by David Smith
Chief Burns took exception to the behaviour and knocked three crew men out cold before catching Ensign David as he tried to exit the galley. Chief Belle had arrived to find the Chief pinning Ensign David against the wall by the throat and about to hit him. She tasered the Chief, then tasered Ensign David and about a dozen others for good measure.
Up in front of Dave and ASBeau at a disciplinary hearing after a day and night in the now crowded brig, the Chief and Ensign still bickered over who was at fault.
“I’m fed up of being stuck on this stupid, pointless patrol, and I’m fed up of eating the same crap week in, week out” moaned Ensign David.
“And I’m fed up of you whinging bloody scrotes complaining about the food. You know we can’t come up with anything else ‘til the engineers sort out the replicators, so what the fuck do you expect??” roared the Chief.
“You singled me out though didn’t you?!? You just hate me ‘cause I’m gay!!” said David in an increasing shrill tone.
“Look,” said the chef apologetically, “I don’t hate you 'cause you’re gay.”
He then fixed him with a stare that promised eternal hatred “I HATE YOU ‘CAUSE YOU’RE SUCH A TOTAL FUCKING TOSS-POT!!
“ENOUGH!!” shouted Dave.
He rubbed his throbbing temple. This was getting ridiculous.
“Another day and night for each in the brig. Dock pay credits for the same period. And Chief Belle?”
“Yes ExO?”
“For pity’s sake, make sure they’re in cells as far apart as possible.”
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Dave could see the signs. For all their faults they were still Starfleet personnel and sitting inactive while the Sha T’Al faced invasion or even extinction went against the grain.
Within a matter of days ASBeau had stopped going to the Bridge, and Crash snored loudly at his station in the lengthy periods between course changes. Dave suffered as much as anyone, knowing that what they were doing (or more specifically NOT doing) was wrong, but hamstrung by a chain of command that was more like a noose.
The levels of frustration were mounting and he had to do something before the ship and crew imploded. He decided to raise the matter with the ship’s Doctor.
“Commander, I’m worried about the morale of the crew. We’re seeing increasing incidence of disciplinary issues, particularly in terms of personal conflict and dereliction of duty. Have you seen anything like this before?”
“No.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Chief Belle would be happy to shoot a few people.”
“I think that would make things worse.”
“She could shoot a lot of people?”
“You’re not helping me.”
“ExO, each person deals with frustration in their own way. I know personally I like to get dressed in PVC, take a very, very large….”
“OK, FINE, yes, I see that” he interrupted.
Thinking about this Dave looked at how he dealt with his own frustrations. Normally a night on the tiles and a hangover so bad it made anything else seem pleasant. He realised he was talking to the wrong person. He needed to speak to PO Starr.
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“A Party?? Hell, YES!! What’s the occasion?”
Dave didn’t want to describe it as a morale booster; calling it that would inevitably lead to its failure.
“Computer, are there any significant anniversaries coming up in the next week?”
“In the next week there are three crew members with wedding anniversaries, seven with birthdays and one with child birth imminent.”
“Anything coming up in the same period that might be of interest to the whole crew, rather than individuals?”
“There are many public holidays, religious festivals and historical dates. However, in terms of relevance to the entire crew, none of these are likely to be significant.”
“Is there anything within the ships history or Starfleet history we might consider?”
“Tomorrow is the anniversary of the cessation of hostilities in the 2255 border war with the Patrokans. The day after is the third anniversary of Commander Joynes and Chief Burns destruction of USS Fargo,…”
“WHAT??”
“Both Commander Joynes and Chief Burns were previously assigned to USS Fargo. On Stardate 7745 Chief Burns was experimenting with a dish he described as haggis flambé when he lost control of the situation. A fire broke out in the Galley which the Chief was unable to contain due to his advanced state of inebriation. Unfortunately, Commander Joynes had deliberately disabled both the ships fire alarms and the automated fire protection systems to enable him to smoke cannabis in his quarters.”
“The fire reached Chief Burns personal cache of alcoholic beverages and the ensuing explosion destroyed the Galley, the Mess Deck and also an adjacent ventilation compartment. It then spread through the ventilation system to the science laboratories on Deck 2. The Botanics Lab was at that time filled with plants with known narcotic qualities that were allegedly grown at Commander Joynes request.”
“The fire in this area released large quantities of smoke that rendered the remaining crew incapable or uncaring with regard to damage control. Many were heard to say such things as “Far-out, man”, “I am sooooo wasted” and “Have you got anything to eat?””
“External emergency teams with full environmental suits eventually brought the fire under control, but the main hull was gutted, rendering the vessel beyond economic repair. It was towed away for scrapping immediately after the completion of the board of investigation’s hearing.”
Well, that explained a lot thought Dave.
“That day is also the first anniversary of USS Tiger breaking the speed record for Starfleet “Constitution” class vessels….”
“Bingo! We have a winner! Starr, the day after tomorrow we celebrate the Tiger’s one and only moment of glory!”
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Perhaps not surprisingly, PO Starr had what he described as “contingency response plans for unexpected parties” and within forty-eight hours had organised absolutely everything.
He commandeered the Recreation Deck on Deck 8, decorated it, laid on entertainment and arranged a free bar (with the alcohol from Deck 10 that had so far obstinately refused to leave the ship). He even arranged food, pulling in many favours to import food from Hole as he wanted the crew to enjoy themselves without the ever-present risk of haggis-poisoning. He laid out seating plans, posted invitations and even got one of the engineers to cast four-hundred and fifty bronze commemorative coins of the Tiger’s sole exploit of note. Each showed the ships crest, emblazoned with the words “USS Tiger: Fastest Ship in the Fleet”
Dave wondered how such a talented and skilled organiser had ever wound up so far from civilisation, but a check of his personal records showed the predictable disciplinary issues. The final straw was when he was caught having sex in zero-gravity in the engine room of his previous posting with three female members of the crew.
His CO had needed to sterilise the entire engine room (body fluids in zero-g? Ewwww!!) before exiling PO Starr to the Tiger.
Dave noted that most of the PO’s assistants were: a) female b) young/nubile and c) completely smitten. The Steward later confided that PO Starr had slept with more of the female crew than the Captain had, but hadn’t needed to pull rank to do so.
What did come as a surprise was that the officer most keen to help organise the party was the feisty Liaison Officer. As soon as she heard about the proposed celebration, she was literally banging on the door of the Stores Department to find out what she could do to help.
Dave did his bit for the event by rigging the duty rosters. Enlisting the help of the still incarcerated PO Park, he found a way to leave the Captain in charge on the Bridge (with duty delegated to Lieutenant Dolplop) and Commander Cassini in charge of engineering.
He found a few odd individuals who couldn’t or wouldn’t participate and persuaded, cajoled or just out-and-out bribed
them to fill the rest of the duty watch positions.
The party was scheduled for 2100 ship’s time and in accordance with PO Starr’s recommendation, uniforms and ranks were banned for the night. Lieutenant-Commander Grosvenor appointed herself “meeter and greeter in chief” and she, Dave and PO Starr were there early to add the last few finishing touches before the nights festivities got underway.
Dave and Rick Starr both turned up in a simple classic tuxedo, but Dave was pleasantly surprised to see the Liaison Officer arrive in a flowing green silk ball-gown. It fitted closely around her body accentuating her curves before falling away in loose layers around her legs, with a split to reveal the pale skin of her legs and dangerously high heels.
Most attractive of all though was the wide smile that she wore. When she smiled her face lit up, and as the three of them chatted he could sense her excitement and good-humour. He could now understand the Stewards previous comments about her being the life and soul of a party.
They breathed a collective sigh of relief as the crew started drifting in at 2100, and Dave was delighted to see that everyone had made a real effort for the occasion. Like himself, most of the male crew members had gone for the classic tuxedo, but the ladies seemed to have gone out of their way to come in every possible style and colour of dress.
By 2200 the party was in full swing. Dave decided not to drink much as he needed to gauge the mood of the crew, but Lieutenant-Commander Grosvenor set a frantic pace, downing one neat vodka after another.
Once satisfied that things were going to plan, Dave positioned himself near the bar, knowing that this was the one place everybody was sure to visit at some stage during the night, and watched as the crew unwound and let their hair down.
The Steward had insisted on serving at the bar and suggested to Dave that his most frequent customers of the night would be Lieutenant-Commander Grosvenor, Lieutenant-Commander Romanov and Chief Burns. Dave could see the truth of this within the first hour of the party and on her 8th visit (for a double vodka, Dave noted) Grosvenor approached him.
“I believe I owe you an apology” she said simply.
“Sorry??”
She took his arm and leaned into him. Dave was instantly aware of how warm she felt against him, and he could soon smell her perfume too.
“I was a bit abrupt when we first met. I’m not really that bad once you get to know me, it’s just that I’ve been so…..frustrated here.”
She took a deep breath before continuing. “When I joined the Fleet’s Diplomatic Corps I had all these grand notions about being the person who would meet alien cultures and societies and bind them together. I really, really wanted to be someone who would make a difference, someone who could bring peace and understanding”
Her eyes were shining as she spoke, and Dave knew the words came from her heart.
“I got involved in an..…incident…. at my first posting and I’ve never lived it down. It was at a system that was keen to join the Federation, called Lapanis……”
“The Lapanis Incident???”
She looked crest-fallen “Oh. You’ve heard about it then?”
“It was a fairly brutal inter-planetary war that destroyed two societies!”
She paused, and stared at her feet.
“It wasn’t all my fault” she mumbled.
Shaking herself mentally she continued “I thought being posted here to the Tiger I could redeem myself by building a relationship with the Sha T’Al or even the Tana, but here we are fifteen months down the road and this is only the second time we’ve been out of orbit.”
“Everyone’s been busy, even if they are wasting time and effort. Even the Captain isn’t a bad person, he just doesn’t want to be involved the same way I do. And I’ve been sat here all this time with nothing to do but dream about contact with the Sha T’Al. A spare wheel on a ship full of spare wheels. I guess the frustration kind of boiled over. So I’m sorry….”
“Lieutenant-Co…”
“Shhh! Call me Izzy. Please.”
“Izzy, it’s not your fault, I think everyone here today feels the same. That’s the whole point of this party. Let all the frustrations go, get things off our collective chests. Thanks for being my first success” he smiled.
“Anyway, I’ve bored you enough for the night” she said trying to discretely wipe a tear from her eye.
“I promise to be nicer to you from now on” and she smiled again.
Almost as an after-thought, she put her hand around the back of his head and standing on her tip-toes, stretched up and planted a very gentle kiss on his cheek.
Before Dave could say anything, she’d spun on her heels and disappeared into the crowd.
“She’s a real live-wire that one.”
Dave turned to find the Transporter Chief, Andy Carstairs beside him.
“Very attractive too, in her own way” he mused.
“Not your type then, Andy? How about Olga Romanov?” Dave said nodding in the direction of the tiny engineer.
“Nah” said Andy shaking his head “Did you know her staff call her the Event Horizon? Once you get on the wrong side of her there’s absolutely no coming back…..”
“No I didn’t know that, I’ll consider myself fore-warned! What about Skye L’Amour?” asked Dave as the little kiwi wandered past them.
“Hell No!” said the chief, “She’s an absolute man-eater that one. I don’t think I could handle her.”
“Really?? She seemed quite pleasant….” said Dave gazing at her tiny but perfect body, in a long flowing tie-died dress which seemed to consist of long slashes held together with thin strips of fabric. Each time she moved, she revealed a different slice of enticing flesh, in a manner that was hugely provocative without making her look cheap. Through them Dave could make out several large and exotic tattoos on her pale skin.
“Oh! Don’t get me wrong, she’s a lovely girl, will do anything for anyone, absolutely no malice in her at all. But she’s a clinical nymphomaniac. She’ll shag anything in trousers: spends more time on her back than Rip Van Winkle.”
“Easy then?”
“We’re talking a multi-choice test where all the answers are the same. You could start an artificial insemination business with the contents of her stomach…..” he mused absently “Nah! There’s only one woman here who pushes my button.”
“Do tell!” cajoled Dave.
“And there she is now…” he sighed.
Dave followed the Chiefs gaze, and saw a striking figure sailing through the crowd. At first, he didn’t recognise her. She towered over the other women present and stood out in a flame-red chiffon dress with a plunging neck-line that revealed truly spectacular cleavage. The dress pulled in close at her tiny waist before flowing out across curvy hips.
Her blonde hair was swept up above her in loose curls that were simple but stylish, and she moved with an easy grace that hinted at great strength. The only thing that made her even remotely recognisable out of uniform were the obligatory mirror finish sun-glasses.
“Now THAT is a woman” sighed the Chief.
She flowed to the other end of the bar and ordered herself a large Bourbon.
“She’s certainly a striking figure” admitted Dave.
“Yeah, and you should see her bazookas!” nodded the Chief.
Dave blinked “You mean…you’ve ….err….did she….”
Andy’s eyes widened as he realised he’d been misunderstood.
“No! No, nothing like that! I mean actual bazookas. She collects antique weapons, got bazookas, gatling guns, swords, lasers, long-bows, grenade launchers…. If she was to declare her quarters as an independent sovereign territory, we’d have to let her secede. We couldn’t possibly risk war with such a heavily-armed state.”
“So are you going to talk to her?”
Andy winced “Maybe later”
He caught the quizzical look in Dave’s eyes and confessed “I tried chatting her up once before. Made the mistake of copping a sly feel
of her bum. I woke up on the floor with concussion and a dislocated shoulder. I need to approach her with extreme caution.”
“Good luck with that, mate!”
Andy wandered off and Dave spent the next couple of hours chatting casually at the bar with anyone who stopped by. All the time he was working, trying to gauge attitudes and opinions about what they were doing and what they should be doing. It made for quite a lonely night.
By midnight he’d lost count of Izzy’s visits to the bar. He’d got as far as fifteen, but could only estimate somewhere between twenty and twenty-five now. Not too far away Chief Burns stood in full Scots regalia, chatting to Olga Romanov. The huge ginger Scot towered above the tiny Russian who appeared even smaller than usual in a simple short black dress. Despite the difference in size, Dave noticed that the engineer was matching the chef drink for drink, whisky for vodka and holding it stupendously well.
To his surprise Israel Joynes had come down to the party and Dave saw him chatting to Izzy and Chief Deng whilst chugging on a bottle of antique Caribbean rum and dragging on some sort of huge herbal cigarette. Skye L’Amour joined them and flirted very obviously with the First Officer.
She was already relaxed and happy and seemed to be swapping cigarettes with Israel. They also swapped drinks and a variety of pills, before disappearing for around an hour. Skye came back looking very flushed, but almost immediately hooked up with another handsome crewman.
He was still people watching when he was distracted by the opening of the compartment doors. Lieutenant Shearer was the last person to arrive, and Dave would have assumed this was a deliberate ploy to ensure she was the centre of attention, if it wasn’t for the look of utter embarrassment on her face as every eye in the room, male and female, swivelled towards her.
She stepped into the room, radiantly beautiful, dressed in a teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy slinky, shiny black dress that fitted like a second skin. Her shoulders were bare and the side of the dress had lace panels that revealed perfect smooth skin. She was, without a shadow of doubt, the most beautiful woman in the room, probably in the entire sector and quite possibly the rest of the Federation.
All eyes stared at her and she seemed to wilt under their cumulative weight. Flushing more and more pink, she tottered over to the bar, keeping her own eyes firmly fixed on her feet and ordered herself a pint of ”Nook a-sell broonail”.