Transfer

[Liliana Hamilton 0]

In the evening, Liliana Hamilton went off-duty, then straight to the small gym to work off whatever the day threw at her. Recently, orders had been up and the deadlines grew ever shorter. The dark haired, 5' 5" woman was dressed in a grey tank-top and blue shorts, punching at a sand-filled bag that hung from the ceiling by a metal chain.

 

Lt. Ferguson walked into the room. "Lily..."

 

Lily stopped punching the bag and looked in towards the lieutenant standing at the door, in uniform. The armory procurement division was quite small, and the close-knit group frequently dispensed of formalities, such as saluting. "Sir?" she replied, slightly annoyed, as she wiped the sweat off her brow. She looked at the clock hanging from the wall - she had been off duty for nearly an hour.

 

"You've been transferred," Ferguson held out a datapad and continued, "effective immediately."

 

"Transferred? Where?" She looked at the Ferguson, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She had been passed over for duty in space on three occasions - Intrepid, Enterprise and Columbia. While procurement was a necessary part of the war effort, occasionally, she thought that she didn't enlist in Starfleet to sit at a desk in a warehouse.

 

"Challenger. Starfleet is, shall I say, aggressively pursuing its early completion. You might want to pepare yourself by reading the appended email from the construction foreman." He handed over the datapad that Lily quickly skimmed. She was to report to a Starfleet transport at 5am local time the next morning. Upon arrival, she would report to the armory for assignment.

 

"Send us a postcard," Ferguson said as he opened the door to exit the room.

"I might even miss this junk heap," she replied and smiled. Ferguson let out a grin, turned around and closed the door behind himself.

 

Lily put down the datapad, after having glanced at the briefings on the construction's progress and its schedule. "'Challenger,' she thought... how aptly named." She then continued giving a whipping to the sandbag. Many a time, she had imagined this bag as a Xindi; it was her own imagined act of revenge for Florida. She only hoped she would not soon be picturing Cmdr. Moore.