Star Trek Enterprise: Adult Season Three
Chapter 5

Copyright© 2015 by The Slim Rhino

Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 5 - In an alternate universe the Xindi war never happened. Instead the crew of Humanity's first deep space vessel encounters adventures that range from the dangerous to the downright ridiculous.

Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Ma/Ma   Consensual   Romantic   Drunk/Drugged   BiSexual   Fiction   Humor   Science Fiction   Space   Aliens   Swinging   Orgy   Oriental Female   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Petting   Exhibitionism   Double Penetration   Workplace  

Episode 5: Hangover

"I believe you are in excellent health, Commander. And would you tell Ensign Sato that I expect her to come to me tomorrow for the extraction of her tissue samples?" the doctor continued. "I believe you are aware of her plans?"

"You will do the boob job on Hoshi?" Trip asked back, looking at Phlox slack-jawed.

The doctor sat down on the biobed across from him.

"If that is what you call it; yes, I will perform the procedure. Not only will this spare her the prohibitive costs; with all due respect to the human surgeons, Denobulans have three centuries of experience with reconstructive surgery."

"If you ask me it wouldn't be needed in the first place."

"Ensign Sato is well aware that none of her friends thinks her bust is inferior. The problem is, she does think so. I would not have agreed to this procedure if I wasn't convinced that it will have a profoundly positive effect on her self-confidence."

"Is it dangerous?" he asked.

"Not at all Commander; I will extract mammary tissue from the Ensign and artificial growth will be stimulated in these containers," the doctor explained, pointing to two elliptical glass containers. "Once enough tissue has been grafted, it will be transplanted using a minimally invasive surgical procedure."

"That's quite a lot, " he noted.

"Indeed, I believe the final result will be comparable in size to your mate."

"You're not doing this the first time, are you?" Trip asked. "Considering that you just happen to have the necessary containers aboard the ship?"

"Every Denobulan doctor has a pair of these," Phlox replied, his smile gone again. "Breast tumors are a very common disease on Denobula and as a result the corresponding reconstructive surgery after the necessary amputation is something that every surgeon worth his salary has done countless times."

"Sorry to hear that, Phlox" Trip replied honestly.


Maxwell found it hard to keep up with a furious looking captain. Learning that – of all people – Admiral Hieram Black would be the chairman of the debriefing could do that to a man.

"Jon, you can't go in there like that. Stop and calm yourself down!" the Admiral pleaded, but his advice was not heard.

Captain Jonathan Archer seemed determined to go down fighting – and go down he would. Everybody in Starfleet Command knew that Hieram Black had a chip on his shoulder the size of Jupiter. Although he had eventually made it to Admiral, Black had never gotten over the fact that Henry Archer's engine design was chosen over his own and since Henry Archer was dead, he took it out on his son. This could only end in trouble and by the look of it the Captain was just in the right mood for it.

The Captain stopped abruptly and poked his finger into Maxwell's chest as he spoke – quite painfully, in fact.

"Max, I've just brought a crew home that barely held together in the end. I had to run roughshod over every Starfleet regulation to keep them from staging a mutiny and I think Black knew that from the start. He wanted me to fail. But trust me, when we come back out of that room, I am unemployed or Black's ass-backward rules are history. Now which side are you on?"

"If you would stop trying to poke holes into my rib cage I could think of ways to plead your case and we need some pretty good ideas, Jon."


"I don't know where to begin, Captain," Black started shuffling a lot of PADDs. "You came back with one crew member more than you had when you sailed out, your science officer was almost recalled twice in dishonor. You made enemies of Suliban, Klingons, Tandarans, Nausicaans. And this one – how interesting – ten of your officers copulated publicly, ostensibly to satisfy the traditions of an alien planet. There are no less than twenty reports from your security department about arresting inebriated members of your crew.

"What kind of ship are you running Archer?" the Admiral screamed after reading his list.

"If you would give me the chance to answer, Herr Freisler?"

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Maxwell bury his face in his palms. Granted, addressing Black by the name of a Nazi era corrupt judge was perhaps not the brightest idea and the most unprofessional thing he'd ever done, apart from stealing an NX prototype of course, but this was exactly how this tribunal felt like – the ridiculous show trials shown in historic news reels. Help came in the form of an unexpected ally.

"Admiral, unless I have been given the wrong documents, the report of the away mission to Maateria appears to be classified. Your divulging of details appears to be a breach of protocol. The information pertaining that mission should not be a matter of discussion and stricken from the record."

He'd never thought he'll ever think that, but thank god for Soval. The Vulcan Ambassador was one of the three 'judges' and by the look of it at least one of them was not determined to see him go down in flames. But considering that T'Pol had been one of the ten officers in question, it could well be that he was just trying to protect a fellow Vulcan, so he didn't quite get his hopes for a reformed Soval up yet.

The unknown bureaucrat from the Earth Government in the third seat hadn't made much more than breathing noises so far.

"According to the medical logs four thousand doses of contraceptive medication have been used over the course of twenty six months," Black continued. "Wouldn't you agree that is quite a lot for a ship the crew of which is subject to a ban on fraternization?"

"I did not enforce this part of the regulations. If two consenting adults decided to engage in sexual relations, I saw no reason to punish them."

He could see the triumphant grin in Black's face. The asshole was sure he had him nailed. Sure he would soon yell at him again.

"Do you not think those regulations exist for a reason?" Black asked calmly before starting to scream again. "Look at your crew! You came limping home with a ship full of mutinous hooligans!"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Goebbels," Jon replied calmly and he could see that that Maxwell was indicating to him to cut it off. But he had enough of being shouted at by this asshole on his personal vendetta, and there were still a few Nazis left he could compare him to. "We came home because you sent out a ship full of young people, expecting them to live like monks and nuns while you go home every night to mount the ol' lady. Not to mention that without any space stations for support we had to stop at an Andorian outpost begging for food."

He knew he was done for good. His conduct had been anything but professional, but he simply couldn't relate to that man who had slung so much mud at his late father's legacy. If that meant he would never command a ship again, so be it. But yet again help came from an unexpected source.

"If I may interrupt you captain," Soval stepped in swiftly before the furious Black could nail him for his impropriety. "While your displeasure is not entirely unwarranted, I believe the exchange of insults will not serve the purpose of this debriefing."

What? Did the cranky old Vulcan just say he agrees with me?

"Admiral Black, if you review the transcripts of our consultations before the launch of your vessel, you shall find that the ban on fraternization exists solely due to your insistence. The Vulcan science directorate had provided several studies on the detrimental effects of long-term sexual deprivation on both physical and mental health of humans. It was you, who ignored these studies. I see no reason to condemn Captain Archer for his decision not to enforce these clearly illogical regulations."

What the hell just happened? John thought as loud applause acknowledged Soval's statement. Only now he remembered that the room was full of people. He had barely noticed anyone so far. By the look of things Soval wasn't done yet.

"While Captain Archer's decision to allow the consummation of alcoholic beverages might be seen critically, it was most obviously a reaction to the catastrophic supply situation on the ship and it helped to uphold what little crew morale was left. Even though Vulcans do not normally inebriate themselves and can therefore not speak with experience, I submit that twenty cases of misbehavior among a crew of eighty-five individuals over the course of two months are hardly a cause for concern. I have seen more such incidents on the streets of San Francisco in a single evening."

Oh my god, I can't believe this. Of all the people, Soval is going to bat for me!

"I believe the debriefing should be interrupted for a short recess," the UE government type interrupted. It was the first sign he'd given that he wasn't a cardboard cut-out.


"Do you have everything?" Hoshi asked, tears running down her face. As much as she liked the idea of getting bigger boobs, had she known how painful it was to get the tissue to seed the grafting she might have decided to live with the small bumps on her chest that had been a source of displeasure ever since puberty.

"I have everything," the doctor acknowledged, putting a plaster on her right breast where he had stuck in that damn huge needle. "May I say that you braved the obvious discomfort with more dignity than your 'better half'? I believe that's the term you humans use."


Jon was still fuming, but his mood lightened up somewhat when the three chairs were occupied again and Black wasn't in one of them. Admiral Matsuura from Security was sitting in the center chair now.

"I believe we all saw that my colleague wasn't quite subjective enough to conduct this debriefing," the Japanese began and fixed him with a firm glance. "I apologize for the misconduct of Admiral Black, captain, but I would also like to point out that I won't be best pleased about being likened to persons of questionable historic importance."

"You chose not to yell at me. It's a start, sir."

His statement was met with general amusement among the audience, but Matsuura silenced the chuckles with his gavel. Jon knew he had gotten away with much more than he could have hoped for, so he straightened himself.

"Captain, your logs make it pretty clear that your ship has been in a bad state during the last two months. Some of the terms you used to describe the food were, let's say, less than complimentary. Why has such a critical situation not been brought to Starfleet's attention?"

"It has been, sir," Jon answered, slightly confused by the strange question. "I wrote at least three communiqués alerting Admiral Black of our supply situation. But if Starfleet's systems have developed a problem, I believe my communications officer would gladly help with the investigation."

"I don't think that'll be necessary; just forward the pertaining log entries from Enterprise's computer to Starfleet security. I believe we might need them for entirely unforeseen purposes."

Following the Admiral's hand signal two burly security types left the room. It looked as if someone wouldn't be home for dinner in time. His compassion was 'strangely limited'.

"Captain, obviously there are some things we need to change. Can I have your suggestions to make sure that future operations will be a little less rocky?"

"First of all we need a presence out there," Jon explained. "We can't come back here every time the bacon runs out. My chief engineer has submitted a concept for constructing temporary stations out of mothballed Marconi and Saturn class ships until permanent stations can be built. If we build those near M class planets, those stations could keep stock of provisions for passing ships."

The admiral nodded.

"We are currently in negotiations with several races about building stations in their space. One planet called ... Krios Prime was quite accommodating. I believe we have your chief engineer to thank for that?"

"I would prefer if that wouldn't become a matter of discussion?"

"Of course, captain," the admiral replied with a fatherly smile. Someone had read the reports in full detail.

"I think the no-frats serve a good purpose here on Earth," Jon continued. "But that simply doesn't work with a crew that's out there for years. Starfleet usually separates people if they decide to start a relationship. I'd say, let them stay together and give 'em to me. I know there's the risk of the odd break-up here and there, but that happened anyway on my ship. We'll manage."

"That would mean there would be substantial changes to the crew," the admiral reminded him.

Jon held up a PADD. "This contains fifty-four transfer requests. Pretty much all of my non-coms are running away screaming. There will be substantial changes anyway. The officers have found a workable solution, that's as much as I'm going to say about it, but the non-coms have gone through hell and back, especially with the ridiculous gender imbalance."

"We will discuss your suggestions, captain. Please continue to be available for further questioning."

With that the Admiral concluded the debriefing and Jon was still none the wiser what role the UE gov type had played.

People were already leaving and even the few media types seemed to know that this was not the best moment to harass him about an interview. He had been worried about the details of the Maateria mission, but Matsuura was also in charge of public relations and each and every of those journalist would get a stark reminder by the evening. They wouldn't get an accreditation for as much as a local yard sale if certain things would make it into their articles.

With Black apparently being thrown under the bus the vultures had enough to work with anyway.


"Jesus, T'Pol what happened?" Trip asked. T'Pol was standing in his quarters, her hair was ruffled, the catsuit zipped open. She was blinking in a vain attempt to focus on his face.

Wherever she had come from it couldn't have been far as she was barely able to stay on her feet, leaning heavily on him as he helped her towards the bed. His best guess was that she'd been in Hoshi's quarters, which was thankfully just four doors down the corridor, so the chances were good that nobody had seen the hopelessly drunk Vulcan stagger around the ship. Most of the crew was on the planet anyway.

"Hoshi ... and I ... we were drinking shshampaign," she replied, barely understandable, as he helped her out of her catsuit. "Ssssen we engashed in shexual relations."

"Well, so much is obvious, darlin'" he said seeing that she was completely naked underneath. Her underwear was obviously still in Hoshi's quarters. At least, despite being wasted out of their skulls, they couldn't have done anything that would get T'Pol in trouble. The only strap-on on the ship was in C47 and the room was locked with Malcolm's master-override code to avoid any awkward situations should the top brass show up for a surprise inspection.

He gently pushed her down on the bed and covered her naked form with the blanket. It didn't take long for her to pass out.


Just as he stepped out of his quarters he could see that Malcolm was coming out of Hoshi's place. He walked towards his friend, who looked a bit pale around the nose.

"Hoshi okay?" he asked.

"Well as far as you can call that 'okay'," Malcolm said and made a hand gesture to indicate him to follow. "I think she puked out everything she's eaten since early childhood before she passed out."

"T'Pol can normally drink like an elephant," Trip said, walking alongside his friend to wherever he had in mind. At a guess he would say they were en-route to the mess hall.

"Well from what I've seen, she did just that," Malcolm snorted sarcastically. "They emptied four large bottles and Hoshi is plastered after one, so there are no points for guessing where the other three bottles went."

"That's not like them," Trip mused. "I mean, yeah, Hoshi has a problem occasionally with knowing when to stop, but I've never seen T'Pol more than mildly buzzed."

"That's why I'm inviting you to a beer. We need to talk about this."


When they entered, the mess hall was of course deserted. Except for most of the officers who were kept aboard for debriefings over the next few days the crew had left the ship and the few remaining people aboard were supplied with warm meals from the surface by three daily supply shuttles.

He watched Malcolm enter the override code and walk straight into Chef's realm. The ship's security officer was probably the only one who could afford to do that without having to fear waking up with a butcher's knife in his back the next morning. Chef was very particular about access to his kitchen.

 
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