Starbase Shenanigans
Posted on 09 May 2026 @ 9:48pm by Ensign Toth Th'shraovil & Ensign Xunch jav Ghetonch & Ensign Neshki
2,587 words; about a 13 minute read
Mission:
Shakedown
Location: Starbase 375 Promenade
Timeline: Concurrent
ON
Starbase 375
Concurrent with Boarding the Array
The polished transparent aluminum windows of Starbase 375 stretched upward for nearly three decks, giving the civilian promenade an uninterrupted view of Calisto III below. The world glowed blue-green beneath the station like an ornament suspended in black velvet, its cloud systems slowly turning beneath the scattered lights of orbital traffic.
Cargo tugs drifted past in carefully managed lanes. Shuttles came and went every few minutes.
Thousands of people moved through the massive commercial concourse in organized currents. Starfleet officers in clean uniforms, civilian traders carrying decorative cases, families strolling beneath holographic advertisements for concerts and cultural exhibitions, children laughing near a fountain whose water suspended itself in elegant spirals before returning to its basin.
It was orderly, efficient, refined.
And, according to Ensign Toth Th'shraovil, an engineering catastrophe waiting to happen.
“The atmospheric processors on this deck are overcompensating by point-three percent,” the Andorian announced loudly.
Nobody nearby reacted except his two companions, who had already heard variations of this statement twelve times in the last hour.
Toth stood with his hands clasped behind his back like a senior engineering conducting a formal review rather than a recent Academy graduate stranded on a starbase waiting for his first assignment. His antennae twitched irritably. “The humidity variance between sections is completely inconsistent. Feel that?”
“No,” said Xunch jav Ghetonch immediately.
“You’re not even trying.”
“I am trying,” the Tellerite replied. “I’m trying very hard not to throw you through that window.”
Toth sniffed. “That explains your posture.”
The Tellerite glared upward from where he sat in a wide lounge chair clearly designed for species significantly taller than himself. At only three-foot-ten, Xunch practically disappeared into the furniture, though the illusion vanished once one noticed the sheer breadth of him. His shoulders were massive. His arms were thick. Even relaxed, he looked like he could headbutt a bulkhead apart on principle. His tray table was covered with snack wrappers, three empty cups, two padds, a tactical systems manual, and, at the moment, absolutely no patience. “We’ve been here four days,” Xunch growled. “Four days.”
“Correct,” said Toth.
“I know it’s correct. I said it.”
“You said it emotionally, not accurately.”
“That sentence alone should qualify you for exile.”
Nearby civilians gave the trio cautious looks. Not frightened, concerned. Like people observing an argument in public transportation and trying to determine whether security needed to be contacted.
Neshki sat across from them on the curved lounge sofa, appearing entirely unconcerned. The Orion woman leaned comfortably against the cushions with one boot resting atop the opposite knee, lazily sipping a neon-blue drink while watching the two men argue like it was a theatrical performance arranged for her personal entertainment.
Which, in fairness, it essentially was.
Her green eyes moved between them with predatory amusement. “They’re staring again,” she observed.
“That’s because he keeps talking,” Xunch muttered.
“No,” she corrected sweetly. “They’re staring because you look like an angry travel pillow.”
Toth snorted loudly.
Xunch pointed a thick finger toward her. “You encourage him.”
“I encourage everyone.”
“That’s not better.”
“It is for me.”
Toth’s antennae lifted smugly.
Neshki smiled into her drink.
While both men continued glaring at one another, she casually reached across the table and slid Xunch’s padd quietly into her lap. Neither noticed. “Besides,” she continued, “we should appreciate this.”
“Appreciate what?” Xunch asked.
“The waiting period. Relaxation. Freedom. Exploration. Civilization.”
“This is not civilization,” Toth said dismissively. “This is decorative inefficiency.”
Neshki blinked. “That may be the most Andorian sentence I’ve ever heard.”
Toth gestured broadly around the promenade. “Look at this place. Three open-air garden decks within environmental overlap zones. Decorative water systems. Public climate balancing. Do you know how much power this station wastes maintaining aesthetic humidity gradients?” A passing Benzite civilian glanced at him. Toth pointed at the ceiling. “And those lighting arrays are compensating manually instead of using adaptive circadian calibration. I checked.”
“You checked?” Xunch said.
“I was curious.”
“You illegally accessed station environmental systems?”
“Illegally is such a dramatic word.”
“That’s because it’s a dramatic crime.”
“I only looked.”
“Did you tell them you looked?”
Toth hesitated.
Neshki smiled knowingly. “There it is,” she said.
The Andorian frowned. “They should appreciate the feedback.”
“Engineers,” Xunch muttered darkly. “You give one of them access to a maintenance panel and suddenly they think they’re gods.”
Toth straightened proudly. “Well obviously.”
The Tellerite stared at him for several long seconds. “You know,” he said quietly, “there are moments when I genuinely understand why Vulcans avoid emotional attachment.” Neshki nearly laughed into her drink.
At the far end of the promenade, a group of Starfleet operations officers emerged from a turbolift junction carrying padds and talking amongst themselves.
Xunch noticed immediately. His expression sharpened. “Finally.”
Toth glanced over. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
“No.”
“We have been waiting four days for assignment confirmation.”
“Because the Cygnus is still on deployment.”
“That’s not the point.”
“That is exactly the point.” Xunch was already climbing out of the chair.
Neshki casually leaned sideways and slipped his missing padd underneath Toth’s seat cushion. Still unnoticed. “Xunch,” she warned pleasantly, “don’t antagonize station operations again.”
“I’m not antagonizing anyone.”
“You called the last operations officer ‘administratively diseased.’”
“He deserved it.”
“He asked you to complete docking residency forms.”
“Exactly.” The Tellerite marched toward the approaching officers before either companion could stop him.
Toth sighed heavily. “One day he’s going to argue with the wrong person.”
Neshki watched Xunch approach the group with the relaxed expression of someone watching fireworks being prepared. “Yes,” she agreed. “But not today.”
The lead operations officer was a Bolian lieutenant commander with sharply pressed yellow uniform sleeves and the exhausted posture of a man who had spent the last six hours solving other people’s problems. Unfortunately for him, another problem was approaching rapidly.
“Commander,” Xunch announced.
The Bolian blinked downward. “Yes?”
“You’re Operations.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Explain your docking residency allocation procedures.”
The officer stared at him. “…What?”
“You heard me.”
Behind them, Toth covered his face with one hand.
Neshki quietly stole Toth’s dessert ration bar and slipped it into Xunch’s abandoned seat pocket.
The Bolian adjusted the padd in his hands. “Are you assigned to the station?”
“No.”
“Then why would you need—”
“Because we have been placed in temporary guest quarters four decks away from each other.”
“And?”
“And?” Xunch repeated incredulously. “AND?”
The lieutenant commander blinked again. “You’re… waiting for a ship assignment?”
“The USS Cygnus.”
“Then your arrangement is temporary.”
“That does not make it intelligent.”
“It is standard procedure.”
“Standard procedure is frequently created by people who should not be permitted near procedures.” One of the younger operations ensigns nearby abruptly became very interested in a wall display. The Bolian inhaled slowly through his nose. "Residential allocation is determined by current occupancy.”
“Incorrect.”
The Bolian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I assure you—”
“No, you misunderstand. I’m not saying you are factually incorrect. I’m saying the system itself is incorrect.”
Toth muttered something in Andorian that sounded deeply religious and profoundly exhausted simultaneously.
Neshki stood smoothly and wandered closer, entirely to enjoy herself.
The Bolian folded his arms. “And what exactly would you suggest?”
Xunch spread his hands. “Three officers assigned together should be quartered together.”
“We do not have trio quarters.”
“Then remove a wall.”
“You cannot simply remove structural walls from a starbase.”
From twenty feet away, Toth immediately interjected. “Actually depending on the load distribution—”
“No one asked you,” the Bolian snapped.
Toth looked offended. “I’m an engineer.”
“That makes this worse.”
Neshki arrived beside Xunch with perfect timing. “Lieutenant Commander,” she said warmly, “I think my friend is just frustrated.”
The Bolian visibly relaxed approximately ten percent. “Thank you.”
“He becomes emotionally unstable when separated from us.” Xunch turned slowly.
“I do not.”
“You became furious because your room replicator gave you soup instead of stew.”
“It knew what it was doing.”
Neshki continued smoothly. “And Toth spent two hours recalibrating his environmental controls because he said the room ‘felt judgmental.’”
Toth looked deeply offended. “It WAS judgmental.”
The Bolian stared at all three of them. For several seconds nobody spoke. Finally he asked, very carefully, “…How did all of you graduate the Academy?”
Xunch answered immediately. “Reluctantly.”
Neshki smiled brightly. “Tremendous effort.”
Toth folded his arms. “Academic excellence.”
The Bolian looked like he regretted beginning this conversation.
Neshki decided to help. “Could we perhaps request reassignment to adjacent quarters?”
“That may be possible,” the lieutenant commander admitted cautiously.
Xunch immediately pointed at him. “See? Progress. Civilization advances.”
“But it would require processing authorization forms.”
The Tellerite’s expression collapsed into visible despair. “Of course it would.”
“Which can be submitted through Operations.”
“You people create paperwork to justify your existence.”
“You are literally in Starfleet.”
“And I regret that daily.”
The younger ensign behind the Bolian made a choking sound suspiciously similar to suppressed laughter. The lieutenant commander shot him a warning glance before returning his attention to Xunch. “Submit the request properly and we’ll review it.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“But the process is still structurally idiotic.”
“Thank you for your feedback.”
“You’re not welcome.”
Neshki gently grabbed Xunch’s sleeve before the argument could escalate further. “We’ll submit the forms,” she promised sweetly.
The Bolian nodded once, clearly eager to escape. “Excellent.” As the operations team departed, the younger ensign whispered something to another officer while glancing backward at the trio. Both immediately started laughing.
Toth sighed. “We’re developing a reputation.”
“We already have one,” Neshki corrected.
“How would you know?”
She smiled mysteriously. “People talk.”
Xunch grunted. “Good. Maybe Operations will finally fear me.”
“No,” Toth said. “They think you’re a malfunctioning cargo container.”
“That’s because they lack vision.”
The three returned to their seating area. Or rather, two of them did. Toth stopped abruptly.
“…Where’s my ration bar?”
Neshki sat gracefully. “What ration bar?”
“The one right here.” Xunch looked around.
“You had a ration bar?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.”
“That’s species prejudice.”
“You ate four breakfasts.”
“Efficient preparation prevents operational weakness.”
Xunch reached for his padd. And froze. “…Where’s my tactical analysis padd?”
Toth blinked. “You lost it?”
“I did not lose it.”
“You absolutely lost it.”
“I placed it right here.”
Neshki sipped her drink quietly.
Toth crossed his arms smugly. “Remarkable. The tactical officer has been defeated by object permanence.”
“You took it.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I don’t want your padd. Your tactical simulations read like paranoid fiction.”
“They ARE paranoid fiction. That’s what tactical planning IS.”
Toth’s antennae twitched sharply. “Well maybe if you organized your belongings—”
“My belongings were organized until some unstable frost antenna started moving things.”
Neshki bit her lip to keep from laughing.
Toth leaned forward. “I did not touch your padd.”
“Convenient statement from someone currently missing HIS item.” The Andorian narrowed his eyes. “…You stole my ration bar to distract me while taking your padd back.”
“That is the dumbest tactical plan I’ve ever heard.”
“Exactly what someone executing it would say.”
Neshki finally intervened. “Oh no,” she murmured dramatically. “Distrust within the alliance.”
Both men turned toward her simultaneously. “You stay out of this,” they said together.
She smiled serenely. “Absolutely.”
Several nearby civilians were openly watching now. One elderly Vulcan woman appeared deeply fascinated by the trio’s increasingly animated accusations. A pair of junior Starfleet cadets nearby had clearly stopped eating simply to observe the unfolding chaos. Toth suddenly leaned down and pulled something from beneath his chair cushion. Xunch’s padd.
The Tellerite pointed triumphantly. “HA!”
Toth stared at the padd in confusion. “…What?”
“You hid it badly.”
“I did not put this there.”
“Then the station ghosts are targeting you specifically.”
“I’m serious.”
Neshki widened her eyes innocently. “Perhaps someone is attempting psychological warfare.”
Xunch snorted. “Against HIM? Waste of effort. His psychology surrendered years ago.” Toth ignored him, now searching around the seating area suspiciously. Then he spotted his ration bar sticking halfway out of Xunch’s chair pocket.
His antennae shot upright. “…Xunch.”
The Tellerite blinked. “What?”
“You took it.”
“I did not.”
“It’s literally behind you.”
Xunch twisted around. “…Oh.”
Toth pointed accusingly. “You hypocritical little dirt goblin.”
“I DIDN’T PUT IT THERE.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if I were stealing your food, I would’ve eaten it.”
Toth paused. “…That’s actually fair.”
Neshki nearly lost control laughing.
The two men looked at her. Very slowly. Very suspiciously.
Her smile remained perfect. “…What?”
Xunch narrowed his dark eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I enjoy many things.”
“Toth.”
“Yes?”
“I think the Orion is conducting experiments again.”
Neshki gasped theatrically. “That accusation wounds me.”
“You once manipulated two Academy instructors into arguing over a nonexistent policy for three days.”
“They both cited fabricated regulations at each other. I merely facilitated discovery.”
“You forged documents.”
“They were very convincing documents.”
Toth rubbed his face. “You’re terrifying.”
“Thank you.” The three sat in silence for almost seven entire seconds.
Then Toth glanced upward again. “…That ventilation grille is crooked.”
Xunch groaned loudly. “Oh for the love of—”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re always serious.”
“There’s a three-degree alignment variance.”
“No there isn’t.”
“There absolutely is.”
Neshki leaned sideways to look. “…Actually he might be right.”
Toth pointed triumphantly. “HA.”
“You are both insane,” Xunch declared.
The Andorian stood abruptly. “I’m checking.”
“You are not climbing into the station ventilation system.”
“I just want to look.”
“That sentence has historically preceded disasters.”
Toth ignored him and marched toward the nearby wall junction.
Neshki immediately leaned toward Xunch conspiratorially. “Ten credits says Security talks to him within ten minutes.”
Xunch grunted. “Five says he talks to Security first.”
Across the promenade, Toth was already squinting upward critically at the grille. A passing civilian engineer slowed near him. Toth immediately pointed upward. “Do you see the alignment issue?”
The engineer looked up. “…No?”
“It’s subtle.”
“…Okay.”
“The entire mounting bracket is slightly off-center.”
The engineer took two cautious steps backward. “Should I call maintenance?”
“Yes,” Toth said instantly.
The engineer hurried away.
Xunch buried his face in his hands. “We are never getting assigned proper duty stations.”
Neshki leaned comfortably against him. “Oh relax. Starfleet loves people like us.”
“That is objectively false.”
“No,” she said thoughtfully. “Starfleet PRETENDS not to like people like us. That’s different.”
Xunch considered this. “…That’s disturbingly insightful.”
“I know.” Above them, Toth was now attempting to explain airflow harmonics to an increasingly trapped-looking maintenance technician. Neshki watched proudly. “You know,” she said softly, “I think we’re going to fit in perfectly on the Cygnus.”
Xunch snorted. “Or get thrown off it.”
“Both are possible.”
Toth suddenly pointed toward the ceiling again. “SEE? Even he noticed it now!”
The technician looked exhausted already.
Xunch leaned back in his chair and sighed. For the first time since arriving at Starbase 375, the Tellerite looked almost relaxed. Almost. “…Several weeks,” he muttered.
Neshki grinned. “This is going to be fun.”
OFF
A post on Starbase 375 by:
Ensign Xunch jav Ghetonch
Tactical Officer
USS Cygnus
and
Ensign Toth Th'shraovil
Structural/Environmental Engineer
USS Cygnus
and
Ensign Neshki
Alien Archaeologist/Anthropologist
USS Cygnus
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