Star Trek: Bounty - 204 - "Acquire, Evade, Retreat, Confront"

[BountyTrek]

Hello.

It’s been too long since I’ve washed up on these fanfic shores (or not long enough, depending on your point of view ). But I’ve finally got a bit of spare time to get the next Bounty story posted.

After the ‘epic’ time-bending trilogy of episodes to start ‘season two’, we’re going with something a little lighter and substantially sillier this time around. Much more in keeping with the Bounty’s usual low-stakes nonsense. There's a few loose ends to tie up from the previous episode, but generally speaking this will be a bit of a standalone tale.

As the title suggests, there's a bit of hot Tongo action in this one, the Ferengi game from many a DS9 episode. Looking around online, there have been some magnificent efforts to properly codify some sort of formal rulebook, but in the spirit of how the DS9 writers treated it canonically, I've opted to just make up a load of nonsense. As per Memory Alpha:

The script for "Rules of Acquisition" states that tongo can be best described as a cross between poker, mah-jongg, and craps. There were never any "official" rules established; according to Ron D. Moore the writers had only a vague idea of what the game was actually about, and mostly just made it up as they went along.

Which is my sort of game. Suffice to say that the mechanics of the noble art of Tongo aren't really important to the overall story.

As ever, 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:

Spoiler: SEASON ONE

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"

Spoiler: SEASON TWO

Star Trek: Bounty - 201 - “Something Good Happened Today”
Star Trek: Bounty - 202 - "The Bat, the Birds and the Beasts"
Star Trek: Bounty - 203 - "Three Minutes to Three Minutes to Three Minutes to Midnight"

=============================================================

Star Trek: Bounty
2.04
“Acquire, Evade, Retreat, Confront”

Prologue

“You’re tuned into the Ferengi Subspace Sports Network! The original and best home of live sports entertainment across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants! Isn’t that right, Brunk?”

“That’s right, Kark! Still to come today, an update on the Risian Racquetball Invitational pre-qualifying matches, and exclusive live coverage of the Parrises Squares Finals from Jadron II, simulcast in high-definition holoimage on FSSN’s Subspace Plus package. Subscribe today for up to twenty percent off your monthly fee!”

“I cannot wait for that one, Brunk. Love me some Parrises Squares.”

“Me too, Kark. But now, back to our main event. The final table of the annual Tongo Buy-In Classic, live from the Grand Nagus Fosk Memorial Hippodrome on the Irtok IV colony! Where a grand prize of five bricks of gold-pressed latinum is on the line, and we could be on the verge of Tongo history being made right before our eyes!”

“Absolutely, Brunk. Never before has any debutant on the Tongo Galactic Tour won their first six events in a row. But our table leader is on the verge of doing just that. You wouldn’t think he had the lobes from looking at him, but he has taken this year’s Tour by storm!”

“It’s quite incredible, Kark. We’re into the thirty-seventh hand of the final and just four players remain at the table. Three have already converted their reserves, and our table leader has just moved to leverage the buy-in against his opponents. This could be the game, right here!”

“But just before we rejoin the action, a quick reminder that this year’s edition of the Tongo Buy-In Classic is brought to you by Plask’s Spiced Tube Grubs! You won’t find a spicier grub this side of the Neutral Zone!”

“And now, back to the final table…”

Far away from the inane chatter of the Ferengi Subspace Sports Network’s most insufferable pair of excitable commentators, the flashy graphics of the attention-grabbing subspace broadcast and the endless plugs for Plask’s entire range of artificially-flavoured tube grubs, the final table itself sat in rapt silence.

At one side of the Tongo board, Zesh felt a trickle of sweat drip down his neck as he sized up his limited options. He stole another glance at his hand.

Having seized control of a set of available assets with his last turn, he was sitting in a promising position for the first time in several hands, with the proud colours of a Full Consortium staring back at him from the colourful cards he grasped tightly in his fingers.

Ordinarily, he knew that the best strategy would be to go for an immediate Confront, but he was aware that his run of poor hands had left him financially exposed. His reserves were converted, his margins were low and he was a long way from full liquidity.

Therefore, the more sensible approach, despite the strength of his hand, would be to play his sole remaining Evade token to force the risk back onto his opponents, trying to make one or more of them overcommit their own resources on a weaker hand.

And yet, the desire to make full use of his Full Consortium while he had the chance was overwhelmingly tempting. He knew he needed to start making inroads into the table leader’s market share sooner or later, and he wasn’t sure he could pass up a chance like this.

Still undecided, he opted to use his skills for reading an opponent. Skills that he had honed over an uncountable number of long hours hunched over the Tongo board through the years.

And skills that, so far, had entirely failed him when it came to the Tongo Galactic Tour’s newest superstar debutant.

He stared at the table leader from across the board, studying his face for signs of weakness, a hint that he might be bluffing, and that this was a hand where Zesh could act decisively.

And the impassive Vulcan face stared back at him.

“Zesh needs to make the right call here with his weaker bargaining position, Kark. And he certainly has the pedigree to do just that.”

“Most definitely, Brunk. Remember, Zesh is a four-time Galactic Tour finalist, and he’s already won two of the three events he’s entered so far this season. This is a man who knows when to Evade and when to Confront!”

“But our newcomer is an opponent like he’s never faced before. Nobody had even heard of a Vulcan playing Tongo until now, but Varik has won all five Tour events he has entered so far. And with a healthy profit margin and a doubly-secured investment index in his corner of the table, he’s in a prime position to set a new record for consecutive wins by a Tour debutant!”

A second trickle of sweat followed the first.

Nothing.

Zesh was getting nothing from the face of his opponent. No sign of tension, no tell-tale wrinkle in the corner of his eye. No pursed lips, or nervous twitch, or clenched teeth or licked lips.

Just a calm, measured and impassive stare.

He could suddenly feel the other two remaining players at the table staring at him as well. And got a sense that the arbiter in the corner of the room was doing the same. He was even sure he could detect the slight whirring of the recording equipment secreted all around the playing area, beaming live pictures of his indecisiveness to every corner of the quadrant via subspace.

Outside of the carefully controlled playing area, sealed off from any distractions by thick sheets of transparent aluminium, the massed crowd in the seats of the Grand Nagus Fosk Memorial Hippodrome watched on with rapt attention.

Thousands of Ferengi spectators sat frozen on the edge of their seats, the only noise coming from the various ushers shuffling up and down the stands selling snacks, drinks and fresh beetle snuff for a reassuringly high mark-up.

Zesh felt his right lobe start to itch.

He resisted the temptation to scratch it. If Varik wasn’t going to give him any tells, he certainly wasn’t going to offer one in return. Instead, he looked back down at his cards, then glanced over the board once again.

He was a Tongo expert. A former Tour finalist. He knew that.

And yet, suddenly, he felt like a feeble little child, struggling to grasp even the basic principles of the game as his father tried in vain to teach him.

Varik just kept calmly staring at him.

The tension got too much for Zesh. He made the call.

“Confront!”

He had to make up ground on the leader. And this was his strongest hand for so long. Who knew if or when he might get another chance like this. So he accepted the risk, and acted.

With his Full Consortium laid out proudly on the table in front of him, he looked back up at Varik with a slightly satisfied smile. He had to have him beaten this time.

Varik had nothing. He was bluffing. Surely.

As the other two Ferengi players quietly folded their own hands and deposited their losses into the board’s central collection pot, Varik slowly and deliberately set his own cards down on the table.

And revealed a Total Monopoly.

“Absolutely incredible, Kark! Another perfectly-played round by Varik. An unbeatable Total Monopoly, and with Zesh overstacking his risk levels on a Full Consortium, that means he is out of the game!”

“That’s right, Brunk. In one swift move, we’re down to three players, and our seemingly unstoppable newcomer is another step closer to that grand prize!”

Zesh stared open-mouthed at the perfect hand that Varik had revealed. Not only had the Vulcan not been bluffing, he’d been toying with him. Hiding the true value of his position and allowing Zesh to dictate the terms of the round.

And Zesh had fallen right into his trap.

Still in a daze, he stood from the table and prepared to walk off in defeat. Just before he did so, he glanced at his opponent one last time.

Varik was still impassively staring at him. Though this time, he did at least slightly raise an eyebrow in apparent acknowledgement of his victory.

That simple gesture made Zesh’s blood boil.

“We are witnessing a new Tongo master at work here, Brunk. He really has raised the game in such a short space of time.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Kark. Right now, it’s hard to see how anyone, anywhere in the galaxy, could possibly beat him!”

Three short hands later, the two remaining Ferengi had been eliminated as well, and the undefeated Varik made Tongo history with win number six.

****************************

Zesh’s blood was still boiling as he stormed back through the door of his apartment on Irtok IV.

Throughout all of his years winning and losing at the Tongo board, he had never been beaten like that before. It had been as if the Vulcan had been inside his head. He couldn’t believe how easily Varik’s mind had been able to adapt to the Ferengi Alliance’s number one pastime.

But as well as being angry, he was equally determined that he was going to fight back. He was going to bring down Varik if it was the last thing he did.

And having thought of little else since he had stormed away from the final table in a silently fuming rage, he now knew how he was going to do it.

He was going to fight pointy-eared fire with pointy-eared fire.

Without even stopping to think, he stalked through to his home office and quickly established a long-distance subspace call on the computer terminal on his desk.

After a few seconds, the call was answered.

On the screen, a bleary-eyed and thoroughly dishevelled individual blinked back at Zesh from underneath a mop of unkempt hair. He didn’t look impressed.

“Ugh,” Sunek grumbled sleepily, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”




Note: Zesh made his first appearance in the series in Star Trek: Bounty - 105 - "Once Upon a Time in the Beta Quadrant".

 

[Bynar0110]

Welcome back. Enjoyed the chapter.

Thx for the likes on my fic.

 

[BountyTrek]

Part One

“Confront!”

The voice of Klath, the Klingon weapons chief of the Bounty, reverberated around the confines of the ship’s small dining area, as he slammed his hand down on the room’s only table with enough force to shake the entire Tongo setup in front of him.

Next to him, Sunek, the ship’s oddly emotional Vulcan pilot, sighed.

“Klath, buddy, you’ve gotta stop doing that.”

The Klingon glowered back at him with evident determination. He had said he wanted to confront, and confront was what he was going to do.

“I’m serious,” the Vulcan persisted, “You need to play properly!”

“I am. And I wish to confront.”

Sunek carefully set his cards back down on the table and rested his head in his hands, starting to lose the will that seemed to be required in order to explain the subtleties of the game to the perpetually aggressive Klingon warrior.

It had been three days since Zesh, a former member of the Bounty’s motley crew, had contacted him out of the blue, and the ship was now en route to Irtok IV to pick him up. And while the Ferengi had been a little cagey about the reasons for his call, he had suggested that he was in need of Sunek’s skills at the Tongo board. Which was why he had recruited the others to get in some practice.

Except, rather than his Tongo skills, it was his patience that was being tested.

“Listen, you big knucklehead,” the wiry Vulcan persisted, gesturing at Klath’s rather sparse playing section on the board, “You can’t possibly Confront here.”

“Why not?”

“Ugh. Because your risk is way too high, your yields are way too low, you’re already sitting on leveraged terms against three other players, you haven’t bought any Evade tokens and…you keep accidentally showing me your cards, and I know you’ve only got a Double Reserve.”

Klath defensively pulled his cards close to his chest. Then, after a short, thoughtful pause, glanced down at them to reassess what exactly he was looking at.

“So,” Sunek continued, “Given all that, the best move for you right now is to Retreat.”

Klath’s glower darkened further at this suggestion.

“Klingons do not retreat!”

“Oh my god,” Sunek sighed in exasperation, “You realise this is a game, right? Not some huge slight against your people? So please, just…think about what you’re doing, ok?”

The hulking Klingon glared at the Vulcan for a moment longer, then looked back down to the cards in his hands. Eventually, he nodded definitively as he came to a firm course of action.

“Confront—!”

“Well, now you’re just doing it to wind me up.”

Around the rest of the table, the rest of the Bounty’s crew watched the ship’s oddest of odd couples continue to bicker with varying levels of amusement.

“Go easy on him, Sunek,” Denella, the ship’s Orion engineer, offered, “We’re all struggling to follow what’s going on here.”

“Yeah,” Natasha Kinsen, the Bounty’s human ex-Starfleet doctor chimed in, as she checked a small padd displaying the rules of Tongo, “Reading through these, it feels like they were just making things up as they went along when they came up with this. I mean, what’s the difference between ‘indexing the margins’ and ‘margining the index’?”

Sunek sighed in renewed frustration, as if the answer was obvious.

“You can index the margins every other turn, provided your risk amount is still below the median taxable threshold, but you can only margin the index when you’re to the immediate left of the dealer and your assets are exposed to at least fifty percent of the overall market value.”

She stared blankly at the Vulcan for a moment, not entirely certain that he wasn’t just making things up as he went along either.

“Ok,” she shrugged eventually, “Well I’m not exposing my assets to the immediate left of anyone, so if Klath is confronting, then I will…play another Evade token.”

She picked up one of the small hexagonal tokens from her playing area and deposited it into the appropriate pot on the board.

“Ugh,” Sunek groaned again, “You can’t keep doing that either, doc.”

“Show me where it says I can’t,” she replied defiantly, waving the rulebook at him and hoping there wasn’t actually a rule she hadn’t gotten to yet which said exactly that.

“No—I mean, you can keep doing that, technically. But—”

“But nothing,” she smiled triumphantly, glancing at Denella next to her, “I’m cockroaching.”

“Excuse me?” the Orion replied in confusion.

“A cockroach is an Earth insect. The great survivor. Lives through anything. And that’s how I play these games. Keep your head down, keep surviving. It’s a foolproof strategy.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded, “Back at the Academy, everyone got obsessed with poker. Word got out that they played it all the time on the Enterprise so, naturally, every cadet suddenly thought that if they got good at five-card stud, they’d somehow get themselves posted there once they graduated. And I used to do ok for myself, with a little bit of cockroaching.”

“Ok,” Sunek offered, “That’s the single dumbest thing I’ve heard since the last thing Klath said.”

The Klingon glared at the Vulcan again, even as Natasha shrugged back at him.

“Finished top ten in the Academy poker finals in 2363 with that strategy. So there.”

“But…I’m trying to get some proper Tongo practice here. And no real player is gonna just sit in the corner playing an Evade token every turn!”

“Seems to work ok,” she retorted, gesturing to the board in front of them, “I’m beating Klath for a start.”

“Yeah, but nobody’s gonna be doing what that idiot’s doing either!”

Klath’s glower was threatening to become permanent.

Jirel, the unjoined Trill, de facto captain of the Bounty, and the final player at the table, finally opted to pipe up as well.

“Sunek, if you need to practice, why don’t you just play against the computer?”

“Computer’s too easy to beat,” the Vulcan sighed, “It doesn’t really get Tongo. Plus, it doesn’t appreciate my witty repartee across the board.”

Denella smirked at this, though Jirel didn’t really follow the answer to his question.

It had been two weeks since he had returned home. Which was how he was once again happy to describe the battered Ju’Day-type raider all around them. And after everything that had happened to him since he had walked away from the Bounty some months ago, he was definitely glad to be back. But he was still feeling a little out of sorts. So, while the usual levels of Bounty banter continued around the table, he found that he was mostly keeping out of it.

Instead, he thought about what was waiting back in his cabin.

A tiny data chip, which he had recovered at the end of his recent trip to the Vandor sector from the belongings of an aged alternative version of himself that had spent twenty years living in the past. On his older self’s instructions, moments before he had faded into oblivion.

He still had no idea what was on the chip, or why his older self felt it was so important. And he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to investigate further. Whatever was on the chip remained unseen and unread.

As Jirel mused on his personal conundrum, the healthy debate continued around the table.

“I still don’t get why Zesh needs you for some Tongo tournament,” Denella said, as she carefully counted up her meagre remaining slips of latinum.

Sunek shrugged as he picked his cards back up and tried to get on with the game.

“Um, one: Because I’m awesome.”

“Objection,” Natasha offered.

“Overruled,” Sunek shot back, “And two: Because apparently there’s some hot-shot new player on the scene that he can’t beat. And if I play as a ringer and win, then that means a great big pile of latinum for everyone.”

“That part I’m completely ok with,” Denella noted.

“And I’m looking forward to seeing Zesh again,” Natasha added brightly as she reached for yet another Evade token.

She had previously met the Ferengi when he had asked for help from his old crew to protect a ranch he had managed to acquire on Nimbus III. One that just happened to contain one of the desolate planet’s only supplies of fresh water. And she had been happy to discover that, in keeping with the Bounty’s preferred type of crew member, he was far from a typical example of his species. Even if it had taken a lot of convincing to get him to give up his valuable asset for free to the desperate locals.

She was also intrigued by their ultimate destination of Ferenginar after collecting Zesh from Irtok IV. She had heard plenty about the changes that had been going on within the Alliance off the back of the new Nagus’s continuation of former Grand Nagus Zek’s initial set of equality reforms.

“Well,” Sunek replied, “He’s not gonna be happy to see us if I don’t win that tournament. And I’m not gonna do that unless I get some decent practice in. So, come on, concentrate!”

The five players returned their attention to the game. And found that it was Klath’s turn again.

“Confront!”

****************************

Thirty-six hours and zero useful games of Tongo later, the Bounty had arrived at Irtok IV.

The Irtok system was one of the Ferengi Alliance’s most profitable strongholds. As the parking charges that had been collected in return for the Bounty landing within walking distance of the meeting point Zesh had suggested attested. Still, after the short walk to a bar called The Hearty Lobe, they found that their former colleague was in a very non-profit minded mood.

“Ah, welcome, welcome,” Zesh cackled from a table in the corner of the room as the five Bounty crew members entered the bar, “Come on, I’ve bribed us the best table in the house!”

Jirel glanced at the others, everyone looking surprised at this display of generosity. As they made their way over and took seats at the table, they noted a further generous gesture, with the table itself groaning under the weight of the food and drink upon it. Though most of them were a little more equivocal about how truly generous a gesture it was when they saw the contents of the feast very much fit for a Ferengi.

“Tuck in,” Zesh gestured theatrically, “Fresh tube grubs! Marinated snail steak! The finest puree of beetle for dipping! And all the millipede juice you need to wash it down!”

As most of the Bounty’s crew worked on maintaining control of their stomachs, Zesh gestured Sunek to the head of the table and a seat next to him.

“And for my guest of honour,” the Ferengi continued, setting a specific plate in front of the Vulcan with care, “The chef has been able to rustle up a hearty bowl of plomeek soup. And…”

He beckoned over a member of the bar’s waiting staff, who set a gaudy, multi-coloured cocktail down in front of the beaming Sunek.

“...One Ferengi starduster.”

The other four individuals around the table glanced at Sunek’s food and drink, then back at the options available to them, and couldn’t help but feel a tad jealous.

Klath glared down at the bowl of writhing tube grubs next to him and grumbled below his breath. Next to him, the more adventurous Denella couldn’t help but wind her friend up as she leaned over and took a handful of grubs to snack on.

“You know,” she muttered, “For someone who regularly eats plates of worms for dinner, you have a surprisingly limited palette.”

The Klingon shot her a withering glance, as she innocently popped a wriggling grub into her mouth and smiled.

Meanwhile, Sunek didn’t waste any time in taking a generous sip of the lurid cocktail through the equally lurid bendy straw, as he wagged his finger appreciatively at the Ferengi next to him.

“Tell you something, Zesh, I always liked you. Letting you go was the biggest mistake Jirel ever made. And he makes a lot of mistakes…”

Further down the table, Jirel paused midway through cautiously sniffing his glass of millipede juice and suppressed a slight wince at that comment. It had been meant as a joke, as basically all of Sunek’s comments were. But it still served as an unhappy reminder of some of the less salubrious life choices he’d made recently. And of the data chip back in his cabin.

“Well,” Zesh replied, oblivious to Jirel’s internal strife, “Nothing’s too good for you right now, Sunek. You’re the key to my fortune, after all!”

Before anyone could press him any further on that, another member of the waiting staff brought a second cocktail for the guest of honour, who had already thirstily torn through his first.

Natasha was a little surprised, but nonetheless happy, to see that this member of staff was evidently a Ferengi female. Not only in gainful employment, but fully clothed.

“I see the reforms have spread to the colony worlds,” she noted to Zesh as the waitress retreated and Sunek began to slurp his second Ferengi starduster.

“Yes,” Zesh noted, “Well, that’s the new Nagus. He’s really pushed on the whole equality thing.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she winced, “When I was onboard the USS Tripoli, we visited Ferenginar to collect an ambassador. One of the earliest Starfleet visits following first contact. And our executive officer nearly caused a diplomatic incident before he even beamed onboard when she refused to greet him in the nude—”

Jirel began spontaneously choking and spluttering, causing everyone else seated to turn to him. He managed to gesture to his throat as he reluctantly reached for the millipede juice to wash down the food caught in his throat.

“Lokar bean,” he managed to cough hoarsely.

Natasha rolled her eyes patiently back at him, then returned her attention to Zesh.

“I suspect those days are now long gone,” the Ferengi offered, “What Zek began, Rom has continued. He’s called his new program the…Moogie Reforms.”

He paused to shake his head slightly at this, before continuing.

“Females—My apologies, I mean…wo-men,” he corrected himself, over-pronouncing the word as if it was an untranslatable alien phrase, “Now have access to higher education, state training programs, even their own businesses. It’s been a lot to get used to, compared to how things were…”

Natasha couldn’t help but lose a modicum of the respect she’d built up for the friendly Ferengi, as she saw him visibly become nostalgic for the days when Ferengi women were literally kept penniless, naked and effectively enslaved. But he did at least offer a sheepish smile back at her as he snapped himself out of it.

“I suppose it will be the older generations that take the longest to adapt,” he shrugged, “But I can’t deny the logic of the plan. All the additional financial opportunities opened up by doubling the Alliance’s number of earners is making the Rom Administration the most profitable since Grand Nagus Ubon first patented pressing latinum into worthless gold blocks.”

Natasha nodded back in understanding, as Denella leaned over, crunching on another tube grub and gesturing at Sunek.

“Um, speaking of latinum, why do you need this drunkard, anyway?”

“Hey!” Sunek snapped as he slurped the remains of his second cocktail, “I’m still legal to pilot a warp-capable ship in this sector. Although not for very long…”

The Vulcan gestured to a passing waiter for another cocktail, as Zesh cackled good-naturedly alongside him.

“Ah, yes, my fortune—”

“Our fortune,” Denella quickly corrected him.

“You see, the Tongo Grand Prix Finals take place on Ferenginar this week. And with Sunek’s help, we’re in line for the grand prize of a hundred bricks of latinum!”

Jirel found himself choking on his second lokar bean of the afternoon.

“That’s a hell of a prize,” he managed to get out between coughs.

“Well, Rom has also closed off some of the more…illicit routes to profit across the Alliance. But he’s allowed the gambling sector to grow almost unrestricted. Dabo tables, new casinos, tournaments broadcast over subspace, the lot.”

“How come?” Natasha asked.

“Ah, who knows why he does anything? Although, rumour has it that he feels he owes the gambling world a personal debt. Guess that’s what happens when you marry a Dabo girl…”

Zesh drifted off wistfully for another brief moment, though Natasha suspected for very different reasons to the first.

“Either way,” he eventually continued, “There’s a hundred bricks to be won. Split fairly between me and the Bounty’s crew. Two ways.”

“You mean six ways,” Jirel pointed out.

“We’ll work out the details later,” Zesh added quickly with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Once we get to Ferenginar and register the magnificent Sunek as my designated substitute for the Finals.”

“I am pretty magnificent,” Sunek nodded sagely, before suppressing a hiccup brought on by having gulped down his third cocktail.

“But,” Klath boomed out from further down the table, “Why do you require the Vulcan?”

“Yeah,” Denella nodded, “You’re a handy enough Tongo player, aren’t you, Zesh?”

“I’m good,” he shrugged, as he fished a small padd out of his pocket and tapped the screen, “But it’ll take a little more than that to defeat the favourite…”

He held the padd up, the screen now displaying the stoic face of Varik. It was enough for a moment of shocked silence to descend on the table.

“Huh,” Sunek offered eventually, “Handsome guy…”

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Shades of a certain baseball game - there's a vulcan to be beat here... Fight vulcan with vulcan...

Love the table-side commentary. Very interested to see how Zesh's superior hearing plays into this flot as this unwinds.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Bynar0110]

Enjoyed it alot. Thx for the read.

 

[BountyTrek]

Part One (Cont’d)

A short time later, with Sunek sleeping off seven Ferengi stardusters in his cabin, the Bounty was on its way to Ferenginar on autopilot.

After making sure Zesh was happy with the guest accommodation, Jirel had retreated to his own cabin, ostensibly to get some rest. But he hadn’t gotten any.

He lay on top of the bed, holding the tiny metal data chip from his alternative self between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently around in the artificial light. Just as he’d been doing for some time.

Part of him was desperate to know what was on it. His mind raced with what his other self might have placed on there, sent through time. A message from the past, but also from the future. From an older version of himself. But another part of him didn’t want to know. After everything that had happened to him recently, every fresh revelation or new challenge, he was tired of serious debates about the concept of destiny, or what he might one day become.

Eventually, the tension became too much to bear. He jumped off the bed, stalked over to the desk in the corner of his cabin and grabbed a battered padd from the drawer, before inserting the chip into the device’s access slot.

And then he paused, his finger hovering over the screen. His brain caught up with his impulsive moment of action, and he now felt far less certain about what he was doing.

Before he had a chance to decide one way or the other, he was interrupted by the door buzzer. In an instant, he dropped the padd back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

“Come in!” he called out as casually as he could.

He turned around just as Natasha walked in and offered a smile. A particular one from her arsenal of smiles that Jirel had been powerless to resist ever since he had first met her over a year ago. And one that he knew heralded that she had walked into his private cabin with one thing on her mind, and with a determination to get what she wanted.

A serious heart-to-heart conversation.

“Are you ok?” she began, instantly confirming Jirel’s interpretation of her smile.

Despite his fears that he wouldn’t be strong enough to resist, he decided to give it a go. He opted to lie to that smile.

“Yep. Just, um, about to turn in. Was gonna re-read the rules of Tongo to send me to sleep.”

She smiled again, in amusement this time. But she also stepped fully into his cabin and allowed the door to close behind her, taking one step closer to what she had come here for.

“Look, I don’t wanna be that person,” she said, not being entirely truthful herself, “But I wanted to check up on you. You’ve seemed a little…off, ever since you came back.”

“Still getting used to the artificial gravity,” he shrugged, “Too much time planetside these last couple of months, y’know?”

It was a brave attempt to deflect the conversation, but he also feared it was a futile one.

“You know what I mean,” she smiled patiently, “You’ve been through a hell of a lot, Jirel. With Maya, and Grenk, and then everything that happened in the Vandor sector. I mean, not to get too metaphysical this late at night, but you basically saw yourself die. I think it’s fine to not be ok after something like that.”

“Maybe I prefer to focus on the positives,” he countered, “I’ve reconnected with my father, I’m back on my ship, and I’ve got my favourite meddling doctor trying to guilt trip me into another discussion about my feelings. I’m good.”

She took the good-natured insult with a slightly arched eyebrow, but she didn’t let it throw her off the scent of the more serious side to their conversation.

“Would it help if I offered to split the bottle of Andorian brandy you doubtless have stashed away somewhere in here with you?”

Jirel did his best not to glance at the storage locker in the corner of the room, where he had placed two bottles of his favourite liquor after their last trip to a well-stocked spaceport, and resolutely kept up his defences.

“Is that your informed suggestion? That I should drink my problems away?”

“Ah, so you admit you have problems.”

“No,” he countered quickly, “Just checking if I need to bring a malpractice claim against my ship’s only medical professional.”

She brought another smile out of her armoury. This one was a more kind and patient one. And she showed no sign of backing down just yet.

“Obviously it’s not a great solution,” she shrugged, “But as a jumping off point with especially stubborn individuals, it often works.”

“And are you, ah, forgetting what happened the last time the two of us indulged in that particular…jumping off point?”

She wasn’t forgetting. The last time she and Jirel had hit the liquor together had been back on Kervala Prime, several months ago. And they had ended up in bed together.* She knew she had to deal with that particular unresolved issue at some point. But she also knew that there were bigger things at play for Jirel right now, so she pushed those feelings to one side and played a straight bat to Jirel’s leading question.

“Meh,” she shrugged, “That was tequila.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Tequila makes me horny. Brandy just sorta makes me sleepy.”

“Good to know,” Jirel nodded, “But honestly, Nat, I’m fine. And plenty sleepy right now without any brandy.”

She stared at him for a moment, clearly still not buying what he was saying.

Part of him definitely wanted to break down and just talk to her. Or at least break open a bottle of brandy. Another part of him wanted to show her the padd, to go through whatever was on that data chip with her support.

And, he had to concede, another part of him wanted to see if they had any tequila onboard.

But he maintained his calm exterior to match his continued efforts to decline her need for a serious conversation as politely as possible. And eventually, she was forced to concede.

“Well,” she managed, with a slightly defeated smile that almost made Jirel’s resolve collapse just as he was on the verge of victory, “You know where I am. If you change your mind.”

He nodded back, then shrugged amiably.

“And if you really feel like making yourself useful, there’s plenty more you could be doing for our little trip to Ferenginar.”

“Like what?”

“Like replicating some umbrellas…”




* - Events from Star Trek: Bounty - 111 - "Love, but With More Aggressive Overtones".

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Gonna need some golashes to go with those umbrellas. And where's a good bottle of tequila when you need one?

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Bynar0110]

Enjoyed it alot. Thx for the read.

 

[BountyTrek]

Part One (Cont'd)

The rain hammered down on the hull of the Bounty as it hovered above the expansive landing pad below them.

Far off in the distance, the tall skyscrapers and bright lights of Roplermoop City were just about visible through the relentless downpour, while there were a variety of small vessels dotted around the rest of the pad.

The Bounty had been hovering in place for some time. And inside the cockpit, Klath was reaching the end of his tether.

“I say again, Bounty,” the cheery Ferengi voice came back over the comms link, “Roplermoop Landing Pads Incorporated would be glad to accommodate your vessel, once we process your landing fee up front.”

The Klingon emitted a low grumble of annoyance before he responded.

“And as I have stated, we have already paid that fee to your colleague.”

Klath resisted the urge to look up from his console, aware that the only other occupant of the Bounty’s cockpit right now was Sunek, likely sitting in the pilot’s seat and watching on with a huge, irritating grin on his face.

“Ah,” the Ferengi voice replied, “I think I see the confusion here.”

“Good,” Klath growled, “Then perhaps you will allow us to—”

“You just spoke to Ferenginar Aviation Control, and paid the Sub-Orbital Threshold Stipend. That’s a central planetary tax to deorbit and fly your ship to within two thousand feet of the ground. But if you want to land, I’m afraid that’s a separate payment entirely. Rules are rules, my friend.”

“But I do not—!”

“If you’re unable to pay the required landing fee, Roplermoop Landing Pads Incorporated completely understands. However, you would need to return to orbit, after ensuring that you pay the Return To Orbit Transition Charge to the Ferengi Orbital Control team.”

Klath’s angry growl increased in both intensity and volume, as his right hand clamped down hard enough on the frame of his panel to leave a dent in the metal.

Ever since the Bounty had approached Ferenginar and been picked up by any number of different tracking systems, he had been single-handedly trying to manoeuvre through a seemingly endless web of fees, payments and backhanders required just to complete the simple task of landing the Ju’day-type raider on the planet’s surface.

“Just so you know,” Sunek inevitably called out from the front of the cockpit, “This whole exercise is bringing me a huge amount of joy.”

Just as Klath was starting to make plans to track down every single employee at Roplermoop Landing Pads Incorporated and slaughter them with his bat’leth, Jirel came bounding up the rear steps to the cockpit, with Zesh in tow.

“Hey,” the Trill innocently asked as he gestured out at the rain falling on the cockpit window, “How come we haven’t landed yet?”

“Because this is an insufferable taHqeq of a planet, run by a group of feeble-minded—!”

“Say again, Bounty?” the ever-polite voice came back over the open comms line.

Klath growled again and silenced the link with a slam of his balled-up fist, as Zesh stepped forwards with a knowing cackle.

“Ah, the new landing fees,” he nodded, “Apologies, I suppose I should’ve warned you about all that. You see, Rom’s decision to close off so many of the more illicit sources of latinum has led to a lot of established businesses coming up with new ways to keep their profits high. Profits are up, but so are administration fees.”

“We could always just leave the ship in orbit,” Jirel shrugged.

“Oh no,” Denella called out as she bounded up the steps with Natasha, to complete the roll call of passengers, “We’re not leaving her up there. How would you like to be left in the cold darkness of space, all alone, while the rest of us are down here?”

“I would welcome it,” Klath growled under his breath, his initial encounters with Ferengi bureaucracy meaning that he was already certain his first trip to Ferenginar would be his last.

Jirel stifled a smirk and looked back at the serious expression on his engineer’s face. Apparently her oddly parasocial relationship with the Bounty was as strong as ever.

“Fair enough,” he nodded back, “We can land. But that fee is coming out of your share of the profits.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Zesh cut in, keeping a wary distance from the angry Klingon and gesturing to Klath’s comms panel, “Um, if you could put us back on?”

Klath re-opened the comms line with a slightly more delicate touch than the one that had closed it.

“Hi, Roplermoop Landing Pads Incorporated,” Zesh called out, “We’re actually here to take part in the Tongo Finals over in the city.”

“Ah, excellent,” the polite voice returned, “And once you’ve paid the—”

“And, as per Clause Two, Subsection Eight of the Nagus’s Gambling Encouragement Act of 2376, that entitles any vessel to waive any landing fees for the duration of the tournament, unless written approval has been sourced by the fee-charger from the Board of Liquidators.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When the polite voice returned, it seemed a little less sure of itself than before.

“Ah, yes, but that refers to non-Ferengi vessels only, and your manifest shows—”

“One Ferengi onboard, correct,” Zesh continued, flexing his commerce muscles, “But, as you well know, the FCA-approved Trade By-Laws clearly define the requirements for a vessel to be considered ‘non-Ferengi’. And one Ferengi, listed clearly as a passenger, on a ship with a crew of four or more non-Ferengi, clearly meets said requirements.”

This time, there was just silence from the other end, as Zesh continued.

“So, you have a clearly non-Ferengi vessel, with a clearly non-Ferengi crew, taking part in a very important Tongo tournament that will yield huge profit margins for Roplermoop City over the next few days. And so, I would respectfully ask Roplermoop Landing Pads Incorporated to reassess any fees they believe this vessel owes.”

A few moments later, with still no verbal response forthcoming back over the comms line, Klath’s panel chimed out an alert.

“We are…being directed to land on Pad 7D.”

Zesh stepped back with a satisfied leer on his face, looking around at a sea of impressed faces. Even Klath looked suitably relieved.

“Always worth keeping up with your trade laws,” he cackled, “And remembering Rule of Acquisition Number 141. Only fools pay retail.”

Jirel shrugged at the still-unhappy Klath, as Sunek eased the ship down through the pouring rain onto the designated landing pad.

“Now,” Zesh continued, “Sunek and I need to head downtown to sign up at the tournament venue.”

“I’ll come with you,” Natasha nodded brightly.

“Hope you did replicate that umbrella,” Jirel nodded, peering out at the ongoing downpour.

“Actually,” she continued, unconcerned by the weather, “I wanna look around while we’re here. Not just here, over in the capital as well. Apparently the new reforms mean that all restrictions on where Ferengi and non-Ferengi women can go have been lifted, and I’ve always wanted to see the Sacred Marketplace.”

She glanced over at Klath, ignoring his thunderous glare.

“You wanna do some sightseeing, Klath?”

The Klingon glared up at her, thrown a little off-balance by the unexpected invitation.

What he really wanted to do was have as little to do with Ferenginar, Tongo and every other irritating aspect of their trip here as he possibly could. But he knew from unhappy experience that there was no hope of avoiding participation in the crew’s activities once the Bounty had landed somewhere.

“I…suppose I could,” he grunted back without enthusiasm.

Having trapped himself in an activity he wanted no part of, he was then surprised and a little betrayed when Denella somehow extricated herself from the same unwritten social contract.

“Well, count me out,” the Orion engineer sighed, “While we’re parked up down here, I’ve got some repairs to do.”

“You’ve always got some repairs to do,” Sunek accurately pointed out as the ship landed with a gentle bump.

“True. But the entire port-side stabiliser has needed stripping and re-wiring for months. I’d have done it already but something keeps getting in the way. So, if we’re gonna be parked up here for a while, I may as well get it done.”

Klath was doubly shocked at the way that everyone seemed to accept Denella’s refusal to go along with the same activity he had reluctantly agreed to. Though mercifully, she then offered him an immediate chance to escape.

“Really, it’s a two person job. So if anyone fancies swerving all the fun down here…?”

Klath jumped at the chance.

“Perhaps I—”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Klath had now been betrayed twice in quick succession. Though he wasn’t the only one present in the cockpit to look shocked that this second refusal had come from Jirel himself.

“You?” Natasha asked on everyone’s behalf, “You’d rather stay here and do maintenance work than go and do something fun?”

Denella wrinkled her nose slightly at this, resisting the urge to point out that maintenance work already was something fun. Natasha’s focus remained on Jirel, who shrugged back innocently.

“Definitely. Have you seen the weather out there?”

His mask of innocence remained in place, even as his mind drifted to the real reason he wasn’t all that interested in a trip to Roplermoop City. The data chip. In the padd. Back in his cabin, and still entirely unread. With that still weighing on his mind, a trip through the rain to sign up for a Tongo tournament or visit the Sacred Marketplace seemed entirely too frivolous.

Natasha continued to stare at him for a moment or two, clearly concerned by his uncharacteristic decision. But his innocent expression held firm.

“Ok,” she shrugged eventually, “Can’t wait to hear the thrilling tale of how you fixed the port-side stabiliser.”

Again, Denella’s nose wrinkled. That sounded like a pretty thrilling story to her, not one worthy of such clear sarcasm.

“Perhaps,” Klath cut in, his focus on the Orion, “I could also assist with the—”

“Nah,” she interjected with a friendly smile, “It’s just a two person job. Don’t worry, you go and enjoy yourself with the others.”

The flummoxed Klingon found himself outmanoeuvred again. Now apparently locked completely into the activity he didn’t want to do, and hadn’t even been aware he’d had the ability to decline in the first place.

“Come on,” Zesh motioned to the group as he made for the steps, “Let’s get moving while the sludge river is still at low tide.”

As the Ferengi led Natasha, Sunek and a very reluctant Klath out of the cockpit, the Klingon paused for a moment.

“The what?”

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Are you sure we're going to get the rest of this story without some sort of fee?

Looking forward to rainy Ferenginar.

 

[BountyTrek]

Part One (Cont’d)

As the group made their way down the main street of Roplermoop City, Natasha was glad to have gone as far as replicating herself a set of waterproof boots, along with a heavy waterproof jacket and umbrella.

She held the umbrella up high to protect herself and the damp form of Sunek from the worst of the downpour, as they splashed through the streams of fresh rainwater running down the sides of the road into the substantial waiting gutters.

“This,” Sunek muttered, as his own lazy decision not to bother taking any significant precautions of his own against the weather continued to backfire, “Sucks.”

Next to them, Klath’s own heavy boots were protecting his feet from the worst of the rain. But his hair and clothes were soaked through. His Kiingon pride meant that he was enduring the whole experience with stoic defiance.

Klingons did not need umbrellas, after all.

Only Zesh was in his element, positively skipping through the puddles underfoot, wearing a heavy waterproof coat over his finely decorated business suit, complete with an oversized hood that accommodated his wide lobes.

“Ah,” he sighed in satisfaction, “It always feels good to be back under the grey skies of Ferenginar. Irtok IV is a wonderful place, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes it’s just far too…sunny.”

“I thought you said it was low tide?” Natasha called out, as a heavy drip of rainwater fell off the edge of her umbrella and straight down the back of her jacket.

“It is,” Zesh replied, gesturing to the streams of water all around them, “And look how well the drains are working. One of Grand Nagus Zek’s finest pieces of domestic policy. He managed to get a team of Tzenkethi workers to replace the entire region’s drainage system, for half the quoted price! And then negotiated a further thirty percent discount when the project overran!”

He cackled with delight and quickened his pace as they reached a junction in the road and made a left turn.

“This still sucks,” Sunek shivered, having only thrown a thin jacket over his short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt of choice for the day, “We Vulcans definitely prefer it warmer. And drier.”

Zesh glanced back over his shoulder at this comment, peering out from under his hood.

“I seem to remember you complaining about the heat back on Nimbus III.”

“I said warmer temperatures,” Sunek countered, “Not hellish ones.”

Zesh cackled with amusement again, any lingering unhappiness he felt about the fortune he had abandoned on the Planet of Galactic Peace* in favour of an act of kindness now long forgotten with the Tongo fortune ahead of them.

“Well, we’re nearly at the venue,” he said, “Just around the next corner.”

“And once we’re done there,” Natasha added, “There’s plenty to see just in Roplermoop City itself for some sightseeing.”

“I mean,” Sunek griped with a healthy layer of sarcasm, “If it’s all as exciting as the new drainage system, then count me in.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of the Museum of Ferengi Spaceflight. Apparently there’s a replica of the first-ever warp-capable Ferengi vessel. Plus, it’s indoors, so—”

“Yes,” the miserable Klath grunted quickly, “That sounds like an excellent plan, doctor.”

Natasha stifled a sympathetic smile as the Klingon’s boots stomped through yet another muddy puddle.

Then felt far less amused when another drop of rainwater plopped down the back of her jacket.

****************************

“Welcome, friends and players, to the Roplermoop City Auditorium!”

The gaggle of dripping wet Bounty crewmates were accosted as soon as they stepped through the main doors of Roplermoop City’s premier Tongo venue.

From either side of them, two remarkably tall and remarkably scantily-clad women of indeterminate species stepped towards them in a carefully-coordinated pincer movement, holding out trays filled with garishly-coloured soda cans.

“A complimentary and refreshing sample, courtesy of our generous sponsors,” one of the women beamed through a rictus smile of brilliant white teeth.

“Slug-o-Cola,” the other woman added with a similarly unnervingly perfect expression, “The number one cola across the Alliance since 2257!”

Sunek and Zesh eagerly grabbed a can apiece, while doing their best to keep their tongues from lolling out of their mouths at the sight of the two beautiful women smiling at them.

Natasha rolled her eyes and politely accepted a drink of her own, tacitly ignoring the awkward fact that when they had first been approached by the woman, her eye had inadvertently been drawn to the exposed cleavage of the generously-proportioned model on the left. Somewhere within the Rules of Acquisition, she wryly mused to herself, there was definitely something along the lines of ‘sex sells’.

Meanwhile, next to her, Klath brusquely refused the free drinks on offer, making an executive decision that Klingons did not drink anything called Slug-o-Cola.

“So,” Sunek offered to the right-hand woman, entirely misinterpreting her fixed smile in his direction as anything other than part of the soda-based sales pitch, “I’m gonna be in town for a few days at this tournament. Gonna be kind of a big deal, if you wanna—”

“Welcome, friends and players, to the Roplermoop City Auditorium!” the woman suddenly called out, expertly stepping around the Vulcan in lockstep with her cola-hawking colleague to greet the latest group of individuals that had walked through the doors behind them.

“Yep, cool,” Sunek managed, in a vain attempt to rescue his dignity, “I’ll let you—I’ll catch up with you later. Good.”

As Zesh led them on into the auditorium, slurping from his can of soda, Natasha couldn’t help but lean over to the Bounty’s pilot.

“I think she likes you…”

“Bite me, doc.”

Zesh led the humbled Vulcan, the amused human and the muddy Klingon towards a well-signposted sign-up area, where two Ferengi in sharp suits stood from their seats to greet him.

“Ah! There he is!”

“Zesh! The man himself! How are the lobes?”

Sunek slurped his own drink noisily as they waited patiently for the trio of Ferengi to swap handshakes, before Zesh completed the introductions.

“These two rascals are Reshik and Durk. Organisers of the Tongo Grand Prix Finals for the last three years. A richly deserved responsibility.”

“Ah, he’s being too kind,” Reshik, a short and slightly dumpy Ferengi, cackled, “All we did was force the previous organisers to overbid for an extension on their license, then complete an aggressive takeover of their company when they were forced into administration.”

“Beginner’s stuff really,” Durk, a leaner and younger Ferengi, added.

Natasha managed a polite smile back. Klath remained impassively disinterested. Sunek suppressed a belch as he drained his Slug-o-Cola.

“Anyway,” Reshik continued to the three newcomers, “Are you all here to cheer for Zesh? He’s going to need all the support he can get, I suspect…”

Zesh cackled back greedily, shaking his head.

“Actually, Reshik, I’m not playing. I’m…generously donating my entry to my good friend Sunek here.”

He gestured victoriously to the tousle-haired Vulcan, who was currently holding his head back and dangling the empty can of cola above his mouth to try and will a final few drops of sickly-sweet algae-filled soda from the container.

“He’s, um, a lot better at the Tongo table,” Zesh added quickly.

“Well,” Durk began, “You do realise that a ringer in the Finals is most unprecedented—”

“But entirely within the rules. Any qualifying event winner throughout the season earns the right to a guaranteed entry at the Finals tables, but does not need to use the slot for himself—”

“Him or herself,” Reshik sighed, repeating the thoroughly modern clarification required in all Ferengi legal discussions these days, “Yes, it’s allowed. But it’s still…very irregular.”

“Either way,” Zesh smiled, “Sunek has my spot.”

“Yo,” the Vulcan called out as he crumpled up the cola can, “That’s me.”

Reshik and Durk looked the dishevelled and slightly damp Sunek up and down, then glanced at each other.

“Huh,” Durk managed eventually, “Seems like there’s more Vulcans than Ferengi playing Tongo these days…”

“Well, we’re pretty awesome,” Sunek shrugged.

“And it’s a very inclusive game,” Zesh pointed out, “And if Varik can play, then so can Sunek. So, consider my entry spot transferred.”

After another reluctant exchange of looks, Reshik nodded and picked up a dirty orange padd from the table behind him, tapping the screen and holding it out to Zesh.

“Complete the details of the change of entry and sign here. The transfer fee will be deducted from your account immediately, and in full.”

“Psh,” Zesh smiled, as he tapped the requisite details into the padd and confirmed the transaction with a thumbprint, “Pocket change compared to the hundred bricks we’re going to win.”

“And,” Durk added, “Your…ringer will need to pass the requisite background check.”

“The what?” Sunek asked, suddenly a little uncomfortable.

Durk smiled a little falsely and beckoned someone else over. Another Ferengi approached the group, in a formal beige uniform, complete with a shiny metal badge and a larger padd device. Natasha was a little surprised, and distinctly happy, to see the smaller lobes of this new Ferengi. Like the waitress on Irtok IV, this was another female Ferengi, fully dressed, in gainful employment.

The newcomer stepped over to the slightly confused Sunek, standing stiffly to attention as she barked out an introduction.

“Talda. FCA.”

“Sunek. Unaffiliated.”

Talda held up the larger padd in her hands in front of the Vulcan, and continued to talk, albeit in a slightly meek and hurried voice.

“As per Ferengi Commerce Authority regulations, all participants are required to submit biometric information for a full background check of their, um, eligibility.”

Sunek raised an eyebrow and looked down at the padd, then up at Zesh, who gestured for him to proceed.

“Um, sure,” the Vulcan replied, “I guess…?”

He placed his palm on the screen and the scan began. As they waited, Durk noticed Natasha smiling at their young FCA representative and couldn’t resist the chance to brag.

“This year, the Ferenginar Tongo Grand Prix Finals have made a big push for increased opportunities for females,” he explained proudly.

“Hmm,” Natasha mused, “Does that include those nice ladies with the cola?”

Her tone was a little harsher than she’d been intending, and possibly as a result, Durk almost seemed a little sheepish.

“Yes, well, some opportunities may be better than others,” he conceded, “But we were delighted to be able to welcome one of the first female graduates into the ranks of the FCA.”

Talda flushed slightly and kept her focus on the screen of her padd, as it worked on completing Sunek’s background check. She felt more than a little self-conscious at being so overtly discussed, and opted to keep her head down.

“That’s a very fast education, Talda,” an impressed Natasha noted.

The Ferengi woman momentarily glanced up and mustered a meek smile.

“I…studied at home. In secret. For many years. As soon as Grand Nagus Zek announced his first reforms, I…wanted to be a part of it.”

“Well,” Natasha smiled again, “Congratulations for making it.”

Talda managed a quick nod and then returned her attention to the screen.

Having just met this hew-mon female, she wasn’t entirely sure if she was being patronising, or even sarcastic in her congratulations. After all, being a junior assistant FCA agent at a Tongo tournament wasn’t exactly a plum role for anyone. But she kept her thoughts to herself, and did what she had always done through her difficult education. The best she could do, in order to prove herself.

Mercifully, as she felt everyone’s attention still on her, the padd chirped an affirmation that the requisite checks were complete.

“Um,” she managed, looking over the results with a little confusion, “A—Aside from a lifetime ban from piloting atmospheric shuttles in Ktarian space†, as well as an outstanding citation for public indecency from the Sheliak Corporate—”

“Hey,” Sunek cut in defensively, “That wasn’t my fault. I’d had a few too many drinks, and Jirel bet me that I wouldn’t—”

“Sunek,” Klath muttered, “Shut up.”

“T—There are no financial improprieties detected,” Talda concluded, “You are free to participate in the tournament.”

“Awesome,” Sunek nodded as he looked over at Zesh and grinned, “Hear that? FCA-approved Vulcan, standing right here.”

As Zesh cackled happily, Reshik gestured again as another individual joined them.

“And speaking of FCA-approved Vulcans, here’s our man of the hour, right now.”

Zesh’s happy demeanour immediately vanished as the impassive form of Varik approached the group. He was only slightly taller than the trio of Ferengi, but seemed to draw himself up to a greater height underneath his simple grey tunic.

“I believe I am required to register for this frivolous enterprise,” he offered in lieu of a greeting, “Varik. Six-time Tour event winner, and qualified finalist.”

He stated his qualifications without ego, and merely as a simple fact. But as far as Zesh was concerned, it still sounded like he was gloating.

As Durk prepared a padd for the second Vulcan to sign, Sunek stepped up with a cocked grin and offered a handshake.

“Hey there. Sunek. Also a qualified finalist, I guess.”

Varik glanced down at the offered handshake with a raised eyebrow, and merely offered back a more traditional Vulcan greeting, holding his hand up with middle and ring fingers carefully separated.

“Live long and prosper, Sunek.”

Sunek faltered slightly at this response, but eventually offered his own Vulcan salute back.

“Um, right. Yeah, that.”

Natasha suddenly realised that she didn’t think she’d ever seen Sunek fire off that most Vulcan of gestures before, in more than a year of knowing him. Although Varik’s somewhat unimpressed expression at the sight of his fellow Vulcan’s sloppy salute and general demeanour suggested that it still wasn’t the most Vulcan-like performance.

“Curious,” the stoic Varik offered, “You are unlike any Vulcan I have ever met before.”

“I get that a lot,” Sunek grinned back with evident pride, “V’tosh ka’tur member, checking in.”

“Ah, yes,” Varik nodded impassively, “A deeply…illogical organisation.”

Sunek floundered a little at this, as Durk offered Varik another padd and the Vulcan added his thumbprint to the waiting document.

“Well, looks like our favourite is all ready to go,” Durk smiled.

“Then,” Varik nodded, “If there are no further administrative procedures to be carried out, I will return to my accommodation to meditate.”

With that, he turned on his heels and began to leave.

“Um,” Sunek called after him, “Good luck, I guess?”

Varik paused mid-step and turned back to his fellow Vulcan, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Mr Sunek. At its heart, Tongo is fundamentally a pure exercise in mathematical analysis and probability. As I am sure you appreciate.”

Not waiting for a response, the stoic Vulcan resumed his walk to the exit.

Sunek turned back to Natasha and Klath with an unhappy glare.

“I hate that guy.”

Natasha smiled in sympathy, while Klath nodded in understanding. Zesh stepped over and gave Sunek a supportive slap on the back.

“Now, now,” he said, “Use that energy in the preliminaries tomorrow, and you’ll soon have a chance to bring him down a peg or two.”

With that, the quartet from the Bounty walked back into the crowds, the noise and the free samples of Slug-o-Cola. Leaving Reshik and Durk alone. Once the others were out of earshot, Durk turned to his colleague.

“Another Vulcan. That…complicates things.”

Reshik nodded back with an unhappy snort.

“Yes,” he nodded, “It really does…”

End of Part One





* - The story covered in Star Trek: Bounty - 105 - "Once Upon a Time in the Beta Quadrant"
† - A reference to events in Star Trek: Bounty - 108 - "A Klingon, a Vulcan and a Slave Girl Walk into a Bar"

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

There are so many ways to attack a vulcan. Sunek had best watch his back... Things are about to get positively vulcanic...

Thanks!! rbs

 

[BountyTrek]

Part Two

“Live from downtown in Ferenginar’s glamorous Roplermoop City, where the rivers of muck flow all year round and the gree-worms are always freshly jellied, it’s the fifteenth edition of the Ferenginar Tongo Grand Prix Finals, in association with Slug-o-Cola! Exclusively live on the Ferengi Subspace Sports Network! And what a tournament we’re in for, Kark!”

“You’re absolutely right, Brunk. More than five hundred of the galaxy’s greatest Tongo players are here for three days of intense action. Each vying for that incredible grand prize of one hundred bricks of gold-pressed latinum!”

“That’ll buy you a lot of beetle snuff, Kark!”

“It certainly will, Brunk! And we’re here for every twist and turn along the way, to see hands confronted, buyouts leveraged and a new champion crowned! It all starts today with the preliminaries.”

“And we’ve got all the action for you, right here on FSSN. But first, a word from our generous sponsors…”

Klath stared up at the gigantic video screen on the wall of the back room of the venue with barely disguised disgust.

The garish graphics of the live Tongo broadcast gave way to an even more garish Slug-o-Cola advert, which seemed to have no clear narrative beyond telling a tale of a nerdy teenage Ferengi boy sipping from a can of said cola, and immediately finding himself magically surrounded by half a dozen tall, attractive female aliens in revealing costumes, who proceeded to merrily dance and jiggle around the delighted youngster as the advert’s tagline popped up on screen.

‘Slug-o-Cola: The stuff that fantasies are made of.’

Klath audibly growled in revulsion and shook his head. He was already regretting allowing himself to be dragged along to the Tongo venue in Roplermoop City for the second day in a row.

All around them in the expansive back room staging area, hundreds of players went through their final preparations before the day’s action began. Some were playing a final few practice hands, or receiving a pep talk from their coach. Others were gobbling down some energy-providing snacks or running through their playbooks in their heads.

“Oh, take that look off your face,” Zesh chided as he saw the Klingon’s sour expression, “What, you never watched subspace broadcasts when you were young?”

Klath turned his back on the facile ongoing show on the screen to fix his unhappy glare on the Ferengi.

“No. Klingons do not waste time on such…sedentary pursuits.”

“Psh. Too busy building an Empire, I suppose?”

“Precisely,” Klath nodded.

“Hmm,” Zesh mused, with a twinkle in his eye, “Did it ever occur to you that the Ferengi managed to build up quite a useful Alliance of their own. And it didn’t take centuries of war and death to achieve. Just a few…carefully targeted advertisements.”

“They are hardly comparable,” Klath scoffed in the Alliance’s general direction.

“True,” the Ferengi mused sagely with a nod, “After all, you can resist an army. But who can resist…a fantasy?”

He gestured back to the screen behind Klath’s head, where the cola-slurping teenager was still mired in the midst of his impromptu fictional dance party.

Sunek couldn’t help but lean across to them and grin.

“I think Klath’s fantasies involve a lot less dancing girls. And a lot more pain.”

The Klingon folded his burly arms and sighed, recognising that his two colleagues had elected to work together to wind him up. As they often had when Zesh had been a full-time member of the Bounty’s crew. And despite the fact that his current fantasies did involve plenty of pain, specifically pain being meted out to the pair of them, he elected to take the high ground.

“Perhaps you would be wise to focus on your…game.”

Zesh instantly switched back to business mode and turned to Sunek, patting his ringer firmly on the shoulder for good measure.

“He’s right. Focus, Sunek. These may only be the preliminaries, but you still need to get through three consecutive tables in order to qualify for the semi-finals tomorrow. You still can’t afford to make any mistakes.”

“Yeah, I know,” the Vulcan sighed, “You already bored me with this over breakfast. Win three tables, yadda, yadda, yadda, got it.”

“And don’t get cocky,” Zesh snapped, “The real fight with Varik is still to come.”

“Me? Cocky? Impossible.”

Sunek glanced around the room at the other competitors going through their final pre-game motions.

“Besides,” he shrugged, “I’m pretty sure I could beat most of these idiots with my eyes closed…”

Now it was Zesh’s turn to fold his arms and sigh.

“Just go and play some Tongo.”

Sunek grinned inanely again as he walked off towards the playing hall.

“Now what?” Klath grunted.

“Now,” Zesh said, turning back to the screen, “We watch…”

Klath returned his attention to the subspace broadcast just in time to catch the end of another advertisement that seemed to make the unlikely claim that a new type of scented lobe moisturiser appeared to be able to physically attract your choice of mate directly to you.

Not for the first time since he had arrived on Ferenginar, Klath grumbled unhappily.

****************************

Away from the back room and the tournament itself, Natasha made her way through the main entrance hall of the playing venue. She had gotten up early in order to get in some more sightseeing, but was now heading back to meet the others for the preliminary matches.

Although the entrance hall was a lot quieter than it had been on sign-up day, it certainly wasn’t empty. She had already been accosted by the tireless pair of Slug-o-Cola models as she had walked in, had politely declined an exclusive chance to purchase a limited edition commemorative Tongo Finals gift set from an excitable seller, and had sidestepped being talked into being sold a timeshare in what was apparently an exclusive new development deep in the Briar Patch.

And then, just as she swerved away from another excitable Ferengi holding a selection of brochures for what appeared to be a new model of personal shuttle, she spotted a familiar face.

“Agent Talda!”

The female Ferengi nearly jumped out of her own skin at the sound of her name, as she stopped in the middle of hurriedly scuttling across the hall. But she smiled in relief when she saw who had called out to her.

“Ah h—hello,” she smiled, “You were here yesterday?”

“Yep. With Tongo-playing Vulcan Number One. I’m Natasha, by the way.”

Talda nodded back in recognition, the artificial light glinting off the metal badge on her uniform as she did so.

“I hope I’m not interrupting you,” she added, noting the slightly nervous look on the Ferengi’s face.

“Um,” Talda managed, a little reluctantly, “Not really. I’m just patrolling the hall today. H—Helping out here and there.”

“Ah, perfect,” Natasha smiled back, “I’ve been meaning to put a little wager on my friend for the tournament. But I can’t figure out how the bookmakers work.”

Talda mustered a smile back and nodded, before gesturing for them to walk on through the sparse crowd.

“So,” Natasha continued, eager to kindle a friendship, “How does it feel to be a pioneer?”

She was surprised to see the Ferengi woman visibly flinch at this comment, her small-lobed head seeming as if it was almost shrinking down under her collar.

“I…don’t really think of myself that way. I’m just doing a job.”

“Still, a Ferengi woman ‘just doing a job’ is a pioneering thing in its own right, surely?” Natasha tried to persist with a positive tone, “I’ve seen plenty of others out and about as I’ve been sightseeing this morning. It’s really good to see, Talda.”

“My…mother doesn’t think so.”

Natasha was taken aback by this enough to stop in her tracks, as Talda glanced down at the ground with a slight edge of sadness.

“She thinks I’m doing the wrong thing,” Talda continued sadly, “A—And she’s not alone. A lot of females, especially the older ones, prefer the old ways.”

“Wh—?” Natasha gasped, “They prefer to be kept inside their homes? Naked? To just be the property of the men of the house?”

“I’m not sure they know what they prefer. But that is all they’ve ever known. And most of them see what I’m doing as some sort of…slight against all of their hard work. After all, for centuries, Ferengi women have raised children, built homes, taken pride in their responsibilities. And now they feel that we are acting like we’re too good for all of that.”

“But you’re not, surely?” Natasha argued, finding herself a little more annoyed than she’d been expecting, “All you’re doing is getting more autonomy for yourselves. A right to decide what you get to do with your life—!”

“I know that,” Talda snapped back at the hew-mon, a little irritated at the continued patronising edge to her tone, “But…full reform is a long way away, I think.”

“Huh,” Natasha mused, “You can lead a Ferengi to a wardrobe, but you can’t make them dress.”

Talda looked a little confused at this somewhat paraphrased idiom, but she offered a shrug.

“I suppose it will take a while for—”

“Junior Agent Talda!”

The snapped voice caused both of them to turn around, and Talda shrank back even further as a wider-lobed Ferengi male in a similar FCA uniform marched over. Similar, but not identical. Natasha didn’t know a lot about the FCA, but it was clear to see from their respective badges and outfits that this man was Talda’s superior.

“Y—Yes, Sub-Liquidator Glink,” Talda stammered.

“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be on duty, not fraternising with this…hew-mon!”

“I—I was just—” Talda began to stammer back.

Feeling a need to act, Natasha put on her best ‘confused tourist’ demeanour and flashed a false smile at the wrinkled face of this latest Ferengi.

“Sorry, my bad. Talda was just helping me place a bet. Got a lot of latinum here to…invest in the local economy.”

Sub-Liquidator Glink glared at her a little distrustingly and looked her up and down for slightly longer than was necessarily polite. He clearly had doubts about her story, but he also evidently didn’t want to be the one to stand in the way of potential profit, however minor. So, eventually, he nodded.

“Fine,” he snorted at Talda, “Help this hew-mon with her transaction. But then report to Sub-Sub-Liquidator Tashk. He needs someone to clean up a rather nasty millipede juice spillage in the player’s lounge.”

“Y—yes, Sub-Liquidator Glink,” Talda nodded, “Of course.”

Casting one final lingering eye over Natasha, with more than enough of a lascivious edge to make her suddenly want to extract said eye with a laser scalpel, Glink marched off across the hall.

Natasha looked back at Talda, a little bemused.

“A millipede juice spillage? Is that really a job for an FCA agent?”

Talda sighed and gestured for them to resume their walk over to the bank of bookmakers stalls that ran along the far wall of the hall.

“No,” she conceded glumly, “But I’m the only female in the entire Roplermoop City branch of the FCA right now. All of the males that graduated with me get the real assignments. And my superiors tend to give me the more…menial work.”

The meek-mannered Ferengi glanced over at Natasha with a sad smile.

“That’s another reason why I don’t consider myself a pioneer. How many pioneers clean up spills for a living instead of chasing financial improprieties?”

Natasha looked back sympathetically at the Ferengi woman, not exactly sure what to say to that.

Eventually, they reached one of the bookmakers, and Talda distracted herself from her glumness by obediently explaining how the process worked.

“You can check the odds here,” she said, pointing to a computer terminal, “I’ll call up the list for the Tongo Finalists. And then you can make payment to the bookmaker directly.”

On cue, a grizzled, rotund Ferengi stepped over in anticipation of an upcoming transaction.

“Huh,” Natasha mused as she checked the details on the screen, “That Varik really is the odds-on favourite, isn’t he?”

“Pfft,” the aged bookmaker scoffed, “Only a fool would offer better odds. Varik hasn't lost a Tongo tournament yet. If you ask me, you’re better off betting on second place.”

“But,” Natasha replied in confusion, “How is that possible? I mean, I’ll admit I’m not exactly a Tongo expert, but there’s still an element of chance to the game, right? Of luck? How can one person win every game like that?”

“Must be that Vulcan mind of his,” the wizened bookmaker grouched dismissively, “And if he keeps it up, he’s going to ruin the whole sport. You can’t run a book on something where the outcome is virtually guaranteed!”

Something in Natasha’s mind was being piqued by all this. Her curiosity spurred her on.

“So…where did he come from? Why is a Vulcan so interested in playing Tongo?”

She thought about Sunek, then offered a concessionary shrug and correction.

“A normal Vulcan, I mean.”

“Nobody really knows,” Talda replied, “There was nothing on his background checks. He just…appeared on the tour this season and started winning. He’s silent at the table, and he doesn’t give interviews. Vulcans aren’t big talkers.”

If only, Natasha thought to herself with a trace of amusement.

“But they do ruin everything eventually,” the crotchety bookmaker added, “You know the last fifty Alpha Quadrant 3D Chess Champions have been Vulcans? It’s completely taken the drama out of the sport. And, of course, they’re never interested in sponsorship tie-ins or merchandising opportunities, just in proving their superior intelligence. It’ll be exactly the same with Tongo, mark my words!”

Before the old man’s rant could carry on any further, Natasha finally selected Sunek’s name on the panel and paid a few slips of latinum for her wager. As she and Talda walked away from the booth, the Ferengi glanced over at her.

“Why so many questions about Varik?” she asked.

“Meh, it’s probably nothing,” Natasha admitted with a shrug, “But I can’t help but feel like there’s something else going on. Something more than just a random Vulcan deciding to play Tongo.”

“Like what?”

She paused for a moment, then looked over at Talda, seeing a glint of excitement in the Ferengi’s eye for the first time.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. But…it definitely sounds like something an FCA agent should take a closer look at.”

Almost immediately, Talda’s excitement vanished, as she glanced back down to the ground.

“Perhaps,” she replied quietly, “But, ah, I’ve got some millipede juice to clean up. It was…nice to see you again.”

With that, she scurried back off across the hall.

Natasha watched her leave, and sighed sadly.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

“You can lead a Ferengi to a wardrobe, but you can’t make them dress.”

Zinger! Of course, for a clothes-horse like Quark, it would matter what is actually in the wardrobe.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[BountyTrek]

Part Two (Cont’d)

The Bounty’s cargo bay filled with the echoing sound of a choice Orion expletive.

The port-side stabiliser evidently still wasn’t fixed.

Denella had initially been happy to hear that Jirel was willing to help her complete the latest round of running repairs on the Bounty. While she never trusted any of the others to complete repairs by themselves, at least to a standard that she was happy with, she knew this was a two-person job, and so long as she was around to supervise, everything should go according to her usual standards. And besides, it was usually almost impossible to get any willing volunteers to help with a job like this, so Jirel’s decision to volunteer out of the blue had been a welcome one.

Until she began to realise how little help she would actually get.

The Trill had spent a lot of the time back in his cabin, for reasons that the Orion was putting down to simple laziness. And when he had actually shown up to help, the amount of assistance he had offered was minimal to say the least.

And so, Denella had ended up trying to do a two-person job by herself after all.

She could have tried to get help from elsewhere. But by this point her pride had taken over, and she had convinced herself that she had the engineering prowess to do everything by herself. As she so often found that she did.

Still, the echo of the Orion expletive through the bay suggested that she was now in the process of reappraising that particular confident belief.

“Everything ok?”

The sound of her angered voice had reverberated down the Bounty’s corridor, and had finally torn Jirel away from the still-unread data chip back in his cabin. As he walked into the cargo bay and called out, he saw that an access hatch in the deck was open on the far side of the room, giving access to the mechanisms below. After a second, Denella’s head popped up from within the hole, her green face streaked with dirt and her expression like thunder.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she called out, incapable of adding more sarcasm to her tone if she’d wanted to, “Did I disturb you, your majesty?”

Jirel took the jibe on the chin, reasoning that she had a point. And equally reasoning that he didn’t really want to get into the real reasons for his absence. The data chip could wait.

“Sorry,” he offered instead, bounding over to her, “What do you need?”

“A stiff drink,” she griped, before pointing over to a bulky toolkit a short distance away, “But I’d settle for a tricorder. Can’t make head or tail of the wiring connections down here.”

Jirel grabbed a bulky tricorder from the kit, only for Denella to immediately call back at him.

“Not that one. The grey one.”

“Does it matter?”

“I prefer the grey one.”

Not entirely sure if she was winding him up as revenge for his terrible work ethic so far, he dutifully set the dark brown device he had selected back down, and picked up a similar rectangular tricorder from the kit.

“You have a favourite tricorder,” he shook his head and smiled as he stepped over and offered it to her, “Of course you have a favourite tricorder.”

“It’s not like that,” Denella replied defensively, as she snatched the scratched-up device from his hands, “This one just always works, that’s all. Of all the battered old tricorders we’ve got around here, this is Old Faithful.”

“We could just buy some new tricorders,” Jirel pointed out.

‘True,” the Orion shrugged, her anger now subsiding, “But where’s the fun in that?”

With that, she ducked back down underneath the deck and began to scan the wiring assembly in front of her.

“And don’t go anywhere,” she called back, “I’m gonna need a lot more from you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain,” Jirel smiled, firing off an amused salute at the same time.

For a while, Denella resumed her work, and Jirel found himself standing a little awkwardly next to the tool kit, waiting for further instructions.

“So,” she offered eventually, her voice echoing out of the access hatch, “Now you’re here, you wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” he replied, a little too quickly.

“About what’s bothering you. Why you’ve been spending so much time back in your cabin, and why you wanted to stay back here not helping instead of running off and doing whatever stupid thing the others are doing.”

Jirel stifled a wry smirk. He wondered what he’d been thinking when he’d allowed himself to believe that he could keep a secret from this crew for long.

“I’m getting a lot of pitches for ship’s counsellor just recently,” he mused, thinking back to how Natasha had similarly seen through him.

“I’ve had more than enough of working two jobs, thank you,” Denella called back, thinking back to her time as both the Bounty’s captain and engineer while Jirel had been away, “The repair schedule is plenty for me to be—ugh, what the hell is that wire for?!”

After a few more choice Orion curses from underneath the deck plates, she was ready to continue.

“But I think we’re all worried about you. Even Klath. And…probably Sunek.”

Jirel sighed and leaned back on the wall of the cargo bay, toying with the rejected tricorder that was still in his hands. He considered diving headlong into the truth. But it didn’t seem appropriate. Especially as he wasn’t even sure what was on the data chip to cause him such trepidation.

In the end, he opted for a slightly less truthful explanation. But one that wasn’t completely a lie.

“I guess I’m just feeling a bit weird to be around Ferengi again. This is the first time since…Grenk.”

He thought about the other Ferengi. The ruthless businessman that had lured the Bounty into a trap back in Sector 374 in order to exact his revenge. The Ferengi who had killed Maya Ortega. And the one that Jirel himself had then killed.*

From inside the deck plates, Denella’s response to his explanation was understanding, but clearly not entirely convinced.

“You’re telling me that you’re uneasy around Zesh because of that?”

Jirel sighed again. It was a weak lie. Or a weak exaggeration, at least. And besides, he’d seen plenty of Ferengi since Grenk. There had always been plenty back on Mivara II, especially inside the dubious casino he had found himself working in to make ends meet.

As he recalled that phase of his life, he suppressed another few sad memories. About the person he had become, albeit very briefly.†

“It’s just,” Denella continued, sensing the silence, “Our doctor has been talking about her…concerns over what you’ve been through. Seeing yourself die, and all that.”

“So you’ve been talking about me behind my back. Nice.”

“Wouldn’t happen if you actually showed up for mealtimes.”

Even though he couldn’t see the Orion, he caught the implication in her words. A playful comment, but another one that spoke of his recent behaviour. And how everyone else onboard had clearly picked up on it.

“Fair point,” he conceded with another wry grimace, “But, really, I’m fine. And I didn’t see myself die. I saw him die.”

“But I thought he was you?”

“No. He was him.”

“So who was he?”

“He was…an alternative version of me.”

“So…he was you?”

“Ok, this is the worst pitch for a counselling job ever.”

Denella popped her head back up out of the hatch and gestured to the tool kit.

“Pass me an isolinear decoupler.”

Jirel obediently stepped back over to the kit and peered inside.

“Don’t tell me, you’ve got a favourite isolinear decoupler.”

“No. And stop changing the subject.”

Jirel retrieved the small metal tool from the kit and handed it over, as Denella kept up her best serious expression as she glared back at him.

“You know,” the Trill sighed, “If we’re gonna work together on this, you might wanna try being a bit less like Natasha.”

“And you might wanna try being a bit less like Klath,” she countered, “It’s bad enough that we’ve got one person onboard who just bottles their feelings up.”

She disappeared back underneath the floor panels and continued to talk to him. Jirel suddenly felt an urge to be somewhere else.

“I mean,” the Orion continued as she fired up the tool in her hand and went to work, “Deep down, that Klingon is just one giant ball of neuroses. You know it, he knows it, but as soon as you try to talk to him about whatever might be bothering him, the walls just go straight up.”

She powered down the decoupler and checked her progress on painstakingly severing each of the connections to the port-side stabiliser, running Old Faithful across the area to ensure that the tricorder was agreeing that she was on the right track.

“And I know I can be guilty of it as well,” she added, “So, yeah, there’s a bit of hypocrisy here, I guess. But I’ve learned that…when I do talk things through with someone, it definitely helps.”

She paused for a moment, her mind drifting to the time she recently spent with Juna Erami, a Bajoran pilot she had met on Kervala Prime. And the way that she had felt comfortable opening up about her own past with her.‡

And she tried not to think too much about the unanswered messages from the Bajoran back on her computer. The ones she had promised to reply to.

And still hadn’t.

“So,” she continued, refocusing back to the present and clambering back out of the access hatch again to get another tool, “You really shouldn’t avoid—”

She found herself staring at an empty cargo bay. Jirel had evidently retreated again.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she continued the two person job alone.





* - In the climax to Star Trek: Bounty - 13 - "Something Bad Happened Today".
† - In the early parts of Star Trek: Bounty - 201 - "Something Good Happened Today".
‡ - For more on Denella and Erami, see Star Trek: Bounty - 11 - "Love, but With More Aggressive Overtones".

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Bounty's getting rather full of ghosts and neuroses.... Thanks!! rbs