Deep Shit 69 - Chapter 1-1

STARDATE 9308.10 - Log of the Starship Boobyprize, Captain Jean-Luc Dildeaux commanding. Having somewhat successfully completed my first assignment aboard the Boobyprize, I have now been ordered to transport vital Starfleet personnel to the starbase, DS69. Upon arrival, I am to oversee the insertion of these key officers into their respective posts. Having reviewed their records, I can see that Starfleet is placing a priority on getting this station up and running. I am also left wondering if I can twist some arms in the Admiralty and change some of the postings, so that I can rid myself of my "ship of fools." Damn! I really could use these officers; my own ship is replete with social misfits, buffoons, and assorted ass-kissing cretins! Alas, I am merely the captain aboard the flagship of the Federation, which I presume doesn't count for much these days. But I can dream. Before we arrive at DS69, I need to brief the base's future commanding officer, one Benjamin Krisko. I understand he holds some reservations about this posting, having recently lost his wife in a battle with the Hardassians.

As Captain Dildeaux finished his log, the door to Boobyprize's ready room chimed. Dildeaux grudgingly bid the intruder to enter, A human of African origin entered. Dildeaux recognized him as Commander Benjamin Krisko, a rather greasy sort of fellow. Krisko saluted the captain, and Dildeaux gestured for him to sit down.

DLD: Commander Krisko, would you like a cup of tea? It's Earl Grey, my own blend.
KRS: Frankly, Captain Dildo, I'd like you just cut to the chase,...and Earl Grey is a faggot's drink, sir.
DLD: It's Dildeaux, Commander.
KRS: Whatever.
DLD: I understand you served as First Officer on the U.S.S. Spenser.
KRS: Aye, Captain. But Starfleet decommissioned her, sir. I think she's now available for hire.
DLD: Then you served under Captain Urich?
KRS: Yes, sir. He was a great leader. I learned a great deal from him before he passed away.
DLD: Alas,...poor Urich! I knew him well.
KRS: Aye, sir.
DLD: Your dossier states that you have some reservations about this posting. Does the death of your wife play into this?
KRS: Damn straight, homeboy! She dies when the Hardassians hit the Spenser! I haven't had time to properly grieve her loss and yet, I'm ordered to baby-sit some useless space station until the Majorans get their act together?? AND,..I have to play the part of "diplomat to the Hardassians on top of that!
DLD: I understand your point, Commander, but,...
KRS: You don't know shit,..sir! The Hardassians will sit back, wait until things calm down, and reclaim that undermanned, outgunned spinning garbage pile for their own! It's as obvious as the nose on a Majoran's face!
DLD: You seem quite adamant about this, Commander. Would you prefer something quieter, like Outpost 101? That would look just splendid on your record, Krisko.
KRS: Say what, honkie?
DLD: I don't like your tone, Mister. I could easily get you assigned to a Veloran border guard ship. I hear Velorans hate Negroes.
KRS: Ofay honkie!
DLD: Or even a Rigellian garbage scow!
KRS: Dead honkie!

The two men glared at each other. Krisko, being several inches taller than Dildeaux, towered over the Captain. Dildeaux broke into a sweat and swallowed hard. He hardly needed to answer to the Galactic Association for the Advancement of Colored Humanoids at this point in his career,..what with a select, but influential, minority group of the admiralty being black!

DLD: Or,...I could keep you right here if that pleases you.
KRS: All personal feelings aside, Captain,..I am a Starfleet officer. I have a duty to perform and I intend to do my best. Now, sir, if you'll excuse me, I have to check in with the Majoran liaison.
DLD: Dismissed.

Krisko made his way to the transporter room. Miles O'Brother, Boobyprize's former transporter chief, greeted him. O'Brother was scheduled to join Krisko on DS 69 as the new Chief of Operations.

MOB: Ah, Commander Krisko. I was just about to have you paged, sir.
KRS: Nevermind the ass-kissing, O'Brother. Let's just get this over with.
MOB: Aye, sir. Awaiting the signal from DS69.

Krisko stepped onto the transporter pad. He fumed as he waited for the signal from DS69.

MOB: OK, sir. I've gotten the signal. Prepare to beam down.
KRS: Aren't you coming, Mr. O'Brother?
MOB: I'll be down momentarily, sir. Just some last-minute things to clear up. You know, sir, the wife and,..uh,...I'm sorry, sir,..I didn't mean,...

The whine and glisten of the transporter beam thankfully engulfed Krisko.

KRS: I'll give you five min....
MOB: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

The transporter beam reformed Krisko in the Operational Center. After the usual momentary imbalance, he came to his senses. The Ops was bustling with activity, as the Majorans steadily went about their business, trying to refit the stripped equipment. Orders were being given in Majoran, a language Krisko barely had time to learn and was having difficulty understanding even now. From what he assumed was the control center, his new office, he heard a loud female voice yelling vehemently at somebody in Majoran.