Firewater & Firearms

Serena knocked on the door softly, just in case the room’s occupant was already asleep, one hand wrapped tightly around the glass of ‘blue label” whisky she poured from the Captain’s reserve. In fairness, she did pour it for the Captain hoping to somewhat smooth things over with him, but since he’d yet to return from -- wherever he was letting it go to waste was… what did the Captain call it? Alcohol abuse.

Dorian looked up from the same page he’d just read for the fourth time. “It’s open.”

Serena turned the handle carefully and let herself in. “Sorry to bother you when you’re not doctah’ing, Mistah Doctah Adluh, Ah got this for the Captain, but he didn’t show up, and it’s the good bottle, and Ah tried it once but it burned my nose, like when Marisol cooks with the little peppers. Ah thought maybe you’d want it?”

Dorian was lounging on his bed in shirtsleeves, trousers, and stocking feet, his back resting against the headboard. “If anyone deserves a drink aftah tha time she’s had, it’s you,” he observed. “That tha blue label?”

“Sure is. Captain usually starts out with one or two blue an’ then he switches to what he says is tha cheap stuff. Sometimes though ‘tween you an me, Ah just pour that if he’s already had a few on account of Ah did by accident once and he didn’t know tha difference. An’ Ah did have a drink in town with tha crew chief, we were tryin’ to figure the difference between hot cocoa an’ hot chocolate. One is from powder an the other is a liquid made from a bean, but Ah couldn’t tell which was which. Also between me an’ you, Ah just wanted to drink them both because chocolate is ah-mazin’.”

She could always raise a smile in him. “Then yah way ahead of me,” he said as his feet hit the deck. “Now we’ll have anothah taste test. C’mon ovah. Have a seat,” he said, patting the bed beside him as he reached for the bottle and his glass.

Serena stifled a giggle and took a seat on his bunk. “Just don’t tell tha Captain if the one you have is bettah. Ah have a feelin’ his taste test would require tha whole bottle.”

Dorian poured a half shot. “While we’re not tellin’ tha captain,” he chuckled, “here’s anothah secret. Only reason that’s called ‘blue label’ is because that was tha cheapest papah they could print on that day. Now go on...sip tha blue label...let it roll around yah mouth fah a few seconds before yah swallow.”

Serena eyed the glass and chewed her cheek pensively for a brief moment before complying. Within a few seconds she’d squinted her eyes shut tightly and swallowed, fanning her face with an open hand as if that would stop the liquid from burning a trail down to her stomach. She shook her head after. “Ah think tha blue papah would taste bettah than what they fill tha bottle with.” She coughed, a slight rasp to her voice as she spoke.

“Ah’ll take that.” Dorian removed the glass, landing it upon his night table. “Now,” the medic showed her the bottle, “this is bourbon, called a small batch because they make just a little...don’t pump it out a fire hose like blue label. It’s been aged fah twenty years in an oak barrel. Take a sip an’ do whatcha just did,” he suggested as the new glass found its’ way into the tiny girl’s hand.

“It’s oldah than Ah am,” Serena mused. “How can that make somethin’ bettah? Ah thought that just made stuff stale.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing, anticipating it being worse. This time, she took a sip and cringed, but quickly opened her eyes, this was somewhat softer for lack of a better word, not as biting, and when she swallowed it, it gave a sensation of warmth and comfort. “It’s… less angry.” she told him, pleasantly surprised. “Warm, like hot chocolate, not… fiery like vinegar.” She offered the glass back to the doctor.

“Spoken like a true whiskey connoisseur,” Adler chuckled before finishing the glass’s contents. “Ah keep a couple bottles with me, just tah have one or two before Ah turn in,” he explained. “Most rim planets have poor quality. Ah’ve heard there’s a fella here agin’ whiskey, but Ah haven’t found ‘im yet.” He turned to face her. “How ‘bout you? You doin’ alright, mei-mei?”

*Connoisseur.* She’d bank that one for later use, it was a great word! “Ah’m doin’ good. Mah hand is near all healed up, it don’t even hurt now if Ah hold anythin’ super tight.” She made a fist to demonstrate. “Ah’ had me a good doctor.” She snickered. “Sorry about tha whisky, Ah wanted ta do somethin’ nice for ya to say thanks.”

“But yah did,” he laughed quietly. “Yah gave me tha chance tah brag on mah whiskey prowess an’ share a drink. Not much bettah than that in tha ‘verse,” he concluded with a chuckle. “Good tah see tha hand doin’ so well. Bettah,” he said, “tah see yah takin’ care of it. C’mon by medbay tomorrah and Ah’ll give it a follow up evaluation.”

Serena’s eyes lit up, but just as quickly, clouded, a scowl forming on her face. “Ah think it’s okay. Ah don’t wanna make the Captain mad again, Ah don’t like it when you an’ him fight.”

Adler decided it might be time for another. He poured a full shot as he replied. “Not tha first time. Won’t be tha last.” With that, he swallowed the top half of the glass’s contents before gesturing toward her. “Want this?”

Serena nodded, holding out her hand for the glass. Something about bourbon was comforting, like talking to Doctah Adluh himself. She swirled the liquid in the glass for a moment, something she’d seen Leo do at the galley table. “It’s like the safest place on tha boat in a glass.” She commented before taking a sip. “Ah just don’t wantcha to get in trouble on accounta me, won’t do no one any good if we both go an’ get fired. Ah’ll stop by maybe in the mornin’? Captain ain’t up much before noon.” Serena finished the rest of the shot, letting the bourbon rest in her mouth before swallowing.

Adler pursed his lips, nodding as he received the empty glass. “Yah know mah mornin’ schedule,” he replied. “Medbay opens at seven tomorrah. Local patients start comin’ at eight. By tha way, he continued, “Captain did tell me he was gonna create a showah schedule fah crew an’ passengers. Don’t know when that’s like tah happen, but Ah’m sure Riley will get somethin’ tahgethah fairly soon.”

Serena made a face and dug a toe into the floor. “Kinda wish it’d just all stop,” she said in a lowered voice, scratching an itch that appeared along her jawline. “It was a misunderstandin’.” Her eyes drifted around his room, finally settling on his gunbelt. The same belt that she’d seen hanging in the med -bay, the one he near grabbed when he went to see the scuffle between the crew chief an’ Marisol. She tilted her head to the side. “Can Ah ask you somethin’?” She asked, all too happy to change the subject.

He was on the verge of discussing just how many “misunderstandin’s” seemed to follow in Leo’s wake when Serena posed 1another question. “Of course,” Adler said. “What is it?”

“How come is it that you have yourself two guns when it’s your job ta fix people up when they get hurt? Don’t they counter… contra… cancel each other out?” She asked, waving a hand in the direction of his guns.

Adler regarded the belt as it hung from its’ hook, complete with the two nickel plated revolvers. “Good question,” he said casually. “Lots ‘o’ answers, some of which might seem contradictory ….they don’t make sense between them,” he offered the definition. “Most important, Ah s’pose? Tha fact that we live in a violent era, mei-mei. Lots ‘o’ folk out there carryin’ both guns and chips on their shouldahs. Fah awhile, Ah made a livin’ as a gun fah hire. That kinda mark won’t come off,” he added in a quiet tone. “Sometimes, Ah’m called tah answer fah those days...and Ah do.”

Serena scratched her jawline again, banking *contradictory*. “What if yah just… don’t answer when they call?”

Adler slowly took to his feet. “It’s a code,” he began, “an ethic tah live by. If Ah took a man’s brothah, no mattah tha cause, he’s got tha right tah face me. Most time, that nevah happens, as family’d often dismissed tha unlucky victim as some kinda sumbitch or othah long before he wound up in mah target sights. But,” he continued, “if they sent a gun tah face me ovah their loss, then Ah am obligated.”

“Then maybe… Ah should get me a gun.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just in case Ah am obligated.”

He turned to look upon the girl. ‘Tha best move,” he said, “is not tah get obligated. Any day Ah don’t have tah pull a gun is a good day. Still,” Dorian spoke quietly, “ownin’ a gun...knowin’ how tah use it an’ most important, when not tah, is somethin’ a pretty young woman like yahself should know. You evah handled a gun, Miss Serena?”

Serena practically beamed with the compliment, but shook her head no. “Nevah. The Captain on the Sky… the ship Ah used ta be on was the only one allowed ta have a gun. We didn’t have a doctah. If ya crew was hurt, they couldn’t work, an’ crew that couldn’t work was just cargo, cargo you weren’t gettin’ paid to haul, so shootin’ someone would be… contradictory?”

He thought on her words. “Not a bad policy,” Dorian commented. He removed a pistol from the belt, double checked its’ chamber and cylinders. ‘Empty,” the medic proclaimed. “Ah just cleaned it, so it should be, but tha first rule is always tah check. Til yah know fah sure, evah gun should be treated like it’s loaded. Yah wanta hold it?”

The teen contemplated for a moment - the crew chief did say a knife *or* a gun, she nodded her head enthusiastically. “Could Ah?”

“C’mon ovah here,” he led her to the doorway, then turned her to face the mirror on his back wall. Once she was in position, Dorian handed the weapon, handle first, to Serena. “Neva point a gun at a person yah don’t intend tah shoot,” he cautioned. “Now, just take a minute tah feel tha weight of it...an’ tha balance.”

“Ah can feel the weight… but not all that sure what yah mean by tha balance,” she replied, lying it flat in her hand before gripping the handle. “Cept maybe that you’d think tha top half would be lightah’ since the part yah grip is biggah.”

“It’s sized fah mah hand.” Dorian stood behind Serena as she lifted the gun. He took her hand, positioning first the thumb and then gauging how well her remaining three fingers could wrap the handle. “Practiced with Sistah Lyen yestahday,” he said absently as he studied the teenager’s grip. “Her hand’s not much larger than yours...Ah think Ah could find pistols tah suit yah both. Now, balance. Does tha barrel feel like it wants tah drop, or lift up?”

The teen rocked it from side to side, then up and down. “Neithah? Feels pretty straight on.”

“Then,” Dorian nodded, “tha balance is off a tad bit. Six bullets would normally weigh tha gun down an’ cause yah hand tah lowah tha barrel slightly...aids in tha recoil. Might have tah take yah inta town tomorrah. There’s a gunsmith Ah saw who should be able tah set both Lyen and yahself up. Now,” the medic smiled, “show me yah draw.”

Serena suppressed a giggle, and dropped her hand down to her thigh, tipping an imaginary hat back on her head. Giving herself a serious look in the mirror, she pulled her arm straight back up then outward towards the mirror without pulling the trigger.

Adler watched, a patient smile on his face as Serena went through the motions of her first quick draw. “Ah especially liked yah pullin’ up tha hat brim,” he chuckled. “Yah’d be shocked how many folk...men, mostly, don’t think tah clear their sight. Now,” he said, “this time, let tha gun rest on yah hip, like it’s hangin’ from tha belt yah wearin.”

“Like this?” She asked, resting the gun against her hip just below the belt on her coveralls, keeping her elbow bent this time.

“That’s about right. Now...draw.”

Serena giggled again, giving herself a serious look in the mirror, waiting for a second before awkwardly drawing the weapon up and out towards the mirror.

“Mmmm hmmm,” he reacted to her latest move. “A little fastah. How’d yah like tah play a game?”

“Sure!” she said, enthusiastically, near dropping the gun as she tried to twirl it around her finger. After bobbling and regaining control, she looked back towards the doc. “What kinda game?”

Dorian went into his bureau, emerging with a tablet and a small object that wasn’t quite a bullet, but shared the same size. “This,” he said as he reached for the gun, “is how Ah practice when we’re in tha black.” Once the cylinder had popped open, he slipped the little object directly into the gun’s barrel, then snapped it shut before handing it back to the girl. “It’s a quick draw, quick reaction test. Tha tablet will put red dots up, one at as time. Yah job is tah draw an’ shoot ‘em.” He set the display down at the girl’s feet. “There’s also sounds tah clue yah ‘bout direction. Ready?” he asked as Serena landed the gun onto her hip. “Go.”

“Wait! So Ah…” the display sent up the first light, followed by a sour buzzing sound as the teen didn’t react. “Pull tha trigga like Ah’m gonna shoot?” A second light was deployed, a second buzzer sounded. The third she fired on before the gun was fully raised, and the display made a ricochet sound that had her duck out of reflexes. By the fifth shot, the teen was ready to take it more seriously. “Can yah show me?” She asked, “if Ah see yah Ah can bettah know how it’d done. Neithah Captain before nevah drew on no one. Ah mean, they did, but not like this.” She handed the gun to him barrel forward.

He took the weapon, then dropped to one knee. “Ah’ll set up mah current program,” Dorian offered as he tapped upon the screen. “Now,” he rose to his feet. “Here we go.”

The tablet projected a dot directly before him at waist height, as a sound buzzed to offer direction. His hand was a blur as it came up, the arm going to full extension before he fired, then just as quickly returned the gun to his hip. A second dot winked into life to his left. At the buzz, Dorian was whirling to bring his aim to bear before a quick squeeze of the trigger. In almost no time, another dot sounded a fresh threat from a new direction. He spun on one heel to catch the light with the gun’s onboard scan, as the trigger snapped home. The exercise ran at a blistering pace until six theoretical bullets had been fired. Upon completion, the statistics were projected onto the nearby face of his bureau.

Speed - 93%

Accuracy (10’) - 97%

Accuracy (25’) - 84%

Accuracy (50’) - 72%

“Tolerable, fah a man who had as much whiskey as Ah have tahday,” Adler chuckled. “But that’s how it works. Here,” he offered the gun back to her, handle first, before he reset the program to her level. “Want tah give it anothah go?”

Serena watched the gunslinger’s every move intently, nodding as the letters and numbers flashed on the screen, knowing they were probably more than the ‘tolerable’ the doctor claimed. “Yes!” She replied at the second chance, noting how twice he handed the gun to her handle first. Twice made it a pattern, something to remember for the future. The teen squared her shoulders and feet like Adler had, bending her arm at the elbow, just like his. He’d led with the barrel of the gun, not with his hand or the handle like she was. Keeping her concentration dead ahead, she nodded, indicating she was ready. This round, there was less of the sour buzzing sound, she tracked the red dots better and was quicker about firing. Letters and numbers appeared on the screen, and Serena was certain they were less tolerable than the doc’s had been, but proud of them none-the-less.

“Huh. Ah dunno what Ah need more of to improve,” she said with a giggle, handing the gun back to Adler handle first. “Practice, or whisky.”

Speed - 62%

Accuracy (10’) - 94%

Accuracy (25’) - 78%

Accuracy (50’) - 49%

Adler popped the cylinder open to retrieve the sensor. “Pretty fine score fah yah first time evah,” he said. “Yah light on yah feet. Bein’ able tah move is a great help. That, an’ practice. Lots an’ lots ‘o’ practice.” As he tucked the gear back into his bureau, Dorian offered, “Ah’m taken Sistah Lyen inta town tomorrah tah fit her fah a pistol. If that crew chief of yours will let yah come, mayhaps we’ll pick up a matched set.”

Serena balked before shrugging her shoulders. “Sounds like fun, only Ah ain’t got credits yet, and Ah owe the crew chief for two ice planets, two hot chocolates an’ a hot cocoa, Ah dunno how much will be left ovah aftah Ah pays him back. Ah can see if Sistah Lyen will maybe let me practice with hers sometime. An’ if Ah can get good with two different guns, then it won’t mattah none if Ah don’t have my own when someone’s brotha obligates me.”

“Uh huh.” Adler folded his arms, leaning casually against the bureau as Serena put her ‘Hera’ on with a few extra toppings. “We’ll leave at one o’clock. If yah can make it, yah’ll get outfitted. Ah’ll take it out in trade. If not, Ah’ll just count on Sistah Lyen tah save mah life when Ah’m lookin’ tha wrong way,” he quipped. “All jokes aside, do try tah join us. Boat’s gonna need some good gun hands, an’ both you and Lyen need tah be able tah protect yahselves in some of tha places we’re liable tah go… *dohn mah?*”

“Ah’ll ask the crew chief.” Serena agreed. “Ah’ll see what he says.”

Dorian smiled. “Well then,” he said, “all this gunplay’s got me worn out. Think Ah’ll turn in. See yah in tha mornin’, mei-mei.”

“In tha mornin’, Mistah Doctah Adluh. Thank yah for sharin’ your whisky and gunfightin’ *prowess,* Ah learned a lot!”