“Checkpoint duty?”

Shymel sh’Insynaph was pissed. No, beyond pissed. As she stormed into Charlie MacColgan’s ready room, there was practically fire in her eyes and smoke coming out of her ears. The dagger-sharp glare bore into Charlie like a drill through rock, a stare that may very well have killed a man on the spot.

Charlie did not die on the spot. Instead, she just gave a disarming, confident grin and leaned back in her chair, cybernetic legs crossing with the quiet clink of metal on metal. “Aye. Checkpoint duty.”

“You’re telling me,” Shy rumbled, planting both hands on the edge of Charlie’s desk so she could loom over the captain, “that the entire Fourth Fleet is showing up- everyone from a cadet to goddamn Fleet Admiral Ramar is getting a month-long vacation- and we, on the fleet’s least functional capital ship, are getting stuck on goddamn checkpoint duty?”

Charlie, apparently content to let Shy get her anger out of her system, just shrugged. Nonchalant. “Aye.”

“That’s- that’s-” The Andorian threw her hands up in the air and started pacing, back and forth across the width of the ready room. “This is- I- why aren’t you pissed about it?”

“First off,” the Scotswoman interjected, unperturbed, “why’re you, Shy? Think about it for a minute, a’ight?”

“I am thinking about it! Thinking about how everyone but us is going on vacation!”

“Ah, see, there’s the rub.” Charlie pulled a bottle up from her desk drawer- some sort of fruity wine neither she nor Shy recognized by brand name- and set it on the desk top. “We’re sittin’ here, parked, stationary, nae doin’ anythin’ but watchin’ ships come ‘n go, for a whole bloody month. A month… of absolutely zero responsibilities except keepin’ an eye on sensors.” Her smile, nonplussed, turned into an almost shit-eating grin. “Shy, we don’t need a whole bloody crew if we’re sittin’ in the same spot for a month, now do we?”

Shymel paused mid-pace, eyebrows furrowed, letting the pause linger for a moment while she digested the thought. Then, her eyes lit up like flashlights in a dark cavern. “Charlie MacColgan, you sly dog. You did this on purpose.”

“Now you see,” she confirmed, grabbing a pair of glasses and thunking them down next to the bottle. “All we need aboard is a skeleton crew. Already got the plan in motion- rotatin’ shifts, give everyone plenty ‘a time to enjoy the experiences. Loosenin’ uniform requirements. Long as we got someone on sensors and a few engineers to work out some ‘a the kinks in the ship, we’re still on vacation.” The grin only widened as she poured them both a glass, sliding one closer to Shymel. “You’re free to leave at your discretion, Shy.”

Shymel picked up her glass, studying the liquid within it for a moment. “If I’m free to leave, that means-”

Charlie took a swig of her own drink and chuckled. “You know me, Shy. My vacation plans involve some good series to bingewatch, good drinks, some snacks, ‘n my own bloody bed.”

“You are far too simple to please,” the Andorian replied with a snicker, taking a sip herself. “Huh. Where’d you get this?”

“D-S Forty-Seven. The B’Aar doesn’t only sell bloodwine.” When Shy held her glass out, Charlie refilled it without complaint. “Good, aye? Still simple to please?”

“You still are. Last year, you went to the big Task Force gathering in flannel.”

“I will repeat: I do not wear dresses.” The captain rolled her eyes. “An’ there’s nothin’ wrong with enjoyin’ the simple things in life. Maybe you should give it a try someday.”

“And miss out on the beach?”

Charlie’s nose wrinkled like Shymel had just suggested she eat a boot. “Hard pass.”

“You are the strangest woman I’ve ever met.” Shy gulped down her next wine in one quick swig, pausing to contemplate if she wanted another shot before holding the glass out again. “First of all: this is more fruit juice than wine. It’s barely alcoholic.”

“It’s got a little! The point is the taste.”

“Didn’t realize you were a wine snob,” the Andorian joked, earning a snort of laughter from Charlie. “Second of all, who doesn’t like the beach? Even I’m going, and Colludia II is just barely on the upper edge of what’s comfortable for an Andorian.”

“Ah, yes,” Charlie grumbled, refilling her glass. “You, me, Espinoza ‘n her wife, the Erces-Lebasques, Irinarko, Mitchell, McCarran, Steiner, ‘n Kimura all packed in a li’l shuttle, dropped off on a loud, noisy, crowded stretch ‘a nothin’ but sea ‘n wretched sand far as the eye can see. That is far too much romantic tension in the absolute worst place possible. I’ll pass.”

Now it was Shymel’s turn to stare at her like she’d grown a second head. “Wait, what’s wrong with sand?”

“It’s coarse ‘n rough ‘n irritatin’ ‘n it gets everywhere,” Charlie grumbled back. “Y’think I wanna take a bite of a delicious, homemade, delicately prepared ham sandwich ‘n come back with a bite that’s 50 percent sand by volume? Bloody well not. I’m havin’ my sandwich on the ship, where there’s no sand ‘n no bloody seagulls try’na steal it.”

“Fine, fine. You’re lame and hate fun, I get it,” Shymel retorted, but couldn’t hide the way the corners of her lips twitched up in a barely-repressed and clearly entertained smile. “You have fun with your… bag of tortilla chips and old medical dramas. I’m off to the beach.”

“Don’t diss the shows ’til you try ’em.”

“Sure, Charlie.” Shymel finished off the rest of her wine and placed it on the desk. “I’m off planetside, in that case. Try not to die of boredom before I get back.”

“Hardy har har. Don’t step on a sea urchin.”

Both Charlie and Shy missed the way they rolled their eyes simultaneously, before the latter turned and headed out of the room, the door sliding shut behind her. Charlie leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up on the desk, crossed at the ankles, swirling her half-empty glass of barely-alcoholic fruity wine.

“Computer? Bring up my ‘to-watch’ playlist ‘n route the first episode to my terminal.” With one final slurp, her glass was emptied. “I got a lot to catch up on.”