Christina woke up in a bad mood. It was her work day and she really hated her work. She was a waitress in one of the bars in the area and serving synthehol to people pretending they were having fun was just not her idea of good life. The computer woke her up at eight o'clock. Definitely too early for her taste. Still, she had to get up and get ready if she didn't want to be late again. She didn't. Being late for the fifth time this month meant loosing the job and that was soemmething she couldn't afford. Oh, that whole propaganda about people of the Federation not having to work! How she hated it. Of course she didn't have to work, but without these extra credits she wouldn't be able to afford anything she got used to. No enhanced replicators, no fancy clothes, no extra time in the local holocabin... It was much better to sacrifice these five hours every second day, she decided as every day and stretched lazily in her bed. She opened her eyes and looked at the window. "The computer must be malfunctioning again," she thought as she noticed the pattern of starts streaking outside as if she was on a starship at warp speed. 'Computer, turn the viewscreen off!' She yelled and immediately the tall, elegant buildings of the city appeared outside. She knew the design was the most popular in the building she lived in and probably all the others in the city since most of the people dreamed about being in Starfleet. She hated that even more. When she was still at school, she couldn't stand her peers talking about nothing except how they would go through the Academy and become starship captains and officers. Most of them actually tried but almost all failed. The Academy only admitted a small percentage of all the volunteers, which was not surprising after all. Someone had to stay on the ground and do all the real work. She sighed at the last thought and finally decided to get up. Just when she was rising herself up, the computer panel on the desk in the other room beeped indicating that she had a message incoming. 'Who's it from?" she asked even as she headed to take it. 'Peter Townsend,' replied the computer in its flat feminine voice. Even the computers were programmed standardly to sound as those on starships. "What does he want again?", Christina thought as she hit the receiving icon. The face that appeared on the screen was quite handsome. The man was in his mid-thirties, fit and slender, with appealing smile. He was wearing a Starfleet uniform indicating that he was a commanding officer in the rank of lieutenant. He smiled as he saw her face. 'Hello, Christina.' 'What is it, Peter? Don't tell me you're gonna be late again.' The man's smile faded away and now he looked rather apologetically. 'I'm really sorry, honey, but I won't manage it this time. You see, the ship needs a refit and I...' 'Don't tell me,' she interrupted feeling her irritation coming back. 'You're assigned to oversee the repairs and won't have your promised shore leave.' The man tried to say something but Christina didn't give him a chance. 'That's it. I'm fed up with this. It's finished, Peter. I don't want to see you again, do you hear me?' 'But...' 'Don't "but" me!' she was yelling at the man on the screen. 'It's the third time in the last two years! How am I supposed to be with you if you're away all the time? I want a normal home, family, children, don't you get it?' She had to take a breath so Peter finally was able to say something. 'You know who I am. It's my job to be out here, I can't just take leave whenever I want to...' 'So don't bother.' Christina simply turned the computer off again not giving the man a chance to respond. For a while she just sat there thinking. She didn't really want to break up with Peter. A few years ago she had actually hoped that he would finally resign this damn Starfleet and stay with her. The years passed, though, and as he was promoted he became even more excited about his job. Once he even tried to convince her to try and take the exam to the Academy. She even hated the way people referred to it as "the Academy" as if it was the only high school on Earth. There were other academies and universities, however she never attempted to get into any of them as well. Not that she didn't believe she could make it, it was just that nothing apart "the Academy" seemed to matter in this crazy world anymore. She sighed as she got up and headed to the bathroom. Thanks to this unexpected call she now didn't have time for her morning bath, so she settled for a quick sonic shower. She chose a simple beige dress from the replicator and put on some make up. At least that would clearly indicate she wasn't one of all these freaks out there who kept on pretending they were Starfleet even if they were not. The streets were full of both men and women dressed accordingly to the protocol with shortly cropped hair and clothes designed in a uniform style. That day after work she finally could afford the holocabin. She never went for the cheapest ones which typically accommodated the great majority of people out of job. They were rather primitive with only some basic programming and Christina simply wasn't thrilled by the typical mass entertainment. She went to her favourite club on the other side of the city. She had to take a glider to go there but at least she was sure nobody would recognize her. Not that she had anything to hide, she simply liked some privacy. She was able to pay for the whole hour and finally she entered the room with black walls and yellow grid all over. She had given the owner of the place a small chip which contained her favourite holonovel and was now ready to have a full hour of real fun. 'Computer,' she said quickly as if afraid of loosing any more of her precious time here. 'Enter programme Chris - alpha-one-one' 'Program loaded and ready,' said the computer. 'Activate,' said Christina and immediately the black room vanished. Instead, she found herself in the centre seat on the starship bridge. 'Captain, we are being hailed,' she heard one of the holograms in the red uniform addressing her. 'On screen,' she said, smiling broadly.
