Marooned - Christie Golden [8]
"So, this is your establishment, I take it?" he asked the bartender.
"I'm Jakrig, if that's what you mean," the other said guardedly.
Paris smiled his most winning smile. "Your station administrator, Aren Yashar, recommended your place. He told me that I was to inquire about something called Rhulani flower liquor."
Jakrig's face, similar to a human's but for the disconcerting slitted purple eyes, lit up. "Ah, a connoisseur! By all means, presuming you have the, er, wherewithal to purchase such a delicacy?"
Payment had not yet been agreed upon, but Aren had seemed so certain that the shopkeepers would be happy to conduct business... "Well, I'm from the starship Voyager, and it was my understanding that something would be worked out."
Jakrig held up a three-fingered hand. "Say no more, friend, say no more. Administrator Yashar has mentioned your ship." He reached, plucked a floating, corked globe, and poured liquid from it into a small bowl. "I hope you have a strong head for such things, friend," he warned.
Paris grinned to himself. He'dhandled Saurian brandy, Romulan ale, chech'tluth, good old Earth Scotch, and more types of alcohol than he could pronounce. Something called flower liquor shouldn't be too bad.
"A strong enough head to be able to manage a second cup a bit later, friend," he replied in kind as he took the small, cool bowl.
It smelled wonderful. He sniffed appreciatively, his mind suddenly traveling back to his days at the Academy. He remembered strolling through the gardens with some very lovely women. Smiling at the recollection, he took a small, cautious sip.
Oh, this would be no problem at all. It was warm on the tongue and down the throat, yes, but there was no kick to it that boded unusual strength. Nevertheless, Paris lingered over the drink, savoring the sweet flavor as he brooded over the earlier encounter with Oasis's administrator.
Why the hell had he laughed when Aren had mentioned pirates? He knew better. Rogue forces had decimated whole star systems; he'd seen what they could do. Piracy was no laughing matter.
But Paris had only that morning finished programming a holodeck program for himself, Harry, and B'Elanna-provided that they could talk her into itthat revolved around just that theme. Bottles of rum, yo-ho-ho, planks to be walked, awashes to be buckledtom was certain that this playful, rather silly program would be one of the most physically challenging and mentally relaxing recreations he'd yet attempted. No one save holograms would be hurt in this scenario. Lots of blades would clash, lots of snarling, quaint oaths would be uttered, but it was all in good fun.
His mind had been on that kind of pirate, not on the dangerous and brutal pirates of this century. So, when Aren had used the word, he'd laughed at the unbidden image of Blackbeard and Captain Hook swarming over the space station buying clothes and inspecting glass statuettes.
He took another sip, a larger one this time, and blinked. This stuff was unexpectedly potent, wasn't it.
"So what kind of flower is this distilled from?" he asked, but what came out of his mouth sounded much more like "Swa kfla zizfro?" He tried again. His second attempt was even more garbled, and worse, his fingers seemed to declare rebellion and dropped the cup. Pale yellow liquor began to spread over the counter.
Paris forced his suddenly heavy head to look up at Jakrig and found the alien smiling. But it was not the wry amusement of a bartender at the expense of a drunken customer. This smile was triumphant, cruel.
Just as Paris's head took a sudden downtum to land with a thump on the wet counter, the lieutenant realized with a flash of impotent fear that there had been something far more sinister in the drink than he ever could have imagined.
Kula Dhad talked tech and matched B'Elanna Tomes stride for stride. She respected