Star Trek is the property of Viacom; although, they didn't create it. Star Traks is the creation of Alan Decker. He thinks he owns it.

Author: Alan Decker
Copyright: 1993

Star Traks

“Transporter Wars”

by Alan Decker



“Monica Vaughn’ personal log. Stardate 49268.9. The Secondprize has rendezvoused with the Asimov for the next few hours for a brief personnel and equipment transfer. The transfer is being done by shuttlecraft due to the sensitive nature of the equipment being transferred. Evidently, the scientists who built it don’t think that beaming it would be such a good idea. This is fine with me since it gives me more time off. On the down side, it does the same for the transporter chief of the Asimov, Calvin Mitchell. I’ve been warned about him. He has an annoying habit of pulling a bunch of transporter pranks on the transporter chiefs of any Starfleet vessel or station he comes upon. Well, if he’s going to try that…”

Vaughn felt the familiar tingle of a transporter, and seconds later, she materialized in the transporter room of the Asimov. She hit the floor hard due to the absence of the chair that she’d been sitting in back in her quarters. A tall, blond, incredibly smug looking man was standing at the transporter console.

“Hello there,” he said. “I just thought I’d drop in to introduce myself, but then decided it’d just be easier to have you drop in to see me.”

“Funny, Mitchell,” Vaughn replied angrily as she picked herself up off the floor.

“My reputation precedes me. I’m flattered.”

“The only thing you have a reputation for is being an A Number One…”

“Now, now,” Mitchell interrupted. “There’s no need to vent your petty jealousy at me.”

“Jealousy!” Vaughn shouted in disbelief. “Of what?”

“Of my skill, of course.”

“Yeah, right,” she said as she pushed past him to the console. “This is your warning, pal. If you try anything else, expect a quick reprisal.” Vaughn stepped onto the transporter pad and disappeared in a flurry of molecules.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Mitchell said rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Back in her quarters, Monica Vaughn knew that Mitchell wasn’t going to heed her warning. He just wasn’t the type to give up that easily. On the bright side, the Secondprize would be leaving in a matter of hours, and she would be rid of him. She settled back into her desk chair and began working her monthly departmental evaluations.

An hour later, Mitchell still hadn’t tried anything, but Vaughn wasn’t convinced that she’d scared him off. He was probably just trying to catch her off-guard. She stretched and stood up to get something to drink out of the replicator. She hadn’t gone more than three feet when she felt the tingle of the transporter.

She rematerialized seconds later on the bridge of the Secondprize. The looks she was getting combined with the draft told her immediately what Mitchell had done. He evidently didn’t know who he was dealing with. Modesty had never been a concern for her.

“Sorry to disturb you,” the nude transporter chief said as she started walking toward the turbolift without a hint of embarrassment.

“That’s quite all right.” Captain Alexander Rydell managed to gasp. “We don’t mind at all, do we?” Commander Travis Dillon shook his head furiously. Vaughn heard a thud. She turned and saw a young ensign collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. She smiled and entered the turbolift. She spent the walk back to her quarters planning and ignoring the various gasps and whistles she heard from her shipmates.

Ten minutes later, the fully-dressed Vaughn entered Transporter Room Four and got to work.


“Captain, Transporter Room Four is requesting the use of the main sensor array,” Lieutenant Commander Jaroch reported from his science station.

“Give Vaughn access,” Captain Rydell replied smiling. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he had the feeling that somebody on the Asimov was in big trouble.


Vaughn tied the sensors into the transporter and attempted to locate Mitchell. He was headed toward the Asimov’s lounge. Perfect. She used her transporter’s enhanced abilities to lock on to her target and then activated the beam.


Lieutenant Calvin Mitchell walked into the Asimov’s lounge feeling very proud of himself. He was proving once again that he was the master of the transporter.

“Hey, Mitchell,” the Asimov’s first officer shouted from the bar. “That haircut’s a little severe, isn’t it?”

“What?” he asked in confusion. Suddenly, he saw himself in the mirrors behind the bar. Shaking with anger, he ran out of the lounge. Vaughn had beamed off a five inch wide line of hair in the center of his head. He was only left with blonds tufts on either side of his skull. She would pay for this.


Vaughn watched Mitchell’s reaction with great amusement. He was doing just what she expected him to, running to the transporter room. A reprisal would be coming shortly. Fortunately, she’d left her commbadge in her room, so Mitchell would only be able to get a lock on it. She walked calmly back to her quarters content in the fact that she’d outdone him and there was nothing he could do about it.

As the doors to her quarters opened, Vaughn gasped in shock. That was all she had time to do before the wall of mud flowed over her and out into the hallway. O.K., maybe there was something her could do about it. She was pissed. This mess was going to take forever to clean up. It was time to end this once and for all. She dug herself out of the mud pile and stormed down to engineering. Commander Scott Baird broke down laughing the second she walked in the door.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asked.

“I need your help, Scott,” she replied without answering his question.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “What can I do for you?”


Two hours later, Monica Vaughn was seated in her wrecked quarters in front of her personal communications console. She switched it on and tried to call Mitchell. This had to be done face to face.

“Hello there,” Mitchell said as smugly as ever.

“Nice hat,” Vaughn said in response. Mitchell’s smile faded for a second as he glanced up at the hat covering the damage Vaughn had done to his hair.

“I love your decorator,” he retorted. “The dirt look is definitely you.”

“Look, I’m just calling to say goodbye. The Secondprize will be leaving any minute now.”

“Giving up and acknowledging my victory,” Mitchell said grinning. “How noble of you. I really appreciate it.”


Commander Scott Baird stepped onto the bridge of the Secondprize and slid into the chair at the engineering console at the rear of the bridge.

“Anything wrong, Commander?” Captain Rydell asked.

“Not at all,” Baird replied. “I just don’t get up here much. That’s all.”

“Fine. Ensign Larkin, plot a course for the Junopis system; warp four.”

“Baird to Vaughn.”


Vaughn heard Baird’s voice in the earpiece he had rigged for her. She pressed a button on the small computer console to her left which was out of Mitchell’s field of vision.

“I’ve proved my mastery in transporter operations over thirteen other transporter chiefs before you, Monica, so don’t feel so bad,” Mitchell continued. Monica just smiled and nodded. It would be over soon.


Commander Baird looked down at the small device in the palm of his hand. A light on it switched on signaling that Vaughn had acknowledged the message.

“Ensign Sullivan…” Captain Rydell said.

“Now, Monica,” Baird said softly.

“Engage,” Rydel said completing his order.


As soon as she received Baird’s message, Vaughn pressed another button on the console beside her. A pre-programmed transporter program activated. Vaughn watched happily as the internal cameras on the Asimov transmitted the view of the look on Mitchell’s face turning from smug to shocked as the transporter dematerialized him. His empty uniform dropped to the floor.

The Secondprize glided effortlessly away from the Asimov.


“So what did you do with him?” Vaughn’s friend Ensign Emily Sullivan asked after Vaughn had finished telling the story. Vaughn took another sip of her drink and looked out the windows of Seven Backward, the Secondprize lounge.

“Baird attached a life-support unit to a seven by seven cargo container. When I activated the program, the container was beamed out to a position behind the Asimov with a cord attaching it to one of the Asimov’s warp nacelles. Mitchell was beamed into it, and that was that. I’m sure he’d pretty pissed off right now. They probably won’t find him until they try to activate the engines and the ship’s automatic sensor sweep of the area detects him.” She stood up from the table.

“Where are you going?” Sullivan asked.

“I’ve got a date.”

“With who?”

“Ensign Reilly,” Vaughn replied. “I impressed him so much with my sudden appearance on the bridge that, as soon as he regained consciousness, he asked me out.”

“What are you going to do for an encore?”

“Beam him naked into my quarters, what else? He saw me naked, so I get to see him,” Vaughn said as she walked out of the lounge. “And if he doesn’t like that, I may have to prove my transporter mastery to him too.” Sullivan smiled. Reilly was in for one hell of a date.



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