Doom Fleet: The Boot Camp Years

Mixed Drinks

By Cheezey

 

On planet Doom, conquest of another planet was always a big deal, but the acquisition of a planet rich in resources was a thing that the ruler of the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Empire, King Zarkon, never failed to celebrate in style.  The war fought to bring the most recently conquered planet into the empire had not been a long one, a matter of days, but it had been vicious and bloody for while the native people were painfully primitive compared to Doom’s standards, they were also ruthless warriors and had proven more difficult to subdue than most of that level of technology.  Doom’s forces had been able to take the planet by brute force—a few galaxy-class battleships and their arsenal with a robeast or two for good measure had ensured their victory—but the battle on the ground to take the resistors as slaves had been harder.  However, the units called in for the task had fought well and fought hard and that night in Zarkon’s banquet hall a huge celebratory feast had been prepared to honor those that served Doom and its empire so faithfully.

 

Among the portion of the fleet invited to the royal feast for their efforts in the battle were the units beneath three different force captains, including the decorated and quite well reputed Force Captain Yurak.  Included among the units he headed and present at the banquet was the one that lacked a captain between him and the low-ranking officers in it, as was customary in units comprised primarily of newer recruits, the same unit that included Cossack the one-day-to-be Terrible, Yaklitz, and the lieutenant that kept them in line for their captain, Vardash.

 

When news of the invite to the banquet had first been given to Yurak, he’d had Vardash assemble that unit so that they could be told of the honor they had earned, and for some of the rowdier individuals in it, warned that they had better be on their best behavior or else.  Naturally the unit had given nothing but proper and respectful agreement to their force captain, and when he and his pet sycophant lieutenant had left, they had pretty much celebrated the fact that they were invited to a royal blowout in their honor by starting the party early and heading out to the nearest bar, for those that were not on active duty, or goofing around in their assignments on the base for those that were.

 

The gala banquet had just begun in earnest following the king’s customary speech to thank his fleet for a job well done, and the soldiers and officers disbursed into their usual social circles to dig into the free food and booze, all of which was gourmet, top of the line, and all they could consume on the royal tab.  Tending to the party were a staff of slaves and robots, and it was the latter that did most of the direct waiting on the soldiers as they ranked above the slaves in importance and were not susceptible to the same level of error in taking orders as slaves.  That was not to say that they were perfect, however.

 

One such robot approached Cossack and Yaklitz while the two of them were laughing boisterously at some joke one of them had just cracked.  “Sirs, may I take your drink order?”

Cossack turned toward the robot and straightened importantly.  As the first son of the winery family he knew his alcohol and especially wines very well, but since he had grown up on wine like it was juice, he rarely ordered it when out.  “I’ll take a roaring skull,” he told the robot, ordering a very strong shot that was a mix of several kinds of liquors that when made properly, had a milky appearance decorated with drops of jet black liqueur that resembled a skull with its mouth open.

 

When Cossack finished giving his order, Yaklitz considered the options and then said in a low voice, “I’d like a fruity bang.”  The drink, albeit rather ridiculously named, was called such because it was a fruit juice based drink with a type of clear rum in it that was of a very high proof but cloaked easily in sugar to the point that it was nearly undetectable.  The name came originally from the implication that it tasted sweet and light and then, bang, after just one too many, it hit hard.  Of course the quirky name and nature of the drink gave it another association—that it was something to give a girl who was squeamish about alcohol to get her drunk so one could bang her.  In light of that, real manly drinkers like Cossack and Yaklitz considered themselves rarely ordered them without an excuse already thought up, lest they be considered as fruity as the drink’s name by their drinking buddies.

 

“Right away, sirs,” the robot said in response and wandered off, leaving Cossack to dissolve into a peal of laughter.

 

“A fruity bang, huh?” Cossack said with a snort as he snatched a cheese stick off the tray of a passing waiter.  “Better not let Vardash see you drinking that or he might get ideas about you.”

 

“Ah, shut up Cossack, it’s for health reasons,” Yaklitz insisted dismissively.  “My wife says I don’t get enough vitamins and should get in more fruit.  She’s trying to lose weight so she’s forcing that diet crap on me, but if I humor her I’ll get laid more, so I figure I’ll play along and make the health food tolerable.”

 

Cossack considered his friend’s excuse and then shook his head.  “Nah, I think you just like,” he made a goofy face and tweaked his voice to make it sound prissy and nasal—not unlike Vardash, actually, “fruity bangs.”

 

“Please, there’s nothing fruity about my wife unless you’re talking mouth-puckering lemons.”

 

While the two privates continued their debate as to Yaklitz’s fruitiness, the robot that had taken their drink order started to head back to the bar so as to not keep them waiting, as he had been programmed to do.  On his way over, however, he noticed two officers, one wearing a force captain’s gear, that were not holding beverages.  “Sirs, may I get you something?” the robot asked Yurak and Vardash.

 

“The house wine,” Yurak barked gruffly at the robot, while Vardash assumed an arrogant and self-important pose beside him.

 

“I would like tequila, straight,” the lieutenant said huffily, placing a hand on his hip as he did so.

 

The robot bowed obediently.  “Of course, sirs.”  It then went to bar and placed the order, giving all due information, before returning to the crowd to take more orders, as that was its only programmed function for the party.  Disbursal of drinks was the duty of another robot.  Soon the bartender had the drinks made and the robot carried his tray into the crowd.  First it reached Cossack and Yaklitz.

 

Lifting one metal shotglass from the tray it handed it to Cossack.  “Your roaring skull, sir.”

 

While Cossack took it, the robot glanced at Yaklitz and the artificial intelligence found the order puzzling.  Surely that man had not ordered a fruity bang.  Assuming that the bartender—an older model by at least two versions—had a blip in his function, he assessed the drinks on the tray and Yaklitz’s tall and sturdy form and handed him the shot of tequila.  “Your drink, sir,” the robot said, then moved on, proud of itself for catching the mistake.

 

Cossack glanced at the neat skull design in his shotglass for a moment, done perfectly by the robot bartender, swirled it around slightly, and downed it.  As he was lowering his head he noticed Yaklitz frowning at his drink.  “You just don’t rate, Yaklitz.  You don’t even get a decent fruity bang.  You just get a fruity hit,” he said, referring to his shotglass.

 

Wrinkling his nose, Yaklitz looked up.  “That’s because it’s not a bang, it’s tequila,” he said with a frown.  “Oh well, maybe next time.  I’m not picky when someone else is buying.”  With that he threw his head back and took the shot.

 

Meanwhile while the robot waiter was on his way over to Yurak and Vardash, a passing soldier from Captain Mogor’s unit saw the wine goblet on his tray and snatched it before he could protest.  The robot made a nasty remark in the soldier’s parting direction but decided to at least deliver the fruity bang to its recipient before going to fetch another wine. 

 

As the robot approached the two officers it evaluated the two for the recipient of the fruity drink.  Noting the posture and body language of Vardash compared to the stolid and reserved demeanor of Yurak, it immediately came to the conclusion that the force captain had ordered the wine, a tasteful if not somewhat conservative choice, and the lieutenant the bang. 

 

Bowing before Yurak, the robot said, “My apologies sir, your wine is still on its way,” it said, not wanting to explain lest it risk the force captain’s ire, as organics in positions of authority generally did not take kindly to screw-ups with their orders.  It then turned to Vardash.  “Here is your drink, sir,” it stated, handed him the goblet that held the fruity mixed drink, and then left to rectify the wine situation before Vardash could say anything.

 

Mildly annoyed that he had not been served his drink promptly while his subordinate had, Yurak turned toward Vardash, fixing the gaze of his cybernetic eye on the unusually large shotglass.  “Rather large shots they’re serving, aren’t they?”

 

A pissy scowl crossed Vardash’s plump-cheeked blue face.  “That’s because it’s not tequila, sir,” he complained, and held out the drink for Yurak to inspect.  “It’s some fruity drink… a ‘fruity bang,’ I think they’re called.  That fool robot messed up my order!”

 

Yurak shook his head.  “They forget my wine and confuse tequila with some drink a woman would order?  For royal servants they’re surprisingly inept.  It looks like they’re in dire need of a program overhaul.”  He sighed irritably and folded his arms.  “And I’m getting rather thirsty, too.”

 

Around that point in the conversation, Captain Mogor happened by, on his way to converse with someone on the other side of the room.  Ever since the disturbing exchange he had overheard in Yurak’s office some time ago he had been unable to look at either of them in quite the same way.  Not that he respected them any less as soldiers of the fleet—although he admittedly hadn’t had a whole heap of respect for Vardash to begin with—for what he suspected was going on between them behind closed doors, but he did find the mental image incredibly disturbing and hard to banish, especially when he saw them together.  The portion of their conversation that he overheard when he passed by did little to change his impressions, either.

 

Paying no attention to the passing Mogor, the irate Vardash turned to Yurak and asked, “Would you like a fruity bang, sir?”  He held up his unwanted mixed drink to the force captain.

 

“Oh, why not?” Yurak responded with a sigh, and took the drink from his lieutenant.  “Seems like I can’t get better anyway,” he grumbled.

 

Not really noticing the drink as much as the words, Mogor quickened his pace and hurried out of earshot to his destination.

 

Meanwhile on the other side of the room, Cossack finished his drink and spied the robot waiter, on his way hurrying to get more wine from Yurak, and grabbed him by the arm.  “Hey tin-head, we need some more drinks!”

 

“Same order as before?” it inquired.

 

“Yeah,” Yaklitz nodded, and as soon as it got confirmation it left.  Yaklitz shook his head at the departing robotic servant.  “Let’s hope that metal dumbass doesn’t fuck it up this time.  I really want that bang.”

 

Glancing across the room, Cossack noticed the irate Vardash and grouchy Yurak.  “Yeah, well if it makes you feel better, it looks like someone just pissed in Vardash’s.  Either that or he’s not getting Yurak drunk fast enough for his tastes.”

 

Yaklitz turned around.  “What the hell are you talking about?”  The other private looked over in the direction his bunkmate was staring, and saw Yurak sipping at the fruity bang, making a slight face that made it clear he was not pleased with what he had.  “Now that’s bullshit!” Yaklitz declared indignantly.  “How come he can get a bang, and I can’t?”

 

“Shame on you Yaklitz, you’re a married man,” Cossack snickered back.  “Besides, when you’re a force captain, if you say you want a bang, you can find a suck-up that’ll accommodate,” he said, gesturing to Vardash.

 

Returning with an exact duplication of the previous order, the robot stopped by Cossack and Yaklitz.  It tapped the former on the shoulder and when Cossack turned around, handed him two drinks.  “One roaring skull, and another shot for the other soldier,” it confirmed, and before either Cossack or Yaklitz could say otherwise, stuffed a shotglass of tequila in one hand and Cossack’s specialty drink in the other.

 

“Let me guess,” Yaklitz said with a sigh.  “Tequila?”

 

Cossack handed his friend the drink and took a swig of his own.  “These robots just won’t believe you’re fruity, Yaklitz.”

 

“Either that or they’re trying to get me drunk.”  He clicked the tequila shot against Cossack’s glass.  “Oh well.  Cheers!”

 

The robot waiter meanwhile made his way over to Yurak and Vardash.  “Another drink for you, sir,” it said, and handed him the bang, and then it looked over at Yurak, noticing that he had a drink in his hand.  “Oh, I see you already got your order filled.  Good thing too, since I brought you wine and you obviously changed your mind, sir.”  The waiter then turned to leave, but before he could and before Yurak could get a word in to correct the mistaken servant, Vardash grabbed his arm and roughly slammed the fruity bang back on his tray, with enough force to cause the pinkish froth to slosh out and spill.

 

“I said I wanted a tequila,” Vardash insisted angrily.  “Not this fruity swill!  Now go back and get me the right drink, or I’ll see to it that you’re disassembled into scrap metal!”

 

The robot’s eyes blinked obediently.  “Right away sir!” it intoned back, and scurried back off to the bar.

 

“Wait!” Yurak protested.  “You forgot my…” his voice trailed off in irritated defeat as the robot vanished through the thick of the crowd still holding his missing drink, “wine.”  He growled under his breath and turned to glower at Vardash.  “Thank you for losing your temper before I could get served.”

 

Vardash’s angry face immediately flashed to contrite apology under his superior’s withering glare.  “I’m sorry, sir.  I guess sometimes I shoot off without thinking.”

 

“Forget it,” Yurak replied irritably, and sipped at his fruity bang.  “I’ll reprimand the fool when it returns.”

 

Back at the bar, the robot put in the order for a shot of tequila, but before it could carry it out another servant model came by with the instruction to switch stations with it, as his services were needed in food preparation and disbursal while that one was assigned to take over his orders.  Obediently the first waiter went off to his new assignment while the new robot had the bartender put a full order of drinks on his tray including all of the recent ones it had served.  Once that was taken care of it made its way back through the crowd.  When it passed by, Cossack spied a fresh roaring skull on the tray and flagged him down.  “Ah, replacements!  Thanks!”

 

“You two soldiers must have the roaring skull and tequila,” it surmised as Cossack plucked the roaring skull off the tray and replaced it with his empty glass.

 

“Another tequila?” Yaklitz repeated incredulously as the robot handed it to him.

 

“We aim to please, sir,” the robot said, mistaking his tone as one of gratitude, and left to deliver the rest of his drinks feeling rather satisfied.

 

When it reached Yurak and Vardash, however, the greeting was far less cordial.  “This is ridiculous,” Vardash ranted as he turned down yet another fruity bang.  “All I want is a tequila!  How hard is that, you metallic moron?”

 

Seeing that his wine was not on the tray either, Yurak lost his temper and balled his fist, shaking it angrily at the robot.  “You robotic fools have fouled up our orders three times now.  I still haven’t gotten the wine I wanted—”

 

The robot frowned.  “But you’re drinking a fruity bang, sir.”

 

“Because he gave it to me after you idiots couldn’t even deliver my wine on time,” Yurak snapped, and his voice rose a few more notches.  “But I assure you, I never wanted his fruity bang!” he roared furiously, loud enough for half of the room—including Cossack, Yaklitz, and even poor Mogor—to hear, and he slammed his glass down onto the tray for emphasis. 

 

“I didn’t want it fruity either, sir,” Vardash chimed in huffily, “I wanted mine strong, hard, and straight.”

 

From where they were and what they thought they overheard, Cossack and Yaklitz exchanged looks.  Cossack opened his mouth to make a remark when Mogor passed by.  “They’re referring to the drinks, fool,” the captain stated firmly to them, more to convince himself more than the two privates in Yurak’s unit.

 

“Right,” Cossack and Yaklitz said in unconvinced unison, and watched as Mogor moved on, quickly, and sweating even more than normal.

 

Meanwhile the robot tried feverishly to apologize to the angry force captain and lieutenant.  “Force Captain Yurak, sir, I will see to it personally that you get your wine,” it assured him, and then hurried off to the bar.  Within a minute he returned with a full goblet for the force captain.  While Yurak took it with a grunt to denote he was satisfied enough that he would not have the inept robot commissioned for target practice, Vardash grew more irritable.

 

“You didn’t bring my drink?” he whined irately at the servant.

 

The robot bowed humbly before him.  “My apologies, lieutenant.  I did not want to waste even a moment and risk displeasing the ranking officer further.  I assure you that your drink will be included on my next order.” 

 

With that the robot headed back off to the bar, and when it returned with a full tray of drinks, it went straight to Vardash.  “Your drink as ordered, sir,” the robot, a different waiter that time, stated as he handed it to him.  “One fruity bang.”

 

Vardash’s face contorted into an expression of outrage while his blue cheeks flushed purple.  “This is not—”

 

“It’s completely complementary, sir, and you have our deepest apologies for the inconvenience,” the robot replied succinctly, bowed, and then moved on.

 

The lieutenant made an incoherent noise of frustration and faced Yurak with desperation in his yellow eyes.  “I don’t get it, sir!” he exclaimed indignantly.  “Why won’t they give me a tequila straight?  I’m a lieutenant of the fleet.  Do I look like the type of man that would order a,” he sighed and put his hand on his hip prissily, “fruity bang?”

 

Unbeknownst that Mogor was once again within earshot and wishing he were not, Yurak replied in a gruff tone, “Of course not.  In my opinion you’re a fine figure of an officer, Vardash.”

 

“Oh, thank you, Sir.  It means so much to hear you say that,” Vardash gushed, shamelessly basking in the praise bestowed upon him by his favorite superior officer.  Mogor however had a different reaction, which was to pretend he never heard a thing.  Even as careless as the force captain and his lieutenant were about talking in public, he was still not going to promote gossip or risk being privy to anything illicit between them.  Not only was it improper for the fleet’s image, but also Mogor did not want to be under an officer of higher rank that could potentially make his life miserable if he knew that he knew something he should not.  Hence, Mogor remained silent and subtly moved on just fast enough to not be noticed.

 

“But I still don’t understand it,” Vardash went on, the whiny edge creeping back into his voice.  He looked around, and while he paid no attention to the hastily departing Mogor, he did notice Cossack and Yaklitz drinking seemingly contentedly, and scowled when he saw what it was that Yaklitz was downing—yet another shot of tequila that had wrongly been delivered to him.  “Even that buffoon Yaklitz can get a tequila, and I can’t?”

 

Yurak followed Vardash’s gaze over to the two privates and glared.  “Perhaps the robots do better serving those on their mental level.”

 

Meanwhile Yaklitz finished his shot of tequila and looked over at Cossack, who noticed that Vardash and Yurak were staring at them.  “You know, Yaklitz, I have a theory on this tequila thing.”

 

“What’s that?” Yaklitz asked, a slight lag to his voice now that he was beginning to feel a slight buzz.

 

Cossack nodded his head in Vardash’s direction.  “I think Vardash is trying to get you drunk.  I think maybe he does have ideas about you.”

 

A horrified look flashed across the other soldier’s features.  “No.”  He glanced over at Vardash and saw him eyeing him with what looked like hungry intent, and he turned to Cossack somewhat desperately.  “You think he’s sending me these drinks?”  He frowned at his empty shotglass and then came to what he considered a wise decision.  “Ah, screw it.  It’s not my bar tab.  If he wants to treat me, let him treat by the gods,” he said with a shrug.  He then looked at Cossack for a moment.  “Just do me a favor and keep an eye on me.  Don’t let me get drunk enough to think Vardash is attractive.”

 

At that Cossack let out a snort of laughter.  “There isn’t enough alcohol in the entire Denubian Galaxy for that.”

 

“No man, I’m serious,” Yaklitz insisted with a chuckle of his own.  “Sure, I’m straight and I’m married, but get enough booze in me and I’ll do just about anything.”

 

Cossack made a face.  “Not Vardash, I hope, otherwise I have to have a talk with you about your taste.  Even if you came out of the closet, you could do better than that.”  He glanced over at them again, and noticed Yurak’s glare.  “Besides, you’ll make dog-face even more jealous than he already is.”

 

Yaklitz made a face when he saw the withering look Yurak cast in their direction.  “Yikes.  Maybe what we heard earlier was a case of him protesting too much,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.  “Ah, well, he doesn’t have anything to worry about.  As far as taking Vardash’s free drinks goes, I’m just a tease.”

 

“Teasing Vardash,” Cossack said, shaking his head, and laughed.  “Better your ass than mine!”

 

From where they stood, Vardash and Yurak watched Cossack and Yaklitz laugh in inebriated delight but fortunately for the two privates the two higher-ranking officers were unaware that they were the subject of the conversation and what was being said.  They were interrupted from their glowering only by yet another robot servant delivering another screwed up order of drinks.  That time the tray contained two fruity bangs.

 

Yurak stared at the hapless robot in cold disbelief.  “Robot,” he growled sternly as he pointed at the glass, “does this look like a goblet of wine to you?”

 

“Of course not, Force Captain,” the robot answered dutifully.  “It’s a fruity bang, just like you ordered before.”

 

“I ordered wine, you useless heap of scrap metal!  Wine!”  He slammed his empty wine goblet onto the tray for emphasis.  “Do you require visual reinforcement?  By the gods, even that toad-pond born fool in my unit from the winery family could get that much right,” Yurak ranted venomously.

 

The robot flashed him a confused look and glanced at the fruity bang on the tray.  “But sir, my memory banks are positive that they saw you consuming one of these earlier.”

 

Yurak’s temper reached its threshold and he drew his laser sword on the robotic servant.  “Would you like to argue with this?”

 

“No sir!  I will leave you and your companion with these two complementary bangs and rectify this immediately.”  The panicked robot then took off in a rush for the bar after setting the tray down at a table beside them.

 

Snarling in anger at the sheer ineptitude of the waiter and deeply regretting that it had left too quickly for him to skewer it on his saber, the force captain re-sheathed it angrily and crushed the handle of the glass he was given with his bare hands.  The crystal shattered easily in his strong grip and the fruity drink spilled on the table for some unlucky servant to clean.

 

“If it makes you feel any better, sir, I didn’t get my tequila either,” Vardash sulked irritably to his superior.

 

“What would make me feel better is the head of every robotic fool in this place on a pike for this shameful degree of incompetence.”  He scowled again at the direction of the bar.  “If you’ll excuse me, Vardash, I think I’m going to go outside and get some air.”  With that the force captain stormed angrily out of the banquet hall.

 

Noticing Yurak’s swift and sudden departure and feeling the buzz nicely from the numerous drinks he had consumed, Cossack elbowed Yaklitz and pointed to the door as Yurak stormed out with a mischievous grin on his face.  “Uh oh.  I think he and Vardash had a little fight over you.”

 

“Shut up man,” Yaklitz slurred, noticeably more inebriated than Cossack from the shots.  Although Yaklitz was a heavy drinker and could drink the average Doomite under the table, he was still not quite as seasoned to spirits as his companion.  “That’s not funny.  I don’t want him hounding my ass any more than he does already because he’s jealous.”

 

“The hell it’s not funny,” Cossack replied with an unsympathetic laugh, both at Yaklitz’s situation and his unintentional pun about their canine-looking force captain hounding anything, ass or otherwise. 

 

A robot came by with another round of drinks, including yet another shot of tequila.  “More drinks, sirs?”

 

Cossack nodded a vehement yes and helped himself to the drink on the tray meant for him, while Yaklitz just shrugged and took the offered shot.  “Sure,” he said with surprisingly nonchalant resignation despite his mild fear that there was possibly a touch of truth to what Cossack was implying.  “Why not?”

 

* * *

 

Over the course of the next hour or so the grand feast began to wind down.  The celebrating soldiers for the most part had taken their gluttonous fill of fine food and drink and were either ready to retire to their quarters to sleep off their indulgence or move on to another location to keep up the party as the hour grew later.  Of those still alert was Yurak, for after he had left the main room he had been sidetracked into a lengthy military conversation with an admiral that had also stepped out of the crowd for a bit.  The force captain only returned long enough to thank King Zarkon for his generosity, and after he did so and as he was on his way back out he noticed Vardash leaning heavily against one of the tables on the floor.

 

“Vardash!  What’s the matter with you?” Yurak demanded gruffly as he approached.

 

The pudgy-cheeked lieutenant looked up with a pained expression and blinked at his superior officer, forcing a slight smile.  “I don’t feel so well, sir.  Those robots finally got our order right after you left, and since you were gone I drank your wine along with the tequila,” he groaned and shook his head, “Several times.”

 

Yurak’s response was to wince and growl subtly, although whether it was sympathetic or merely an expression of disgust at the thought of consuming the combination or the heavy stench of alcohol coming from the drunken lieutenant it was hard to say.

 

“I think I ought go back to my quarters and go to bed.”  Vardash looked up at him imploringly.  “Will you take me there?  It’s a long walk from Castle Doom and I think I might be sick…”

 

That time Yurak’s growl was distinctly annoyed.  “You need to learn your limits, lieutenant.  I’m your force captain, not your babysitter.”  Yurak glared down at him harshly, but the hopelessly pathetic look on the other soldier’s face swayed him enough to relent, if for no other reason than if Vardash puked his guts all over the king’s banquet hall floor, it would reflect badly on him being that he was one of his officers.  “Oh all right,” he agreed with an irritable sigh, and grabbed Vardash roughly by the arm.  “Let’s go.”

 

“Thank you so much, sir,” Vardash replied, leaning heavily on Yurak’s arm as he escorted his stumbling subordinate toward the exit.

 

“You should consider yourself fortunate, Vardash,” Yurak informed him sternly while they walked.  “I wouldn’t take just any man to bed.”

 

Despite his miserable state, a goofy grin spread across Vardash’s lips at his favored force captain’s unintentionally suggestive phrasing, and the inebriated lieutenant took it as encouragement.  “Oh yes, sir,” he responded admiringly.  “I’m very lucky to have you, always on top of things.”

 

Yurak however missed the implied alternate meaning of both his own words and Vardash’s reply entirely.  “Indeed,” he answered, and a moment later paused in his tracks when he became aware of the watching eyes of someone standing nearby.  Yurak turned sharply and saw Captain Mogor by the door looking in their direction.  The captain shuffled and blinked uncomfortably when his eyes locked with Yurak’s, and a bead of sweat formed upon his forehead.  Frowning, Yurak addressed him.  “Captain?  Did you want something?”

 

“Er, no sir, nothing at all,” Mogor assured him quickly, nervous that he had been caught staring at the two of them in the midst of such a conversation.

 

Noting the captain’s distressed look, Yurak came to the conclusion that Mogor must have found Vardash’s drunken state as unseemly for an officer of the royal fleet as he did, and that annoyed him further.  He did not want the men in his unit leaving bad impressions upon other officers even if they were below his rank.  “As you can see, Vardash here has had a bit too much to drink,” he glared down at the lieutenant disapprovingly, “So if you have nothing to say, I’d like to get going and get him taken care of as soon as possible.”

 

Mogor shook his head a vehement negative, relieved that the force captain at least had the propriety to come up with a euphemism for whatever it was he was doing with Vardash.  “No, I had nothing to say, sir.  Good night.”

 

“Good night, Captain,” Yurak responded gruffly, and hauled the drunken Vardash out into the hall.

 

When Mogor turned around, he found Cossack and Yaklitz staring back at him from where they stood by the bar across the room.  Purposefully he strode over to the two of them.  “It’s not what you think,” he barked at them.

 

“‘Course not,” Yaklitz slurred, and set his latest empty shotglass down.

 

“He’s merely taking care of him.”

 

At that Cossack snorted with laughter.  “I’ll bet he is.”

 

Mogor stood between them and stared them down harshly.  “I don’t want either of you two to breathe a word of inappropriate talk about this matter in your unit or anywhere else in the fleet.  That’s an order.  Understood?”

 

The two privates exchanged looks.  “Sure,” Yaklitz said finally.

 

Cossack nodded in agreement.  “Gotcha, sir.  Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Mogor glared at the two of them for a moment and then relaxed slightly.  That was not exactly how he would have liked to hear the agreement phrased, but he supposed it would do.  “Very well.  As you were.”  With that the captain turned and left.

 

A moment later Cossack got to his feet.  “On that cheery note, I think I’m gonna call this party finished and call it a night.  How about you, want to head back to the barracks?”

 

Yaklitz shook his head.  “Nah.  I’ll stick around a bit, get another for the road,” he held up his shotglass, “and then head back.  See you later.”

 

“Later,” Cossack replied with a wave, leaving the other private by himself.

 

Once his bunkmate was gone, Yaklitz wandered over to the bar, and ordered himself another shot.  While he was there he stopped to talk with another soldier in his unit for a short while before he decided to head back to the bunks as well.  As he made his way through the corridors of the building that held the quarters for his unit he was surprised to see a very disgruntled looking Yurak emerge from Vardash’s quarters at the end of the hall.  However, if that was not curious enough of a sight to give the intoxicated private pause to observe, what he witnessed next certainly was.

 

“Disgraceful,” Yaklitz heard the force captain mutter to himself as his gauntleted hand wiped at his opposite sleeve in disgust.  “A couple of drinks and he loses control, spews all over the both of us, and then passes out like some cheap drunken prom date.”

 

Yaklitz’s eyes went wide and he stopped in his tracks.  Despite the fact that he and Cossack frequently joked about Vardash and Yurak, he was certain that he had heard his superior wrong, for while the notion was a running gag between them, he did not really believe that an actual relationship of that sort was going on between the force captain and lieutenant.  Granted, it was no secret that Vardash’s tastes ran to tall, stern, and vaguely canine, but Yurak did not seem like the type to do more than bask in his pet lieutenant’s shameless ass-kissing.  But a second glance at the obviously irritated force captain seemed to confirm that there was more truth than jest in their joke than he might have once thought after all.  At any rate, there was something wet on Yurak’s sleeve, and he was clearly not happy about it as he shut Vardash’s door and strode down the hall. 

 

Yurak meanwhile had not yet noticed Yaklitz and was busy venting his frustrations under his breath.  After leaving Castle Doom the evening had gone from bad to worse for the force captain.  Vardash not only reeked of an unpleasant mix of alcohol but he was drunk enough that his gait was so wobbly and unsteady that he had leaned his bulk heavily on Yurak for the entire walk back to the barracks.  Then as if that had not been bad enough, when they did finally get back to his room Vardash had flopped down immediately on his bed like so much dead weight—only to then roll over and declare that he was going to be sick.  In a moment of pity for the other officer, or rather stupidity as he considered it in hindsight, Yurak had reached down to haul him to his feet and shove him in the direction of the wastebasket just in time to discover firsthand that the motion was all the trigger Vardash needed to upchuck.  The vomit covered not only the lieutenant’s uniform but splashed onto Yurak’s arm as well.

 

Completely fed up by that point, Yurak had dropped Vardash onto the floor by the wastebasket, tossed a towel at him in disgust, and told him to clean himself up and sleep it off.  Before departing Yurak informed his drunken lieutenant that he had better report for duty on time the next morning no matter how hung over he was, and then he left with the intent of taking a long and cleansing shower.  Yurak wrinkled his nose in disgust at the mess on his arm as he walked down the hall, and grumbled further, “The fool couldn’t even wait until he was in bed and out of uniform.” 

 

Hearing that, the less than sober Yaklitz could not refrain from staring and the demon of curiosity compelled to him ask for clarification, even though he was fairly sure despite his intoxicated state that he might not really want to know the answer.  Unfortunately he had neither the willpower nor the good sense to resist the compulsion and his mouth opened before better judgment could kick in and stop him.  “Rough night, sir?”

 

At the sound of Yaklitz’s voice, Yurak looked up and glared sharply at him, mistaking his subordinate soldier’s disturbed look for mere inebriation rather than the mix of drunkenness and horrified shock that it was.  “You could say that, private,” the force captain replied irritably, and rubbed his temples as he felt a mild headache coming on.  “On top of being severely disappointed in my lieutenant, that fruity bang he gave me left me feeling rather sore.”

 

Yaklitz winced in a moment of sympathy as he realized he meant the alcohol.  “Oh yeah,” he said knowingly.  “They’re great going down, but a little while later…”

 

“Yes, I noticed,” Yurak replied with a heavy sigh.  “I think I need to take a long, hot shower.  After that experience with Vardash I feel rather dirty,” he said with a grimace.

 

More than a slight bit disturbed by that bit of too much sharing of personal information from his force captain, Yaklitz straightened and glanced down the hall longingly at his door.  “Right, sir, well I’m sure that’ll make you feel a lot better.  It always does me!  Good night sir,” he babbled with an uneasy smile, and then walked off at a quickened pace toward his quarters.

 

Yurak nodded back to Yaklitz, wondering why the fool took off so suddenly, and then came to the conclusion that he probably had too much to drink as well.  I expect that from idiots like him and that fool Cossack, but not Lieutenant Vardash, he thought with a critical frown as he continued down the hall.  When he rounded the corner toward the stairs, Yurak found himself face to face with Mogor once again.  The sweaty captain had a towel in one hand and a bar of soap in the other.  “Captain,” Yurak greeted him with an odd look, curious as to why he was in that building when his unit’s quarters were in the adjacent one, “I didn’t expect to see you again this evening.”

 

“The showers in our building are running cold, so I came to use the facilities in this one,” the stunned captain replied.  Unfortunately for them, Mogor had once again come to a very wrong conclusion with the bit of conversation he had overheard between the force captain and Yaklitz. 

 

Unaware of Mogor’s wild suspicions, Yurak only shook his head and grumbled irritably once more as he started up the stairs that led to his private suite.  “They’d better be working here.  With how fed up and frustrated I am right now, if one more thing goes wrong, I’ll have someone’s ass in my office to answer for it tomorrow morning.”

 

With his inferior rank to the force captain and the disturbing speculation as to what sort of punishment Yurak might dish out in mind, Mogor blanched and stepped aside quickly.  “Good luck sir,” he said hastily to the force captain, and then shuffled along quickly to the showers.  None the wiser as to the rumors and impressions he had left behind in his wake, the tired Yurak meanwhile ascended the stairs and returned to his quarters for a well-deserved night of rest.

 

The End

 

 

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