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Guest Laarell

One-Hundred Twenty Days, Pt. II

Day One, Late Evening



Even if the powers-that-be failed to provide attractive massage-skilled servants and wide assortments of alcoholic beverages in all of their officer housing, Starfleet took good care of its people. Laarell had a nice view out past hilly San Francisco to the Presidio -- she'd not arrived early enough to get a good look by day, but the lights in Headquarters gleamed brightly, making scattered patterns across the landscape.


Laarell dropped her "bare-bones" bag near the door, and was immediately greeted with the low chime of a waiting communique on her console, which apparently had already been properly set to her needs.


Goddess, they never left her alone for five minutes, did they?


When she'd activated the dimmed console, however, the annoyance faded, replaced by Laarell's undivided attention. Two communiques -- they worked quickly, didn't they? -- waited, both out of Fleet Command.


First was her assignment. She took a deep breath, selected the message, crossed her fingers.


Laarell considered it after skimming it for the jist, and shrugged to herself. She'd been assigned a teaching position at the academy -- one semester wavering between the high-level programming courses and scientific protocol she could handle. Cadets surely wouldn't be that bad -- after all, she'd been one herself at one point.


Confident, she opened the other communication, and that was when she was glad she'd been sitting down. Even so... she had to read it three times to make certain she hadn't misread any of it.


Commander Laarell Teykier?


Oh, gods, someone in Fleet Command either really loved her or really hated her. With her current streak of luck, she was going with the latter. But still...


Laarell drew in a shaky breath and shivered. Commander Laarell Teykier. A slow grin started to spread. She could get used to that. Very, very used to that.

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