Bar Brawling with the best of 'em

Posted on Sun May 22nd, 2011 @ 6:48pm by Captain Nathan Cowell MD

Mission: Shore Leave 2; Picking Up the Pieces
Location: Various
Timeline: Sometime after "A Clandestine Conversation"

=Senior Officer Quarters - Deck Four; U.S.S. Arizona=

Ensign Schenk finally finished with his Intelligence team and made his suggestions in the secured PADD based on the information that he had been provided by the members of Intel. He still had quite a bit of work to do, but for the moment he wanted nothing more to do until he had to; going to his new quarters, he took a sonic shower and changed into a fresh uniform. He regretted that all of his old clothes had been one of the casualties of the Romulan attack, but he planned on getting more at Starbase 900.

Checking his reflection in the mirror, he saw a young man who looked a lot older in the eyes than he had a right to. He had seen a lot since coming on board the Arizona and he knew he was going to see more more the job was through. Stopping his train of thought before it derailed, he reminded himself that he planned on making a career of Starfleet. As an Ensign, he had a long way to go and wondered which direction that he should set for himself.

Initially, it was in Security, but Commodore Cowell had transferred him to Intelligence which suited him equally well. He had studied Intelligence for two years at the Academy and it was something that he could wrap his mind around while keeping things fuzzy. That was the best thing to do when dealing with intelligence information because if you kept yourself inside the box, as the old saying went, you would find yourself in a box. By doing that, you went no where and did nothing.

Shaking his head, he decided that he wanted to have a conversation with the Old Man and queried the computer as the location of the Commodore.

"Commodore Cowell is not aboard the ship. Please make an inquiry with the port registry," the computer replied.

Muttering to himself, Marc headed off the Arizona and went on the Immense-class starbase. It wasn't the first time he had set foot on one, but Starbase 900 was huge and he had a bit of a time finding the port registry where he inquired about Commodore Cowell.

A young female checked her console and made an inquiry. "Commodore Cowell is currently in The Salty Ferengi, Deck One-One-Two. Enjoy your stay on Starbase 900."

Making his way through the crowds, various turbolifts, and several indecent proposals - one he actually considered for a minute, Marc finally found his way to The Salty Ferengi and looked around. The place was half packed and he went to the bar to order a drink before he finally spotted the Commodore. It wasn't exactly how he wanted to meet him, but he figured that even the Commodore needed some down time. Getting his drink, he headed over to the old man. "Hi, Commodore."

Nathan looked up at the Ensign, a drink still hovering in his hand a few inches from his lips, "Shrek."

"Please, Sir...call me Marc. We're not on duty." Marc said as he took a slow sip of his drink. Inwardly, he wanted to forget the drink and go find an indecent proposal. "Sorry if I'm bothering you. I'll go find something to get into..."

"Nope, just sucking back a few cold ones," Nathan said, pointing to the stool next to him, "Hop on up, stay a while."

The Ensign hesitated a moment before taking the seat that the Commodore pointed out for him. Even off duty, he was still his overall commanding officer. "Thank you, Sir." He took another nervous sip of his drink before sitting it down on the bar. "The Salty Ferengi... I never met one who was pleasant." Marc said as he took a look around the place.

"I've met a few that talked a good game of shit, but none that could back it," Nathan chuckled, "So what brings you to the bars? I didn't peg you for someone that frequented these shit holes..."

As the Commodore said that, a fight broke out between two Klingons, who began bludgeoning each other with their drink mugs over what sounded like a dispute over who could hold their blood wine better. Such was the norm in most of the bars that Nathan chose to frequent in his twilight years, if they could really be called that. He liked the atmosphere, it was real, uncensored, raw. Sure as hell beat anything that 'decent' people liked to frequent.

"Sometimes this is where you find the best bits of data," Marc replied as he watched the two Klingons fight, wishing that he had brought a phaser with him. "My money's on the ugly one."

"Which one? They're both ugly as sin..." Nathan grunted, "So what's on your mind?"

"Not much, Sir." He tried to decide if he wanted to talk shop or just shoot the breeze. "I actually came here looking for you. Did you ever imagine what things would be like one day when you were my age?" He took a drink, keeping a wary eye on the brawlers in case the fight spilled their way.

Nathan laughed, "Honestly, son, I don't really remember being your age. But you know, I'm sure I didn't predict things would shape the way they have. I'm sure even my brother, that old bastard that he is, didn't see a lot of the things that have come to be on the horizon."

Marc nodded, trying to envision living centuries. "I never imagined that I'd be in the Delta Quadrant, but here I am. I didn't know that you had any family. Is he an older brother or younger?"

"Older... much older," Nathan replied, "Retired out of Starfleet as an Admiral not too many years ago. Last I heard he went back to being a Doctor, which sounds right. Been a tradition in our family for as long as any of my family can remember."

"What made you decide to veer away from medicine and go on the command path? There are Medical Officers in command of their own ships, and it's obvious that you've kept up to date with medicine." Marc asked as he slowly worked on his drink.

"I actually retired from Starfleet Medical just before the Dominion War. With the big recall they had of us old timers, I got shuffled off to a Medical ship as her Captain. Found myself liking the job, so I stayed after the war was over. Otherwise I never would have been a ship Captain at all," Nathan admitted.

"Impressive, Sir. How long did it take you to go through the ranks until you were a Captain?" Marc found himself asking all the questions and the Commodore supplying ready answers. As he finished off his drink, he turned to face the man more directly. "Sir, I have a personal question to ask of you - not that the questions that I've already asked haven't been personal."

"Took me fifty one years from the time I was an Ensign until the time I first pinned on my fourth pip. I wasn't overly ambitious," the Commodore chuckled, "You might as well ask, only thing I can do is not answer you."

"It's about death," Marc said quietly. "I lost a friend I went to the Academy during the first battle with the Romulans and Lieutenant Lishka said it comes with the job. After the second battle when I was helping with... clean up... I found myself snapping pretty much the same thing at one of the crewmen who was helping. Should I be hard about it, Sir? Just accept that it is part of the job and not let it get to me?" He motioned for the bartender to bring him another drink.

"Honestly, son, if you wear the uniform long enough, you're going to see or be responsible for more deaths than you would ever think possible. The trick is to deal with it in the best way you can so you can still function. If you have to put on an impassive face and snap at people when they let it affect their duties, then that's what you have to do. No one can tell you how to deal with death, no one can tell you how you have to feel about anything. You have to find the things that work for you, help you move on and you have to do them, regardless of what people thing. I recommend you don't live at the bar, and I say that from personal experience. If you're going to do something in your off time, try something positive. That, at least, doesn't come back and bite you in the ass later," the old man offered in the way of advice.

"I usually work out in the holodeck with Bruce Lee practicing my Jeet Kune Do. It helps clear my mind." He took a drink of his refreshed beverage. "I'm going to be sending people out on some of those missions, aren't I, Sir? The ones where my personnel won't come back. How do you deal with it when you know that and can do nothing to prevent it no matter what you try?"

"The best thing you can do is remind yourself that we all took an oath, we all understood the risks with that oath, and we all know that one day, no matter what we might wish, there is going to be a day that the bad guys win. The truth of the matter is, kid, we're all out here because we want to be. The catch is, you're not safe, and never will be until the day you put that uniform away for the last time and go back to being a regular Joe. So, until that day comes, if it ever does, you and Death are going to be walking hand in hand, and one of these days, he might yank you off the chess board of life..." Nathan said in a low tone.

Marc nodded somberly and set his drink aside. "I understand that, Sir. I'm just trying to come to grips with it. Enough of this gloomy shit. Let's have some drinks and go teach someone a lesson. Sir."

"Sure kid," Nathan said, setting his own drink aside, "You order some more, I'm going to go kick some sense into some ugly fucking Klingons. Might even get a free drink out of the deal."

Before the Ensign could say much of anything, the old man was out of his seat, launching himself squarely at he larger of the two Klingons, fists lashing out at all the right places to deal severe punishment with very little effort. The other one, the Klingon getting his face busted in by the big one, didn't miss the chance to not only exchange a blow or two with his former assailant but a few poorly aimed swings at his 'savior'.

Marc blinked, then laughed as the Commodore threw himself into the fray. Watching the 'old man' tear into the big Klingon, he jumped to his feet when the other ugly started throwing punches at his commanding officer. Moving a table aside, he delivered a lethal kick where the kidney's would be on a human, not knowing Klingon physiology.

The shorter Klingon turned and roared with a grunt of pain and grabbed Marc by the shoulders to hurl him over the table that he had just pushed aside.

"Today is a good day for battle!"

Marc jumped to his feet after landing on the table, barely moving aside in time as the Klingon moved in on him. "That's what he said." Dropping into a stance, Marc lashed out with two stiff fingers aimed to incapacitate most men.

Unfortunately, the young Ensign's lack of physiology training made his attempt at a martial arts victory rather ineffective. The Klingon did stagger back a few feet, more from shock than from actual pain before launching back at Ens. Schenk. Had the skillful and uncharacteristically fast hands of the Commodore not found their mark just on the outskirts of the man's neck, dropping him unceremoniously to the floor with a thud, the Ensign might have enjoyed a very long and brutal beating.

"Son, if you're going to use pressure points, you need to take a few anatomy classes..." Doc Cowell commented with a frown.

The young Ensign gulped as the Commodore took down his opponent, "Thank you, Sir." Looking around, he shook his head. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" He asked as he moved to place his back to Cowell's.

"I've been kicking ass since I was in my twenties or thirties. Back then, we used swords and later pistols. Took the fun out of kicking someone's ass. Learned a bit from some career boxers in the early 1920's on Earth, then a few good tactics from some locals in Korea during the Korean War. But a lot of it comes from being a Doctor for five straight centuries," Nathan admitted.

"Wow," the Ensign replied, keeping an eye on the two Klingons that the Commodore had just laid waste to. "Can you teach me some of those moves? I've never seen anyone lay a Klingon out that way so fast."

"Told you son, you need to brush up on your anatomy," Nathan said, dodging a sudden swing from one of the Klingons that had been watching the fight. The blow landed against Marc's head, though it wasn't nearly enough to do more than stun him for a moment. Nathan grabbed the arm and rammed two fingers deep into the curve of the Klingon's armpit, drawing a howl from him likened to that of a death scream.

"Having fun yet, kid?" Nathan asked as he pushed the man away from them both.

"Loads of it... thanks again." Turning, Marc bared his teeth at the Klingon and followed the old man's lead. Grabbing the Klingons other arm, he twisted around in a reverse move and jammed his free hand against the powerful shoulder blades and pushed with all of his strength. At the same time, he brought his left foot up and brought it down on the Klingons ankle with brutal force.

A nice crunch greeted them both, which drew a chuckle out of the Commodore, "Already taking lessons, I see."

The two men continued their row with the Klingons for a good ten minutes before one of them suddenly burst into hearty laughter. Nathan knew exactly what that signaled and grabbed the young Ensign before he traded any more blows. With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, Nathan let the man go and walked up to the laughing Klingon.

"So, you gonna offer us a drink or what?" the old man asked bluntly.

"Hell yes!" the Klingon declared, "Sit and enjoy the company!"

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Marc took a minute to catch his breath. Half of The Salty Ferengi quickly turned their attention back to what they had been doing, bars of gold-pressed latinum changing hands at the outcome of the fight and more than a little muttering. "It was an honor doing battle with you." He addressed the Klingon who had invited them to sit. "Jack Daniels and a beer."

"Jack and a beer!" the Klingon proclaimed, "And for you, honorable elder?"

"The strongest blood wine you can pry out of someone's hands," Nathan smirked, taking the offered seat.

"A warrior indeed!" the Klingon beamed, "By the way, I am called Commander K'Tarn. What might you be called, human?"

Nathan chuckled, "Commodore Nathan Cowell, and I'm El-Aurian, not human. I've seen more battles than you'll see until Sto'Vo'Kor."

"I believe it, old man!" the Klingon laughed as he sat down and made merry with the men that just beat the ever-living shit out of him and his officers.

"He's not old, he's my Commodore," Marc said with a grin. "Ensign Marcus Schenk" He offered his hand to the Klingons. Switching to Klingon, he continued. "I have been honored by battle with truly great opponents. Today, I have learned what it means to face true warriors and come out of it unbroken."

The Commander laughed at that and gave the Commodore a nudge, "If it weren't for you, he'd be paste on the floor!"

"Best way to teach the kids of this age is to show'em how it's done right," Nathan laughed. The two men laughed, partly at Schenk's expense, but mostly out of good humor. The group drank for about an hour before half the Klingons had passed out from blood loss and excessive drink. Before long, none of the Klingons were awake and Nathan sucked in a breath and stretched.

"Guess the party's over. I'm heading back to the boat..." Nathan said as he stood up, "Maybe before this shore leave is over, you and I can bash some more skulls in. Until then, Ensign, take care of yourself."

"You, too, Commodore. It was a pleasure fighting by your side. If you'll excuse me, I need to find an ice pack or a medical doctor. Those Klingons hit like hammers." Making two attempts to get up from the table, he finally succeeded and saluted him. "Good evening and perhaps I'll take you up on your offer." With that, he staggered off.