
Handyman
Versailles

 

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