Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [60]
As he headed toward the mess hall’s food-service area, he surveyed the entire room quickly. The dining area had attracted a few small clusters of people, three to four per table. At one table, he saw flight controller Axel Bolaji and his very pregnant wife, Olivia, seated with two of his security guards, Rriarr and Hutchinson. He smiled and nodded, and Axel Bolaji smiled back. Keru noted that Rriarr and Hutchinson looked decidedly unhappy.
They must be self-conscious about my seeing them out of uniform, he thought, noting their civvies, which were perfectly acceptable in the mess. Guess I’ve given them good reason to see me as a hard-ass.
He neared the buffet area, and smiled as the various smells wafted toward him. Ebriscentil, Titan’s civilian Ktarian cook, had prepared another fabulous repast, as he had been doing since the ship launched. Keru was glad that Riker had requested a combined galley, bar, and recreational area aboard Titan; not only did it give the crew more encouragement to socialize, but it also allowed them a respite from replicated foods. Riker had apparently learned the value of such a venue in the Enterprise’s crew lounge.
Keru served himself some Kaferian apple-glazed Maporian rib-eye, a salad of Denuvian sprigs, and a breadlike Bolian pastry that came with a spicy dipping sauce. Hefting his tray, he remembered to snatch a handful of extra napkins; while eating, he always had a napkin handy to keep his bushy mustache clean.
Before looking for a seat, he sidled up to the bar. The bartender, a Mars-born human named Scot Bishop-Walker, was his favorite of those aboard who dispensed drinks. Not only was he one of the few humans who was almost as tall as he was, but he was easy on the eyes as well, with high cheekbones and a dark, neatly trimmed goatee.
“Ranul! What can I get you?” Bishop-Walker asked, a bright smile on his face.
“I’m feeling a little adventurous tonight,” Keru said, smiling back. “Give me a tankard of that dark Orion beer.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “One tankard coming up. But you’d better handle it with care.”
Keru laughed. “You ought to know by now how tough it is to get me drunk.”
“Someday I’m sure one of my concoctions will defeat that stout Trill constitution,” Bishop-Walker said, sliding a large, foamy drinking vessel across the counter toward Keru. “Enjoy. You can work it off with me on the velocity court tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Keru said. “You still owe me a rematch.” The bartender had trounced him at velocity three days earlier.
“Some people can never get enough punishment,” Bishop-Walker said over his shoulder as he moved to help another crew member farther down the bar.
Keru turned away with his tray of food and drink, scanning the crowd for an appropriate place to sit. He saw Ensign Norellis beckoning to him from a table next to one of the large observation windows. As he neared the table, he saw that Ledrah and Bralik were seated with him.
“Hi, Commander,” Norellis said, moving up and gesturing toward the sleekly curved window. “Why don’t you sit on the inside? The view there is lots better.”
Odd offer, but nice, Keru thought. He took a seat beside the bulkhead, lifting his tray over Norellis’s food. “Thank you, Ensign.”
“Please, call me Kent,” Norellis said, perhaps a bit too eagerly.
“Oh, yes, please call him Kent,” Bralik said. She chortled until a look of pain abruptly crossed her face. “Ow! Watch those boots, kid!”
Keru realized that Norellis had indeed kicked Bralik under the table, but couldn’t imagine why. Ledrah was pointedly looking out at the stars, apparently trying to stifle a grin.
“Am I missing something here?” Keru asked.
“No,” Norellis said quickly. “It’s Bralik that’s missing her manners.”
“Manners are just another form of societal domination intended to crush all individuality,” Bralik declared.
Ledrah made a mock-shocked face. “Is that a new Rule of Acquisition?”
“Just a cutting social observation,” Bralik said. “Listen, and grow wise.”
“Oh, come on, Bralik,” Ledrah said, idly fingering one