Month 9 Day 11
Shore Leave Day 12
2031 Hours
Bugalu
Previously:
“Well, how many men
did you-uh, were involved?” Bosilevac asked.
Mac frowned. “Actually, I’m not sure. When the drinking started,
4 men took turns buying me drinks, but others joined in. In time, I realized I
was drinking several glasses while each of them only had one, and I insisted
that we all drink the same amount. I think the bartender filled 11 or 12 glasses
for that round. When the 4th guy passed out, the others became impatient.
And then aggressively insistent.”
“You were pretty drunk yourself,” Bugalu stated. Space, why did I say that? These guys will
think they can outdrink her!
“Not really,” she answered. “When one of them said that after
they’d bought me all those drinks, I owed
them a good time… Well, I showed them quite a time, but I don’t think they considered
it good.” She smiled at the memory, then let it fade. “One got a couple cracked
ribs, but that was the worst of their injuries. Anyway, I made the decision to
buy my own drinks. That’s why I seemed drunk, Bugsy. When you got there, I was
finishing my first self-bought bottle.”
The owner of the
Horsedrawn Carriage sold her a bottle even after the brawl broke out? I had a
better opinion of him.
“It’s unfortunate you had such a terrible experience at that
young age.” Winthrop’s words were saturated with oil, to make it easier for
them to slip into her head. “A beautiful young woman like you-“
“Stuff it, Winthrop,” Smythe interrupted as he broke through
the ring of people surrounding the contestants. He drug a chair behind him and
turned his attention to a surprised doctor. “Detox me, Drake, I’m joining in.”
“You’re doing what?” MacGreg exclaimed.
“Someone has to keep an eye on Winthrop!” Smythe declared.
What
does he think I’m here for?
“And Moor! So hurry it up! Get me de-toxed!
Shaking his head, MacGregor took a scan of the engineer’s
blood alcohol, adjusted his inoculation gun and gave the man a shot.
“Thanks. Jones, Adams, make room for me.”
Bugalu glanced at Mac. She sat unmoving, staring at her
supervisor, her face completely white except for bright red splotches on her
cheeks.
I’m
not even sure she’s breathing. Can’t tell what she thinks about this development.
Smythe sat as the other men adjusted their positions by an
inch or 2. He glanced around the table, at everyone but Mac. “Could you state the rules again? I’m not sure I caught
them all.”
“Sure,” Mac agreed, but then remained silent. After a moment,
Yellow Dog elbowed the redhead in the side, hard enough that Mac fell against
Tall Bear’s shoulder. “Ouch!”
MacGregor sighed and ran his med scanner over the woman’s
side. “Yeah, you’re bruising,” he stated, and looked up at the still-waiting
server. “Could we get an ice pack?”
“Let me find one,” the server responded, looking surprised,
and headed for the kitchen.
“What was that for?” Mac asked her bronze friend.
But it was Tall Bear who answered. “You need to explain the
rules. All of them. Make sure they all understand them.”
She whispered, “I haven’t done that yet?”
TB shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Mac frowned, winced as she climbed to her feet. “These are
the rules. We will all drink the same liquor, at the same time; a shot every 5
minutes. If you take longer than 15 seconds to drink your shot, you are disqualified.
If you pass out, you are disqualified and Bugalu will make arrangements for you
to be returned to your temporary quarters. Each contestant will pay for a full
bottle at the beginning of the contest. Those who are still participating when
we reach the end of those bottles will, again, each pay for a full bottle so
the contest can continue. The last person to remain conscious after drinking 1
more shot than anybody else will receive all remaining bottles as the prize.
Any questions?”
“I think you’ve forgotten something,” Moor suggested. “Surely
the last man left conscious wins the pleasure of your company for the night.”
Mac stared at him, her brow tense with confusion. “No.”
“But that’s the way this is done!” Adams declared.
“It’s not how I
play. Each of you has offered to buy me a drink.” She glanced at Smythe, and quickly
pulled her gaze away again. “Most of you,” she muttered and cleared her throat.
“What you meant – I’m smart enough to realize it – is you wanted to get me so
drunk you could ‘have the pleasure of my company for the night.’ I’m not stupid
enough to agree to that. These are my
rules. We drink until only 1 person
is still conscious, and that person’s prize is the rest of the booze. That’s
it. If you don’t like the rules, then leave, but if you leave, give up all
thoughts of ever suggesting drinks, a date or sex. In fact, even if you stay,
give up those thoughts.”
“But if I win, you will – eventually – go out with me?” Moor asked.
She gave another flash glance at Smythe. “No.”
“Then why are we here?” Evans demanded angrily.
Mac placed her fingertips on the tabletop and leaned forward
to spear him with her green gaze. “You are here because you think you can drink
me under the table. I am here to prove you can’t. That’s it. Nothing more. Have
I made myself clear?”
“It hardly seems worth it,” Evans returned.
“Then leave,” she suggested. “You’re the one who keeps suggesting
we have drinks. Suddenly, you don’t want to. Fine. But this is the only time I will agree to drink with
you.”
Scowling, Evans settled back in his chair.
“Can I join?” Bosilevek asked, pulling a chair forward.
Surprised, Mac straightened up. “I thought I made myself clear
long ago.”
“You did,” the technician agreed, forcing his way between Evans
and Adams. “Anyway, I’m a real light weight when it comes to drinking. I’ll
just have a couple drinks and drop out.”
“Then why join in at all?” Adams asked.
“Frankly, I hope it’ll convince Steph that I know I don’t
have a chance with Mac.”
After a moment of silence, one side of Mac’s mouth curled. “I
feel so used,” she stated, and laughed. “Okay, have I covered everything?”
“That should do it,” Bugsy told her.
“Good.” She turned to the server, who had just placed a tray
of shot glasses in front of Bugalu and was now handing a bag of ice and several
towels to MacGregor. “We need 9 bottles of your cheapest whiskey. Charge each
of us for 1.” She hesitated, then whirled. “Smit, would you prefer gin?”
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