Star Trek: Red Dawn

Chapter 2

It was a full court brawl—which Bridgette could see that her old friend and frontier contact (from her Section 31 days) was mostly responsible for—in principle...mind you.

But to her surprise...? She found that he wasn't even participating! The poor sop was passed out cold at his table of choice with two half-empty bottles of Andorian ale and one shot glass—still full of Aldebaran whiskey.

The woman reached his table—saying: "How can you possibly be this passed out with this shit going on...?!?" But Bridgette's voice had been swallowed up by the ongoing calamity and ruckus of an actual bar fight in the eastern corner of the Officer's Lounge.

There were like ten people—some Starfleet involved—a few other sentient beings and one or two others which she had never seen before—all caught up in the melee.

"Reggie?" Bridgette queried carefully. "You awake here...?"

"Uhhh..." the man moaned pitifully—while trying to shoo her away with a limp hand.

"Go away."

"Can't." She said with a small bit of a smile—while keeping an eye on the action ten meters left of her position. "I'm committed now."

"I wouldn't chance it..." Reggie cautioned drunkenly—giving her a glazed look.

"Look at those two bruisers at the end of the island: They are a recently joined world in the Federation in the last eight standard months. Caz'an by the looks of them. You can tell by their peak green coloration on the exposed portions of their bodies and the natural war paint tattoos on their faces." Reggie stopped for a moment to collect himself the best he could.

"I think I spied another one wearing your colors, Emmy. Lieutenant's stripes by the looks of her."

"Na'Kee? Lieutenant Na'Kee? From Ship's Security?"

'If she's a Red Shirt...then yeah. That would be her. She doesn't have the stones to go the Command track. Not like you did—by the way. Congratulations is in order—I would say. Even if my video card was lost in subspace."

Bridgette squeezed her friend's shoulder. "Be right back. This just got personal."

Reggie Goldman managed to sit himself up this time with effort—watching his friend disappear into the gathered crowd of onlookers.

"This I gotta see."

Sure enough...two minutes later...a Type II phaser weapon went off; nailing the perp who just happened to pull a wicked looking knife from his person and was about to make things ugly real quick for his intended target—ten feet from where he was originally standing.

The crowd immediately parted like the Red Sea fables of old and Captain Bridgette St. Claire was standing there with a stern expression and aiming her phaser at the next guy in question.

"I don't know who started this fight, but it ends now—or I start dropping bodies." She stated without question. "So let this thought sink in: You won't like me after the bad week I've had recently out on the frontier. So don't think about pushing your luck."

"But—!" one of the bruised regulars interjected hotly. "Ga'mor started it! Over a ruined drink! I had nothing to do with this!"

Bridgette switched her aim and zeroed in on the next guy in line—whom about a half a foot taller than she was and not too bad looking from her perspective.

"How about you, handsome? Wanna test me and go for the door prize?"

The person in question raised his hands in light surrender. "I'm just here for a drink and some entertainment, ma'am. I swear...I did not start this and I did not want to get personally involved in this skirmish."

The woman studied the crowd slowly—now that she had their undivided attention. No one was moving a muscle—since she had pulled her phaser out and used it without hesitation.

"Okay. I'm going to make a deal here: Base security is going to take some of you drunken sots into custody, but I'll throw my weight into the matter by not having any charges pressed for this altercation—along with disorderly conduct and possession of illegal weapons while at a Federation Starbase. Those of you wearing Fleet uniforms...? Front and center. No excuses."

The crowd slowly dispersed—giving Bridgette a chance to put away her phaser on her belt and watched as base security did come in a few seconds later to do their job. She pointed to the perps in question and had a small talk with Commander Howard Weed; then saw seven or eight unhappy souls from Starfleet lined up in front of her like they were having an Academy dorm room inspection.

"Lieutenant Na'Kee?"

The Caz'an representative stepped forward sheepishly—head bowed. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Because you were involved in this...? You're confined to quarters on the Challenger. Four days max starting now—pending my report." She said without breaking a beat. "The rest of you...? Names, rank, ship assignments...I'm going to be speaking to your commanding officers directly on your gross breach of conduct—unbecoming an officer of Starfleet. They will decide your punishment."

Someone handed her a hand-held digital recorder out of the blue and it was one of the base security guys—whom was now standing next to her per protocol.

"You need a witness—right?"

Emily smiled. "Damn straight I do. Thanks."

"No problem."

It took her ten minutes or so to get the required information from her line up in question—then sent them off their merry little way; each knowing their own personal shore leave was going to be a very mixed bag upon their return.

Then she told the guard to have the information transmitted to her personal quarters on her ship—along with the video cam evidence of the fight in question.

Bowing his head, he departed—leaving the woman alone to her own thoughts and devices.

And that only lasted...a minute or so more at best.

"Hello, beautiful." A deep voice chimed in—causing the captain to blush furiously in the process.

"Whoever you are...? No one's called me that in years on the account of wanting to keep their unmentionables intact."

"Well, I may be a bit bold, Captain. But I am also a very honest soul. I like what I see. And I won't mince words on that account either."

"I suppose you're the guy I was about to drop without a second thought?" Bridgette said—finally turning and meeting an unlikely vision of a man—a rarity on some of these layovers at a typical starbase.

Damn! Was he ever good-looking!

"I don't suppose...you have a name to go along with that gorgeous profile of yours—do you handsome?" Emily commented flirtatiously. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Where was this stud muffin when I was bailing out a flooded rec room on the account of a broken water main?

"Actually...I do. My name—gorgeous—is...?" and he reached out and boldly kissed the top of her outstretched hand.

"Conner Donaldson. Trevor is my middle name. But everyone I know calls me Conner."

Bridgette blushed at his brash introduction—because she couldn't remember the last time she was remotely swept off her feet like this. And it was a tough call to say the least.

Clearing her throat, the captain of the USS Challenger tried a different approach to this very promising situation. It had been too long since the last time she had gone on an actual date with anyone significant in her crazy and chaotic life.

"Um...hi? My name is—"

"I know who you are, Captain." Conner said—taking two steps forward and then sweeping her off her feet—quite literally—while laying one haymaker of a kiss on her wanting lips.