There are still jokes in some circles about red-shirts, despite the fact that security personnel have swapped colors with command and now wear gold. In some cases, especially among those of us in the command path, that joke is a bit of gallows humor we keep to ourselves. But I tend to keep a very tight rein on that particular joke. No member of an away team is expendable, and there are no missions so routine that I don't think about that as we are released by the transporter beam. So naturally I could think of nothing but the bright red of my uniform as we beamed into the smoky, oily gloom of the crippled Korax class light cruiser. No matter your intentions, Klingons never appreciate you beaming onto their ships uninvited.
The floor was sticky. All four of us, two security specialists, chief engineer Brandon and I noticed it at the same time. Tricorder analysis showed that it wasn't because of any substance that had been spilled or spread on the deck. The deck plating itself had undergone a molecular change as a result of being subjected to extreme heat. Fortunately, the heat source was no longer present, so we didn't have to worry about our shoes melting. But there was also nothing known of this particular region of space that would do this to a klingon ship. So we were looking at either an unknown environmental hazard or exotic alien with a grudge against the klingons. Neither alternative sounded conducive to an uneventful survey.
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