With apologies to the BBC Light Programme. I proudly present USS Tuttenbeck, the pride of Starfleet and the antipathy of boringly efficient Federation Starships.

The Startrek Universe is the property of Paramount, though they might not want this bit of it.

The stories are my own and any other sad but kind person that wishes to join in the fun.

"If you could just sign here, Lieutenant Parbold. Then I can get on and unload?" the Captain of the supply freighter suggested.

"Oh, yeah, right!" Parbold agreed helpfully, taking the PADD and entered his signature code. "Anything big?"

"That might cheer Gorsh up. Tuttenbeck hasn't had one for a while. The Captain might even risk a short warp burst, just to prove she can still do it."

The Captain exploded in laughter. "Hit warp in that thing and the next thing she will hit is planets as she flies apart."

"Tuttenbeck is a good ship!" Parbold protested loyally. "Not her fault she's a bit bent. Besides it adds character!"

"Is that what they call it now-a-days," The Captain laughed. "Now don't worry about beaming the stuff over. We'll do it ourselves."

He hurried away and Parbold turned to his other duties as officer of the day. Which in his case meant largely sitting in the Captains Wilton armchair wondering what it would be like to command a real Starship.

Parbold was surprised a little later on by an agitated call from Chief Catchen. "The stuff from the supply drop, Mr Parbold, Sir?"

"In the magazine, Chief?" Parbold suggested with sarcasam in his voice. "That is where a torpedo normally goes."

"Yes, Sir," the Chief agreed placidly. "And with four in the tubes we can carry 24."

"So what's the problem there was only four on the manifest. I know we haven't got a full torpedo load?"

"There was a four on the manifest, Sir," the Chief agreed patiently. "But you missed the letter afterwards."

"It was a 'K', Sir," he added helpfully. "We are the proud owners of 4,000 MkIV Photon Torpedoes."

”Never mind, Sir. I’m sure there will be something I can do with ’em,” the Chief decided.

Geroff was in a good mood when he turned into the gallery leading to Tuttenbeck’s docking station. It was rare that he actually had a day off from the ship, this time he had had three. It was pointless leaving it to T’Riz and Corbett, somebody could steal the ship and they would never know the difference. Young Parbold however was proving to be quite promising. He seemed to take orders seriously and did not ask too many of the wrong questions.

Now all Geroff had to do, was finish the preparations for the ‘Diplomatic Party’. Hammit had confirmed that the supply ship had arrived and departed so even that was a formality.

His good humour was dented somewhat when he was faced with twelve long cases stacked carefully in the gangway, then shattered totally when he read the labels.

“Ah, there you are Lieutenant,” he seized upon the unfortunate Parbold as he boarded. “Would you care to explain why there are a dozen torpedoes on the concourse?”

“No room for dangerous weapons?” Geroff questioned warily. “That stores only had a couple of rats and a few cases in it three days ago. What is in it now?”

“All the more reason to check. Those buggers will rob you blind,” Geroff informed him harshly. “So what are you going to do with them? I assume you tried to get the supply ship to take them away again?”

“They were in a hurry to get away. Said they were running late, Sir. We didn’t find out until after they had left”

“I’m not surprised, some of those things are older than this ship. They must have scoured every store in Starfleet for them!”

“The Chief reckons he can lose a few to the Undertaker, Sir?” Parbold offered hopefully.

“Except for him to use 4,000 of the damned things we would need an epidemic of such a size even Starfleet would notice,” Geroff pointed out. “Are the rest of the supplies here?”

“Yes, Sir. Chief and I checked them,” Parbold agreed quickly, thankful that he had achieved one correct action. “Can’t we use a few, Sir?” He ventured hopefully.

“What on?” Geroff demanded. “I haven’t used a torpedo in twelve years! You are also assuming that those tubes work, they certainly haven’t been tested by us. That they don’t fire the torpedo straight into us, you must have noticed which way the tubes are pointing? And we can actually remember how the damned things are fired. Besides why disturb the spiders in the tubes, just so you can have a bang?”

“Sod ‘em!” Geroff snapped viciously. “Okay. I’ll have a word with Supply and see if I can get them to take them back. Get me a copy of the requisition, the manifest and any other paperwork.”

“We aren’t taking them back into stores!” A corpulant supply officer chortled over the view screen. “We’ve been trying to get rid of them for fifteen years. It took us nearly two weeks to put the shipment together, had to pick them up from supply depots from here to the edge of the galaxy.”

“And what ship in the fleet is still able to fire Mk IV torpedoes?” Geroff asked mildly. “Let alone want them?”

“Not our problem,” Supply informed him happily. “Perhaps your ship is out of date?”

“Ah yes the requisition,” Geroff sighed picking out a PADD from the half dozen on the table. “It so happens that my people have made a copy of what we actually asked for. It significantly failed to ask for torpedoes, in any form.”

“So have I,” Supply gurgled glancing at another screen. “It says 4000 KIV Torpedoes.”

“Would you care to spell torpedo?” Geroff challenged. “My copy says quite clearly 4,000 Kiv Tortilas, part TOR4356890Zed2I7. They seem to have been left off of the drop?”

“4000 KIV Tortilas, part TOR 4356 890 2217,” Supply declared looking at the screen beside him, his voice fading away. “I see the problem. You quoted the wrong part number. We don’t check descriptions. We use part numbers,” Supply rallied proudly.

“Wrong Part Number?” Geroff exclaimed. “It’s your stupid part number system and your inability to understand the difference between a Zed and a 2. Let alone the fact that not many ships can possibly ask for four thousand torpedoes. It’s not as though we are at war! And I needed those Tortilas for an important diplomatic function!”

“Dunno what you hicks get up to. Well it don’t matter any. We still aren’t having them back, just make sure they are all accounted for at stock take. You can try re-requisitioning your Tortilas.”

Finally he sank back in his chair. “I’m going to get lynched. You know that don’t you?” He said accusingly to Parbold. “I promised the Mayaks something a little dangerous for this months party. Persuaded Um’Gooh to spice up his curry for them special.”

“The Mayaks, Sir?” Parbold asked in confusion. “I thought it was a diplomatic party?”

He had met a couple on the base. Small, green and above all smelly humanoids, the Mayaks were the Galactic equivalent of goats, able to go anywhere and eat almost anything and had a racially inbuilt death wish. They were not technically a breach of the Prime Directive. They had not developed any form of warp drive, simply stolen it. They had apparently found the colony some fifteen years ago and had simply moved in like invading Tinkers. Generally they did no damage and the colonists ignored them because of their ability to carry out the most dangerous tasks the colony could provide. If StarFleet had an official policy, Parbold did not know what it was, nor it appeared, did StarFleet when he had asked. They were simply another item on his growing list of ‘Things Not to Discuss in Polite Parties’.

Geroff, however liked them. Perhaps because they did not turn their noses up at the sight of Tuttenbeck. Whatever the reason, they were regular visitors and he was in an active contest with Ny’Lyck their leader to find something they would not eat or do and survive.

It also explained the use of Um’Gooh’s curry and the spicy Kiv’s. The curry in particular bore public health warnings and was banned on at least three planets. Parbold, in respect to his fast disappearing taste buds, had refused to try one as soon as he saw the typically mushroom shaped cloud that hung over the plate.

“It is diplomatic for us not to disappoint the Mayaks,” Geroff declared. “Who do you think supplies Hammit with the parts to keep this old tub running. Certainly not a Supply Branch that can’t tell the difference between a crispy pancake and a torpedo!”

“I’ll talk to the Ferrengi traders,” Parbold offered contritely. “They might be able to offer something in place of the tortillas.”

“Do that,” Geroff accepted. “Just don’t let the bastards rob you for them. I’d better see the Chief.”

A torpedo mis-fired its motor and shot off around the warehouse. A terrified crewman Williams, his tunic caught in the access hatch flying with it, his legs flying behind.

The torpedo, not designed to carry weight on its back, veered as he struggled and flew barely 3M over Chief Catchen’s head.

“Taffy!” The Chief roared unsympathetically. “I told you to disarm the damned thing. Not go for a blasted joy-ride. Turn it off and get down here before you damage it!”

His demand was met with another scream as Williams seeing a wall approaching struggled again, sending the torpedo off in a new direction.

Commander Geroff entered the warehouse. Spotting the Chief standing in the centre he made his way resolutely towards him, ignoring the frantic crewman, still riding his wild charge.

"Just Williams' decided to go for a ride," he continued nodding in the direction of the unfortunate crewman as he performed erratic circles over their heads. "Just as well the motors are as shot as the warheads."

“Yes, I noticed,” Geroff commented placidly. “He seems to be getting the hang of it though!” At present Williams had managed to wrap his legs around the casing and was riding it like a ‘Bucking Bronco’, except he was upside down.

They stood and watched Crewman Williams doing several more laps of the warehouse, until he crashed into a stack of crates.

Parpold marched up. "Got your Tortillas, Sir!" He announced proudly. "Plus three more cases of brandy. Got them from Tralog. Oh hello Chief."

"Not bad," Geroff admitted. "But he got away cheap. Before you sign off for the day pass a tip to StarFleet about it. They can intercept Tralog at the Nebula Pass. He'll have sold half his hooch by then, so he'll make a profit and he’ll be well out of our patch so we won’t have broken your promise."

On the whole, Geroff reflected, preparing for bed 60 hours later. It had been a good week.

The Tortilla’s Parbold had acquired were not as strong as Kiv’s. But Ny’Lyck had agreed that the curry had been a good try, after clearing several plates, a side order of parafin wax firelighters and giving a belch that would melt eyebrows at ten paces. But it was the modified torpedoes that had been a hit. Geroff had offered the Mayak’s them as personal transport, explaining that the leather effect saddle and stirrups were there for them to sit upon whilst being transported. The Mayak’s had fallen on them with relish, quickly getting the hang of the basic commands they had been programmed with, forward, backward, left, right, up and down and so on and were soon chasing each other around the warehouse. They particularly liked the command ‘Faster’ but had definite problems getting a grasp of the command ‘Stop’, preferring to hit something instead, the harder the better. Geroff wondered how the race continued to exist.

StarFleet had managed to arrest Tralog with 5,000 litres of contraband liquor. So they were happy, and it lifted the Tuttenbeck slightly off the bottom basement of opinion at StarFleet. Tralog was not worried by the fine either, he did not have a buyer for the surplus and had already made his money on the other 15,000 litres.

That only left the remainder of the torpedoes. The Chiefs brother had already made a bid for those that would keep the ship in essentials for several years to come, so Geroff had set the Chief to the task of overseeing their disarming.

Geroff was particularly looking forward to returning the warheads to stores as Part Zed986324 (Part Engine Defective), instead of Part 2986324 (Warhead Torpedo). With a little luck it would be the same supply ship that took the potentially lethal heads, even better it might not get back to Earth, though he would miss the inevitable running around by stores as they tried to find somewhere to lose them.

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