Mezcal & Memories

Posted on Tue Mar 24th, 2026 @ 6:26am by Lieutenant JG Jacob Rosen & Lieutenant JG Rowan Hale

1,592 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: Holodeck 1
Timeline: Post Beholder

Jacob sipped an absolutely exquisite Añejo, leaning back in a sparingly upholstered chair and listened to the sound of waves crashing against the Oaxacan shore. The holographic cafe owners deposited an additional bowl on the table next to him and nodded kindly.

"Gracias mi compa." Jacob replied warmly, reaching into the pocket of his linen shirt for ancient folds of currency and handing it over. The radio played a Cumbia rhythm from it's slightly blown out speakers. He refilled his small glass and sipped again, savoring the delicate notes of the aged Mezcal. This was a welcome respite after quite an exciting series of days.

Rowan stepped through the holodeck archway and paused a moment, letting the warm air and the steady rhythm of the surf settle around him. His eyes drifted from the ocean to the small glass in Jacob’s hand.

“I see you were serious about the Añejo.” He pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. “I assume the simulation includes temporary medical amnesty.”

"Rowan my friend! Welcome to Cuatunalco circa 1995. In modern times this whole area has been taken over by resorts, hotels... hotel resorts. Complete gentrification to be the 'next' Cancun." He sipped from his glass again before pouring one for Rowan. "Thank you for coming, after that mission I think everyone deserves to unwind in their own way." Jacob handed the drink over, then reached for a bowl of brown crunchy snacks that looked vaguely like some kind of insect. "You ever have Chapulines?"

Rowan examined the bowl briefly. “Chapulines,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I recall reading that they’re high in protein.”

He took one and tried it. “Efficient. Slightly alarming. But efficient.” He reached for his glass and took a sip. “I have eaten worse things during the war.”

He glanced around the café and then back at Jacob. “So tell me, why 1995?”

"This is the last few years that this region isn't thrown into turmoil. The 21st century was rough between the unrest, the Eugenics Wars. Eventually when Earth starts becoming warp capable and coming back to itself that's when the industrialization and commodification starts. 1995 is one of the last years where this beach is just what it is." Jacob sipped the Mezcal and popped another grasshopper in his mouth, the sweetness of the cinnamon mixing with the spicy chili powder and Tajin.

"I've been wondering." Jacob said, swirling his glass under his nose for a moment. "What made you decide to stay in the fleet? Surely you could have any practice you wanted, probably Chief of Medicine at any Academic Hospital back on Earth."

Rowan turned the glass slowly in his hand, watching the amber liquid catch the light from the simulated lanterns. “I did consider leaving,” he said after a moment. “Several times.”

He took another small sip before continuing. “The war made certain realities difficult to ignore. Medicine becomes… arithmetic under those conditions. Who can be saved. Who cannot.” His tone remained even, but the memory sat plainly beneath the words. “For a while I thought the more sensible course would be to step away from the institution altogether.”

He glanced toward the ocean before looking back at Jacob. “But leaving would have been the easier answer. And easy answers rarely correct the problem.”

A faint hint of a smile crossed his face as he lifted the glass again. “Starfleet claims to value exploration, diplomacy, humanitarian work. I decided someone should remain to remind it of that when convenient interpretations appear.”

He paused briefly, turning the glass again between his fingers.

“Besides,” he added quietly, “by the time the war ended there wasn’t much of a life waiting for me outside the fleet. My marriage didn’t survive the conflict.”

The words were delivered plainly. There was no self-pity in his voice. “So remaining in Starfleet was… practical.”

He leaned back slightly in the chair.“ But enough about my existential stubbornness,” he said, gesturing lightly towards Jacob with the rim.of his glass. “You asked why I stayed. I’m curious about the opposite question. Did you ever consider leaving after the war?”

"I did actually. Not officially but during my recuperation after the destruction of the Marquam the physician assigned to my file refused to clear me for duty until I had completed several steps along the mental health evaluation for Starfleet Command. So, I wandered... I couldn't face myself or the people I cared about. I waited tables in Belize, I worked a fishing boat out of San Juan, I hiked the Andes and fixed old cars out of a little shop in Buenos Aires."

Jacob smiled and took another drink from his Mezcal. "My marriage also did not survive. Most of my friendships didn't either. But eventually, I got to a place to start therapy. Got myself back on a ship and into another scrape at the Battle of Chin'toka. God those Nebula classes were hunks of junk weren't they?" He said with a genuine laugh.

"I think the crew needed me there in retrospect, someone who had seen hell." Jacob continued staring at the waves for a long moment. "That's why I'm still around." Looking back at Rowan he smirked. "Well, that got heavy. How do you like the Añejo?"

“It’s excellent,” Rowan answered. “Smooth. Subtle enough that one could almost forget how strong it is.”

He took a measured sip and inclined his head slightly. “Chin’toka,” he added “I remember the casualty reports from that engagement. It kept Sickbay busy for quite some time.”

The waves rolled steadily across the simulated beach, filling the quiet space between them.

“I can see the appeal of your holodeck choices, A beach, good mezcal, and insects that are technically food. All things considered, it’s a remarkably civilized way to decompress.”

His attention shifted back to Jacob.

“You spent months wandering the planet after the war… and when you came back you chose to return to Operations. That places you at the center of everything a ship does.”

The observation hung between them for a moment.

“Most people returning from that kind of experience try to avoid that level of responsibility,” he continued, raising his glass again. “What made you decide to step back into it?”

"You know, I have no idea." Jacob said, looking at the waves.

"Jacobo, tu quieres mas Chapulines o... yo tengo Ceviche?" Came a yell from the bar. A middle aged Mexican woman with deep smile lines was there cleaning up used glasses and wiping the counter.

Jacob turned in his chair to answer at the same volume. "Ceviche!? Tu tienes Ceviche de Pulpo!?" He said with a genuine laugh.

"Claro que si!"

"Por favor, gracias!" Turning back to Rowan he continued. "I guess if I had to narrow it down, Ops is a place where I feel like I can do a lot of good. Making sure we're stocked with non-replicable supplies. Making sure comms back to everyone's family is scheduled. I want to keep things going."

Rowan shifted his focus towards the voice behind the bar, then back to Jacob. “A well supported crew tends to perform better,” he said evenly. “It’s a less visible form of care, but no less important. Though I suspect I’m missing part of that conversation.”

"She's going to bring over some ceviche with octopus. It's good I promise." Jacob said in an attempt to reassure Rowan while refilling both of their glasses. Their interactions before this ship, years ago, had been friendly enough in passing. Both caught up in a conflict so much bigger than their ability to influence and control.

"So, how do you feel about the Sunfire? Are you being heard?" Jacob said with less of his surface level joviality. This was important. A question of weight.

Rowan didn’t answer straight away, his eyes on the glass in his hand while the surf filled the silence “I think so,” he said, a faint hint of a smile touching his expression. “At least enough that it matters." He leaned back slightly, "You?"

"Well after being thrust into the center chair I would imagine so." Jacob said with a genuine laugh.

"I had this moment on the bridge where I'm looking around and realizing 'Oh boy these are mostly Ensigns.' Aside from myself and T'Lar there were maybe two other JG's." He laughed and gestured animatedly while a bowl of ceviche and a stack of tostadas were dropped off. Jacob nodded his thanks and spooned a portion of the mixture onto the crispy disk, squeezing a lime wedge for its juice over top. "They're all looking at me." Jacob took a bite before continuing. "And I was expecting to freeze, like back during Chin'toka when I first came back to duty. I didn't though." He finished the morsel. "I don't think it's accurate to say i'm past it. But I think I know how to use the tools now."

Rowan let out a quiet breath, his gaze settling somewhere past the table for a moment. “That’s about as good as it gets,” he said. “You don’t get past it. You just… learn where to put it.”

He turned the glass slightly in his hand, watching the light catch it again.“And sometimes you get it right when it matters. That’s usually enough.”

Jacob raised his glass. "Maybe that's it then, to getting it right where it matters." His smile waivered briefly. "And to the ghosts of Chin'toka."

TBC

 

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