A small problem with the replicators aboard USS Tuttenbeck forces her crew into desperate measures

With apologies to the BBC Light Programme. I proudly present USS Tuttenbeck, the pride of Starfleet and the antithesis 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.

Lieutenant Parbold examined his mug carefully. It was the same one he had acquired a month ago from the Captains quarters and he had cherished it accordingly. Giving the inside an experimental wipe he decided the deep stains inside did not constitute either a new life form, sentient or otherwise, or a major risk to life, at least not yet. Thus reassured he approached the replicator. "Computer, coffee. Please."

Somewhere in the internals of the replicator a light flashed and the appearance of a cup in brown liquid formed, then splashed into the carefully positioned and interestingly shaped tray in the bottom.

The tray itself had been the product of another replicator fault. He had naively asked for some strawberry jam. The resultant molten mass may have tasted of strawberry, at over three hundred degrees he wasn't going to risk trying, but when it had slowly solidified, it had become something a whole lot more useful, a removable tray to catch what ever was produced, yet was immune from the wayward replicators activities.

He picked up the tray and decanted the liquid contents into the cup, before taking a sip. Then spat it out violently.

The replicator had gone too far this time. Not only was it cold, but it had also managed to miss coffee from the list of desirable features, producing mud.

"Who's been confusing the damned computer this time?" Geroff demanded bursting into the Mess. "It won't even produce coffee now!"

He glared furiously at Gorsh and Parbold, the only candidates in the Mess. "Not another of those stupid ritual Klingon war celebrations or Strawberry Jam?"

Geroff found his two missing officers as he had suspected in one particular empty quarter on deck 5. It was the only room on the ship that wasn't bent to hell and technically reserved for guests. Not that Tuttenbeck ever had any. So Corbett had taken it over for his budding Harem.

He had made a good job of it as well, Geroff reflected. The long tapestries that covered the walls and even longer shag pile carpets must have been a devils own job to procure. He did not imagine that his amorous Lieutenant acquired them fairly.

"Tizzy, I made it for you," Corbett cajoled. "It took two days to replicate. It kept getting it wrong."

"But it is scented with exotic oils," Corbett explained. "I thought we could use it to meditate?"

Obviously the lieutenant had assumed one of those 'kicked puppy' looks that so often melted any female he encountered. T'Rizz's next words were a lot gentler and softer. "It is an interesting shape," she conceded. "The bulge in the end and ridges in the side suggest a purpose. Is it phallic?"

It was too much for Geroff as his mind went into overdrive. "Okay you two. That's enough!" He called barging through the drapes to face his surprisingly still dressed officers and just as the candle spluttered into whistling a tune.

"Not now you're not," Geroff snapped. "Punishment for beggaring up the computer."

Tuttenbeck launched itself at the unsuspecting universe with its customary screech of tortured metal and turned ponderously on a direction. For once neither was Corbett's fault.

It was not Parbold's either, though he was sat at the pilots console, on Geroff's impatient command. The ship seemed to have definite views on detaching itself from the safety of the space station, the lateral thrusters were simply not man enough. In the end he had tried just a touch of Impulse, only to find that the indicators shot straight to half impulse and refused to come down again.

The direction, also arbitrary, was the only one he could get the ship to maintain, that did not mean flying directly through the docks.

"Well upto Corbett's standards," Geroff complimented from behind, as T'Rizz and Corbett appeared. "But I didn't hear the twang! Now who is abroad today?"

"No good. They can't make coffee either," Geroff complained. "Besides they shoot back."

"Perfect!" Geroff declared. "That little crook is bound to be doing something he shouldn't. I feel a health and safety inspection coming on. Set course Mr Corbett."

"Won't they complain as well?" Parbold asked curiously, not at all certain he knew what his Captain was planning, but taking his communications console dutifully.

"Not if we find something," Geroff explained as they waited for T'Rizz and Corbett to complete their calculations, "and we always find something on a Ferrengi ship. Besides nobody ever listens to them. Starfleet don't and as the little buggers keep coming back they don't either."

"Very well. Warp 5," Geroff agreed. "Then we will have a little time for T'Rizz to come up with a new course."

On normal starships of Parbold's acquaintance, entering warp was generally a smooth, if rapid, transition. The ship idled along then the stars blurred. On some ships there was a change to the frequency of the subdued background hum as the engines increased power. But that was it, there was no sensation. But that was in normal ships and this was the Tuttenbeck, a vessel that had never heard of the word 'Normal'. He gripped the safety straps he had quietly installed under his station in anticipation of the event.

He was, therefore, amazed to see the screen blur in the normal fashion as Tuttenbeck tripped the Warp Barrier without a murmur, just like a normal ship.

Him letting go of the straps and starting to open his mouth to say something about the non-event was the ships signal to spring it's surprise. Tuttenbeck lurched hard sideways as it reached warp 3, then span sickeningly. Parbold renewed his acquaintance with the floor.

"The starboard generator still gets hic-coughs," Geroff complained as Corbett brought a form of normality to proceedings. "Make a note of it, Mr Parbold. Hammit can at least clear that, even if he can't fix the replicators!"

"The new book on navigation must be good, we're barely a light year from where we are supposed to be," Geroff observed caustically two hours later.

"I know where I went wrong, Sir!" T'Rizz responded quickly. "I multiplied instead of added our original position."

"Perhaps you did," Geroff agreed. "But it still doesn't help that you can't read the numbers. Now where is the Ferrengi?"

"There, Sir! 500,000 Km off to port and approaching," T'Rizz announced proudly, panning and magnifying the view screen to pick up the fleeting shape of the Ferrengi trader.

"Fine. We'll wait until he's a little closer. No need to upset his game just yet," Geroff decided. "What can we raid him for?"

"It's the Tuttenbeck," Clorn, Quirl's second in command and youngest son, warned looking around at his father. "Shall I change course? We can outrun them. Or do we fight?" He had travelled with his father often enough to know of the decrepit Starfleet vessel that formed Federation law, but not enough to know the people that crewed it.

Quirl hissed at his sons enthusiasm and un-Ferrengi desire to fight before enlightening him. "If we fire on humans, more turn up. They are worse than parasites and there is no profit. If we attempt to outrun them we will not leave the sector. Geroff knows more shortcuts than the Grand Negis, even if he didn't Starfleet would look for us. Besides all they will find is an honest cargo of grain. The phasor parts are hidden in the replicators and the liquor under 150,000 tonnes of grain. They won't find them. They might find the coffee of course, but Geroff drinks too much of it to care about that."

"Human," Quirl commenced as Geroff appeared. "We are honest traders, why does your attitude suggest interception?"

"Honest and Ferrengi are not terms very often used together, Quirl," Geroff opined mildly. "But you are right we are intercepting you. I understand you have a cargo of grain. There is a rumour of weevil infestation. We need to inspect it."

"Would I going through all this if there wasn't?" Geroff protested innocently. "Come along Quirl. If there is no problem then you won't lose anything. If there is, you will no doubt attempt to claim compensation. If you refuse to be checked and you spread the infestation then the fine will wipe out your profits for the next few years at least!"

Reluctantly Quirl agreed. But he attempted to throw a brick in the face of progress, by refusing personal access to Geroff.

"That's fine," Geroff agreed happily. "You serve the worst drinks in the sector. I'll send my number two, Lieutenant Parbold."

"Thank you, Sir!" Parbold stammered in surprise at the sudden responsibility after Quirl signed off.

"You would have to go anyhow," Geroff observed amiably. "You're the only one that looks as though he knows what he is doing with one of the new tri-corders. Besides the Chief and Gorsh will look after you. Just remember, whatever he offers first is only worth one ten-thousandth of what he has stashed away. You can put your own price on things then."

Geroff looked pained. "I never said that, Mr Parbold!" He protested. "Besides it's against regulations. Just remember the true value of what they've got hidden! If they offer a cup of fresh coffee, then they've fifty tonnes of it stashed away that hasn't been declared. Personally, I'd take the coffee, it's not worth the paperwork!"

“You are Lieutenant Parboiled?” The short stooped figure of Quirl requested obsequiously.

“Whatever. Perhaps you would accept some hospitality. I can assure you there is nothing wrong with our grain.”

“We've got to check,” Parbold explained flourishing a brand new tri-corder at the Ferrengi. “Captain Geroff was quite explicit about the dangers.”

“I'm sure we can discuss it. Perhaps over a fresh coffee?” Quirl suggested. “There is no need to examine anything.”

“And what are you going to do with the other fifty tonnes?” Parbold demanded before he could catch himself.

“Other fifty tonnes?” Quirl looked puzzled for a moment, then his face opened into a broken tooth grin. “Humans must have their little jokes. I am an honest trader,” Quirl crawled.

"You go ahead, Sir," Chief Catchen encouraged, it would remove at least the frighteningly honest lieutenant. "Lieutenant Gorsh and I have done this before. We know all the signs, so you won't have to get dirty, or nuffin. And if we are in anyway suspicious we'll call!"

Parbold weakened. Even when the replicator worked the coffee always tasted metallic. “I suppose we could just leave Lieutenant Gorsh and Chief Catchen to it?” he suggested thoughtfully. “Unless there is something suspicious we won't need to examine closely?”

“Of course not,” Quirl encouraged. This was what humans called 'Taking candy from a Baby', the lieutenant was going to be that gullible. The other two, obviously bereft of any form of electronic examination were unlikely to find anything, even if it existed, which Quirl doubted.

“Is that the new Starfleet issue tricorder?” Clorn asked, supplying yet another freshly brewed coffee to the lieutenant.

“Not yet. But it will be!” Parbold admitted enthusiastically. “It was sent to me by a friend. It's the only one in the sector, you know. I never let go of it.”

“It has over sixty thousand settings,” Parbold agreed, placing it proudly on the table for all to see and enthuse over, “with an option card that allows it to be enhanced with another 150,000 user defined settings. All controlled by thirty of the latest 2M Terra-hertz neural iso-linear transputer chips. Nearly as much processing power as a Galaxy Class Starship!”

“I couldn't sell it!” Parbold exclaimed. “They aren't even on the market yet!”

“Of course not,” Quirl interceded on Parbolds behalf. But eying the tool with disguised interest. It would be worth as much as all his cargo on the black market.

"Perhaps you could demonstrate?" He added. "We Ferrengi like to keep track of the latest technology."

"Oh, Yes!" Parbold exclaimed happily, pleased that somebody should be taking an interest at last.

Geroff and the others had been singularly unimpressed by his latest toy. Even after demonstrating its potential by detecting several illegal impurities in the ships latest and as yet unopened crates of alcohol. Though Geroff had suggested to the Chief that they should be exchanged.

"For instance," Parbold explained, tapping a code into his box and leaping to his feet to waft it at one of the replicators. "I can set it to do a broadband scan of your replicator. Then compare that against another."

Before he could be stopped he was approaching a second. "Of course," he babbled on. "It checks for any signs of some three thousand other known bio and mechanical replicator errors at the same time!"

A small indicator light lit upon the tricorders panel and a series of figures scrolled across the screen.

"Hello! I wonder what that means?" He said in puzzlement, groping through his pockets.

"This error," Parbold admitted, pulling out the six PADD's containing the manual. "It says 'Error 10,JRT,458,FUD'," he explained. "It will be in one of these. I think errors are in volume 4. I'll find it in a mo."

The index in volume 4 quickly referred him to volume 3. This in turn, as is the want of all such manuals, by more tortuous route to volume 2 and finally to an appendix in volume 6.

Then progressively more alarmed. "Oh!" then, "Oh dear!" and "Oh dear me!" finally "Oh dear me. That's not right!"

Quirl finally gave into his impatience at the slowly growing, but uninformative sentence. "What is it?"

"Ah yes well," Parbold stammered. "You haven't used the replicators in say the last month have you?"

"It's just that it says here that your replicators are harbouring a very serious viral infection called," he read carefully off the screen, "Mebalious-Infracoutron-Diabolica."

"It can be quite lethal," he added for the benefit of the now alarmed Ferrengi. "I have to inform the Captain."

Geroff surprisingly seemed unsurprised by the call from his excited lieutenant. "You've found weevil?" He demanded.

"No, Sir. The chief hasn't come back from the hold," he admitted, momentarily lost. "I've found something more serious, Sir? Mebalious-Infracoutron-Diabolica in the replicator system."'

"What's that?" Geroff demanded, then recovered himself. "Never mind, I'll check up with Starfleet and get back to you."

It was nearly an hour before Geroff came back. In that time Parbold had sent the chief and Gorsh to turn every replicator on the ship off. Now he was trying to pacify the crew that was now alarmed at the prospect of having to eat their cargo in the absence of working replicators.

"I've checked with Starfleet," he announced. "I assume nobody has developed the full thing yet, as you aren't scraping them off the walls. It makes you explode apparently. Has anybody over there suffered symptoms of light headedness or dizziness. It is the first sign of it being caught?"

"There was Nelag. He had those symptoms!" Clorn offered. "We thought he had eaten some iritating human food!"

"I'll have medication transferred," Geroff agreed. "I'm told the side effects are quite interesting, but it is better than actually catching 'Diabolicus'. The replicators will have to be removed of course. Apparently it can affect bio-neural systems as well."

"You will have to follow us back to the yard. There we will have to physically remove them from the ship and conduct a thorough inspection to ensure it hasn't spread to your other systems, for safety. Then in the fullness o time you can install new ones." Geroff explained slowly. "That could take twelve months though now a third of the trading fleet in this sector is now out of commission. It appears that you may be very lucky that it has been found before it has got too far!"

"I can't be out of action that long! I don't believe you!" Quirl exclaimed falling over himself in an attempt to dissuade the Starfleet human.

"Of course you could get a second opinion," Geroff accepted. "I recommend Doctor Zarrat at the Vulcan Institute of Medicine. He's the expert."

"I suppose we could," Geroff started thoughtfully a few minutes silence. "No we couldn't. No forget I even mentioned it."

"I can have the replicators removed here and now and you can limp on to Stadros, drop your cargo and replace your replicators at the same time? There is always spares there. Must be, it's a major distribution colony. Obviously if you come back with us I will have to condemn your ship as dangerous until it was repaired."

"I accept," Quirl accepted immediately. "And a clean bill of health for weevil infection?"

"I tip my hat to you, lieutenant," Geroff observed some hours later as the Tuttenbeck rammed her docking pylon. "You actually had me thinking there might actually be something amiss on Quirl's ship today!"

Geroff shook his head. "I checked up, it can't exist in Ferrengi replicators. They aren't controlled by neural-chips and you didn't tune the tricorder to suit their replicators."

"But you said Doctor Zarrat at the Vulcan Institute could confirm the readings?" Parbold exclaimed.

"Who would doubt a Vulcan, eh?" Geroff grinned. "Actually he's one of the chief's brother-in-laws and he works in their computer virus section. Now when would you like your replicator fitted?"

"But the Ferrengi. They'll never trust me again when they find out!" Parbold moaned.

"We are the authority. They never trusted you anyhow. But perhaps they won't try to con you now," Geroff offered.

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