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Please, Sir, May I Have Some More?

Posted on Jun 19, 2017 @ 10:36pm by Lieutenant Tomas' Vukovic

Mission: The Romulan Way


"Please, sir, may I have some more?"
(follows Marko's "Advantage")


Stardate: [2.17]0619.0947
Scene: The Vulgar Tribble


Tomas' stepped into the Vulgar Tribble, the ship's lounge, and the doors swished shut behind him.

The place was awash in heraldry, balanced between Federation and Romulan symbology and bunting. Dress whites were the order of the day, and he'd opted for his basic human appearance, normal except for hiding the BORG green eye and contact traceries in his left hand. A casual glance would have shown an average, healthy male, sans cranial hair, gazing about him in appreciation of the decorations.

"Good evening, lieutenant."

Tomas' followed the voice to the woman standing nearby, almost as if she'd been waiting for him.

"Good evening ..." he noticed the teal piping ..."Counselor. Is there something I can do for you?"

Eve Dalziel gave a barely perceptible shake off her head, her carefully arranged dark hair maintaining its near perfect state. "I make it a point to meet with all new crewmen as soon as possible."

Tomas' nodded.

"Yes, the initial counseling session. I've heard it can be a difficult hurdle for some."

"But not for you?" she followed up.

It was his turn to shake his head. "No, I have no trouble talking. What would you like to talk about?"

"Possibly about your being BORG," Lt. Dalziel suggested.

Tomas' put a finger to his lips with a conspiratorial wink.

"But not tonight, alright?" he smiled. "I'm in stealth mode as it were. Stalking the elusive Romulan secret police. It's not a surety how they'll take to being associated with one such as I. Or is that 'one such as me'? I can never get that right. Russian doesn't have that kind of problem."

He tapped on the bar and when the young blue woman looked up, he pointed at a bottle with liquid as blue as herself.

"Two fingers, please," he requested.

She poured correctly and slid the glass, a heavy, eight-sided tumbler down to him, smiling as she did so.

He looked up to find the Counselor's eyes on him and his drink.

"To the peace," he offered. "May we not get shot."

Counselor Dalziel grinned in spite of herself. This just might be interesting, she decided.

"And who do we have here?" came a more stentorian voice, belonging to a height-challenged Romulan.

"Ah," Eve took the opportunity to conduct introductions. "Centurion Herut, this is the PHOENIX's Helmsman, Lieutenant Tomas' Vukovic of LUNA. Tomas', this is Operations Centurion Herut of the Shai'Dan."

There was no shaking of hands. Tomas' nodded politely as did his counterpart.

"Lovely place," Herut commented, and raised his own glass of Romulan ale. "And a respectable selection of our finest. How did you arrange that?" he wondered.

Tomas' grinned. "Smugglers, of course. We let a few get past the Neutral Zone ... for practice, you understand."

Herut answered with a surprising guffaw.

"Drink up, and we'll have another," the Romulan suggested.

"If you insist," Tomas' was agreeable enough.

"Um, I'll have to sit this one out," Eve saluted them with her own glass. "I have to mingle a bit more."

"Very well, Counselor," Herut seemed saddened by the loss of the pretty young woman, but he cheered up upon looking over the offerings behind the bar. He pointed and askied, "Excuse me, bar keep, but what is that?"

Iphie plucked the bottle off the shelve, blew the dust off it and frowned. "I'm not sure," she said. "But it's green."

"Then we must have a glass," Tomas' agreed, slamming down the ale and setting his empty glass on the counter.


Scene: 20 minutes later

"You drink like a Klingon, sir!" Herut observed, carefully replacing his glass on the counter.

"Ah, but I don't dribble down the front of my uniform," Tomas' agreed happily.

"And you have a sense of humor! By the gods of all sacred houses, it's good to have a drinking companion that knows how to laugh! You have real fortitude."

"Well, he should," Iphie stood behind the bar, polishing a glass. "He's BORG. Alcohol doesn't affect them."

Tomas' sighed.

"What?!" Herut exclaimed. "A BORG!? But I see no implants," he waved a hand somewhat dazedly.

"It's true, Centurion," Tomas' admitted. "I am enhanced."

He allowed his camouflage to drop, the right eye turning a glowing green beneath its lid, and subdermal traceries lining his left hand. The Romulan squinted at his head.

"The lack of hair is part of the deal in my case, I'm afraid. Some kind of cellular imbalance as a result of a childhood disease," was about all he was willing to share.

"Well," Herut tilted his head one way and then the other, "At least you have no unsightly bumps."

Tomas' accepted the compliment.

"Would you care to be assimilated?" Tomas' offered.

Herut took a slight step back, then guffawed again.

"I think we shall see a very different sort of peace initiative this time!" he said, downing the last of his drink and stalking off into the crowd.

Tomas' sighed.

"Gee, Cy," Iphie said. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were hiding."

"Can't be helped, Miss Bonviva. It wouldn't be a mission if something didn't go sideways."


NRPG: And THERE you have it. A completely irreverent meeting. I fashioned Herut after Falstaff, a bit. Perhaps I went a tad over the line for a Romulan. But maybe he is VERY cunning, and "not so think as you drunk they are." (Hic!)


Kenneth Field
writing for:

Lt. Tomas' Alexei Vukovic


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