Tiger- Crusade

by David Smith

‘Twenty-five?? I thought it was only Starr and Viera??’

  Shearer checked back and shrugged ‘Twent efyve awright. Ah’ll askem foora rosta.’

  There was a slight pause as Santiago’s First Officer transferred the data, and Shearer looked over it.

  ‘Oh’ she said, and forwarded the data to the rest of the Bridge crew.

  ASBeau looked over the names ‘Well, I’ll be . . . they’ve brought the damned hookers with them!’

  He paused as he got to the bottom of the list and spotted five names he didn’t recognise. ‘Who the hell are . . . Bean, Boor, Reckless, Wilde and Rice?’

  With a heart-felt sigh, Dave roused himself and headed to the Transporter Room. ‘I don’t know, but the way things are going, it would seem likely that they’re going to be trouble.’

  --------------------

  By the time Dave reached the Transporter Room, Chief Carstairs had already transported the first twelve personnel aboard.

  They were milling around the small compartment, and Dave sighed again as he cast an eye over the ‘crew-members’.

  They were on the ship’s roster as ‘Locally Recruited Enlisted Personnel’ and were nominally extra medical staff.

  In reality, they were hookers recruited from god-knows-where by Chief Reuben Money, and who provided ‘entertainment services’ in the desolate, excitement-starved colony that was Tiger’s home-port.

  Dave had never really come to any conclusion as to what to do with them. They’d been aboard Tiger a lot longer than he had, and in truth, they did no harm to anyone.

  However, a more motley crew he couldn’t imagine. As he stepped into the compartment, he nearly bumped into Crewman Yvette Descoteaux, more commonly known by her working name, ‘Annie Coqueldo’. Yvette was a Canadian ice-hockey groupie who was only in her early thirties, but looked much older. She’d had a hard life both before and after going on the game. Next to her was Anna Lee (which apparently was her real name)

  Anna was tiny Malay who was twenty years old but looked much, much younger. Dave knew that her life had been even harder than Yvette’s, being trafficked as a child sex-slave by an unscrupulous Japanese Yakuza. She’d been rescued at just fourteen years of age, but had drifted back into prostitution almost immediately. It was all she had ever known.

  Such hard-luck stories were rife among the working girls, and Dave knew that some subconscious empathy had probably been the real reason he’d let them stay aboard Tiger. They were part of the ship’s family too.

  Chief Carstairs was being his usual self and flirting shamelessly with Crewman Sandra McQuarrie (or ‘Rhoda Willey’ as she referred to herself.) McQuarrie was a slim attractive brunette who was blessed with disproportionately large breasts. Carstairs was grinning broadly as he stared unashamedly at McQuarrie’s huge boobs. Over the noise of the crowd, Dave heard him say ‘If one of those puppies is for sale I’ll have the one with the pink nose’ just before the Transporter Chief spotted him and hastily turned away from McQuarrie. Carstairs cleared his throat. ‘G’Day Sir!’ he said cheerfully. ‘The party’s all here sir, if you’ll pardon the expression’ he added with a wink.

  Dave nodded ‘Thanks Chief. Kinda hard to miss it really’ before fighting his way through the crowd to find PO Rik Starr.

  The ladies had all been issued with fleet uniforms, but few ever bothered with them, choosing to wear working attire more in line with their particular profession. Both Descoteaux and Lee were wearing thigh boots and short denim skirts with skimpy vest-tops. McQuarrie was wearing a skin-tight white lycra body-stocking and apparently no underwear, showing off her very impressive physique.

  Dave squeezed past Crewman Morgan Halfpenny (also known as Myfanwy Swett) who was wearing a tiny lace halter top and the tightest pair of PVC shorts Dave had ever seen. She didn’t move out of Dave’s way, impishly forcing him to squeeze past her, and squeaking with feigned surprise and delight as he did.

  Crewman Halfpenny was one of Tiger’s eighteen clinically certified nymphomaniacs and far and away Chief Money’s least successful employee. She wasn’t in it for the money: she was indulging her hobby. That said, she was warm, funny, beautiful and the only person on the whole ship who was entirely happy with the attention she received from PO Carver’s sexually incontinent guide-dog.

  Levering her to one side, Dave spotted PO Starr, but before he could reach him a small bespectacled officer stepped in front of him. He saluted smartly and Dave felt obliged to respond in the same fashion. As he did so, the officer introduced himself.

  ‘You must be Commander Hollins. I’m Lieutenant-Commander Boor, Forensic Accountant, Starfleet Finance.’

  He held a hand out to introduce someone, who dutifully stepped out from behind him to stand where Boor’s hand was indicating. ‘This is my colleague, Lieutenant Bean.’

  Bean was even smaller then Boor although equally bespectacled. He saluted nervously and uncomfortably, and Dave immediately wondered how on earth such a person had ended up in Starfleet.

  A smarmy smile appeared on Boor’s thin lips. ‘Captain B’Stard has requested our presence to undertake a review of your ships accounts: she believes there are several . . . anomalies.’

  Dave gulped involuntarily: ‘anomalies’ didn’t even begin to describe the morass that constituted the ships accounts. It was a bit like saying an ocean might be a little moist . . .

  ‘We’ll be working with the Judge Advocate General’s team so we’ll need quarters, office space and amenities in the same area’ said Boor expectantly.

  Dave sighed. ‘Of course: I’ve housed the Captain and her staff on Deck 5, I’ll ask the Steward to allocate you quarters. Speak to the Transporter Chief and he’ll ask one of the Stewards staff to escort you.’

  They wandered off and Dave finally reached PO Rik Starr, who he’d left in charge of the crew-members Tiger had disembarked at Hole some nine months previously.

  Rik Starr saw Dave and stood to attention, saluting smartly as he did so.

  ‘Hola, Sir! It’s good to be back!’ he said with a broad grin.

  Dave had no time for niceties. ‘What the hell is going on Starr? I asked you and Viera to get back to the ship.’

  The PO looked confused. ‘Sorry sir, we got here just as soon as we could?’

  Dave leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘Why the hell did you bring the working girls??’

  Starr shrugged ‘You just said that you were short of crew and you needed us back aboard soon as possible. You didn’t say not to bring the girls?’

  ‘They’re not part of the crew!’ complained Dave.

  ‘Actually they are sir, all officially rostered and on Starfleet’s payroll’ argued Starr.

  ‘Yes . . . but . . . ‘ Dave realised that in his haste he hadn’t been specific about this.

  Before he could think of a way to continue the discussion, Starr lowered his voice and spoke urgently. ‘Has Lieutenant-Commander Boor spoken to you yet?’

  Dave immediately had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Yes. Why?’

  Starr moved closer ‘He’s been on Hole for a couple weeks, and had interviewed me a couple of times. I think I covered up pretty well, but when he didn’t get any joy with me, he started talking to the civilians on Hole.’

  ‘OH CRAP!!’ Dave immediately recognised the problem. Chief Money had been trading with civilian population on Hole with considerable success, but not even remotely within Fleet Regulations. He was a shyster of the highest order, and Dave doubted there was an authentic, legitimate transaction recorded anywhere in the ships accounts.

  Dave rubbed his temples and grumbled ‘Aww, hell! Why did you have to bring them to the party?’

  Starr shrugged. ‘Sorry, sir, no choice. They’re travelling on Fleet business and we couldn’t refuse them transport.’

  ‘Well who are the other three who came across with you? They aren’t fleet personnel!’ Dave grumbled.

  Starr visibly stiffened. ‘Ah’ he said, and Dave instinctively knew
he wasn’t going to like what was to follow.

  Starr leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘They’re from the Union sir.’

  ‘WHAT?!?’ said Dave a little too loudly before dropping his voice and repeating himself ‘What? What the hell are they doing here?’

  ‘Well sir, it seems that Commander Cassini and the Captain have upset quite a few of the crew over the last couple of years, and the grievances have stacked up enough that the Union thought it was actually worth sending a couple of senior representatives to investigate the claims in person.’

  ‘So they paid for three of their officials . . . ‘

  ‘Not three, sir, only two’ Starr voice dropped even lower. ‘That’s the worst part of it sir. The third member of the party isn’t a Union official . . . ‘ Starr bobbed his head up to make sure he wasn’t being overheard ‘ . . . she’s a Lawyer!’

  Dave had an involuntary sharp intake of breath: if there was one thing that was absolutely guaranteed to cause conflict and disharmony, it was a legal dispute. ‘OH CRAP!’

  Dave’s mind raced. ‘Do we know for sure who she’s after?’

  ‘No sir, they’re all playing their cards very close to their chests. All we know is that they’ve come this way with the specific intention of meeting with Crewman Voltaire.’

  Dave could feel his temples throbbing. Sylvain ‘Citizen’ Voltaire was the very worst type of barrack-room lawyer who delighted in argument for its own sake. Dave had only met him a few times, and every meeting had gone from being a discussion over a minor issue raised by one of the crew, through heated debate, onto one-sided diatribes about class warfare before eventually descending into name-calling and insults.

  Voltaire had served on a dozen ships and never lasted more than six months on each until he’d reached the bottom of the barrel: USS Tiger. Rumour had it that even the union detested him, but they put-up with his more extreme behaviour is it made them look sensible and reasonable.

  Dave was still wallowing in self-pity when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself facing a rotund, swarthy individual, with thinning greasy hair who was sweating profusely in the over-crowded space. He stank.

  Behind him stood a thin, grey-haired and bespectacled individual who seemed to be taking cover behind his more voluminous colleague. Beside that man stood a skinny woman in a ferociously sharp business suit with huge shoulder pads and black hair tied up in a predictably neat bun.

  Looming in Dave’s view, the largest of the individuals said ‘I’m Principal Convenor Reckless, Senior Health and Safety representative of FUCAS’ he announced holding out a distinctly sweaty looking hand.

  Dave had heard of the Federal Union of Colonists And Space-farers. They had a mandate to protect the interest of the working man and woman in the far out reaches of the Federation, and they were widely regarded as being a complete pain in the derriere.

  Dave took the proffered hand and was stunned at how hot and clammy it felt. He desperately wanted to let go but Reckless held on firmly while he introduced his colleagues with his free hand.

  ‘This is my associate, Convenor Wilde . . . ‘

  The painfully tall and skinny man smiled nervously and waved.

  ‘ . . . and this is Miss Ava Rice, a legal professional from our colleagues at Blood, Zucker and Partners.’

  Reckless released Dave’s hand but before he could withdraw it Miss Rice had taken it and begun shaking it. In between their hands he could feel a business card. Still shaking his hand she leaned forward and said quietly ‘I’m very pleased to meet you Commander. I imagine your post must be very stressful and possibly quite hazardous too. If you’ve ever been injured as a result of your duties, or have in any way suffered ill-health or feel your welfare has been sub-standard please come and see me for a free initial case-review.’

  Dave mumbled his thanks, but she carried on shaking his hand vigorously. ‘And when I say injury, I mean any injury no matter how small or insignificant you might have thought it at the time. Or even if you didn’t think of it at the time but have since recognised that you have an injury.’

  She still didn’t let go ‘And don’t go worrying about little things like medical records or evidence, you just leave that with the professionals . . . ‘

  Dave finally managed to free his hand and subconsciously took a step back to try and get away from any further uncomfortable hand-shakes. ‘Welcome aboard Mr Reckless. I’m afraid you’ve come at a very bad time . . . ‘

  The Convenor stiffened and immediately held his hand out in front of Dave’s face. ‘I’m not one to make assumptions’ he began, ‘but if I can stop you there, I’d advise you that every senior crew-member I’ve ever met has said exactly the same thing.’

  Dave felt obliged to explain that Tiger was already the subject of investigations by JAG and FLEA, but was hastily cut off before he could say anything other than ‘But . . . ‘

  ‘I don’t care what excuse you come up with, it doesn’t matter. The Fleet and the Government recognise the right of the individual to raise grievances with their management through the appropriate channel, and that . . . ’ he said a with a horrendously smug smile on his face ‘ . . . would be me.’

  He pulled his considerable bulk up to his full height, which didn’t seem to be much greater than his full width, before adding ‘As an official of the Union, you are obliged to offer us accommodation . . . ‘

  ‘ . . . and the use of office facilities and appropriate amenities’ Dave added with a sigh and a disturbing sense of déjà vu.

  ‘Excellent!’ smiled Reckless. ‘My colleague Convenor Wilde and our legal consultant, Ms Rice will also be interviewing union members, and will require her own office space.’

  ‘Deck 5, help yourself. If you can find space’ said Dave in resignation.

  --------------------

  Lieutenant-Commander Boor looked up from the row of PADs in front of him. He cast a disapproving glance over Chief Reuben Money. He’d come across his sort many, many times before.

  ‘Well Chief. Forty thousand condoms in one year. A bit much for a single ship, don’t you think?’

  ‘Absolutely not, sir. I can show you all the requisitions for prophylactic devices going back three years’ replied the Chief promptly.

  Boor shook his head. ‘Where on earth do you store forty thousand condoms?’

  ‘Actually, sir, we’re running a bit low. I was thinking of ordering another five thousand’ replied the Chief matter-of-factly. Leaning forward and lowering his voice a little he added confidentially ‘Leisure activities are a little limited this far out from civilisation, sir. The crew have to keep themselves amused somehow.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve also requisitioned a two-metre diameter vibrating water-bed? I didn’t think the Fleet stocked such exotic types of furniture.’

  ‘Ah, well, in truth, they don’t sir. It’s a bespoke, state of the art . . . er . . . hydro-therapy medical appliance. The skipper suffers with back problems’ explained the Chief.

  Dave bit his lip: The word ‘spineless’ popped into his head, but this was not the time or place to discuss the skipper’s personal attributes.

  With an almost imperceptible raising of one eyebrow, Boor continued. ‘I also note that there have been large and regular orders of spare parts for shuttles. Probably five times more than I’d expect for the squadron assigned to a ship such as this?’

  ‘Well that’s easy to explain, sir. If you check our logs you’ll see our transporter system was completely off-line for over a year. During that time, every single item and person moving on or off the ship had to go by shuttle. Then the ship’s engines were off-line so the shuttles took on a lot of general transport tasks too. That’s an awful lot of wear and tear.’

  Lieutenant-Commander Boor’s eyes narrowed. He could clearly smell the lies, but knew he’d have to dig very, very deep to disprove Chief Money’s excuses. He changed tack again.

  ‘I also note what I’d consider to be excessive requisitioni
ng of all forms of alcohol.’

  Chief Money smiled. ‘It’s also quite clearly documented that we’ve had problems with the ships replicators. For best part of fifteen months they’d only produce haggis. If you’ve ever tried haggis I’m sure you’ll understand why so much alcohol was necessary.’

  Boor swapped to another pad. ‘And what makes rubber underwear and fur-lined hand-cuffs “essential medical supplies”?’

  Chief Money shrugged. ‘I can’t answer that one, sir, I suggest you take that up with Commander Mengele.’

  The interview continued for over an hour, with Boor needling away trying to find something the Chief couldn’t explain, but Money had done his homework and was thoroughly prepared. Dave was quietly impressed. The Chief had thought of pretty much everything and covered all the bases well. By the end of the interview, Boor was clearly frustrated, and Dave thought they’d got away with it.

  After they had left, Captain B’Stard joined Boor in the room. ‘Well, that one’s a piece of work’ she suggested.

  ‘Yes Captain’ replied Boor ‘he’s as guilty as sin, but I have to admit he’s covered his tracks well.’

  B’Stard considered this. ‘You’re sure there’s something they’re hiding?’

  ‘Absolutely, Ma’am, no doubt about it. There’s clearly something missing from the accounts. The annualised expenditure account held by Head-quarters is wildly at odds with the ship’s records, but the annualised figure doesn’t hold enough detail for us to cross-reference and spot the discrepancies. It’s like projecting a shadow, but the shadow is much bigger and darker than it should be. Having interviewed several senior figures at Hole, I also have extensive anecdotal evidence of the trading of various goods there that may or may not have been obtained from Fleet stores.’

  ‘May or may not?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am. Like the expenditure records, there’s a distinct lack of detailed information.’

  ‘So they’ve falsified the records somehow?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. Although from what Cannon and Ruell tell me of the computer, I’d have to consider the possibility that the computer has somehow stuffed the records up.’