Tarnished Star

[Brian T. Riley 0]

A fog of smoke hung from the ceiling, blue-grey tendrils drifting down to nearly touch the deeply scared wooden tables scattered randomly around the large room. The flickering flames from the wrought iron gaslight lamps mounted to the walls left strange shadows on the raucous patrons of the bar. The American flyboys from Parnham field were in a wild mood tonight, tossing back shots of single malt scotch and guzzling down warm beer between sloppy attempts at wooing the local British girls that, by all appearances, were enjoying the attention.

 

In the single quiet corner, Brian sat nursing a tall pint of ale. His eyes wandered over the noisy crowd of humanity wearing khaki uniforms and knee length dresses. World War Two had always been a favorite subject of study when he was following the path to becoming a historian, so many years ago. He had created this simulation in his second year at the Academy, as a final project for a Holographic programming elective. Between then and now he had spent much of his free time tweaking it, getting the atmosphere and the characters just right.

 

A matronly looking woman, moving surprisingly agilely for her age (a good bit past 50) and her size (large enough to strain the elderly chairs but handsomely distributed about her sturdy frame) stepped up to the table and scooped up Brian's mostly empty pint, "Another one Brian deary?" Her accent spoke of a Welsh heritage that had been muddied by decades on the coast of south east England.

 

"Thanks, Effie." Brian watched as Euphemia "Effie" Morse, waitress, cook, and wife of the proprietor of 'The Tarnished Star', Howard Morse, weaved and dodged through the crowd at the bar on her temporary mission to procure him a fresh pint of ale. After an extended shift at helm that was contradictorily both boring and tense, Brian had felt the need for some comfortable surroundings where he could try to temporarily forget the huge fleet of warships threatening an inadequately defended planet, and so he retreated to Holodeck 6 shortly after his relief had appeared on the bridge.

 

Turning his chair to savor the warmth of the flames crackling in the wide river stone fireplace, Brian studied the flickering colors and the bright pinpricks of sparks that danced up the chimney. While he kept many secrets, he was always honest with himself. He was well aware that this program was an attempt to find some connection with an innocence that was subtly but brutally torn away from him during a chaotic series of years which ended up with him incarcerated in a Federation prison colony. The silent interrogation that Brian was putting himself through now was far more difficult to endure than any memory of prison. Was he ready? Could he put the injuries of the past behind him? Or was he just deluding himself in thinking that he was ready for a relationship that was any deeper than physical attraction?

 

With a solid clunk on the oak table, Effie's delivery of another pint knocked Brian out of his confused introspection without arriving at a decent answer. He forced a smile to his face as he mumbled his thanks to a waitress that had already moved on to another customer. As he reached for the glass that was expertly filled to nearly overflowing, he heard a rising crescendo of male and female voices that was punctuated by a loud and distinctly feminine squeal. Brian looked up in time to see a khaki clad body collide and upend his table. This was of course to be expected, he had programmed in random elements that dictated the size of the clientele, demeanor, stress level, and countless other variables. The result was a dynamic environment where one might spend hours alone or, like what seemed to be developing, be caught in the middle of a fracas born of alcohol and overactive male hormones.

 

Brian stood up from his chair, the front of his uniform liberally splashed with what had once been his ale. On a normal day he might have watched with amusement as a few of the 8^th Air Force fighter pilots took shots at each other or wrestled clumsily on the floor. On a normal day he might have just reset the program to a quieter atmosphere. On a rare day he might have joined in the melee and enjoyed a moment of physical combat with little chance of injury. This was not a not a normal day, or even a rare day. Maybe it was the tension of having sat at the helm station for fourteen hours watching a countdown to what seemed to be the inevitable vaporization of an entire civilization. Maybe it was the residual stress of having spent a week in an isolated prison camp under the thumb of a self-destructive totalitarian government. Maybe it was frustration at not being able to find a clear path through his emotional turmoil about Samantha. Whatever the trigger, Brian had snapped.

 

Stepping over the unfortunate pilot who had been launched into his table and was now dazedly trying to get back to his feet, Brian walked over to the perpetrator of the violence who was presently laughing brutishly with his three buddies. The tall, blond American had only enough time to notice the unexpected intruder move in front of him before Brian's hands shot out toward him, his rigid fingers jamming into either side of the pilot's neck. With a quick twist, Brian pinched the carotid arteries shut and crushed the nerves that ran down either side of the spine. The taller man dropped to the floor in a heap. The pilot's buddies stared in shock at their fallen compatriot and then at Brian. A sober man might have assessed the situation and decided that the best course of action would be to back away. Regrettably none of the three were remotely sober, which suited Brian just fine.

 

 

The man on the left leapt forward with a yell that telegraphed his intentions. Brian sidestepped and grabbed the pilot's tie, twisting on his feet and using his assailant's momentum to slam his head into the side of the solid oak bar. He continued his spin and met his second attacker with a open palm strike to the man's chin that shattered the bone and dropped him on his back. The third pilot, having been given a few precious moments for second thoughts, turned and shouldered his way through the motionless crowd, fleeing the pub.

 

Looking down at his handiwork, Brian's shoulders slumped. The fire in his eyes was quickly extinguished. The demons still lay hidden within. His reactions were still rooted in those nightmare years. He realized he had his answer.