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Chief Medical Officer, Lt. Tyzur Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards Stardate 58807.03, 0800h
It was a quiet morning. Tyzur glanced at his final transfer authorisation while sipping coffee, a human beverage he had learned to appreciate during the intense shifts at his previous posting. He paused as he reached the line ‘Assignment: Chief Medical Officer, USS Vanguard’. Not ‘Resident Doctor’, not ‘Former Borg’, but Chief Medical Officer. He read it several times before closing the PADD. It was the first posting that was entirely his choice. He remembered the parting words of his mentor, another El-Aurian physician. “You spent a century healing bodies because you were ordered to.”, a pause, “Now you get to heal people because you choose to.”.
Time to pack. Despite his age, Tyzur owned surprisingly little. The Borg collective had little room for personal affairs. His time at the academy and his position at Starbase 327 on the edge of a warzone left him with little time for a personal life. He gathers his Risian lute, a collection of science fiction novels from Betazoid, Vulcan, and Cardassian authors, a holopicture of his mentor, and replacement uniforms specially tailored around his cybernetic right arm. Tyzur glanced at the concealment glove he got during his academy days to make his implants less noticeable. He picked one up and considered packing it. Instead, he put it into the replicator for recycling. He was tired of pretending his arm wasn't there. He wasn’t proud of it, but he wasn’t ashamed of it either.
The corridors of the Utopia Planitia transit station were well-worn, providing a temporary home for countless Starfleet crews about to embark on their missions. Tyzur walked past an observation window, and spotted her. USS Vanguard. NCC-76381. She was small compared to other docked ships like the Intrepid and Sovereign classes. It would be an adjustment, living spaces on Borg cubes and starbases are massive.
The gray-haired Tellarite glanced up from the transporter console as Tyzur approached.
"Lieutenant Tyzur?"
"Yes."
His eyes flicked to the cybernetic arm, then back to the console.
"Hm."
He frowned at the readout.
"You're carrying... just under twelve kilograms of cybernetic hardware."
"Eleven-point-eight," Tyzur replied. "I maintain it myself."
One bushy eyebrow rose.
"You actually know the weight?"
"It helps when recalibrating the inertial compensators."
The Tellarite gave an approving grunt.
"I like officers who know their own maintenance."
He tapped a few more commands, then paused as another line of Tyzur's service record appeared.
"Starbase 327."
"Yes."
"That's a hard posting."
"It could be."
The Tellarite leaned back slightly.
"I've beamed more casualties off that station than I care to remember."
For a moment, his usual gruffness softened.
"They always said the doctors there were miracle workers."
He finished entering the transport coordinates.
"Don't prove them wrong."
It’s about the closest thing a Tellarite gives to ‘good luck’. Tyzur inclined his head.
"I'll do my best."
The Tellarite snorted.
"Good enough. Transport lock established. Vanguard transporter room one is ready to receive."
As he rematerialised, he was greeted by Lieutenant Commander Lektar, Chief Operations Officer.
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