USS Scoperta
Post 87

Zantor got off the shuttle and looked around. Somehow this finally
felt like the right place, after all of these years of feeling out
of place in this... he didn't even know what to call it.
His history was vauge and blurred, even for him. With no recolection
at all of where he was from, who he knew, or even what he was, he
was a freak in a galaxy of strangers. And that hurt him to no end,
but he would adapt. He always adapted to everything he ever did. The
medical experiements, the training, the healing process, starfleet
academy. Everyone always treated him like a freak, out of place
because of his unknown hearitage.
Even if they were courtious to him, he always knew what they wre
thinking. He always knew what everyone was thinking, that was his
But oh well, he decided as he pulled his bag up to his shoulders.
Zantor pondered the feeling that was building up in the bottom of
his gutt as he walked along the corridors. He rose his hand and felt
the smooth walls under his flesh. Something about this ship... No
that was wrong. It didn't have anything to do with this ship at all.
It had something to do with...
Zantor struggled to remember, struggled to concentrated and focus on
the blur that was his memory. But for the life of him, he couldn't
see past the melted text and choppy pictures of unknown faces and
withered hopes. he finally gave up, like he did almost every night.
Zantor had the last ten years to think about his memories, his
nightmares of battles and loss and heartache. He knew he would have
them again this night, so why even bother with trying to remember
Zantor continued to walk down the corridor, looking at the room
numbers. The ensigns' pins on his collar tugged at him heavily,
another indication he didn't belong, as he watched for his room.
He heard a whoosh about ten feet behind him.
"Turbolift" he whisperd to himself as he continued to walk down the
corridor. He heard footsteps walk out lightly, stop for a moment,
then continue on in the other direction. Just as well, Zantor said
as he turned and found his room. He opened the door with his code
card and looked around.
Sighing, he started to unpack his things...

*Sick Bay*
Zantor walked in and looked around. He didn't know where or who the
chief medical officer was, but he had to report to someone. He
didn't think the captain would appreciate talking to a lowly ensign,
so he walked over to the main desk. A doctor walked over to him.
"What do you want, Ensign?"
"Sir, I'm Ensign Roka Zantor, New Transfer from Starfleet Medical.
Who am I to report to?"
Ensign Roka Zantor