Ensign Thomas sat in one of the many bars in San Francisco that catered to
Star Fleet personnel. He was talking to his three companions, too
excited--and too drunk--to be careful about what he said and how loudly he
said it.
"... I tell ya, it *was* Admiral Brennan," he exclaimed. "I recognized
him from a lecture he gave at the Academy! He was in the Arboretum, the
big one on Spacedock, a few hours ago. And he was fighting!! With a
Romulan woman!!"
"Was it Admiral t'Llhweiir?" one of his buddies asked.
"Nah, but they could have been cousins. Anyway, I could see them
fighting. They looked serious about it, too. He was good. Damned good.
But she wiped the floor up with him. She looked like she was about to
kill him, standing over him with her weapon at his throat."
He chuckled at the memory and added, loudly, "He *begged* for mercy.
Looked like he was about to soil his breeches!"
Thomas stopped to take a deep draught of his fifth beer.
"What happened next?" another at the table, a red-headed female he
especially wanted to impress, asked impatiently.
Using the back of his sleeve to wipe away the foam on his upper lip,
Thomas said, "Don't know. Security cleared us out before I could see
anything else."
As the ensign continued to regale his friends with other things he had
seen and done during his day, a figure slid from its seat in a nearby
booth and made its way to a public comm station. "This is Coolidge," its
said to the one who answered the call. "Let me to the chief. I've got a
story... Yeah, yeah, I know what happened with my last one. This is
totally legit."
As it waited to speak to the news editor, it chuckled to itself.
Third-stringer. Send it to troll the bars, would ya? Well, this
third-stringer had a story that was going to move it to the first team.
"Yeah, Chief, I got a big one...."
Randye
-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-=*=-
. | * Randye Jones
. |) . http://www.atouchofclassics.com
. /| . [EMAIL PROTECTED]
. ( | ) .
. . | . "Hate is not a family value."
