((Derganix, USS Blythe))

In the aftermath of the Blythe’s hard landing and the chaos that surrounded it the head count revealed that there was 2 members of the Blythe crew that were unaccounted for. Unbeknownst to anyone else. 1 engineer had been in the jefferies tubes and had slammed his head against a wall and been knocked unconscious.

Another crewman had worked a double shift the day before, and had slept through the first few minutes of the Klaxons blaring. As he was running down the corridor, in the dark, trying to get to an escape pod after waking up in a panic, the effect of the ship slamming into the atmosphere had turned him into a pile of bones and goo on the deck of a corridor in section 8 of deck 9.

“Ahh fuck…” CPO Dalton Morris said as he and his partner were doing a room by room search of the Blythe. He came upon the remains of the unfortunate Ensign as they were belaying down the corridors with safety ropes and harnesses. The ship had landed with the front of the saucer section titled forward leaning against the ground. The floors of the decks were pitched at nearly 30 degrees incline, which had made for a challenging salvage and recovery operation.

“What’s up Chief?” the crewman who was with him said as they looked back over his shoulder as he belayed himself down the slanted corridor.

“Uh, I think this is Vabeli…careful on your left.” Morris was still getting used to being called chief, but his training and the situation brought a level of seriousness out of him that wasn’t usually a part of his personality.

“Oh…OOOH.” The crewman was a bit shocked by the sight of Ensign Vabeli’s remains. Though it had only been 24 hours since the ship had crashed, the smears of flesh had begun to dessicate, several compound fractures had torn holes in the man’s pajamas, and the body was oddly squished and flattened against the deck. It was a jarring sight.

Morris shook his head and frowned. “Yeah, looks his was right here either when the ship hit the fucking atmosphere or when the Klingons engaged the tractor beam. Pass me the body bag, let’s get him out of here.” Morris took a position bracing his feet against two walls.

In all the years of conflict, death and warfare, across all the known corporeal sentient species, the body bag had been a nearly universally adopted, and rarely altered way to transport the bodies of the deceased. As the crewman pulled the 7 foot long black bag, unrolled it, and tossed one end to Morris, he sighed.

((The Camp in the Park))

One of the other search parties had found the unfortunate Engineer whose remains were in a similar state to Vabeli. Extricating it from jefferies tubes was a chore. Luckily the Soval arrived within a few minutes, and was able to beam the bodies to their morgue.

“Damn Ferengi.” The crewman said to Morris.

“XO says the Ferengi are claiming it was a rogue acting on his own accord, apparently they want to talk.” Morris said.

“Sure they do, to figure out the best way to hit us again.” The crewman grumbled.

“18.” Morris said curtly.

“18 what?”

“18 dead. That’s what this has cost us so far. The 16 from the escape pods and these 2.

“I need a drink.” The crewman began walking towards the large modular tent that had been set up as a temporary mess hall.

“I heard the Dergans got an alcoholic beverage called Juba Juice… Let’s go find an actual pub.” Morris said as he pulled off his gloves. The crewman turned and gave a brief smile to his Chief.

((Derganix, Reclamation Grinder))

The facility was like roughly 2 dozen others spread around the planet. Unlike other species the Dergans did not have an connection to a religion, or life after death, and for eons, the custody for how to deal with the dead was to throw them into a meat grinder, and then mix it with fertilizer and use it on the fields a few season down the road.

The death rate had risen sharply in the past 3 years during depths of the Cabbage epidemic, mostly from overdose and accidents and suicide. But as that death rate rose their reliance on farming and agriculture nose dived, leaving the Dergan people in a bit of sticky situation. Nearly 90% of all commercial farms had shut down since the introduction of the personal replicators from the Ferengi. Almost all the arable land on the planet was currently laying fallow. Meanwhile massive stockpiles of fertilizer sat in large cone shaped piles around the each of the facilities all over the planet.

The only farms that were active were hobby farms growing niche products that weren’t programmed into the replicators, and personal gardens. The Dergan society itself in reality was a devoutly libertarian meritocratic socialist welfare state, where the democracy that was practiced was nothing more then a facade. The President, Hasdrub, the 157th in a line reaching back nearly 1000 years. He was directly related to more then 20 of those Presidents, and was a member of one of the famed 11 Litterages(meritocratic noble houses/families).

“Where do we put this stuff now?” A worker asked as the last large pile of fertilizer began to bump up against the long conveyor belt that fed the fresh mix from the facility.

“Hmmm..we’ve never had this problem before.” The foreman said as he scratched his head. They had filled every possible space on the property with piles of fertilizer.

The foreman, not being able to tell his employees what to do, sat in thought for a moment. As a cultural norm a person got a sheet, written by a committee, with their job description on it. They were expected to perform that role and work with co-workers as they saw fit.

“I’m puting it on the fields. No ones using them anyway.” The foreman eventually said before jumping in a hover loader and grabbing a large scoop and driving it out the front gate and directly into a farmers field. The grinding facilities were all strategically located at the centre of large agriculture districts. Eventually, a few other workers at the facility followed suit and jumped in loaders. It wasn’t in their job description, but the clarity of their minds was beginning to return as people began recovering from their addiction to the Cabbage, and they did what had to be done.

This was just the first example of challenges and unintended consequences that the Dergan people would face. Each would involve adapting their ways and confronting some of their rituals, habits, and traditions. But as always, the Dergans would meat the challenges head on, learn from eachother and move forward as a species. For they had no other choice but to be who they were.