Langley Station

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Same Sh*thole

Posted on Tue May 7, 2019 @ 8:12am by Senior Chief Petty Officer Geshniv Gronnahk & Ketacyn Aumar & Tiral
Edited on on Tue Sep 17, 2019 @ 7:02pm

Mission: First Unity
Location: Langley Station/The Terminal/The Lonely Star
Timeline: Mission Day 35 at 0530

The Tellarite’s shaggy head lolled forward over his pot belly, his snoring filling the cargo space of the transport shuttle as he dozed upright in the hard-backed folding seats amid the cargo netting. The uncomfortable surroundings didn’t seem to bother the old veteran like they did the other Starfleet officers in the area, nor did he seem to care that his vociferous nasality kept them awake. All those soft officers did was complain anyway. Runny nosed brats. They didn’t know what real hardship was. Geshniv had spent days sleeping upright in cargo transports when they were still in diapers.

The ding of the PA system awakened Gesh with a snort. His one good eye blinked as he looked around at the young officers. “If yer gonna be space sick, at least use the bags,” he snorted at one poor pup who had vomited over the front of her uniform, filling the space with the smell of sick.

“Thirty minutes to Langley Station,” came the announcement from the pilot. The officers started moving and unbuckling. Gesh just snorted. “Thirty minutes to arrival,” he told them. “We’ll spend another fifteen finagling with flight control to get a berth,” he warned them. “Don’t be in such a gods-bedamned hurry.” And then he dropped his head and went right back to snoring.

Geshniv didn’t snort awake until he felt the gentle bump of the airlock. The others were eager to get off this rustbucket. Gesh just unstrapped and stood, groaning as he straightened his aching back, pressing his hand to it as it popped. “I’m gettin’ too old fer this shit,” he muttered, unhooking his duffel from the cargo netting.

Gesh glanced at the youngsters around him. Despite his years, he had to wait for these wet behind the ears brats to disembark before him, since they were all officers and he was enlisted, so he stood patiently, rubbing his temple. His damn eye was bothering him again. He reached behind his ear and pressed a spot of skin, turning off the cyber-eye and adjusted his eye patch over it again. He didn’t need the damn thing right now anyway.

Geshniv shuffled out, handing his credentials to the customs officer. Then he caught the sick young ensign on the shoulder, holding her back. “A bit of eucalyptus gum next time,” he told her quietly. “Helps the stomach.” He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder before heading off in the Terminal.

“Too bloody early,” Gesh noted. While most establishments in this area of the docks were always open, catering to arrivals, he noted by the glow of force fields in the farther areas of the Terminal were decidedly deserted at this hour. The quartermaster wouldn’t even be open yet to process him.

Looking around, Gesh spotted a proper Starfleet Officers Club. Unfortunately he didn’t qualify for such an august establishment, so he continued to wander along the Terminal. This close to the docks, it was filled with the usual assortment of places catering to travelers, including the seedier establishments of bars and brothels. He found himself stopping outside a seedy little place called The Lonely Star. “My kinda place,” Gesh grunted, heading inside.

The interior was dimly lit, with plenty of shadowy corners in which to hide or have a private conversation. The patrons looked to be mostly civilian cargo haulers. Some eyed his Starfleet yellow a big shiftily. As a security lifer, Gesh got a good read on the place. Dive bar. Criminal elements. Two things didn’t quite fit the aesthetic, the blonde doll behind the bar and the tall Vulcan standing in the back, keeping an eye on things.

The Vulcan wasn’t what one typically thinks of a Vulcan. She had dark copper hair tied back in a long braid down her back. She wore tight black leather pants that hung low on her hips, emphasizing her shapely feminine hips and thighs. A low-cut midriff top revealed a lot of cleavage and an impressive six pack of abs. Green eyes flashed from a face that had the severe beauty Vulcans are often known for. Geshnev’s beady black eye clocked the stun baton on her hip. Bouncer, likely.

Gesh bellied up to the bar and undid his uniform tunic, letting his pot belly relax out a bit more. The blonde came up to him with a sweet smile. She cut an extremely feminine figure, with soft, lush, full-bodied curves, long, flowing golden hair cascading down delicate shoulders framing beautiful blue eyes that were sapphire pools set in her alabaster face over full, pouty lips. She had a youthful, baby doll beauty and innocence, but Geshnev’s keen insight caught the wisdom of over a century of life in her eyes.

“Well, ain’t you a dish,” Gesh commented. “All ya need is a beard.”

The bartender gave a light laugh. “Well, I suppose you can’t please everyone,” she said in a low, sultry voice more suited to the bedroom. “What’ll it be, soldier?”

“Raktajino,” the Tellarite ordered. “Black as space. And hells, Orion it up. I ain’t on the clock. Yeh got food, too?”

“We do,” she commented, pouring out a mug of the strong caffeinated Klingon beverage and adding a healthy dose of Orion whiskey. She set a small menu padd on the bar.. Choices were limited and simple, but satisfying.

“Eggs an’ bacon. Heap it up. Just spent three days locked in a cargo transport with an officer couldn’t stand the smell of food without throwin’ up all over everyone.”

“That sounds unpleasant.”

Gesh gave a harsh laugh. “Just like the old days.” He pressed his selections on the padd. There was a whirr and a ding and she turned to pull a hot plate of steaming eggs and bacon out to set in front of him. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks. Gotta name, doll?”

“Ketacyn.” She smiled sweetly. “This is my place.”

Gesh looked around. “I like it. No snooty officers.” He started to dig into his eggs. His back twinged. “There any place ta get a good massage this early?” he asked. “An’ not one a them happy ending types.”

The bartender leaned forward on her elbows on the bar, pushing up her cleavage in her white dress. “Well, I’m a pretty good hand,” she said. “But Tiral over there knows the Vulcan techniques.”

Geshnev glanced over at the Vulcan in the back. She raised an eyebrow, as if she knew she was being talked about. “Vulcans know what they’re doin’,” Gesh had to admit. “Think she’d be willin’ ta work some kinks out of an old soldier?”

“I’m sure,” Ketacyn purred.

“Then set me up.” Gesh belched and downed the rest of his raktajino, pushing away his cleaned plate.

Ketacyn motioned for Tiral.


SPO Geshnev bav Grannahk
Chief Tactical Officer
USS Sedna


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