The Curious Effect of Romulan Ale at Warp Speed

“Federation ship approaching, sir,” Commander Brown said curtly, “Intercept course in five minutes.”

Captain Kirkland frowned and shifted in his chair. “Strange,” he said, “there shouldn’t be any ships in this sector. The closest one is…” Here, Captain Kirkland trailed off and turned slowly towards the commander. “Mr Brown, what is the name of the approaching ship?”

Commander Brown went pale. “Perhaps we should just continue on course.”

Arthur leaned forward, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Mr Brown, tell me the name of the ship on intercept course, that is an order.”

Commander Brown sighed. “USS Sanguination,” he muttered, “Captained by–”

“Captain Bonnefoy.” Arthur slammed his fist on the console, made something start blaring loudly, scrambled to switch the alarm back off. He sat back up straightened his uniform. “Open a hailing frequency, lieutenant Churchill.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Arthur cleared his throat and tented his fingers. “Onscreen,” he said.

“Captain Kirkland!” the speakers chirped at him as a man sprawled lazily across his captain’s chair flicked into view. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Captain Bonnefoy. I see you’ve yet to be discharged for gross indecency, it’s good to know Starfleet is keeping such close tabs on its personnel.” Arthur drummed his fingers impatiently. “My reports indicate that you should be on Alpha Ceti 9 for R&R, what are you doing in this sector?”

“Well we were in the neighborhood,” Francis drawled, “and I thought to myself, ‘Why don’t we check up on dear Captain Kirkland?'” Francis leaned closer to the screen. “I thought perhaps our crews might dine together? We have through perfectly innocent circuMrtances come upon a healthy stockpile of Romulan ale, I am sure your people would enjoy it.”

“We have a mission that I would like to finish as quickly as possible so we make take our own R&R.” Arthur swiveled around, his back towards the screen. “If that’s all,” he said with a flick of his hand, “Please resume your course.”

“Mmhm.” Francis rested his chin on his hand. “Will you be joining us on Alpha Ceti 9?”

“If you ever let us get back to work we will.”

“And will you wear that little number with the bare–”

“Arm the photon torpedos,” Arthur snapped.

“Warp factor seven to Alpha Ceti 9, Mr Sarkozy,” Francis ordered. He blew a kiss to the monitor. “I look forward to our rendezvous, Captain Kirkland.”

Arthur caught the kiss in his hand. “Whatever, frog.”

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