“Prime Directive, bah,” grumbled the senior Klingon. Grannon Trex took a swig from the flagon directly. His mood soured as he placed the container back on the table to look at Admiral Tracy Kent and then pointed a finger at her. “You know, there are still circles within the Empire that believes the Federation should be conquering planets. Starfleet is a formidable navy, I should know.” His aging, yet clean, beard dangled from his frown.
The Admiral smirked before taking a sip from her wine glass. The flickering light from the torches on the outside deck reflected from her long, straight dark black hair. “Maybe so … to be fair, there are circles within Starfleet that believe the same.”
Opposite the Admiral sat Commodore Matthew Calgar. His barrel-chested build was betrayed by the sudden uneasiness of the conversation. Matthew reached for his own glass and poured some of Grannon’s effective drink. “Come now, let’s not change the mood of the evening.”
Kathryn dodged Calgar’s verbal negotiation and glared across the table to the venerable warrior. “I’m curious General, what would you do if you stumbled upon a pre-warp civilization? Are they ripe for submission or destruction in the name of glory?”
Tension at the table suddenly became thick, the surrounding patrons of the restaurant unaware of the discussions from the veterans in the corner. Tracy looked between Grannon and Kathryn with a growing smile and then placed her glass quietly on the table. Calgar’s discomfort continued and he placed both hands to either side of his plate, as if ready to separate the Klingon and Human from conflict.
Grannon leaned forward, the leather of his ceremonial jacket creaking as he moved. “Admiral Beringer, you assume too much.”
An eyebrow rose on Kathryn’s forehead and she leaned forward as well. “You have not answered the question.”
After a few seconds, the Klingon burst into laughter and slapped the table, capturing the other patron’s attention. “Well done, Admiral!” He gulped from his cup as he sat back into the chair. “I accept your challenge.” With that comment, everyone else returned to their hushed conversations.
Wiping his mouth, Grannon explained, “In the older days, before the Cardassian War, Captains were left to their own discretions unless ordered by the Council. The Empire would not be what it is without expansion, and sometimes there are … growing pains. You should know this?”
Matthew sighed with relief and Tracy calmly reached for her glass. Kathryn continued, “That’s what history would say, but have you faced the decision?”
Grannon shook his head. “Should I consider myself fortunate? I’ve read some examples of when Starfleet handled pre-warp cultures and not all of those instances had a merry outcome. So, is it flawed?”
Kathryn glanced at Tracy, who was inspecting her nails on one hand, clearly not interested in the conversation. Looking to Matthew, the Commodore was drinking from his cup and did so for a few seconds. She returned to the Klingon and shrugged. “It’s relative. Count yourself lucky.”
“Oh, really,” Grannon looked surprised. “This night has been filled with tales of days long past. Please, regale us with another story.”
Looking down at her plate, the half-eaten steak beckoned. Kathryn cut a slice and chewed it quickly.
“Back in 2410, my ship was in the Delta Quadrant conducting chart work near the Outward Fringes. We captured subspace distortions emanating from a nearby system and we bounced to the source: two planets seemed to be engaged in a planetary war. Long-range scans suggested the cultures did not use warp-drives, at least not by Federation metrics.”
The others started eating while she spoke. “We did discover they were able to harness nuclear power and their ships were fueled with it.”
Kathryn paused and then sawed into her steak. “Several areas on both planets were scarred from nuclear detonations. Clearly, they were at war against each other.”
Tracy lifted her glass to drink. “If I had to guess, you logged the tragedy and moved on.”
Matthew sat straight still chewing on pasta. “Is that what you would have done, Admiral Kent?”
Smiling from the question, Tracy nodded. “There is an idea that Captains have a moral obligation to countermand the Prime Directive if a species faces extinction. War is not a cause to go against the Directive, although it is terrible to witness, I suppose.”
Grannon growled. “I prefer to let the dear Admiral finish her saga.”
Tracy lifted her glass to salute and acknowledge the Klingon General’s request.
Kathryn finished chewing. “Tracy is technically correct. We had no idea how much further the war was to continue, yet we noticed a flotilla in the heliosphere with nuclear-tipped projectiles inbound to a planet. I decided to use a tight-band subnucleonic beam to the projectiles in an attempt to neutralize the atomic matrix of the cores and to remain hidden. From long-range the effect was mostly successful.
Matthew raised eyebrows. “Mostly?”
“Yes.” Kathryn became somber. “A few made planetfall.” She looked into her lap and after a small sniffle looked up. “It seems the waiter is a little late with refills? I’ll go see the maiter d.” Standing, she pushed a strand of grey and burgundy hair, and excused herself from the table.
Tracy shook her head and loudly landed her glass on the table with some impatience. “My queue to drop the conversation must have been too subtle, gentlemen.”
Grannon was startled. “What do you mean?”
Looking to the General, Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “Kathryn followed the Prime Directive by leaving the system after she failed to stop the missile wave from destroying several cities. Several more cities were still intact from her subtle action. There are always winners and losers in war and someone was going to win. It’s not Starfleet’s place to interfere in that tragedy because there was going to be a winner.”
She paused for some effect before continuing. “So when I ‘guessed’ what Kathryn would do, it is because that is what happened. Looking at options, the only proper course of action was to index the system, document readings, and catalogue actions taken … then leave. “
Matthew looked around and then leaned forward to loudly whisper. “You mean she just left the system without further investigation?!”
Tracy nodded, “in order to follow the Directive, yes.”
---
Cast For Crew:
Kathryn Beringer - Katheryn Winnick
Matthew Calgar - Conleth Hill
Grannon Trex - Orlando Jones
Tracy Maxwell Kent - Monica Belluci
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Monday, January 22, 2018
To Walk The Plank
The Chancellor of Trell, Wushar, stood on the transporter pad with a bemused smirk having just asked a question to Captain Kathryn Beringer. Metallic trinkets in muted colors clinked as arms disappeared into the folds of his deep black floor-length robe.
She could not control her surprise. “You can’t be serious, we are talking about the Borg!”
“I am very serious. Thanks to the Federation, several members of the Perfect want to make a religious pilgrimage.”
Kathryn looked away to consider the Chancellor’s request, yet could only think of obstacles. “Forgive me Chancellor, but -”
Wushar chuckled to interrupt. “I thought this might happen, so allow me to be blunt: fulfill this appeal and the Trellans will join the Federation without further demands or concessions.”
“This is a very grave demand, don’t you think?”
“Maybe from your point of view, Captain.”
“Definitely from my point of view.”
The Chancellor scoffed. “I hope you are not trying to impose Federation values upon us this late in the process? The Trellans certainly welcome the benefits of membership without … strain.” Believing he had the upper hand, he became smug. “Correct me if I’m wrong Captain, but aren’t our Dilithium mines why the Federation wants a foothold in this region of the Delta Quadrant?”
Kathryn politely smiled. “The Dilithium is an interesting fact of your beautiful world.”
“Excellent. Please take time to consider the request. I’m sure the pious people of Trell would appreciate the results.” Wushar looked to the wall behind Kathryn as a sign he was finished with the conversation. “Until we meet again, Captain.”
Turning to the transporter chief, Kathryn nodded. The Chancellor was bathed in blue light and disappeared.
+++
Kathryn exited the Holodeck panting and dried sweat from her face with a towel. She stopped in the hallway when she sensed another person standing nearby.
Christa Harrington stood almost eye level to Kathryn and wore a bright toothy smile. “Good morning, Cap!”
Returning the smile and wiping the towel across her arms, Kathryn nodded for them to walk down the hallway and took steps from the Holodeck. Christa caught up and matched Kathryn’s quicken pace. “Counselor, nice to see you are in good spirits.”
“Always, O Captain, my Captain.”
Draping the towel over the opposite shoulder to Christa, Kathryn replied, “indeed. To what do I owe the pleasure? We are not due for a chat until next week, if I recall correctly.”
Christa placed her hands behind her back as they walked. “True. I hope you will forgive me, Captain, but there is some scuttlebutt about the Trellans, so I thought to check in on you.”
Rolling her eyes, Kathryn offered, “Their ‘walk-away’ condition to joining the Federation is … obtuse.”
“Well said, sir.”
Kathryn stopped and looked at Christa, annoyed by the retort. Another crewmember dodged past the pair standing in the middle of the hallway. Christa still wore an infectious smile.
Christa shrugged, “it’s true!”
After a few seconds, Kathryn started smiling as well. Walking again at a more relaxed pace, annoyance returned to Kathryn’s demeanor as she recalled the Chancellor’s parting words. “Whoever thought delivering a group of religious pilgrims to Borg space could stall a negotiation.”
Christa nodded at the declaration. “What do you plan to do?”
Kathryn slowed her pace and placed her hands behind her back in contemplation. “The Trellans have built a spiritual following around the Borg and the Cooperative is not an option for them; something about a ‘false path’.”
“So, Is this an unreasonable request?”
Kathryn shook her head. “It’s all relative. From where I stand, the Borg continues to be the single greatest threat to the galaxy. Yet, I’ve been instructed that the Dilithium ore found on the planet this deep in the Delta Quadrant is a resource Starfleet does not want to lose.”
Christa nodded. “And the price bothers you?”
“You and I know what happens when someone becomes assimilated. It’s a cost some Trellans want to go through!”
The pair reached an intersection. Kathryn backed onto a wall and crossed her arms, looking down at the floor. She then extended both arms as if to start juggling ideas. “On the surface, the Federation’s goal is clear: continued expansion into the Delta Quadrant. The Trellans want to join the Federation. Their sovereignty as a member, especially as a prospective member, is paramount.” She reached for rank pips on a uniform she was not wearing.
The counselor knew that was a sign Kathryn was deep in though. Christa rocked on her heels for several seconds waiting to see if Kathryn added more. After a few more seconds, she stopped and suggested, “It seems to me you have made a decision.”
Kathryn sighed and pushed away from the wall, walking toward a turbolift. Christa followed. The Captain looked over her shoulder and declared, “I am being ordered to sacrifice some conviction and it does not feel good.”
---
Cast for crew:
Kathryn Beringer - Katheryn Winnick
Christa Harrington - Emily Bett Rickards
Chancellor Wushar - Jeff Goldblum
She could not control her surprise. “You can’t be serious, we are talking about the Borg!”
“I am very serious. Thanks to the Federation, several members of the Perfect want to make a religious pilgrimage.”
Kathryn looked away to consider the Chancellor’s request, yet could only think of obstacles. “Forgive me Chancellor, but -”
Wushar chuckled to interrupt. “I thought this might happen, so allow me to be blunt: fulfill this appeal and the Trellans will join the Federation without further demands or concessions.”
“This is a very grave demand, don’t you think?”
“Maybe from your point of view, Captain.”
“Definitely from my point of view.”
The Chancellor scoffed. “I hope you are not trying to impose Federation values upon us this late in the process? The Trellans certainly welcome the benefits of membership without … strain.” Believing he had the upper hand, he became smug. “Correct me if I’m wrong Captain, but aren’t our Dilithium mines why the Federation wants a foothold in this region of the Delta Quadrant?”
Kathryn politely smiled. “The Dilithium is an interesting fact of your beautiful world.”
“Excellent. Please take time to consider the request. I’m sure the pious people of Trell would appreciate the results.” Wushar looked to the wall behind Kathryn as a sign he was finished with the conversation. “Until we meet again, Captain.”
Turning to the transporter chief, Kathryn nodded. The Chancellor was bathed in blue light and disappeared.
+++
Kathryn exited the Holodeck panting and dried sweat from her face with a towel. She stopped in the hallway when she sensed another person standing nearby.
Christa Harrington stood almost eye level to Kathryn and wore a bright toothy smile. “Good morning, Cap!”
Returning the smile and wiping the towel across her arms, Kathryn nodded for them to walk down the hallway and took steps from the Holodeck. Christa caught up and matched Kathryn’s quicken pace. “Counselor, nice to see you are in good spirits.”
“Always, O Captain, my Captain.”
Draping the towel over the opposite shoulder to Christa, Kathryn replied, “indeed. To what do I owe the pleasure? We are not due for a chat until next week, if I recall correctly.”
Christa placed her hands behind her back as they walked. “True. I hope you will forgive me, Captain, but there is some scuttlebutt about the Trellans, so I thought to check in on you.”
Rolling her eyes, Kathryn offered, “Their ‘walk-away’ condition to joining the Federation is … obtuse.”
“Well said, sir.”
Kathryn stopped and looked at Christa, annoyed by the retort. Another crewmember dodged past the pair standing in the middle of the hallway. Christa still wore an infectious smile.
Christa shrugged, “it’s true!”
After a few seconds, Kathryn started smiling as well. Walking again at a more relaxed pace, annoyance returned to Kathryn’s demeanor as she recalled the Chancellor’s parting words. “Whoever thought delivering a group of religious pilgrims to Borg space could stall a negotiation.”
Christa nodded at the declaration. “What do you plan to do?”
Kathryn slowed her pace and placed her hands behind her back in contemplation. “The Trellans have built a spiritual following around the Borg and the Cooperative is not an option for them; something about a ‘false path’.”
“So, Is this an unreasonable request?”
Kathryn shook her head. “It’s all relative. From where I stand, the Borg continues to be the single greatest threat to the galaxy. Yet, I’ve been instructed that the Dilithium ore found on the planet this deep in the Delta Quadrant is a resource Starfleet does not want to lose.”
Christa nodded. “And the price bothers you?”
“You and I know what happens when someone becomes assimilated. It’s a cost some Trellans want to go through!”
The pair reached an intersection. Kathryn backed onto a wall and crossed her arms, looking down at the floor. She then extended both arms as if to start juggling ideas. “On the surface, the Federation’s goal is clear: continued expansion into the Delta Quadrant. The Trellans want to join the Federation. Their sovereignty as a member, especially as a prospective member, is paramount.” She reached for rank pips on a uniform she was not wearing.
The counselor knew that was a sign Kathryn was deep in though. Christa rocked on her heels for several seconds waiting to see if Kathryn added more. After a few more seconds, she stopped and suggested, “It seems to me you have made a decision.”
Kathryn sighed and pushed away from the wall, walking toward a turbolift. Christa followed. The Captain looked over her shoulder and declared, “I am being ordered to sacrifice some conviction and it does not feel good.”
---
Cast for crew:
Kathryn Beringer - Katheryn Winnick
Christa Harrington - Emily Bett Rickards
Chancellor Wushar - Jeff Goldblum
Thursday, January 11, 2018
A Fool's Errand
Unofficial Literary Challenge 33 - Prompt 1 Fleet Week
---
Jim Bushel looked into his drink. The Andorian whiskey was reportedly very strong and its deep red color was a warning toward its potency. The Bolian bartender refused Jim’s request for a larger cup on the grounds to protect his own and other patron’s well-being. The cup was larger than a shot glass and made of silver-coated metal, the preferred container for the whiskey. Jim gulped, counted to three, and then took a sip. The liquor clawed its way down his throat and annihilated whatever was in his stomach. The result being a coughing fit that made Jim’s eyes water.
The bartender grinned as he handed Jim a cloth. “You were warned, Lieutenant.”
Jim accepted the cloth and wiped his eyes and mouth, nodding regretfully. “It was worth it”, he choked out. Looking away into the maw of Club 42’s dining area, Jim wanted to see who was watching his debacle. A few tables were occupied by various species wearing Starfleet uniforms and almost all the other patrons returned to their own business, their conversations clearly interrupted. Behind him was the exit from Club 42 that lead into the main gallery of Earth Space Dock.
The bartender grabbed a glass and started cleaning it, the way bartenders do to look busy. “So, what has you tempting fate?”
Clearing his throat, Jim replied with some embarrassment, “typical girl problems.”
The Bolian nodded with the wisdom of a sage. “It must be serious if you want to drown in liquid death.”
The Lieutenant lifted the glass as if to take another casual sip and paused. “I broke up with my fiancé last week when we docked.”
After a few seconds of contemplation, the bartender commanded, “have another sip. If separating from a loved one is ‘typical’, then I need to find another job.”
Jim smiled and then counted to three before half-emptying the glass. Less liquid this time, but it scorched down just the same. Being more prepared, possibly because the liquor already damaged his internal organs, his coughing was more subdued and manageable. He smacked his lips with a grimace, and then looked toward the dance room to his left. The area was in a separate part of Club 42 and was separated by a force field that severely dampened the music flooding the room. For him in the bar area, the music could be heard but was muffled, yet the tune could be discerned. Exiting the dance floor and through the force field walked three women; a Human, Talaxian and Andorian. Each wore off-duty clothing of various colors, styles and skin revelations and all three laughed as if sharing the punch line to a joke. They headed for the main doorway.
Jim recognized all three from his ship, but the Human captured his attention. He turned to the bartender and excused himself. Tugging on his own shirt, as he is used to with his uniform, he tried to casually walk toward the exit and matched speed so as to meet the women. Without turning his head, Jim looked toward the group to see if they noticed him. Jim started to feel dread about his decision to meet them. Yet, he was committed by now and persevered by looking casually toward them and then washed a bright smile over his face while waving.
“Claire, hello!”
The group stopped and their collective mirth faded slightly, which heightened Jim’s feeling of impending doom. The Andorian had whispered something and Claire shook her head slightly. Looking back to Jim, she smiled and replied, “hello Lieutenant. I’m sorry we didn’t see you earlier. Have you been at the Club long?”
The potent alcohol must have started affecting Jim: her voice was warm and inviting to hear. Rich, red colored lips pulled into a polite smile. Long, full brown hair flowed over her shoulders, they being bare from the strapless and loose-fitting blouse Claire wore. The skirt hugged her legs halfway down toned thighs with shiny smooth legs.
Jim scratched the back of his head to try to relax. “Uh, no, not long. I was just here for a drink.”
After an eternal second of silence between them, Claire raised eyebrows and looked to her friends. “So, we were about to leave-“
“Ah, yeah, about that,” Jim blurted out. “Could I speak with you for a moment?”
Shifting her weight to one side, Claire crossed arms. “Sure.”
Jim looked at the other women who was looking at Claire disapprovingly. He cleared his throat. “Maybe in private?”
Claire looked to her friends and nodded. As if they were communicating telepathically, the two other women shrugged and left Claire in Club 42.
After a few more seconds watching the others exit, Jim turned to Claire and invited her to sit at a nearby table.
Claire gently waved away the offer, “it’s getting a little late, I’m sorry. What’s on your mind?”
“Ah, yes. Well, I … I have not seen you in a few of weeks and so … how are you doing?”
“I’m doing well,” she chuckled nervously.
“Good, me too.”
Claire looked skeptical. “Oh, really?”
Jim blushed. “Well, yes, I suppose.” He looked to the bartender quickly and noticed the Bolian was staring at them as he cleaned a glass the way bartenders do to look busy. Turning back to Claire, he knew the conversation was strained and pushed away from small talk. “Look, I would like to explain myself. Would you be willing to talk about it over a drink?”
“Tonight? Like, now?”
"Oh, no no! I meant sometime soon. Tomorrow?”
Claire looked surprised at first, and then her affect became neutral again. She looked out the doors from Club 42 and noticed her friends were watching from the outside. “Um, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Nodding, Jim’s hopes were struck by a verbal phaser shot. “Is it because of Mallory?”
Claire looked down to the floor. “I wish it were less obvious. I mean, I am her roommate after all.”
Jim tried to salvage some dignity. “I know. I just felt you and I had good rapport. I thought … you know … there was something-“
“No, Jim. I’m sorry if you felt that way. We all became friends because you were with Mallory. But she is my friend, and breaking off a year-long engagement with her is not-,“ Claire paused as she bit her bottom lip. “I don’t mean to take sides, but … I’m not really your friend. You know what I mean?”
The words were a torpedo to Jim’s fledgling hopes. He resigned to the events that lead to this moment. “I understand. I’m so sorry.”
Claire looked sympathetic. “I’m not the one you should apologize too. But I know you already have to Mallory.” She turned and walked away.
Jim felt embarrassed as he trudged back to the bar and reached for his drink. The bartender snatched it away with one hand and replaced it with a cup of cold water from the other hand in one fluid motion. “You’ll need that, if my suspicions are correct.”
---
Cast for crew:
Jim Bushel - Jason Ritter
Claire McKenzie – Hayley Orrantia
Bartender - Conan O'Brian
Talaxian friend - Female street extra 1
Andorian friend - Female street extra 2
Mentioned but not seen:
Mallory Aralla - Alexandra Daddario
---
Jim Bushel looked into his drink. The Andorian whiskey was reportedly very strong and its deep red color was a warning toward its potency. The Bolian bartender refused Jim’s request for a larger cup on the grounds to protect his own and other patron’s well-being. The cup was larger than a shot glass and made of silver-coated metal, the preferred container for the whiskey. Jim gulped, counted to three, and then took a sip. The liquor clawed its way down his throat and annihilated whatever was in his stomach. The result being a coughing fit that made Jim’s eyes water.
The bartender grinned as he handed Jim a cloth. “You were warned, Lieutenant.”
Jim accepted the cloth and wiped his eyes and mouth, nodding regretfully. “It was worth it”, he choked out. Looking away into the maw of Club 42’s dining area, Jim wanted to see who was watching his debacle. A few tables were occupied by various species wearing Starfleet uniforms and almost all the other patrons returned to their own business, their conversations clearly interrupted. Behind him was the exit from Club 42 that lead into the main gallery of Earth Space Dock.
The bartender grabbed a glass and started cleaning it, the way bartenders do to look busy. “So, what has you tempting fate?”
Clearing his throat, Jim replied with some embarrassment, “typical girl problems.”
The Bolian nodded with the wisdom of a sage. “It must be serious if you want to drown in liquid death.”
The Lieutenant lifted the glass as if to take another casual sip and paused. “I broke up with my fiancé last week when we docked.”
After a few seconds of contemplation, the bartender commanded, “have another sip. If separating from a loved one is ‘typical’, then I need to find another job.”
Jim smiled and then counted to three before half-emptying the glass. Less liquid this time, but it scorched down just the same. Being more prepared, possibly because the liquor already damaged his internal organs, his coughing was more subdued and manageable. He smacked his lips with a grimace, and then looked toward the dance room to his left. The area was in a separate part of Club 42 and was separated by a force field that severely dampened the music flooding the room. For him in the bar area, the music could be heard but was muffled, yet the tune could be discerned. Exiting the dance floor and through the force field walked three women; a Human, Talaxian and Andorian. Each wore off-duty clothing of various colors, styles and skin revelations and all three laughed as if sharing the punch line to a joke. They headed for the main doorway.
Jim recognized all three from his ship, but the Human captured his attention. He turned to the bartender and excused himself. Tugging on his own shirt, as he is used to with his uniform, he tried to casually walk toward the exit and matched speed so as to meet the women. Without turning his head, Jim looked toward the group to see if they noticed him. Jim started to feel dread about his decision to meet them. Yet, he was committed by now and persevered by looking casually toward them and then washed a bright smile over his face while waving.
“Claire, hello!”
The group stopped and their collective mirth faded slightly, which heightened Jim’s feeling of impending doom. The Andorian had whispered something and Claire shook her head slightly. Looking back to Jim, she smiled and replied, “hello Lieutenant. I’m sorry we didn’t see you earlier. Have you been at the Club long?”
The potent alcohol must have started affecting Jim: her voice was warm and inviting to hear. Rich, red colored lips pulled into a polite smile. Long, full brown hair flowed over her shoulders, they being bare from the strapless and loose-fitting blouse Claire wore. The skirt hugged her legs halfway down toned thighs with shiny smooth legs.
Jim scratched the back of his head to try to relax. “Uh, no, not long. I was just here for a drink.”
After an eternal second of silence between them, Claire raised eyebrows and looked to her friends. “So, we were about to leave-“
“Ah, yeah, about that,” Jim blurted out. “Could I speak with you for a moment?”
Shifting her weight to one side, Claire crossed arms. “Sure.”
Jim looked at the other women who was looking at Claire disapprovingly. He cleared his throat. “Maybe in private?”
Claire looked to her friends and nodded. As if they were communicating telepathically, the two other women shrugged and left Claire in Club 42.
After a few more seconds watching the others exit, Jim turned to Claire and invited her to sit at a nearby table.
Claire gently waved away the offer, “it’s getting a little late, I’m sorry. What’s on your mind?”
“Ah, yes. Well, I … I have not seen you in a few of weeks and so … how are you doing?”
“I’m doing well,” she chuckled nervously.
“Good, me too.”
Claire looked skeptical. “Oh, really?”
Jim blushed. “Well, yes, I suppose.” He looked to the bartender quickly and noticed the Bolian was staring at them as he cleaned a glass the way bartenders do to look busy. Turning back to Claire, he knew the conversation was strained and pushed away from small talk. “Look, I would like to explain myself. Would you be willing to talk about it over a drink?”
“Tonight? Like, now?”
"Oh, no no! I meant sometime soon. Tomorrow?”
Claire looked surprised at first, and then her affect became neutral again. She looked out the doors from Club 42 and noticed her friends were watching from the outside. “Um, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Nodding, Jim’s hopes were struck by a verbal phaser shot. “Is it because of Mallory?”
Claire looked down to the floor. “I wish it were less obvious. I mean, I am her roommate after all.”
Jim tried to salvage some dignity. “I know. I just felt you and I had good rapport. I thought … you know … there was something-“
“No, Jim. I’m sorry if you felt that way. We all became friends because you were with Mallory. But she is my friend, and breaking off a year-long engagement with her is not-,“ Claire paused as she bit her bottom lip. “I don’t mean to take sides, but … I’m not really your friend. You know what I mean?”
The words were a torpedo to Jim’s fledgling hopes. He resigned to the events that lead to this moment. “I understand. I’m so sorry.”
Claire looked sympathetic. “I’m not the one you should apologize too. But I know you already have to Mallory.” She turned and walked away.
Jim felt embarrassed as he trudged back to the bar and reached for his drink. The bartender snatched it away with one hand and replaced it with a cup of cold water from the other hand in one fluid motion. “You’ll need that, if my suspicions are correct.”
---
Cast for crew:
Jim Bushel - Jason Ritter
Claire McKenzie – Hayley Orrantia
Bartender - Conan O'Brian
Talaxian friend - Female street extra 1
Andorian friend - Female street extra 2
Mentioned but not seen:
Mallory Aralla - Alexandra Daddario
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