Encounter at La Cantina

Posted on Wed Nov 11th, 2015 @ 6:27am by Captain Charybdis MacGregor & Commodore Raul Mizumoto
Edited on on Tue May 29th, 2018 @ 3:02am

0 words; about a 1 minute read

Mission: Taking Chances
Location: Starbase 4 promenade
Timeline: 2265
Tags: spy

"I'd like to say that I'm sorry to see you go..."

"There are many things I would like to say to you... oh, wait, I have said them all. Farewell, Lieutenant Commander Clay. I am certain that you will find a level of success commensurate to your level of competency." As the blood pressure of the Executive Officer of the Antares rose, coloring his face bright red, Lieutenant Charbydis strode through the airlock leaving whatever retort he may have been formulating behind.

The wide corridors of Starbase 4 were a welcome relief to Charybdis from the tight, narrow corridors of the Antares. While she did enjoy teasing the crew members who found it uncomfortable to have to slide by her generous endowments in such cramped quarters, actually having a bit of room to stretch her legs was a simple satisfaction of which she was determined to take advantage. As she locomoted at high speed through the passageway, her body parts vulnerable to gravity remained in motion, causing more than one passerby to be quite distracted. She smiled slyly and proceeded, pretending not to notice the chaos she was leaving in her wake as she made her way to La Cantina.

Starbases had adopted a policy of allowing civilian businesses to set up shops and services in a 'promenade' area long ago, finding that the principles of allowing civilians to handle commerce rather than controlling them through the military kept these services hassle-free for Starfleet as it expanded into new quadrants and territories. It was a holdover from the old commissaries of the militaries of the twentieth century that had survived into the twenty-third. Thumbprints were used for Starfleet personnel in place of currency, as Starfleet maintained trade agreements with vendors for barter. Thus wherever there were Starbases there were shops, services and most importantly, places for service personnel to drink, relax and unwind.

Great advances had humanity made... but some things, like meeting and sharing a story and camaraderie over a drink, never changed.

Charybdis slowed and entered La Cantina at a casual pace, the case filled with her few belongings slung over her shoulder as she looked about, taking in the somewhat dimly-lit establishment. This too was a standard... harsh and bright lights were not conducive to relaxation for most species, so bars tended to be darker than the rest of the station. And in one darkened corner, she spotted the man she was looking for. Rumpled and disheveled, wearing a coat and cargo pants covered in pockets, the human trader was easy to pick out from the bar's few other patrons. Charybdis considered how best to approach him, and decided that frosty businesslike would be her best stratagem for success. She crossed the room and stood before her suspected contact.

"Have you flame gems, human?" she asked archly as she stood before the trader.

He looked up from his drink and regarded her for a few seconds, his eyes roaming freely over her form before making eye contact with a leer. "They say that flame gems are only found in the shadows of the raptor's wing," the trader replied.

"There is no such bird," Charybdis replied.

"Then I have no flame gems," the human replied. Sign and countersign established, Charybdis sat down beside him woodenly. She rooted through her case to produce an obnoxiously ugly sculpture of the IDIC, crafted by her own hand. She set it on the table before her and raised an eyebrow at the human trader. He grunted and rooted around in one of his coat pockets, then produced a large flat stone that resembled an uncut flamegem.

"The coordinates to deliver this package are on the tag attached to this antiquity. Be there at the time indicated and await the recipient, and you will be paid four times what you were paid to deliver this gift to me," she said as she packed the stone into her pack. She made to get up and leave when he placed his hand upon her thigh, finger splayed as he squeezed it experimentally.

"No need to rush off, pretty lady. Perhaps we could have a drink together, eh?" He smiled winningly at her, for all the good that it did him. She looked at his hand on her leg, then looked him in the eye, then looked back at his hand. She smiled mirthlessly at him and draped her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you familiar with the Vulcan nerve pinch?" she asked. The trader chuckled, grinned and slid a bit closer to her. "Why? You certainly don't have to incapacitate me to have your way with me." He patted her thigh and slid his hand higher up her leg.

She slid her thumb into the space between his trapezius muscle and sternocleidomastoid muscles and massaged it for a few seconds before squeezing it with her thumb, pressing it against the knuckle of her index finger to compress the suprascapular nerve with bone-crushing force.

"You are quite correct, I do not. Sadly, I have never mastered the nerve pinch... but perhaps you should remove your hand while it still functions, human, lest I should continue to practice upon you." The trader grimaced in pain and pulled his hand away with his other hand, gasping as she released him. He rose from the table and hurriedly bustled away, cradling his injured arm as she smirked. Stereotypical Vulcan behavior often worked wonders.

She rose smoothly from the table and moved to depart, then on a whim she stopped at the bar. The bartender, an Andorian, eyed her curiously, his antennae rotating toward her.

"Vulcans are not usually my best customers," he commented dryly.

"We all must seek inner peace and find our own way to meditate, according to Surak. Have you Romulan ale, perchance?"

The Andorian's look of surprise was priceless, and he looked around the bar to see if perhaps he was being victimized by a practical joke... not that Vulcans were usually practitioners of such things. But then, Vulcans usually didn't order drinks either. Seeing no one else about, he reached beneath the bar with a shrug and produced a bottle of pale blue liquid. Uncorking it with a loud pop, he produced a square tumbler and poured two fingers of the fluid into it, then slid it across the bar to her.

She took it in hand and brought it up to her nose, sniffing it. The scent was weak- he had watered it down, obviously, and it was not a particularly good vintage. But it was still Kali-fal, and she sipped it to savor the flavor. She knew the Andorian was watching her, so she made a face as if she were unaccustomed to the taste of alcohol, and crafted her face into a mask of feigned stoicism.

"Fascinating," she intoned, then tossed down the remainder of the tumbler. The story of the Vulcan girl trying Romulan ale would be complete provided that she made a sour face, then the bartender could retell the tale without it being that odd, so she did so. It was not that hard- after all, there was perhaps one part Kali-fal to three parts water and likely one part grain alcohol in this mixture, and it was a sad representation of the brand. The Andorian bartender chuckled as he took the glass back, shaking his head. Charybdis made another sour face and smacked her lips a bit, then widened her eyes.

"A unique experience... thank you." She thumbed the credit pad, nodded to the Andorian then departed the bar. The Bonne Chance was due to dock within the hour, and she had things to do...



The Bonne Chance was not due to arrive in an hour, Charybdis discovered, but had in fact been docked here for weeks. She felt rather foolish for not having realized that the vessel was already being refitted from her last mission and that the crew rotations were already occurring, but she dismissed it quickly. Dwelling on her shortcomings was not constructive, and her intelligence had come from the Antares. It was entirely possibly that the error was to be found in a miscommunication there, either willful or accidental. Either way, it was now inconsequential- the ship was here, and so was she.

As she strode through the Starbase, she paused at an observation port to take in the sight of the great ship, orbiting the base at standard regulation distance. Doubtlessly repair crews and specialty engineering teams were working on her while supplies were stocked and personnel were transferred, but ships seldom actually docked at starbases other than when in spacedock. Transporters made such maneuvers anachronisms- sliding and scraping bulkheads up against one another was for small vessels, not huge stations and Constellation class starships.



She watched out the viewport as the ship arced around the station... all clean lines and grace, the matter intake spheres of her nacelles glowed gently against the blackness of space. This was her goal, the driving purpose of her life for the past eleven years... to gain assignment to one of the most premier vessels in all of Starfleet. She would have access to her libraries, her technology and be there as it explored the galaxy, finding what mysteries and secrets might be found in the uncharted regions of the galaxy. She stood, her fingers to the glass, watching with rapt attention as the great ship moved out of view of the observation window, then she grinned broadly.

The Bonne Chance. From the ancient Earth language meaning "Good luck", her motto was "Fortes fortuna aduivat"- "Fortune favors the bold". The name combined with the motto seemed redundant to Charybdis... but then, the name originated from a religious leader of theirs who was significant a millennium past, a scholastic theologian and philosopher. She had read up on him and agreed at least with one of his philosophies; that the purely intellectual element, though never absent, is of inferior interest when compared with the living power of the affections or the heart. Charybdis, never one to dismiss her passions for logic, would readily agree with that philosophy, and she found some delightful irony in contemplation thereof.

She waited patiently for her turn on the transporter pad as personnel and supplies were beamed over and some were beamed back- there were a number of ships currently docked at the Starbase, after all, and it stood to reason that the cargo transporters would be busy. When her turn arrived she handed over her orders for inspection and the transporter chief eyed her curiously.

"Why travel steerage when you could be going first class, Lieutenant?" he asked, dusting his hands off on his red coveralls, the standard uniform of enlisted personnel. As he handed her back her orders data card she smiled back at him, which seemed to catch him off guard. Vulcans never smiled, after all- everyone knew that.

"I imagine there is quite a bit going on with all of the personnel transfers... I thought to avoid the press of bodies and make my way onboard quietly, Chief. It is not a violation of regulations, is it?"

He shook his head and chuckled. "No, no, nothing like that, ma'am. Just not too many officers choose to come aboard with the ship's kitchen stores is all."

Grinning as she stepped onto the transporter pad, the scientist shot the chief a wink. "I'm not like most officers, Chief. Energize!"

"Yes ma'am!" he said with a smile, and the cargo bay faded from sight.

 

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