Predatory Instincts

By Kevin Schmitt

When you are raised in a vineyard you develop the right attitude toward spirits. They serve to relax a worker after a hard day’s effort, and can also encourage a higher level of social interaction in public gathering establishments. Captain Jean Luc Picard knew as much as any man about the later. He had in his time visited public drinking establishments all over the planet Earth as well as watering holes separated by thousands of light years of space. Only once did he ever have what he would call a bad experience in a saloon. That was the time he got knifed through the heart on Star Base Earhart.

Now there was an irony for you. He had been in regions where the law of the jungle still prevailed. He had ventured into drinking emporiums where beings of various sorts could get their lives cut tragically short because they got caught cheating at some game or because they paid too much attention to a wench with a low life expectancy of her own. But the one place where Picard really stepped into it was at Earhart. A simple barroom brawl had gotten out of hand and a hot tempered Alien scored a touché that in most arenas of conflict would have been fatal. But 24^th Century technology was on hand to save his life and provide him with an artificial heart that would serve him well for many years.

He was most grateful back then that his older brother was half a galaxy away and couldn’t admonish him for overlooking a fact that he had grown up with: Intoxicants sometimes encourage bad behavior. Of course that is no reason to avoid bars, but it’s a good thing to keep in mind while you are in one. Picard exchanged glances with a drinking crowd that was memorable to say the least. They were aliens who immediately recognized him for what he was as he entered the establishment. His escort lead the way to a table what was right in the very middle of a pretty big place. Maybe thirty tables and a very long bar.

“What’s the problem Captain, don’t you like the idea of being surrounded by dozens of drunken Romulans?” asked Commander Donatra.

“I imagine that our recent altercation with Shinzon is still being handled as classified by your planetary news services. “

“But of course. What else would you expect?” asked the Romulan while signaling a waiter.

“What a pity. I was hoping to be treated to a rousing chorus of For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow.”

“If I understand you correctly, you would rather be carried on their shoulders than dragged out into an alley. Well, fear not, they will be thinking that you are on someone’s leash and they will not meddle in matters that are above their station.”

“Unless they’re too drunk to follow your rationale,” pointed out the human.

“Yes well there is always that possibility,” Donatra conceded. “Now shall we down an ale or two, or would you prefer something stronger?”

“Stronger than Romulan ale?” Picard asked with trepidation. “May I remind you Commander that our combined medical resources are being taxed to the utmost with all the battle injuries we’ve sustained. I do not believe it would be very responsible of me to willingly become another casualty.”

“Your pardon, Commander Donatra, but we happen to have some wine that has been cut for the elderly customers that come in when there is a surplus of Vegka soup on hand,” a waiter suggested while cleaning the table.

“Elderly?” queried the human.

“Primarily customers that are over two-hundred of your years,” the commander specified.

“Well, if Worf can drink prune juice…” Picard muttered to himself.

“Excuse me?”

“The wine sounds lovely,” the human piped up with a smile.

CONTINUED HERE:(CLICK)

copyright 2014 by Kevin Schmitt