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Maudlin thoughts

Posted on Sun May 4th, 2014 @ 6:00am by Petty Officer 1st Class Vartog

Location: PO Vartog's quarters

The embassy has become unusually quiet of late. Madame Haqtaj has not put in an appearance in days. Maybe her removal as Security Chief has got her nose out of joint but I got the distinct impression she never wanted the job. Maybe it’s just the absence of those Romulan refugees. I know they kept pestering her with requests to intervene with Captain Harrison on their behalf; as if anything Madame Haqtaj had to say would influence him. I don’t like the man: he might be a good officer but he has all the personality of a brick wall. Not that it’s my place to criticise a senior officer but he’d be a failure in the KDF. The knives would be out for him as soon as he stepped on the bridge of a Klingon vessel. Apparently his brother is capable but all the ability seems to have gone to one sibling and none to the other.

I don’t know, maybe it’s just me. Am I really cut out to be in Starfleet? Here I am criticising the captain but my family’s little better. We’re not Klingons; we’re technicians. I thought if I joined Starfleet I could prove myself as a warrior but what am I doing? I’m the gopher for an ambassador. Hardly the stuff of songs in
Sto Vo Kor! Maybe I should go back to being a brig officer; didn’t have much going for it in the way of glory but at least I saw some action...occasionally.

Vartog hefted the bottle of bloodwine sitting on the table. It was more than half empty. An empty one sat beside it. As bloodwine went, it was not a good vintage. In fact, it wasn’t any vintage at all. It was a blend and not a very good one at that. It had only three things going for it: it wasn’t replicated; it was cheap, and; it got him drunk. Right now, drunk was what Vartog wanted to be; drunk and wallowing in his misery.

Maybe I should apply to be transferred to Security. No, the Klingons on the station would reject me. They think I’m a traitor to everything Klingon by joining Starfleet rather than the KDF. I have to prove myself first. But how do you do that on this station out in the middle of nowhere? Find a cure for that virus? Given the Klingon phobia about germs and dying of disease rather than in combat it would be welcomed. Welcomed, yes but it’s still hardly going to show my true mettle. If only I could do something worthy of a Klingon warrior....

The bottle slipped from his fingers as he raised it to his lips. Bloodwine spilled over the carpet.

I can’t even drink like a Klingon. Look at me; one and a half bottles. Only one and a half bottles! One and a half bottles and I’m already drunk!

He picked up the bottle and took a hefty swig. Wiping his lips on a uniform sleeve, he put the bottle back down. It rocked on its base but remained upright. Vartog struggled to do likewise.

I’ll tune my comms badge to the Security frequency, that’s what I’ll do. I’m part of Security so if a call comes through, I’ll respond. Then I can show what I’m made of.

It was his last coherent thought. The bottle might still be upright but PO Vartog slid down the couch until he was sort of half on and half off.


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