I Don't Mind a Reasonable Amount of Trouble, Part II

Posted on Tue Dec 23rd, 2025 @ 1:20pm by Ensign Garabed "Garo" Hakobyan & Ensign Tenzi Sh'reyva & Master Chief Petty Officer Vashti Rao & Petty Officer 2nd Class Zal Rixi & Crewman Emiliano Echevarria & Sub-Lieutenant Osirin Acainus & Josef Forstinger & Lieutenant JG Jason Williams III & Ensign Luciana Aguila & Petty Officer 3rd Class Dallas Reese

1,145 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Shadow in the Static
Location: Holodeck 2, Deck 4
Timeline: 1835 Hours

Adjusting the strap of her purse, Tenzi--Sophie now--watched Josef go with a fondness that surprised her, then turned back to Rixi--Vera--squinting against the sun. "If this so-called Hollywood's just around the corner," she said, "then so's disappointment. I guess we'd better get to the Slipper."

Together, Vera and Sophie started down Main Street, blending into the afternoon. Two bright lights in a city that seemed to play everything in a minor key.

Vashti remained with Dallas, Luci, and Emiliano. She knew she'd have to make her way to the club at some point, but wanted a few extra minutes with the others in case there were any last questions. Glancing behind her, through the holodeck doors, she saw Osirin and Jason finally making their way into the sunny Southern California afternoon.

Jason stepped through the holodeck opening and was instantly transported back from the stars to the sunny sidewalk of 1940s Los Angeles, where the worst thing that could happen was the United States of America loses World War II. He looked around the sights, took in the sounds and smells, and chuckled softly. "No matter how many times I use a holodeck, it always amazes me just how detailed the program can be." He chuckled again as he added, "I just need to ensure I don't change the setting of my ocular implants; otherwise, I'll ruin the illusion for myself." Currently, his implants were set to normal vision, with artificial blue irises displayed on each orb.

In some ways, Akadians are more advanced technically than other Federation species, especially when it comes to interfacing with ship's systems or sonics. In other ways, they were far less advanced. Especially when it came to holodecks. The was only the fourth or fifth time Osirin had been in one.

So, he was fascinated. Everything seemed so real. He took a deep centering breath as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Prior to attending the Academy, Dallas was a civilian bartender. The type that was charismatic, a bit of a flirt, well dressed, and who knew his stuff like the back of his hand and could take on someone twice his size and take them out purely with wit. He'd always looked out for the women that came into his bars, and this holoprogram was no different.

Dallas extended a crooked arm out to Vashti and gave her a charming grin, "I do believe it's a gentleman's oath to escort a gorgeous lady such as yourself so she doesn't get herself into any trouble, if you would so be inclined."

Vashti looked at his arm, then at his grin, and then back toward the street--as though weighing all three different truths and deciding which one would be the most likely to behave itself.

She took his arm.

"Trouble," she said warmly, "is usually something I arrive with, not stumble into. How could I dare say no?"

The city seemed to approve. A warm breeze move down Main Street like a curious thing, lifting the hem of her dress, rustling an abandoned newspaper near the curb. Somewhere, glass clinked. Elsewhere, a man laughed loudly. Los Angeles didn't seem to whisper. It preferred to lean close and speak directly into your ear.

They continued in the same direction as Vera and Sophie--toward The Silk Slipper.

Garo sighed. "I visited Los Angeles just a few years ago. Looked nothing like this," he said to Jason, as a Dodge WC54 grumbled along the street, its sheet-metal body, green paint, and red cross marking it as an ambulance and property of the United States Army. Seeing it on the street truly drove home the feeling that they were now living in war-time.

The young pilot grinned as he glanced around. "It's been a while for me too." He paused in speaking as they continued to walk, taking in the artificial environment around them. "It's amazing how detailed the computer can be in its recreations. I mean, I know holodeck technology is nothing new, it's just still amazing to me." They stopped short at a curb as there were gunshots in the distance, followed by a police siren.

When they reached the Silk Slipper, Jason adjusted his suit jacket. "Guess it's time for me to get into character." His expression shifted to one of a man who knew he was dangerous and enjoyed the power he held over others. Looking to his friends who were playing the parts of his employees, he growled at them in the accent of a Chicago mobster who had been living on the west coast for several years, "I ain't paying youse to sit around and gab. Git to work!"

The double doors to The Silk Slipper were heavy, but they swung lightly as each pushed their way in.

Inside, the light dropped away. It wasn't darkness--just a little dim, as though the room wanted to gently pull you closer by the shoulders. Cigarette smoke hovered in languid, lazy layers by several slow-turning ceiling fans. The stage was darkened--a trumpet sat holstered near a microphone while the piano behind it slept mournfully. Red velvet curtains draped the rear of the stage area but in the dim light, they may as well have been black.

The floor of the Slipper was a checkerboard of black and white tiles, polished just enough to make it seem respectable. Small round tables crowded the room, each with a small, unlit candles. The bar ran the length of the north wall, dark wood rubbed to a shine by years of elbows and spills. The edge was beveled into smoothness--no nicks or dents to speak of. A thin brass rail was affixed to its base, looking dull and tarnished from too many shoes tapping time to the music that came from the stage.

Behind it, mirrors climbed the wall in framed panels that gave the illusion of the room being much larger than it actually was. Bottles stood shoulder to shoulder on glass shelving: the dependable Old Forester, the spicy Old Grand-Dad, Canadian Club, Seagram's VO--to name a few. The next shelf down held a mix of scotches and gins: Cutty Sark, Dewar's, the currently scarce Johnnie Walker Red Label (one wondered if these were even currently offered). The gins were typical fare despite supply chain shortages caused by the War. Still, there were bottles of Gilbey's, Gordon's, and Old Tom, but Beefeater was conspicuously absent. The final shelf--the widest and longest--offered the current favourites: rum and liqueurs. A smattering of Caribbean-made brands like Appleton, Bacardi, Havana Club, Myers--they had all become big sellers in the absence of other spirits.


~To Be Continued~

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