[The Bluenote - Promenade Deck - SB 234: UNITY]
There was a soft knock of glass on wood as the bartender placed the glass down in front of the somber looking Starfleet Captain.
"One scotch on the rocks."
Rojac gave the man a half smile and a nod before picking up the glass with his right hand and bringing it to his lips. The bitter taste made him grimace slightly, but the warmth that passed through his throat was calm and soothing. Scotch was an acquired taste that he didn't enjoy often, even in the synthahol version, but he seemed to be drinking it more and more since his promotion to Captain.
In the dim lighting of the stage, a four piece band began their set. The bass player laid down a slow, somber melody that the drummer accompanied with a soft brushy rhythm. The Bluenote was a jazz bar and many musicians made the circuit to the Starbase on the front lines with Romulus and Erass. Rojac enjoyed stopping by when he had the chance - but this time his mind was preoccupied. As the guitar played a delicate rhythm and the saxophone took up a winding melody the young Captain was thinking over Guzman's speech in the meeting between himself and Captain Rodgers.
The Tech Ex was a nasty weapon, to be sure. The use of it would wipe out technology throughout an entire system or more. Without technology food production would drop and populations would starve, riot and pillage throwing entire economies and systems into social chaos. Whatever target the Federation hit would be reduced back to the stone age - possibly indefinitely (though little research was done in this area). The Federation would have even more blood on its already crimson hands.
But what was the alternative? This war was already bloody. V'tar's entire population had been murdered by the Romulan's use of thalaron weapons. A nasty virus had devastated the Erassian population on Charos VI. Thousands of Starfleet Officers and Marines had been killed thus far in the war. Many ships had fallen - including Rojac's first Chimera in the Battle of Aeran III. Starfleet's current strategies weren't working out so well. Sure, the Dimensional Gate in the Stellar Nursery had been destroyed but the Romulans, Breen and Muhareem no doubt had more scattered throughout the galaxy. That and the victory in the nursery had been coupled with losses in Padassa and Anaxis. Like Captain Rodgers so succintly put it, it was one step forward and two steps back.
Rojac emptied his class as the band finished their third song, and waved to the bartender for a second.
Current Intelligence saw no signs for recent advancement s in the Federation's war efforts. The current strategy would bring the Federation into a violent and bloody stalemate that would bring both empires into a war of attrition. But the words of the Samson's commander, Colonel Nikolai Ivanvov, floated around in the back of his mind. If the Borg decided to invade during a long drawn out war both sides would be easy pickings for the collective to assimilate. And things were already beginning, the Erassian said. The Federation needed to end this war quickly.
"You look upset." Came a familiar voice behind him. "Stressed. Grumpy. Agitated." Two thin hands found their ways to his shoulders and began massaging into the tense flesh. "I think you need some time off, boss."
Cropa brought up a hand and took Dior's. "You think?" He smirked to Rayna as she settled into the stool next to him.
"You know, it is R&R." She said. "You want to go down to the planet? Take some time off?"
Cropa smiled. "That sounds good. Do you have a bathing suit?"
"I can get one." This time she smirked. "Where are we going?"
"Sailing."
[End Log]
Captain Cropa Arnold Rojac
Commanding Officer
USS Chimera NCC 96899-C
