Leaving the engineering department, marching to the lively tunes coming over communications, the gold embedded, red skinned L.E.G.get Grotecakes first passes a lab in which Mr. Granster is making false recordings into the computer regarding a specimen he is scanning. Is the science officer purposefully trying to stir things up with the aliens? Naw, probably just needs to clean his spectacles or at least put them on.
"Hey Mr. Granster, I think I'm either seeing shadows or the critter in front of you has six appendages. I'd stay and help but I need to adjust the transporter before it scrambles someone up worse than it has me."
L.E.G.get Grotecakes continues his lively marching on to the transporter room to facilitate the necessary repairs. Upon his entrance, the ensign on duty snaps to attention and stammers something about "help you Admiral?"
"Naw, I'm just a 'red shirt' like ya'self can?t ya see?" L.E.G.get (L owly, E ngineering, G runt) Grotecakes turns slowly modeling his bright red, transporter beam, burnt skin.
"Uh, looks like your skin to me Admiral. No offense intended Sir!" The ensign mumbles as he hurriedly vacates the transporter room, fleeing what he fears must be an insane superior.
"Well, if'n I was an admiral, ya'd just've earned ya'self a report for leaving ya' post kid. Oh well ya ol' Grote, might make fixing this thing a little quicker without 'im saluting and drooling on the gold." L.E.G.get Grotecakes crawls under the transporter controls and begins to work. While reaching deep into the guts of the console, his gold links embedded into his forearm short a circuit which activates the transporter beam.
"Damn, I sure hope that fixed the thing! I?d hate to see what this thing might scramble next," L.E.G.get Grotecakes says as he backs away from the platform, not wanting to turn his back on what might appear.
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