Month 9 Day 11
Shore Leave Day 12
2058 Hours
Bugalu
Previously:
“We need 9 bottles of
your cheapest whiskey. Charge each of us for 1 each.” She hesitated, then
whirled. “Smit, would you prefer gin?”
Probably
he would, but...
Bugsy was relieved when the chief engineer responded with,
“We’ll all drink the same stuff. You said that was a rule.”
“Oh!” She went pink. “Yes, it is. Th… thank you for remembering.”
She handed her payment card to the server and let MacGregor hold the bag of ice
against her probably-growing bruise while Beth concentrated on using the towels
to rig a bandage to hold the ice in place.
“It’s too bad you can’t just give me a shot or something to
keep me from bleeding internally, Mac,” she stated softly.
“Surprisingly, having a body that is not full of freely-flowing blood causes all sorts of medical problems,”
MacGreg replied drily.
“Yeah, but I’ll be ingesting plenty of anti-freeze, so
wouldn’t that help keep it flowing?”
That
twinkle in her eye means she isn’t really serious. Will MacGreg realize it?
“Don’t even get me started on how well human bodies don’t work when their blood is replaced
by alcohol. Although… Gaelunders seem better able to do that than regular
humans, I suppose.”
Good
save, MacGreg.
“I’m definitely ready for some anti-freeze,” Mac muttered.
“Ice packs are always so cold!”
She’s nervous, to be
stating the obvious like that. Most of these men wouldn’t do that to her. Almost,
he glanced at Smythe, thought better of it.
I guess I know what made it so hard for her to pass probation. “Okay,”
Bugalu spoke up, taking over as Mac’s official rep. “Everybody drinking in the
contest, ante up for first bottles.”
Eight more payment cards were produced. The server collected
them and returned to the bar. MacGreg and Beth finished attaching the ice bag
to Mac’s torso and let her sit down. Mac pulled a deck of cards from a pocket
and started to shuffle.
“Are we playing poker?” Moor asked with a sneer of interest.
He’s
probably thinking of Capac’s strip poker games.
“No,” Mac responded without looking at him. “I find these
drinking contests slow and boring. So I play solitaire.”
Across the table, Smythe muttered something Bugsy didn’t
catch and turned in his seat. “Barkeep!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Have you got a deck of cards you can sell me?”
“What type would you like, sir?”
“I’m not picky,” he responded. “52 cards with 4 suits.”
“I’m sure I can find one,” the bartender responded.
When the engineer turned back to the table, Mac had stopped
shuffling, pulled her gaze off Smythe to look at those behind her. “Capac,
don’t-”
When she didn’t finish the thought, Capac eventually asked, “Don’t
what?”
“Never mind.” She started setting out her cards in her usual
‘Klondike’ formation.
The server returned with 9 identical bottles on his tray,
plus the payment cards and 2 decks of cards. After placing the tray on the
table before Bugsy, he quietly asked, “Which gentleman wanted a deck of cards?
We found 2 that fill his needs.”
“That would be Smythe,” Bugsy answered, and started dealing
the other payment cards to their owners. “Mr Smythe, you have your choice of
card decks. Flowers or, um, semi-nude ladies.”
Most of the men at the table laughed; Smythe waited impatiently
for them to settle down. “The 2nd isn’t appropriate for this situation.
Give me the flowers.”
Bugsy slid the chosen deck across the table to him, opened a
bottle , placed a shot glass before each contestant and poured whiskey into
each shot glass. When he got back to Mac, he noted the time. “Okay, everybody
drink.”
9 shot glasses went up. 8 returned to the table. Bosiljevac
still grasped his as he fought to control a severe coughing fit. “Wow!” he
finally squeaked out, though his voice was so distorted, he could hardly be
heard. “That stuff’s good!”
Mac snorted and smacked the cards she held down on the table.
“It’s rotgut bad! Confess, Bos, you aren’t a light-weight at drinking. You
don’t drink!”
The technician suffered through a couple more coughs and finally
managed to put down his shot glass. “It’s that obvious, is it?”
“Only to those who know what you’re going through,” she immediately
relented. “Look, I started with stuff this bad when I was 5. Or maybe 6, galactic
time; I never stopped to figure it out. But I started with sips, not shots! So why don’t you just call Steph and forget about
this stupid drinking contest?”
Bos took a deep breath, but his face still turned green.
“Yeah, I don’t feel well.”
“Bugsy,” Mac suggested.
But Bugalu was already connected to Stephanie Freyer on his
communicator. “Stephanie? Bugalu. Listen, I’m at the Rose’s Crown with
Bosiljevac. Somebody challenged him to a drink, and he took it, but I can see
he’s not feeling well. Do you happen to know where he’s staying so that I can
see he gets there safely?”
“Drinking? Um, he’s in room 443 at the Daylight Inn. Is he
going to be okay?”
“I think so, although I doubt he’ll accept another drinking
challenge anytime soon. Temple’s here, so I’ll ask her to check him out before
we put him in a taxi.”
“Thanks, Bugalu. I appreciate this. And so will he, I’m sure.
I’ll be there when his taxi drops him off.”
Bugalu put his communicator away and started around the table
again, filling shot glasses. He didn’t bother to fill Bosiljevak’s because he’d
already quit the contest. Besides, Beth was looking him over. The tech made a
gurgling sound and Bugs helped the Head Nurse jerk him to his feet and turn him
around so that what he threw up landed on the floor and not on anyone.
“Clean up!” the barkeep bellowed, and an employee appeared
from the back room. After a liberal sprinkling of AbsorbAll, the stench
disappeared. The employee toed a cat-sized droid, which began collecting the
slightly damp residue.
Bugalu gave Capac the tech’s temporary address and finished
his trip around the table. They still had a couple minutes before it would be
time for the next drink.
“Shorty, are all your drinking contests this... eventful?”
Bear asked.
“Oh, no,” she answered. “Most men don’t join the contest just
so they can say they didn’t win!”
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