1000 HRS
"I need a drink," Damon remarked, "and something to eat." The three of them had been deliberating for over an hour after the transmission with the Washington had finally ended. There was still so much information to discuss, and he couldn't continue with that on an empty stomach.
"I'm with you," Liam agreed, patting his growling stomach. "Let's go to the bar. It's just on the other side of this level. They serve food, too."
"Wouldn't mind a drink," Derek huffed. "But I'm not hungry..."
"Alright, then," Liam clapped Derek on the back. "Let's go!"
They left the meditation chamber and strolled down the corridor toward the bar, 'Covax's Food & Drink.'
=/\= - =/\=
1100 HRS
"There's got to be something that they're missing," Damon sipped on his drink. "If the shuttle was fired on and exploded, there has to be more debris than what the scanners have picked up."
"Do we have to discuss this now and here, in this bar?" Derek was looking around the room and then across the table at his brother and his cousin.
Damon frowned. "Yes, it has to be discussed... right now and right here!" He slammed his hand down on the table. "We can't intrude on the Vulcans again, and we're not able to get back on the ship until later, remember? There are tons of repair and maintenance workers on board. We would only be in the way."
Derek glared at him.
"However,... if someone hadn't at least hit the shuttle, why would there be any debris at all?" Liam pondered aloud, getting them back to the discussion. "That makes no sense."
"I don't know," Damon shook his head, running his hand through his dark brown hair, "It's all very confusing."
"So, where is the shuttle then? Hm? If it wasn't destroyed!" Derek was getting angry.
"That is the mystery," Liam agreed.
"Dad said, they had received a distress call from Mom... they've registered energy traces from weapons fire during their scan, and they've confirmed debris in the vicinity matching the shuttle's identification tags... and yet, there is no shuttle anywhere," Damon summed it up in typical Tactical Officer fashion. "If she ran, how far could she have gotten? The Washington's scans would pick up something, at least on long-range sensors. And they've been sending out a hailing call on all frequencies for hours."
"Then, it looks like she's been destroyed?" Liam hardly dared to ask the question.
"It sure looks like it...," Derek gulped down the rest of his drink. He turned around, looking for the waitress. Raising his empty glass, he nodded over to her, "One more double, ma'am."
"Take it easy, bro," Damon admonished his brother. "They don't use synthehol here."
"And it's a pretty strong whiskey," Liam confirmed.
"The stronger, the better!" Derek defiantly looked at them.
"You're taking this pretty hard, cousin..."
Despite being a Starfleet officer in his mid 20s, Derek was fighting back tears and rage. "And you wouldn't? If it was your mother?"
Liam lowered his eyes in shame.
Derek looked from Liam to Damon and back again, battling with all the painful and angry feelings that were welling inside of him. The remorse over how he had treated his mother, Cassandra, the last time he'd seen her when she was visiting the Centurion, was almost unbearable to him.
"The last memory she had of me was my annoyance over her showing up on the ship," he began, "and I didn't even take the time to tell her how much I truly love her...," he swallowed hard, as more tears collected in his eyes. "And now, I might never get a chance to say that to her again..."
For a long minute, the ensuing silence seemed to bear down on them like a ten-ton weight, threatening to suffocate them all.
=/\=
Damon's brow creased, when the waitress brought another double whiskey for Derek. "She knew that already, bro," he tried to console his brother mildly, laying his hand on Derek's forearm. "And this," he nodded toward the glass, "will not help anything."
"Then, what will?" Derek asked him harshly, knocking back part of the drink.
Damon winced at his brother's tone and shrugged. "Taking action... maybe. For you,... talking to a counselor might be a first step."
"I don't need a shrink!" Derek barked back.
Liam was getting uncomfortable with the situation and, after finishing his own drink, he stood up from his seat. "Well, that's enough for me right now," he glanced at his cousins, putting his empty glass down. "I think, I need some time to reflect. Maybe take a walk around the station. Anybody want to come with me?"
"No thanks," Damond replied. "But, you could keep an eye out for the counselor's office. We might need to know where that is located... later."
Derek shot his brother a narrow-eyed look.
"Aye," Liam pushed his chair under the table. "I'll keep my eyes open. See ya."
Damon nodded at him thankfully, and Liam hurried away.
=/\= - =/\=
1130 HRS
Thirty minutes later, after finishing his fifth glass of whiskey, Derek jumped to his feet so abruptly that he knocked over his chair.
Damon grabbed his arm to keep him from falling backwards. "Whoa, bro. Slow down!"
"Let's go sit at the bar," Derek suggested with a definite slur to his words. "Then I don't have to keep looking for that slow-poke of a waitress any more. We'll be right at the source."
"I don't know," Damon was skeptical. "I think you've had enough for today."
"Nope. Ya coming?" Derek was pulling himself from Damon's grasp, marching determinedly to the bar, and flopped himself down on one of the empty barstools.
Damon slowly followed and sat down next to him, watching his brother in dismay, as he addressed the bar tender.
"Hey," Derek shouted, "got anything with more kick than that lame whiskey you serve?"
The bartender looked at him a bit perturbed, but then walked over. "Well, I've just got in a shipment of several bottles of a new, exotic drink," he smiled mischievously. "But... I'm not sure if you could handle that one. From what I've been told it'll smash your brain out, if you don't watch it."
"Ok, no problem then. Get me one!" The inebriated Engineer demanded without hesitation.
The bartender regarded him for a moment, then grabbed a glass. "Alright. As you wish, one 'Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters' coming up!"
Damon frowned and shook his head. "I have the uncomfortable feeling that you're somehow going to get us in trouble today, bro."
Derek gave him a broad grin, as he grabbed the fresh drink and inspected it for a second. "Pan Galactic ... whatever...," he started to lift the glass, "down the ha..."
=/\=
Right then, a quartet of brawny, civilian maintenance workers walked into the room, engaged in loud conversation about something that one of them had overheard just recently. Two of them sat down on the barstools right next to Derek, and the other two remained standing. They continued their animated discussion uninterrupted, ignoring Derek's annoyed glances.
"Can you believe it?" One of them blared out with a loud belly laugh. "How could they lose a shuttle? Those idiots. I bet you the Captain of the Washington will get himself a reprimand for that blunder. How can anybody be so incompetent?" All four burst out laughing, slapping themselves on their thighs, or patting each other on the back.
Damon's eyes opened wide, watching the change of expression on Derek's face woefully as his brother gulped down his drink without pausing and then slammed the glass down on the counter.
Before his younger brother could so much as say a word to stop him, Derek whirled around and grabbed the man closest to him (of course, the biggest one in the group) by the shoulder. "What did you just say?" the red-head growled at the guy, his eyes fiery with rage.
The man's face went from gleeful amusement to stone-cold animosity within a fraction of a second. "Take your hand off me, boy," he hissed.
"That's my father you're talking about!", Derek yelled, ignoring the threat. "And my mother is the one missing... That's not funny at all! How dare you, make it sound like my father doesn't know how to do his job! What would you know about running a Starship?"
"Alright! THAT'S IT!" The man yanked himself away from Derek's grip and jumped off his barstool, facing his opponent with raised fists. "Officer or not, you don't talk to me like this. Right here. Right now. Just the two of us!"
Derek had jumped from his seat, simultaneously, and was already in mid-swing, when Damon grabbed him around his chest from behind and spun him 180 degrees.
"NO, Derek! No fights," he sternly rebuked his brother. He looked back at the brawny man, still standing ready to fight, and gave him a furious, dark-eyed glare. "And you need to learn some respect!"
Damon looked around the room uneasily. It had not escaped his notice that onlookers suddenly had gone silent and were staring unhappily at them for causing this commotion. He quickly started shoving his brother, who was fighting to get out of his grip, toward the door and out of the room.
=/\=
"Stop, and calm down," Damon firmly petitioned Derek as they were standing in the corridor outside the bar room. His brother finally stopped struggling with him and relaxed. "Good."
"I can't believe, you let him get away with this... this insult," the red-head fumed, shaking his head in disappointment. "You're usually the first one to jump into a fight."
"Not this time, bro. He wasn't worth it," Damon replied. "We have much more important things to take care of. And we can't take care of them while sitting in the brig!"
Derek sighed deeply. He nodded in agreement as Damon gave him a friendly clap on the back, though he was still very upset. Since when had his brother become the more level-headed one?
"Come on, let's go take a walk."