You're My Best Friend
Posted on Mon Mar 31st, 2025 @ 8:26pm by Devin Hadenbeer
1,517 words; about a 8 minute read
Devin watched as Doctor Horst frowned at the readouts displayed on the wall monitor.
“You’ve done your liver no small amount of good,” she groused, “I see damage from excessive alcohol, and…” she cocked her head, “I am not familiar with…What are you doing?!”
Devin only belatedly realized she could have set off the fire suppression system with her lighter. Fortunately the flame had been brief, just long enough to light the fag. She took a drag and sighed as she felt the smoke fill her lungs. She held it there for several long seconds, then blew the smoke out through her nostrils as she stared at the ceiling. No fire suppression. Yet. Well, thank goodness for small mercies.
“Well,” Horst muttered, “That explains the damage to your lungs. Just how many-“
“A pack a day.”
“…which is…?”
“Twenty.”
Horst’s eyebrows looked as if they were going to climb right off the back of her head, “Why-“
Devin sighed, “Look, Doctor, you had to be there.”
“Would you at least put that thing out?”
Devin smiled, took another drag, “Certainly. When I’m done with it.”
Before Horst could utter another word the sickbay doors swooshed open and Devin sighed as Captain Subotai strolled in. He paused and took note of her rust colored cowl necked sweater, bell bottom jeans and peep toed sandals. Then he stared at the cigarette.
“Lieutenant,” he began.
Devin pulled out her pack of cigs and regarded it: four left. Sighing, she set one aside and lit another with the remains of her first. She looked about for a place to drop the butt, noted the doctor’s tray of medical instruments and stubbed it out there, which caused Horst to almost throw a fit.
“Yes, Captain?” Devin inquired mildly, “Were you going to ask me how three months of exile in the late twentieth century went?”
Subotai had the good grace to look abashed, “We returned as quickly as we could. The temporal storm-“
“Right. Well, lieutenant Coopersmith’s experience with the time period proved invaluable in regards to us navigating the ins and outs of the period, but his utter lack of, well, useful skills meant I had to become the bread winner. Meaning I had to work. Fourteen hours a day. If I was not performing as a session musician in a recording studio, I was playing piano in a jazz club,” she turned to the doctor, “Which in order to survive the ordeal of playing and listening to jazz I had to numb myself with alcohol and marijuana-“
Horst brightened, “Ah! That was the source of the-“
“Right. So yes, I have been exposed to not one, not two, but three different drugs on a regular basis. On a personal note I believe my piano playing improved considerably when I was just a little high. It was all a matter of finding the right balance, you see. By the time you picked us up I think I had it down cold.”
Subotai frowned, “Lieutenant, do you have to keep…”
“Smoking.”
“Right. Do you have to keep smoking that…thing?”
Devin blinked, “Goodness me, Captain, yes.”
*
Devin found that despite the doctor flushing out her system of all unwanted chemicals she still craved a fag. Fortunately she did not crave a drink. She glanced at the replicator in her room and idly wondered if it could create a pack of cigs when her door chime sounded.
“Enter!” she called out as she sat up onto the edge of her bed.
The doors swooshed open and Coopersmith stood there, looking quite abashed. He looked a bit strange to Devin’s eyes, having swapped out his polyester suit for a Starfleet uniform.
“I came by to apologize,” he said, “For not being of more use.”
Devin sighed and motioned for him to enter, then nodded to a seat by her desk. Coopersmith hesitated, then sat.
“I said some very cross things,” she told him, “And I regret them all. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know the artifact would activate when you scanned it.”
“Yes, well, I mean me not being of much use.”
“Now, wait,” Devin told him, “When I said those things I was tired. And drunk. Very drunk, as a matter of fact. I would have been utterly lost in London without your assistance. Navigating the tube, understanding money and what things were worth, and pretending to be my boyfriend so the men mostly left me alone. Truth is I would have been lost without you. I was just…burnt out,” she looked down at her booted feet. Strange, she missed the sandals, “I’m sorry.”
Coopersmith visibly relaxed, “I’m glad we’re okay, then,” he cocked his head, “Did you…hand over everything to the history department?”
“Of course. Even the underwear. Which, I might add, was very embarrassing.”
“Oh. Good. Because I think they would be upset if you held out, you know?”
“Of course,” Devin replied.
“They were especially upset you smoked that last cigarette.”
Devin grinned, “I know.”
*
“There she is.”
Devin smiled wanly at Jones as the cargo hold’s doors swooshed shut behind her. She glanced about-
“We are alone,” Jones replied, “I understand you turned into quite the drug addict while on your, ah, enforced leave.”
“Not so bad as that,” she replied. She hesitated, then added, “I will admit the marijuana could be quite nice.
He smiled at that, “I had to imbibe an illicit substance or two while under cover. I am glad you and Cooper are still on good terms. He is well connected, with ties to Starfleet Command. You want to keep that friend close.”
“Is all you ever think of is my career?”
“Well,” Jones replied with a wry smile, “One of us has to.”
Devin paused, then said, “I am grateful. I know I do not say it enough.”
“I know you are grateful-“
“But it would not hurt me if I said so, once in a while.”
Jones cocked his head, “Sounds like the enforced isolation might have made you appreciate what you have a bit more.”
“And who I have in my life,” Devin replied, “I missed you terribly, down there. I kept thinking, ‘what would Jones do?’, and it helped. A great deal. So thank you for being there in spirit,” she paused, “The fact is..." a smile played across her lips, "You're my best friend. Are you…blushing?”
“Must be coming down with Rigellian fever.”
“I see. Well, I have come with a bit of a problem,” she held up a case, “I assume you could get something off the ship and delivered home without detection?”
“Why, lieutenant, are you asking me to slip contraband off the ship?” he glanced about conspiratorially, “It isn’t some of that marijuana, is it?”
“Sadly, no,” Devin set the case on the top of a crate and opened it up.
Jones frowned and gently lifted one of the items out, “Ancient media. Photograms?”
“Photographs,” she explained, “The lead singer also played piano but he sprained some fingers in a door so I was asked to play in his stead. I agreed and in exchange for my name being kept off the liner notes for their album,” she saw Jones’ befuddled expression and for some reason it felt satisfying to know there was something he did not know, “The data printed on the sleeve that a record album is found in. An album is another kind of ancient media for sound recording. Anyway, having my name on such a thing would have been…problematic.”
“I can imagine,” Jones replied with a grin.
“…so I made a deal; I played for pay, they kept my name off the album’s credits, and they took some photographs with me.”
Jones regarded the four men surrounding Devin in the photo, “Quite a disreputable bunch; they all need haircuts. Are they some sort of band?”
“Yes. Queen.”
“Ah. Never heard of them. So, you want me to get the photos to…”
“Hereward, my brother. He is a musical historian.”
Jones regarded Devin soberly, “You realize if anyone finds out it might threaten your career. You are supposed to turn any and all information and physical evidence over to Starfleet Intelligence.”
Devin shrugged, “I deserve a little memento of that silly misadventure. They won’t even let me keep my clothes. And I liked those sandals. If you think it is a bad idea…”
Jones sealed the case, “It is a bad idea,” he smiled reluctantly, “But I will make it happen. But you will owe me, Mister Hadenbeer.”
Devin frowned, “Owe you? Owe you how?”
“Oh, you will know when I call in that marker. Now be off with you before someone discovers us and thinks untoward thoughts about our clandestine meeting.”
As Devin departed through the cargo bay doors she could not help but wonder what she had gotten herself into. What did it mean to owe someone like Jones a favor?
If she were lucky perhaps she would never find out…
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