Setting Up Shop
Xanthe Palmer’s head pounded making even the simplest tasks a labour, though at least the nausea had passed. Her leaving party had been a big bash with an abundance of food and even more alcohol. Every member of the crew had attended to wish her well on the next stage of her career, though a few were mystified (some mortified) that she’d chosen the Border Service above everything else. Truth be told, she was still a little surprised herself, but something about it just felt right to her.
She would find out soon enough if it was a complete disaster.
Turning slowly, to ensure the room didn’t spin again, she surveyed her quarters one last time to make sure everything was packed. Her home of the last five years was bare, making it look much larger. She was going to miss this ship.
The door enunciator chirped cheerfully, making her wince. “It’s open.”
The panels parted and Oka Saygen leant against the frame. “Good, you’re up.”
“Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, though not by much.”
The chief engineer flashed her a toothy smile as she stepped inside. “Yeah, I think most of the crew are suffering, but it was in aid of a good cause.”
“And it was greatly appreciated,” she said, picking up the hard-shelled carrying case from her bed and slinging it on her shoulder. “Well, I think that’s me.”
“Not quite,” Saygen replied, producing a small PADD from somewhere and handing it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, not sure her eyes were quite up to the challenge of reading.
“Transfer requests. Mine and O’Shaughnessy’s,” she stated.
“What?”
“Wow, you are really suffering, aren’t you? Reminds me of that night on B’kar when you met that Orion gigolo—”
“He wasn’t a gigolo,” she replied automatically, how she always did when Saygen brought up that incident. She shook her head clearing the pleasant, not to mention athletic, memory and trying to refocus on the here and now. “Don’t think you can distract me, Lieutenant. What do you mean transfer request?”
“Last night, Cian and I got to talking about your decision—he was all for it by the way, his uncle is in the Service. He was already planning on requesting to join your crew, I had to tell him he was as crazy as you were, but the more he talked the more I was swayed by the notion. That mans’ got some sort of weird mind trick, as the next thing I knew I was agreeing with him.”
“It’s the accent.”
“The Border Service should hire him as their recruiter.”
“Oka, are your sure about this? I mean it won’t do your career much good, and the ship will probably be a constant headache.”
“I’m up for that. It’s not hard for a modern ship to meet my standards, in fact it can get a little dull, so I’d be interested in tackling a different beast. Besides,” she set her hands on her hips, “you’ll need the best engineer you know to save your tailless rump in the nick of time.”
“He’ll be busy, so I guess I can settle for you,” Palmer replied with a smirk. “If you’re absolutely sure about this, I’d gladly welcome you aboard.”
“I am. It’ll be fun!”
Palmer extended her hand and Saygen took it, her calloused grip a little too firm. Truth be told she would be glad of the company, given that she was a fleeter going in the heads of a few Border Dogs who would’ve been eager for their own command, she’d need a friendly face or two in order to help her through. The fact that she was ending up with a talented engineer and a natural born helmsman for her new ship was just a happy coincidence.
“My transport leaves at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow, so you won’t have much time to pack.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll both be ready.” She stepped aside and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”
Leading the way, Palmer left her quarters on deck four for the last time. The corridors leading to the turbolift were quiet, though she knew why that would be. They never needed to wait for the lift as the doors opened on their approach. There was an easy silence between the two women, given that this wouldn’t be goodbye for them, though she knew that as soon as the doors opened it was going to get harder for her. She tucked herself against the side of the carriage as slowed. Once it stopped on deck seven, the doors opened and Saygen stepped out ahead of her.
She hadn’t looked into the passageway, but her friend’s pronouncement of, “Attention on deck,” told her what was waiting for her.
Taking a steadying breath, she turned to face her last few minutes onboard. Her eyes misted as she saw both sides of the corridor lined with crewmembers from every department, uniforms neatly pressed, postures straight, all patiently waiting for her. With a confident stride, she followed the path laid out before her. She looked from one side to the other, seeing a few grins, a few tears, and a few encouraging nods (as well as one or two bloodshot pairs of eyes).
Far too quickly, she reached transporter room one and entered. Captain Srii Harash stood waiting for her, whilst Petty Officer K’rrt’tyx manned the controls. She stopped before the Saurian.
“I guess this is goodbye, Lieutenant Commander.”
“So it would seem, sir.”
“You made a good choice.”
“Thank you, sir. For all your help. I know this ship is in the best possible hands.”
“Until we meet again, Captain,” he said with his familiar crooked smile.
She smiled at him, before stiffening her posture. “Permission to disembark, sir.”
“Permission granted.”
With that, she stepped up onto the dais and nodded at the operator. “Energise.”
* * * * *
After they had each departing the Polaris, Palmer, Saygen and O’Shaughnessy had spent two weeks onboard a high warp courier, travelling from Theta Station to the Tragan Surplus Depot, where Starfleet and the Border Service stored ships deemed suitable for reactivation should the need for them arise. The journey had allowed them all to familiarise themselves with the specific rules and regulations for the Service, the Outland Expanse, the Tzenkethi and everything else that they might have to contend with when they got there. They also had the opportunity to familiarise themselves with the ship specs, though Palmer kept to herself the more colourful aspects of the Ranger’s history.
She put most of her time into selecting a crew. Whilst a lot would be assigned to the cutter through normal crew rotations and transferrals, she would be able to put together her senior officers and non-coms—for which she already had her chief engineer and senior helmsman. When more prolific across the fleet, the Altair-Class had a crew of around one hundred, however she would have sixty-six. During refitting the ship to handle the duties of the Border Service, accommodation had been sacrificed to include a pair of better tractor beam emitters, an additional emergency power generator, torpedo launcher and magazine, and evacuation transporter rooms, with a number of cabins being knocked through to make a couple of large shelters for evacuees. From her experience, she knew that the smaller crew would work all the harder to get the job done. By the time they’d reached the Tragan system, she’d managed to get almost all of her key posts filled.
Due to the amount of hardware in the system, which was still kept at an operational level, transporter scramblers were set up across the depot to keep any ne’re-do-wells from trying to make off with a prize, so they shuttled over to the control hub (little more than one of the old orbital offices from fifty years ago). There was already a travel pod waiting for them, so as soon as their belongings were loaded aboard they were on their way.
The Polaris trio stood behind the pods pilot, looking out the large curved viewport at all the ships they passed. After only a couple of minutes she’d lost count of the number of different classes, there were even a few she didn’t recognise—which wasn’t surprising, given the S.C.E. facility on one of the systems moons was known for experimenting with taking old ships apart and putting them together in new and unique ways. Rumour had it the Enterprise-A was somewhere in the system.
Zipping around a Ptolemy-Class tug, one of the smaller dry-docks came into view. Nestled safely inside the lattice of scaffolding and workshops was the Ranger. At 222 meters in length she was fifty-five meters shorter than the Polaris, as well as being seventy meters narrower and half the height of the Miranda-Class starship, the ship itself had an almost unfinished look to her, lacking the smooth, sleek finishing of most other classes—though it did make her look like a proper workhorse.
“Not as bad as I was expecting,” Saygen commented as she craned her neck forward to get a better look.
“So long as you don’t mind the ghosts, Lieutenant,” stated O’Shaughnessy in his lyrical Irish brogue.
Palmer glanced at him, wondering how he’d heard of the ridiculous rumours about the cutter. Saygen shot him a look, her brow furrowed.
“Ghosts? What ghosts?”
“The Ranger is haunted by the spirits of one of her previous crews, didn’t the Commander not tell you that?”
“Xan?” she challenged with an accusatory tone.
“Come on now, Oka, you don’t honestly believe in such superstitions?”
“I like to have all the facts before I make a huge life-altering decision!”
“Well I never asked you to come with me, so on your own head be it. Besides, it’s the twenty-fourth century and despite the efforts of a few misguided ‘parapsychologists’, there has never been any evidence of ghosts detected with even the most advanced equipment available.”
That seemed to placate the engineer, whose tail flicked nervously. “You’re right, you’re right.”
“So why does almost every sentient species have some sort of mythos around spectres?” quizzed O’Shaughnessy, his hands behind his back.
“Because of a fear of death and a desire to believe in something more,” she interjected quickly. “Remind me to add a refresher of xenoanthropology onto your training programme, PO.”
He chuckled to himself, watching as the pod approached the portside docking hatch, manoeuvring between the nacelle and saucer. Aside from the ghosts, what the Belfast native had said about the Ranger was true. In the mid-2280s, when she was still serving as a surveyor, the ship vanished for a week. Every available ship in the area had joined the search, but there was no sign of her, until almost seven days to the minute of the last known contact when she suddenly reappeared only a light-year away from her last known location. She hadn’t answered hails, and when a search party finally got aboard they found no traces of the crew nor any indication of what had happened to her. Since then the ghost stories started to emerge, which was why Starfleet had handed the ship down to the Border Service. Whilst it was an unsettling story, there were numerous theories that could account for what happened to the ship, such as being caught in a wormhole, exposed to some unknown form of radiation, even abduction by slavers was a possibility.
Under the pilot’s practiced hand, the pod applied her breaking thrusters then rotated one hundred and eighty degrees as she neared the hull of the ship. A couple of additional bursts from the reaction control system and she connected with the port, before docking clamps engaged and the small craft was securely fixed in place.
She thanked the crewman, before grabbing her shoulder bag and briefcase and opening the airlock. Saygen and O’Shaughnessy followed on behind her. Unlike Captain Harash’s arrival on the Polaris, there was no assembly of the crew or boatswain’s whistles or speeches, given that most of the crew weren’t aboard and the depots technicians had more than enough to do getting the ship readied.
They would need to hit the ground running, to both assist in getting the ship ready for launch as well as ready themselves for a new way of life with the Border Service.
* * * * *
Xanthe Palmer’s head pounded making even the simplest tasks a labour, though at least the nausea had passed. Her leaving party had been a big bash with an abundance of food and even more alcohol. Every member of the crew had attended to wish her well on the next stage of her career, though a few were mystified (some mortified) that she’d chosen the Border Service above everything else. Truth be told, she was still a little surprised herself, but something about it just felt right to her.
She would find out soon enough if it was a complete disaster.
Turning slowly, to ensure the room didn’t spin again, she surveyed her quarters one last time to make sure everything was packed. Her home of the last five years was bare, making it look much larger. She was going to miss this ship.
The door enunciator chirped cheerfully, making her wince. “It’s open.”
The panels parted and Oka Saygen leant against the frame. “Good, you’re up.”
“Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, though not by much.”
The chief engineer flashed her a toothy smile as she stepped inside. “Yeah, I think most of the crew are suffering, but it was in aid of a good cause.”
“And it was greatly appreciated,” she said, picking up the hard-shelled carrying case from her bed and slinging it on her shoulder. “Well, I think that’s me.”
“Not quite,” Saygen replied, producing a small PADD from somewhere and handing it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, not sure her eyes were quite up to the challenge of reading.
“Transfer requests. Mine and O’Shaughnessy’s,” she stated.
“What?”
“Wow, you are really suffering, aren’t you? Reminds me of that night on B’kar when you met that Orion gigolo—”
“He wasn’t a gigolo,” she replied automatically, how she always did when Saygen brought up that incident. She shook her head clearing the pleasant, not to mention athletic, memory and trying to refocus on the here and now. “Don’t think you can distract me, Lieutenant. What do you mean transfer request?”
“Last night, Cian and I got to talking about your decision—he was all for it by the way, his uncle is in the Service. He was already planning on requesting to join your crew, I had to tell him he was as crazy as you were, but the more he talked the more I was swayed by the notion. That mans’ got some sort of weird mind trick, as the next thing I knew I was agreeing with him.”
“It’s the accent.”
“The Border Service should hire him as their recruiter.”
“Oka, are your sure about this? I mean it won’t do your career much good, and the ship will probably be a constant headache.”
“I’m up for that. It’s not hard for a modern ship to meet my standards, in fact it can get a little dull, so I’d be interested in tackling a different beast. Besides,” she set her hands on her hips, “you’ll need the best engineer you know to save your tailless rump in the nick of time.”
“He’ll be busy, so I guess I can settle for you,” Palmer replied with a smirk. “If you’re absolutely sure about this, I’d gladly welcome you aboard.”
“I am. It’ll be fun!”
Palmer extended her hand and Saygen took it, her calloused grip a little too firm. Truth be told she would be glad of the company, given that she was a fleeter going in the heads of a few Border Dogs who would’ve been eager for their own command, she’d need a friendly face or two in order to help her through. The fact that she was ending up with a talented engineer and a natural born helmsman for her new ship was just a happy coincidence.
“My transport leaves at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow, so you won’t have much time to pack.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll both be ready.” She stepped aside and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”
Leading the way, Palmer left her quarters on deck four for the last time. The corridors leading to the turbolift were quiet, though she knew why that would be. They never needed to wait for the lift as the doors opened on their approach. There was an easy silence between the two women, given that this wouldn’t be goodbye for them, though she knew that as soon as the doors opened it was going to get harder for her. She tucked herself against the side of the carriage as slowed. Once it stopped on deck seven, the doors opened and Saygen stepped out ahead of her.
She hadn’t looked into the passageway, but her friend’s pronouncement of, “Attention on deck,” told her what was waiting for her.
Taking a steadying breath, she turned to face her last few minutes onboard. Her eyes misted as she saw both sides of the corridor lined with crewmembers from every department, uniforms neatly pressed, postures straight, all patiently waiting for her. With a confident stride, she followed the path laid out before her. She looked from one side to the other, seeing a few grins, a few tears, and a few encouraging nods (as well as one or two bloodshot pairs of eyes).
Far too quickly, she reached transporter room one and entered. Captain Srii Harash stood waiting for her, whilst Petty Officer K’rrt’tyx manned the controls. She stopped before the Saurian.
“I guess this is goodbye, Lieutenant Commander.”
“So it would seem, sir.”
“You made a good choice.”
“Thank you, sir. For all your help. I know this ship is in the best possible hands.”
“Until we meet again, Captain,” he said with his familiar crooked smile.
She smiled at him, before stiffening her posture. “Permission to disembark, sir.”
“Permission granted.”
With that, she stepped up onto the dais and nodded at the operator. “Energise.”
* * * * *
After they had each departing the Polaris, Palmer, Saygen and O’Shaughnessy had spent two weeks onboard a high warp courier, travelling from Theta Station to the Tragan Surplus Depot, where Starfleet and the Border Service stored ships deemed suitable for reactivation should the need for them arise. The journey had allowed them all to familiarise themselves with the specific rules and regulations for the Service, the Outland Expanse, the Tzenkethi and everything else that they might have to contend with when they got there. They also had the opportunity to familiarise themselves with the ship specs, though Palmer kept to herself the more colourful aspects of the Ranger’s history.
She put most of her time into selecting a crew. Whilst a lot would be assigned to the cutter through normal crew rotations and transferrals, she would be able to put together her senior officers and non-coms—for which she already had her chief engineer and senior helmsman. When more prolific across the fleet, the Altair-Class had a crew of around one hundred, however she would have sixty-six. During refitting the ship to handle the duties of the Border Service, accommodation had been sacrificed to include a pair of better tractor beam emitters, an additional emergency power generator, torpedo launcher and magazine, and evacuation transporter rooms, with a number of cabins being knocked through to make a couple of large shelters for evacuees. From her experience, she knew that the smaller crew would work all the harder to get the job done. By the time they’d reached the Tragan system, she’d managed to get almost all of her key posts filled.
Due to the amount of hardware in the system, which was still kept at an operational level, transporter scramblers were set up across the depot to keep any ne’re-do-wells from trying to make off with a prize, so they shuttled over to the control hub (little more than one of the old orbital offices from fifty years ago). There was already a travel pod waiting for them, so as soon as their belongings were loaded aboard they were on their way.
The Polaris trio stood behind the pods pilot, looking out the large curved viewport at all the ships they passed. After only a couple of minutes she’d lost count of the number of different classes, there were even a few she didn’t recognise—which wasn’t surprising, given the S.C.E. facility on one of the systems moons was known for experimenting with taking old ships apart and putting them together in new and unique ways. Rumour had it the Enterprise-A was somewhere in the system.
Zipping around a Ptolemy-Class tug, one of the smaller dry-docks came into view. Nestled safely inside the lattice of scaffolding and workshops was the Ranger. At 222 meters in length she was fifty-five meters shorter than the Polaris, as well as being seventy meters narrower and half the height of the Miranda-Class starship, the ship itself had an almost unfinished look to her, lacking the smooth, sleek finishing of most other classes—though it did make her look like a proper workhorse.
“Not as bad as I was expecting,” Saygen commented as she craned her neck forward to get a better look.
“So long as you don’t mind the ghosts, Lieutenant,” stated O’Shaughnessy in his lyrical Irish brogue.
Palmer glanced at him, wondering how he’d heard of the ridiculous rumours about the cutter. Saygen shot him a look, her brow furrowed.
“Ghosts? What ghosts?”
“The Ranger is haunted by the spirits of one of her previous crews, didn’t the Commander not tell you that?”
“Xan?” she challenged with an accusatory tone.
“Come on now, Oka, you don’t honestly believe in such superstitions?”
“I like to have all the facts before I make a huge life-altering decision!”
“Well I never asked you to come with me, so on your own head be it. Besides, it’s the twenty-fourth century and despite the efforts of a few misguided ‘parapsychologists’, there has never been any evidence of ghosts detected with even the most advanced equipment available.”
That seemed to placate the engineer, whose tail flicked nervously. “You’re right, you’re right.”
“So why does almost every sentient species have some sort of mythos around spectres?” quizzed O’Shaughnessy, his hands behind his back.
“Because of a fear of death and a desire to believe in something more,” she interjected quickly. “Remind me to add a refresher of xenoanthropology onto your training programme, PO.”
He chuckled to himself, watching as the pod approached the portside docking hatch, manoeuvring between the nacelle and saucer. Aside from the ghosts, what the Belfast native had said about the Ranger was true. In the mid-2280s, when she was still serving as a surveyor, the ship vanished for a week. Every available ship in the area had joined the search, but there was no sign of her, until almost seven days to the minute of the last known contact when she suddenly reappeared only a light-year away from her last known location. She hadn’t answered hails, and when a search party finally got aboard they found no traces of the crew nor any indication of what had happened to her. Since then the ghost stories started to emerge, which was why Starfleet had handed the ship down to the Border Service. Whilst it was an unsettling story, there were numerous theories that could account for what happened to the ship, such as being caught in a wormhole, exposed to some unknown form of radiation, even abduction by slavers was a possibility.
Under the pilot’s practiced hand, the pod applied her breaking thrusters then rotated one hundred and eighty degrees as she neared the hull of the ship. A couple of additional bursts from the reaction control system and she connected with the port, before docking clamps engaged and the small craft was securely fixed in place.
She thanked the crewman, before grabbing her shoulder bag and briefcase and opening the airlock. Saygen and O’Shaughnessy followed on behind her. Unlike Captain Harash’s arrival on the Polaris, there was no assembly of the crew or boatswain’s whistles or speeches, given that most of the crew weren’t aboard and the depots technicians had more than enough to do getting the ship readied.
They would need to hit the ground running, to both assist in getting the ship ready for launch as well as ready themselves for a new way of life with the Border Service.
* * * * *
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Fantastic that Palmer at least has a couple of old shipmates to help ease her transition into the Border Service. Her departure from Polaris was heartwarming, certainly the sendoff she deserved after what she and the crew had been through together.
Actually, it's a marvelous back-story providing fodder for all sorts of fun weirdness. 
