"Damn! That's 'xcitin', too!" Jack paused a moment, eyes focused inward as he thought. "What a son of a bitch. But freezin' out in space doesn't sound so bad. Gettin' beat to death er shot in the stomach's worse."

But this McCoy fella's got a lot of interestin' things to say. Jack made sure to listen carefully to not miss nothin'. He grinned at the man's assertion that some of the stuff the ship had wasn't too good for ya, and especially the idea of gettin' liquor from a smuggler. "Smugglers in space? Whaddya know?"

Jack slapped his knee when he heard the word 'scotch', whiskey's first cousin. Din't matter much if they went to his place or McCoy's. "Sounds good. Let's go." He turned to gaze outside the window for a moment. "Are we close by?"