=/\= Acheson’s quarters =/\= <<This takes place after the Keylor-Acheson JL, which will come out this week>> Acheson shuffled his possessions around, looking for something. His quarters had become unseemly, because the drills had caused him to work long hours. He felt himself coming down with a case of work fatigue and decided to go to the Starbase for some recreation. The R&R had not yet concluded and Acheson wanted to get what little time off he could still get. While he was passionate about tactical matters, he was still human and still had the annoying quality of requiring the occasional rest and relaxation, for both his body and mind. Giving him, Acheson looked for a clean uniform, so he wouldn’t disgrace his service. Finding his last one hanging on a hook, he vowed to put the others through the laundry before the ship would depart the Starbase. He took off his old uniform and put on the new one, careful to leave it unwrinkled and spotless. Acheson was not ignorant to the fact that a sharp uniform had its impression with the brass, as well as with whatever girls happened to be at the Starbase. He zipped his black outer-uniform and checked to make sure his silver bar was shining brightly. Oxidation was a horrid chemical reaction to rank insignia. Acheson walked to the transporter room and beamed to the Starbase. =/\= Starbase Promenade =/\= In a gentle blue mist, Acheson rematerialized. He looked back and forth briefly before beginning a walk of the Promenade. The background was filled with the noise of people talking and the periodic thumping of the latest music that Federation teenagers tended to listen to. Acheson was shocked to see that he was no longer “cool” and that the music he liked was no longer popular. Leaving the culture shock, he approached a drinking establishment. Ahh, the benefit of age. A waitress stopped by and asked him for his drink order, as he sat alone at a table. Acheson’s mind scambled. He really wanted something strong, but becoming inebriated would not help his review boards when he would come up for a promotion to Captain. He choose a milder beverage. “Beer.” He smiled, reflecting in the German forcefulness in that word. The waitress seemed dumbfounded. “Uhhh, sir, there are over 1000 different blends available for beer. Which would you like?” Acheson looked at her as if she spoke another language. “1000 kinds? I only know of 10” He studiously recited the different flavors he knew using his fingers. “Well, I’ll try whatever the first entry is in alphabetical order.” “Aerian Brisk Draft, it is.” Moments later, the waitress returned with the Beverage. It was green, with blue particles suspended in the aqueous layer. Acheson looked at the beer and gulped in fear. He submitted his thumbprint so the appropriate Federation credits could be deducted from his account. He always seemed to have an abundance of those credits because he never had a chance to leave the ship to spend the allotment that Starfleet gave out. The credits were valuable to merchants because they would be exchanged for materials that the less primitive replicators couldn’t produce. Rumor had it that the right amount of credits could even buy off a materialistically-coveting Admiral in Starfleet if a certain trade violation had occurred in Federation space … but naturally such things were only rumors. He held his breath as the vile aroma from the brew began to permeate the area around his table. He prepared to boldly go where no man had gone before, as he chugged the corrosive liquid in the container. Pulling back, he felt it bubbling as it touched the back of his throat and went down. Amazingly, the sensation was pleasant. “Damn, it’s pretty good.” As he put down the beer container, he noticed a set of blue eyes looking at him from the distance. He turned his head to confront them, only to see them shift away quickly, almost defiantly. He looked at the person who had so recently gazed at him. She was female, and from the distance she seemed human. She wore a Starfleet uniform, though its orange color indicated that she was either an Engineer or Security officer. He looked away, leaving an eye in his peripheral vision and she looked up again, watching him. He remained as he was to see how long she would continue watching, but she persisted and he finally looked back, causing her to look away again. Acheson smiled. It was not an unpleasant game to play. He stood up from the stool and walked over to her, making sure to present a confident stride as not to blow his chances here. The woman looked back at him. “Can I help you?” “Hi. I’m Nate. I was wondering if I could buy you a drink.” She chuckled. “No, but I was planning to take a walk on the arboredum. You can join me if you want.” He nodded, with an assertive smile. “Sure. May I ask what your name is?” “Certainly. Clarissa Pochinski. I’m an Assistant Engineer here.” Acheson nodded, noting the 1 full and 1 blank pip. He wondered to himself … was he always going to check out the girl’s rank first? Shouldn’t I atleast be looking at her superficially? “I’m Nathan Acheson. Chief Tactical on the Chimera.” “Oh, is that the ship that docked after going on maneuvers.” “Yes.” She smiled. “The talk is that it got whipped by the Simpson. I heard it couldn’t even fire a single shot” “Well, I wouldn’t say that …” She cut him off: “I’m just kidding. Come on, let’s go!” She stood up from her stool and walked away toward a Turbolift. Acheson quickly followed. =/\= END LOG =/\= 1Lt Nathan Acheson CTAC USS Chimera -- ___________________________________________________________ Sign-up for Ads Free at Mail.com http://promo.mail.com/adsfreejump.htm