Blue Collar

[Crash Calestorm 0]

“How about you and me blow this joint and go play a little…scan the sector?” – Born to the Purple, Babylon 5 Season One (1994)

 

= = = =

Reed Mitros and Ashton Calestorm had dropped off the radar for the night. No press inquiries, no Starfleet Intelligence, no Starfleet Internal Affairs. No ships business. No medical weirdness. The plan for the evening was dinner, drinks, and some fun. The two would most likely end up back at Cale’s quarters or Reeds quarters on the SS Hard Six…and you can do the math as to what happens after that.

 

North Star’s Blue Sector 4, known informally as ‘Blue Collar’, catered to the civilian and Starfleet workers who really kept the station running: the dock hands, maintenance personnel, damage control, and mechanics. The expansive promenade deck buzzed with the intensity of an end of shift pay week; the promise of good food, entertainment, shopping and leaving the workday behind lifted spirits….and drained credit chits.

 

Calestorm slouched against a bulkhead, clad in civilian clothing. With a Duff Beer ball cap slung low over her eyes and hands shoved in the pockets of a plain leather flight jacket, the middle aged woman had taken on the appearance of a dock worker off shift for the night.

 

A man worked his way through the ebb and flow of the crowd and she watched his progress. He casually sauntered over to her and leaned a shoulder against her bulkhead space. “Hi. How’d you like to come back to my quarters and play probe the sector?”

 

“As I recall, the first time you said that to me, it didn’t work out very well.”

 

“And as I recall, you took a swing at me and missed. And then the 3^rd Recon jumped in and I don’t really recall what happened after that.”

 

“Well, Mr. Mitros, that may well be because you were one of the first ones knocked out. Not my fault.”

 

Reed’s grin widened. “Yes, it was your fault. Hey, at least the tribbles escaped unscathed.” His gaze took in her outfit. “….you’re wearing a beer brand cap with a bottle opener on the brim. I love you and all, but that’s really redneck.”

 

“Why, yes. Yes it is.” Calestorm gave him a brilliant smile, all teeth, and flicked a finger at the brim of the cap.

 

Reed just shook his head and commented good naturedly, “You really do scare me sometimes.” He ticked his chin towards one of the nearby restaurants. “Come on, let’s eat.”

 

= = = =

The Blue Zone sports bar was a few steps up from your standard frontier bar dive. The usual memorabilia from a dozen different worlds was showcased, along with a mish mash of the local culture: the walls held holo pictures, plaques and patches that celebrated engineering corps battalions, Starfleet marine battle groups and pilot wings, allied detachments, and civilian troubleshooter teams that had called North Star home over the years. The Zone was considered neutral ground, neither military or civilian, and all patrons were welcome.

 

The sports bar was doing a good business for the night; the main bar area broadcasted a half dozen games from several flat screen viewers. Waving down a host, the couple was seated at an out of the way table in the main dining area.

 

= = = =

Munching at their food, the general small talk eventually gave way to at least some talk of business. The difference was, the conversation remained private, with their private opinions as to what was really going on – something both the captains were unable to dwell on in their public personas.

 

Reed speared a piece of food with a fork. “How’s the Admiral doing? Really?”

 

“Internal Affairs cleared Shauna, pretty much.”

 

“IA is really all over this. And Starfleet Intelligence.”

 

“And Temporal Investigations.”

 

“….never heard of them.”

 

Crash nodded. “Exactly. Tell ya about it later. But, Shauna’s right: SanFran Brass is being way over cautious...but they got their reasons. Nero takes out three quarters of the Fleet. We had that Intel dust up with those fools callin’ themselves ‘Section 31’…unsure times.” Cale took a sip of her drink and then started on her appetizer.

 

Mitros chewed at a steak quesadilla strip, swallowing before speaking. “When do you think you’ll be back out in the field?”

 

“Conservative estimate is three weeks. We’ve been quoted two weeks for internal systems repair and re-alignment of engines.”

 

“How’s the crew taking it?”

 

“Well, you know North Star is a fully equipped facility, doable for fun and games. But, this ain’t no picnic, especially after what we went through; I’ve submitted a request for us to get some real shore leave once we make dock at New Topeka...”

 

“So…how’re you doing Crash?”

 

She looked away and took another sip of her drink. Mitros was a fellow captain, someone with whom Cale could be honest with. That fact he was also her lover was even better. She replaced her glass back on the table top. When she turned her attention back to Mitros, her expression was somber and a bit ticked off.

 

“My damn ship was brought into port by tow, Reed. How d’ya think I’m doin’? You know the last time I brought my ride in by tow? 2230, 58^th Wildcards, USS Regulator. And ‘Creek’s a whole lot bigger than a starfighter. Know what I’m sayin’?

 

Reed smiled. “A little embarrassed are we?”

 

“Well, duh.”

 

“…so how are you really doing?”

 

Calestorm’s frustrations finally popped full out. “It’s bullsh*t Reed! If we weren’t Border Patrol - if this had happened to Kirk and Enterprise? - SanFran brass wouldn’t be crawling all over this. Shauna got a little uppity. So what? She didn’t want to leave her people. And we sure as shootin’ couldn’t help getting’ sucked into some whacked out lightning storm!”

 

“Easy, easy…” Reed reached over and gently palmed her flailing hand down.

 

Her voice became a hiss. “It is such a load of sh*t, these perceptions. Coyote ain’t a firebrand and I’ve been called everything from a trigger happy frontier marshal to a cowgirl. We’re mental. You know that? Hell yes my crew is mental! It takes a special kind of officer out here on the frontier! What everyone seems to forget about is we’re the ones putting our asses on the line, we’re the ones getting the job done, we’re the ones…”

 

Mitros and Cale had known each other for years. This was a darker portion of her personality not usually unleashed; a raw fire, and then the pressure point blew. She’d never been a ruthless person, but she’d always had that wildcat temper. Age had deflected it somewhat…mostly. Sort of. Maybe. Possibly?

 

One incident in which she had let loose had led to a brawl with some of the boys (and girls) from the 3rd Recon squad. Mitros had been one of those boys. Granted, he’d been one of the first ones punched out, which had worked out well in hindsight; the entire thing had been Cale’s fault. Not the most auspicious of beginnings - and eventual relationship - but things had worked out.

 

Reed reached his other hand over and grabbed a second flailing hand. “Ashton? This’ll all blow over, the Admiral said so herself. You don’t have to explain anything to me….”

 

She looked away for a moment, blowing breath out through her nostrils. His presence, his touch, was calming. When Calestorm turned again towards him, her expression had softened and the tension had eased from her face. She offered a gentle smirk, looking more like herself, and threw his opening line right back at him.

 

“How about you and I blow this joint and go play scan the sector?”