Past Connections

Posted on Tue Feb 26, 2019 @ 5:08pm by Lieutenant JG Camille Lévesque PhD

1,284 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Plaga Navis
Location: Seven Forward Lounge
Timeline: After "Following the Trail"; Before "The 62nd Rule"

Camille entered the lounge after a long day of work on the bridge and in the lab. Before dinner she needed to unwind and a drink sounded in order. Never one to drink alone, she looked around for someone unoccupied she might talk to. Scanning the room, she saw a tall gentleman sitting at the bar and sat next to him.

“Pardon, monsieur, but may I join you?” she asked.

Jim look to his left and saw a comely young lady with a charming French accent. "Please do. I'm Jim, but on duty I'm the loudmouth Intel puke who stirred up trouble for your captain!" he grinned. "Bartender, please get the young lady what she wants and put it on my tab."

Camille smiled and laughed. She looked to the bartender. “Pint of Io PA, merci,” she said. “I’m Camille Lévesque. And on duty I’m the resident science nerd that substitutes les mots français when she speaks!” The bartender came back with a tall glass of blonde coloured beer. “Santé!” she said, lifting the glass to Jim.

"In your eye!" Jim quipped, then raised his own glass of O'Bannon's Reserve, a whisky distilled by and meant for Starfleet Marines, present and past. Jim downed the double with a gulp and set the glass down on the bar. "Levesque....Levesque... I know that name." Jim thought for a moment. "Would you be related to Maxime Levesque, the old bartender on Jupiter Station? Cantankerous old Creole, about four-feet tall in platform shoes?"

Camille was sipping her beer when Jim asked his question, prompting her to spit some onto the bar. She burst out laughing at such an offensive — and apt! — description. “Oui, that’s mononcle Maxime,” she said. “He’s been stationed there about fifteen years now. He’s still there. Still cantankerous, but helped me when I was posted there.”

Jim looked at Levesque and smiled. "That old codger could put together some of the best booze this side of Risa! so he is still slinging booze at 'The Black Hole', eh?" Jim smoothly shifted gears. "How did he help you?"

She shifted a bit in her barstool. “It was my first posting after the Academy,” she explained. “First time living off Earth. I was having trouble settling in properly. Instant homesickness. But he was there for me. Listened like a good uncle and a good bartender. Helped me make friends. He can be rude and unpleasant, but he can be sweet when he needs to.” She took another long sip. “Osti, this is good.”

Jim smiled. "yeah, he was a rude S.O.B. at times, but never to me! I guess he liked pilots. My fliers drank like gentlemen in his place. One of the worst fliers in the bunch got tough with him and he phaser-stunned him without hesitation. didn't even blink an eye." Jim took another sip from his now-refilled glass. "He still have that bodybuilding Orion bouncer chick working for him? I think her name was Arina...Tamina, or something like that."

“Taramina,” Camille clarifies and confirmed. “She’s still there, keeping the riff-raff out and the patrons safe. She was like...you know when you have a close family friend you call Aunt?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “And she was a great wing-woman!”

Jim smiled at the younger woman. "She liked me, too. One night she came onto me when your uncle left for the night...well, maybe I better keep that one to myself. But I have a special place in my heart for her." He raised his glass. "To Taramina!"

"To Taramina!" Camille raised her own glass and took a long sip. The beer was bitter in the best possible way and refreshing after a long day. "So that battle was something, eh? I'll be honest, it was my first time in combat."

"You didn't do half bad at all, Camille. While I was out in the fighter, the science data on the enemy ship was up to date and precise. It don't get much better than that. I'm pretty sure you and that Logan kid are gonna have all kinds of fun playing with the enemy ship data. All in all, it was a good day. Oh yeah, make sure you send a copy to Intel so I can do my voodoo that I do to it!" Jim grinned. "Hey, have another beer, you earned it."

"Merci!" Camille said, returning his grin. When the bartender took her empty glass away, he looked to her for guidance. "One more please, but a half-pint only." He nodded and went to pour the drink. "I'll transfer the raw data first thing tomorrow, and I'll make sure any analysis reports we produce end up your way, too." She smiled at the bartender as he set the shorter glass in front of her and took a first sip. "I'm not sure if I found the battle exciting or terrifying, but the adrenaline kept me focused on the job. Are they always like that?"

Jim looked at the girl thoughtfully. "Depends on who you ask. Most people who have been in a fight will tell you it's 90% terror and 10% adrenaline. Me, personally, I view any combat situation from a tactical viewpoint, that way I can end it quickly. Nobody who has been in any kind of battle, fight, brannigan, pier 6 brawl, or whatever, likes to fight, unless they are insane. But, to answer your question, battles are intense and you have to stay focused like you did. If not for your analyses, I wouldn't have been able to track that ship or find the escape pods."

As the conversation went on, Jim found himself at ease with the French science officer, offering his advice on a wide range of topics. "...as far as steaks go, nothing beats my dad's marinade on a prime rib secret family recipe that makes you wanna slap your momma!" Jim laughed. "Not really, but it's very good!"

“Non, non, non,” Camille retorted, finishing another half-pint. “No steak ever beat the one Père made. Homemade rub, his own take on Montreal Steak Spice, open flame until just perfectly medium rare. The meat practically dissolved in your mouth.” She smiled. She was having fun talking with Jim. She’d made a new friend, having found this common connection from their pasts.

Jim smiled at Camille, his respect for the young woman growing. "Tell you what, lieutenant. If you want to experience a real combat situation you should talk with Major Crowe. I've known him for nearly 12 years and he is an experienced old warhorse. He looks mean, but up close he's a pussy cat. Just ask the doc....oops, you didn't hear that from me!" Jim grinned, knowing that the younger woman would spread the rumor, thus making his friend's life more interesting.

Camille held her smile, or tried to at least. She knew Jim was telling tales and having a laugh, consistent with the fun the two of them had been having this evening. It was possible he was even outright lying, just to get a rise out of her or embarrass his friend.

She knew he didn’t intend to punch her in the gut.

“Jim, I want to thank you for the drinks tonight,” she said politely, trying her best to maintain composure. “And the conversation. We should definitely do this again. But...I’m sorry but I need to go.” She stood from her barstool. “Next time we’re here, drinks are on me, but I need to get back to my quarters. Talk later, au revoir.” She walked towards the door, aiming to get the hell out of there.

 

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