The Brandy Speaks, An Avalon Base Story

By Phaedra Whitlock, 2001

Cyn tipped her head back, swallowed a slug of brandy 
and studied the cantina ceiling. Around her a dozen 
other Alliance Security officers sat and argued about 
how bad the day had been. Sure the previous CO had been 
an ass and political bootlicker. But THIS one... Force 
who knew it could get worse. 

Carrying luggage, not too much trouble but the man had 
brought everything he'd ever worn in his life. It was, 
she paused to swallow another mouthful of liquor, wrong 
to her toes. Neatness, order. Discipline. She lived by 
all three and this... officer... turned her usual one 
drink into the first of many in an attempt to wipe away 
the sour taste in her mouth. 

Anger. Frustration. This was her chosen career and she'd 
worked damned hard to succeed in it. To get assigned to 
Avalon and Hawkwood's command then the man got himself 

She noticed her glass was empty and picked up the bottle 
to find it too was empty. Cyn leaned around one of the 
night shift guards next to her unconscious and drank that 
too. Finally she was starting to feel something happen. 

Got himself killed. 

" his rocker. I say we get medical to certify him, 
get someone else in here." 

She roused herself to scowl. "Like who? Hawkwood? He's 
dead and not here. We're stuck with this guy and his 
luggage and COLOR fetish." 

The grumbling around her intensified. Hawkwood had been 
well liked and admired, his replacement tolerated and 
often ignored as this one was about to be. 

Percival Bay. Col. Bay... A large body of water that 
sits and looks pretty in the sun. Whatever he thought 
he was doing with all those weapons earlier in the day, 
she didn't care. Let him play games, she'd joined this 
army and was not leaving it for any pretty creampuff 
that held down her bosses desk. 

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