Seems that Cutler isn't too excited about being on a Miranda-class starship. I wonder what kind of adventures and new worlds they'll discover aboard the Kestrel? Another nicely written and engaging chapter. The more I read this fic, the more I’m finding your original characters fascinating. Each has their own distinct way of acting emotionally as well as physically. I like the descriptions of both Cutler and Jex. Jex seems like she appreciates older class starships. She takes in everything as if its new. She likes the idea of exploring things through ‘fresh eyes.’ I think Cutler just needs a chance to settle in on the Kestrel. He probably just feels a little uneasy being on an older class ship. I’m really enjoying reading this fic and I’m going to keep reading to see what kinds of adventures they go on. Thanks for another fine chapter, and now onto chapter 3 to see what happens next.

Sorry FalseBill, I was very remiss in never getting to review this. At the time, my internet connection was bad. However, with the Stolen Toys week in full swing as part of the TToT14, it put me in mind that you did me the great honour of taking on my Kestrel gang. And boys did you ever. And I have to say, colour me impressed - first the zany story, the reasoning for the use of the Grasshopper, and the mad antics of the captain, then measured out by the gravity of what happened to the Kingfisher. You've got lots of the characteristics in play of the characters I love and do a brilliant job of depicting them as well as showing them to be beyond mere cardboard cutouts. A fantastic job. I also love the attention to detail, with the breadth and use of Kestrel's ensemble characters - you've got Becca, Nujinx, Gunny, Duffy, Berkley, and Kes the bust. Terrific. Bloody terrific. Honestly, I'm impressed by the attention to detail and of course the further shout out to Steff's piece with the broken glass. Honestly, I couldn't be happier. I made a small edit to the story however ... I added the Kestrel badge, so it joins the Kestrel stable of stories. Thank you again, FalseBill, for this generous and genuinely pleasing gift of a piece.

Interesting twist on the challenge and a fun way to show that you only live once can still apply to a joint Trill.

A different type of Kestrel Story but still thought provoking. Well Done as always.

YOLO applied to the one race one would have thought it did not apply to. It took both of them a moment to finally arrive at the realization but it was an interesting journey and a great look into both Jex and the psyche of a joined Trill as well. Well done.

Probably as clear an explanation as we'll ever get, about what it's like to be a conjoined Trill. Well done.

Well, that was an interesting, light-hearted romp.  I haven't gotten around to reading Kestrel yet.  This just bumped it onto my 'to read' list.

Hopefully this is not McGregor's modus operandi--the getting trashed out of his mind, I mean.  I'd hate to think of what would happen to Kestrel should they stumble upon real Romulans with the ship's captain in such a state. ;-)

Dunno, maybe Molly and Eddie deserve commendations--seems to me it would be ideal to have shatter-proof glasses on all ships of the line, for a myriad of reasons. ;-)

Ah, McGregor the insane.

And first of all, a quick shout-out to SLWalker; glad to see some resolution to her story. Was not expecting McGregor to have a tape recorder. And that scene in the bar, I think that was probably the most sober, straightforward confrontation I've seen for him, and a showing of his true character that was very well done.

Otherwise, everywhere else, he was, naturally, all over the place. Kev, this character is already hard to keep pace with, and FalseBill, you did a marvelous job keeping him very lively, odd, unstable, and very unpredictable. I'm still very new to the Kestrel universe, so I'm by no means at an expert level for it, but this seems to be a running trend for this man.

The Kingfisher was tragic, and again we see a very startlingly serious side of McGregor. I think even on the bridge, while he's making a joke about marshmallows he's still angry and hurt inside, doing what he can to not show it outside of his own personal realm. His incredibly unorthodox plan against the Ambassador was so expertly executed, it's hard to imagine that this man seems to be such an odd duck and maybe even drunk at any given hour of the day.

Which, as an aside - AWESOME idea giving a bunch of pirates an Ambassador-class ship. The irony there was pretty awesome.

And please, Kestrel didn't NEED the 'Fleet there, lol. It was awesome to see another possible sister ship (Falcon) getting in on some of the action of getting payback for the Kingfisher, too.

Great work on this one. You did a great job with the Kestrel and her crew.

Author's Response: Well Thank you for taking the time to read and review TemplarSola. The bar scene, I'll freely admit I did have to do a couple of re-writes and in the end I did need some helpful suggestion from SLWalker to get it right, so indeed she deserves credit as well. I'm glad you liked the ideas and the story.

Ah, now there is the real man. Never lie to your doctor, or your bartender.

Something about Templar seems off...

Ah, clever!

But can't he just drink out of someone else's glass?

The more I read McGregor, the more memorable he is. And the more I'd hate working under him, I think. Well done.

He He,

That so nicely done, I thought Molly wouldn't be one to let that go. Well done on the characters All of them seem perfectly in character.

Make me smile like all good Kestrel stories.

Author's Response: I had figured someone needed to address that bad habit and who better? Thanks! The real genius is Kev, I just have fun with 'em.

Two weeks, six days and twenty-two hours earlier...

"Again?" Gardner asked, eying the cut on Molly's face. "What'd you do to piss him off this time?"

"That is none of your business," Molly answered, thumbing across the now-scabbed over mark. She knew full well she should have just gone and had it sealed up, but she had other things to attend to first.

Namely speaking, unless something was done to stop it, the next time Gregory McGregor threw a glass at her, she was going to shove the broken shards where the sun wouldn't shine. And all the better if they were still brandy soaked when it happened.

She might have been guilty, but this was the last time that man was ever throwing something at her.

"Then why are you here?" Eddie asked, wiping his hands off and looking at her bemused.

Molly's eyes flashed, and a blade of a grin crossed her face. It was not in humor. "I have a plan. I need your help."

After all of the crawling he had to do recently, Eddie Gardner was more than onboard when she detailed out what it was.

--

"Romulan ale? Why Eddie, you had this and you didn't offer to share with the class? Stricken, I am. Betrayed. Wounded, heartbroken, and terribly thirsty."

Eddie looked over the rim of his tumbler at his captain, whose pale eyes were narrowed in mirth and a not-very-well-concealed rebuke for not sharing the good stuff. To sweeten it, he pulled the tumbler back to his own chest in an emphatic denial. "And what have you done for me lately, Captain? Besides drive me half mad with your reckless disregard of ship's systems."

"I've entertained you, haven't I? Face it, you would have us dance no other dance. Give us a glass, would you?"

Eddie did not actually like Romulan ale; his tastes tended to range towards warmer colors in the spectrum. And this was not exactly standard Romulan ale. It was a very special brew, the sort sought after across the quadrant; the makers were renowned as the finest their species had to offer. It was smooth, it went down with just the right amount of heat, it gave a hell of a nice buzz and just when you thought you were buzzing to the right frequency -- the frequency where most Romulan ales would stop -- it then kicked you in the head and knocked your ass into a drunken stupor that was only marginally more preferable than the hangover you had the next day. For Romulans, it was lauded as the perfect drink.

For humans, it was an asskicking in a bottle.

Eddie took the biggest swig he could and turned away.

"Think big, overgrown, scruffy toddler," Molly had said, still stoked to a low boil; the cut was long gone, but her grudge about the pitched glass was far from. She handed him the bottle -- worth more than a month's paycheck, more than a little illegal and who knew where she got it -- and some advice that Eddie, admittedly, already knew. "The more you tell him no, the more he's going to want it."

Eddie didn't actually want the hangover he'd have. But for the good of ship and crew...

--

McGregor apparently really wanted that ale. He implored. He cajoled. He pestered. He teased. He tried -- and failed utterly -- to pull regulations. Eddie laughed in his face.

Given what they were up against out there in the greater universe, likely the captain saw it as a fun little diversion. Eddie and Molly saw it as a way to get some back on him, and Eddie happily played his part. Had to happen sometimes. Now was one of those times.

Finally, likely driven to it, McGregor showed up with a bottle of Eddie's favorite. "Come now, a wee nip. It's more than a fair trade; in fact, it's highway robbery."

"If you'll stop sniffing around my skirt, fine," Eddie quipped back, earning a brief jump of the eyebrows in appreciation for the wit.

He slid the bottle down the bar and took the one on offer. "One tumbler, Captain. Just one."

"Stingy, Eddie. But fine." McGregor whipped out the biggest tumbler he could find, and filled it to the brim, daring Eddie with his eyes to protest.

Eddie rolled his own and caught the ale bottle when it was slid back to him. "As if you can finish that much."

McGregor raised the tumbler to his lips with a wicked smile. "Watch me."

"I've got better things to do." Eddie took his newly procured -- and unexpected! -- prize and left with the remainder of the Romulan ale.

--

"Very nice."

Captain Gregory McGregor was sprawled on the floor of the Den, drifting in a sea of drunk-beyond-all-possible-cognition. Eddie Gardner was proud of his handiwork.

Molly Cartwright was entirely pleased herself. She kicked McGregor's boot, which earned a little groan. "Very, very nice. I owe you, Gardner."

"Provided we pull this off, I'll keep the two bottles and call it a fair trade," Eddie replied. "Harris dealt with?"

"For the rest of the night, and tomorrow morning." Molly smirked. "Somehow, she came down with a mild, painless but contagious, completely curable rash and had to be quarantined. Just for the next twenty-four hours."

Eddie whistled. "Didn't know you had it in you."

"The devil is in the details," she murmured, then stepped forward to grab one of McGregor's arms. "Come on, McGregor."

"Molls." He managed to rally himself enough to open his eyes, peering up at her completely unfocused. "I thinnnnnk... thinkssss... somethink."

"So I noticed. Eddie?"

Eddie got the captain's other arm, and together they managed to lever him upright with not a little difficulty. Then, one on one side, one on the other, they dragged McGregor off for his quarters.

--

The thing about McGregor was that he was clever. Cagey. A whole lot smarter than people gave him credit for, too.

And paranoid. Very paranoid.

Getting into his quarters was not a guarantee when he was there, and breaking into them was out of the question when he wasn't: He would know.

Unless you had an in, and what better in than the man himself?

He managed to get them through the door, head lolling, too messed up to do much more than that. They practically had to carry him, and when they dropped him on his bed, he just made a little noise and didn't move.

They went to work.

The very first thing they did, before anything else, was make sure that any surveillance devices he might (probably) have planted were scrambled. If there were, he'd know they were up to something, but he sure wouldn't know what it was.

And then...

Every single glass. Every single one. Every one was replaced with something that looked and felt like glass, but wouldn't shatter upon impact with anything. The next time McGregor lost his temper and started pitching glasses at walls and fellow officers, he'd quickly find that it was a lost cause.

That, however, was not the crowning piece of their layer cake. Because once they finished with the glasses, it came time to cajole the override codes for the replicators out of him.

This might have proven more difficult, if not for the fact that the pleasant aspects of the drunken stupor were rapidly becoming quite unpleasant, and he was far too drunk to do anything more about it than suffer. And suffer he did.

Molly didn't coddle him any; doing so would be a dead giveaway. "I can't replicate an antidote to Romulan ale," she said, just the right amount of brusque overlaying a concern that was not insincere. "It's one of the no-no items on the replicator, McGregor. I'm sorry."

"Nnnn," was his answer, as he tried to curl his arms around his head. He cut a hell of a pathetic picture, and even as pissed off as she was at him, Molly felt for him.

"Judy?" he asked, or more mumbled.

"She's busy. There's been a rash outbreak. How much did you drink, anyway?"

"Dunnnnno. Lots."

For a moment, Molly did think about calling Monroe. Ending McGregor's misery. And then she remembered, he threw a glass at her head, and decided that no. No, he had earned this, and he was going to have to live with it. "I wish I could help you. But the replicator keeps denying me."

McGregor put it together all by himself -- no mean feat, given his state -- and managed to stumble his way through the voice-printed override codes he'd put in on the replicators. And then he promptly threw up in the bucket they'd made sure to have handy beside his bed.

Eddie was fast as he uploaded the new permission files, buried under McGregor's custom coding, hidden and slick. From here on out, McGregor would not be able to replicate real glass, only the substitute, on every replicator on the ship; if he wanted real glass, he'd have to buy it somewhere. Which, he doubtless would eventually. If he ever found out. But until then, this was a feasible workaround.

And then Molly finally replicated the antidote.

Or, more precisely, about half the antidote. Enough to spare him some of the misery. Not quite all. Some lessons required a firmer hand.

Eddie slipped out, and Molly shot it into his neck, and was even kind enough to pull his boots off before tucking him in.

By then, he was still a drunken mess, but at least not a puking drunken mess. He slurred out, "Tanks, Molls."

"Don't thank me," she said, still brusque and concerned. She just sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over until she was speaking right into his ear. "And don't you ever throw anything at me again."

With that, and a pat on the shoulder that was affectionate even in her ire, she got up and left him to it, disabling their scrambling device on the way out the door.

Author's Response:

Best review ever! Will now have to find a way to make that fit into canon.

Wow, more plot twists. The AAR was wicked cool. I continue to enjoy the little details of your universe and all of its myriad bits and bobs and traditions and protocols. Totally makes my life, and also makes that inferiority complex all nice and active, too. Then you go and throw in a possible plot twist here at the end. I can't help but think you've led Dexter and Harris just so you can spring someone totally out of the left field on me. Because you're about as sly as McGregor when you want to be.

And by the way, I'm gonna be royally torqued off after I finish reading what's here if you don't have another chapter ready by the end of the week. Just as a heads up.