Star Trek Sim/RPG:The USS Eagle, NCC 2185

Crew's Logs: Alexi Valderkev

Subj: Log for Stardate 0407.21  
Date: 07/21/2004 2:31:29 AM Eastern Daylight Time

Alexi stepped through the airlock and onto the bland deck of the Tellarite Trading Outpost ... "What was it's name again?" he thought to himself, "Oh, yes, Liaara Mishrath, I think it was."

He strode forward, standing tall, and an air of confidence was about him.  He always felt this way when he put his uniform on.  He knew it was childish, but he could not help it.  The uniform was freshly pressed and the Starfleet insignia on his left breast was polished brightly.  As he strolled along, he listened briefly to the conversations around him.  He listened to people haggle and peddle their wares in the stalls that lined the walkway.

He stopped in front of what was perhaps the seediest bar he had ever seen.  Granted, he had never been to any bars other than the ones in the Sol system, which were run according to the rules of the Federation.  Alexi shifted the strap of the pack slung over his shoulder, and walked through archway and over to the bar.  After ordering two shots of the best vodka the barkeep had, he turned and leaned facing the establishment and took in the view of the crowd.  As he downed the first shot, he began listening to the conversations he could make out ... One woman's voice, in particular, caught his attention.  She was sitting with two shifty looking characters, and whenever she spoke, her horrible grammar made him smirk inwardly.  As a high school boy in London, his Russian accent was occasionally the subject of jokes and smart comments ... At first.  It wasn't long before Alexi established himself as a force to be reckoned with in a fist fight.  At that time, he wasn't nearly the size he now was, but he showed those pompous British boys. Nobody had spoken to him for a week after he trounced three of them at once for mimicking the way he spoke.  That was partly because his punishment had kept him outside doing the gardening and such with no one but the old Irish grounds keeper.  He had almost decided to give up and finish his schooling back in Moscow.  That was ... until she came along.

His reminiscing was quickly halted by the shrill screams of the two men sitting at the table with the woman with the atrocious grammar.  He watched as the two of them stood, nearly knocking the table over, and fled out the exit.  He turned to look at the woman, who was simply staring straight ahead with a grin on her face.  "That's odd," he thought to himself, "She didn't watch them run like scared rabbits.  It's almost as if she were," His eyes widened as the shock of the realization hit him, and then a smirk played across his face. "Blind ..."  He reached for the other shot behind him and lifted it in silent toast to the woman before downing it.  He had always been one to fight on behalf of the underdog, but he enjoyed it even more on the rare occasions where they managed to win one on their own.

Alexi dropped the credits he owed plus the tip onto the bar, and nodded to the barkeep "Thank you for the wodka, it vas quite good."  He was lying, of course ... Those two shots tasted more like his attempt to distill his own home-made vodka from some potatoes when he was a boy.  He had copied every step his grandfather had done, but it just didn't come out right. He had improved at it immensely since then, but his liquor paled in comparison to that of his grandfather's.  The old man still refuses to tell him his secret to this day.  He still teases Alexi with the ambiguous promise that he may tell him just before he goes ... Or perhaps he would just take it to the grave with him.

He resumed his stroll, his body warmed by the drink, the smile still playing across his face from the recent memory of the woman with bad grammar's upset of the two men, and the anticipation of his first Starfleet assignment running through his mind.  He decided to explore the station a bit more, and headed for the turbolift to explore the lower levels.  He was warned against doing so as the shuttle was docking, but he just couldn't help himself. He stepped into the turbolift, and gripped the handle inside, instructed the lift to take him to the lowest deck, as he intended to work his way backup from there, and twisted the handle, beginning his decent, as the doors swished shut.

Visit the main page of our Star Trek Sim

Hail the Captain of the USS Eagle

Please click here to contact us
Join our Star Trek Sim based on the Original Series!

Click here to view:
Next log in this series - Guest Alien Log
Previous log in this series

Other logs by this author
Ship's Log

Visit the main page of our Star Trek RPG / Sim