Hello. 
After a slightly longer break than I was intending, I’m back for more Bounty-based fun. For a given value of fun. This story picks up directly after the last episode to continue the increasingly confusing story arc that is unfolding, although I fear things are only going to get more confusing. And if you need a refresher of where we are in the wider context, there’s the post in the Bounty Story Index thread as well.
I’m also getting used to this spiffy new board of ours, so apologies in advance if I break anything.
As usual, I hope you enjoy reading!
Star Trek: Bounty is a slightly off-kilter series set in the Trek universe that focuses on the adventures of the ragtag crew of a small civilian ship, who do what they can to get by in the Alpha Quadrant. They're not exactly Starfleet spec, but they try to keep on the right side of the moral line where they can.
The story so far:
=============================================================
Star Trek: Bounty
2.02
“The Bat, the Birds and the Beasts”
Prologue
Jenner Family Homestead, Mineral County, Colorado
Stardate 36249.2
Despite the wealth of technological advances that humanity had made over the last three centuries, from faster than light travel, food replication, holodeck imagery and beyond, nobody had ever gotten around to fixing the squeak on the front door of the Jenner home.
The stout wooden fixture slowly opened with delicate care, in a manner designed to at least try and minimise the noise. But all that process really did was draw out the usual sharp squeak into a far longer and even more noticeable dull grinding sound.
Still, right now, the figure that had gained access to the main hallway of the home was operating with enough misplaced confidence to believe that the entire door opening procedure had been a piece of masterful subterfuge, that the best spy in the entire Tal Shiar would have struggled to improve on.
The figure’s confidence levels remained sky high as they eased the still-groaning door closed behind them and set off down the hallway with an exaggerated tippy-toe gait. Somehow managing to hit every creaking floorboard underneath them along the way.
Even then, their assurance in the stealthiness of their entry was only shattered when they heard the voice boom out from inside the ground floor study.
“You’re late.”
Instinctively, Jirel Vincent’s entire body scrunched up in a flinch.
But a second later, in the time-honoured manner of so many generations of rebellious teenagers returning from a night of partying, his demeanour immediately switched from a guilty tip-toe to a more cocksure swagger. One that suggested he had known his father had been there the entire time, and didn’t even care that he’d been caught.
“In here,” the voice continued from inside the room to Jirel’s right.
The Trill maintained his swagger as he walked into the study, to find his father right where he’d assumed he would be.
Captain Bryce Jenner sat behind the antique mahogany desk on one side of the expansive room, leaning back in his equally weathered leather chair. Despite being resolutely off duty, he was still dressed in the uniform of command, the tight material stretched taut across his imposing form, with traces of red piping accentuating both of his shoulders.
As ever, and despite JIrel’s attempt to maintain an air of teenage arrogance, the man of the house was emanating a sense of control over proceedings.
The Trill hadn’t even been expecting his adoptive father to be here. He was still scheduled to be on duty for two more weeks, away on patrol with the USS Erebus. Evidently, something had altered that timetable.
Still, despite the surprise appearance, and aware that there was a very stern talk coming his way, Jirel opted to get his excuses in first.
“Ok, yeah, I know I’m late,” he sighed, “But I didn’t mean to be. It’s just, there was a big old queue for the transporters, and it’s not my fault you decided to live miles away from any of the main shuttle routes, is it?”
Behind the desk, this wave of excuses passed across his father’s face without a flicker. He maintained a deeply serious expression and waited for his son to run out of road.
Once Jirel was finished, Jenner stood up and gestured to one of the cushioned armchairs on the other side of the room, next to his well-stocked bookcase.
“Sit down.”
“Um, actually, I’m kinda tired. So I was just gonna—”
“Sit. Down.”
The first time, it had been a suggestion. The second was clearly an order.
With a weak snort of defiance, Jirel unhappily walked over and flopped into one of the chairs. As he did so, Jenner walked over to his drinks cabinet standing next to the bookcase.
“The Erebus was ordered back to port early,” he offered as an explanation to Jirel’s unspoken questions about his presence, “She’s a fine ship, but she’s feeling her age.”
As he spoke, he picked up one of the liquor bottles inside the cabinet and studied the label.
“Six months docked at Utopia Planitia for a full refit. One of the last of the old Excelsiors to be brought into the modern age.”
He set the bottle back down and shook his head with a mirthless smile.
“Entirely new warp drive, expanded crew quarters and leisure facilities. Integrated LCARS displays on all decks. Hell, they’re even putting in a couple of those new holodecks.”
“Sounds cool,” Jirel managed, putting most of his focus into ensuring he didn’t look or sound half as drunk as he felt.
His father picked up another bottle of rich dark liquid and examined it absently.
“I’ll miss the old switches and dials,” he muttered, almost to himself, “All these fancy polished touch screens are impressive enough. But a crew needs to feel the mechanisms of the ship around them, sense how interconnected every system is. You don’t get that from tapping at a screen all day.”
Jirel didn’t bother with a response this time. It was becoming increasingly clear to both persons present inside the study that the old man was stalling.
Eventually, with a slight sigh, Jenner reached for a pair of crystal glasses and continued.
“Your mother tells me you’re back home late more often than not these days.”
Jirel was a little taken aback at how quickly his father had pivoted to the crux of the conversation, having assumed that his stalling tactic was going to continue a little longer.
“Ah,” he managed in response, shifting awkwardly in his chair, “I wouldn’t say—I’m just…being sociable. Making friends.”
“Uh huh.”
The grunted response rather succinctly suggested that he was more inclined to take his wife’s view of the situation over his son’s.
“Your entrance exam for the Academy is in six days,” he continued after a moment.
“I know,” Jirel sighed, his shoulders sagging imperceptibly, “And don’t worry, I’ve been—”
“You’ve been out partying,” Jenner cut in, his tone still deliberately measured, “Instead of studying. The best of the best might get to be this blasé about their entrance exam, Jirel, but most of us don’t. For us, it takes a hell of a lot of hard work.”
“It’s fine,” the Trill insisted with a trace of a teenage pout, “I’ve got it all figured out. I’ve just been…letting off some steam, y’know?”
Jenner slowly shook his head as he poured a generous helping of the rich, dark liquor into one of the glasses with deliberate care.
“So,” he offered, “What were you drinking tonight?”
The latest teenage lie began before Jirel even realised it was happening.
“Just synthehol and—”
“Cut the crap, son.”
Failing to locate a more suitable lie, Jirel merely responded to this with a guilty silence. To his surprise, he saw his father carefully pouring a second glass, before stepping over to where he was sitting and offering it to him.
“This is a thirty year old single malt. From an old distillery still operating on Islay. Nothing replicated, nothing artificial. Your grandfather swore by it. He told me that Jenners had been drinking this stuff since the 19th century.”
Jirel peered into the glass and caught the sharp scent of the liquor. He suppressed a flinch.
“I, um, don’t suppose you’ve got any Andorian brandy—?”
“Jenners drink scotch.”
That seemed to settle the matter as far as the older man was concerned. He moved over and took a seat in the armchair on the other side of the bookcase and sipped his drink, as Jirel reluctantly did the same, praying that the unexpected extra helping of alcohol wasn’t going to cause him to throw up right there on the floor of his father’s study.
Mercifully for his dignity, he managed to gulp the fiery liquid down and keep it there.
“Jirel,” his father continued, swirling his glass around, “I want you to be honest with me.”
“I mean, I guess I don’t really like the taste—”
“Not about the goddamn whisky. About the Academy. I want you to tell me if that’s really what you want. Or if that’s just what you think I want from you.”
Jirel forced himself to make eye contact with the older man in the other chair, the dim light of the room glinting off the four near pips on the shoulder of his uniform.
“I…want this,” he managed to reply, “I want to join Starfleet. And one day, I want to be the next…Captain Jenner.”
This response wasn’t entirely a lie, but as definitive statements went, it still didn’t sound entirely convincing. Even to the person saying it.
Jenner set his glass down on a small table next to his chair and leaned forwards, wringing his hands in front of him in preparation for the difficult conversation in front of him.
“Look, Jirel, I know this wasn’t easy for you. An orphan, brought here from a Trill colony, growing up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. But you need to be truthful about this. Ok?”
Jirel chanced another gulp of the burning liquid and mustered a nod back at his father.
“I am,” he insisted, still not sure if he really was lying, “I am being honest.”
Jenner sighed again and leaned back in his chair, reaching for his glass on the table.
“There’s an old story my mother once told me,” he offered out of the blue, “One day, there was going to be a great war in the forest, between the birds and the beasts. And each side hurried to build as big a fighting force as they could.”
Jirel couldn’t help but look a little perplexed at this sudden shift in approach, even as his father sipped his drink and continued.
“In the middle of the forest, a bat hung from a tree. First he was approached by the birds, who asked him to join their side. And he said he couldn’t, because he was a beast. Then, he was approached by the beasts, who asked him to join them. This time, he said he couldn’t, because he was a bird.”
The older man paused for a moment to set his glass back down.
“Anyway, at the last minute, peace prevailed. There was no war. And the whole forest celebrated. The bat tried to join the celebrations, but he found himself shunned. First by the birds, and then by the beasts. And he was forced to fly away, to live a life of solitude in the darkness of the caves.”
He looked over at his son, apparently expecting some sort of response now his story had concluded.
“Um,” the drunk Jirel managed, “That’s a…nice story?”
“Well,” Jenner persisted, “I think the point is that if you live your life as neither one thing or the other, like the bat, you’re going to end up alone. So, as hard as growing up as neither one thing nor the other might have been, it’s time for you to figure out who you are. Whether you’re a Starfleet man, or whether you’re something else.”
Jirel stopped himself before another half-hearted affirmation escaped his lips. In the other chair, Jenner drained his glass and stood up.
“There’s no shame in not wanting to serve in Starfleet,” he continued, “But there is in treating the shot at the entrance exam like some sort of joke. Understood?”
Jirel mustered a simple nod as his father talked further.
“Either way, until you figure out what you want for yourself, you’re going to be just like that bat. Moving between personas when it suits you, and never getting anywhere in life. So, please, if nothing else, think about that. Ok?”
Still sitting in the armchair, Jirel considered this statement in all seriousness, his father’s frank words washing over him and virtually sobering him up on the spot.
Jenner turned and made for the door, leaving Jirel lost in thought. As he reached the exit, he took a moment to call back over his shoulder.
“And if you even think about taking any more of that scotch now I’ve gone, I’ll kick your ass all the way to Alpha Centauri. When the liquor’s that good, they don’t make a lot of it.”
Jirel suppressed a wry smile as he gazed down into the dregs of the liquid in his glass. He felt the need to call back, his words filled with a fresh sense of renewed self-confidence.
“Don’t worry. I know who I am. And I’m gonna ace that exam.”
Six days later, that bold statement proved to be just another teenage lie.
After a slightly longer break than I was intending, I’m back for more Bounty-based fun. For a given value of fun. This story picks up directly after the last episode to continue the increasingly confusing story arc that is unfolding, although I fear things are only going to get more confusing. And if you need a refresher of where we are in the wider context, there’s the post in the Bounty Story Index thread as well.
I’m also getting used to this spiffy new board of ours, so apologies in advance if I break anything.
As usual, I hope you enjoy reading!
Star Trek: Bounty is a slightly off-kilter series set in the Trek universe that focuses on the adventures of the ragtag crew of a small civilian ship, who do what they can to get by in the Alpha Quadrant. They're not exactly Starfleet spec, but they try to keep on the right side of the moral line where they can.
The story so far:
Star Trek: Bounty - 101 - "Where Neither Moth nor Rust Destroys"
Star Trek: Bounty - 102 - "Be All My Sins Forgiven"
Star Trek: Bounty - 103 - "The Other Kind of Vulcan Hello"
Star Trek: Bounty - 104 - "It’s Not Easy Being Green"
Star Trek: Bounty - 105 - "Once Upon a Time in the Beta Quadrant"
Star Trek: Bounty - 106 - "He Feedeth Among the Lilies”
Star Trek: Bounty - 107 - “One Character in Search of an Exit”
Star Trek: Bounty - 108 - "A Klingon, a Vulcan and a Slave Girl Walk into a Bar"
Star Trek: Bounty - 109 - "But One Man of Her Crew Alive"
Star Trek: Bounty - 110 - "Take Arms Against a Sea of Tribbles"
Star Trek: Bounty - 111 - "Love, but With More Aggressive Overtones"
Star Trek: Bounty - 112 - "The Woman Who Cried, Among Other Things, Wolf"
Star Trek: Bounty - 113 - "Something Bad Happened Today"
Star Trek: Bounty - 102 - "Be All My Sins Forgiven"
Star Trek: Bounty - 103 - "The Other Kind of Vulcan Hello"
Star Trek: Bounty - 104 - "It’s Not Easy Being Green"
Star Trek: Bounty - 105 - "Once Upon a Time in the Beta Quadrant"
Star Trek: Bounty - 106 - "He Feedeth Among the Lilies”
Star Trek: Bounty - 107 - “One Character in Search of an Exit”
Star Trek: Bounty - 108 - "A Klingon, a Vulcan and a Slave Girl Walk into a Bar"
Star Trek: Bounty - 109 - "But One Man of Her Crew Alive"
Star Trek: Bounty - 110 - "Take Arms Against a Sea of Tribbles"
Star Trek: Bounty - 111 - "Love, but With More Aggressive Overtones"
Star Trek: Bounty - 112 - "The Woman Who Cried, Among Other Things, Wolf"
Star Trek: Bounty - 113 - "Something Bad Happened Today"
=============================================================
Star Trek: Bounty
2.02
“The Bat, the Birds and the Beasts”
Prologue
Jenner Family Homestead, Mineral County, Colorado
Stardate 36249.2
Despite the wealth of technological advances that humanity had made over the last three centuries, from faster than light travel, food replication, holodeck imagery and beyond, nobody had ever gotten around to fixing the squeak on the front door of the Jenner home.
The stout wooden fixture slowly opened with delicate care, in a manner designed to at least try and minimise the noise. But all that process really did was draw out the usual sharp squeak into a far longer and even more noticeable dull grinding sound.
Still, right now, the figure that had gained access to the main hallway of the home was operating with enough misplaced confidence to believe that the entire door opening procedure had been a piece of masterful subterfuge, that the best spy in the entire Tal Shiar would have struggled to improve on.
The figure’s confidence levels remained sky high as they eased the still-groaning door closed behind them and set off down the hallway with an exaggerated tippy-toe gait. Somehow managing to hit every creaking floorboard underneath them along the way.
Even then, their assurance in the stealthiness of their entry was only shattered when they heard the voice boom out from inside the ground floor study.
“You’re late.”
Instinctively, Jirel Vincent’s entire body scrunched up in a flinch.
But a second later, in the time-honoured manner of so many generations of rebellious teenagers returning from a night of partying, his demeanour immediately switched from a guilty tip-toe to a more cocksure swagger. One that suggested he had known his father had been there the entire time, and didn’t even care that he’d been caught.
“In here,” the voice continued from inside the room to Jirel’s right.
The Trill maintained his swagger as he walked into the study, to find his father right where he’d assumed he would be.
Captain Bryce Jenner sat behind the antique mahogany desk on one side of the expansive room, leaning back in his equally weathered leather chair. Despite being resolutely off duty, he was still dressed in the uniform of command, the tight material stretched taut across his imposing form, with traces of red piping accentuating both of his shoulders.
As ever, and despite JIrel’s attempt to maintain an air of teenage arrogance, the man of the house was emanating a sense of control over proceedings.
The Trill hadn’t even been expecting his adoptive father to be here. He was still scheduled to be on duty for two more weeks, away on patrol with the USS Erebus. Evidently, something had altered that timetable.
Still, despite the surprise appearance, and aware that there was a very stern talk coming his way, Jirel opted to get his excuses in first.
“Ok, yeah, I know I’m late,” he sighed, “But I didn’t mean to be. It’s just, there was a big old queue for the transporters, and it’s not my fault you decided to live miles away from any of the main shuttle routes, is it?”
Behind the desk, this wave of excuses passed across his father’s face without a flicker. He maintained a deeply serious expression and waited for his son to run out of road.
Once Jirel was finished, Jenner stood up and gestured to one of the cushioned armchairs on the other side of the room, next to his well-stocked bookcase.
“Sit down.”
“Um, actually, I’m kinda tired. So I was just gonna—”
“Sit. Down.”
The first time, it had been a suggestion. The second was clearly an order.
With a weak snort of defiance, Jirel unhappily walked over and flopped into one of the chairs. As he did so, Jenner walked over to his drinks cabinet standing next to the bookcase.
“The Erebus was ordered back to port early,” he offered as an explanation to Jirel’s unspoken questions about his presence, “She’s a fine ship, but she’s feeling her age.”
As he spoke, he picked up one of the liquor bottles inside the cabinet and studied the label.
“Six months docked at Utopia Planitia for a full refit. One of the last of the old Excelsiors to be brought into the modern age.”
He set the bottle back down and shook his head with a mirthless smile.
“Entirely new warp drive, expanded crew quarters and leisure facilities. Integrated LCARS displays on all decks. Hell, they’re even putting in a couple of those new holodecks.”
“Sounds cool,” Jirel managed, putting most of his focus into ensuring he didn’t look or sound half as drunk as he felt.
His father picked up another bottle of rich dark liquid and examined it absently.
“I’ll miss the old switches and dials,” he muttered, almost to himself, “All these fancy polished touch screens are impressive enough. But a crew needs to feel the mechanisms of the ship around them, sense how interconnected every system is. You don’t get that from tapping at a screen all day.”
Jirel didn’t bother with a response this time. It was becoming increasingly clear to both persons present inside the study that the old man was stalling.
Eventually, with a slight sigh, Jenner reached for a pair of crystal glasses and continued.
“Your mother tells me you’re back home late more often than not these days.”
Jirel was a little taken aback at how quickly his father had pivoted to the crux of the conversation, having assumed that his stalling tactic was going to continue a little longer.
“Ah,” he managed in response, shifting awkwardly in his chair, “I wouldn’t say—I’m just…being sociable. Making friends.”
“Uh huh.”
The grunted response rather succinctly suggested that he was more inclined to take his wife’s view of the situation over his son’s.
“Your entrance exam for the Academy is in six days,” he continued after a moment.
“I know,” Jirel sighed, his shoulders sagging imperceptibly, “And don’t worry, I’ve been—”
“You’ve been out partying,” Jenner cut in, his tone still deliberately measured, “Instead of studying. The best of the best might get to be this blasé about their entrance exam, Jirel, but most of us don’t. For us, it takes a hell of a lot of hard work.”
“It’s fine,” the Trill insisted with a trace of a teenage pout, “I’ve got it all figured out. I’ve just been…letting off some steam, y’know?”
Jenner slowly shook his head as he poured a generous helping of the rich, dark liquor into one of the glasses with deliberate care.
“So,” he offered, “What were you drinking tonight?”
The latest teenage lie began before Jirel even realised it was happening.
“Just synthehol and—”
“Cut the crap, son.”
Failing to locate a more suitable lie, Jirel merely responded to this with a guilty silence. To his surprise, he saw his father carefully pouring a second glass, before stepping over to where he was sitting and offering it to him.
“This is a thirty year old single malt. From an old distillery still operating on Islay. Nothing replicated, nothing artificial. Your grandfather swore by it. He told me that Jenners had been drinking this stuff since the 19th century.”
Jirel peered into the glass and caught the sharp scent of the liquor. He suppressed a flinch.
“I, um, don’t suppose you’ve got any Andorian brandy—?”
“Jenners drink scotch.”
That seemed to settle the matter as far as the older man was concerned. He moved over and took a seat in the armchair on the other side of the bookcase and sipped his drink, as Jirel reluctantly did the same, praying that the unexpected extra helping of alcohol wasn’t going to cause him to throw up right there on the floor of his father’s study.
Mercifully for his dignity, he managed to gulp the fiery liquid down and keep it there.
“Jirel,” his father continued, swirling his glass around, “I want you to be honest with me.”
“I mean, I guess I don’t really like the taste—”
“Not about the goddamn whisky. About the Academy. I want you to tell me if that’s really what you want. Or if that’s just what you think I want from you.”
Jirel forced himself to make eye contact with the older man in the other chair, the dim light of the room glinting off the four near pips on the shoulder of his uniform.
“I…want this,” he managed to reply, “I want to join Starfleet. And one day, I want to be the next…Captain Jenner.”
This response wasn’t entirely a lie, but as definitive statements went, it still didn’t sound entirely convincing. Even to the person saying it.
Jenner set his glass down on a small table next to his chair and leaned forwards, wringing his hands in front of him in preparation for the difficult conversation in front of him.
“Look, Jirel, I know this wasn’t easy for you. An orphan, brought here from a Trill colony, growing up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. But you need to be truthful about this. Ok?”
Jirel chanced another gulp of the burning liquid and mustered a nod back at his father.
“I am,” he insisted, still not sure if he really was lying, “I am being honest.”
Jenner sighed again and leaned back in his chair, reaching for his glass on the table.
“There’s an old story my mother once told me,” he offered out of the blue, “One day, there was going to be a great war in the forest, between the birds and the beasts. And each side hurried to build as big a fighting force as they could.”
Jirel couldn’t help but look a little perplexed at this sudden shift in approach, even as his father sipped his drink and continued.
“In the middle of the forest, a bat hung from a tree. First he was approached by the birds, who asked him to join their side. And he said he couldn’t, because he was a beast. Then, he was approached by the beasts, who asked him to join them. This time, he said he couldn’t, because he was a bird.”
The older man paused for a moment to set his glass back down.
“Anyway, at the last minute, peace prevailed. There was no war. And the whole forest celebrated. The bat tried to join the celebrations, but he found himself shunned. First by the birds, and then by the beasts. And he was forced to fly away, to live a life of solitude in the darkness of the caves.”
He looked over at his son, apparently expecting some sort of response now his story had concluded.
“Um,” the drunk Jirel managed, “That’s a…nice story?”
“Well,” Jenner persisted, “I think the point is that if you live your life as neither one thing or the other, like the bat, you’re going to end up alone. So, as hard as growing up as neither one thing nor the other might have been, it’s time for you to figure out who you are. Whether you’re a Starfleet man, or whether you’re something else.”
Jirel stopped himself before another half-hearted affirmation escaped his lips. In the other chair, Jenner drained his glass and stood up.
“There’s no shame in not wanting to serve in Starfleet,” he continued, “But there is in treating the shot at the entrance exam like some sort of joke. Understood?”
Jirel mustered a simple nod as his father talked further.
“Either way, until you figure out what you want for yourself, you’re going to be just like that bat. Moving between personas when it suits you, and never getting anywhere in life. So, please, if nothing else, think about that. Ok?”
Still sitting in the armchair, Jirel considered this statement in all seriousness, his father’s frank words washing over him and virtually sobering him up on the spot.
Jenner turned and made for the door, leaving Jirel lost in thought. As he reached the exit, he took a moment to call back over his shoulder.
“And if you even think about taking any more of that scotch now I’ve gone, I’ll kick your ass all the way to Alpha Centauri. When the liquor’s that good, they don’t make a lot of it.”
Jirel suppressed a wry smile as he gazed down into the dregs of the liquid in his glass. He felt the need to call back, his words filled with a fresh sense of renewed self-confidence.
“Don’t worry. I know who I am. And I’m gonna ace that exam.”
Six days later, that bold statement proved to be just another teenage lie.
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