I'm Out a Bottle of Votalan Wine

In my last entry, I mentioned Mal. His assistance on the design and build of The Prometheus was invaluable, honestly. I've said it before and likely will repeat myself, his ability to work with machines, engines and just about anything else mechanical is bordering on the supernatural

His ability to deal with sentient life forms, however...

Well, it's a bit like watching a silicon-based life form in a time-stasis field try to tap dance, which is to say... awkward.

Sometime after returning The Prometheus to dry dock, it dawned on me that Mal is most comfortable and relaxed when dealing with his machines or discussing them.

It also dawned on me that, in the history of most of the universe, there is one substance which will aid in a person's ability to socialize, no matter how shy or bashful. (I will note here, however, that the use of this substance to aid in socialization is not, necessarily, always a good thing)

That substance is wine.

I'm not like Nataleigh.

In most occasions I've worked with her on acquiring a piece for her collection (or, on rarer instances, acquiring one for someone else's) I've rarely felt the urge to keep any souvenir, myself. It's just not really my style

The exception to this, however, is when it comes to potable spirits.

I have, aboard Bifrost, a monumental collection of spirits.

Wines, whiskeys, ales, liquors and several imbibible inebriants which defy description in any known language.

Amoung them is a collection of several vintages of Votalan wine.

For those who may be accessing this log and are unfamiliar with Votalan wine, the drink can best be described as a twelve hour orgy with one hundred of the most beautiful women in history...

Followed by a twelve hour beating at the hands of their jealous husbands...

In a glass.

So it came to my mind that, in order to try to coax Mal out of his shell, a wager may be an order.

I bet him a bottle of my most valuable Votalan wine that he could not design and build a star fighter within forty eight hours. I refused to give him any, specific parameters, other than to impress me.

 Thirty six hours later, I was standing in one of the landing bays on Vanishing Point, looking at not one, but two different types of prototype star fighters (admittedly, not much use in any potential battle including anything approaching the level of technology used in our battle capsules). each unique and completely different from each other.

And out one bottle of Votalan wine.