HOW OTTO CAME TO THE CASUAL:
(at least, it's how he remembers it...)

Born the son of a Starfleet Officer, Fulton was groomed for a position in Starfleet. Never a good student, Fulton barely passed minimum requirements for the Academy (he cheated on the tests). Excelling at Engineering and Ordnance training Fulton was always at the top of his class and (except for the occasional missing torpedo or six) his career as a weapons officer was almost certain.  Fulton, a horrible  scholar, almost failed all of the required classes until he hacked into Starfleet databases and changed his scores (he cheated again). Spending most of his time at a Lunar Bar called Flaming Moe’s he learned how to drink and play Space Darts. The rest of the time Fulton spent inventing new and exciting destructive inventions.

Some of his most noted work includes The Crowbar of Love™, the letter “q” and the Chain Saw of Understanding.  He was happy at the Academy, well liked by his classmates, feared by his teachers, and loved by bar owners. Life was good.

Then disaster stuck.  In his senior year at the Academy, during Spring Break, Fulton’s life changed in an instant. While changing his grades so that he would finish 2nd in his class he fucked up. Accidentally hitting the enter key instead of the shift he sent his recently altered test score to the secured mainframe instead of through the small logic bridge that he had so delicately built.

It was less than five seconds before Fulton understood the ramifications of his actions.  In 10 seconds Starfleet security officers were beaming in with phaser rifles held high.  2 seconds latter Fulton’s own security system went off, and he was promptly beamed away. And 3 seconds after that the missing torpedoes went off, one in the small dorm complex and five arranged around the Academy’s Mainframe facility. The resulting explosions totally destroyed the Network Node for the Academy, and all records for the last forty-five seconds (the time for auto backup) were wiped out.  And young Fulton (assumed dead along with 13 of his fellow class members, all of whom with social skills too pathetic to allow them to leave campus for Spring Break) was safely beamed aboard U.S.S. Athena as a stowaway.

Fulton had hidden himself in one of the many cargo bays. Living in a box of Romulan Ale, he stayed in a condition a lot like suspended animation.  Drinking, passing out, pissing and drinking again is how he spent the next week.  It was the happiest time in his entire life.  Then on Stardate 18603.15 the loud sounds of people talking feverishly and the steady hum of a transporter operating woke Fulton from his drunken stupor. All he could hear was brief snippets of conversation, like  “Self Destruct Armed,”  “That will teach them,” and  “Kiss me while you’re dressed like a Romulan.”  And then all the voices were gone.  Fulton blissfully slipped back into his drunken slumber. Then an alarm went off, a loud blaring klaxon that could wake the dead. And it sure sobered up Fulton, or at least enough for him to move. He thought:

1) Loud noise from alarm.
2)  My head hurts
3)  Head didn’t hurt until noise
4)  My head really hurts
Conclusion: Stop the alarm.

With this objective in mind Fulton stood up and boldly walked out into corridor, went down to engineering and disabled the alarm control panel with a phaser, blowing it up in a hail of metal and silicone.  Or at least that was the plan.  Unfortunately young Fulton wasn’t expecting the deviously hidden tote bag, that was cleverly placed right in front of the crate he had concealed himself in. The tote bag never knew what hit it and neither did Fulton, or the deck. In the ensuing example of gravity (9.856m/s2) and the kindness it frequently shows, the intoxicated Fulton fell very hard onto the nice cool deck.

When Fulton awoke, to his amazing discovery, he was still drunk and there was a data padd digging into his face.  The good part was that the alarm was now very quiet.  The deck felt oh so cool but the padd was beginning to hurt so he got up to remove the padd from where he was sleeping.  Still in a drunken stupor he looked at the padd, reading the contents “Self Destruct Sequence Engaged.  Ten minutes until matter/antimatter dump,” and casually tossed it over his shoulder.

Curling up in a small ball on the nice cool deck Fulton began to fall asleep.  But in the deep dark recesses of his mind the words on the data padd kept on running around in his head.  ”Matter/antimatter dump,” “Self Destruct Sequence Engaged.”

“Wow,” thought Fulton, “that’s an explosion to watch, and maybe I should get up and find out.... Oh, fuck it. I’m tired,” and with those thoughts Fulton soon fell into a deep sleep.

“Pressure on bladder, slight discomfort.... Increased pressure on bladder, discomfort.... What the hell is standing on me!!! Oh shit... I got to get up and piss!!!!”  Waking to the gentle call of nature Fulton awoke and began his pursuit of relief.  Moaning slightly, young Fulton picked up the data padd he had thrown away earlier (everyone needs reading material), hauled his ass up, and headed out to the corridor. Skillfully avoiding the sinister tote and wondering why the funny red light was flashing in the corner, he made his way out of the cargo bay.  The corridor was empty, and if Fulton’s memory was correct the head should be down the corridor to the left.  Quickly making his way down the corridor he made the turn to the left onto a turbolift.  “Strange,” thought Fulton, “I don’t remember a turbolift in the head.”

Confused, Fulton thought of the possibilities.  “Computer,” he said, “where is the location of the nearest head?”

The computer’s sweet, calming voice responded, “Level 10 section 12b.”

“Where the fuck is that!” Fulton politely inquired.

“Level ten, Engineering, around the corner straight for 10 meters, then a left and straight for 4 meters.”

“Right... ahh, thanks computer... sorry about yelling at you. “ Fulton sheepishly replied.

The turbo lift doors opened and young Fulton, now in excruciating pain, stumbled off.  Heading down the corridor for 2 meters, stumbling another 4 meters and then staggering for 8 meters Fulton came to the intersection.  He was now in Main Engineering,

"Those funny red lights are flashing here too," thought Fulton, "I wonder what’s up?"

Concerned only with taking a leak, he quickly took the nearest right (it’s hard to tell left from right when your drunk.) and ran straight into Dr Flynn and fell on his ass.

As Fulton lay there looking up from the deck he knew he was in some deep shit. Not only was he supposed to have been killed in an explosion that took out a significant chunk of Starfleet Academy but also he was now caught as a stowaway on a Federation starship.

Thinking fast (or at least fast for a drunk) Fulton quickly babbled out an excuse. “It wasn’t me! I was never there! He was dead when I got there! I was going to return it!! How was I supposed to know how old she was, ask her for an I.D?  Where was she going to keep it!?”

For about five minutes Fulton spilled out every dirty little deed he had ever done.  And I mean everything, he let it all out.  Afterwards, he sat there thinking of all that he had done.  All of the evil deeds he’d commited, all the lives he’d destroyed, and all the stuff he’d blown up. Sitting there sprawled out on the cool deck, Fulton looked at all he had accomplished, and smiled.  Then giggled.

While in the midst of his freverent jabbering, Fulton failed to notice that Dr.Flynn didn’t even bother to stay and listen.  In fact Dr.Flynn, who was in quite a hurry, quickly picked himself up and continued running down the corridor. It was several minutes before Fulton realized that he was lying on the deck in the corridor, drunk, laughing at nothing, and that he really had to piss.  So with his mind back on track, Fulton set off again in quest for the head.

Main Engineering is a very large section of a starship, comprised of multiple levels, delicate instruments and hazardous materials.  All of the computers in harmony with all of the equipment; a balance of control and power, where one small error could possibly cause a great disaster.  Definitely not a good place for Fulton.

Fulton ran from deck to deck searching through out Main Engineering in a desperate search for relief. Finally, in a flash of brilliance, Fulton made a rationalization of profound proportions.  “I don’t have to use the head to take a leak!”

Now with the prospect of a bladder-pressure-free future, Fulton headed for nearest control panel. Preparing to whip it out and let the fireman do his deed, Fulton realized that pissing on active circuitry is a bad thing. Thinking of the security of his little friend, Fulton quickly scanned the deck.  And there before his eyes was the console for the Self-Destuct system. “The self-destuct system is never active, it’s kept powered off until it’s needed,” thought Fulton.  So quickly adjusting his facing, Fulton prepared to let loose. Yet a nagging thought raced through his head…

“Self-Destruct Sequence Engaged.”

“That will teach them!”

 “Kiss me while you’re dressed like a Romulan.”

The words echoed, yet the call to be relieved was too strong.  He let loose, and Fulton felt great relief.  And then the explosion, not a large explosion, not even a big one but a small explosion that destroyed the ship’s self-destruct system and gave Fulton his first lesson in flying.  When Fulton’s body hit the bulkhead 50m away, he was knocked unconconus.

When Fulton awoke, two weeks latter, he was aboard the Casual. After a brief introduction to the ship and her crew, Fulton was quickly put to work. Repairing the self-destruct system, and working on converting the torpedoes from matter/antimatter warheads to sobriety/antisobriety based.

No one really asks Fulton about his past, and he keeps the truth to himself.  But in the back of his mind, he’s pretty sure that he’s the one who saved the ship from destruction.

Pretty sure.