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One Last Drink

Posted on Mon Dec 3rd, 2018 @ 3:11pm by Commander Milo Tora & Lieutenant Marcus Alexander, MD

Mission: Episode 2: Columbus Ascending
Location: Deck 21 - Command Officers Quarters
Timeline: 03 January 2389

The gamma shift was almost coming to an end. In about an hour alpha shift would begin, and Marcus was running around deck 21 of the Valkyrie for his morning run. As he approached what would be assigned as the commanding officer’s quarters, he heard noises coming from inside. Marcus was hoping that his commanding officer was onboard. Marcus returned to his quarters and grabbed a bottle of blue liquid and two glasses. He headed back to the CO’s door. He rang the doorbell beside the door. He could hear the traditional chime inside the room. He then heard a commotion inside the room while he just waited.

A moment later the door slid open, revealing a tall figure dressed in soot stained engineering coveralls. A faint odor of charred plastic wafted into the corridor and a pile of objects melted beyond recognition was visible in the far corner. "Hello, Doctor," Milo said as he pulled off a dirty work glove so he could shake the man's hand. "What can I do for you this morning?"

“Catch you at a bad time?” Marcus said somewhat shocked at the commanding officer’s attire. “Just didn’t know you were back yet.”

"No, not at all," Milo replied as he motioned for Marcus to join him. "Just returned from collecting my personal affects from the Columbus...apparently my quarters caught fire at some point," he stated matter-of-factly, "Not sure if anything is salvageable." He shrugged. "I'd offer you a drink, but you seem to have that covered," Milo observed, nodding to the bottle and glasses the doctor held.

“Figured you might could use something strong, after everything,” Marcus replied. “Most of my stuff was still in the trunks and those things must be destruction proof,” Marcus laughed as he ended the Captain’s quarters.

"Pretty damn close," Milo chuckled as he cleared a place on his desk, "Have a seat, Doc. How do you like your new Sickbay?"

Marcus placed the glasses and bottle on the desk. He gave the bottle a quick swirl before pouring two glasses. He picked one up and handed it to Milo. "Sickbay?" he questioned. "Seems more like a hospital to me." Marcus took a quick sip. "Not bad," he said referring to the ale.

Accepting the glass from Marcus, Milo took a sip and let the pale liquid sit on his tongue for a moment, savoring the aroma as it burned his sinuses before he swallowed. "Not bad," he agreed with a nod before setting his glass down. "I get the feeling this isn't a social call..."

Marcus looked up from his glass. "Am I that obvious," he laughed. "So..." he paused. "What do you think about taking on another passenger? A commodities dealer of sorts."

"Depends on the commodities," Milo replied as he sipped is ale. "Obviously, Starfleet can't condone or participate in anything the might be considered...less than legal..."

Marcus paused for a second. ‘Could he? Would he? My brother into illegal operations,’ he thought to himself. “I strongly doubt he be involved in any illegal... it’s my older brother James. Wanting to expand his business into the Delta Quadrant.”

"Given the nature of the wormhole's connection to the Delta Quadrant, I'm not sure there will be much opportunity for trade between the Quadrants," Milo observed, "For all intents and purposes, this a one way trip. He better be damn sure this is what he wants to do..."

Marcus took a sip of his drink. "I'm sure he does. If I know my older brother, I imagine he has some wild eyed idea. Perhaps we could make arrangements for him or Emerson Poe to get any type of supplies we aren't able to replicate once in the Delta Quadrant."

"Wild-eyed ideas get people killed, especially in the Delta Quadrant," Milo remarked before sipping his ale. "However, Starfleet Command has given me some leeway in recruiting merchants and traders for our mission. He'll need his own ship. We're not a taxi service..."

“He does. About a year ago he acquired an old B’rel class bird of prey. He’s been retrofitting and customizing it. I think he really just wants to use our ship as a base,” Marcus added. “Last time I checked he has a crew of 6. He’s probably around here somewhere I think his cloaking device still works.”

"A B'rel? That's too big for an internal berth. It'd fit on the flight deck if he landed it in the ventral bay, but that's already packed to the bulkheads with equipment and material for the Starbase 38." Milo shook his head, "Unless he's willing to take the risk of navigating the wormhole himself, I'm afraid we can't accommodate him."

“I will relay that information but I doubt it will change his mind.” Marcus paused then took a sip. He then changed the subject. “So how did everything go with Starfleet Command?”

"Well, I'm not in the brig," Milo chuckled, "So there's that."

Marcus laughed, “Well at least not yet. Ba’zra seems to be throwing everyone else in the brig. Hopefully she grows tired of that soon.”

"Speaking of Ba'zra, do you think her recent behavior could be the result of PTSD?," Milo asked, "We went through hell on the Columbus and I'm not sure she's handling it well."

Marcus paused and thought, “Perhaps. She's not handling it well. I can tell she blames herself for some reason. I’ll see if I can get her to talk. I doubt she’ll go to the counselor.”

"Thank you," Milo nodded and sipped his drink. The welfare of his crew was of the utmost importance to him, even if it wasn't apparent. "She'll make a good officer if she can get that temper under control."

“I’ll have to approach from a Klingon warrior point of view. She relates to her Klingon half more than the human. Human and Klingon emotions combined is what causes that temper,” Marcus added.

"Whatever you think is best, Doctor," Milo replied while gazing into his drink. "That's outside my realm of expertise. I just don't want to see her do something stupid and get kicked out of Starfleet because of it..."

“I don’t think any of us do, sir,” Marcus replied. “Things are changing and I’d hate to lose anyone else.” Marcus grabbed the bottle of ale before Milo could refill his glass. “And that’s the last you’ll be having for a while,” Marcus said with a smile. “I can’t be having you fail any of these random blood alcohol tests Starfleet Command has ordered on you. I get to be the lucky vampire. That Colonel has placed me in charge of the randoms.” Marcus almost shrugged as he rolled his eyes.

Setting his glass down, Milo sighed, "This is going to be a long mission..."


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