<Farius Prime – Two Weeks Later>

Sean McTaggert leaned against the bar and stared at the Bolian bartender with all the animosity he could muster. Which considering the way he was feeling was quite a bit. Nine days spent in the cramped quarters of a dirty freighter, five more days following leads, fourteen days without a shower or shave, all added up to an incredibly short-tempered, Starfleet officer.

The Bolian for his part, seemed relatively relaxed and didn't seem all that put off by McTaggert's demeanor. Sean longed to reach across the bar and drag the bartender across the room and see how smug he would look with a boot on his throat.

"Listen Graife," Douglas Forrest scowled from next to McTaggert. "We both know you know how to get in touch with Raimus. Either you get in touch with him or my friend here is going to direct a lot of violence in your direction."

"I'm sorry sir," the bartender replied, as he continued to wipe down the bar. "But I'm not familiar with anyone named Raimus. Perhaps you've mistaken me for a different Bolian bartender. Many humans often have a hard time telling my people apart."

Forrest made a slight gesture, a signal prearranged with McTaggert and without warning the undercover Tactical Officer reached across the bar and grabbed the taller Bolian by the front of his shirt and dragged him across the bar. Graife yelped in surprise as he was lifted from his feet and settled rather uncomfortably on the opposite side of the bar.

"Wrong answer," snarled McTaggert, playing the role he was assigned to. "Now I'm going to tear you a new eating hole."

The music in the bar stopped and the sound of seats falling back drew the attention of the two Starfleet officers. A half dozen men stood around the bar, ready to step in. Forrest had figured that it would take something like this to get the right attention.

McTaggert released his hold on the Bolian and stood to face the men, assessing the the threats they presented. They all looked pretty tough, the kind of people used to a bar fight, the kind of men that would have no problem killing him if the felt like it. McTaggert was pretty sure they all wanted him dead.

The Tactical Officer took a few steps forward and waited for the first of them to come at him, settling into a relaxed Savate stance.

"You okay," asked Forrest, starting forward to stand by Sean's side.

"I've got it," McTaggert responded. Never taking his eyes off the men slowly moving towards him.

Forrest stepped back and shrugged at the men, a slight smile across his face.

The first of the men reached McTaggert and swung a heavy punch at the Starfleet officer. McTaggert quickly stepped inside the blow catching the man's arm on his shoulder and countered with a standard crochet strike, a power hook attack, to the side of his attackers head, dazing him instantly. McTaggert followed up with a lighting quick figure fouetté, or roundhouse kick, to the side of the man head, snapping it back sharply and sending the first attacker to the floor, unconscious.

The next man that advanced on McTaggert, came in more cautious, keeping his attention on McTaggert's moving feet. That was his mistake. The Tactical officer quickly closed the distance and threw two direct bras avant strikes, quick jabs, at the man's head, connecting with both. The blows did little damage but they brought the assailant's eyes and guard up and took his attention away from McTaggert's feet. McTaggert responded with a median chassé, a piston-like kick front kick that caught the attacker square in the chest, lifting him off his feet and hurling back onto a table, unconscious.

McTaggert spun quickly to his right and continued the momentum to connect with a figure revers, a high hooking kick that caught the next attacker on the side of the face and sent him spinning out of the fight.

Doug Forrest whistled with appreciation as he watched the younger man eliminate three attackers in less than forty-five seconds. He had to admit that McTaggert knew what he was doing. A movement from the corner of his eye, drew his attention back to the Bolian, who was trying to quietly reach for something behind his back. Forrest made a quick step toward the Bolian, stepping down with all his weight on Graife's spread fingers. A scream of pain erupted from the Bolian as his fingers broke and shattered.

McTaggert moved away from the remaining three attackers, opening up some distance. In the process he scooped up a heavy mug from the table, spilling the beverage it contained. With a fast whip of his arm he hurled the mug at the furthest assailant, catching him right between the eyes, completely by surprise. The attacker went down like the proverbial sack of potatoes.

The next two attackers came at McTaggert together, forcing him to go on the defense, blocking well-timed blows on his forearms, protecting his head in a classic boxer's defense. Both attackers, sensing the upper hand to a moment to gloat and made a big mistake. Sean responded with a sharp coup de pied bas, a low front kick, directed at the unfortunate target's shin. The bone snapped with agonizing force sending the man screaming to the ground instantly.

The remaining assailant came at McTaggert fast and hard, delivering a series of short, quick punches that landed on McTaggert's ribs with enough force to hurt and knock some wind from his lungs. The two remained close, exchanging a series of quick, inside blows that made it hard to determine who was connecting and how much damage was actually being done.

McTaggert found his back against the bar with no more room to retreat and his attacker showing no signs of tiring. A surprise punch caught McTaggert on the side of the face, splitting his lip. McTaggert ignored the pain and ducked under the next punch and spun away from the bar and forcing his attacker's back against it. Without waiting he reached in close and grabbed his opponents head and drew it down in a classic clinch move. As his opponent struggled against the downward force McTaggert leap from his left foot, bringing his knee hard up into the man's exposed face, feeling his knee shatter bone, spraying blood everywhere. The force of the blow lifted the last man off his feet where he landed heavily on the bar, unconscious.

McTaggert looked around the room at the damage he had caused and winced slightly as he realized just how much he hurt.

Forrest leaned close to Graife, now holding his hand in obvious pain.

"When you call Raimus," he said in a calm and firm voice, "tell him Connelly is looking for him."

Douglas Forrest

and

Sean McTaggert