The Bridge: Pre-Flight Jitters
The mission profile sounded deceptively simple: navigate the Wilmington Sector, withdraw cash from the Harris Teeter ATM, secure lemon balm tea at Lovey’s, and acquire no-waste birdseed at the Wild Birds nebula.
“We still have time to film some B-roll, Cowboy,” Captain Amy said, adjusting her uniform as we boarded the Ambassador’s personal shuttle, Wind Horse. “The production crew is filming near Flaming Amy’s, and I’m the queen of distraction. I’ll distract security while you sneak onto the set.”
The plan jolted me into remembering that another film project was already underway in Wilmawood—and I hadn’t made a single attempt to document it. I sighed and asked the replicator for a double cappuccino. As I looked around the docking bay, it struck me that the junior officers all looked younger and happier than I did.
The mission profile sounded deceptively simple: navigate the Wilmington Sector, withdraw cash from the Harris Teeter ATM, secure lemon balm tea at Lovey’s, and acquire no-waste birdseed at the Wild Birds nebula.
“We still have time to film some B-roll, Cowboy,” Captain Amy said, adjusting her uniform as we boarded the Ambassador’s personal shuttle, Wind Horse. “The production crew is filming near Flaming Amy’s, and I’m the queen of distraction. I’ll distract security while you sneak onto the set.”
The plan jolted me into remembering that another film project was already underway in Wilmawood—and I hadn’t made a single attempt to document it. I sighed and asked the replicator for a double cappuccino. As I looked around the docking bay, it struck me that the junior officers all looked younger and happier than I did.
“My life sucks, Amy.”
“What are you complaining about, Cowboy? Your life could be a prime-time sitcom," Amy replied. "There's nothing more entertaining."
The Transit: Cool Change Turbulence
Once aboard, we jumped to warp, at least that's the lingo we use. In truth, we just rolled down the windows of Wind Horse and turned up Little River Band’s “Cool Change” until the fillings in my teeth vibrated like they were on the verge of structural failure.
As we followed Ocean Highway toward the Memorial Bridge, Ensign Doubt asked, “Ambassador, are you sure about this route? What if the bridge is up? What if the empty port and lack of cargo ships mean a localized vacuum collapse?”
“Ignore her,” Amy said. “By the time we reach Drift Coffee, you’ll be ecstatic. It’s Federation law.”
The Intercept: Wild Birds and Pillow Lips
Outside the Wild Birds nebula, a departing lifeform warned us about a species inside, describing them as having “enormous, puffy, red-smeared pillow lips.” He summed it up with, “I thought they might explode.”
That color description put us on immediate alert; in the Federation, that particular red was reserved exclusively as a warning of imminent danger. Amy hailed Major Reason aboard the Coastal Voyager and ordered a scan of the establishment for any signs of radiation, then advised that we keep our distance, just in case.
Once inside, I fell into conversation with an employee who had a biology degree. Our nerdy back-and-forth conversation outlasted the average Romulan ceasefire.
“You talk too much,” Amy said as we drove to our next destination. “And you’re getting us lost again.”
“Me? You’re the one giving directions!”
“My directions are correct,” Amy replied. “You’re just executing them with ‘mitigating circumstances.’”
That color description put us on immediate alert; in the Federation, that particular red was reserved exclusively as a warning of imminent danger. Amy hailed Major Reason aboard the Coastal Voyager and ordered a scan of the establishment for any signs of radiation, then advised that we keep our distance, just in case.
Once inside, I fell into conversation with an employee who had a biology degree. Our nerdy back-and-forth conversation outlasted the average Romulan ceasefire.
“You talk too much,” Amy said as we drove to our next destination. “And you’re getting us lost again.”
“Me? You’re the one giving directions!”
“My directions are correct,” Amy replied. “You’re just executing them with ‘mitigating circumstances.’”
The Cantina Incident: Crystal Cove Surfaces
We finally reached Drift Cafe, and when my coffee was ready, the barista called my name. As I stepped up to the counter, a local lingered nearby, waiting to order. “Genome?” he asked, his voice tilting with curiosity. “I’ve heard of you. Didn’t you once live in Crystal Cove?”
“I never actually lived there,” I said diplomatically. “The Cove is the ancestral home of the Genome clan, and I often visited family there.”
“So you really do talk like that,” he chuckled. “Now I remember...there was something about a fire…”
“If it’s about the fire,” Genome said, “it wasn’t my fault. It’s a complicated story; there were wheels within wheels. And I seldom start Branigans, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Branigans?”
“Bar fights,” I explained. “You see, I like buzzing just to see what happens, and sometimes the excitement escalates, and things get a little out of hand. You never really know what to expect of people.”
Ensign Nostalgia chimed in over subspace. “Ah, the Great Branigans of the 1980s! Back when fires could actually burn things to the ground instead of being snuffed out by internal suppression fields. Those were the days. So tactile!”
The Wrap Up: The Toll of the Journey
Comm Officer Joy’s voice crackled over her personal subspace communicator. “Has anyone seen my sparkly boot laces? I’ve searched everywhere and still can’t find them.”
“Relax, Joy,” said Chief Engineer Anxiety. “They’re probably in the conduit tubes. Cadet Reginal, our new ferret cadet, stashes all the shiny, sparkly booty in there.”
Comm Officer Joy’s voice crackled over her personal subspace communicator. “Has anyone seen my sparkly boot laces? I’ve searched everywhere and still can’t find them.”
“Relax, Joy,” said Chief Engineer Anxiety. “They’re probably in the conduit tubes. Cadet Reginal, our new ferret cadet, stashes all the shiny, sparkly booty in there.”
By the time we reached Independence Avenue, sunset had painted the sky like one of Ms. Wonder's photographs, and Amy’s “positive karma stockpile” was overflowing.
“When you were a kid, you read Donald Duck and Uncle Scrooge comics,” Amy said as I navigated the residential outskirts, wondering how this topic would morph into some fresh hell. “Uncle Scrooge was rich and kept getting richer. Why didn’t you follow his example when you reached adulthood?”
“I do my best, Amy,” I said. I’d asked myself that question often enough, but I resented her bringing it up.
“Oh, don’t blame yourself, Durango. It’s not your fault; you were just born that way. But I must say, living with you takes its toll on a girl. I’m going to need a mental health day soon. Why don’t we detour to Carolina Beach and play the claw machine?”
“You don’t fool me, Amy. You just want to watch me act like an idiot trying to win you a teddy bear.”
I could sense she’d taken offense at my rebuttal; I could almost see the consternation on her face.
“I’m under-realized in this Earth-centric role,” Amy declared. “My horoscope said I should expand my horizons, and today I helped two lost souls. That’s got to be good for my horizon.”
Dr. Downer’s voice crackled over the final log entry. “Ambassador, Captain… your personal elevators don’t quite go all the way to the penthouse anymore, do they? It’s fascinating. Like salt cake—a big surprise, and generally hard to swallow.”
Ambassador's Note:
Even when the mission parameters call for nothing more than birdseed and B-roll, the universe conspires to make it an epic adventure whenever Amy is involved—Princess or Captain, it doesn’t matter.
Maybe our elevator doesn’t quite reach the top floor, but I still rely on Amy to steer me through the circular journey of life. I have no choice in the matter, it seems. It may be true that people can be total surprises; like salt cake, they can surprise and sometimes a bit much to swallow all at once. But they keep your stardates from ever being dull—and isn’t that the real Prime Directive?
Even when the mission parameters call for nothing more than birdseed and B-roll, the universe conspires to make it an epic adventure whenever Amy is involved—Princess or Captain, it doesn’t matter.
Maybe our elevator doesn’t quite reach the top floor, but I still rely on Amy to steer me through the circular journey of life. I have no choice in the matter, it seems. It may be true that people can be total surprises; like salt cake, they can surprise and sometimes a bit much to swallow all at once. But they keep your stardates from ever being dull—and isn’t that the real Prime Directive?
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