Tales of the Border Service: "Trash Day"
Tales of the Border Service: “Trash Day”
(Another short-story relating a day in the life of the crew of USS Pamlico, a former Oberth-class vessel now used by the Border Service as a Buoy Tender.)
Stardate 54036.78 (14 January 2377)
USS Pamlico NCC-T101
Sector 04342
The voice and image of Huren Nor Banii warmed the heart of Lt. Commander Kelendi Nor Huren, C.O. of the Pamlico. Rigel VII was a full week’s journey from the ship’s current location in the Borderland, but it seemed very much like her father was physically present with her in her cabin.
“. . . and we finally have the gray blight under control in the orchards. A month ago, I thought we might lose half of the Bunatma trees,” continued Nor Banii, as he related current events from back home.
“That’s good to hear. I guess Mother is on Rigel IV, carrying sample casks to the wine merchants?”
“Where else? She’s the sales genius in this operation. I just pick bugs off the leaves.”
Kelendi laughed. She missed her father’s dry sense of humor and the sight of his weathered, dark bronze face. It was so good to see him, even if for a few minutes. “I know better than that, Father. You’ve maintained those orchards for more than one hundred seasons – and that took a lot more than squashing bugs.”
“Well . . . perhaps a little more than that,” he allowed with a smile. He hesitated before asking, “Do you think you will make it home for Harvest Offering this year?”
Kelendi suppressed a sigh. It was a human response she had picked up which her father might not understand. “I’m not sure I can make it this year, Father . . . I have some leave time accumulated, but we’re short-handed in this sector, and now with the stop-loss order rescinded . . .”
“I understand,” replied her father, though by the crestfallen look on his face it was obvious he did not. “I was hoping perhaps that you and Katari would get the chance to be with us this year. Festival days are hard on your mother since . . .”
He did not need to finish the sentence. They all missed Kynata - Kelendi and Katari’s triplet sister – who died in the waning days of the war. Her loss was still fresh in their hearts. Kelendi felt the familiar sadness wash over her. She swallowed before attempting to speak.
“Father . . . I will try to be home for Offering Day. I just can’t make any promises right now. I would love to see you and Mother.”
Nor Banii smiled wistfully. “As we would love to see you.” With two fingers he touched his forehead in a gesture of love. “T’ahm dess n’ha, Kelendi’se.”
Kelendi returned the gesture and smiled. “I love you, too, Huren’se. Tell Mother I send my love and greetings. I’ll talk to you both in a week.”
Her father nodded. His once golden eyes, now aged to the color of burnished brass, held her gaze with intensity. “Take care, daughter.” He closed the channel and the terminal reverted to a black screen embellished with the Border Service logo.
This time, Kelendi allowed a sigh to escape. She really did want to see her parents, and being home for Harvest Offering would be fun and relaxing. But like all of Starfleet, the Border Service still suffered from a shortage of ships and crew. Asking for leave seemed like such a selfish request right now. She knew the chances of her sister, Katari, getting home were less than hers, seeing as how Dragonfire was the only cutter patrolling the Outland Expanse.
The guilt-ridden part of her knew that leaving Pamlico in the hands of Lt. Kep Tien for a week or so would not end in disaster.
But the Border Dog in her envisioned returning from leave to find Lt. Tien bound and gagged and stuffed in an air-lock. Tien was a competent officer, but her obsessive-compulsive personality grated on Pamlico’s crew. Nor Huren liked the Asian X.O., but thus far had little success in getting Tien to lighten up.
She sighed again, and frowned with irritation – trying to recall how long ago she had picked up that peculiar Human idiosyncrasy. The chime of her computer terminal interrupted her reverie.
Sitting straight, she tapped the reply stud on her desk. “Nor Huren – go ahead.”
The image of Ensign Larry “Pudge” Patterson appeared on the terminal. Patterson had a round, cherubic face that matched his generally round physique. An under-achiever, Patterson had barely passed the Academy’s physical requirements and his grades had put him near the bottom of his class. Thus, he had found himself in the Border Service as the most junior officer on a buoy tender. Still, Patterson was bright and good-natured. He often joked that his career could “only go up from here.” Nor Huren knew that “out” was also an option, but she liked the kid and he was fitting in well on Pamlico. She only hoped that the crew’s strong work ethic would rub off on him.
“It’s Pudge, Skipper - you have an in-coming message from Star Station Echo, Admiral Bateson’s office.”
“Route it down here, Pudge.” She paused and her brow furrowed. “Have you been eating on the bridge again?”
Ensign Patterson’s face began to redden. “Uh, why do you ask, ma’am?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . maybe the crumbs on your tunic? And is that chocolate on your face?”
Pudge hastily brushed at the front of his uniform and wiped furtively at his mouth. “Sorry ma’am – I just get real hungry when I’m on the bridge.”
“We’ll discuss it later. Just send the message through to my quarters, please.”
“Yes ma’am – stand by.” Pudge hastily cut the channel and transferred the incoming sub-space transmission to Nor Huren’s terminal. Momentarily, the image of an Andorian with a high forehead and wavy white hair appeared. Admiral Bateson’s aide, Lt. Varnosh, inclined his head in greeting.
“Commander Nor Huren, Admiral Bateson conveys his complements along with a new assignment.”
“Go ahead, Lieutenant. I’m all ears.”
Varnosh was as accustomed to Human expressions as was Nor Huren. He only reacted with a slight smile before continuing. “Sensors have picked up a large debris field drifting into the space lanes in sector 04341. I’m transmitting coordinates and the general direction of the drift.”
“Any idea where the debris came from?”
“Apparently it is a mix of cast-off junk and space debris that accumulated over time in a weak gravity pool. These junk fields coalesce on occasion, but this one is larger than most and could pose a hazard to navigation. The Admiral would like you to tow it to the nearest star and dispose of it.”
Nor Huren grinned. “The Admiral wants us to collect the trash and burn it?”
Varnosh allowed a small grin. “As you say.”
She chuckled. “Why not? Tell the Admiral we’re on it and I’ll report in when we’re done.”
“Thank you, Commander. Echo Station, out.”
* * *
Stardate 54036.92 (14 January 2377)
USS Pamlico NCC-T101
Entering Sector 04341 – Warp 4
Lt. Commander Nor Huren sat in her command chair, legs crossed, as she sipped from a cup of spiced tea. At the helm, Petty Officer Andy Pelham hummed quietly to himself as he guided Pamlico toward their rendezvous with junk.
“Pudge, have you got a fix on the debris field?” queried Nor Huren.
The portly young officer continued to peer into the sensor hood, his tongue darting between his lips as he adjusted the gain on the sensors.
“Um, not yet, ma’am. I’m getting a lot of fuzz on the sensor returns.”
“Dial back the boost. We’re looking for a ten kilometer wide garbage pile, not a cloaked ship.”
Patterson attempted to nod his head in understanding, banging his forehead against the sensor hood. “Ow! I mean, yes ma’am – thank you!”
Nor Huren caught the gaze of Chief Peter McManus, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. She shrugged her shoulders in return and waited patiently for the nugget officer to complete his task. Silently, she thanked her ancestral deities that Lt. Tien was off-duty. She had no desire to witness the XO’s head explode over Patterson’s ineptitude.
After a painful interval, Patterson finally announced in triumph, “Got it! Bearing 118 mark 16.”
“Range?” asked Nor Huren with admirable patience.
“Right! Sorry! Hmmm. Make it, point eight-eight light years. At our current speed we will catch up in 42 minutes.”
“Thank you, Ensign. Pete? Warm up the ‘tractors. We’ve got some trash to haul.”
* * *
Forty minutes later . . .
The Pamlico dropped out of warp and began a slow approach to the debris field. Lt. Tien arrived on the bridge, taking over at Ops for Ensign Patterson, who bounded toward the turbo lift with astonishing alacrity and obvious relief.
As Tien logged into the operations station, Nor Huren heard the XO spout several choice curses in Mandarin.
“Kep? Anything wrong?”
The petite Asian officer turned, a look of distaste on her face. “Captain – there are crumbs in the sensor hood!”
“Really? How odd.”
“Captain Nor Huren, I really must insist that Ensign Patterson refrain from . . .”
Nor Huren held up a hand in warning. “I know, Kep, I know. I’ll talk to him. For now, let’s focus on dragging that pile of garbage toward the nearest star – which would be . . .?”
Lt. Tien glowered for a moment longer, before taking a deep, calming breath. “Give me a moment to ascertain our options. Do you have a preference as to classification?”
“Just find one close enough that we can haul the debris field directly in without it getting away from us.”
“Understood.” Tien turned back to Ops and sat in her chair.
And began cursing in Mandarin again.
“Now what?” demanded Nor Huren.
Lt. Tien held up a hand which was covered in a dark, gooey substance. She turned toward Nor Huren, her eyes wide with indignation. “Chocolate! In my chair! Really, Captain – this is too much!”
Nor Huren dropped her face into the palm of her right hand. Her head was beginning to pound. “Like I said, I’ll talk to him . . .”
* * *
Pamlico glided to a stop relative to the undulating mass of debris. The small tender was dwarfed by the cloud of junk. On the screen, it looked like a fleet of garbage scows had exploded. Pieces of derelict ships, odd bits of scrap metal, and the detritus of several dozen space-faring races tumbled and spun through the void. It was an impressive sight that had a peculiar sort of beauty, setting aside the fact that it was several million metric tons of garbage.
“Och, what a mess!” exclaimed Chief McManus.
Nor Huren regarded the massive debris field doubtfully. “Pete – do you think we have the capability to drag this mess anywhere?”
“It will nae be easy. I first need to locate the source of the gravity field – it should be the object with the greatest mass in yon bloody pile ‘o scrap. We’ll need to lock on the beastie and hope the whole bloody mess doesn’t drift apart.”
“Couldn’t we just take parts of it at a time?” suggested Petty Officer Andy Pelham. “That’s a lot of junk to move all at once.”
“We canna do that, lad,” replied McManus, shaking his craggy head. “If we destabilize the gravity field, the whole kit ‘n caboodle could drift apart. We’d be here for months cleanin’ up the mess!”
“We don’t actually have to tow it,” remarked Nor Huren. “We just need to change its course – right, Chief?”
“Aye,” McManus nodded. “The center of gravity just needs a tug in the right direction.”
“Kep – where to?” asked the C.O.
“I’m putting it on screen now,” replied Tien. On the main viewer, a tactical grid appeared. Pamlico appeared as a small delta-shaped icon adjacent to an irregular blob that represented the debris field. On the upper left corner of the screen was a flashing red dot.
“That is NGC-4810 – a white star in an uninhabited system. There are no asteroid fields or major gravity wells that would preclude sending the debris into the star. However, at the current rate of drift, it will take the field several decades to reach it.”
Nor Huren frowned. “Decades? Not good enough. We’ll have to speed up the process. Any ideas, Pete?”
The Scottish NCO rubbed gnarled fingers through the thin stubble of hair on his skull. “We canna drag the lot at warp. There’s nae way to extend our warp field that far. And if we just tow whatever’s generatin’ gravity, we’ll leave most of yon mess behind.”
Kelendi stood, her lips pursed as she regarded the debris field on the viewscreen.
“Alright, we’ll just have to get creative. Kep – see if you can locate the center mass of that field. It shouldn’t be too hard to find. Pete – try to figure a way to extend our warp field or strengthen the reach of the tractor beams. Staff meeting in one hour – Kep, make sure Sage is there, too. In the mean-time, I’m going to have a chat with Ensign Patterson.
* * *
(To be continued . . .)
Tales of the Border Service: “Trash Day”
(Another short-story relating a day in the life of the crew of USS Pamlico, a former Oberth-class vessel now used by the Border Service as a Buoy Tender.)
Stardate 54036.78 (14 January 2377)
USS Pamlico NCC-T101
Sector 04342
The voice and image of Huren Nor Banii warmed the heart of Lt. Commander Kelendi Nor Huren, C.O. of the Pamlico. Rigel VII was a full week’s journey from the ship’s current location in the Borderland, but it seemed very much like her father was physically present with her in her cabin.
“. . . and we finally have the gray blight under control in the orchards. A month ago, I thought we might lose half of the Bunatma trees,” continued Nor Banii, as he related current events from back home.
“That’s good to hear. I guess Mother is on Rigel IV, carrying sample casks to the wine merchants?”
“Where else? She’s the sales genius in this operation. I just pick bugs off the leaves.”
Kelendi laughed. She missed her father’s dry sense of humor and the sight of his weathered, dark bronze face. It was so good to see him, even if for a few minutes. “I know better than that, Father. You’ve maintained those orchards for more than one hundred seasons – and that took a lot more than squashing bugs.”
“Well . . . perhaps a little more than that,” he allowed with a smile. He hesitated before asking, “Do you think you will make it home for Harvest Offering this year?”
Kelendi suppressed a sigh. It was a human response she had picked up which her father might not understand. “I’m not sure I can make it this year, Father . . . I have some leave time accumulated, but we’re short-handed in this sector, and now with the stop-loss order rescinded . . .”
“I understand,” replied her father, though by the crestfallen look on his face it was obvious he did not. “I was hoping perhaps that you and Katari would get the chance to be with us this year. Festival days are hard on your mother since . . .”
He did not need to finish the sentence. They all missed Kynata - Kelendi and Katari’s triplet sister – who died in the waning days of the war. Her loss was still fresh in their hearts. Kelendi felt the familiar sadness wash over her. She swallowed before attempting to speak.
“Father . . . I will try to be home for Offering Day. I just can’t make any promises right now. I would love to see you and Mother.”
Nor Banii smiled wistfully. “As we would love to see you.” With two fingers he touched his forehead in a gesture of love. “T’ahm dess n’ha, Kelendi’se.”
Kelendi returned the gesture and smiled. “I love you, too, Huren’se. Tell Mother I send my love and greetings. I’ll talk to you both in a week.”
Her father nodded. His once golden eyes, now aged to the color of burnished brass, held her gaze with intensity. “Take care, daughter.” He closed the channel and the terminal reverted to a black screen embellished with the Border Service logo.
This time, Kelendi allowed a sigh to escape. She really did want to see her parents, and being home for Harvest Offering would be fun and relaxing. But like all of Starfleet, the Border Service still suffered from a shortage of ships and crew. Asking for leave seemed like such a selfish request right now. She knew the chances of her sister, Katari, getting home were less than hers, seeing as how Dragonfire was the only cutter patrolling the Outland Expanse.
The guilt-ridden part of her knew that leaving Pamlico in the hands of Lt. Kep Tien for a week or so would not end in disaster.
But the Border Dog in her envisioned returning from leave to find Lt. Tien bound and gagged and stuffed in an air-lock. Tien was a competent officer, but her obsessive-compulsive personality grated on Pamlico’s crew. Nor Huren liked the Asian X.O., but thus far had little success in getting Tien to lighten up.
She sighed again, and frowned with irritation – trying to recall how long ago she had picked up that peculiar Human idiosyncrasy. The chime of her computer terminal interrupted her reverie.
Sitting straight, she tapped the reply stud on her desk. “Nor Huren – go ahead.”
The image of Ensign Larry “Pudge” Patterson appeared on the terminal. Patterson had a round, cherubic face that matched his generally round physique. An under-achiever, Patterson had barely passed the Academy’s physical requirements and his grades had put him near the bottom of his class. Thus, he had found himself in the Border Service as the most junior officer on a buoy tender. Still, Patterson was bright and good-natured. He often joked that his career could “only go up from here.” Nor Huren knew that “out” was also an option, but she liked the kid and he was fitting in well on Pamlico. She only hoped that the crew’s strong work ethic would rub off on him.
“It’s Pudge, Skipper - you have an in-coming message from Star Station Echo, Admiral Bateson’s office.”
“Route it down here, Pudge.” She paused and her brow furrowed. “Have you been eating on the bridge again?”
Ensign Patterson’s face began to redden. “Uh, why do you ask, ma’am?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . maybe the crumbs on your tunic? And is that chocolate on your face?”
Pudge hastily brushed at the front of his uniform and wiped furtively at his mouth. “Sorry ma’am – I just get real hungry when I’m on the bridge.”
“We’ll discuss it later. Just send the message through to my quarters, please.”
“Yes ma’am – stand by.” Pudge hastily cut the channel and transferred the incoming sub-space transmission to Nor Huren’s terminal. Momentarily, the image of an Andorian with a high forehead and wavy white hair appeared. Admiral Bateson’s aide, Lt. Varnosh, inclined his head in greeting.
“Commander Nor Huren, Admiral Bateson conveys his complements along with a new assignment.”
“Go ahead, Lieutenant. I’m all ears.”
Varnosh was as accustomed to Human expressions as was Nor Huren. He only reacted with a slight smile before continuing. “Sensors have picked up a large debris field drifting into the space lanes in sector 04341. I’m transmitting coordinates and the general direction of the drift.”
“Any idea where the debris came from?”
“Apparently it is a mix of cast-off junk and space debris that accumulated over time in a weak gravity pool. These junk fields coalesce on occasion, but this one is larger than most and could pose a hazard to navigation. The Admiral would like you to tow it to the nearest star and dispose of it.”
Nor Huren grinned. “The Admiral wants us to collect the trash and burn it?”
Varnosh allowed a small grin. “As you say.”
She chuckled. “Why not? Tell the Admiral we’re on it and I’ll report in when we’re done.”
“Thank you, Commander. Echo Station, out.”
* * *
Stardate 54036.92 (14 January 2377)
USS Pamlico NCC-T101
Entering Sector 04341 – Warp 4
Lt. Commander Nor Huren sat in her command chair, legs crossed, as she sipped from a cup of spiced tea. At the helm, Petty Officer Andy Pelham hummed quietly to himself as he guided Pamlico toward their rendezvous with junk.
“Pudge, have you got a fix on the debris field?” queried Nor Huren.
The portly young officer continued to peer into the sensor hood, his tongue darting between his lips as he adjusted the gain on the sensors.
“Um, not yet, ma’am. I’m getting a lot of fuzz on the sensor returns.”
“Dial back the boost. We’re looking for a ten kilometer wide garbage pile, not a cloaked ship.”
Patterson attempted to nod his head in understanding, banging his forehead against the sensor hood. “Ow! I mean, yes ma’am – thank you!”
Nor Huren caught the gaze of Chief Peter McManus, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. She shrugged her shoulders in return and waited patiently for the nugget officer to complete his task. Silently, she thanked her ancestral deities that Lt. Tien was off-duty. She had no desire to witness the XO’s head explode over Patterson’s ineptitude.
After a painful interval, Patterson finally announced in triumph, “Got it! Bearing 118 mark 16.”
“Range?” asked Nor Huren with admirable patience.
“Right! Sorry! Hmmm. Make it, point eight-eight light years. At our current speed we will catch up in 42 minutes.”
“Thank you, Ensign. Pete? Warm up the ‘tractors. We’ve got some trash to haul.”
* * *
Forty minutes later . . .
The Pamlico dropped out of warp and began a slow approach to the debris field. Lt. Tien arrived on the bridge, taking over at Ops for Ensign Patterson, who bounded toward the turbo lift with astonishing alacrity and obvious relief.
As Tien logged into the operations station, Nor Huren heard the XO spout several choice curses in Mandarin.
“Kep? Anything wrong?”
The petite Asian officer turned, a look of distaste on her face. “Captain – there are crumbs in the sensor hood!”
“Really? How odd.”
“Captain Nor Huren, I really must insist that Ensign Patterson refrain from . . .”
Nor Huren held up a hand in warning. “I know, Kep, I know. I’ll talk to him. For now, let’s focus on dragging that pile of garbage toward the nearest star – which would be . . .?”
Lt. Tien glowered for a moment longer, before taking a deep, calming breath. “Give me a moment to ascertain our options. Do you have a preference as to classification?”
“Just find one close enough that we can haul the debris field directly in without it getting away from us.”
“Understood.” Tien turned back to Ops and sat in her chair.
And began cursing in Mandarin again.
“Now what?” demanded Nor Huren.
Lt. Tien held up a hand which was covered in a dark, gooey substance. She turned toward Nor Huren, her eyes wide with indignation. “Chocolate! In my chair! Really, Captain – this is too much!”
Nor Huren dropped her face into the palm of her right hand. Her head was beginning to pound. “Like I said, I’ll talk to him . . .”
* * *
Pamlico glided to a stop relative to the undulating mass of debris. The small tender was dwarfed by the cloud of junk. On the screen, it looked like a fleet of garbage scows had exploded. Pieces of derelict ships, odd bits of scrap metal, and the detritus of several dozen space-faring races tumbled and spun through the void. It was an impressive sight that had a peculiar sort of beauty, setting aside the fact that it was several million metric tons of garbage.
“Och, what a mess!” exclaimed Chief McManus.
Nor Huren regarded the massive debris field doubtfully. “Pete – do you think we have the capability to drag this mess anywhere?”
“It will nae be easy. I first need to locate the source of the gravity field – it should be the object with the greatest mass in yon bloody pile ‘o scrap. We’ll need to lock on the beastie and hope the whole bloody mess doesn’t drift apart.”
“Couldn’t we just take parts of it at a time?” suggested Petty Officer Andy Pelham. “That’s a lot of junk to move all at once.”
“We canna do that, lad,” replied McManus, shaking his craggy head. “If we destabilize the gravity field, the whole kit ‘n caboodle could drift apart. We’d be here for months cleanin’ up the mess!”
“We don’t actually have to tow it,” remarked Nor Huren. “We just need to change its course – right, Chief?”
“Aye,” McManus nodded. “The center of gravity just needs a tug in the right direction.”
“Kep – where to?” asked the C.O.
“I’m putting it on screen now,” replied Tien. On the main viewer, a tactical grid appeared. Pamlico appeared as a small delta-shaped icon adjacent to an irregular blob that represented the debris field. On the upper left corner of the screen was a flashing red dot.
“That is NGC-4810 – a white star in an uninhabited system. There are no asteroid fields or major gravity wells that would preclude sending the debris into the star. However, at the current rate of drift, it will take the field several decades to reach it.”
Nor Huren frowned. “Decades? Not good enough. We’ll have to speed up the process. Any ideas, Pete?”
The Scottish NCO rubbed gnarled fingers through the thin stubble of hair on his skull. “We canna drag the lot at warp. There’s nae way to extend our warp field that far. And if we just tow whatever’s generatin’ gravity, we’ll leave most of yon mess behind.”
Kelendi stood, her lips pursed as she regarded the debris field on the viewscreen.
“Alright, we’ll just have to get creative. Kep – see if you can locate the center mass of that field. It shouldn’t be too hard to find. Pete – try to figure a way to extend our warp field or strengthen the reach of the tractor beams. Staff meeting in one hour – Kep, make sure Sage is there, too. In the mean-time, I’m going to have a chat with Ensign Patterson.
* * *
(To be continued . . .)
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