Ensign Taov Thol, despite having some decent coffee that morning, was in a right mood. Two NEs had been growled away by the Ensign as the sturdy, long-bearded Tellarite conducted his inspection of the armoury’s type-III phaser rifles, something not strictly necessary but something he wanted to do to help build a reputation! Without the kind of ‘charming smile’ humans liked so much it was important to look damn good at his job, or at least that’s the philosophy Taov used when trying to work with so many of them. “… 74 done,” he grumbled, trying to keep his volume low. “Why does this ship have so many?!”

Thol, Security