Great moment of understated comedy - Paul Mannheim, eh? Yeah, this is going to get splintered...
Thanks!! rbs
Star Trek: Bounty - 202 - "The Bat, the Birds and the Beasts"
- Thread starter BountyTrek
- Start date
Thanks!! rbs
First time I’ve borrowed two canon characters (or one canon character and the non-canon son of a canon character) for a Bounty story. The only other previous one was Martus Mazur back in 106.
I’m aware my crew is nowhere near important enough to justify them bumping into Picard or Janeway or Martok every week, but I like to dabble in the odd one-off character/species from Trek shows past. Taking a Lower Decks-style approach to include just enough easter eggs to tie the universes together, while leaving the really big ticket dramas for the good crews to deal with.
Part Four (Cont’d)
The two men continued to stagger on, having now made it down the mountain pass. They were now approaching the shallow stream that they had easily crossed on horseback on their journey out.
Though this time, that wouldn’t be an option.
“Take it you don’t mind getting your feet wet?” Jirel asked the older man leaning awkwardly on his shoulder.
“Kinda feels like wet socks’ll be the least of my ankle’s problems right now,” Jenner replied with a mirthless grunt.
Since they had been reunited, the conversation had been thin on the ground. Not only were both men focused on using their energy to keep moving, but also neither one of them wanted to be the one to provoke the next argument. At least, not just yet.
But all that meant was that they had barely spoken. And there remained a tension in the air between them.
As they reached the stream, Jirel let go of the reins in his hand to allow the horse to navigate its own way across, not wanting to risk injuring or frightening the animal if he slipped on the wet rocks under the surface while still gripping onto them.
With the horse underway, Jirel and his father tentatively set off into the cold, shallow stream.
“By the way,” Jenner offered, “If you lose your balance, I’m letting go and hopping the rest of the way myself. Wet socks I can deal with, but like hell are you dragging me in there with you.”
“Is that the sort of selfless heroics I missed out on getting taught at the Academy?” the Trill couldn’t help but fire back.
It wasn’t an aggressive comment, designed to provoke. And Jenner didn’t bother to reply, keeping his focus on maintaining his footing as they forded the stream.
As they staggered on, feet now soaked through their boots and socks, Jirel thought about the Academy again, the source of so many of their arguments both recently and historically. And he considered what he had wanted to say earlier, when the subject had come up.
What he had wanted to say to his father for a very long time.
Again, he pictured Natasha’s expression in his head, giving him a look that he knew was designed to steer him towards doing the right thing again. And he found himself starting to speak.
“You know something? About that entrance exam.”
Jenner didn’t respond, aside from a grunt of exertion as he took another step with his good foot.
“Well,” Jirel continued, “All these years, you’ve just assumed I flunked it cos I didn’t try. Cos I was a dumb, arrogant kid who wasted his big shot at a proper career. And…I guess I’ve always let you think that. Cos the truth seemed even worse.”
“And what exactly is the truth?” his father queried, keeping his voice measured.
Jirel sighed. He wanted to stop. Natasha implored him to continue.
“The truth is…I actually tried.”
He avoided his father’s gaze and kept his focus down to his feet, making sure he was on solid ground. Literally, if not metaphorically.
The floodgates were open. No turning back now.
“Remember that night, a week before the exam? You caught me sneaking back in at some ungodly hour in the morning. And you told me that stupid story about the bat, the birds and the beasts. Said I needed to figure out who I wanted to be.”
“I remember.”
They had stopped now, somewhat incongruously, in the middle of the stream. On the bank, a few metres away, the horse had grown tired of waiting for them and had started to graze on the grass by the water.
“Well,” Jirel sighed, “I did. That night, I figured it all out.”
“You were drunk,” Jenner pointed out curtly.
Jirel stifled a wry smile and shook his head.
“I must’ve been. Because I realised I wanted to be like you. I thought long and hard about it and…I wanted to get out there. Explore, experience, everything. And maybe actually…find my place in the universe.”
Jenner had no comment. He remained silent, and listened to his son.
Jirel pushed on. No turning back.
“So…I woke up the following day and I just started working my ass off. That whole week. Barely slept, didn’t leave the house, didn’t even leave my room except to eat. Not that you noticed, I’m sure.”
His father felt the sting of that comment. But he couldn’t realistically deny it. He had been on Earth for that whole week and more, while the Erebus had started its refit. And Jirel was right. He hadn’t noticed.
“And after all that,” Jirel sighed in admission, “I still failed. Really, really failed. So I just let you think I’d flunked it. I mean, what’s worse? Having a slacker for a son, or an idiot?” *
He finally forced himself to look over at his father, hoping that the old man wouldn’t feel the need to deliver an answer to that question.
Jenner stared back at his son. Processing the truth that he’d just heard, after eighteen years of assumptions. It took him a moment to find any sort of response. And when he found it, it wasn’t quite the one that Jirel might’ve expected.
“Did you find it?”
Jirel’s expression creased into one of confusion.
“Find what?”
“Your…place in the universe?”
He gestured awkwardly towards the sky, still resting his weight on Jirel’s shoulder.
“You’ve been out there for long enough by now.”
Jirel’s mind went straight to the tattered centre chair in the Bounty’s tumbledown cockpit. With the rest of the crew sitting around him.
“I thought I had,” he muttered back with a sad smile, “But then…”
But then Maya Ortega died.
Jenner caught the implication. He nodded in silent understanding.
“Come on,” he motioned across towards the other side of the stream, “I think we’ve earned another rest.”
Jirel mustered a nod, and the two of them resumed their laboured journey across the stream, to the general disinterest of the still-grazing horse.
By the time they reached the far side, Jenner had made his mind up. He knew that he needed to say something as well.
No turning back.
He eased himself down onto a rock by the stream, as Jirel sat down next to him. Both men started to take their boots off and tip the excess water from inside.
“Earlier,” the older man began, “When you were talking about Maya. I said—I told you that it gets easier.”
He paused for a moment, staring past the boot he was holding upside down as the last drops of water fell to the ground from inside it. And he thought about his wife.
“Well, that was a lie.”
Now it was Jirel’s turn to remain silent, as his father continued.
“It’s a good lie to tell people. Because, when you’re hurting like that, it’s what you want to hear. But the truth is that it doesn’t get easier. Not really. You just…learn to live with the pain.”
In all the time he had known his adoptive father, Jirel could never remember him betraying any real emotion. Apart from anger whenever they were arguing. But even though he managed to maintain his dignified Starfleet admiral exterior, he was sure he could detect a slight creak in the old man’s voice.
“It’s one of the reasons I don’t like spending a lot of time back here, on Earth. Why I’ve turned down two offers of early retirement from Starfleet. And why I’m still out there. Because, when I’m back here, in that house and sleeping in that bed, it…feels empty. And I guess it always will.”
Jirel didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to reach out and hug the older man. But that seemed a little too much.
Jenner took a second to compose himself fully before he continued.
“And that’s the truth. After all this time, I still miss your mother.”
“I miss her too,” Jirel heard himself whisper back, “And I miss Maya…”
He stifled the beginnings of a sob. Not doing as good a job as his father in keeping a lid on his emotions.
“I know,” Jenner nodded back.
“It’s just,” Jirel continued with a deep sigh, “I just couldn’t—I can’t deal with it. With the…consequences.”
Jenner considered this latest admission.
“There are always consequences, Jirel,” the long-serving officer replied sagely, “Even if you don’t think there are. Mistakes to regret, issues to deal with, decisions to live with. And, occasionally, deaths you can’t prevent. I’m afraid that’s part of life. And that’s part of being a captain.”
Jirel glanced at his father, a little surprised.
“Is that what you think I am?”
His father looked straight back at him.
“Is that what you think you are?”
“I…don’t know,” Jirel admitted, “Not any more.”
“Well, either way, you came back for me,” Jenner pointed out, “And whatever you might think about yourself, I think you’re ready to deal with the consequences.”
He nodded in satisfaction and began to pull his damp boots back on.
“Now I see why he said we should do this.”
“Wh—?” Jirel began in confusion, “Wait, who said we should do what?”
Jenner didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up with a grimace, rested his weight on his good ankle, and reached into his pocket.
And retrieved a Starfleet delta. A communicator.
“What the hell?” Jirel gasped, jumping up off the rock, “You had that the whole—?”
“Jenner to Erebus,” his father called out, “Two to beam up. Have Doctor Pax ready with something for a broken ankle. And…”
His gaze drifted over to the grazing animal next to the baffled Jirel.
“Make sure my horse gets home safe.”
Before Jirel could comprehend what was going on, the transporter effect took hold.
Moments later, Hesk watched on with some surprise from the porch of the Jenner homestead, as an equally surprised horse materialised out of thin air in front of her.
* - Jirel’s admission here ties back to his conversation with Natasha at the end of Star Trek: Bounty - 102 - "Be All My Sins Forgiven":
“Oh, flunked it,” he nodded quickly, “Like, super flunked it. Not even as if I just missed the cut. And, while I’d like that to all be a crowning act of teenage rebellion, the sad part is I was actually trying.”
Boom. Continuity.
The two men continued to stagger on, having now made it down the mountain pass. They were now approaching the shallow stream that they had easily crossed on horseback on their journey out.
Though this time, that wouldn’t be an option.
“Take it you don’t mind getting your feet wet?” Jirel asked the older man leaning awkwardly on his shoulder.
“Kinda feels like wet socks’ll be the least of my ankle’s problems right now,” Jenner replied with a mirthless grunt.
Since they had been reunited, the conversation had been thin on the ground. Not only were both men focused on using their energy to keep moving, but also neither one of them wanted to be the one to provoke the next argument. At least, not just yet.
But all that meant was that they had barely spoken. And there remained a tension in the air between them.
As they reached the stream, Jirel let go of the reins in his hand to allow the horse to navigate its own way across, not wanting to risk injuring or frightening the animal if he slipped on the wet rocks under the surface while still gripping onto them.
With the horse underway, Jirel and his father tentatively set off into the cold, shallow stream.
“By the way,” Jenner offered, “If you lose your balance, I’m letting go and hopping the rest of the way myself. Wet socks I can deal with, but like hell are you dragging me in there with you.”
“Is that the sort of selfless heroics I missed out on getting taught at the Academy?” the Trill couldn’t help but fire back.
It wasn’t an aggressive comment, designed to provoke. And Jenner didn’t bother to reply, keeping his focus on maintaining his footing as they forded the stream.
As they staggered on, feet now soaked through their boots and socks, Jirel thought about the Academy again, the source of so many of their arguments both recently and historically. And he considered what he had wanted to say earlier, when the subject had come up.
What he had wanted to say to his father for a very long time.
Again, he pictured Natasha’s expression in his head, giving him a look that he knew was designed to steer him towards doing the right thing again. And he found himself starting to speak.
“You know something? About that entrance exam.”
Jenner didn’t respond, aside from a grunt of exertion as he took another step with his good foot.
“Well,” Jirel continued, “All these years, you’ve just assumed I flunked it cos I didn’t try. Cos I was a dumb, arrogant kid who wasted his big shot at a proper career. And…I guess I’ve always let you think that. Cos the truth seemed even worse.”
“And what exactly is the truth?” his father queried, keeping his voice measured.
Jirel sighed. He wanted to stop. Natasha implored him to continue.
“The truth is…I actually tried.”
He avoided his father’s gaze and kept his focus down to his feet, making sure he was on solid ground. Literally, if not metaphorically.
The floodgates were open. No turning back now.
“Remember that night, a week before the exam? You caught me sneaking back in at some ungodly hour in the morning. And you told me that stupid story about the bat, the birds and the beasts. Said I needed to figure out who I wanted to be.”
“I remember.”
They had stopped now, somewhat incongruously, in the middle of the stream. On the bank, a few metres away, the horse had grown tired of waiting for them and had started to graze on the grass by the water.
“Well,” Jirel sighed, “I did. That night, I figured it all out.”
“You were drunk,” Jenner pointed out curtly.
Jirel stifled a wry smile and shook his head.
“I must’ve been. Because I realised I wanted to be like you. I thought long and hard about it and…I wanted to get out there. Explore, experience, everything. And maybe actually…find my place in the universe.”
Jenner had no comment. He remained silent, and listened to his son.
Jirel pushed on. No turning back.
“So…I woke up the following day and I just started working my ass off. That whole week. Barely slept, didn’t leave the house, didn’t even leave my room except to eat. Not that you noticed, I’m sure.”
His father felt the sting of that comment. But he couldn’t realistically deny it. He had been on Earth for that whole week and more, while the Erebus had started its refit. And Jirel was right. He hadn’t noticed.
“And after all that,” Jirel sighed in admission, “I still failed. Really, really failed. So I just let you think I’d flunked it. I mean, what’s worse? Having a slacker for a son, or an idiot?” *
He finally forced himself to look over at his father, hoping that the old man wouldn’t feel the need to deliver an answer to that question.
Jenner stared back at his son. Processing the truth that he’d just heard, after eighteen years of assumptions. It took him a moment to find any sort of response. And when he found it, it wasn’t quite the one that Jirel might’ve expected.
“Did you find it?”
Jirel’s expression creased into one of confusion.
“Find what?”
“Your…place in the universe?”
He gestured awkwardly towards the sky, still resting his weight on Jirel’s shoulder.
“You’ve been out there for long enough by now.”
Jirel’s mind went straight to the tattered centre chair in the Bounty’s tumbledown cockpit. With the rest of the crew sitting around him.
“I thought I had,” he muttered back with a sad smile, “But then…”
But then Maya Ortega died.
Jenner caught the implication. He nodded in silent understanding.
“Come on,” he motioned across towards the other side of the stream, “I think we’ve earned another rest.”
Jirel mustered a nod, and the two of them resumed their laboured journey across the stream, to the general disinterest of the still-grazing horse.
By the time they reached the far side, Jenner had made his mind up. He knew that he needed to say something as well.
No turning back.
He eased himself down onto a rock by the stream, as Jirel sat down next to him. Both men started to take their boots off and tip the excess water from inside.
“Earlier,” the older man began, “When you were talking about Maya. I said—I told you that it gets easier.”
He paused for a moment, staring past the boot he was holding upside down as the last drops of water fell to the ground from inside it. And he thought about his wife.
“Well, that was a lie.”
Now it was Jirel’s turn to remain silent, as his father continued.
“It’s a good lie to tell people. Because, when you’re hurting like that, it’s what you want to hear. But the truth is that it doesn’t get easier. Not really. You just…learn to live with the pain.”
In all the time he had known his adoptive father, Jirel could never remember him betraying any real emotion. Apart from anger whenever they were arguing. But even though he managed to maintain his dignified Starfleet admiral exterior, he was sure he could detect a slight creak in the old man’s voice.
“It’s one of the reasons I don’t like spending a lot of time back here, on Earth. Why I’ve turned down two offers of early retirement from Starfleet. And why I’m still out there. Because, when I’m back here, in that house and sleeping in that bed, it…feels empty. And I guess it always will.”
Jirel didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to reach out and hug the older man. But that seemed a little too much.
Jenner took a second to compose himself fully before he continued.
“And that’s the truth. After all this time, I still miss your mother.”
“I miss her too,” Jirel heard himself whisper back, “And I miss Maya…”
He stifled the beginnings of a sob. Not doing as good a job as his father in keeping a lid on his emotions.
“I know,” Jenner nodded back.
“It’s just,” Jirel continued with a deep sigh, “I just couldn’t—I can’t deal with it. With the…consequences.”
Jenner considered this latest admission.
“There are always consequences, Jirel,” the long-serving officer replied sagely, “Even if you don’t think there are. Mistakes to regret, issues to deal with, decisions to live with. And, occasionally, deaths you can’t prevent. I’m afraid that’s part of life. And that’s part of being a captain.”
Jirel glanced at his father, a little surprised.
“Is that what you think I am?”
His father looked straight back at him.
“Is that what you think you are?”
“I…don’t know,” Jirel admitted, “Not any more.”
“Well, either way, you came back for me,” Jenner pointed out, “And whatever you might think about yourself, I think you’re ready to deal with the consequences.”
He nodded in satisfaction and began to pull his damp boots back on.
“Now I see why he said we should do this.”
“Wh—?” Jirel began in confusion, “Wait, who said we should do what?”
Jenner didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up with a grimace, rested his weight on his good ankle, and reached into his pocket.
And retrieved a Starfleet delta. A communicator.
“What the hell?” Jirel gasped, jumping up off the rock, “You had that the whole—?”
“Jenner to Erebus,” his father called out, “Two to beam up. Have Doctor Pax ready with something for a broken ankle. And…”
His gaze drifted over to the grazing animal next to the baffled Jirel.
“Make sure my horse gets home safe.”
Before Jirel could comprehend what was going on, the transporter effect took hold.
Moments later, Hesk watched on with some surprise from the porch of the Jenner homestead, as an equally surprised horse materialised out of thin air in front of her.
* - Jirel’s admission here ties back to his conversation with Natasha at the end of Star Trek: Bounty - 102 - "Be All My Sins Forgiven":
“Oh, flunked it,” he nodded quickly, “Like, super flunked it. Not even as if I just missed the cut. And, while I’d like that to all be a crowning act of teenage rebellion, the sad part is I was actually trying.”
Boom. Continuity.
Well, to echo what I said the other day about Gibraltar, I think you strayed into literature with this scene. Well and nicely done!
Thanks!! rbs
Thanks!! rbs
Thank you for such a kind comment.
I was hoping to land that scene to justify having Jirel moping around on Earth for an entire episode.
Part Four (Cont’d)
Denella couldn’t help but lose a sliver of focus on her work as she heard the audibly pained grunt from beneath her.
Despite the ongoing peril of their situation, she felt the need to respond.
“You know, Klath, in most cultures it’s considered rude to make comments like that about a lady’s weight.”
The Orion engineer sat carefully balanced atop the Klingon’s broad shoulders, the pair of them forming a slightly incongruous two-person pyramid at the end of the pristine white corridor of the area they were being held.
With no other means to clamber higher, she had solicited his help to reach the only access panel she could find for the set of imposing sealed doors in front of them. A panel that happened to be built into the high ceiling above the doorway.
She had no tools available to her. But she had been able to claw off the panel using her fingernails, and was now trying to figure out the details of the circuitry that had been revealed.
Which was taking some time. And her willing assistant sounded like he was starting to feel the strain of her Orion frame.
“I was not passing any such comment,” Klath clarified with admirable diplomacy, “I am merely growing…frustrated with our incarceration.”
“Yeah. You and me both.”
She returned to her work, meticulously checking the isolinear wiring to figure out a way of shorting, or otherwise overriding, the controls to the door.
After a few more seconds, Klath couldn’t help but grunt in exertion once again.
“Do you know,” he asked, with a slightly strained tone, “How much longer this task might take?”
“It takes a little longer every time you ask,” she responded, “So just be quiet and enjoy the free workout.”
Klath considered suggesting that she take a short break. For her own sake, of course. But ultimately, he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. So, he elected to grit his teeth and silently bear the weight of the Orion woman’s muscular frame that was pressing down onto his shoulders.
“Huh,” Sunek called out from behind them as he and Natasha approached, “What did Klath do to draw the short straw?”
“Seriously,” Denella griped, only partly in jest, “The next person to make a comment like that, I’m leaving behind in here. Did you two find anything useful?”
“Nada,” the Vulcan replied, “The rest of this place is entirely absent of exits, entrances, secret passages or magic bookcases that spin around when you pull out a certain novel. Guess we were brought in through that door.”
“Or maybe that door leads nowhere,” Natasha mused, “And they beamed us in here. Always struck me as odd how few people use that as part of their detention facilities.”
“Ok, less comments about my weight and less fatalist talk like that, please.”
Klath grunted again, but kept his mouth shut.
“Still,” Sunek offered, “At least it’s a nicer sort of prison than we usually get locked in. I’ve always said we should try to be kidnapped by nicer people.”
Nobody bothered to reply, but Natasha silently conceded that there was the kernel of a point in there. From the comfortable bed she had woken up in, to the food that had been provided and the now-trashed facilities in the ‘living room’, they were at least being looked after.
Not that she was exactly eager to stick around.
“I should’ve put all this together,” she sighed, “So stupid that I didn’t think to dig deeper into where we were going. Got too distracted with those stupid tricorder readings.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” Sunek replied, his medication-assisted understanding side shining through once again, “I didn’t figure it out either. And I’m really smart.”
At least, part of his understanding side was shining through.
“Still,” the Vulcan continued, as he casually leaned against the wall of the corridor, “What exactly is their plan here? What experiment are they talking about? Cos, full disclosure, after recent events, I’m not a big fan of being experimented on.”
He cast his mind back to a recent misadventure, when he had been forcibly emotionally stimulated by a coven of emphatically-addicted Betazoids, and shuddered.*
“I’m not sure,” Natasha admitted with a pensive shrug, “I know Doctor Brooks was talking about generating chronitons somehow? But I can’t see where we come in.”
“Me neither,” Sunek admitted.
“And he’s really smart,” Denella couldn’t help but add.
Sunek childishly stuck his tongue out in the direction of the Orion, as she continued to prod around inside the access hatch.
“Still,” Natasha sighed warily, “I suspect we’ll find out what they mean very soon.”
“Or maybe not,” Denella said with a note of victory, as she finally found the wiring junction she was looking for and shorted it out.
Right on cue, the huge doors began to open. Klath smiled in satisfaction. Partly at them making their escape, and partly because now Denella was clambering down from his shoulders.
“Ok,” the Orion continued as her feet returned to the ground, “Let’s get moving—”
She barely got a couple of steps through the now-open doorway before she stopped dead. The others followed suit. The huge doors had parted to reveal a short section of identical, pristine corridor. With another sealed doorway at the end.
Growling in frustration, Klath aimed a punch squarely at the wall.
“Huh,” Sunek offered, “Anyone getting deja vu—?”
Growling in frustration again, Klath aimed a punch squarely at the wall.
“Huh,” Sunek offered again, “Anyone getting deja vu?”
All four of them looked around in complete confusion, having all just registered the same thing happening. Twice.
“Wait,” Sunek added, “Did my deja vu just deja vu itself?”
Natasha felt an unerringly deep well of panic suddenly open up inside of her. She didn’t have a particularly in-depth grasp of temporal science. Nor of what had previously happened on Vandor IV.
But she knew enough to recognise what they had just experienced.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, “The Mannheim Effect.”
“What?” Denella queried, fearing that she was opening up another avalanche of technobabble as a result.
“That was the Mannheim Effect,” Natasha continued, looking around fearfully, “Or something very similar to how I remember it being described. A short…pocket of time. Repeating itself.”
“What does that mean?” Klath grunted, looking as confused as Denella was.
Natasha looked over at Sunek, who appeared equally glum. The Vulcan had evidently come to the same conclusion.
“It means that we’re too late. It’s already started. This is the experi—”
****************************
Slowly but surely, Natasha regained consciousness.
She sat bolt upright and looked around.
But this time, she already knew what she would see.
She found herself lying in a familiar bed, inside a familiar white room. The familiar scent of a familiar double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings) wafted over from the familiar table on the other side of the room.
It was just as she remembered from earlier, when she had woken up in the same surroundings. Identical, in every way.
As if time had reset itself.
“—ment.”
From down the corridor, she heard Klath roaring with anger.
And she suddenly realised just how trapped they were.
****************************
“There. Temporal Reset Number 1 is complete.”
Brooks stared down at the readings on the computer terminal in front of him with satisfaction.
Behind him, Rasmussen virtually skipped across the expanse of the floor of the laboratory upon hearing the comment.
“Ah, perfect!” he gleefully replied, before looking a little more pensive, “I mean, is it perfect—? Not ‘perfect’, I know you have issues with that word. But is it…working?”
Brooks stepped away from the terminal, still displaying the ongoing readings from the experiment, and stepped over to a vast mechanism on the wall next to it.
The whole thing had taken him the best part of a decade to construct. He had expanded on his father’s work, and modified his theories in order to come up with the solution that he needed.
A method of harvesting chroniton particles.
In the cylindrical collection chamber at the heart of the mechanism, the invisible fruits of Temporal Reset Number 1 should have been waiting for him.
It only took a second to confirm.
“Yes,” he replied with pompous assurance, “Three point two chroniton particles per cubic millimetre detected inside the stasis field.”
Rasmussen stared back at him, the delight on his face giving way to confusion.
“...Is that a lot?” he managed eventually.
Brooks resisted the urge to roll his eyes at this elementary question, a reminder of the limited scientific level of the individual he had joined forces with.
“No,” he conceded, for full scientific accuracy, “But as a yield from a single temporal event, it is more than acceptable. And there’ll be plenty more on the way soon enough.”
He returned to the original control panel and checked a second set of readings.
“Temporal Reset Number 2 is underway. And so far, only minimal degradation to the brain functions of the subjects.”
This off-hand remark brought a look of concern to Rasmussen’s features.
“Minor degradation to the—? You said this wouldn’t harm them!”
“I said it wouldn’t kill them,” Brooks replied calmly, “And it won’t. Provided that the yield per reset remains that high.”
This answer seemed to do little to alleviate Rasmussen’s concern, as Brooks looked over at him with a patient sigh.
“I thought you wanted to go home, Mr Rasmussen?” he pointedly asked.
This seemed to refocus the tall human’s focus on the goal of what they were doing here. He nodded back eagerly.
“Very, very much so. Yes.”
Brooks smiled and looked back down at the readings, taking a moment to bask in his own genius, standing on his father’s shoulders.
He had taken the experiments his father had started, and turned them into a means to harvest the very chronitons of the temporal events themselves. Provided there were enough test subjects inside the experiment to trigger them.
And now, with Rasmussen’s time pod replica built, he could truly embrace everything that travelling through spacetime had to offer.
“Good,” Brooks smiled thinly to Rasmussen’s affirmation, “And you will. Quite soon.”
On the other side of the wall, the experiment continued…
End of Part Four
* - See the preceding adventure Star Trek: Bounty - 201 - "Something Good Happened Today".
Denella couldn’t help but lose a sliver of focus on her work as she heard the audibly pained grunt from beneath her.
Despite the ongoing peril of their situation, she felt the need to respond.
“You know, Klath, in most cultures it’s considered rude to make comments like that about a lady’s weight.”
The Orion engineer sat carefully balanced atop the Klingon’s broad shoulders, the pair of them forming a slightly incongruous two-person pyramid at the end of the pristine white corridor of the area they were being held.
With no other means to clamber higher, she had solicited his help to reach the only access panel she could find for the set of imposing sealed doors in front of them. A panel that happened to be built into the high ceiling above the doorway.
She had no tools available to her. But she had been able to claw off the panel using her fingernails, and was now trying to figure out the details of the circuitry that had been revealed.
Which was taking some time. And her willing assistant sounded like he was starting to feel the strain of her Orion frame.
“I was not passing any such comment,” Klath clarified with admirable diplomacy, “I am merely growing…frustrated with our incarceration.”
“Yeah. You and me both.”
She returned to her work, meticulously checking the isolinear wiring to figure out a way of shorting, or otherwise overriding, the controls to the door.
After a few more seconds, Klath couldn’t help but grunt in exertion once again.
“Do you know,” he asked, with a slightly strained tone, “How much longer this task might take?”
“It takes a little longer every time you ask,” she responded, “So just be quiet and enjoy the free workout.”
Klath considered suggesting that she take a short break. For her own sake, of course. But ultimately, he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. So, he elected to grit his teeth and silently bear the weight of the Orion woman’s muscular frame that was pressing down onto his shoulders.
“Huh,” Sunek called out from behind them as he and Natasha approached, “What did Klath do to draw the short straw?”
“Seriously,” Denella griped, only partly in jest, “The next person to make a comment like that, I’m leaving behind in here. Did you two find anything useful?”
“Nada,” the Vulcan replied, “The rest of this place is entirely absent of exits, entrances, secret passages or magic bookcases that spin around when you pull out a certain novel. Guess we were brought in through that door.”
“Or maybe that door leads nowhere,” Natasha mused, “And they beamed us in here. Always struck me as odd how few people use that as part of their detention facilities.”
“Ok, less comments about my weight and less fatalist talk like that, please.”
Klath grunted again, but kept his mouth shut.
“Still,” Sunek offered, “At least it’s a nicer sort of prison than we usually get locked in. I’ve always said we should try to be kidnapped by nicer people.”
Nobody bothered to reply, but Natasha silently conceded that there was the kernel of a point in there. From the comfortable bed she had woken up in, to the food that had been provided and the now-trashed facilities in the ‘living room’, they were at least being looked after.
Not that she was exactly eager to stick around.
“I should’ve put all this together,” she sighed, “So stupid that I didn’t think to dig deeper into where we were going. Got too distracted with those stupid tricorder readings.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” Sunek replied, his medication-assisted understanding side shining through once again, “I didn’t figure it out either. And I’m really smart.”
At least, part of his understanding side was shining through.
“Still,” the Vulcan continued, as he casually leaned against the wall of the corridor, “What exactly is their plan here? What experiment are they talking about? Cos, full disclosure, after recent events, I’m not a big fan of being experimented on.”
He cast his mind back to a recent misadventure, when he had been forcibly emotionally stimulated by a coven of emphatically-addicted Betazoids, and shuddered.*
“I’m not sure,” Natasha admitted with a pensive shrug, “I know Doctor Brooks was talking about generating chronitons somehow? But I can’t see where we come in.”
“Me neither,” Sunek admitted.
“And he’s really smart,” Denella couldn’t help but add.
Sunek childishly stuck his tongue out in the direction of the Orion, as she continued to prod around inside the access hatch.
“Still,” Natasha sighed warily, “I suspect we’ll find out what they mean very soon.”
“Or maybe not,” Denella said with a note of victory, as she finally found the wiring junction she was looking for and shorted it out.
Right on cue, the huge doors began to open. Klath smiled in satisfaction. Partly at them making their escape, and partly because now Denella was clambering down from his shoulders.
“Ok,” the Orion continued as her feet returned to the ground, “Let’s get moving—”
She barely got a couple of steps through the now-open doorway before she stopped dead. The others followed suit. The huge doors had parted to reveal a short section of identical, pristine corridor. With another sealed doorway at the end.
Growling in frustration, Klath aimed a punch squarely at the wall.
“Huh,” Sunek offered, “Anyone getting deja vu—?”
Growling in frustration again, Klath aimed a punch squarely at the wall.
“Huh,” Sunek offered again, “Anyone getting deja vu?”
All four of them looked around in complete confusion, having all just registered the same thing happening. Twice.
“Wait,” Sunek added, “Did my deja vu just deja vu itself?”
Natasha felt an unerringly deep well of panic suddenly open up inside of her. She didn’t have a particularly in-depth grasp of temporal science. Nor of what had previously happened on Vandor IV.
But she knew enough to recognise what they had just experienced.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, “The Mannheim Effect.”
“What?” Denella queried, fearing that she was opening up another avalanche of technobabble as a result.
“That was the Mannheim Effect,” Natasha continued, looking around fearfully, “Or something very similar to how I remember it being described. A short…pocket of time. Repeating itself.”
“What does that mean?” Klath grunted, looking as confused as Denella was.
Natasha looked over at Sunek, who appeared equally glum. The Vulcan had evidently come to the same conclusion.
“It means that we’re too late. It’s already started. This is the experi—”
****************************
Slowly but surely, Natasha regained consciousness.
She sat bolt upright and looked around.
But this time, she already knew what she would see.
She found herself lying in a familiar bed, inside a familiar white room. The familiar scent of a familiar double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings) wafted over from the familiar table on the other side of the room.
It was just as she remembered from earlier, when she had woken up in the same surroundings. Identical, in every way.
As if time had reset itself.
“—ment.”
From down the corridor, she heard Klath roaring with anger.
And she suddenly realised just how trapped they were.
****************************
“There. Temporal Reset Number 1 is complete.”
Brooks stared down at the readings on the computer terminal in front of him with satisfaction.
Behind him, Rasmussen virtually skipped across the expanse of the floor of the laboratory upon hearing the comment.
“Ah, perfect!” he gleefully replied, before looking a little more pensive, “I mean, is it perfect—? Not ‘perfect’, I know you have issues with that word. But is it…working?”
Brooks stepped away from the terminal, still displaying the ongoing readings from the experiment, and stepped over to a vast mechanism on the wall next to it.
The whole thing had taken him the best part of a decade to construct. He had expanded on his father’s work, and modified his theories in order to come up with the solution that he needed.
A method of harvesting chroniton particles.
In the cylindrical collection chamber at the heart of the mechanism, the invisible fruits of Temporal Reset Number 1 should have been waiting for him.
It only took a second to confirm.
“Yes,” he replied with pompous assurance, “Three point two chroniton particles per cubic millimetre detected inside the stasis field.”
Rasmussen stared back at him, the delight on his face giving way to confusion.
“...Is that a lot?” he managed eventually.
Brooks resisted the urge to roll his eyes at this elementary question, a reminder of the limited scientific level of the individual he had joined forces with.
“No,” he conceded, for full scientific accuracy, “But as a yield from a single temporal event, it is more than acceptable. And there’ll be plenty more on the way soon enough.”
He returned to the original control panel and checked a second set of readings.
“Temporal Reset Number 2 is underway. And so far, only minimal degradation to the brain functions of the subjects.”
This off-hand remark brought a look of concern to Rasmussen’s features.
“Minor degradation to the—? You said this wouldn’t harm them!”
“I said it wouldn’t kill them,” Brooks replied calmly, “And it won’t. Provided that the yield per reset remains that high.”
This answer seemed to do little to alleviate Rasmussen’s concern, as Brooks looked over at him with a patient sigh.
“I thought you wanted to go home, Mr Rasmussen?” he pointedly asked.
This seemed to refocus the tall human’s focus on the goal of what they were doing here. He nodded back eagerly.
“Very, very much so. Yes.”
Brooks smiled and looked back down at the readings, taking a moment to bask in his own genius, standing on his father’s shoulders.
He had taken the experiments his father had started, and turned them into a means to harvest the very chronitons of the temporal events themselves. Provided there were enough test subjects inside the experiment to trigger them.
And now, with Rasmussen’s time pod replica built, he could truly embrace everything that travelling through spacetime had to offer.
“Good,” Brooks smiled thinly to Rasmussen’s affirmation, “And you will. Quite soon.”
On the other side of the wall, the experiment continued…
End of Part Four
* - See the preceding adventure Star Trek: Bounty - 201 - "Something Good Happened Today".
Classic. Thanks!! rbs
Part Five
In high Earth orbit, the sleek lines of the Ambassador-class USS Erebus cut a serene sight as it gently rotated around the planet.
Admiral Jenner’s flagship.
Onboard, the Erebus’s newest visitor’s mind was considerably less serene than the ship was. Moments ago, Jirel had found himself beaming into the spotless confines of one of the ship’s main transporter rooms.
Behind the controls, the transporter operator and two immaculately-attired officers had been confronted with a curious sight.
In front of them stood the commander of the vessel, and an Admiral of the fleet, and a scruffy Trill they had never seen before. Both wore dusty checked shirts and jeans, and heavy wet boots.
But while the young transporter operator looked suitably shocked from behind his controls, the officers took the sight in their stride, as if entirely unexpected incidents like this happened all the time on a Federation starship.
The officer wearing a blue undershirt, Doctor Pax, had jumped into action, running a bone knitter across Jenner’s injured ankle. Meanwhile, the officer wearing the red undershirt, a stoic Vulcan woman, had merely stood with her hands calmly behind her back, awaiting her commander’s orders.
Now, his head still spinning, Jirel found himself in an impromptu walk and talk. The four of them were striding down the corridors of the Erebus, as Jenner barked out orders and Pax attempted to get several words in edgeways.
“Admiral, if I may,” the fussy Grazerite offered, “I really think you should report to sickbay for me to give your ankle a full scan. And I recommend that you rest it for at least—”
“That won’t be necessary, doctor,” Jenner cut in, politely but firmly, “I’m following your diet, but I’ll be damned if I’m letting you confine me to bed rest.”
With that, Pax appeared to finally admit defeat.
Having secured a small victory in every CMO’s endless fight with their commanding officer to get them to do as they were told with the health kick, he didn’t want to push his luck. Instead, he nodded and disappeared off down another corridor, leaving three people in the group.
Satisfied that one battle had been won, Jenner called out to the Vulcan woman.
“Commander T’Ren, we haven’t served together for long, have we?”
“No sir,” she affirmed, “It has been five weeks, three days and eleven hours since my transfer from the USS Akira.”
“Huh. Only seems like five weeks, three days and ten hours.”
T’Ren got the joke, having served with enough non-Vulcan crews in her career. But she merely raised an eyebrow in response.
“Still,” Jenner continued, “I’m going to need a lot from you right now, understood? Even if some of my orders might seem a little…unorthodox.”
“It is my duty as first officer to carry out the orders of the commander of this vessel,” she noted dispassionately, “And my twenty years of service in Starfleet has given me plenty of experience with the…unorthodox.”
Jenner noted the slight twinkle in his new exec’s eyes as she said this. And he started to think he was going to like serving alongside her. However long that might turn out to be.
“Good to hear,” he nodded back, “First, I’m gonna need some guest quarters for Jirel here.”
Commander T’Ren didn’t even acknowledge the Trill, as if he wasn’t there. Instead, she merely affirmed the order with a nod.
“Then,” Jenner continued, “I need you to set a direct course for the Verillian system, best possible speed.”
“Understood, sir,” T’Ren replied, “And may I enquire as to whether there will be any specific needs for our mission to the Verillian system?”
Jenner stifled a smile. Despite her stoic demeanour and her vocal willingness to carry out his orders without question, she was definitely fishing for information there.
She was curious.
“You may enquire,” he replied with a straight bat, “And then you may carry out my orders.”
“Very good, sir,” the Vulcan woman nodded without missing a beat, “Will there be anything else?”
Jenner gently grabbed Jirel’s arm and slowed him up, before directing him through a particular set of deep red doors on the right side of the corridor. As he went to follow his still-bemused son, he turned back to T’Ren.
“Actually, yes. Please extend my apologies.”
“To whom, sir?”
“To whoever’s scheduled to clean this deck today.”
With that, Jenner disappeared into the room with Jirel, and the doors closed behind them.
Commander T’Ren glanced down at the light grey carpet on the deck below, and the two distinct sets of wet, muddy footprints that now adorned the formerly pristine fabric. All the way back to the transporter room.
She raised her eyebrow again, and walked off to carry out her orders.
****************************
“What the hell is going on?”
Jirel had finally found his voice, now they were alone.
He snapped the perfectly legitimate question back at his father, as he looked around the confines of the room he had been led into.
It looked like nothing more than a set of quarters. Far larger and more luxurious than his old cabin back on the Bounty, of course, but nothing more than that. From the slope of the windows, it looked like the room was positioned on the upper edge of the saucer section.
But Jirel wasn’t all that interested in the room. He was far more eager to get an answer to his question.
“I’m sorry,” Jenner replied peaceably, “I get that this is a lot to take in.”
“You’re damn right it is. What is this? A kidnapping? A job offer? Cos, I don’t know how to break this to you, but I kinda didn’t make it into the Academy.”
Jenner didn’t react. Jirel scanned his father’s face for some sort of giveaway.
“And how come you had that communicator the whole time?” he added, “While we were hiking all the way back with three legs between the two of us?”
“Because,” Jenner responded, “I wanted the chance to see what sort of a man you’d become for myself. And I’m glad I did. It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything like that. Since we’ve really talked.”
“But…why? Why all this weird secrecy? And why am I here?”
Jenner’s jaw tightened slightly. He took a deep breath before pressing on. With the truth.
“I told you that it wasn’t me who rescued you from Mivara II. And it wasn’t. Truth is, there’s been someone who’s been…overseeing this whole thing.”
“What is that supposed to—?”
Jirel stopped himself.
He suddenly thought back to something his father had said to him, back on Starbase 216. During another one of their arguments.
****************************
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” the admiral retorted, “You’re gonna get your repairs done, get back on your ship, and get the hell away from my starbase. For a long, long time. I’m out of errands. And I’m definitely out of patience.”
“And Denella—?”
“Is in the hands of Starfleet security.”
“Right,” Jirel said with a sad shake of his head, “It’s like that, is it?”
Jenner checked his watch and sighed, smoothing his uniform back down and preparing to return to the reception.
“Jirel, if it was up to me, it would have been like that months ago.”
The admiral made for the exit, leaving Jirel behind. As he reached the door, the Trill found one final question to fire off.
“So…who was it up to?”
Jenner stopped for a moment. He considered giving an answer, but decided against it. *
****************************
“Wh—?” Jirel managed, “Who are you talking about?”
Jenner’s eyeline drifted to look over Jirel’s shoulder. And the Trill realised that he should have paid more attention to the quarters he was in.
He whirled around on the spot to see two figures stepping out of the shadows on the other side of the room.
“Lights,” Jenner called out.
An instant later, the room was bathed in illumination, allowing Jirel to see the figures clearly. One was a young woman in a formal black jumpsuit adorned with red piping. And the other was a figure, roughly Jirel’s height, in a hooded cloak.
The same figure that had rescued him back on Mivara II. And had apparently taken him back to his father.
Before he could say anything, the figure pulled back the hood of the cloak.
Whoever, or whatever, Jirel had been expecting to see, nothing could have prepared him for the truth.
“What the hell?” he heard himself whisper.
Looking back at him was the face of a Trill.
An older Trill, with grey flecks in his hair and aged lines across his features. But one with a face that was instantly recognisable. And impossibly familiar.
His own face.
“Heh,” the old Trill with Jirel’s face grunted as he regarded his shocked counterpart, “Like looking in a mirror, isn’t it?”
To be concluded…
* - This interaction comes directly from this scene in Star Trek: Bounty - 102 - "Be All My Sins Forgiven".
In high Earth orbit, the sleek lines of the Ambassador-class USS Erebus cut a serene sight as it gently rotated around the planet.
Admiral Jenner’s flagship.
Onboard, the Erebus’s newest visitor’s mind was considerably less serene than the ship was. Moments ago, Jirel had found himself beaming into the spotless confines of one of the ship’s main transporter rooms.
Behind the controls, the transporter operator and two immaculately-attired officers had been confronted with a curious sight.
In front of them stood the commander of the vessel, and an Admiral of the fleet, and a scruffy Trill they had never seen before. Both wore dusty checked shirts and jeans, and heavy wet boots.
But while the young transporter operator looked suitably shocked from behind his controls, the officers took the sight in their stride, as if entirely unexpected incidents like this happened all the time on a Federation starship.
The officer wearing a blue undershirt, Doctor Pax, had jumped into action, running a bone knitter across Jenner’s injured ankle. Meanwhile, the officer wearing the red undershirt, a stoic Vulcan woman, had merely stood with her hands calmly behind her back, awaiting her commander’s orders.
Now, his head still spinning, Jirel found himself in an impromptu walk and talk. The four of them were striding down the corridors of the Erebus, as Jenner barked out orders and Pax attempted to get several words in edgeways.
“Admiral, if I may,” the fussy Grazerite offered, “I really think you should report to sickbay for me to give your ankle a full scan. And I recommend that you rest it for at least—”
“That won’t be necessary, doctor,” Jenner cut in, politely but firmly, “I’m following your diet, but I’ll be damned if I’m letting you confine me to bed rest.”
With that, Pax appeared to finally admit defeat.
Having secured a small victory in every CMO’s endless fight with their commanding officer to get them to do as they were told with the health kick, he didn’t want to push his luck. Instead, he nodded and disappeared off down another corridor, leaving three people in the group.
Satisfied that one battle had been won, Jenner called out to the Vulcan woman.
“Commander T’Ren, we haven’t served together for long, have we?”
“No sir,” she affirmed, “It has been five weeks, three days and eleven hours since my transfer from the USS Akira.”
“Huh. Only seems like five weeks, three days and ten hours.”
T’Ren got the joke, having served with enough non-Vulcan crews in her career. But she merely raised an eyebrow in response.
“Still,” Jenner continued, “I’m going to need a lot from you right now, understood? Even if some of my orders might seem a little…unorthodox.”
“It is my duty as first officer to carry out the orders of the commander of this vessel,” she noted dispassionately, “And my twenty years of service in Starfleet has given me plenty of experience with the…unorthodox.”
Jenner noted the slight twinkle in his new exec’s eyes as she said this. And he started to think he was going to like serving alongside her. However long that might turn out to be.
“Good to hear,” he nodded back, “First, I’m gonna need some guest quarters for Jirel here.”
Commander T’Ren didn’t even acknowledge the Trill, as if he wasn’t there. Instead, she merely affirmed the order with a nod.
“Then,” Jenner continued, “I need you to set a direct course for the Verillian system, best possible speed.”
“Understood, sir,” T’Ren replied, “And may I enquire as to whether there will be any specific needs for our mission to the Verillian system?”
Jenner stifled a smile. Despite her stoic demeanour and her vocal willingness to carry out his orders without question, she was definitely fishing for information there.
She was curious.
“You may enquire,” he replied with a straight bat, “And then you may carry out my orders.”
“Very good, sir,” the Vulcan woman nodded without missing a beat, “Will there be anything else?”
Jenner gently grabbed Jirel’s arm and slowed him up, before directing him through a particular set of deep red doors on the right side of the corridor. As he went to follow his still-bemused son, he turned back to T’Ren.
“Actually, yes. Please extend my apologies.”
“To whom, sir?”
“To whoever’s scheduled to clean this deck today.”
With that, Jenner disappeared into the room with Jirel, and the doors closed behind them.
Commander T’Ren glanced down at the light grey carpet on the deck below, and the two distinct sets of wet, muddy footprints that now adorned the formerly pristine fabric. All the way back to the transporter room.
She raised her eyebrow again, and walked off to carry out her orders.
****************************
“What the hell is going on?”
Jirel had finally found his voice, now they were alone.
He snapped the perfectly legitimate question back at his father, as he looked around the confines of the room he had been led into.
It looked like nothing more than a set of quarters. Far larger and more luxurious than his old cabin back on the Bounty, of course, but nothing more than that. From the slope of the windows, it looked like the room was positioned on the upper edge of the saucer section.
But Jirel wasn’t all that interested in the room. He was far more eager to get an answer to his question.
“I’m sorry,” Jenner replied peaceably, “I get that this is a lot to take in.”
“You’re damn right it is. What is this? A kidnapping? A job offer? Cos, I don’t know how to break this to you, but I kinda didn’t make it into the Academy.”
Jenner didn’t react. Jirel scanned his father’s face for some sort of giveaway.
“And how come you had that communicator the whole time?” he added, “While we were hiking all the way back with three legs between the two of us?”
“Because,” Jenner responded, “I wanted the chance to see what sort of a man you’d become for myself. And I’m glad I did. It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything like that. Since we’ve really talked.”
“But…why? Why all this weird secrecy? And why am I here?”
Jenner’s jaw tightened slightly. He took a deep breath before pressing on. With the truth.
“I told you that it wasn’t me who rescued you from Mivara II. And it wasn’t. Truth is, there’s been someone who’s been…overseeing this whole thing.”
“What is that supposed to—?”
Jirel stopped himself.
He suddenly thought back to something his father had said to him, back on Starbase 216. During another one of their arguments.
****************************
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” the admiral retorted, “You’re gonna get your repairs done, get back on your ship, and get the hell away from my starbase. For a long, long time. I’m out of errands. And I’m definitely out of patience.”
“And Denella—?”
“Is in the hands of Starfleet security.”
“Right,” Jirel said with a sad shake of his head, “It’s like that, is it?”
Jenner checked his watch and sighed, smoothing his uniform back down and preparing to return to the reception.
“Jirel, if it was up to me, it would have been like that months ago.”
The admiral made for the exit, leaving Jirel behind. As he reached the door, the Trill found one final question to fire off.
“So…who was it up to?”
Jenner stopped for a moment. He considered giving an answer, but decided against it. *
****************************
“Wh—?” Jirel managed, “Who are you talking about?”
Jenner’s eyeline drifted to look over Jirel’s shoulder. And the Trill realised that he should have paid more attention to the quarters he was in.
He whirled around on the spot to see two figures stepping out of the shadows on the other side of the room.
“Lights,” Jenner called out.
An instant later, the room was bathed in illumination, allowing Jirel to see the figures clearly. One was a young woman in a formal black jumpsuit adorned with red piping. And the other was a figure, roughly Jirel’s height, in a hooded cloak.
The same figure that had rescued him back on Mivara II. And had apparently taken him back to his father.
Before he could say anything, the figure pulled back the hood of the cloak.
Whoever, or whatever, Jirel had been expecting to see, nothing could have prepared him for the truth.
“What the hell?” he heard himself whisper.
Looking back at him was the face of a Trill.
An older Trill, with grey flecks in his hair and aged lines across his features. But one with a face that was instantly recognisable. And impossibly familiar.
His own face.
“Heh,” the old Trill with Jirel’s face grunted as he regarded his shocked counterpart, “Like looking in a mirror, isn’t it?”
To be concluded…
* - This interaction comes directly from this scene in Star Trek: Bounty - 102 - "Be All My Sins Forgiven".
And that would be his other dad? Okay - definitely getting weird. But setting up a badly needed deus ex machina for Jirel's splintered crew...
Thanks!! rbs
Thanks!! rbs
We’re going quite a bit weirder than that, I’m afraid.
Thank you so much again for reading and commenting! The next episode, and the final part of this wacky little ‘trilogy’ to kick off ‘season two’ is just about ready to go. And after that I can get back to writing stories about cowboys on Nimbus III or tribble-infested bloodwine.
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