Bruce's Bumper Baroom Brawl

Posted on Tue Aug 5th, 2014 @ 10:51pm by Walter Jones & Jan Valentine & Langar Tarn & Charlotte Ashcroft & Bruce Air (PNPC)

2,803 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Session 7: Changes
Location: The Busted Appendage

[Main Docking Ring - Public data terminal]

Air and Lottie were pulling up directories, "Seems there are two joints we could visit. The first, in the upper shopping district translates as the Welcome Inn. The second, on the deck below us is a workers Pub with a name that translates to The Broken Arms, or some such. What are you guys up for?"

Langar would be comfortable in either. While the first sounded quieter, it was probably the sort of place that had security patrols from the shopping mall stopping by, he didn't need any kind of entanglements, no matter how routine. 

The other was more likely to be a local dive and would come with it's own kind of entanglements, but those could be handled unofficially.

"The "Busted Appendage" works for me," he offered. 

"I agree," Lottie voiced. "The Welcome Inn, given its location, would eject us the moment we made it to the door, especially since we're packing." She added in a lower tone.

[The Busted Appendage Pub]

"I'll get the first round," Bruce offered. "You find us somewhere away from the... erm... entertainment." 

The bar was certainly not the kind to attract quiet shoppers. Just as they arrived the doors flew open and two large, imposing and sour faced aliens tossed a third figure out onto the deck of the corridor.  The pair watched the Warden crew enter without breaking a smile.

"Bouncer's" Langar commented. "The same all over."

"As long my face doesn't eat tarmac later," Lottie retorted.

Inside was dimly lit and loud, most of the noise coming from what appeared to be a combined band and strip-show on a small stage off to one side.

Reassuringly nobody seemed to pay much attention to the newcomers, although Langar noticed it was that sort of overt non-attention practiced by people who made sure they didn't ever see anything that they might have to answer questions about later.

Bruce moved away from the rest and lent on the bar, trying to attract the attention of the purple skinned barmaid. She seemed to be avoiding his end of the bar. As he signaled he became aware of a large figure next to him leaning into his personal space. He glanced to the side and saw the figure, covered in red skin and small horns along his chin, was staring at him malevolently.

"Oi, pretty boi. You haven't paid the Parking Tax."

Bruce doubted these people were legitimate representatives of the local constabulary, but you could never be too careful.

"Didn't I?" he hazarded. "I will make sure I contact the Dockmaster on the way out."

A Nausican now appeared behind Bruce and he began to tick of in his mind others around the bar who were edging closer.

The red guy continued, "Not fer parkin' yer ship. You parked yer keister in my spot. That incurs a tax."

Bruce could see Lottie was watching the scene with interest but couldn't see the others. At a quick count there were at least eight in this Red guys group, now closing to circle him. Stall for time.

This was still a game. A fight would come, but this guy had some bravado points to win with his crew first.

"So what is the current Tax rate on your spot?"

Red grinned, "It won't cost you an arm and a leg. Just one will do."

Bruce reached forward and grabbed the bottle he had just ordered, "How about you settle for this."

Bruce tossed the bottle. It was a trick he had learned off a Klingon Marine. The bottle rose to eye level and the thug naturally focused on it for just a moment, long enough to catch it, and long enough for Bruce to leap the distance and plant a rock hard punch to the philtrum.

Bruce had grown up in outback Northern Australia, then completed Starfleet academy and, most recently, spent years among Klingons. He could fight!

Unfortunately, Klingons tend to fight honourably, and so did he. This was not something the gang of the now unconscious Red felt the need to do.

Langar was leaning against a partition, quietly scoping out the bar and it's occupants, hoping to spot possible trouble before it happened, as well as looking for other exits, when he heard a commotion from the bar.

Looking over he saw a group of customers surrounding Air.  He gave a silent groan, looked like the regulars were not the friendly kind. 

"Heads up!" He said to the others "Bruce is making friends." 

Lottie swore softly as a scuffle broke out. "And we didn't even get a beer," she growled vacating her seat in haste before Air was beaten to a pulp.

Suddenly the biggest and ugliest of the group went down, went down hard and stayed down. Somehow Air had taken out the leader.

The remainder of the group were in that shock stage. Where their brains were working out what their various eyes, optical sensors and in one case odd-sort-of-orange-jelly-things-on-stalks had just seen, right before the brain sent messages to the rest of their body to react. 

Langar was torn himself, getting into a fight was not high on his list of things to do. Even in a place like this it was possible somebody would call whatever the Station used for security, but he wasn't going to leave a crewmate to get stomped. 

"C'mon" He said and hurried over to the group surrounding Air. 

"Hey, how's it going?" He asked coming up behind them and smiling broadly "How about we buy everyone a drink and talk this over?" 

The various eyes and sundry other bio-sensors turned towards him.

"Feck off!" One of them said " 'N'less you want some of wot he's gonna get?"

"Nah, I'll pass" Langar shrugged and held up his palms "Sorry Bruce, looks like you're on your own" 

There were a couple of evil sniggers and the group turned back towards Air, dismissing Langar as any kind of threat. Which was just how he liked it.

He reached behind him, took hold of a chair, lifted it and swung it around at head height, slamming it into the back of the closest two. Then he leapt on a third and began using his fists.

While Langar and Air were being pounded Lottie took a scenic route by hoping over the bar, shoving aside the alien barmaid, nabbing a bottle beer in the process. She necked it briefly before using it against the nearest thug.

Bruce's eye was already swelling. Blood was flowing freely from somewhere into his mouth, and he was currently being held by a large Nausican as a heavy set Trolian gave his stomach a work out.

He was dimly aware of a little figure in black tapping his attacker on the shoulder and clearing his throat.

"I don't wish to curtail you enthusiasm, but your rakish behaviour is disturbing the other patrons. Perhaps if you were to cease the overt expression of machismo and allowed me to remove your victim everyone could get back to enjoying their evening."

The Trolian frowned in surprise and confusion at the small human in the dark grey suit, "Wot?"

The human closed his eyes for a moment despairing at the lack of rhetoric common to the stations inhabitants.

"He wants you to stop hitting me," Bruce grinned stupidly, having recognized the voice.

"Is that so," the figure turned and went to grab the small man.

"I really wouldn't advise..." the elderly man suggested, but it was too late.

The Trolian's hands tightened on the mans collar and he lifted him off his feet, but only got him half an inch off the ground before his own knees buckled and he fell to the ground frothing at the mouth.

"Oh, dear," I did try to warn him the man said barely maintaining his balance as he was dropped again. He took a step towards the Nausican, who took an involuntary step backwards, giving Bruce the leverage he needed to drive his own head up into the assailant's face.

The Nausican dropped backwards and Bruce fell forward onto his hands and knees. Around them the remaining fighters were making as quick an exit as they could.

"Mr Air," the old man said, not offering a hand to help Bruce up. "I see nothing has changed for you since I saw you last."

"G'day, Dr Pass," he responded, spitting out a gob of blood. "Still up to your usual tricks?"

Morgan pass lifted the lapel of his coat where a thin needle could just be seen, "This particular one I developed while with the Moonfleet pirates. They seemed to have a habit of grabbing. I do not like people who grab. Are the others here as well?"

Langar was on his knees spitting out blood and wondering if his kidney's would still work after somebody had kicked them about a bit. The boot came in again, this time aiming for his face. He managed to grab the boot and ankle, pulled it to the side, twisted hard and the body attached to it came crashing down. 

Clambering to his feet Langar returned the favor and stomped the alien in the gut a few times, the figure began puking a rancid mixture of it's last meal and liberal amounts of some foul smelling alcohol. Langar gave the alien one final kick for good measure and looked around to see how the other's were doing. 

Air was still alive and bizarrely appeared to be having a friendly chat with an elderly man, incongruously dressed in a suit, while the assailants appeared to be backing off. One of them running from Lotte who was weilding a broken bottle

Langar tucked his torn shirt back into his pants, rubbed his back, winced, spat out another gob of blood and walked over to Air, "This your idea of a quiet drink?"

Bruce grinned, his left eye beginning to swell and blacken already, "Nah, I didn't even get to have the drink. That's something of a record for me. Langar Tarn, this is Dr Morgan Pass."

Langar nodded, "Hello Doctor Pass" and was going to offer his hand, then decided not to. The old man looked out of place in this dive, but whatever he had done to the Trolian had been brutally effective. Langar didn't want any of that.

The elderly doctor winced at his name, "If you would mind NOT waving that around in public I would be grateful. A Bajoran, eh? He's one of Walt's is he? And, unless I am mistaken, the lady with the Nausican in the choke grip is Ms Ashcroft?"

A sudden thought occurred to Morgan, "The new blood hasn't been in the crawlspaces has he?"

Langar caught on quickly "So, this is the... er...experimentor then? Right... No, No I haven't Doc" He told Pass, relived to be telling the truth.

"Experimentor?" The elderly man looked at Langar as if he had just been called a street sweeper. "I am a Genetic Virologist. A title you would do well to remember, especially if you had planned on visiting our crawl spaces. A few years ago we had a Vole infestation and I put down a general barrier viral agent to reduce the chances of similar infestations. I prepared a barrier agent for the crew but I did not include Bajoran DNA sequencing in the agent. I suggest, until I have had a chance to 'experiment' the appropriate antivirus you refrain from to much exploration."

Bruce laughed, "C'mon, doc. give the new guy a break. He'll be apples."

Pass seemed unconvinced but agreed to join the others back at the table now the fight seemed to have worked itself out, and the victims were being dragged outside. Bruce noticed the Nausican as he went past was beginning to froth green at the mouth.

Plot Outline Point 4: Crew withdraw to ship or another pub.

While the others got reacquainted with Pass Langar went over to the bar, where the bar tender eyed him warily, the man's hand was under the bar obviously resting on the grip of some kind of weapon or other.

Langar sighed "Look pal, we just came here for a quiet drink. Not to get robbed by some of your regulars for sitting in the wrong chair. So why don't you just get us a round in, I'll toss you a few extra credits for the breakages and we'll say no more about it ok?"

The bartender didnt move, but Langar noted the muscles in man's arm tightening and a bead of sweat formed on the man's forehead. He also saw his eyes flick to the doorway.

Langar risked a quick glance, the two bouncers were there, they were not coming over, but they didn't look afraid either. They were waiting for a signal from the bar tender he figured.

Langar smiled, it wasnt a nice smile "So, you can pour the drinks and get a good tip....Or... you can pull whatever you've got your hand on. But you better be quick enough to shoot me with it before I come over this bar, take it off you, shove it in your ear and pull the trigger"

The barman frowned a little as he weighed the odds of getting his weapon out before the Bajoran could reach him. He was tempted to try it, but the Bajoran just leaned on the bar and continued to smile at him and behind him the barman could see his friends watching him too now.

He made his decision, and slowly, very slowly relaxed his hand, then withdrew if from the grip of the cut-down blaster he kept under the bar. He shook his head to the bouncers and they remained where they were by the door.

"Ok Mister, I don't want any trouble, I'll get your drinks"

"Excellent!" Langar grinned

Two minutes later he returned to the Warden crew with a tray full of drinks.

"Drink up. I figure we've just got time for these, before either Bruce's buddies come back or the bartender calls somebody."

Langar tipped his head at the bar just as the tender disappeared through a doorway. "And there he goes now!"

Bruce grabbed up his with a quick salute downed the entire contents in a long series of gulps, "Crickey, I needed that."

"I suggest," Morgan offered, "we take some of you back to the ship so I can repair the damage you have managed to do to yourself. I assume I still have an infirmary to work in?"

"Yeah, it's mostly still there." Jan chimed in, carrying a large rucksack full of odds and ends.

"Glad to hear that, Mr Valentine," Morgan did a double take. "You had your eye remodeled. Synphasic polymer graft? Some very fine work."

"Nice of you to notice. One of several changes actually. I'll have to toss you an updated manual and features list at some point" Jan said.

He grabbed a drink and downed it. "Looks like I missed a fight, or did Bruce fall down some stairs?" Jan said, taking a seat and dropping his bag with a clang onto the deck.

Bruce grinned and saluted with the bottle. "One of the local girls was overly friendly", he quipped.

"Shame I missed out, but you'll be happy to know I was able to use the advance I got along with some personal funds and bartering to get some much needed stuff, including some decent chairs." Jan said.

"Well I'm sure we could all use a nice sit down" Langar offered, "Especially as we might have over stayed our welcome!"

He tipped his head towards the door, the two bouncers had been joined by four more and they were coming over.

Downing the last of his drink he pointed at a dark doorway in the far wall, by the stage. "That looks like a way out! C'mon"

The door led to a passage, past some rather smelly bathrooms and finally through another door into a dank dimly lit service tunnel.

"Left or right?" Langar asked

"Right," said Bruce his voice ringing with certainty.

"Are you sure," Morgan asked, always the skeptic.

"No," Bruce grinned heading off at a jog.

"Always with the running," Morgan grumbled trying to keep up.

A couple of turns later and the service tunnel had a hatch that led back onto one of the public concourses.

Stepping through, Langar straightened his clothing, there wasn't much to do about the big blood stain on his shirt or the swollen bottom lip on his face, so he just tried to act normally as they made their way back to the docking pylons.

Langar Tarn
Cargo Chief

 

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