Ten-Forward was quiet, many of the usual patrons now visited Mike’s Place and Nash paused as he stepped through the doors and looked around. He didn’t feel like sitting alone in his quarters tonight and less of having the company of one of the women he sometimes spent the night with, so he had changed out of his red uniform of a Tactical Bridge Officer and into more casual clothing of slacks and a simple v-neck shirt under his ever-present high necked black jacket. Having run his fingers through his hair, Nash paid no attention to the fact it was now scruffy instead of the tidy style he wore on the Bridge. Sitting alone in the company of a public room was more appealing tonight.

A few of the crew nodded his way and smiled, those who knew him and his work while a pair of men at a far table eyed him with looks far less polite. Nash spotted them almost at the same time they saw him and just shrugged in his mind. Past members of his crew on another ship, another life, they would learn to deal with the hand fate had dealt them all, eventually. Nash had dealt with them enough times by now in the ships boxing ring that he was becoming concerned about their intelligence.

Ignoring them as fast as he spotted them he turned towards the bar. One or two people noted the stub of the cigar jutting out the corner of his mouth, unlit for now but they knew the man by reputation or rumor if not actual acquaintance and none made to point out the cigar or the rules. That suited Nash just fine but he came to a halt as his eyes fell on a man on the bar stool at the very end of the bench. That was Nash’s seat at the bar, and a place that people who frequented the Lounge knew was reserved. He shook his head slightly and stepped forward, the eyes of the people that had marked him previously watching while their conversation shushed.

The man was about Nash’s age but in notably worse shape in Nash’s eyes. Black hair that once was probably all jet black and probably Nash’s own height. Nash reached the bar and immediately the bartender shrugged slightly in an apologetic manner, but tried to be discreet about it clearly. Taking the cold bottle of beer that the bartender placed in front of him Nash removed the cigar for a moment and looked at the man, his eyes conveyed nothing. No emotion, no coldness, no warmth. Just emptiness. Nash said nothing, just picked up his beer, nodded to the bartender and walked away towards an empty table in the far corner of the Lounge.

Reaching the table Nash sat down, then placed the stub of the cigar on the edge of an ashtray that happened to be sitting on the table, in just the right spot for Nash to reach. Fishing in his pocket, he took out the small silver flip lighter engraved with a childish style skull-and-crossbones image and placed it beside it, then as if by magic a coin appeared between his fingers. It was old and slightly tarnished it seemed but as Nash sat, sipped his beer and looked out over the people in the bar the coin flipped idly between his fingers with a relaxed control that made it look as if he wasn’t actually taking any notice of what he was doing.

Back at the bar, the Bartender turned and looked at the man in the Tactical Officers seat. “Today you got away with it,” he said quietly to the man. “You’re in the Lieutenant Commanders seat and he let you keep it. Are you a betting man? You should take out a wager somewhere, Nash must be feeling happy tonight. Beer?”

Lt Cmdr Nash, CTO