Maxwell Watley stepped off the transporter pad. He nodded curtly to the transporter operator, once again saying a quick prayer of thanks that his atoms had not been scattered across the galaxy. The aging man had never quite grown out of his fear of transporters, but that was fine, he hadn’t died by any of them. He chuckled softly to himself as he made his way towards his quarters. His bags and gear had already been moved there earlier.

Making his way into his room, he sat back with a slump into the closest chair to the door. He had a few moments to reflect before he had to resume his duties. This was his life now, he was a drifter in starfleet, meandering from one assignment after another. And the damnedest thing of all about it was, he was fine with that. He knew he was just a temporary placeholder for Ark Angel, Starfleet would be sending a younger, more energetic individual soon, but for now Ark Angel needed a man to oversee security, and Watley could handle that just fine. He had begun to fashion himself a sort of western deputy, who traveled from town to town, restoring law and order and leaving for another town. Except in his reality the towns were starships and the citizens were the crews.

Lt. Jg. Maxwell Watley- COS