You Have One New Message

[Caelan Fletcher 0]

You Have One New Message

A Log by Lt. Caelan Fletcher

Stardate 1004.12

_____________________________________________________________________________

‘Ra-ra-ah-ah-ah-ahhh! Roma-roma-mama! Ga-ga-ooh-la-la! Want yo…’ A hand, blind but true in aim, swiped the desk chromometer off the end table, silencing the music before the chorus could be reached. 5:00 AM had arrived half an hour too early by Caelan’s estimates, judging from the amount of cement that fixed his eyelids shut. The thin Starfleet-issue sheets entangled around the Lieutenant had provided neither warmth nor comfort during the restless night, though the present need for more sleep made him rather indifferent to the issue. Nuzzling his head in between the two faux-feather pillows, Fletcher tried to glean a few more minutes of sleep.

 

Only a moment had passed before a monophonic chime heralded the voice of futility, ‘Incoming message for Lieutenant Caelan Fletcher.’ No trace of apology could be heard in the computer’s rude awakening, and the blinking light from the bedroom computer terminal permeated through Fletcher’s pillow and eyelids with the strength of gamma rays.

 

Hoarsely muttering a few choice words, the sleeper directed his mutterings to a more practical effort, ‘Computer…use out-of-office message “Risami”.’

 

With a beep-boop, the computer acknowledged the request, and a recording of a sultry female soon kicked on, ‘Hello. You’ve reached the personal message box of Ensign Melissa Jacobson. I’m sorry I missed your call, but if you leave your name, rank, and the subspace routing number I can use to reach you, I’ll return your message as soon as possible.’ Click.

 

‘I don’t appreciate games, Fletcher. Your sense of humor will be the end of you.’ Something about that second statement sounded far too honest. Though the speaker could not be seen, the voice provided sufficient illustration for whom it belonged. A tight-lipped woman, expression pursed with barely-controlled anger was on the other end of the line. It made Caelan cringe. ‘Do you think avoiding my calls will resolve this? Think again.’

‘Sh…’ The pillow muffled the Lieutenant’s words. All hope for sleep was gone. He struggled to stir his limbs from their sleep atrophy and blinked the slumber out of his eyes before allowing his bare feet to graze the carpet. It was a short walk to the sonic shower, but the female voice escorted him there. Whoever had thought it’d be convenient to have an integrated communications unit in the bathroom ought to have been jettisoned.

 

‘You owe me an answer. Several, actually.’ The hum of the shower did little to drown out the woman’s voice, and Fletcher couldn’t help but reflect on the awkwardness of the one-sided conversation, and that she was chiding him while he was washing his…’I expect a returned call once you step out of the shower.’ Click.

 

Caelan choked, ceasing his scrubbing immediately. ‘Friggin’ hell, does she have cameras installed?’ His eyes scanned the small confines of the shower unit, looking for any signs of a surveillance probe. Finding nothing, he resumed his business – if she was watching, it was too late to be shy now.

 

After spending far more time than necessary tugging on his uniform, Fletcher shot a look in the direction of the console. She was right - avoiding the calls wouldn’t stop them…perhaps for a slightly more reasonable person, but not Risami Ogura. Sucking in a deep breath, the Lieutenant stepped toward the console, trying to ignore the stone forming in his stomach.

 

‘Risami...’ Fletcher offered a saccharine grin as the woman’s face suddenly appeared on his screen, ‘Ensign Jacobson told me about a little mixup…I’ll have to check our communication relays when I get back to my station…’ Each word caused those lips to tighten ever more slightly. God help me.