by David Smith
Dave took her hand and shook it again, wondering if Butler was being sarcastic when he’d described her as brilliant. Her mind was clearly elsewhere, but she snapped out of it and remembered to introduce the two women who’d climbed up the ladder behind her.
“I take care of astrophysics, but we have specialists for other fields. Lieutenant Skye L’Amour (she motioned towards the smaller of the two women) leads our exobiology and ecology team. Lieutenant L’Amour is a graduate of the University of Wellington and has wide experience from her various academic expeditions before joining Starfleet.”
The tiny, pretty woman leaned forward and shook his hand “Pleased to meetcha. I also provide complimentary therapies and hollistic medical advice.” She stared intently and openly at him, in a fashion that made him feel just slightly uncomfortable.
She leaned closer still and he thought he caught a wink as she added “If you’re feeling a bit stressed, come down and see me. I’ll sort you out.” She held his hand far longer than she needed to and Dave found himself staring at her. She had classicly pretty features, but his attention was drawn to her jewellery. She had a thin gold ring through her left nostril, from which a delicate gold chain looped across her face to an identical gold ring that was one of many piercings in her left ear. Delicate gold rings were in the upper piercings, but extravagant drop earrings of clear crystals and feathers hung from the lowest two. Her other ear was similarly pierced and Dave noticed piercings through her eye-brows and through her tongue as she talked.
The hand still holding his had a large tribal tattoo on it that flowed from under her uniform’s sleeve, and under the wavy blonde, blue, pink and green hair he could see an esoteric mix of other tattoos on her neck, again flowing down under her uniform. As she shook his hand a huge collection of bangles and bracelets jangled and tinkled on her wrists.
O’Mara continued, introducing the other woman: “This is Lieutenant Verity Selassie. She’s our archaeology and anthropology expert.”
Dave had to physically remove his hand from the grinning Lieutenant L’Amours grip in order to shake the other Lieutenant’s hand too. Selassie fixed him with wild staring eyes.
“Pleased to meet you ExO. When we have the chance, I would like to discuss your understanding of death, it’s part in our society and it’s effect on those left behind. For a paper I’m writing, of course.”
O’Mara continued her introduction “Lieutenant Selassie graduated from the University of Nairobi and undertook post-grad studies reviewing the links between major mythologies and their attitudes towards death. She also undertook a second degree in forensic pathology in her spare time whilst on an expedition to exhume and examine plague victims of 13th Century Europe.”
“Well, you've got to have a hobby” said the tall Kenyan modestly.
Dave made a mental note never to invite Selassie out to dinner, and then another mental note to turn down L’Amour when she invited him out to dinner.
The other officers were all at their stations and Dave was about suggest a trip to the engine room to meet the engineering staff when another head popped through the hatch at the rear of the Bridge. Half expecting to see the Chief Engineer, Dave was a little surprised to see a Yeoman appear.
Like Barnes, the Yeoman was flushed and somewhat bedraggled, but unlike Barnes this Yeoman was a curvy brunette. She saluted, approached Dave and handed over a pad.
“Hello. I thought Yeoman Barnes was on duty today?” asked Dave.
“She’s ….resting sir. I’m Yeoman Legg”
“Her relief?”
“Captains relief actually” the Yeoman mumbled grumpily, drawing a stare of reproach from the Steward.
Dave saw that the pad had a security rating of “Restricted” and pressed his thumb against the screen to unlock the message. A very brief message from the Captain appeared:
"We have new orders from Command. I will study these in detail and issue a mission plan shortly."
"Ps. You have the Bridge."
Dave passed the pad back to the Yeoman with a sigh and said “Thank you Legg, I’ll await further instruction from the Captain.” The Yeoman saluted and disappeared down the ladder.
When she was out of ear-shot, Dave whispered to Butler "So, twenty Yeomen.....All female?"
"No sir, fifteen female, four male.....and one that no-ones really sure about" replied the Steward honestly. “Yeoman Sriwak is a Thai and doesn’t speak much English.”
"And the Captain.....er.....debriefs all of them?"
"Indeed, sir. The Captain is nothing if not energetic in his use of the available administrative support" smiled the Steward.
"Male and Female?"
"Male, female, indeterminate…. ovine.... the Captain is an equal opportunity employer. Anything warm and with a pulse to be honest. And thinking about it, the pulse thing probably wouldn't be a deal breaker."
Dave was already dreading his personal appraisal with the Captain.
“Lieutenant-Commander Beauregard…..”
“ASBeau, Sir!”
“ASBeau, you have the Bridge. I’ll be in my quarters studying ships roster, stores and inventory etc. Steward Butler, would you be so kind as to accompany me please”. Dave left his seat and headed for the ladder, the Steward following meekly.
They reached Dave’s cabin quickly and as soon as the door swished open, Dave was through and straight into the seat behind his desk. He motioned for the Steward to sit down on the other side of the desk. The Steward knew what was coming and looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Ok Butler, spill it.”
The Steward gazed at him, clearly sizing Dave up and working out if he could blag his way out of this. Dave sat calmly, returning his gaze cooly and levelly, and the Steward took the hint.
“We’ve been pretty much stranded at Hole for about a year now. The Supply Chief….”
“Chief Reuben Money?” Dave interjected
“Indeed” replied the Steward “He organises …..events…. to occupy the crew.”
Dave had already guessed as much, but before he could say anything the Steward continued.
“The shuttle races have become one of the most popular events with the crew, not least because Lieutenant Stallworth and Lieutenant Theodoupoulopolis are both are exceptionally able pilots, extremely competitive and apparently have little regard for personal safety.”
“You’re inferring that the “events” aren’t limited to shuttle races?” Dave noted.
“Indeed not. Chief Money has a diverse programme of events to appeal to everyone. Many of the events are harmless enough. I suppose every ship has a quiz competition, but I doubt many have an organised mud-wrestling night once a month. He also devotes a significant amount of time to arranging the inter-departmental hockey league and other sporting competitions for which he runs a spectacularly crooked book.”
“Have you got any proof that the competitions are rigged?” asked Dave.
The Chief had a pained look on his face “PO Carver won this years archery contest!!”
“That doesn’t prove Chief Money rigged the competition”
The Steward looked flabbergasted “Of course not sir; PO Carver’s guide dog might have had a really good day?!?! And by the by, the only person who bet on Carver….”
“…was Chief Money” concluded Dave. “So if the competitions are so obviously rigged why do people bet?”
“There’s one born every minute sir. Tiger seems to have a couple of hours worth”
Dave thought he’d got to the bottom of the matter, but the Steward still hadn’t finished: “Chief Money also controls the ship’s black economy, pimps for the ship’s hookers and either black-mails or bribes virtually everyone on the ship”
“Oh.” That was a bit more than Dave had expected to get out of the Steward and he was fishing for something to say but Butler seemed happy to carry on. He was clearly very glad to get all of this off his chest.
He was about to say something when an odd word from the
previous sentence registered in Dave’s consciousness:
“Whoa, hang on……..Hookers? We have ship’s hookers?”
Modern vessels boasted some extraordinary facilities but he’d never heard of a ship equipped with it’s own team of working girls.
“Yes sir, hookers. The Chief recruited them from god knows where. They just appeared when he came back from a business trip, and he’s signed them on as additional nursing staff. I thought Commander Mengele would have to approve such a process, but the Chief found a way of signing them up. They do a roaring trade on the surface of Hole, but to be honest, many of the crew avail themselves too.”
Well that explained a lot thought Dave. Eighteen medical staff probably with criminal records rather then Starfleet records……
“If you want anything, legal, illegal or just downright bizarre, the Chief and his team can get it for you. At a price. That includes in drugs, alcohol and “Personal Services.””
Dave felt obliged to say something even if only to prove that he was still participating in the conversation. “Really. Ok. Thanks.”
“But don’t do it sir!” The Stewards voice had a sudden edge to it. “He’s the devil incarnate, and once you’ve struck a deal with him, you’ve sold your soul.”
Rather taken aback by Butlers’ outburst, Dave tried to re-assure the Steward and himself, “I have no intention of doing so. As ExO, the Supply Chief is part of my department so I’ll be able to deal with this myself.”
“Don’t trust him sir, he’s devious and cunning, and a born manipulator. Don’t take your eye off him for a second……..”
“Yes , thanks Steward, I…..”
“…….and check back through your own history. If there’s anything the Chief can use against you…..”
“Yep, I got that…..”
“…..and beware of the “honey trap”, sir, he’s not above using sex to get a hold on anyone.”
The Steward paused and Dave waited a while expecting more revelations. When nothing more came, Dave knew this was a confession driven by a good man’s inability to prevent a bad man’s triumphs. “You really hate him don’t you?”
There was another pause before the Steward admitted, “Yes sir. Yes I do.”
--------------------
Dave took stock of the situation.
The ship was a wreck. The crew were a mess. His own department were rogues or worse. And he’d not even spoken to his superiors yet.
He had an Epiphany.
That slight smirk on the Commodore’s face at graduation. He knew. He knew all of this. This was the Commodore’s revenge.
Chapter 4
Dave had dismissed the Steward at that point.
He knew he was supposed to be studying the reports and data available to him, trying to find answers for the hundred questions he had, but he was too busy wallowing in the tsunami of shit that had finally caught up with him. This wasn’t the plum job he’d imagined, it was an absolute lemon.
He’d begun thinking of ways to extricate himself, but deep down something terminated every line of thought, every avenue of enquiry. It didn’t take him long to recognise his conscience at work. This was fair. This was his reward, exactly and precisely what he deserved, and his conscience wanted him to do the time that befitted his crime.
He stewed in his own juice for a couple of days.
He was resigned to his fate, and reading the biographies of the other members of the crew he could see between the lines, recognising now that in some way the same fate had befallen them all. This was purgatory, and they were all here to atone.
It was that thought that eventually brought him back to down to earth. It occured to him that he’d been a prisoner in his own quarters for a couple of days, and no-one had questioned it or come to look for him. He was just another apathetic in a crew of lost souls. In just a week he’d accepted that he was just another piece of flotsam jettisoned by the fleet into the dustbin that was the Tiger.
All these people. Were they all beyond redemption? Did they, like him, deserve their fate?
Perhaps all they needed was someone to believe in them they way they had probably once believed in themselves. Perhaps redemption was always within them, but just needed the right key to unlock it.
But this ship, this crew…… surely it was too great a challenge for anyone?
And so he found the key to his redemption. Meet the challenge of the Tiger. Save himself by saving this crew and this ship. Save himself by leading them all to redemption.
Chapter 5
Like all great challenges, the hardest thing was knowing where to start.
Until he understood who would come on board quickly and who would try to sabotage his plans (intentionally or merely through their own self-loathing or incompetence) he would have to act alone, and therefore he had to start within his own jurisdiction. It was time to talk to the Supply Chief.
Bearing in mind the Steward’s heart-felt warnings, Dave took the precaution of preparing thoroughly and doing research on the tasks that the Chief performed both on and off the record. Logically, finding anything about his “off the record” activities was a near impossibility, and it was apparent that the Chief covered his tracks carefully. Dave could find nothing in ship’s records, but knew that something was amiss as the transactions he’d reviewed on the Santiago were nothing like the records he could see now. Fortunately, his conversations with the Steward had given him a flavour of Chief Money’s operations and with that he figured he could bluff his way through what he couldn’t prove.
When he was confident he knew enough, he tried calling the Chief but each time he called Chief Money was either unavailable or off-duty. He checked the duty roster for the Supply Department and found that the Chief was predictably, off-duty. Checking further into the roster it seemed that the Chief was off duty a lot. In fact, the Chief wasn’t on duty at all in the current week’s roster.
Dave placed a query with the computer, which produced an entirely predictable result:
“Chief Rueben Money: No duties listed between given star-dates.”
It seemed the Chief was too busy to work. There was nothing for it. He’d have to make it a personal visit.
The computer ascertained that the Chief was on Deck 10, forward, which was where the main stores complex was. Clambering down the ladder and moving forward through the ship, Dave noticed increasing differences between his prior knowledge of the ship’s layout and what was actually here.
Before long he came to a bulkhead which he didn’t recognise. He tried moving back aft and then forward through another passageway, but this too was blocked at the forward end of the deck. After trying several different routes he finally came to a bulkhead in which a door was set, with a call button alongside it. He pressed the button.
“Stores. What do you want?” came the blunt reply.
“I need to speak to Chief Money”
A brief pause. “The Chief is off-duty at the moment. Is there anything else we can help you with?”
“Yes. You can open this door and let me in so I can speak to Chief Money.”
A slightly less brief pause: “The Chief ain’t here.”
“Then there’s someone here who has identical biometric functions that the computer has mistaken for the Chief, so open the door and I’ll speak to him instead”
A pause that was not at all brief. “The Chief is too busy to see you just now. If you leave a name I’ll let him know that you’re trying to contact him”
“This is Lieutenant-Commander Dave Hollins, your new Executive Officer. Chief Money reports directly to me, so I assume you do too. I’m quite happy to re-arrange the departmental roster so that you, the Chief and every member of the supply team is on double duty for the next month so the Chief will definitely have time in his schedule to speak to me. Do you think that might help?”
There was one final, grudging pause, and the door swished open.
Even with his limited experience of ship-board li
fe, Dave knew that this wasn’t how the stores department of a major Starship should look. Firstly, the bulkheads seemed to have been re-arranged at random, and with very little regard for aesthetics or craftsmanship. Secondly, the passageway he’d entered was crammed from deck to deck-head with transit crates, many of which had been crudely broken open to expose the most bizarre collection of….. stuff…. imaginable.
Ship issue uniforms were draped over bottles of Arcturian smelling salts. He saw plaster models of Saurian deities sharing a crate with Orioni porn discs and standard issue Starfleet pads. Bottles of exotic spirits rubbed shoulders with fine wines and crates of cheap beer. A variety of beachwear was hung on the wall with a leopard skin rug and several scuba diving suits. More bottles of spirits, wines exotic beers and different flavoured ciders were scattered apparently at random. Unidentified bits of machinery were jumbled up with very recognisable (and worryingly large) sex-toys. More beer.
A small penguin peered nervously around one of the crates at him. Dave opened a tin of sardines that he spotted amongst a crate of ice-hockey pucks, novelty condoms and lamp-shades, and crouched down to offer him one. After a moments hesitation the penguin gently took it from him and swallowed it hungrily. Dave couldn’t help but smile: “Well it’s nice to know there’s someone here who’s even more out of place than me.”
Among the piles of crates & detritous there was no obvious route forward and the supply team seemed to be reluctant to make itself known. Dave stepped hesitantly forward peering into compartments as he went, with the penguin following patiently behind, waiting for another sardine. Every room seemed to be filled with the same collection of mis-matched junk but just as Dave was beginning to run out of patience (and sardines), he heard voices and followed the sound to a large open space that he reckoned to be at the extreme forward end of the main hull.
The area was well lit and a half-dozen crewmen were unpacking crates, sorting the goods and then re-packing them, presumably for onward shipment. At the far end of the space up against the sloping hull of the ship a small office had been added, and through a window Dave spotted a small, balding, bespectacled man, in an immaculately pressed uniform who he immediately recognised as Chief Reuben Money.