I materialized in the transporter room with a clipboard in hand and a squint in my eyes. Even with my first glimpse at the interior of the USS Enterprise, I knew I wouldn’t need a tricorder to determine this ship was sick. And horribly unsafe.

A red-shirted blond with a hook nose stepped from the control console. “Welcome aboard, Inspector.”

“Lieutenant Kyle, is it?”

He nodded. I scribbled on my notepad, quietly fuming that they hadn’t sent a more senior officer to greet me. Wasn’t I the Federation’s top safety professional? Hadn’t I been certified to Starship Occupational Safety (SOS) Level Nine?

Well, if that’s the way they wanted it, I’d burrow into every crevice of this machine. I’d go where no inspector had gone before…

I pointed at the edge of the transporter platform. “Well, lieutenant, you’d better find some yellow paint to mark this trip hazard.” Then I marched past, savoring how his wide-set blue eyes flared open like twin deflector dishes.

This was going to be fun.

I made my way down a hallway with dangerously worn gray carpet that surely would fail Flammability Standard 411.22. Was that smoke residue on the ceiling? Catching the Enterprise in spacedock after its latest round of battle repairs had been a stroke of luck. They couldn’t hide their sloppy efforts from this inspector. No, siree.

I tapped my foot as I awaited the turbolift. A young woman in a blue miniskirt stood beside me. She stared at the lift’s status screen, clearly not wanting conversation.

So I disappointed her. “Medical?”

The woman quaked a moment in her calf-high black boots. She shot a sidelong look. “Science team.”

“Ah, good. So you understand physics, thermodynamics… All that.”

“I suppose.” Her posture relaxed.

I made a quick gesture toward her bare legs, being careful not to stare. “Then perhaps some coveralls would serve you well. Kneepads, even.” Her brows furrowed. “For the next time this ship gets hit, catches fire…”

The lift doors opened. I stepped inside. Miss Long Legs spun away. Probably headed to climb the ladders instead—which would be oh-so-wise in those slick boots.

After noting the absence of capacity signage in the elevator, I exited. Inhaled the fumes of unsealed solvent storage.

Engineering. The heart of the ship. A defective one, no doubt. As I perched on a gangway overlooking the warp core, the turquoise glow from that ticking time bomb did nothing to soothe me.

Nobody here wore hard hats, nor could I find one to don myself. There wasn’t even a safety poster! Hadn’t I transmitted the latest version fleetwide, part of the MOSSA campaign? Making Outer Space Safe Again was my pride and joy. These yahoos probably thought antimatter leaks could be fixed with duct tape.

Someone with a thick Scottish accent shouted in the distance. I moved toward the sound, but cautiously. The gangway had a meager handrail.

I spotted the stocky man below, yelling at no one in particular. “I can’t change the laws of physics, Captain. I need another thirty minutes.”

And I needed another notebook. I was running out of room to document deficiencies.

With trepidation, I lowered myself down several wobbly rungs and stepped toward the man.

He stiffened at my approach. “Och! What tree did you fall from, laddie?” He waved across the cavernous room.

Frowning, I parsed his brogue. “Fall from?” It was a perfect opening to discuss the dearth of fall protection—but more pressing matters animated me. “I’m here to inspect—” I wanted to say every dang thing, but I stayed focused. “—your dilithium chambers.”

He folded his arms. “Is that so? I’ll have McCoy inspecting my arse before ye can lay a hand on my chambers.”

Heat rose up my neck. I clenched my clipboard. “The safety of the matter-antimatter reaction depends on absolute purity of the dilithium—”

“Oh, shut it! Laddie, I was working with dilithium while ye were splashing about in a kiddie pool.” With floaties on, he didn’t add. Mom had insisted. “Now take your pretty tablet and get out of my way. The captain wants another miracle.” He threw up his hands and spun away, immediately finding another target for his ire.

Undeterred, I meandered my way back to the turbolift, studying the myriad of pipes overhead. No sprinkler system, I wrote, shaking my head. If a dumpster fire could generate thrust, that infernal Chief Engineer would light it himself.

Over the next hour, I roamed deck after deck. The Enterprise was a horrific house of hazards. Pinch points from those fast-sliding doors. Long corridors with no bulkheads in case of decompression. No emergency breathing devices. Not a fire extinguisher in sight. And eyewash stations? Please…

I decided that the three letters in this ship’s designation—NCC-1701—stood for Non-Compliant Catastrophe.

Outside of med bay, I spoke with a man with facial burns who had just been cleared for return to duty.

“What happened?” I asked.

He shrugged. “My work panel just exploded. Sparks everywhere.”

“Did anyone report it as a lost-time injury?”

“A what?” His scarred face scrunched up dismissively. “It’s no big deal. Happens all the time.” He sauntered off.

I clamped my jaw, pouring my frustration onto the page. My writing hand cramped up.

“Doctor McCoy to the bridge,” came an announcement through a nearby loudspeaker. I looked up from my notes to see a blue-shirted man rush from med bay. I caught up with him just in time to share the lift.

I couldn’t contain my scowl as I entered.

The lift zoomed upward. He gave me the once-over. “What?”

I measured my words. “You know the old Earth saying about an ounce of prevention?”

“Dammit, man, I’m a doctor, not a philosopher!” He broke eye contact, pursing lips.

The door whooshed open. This was the bridge. The dark nexus of this ship’s malignant safety culture.

A pointy-eared guy greeted the doctor, then arched a brow as he noticed me.

“I was not aware we had a visitor onboard,” he said in a flat register.

I cleared my throat. “I’m with the FSI. Federation Ship Inspections.”

“Fascinating.” He ushered me inside, where the captain and doctor stood engaged in some moral debate I was too distracted to follow. Something about a gym and bones? “And what has your investigation concluded?”

I shrunk back, surprised to finally find an appreciative audience. “I…I…” Looking to my notes for security, I stalled for several seconds. Then I mustered my courage to issue my answer—and my implied request. “I can’t offer conclusions until I’ve completed my checklist.” I noted his inquisitive stare before sweeping my gaze across the bridge. “Which finishes here.”

“That is only logical, Inspector. Insufficient facts invite danger. Please.” He gestured toward the various crew positions.

Where to start? I nibbled on my stylus. Well, since the captain was presently occupied…

I strode toward his chair. Set a hand on the armrest.

“Get off that!” With feline speed, the captain shooed me away. “What are you doing on my bridge?”

I backpedaled, clutching my clipboard like a shield. I half expected the captain to throw a haymaker.

Thankfully, the tall man with the funny ears stepped between us. “Captain, he is on assignment from the Federation.”

“To do what? Interior decorating?” He glared at me. “I like my chair as it is, thank you very much.”

“I believe the proper term is Safety Inspector.”

I felt the press of stares from all directions. The seated crew had swiveled toward me. Perspiration prickled on my cheeks.

“Is it now?” The captain made a low chuckle. He cocked his head. “And what dangers have you discovered, Safety Inspector?”

My gaze diverted to the crew, seeking wisdom in their expressions for my response.

“For crying out loud,” McCoy said, “just answer the man.”

I dipped my chin. Forced the words through a tight throat. “For starters—” I gave a dry cough. Pointed at the captain’s chair. “—you don’t have a seatbelt.”

All was silent for a few thumping heartbeats.

Then, beginning with the captain, raucous laughter erupted. Only Pointy Ears kept a straight face. And me? I wanted to disappear via transporter beam.

The captain slouched into his seat, pretending to connect an invisible belt. “You know what a starship is, Inspector?” He spread his arms, the twinkle in his eye as bright as a plasma welder seen without a protective face shield. “It’s a ship. That goes to the stars. Way out there.” He jabbed at the front screen. “There are ionized nebulas. Black holes. Romulans. And you think a seatbelt will keep us safe?”

Sweat pooled in uncomfortable places.

He continued, rising from the chair. “You came here to eliminate risk. But risk is our business!” He backhanded the man I assumed was his First Officer. “Mister Spock, what’s that thing you said about what people see?”

“Men sometimes see exactly what they want to see.”

“Yes!” The captain poked him, then closed the distance with me. “You wanted to find a thousand flaws with the Enterprise. I bet you did.” He slapped my notebook. “But you never took the time to see what makes this ship great.” There was a fierce pride in his glare. “The crew. And I’ll never ask them to risk anything I’m not willing to.”

I swallowed hard. All my notes now seemed evidence against me, not this ship. I had a mind to chuck the clipboard into the nearest trash can. Not that I could recall a single one anywhere. Hadn’t I made copious notes about the lack of hazardous waste disposal?

A warbling chirp interrupted my scattered thoughts.

A dark-skinned woman spoke up. “Captain, we’re being hailed by Admiral Noguchi.”

“Thanks, Uhura,” he said. I wanted to add my own expression of gratitude; she’d gotten me off the hook. “On screen.”

A stern-looking officer filled the image. “Captain Kirk, we have a situation. The Klingons raided a scientific outpost within the Neutral Zone. We fear they may have obtained technology that could kill a planet—perhaps an entire system.” I tried to imagine what such tech could be…and how unsafe its existence would make me feel. “You are ordered to leave spacedock at once and proceed at maximum warp to the Beta Quadrant. Expect further instructions. And Klingon resistance.”

“Understood. Kirk out.” He turned to a helmsman. “Mister Sulu, take us out. One-quarter impulse.” Then, to the other man seated up front. “Mister Chekov, plot a course.”

“To where, sir?” Chekov replied in some version of English. “Beta Quadrant…it is wery large.”

“Pick a place where those Klingons might hide. Where they think they’ll be safe.” The captain threw me a sarcastic look, then smiled. “Guess you’re coming with us.”

“Captain? No…” The clipboard slipped from my grip. I stooped to recover it, hands shaking. Then I made the mistake of checking the big viewscreen. We were sailing out of dock waaay faster than the speed limit. “Just beam me out of here…please.”

“And let you miss all the fun?” He slapped the armrests. “Live a little, mister…what’s your name?”

I rose unsteadily. “Inspector Havit…sir.”

“It’s Mister Havit now. I don’t need any inspectors.” He tapped his chin. “But safety is a bit like security. And I can always use another security crewman. We go through them like humor through a Vulcan’s ears. Ever fire a phaser?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Mister Spock, see to it that this man gets a phaser. Set it on stun, please. We wouldn’t want him to hurt anybody.” Something told me there wouldn’t be safety goggles in the deal.

Spock acknowledged. Moved to relay the command. Captain Kirk reached to stop him. “Oh, and get Mister Havit a red shirt. I want him on my first away mission in the Beta Quadrant.” He peered at me with a smirk. “Keep your friends close and your critics closer, right?”

My stomach seemed to plummet into the smudged carpet. If artificial gravity hadn’t been working—when was its last end-to-end inspection?—I would’ve upchucked that green snack cube I sampled from the food synthesizer. Its faint algae aftertaste crept across my tongue.

Then the ship pivoted in its orbit, and the comforting blue arc of Earth disappeared from the screen. All that lay ahead was a field of stars I didn’t recognize. Maybe I should have grown up with a telescope instead of under a microscope.

But here I was. Totally unprepared. My defects? Soon to be revealed.

Instinctively, I scanned the bridge of the Enterprise for an emergency exit. But there was none. No escape hatch. Just that blasted turbolift that, like a fool, I’d ridden upward to my humiliation.

My gut gurgled. I didn’t even have a chair to sit on, much less a seatbelt. I braced against a railing that looked like it had been repaired a dozen times.

Chekov turned to Kirk. “Course set, Captain.”

Kirk nodded. Turned his attention to Sulu.

My focus snapped elsewhere. No bathroom here either? I squeezed the clipboard between my legs, hoping to forestall the inevitable.

Because even before Captain Kirk said engage, before the view morphed into a blur of stars like a showerhead on full blast, I’d zeroed in on the first critical hazard of my new, terrifying mission.

I had to boldly go.