Sinking Your Teeth In

Posted on Tue May 1st, 2012 @ 5:17am by Brenda Foster & Berin Voight

Mission: The Mystery Men of Mira
Location: Marlowe Bar & Grill - Promenade [Deck 598]
Timeline: MD02 - 0140hrs.

[ON]

Her companion moved off as he began to stalk across the bar-room floor. The Marlowe Bar & Grill was all-but empty at this time of night and there was no way that he was going to pass up this opportunity. The curled ringlets of her hair sat well below her shoulders and Voight had only seen her face once. Once when he was significantly more sober.

Still, a bit of Dutch Courage never hurt anyone. A violent thump in his diaphragm told him that he may have imbibed too much courage. When he was a younger man he would have turned around and walked away. He'd have gone back to his freighter and he would have gone to sleep. He was infinitely more sensible when he was younger.

He reached her table; he'd done so without tripping up or hurting himself in any noticeable way. It was the little victories. He did his best to look her in the eye as he pulled out the chair which lay opposite her and took a seat. Now he had to speak. He had to speak without slurring his words and he had to speak without saying anything too ridiculous.

"I have my own ship." Damn.

Brenda turned, drink in hand. "Well that's very nice. What have you called it captain?" She trying to be pleasant to the somewhat impaired gentleman...

He considered his next move carefully. Given what he had intended to say and what had come out of his mouth, he couldn't be sure that anything he said was going to be coherent, let alone charming and erudite. "The Drake. It's called the Drake." He conceded with a sigh. My name's Berin."

"It's good to meet you captain. The Drake, what type of ship is it?" Brenda had to much time in lounges and nite clubs to ever be rude to anyone who came her way. She had decided long ago on the advice of her Mother to watch her tail in public. The idea was to read the news not become a part of it...

"It's Federation Type-Four freighter." Voight looked across the table at the woman's feigned interest and began to doubt himself. Had he slurred the word freighter? That would never do, it was one of the most used words in his vocabulary. He decided to turn the tables, pointing the rim of his glass at the woman. "What do you do?"

"I work in the media. And just arrived here on the station. But don't worry I'll keep this off the record." Her interest peaked with the Captain.

"How many Federation frieghters are out here on the station? This is a huge place. There must be hundreds."

"Well," Voight could feel himself suddenly snap back to attention. This woman was a reporter and he should have seen it before. He knew the type and he wouldn't let himself be caught out by one again. His eyes darted across her torso, checking- in vain- for any obvious recording devices that she might be using. All romantic pretext was gone and suddenly Voight felt sober as a Judge Advocate General, "there's thousands that operate in this region of space. I'm not sure on the exact number but there are less that operate out of Three-Three-Two. Maybe around forty or fifty Freighter captains rent cargo storage here but I'd say only around thirty put into port here regularly. That's only Federation Freighters though. There are loads more from all different races."

"I would imagine that This sector has sure had it's share of pirates and hijackers. Aren't you afraid to go out there without protection?"

"You have to know how to deal with people." Voight replied dismissively. "It's not worth going out there armed to the teeth if you don't know how to talk your way out of a situation. Everybody needs something. And if they don't need something, then they want something."

"Sounds like business as usual. I understand a great amount of smuggling has gone on recently. I have had a few interviews. Mostly low level smugglers who have parted with their old ways and somehow managed to avoid being killed by their former bosses. They're very interesting of course."

"The bottom wrung of the smuggling ladder aren't really the people to talk to." Voight confided, a little more readily than he'd planned. "They don't know the logistics of what goes on. They don't know who... these people... have to talk to and the kind of hoops that they have to jump through in order to get anywhere."

"Perhaps you might be able to get me a meeting with a few who can give me a better grasp of what's going on out here?"

Voight shot a panicked look across the table. She had put it across in such a deadpan way that he'd almost agreed flat out. That would have been a fine way to go. Everyone at the 'Pitstop' on Mira would just love that, if he was to blurt out the names and locations of some of his less salubrious contacts.

He eventually mustered a reply, "Unfortunately not. I tend to make most of my contacts through official Federation channels. If you'll excuse me." He said, rising from the chair opposite and leaving Foster in his wake behind him. She probably didn't buy that but at least she'd sobered him up.

[OFF]

Brenda Foster
Federation News Service
Starbase 332

Berin Voight
Captain
MV Drake