Tuesday, December 9, 2014

The Saurian Brandy Incident

Captain's Log Supplemental, Stardate 92543.15

I suppose I am waxing a bit nostalgic this night, as I sit in my ready room aboard the AtomA and reflect upon my career and the accomplishments and exploits of my crew. While there is no question that this is certainly the finest ship I've ever had the honor of taking the helm of, I will always remember my first assignment with the type of fondness that results from success born from chaos and hardship...some of which was self-inflicted.

These were the voyages of the U.S.S. Cephalopod, with a crew of greenhorns just as wild as any mountain cehlat. We were all Ensigns back then, fresh out of the Academy and hungry for our first shipboard assignments. Even though the Cephalopod was just a frigate, we were proud of her and anxious to put our Academy days behind us, gazing skyward toward our future amongst the stars. I had attained the coveted position of First Officer aboard her bridge, and when we ran into some trouble with Klingons, I became acting Captain. Our Captain was killed in the fray (Tolliver, may you rest in peace) and my position became official. It was a post I was admittedly not prepared for, and the entire crew was reeling from the loss.
 After a debriefing, few week's shore leave and a promotion, we were deemed ready to assume our new posts. There are times I believe the powers that be questioned that decision after they made it, but I suppose there have been other crews in Starfleet's history who have acted worse than we did and retained their posts. It started innocently enough, with a gift from my Chief Tactical Officer Kolez in congratulations of my new command.

It was a bottle of fine Saurian brandy. A rather large one.

Kolez's parents had kept the brandy when they left Sauria and presented it to their son upon his graduation from the Academy. He hadn't opened it, and for some reason thought to present it to me as we left Earth space dock. Neither of us had ever drank a drop, nor had Science Officer T'Lyra or Chief Engineer Drazel. I'm not certain how, but sharing it round the bridge seemed like a good idea at the time.

The one among us who had experience in this sort of thing was First Officer Eliza Florez. She had a reputation in the Academy as something of a party girl, but seeing as how the people I socialized with the most were other 'nerds' like myself, I never witnessed any of this behavior. We had worked on assignments together and her grades were generally good, so I thought nothing of the rumors. But once the brandy began making its rounds on the bridge, I came to the realization that they were true.

First Officer Florez turned what had begun as a quiet and reflective toast amongst friends into a rollicking party. She encouraged us to drink more. At first we begrudgingly complied, but the more alcohol we drank, the easier it seemed to drink it. After my third glass, the night became a blur, but I've been able to piece the events of the evening together with an embarrassing amount of detail.

The bridge transformed from a place of scientific study and serious sensor monitoring into a madhouse. Drazel somehow rigged the replicator to make bubblegum pink paint and decided it was the perfect shade for turbolift 1. She painted it floor to ceiling. The lights and control panel were not spared. Kolez picked up old Earth satellite transmissions of some strange music television channel and started a dance party. Somehow, Florez roped me into a game of strip poker. She won the game, but ended up taking off most of her clothing, anyway. She lost about half of it and, once Drazel had finished her turbolift masterpiece, thought it was a grand idea to paint the clothes back on us both.She ruined her uniform in the process, and Florez's long hair had to be shaved the next day because we couldn't remove the dried paint from it.

Ugh. The next day.

The only one who stuck to the one-glass limit was T'Lyra. She dragged us all to sickbay by our ears (or in Kolez's case, the nape of his neck) and began treating us for hangovers. We were all sick as dogs and appreciated her help, no matter how begrudgingly she gave it. Once we were all feeling somewhat better, we attempted to clean up the bridge--which looked like 20th century rock stars had invaded it--and to locate missing articles of mine and Florez's clothing...and scrub paint out of places paint has no business being on living organisims.

T'Lyra reported the incident to Starfleet Command, and told them that Eliza was responsible. She was immediately reassigned to a quiet, primitive planet where she was to observe the culture of the peoples...and stay out of trouble. The rest of us received a reprimand and a short suspension, but found ourselves back on our beloved Cephalopod within a couple of weeks, with the warning that we reserve such behavior for shore leave. 

To this day, there is still a tinge of pink in turbolift 1, and the whereabouts of Florez's bra and right sock remain a mystery.

Captain T'olek, signing out.

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