Michael yawned. It was early, but he hoped to avoid morning rush hour if at all possible. As the doors slid open on Deck 742, he could see into the empty, moderately sized turbolift. ‘Lucky me.’ He thought, drawing his hot cup of roasted macadamia coffee to his lips as he stepped through the threshold. “Sector India, Deck 338.” He stated aloud. As the doors closed, he lamented his itinerary. Still settling into the starbase, his official duties did not start for another few days, which allowed him to explore a bit and get to know the civilian side of the station. His first stop was a no-brainer: the promenades.

He had only gotten through the first three sips of his drink when the Turbolift doors opened again. He looked over to the display monitor, and he was only on Deck 683. A heavy-set Denobulan male stepped in. “Scuse me,” he huffed, taking his place on the turbolift, “Medical, Deck 380.” He followed up, giving Michael a forced smile. Michael smiled back, sipping his coffee and returning the gesture. As the doors closed, the betazoid’s mind could not help but pick up the feeling of displeasure and worry. Curiously, he opened himself up to better understand the plight of the civilian.

‘Oh, I should not have eaten that Parthas. It’s going to take ages to decontaminate that latrine…’ He could hear the echo of the Denobulan’s mind. Michael’s eyes widened in worry, quickly tuning out the rest of the man’s thoughts, not wanting to know the specific details, and hoping he didn’t have any issues between now and his stop. They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity when the turbolift doors opened once again. Deck 622, he confirmed with a glance, as now a finely dressed Paradan dignitary stepped inside. “Sector Bravo, Deck 22,” she said confidently, turning her back to Micahel and looking towards the door.

It was easy to gauge the emotions of Paradans, as it was almost always directly tied to their odor. This one smelled pleasant enough; however, Michael internally worried how long that would last if the Denobulan had an accident with them trapped inside. Curiosity got the better of him, wanting to understand what had this particular Paradan in such a good-smelling mood, and once again, he opened his mind to the room. ‘Breakfast on the Arboretum! A woman could get used to this treatment! If only that deadbeat Confret had shown me this kind of attention, I wouldn’t have had to cross the wormhole! His loss!’

Michael smiled into his coffee and took another warm sip. No matter what quadrant of space you hailed from, love was always a tumultuous affair. As the turbolift continued its ascent through the core of the Space station, he finally took notice of the light background music playing. It was so subtle that only in such silence and hyper awareness would one be able to pick up on it. It made him contemplate whether this was a station-specific, or had he gone the last 16 years being oblivious.

The doors opened once again, and Michael peered around the Paradan to see what floor they were on now. Deck 533, ‘Well, we’re making progress at least.’ He thought to himself as two new occupants entered the lift. These two were Starfleet, immediately noticeable by their pressed uniform. There was a Grazerite Security Lieutenant and a Benzite Engineering Ensign. The two were engaged in hushed conversation with one another.

“It’s a logistical nightmare, you’re going to be laughed out of the conference room.” The Grazerite spoke. “Yes, I understand there are some kinks in the distribution process to work out, but the principle alone is sound!” The Benzite tried to argue. “You’re naively basing your assumptions on the cooperation of thousands of individuals, including the very unsavory characters you’re trying to track. The principle is elementary; it’s the implementation that’s the problem,” the Tactical officer snapped back.

The doors to the turbolift opened once again on Deck 448, and the two Starfleet officers stepped off, quietly continuing their deliberation, leaving the original three occupants to continue their ascent. ‘Oh please please please….let me make it…’ Michael could hear telepathically from the increasingly distressed Denobulan. Despite his best efforts to tune him out, his thoughts of digestive discomfort and potential for embarrassment were growing rapidly. Michael’s eyes shot over to the display terminal to see the floor numbers roll by. ‘Oh please please please let him make it…’ he thought to himself nervously, catching a bit of jealousy over the Paradan’s ignorance of the escalating situation.

By the grace of the interstellar gods, the Turbolift reached Deck 380, and the disturbed civilian bolted out into the hall, a small rubbery tooting sound echoing from behind him as the doors closed once more. The delegate scrunched her face at the sound and stepped away from Michael, making room between them. “Oh my…” she commented aloud as the turbolift continued to rise once again. “…someone smells troubled.” Michael nearly snorted into his coffee cup at the accusation. Trying to play off the laugh, he nodded to the Paradan, “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” He replied, still stifling a chuckle. The doors once again opened on Deck 338, and Michael eagerly stepped out, turning to raise his glass to his traveling companion. “Enjoy Breakfast!” he bid her as the doors closed, leaving the Paradan confused on whether she had declared her intentions aloud or not.

Turning to take in the sight of the colorful promenade, he was almost taken aback by the sheer noise of it all. Hundreds, if not thousands, of beings, and just as many mental voices, echoed in his ears and mind all at once. Trying to acclimate himself to the noise, he chugged the rest of his drink, hoping the sting of the heat down his throat and the increased caffeine would help give him the edge needed. Today was a new day, and a new adventure awaited him on this ring. Maybe he could find a custom pillow for his quarters.