Downtime
[Day 1: 1600 hrs]
[Downtime]
Rourke didn't care much for newly-built drinking establishments which pretended to be like a good old-fashioned pub, so he'd gone to Downtime. While the premises had moved onto the newly-built station from the original Starbase 4, he respected that Skal, the brusque Tellarite bartender, was carrying on a long tradition of feeding and watering Starfleet officers that went back centuries. So with a half-decent bottle of beer in front of him and a seat at the bar, who was he to question tradition?
The holofeed above the bar was set to the news, and after a particularly riveting segment on new pergium mining prospects out near Beta Antares, switched over to discuss the conference here on SB Bravo. The moment Beckett's face appeared, his hot wind of a speech starting to drone through the sound system, Rourke squinted at the bartender and jerked a hand across his neck.
'Hell with that. Heard it once already. Get us some music, instead, mate.'
Comments
Jonas stepped up to the bar. It wasn't a bad bar as for as bars went, Jonas had spent enough time in bars over the years. He sat down on a bar stool near Rourke and saw the bottle of beer in front of him. "Not a bad choice, but if I'm gonna drink, I need something a bit harder." He looked at the bartender, "Bushmill, make it a triple." He turned to Rourke, "What do you think? Are you ready to boldly go?"
Rourke laughed. 'They wanted to be really sure we got that message, huh?' He shook his head and had a swig of his beer. 'Fuss and speeches aside, it's good to hear. Not much of an explorer myself, but it'll do people good to see Starfleet heading back out there. Helps to have a spot of hope.'
Jonas took a drink from the highball glass the bartender had placed before him. "I joined Starfleet to see the galaxy. I've been disappointed in some of the assignments, I've had. That's why I'm excited to be assigned to Task Force 38. It's on the frontier. Lots of places to go and see." Another drink and the glass was empty. He motioned the bartender for a refill. "What about you? You're on the Endeavor, right?"
'That's right. For about five minutes.' Rourke put his bottle down and extended a hand. 'Matt Rourke. We're operating out with Task Force 93, near the Klingon border. No real frontier, just pirate hunting. I'd say not much to go and see, but then, I reckon a lot of people haven't spent too much with our colonies out there. So almost as good as brave new worlds humanity's never seen before,' he said wryly.
"Jonas Flanigan," He shook Rourke's hand. "Rourke? Is that Irish?" Jonas took another drink. "Pirates and such present their own unique challenges. I'm sure you're up to the task."
It had been an...interesting day. Along with the welcoming ceremony, there had been a multitude of briefings and talks, all of them jam-packed along with the corridors and halls. For someone not used to large crowds it had been an experience, but Raan had rapidly learned to move through the mass of people without either stepping on anyone or startling them. It was all in the execution… a step to the side, a slight touch on the outer arm while murmuring his apologies. A dance of sorts.
But, he was mightily glad when the last of the ‘suggested’ talks on his list was done and he could break for the day. His bunk had been confirmed so he’d dropped his pack off earlier, but still had no idea who his bunkmate was. That, however, paled in comparison as he walked into the bar.
The surroundings didn’t matter that much to him. He’d drunk in palaces, and in trenches, the stuff went down the same way no matter what the decor looked like. It was the people that mattered.
Fortunately, the place wasn’t too packed yet. Taking a stool at the bar next to what looked like a couple of other conference goers, both commanders, he motioned to the bartender. “Whiskey,” he ordered. “Whatever you got that’s good.”
Jonas looked over at the new arrival, "Rourke and I were just discussing the impact this Osiris initiative will have on our commands. Where do you stand?" Jonas took another drink from his whiskey and emptied his glass again. He motioned to the bartender for a refill.
Still trying to get his head around the starbase, McCallister found himself almost wandering around like a lost sheep. After hearing the speeches from the opening ceremony, he was craving a drink. Finally, after finding a map he worked out a route to the nearest establishment. Chuckling a bit at the name of it, Downtime, seemed like the right place to go.
Coming from a British family who owned a public house, James was used to the smells and environment. It reminded him of his old home. Walking in, he approached the bar, which had a number of Starfleet officers already sat at it. The bartender took his order and returned with a beer. He pressed the cool bottle against his lips and took a big gulp. The fresh, bitter taste was refreshing. Overhearing the nearby set of officers talking about their assignments, James decided he wouldn't crash on their party. Instead he opted to take a table by himself and take in the scenery around him. He was curious to know more about what was going to be shared with him and the others in the coming days.
Having heard that her temporary roommate, Commander Jonas Flanigan, had headed to the Starfleet bar 'Downtime' for a drink or two, Raksha decided that as there was little else for her to do currently, being somewhat too stressed to study and not particularly feeling inclined to do so as it was currently, and so she made her way from their shared accommodation on habitation section C and off towards the venue in question.
Her arrival at the leisure plaza was no less overwhelming than her first arrival at Docking Precinct A. The multi-story sector of the station was absolutely aroar with outdoor conversations, drinking, song, laughter, and arguments. She pushed her way through a great many different scenes as she made her way to the bar. Around her, there were Klingons headbutting one another, others outright fighting and throwing bloodline around. There were a group of Romulans and Trill shouting at one another. Ferengi were abound also, trying to sell "genuine" Praxis shards to drunk Federation traders.
At last, having diplomatically and forcefully navigated her way through the crowds of the plaza, Raksha managed to slip into the establishment, which seemed the most considerably quiet location thusfar, and headed to the bar, where her only recent acquaintance, Jonas, was sat drinking with two other officers of clearly differing backgrounds. Shooting a quick gaze at the red-haired Commander, she offered him a polite wave with two fingers as she reached forward and ordered an ale from the gruff-looking Tellerite proprietor.
Jonas saw Raksha wave. He took another drink, then turned towards her, "Welcome to our conference of commanders. Commander Chandra, this is Commander Rourke," he said pointing to Rourke. "And Commander, " He squinted at the other commander, "Oh yes, Commander Mason." He took another drink and emptied his glass. He pointed at the bartender, "Top er off, mate."
'Good to meet you. Matt Rourke, USS Endeavour.' He offered his hand to Chandra for a shake. 'Where are you shipping out to when this is all done?' He glanced over at Flanigan and grinned at the latest filled glass. 'Planning on suffering your way through the morning briefing? Or is that going to make it all more fun for you?'
"Ah, good to meet you Commander Rourke. Raksha Chandra, formerly of the USS Frontier." Raksha nodded, taking Rourke's hand and shaking it firmly.
"I'll be heading to the Alpha Quadrant and Starbase 72 after this. The brass have offered me a command, but haven't told me what ship I'll be sitting in the captain's chair of yet. Still waiting to hear on that. Apparently I'm not the only one in that boat either, or so I've heard."
The woman took a swig of her ale, which was notably dark and heavy-looking in the replicated ruddy glass, and directed a glance in Flanigan's direction.
"Me and him are sharing quarters. When I came in this morning, the place stunk of Caitian tequila and regret. Looks as though I'll be trading that odor for Irish whiskey and boredom which, I mean-... I'm not entirely sure if that's a good trade-off or not." She chuckled to herself.
Jonas smiled, "I'll be fine for the briefing." Jonas took a sip of his latest drink. "Drinking whiskey is practically the Irish national sport." He took another sip.
Chandra chuckled slightly to herself at that remark, taking another swig of her ale. Looking to Raan, she extended a similar polite smile and acknowledgment, offering him a hand as well.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you there. Raksha Chandra, Task Force 72,' she began, not entirely sure which vague title sounded better, 'and you are?"
Raan lifted his glass in a mock-toast. “Ready to boldly go,” he replied. “Be good to finally get out there instead of resupply runs.” Which was basically all he’d been doing on the Tricerdonia.
“Mason,” he introduced himself, offering his hand to Rouke and Jonas. “Pleasure to meet you.”
The bar was filling up now, the clientele obviously conference-goers. With amusement, Raan noted that most of the fleet personnel had congregated in the same area. It was either a united front against the ever circling press, eager to get anyone’s impressions on Osiris, or like any society, they were all looking to meet their compatriots, networking and working out who fell where within the new hierarchy. Or maybe a little of both.
“No worries. I’m used to fading into the background.” He grinned and reached out to shake Chandra’s hand. “Raan Mason, formerly of the Tricerdonia. Still waiting to hear on ship and taskforce assignment. I’m assuming they’re going to get to that at some point during this shindig.”
The doors to Downtime parted to reveal the usual array of what Dick had come to expect at a place like this. A soft hum of discussion and the odd scent of one part desperation, two parts getting lucky, and three parts trying not to be noticed. Today, especially today, was no exception. He tried not to garner too much attention as he slipped around the back of the room to the bar.
Perching himself on one of the stools he signaled over the bartender with a flick of his wrist. Instantly his mind began to wander, what should he order? Before too long the bartender approached, wiping the area in front of dick before placing a coaster down in front of him. "Captain Sterling, what can I get for you?"
Dick blinked. "I'm sorry, do we know each other?" He said.
The bartender snorted, "I sure do hope not. I make it my business to get ahold of the manifests for conferences and such happening on board." He gently tapped his forehead, "Photographic memory." He said. "Helps both you and me when necessary. Now, what can I get you?"
"Give me a gin and tonic. With a lemon, s'il vous plait." Dick quipped.
"Oui, mon capitaine." The bartender walked off to make his drink.
Captain Richard Sterling
USS Armstrong, Commanding Officer
Rear Admiral Robert Dowd, Bravo Fleet Communications Officer
Captain Richard Sterling, Commanding Officer - USS Armstrong
Captain Charles Scotto, Commanding Officer - USS Devastator, TF93
Jonas took another drink, glass was empty again. He stood up to motion to the bartender. The moment he stood up, things started to spin. He stumbled backwards and fell onto the floor beside Captain McAllister's table. He pulled himself up and sat at a chair at the table. "Hi Captain." He saw the half empty beer sitting in front of McAllister. "You can't fly on half a wing, Captain. IF you're going to drink, move on up to the hard stuff." He stood up, "Come on over to the bar and join the party."
Raan registered someone taking the seat next to him, and in a break in the conversation, glanced over. The next stool was occupied by a Captain so Raan offered a polite smile.
"Here for the conference as well, captain?" he asked as the bartender returned with Sterling's drink. Gin and tonic by the look of it. Sterling instantly went up in Raan's estimation. A man's choice of drink said a lot about him.
"We are as well," he said, indicating the growing group, supressing a wince as Jonas hit the deck. That had to hurt. "Perhaps you'd like to join us?"
"A pleasure, Raan." She smiled, grasping the Commander's hand firmly as the crash of Jonas' drunken fall punctuated the moment. Her eyes fell to the redhead on the floor for a moment, before wincing and returning her attention back to Mason with a grin as if nothing had happened.
"I expect they'll be dishing us out to different assignments where they see fit as the conference goes on. To the brass, even us commanding officers are tools they can swing as they wish. I guess that's the life we signed up for though." She continued with a shrug.
When Raksha stopped a few minutes later to take a drink, Raan had taken the opportunity to greet Captain Sterling as he ordered his gin and tonic. With a courtly nodding of her head towards her superior officer, she extended Mason's offer with a simple gesturing of her hand towards the bar.
Sterling noted that someone wearing a Starfleet uniform hit the deck. Instinctively he checked the chronometer, and shook his head slightly.
Dick took a quick drink from his highball and nodded to the offer. "Is it that obvious? Couldn't hurt, I suppose." He nodded as well to the female commander with whom he had yet to make an acquaintance.
Stepping over to their area, creating a small cluster of conversation, Dick began. "Richard Sterling, from the Armstrong. Are you both ready to 'Boldly go?'" Dick slyly smiled as he took another sip from his drink. One never knew how people would react to a good ribbing of the brass, but with a line like that, Ramar was certainly asking for it.
Rear Admiral Robert Dowd, Bravo Fleet Communications Officer
Captain Richard Sterling, Commanding Officer - USS Armstrong
Captain Charles Scotto, Commanding Officer - USS Devastator, TF93
Chandra responded to this question with a mock formal salute.
"Yes sir! Ready to boldy go where we've probably already gone before! I expect half of us will be assigned to the Federation borders once again. All that talk of exploration and scientific discovery always gets the crowds going and helps bump up Starfleet application rates at these sorts of events but all know the game of the admiralty is always a more political one. We'll see how much of that opening ceremony speil is true once we're locked behind closed doors during the Task Force meetings. I'm hoping I'm wrong though, and that we'll genuinely be heading out to explore and conduct research once again, as we were meant to. Anyhow, it's a pleasure to meet you Captain Sterling. I am Commander Raksha Chandra, Task Force 72." She rambled on, before offering the gentleman a hand.
Dick took the commander's hand and returned a firm shake. "Nice to meet you, commander." Part of Sterling was ready to spill the beans, mostly to get it off his chest. He'd been tapped to take the Armstrong out... there. He was assigned the task of boldly going, however, he didn't want it. Weeks ago he was contemplating hanging up his pips, looking to the next life for Dick Sterling. But, somehow duty tugged hard.
"I agree, we'll see how tunes change behind closed doors." He kicked back the rest of his drink and motioned over to the bartender for another. Placing the glass back down on the bar, he continued, "So, what have they got you hotshots commanding nowadays?"
Captain Richard Sterling
USS Armstrong, Commanding Officer
Rear Admiral Robert Dowd, Bravo Fleet Communications Officer
Captain Richard Sterling, Commanding Officer - USS Armstrong
Captain Charles Scotto, Commanding Officer - USS Devastator, TF93
"Uh, well,' Chandra began, 'I can't speak for Commander Rourke or Commander Mason here but Commander Flanigan and myself are actually still waiting on our assignments. We were offered our first Commands before our arrival but I guess we're going to have to wait to see where the brass decide to shove us. Can't imagine they'll put us in command of anything too costly to the Federation. I know those new Odyssey classes are a highly sought-after commodity among aspiring Captains. Guess we'll see though. I could be sitting on a dusty old chair on one of those old Excelsior classes, for all I know. I could be thrown into the firing line on a Saber if the Federation feels it needs a little more firepower on the Tzenkethi border. Personally though, I'm a woman of discovery and opportunity so I'm hoping for an exploration assignment, which might mean anything from a Dumont or a Nova-class to a Sovereign or a Vesta, if the Admiralty are feeling generous."
At that, Chandra finished her glass of ale, setting the froth-laden glass down upon the bar.
"What about you guys? Think you'll be sticking to the ships you're on or do you reckon they'll be reshuffling crew based on command positions opening up?" she asked the gathered officers generally.
“I’m in the same boat the commanders here.”
Raan motioned to the bartender for another drink. It would be his last, after that he’d switch to something non-alcoholic. Not because he wasn’t a drinker but because, when drunk, he was a hugger. Hugs never went down well at a thing like this. Not ‘professional’ in the slightest. So it was two drinks and then he was on the soft stuff.
“Still waiting for an assignment. The old ‘hurry up and wait’,” he grinned and shrugged. “That never changes anywhere in the galaxy does it?”
The bartender returned with his drink. Thanking the man, he swirled the liquid in the glass as he looked at Sterling. “How about you? Are you sticking with the Armstrong or do they plan to shuffle you as well?”
He slid a quick look at Rouke. “How about you, Rouke? Any news on your assignment or are you in the mushroom camp as well? AKA kept in the dark and fed on the proverbial...” His lips quirked, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
Taking a generous slug from his new drink, Sterling wiped the rim of his glass with his thumb listening to the other officers. He chimed in about the ship choices. "I know that everyone wants the best and the brightest ship, but there's something to say about being assigned one of the old workhorses. Those gals have seen a lot of service and if you treat them right, they will always get you back home." Taking a look around the room briefly, he continued, "As for me, I've been assigned a long term docket aboard the Armstrong. Unless something changes, I'll be looking at the same walls for quite some time. Can't say I'm happy or sad about it, just what it is."
Rear Admiral Robert Dowd, Bravo Fleet Communications Officer
Captain Richard Sterling, Commanding Officer - USS Armstrong
Captain Charles Scotto, Commanding Officer - USS Devastator, TF93