In the Eleventh Fleet the hard working crews always need time to relax, so whilst docked at Sanctuary (formerly known as Empok Nor) the crew of the U.S.S. Trident get to enjoys some much needed down time.
* * * * *
Star Trek: Trident
A Proud Member of the Shared Universe Project
"Down Time"
By Brydon Sinclair
A gentle breeze wafted the faint scent of lotus blossoms and jasmine through the gazebo, and stirring the wind chimes. Motoko Kimura inhaled deeply and smiled. She sat cross-legged in the centre of the small wooden structure—nothing more than a coned roof on six solid posts—dressed in light cotton trousers and blouse that fluttered in the breeze, eyes closed and focusing on the gentle bird song, the chimes, and the relative tranquillity that surrounded her.
The holodeck programme was one she had devised eight years ago, as an aid to meditation following stressful days and assignments—following their encounter with Doctor Corax, the announcement that they would be getting a permanent Cardassian crewmember, and a particularly good night in Nigella’s, she needed a little tranquillity. She had devised the programme so that it was never the same twice, different locations and vistas, birds, time of day, wind chimes, flowers, sometimes there was no wind, other times it was slightly stiffer than what it currently was. It was all part of her meditation, to clear her mind of the distractions and listen to the underlying peace.
The Trident had amassed few days of R&R at Sanctuary and she had ordered her crew to enjoy them. Who knew what they would face next.
In the distance she heard the familiar ch-thunk of the holodeck doors opening and then again as they closed. She always left her programmes unlocked, in case she was needed or anyone wanted to join her. A steady pace of footfalls approached. The breeze wrapped around her visitor and brought the familiar scent of his soap (he wasn’t one to wear fragrances) to her before he reached the gazebo.
“Good morning Commander,” she said, keeping her eyes closed.
“Morning sir,” he said as he approached, coming to a stop in front of the gazebos steps.
She opened her eyes and wasn’t surprised to see him in uniform, his close cropped hair in its simple and fuss-free style, and his usual level of stubble still on his jaw and chin (no matter when she saw him, he always had three-four days worth), hands clasped behind his back. His grey eyes were a little bloodshot—not surprising given last night.
“Rogan, I gave everyone the day off for a reason. Might as well make the most of it, who knows what we’ll have to face next.”
“There were a few things I wanted to see too. After that I assure you, I will take some down time.”
“Mm-hmm,” she replied not convinced. “How are you feeling? I’ve never seen anyone drink that much Saurian Brandy and remain upright.”
“Years of practice,” he said in a nonchalant manner.
Kimura chuckled. “So what brings you down here then?”
“I’ve managed to get a full profile and service jacket on the officer that is being assigned to the Trident,” he told her, his tone becoming serious.
“So who have we got?” she asked, her curiosity peaked.
He produced a PADD from behind him and flicked it on. “First Glinn Joren Dahkal, formerly a logistics officer at Central Command Headquarters since the end of the war. Before that he served onboard the Hideki-Class Orsek for three years and before that the cruiser Vakesh—the same ship that we were searching for in the Kaytar Triangle—for two years. His background is in tactical combat and strategic operations, high test scores at the Officer Training Institute, lots of glowing reports as to his dedication and commitment. His war record is a little sketchy though, for all we know we were shooting at each other this time last year.
“As for her personal life,” Rogan continued, looking over the data he had amassed, “both his parents are listed as dead, so too are his younger siblings—his brother during the Klingon invasion of Cardassia and his sister was in Lokarrian City. Not got much else. He’s not married, no children, his address on Cardassia is military accommodation.”
Kimura mused over the details. “What do his previous CO’s say?”
Rogan looked back at the PADD and tapped in a few more commands. “All along the same lines really. Patriotic, hard-working, focused, decisive, a brilliant tactician—everything is focused on his work and service. The only thing about him personally is that, ‘he is often distant with his shipmates.’”
“Well this is going to be interesting,” she groaned, feeling the muscles in her neck and shoulders tense up. She held out her hand. Rogan stepped up and handed the PADD to her. She wouldn’t read it now, but keep it for later—for a time when she wasn’t feeling a little hung-over.
“Thank you Rogan,” she told him as he stepped back down off the gazebo. “Would you care to join me? It’s a very effective programme.”
He looked around at the peaceful gardens, the lush grass, the trees and flowers in full bloom, the sparking pond, the warm morning sun in the sky with light fluffy clouds. “I think I’ll pass Captain. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Not at all Rogan, anyone who wants to join me is more than welcome.” She stretched, trying to work out the new tensions in her back. “So what do you plan on doing today?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“I could always ask Captain Natale if she could manage without Mr Kelley for the day; give the two of you some time together.”
Her Bajoran XO spluttered and stammered, as he tried to find words. It was amusing seeing the usually cool and collected Rogan Enek at a loss for words, and blushing furiously. “I...I don’t know what you mean, sir. Commander Kelley and I are just friends. It wouldn’t be appropriate for him to be given time off just to catch up.”
She shot him a look that said she wasn’t buying it. “Oh. Is that all? You two just seemed thicker than thieves in Nigella’s last night.”
“We spent a lot of time together when I was waiting for the Trident to arrive. We share a lot of interests, and get along well.”
“Ok,” she said, her tone conveying her disbelief, though she didn’t force the issue. “My mistake. But I’m sure he’d be free for lunch. From what I can remember of the menu, it looked like a very good selection they had. I might have to give it a try before we go.”
He regained his usual composure. “If there is nothing more sir, I’ll leave you to your meditation.”
“Sure thing Rogan. Remember, my invitation is always open if you change your mind.”
She watched as he turned on his heel and headed away from the gazebo, towards the exit. A sly smile spread across her lips. Rogan, if you aren’t smitten with Commander Kelley, then I am the Grand High Empress of the Tribbles, she told herself as the doors opened and closed once again.
Chuckling to herself, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
* * * * *
“I find it illogical that you do not accept my assistance in alleviating you of this malady,” Doctor T’Liann said, with the subtlest hint of bewilderment in her French accent.
Talan Ha’naye chuckled. “The morning after is all part and parcel of enjoying a night out.”
“Consuming large quantities of alcohol hardly seems like an appropriate use of one’s free time.”
“It helps loosen people up, gets them talking, ingrains bonds that wouldn’t form under normal conditions,” the counsellor explained. “Besides, it’s not like we were all so drunk that we couldn’t find our way back to the ship, we’re not cadets anymore—well most of us aren’t.”
T’Liann raised an eyebrow. “I believe that aside from myself, Ensign Ty-Kaan consumed the least amount of alcohol, whilst Ensign Milburn remained on synthahol.”
“Kids today, don’t know how to enjoy themselves these days,” he stated as they rounded the corner.
“I still find the ritual to be perplexing. I also find it curious that the Captain encouraged the activity.”
“She may be the Captain, T’Liann, but she’s still human—a highly sociable species,” he explained as they stepped into a turbolift and ordered it to the deck they wanted. As the lift descended he continued, “It’s no different than any other group bonding rituals out there, look at how things are done on Delta IV.”
“I am aware of the promiscuous nature of Deltans, and their ideas on physical intimacy,” she interrupted quickly. “I am curious as to why introducing toxins into the body and inducing illness the following day, is considered an acceptable means of social integration.”
Ha’naye shrugged. “It just is,” he stated simply as the lift stopped and they stepped off. It was a short distance until they passed through the airlock and onto the station. “It’s not as if it is a regular occurrence—alcoholism hasn’t been an issue on Earth in a couple of centuries. Granted there are still some that do abuse it, usually due to severe extenuating circumstances, but I’ve only had to deal with one case during my entire Starfleet career—and that wasn’t even a human.”
They entered one of the stations turbolifts and headed down towards the Promenade.
“Besides, we got to know our counterparts on Sanctuary better which is always a good thing in my book.” The lift stopped and they emerged onto the commercial zone of the station. Ha’naye had to admit that he was impressed by how quickly it was filling up with businesses and vendors, considering the place had had nothing when they had first arrived. No doubt the businesspeople on the station saw the opportunities that existed on the frontier outpost, and were willing to take the necessary risk to get started.
“If it wasn’t for last night, we’d never have known that this was on today.”
“Perhaps,” the Vulcan admitted. “I do find it curious that such an event is taking place, given Sanctuary’s location.”
“What better place! A new hub of activity in the sector, that was established to help foster peace and understanding, where people of all walks of life can come together. I would have thought you would approve, it’s very IDIC.”
“Indeed it is, however, given that this region of space is still very dangerous, and the fact that the station is still trying to get itself established, I find it fascinating that such an event is being staged here,” she was telling him as they followed the curved design of the Promenade, until the public hall (which was a temple on DS9) came into view and they saw a queue of seven people coming out the door, patiently waiting to enter as others left. “Or that it would be quite so popular.”
“I guess there are a lot of people who appreciate art in the region,” he said as they joined the end of the queue.
On the display panels on either side of the entrance were the advertisements for the event; a cultural art fair, featuring works from dozens of artists from various planets in the surrounding sectors, but the main attraction was the work of Tora Ziyal, the half-Bajoran daughter of Gul Dukat—a bright and vibrant young woman killed during the war, who was said to be the polar opposite of her father.
It had been Counsellor Roijiana that had told him and T’Liann about the exhibit and being an appreciator of various art forms, he had decided to come and have a look—especially the work of Tora Ziyal, he had heard about her and her work through a contact or two he had on Bajor and Deep Space 9. What had flummoxed him had been the CMO stating her interest to come along; she hadn’t struck him as an art lover. To which she had stated to spending well over three hundred hours in the Louvre as a child and adolescent. The Vulcan was proving to be a source of great contradictions and Ha’naye enjoyed the time he spent trying to decipher them. It was rare that he was left perplexed about people—his lifetime of experiences made him very skilled at reading people quickly.
* * * * *
The door chime was like someone driving red hot pokers into his brain—or at least what Anthony Dane imagined that would be like—and whoever it was at the damn thing wasn’t taking their finger off the button either. He kicked off the duvet and pushed himself into a sitting position, the enunciator still cheerfully chirped.
Groaning he stood up and stumbled forward, slamming his toe into something hard and yelping out, falling back onto his bed, clutching the damaged appendage. The chime continued as he cursed. No blood or sign of bruising. It hurt but not enough to signify it was broken. Very smooth Anthony, he chastised himself.
Once again, he got off the bed and—much slower this time—edged into the living space. The door continued to scream at him. This had better be a life or death situation. If not, I will most likely be busted down to Crewman Recruit for what I’ll do to the vetruk whose waking me up at this ungodly hour, he decided, his knowledge of Tellarite curse words once again proving to be useful.
At the door he tapped in his security code and then the open button. As soon as the doors swished open the chime mercilessly ceased.
“Wow! You look like hell! Worse than when I was stabbed in the gut,” Jia Yraxis said in far too cheerfully a manner.
“What do you want?” he asked, before suddenly realising who he was taking to and added, “Sir.”
A wide grin spread across the Chief Engineer’s face. “Nothing. I just wanted to see what you slept in.”
“Huh?” he asked, his brain unable to handle her natural cheery disposition whilst soaking in alcohol.
She leaned in a little closer. “Nice PJ’s,” she stage whispered.
What she was saying finally dawned on him, mortified he looked down to see that the pair of pyjama bottoms he usually wore to bed were just hanging on his hips and no more. His face flushed bright crimson, as he mumbled an apology and darted back into his bedroom to find his robe—grateful that he had at least been wearing something.
Covered up a little more, he stepped back into his lounge and found Yraxis had invited herself in and was looking at the pictures he had on his desk. She looked up at him as he entered.
“No need to get dressed on my account, they’re your quarters, parade around naked if you want to.”
His cheeks burned brighter as he ran a hand through his unruly dark brown hair. “Not that I don’t love being embarrassed by a superior officer straight out of bed, but what are you doing here Lieutenant?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Obviously I don’t.”
Yraxis chuckled. “We were going to take in the better parts of Cardassian engineering and architecture, Commander Grafydd said he could spare some time to give us the full techie tour.”
Remnants of conversations he’d had the night before drifted back to him, as did the numerous drinks and cocktails he had enjoyed—they had seemed like a great idea at the time. He remembered speaking with Yraxis and the enormous Basmari about his interest in alien engineering design.
“Right, right. But that wasn’t until eleven-hundred.”
“It’s ten-forty now Anthony,” she said with a note of sympathy in her voice.
“What? No, it can’t be.”
“Computer, time.”
“The time is ten forty-one hours and eleven seconds,” the computer dutifully replied.
“Oh crap,” he groaned.
Yraxis smiled. “You okay to go?”
He nodded. “Sure. Eh, just let me grab a sonic shower and get dressed,” he told her heading for his bedroom once again, kicking himself at sleeping in so late. Luckily the Trident had a few days leave at the station, so he hadn’t wasted half the day in bed—he would just have to get through the rest with a killer hang over.
Pausing, he popped his head around the doorway and saw that Yraxis was sitting on the couch looking at the PADDs on the coffee table. “Maybe we could make our first stop the medical bay?”
“Sure thing,” she said with a sympathetic smile. He ducked back into his bedroom and readier himself for a shower. “I don’t doubt you’re the first one to visit it today. Have you ever had real alcohol before?”
“Eh, once or twice. But I never felt this bad before.”
“You were mixing drinks last night. It’s a rookie mistake,” she yelled from the lounge as he activated the shower.
He was in for only four minutes, more than enough time to clear him of the usual daily build-up of dead skin, sweat and everything else. He stepped back into his room and pulled on some civvies, Yraxis wasn’t in uniform and they were technically off-duty. Feeling an iota better than when he woke up, he grabbed his boots and then went through to the living space once again.
Yraxis was still on the couch, looking at the latest feed from the Federation News Service. He flopped down into the seat opposite her and started to pull on his boots.
“You know, it’s at times like this I feel hugely smug,” she told him, setting the PADD back down. He gave her a quizzical look as he pulled on his second boot. “Bolians don’t get hangovers. Our digestive tract breaks down alcohol before it reaches the stomach. I could drink every Klingon in the sector under the table.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yup,” she said, slapping her knees and standing up quickly. “C’mon kiddo, time to get moving.”
“Lieutenant—” he began.
“No uniform, no rank. I’m fine with being called Jia.”
“Jia, do you think you could turn the peppiness down a little?” he asked as he got to his feet, much slower than his companion had.
“Until you get your shot from the doc, then, all bets are off,” she told him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and hugging him tight to her, before laughing.
Dane groaned softly as he let himself be led out of his quarters. Mental note: no alcohol. Ever again!
* * * * *
* * * * *
Star Trek: Trident
A Proud Member of the Shared Universe Project
"Down Time"
By Brydon Sinclair
A gentle breeze wafted the faint scent of lotus blossoms and jasmine through the gazebo, and stirring the wind chimes. Motoko Kimura inhaled deeply and smiled. She sat cross-legged in the centre of the small wooden structure—nothing more than a coned roof on six solid posts—dressed in light cotton trousers and blouse that fluttered in the breeze, eyes closed and focusing on the gentle bird song, the chimes, and the relative tranquillity that surrounded her.
The holodeck programme was one she had devised eight years ago, as an aid to meditation following stressful days and assignments—following their encounter with Doctor Corax, the announcement that they would be getting a permanent Cardassian crewmember, and a particularly good night in Nigella’s, she needed a little tranquillity. She had devised the programme so that it was never the same twice, different locations and vistas, birds, time of day, wind chimes, flowers, sometimes there was no wind, other times it was slightly stiffer than what it currently was. It was all part of her meditation, to clear her mind of the distractions and listen to the underlying peace.
The Trident had amassed few days of R&R at Sanctuary and she had ordered her crew to enjoy them. Who knew what they would face next.
In the distance she heard the familiar ch-thunk of the holodeck doors opening and then again as they closed. She always left her programmes unlocked, in case she was needed or anyone wanted to join her. A steady pace of footfalls approached. The breeze wrapped around her visitor and brought the familiar scent of his soap (he wasn’t one to wear fragrances) to her before he reached the gazebo.
“Good morning Commander,” she said, keeping her eyes closed.
“Morning sir,” he said as he approached, coming to a stop in front of the gazebos steps.
She opened her eyes and wasn’t surprised to see him in uniform, his close cropped hair in its simple and fuss-free style, and his usual level of stubble still on his jaw and chin (no matter when she saw him, he always had three-four days worth), hands clasped behind his back. His grey eyes were a little bloodshot—not surprising given last night.
“Rogan, I gave everyone the day off for a reason. Might as well make the most of it, who knows what we’ll have to face next.”
“There were a few things I wanted to see too. After that I assure you, I will take some down time.”
“Mm-hmm,” she replied not convinced. “How are you feeling? I’ve never seen anyone drink that much Saurian Brandy and remain upright.”
“Years of practice,” he said in a nonchalant manner.
Kimura chuckled. “So what brings you down here then?”
“I’ve managed to get a full profile and service jacket on the officer that is being assigned to the Trident,” he told her, his tone becoming serious.
“So who have we got?” she asked, her curiosity peaked.
He produced a PADD from behind him and flicked it on. “First Glinn Joren Dahkal, formerly a logistics officer at Central Command Headquarters since the end of the war. Before that he served onboard the Hideki-Class Orsek for three years and before that the cruiser Vakesh—the same ship that we were searching for in the Kaytar Triangle—for two years. His background is in tactical combat and strategic operations, high test scores at the Officer Training Institute, lots of glowing reports as to his dedication and commitment. His war record is a little sketchy though, for all we know we were shooting at each other this time last year.
“As for her personal life,” Rogan continued, looking over the data he had amassed, “both his parents are listed as dead, so too are his younger siblings—his brother during the Klingon invasion of Cardassia and his sister was in Lokarrian City. Not got much else. He’s not married, no children, his address on Cardassia is military accommodation.”
Kimura mused over the details. “What do his previous CO’s say?”
Rogan looked back at the PADD and tapped in a few more commands. “All along the same lines really. Patriotic, hard-working, focused, decisive, a brilliant tactician—everything is focused on his work and service. The only thing about him personally is that, ‘he is often distant with his shipmates.’”
“Well this is going to be interesting,” she groaned, feeling the muscles in her neck and shoulders tense up. She held out her hand. Rogan stepped up and handed the PADD to her. She wouldn’t read it now, but keep it for later—for a time when she wasn’t feeling a little hung-over.
“Thank you Rogan,” she told him as he stepped back down off the gazebo. “Would you care to join me? It’s a very effective programme.”
He looked around at the peaceful gardens, the lush grass, the trees and flowers in full bloom, the sparking pond, the warm morning sun in the sky with light fluffy clouds. “I think I’ll pass Captain. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Not at all Rogan, anyone who wants to join me is more than welcome.” She stretched, trying to work out the new tensions in her back. “So what do you plan on doing today?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“I could always ask Captain Natale if she could manage without Mr Kelley for the day; give the two of you some time together.”
Her Bajoran XO spluttered and stammered, as he tried to find words. It was amusing seeing the usually cool and collected Rogan Enek at a loss for words, and blushing furiously. “I...I don’t know what you mean, sir. Commander Kelley and I are just friends. It wouldn’t be appropriate for him to be given time off just to catch up.”
She shot him a look that said she wasn’t buying it. “Oh. Is that all? You two just seemed thicker than thieves in Nigella’s last night.”
“We spent a lot of time together when I was waiting for the Trident to arrive. We share a lot of interests, and get along well.”
“Ok,” she said, her tone conveying her disbelief, though she didn’t force the issue. “My mistake. But I’m sure he’d be free for lunch. From what I can remember of the menu, it looked like a very good selection they had. I might have to give it a try before we go.”
He regained his usual composure. “If there is nothing more sir, I’ll leave you to your meditation.”
“Sure thing Rogan. Remember, my invitation is always open if you change your mind.”
She watched as he turned on his heel and headed away from the gazebo, towards the exit. A sly smile spread across her lips. Rogan, if you aren’t smitten with Commander Kelley, then I am the Grand High Empress of the Tribbles, she told herself as the doors opened and closed once again.
Chuckling to herself, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
* * * * *
“I find it illogical that you do not accept my assistance in alleviating you of this malady,” Doctor T’Liann said, with the subtlest hint of bewilderment in her French accent.
Talan Ha’naye chuckled. “The morning after is all part and parcel of enjoying a night out.”
“Consuming large quantities of alcohol hardly seems like an appropriate use of one’s free time.”
“It helps loosen people up, gets them talking, ingrains bonds that wouldn’t form under normal conditions,” the counsellor explained. “Besides, it’s not like we were all so drunk that we couldn’t find our way back to the ship, we’re not cadets anymore—well most of us aren’t.”
T’Liann raised an eyebrow. “I believe that aside from myself, Ensign Ty-Kaan consumed the least amount of alcohol, whilst Ensign Milburn remained on synthahol.”
“Kids today, don’t know how to enjoy themselves these days,” he stated as they rounded the corner.
“I still find the ritual to be perplexing. I also find it curious that the Captain encouraged the activity.”
“She may be the Captain, T’Liann, but she’s still human—a highly sociable species,” he explained as they stepped into a turbolift and ordered it to the deck they wanted. As the lift descended he continued, “It’s no different than any other group bonding rituals out there, look at how things are done on Delta IV.”
“I am aware of the promiscuous nature of Deltans, and their ideas on physical intimacy,” she interrupted quickly. “I am curious as to why introducing toxins into the body and inducing illness the following day, is considered an acceptable means of social integration.”
Ha’naye shrugged. “It just is,” he stated simply as the lift stopped and they stepped off. It was a short distance until they passed through the airlock and onto the station. “It’s not as if it is a regular occurrence—alcoholism hasn’t been an issue on Earth in a couple of centuries. Granted there are still some that do abuse it, usually due to severe extenuating circumstances, but I’ve only had to deal with one case during my entire Starfleet career—and that wasn’t even a human.”
They entered one of the stations turbolifts and headed down towards the Promenade.
“Besides, we got to know our counterparts on Sanctuary better which is always a good thing in my book.” The lift stopped and they emerged onto the commercial zone of the station. Ha’naye had to admit that he was impressed by how quickly it was filling up with businesses and vendors, considering the place had had nothing when they had first arrived. No doubt the businesspeople on the station saw the opportunities that existed on the frontier outpost, and were willing to take the necessary risk to get started.
“If it wasn’t for last night, we’d never have known that this was on today.”
“Perhaps,” the Vulcan admitted. “I do find it curious that such an event is taking place, given Sanctuary’s location.”
“What better place! A new hub of activity in the sector, that was established to help foster peace and understanding, where people of all walks of life can come together. I would have thought you would approve, it’s very IDIC.”
“Indeed it is, however, given that this region of space is still very dangerous, and the fact that the station is still trying to get itself established, I find it fascinating that such an event is being staged here,” she was telling him as they followed the curved design of the Promenade, until the public hall (which was a temple on DS9) came into view and they saw a queue of seven people coming out the door, patiently waiting to enter as others left. “Or that it would be quite so popular.”
“I guess there are a lot of people who appreciate art in the region,” he said as they joined the end of the queue.
On the display panels on either side of the entrance were the advertisements for the event; a cultural art fair, featuring works from dozens of artists from various planets in the surrounding sectors, but the main attraction was the work of Tora Ziyal, the half-Bajoran daughter of Gul Dukat—a bright and vibrant young woman killed during the war, who was said to be the polar opposite of her father.
It had been Counsellor Roijiana that had told him and T’Liann about the exhibit and being an appreciator of various art forms, he had decided to come and have a look—especially the work of Tora Ziyal, he had heard about her and her work through a contact or two he had on Bajor and Deep Space 9. What had flummoxed him had been the CMO stating her interest to come along; she hadn’t struck him as an art lover. To which she had stated to spending well over three hundred hours in the Louvre as a child and adolescent. The Vulcan was proving to be a source of great contradictions and Ha’naye enjoyed the time he spent trying to decipher them. It was rare that he was left perplexed about people—his lifetime of experiences made him very skilled at reading people quickly.
* * * * *
The door chime was like someone driving red hot pokers into his brain—or at least what Anthony Dane imagined that would be like—and whoever it was at the damn thing wasn’t taking their finger off the button either. He kicked off the duvet and pushed himself into a sitting position, the enunciator still cheerfully chirped.
Groaning he stood up and stumbled forward, slamming his toe into something hard and yelping out, falling back onto his bed, clutching the damaged appendage. The chime continued as he cursed. No blood or sign of bruising. It hurt but not enough to signify it was broken. Very smooth Anthony, he chastised himself.
Once again, he got off the bed and—much slower this time—edged into the living space. The door continued to scream at him. This had better be a life or death situation. If not, I will most likely be busted down to Crewman Recruit for what I’ll do to the vetruk whose waking me up at this ungodly hour, he decided, his knowledge of Tellarite curse words once again proving to be useful.
At the door he tapped in his security code and then the open button. As soon as the doors swished open the chime mercilessly ceased.
“Wow! You look like hell! Worse than when I was stabbed in the gut,” Jia Yraxis said in far too cheerfully a manner.
“What do you want?” he asked, before suddenly realising who he was taking to and added, “Sir.”
A wide grin spread across the Chief Engineer’s face. “Nothing. I just wanted to see what you slept in.”
“Huh?” he asked, his brain unable to handle her natural cheery disposition whilst soaking in alcohol.
She leaned in a little closer. “Nice PJ’s,” she stage whispered.
What she was saying finally dawned on him, mortified he looked down to see that the pair of pyjama bottoms he usually wore to bed were just hanging on his hips and no more. His face flushed bright crimson, as he mumbled an apology and darted back into his bedroom to find his robe—grateful that he had at least been wearing something.
Covered up a little more, he stepped back into his lounge and found Yraxis had invited herself in and was looking at the pictures he had on his desk. She looked up at him as he entered.
“No need to get dressed on my account, they’re your quarters, parade around naked if you want to.”
His cheeks burned brighter as he ran a hand through his unruly dark brown hair. “Not that I don’t love being embarrassed by a superior officer straight out of bed, but what are you doing here Lieutenant?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Obviously I don’t.”
Yraxis chuckled. “We were going to take in the better parts of Cardassian engineering and architecture, Commander Grafydd said he could spare some time to give us the full techie tour.”
Remnants of conversations he’d had the night before drifted back to him, as did the numerous drinks and cocktails he had enjoyed—they had seemed like a great idea at the time. He remembered speaking with Yraxis and the enormous Basmari about his interest in alien engineering design.
“Right, right. But that wasn’t until eleven-hundred.”
“It’s ten-forty now Anthony,” she said with a note of sympathy in her voice.
“What? No, it can’t be.”
“Computer, time.”
“The time is ten forty-one hours and eleven seconds,” the computer dutifully replied.
“Oh crap,” he groaned.
Yraxis smiled. “You okay to go?”
He nodded. “Sure. Eh, just let me grab a sonic shower and get dressed,” he told her heading for his bedroom once again, kicking himself at sleeping in so late. Luckily the Trident had a few days leave at the station, so he hadn’t wasted half the day in bed—he would just have to get through the rest with a killer hang over.
Pausing, he popped his head around the doorway and saw that Yraxis was sitting on the couch looking at the PADDs on the coffee table. “Maybe we could make our first stop the medical bay?”
“Sure thing,” she said with a sympathetic smile. He ducked back into his bedroom and readier himself for a shower. “I don’t doubt you’re the first one to visit it today. Have you ever had real alcohol before?”
“Eh, once or twice. But I never felt this bad before.”
“You were mixing drinks last night. It’s a rookie mistake,” she yelled from the lounge as he activated the shower.
He was in for only four minutes, more than enough time to clear him of the usual daily build-up of dead skin, sweat and everything else. He stepped back into his room and pulled on some civvies, Yraxis wasn’t in uniform and they were technically off-duty. Feeling an iota better than when he woke up, he grabbed his boots and then went through to the living space once again.
Yraxis was still on the couch, looking at the latest feed from the Federation News Service. He flopped down into the seat opposite her and started to pull on his boots.
“You know, it’s at times like this I feel hugely smug,” she told him, setting the PADD back down. He gave her a quizzical look as he pulled on his second boot. “Bolians don’t get hangovers. Our digestive tract breaks down alcohol before it reaches the stomach. I could drink every Klingon in the sector under the table.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yup,” she said, slapping her knees and standing up quickly. “C’mon kiddo, time to get moving.”
“Lieutenant—” he began.
“No uniform, no rank. I’m fine with being called Jia.”
“Jia, do you think you could turn the peppiness down a little?” he asked as he got to his feet, much slower than his companion had.
“Until you get your shot from the doc, then, all bets are off,” she told him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and hugging him tight to her, before laughing.
Dane groaned softly as he let himself be led out of his quarters. Mental note: no alcohol. Ever again!
* * * * *
