After the battle, Gus spent some time in healing meditation in front of the replicator. His body had recovered, but his mind was another story. While it was true that Vulcans had mental disciplines that allowed for greater control in most circumstances, it was far from the panacea at the moment. Changing into casual clothing, he tended to his lilac bonsai first.

Restless after caring for the rest of the plants in his quarters, Gus headed for the ship’s lounge, guitar case in hand. The night shift would start soon, and he wanted a seat by the fireplace. Holographic, of course, but the ambiance was more interesting.

Mostly fumbling around and playing short riffs, he had a mug of dark hot chocolate and enjoyed the idle banter. Finding his mind quieting the smallest amount, he added some background players, keeping it soft but lively in an attempt to make the lounge less depressing for the crew.

Jack approached, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt. “What are you playing there?”

Gus switched to something slower and softer after finishing a long riff. Easily able to talk over it now, the Vulcan offered Jack, “An ancient musical Earth form called light jazz. There is a mathematical progress to the chords and combinations of chords. Playing six and twelve-string acoustic guitars was a skill I acquired during my first enlistment in 2335. One of the field surgeons used it to keep up his dexterity. Plus, it does come in handy for passing the long hours. Do you play a musical instrument, Jack? Or perhaps have other hobbies?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged, “No, not really. Played the trumpet… well, I made noise with a trumpet in junior high band. Kinda went on to sports in high school and haven’t touched an instrument since. I enjoy fishing and hunting on the holodeck.”

“Depending on how much you recall, it could be relearned. I can always use another member in the band,” Gus offered. “It has been many years since I have hunted or fished.” His head tilted as he added, “What do you hunt?”

“Did you miss the part where I just made noise with it?” Jack asked with a chuckle. “Naw, I don’t reckon you want me joining you. As far as hunting goes… well, on the holodeck, it’s whatever I want. I went after a T-Rex a few weeks back. The program reset four times before I took him down.”

“I think if I were hunting a T-rex, I’d like it to be from the inside of an autocannon platform, preferably armored,” Gus replied. “However, have you hunted large game with a revolver?”

Jack raised an eyebrow, “You’re Vulcan, aren’t you? Aren’t Vulcans vegan?”

Gus countered with, “Are all humans meat-eaters?” He added, “It is rare that I consume meat more than a few times a week, and since it’s replicated protein, I don’t consider that a true animal. There have been times, especially considering the nature of a prolonged engagement, that I might have to be more flexible in my protein choices. While I have hunted and fished, my views mirror a traditional indigenous approach. Everything possible will be used, or there is no reason to harvest the animal. Logic will also dictate that if I am hungry and the food source is clean, refusing it seems more of a moral ground.”

Looking up, Gus ran a hand through his red hair. “There are not many ginger Vulcans. At birth, there was a genetic therapy that, while curing the disease, had unintended side effects. My black hair fell out and eventually grew to its current color. That made me segregated within my own community. It’s not logical, but it’s often true.”

“Perhaps that spurred me to less traditional points of view. I don’t resist emotion. Like my Vulcan brothers and sisters, I must maintain a certain mental discipline to remain at peak efficiency. Much like your T-rex program, I find stress relief through practical shooting.”

“You have a point, though I suppose one could argue with replicators, we are all vegan regardless of our dietary habits. I feel like hunting requires some measure of mental and physical discipline. Stalking a prey, and placing a well-aimed shot is more mental than anything.”

Nodding in agreement, Gus replied, “Correct. As well as many of the same skills acquired apply to combat, security, and hunting. Being patient and prepared. Knowing as much as possible about your quarry. Complete weapon knowledge to the point of the action being taken no longer requiring thought.  Humans have acquired quite the mastery of firearms. Hunting and steel plate challenges are far harder with only pistols. Long arms always have the advantage. Rapidity and fast action are honed during practical shooting competitions and require a certain level of detachment, which I find helpful. Active kinetic concussive meditation?” Gus mused. 

“Actual kicking concussions?” Jack asked, confused. 

Gus tilted his head and actually chuckled a bit. “I have shot some firearms that would have you questioning that statement, but no, perhaps a different example.” Gus held his hand in front of himself, mimicking holding a pistol. One hand fist closed with the offhand supporting. Showing the motions his hands and arms would take swung the pistol up and on target. “Much like a phaser, except when you pull the trigger, it creates a small controlled explosion that you must help guide the projectile to the intended target—having it oriented just so. 

“Aww…” understanding dawning on him.  “Of course. Yes, there is something therapeutic about sending lead down range.”

“Conclusively. Additionally, the management of induced stress makes me focus on the task at hand. The goal is to have only the targets and firearm handling exist at that moment. Perhaps some range time should be scheduled.” Gus added.

“Perhaps,” Jack agreed.  “I may have to look into that tomorrow.”

“I would enjoy participating with you,” Gus responded genuinely. “After duty hours. 1800 hours?” Getting up, he walked behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of brandy from his personal stash and two brandy snifters. “It’s only an 8-year-old Vulcan brandy. It will have to suffice.” Gus poured two glasses, offered one to Jack, and set a foil-wrapped ball in front of him. I don’t enjoy this often, but I like the taste, especially with a piece of dark chocolate. Raising the glass briefly, he took a pull from the glass. Allowing the alcohol to coat his throat, Gus unwrapped the chocolate truffle and cracked the outer shell to get to the softer, dark center.  

Jack watched Gus with an amused expression, and lifted the glass, “When in Rome.”

Gus took a sip of the liquid. He allowed the brandy’s heat to warm his mouth more before swallowing. Setting the glass nearby, he picked the guitar back and started to play again.