AN: Truly, it has been too long. *slaps up ~1,300 words, runs away*
Space is Wide IV (Float Like a Butterfly, Ship Like a Bee)
-0-
=Tipperary - Tipperary Outpost=
Tipperary had what Starfleet listed as: Outpost, Key Logistical Assets. That really meant a small space station, a medium sized stack of sensors and communications anteana and a large, large supply of spare parts and empty warehouse space.
There were also a few areas that weren't entirely 'fleet. Bars, a small arboretum, and some rooms that could be booked for meetings that wouldn't clog up the foot traffic. This room wasn't the largest, the newest or even the most discrete. It was, however, large enough, clean enough and discrete enough. As traders, everyone appreciated the delicate balancing act it represented. It also had access to one of the bars for refreshments.
Hizzar was an Apiatan Queen, a minor one, but still a queen and she looked at the assemblage of other Federation traders. A Rigelian male, a Caitan woman, two humans, one male and one female, and an Armakian woman.
"You wish," she says, just to check, "To invite me to enter an order of chivalry. A trade based order of chivalry."
"A merchant focused one," agreed the Rigelian, "Knight Captain Meechum of the Golfito?"
The human woman quirked a small grin.
"Gee thanks Praavov. I'm the one here who's been a member the longest," she said, "So I know the history. Before the Armakians were part of the Federation, before even there was a Federation, there was the Order of the Red Paperclip."
Hizzar raised an eyebrow at this. The naming was, so far as she could tell, not Armakian. The degree of flippancy seemed more Tellarite or human.
Kate Meechum continued, "During the Eugenics Wars, the Bell Riots, the Post Atomic Horror and everything else that humans did to themselves before we managed to reach out to the stars, things were bad. They usually are when you've managed to nuke yourself that many times. No one trusted money, or most of the governments that still existed, by that point, but barter still worked. And that's what the Red Paperclips did. They bartered and scrounged and traded and they kept enough lights on and enough things moving that civilization didn't quite collapse.
"When First Contact came between Earth and Vulcan and things started to improve, the Red Paperclips were out on the Boomer ships pushing holes in vacuum for United Earth and anyone who needed a cargo to get from here to there. Nothing with formal membership rolls, just bonds of history. It stayed like that for generations.
"Then, I think by mistake, we ended up on a list of Knightly Orders that was passed to the Armakian diplomatic service. Things escalated, and here we are. Picking up the slack as the Federation puts itself through an interstellar puberty and picking small shooting wars with at least three flavours of pirates and opportunists."
The Armakian, one steped forward, a small bracelet set jingling, "Will you, Hizzar, join with us?"
"Will you ship the things that need to move for building?" Rrierr, the Caitain asked, her tail slowly waving from side to side.
"Will you ship the things that need to move for fighting?" asked Praavov, the Rigelian.
"Will you ship the things that need to move for talking?" asked Laubarc, the Armakian.
"Will you ship the things that need to move to reach out further yet?" asked the human who hadn't spoken before.
Hizzar drew in a breath and looked from face to face. Clearly this was a ceremony and ceremonies required certain words to be spoken in response to a question like this. But she didn't know them. There had been no lessons, no briefings, no hints.
And there, in the ultraviolet, almost too high for her to see and well beyond any of the other eyes in the room, she saw her words programmed into the bar's menu board.
"I'll ship what pays and I'll ship what's needed and I'll never forget that the best pay doesn't come in credits or gems. It comes in better tomorrows."
"Then be welcome new friend," announced Kate, "We may never cross paths again, for space is wide, but know that things improve. Things get better, but only when we work together and as part of the Order of the Red Paperclip we are all working together for a better tomorrow."
There was a beat of silence.
"And now," announced Praavov, "Drinks."
-0-
Hizzar looked dubiously at the spiraling bottle full of some strange thick fluid resting in place of pride on the drinks table.
"Kanar," offered the human man.
"Pardon?"
"I'm Sam and it's Kanar. It's Cardassian. Try the Romulan Ale instead, that stuff is foul."
"Then why even have it?" she asked.
"Because it's rare. And there's nothing like bragging with booze for most Federation traders."
"This, none of this, was covered in the diplomatic briefings or the cultural summaries or any of the talks with the Federation Diplomatic Service."
"The Diplomatic Service works very hard to keep the Federation in one piece instead of flying apart," said Sam, "And frankly, the cultural summaries have to focus on the planetary societies. There's more of them, unless you're the Kadeshi, and more than enough to occupy anyone interested for three Vulcan lifetimes without going into the spacer cultures."
"So what do we do then?"
"Ask friends? I know you got the codes for the Order's annotated copies of the Federation Sailing Directions, those are incredibly useful. But I know you already know the most important trick."
"Oh? And what is that?"
"Keep your eyes open," said Sam, glancing toward the menu board and taking a mouthful of his bright orange drink, "Time to circulate. You should meet everyone you can. I'm just a Squire, not nearly senior enough to monopolize the newest member."
-0-
Sam Jones watched the newest member head off to politic with the Praavov and Rrierr and relaxed. He'd met his obligations and now he could slide out and back to his ship-
"Ow. Ow, ow ow!" - Or he could follow the duranium hard grip on his ear. That was a good option too.
"Cap'n Kate," he said, because really there weren't a lot of people who would keep him from ducking out of a party around. And of the ones that would, the only one who'd grab him like this in the sector was his old captain.
"What the hell were you thinking flying out near Cardassian space at all?" hissed Kate as she dragged him into a booth for questioning.
"Apiatan space, now," said Sam because he never had learned when to shut up. Kate dug her finger nails in. "Owie."
"Samuel Timycha Jones, I'm well aware that the Great Bird of the Galaxy protects children fools and ships named Enterprise, and that you're still covered under the first two clauses, but what the hell were you thinking!"
"That it was a peaceful run out to a friendly race's territory. And it was! Right up until the Caitans and the Dawiar decided the what space really needed was more radiation and explosions. And when I got out of it, I headed here. The safest place in Federation space."
"Tipperary. What is the quadrant coming to?"
Sam shrugged at his old Captain. "Change, mostly. I'm sure there's a Vulcan or three who'd tell us it's good for us and promotes growth."
"Next election I'm voting Development," grumbled Kate. "Whatever. You look after yourself, all right? I don't have enough old crew around that I can afford to loose any."
"Safe as houses in deep space, just like you," promised Sam, poorly. Space had never been safe, just home for a hardy few.
"Good enough. Now come on. Take your own advice and network. You can be antisocial between star systems."
Sam sighed and finished his glass. "Aye, aye Cap'n."
