“I drink for comradeship, and when I drink for comradeship, I don’t bother to keep count.”

John Wayne

Jimmy Conway stretched way back and let the tawny mélange of woodsmoke flow over him as the wind changed tack and permeated his clothing with the acrid, but comforting tang of forest pine and burnt sap. He breathed deep, his belly full of the excellent fish that the other crews had caught earlier that day and his mind resonating with the warming effervescence of the last of the ancient single malt whiskey. 

Whilst he had been studious in avoiding engaging with any attempts of psychoanalysis by the Fresno’s fierce – looking Ships Councilor, Jimmy had been more than happy to help Ramón with some of his dwindling supply of ice – cold cerveza and now his head swam pleasantly as he leant back on his elbows and tilted his head upwards to peer at the amazingly clear view of the starfield above Minos Korva and his thoughts turned to when he would be out there once again.

Jimmy sighed contentedly.

As pleasant a diversion this ‘ersatz – kidnapping’ adventure concocted by Task Force 72’s Senior Staff had been, there was a part of Conway that was ever restless – always seeking to be out there amongst the stars aboard a ship as swift and sure as the Speedwell – forever in pursuit of the next discovery, never quite scratching that itch.

He stifled a burp that brought his attention back to the animated conversation taking place around the campfire, the flickering flames transforming the faces of his fellow officers into something otherworldly – as if a fey dimension had somehow focused their camaraderie and cheer, transforming them into something…..more.

Conway smiled to himself. He wasn’t a person that could be said to have made friends easily. Sarah had said that that was because he was scared of losing people, so he never let himself come too close to risk that. Jimmy thought that the truth was rather that he was a difficult bastard to get along with and Sarah’s leaving was the final punctuation of that line of reasoning.

But the truth was, in the short time that he had found himself thrust into this mildly ridiculous scenario masquerading as an alpine team – building exercise, Jimmy was forced to admit even to his most cantankerous self that he had developed a cautious affinity for this group and even fond of one or two of them. Mike Ayres and he were men alike in more ways than one, and Jimmy could forgive and even appreciate that his fishing companion wasn’t a man prone to sharing his innermost thoughts.

Jimmy looked over at Kirok Skyrunner and his wife Sophia, both Starfleet Captains but you couldn’t find more antipodal personalities. Skyrunner was confident but courteous, his partner gracious but evidently possessing a keen mind. It was their obvious warmth and affection for each other that was the ties that bound them together.

Captain Michael Dart presented as your classic tool – monkey, the kind of mind that relishes a challenge and thinks the world can be fixed if you just know the right wrench and where to apply it. Who knows,  maybe he was right?

The XO of the Fresno was an entirely harder book to read. She kept things light, but it was obvious that there was some sort of friction between the pair, but what it was Jimmy couldn’t say and didn’t think that it was his business anyhow. He’d learned from long and bitter experience that the safest & most prudent course of action was never to provoke an Andorian.

His eye caught the glare of Lieutenant Commander Gutierrez as the imposing Mexican stared right back across at him from the other side of the fireplace. Where the flames made the others appear elven and fey, upon Ramón’s pockmarked face it leant the visage of a shadowy Teotihuacan devil and Jimmy cast around for something else to pretend to focus his attention on.

The light on the Holoprojector was winking.

Jimmy blinked.

The small round housing of the devices that had summoned the TFCO the previous day had been gloriously silent, enabling the companions to explore the tribulations of the recent past and form new friendships.

Now it was definitely re-activating again. 

A small holo- type message was revolving slowly around the central dais that housed the projector array. It read…

..”All Good Things…..”

Jimmy groaned and struggled to a dusty upright position, “Oh snap! Yo, folks? That light on the thingamajig over there is flashin’ kinda…”

Ayres leaned against a towering pine tree at the edge of the bustling gathering, where the flickering firelight barely brushed against him. The tree’s roots sprawled across the uneven, rocky soil like gnarled, arthritic hands.

From this secluded vantage point, he could observe without engaging, allowing the swirl of stories and the melody of laughter to envelop him without the burden of participation. Taciturn as he was, he had enjoyed this hiatus and the uncommon feeling of intoxication.

The flames cast a warm, dynamic glow over the senior officers of the task force, painting their faces in rich tones and casting highlights on smiles. Stripped of their uniforms and the posture that command often demanded. Not just the names of captains on reports, or the fleeting communication to organize fleet maneuvers, but comrades who had withstood the same conflict he had, each bearing their stories.

The realization that Ayres had enjoyed this seeped into his consciousness slowly, like ink diffusing in water. A tension within his chest eased, a knot untangling at the relief of not being on the Sacramento, the centre of attention, of not having every gaze seek his approval or guidance. He was simply Mike Ayres, silhouetted against the firelight.

Yet he could not fully let go. Every now and then, his mind would jolt back to the Sacramento. The ship would be prepared soon, but the crew carried memories that would take longer to heal. He would help them, but the burden preyed on him. The true challenge awaited his return, a task not achieved with awards or promotions, but requiring the meticulous rebuilding of a crew’s shattered spirit.

A burst of laughter erupted, drawing his attention back to the present moment. Tonight, he allowed himself this temporary escape.

Kirok Skyrunner sat on the ground, leaning against a log with Michael Dart and Ramon, chatting about more stories they experienced with their commands. Sophia sat next to Thalissa Zheen, chatting among themselves. Kirok saw the two executive officers chatting in low whispers, and occasionally looking at Kirok and Michael.

“Michael, I think our XO’s are conspiring against us,” Kirok said to Mike jokingly, finishing off the ice cold beer Ramon handed him earlier.

Sophia heard him and gave Kirok a mock glare. Kirok responded by sticking his tongue out at her. Sophia threw a marshmallow at him.

“So everyone, what do you think will happen when Shore Leave is over,” Kirok asked everyone in general.

A wave of smoke from the campfire blew in Sophia’s face. She coughed, then mentioned a suggestion, “We all will probably have some kind of important mission.”

Conrad mentioned to everyone about the blinking light on the holoprojector. Kirok and Sophia both looked at Jimmy and then at the blinking light and the holographic message it showed.

“Interesting, I wonder what the paper pushers want now,” Kirok said sarcastically. “I’m enjoying my shore leave.”

“Kirok!” Sophia chastised her husband.

Kirok smiled at his wife and opened another cold beer.

“That could be new orders from our superior officers,” Sophia said.

As the final bite of the days’ catch melted in Michael’s mouth, he washed it down with a swig of one of Ramón’s last beers.  It had gone warm in his hand as he’d nursed away at it, dulled but still potent like a worn down blade that still retained its bite.  He and the others were chatting in their isolated clusters around the fire – and for a rare, dangerous moment he realized he had actually put the events of the past weeks out of his mind for a precious small while.  He wasn’t actively thinking about decompression alarms, hull breaches, or abandoned crew. 

He was just… here.  Grounded in this moment, chuckling at Kirok’s latest quip.  Well, goddamn.  He was actually enjoying himself.  He sighed contentedly, leaning back to rest on an elbow with the wary satisfaction of a dog who’d been kicked too many times and had finally found a quiet porch to sit upon.

The sudden hum of the holo-projector hit him like a case of tinnitus.  Heads turned.  From the emitter’s bloom materialized that tundra cold Andorian gaze of Deputy Commander Zarroc Thakrass.  Not angry.  Almost worse.  Approving.  Like a father pleased you finally got around to taking out the garbage after letting it rot for weeks.  Michael loathed how even now, in this relaxed environment, it made him sit up just a little straighter.

“Captains.  Commanders.  Counselor.  I hope you’ve found this little sojourn restful.” The bearded Andorian began.  Despite the fact that the message was pre-recorded, he somehow managed to level a judgmental gaze at them all.  “The work we perform doesn’t offer us many opportunities to unwind, even when the galaxy isn’t going to hell in a handbasket.  But this retreat, this moment to breathe… was long overdue.  Each and every one of you, whether you were casting lines in the water or casting your demons in the fire.  You all deserved this moment, and I am pleased you took full advantage of it to help you move forward.”

He paused for just a beat.  The firelight played hell with his frozen holographic contours.  “And speaking of moving forward.  I’ll be departing Task Force Seventy-Two.  Effective immediately, I am assuming direct command of the humanitarian efforts spearheaded by Task Force Ninety-Three.  The Alpha and Beta quadrants are in tatters.  We’ve got post-Vaadwaur victims trying to rebuild shattered lives.  They’ll need all of us now more than ever.”

“Captain Dart.”  Thakrass’ pre-recorded gaze passed over empty air, never once landing on him.  But still, Michael felt it.  The Deputy Commander was skilled at applying that pressure.  That authoritative finger tapping on your chest.

“You’ll be joining me over in Ninety-Three.  Counselor Gutierrez was not assigned to your crew by pure chance.  It is true, I mean for him to help you and your crew heal.  But in these coming months you’ll be face to face with broken people, Captain.  The good Counselor has a way with those who have suffered under the horrors of conflict.  You’ll need his touch now more than ever.”

To Michael, the Andorian’s voice became a dull hum as he processed this latest news.  Some ceremonial warble praising the valor of the entire group as they had done the best that they could with the cards that each of their Commands had been dealt during the Vaadwaur conflict.  Now, regardless of which Task Force they served, they would all be called upon to help the Alpha and Beta quadrants heal in the same way they had devoted this weekend to healing themselves.  

Michael’s head was too busy ringing with the thought that these were meant to have been his last days spent with those of Task Force 72.  His eyes drifted sideways, narrowing into venomous slits as they caught Ramón across the fire.  You already knew about this, he thought, pouring on the accusation in silence.  And you didn’t say a damn thing.

Ramón’s gaze was locked on him as well, but it wasn’t returning fire.  The bastard just watched, reading the tremors in real time like a damned seismograph technician clinically observing the aftershock.  That pockmarked face betrayed nothing.

Thalissa saw it instantly – that coiled, tense suspicion in her Captain’s gaze.  The unsettling, analytical calm of the counselor’s. 

She stepped in fast.  “This retreat has been good.” She said to the group as a whole, doing her damnedest to deflect the tone of the stare-down behind her.  “I didn’t think we needed this until we got it.  And now… knowing Fresno is splitting off from Task Force 72 with our new orders, I’m glad we got to spend this quality time with all of you first.”  Her eyes flicked back to Michael for half a second, as if to say ‘Message sent, sir.  Disarm, damn you!’

Michael forced his face into something resembling a smile – tight, brittle.  Like a man trying to convince a firing squad that he was just peachy keen with all of this.  “Yeah,” he muttered, eyes still flicking towards Ramón like a man watching a loaded phaser on the table.  “Hell of a trip.  Good people.  Good fish.  I’ll take it.”

He raised his bottle in a toast as he tore his glare away from the counselor to regard the others, and his expression suddenly shifted, like a bulkhead giving way under pressure.  He felt it, some mutant emotion crawling out of the emotional wreckage inside of him.  It was gratitude.  The real, slippery, hard to swallow kind.  “It’s been a blessing to spend this time with all of you, and I truly am glad we got the opportunity before we ship on out.”  He said this quietly, and he meant every cursed word.

Jimmy Conway laughed and rose from his place by the fire – he’d been a Starfleet Captain long enough to know the sound of marching – orders when he heard them. 

“Heck! Listen, if that ain’t a sign to skedaddle, I dunno what is, ya know?”

Slapping his pants free of dust and looking around the group. Names he had always known only on a roster or mentioned in dispatches, now people that might not be exactly friends (it had only been a few days after all) , but all people that he felt the burgeoning warm-regard and yes, even an affection for.

Officer’s that he was proud to be numbered amongst and would push his warp-core to the redline for, if they ever needed his assistance that much was for sure.

“Surely, it’s been wicked awesome meetin’ ya, Captain Dart, Thalissa, Ramón – real pleasure, no doubt.” Jimmy nodded to the crew of the USS Fresno as he began to gather up his loaned belongings into the backpack. “Reckon, I’ll catch ya all out there among the stars?”

“And you two, what you have is more precious than Latinum, never lose sight of that. For real, it’s been a rare pleasure. So long and thanks for all the fish!” Jimmy smiled warmly at Kirok and Sophia.

He took a deep breath of the cold night air, not sure when he would next have the luxury of such vista and space, let alone the freedom to breathe something other than recycled air.

To Mike Ayres, as ever slightly apart from the group, Jimmy simply nodded. 

“See you in the ring sometime slugger. Be interesting to see that jab of yours.”

Kirok and Sophia approached Captain Mike Dart.

“Mike, I noticed you don’t exactly see eye to eye your ship’s counselor. I understand how you feel. I’m not the kind of guy who likes to talk about my feelings. My wife can attest to this, but she helped me get out of a bad headspace I was in years ago. My advice to you, Captain to Captain, is don’t keep things bottled up. If you don’t want to talk with your counselor, then talk with someone else…or reach out to me or Sophia. We are only a comm call away. Take care my friend.”

Kirok and Sophia gathered their belongings as well and contacted the USS Carlsbad.

“Skyrunner to ‘Carlsbad’, two to beam up.”

Captains Skyrunner and Rodriguez dissolved into the glittering of the transporter beam and disappeared.

Never one for long goodbyes, Jimmy tapped his commbadge and called.

“Conway to ‘Speedwell’. One to beam up.”

As Captain James Conway of the USS Speedwell was enveloped in the golden – caress of the myriad swirl of transporter energy, the doughty little Bostonian winked to his recent companions and farewelled in knowing Gaelic.

“‘Go dté tú slán’ – May you go Safely!”