Cocktail Event

[Crash Calestorm 0]

This log takes place the night before our upcoming 10.04.10 Honorary Escort Sim…

 

This was truly a day to remember, the sort of occurrence that only takes place once in a lifetime.

 

No, the Klingons had not been defeated. And no, the Romulans had not extended an olive branch of peace to the Federation Starfleet.

 

Though it would appear that it was a cold day in hell, apparently…

 

Crash Calestorm was wearing the skirted version of the female uniform tunic. And stockings. And the bridge uniform duty boots with the higher heels. She had even worked her medium length silver-blond hair up in an attractive sort of style appropriate as well as regulation for the gathering.

 

The command staffs and senior officers of the USS Enterprise, USS James Walking Bear, USS Comanche Creek, and the SS Hard Six had been invited to attend an evening cocktail event commemorating the upcoming formal launch of the Walking Bear and Hard Six as the newest additions to the First Threat Response Program Fleet. Project leader Admiral Coyote was hosting the gathering, and was currently working the room like the old diplomatic pro that she was.

 

Calestorm stood to once side of the reception area, sipping at an Appletini and nibbling discreetly on a pig in a blanket, also known as a ‘mini-hotdog wrapped in a roll’. Several hundred years in the future, and there were still pigs in a blanket making appearances at one shindig or another. Long live the Human race; we make it out into space and gotta bring the hot dogs.

 

It’s not that she necessarily hated the dress version of the female uniform. What she really couldn’t stand was the feeling of being exposed. In her opinion, the dress was not very useful and was best left for meetings, gatherings such as this one, and to satisfy the lingering macho need of the male ego to have female bridge officers look ‘attractive’; the trousers and tunic were a much more practical uniform from a field service perspective.

 

So anyway, here she was in the dress, smiling and making nice with the various ships crew and high rankers, and trying not to break her neck in the boot heels. She was currently mingling by osmosis, and would eventually move on into the crowd proper in order to shake a few hands, introduce herself, smile, and get caught up on the networking and information gathering that inevitably went on at these sorts of events. She had already spotted a few of the notables, such as Admiral Barnett. Wonder Boy Captain Jim Kirk was also present of course, as was his command crew from the USS Enterprise. On that note, Cale would definitely be introducing herself to Doctor McCoy at some point in the evening; fellow Southerner aside, the man was pretty good looking. Her own crew was intermingling among the gathered guests and officers, and every few minutes she could pick out one or two of them among the crowd.

 

Crash looked with longing at an exit as she sipped at her drink, but didn’t dare make a break for it so to speak. Coyote had threatened her with bodily harm should she try and escape for the night. Nothing like sweet talking your line captain, eh? The admiral always did have a way with the lower decks diplomacy, that was for sure.

 

She waved a polite finger at one of the stewards working the room for the evening, and the young man took her empty Appletini glass and came back a short time later with a refill. She thanked the server and turned her attention back to the crowd, mentally picking an entry point.

 

She was delayed in her deployment -- Lord help her, she was approaching the mingling like a piloting mission -- when a voice drifted over to her and interrupted her plan of attack. “…I’m going over here with Calestorm ‘cause she looks exactly like I feel: Surrounded by brass and pomp and circumstance with no hope of an exit strategy.”

 

Cale smiled -- she’d recognize that voice anywhere -- and turned to greet the incoming guest. “Hey there Captain Mitros. You look good in that Fleet uniform.”

 

Reed Mitros wore the black uniform under-tunic, indicating that he was a civilian in a service capacity to the Starfleet. The dark coloring set off his silver hair. She noted that his drink of choice was still Old Number 7.

 

Calestorm and Mitros shook hands, and then he turned his attention towards the two officers, also wearing the black tunic, who had walked over with him. Like Mitros and Cale, both of them were Human and the way they handled themselves indicated that they were veterans and had some service time under their belts; the light skinned female looked to be thirty something with a possible hint of Vulcan heritage in her, while the older dark skinned male could have been anywhere from his early forties up to mid seventies.

 

“Captain Calestorm, I’d like you to meet my first mate, Keats, and my chief engineer, Aluka.” He indicated Cale with a jerk of his finger.” This is the woman who got us on the team.”

 

She smiled and shook the offered hands of the two senior officers. “Pleased to meet you both, and welcome to the FTR program.” Then her attention turned back towards Mitros and Cale shook her head good naturedly. “Your credentials and your crew got you the FTR team position Reed; I just recommended you and the ‘Six for candidacy.”

 

The two veterans had known each other for years, going back to their service onboard the USS Warlock. For a while, they had been a pretty hot romantic item. Calestorm had stayed in the Fleet; Mitros had chosen to take an honorable discharge from the MACO flight jocks after two tours of service.

 

A former flight jock turned independent mercenary civilian captain turned border patrol contractor captain wasn’t necessarily a common practice, but neither was it unheard of. The Federation’s Border Patrol took its officers and crews from a variety of backgrounds and specialties in order to meet the needs as an organization. In many ways, the Starfleet Border Patrol was much more diversified then the Regular Fleet ships such as Kirk’s USS Enterprise. Mitros would do well with his particular skill sets within the colonial support missions that the Hard Six would be deployed on, and he and his crew would be assets to Shauna’s FTR program.

 

Calestorm turned her attention back to Keats and Aluka, engaging the two in friendly conversation. “Your Hard Six crew all set to launch out tomorrow?”

 

Aluka and Keats shared a look and a chuckle, and then the elder man answered the question. “Everyone is excited, from our veteran crew right down to the green newbies that we took on two weeks ago at Anubis Station.”

 

The four of them spent the next little while talking among themselves, and then the first mate and engineer excused themselves to head back off into the crowd. Once he and Cale were alone, Mitros felt comfortable enough changing the conversation to the sort of commiserating best left between old friends.

 

“I tell ya Cale, if you told me some fifteen odd years after leaving the Fleet that I’d be back in uniform, I’d’ve called you a liar.”

 

She chuckled softly and took a sip of her refreshed drink before replying. “Times change Reed, you know that. Nero changed the balance of power as well as the tactical situation; he changed the balance of the sectors with those hit and run attacks of his. At the risk of sounding like a bad MACO recruiting vid, we need good people, and you’re one of many who are answering the call to duty.”

 

He smiled, flashing those perfect white teeth of his, and then clinked glasses with Cale. Reed and Calestorm partnered up for the remainder of the evening, working the room together and mingling with the crowd for the next couple of hours.

 

Maybe it was the friendly atmosphere of the cocktail gathering, or maybe it was the excitement of the expansion of the FTR program charging the evening; regardless, one thing led to another and the lifer commissioned captain and reinstated civilian captain left the cocktail gathering together to enjoy some other pursuits…

 

****

Two naked and athletic bodies lay prone on a bunk of rumpled sheets, content to be together in the post euphoria of making love. The uniform clothing from the night before was flung haphazardly this way and that across the general area, but otherwise the ships state room was spotlessly clean and neat.

 

Crash automatically woke at oh five thirty in the morning, years of conditioning ingrained in the habit; she was aware of the presence at her back, the skin on skin contact warm and comforting. Sensing her movement, her partner tightened the hold of his left arm around her upper torso. His hand moved in a circular pattern across her bare stomach and hip.

 

A deep and sleep mussed voice whispered in her ear. “Good morning Captain; hell of a way to christen the ship, eh?”

 

Cale purred out her response to him, eyes still closed and her soft tone filled with laughter. “Hell of a lot more fun then watching that champagne bottle get whacked across the hull later this morning, if I say so m’self. Welcome to the Starfleet Border Patrol, Cap’n Mitros.”

 

Hell of a lot more fun...