Staffing the Room Pt. 1
Posted on Sat Jul 6th, 2019 @ 12:47pm by Cornelius Warner MS
1,869 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Canary
Location: Silver Tongue Brewing
There are subtle differences between a civilian transport and a Starfleet transport. Your average person might miss them, but if you knew what you were looking for, you would find that the feel of the engines, or the drone of the anti-gravity thrusters was just different enough that you could tell. Of course, that was something even most Starfleet officers hardly noticed, so one could be forgiven for missing the difference. Cornelius was one such person that could notice the different, and as the retrofitted Miranda class dropped from warp over the colony, he shifted a little. The S.S. Talladega was not a bad ship, but she wasn't a particularly good ship either. Over the week or so he had been aboard, he had learned from the crew that the vessel was purchased from Starfleet for a "nominal sum" and retrofitted with warp capable external couplings. This allowed the two massive Aerovant HT-330 transport shuttles to be docked to the outside, and loaded through special elevators from the should-be shuttle bays that had been converted to larger cargo bays. The crew moving the very delicate brewery equipment had been ecstatic to show him around and brag about all the modifications they had made to the ship. Warp core, replicators, shields, crew quarters, nothing had been spared from the hack job that was a civilian engineer with a hard on for poor design.
That said, they were the only people that could move a brewery without transporters, a key fact in keeping his beer perfect. So he had accepted the craft, and began loading the machinery into his ship. He had nervously checked it ever six hours to make sure the independent power supplies were holding, that nothing was coming undone. He was cramped inside one of those massive transport shuttles and testing mixes by hand to make sure nothing had spoiled or been shaken too hard by the exceptionally rough ride through space that the old ship offered. Miraculously, up until this point everything had remained unscathed.Even his personal belongings, some of which were over three hundred years old (or replicas of those) had managed to not be damaged in the chaos, and now they were in orbit of the colony, ready to begin the unloading.
The transporter affect faded and Cornelius stepped through the soft slow to the brick building before him. Pulling an old fashioned pin-and-tumbler key from his pocket, he unlocked the front door, stepping inside to the warm room. It was exactly to spec. Wall to ceiling, black metal framed windows stood to his back, letting in the slowly raising sun. He flipped and old style switch and the lights came on, more mid-21st century industrial design, with faux Edison bulbs for illumination. They were of course microfiliment, and would never need to be changed, but the illusion was there, as warm yellow light bathed down around him. Wooden tables, real wood from the forest of the planet, dotted the space, paired to black metal chairs. In the middle of the space a massive bar covered in a polished wood top, filled the space. It was a rounded rectangle, and was itself surrounded by black bar stools. The beer taps themselves were masterpieces, a patinaed copper piece, with hand carved beer tap heads addorned them. The logos for the various beers were carved in, and he took a moment to run his hands over them, getting a feel for one of the five sections. The rest of the space was empty, with massive water and power hook ups, as well as a cold room. Four massive bay doors were near here, enough space to move the equipment fully assembled in and out of the room with ease, as well as lead to the shuttle pad just outside there, where pick up and deliveries could occur. Again, on of the traits of Silver Tongue was, from the brewery to wherever you pick it up, it would never see a transporter. A tiny, and annoying detail, but one he insisted was key in the flavour.
This was the new home of Silver Tongue Brewing, his new home.
Nine hours later, aided by a massive piece of machinery that had it's own tractor beams, the last of fermentation tanks was fitted into place, and the moving crew was moving. In the time they had been working, Cornelius had taken the time to tap quite a few kegs and settle them into the cold room where all the lines for the taps were set. The team waved good bye and left, leaving Cornelius alone in the space again. Sitting down on a bar stool he turned back towards the door and sighed a heavy sigh of relief. His personal belonging had been moved to his house, not far from here and of a similar build and design, and left for him to deal with. Truth was, boxes upon boxes of stuff would likely not get moved, and even more of it would be moved from there back here to decorate the shelves. Personal touches were key to him. Such as the piece near the half wall that separated the brewery from the tap room. One of his most prized possessions as well. An Earth 2012 Indian Scout motorcycle. Not a replica, this was one original, with the original engine and all. And it ran, even if he had to get special permits to replicate gasoline just to run it.
Loud rock music pounded in the room from a record player hooked into the music system, a classic Tragically Hip song New Orleans is Sinking belted out, with Gord Downie's voice mixing with hard guitar licks. Reaching across the bar, he grabbed one of the opened boxes of glasses and withdrew a pint glass from it. Carefully pouring himself a pint of his Exaggeration Double IPA. He had named all his beer after types of lies, and to him it was a special level of hilarious. As he sat and sipped from the beer, he pulled out a PaDD and started going over the costs from the move, as well as the things he would have to make room for. Two or three beers in, and fully delved into business reports, a click caught his attention and he spun on the chair, finding a woman standing in the doorway. Placing his beer down, he cleared his throat. "Sorry, we're not actually open until next week," he said plainly.
"Uh, no, I'm not here for a drink," she said, and Cornelius paused. "Although it looks great!" she added quickly. "No, uh, I moved out here for a job, but with the colony not finished my boss up and decided to pull out. I saw you setting up, and well, wanted to see if you're hiring." A shrug accented her frame, and shoved her hands awkwardly in her pockets. "I can come back though..." she said trailing off and taking a step back.
"No no," replied Cornelius pointing to a table, "I don't have any staff yet, so it's possible I'm hiring. How about we start with names? I'm Cornelius," he said, extending a hand.
"Tamara," she replied, taking the hand and shaking it.
Gord Downie had given way to Randy Bachman, and then to Axel Rose. Currently Freddie Mercury was belting out at the top of his lungs, and laughter was barely heard over them. "The Bolian delegate?" gasped Tamara between her laughter, and to his credit Cornelius could only nod, wrapped in his own laughter.
"Yeah, and what do you do but offer a napkin?" replied Cornelius in a brief pause of the laughter, which only made the two double down. Spinning back to the windows. "So tomorrow I will have my house sorted, but I'll be in in the afternoon to clean up more and get ready to open on thursday. So how about you come in then?" he said, turning back to business.
"Yeah?" she asked, trying to suppress a giggle. "Does this mean you are going to hire me, Mister Warner?" The spilled beer around them was indication of the six or seven beers that had been poured over the time. Truth be told, it could have been closer to ten.
"Yeah, you don't want to seem to want to head core-ward. I need a good manager anyways, so how about you come work for me? I think it'll be great. and if you hate it, then you can always tell me and leave then." He offered a shrug.
"Deal," she said and extended a hand. He firmly shook it, and the pair laughed again. Turning to face outwards, she looked over at the bike. "I have been meaning to ask, where did you find somewhere to replicate that?" Turning to follow her gaze, Cornelius chuckled. "That's not replicated, that's an original. And it works, I used to ride it around on Canopus. People hated it. But it's a lot of fun, and a lot more fun to keep running and in good condition." As the last few notes of the song faded, he turned back to his first planet side employee, and laughed again at her face, jaw hung agape, and pushing her red hair out of her green eyes.
"No!" she shouted. "I have never seen a motorcycle in the real world. That's insane!" She looked like she was going to say more before a quiet "oh fuck" escaped her lips. Following her gaze, he realized what it was, as the sun was slowly cresting the sky.
"Ah crap, my house isn't set up," grumbled Cornelius. "Maybe I won't be in this afternoon to clean..." he said, shaking his head. "I should let you go," he said, standing. "I'll see you actual tomorrow how about, first thing?" he asked, and stood up, moving to pull the needle off the record player. He stopped and looked at her. "That leather jacket isn't all you have is it?" he asked. When she nodded, he shook his head, and walked behind the bar, grabbing a hoodie and a toque out of the box. "Here, put those one, don't freeze on me before you can start okay?"
"Um," Tamara said, looking down before pulling the clothes on. A pause filled the air as Cornelius moved about to wipe up the beer, and tidy enough to not draw too many eyes. "Listen, I have a couch, if you don't have your place set up, its not comfortable per say, but it's better than the floor. It's the least I can do for you doing me the favour! I'll even make you breakfast."
With a sly grin, which earned him a dirty look, Cornelius replied "Sure, but no trying to suck up to your new boss or anything. I don't play favourites with my staff!" The pair laughed again as they stepped into the brisk early morning air, and he closed the door behind them locking it. "But I'll have you know, I only eat waffles for breakfast, and nothing else," he said, a giggle escaping. Rolling her eyes, Tamara lead him away.
"Come on sir I'll make sure you get your waffles."
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