Tiger: The Far Frontier

by David Smith

  Reminding himself that he hadn’t eaten all day, he challenged himself to at least try the foul-looking mush on the plate in front of him. To his surprise, it actually tasted worse than it looked, but at least its physical mass filled the growling hole in his belly.

  Later that night, he managed to find his own way down three decks to sick-bay, marking his path with piles of vomit as he went. Commander Mengele answered the call again and didn’t need instruments or an examination couch to diagnose food poisoning. Dave heard her call-out “Haggis poisoning, get the stomach pump!!!” before he passed out.

  --------------------

  At 0830 ships-time, Steward Butler came to the sick-bay.

  “I believe Lieutenant-Commander Hollins is in sick-bay?”

  The doctor regarded him seriously “That is correct”

  The Steward paused to make sure that the doctor had finished before continuing, “May I speak with him?”

  “He has food-poisoning. We are pumping his stomach and intravenously applying antibiotics. He is not in a position to communicate”

  The Steward inclined his head to peer around the doctor and see the unconscious ExO face-down on the treatment table. “Isn’t the stomach normally pumped from the top end of the digestive tract?”

  “Who is the ship’s doctor?”

  “You are, Commander” replied the Steward.

  “Then go away.”

  Chapter 3

  Dave finally made it onto the Bridge at 0800, but two days later than planned. He’d stopped vomiting, and the swelling on his nose was a lot less obvious, but for some reason now his anus was really, really sore.

  He had his excuses prepared, but the Captain was nowhere to be seen. The First Officer was also conspicuous by his absence, but neither of these facts dampened his excitement. At the Academy, many of the simulators were configured as compartments from “Constitution” class vessels, but no matter how perfect they were, Dave always knew in the back of his mind that it was just a simulator.

  This was the real thing.

  As he walked around the Tiger’s Bridge he could sense the power and presence of the ship. The atmosphere was calm, as he had the Bridge nearly to himself, but there was an underlying current of electricity all around him. He wandered past the communications console and the Tactical Officer’s station and then around the lower level where the Helmsman and Navigator sat. He stepped back up past the Science Officer’s consoles and headed for the Executive Officer’s station at the rear of the Bridge. As he passed the Captain’s chair, he couldn’t help but reach out and touch it. It almost seemed to be charged with an energy all of its own, and Dave lingered, hoping that one day this would be his chair. His ship.

  Finally, reluctantly, he passed by and took the seat at the ExO’s station. Dave was already familiar with the classic Executive Officer’s role. The ExO was expected to run the day-to-day affairs of the ship and was usually a busy figure, especially if the First Officer and Captain were involved directly in operations.

  Although out-ranked by the ship’s Doctor and the Engineering Officer, and junior (through date of commission) to most of the other senior staff, he was effectively third in command. He would be assumed to be in command if the Captain and First Officer were unavailable unless either of those two had left previous orders to the contrary.

  That said, he’d assumed the Captain would at least introduce him to the ship’s company, brief him on his particular requirements with regard to running the ship and delineate boundaries of responsibility between himself and the First Officer.

  Instead Dave found himself patiently waiting on the Bridge. The Executive Officer’s station was to the rear of the Bridge. Ahead of him all the seats were empty apart from the Navigating Officer’s station, where a ghostly apparition floated.

  Dave had come across a few aliens at the Academy, but being from old Earth, his experience with aliens was limited. What aliens he had encountered were exclusively bipedal and humanoid, but at the navigation console a truly alien being floated. Lieutenant Dolplop was a Vosgeean.

  The Vosgee had evolved over millions of years on a gas super-giant planet with no solid surface. They drifted with the supersonic winds, rising and falling to avoid the fierce electrical storms that wracked the planet’s atmosphere.

  Few of the Vosgee ever left their home-world, and fewer still joined Starfleet.

  Those that did join the fleet were, frankly, a liability.

  Evolved to drift with the wind, they had little understanding of direction, and could control their altitude only by releasing a quantity of the hot gas within the flotation bladder that made up 99% of their volume. The gases they contained were variations of methane and sulphur dioxide, which made them potentially dangerous, and invariably disgustingly smelly.

  Lieutenant Dolplop visually resembled a very, very large pumpkin and was anchored to his seat by the long thin tendrils with which the Vosgee normally caught their prey. There were enough tendrils to anchor him down, operate the touch sensitive controls of the console and still spare odd tendrils that twitched and swayed around his location.

  Dave had already been warned about these by the Steward. The previous Helm Officer had once executed a hard turn to starboard without warning, and before the inertia-dampers could compensate fully a couple of Dolplop’s tendrils had drifted across and brushed his arm. He’d been reduced to a drooling, immobile heap for two weeks. On his recovery he abjectly refused to execute a turn to starboard, which led to some long winded but interesting manoeuvres every time the Tiger docked.

  In fact the only positive side of having Lieutenant Dolplop on the Bridge seemed to be that the Vosgee never slept, had no concept of leisure time and only a limited grasp of the passage of time at all. Steward Butler had commented that this compensated for the First Officer’s inherent dislike of being on the Bridge himself, and Lieutenant Dolplop had manned the Bridge almost single-handedly these last few months. This made the Lieutenant an extremely popular member of the Bridge crew, so much so that his popularity could only be improved upon if he could actually prove proficient or even capable of navigating. Sadly, navigation is difficult to master when you don’t have a front or back, or a left and right side.

  Dave had tried engaging Dolplop in conversation to pass the time, but any conversation seemed to founder on basic principles of understanding. Dave had asked what Dolplop’s plan of the day was and had been treated to a two hour lecture on Dolplop’s career plans, family prospects and retirement plans. Asked if he’d calibrated the port side navigation sensor array, Dolplop had confirmed that he had but then thought about it and asked which port side Dave meant.

  The universal translator that gave Dolplop his oddly mechanical voice could translate Dave’s words, but it couldn’t make the Vosgee understand a concept. Fortunately, Dave had also learned that “awkward silence” was another concept alien to the Vosgee.

  Around 1030, a rather dishevelled Yeoman appeared at the ladder, having come from the Captain’s ready room immediately below the Bridge. She was a good-looking, slim, blonde young woman, but was looking very flushed and her uniform was crumpled and untidy. Dave guessed her hair had been arranged into a bee-hive style sometime previously but it had clearly undergone significant trauma and looked more bee-draggled than bee-hive.

  Seeing Dave at the back of the Bridge, the slightly breathless Yeoman approached him and saluted. “You must be the new Executive Officer?”

  “That I am. Lieutenant-Commander Dave Hollins at your service” he smiled.

  “Lovely! The Captain has drafted these orders for you, sir” and with that she handed him a small standard data pad.

  Dave thumb printed the display to open the sealed orders which read:

  “I’ll be up later.”

  “Ps. You have the Bridge.”

  Not exactly inspirational leadership….

  “Thank you, Yeoman…..?” Dave waited patiently for her to fill in the blank, but he could see the only bla
nk was her expression. Trying a more direct approach he added “What’s you name?”

  This startled the Yeoman who replied “Julie, sir” and then a few seconds later added “I mean Yeoman Barnes, sir”

  For a second Dave thought she’d forgotten her own surname, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief on her behalf when she came up with an answer. “Good. Thank you Barnes. Carry on.”

  Barnes took the pad back and headed to the turbolift, waiting a full minute before remembering they were off line. Looking slightly sheepish, she turned and quietly clambered down the ladder to the next deck.

  For a lack of clearer direction, Dave began doing Executive Officer type stuff. The ExO’s console was a standardised design and he pulled up the information he wanted on a small view-screen on the bulkhead above the console. There were no requisitions waiting for his approval, but the departmental status reports were in, and duty rosters had been posted by the department heads. He was about to start running through them when he heard someone climbing the ladder to the Bridge.

  He turned to see a head of sleek, shiny brunette curls broach the deck level and then stared open-mouthed as a stunning female Lieutenant clambered onto the Bridge. The long silky curls framed a face that could have been described as beautiful in a hundred different languages, none of which would have done it justice. Smooth, flawless and slightly tanned skin gave her an exotic appearance. Above exquisitely sculpted high cheek-bones, huge dark-brown eyes were so dark they appeared black, that darkness being off-set by full, tantalising, pouting red-lips that were just slightly parted to reveal even, brilliant white teeth.

  She noticed Dave and he thought he detected just the slightest hint of a blush, and she hastily straightened her uniform, crumpled from her ascent of the north face of the Bridge. Dave watched spell-bound as she smoothed the fabric, her slim hands undulating over firm but very definite curves, and stopping at long shapely legs that balanced on spectacularly high-heeled boots.

  When she’d preened herself close to Dave’s idea of female perfection she looked over to him with a slightly awkward, self-conscious smile, that made her look even more stunning and said “Bout tiem thawse guyz gannen sawted owt them lifts y’naw. Ah near brawk ma heelz on them bloody roongz!”

  Dave blinked and pressed a diagnostic command on the console in front of him. Odd. The universal translator seemed to be working and on-line?

  “Ah way! Yoos mus be tha noo ecksaw. Ahm Lootenan Shearer, Sharon Shearer. Or jus Shaz t’ma frenz. Howja doo?” She smiled a dazzling broad white smile, and offered her hand.

  Dave had a vague feeling there had been a name in there somewhere and taking her hand, shook it somewhat limply, hoping that he wasn’t physically dribbling as he did so.

  “Ahm the Comms Offisah, liek.”

  Dave wasn’t sure what she’d said and couldn’t formulate a reply, although that was something of a moot point as her physical appeal had driven a considerable wedge between his vocal chords and the higher cognitive functions of his brain.

  “Wh….er….I…uh…” he espoused with great eloquence.

  A frown wrinkled her otherwise perfect face “Ar you alreet, pet? Yooz seems a bit aff?”

  As well as the ongoing seperation between brain and vocal chords, Dave’s endocrine system seemed to have over-ridden his aural capabilities, and he had no awareness of the Steward climbing onto the Bridge. He physically jumped when Butler’s voice appeared in his ear, breaking his reverie.

  “This is Lieutenant Shearer, sir, our Communications Officer. She’s from Nook A-sell apparently.”

  Dave’s inability to talk (or possibly the way he was staring. And drooling) was clearly making the Lieutenant uncomfortable, and she withdrew her hand from Dave’s (with some difficulty: his motor skills were lacking too at that moment) and warily backed away.

  “Ah. Well. Ah’ll be at ma consawl if yous want owt. Jus let us naw, eh pet?”

  Butler physically interposed himself between them in an attempt to snap Dave back to reality. Very quietly he added “Lieutenant Shearer has this effect on people. She’s a regular on the Bridge so you’d better get used to it.”

  Dave was trying to lean around the Steward so he could watch as she carefully and elegantly eased herself into the seat of the Comms Station. Her tiny dress rode up even further revealing breath-takingly long, luxurious legs which were then carefully and neatly crossed.

  The Steward moved to block Dave’s view, but he subconsciously swerved his neck to look past Butler again. He felt the Steward’s fingers grip his jaw and pull his face around so they were eye-ball to eye-ball. “FOCUS!!” he hissed.

  Dave blinked, cleared his throat and managed to look forward, a purple haze clearing slowly from his vision as he did so. “Thank you Steward….I……er….”

  “That’s alright sir. Lieutenant Shearer’s been on-board for two years now. I’ve had to do this a lot” the Steward sighed.

  He slowly released Dave’s jaw and continued. “I thought it might be best if I arranged for the Bridge staff to come up to meet you since the Captain and First Officer are…… otherwise engaged.” He smiled “From experience I understand it’s best to introduce Lieutenant Shearer first and then take stock of the situation before proceeding.”

  He gestured to the front of the Bridge, “You already know Lieutenant Dolplop, I believe?”

  Dave nodded in the direction of the mysterious Vosgeean. He couldn’t even tell if Navigation Officer was facing him. Did Vosgeean’s even have a face? “The Lieutenant and I are acquainted.”

  There was a clatter of boots on the rungs of the ladder to the Bridge and a clean-cut, youthful face topped with a severe crew-cut appeared at the hatch. The slim dark-haired new-comer bounded onto the Bridge and before Butler could introduce him, he grabbed Dave’s hand and began shaking it vigourously. “Stallworth. Jim Bob Stallworth. Helmsman. Ma friends just call me Crash!” he said with a beaming smile. “But don’t worry about the “Crash” thing. It’s not a reference to the way I fly, I used to race ol’ ground cars back on earth. I didn’t mind getting a little physical on track. Been looking forward to meeting y’all, but I’m sorry ‘bout the near miss when the Santiago dropped outta warp. I wasn’t expecting a ship on my flight-path!”

  “You were flying one of those shuttles?”

  “Yeah, me’n’Stavros. He’d pulled a fast one on the outward leg, but I thought I could get back past him on the mid….ow!”

  He was silenced by a none-too-subtle stamp of the Stewards foot on his instep. Reading the Stewards eyes he continued slowly “I mean Lieutenant Stavros was heading towards the…… emergency….. and I was keen to get there to assist him.”

  Dave’s eyes narrowed as he sensed the young officers sudden discomfort “So what exactly was the nature of the….. emergency?”

  The awkward silence that followed was deftly broken by the Steward. Hearing the clatter of more boots on the rungs of the Bridge ladder he said “Ah, here’s the Tactical Officer now. Lieutenant-Commander Hollins, please meet Lieutenant-Commander Andre-Safrane Beauregard”

  Dave was facing a broad-shouldered, square-jawed, blue-eyed, flat-topped caricature of a military man “Call me ASBeau. Everyone else does” he said shaking Dave’s hand so hard his vision blurred “I’m French-Canadian and damn proud of it!”

  “Ah, tres bien. Toujours heureux d'avoir un cousin du petit village à bord” said Dave, hoping to impress everyone with his command of the French language.

  “Say what?” replied ASBeau

  “Just Lieutenant-Commander O’Mara to come” interrupted Butler, while casting an eye towards the ladder. He paused and added “Our Science Officer is easily distracted. I’m sure she’ll be along shortly”.

  Taking Dave aside he whispered “Whilst the Lieutenant-Commander is fiercely proud of his French-Canadian heritage, he wasn’t born in Canada, has never actually been there and doesn’t speak a word of French, Canadian or otherwise. However, it would not be tactful to mention
any of that to him. Especially if he’s armed”

  At this point the Science Officer duly arrived on the Bridge followed by two other women. She was pale and blue-eyed, with a huge unruly mass of ginger hair cascading down over her shoulders. The two women with her wore Lieutenant’s insignia, but the similarity ended there. One was a tiny woman with long, wavy, multi-coloured hair, the other a tall imposing black woman with impressively wide hips and shoulders.

  The red-head held her hand out and greeted him in a soft Irish lilt.

  “Hello! I’m Lieutenant-Commander O’Mara.”

  Butler added “You may be familiar with her recent works on warp-field and sub-space interaction?”

  “No sorry, I don’t think that was on the Academies curriculum” he apologised.

  “Oh, don’t be sorry!” said the Science Officer, ”My research showed that the current configuration of every warp-drive ship in the fleet is tearing holes in sub-space. It didn’t go down very well with Command.”

  “Strange, that sounds like a very important discovery” Dave suggested.

  “It is, but that’s science. Unfashionable theories have to float around a while before they get taken seriously.”

  “Can you prove your hypothesis?” he asked.

  “Oh, to be sure! No problem at all! But it would take a fair bit of backing from the Fleet. And I won’t get that until the theory gathers a bit of it’s own momentum. That’ll take about fifty years, I guess. I’ll probably be retired by then. I’ll be one-hundred and five!”

  She frowned “Oh, hang on, I mean one-hundred and fifty. Actually, no, got that wrong somewhere……”

  Her face was a mask of concentration, and Dave found himself waiting for her to answer the imponderable question of how old she’d be in fifty years when her eyes popped wide-open and she said “What was I talking about? Oh, I’m Lieutenant-Commander Aisling O’Mara by the way….”