Cadet Polis felt the tingle run through his body as the transporter beam took hold. He watched the shuttlebay disappear and be replaced by the more welcoming lighting and colour of the sickbay walls. As soon as he materialised, the pain from his burnt hand shot up through his arm, a not so gentle reminder of why he was here.
He glanced down, the fingers on his left hand scorched black and his palm starting to blister. Not a plesent sight so he looks away and around the room. “A little help”, he asks politely…

Cadet Polis, Security