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Returning home from a trip in the Omicrons, Dr. John Holliday took a slightly different route home aboard his shuttle and paid another visit to Kalashnikov's. Entering the bar, he spoke to the bartender.

"Is the Commander around today?" asked the doctor.
"No, Comrade, he is on a mission," the bartender answered, "but we do have an officer on duty in his absence. I will get him. In the meanwhile, please, make yourself comfortable."
"Thank you, Sir," Doc responded. But, before he sat down, he remembered this time to visit the jukebox. He found a smooth song from long ago and played it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Red3R17FlUQ
When he sat down, the officer on duty approached. Both men smiled as they had met before. They greeted each other with a handshake.

"Lt. Katz," it is good to see you again.
"You too, Doctor," the Lieutenant replied.

Curious as to his visit, Doc explained, "I've developed a liking for Coalition Vodka so I figured I would get some to take home. Also, I had hoped I would find you."

The two men sat in a corner over a drink while several cases of Coalition Vodka were loaded onto Doc's ship. It was a quiet conversation and they purposely sat away from others. Even still, as he always did, Doc kept a roving eye on the bar, ever mindful of his surroundings. His visit, intended to be a quick stop, ended up being one that would last the better part of a day as other patrons weren't used to having a guest about and wanted a chance to meet him.

Katz looked as bad as he felt. The injuries from his scrape with the counter-revolutionaries had only been compounded by those hed earned on the research station. He ached, but it wasnt in his nature to complain, sitting down across from Doc was a welcome respite to the storm that life had become lately.

You know, he said sitting back gingerly in his chair. When I stumbled upon this whole Keeper, Order thing I never thought Id wind up being the one chewed up and spat out. Let alone staring at a Keeper nest Stay away from Chester, there are nasty things that go bump in the night out there

He coughed a little, fumbling for his cigarette pack, pulling it out and offering one across to the Doc.

Id like to say that everything was going well, but it seems that luck hasnt exactly been on my side. I made contact with a Doctor Pryce in an attempt to get him to study the sample inhibitor device I even managed to secure a cargo bay full of keepers for the purpose. He shakes his head, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag upon it.

Tilting his cap back from his tired eyes, problem was, Pryce turned out to some kind of nomad thing they are onto what Im doing and they set a trap. It was a total disaster, the research gathered was lost, though I managed to save the nomad remains not that they are much use without a testing facility He paused blowing a sigh. My superiors arent happy, they were eager to see if the Order device could be weaponized in some way, perhaps a system wide device like an EMP-coil but for nomads but I dont think it can be developed on that scale. He passed the relevant data across the table. As you can see, the device in question works on the recipients system and not on the Nomads transmission source. Meaning that unless we can somehow deliver one of these things through a Nomad ship hull which I am told, is the hardest known substance out there and even then it would have to somehow be compatible with nomad physiology were out of luck.

Days of chasing ghosts, dead ends, and his own possible retirement into an early grave had left the young Lieutenant a little worn around the edges.

I did, however, learn one thing he tapped his temple. The device works.

He glanced up at the song changed, fittingly.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_bvT-DGcWw

Respectfully, the doctor refused the cigarette.
"I gave those up when I got my second chance at life," he explained, "you see life very differently when you get another chance."
He then leaned forward, taking a keen interest in the young lieutenant's wounds. "Son, you don't need to hide it from me," he said, "let me tend to those wounds. I know they hurt" He privately winked so that he could treat him somewhere private where they could discuss what happened. As the Coalition doctor wasn't in, Doc treated him in the infirmiry.

As he cleaned the lieutenent's wounds, they spoke.
"Privately you may call me John if you want," stated Doc. He then continued as he worked, "So we know the device works. That is a huge plus."

He then continued, "good results will take some time and effort. I'm sure your superiors will understand that. There is an old Earth saying, Good things come to those who wait."

Doc then pulled out a device of his own. When the lieutenant inquired as to what it was, Doc explained, "it's a scanner. It is better than the one on my ship and takes more readings. With fresh wounds, I may get more info in which to work with." With that, he turned it on and scanned him, head to toe.
"I have some figuring out to do," Doc stated, "I may have to get some help in re-creating this device. I can set up the medical end of it but not the technological end. With hard work, it will succeed."

Doc had few answers for delivering such a device into the hull of a Nomad ship as he wasn't much of a fighter himself. He also admitted that he had never been to Chester nor did he know of it's whereabouts. With the information he needed stored and several wounds were cleaned and/or dressed, they returned to the bar to share more music, food and drink. Although a married man, Doc didn't mind noticing some passing Coalition females.

Leon Mendel shuffled in, puffing on some of his favourite smokes. He preferred the harsh Coalition standard-issue rolling tobacco to the stuff he could get in Liberty. Most didn't, but he was different in that respect.

He was pissed off, he hadn't had a coffee all day, and wasn't setting foot in that establishment from Ontario when he was off-duty.

Sure, he had effectively accomplished a series of high-class public relations stunts, but he was edgy. His charge, the politician-cum-officer, Citizen Katz, was involved in some serious sh*t right now, and he didn't trust the likes of Totenkopt and Weise to keep him safe. Maximilian was okay, but didn't fill him with the confidence he needed.

These bastards that Katz was up against didn't tend to have their plans unravelled by smear campaigns and meet-and-greets. Awkward alien arseholes.

He grew more edgy, not helped by the fact that people in the silent bar were beginning to stare at him as he smoked without a drink.

"Gimme a f*ckin' vodka already then! Do I look like I'm here to rescue kittens or something?!"

Mendel was stared down for a moment by the barman. That sort of crap might work in Liberty, but not here.

It didn't, at least until he removed his longcoat, revealing his uniform, placing his hat on his head, indicating that he was a duly feared Commissar of the SCRA.

The vodka appeared and those staring at him immediately had something much better to do, someone quickly turning on a song to cover the awkward atmosphere.

Leon sat on a barstool, placing his large calibre pistol on the bar before him. It didn't look like he'd be paying for his drink.

He knocked his vodka back, grimacing slightly. He didn't drink much liquor these days.

"Get me a coffee, and liquor it up with whatever paint-removing piss you're pouring there."

He lit up yet another smoke, not offering one to anyone, largely due to the fact that everyone was avoiding him, also because he wasn't a goddamn charity.

Now, he had to work out how to deal with aliens. Aliens. Bloody aliens. He figured that good old-fashioned genocide might work. After all, ethnic cleansing was fascist, of course, but aliens were a species as opposed to an ethnicity, so it could get a positive spin later on.

Leon smiled. He could put a positive spin on anything, even genocide. He sat and wondered, cradling his drink, how bad things would be if someone like him were on the wrong side...

Katz walked into the Klash, doffing the peaked cap that was his only concession to a uniform since reactivation after the Ontario incident.

He glanced at the group of Marines playing a game by the great rotating windows, handing bottles off to thier girlfriends... sturdy women with more testosterone than most Bretonian's he knew, who opened the bottles with thier teeth before handing them back to thier men.

Katz picked a seat at the bar, noticing that the music was somewhat appropriate for the mood he was in.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8ivMS50auM

The barmaid smiled at him as she poured him a coffee, "you haven't been in here in a while Commissar..."

"I'm in that kind of mood," Katz said as he motioned to the lone bottle of Bailey's that stood out in the wall of vodka that took up nearly all the space behind the bar. Every kind of Vodka from McIntosh's private stock, the finest crystal clear stuff from Odessa all the way through to the murkiest blue variety brewed in stills aboard the CPS Shanghai where it should have remained for cleaning greasy engine parts. McIntosh, like all of them, enjoyed the act of sharing with his men, and his men enjoyed partaking of that generosity.

She unscrewed the bottle, adding a slug to his mug, handing it back to him.

"You mean you're having a bad day?" she asked.

"No, just an introspective one," Katz answered. "You marry that Lieutenant you were interested in?"

"You marry the one you're interested in yet?" she countered.

"Touche!" Katz replied lifting his mug. "No, I'm in a good mood, turns out my biggest enemies are a demented clown who appears fond of me... and a harliquin-princess who is most definatelly not fond of me... strange, I don't know which one is the biggest joke."

"That is usually an indication that you need more Vodka, Comrade-Katz." She pointed out sagely.

"Okay," Katz said, turning in his chair and nodding to the door. "Next member of the fighter wing through the door, I'll buy a drink for... only catch is they have to say something profound..."

"Now I see why you don't drink," the barmaid sniffed. "You get drunk off of sniffing that Molly swill..."

Katz shrugged, settling in for a good night at the Klash.

Yuri entered the bar, wearing is pilot uniform and sub-lieutenant stripes. He was accompagned by two other guys and one girl, by watching their uniforms, they was mecanics. The group sit at one of the table, Yuri go to the jukebox, put a song and, passing by the bar, comming back with vodka bottles and glasses.

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x17y39_ar...katioucha_music

The group, drinking, singing , talking, was discussing of their first steps into the great SCRA, all rookies... One of the Yuri's friend and collegue light a Coalition's cigar, not a huge one, simple, and share it with everybody at the table. While Yuri continue to talk with his friends, he look around, checking who was in the bar.

Katz points to the table where Yuri was standing looking about.

"There's one," he said to the Barmaid. "Drinks for him and his table."

Yuri look a the barman who bring new drinks "I didn't ask anything you're doing a mistake I think"
"Its from the commisar commander katz"
Yuri look at the bar, swallowed with difficulty, and up his ass from the chair, going to thanks his superior, checking his uniform while walking.

Yuri salute and said, not very reassured, "Spassiba Comrad commisar commander. I would not want to sound too familiar but vodka its like a good dogfight, it's better when everyone participates!" pointing at an empty chair of his table. "Will you make us the honor to join comrad commisar commander?"

with a thud, Stenka Razin slammed against the reinforced glass door of the Kalashnikov's, again someone had swapped the push/pull signs around much to the amusement of the bar occupants privy to the joke.
rubbing his face, red with embarrassment, Razin pulled the door open, making for the jukebox through his comrade's laughs and selecting a song from the tracklist.
Upon typing in the number of the song, the '8' key wedged itself stuck, printing a string of 8's across the screen infront of him and jumping to some random album deep in the jukebox's collection. Scowling, Razin kicked the jukebox in frustration before heading for the bar, sharply asking the laughing bar maid for vodka and glancing back as his unknown song started playing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twQlpFrm5iM&feature=fvw

Razin's mouth gaped as the synth beat blared out across the bar, silencing conversation as the tables erupted with laughter again.

"actually" Razin said to the bar maid, doubled over with laughter "just give me the bottle"

Taking a quick trip home, Nichole decided to pay a visit to Kalashinikovs to find her favorite person.

She saw Commissar Katz sitting at his table with his back to her. She just licked her lips and grinned. She quietly strutted over to the jukebox, still in her coat and punched in the numbers she wanted:
Cowboy

Once the song started, she again licked her lips. With a big smile, she removed her coat and dropped in the seat right in front of Commissar Katz.



"Hey, Soldier. Did you miss me?" she asked, sitting with her head on her arm with her big smile.