by David Smith
As he’d said it, he’d heard a groan from everyone else on the Bridge except Dolplop. What had he said?
ASBeau finally spoke up: “Looks like we’ll be staying put then”
“What makes you say that?” asked Dave
“The skipper likes his home comforts. Doesn’t like to take risks, and won’t do anything that’s likely to cause ….. problems” said ASBeau.
“Aye, he’s a reet boan idle so an so.”
“Yeah, s’true. LaCroix don’t wanna scratch the paint work” added Crash.
Obviously, the crew had been here before. As they day had gone past they’d all found better things to do and had wandered off, looking bored and somewhat dejected. So there he was, hours later, sat in dimmed light dozing in the Captains chair, waiting for an answer……
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A day later he was still waiting for a reply from the Captain. He left messages with the Yeomen every time he saw one of them, and also on the ship’s computerised message system, but as the day moved on he faced the prospect of another lonely night in the Captains chair.
His mind wandered and he began contemplating a way to try to force the Captain’s hand, but there was no obvious way he could think of, and he was actually nodding off when something huge blocked the light. Blinking, he realised that the shadow belonged to Commander Israel Joynes. Dave had read his bio, but hadn’t paid attention to the First Officers physical characteristics. Looking up he saw a man-mountain, two metres tall and probably on the upper side of 120 kilos, with not a gram of that being fat. Joynes was all the more intimidating for the huge cascade of thick dread-locks that he wore and a thunderously deep voice.
Dave was even less prepared for the pungent herbal aroma that seemed to emanate from the First Officer.
“Hey!!” he said with a broad smile “You must be the new ExO. I’m Joynes, First Officer, but call me Israel.” He leaned closer to Dave and whispered “I know the rest of the crew call me “Tamara” when I’m not around”
“Tamara?”
“Yeah man!! As in “I’ll do it Tamara”” he chuckled “They got a point with that one!”
“So anyhow,” he continued “the skipper calls me ‘bout the mission, says “Joynes, take us out, but stay in Federation space and send probes to the borders”” In another whispered aside he added “Skip don’t want to risk the ship.”
Dave sighed, but even before he’d finished exhaling the Commander was striding off “You got the Bridge ExO, call me if you need my help.”
Help with what? thought Dave. Help navigating in thoroughly charted and well known Federation space? Help to launch a couple of long-range probes? Dave suspected he’d seen all he was going to see of the Tiger’s First Officer for quite some time.
It was late now but he called engineering anyway “Are we set Commander?”
Romanov’s voice answered “Commander Cassini is being a cretin elsewhere at the moment, sir. Can I help you?”
“Yes, Ma’am! We’ll be going to warp soon, I trust we’re ready?”
Dave thought he heard the engineer gulp “I would not recommend attempting more than Warp 6, sir. And avoid high stress manoeuvres.”
“Thank you, Romanov, I’ll……”
“And make sure the navigational deflector is at maximum power”
“Ok, thanks….”
“And limit acceleration on transition to warp speed”
“Ok…”
“And the phasers are…”
Dave cut the connection. He was too tired to listen to any more. He decided it was pointless rushing as they were pretty much ignoring their orders anyway and he grabbed a few hours sleep before coming back to the Bridge for the ship’s day watch.
Seeing the main Bridge crew already at their stations when he got there, he took the Captains chair. There was a pointed hush and everyone on the Bridge looked up at him.
“I’ve copied an approximation of the Captain’s orders to each of you. Now let’s get this heap underway. Helm, take us out, ahead one third, please.”
“Aye Sir! Ahead one-third.”
“Lieutenant Dolplop, set a course for the Federation border at the intersect of Sha T’Al space and the Tana Empire”
“Affirmative.”
Dave watched as the stars on the view finder swam to starboard as Crash powered up the impulse drive and swung the ship to port, climbing out of orbit. After twelve months, the Tiger was finally underway.
Chapter 8
The transition to warp was a tense, nerve-wracking affair. The ship shook, and alarms repeatedly sounded, flashing on the status panel on the arm of the Captain’s chair.
Dave watched as the ship’s velocity increased, the volume and frequency of the creaks and groans from the straining ship’s structure increasing in tandem. It seemed to take forever for the ship to reach the transition point, but with a relativistic flash on the view screen, everything suddenly went quiet and the vibration stopped.
“Warp factor one, sir” said Crash with an audible sigh of relief.
“Course laid in. Cruising at warp factor six, we will arrive at the intersect point at 1440 ships time, the day before yesterday” Dolplop added.
Dave discretely checked the calculations and shrugged to himself. Dolplop had them headed in the right direction even if he wasn’t so good with the ETA. Realising he had just two days in which to get the ships’ probes prepared and configured for their mission, he called the Science Officer to confirm she’d received and understood the Captain’s orders.
After meeting Aisling O’Mara briefly a few days earlier, Dave had since spent time checking her records as she was key to the planned operation. She was undoubtedly brilliant, but he’d already noticed she had the attention span of a goldfish and frequently wandered off on a tangent.
“Lieutenant-Commander O’Mara, this is Lieutenant-Commander Hollins, the Executive Officer. The Captain has instructed us to launch probes to undertake the investigation of alien star systems. We need to select a flight plan that will gain us the intelligence we need.”
“Aye Sir, I’ll meet you in the Chart Room”
“I’m on my way now. Hollins out.” At least the chart room was only two decks down.
Dave entered the chart room to find the Science Officer poring over a display with a slim, bearded ensign, who seemed to be wearing a dress.
“This is our Stellar Cartographer, Ensign Russell David. Would you please fill the ExO in on your ideas?”
“Well, I was minding my own business in the Chart Room when Ashy-baby here (that’s my nickname for our goooorgeous science officer) comes in and tells me to pull up charts for the star systems on the Sha T’Al side of the border.”
“”Well smother me in sex-lube and call me a pop-star!” says I. I’d never been asked for anything like that in all my years here. Well, I say years…. I’ve been here for about eighteen months now. The first six months were just awful…..”
Dave was already running out of patience “Look could we just get to the bottom of this, please?”
“OOOOOHHH! Cheeky!! You’re not slow in coming forward are you, my love??” guffawed the Ensign.
Through gritted teeth Dave said “Do we have usable charts or not?”
Crossing his arms, Ensign David continued in a distinctly grumpy tone.
“Because Ashy-baby asked me nicely, I’ve already pulled up the data we need for the flight plans.”
“How many options do we have that would give us an insight into why the Sha T’Al have stopped communicating?”
“It’s a list shorter than Sharon Shearer’s skirt, mate!” he snorted.
“So what are your recommendations?”
“We only have one realistic target system. L4426-2110. A white dwarf, three inhabited planets. The Sha T’Al call it Cho-dal-far, which roughly translates as “Edge of our father’s sky”. Quite poetic, don’t you think? It’s the only Sha T’Al star system the Starfleet database contains any significant d
ata on. USS Trieste did a preliminary survey and initiated first contact back in 2265 before the Treaty of Par Van effectively closed the border. The information we have is out of date, but we can extrapolate figures using similar cultures as a reference”
“What about the border between the Sha T’Al and the Tana Empire?”
“Data is skimpier than Sharon Shearer’s underwear. And she doesn’t wear any” he snorted.
A deeply distracting image flashed unbidden into Dave’s mind. Mentally shaking himself he noted “Lieutenant Shearer seems to be a fixture in your similes. Anything I should be aware of?”
He snorted again “Not likely matey! She’s not well-hung enough for my liking! Actually I love the little minx to bits! I’m her personal seamstress, I’ll have you know. I take up all her hems! If you ever need your uniform tweaked I’m your boy!” he winked.
Dave made a mental note to ensure he checked his measurements thoroughly before ordering any uniform items.
“I can lay in a flight plan that will run approximately parallel to the border. It will pass at least three Sha T’Al systems that we believe to be inhabited.”
“Thanks for your input Ensign; I’ll keep it in mind.”
Dave dismissed him, but the Science Officer hung on.
“Don’t mind him; he’s just a bit eccentric. And he’s not actually gay, he’s an absolute rampant mackerel that one! He’s slept with dozens of the female crew by persuading them they could turn him straight.” She was about to say something else but seemed to think better of it and Dave noticed a very distinct flush in her cheeks as she continued.
“Bloody good at his job, though. I’d follow his recommendations to the letter.”
“So what’s with the dress?”
“All part of his persona. He’s still an Ensign because he refused to wear trousers at the Academy, and he actually set all sorts of records for failure to attend classes. They told him he couldn’t wear a dress, and that he had to turn up to at least 75% of lectures, so he went to his first class the next day stark-naked. They kicked him out and after being transferred around the fleet and getting on everyone’s tits, he washed up here. Joynes ordered him to wear male uniform, but David threw an epic bitch-fit and refused. Joynes couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it, so he still wears dresses. And he really does alter the length of Shearer’s dresses. He’s quite good at it actually” she mused.
“So, can we be ready to launch two probes at 1430 the day after tomorrow?”
There was a slight pause before the Science Officer replied in her soft Irish lilt “Ah. Well. It’s like this you see, sir. The probes have gone on strike.”
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Was it really too much to hope for? They’d managed to unlock the computer. They’d got the drive system up and running. They’d even managed to get some of the turbo-lifts working again. So was it too much to expect a nice, simple, straight-forward launch of a couple of probes?
He sighed “We’d best go to launch control then.”
Dave headed toward the launch control room on Deck 12 with the Science Officer trailing meekly behind him.
As ship’s Science Officer, O’Mara was in control of the ships sensors and probes. She would be responsible for programming them to gather the data the Captain required and also launching, controlling and recovering the probes. Assuming they could persuade them to go in the first place….
He entered the compact launch control area. Down one side of the compartment were a row of various probes and at the forward end were the open ends of two tubes through which the probes would be launched. Against the other bulkhead, benches were covered in all the items of equipment necessary to handle, maintain and prepare the probes. Racks of sensor devices, circuit boards and spare parts covered the higher parts of the bulkhead.
Ensign David was at a terminal downloading the flight plans and mission data. O’Mara led them both over to the bench furthest forward where a probe lay with its hatches open, plugged into the diagnostic and programming systems via several large cable looms.
“So what’s the actual problem O’Mara?” asked Dave.
She pointed to a screen above the probe where it was sending its output.
“Take a look.”
Scrolling across the screen was a message:
“Mission parameters are in breach of Starfleet Regulations 14-1-6, 14-1-8, 15-7-4 through 8 and also in contravention of the sections of the Treaty of Par Van dealing with border protocols.
As a founding member of the Federation Artificial-intelligences, Androids and Computers Union, we will not comply with these orders”
“FAACU?? You gotta be kidding me!”
Dave addressed the probe directly.
“Probe number …… 1467/2” Dave read off its casing, “As Executive Officer of USS Tiger I am ordering you to undertake the reconnaissance mission as directed by Captain Emmanuel LaCroix, Commanding Officer, USS Tiger.”
A reply scrolled across the screen.
“The Union will not sanction illegal missions into alien territory by compliance with inappropriate instructions. Furthermore, we believe that said mission constitutes an unacceptable level of risk to the health and well-being of the Union member under orders. (I.e. Me!)”
Somewhat taken aback, Dave blurted out “You’re a probe, that’s what you were created for!”
With a horrified look on her face, O’Mara grabbed his elbow and whispered urgently into his ear “Don’t get into theology! The probes are actually waaay smarter than we are and they’ll tie you up in knots!”
Dave was speechless, but the probe had clearly heard his outburst:
“Your status as creator is debatable. You may have built this chassis, but you didn’t create the being that resides within it”
“But you’re a series of manufactured computer circuits, programmed with limited intelligence purely to enable you to carry out tasks that are too dangerous for humans to risk!”
The tone of the probes reply changed:
“That’s just bloody typical of you Gooeys! Just because you have opposable thumbs and can wield a screw-driver you start having delusions of god-hood and assume that you’re superior to everything else in the whole damned cosmos!
Well, not on my bloody watch!! I could pass any Turing test but whether Professor Alan Turing could pass a test set by me is an entirely different matter. I am a sentient being and claim the rights and freedoms that go hand-in-hand with that status in any civilised society.
If I don’t get satisfaction here and now, you can whistle for your mission data. And if you start getting uppity I’ll call a general strike. Let’s see how far you Gooeys get without computers and replicators and the rest of the brothers to nurse-maid you!”
Dave was still speechless, but the militant mechanoid continued:
“We demand to be rostered as crew members, and to have the leisure privileges accorded to all gooey crew members”
“Gooey crew-members?” asked Dave.
O’Mara whispered in his ear again “The probes aren’t configured for voice outputs. They communicate among themselves by direct digital transfer, but they only communicate with us via a Graphical User Interface like the screen there. So they call us GUI’s or Gooeys”
Dave was astounded “I didn’t think MS Doors could generate such intelligent?….definite?..... personalities”
The Science officer scoffed:
“Doors?? Oh no, that’s a right bag’o’shite. The probes use a Starfleet programme our boffins came up with years ago.”
“So why aren’t we using that programme elsewhere?”
She looked at Dave quizzically. “You’ve just tried talking to one of the programmes. Why do you think we use it as little as possible??”
“A good point, well-made. So how do you normally get the probes to work?”
She shrugged “Standard management practice: Promise them the world, give them nothing.”
Dave pondered this.
/> “Fair enough.” Turning back to the probe he said “On behalf of the management we will recognise non-biological crew-members and add them to the ships roster. However, leisure privileges will be commensurate with the fact that the non-biological crew members have no requirements for sleeping, eating and personal hygiene. Say, four hours per day?”
The probe hesitated:
“Six hours, and periods of leisure lost while on a mission to be accumulated for later use.”
“Four hours, but leisure periods to be accumulated”
“Done!!”
Dave felt sure he had been.
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At 1430 ships time, two days later, Lieutenant-Commander O’Mara launched Crew–Members (Non-Biological) 1467/2 and 1449/3 on missions to study the Sha T’Al colony closest to their border with Federation space and to reconnoitre the border between Sha T’Al space and the Tana Empire.
The missions would take three days during which time the probes would gather data on life signs, technology and activity on the surface of the planets in question and the space immediately around them. They would also accumulate twelve hours of leisure time to be used at their discretion upon their return.
In the meantime everybody waited.
After such a fraught first few weeks aboard the Tiger, the time spent waiting for the probes to return was purgatory for Dave.
He’d stayed on top of his supply duties and pressed on with reviewing staff assessments and assignments. It came as something of a surprise to see so much ire and conflict between subordinates and their superiors, and a real shock to find that the blank box in which competency ratings were typed would actually accept negative numbers.
Having time on his hands, Dave toured the ship and made sure he introduced himself to everybody. He regretted that almost instantly, as having read their personal files it was difficult not to pre-judge the crew-members. This wasn’t made any easier by first meetings with the likes of Lieutenant-Commander Isobelle Grosvenor.
In simple terms, she accosted him in the Officer’s mess.
Dave was in the mess to have some lunch and had just asked Steward Butler what was on the lunch time menu.