<<Stardate: 47307.16 ; 19:05>>

Jeb walked stiffly down the corridors of the Grail, thinking about his talk with Castle earlier in the evening. It was good to recollect about old times. The alcohol was still in him, but it wasn't enough to have any effect. Jeb had a reputation for having a very high tolerance, and in the Corp, that made his ability to hold liquor VERY good indeed. The two men that he had shooed out of 10-Forward had long departed, going to whatever they needed to do. Jeb decided to get the remnants of his gear and prepare his quarters. "Computer," he said. "Where are the Marine detachment's personal effects being stored?"

<"Personal effects are stored in Cargo Bay Seven">>

Jeb headed for the nearest turbolift.

--Cargo Bay Seven—

"What the hell do you mean, you can't let me have it?" said Jeb, barely keeping his temper in check.

"I am sorry, Chief," said the young ensign before him. I can't release this to you until either the captain or the second officer clears it first."

Jeb glanced at the floor, then up into the ensign's eyes. "I understand your dilemma, Ensign. Please understand mine. I have been frozen for quite some time now, and would like to have MY things moved to MY quarters."

The ensign stared back at him, then glanced at his collar. Despite the Marine green uniform that Jeb wore, the ensign was too thick-headed to realize he was a Marine. "Why, you're just a Chief Warrant Officer. Why are you making such demands of—"

"You listen, you puke," said Jeb. "I have been places that would make you soil that little uniform of yours. I have looked death himself in the face and I spit in that bastard's eye. You, Ensign, cannot possibly do ANYthing to me that would hurt me in any way. You make sure

that the items stored here get cleared and get claimed by their rightful Marine personnel. You get me?" finished Jeb. As he said each of the last words, he poked the Ensign in the chest forcefully with his index finger. Jeb spun on his heel and stalked away from the speechless young ensign. A Marine who had seen the whole thing wandered out from behind one of the containers. He leaned in close to the ensign.

"It really hurts when he pokes you like that, doesn't it?" said the Marine, a smile on his face. Then, he followed the senior non-com out of the bay.

Jeb went back to his quarters, where he sat. He looked around at the drab, undecorated walls, and reached out for his rifle. Withdrawing the cleaning and diagnostics kit from under his bunk, he quickly and efficiently began disassembling the rifle and cleaning it.

--

Aaron Baugh,

AKA

CWO2 Jeb Kirby, Marine