by David Smith
From behind him, Dave heard a whispered conversation between two awe-struck crewmen.
“Wow. She’s …..well…..”
“Yeah…”
“And that dress!! If it was any shorter we’d be able to see her tattoo…”
“Has she got a tattoo on her bum?!?”
“No, it’s on the small of her back…..”
They both fell silent as she spotted Dave from the other end of the bar, and quickly headed towards him.
That gorgeous smile lit up her face and she said “Ah feel a reet prat noo. Thawt ahd betta make an effat, liek, y’naw?”
She leaned close to Dave and whispered in his ear “Havah dun summet rong? Evrywon was stairn at me soon as ah came doon! Thawt ahd left me dress tookd in me nickaz.”
She giggled “Then ah remembad ah neva wear em! Nothin woors than veepee yell to roon a posh frock is there?”
She looked down at her dress, and Dave couldn’t help but follow her gaze as she ran her delicate hands across the sleek fabric and the wondrous curves beneath.
“It covaz evrythin, I joos daren’t bend ova, liek, y’naw?”
Dave gulped and felt an urge to loosen his collar. The thin fabric of the dress was stretched tight over her fabulously firm, toned body and the lace panels on the sides of the dress made it clear that there was no artificial cantilevering involved in her stunning physique. He was painfully aware of her nipples pointing directly at him through the slinky fabric as if to say “We know what you’re thinking!!”
She moved closer still and as she spoke he could feel her warm breath caressing his cheek.
“Ah feel a bit oonda drest noo. There’s some fab lookin goorlz here tunite, but ah didn wanna gaw aw-tee-tee liek. Mine yew, ahm yoos to it really. Back hawm in nook a-sell, ah yoost a get kwait jellus o’ me maytz. We wuz allas owt on the pull, but ahd neva get a lukin. Ahl the fellaz’ad joos stare at us then kopoff with us maytz.”
“Spose thas why ahm here, liek. Neva fitted in at hawm, thawt ahd make uz a fresh start in the fleet.”
She looked wistful as she continued “Hasn woorkt owt like that mine yew. Ah still feel terrible lawnsum at tiems.”
She was pressing harder against him and Dave was desperately trying to think of dead kittens, or drying paint or rotten fruit, anything to stop him from getting an erection.
She looked up at him with those deep dark eyes and he felt as if he was going to fall into them.
“Ah, yoar a gud listnah, thanks for enduljen me en all. Yoar a gud mayt”
She smiled that beautiful, self-conscious, fragile smile “Howzabowt yuen me, gannen owt for a stroll sumtiem. Y’naw, joos the to uv uz, bagga chips anna nattah? Get ta naw each utha a mite betta?”
She leaned forward and his head swam from the combination of her delicate perfume, her sweet breath and natural pheromones. She kissed him slowly and gently on the lips “Ahl call yooz” and she was gone.
Dave watched dumb-founded as those perfect legs carried that perfect ass back through the doors of the Rec-Deck. He just wished he could understand a single word she had said.
--------------------
It was gone 0100 now, but the party was still going strong. Rick Starr was on the stage with the band singing with great enthusiasm but considerably less talent. This did nothing to deter the line of awe-struck and slightly moist young females lined up in front of the stage, who whooped and yelled their encouragement.
Izzy jumped up on the stage with a bottle of vodka in one hand and one of Joynes herbal cigarettes in the other and belted out a duet with Starr, with equal gusto and far more ability.
As they sang, Dave caught sight of Olga Romanov arm-wrestling (literally) with Chief Burns and beyond them Andy Carstairs had finally plucked up the courage to talk to Chief Belle. Dave couldn’t tell how that was going. Andy seemed to be keeping a respectful distance, but at least both his arms seemed to be intact.
Everyone seemed drunk apart from himself and Olga Romanov. Whilst understandable in his case, he was astonished that the tiny Russian engineer could remain vertical with so much vodka swilling around inside her. He ordered another drink for himself and circulated, stopping here and there for a chat.
By 0300, Izzy had disappeared and Rick Starr had left the stage, taking a blonde and a brunette with him. He saw ASBeau lip-locked with a nurse from sickbay and Crash was off in a quiet corner with Yeoman Barnes nestling in his lap.
A visibly distraught Ensign David was dressed in a long flowing white evening gown revealing considerable, if somewhat hairy cleavage. He was being comforted by a very young female Ensign, and Dave felt a pang of guilt remembering that he’d cheated and lied his way into the bed of the last woman he’d slept with. He doubted that Ensign David would be troubled by his conscience to the same degree.
He suddenly felt very tired and very alone.
Seeking ten minutes of solitude, he headed to the small office at the rear of the Rec-Deck. He used his ExO’s privilege code to unlock the door and stepped in the darkened room. The air seemed cooler and fresher in here, and he was about to turn on the lights and flop into a chair when he heard a series of grunts and moans.
He took a few steps forward and could see through to a small space partitioned off to serve as a private interview space at the rear of the office. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he made out the sweating, naked form of Izzy Grosvenor sandwiched between two equally sweaty, naked male crewmen.
Obviously Izzy vented her frustrations at not being able to fulfil her professional role by…. well… shagging. He left as quickly and as quietly as he could.
Outside the band had stopped playing and the party was definitely winding down.
Chief Burns was slumped unconscious over a table. Olga Romanov had hiked up his kilt and was calmly drawing rude things on his naked buttocks with a permanent marker.
Chief Carstairs was now dangerously close to Chief Belle but was still physically intact. Go Andy! thought Dave.
There were a scattering of others dotted around the room and those that were still conscious all seemed to have paired off with someone. Except for Skye L’Amour, who seemed to be negotiating with the entire band.
“I believe you have achieved your desired goal.”
Dave turned to find Katrin Mengele behind him. “Good evening Commander…… sorry…… good evening Katrin, I didn’t think you’d make it.”
“I’ve been here observing for some hours now” she said coolly.
Dave wasn’t sure he believed her. He felt sure he’d have noticed the tall blonde valkyrie in the very short, strapless black leather dress. Having already been quite smitten by both Izzy and Sharon, Dave was determined to remain more professionally detached, but she oozed sex-appeal even if it was slightly clinical and definitely intimidating. She’d let her long blonde hair down and it flowed freely over the smooth and slightly tanned skin of her bare shoulders, framing and softening her face. She smelt of leather and musk, and her dressed fitted tight around her, accentuating a firm, athletic physique. Her legs were spectacularly long and she was made taller still by a pair of simple black high-heeled stiletto shoes that complemented her legs perfectly. Fortunately for Dave, his ardour was cooled by a peculiar and involuntary tensing of his buttocks.
She continued “I believe the crew will be considerably more relaxed for some time, although I expect you will face issues with sickness and absence tomorrow. There will be many, many hangovers, but strangely, no aspirin with which to treat them.” A smile very nearly cracked the ice-cool veneer.
“I believe so too,” said Dave, “but it won’t last. For all their faults they’re Starfleet personnel. None of them would be here if they hadn’t felt a need to make a difference. It’s killing them to sit here doing nothing when someone needs our help.”
She touched his arm and he realised he’d unconsciously clenched his fists.
“Our chance may yet come. All we can do is be ready when it does.”
----
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Dave quite enjoyed the next morning.
Everyone except himself, Lieutenant Shearer and Lieutenant-Commander Romanov seemed to be catastrophically hung-over. He’d left the Bridge to see how PO Starr was getting on with clearing the Rec-Deck, but he was nowhere to be seen.
There were still several dozen prostrate bodies lying where they’d collapsed and Dave couldn’t help but smile when he caught a very flushed Izzy Grosvenor trying to sneak out of the Rec-Deck office with two equally flushed male crewmen. Interestingly he didn’t recognise either of them as one the two men Izzy had been wedged between when he’d seen her last night.
Clearing her throat, she smiled at him and said “Well done, ExO I think everyone enjoyed the party.”
“I think so too. Did you have a good time Isobelle?”
She visibly flushed “Yes thank you…David”
“Glad to hear it. Now if you excuse me, I suppose I should make an effort to repair the damage to the Rec-Deck: there were all manner of non-regulation activities going on here last night.”
He winked at her, inducing an even more pronounced flush. “Er…… Really? I’ll be in my quarters then” she said as she hurried off.
--------------------
Commander Mengele was nearly right. Dozens of ships staff were absent from their posts, but on the whole, their line-officers were too hung-over to make an issue of it. Basically, the whole ship threw a sickie.
Dave took helm duties from the absent Crash and manned the Bridge for the day with Dolplop and Shearer. With just the three of them present he noticed Lieutenant Shearer smiling at him several times and desperately wished he’d recorded last night’s one-sided conversation so someone could translate it for him.
He was glad to be at the Helm, as the Comms Officer was far less self-conscious with just the three of them on the Bridge. She wasn’t as quick to smooth her skirt back into place when it rode up, and despite his best intentions he quickly ascertained that Ensign David had been serious about her lack of underwear. His conscience and libido battled for control of his eyes, and far too often his conscience lost.
Throughout the day Lieutenant Shearer would strike up the odd one-sided conversation, punctuated with little smiles and giggles from herself and the odd “Oh”, or “Really?”, or “Absolutely!” from Dave, injected in accordance with the tone of her last comment. It was starting to wear a bit thin when Dave noticed a distinct change in her tone.
With more urgency she said “Ecksaw, Ah have pickd up a weak transmission, bearin aw-forate ba three-too-too. Computa canna decawd it, but the strooc cha indicaytes itsa distress cawl.”
From the background noise, Dave picked out the words “Distress Call” which were presumably common between English and whatever the hell language the Lieutenant spoke.
Dave took a look and said “Lieutenant, transfer that signal to Cryptography immediately”
He called the Science Officer, but at first there was no reply.
“Lieutenant-Commander O’Mara?”
Very slowly, and very quietly she answered “Whu?”
“This is Lieutenant-Commander Hollins”
“Who?”
“The Executive Officer?”
“Oh.”
“Please don’t shout.”
“I’m not”
“You really are”
Slightly more quietly, Dave continued “The Comms Officer has intercepted a signal from inside Sha T’Al space. We need to decrypt it as an A1 priority.”
“Oh.”
“Can I do it tomorrow?”
“Sorry, we need this yesterday.”
Dave thought he heard her sobbing.
“I’m on it.”
--------------------
An hour later, Dave was in the Cyptography Suite on Deck 3. A distinctly frazzled Lieutenant-Commander O’Mara was already there still wearing her pyjamas and hugging a bucket that was half full of a foul smelling liquid. Her already pale skin seemed to have gone several shades lighter, and she looked like a caricature of a snowman, albeit a snowman with the most unruly crop of orange hair Dave had ever seen.
Several times, she disappeared out into the corridor and Dave heard her wretching into the rapidly filling bucket, but in her bedraggled state, even this was too much effort. Eventually she gave up and just vomited liberally as she worked, filling the compartment with a stench of stomach acids, bile, partially digested canapés and Irish Whiskey. Things seemed to be easing off, but Dave stayed a few paces away just to be on the safe side.
“There are no star systems along the bearings indicated by the Comms Officer, so we have to assume the call came from a ship. We’ve cross-referenced cryptography programmes with the universal translator, and after a bit of tweaking we’ve come up with this”, she murmured in a quiet, hoarse voice.
The computer’s voice spoke: “This is the Chana Hal. We are under attack. We believe the vessel is of Tana origin. Please assist.”
The message looped, each repetition ending with the ships co-ordinates and headings.
Dave rubbed his chin “Why did they encrypt a distress call?”
O’Mara ran her hand through her hair, but it got stuck half way through. Trying to disentangle it, she slopped the contents of her bucket all over herself and the floor, causing Dave to take an involuntary step back from her. None of this stopped her from continuing, “They don’t call the Sha T’Al enigmatic for nothing. They seem to encrypt everything as a matter of course. The fact that we were able to decode this signal so quickly indicates that it’s a civilian rather than a military grade encryption system. That’s borne out to some extent by the ship’s name. Chana Hal roughly translates as Rescue Angel. Not a name we’d associate with a Sha T’Al warship.”
There was a brief pause as she finally managed to free her hand, spilling more vomit from her bucket onto the floor as she did so. “The later transmissions alter co-ordinates and headings quite quickly. Tracking these back we’ve concluded that she was heading towards this system.”
She pulled up a 3D star chart and with a shaking hand indicated a point of light. Dave noted that it was one of the three systems that crew-probe 1449/3 had flown by.
“The time of the first heading change indicates she was intercepted about here… but the transmissions stopped by this point. I don’t suppose that was anything other than bad news for them” she said sadly.
Dave ground his teeth. They should have been there.
--------------------
Dave contacted the Captain, who grumpily despatched a Yeoman to the Crypto Suite to collect the pad with the decrypted message and O’Mara’s analysis. Yeoman De Soto skipped into the compartment, but slipped on a puddle of recently spilled vomit, crashing into the desk that they were all gathered around with a squeal and a peculiar wrenching sound.
Yeoman Singh arrived minutes later, at the same time as a medical team, and took the pad off the unfortunate Yeoman De Soto as the medical team lifted her away on an anti-grav stretcher to treat her dislocated hip and mild concussion.
An hour later Dave was back on the Bridge when yet another different Yeoman came up to him with the same pad and handed it back.
O’Mara’s analysis was appended with a short note from Captain LaCroix:
“Too late to assist. Log incident for later report to Command. Continue patrol”
“Ps. You have the Bridge.”
Dave excused the Yeoman and fumed in the Captains chair. How could they ever consider him or Joynes fit for command??? A germ of an idea began to form in his mind. Perhaps the Counsellor could help him sort this out.
--------------------
An hour later he was sat in the lotus position facing Lieutenant-Commander Kenji Ozawa. He’d called the Counsellor to tell him that he was feeling conflicted and stressed, and Ozawa had immediately ordered him to come down for further assessment.
They’d started with a breathing exercise, although the air in the Counsellors quarters
was so thick with incense that this was actually a singularly unpleasant experience. He’d since managed to commune with his inner calm and was now attempting to contemplate issues of the self.
Not being an advocate of such things, Dave began to lose patience and got to the point of the matter.
“Counsellor, the reason I’m here is that I’m concerned that the Captain is not in a fit state of mind to command this ship. He seems to have lost his sense of duty….”
The Counsellor interrupted him “Do not impugn the honour of others. In doing so, you dishonour yourself. The Captain must follow his own path; we are here to help smooth your passage along your own path”
“His “path” goes nowhere. That’s why we’re stuck on the border while the Sha T’Al are in desperate trouble. I need you to speak to him and convince him that the right course of action…..”
The Counsellor interrupted again: “Right and wrong are subjective. The Captain has his reasons.”
Dave ground his teeth “The Captain is too busy shagging his bloody Yeomen. He’s a sex-addict and he’s lost all sense of priority.”
The Counsellor glared at him “It is not our position to question our superiors. We should consider it an honour to serve a man who has proved himself simply by achieving his exalted rank!”
Dave tried to remain calm “You out-rank him in respect of his own welfare. The Captain is obliged to listen to you on matters pertaining to his personal health and well-being. You must speak to him….”
The Counsellors eyes narrowed “You seek to use my influence to manipulate the Captain? You impugn my honour!”
“No, I just want you to do your job. As Ship’s Counsellor you have a duty…”
The Counsellor jumped to his feet. “DUTY?? DUTY?? I know my duty and I have honour….” He screamed.
Dave shot up too. “Are you so blind you can’t see how wrong he is?? He’s standing by doing nothing whilst the Sha T’Al suffer and die. Surely as a counsellor you must have some empathy for ….”