Makari was getting a headache. One of those deep set headaches that threatened to rip through your mind and jump out of your temples in a bloody mess. The kind that was supposed to be associated with drinking too much Andorian brandy and Klingon blood wine at the same time. And he hadn't done that since his senior year at the academy when his roommate bet him he couldn't handle his alcohol. It had been a chore sneaking the real stuff in and making everyone think it was plain old synthahol, but it had been worth it. Until the headache the next day.<br/><br/>And there he was with the beginnings of one again. Except without the exciting effects of room spinning intoxication and giddy drunkenness to go along with it. Which made it entirely unfair. If he was going to feel a headache at a staff meeting the least he could do was have a few stiff drinks first.<br/><br/>He listened as everyone talked about systems and power grids and what they most wanted to see in the ship. They already had a fully functional kitchen squeezed into the lounge. And now it was weapons and upgrades, and bears, oh my.<br/><br/>"Has anyone thought about how much could go wrong if our ship is all advanced systems still in the testing phase? We will be on our own, far off in unfamiliar space, one system goes down, we adapt, ten advanced systems crash and we can't fix them and suddenly we are on the wrong side of a really bad rock and a hard place," Makari offered up once there was a lull in conversation where he could slip some thoughts in. "And theres the whole power grid and everything, from an ops stand point I don't know how many endless systems we can ever filter at once, which again could leave us in the middle of nowhere drifting like a Pakled cruiser,"