Teaser scenes

[Callum MacLeod]

Thought I'd start a thread where we all could post teasers to draw people into reading our stories.

This is for everyone so we all can promote our stories and find new series/authors to follow.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

For people's consideration... Star Trek: Mjolnir

"Captain, I'm detecting a class D planetoid directly ahead." Nerah, the Mjolnir's Bajoran helmsman, said from the helm.

"An uncharted system?" Callum asked from the Mark VII captain's chair at the centre of the bridge.

"No. Just a class D planetoid." Nerah reported.

"Hmm a rogue." Callum said in his thick Scottish brogue, "On screen, Commander Rel. Sensor analysis Lieutenant Vhela."

Within seconds the viewscreen was filled with the image of a class D planetoid, much like Earth's moon. Even from the image on the viewscreen Callum could tell that the planetoid was rotating a a relatively high speed for its surprise, which was surprising given that there was nothing around that could be exerting an influence on it.

"Class D planetoid. Standard in all respects except for one. It's rotating when there's nothing acting on it." The Barzan science officer said from the science station.

"So what's making the rocky world go 'round?" Gratakka, the burly Nausicaan lieutenant that was the tactical and security chief, said from where he sat behind the freestanding console that served as the ship's tactical station.

"Fat bottom girls." Navesh, the Orion ops officer who had been raised on Earth by humans, suddenly said.

"That's one theory." Callum said with a chuckle, "Lieutenant Vhela, would ye happen tae have a theory that does nae involve a song by Queen?"

 

[Firebird]

Here's a sampling of a few of my favorite teasers from season 1 of my series EVA-Trek - available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3301210

Episode 4 - "Come Alive." (https://archiveofourown.org/works/44451466/chapters/111806704) This begins with an homage to one of my favorite westerns, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, before seguing into some fun character beats.

Spoiler

Episode 9 - "Normal." (https://archiveofourown.org/works/44932957/chapters/113058973) Plays with first-person point of view in a flashback to give some backstory.

Spoiler

Episode 11 - "Times Like These." (https://archiveofourown.org/works/46495663/chapters/117073861) Builds from just another day at the office to an "uh-oh, shit just went sideways" moment.

Spoiler

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Teaser for The Star Beagle Adventures, Episode 7: The Roundabout

(A gender-bending episode of the insane adventures of the crew of the U.S.S. Beagle. Naked and pissed off U.S. Marines beat the crap out of a few aliens... An ancient, heavily populated space station is explored, along with its mysterious connection to ancient Ferengi culture, and an adventuring ferengi trader is revealed to be something very different from advertised...)

excerpt:

...Spike grabbed the guard’s head fur with both hands, bending him down as her knee came up into his chest, then sent him stumbling, bent over, across the room, where he encountered another very pissed off marine… Raanda delivered two solid jabs to the side of his head and he dropped, unconscious, to the floor.

The eadh was already to a shocked and still wailing Pel. She made some squawking noises that might have been her species’ equivalent of a shushing noise, as she uncapped a small bottle and held it under the distressed ferengi’s nose.


“Oh, Pel…” Randa started, then realized that the tiny, completely naked ferengi was not what she had expected… “You’re a… girl??”


Thanks!! rbs

 

[Gibraltar]

A snippet from my Starship Reykjavík story, An Idiot's Guide to Gunboat Diplomacy, which can be found here: https://www.adastrafanfic.com/works/109/chapters/190

Commodore Nandi Trujillo

* * *

“I already know what you’re going to say,” Trujillo said, hand raised as if in a warding gesture as the two of them strode down a corridor towards the transporter room.

“So do I, sir,” Glal shot back. “This is a terrible idea. The last Starfleet captain to beam aboard a Klingon ship under similar circumstances was thirty years ago, and he ended up on Rura’Penthe mining dilithium.”

“It will be fine,” Trujillo countered. “Ambassador Dax says Kang’s a pussycat.”

“That is quite literally the exact opposite of the ambassador’s assessment of General Kang,” Glal growled.

“Oh, I must have read it wrong,” Trujillo said with a dismissive chuckle. This was bravado, pure artifice, and Glal knew her well enough to realize this.

She chucked him playfully on the shoulder. “Right now, he’s undoubtedly saying, ‘oh shit, it’s Nandi Trujillo!’”

Glal didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Come on, Glal, this isn’t the first time I’ve been toe-to-toe with an angry Klingon official.”

He grunted in response, then offered, “Yes, but this isn’t some jumped up provincial governor. This is Kang, Dahar Master. The man who bloodied the Romulans at Tolutlis, annexed the whole Pralok Cluster, and tangled with Kirk and lived to tell the tale.”

They entered the transporter room and Glal dismissed the on-duty technician with a mere look as Trujillo ascended to the platform. Glal stared disapprovingly from behind the operator’s console.

“No beaming explosives onto their ship this time,” Trujillo admonished the Tellarite.

“That would have worked,” he replied sullenly.

“If this little tête-à-tête goes wrong, defer to Captain Kiersonn. That means no shooting unless he orders it, understood?”

Glal’s silence spoke volumes.

“Damn it, Glal,” she sighed, venting a fraction of her anxiety. “I can’t give this meeting the focus it deserves if I’m sidetracked with what you might do. There’s too much at stake. If I’m removed from the equation, Kiersonn’s next in line to command the task force. Following his orders protects you and the crew from any political repercussions from whatever follows.”

He came to a semblance of attention behind the console. “Understood, sir. In the event you are killed or captured by the Klingons, I will not attempt a rescue or to exact retribution without direct orders from Captain Kiersonn.”

She shared a meaningful look with him before nodding slightly. “Thank you, my friend. Energize.”

* * *

 

[Callum MacLeod]

A sample of what I'm working on for Star Trek Mjolnir


Stardate 57751.25 (October 1, 2380. 23:00 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
San Francisco
Earth, Sector 001, United Federation of Planets

“So we’re in agreement. In light of the threat we’re facing, we’ll deploy the Mjolnir to deal with the threat.” Vasily Zeitsev of the clandestine organization known only as Section Thirty-One said.

“Agreed. But I still don’t see why we needed to assign your man to the ship.” Admiral Anthony Haftel of Starfleet command said.

“Agent Washbourne is one of the best operatives we have. He’ll make sure the mission gets completed no matter the cost.” Zeitsev replied.

“That seems a little cold.” Haftel commented.

“Well, Augments do tend to be that way. But that’s part of what makes him such a good operative.” Zeitsev said with a ominous grin on his face before he pressed a hidden control on the wrist of his all black tunic signaling a Section Thirty-One long range transporter, based on Dominion technology, to beam him away.

“Why do I feel like I just made a deal with the devil.” Haftel said to himself as he stood alone in the San Francisco back alley.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

I am currently posting The Star Beagle Adventures, Episode 9: Long Distance Runaround to TrekBBS. Scene 9.1 is currently posted.

This episode explores a group of intergalactic aliens who are worshipped by other aliens who are native to the Milky Way....

Here is a tease for Scene 9.9:

Shadow’s blowguns were not even 5” long, but that was all that was needed for such close-range work. Her position, flush with the door, kept her hidden from the two outward looking watchers. She prepared four blowguns, then targeted the inward-looking watcher furthest from her. The tiny, poisoned dart found its mark, hit with enough force to break the skin and dropped silently away. The watcher scratched his cheek in irritation, then, less than a second later, dropped to the floor, dead, drawing the attention of the other three.

While the two outward-looking watchers were briefly blinded and engaged with removing their night vision gear, Shadow targeted the closer of the inward-looking watchers, embedding the poisoned dart in the back of his neck. She shifted position slightly to target the other two, felling each of them before they had their night vision gear off.

One watch station would not be enough. The area outside each section of wall was surveilled by watch stations located at each of two corners of that section. Shadow slipped along the top of the wall to the opposite corner station, there using another four blowguns to quickly dispatch four more watchers. This time she slipped into the watch station and took a rifle and a handgun as well as a few other supplies before making her way down the wall to the outside of the compound.



Taking down two watch stations would give her no more than 30 minutes grace before shift change, but that was more than long enough for her to, at a full run, put miles between herself and the compound...



Thanks!! rbs

 

[Sgt_G]

Opening line to my not-short story "So Clever":

“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is the trading vessel Tina’s Pride; we are under attack! Mayday! Mayday!”


See link below.

 

[Sgt_G]

From my short story "Timelines" (link in signature):

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sir,” a pleasant female voice behind him interrupted, “I’m picking up a signal ahead ... very faint ... it’s a distress call ... audio only ... the survey ship Freemont has suffered a breakdown in their life-support systems. I’m responding on all hailing frequencies.”

.....

He considered the possibilities, weighed his options, and made a decision. “Helm, adjust course to rendezvous,” he spun the command chair around, “Any response to our hails?”

The Lieutenant at the communications console frowned, which looked unnatural on her dark complexion, “No, sir. Their signal seems to be on automatic -- it keeps repeating over and over.”

“Course plotted and laid in, sir. Intercept in ten minutes. Transporters and rescue teams standing by.”

.....

A ship appeared on the main view screen, a huge cylinder longer than the starship with “SS FREEMONT” painted along its length. The converted cargo freighter hung in space over the moon like an injured whale trapped in a fishnet. A tingle ran down the Captain’s spine. “Something’s not right.”

They closed on the survey ship. It still did not answer their hails. “Picking up debris of some kind, sir.”

“On screen,” he ordered. The view flickered as it zoomed in on one of the objects. “Minefield! Helm! Get us out ....”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

[RichMerk]

I always liked writing little teasers for my stories. The short little blurbs you'd find on the back covers of paperbacks that try to hook you into buying the book.

For my series in general I had this:

On the other side of the Briar Patch Nebula, on the edge of the unknown, Wing Commander Lee Carter leads her elite squadron of pilots against warring empires, marauding pirates, and the Smelly Jelly!

The Black Gate

While on a routine survey mission, the Banshees are pulled into a mysterious black vortex and hurled across the universe toa forgotten planet orbiting a dead sun in a lightless void. Now lost amid the crumbling wreckage of a long-dead civilization and beset on all sides by murderous natives and terrifying creatures, they must solve the mystery of the ages in order to escape with their lives!

The Worst of Woes

Against West's advice, Max Vasser takes on a simple bounty hunting job, but uncovers instead an ancient legacy of coldblooded murder and manipulation. Faced with a shocking foe, she finds her most basic moral convictions called into question, and now she must choose between risking her life and losing her very soul!

 

[Hawku]

Love this idea. Here's the cold-open for my next one, "Triple Phoenix".

Out in the flashy, bright, Antares sector, two engineers on the Beta Antares Shipyards took in the starship-bay-entering, well-used Nebula-class U.S.S. Phoenix.​

​

"The number of adventures and illegal border crossings this Phoenix has been on is quite impressive," Fenwick realized while prepping the next, ready-to-be-named Sutherland-class starship. "Now it's time to retire the old and launch a brand new letter-affixed Phoenix ship."​

​

But the console beeped in error during their registration process, prompting Engineer Tegarian to stop. "Wait a minute. This says there already are other Phoenix-ships in current, simultaneous service?"​

​

"What!? How dare they disregard the one-at-a-time naming conventions of Starfleet?? Who came up with that, a bunch of starship writer's room scribes with an incomplete grasp of reality?" Then, realizing his short existence, digressed, "Well, we still need to birth a Phoenix ship, per Beta Antares' struggling quota, so just patch up the old Nebula-class and punt her back out again. The exit fob will still count it."​

​

Nodding, the two engineers quickly band-aided any border-caused hull fractures and tractor-repel-kicked the Nebula-class U.S.S. Phoenix back out into cold space: its cloth-swiped shell, momentarily twinkling off in the distance.​

 

[Bynar0110]

Love this idea. Here's the cold-open for my next one. To be posted soon.

Out in the flashy, bright, Antares sector, two engineers on the Beta Antares Shipyards took in the starship-bay-entering, well-used Nebula-class U.S.S. Phoenix.​

​

"The number of adventures and illegal border crossings this Phoenix has been on is quite impressive," Fenwick realized while prepping the next, ready-to-be-named Sutherland-class starship. "Now it's time to retire the old and launch a brand new letter-affixed Phoenix ship."​

​

But the console beeped in error during their registration process, prompting Engineer Tegarian to stop. "Wait a minute. This says there already are other Phoenix-ships in current, simultaneous service?"​

​

"What!? How dare they disregard the one-at-a-time naming conventions of immaculate Starfleet?? Who came up with that, a bunch of terrible writers with an incomplete grasp of the Universe?" Then, realizing his short existence, digressed, "Well, we still need to birth a Phoenix ship, per Beta Antares' struggling quota, so just patch up the old Nebula-class and punt her back out again. The exit fob will still count it."​

​

Nodding, the two engineers quickly band-aided any border-caused hull fractures and tractor-repel-kicked the Nebula-class U.S.S. Phoenix back out into cold space; its cloth-swiped shell, momentarily twinkling off in the distance.​

Looking forward to reading it.

 

[Cobalt Frost]

From my Flight of the Challenger stories, here's a, shall we say, more tame teaser...

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

“No, the illudium modulator goes there.”

“I am a plank owner, Captain Frost,” Connie bit off tersely. “I’ve been with this ship ever since her keel was laid. In fact, I was there when…”

“A fact I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to,” said Gabriel, brusquely cutting her off, “because you bring it up so often. A fact that in your mind seems to trump the fact that I designed this ship.”

“I know you designed the class, but…”

“But no two ships of the same class are ever one hundred percent identical,” Gabriel interrupted. “And in other news, water is wet. Yes, I designed the Pellucidar-class. But I drew up specific plans especially for Challenger. She is… unique. Elite. Without equal.

“And I was also there when the keel was laid, but you probably don’t remember. It’s easy for a lowly lieutenant – even if he’s the ship’s designer – to be overlooked when it’s announced that the legendary Jaffral Fforde is coming out of retirement to take command of the ship in question.”

“Chottomatte… You were the crazy engineer who gamma-welded those coins to the keel, where the so-called mainmast spar would rest on it! What the Hell was that about, anyway?”

“The way you throw around ‘plank owner’, I thought you’d be a bit more knowledgeable about maritime traditions.” Gabriel’s tone was a bit more than subtly mocking. Connie folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips.

“Enlighten me,” she said flatly.

“The practice has surprising parallels on several other worlds, but on Earth it’s thought the tradition started with the ancient Romans. When a sailing ship was being built, a few coins were placed on the keel as good luck talismans. If the ship should go down, they were payment to the Ferryman for passage of the sailors’ souls to the underworld. The coins were usually placed where I welded the ones to Challenger’s keel.”

“I’m surprised that someone like you puts any stock in such… such nonsense.”

“Someone like me?” Gabriel remarked drily, raising an eyebrow.

“An engineer, a ship designer, a… a grease monkey! Your work depends on facts, on technological, scientific, and mathematical certainties. Blessed Hell, Gabriel, your continued existence relies on them!”

“I have seen things, Connie, that defy all description, that by those certainties could not possibly exist, but do. I could make the argument that my existence, while dependent on them, is in defiance of those same certainties. How do you scientifically quantify the human soul?

“Don’t roll your eyes, Commander. I know quite well how you feel about that subject. Put simply, Connie, there is magic in this universe, whether you choose to see it or not.”

“Magic,” said Connie disapprovingly. Gabriel’s smile was warmly amused.

“Magic.”

Connie shook her head, chuckling. “You are impossible, Gabriel.”

“Nothing is impossible. Highly unlikely? Sure. Infinitely improbable? Occasionally. But never impossible.”

“Shut up and hand me that modulator, and let’s get these dynotherms connected. Sir.”

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

 

[Bynar0110]

From my Flight of the Challenger stories, here's a, shall we say, more tame teaser...

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

“No, the illudium modulator goes there.”

“I am a plank owner, Captain Frost,” Connie bit off tersely. “I’ve been with this ship ever since her keel was laid. In fact, I was there when…”

“A fact I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to,” said Gabriel, brusquely cutting her off, “because you bring it up so often. A fact that in your mind seems to trump the fact that I designed this ship.”

“I know you designed the class, but…”

“But no two ships of the same class are ever one hundred percent identical,” Gabriel interrupted. “And in other news, water is wet. Yes, I designed the Pellucidar-class. But I drew up specific plans especially for Challenger. She is… unique. Elite. Without equal.

“And I was also there when the keel was laid, but you probably don’t remember. It’s easy for a lowly lieutenant – even if he’s the ship’s designer – to be overlooked when it’s announced that the legendary Jaffral Fforde is coming out of retirement to take command of the ship in question.”

“Chottomatte… You were the crazy engineer who gamma-welded those coins to the keel, where the so-called mainmast spar would rest on it! What the Hell was that about, anyway?”

“The way you throw around ‘plank owner’, I thought you’d be a bit more knowledgeable about maritime traditions.” Gabriel’s tone was a bit more than subtly mocking. Connie folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips.

“Enlighten me,” she said flatly.

“The practice has surprising parallels on several other worlds, but on Earth it’s thought the tradition started with the ancient Romans. When a sailing ship was being built, a few coins were placed on the keel as good luck talismans. If the ship should go down, they were payment to the Ferryman for passage of the sailors’ souls to the underworld. The coins were usually placed where I welded the ones to Challenger’s keel.”

“I’m surprised that someone like you puts any stock in such… such nonsense.”

“Someone like me?” Gabriel remarked drily, raising an eyebrow.

“An engineer, a ship designer, a… a grease monkey! Your work depends on facts, on technological, scientific, and mathematical certainties. Blessed Hell, Gabriel, your continued existence relies on them!”

“I have seen things, Connie, that defy all description, that by those certainties could not possibly exist, but do. I could make the argument that my existence, while dependent on them, is in defiance of those same certainties. How do you scientifically quantify the human soul?

“Don’t roll your eyes, Commander. I know quite well how you feel about that subject. Put simply, Connie, there is magic in this universe, whether you choose to see it or not.”

“Magic,” said Connie disapprovingly. Gabriel’s smile was warmly amused.

“Magic.”

Connie shook her head, chuckling. “You are impossible, Gabriel.”

“Nothing is impossible. Highly unlikely? Sure. Infinitely improbable? Occasionally. But never impossible.”

“Shut up and hand me that modulator, and let’s get these dynotherms connected. Sir.”

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

Looking forward to reading it.

 

[Cobalt Frost]

And here's one with a bit more zip...

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

Encounter plus one hour

True to Gabriel’s prediction, the Kethurians let their photon cannons speak for them. Challenger had so far managed to keep the battle-barges occupied and away from the drifting royal junk, but she was taking a pounding, and there was no way the Barcelona could get a signal through.

“We’re finally getting clear sensor readings on the Jyothai junk, Captain,” said CDR K’kon. “There is only one life-sign aboard, out of a crew of over 200. Also, we’ve identified the markings; the junk is the royal transport for Princess Nairi Thelas Th’elasa.”

“Damn,” said Gabriel softly. “Mr. K’kon, I need you to modify the deflector to create a ‘tunnel’ of sorts between Challenger and the royal junk. The antiprotons in the deflector beam will hold off the Minckler particles long enough for me to beam over.” Gabriel got up and headed for the turbolift.

“Commander Taylor, you have the Conn.”

Connie motioned to CDR K’kon to take over as she followed Gabriel into the turbolift. “Let me guess: you’re a figure of prophecy to the Kethurians, and if you’re on board the junk they won’t shoot at you.” Connie’s sarcastic remark belied her anger and growing concern.

“Actually, the Kethurians believe I’m the devil incarnate. I’m betting, however, that their fear of retribution from the Celvani is greater than their hatred of me.”

“I don’t like those odds, and you said yourself we don’t know the rules anymore. And blessed hell, Gabriel, how did you manage to piss off half the known galaxy?”

Gabriel’s combadge chirped as he and Connie entered the transporter room. “Deflector modifications ready,” reported CDR K’kon.

“Do it.” Gabriel strapped on his Celvani thrustergun and pulled a portable shield generator from a storage locker before stepping up to the transporter pad.

“Captain,” said Connie angrily,” I cannot condone this course of action!”

Gabriel flashed the half-smile that Connie found so damned annoying. “Not your call. Energize.”

“Captain!” Connie yelled as Gabriel dematerialized. “Gabriel, I lo…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *
On board the Jyothai royal junk

“Hello again, Princess.”

“So, it is by a beloved hand that my death will come this day? You may wear the face of someone dear to my heart, but I will not sell my life the more cheaply for it.”

Gabriel dodged the dagger that flew at his head and placed the shield generator against the bridge doors. “I’m trying to save you, if you don’t mind.” The shield generator activated with a chirp, sealing the bridge from the Kethurian death squads that beamed aboard just before Gabriel.

“You lie! I shall…”

“You shall let me work, please. I swear, your people have elevated paranoia to an art form. The drama queen act gets old really fast, though.” Gabriel dodged another dagger and found the engineering console, calling up the junk’s status on the main screen.

“Let’s see… Propulsion: RCS only, sublight’s shot, warp core is functional and warp plasma is flowing, but the nacelles are practically scrap.” He started to type furiously at the console. “Got to be a way out of this mess… yes!” Gabriel entered a string of commands that triggered a high-pitched alarm.

“What in the name of the Allmother are you doing?” the princess asked incredulously.

“Triggering an imbalance in your warp drive,” Gabriel replied as he continued to type. “If I’m right…”

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

Simultaneously, on board Challenger

Challenger’s holographic avatar rezzed up abruptly, appearing right in front of Connie. Commander, I’ve lost the Captain’s signal.

“That’s not unexpected,” said Connie. She turned her attention to Tactical for a moment. “Fire torpedoes, spread pattern delta-one-three.” Then, to the avatar: “We knew the interference from the Kethurians could do this. Keep trying to reacquire.”

You don’t understand, Commander, said the avatar as she stepped closer. Connie noticed the avatar’s voice carried an almost overwhelming tone of fear, and it made Connie’s stomach curdle. I’ve lost his beta-wave signal.

Connie felt her legs suddenly go numb, and she would have collapsed to the floor if the avatar hadn’t gently steered her into the command chair. The beta-wave signal, the intimate (for lack of a better word) connection between Gabriel and Challenger, was for all intents and purposes unblockable. The only thing that would disrupt the beta-wave was Gabriel’s death.

“Commander!” called Lt. Priest, from the tactical pit. “We’ve lost the Jyothai ship. No visual, no sensor returns.” Connie heard the Lieutenant but found herself unable to reply. The activity on the bridge seemed to devolve into dim sights and sounds on the periphery of Connie’s perception.

After what seemed an eternity, Connie found her voice. “Challenger,” she whispered, “initiate Protocol Zero.”

Initiate Protocol Zero, aye. Challenger’s holographic form blurred for a second; when it regained focus, she was wearing a void-black suit of armor instead of her usual Starfleet uniform. She began speaking in a coldly clinical voice.

Parsing tactical subroutines. Initializing alpha-strike systems. Initializing omega-strike systems. Engaging hull plating polarization. Deploying limited ablative armor. Engaging crew protection subsystems.

At her last phrase, forcefields and armored bulkheads snapped into place across the ship, and all computer terminals were locked down. The monitors still displayed information, however, and what Challenger’s crew saw there chilled them to their very bones.

“Multiple firing solutions,” said Lt. Priest, her voice heavy with alarm. “Commander, we’re not aiming to disable…” A pause, then: “Holy God. Weapons systems coming on-line.”

“Which ones?” asked CDR K’kon.

“All of them.”

“All of…?”

“Outside of phasers and photorps, I don’t recognize any of these. Where the hell have these systems been hiding?” Lt. Priest could barely comprehend what she was reading. “Neutrino injectors, plasma lances, phaser blades, mass-pulse mines… void torpedoes? What in the name of all that's holy are void torpedoes?”

Protocol Zero fully engaged, said Challenger. Awaiting final code key for activation.

A dark fire burned in Connie’s eyes as she looked up at the avatar. “Code key…”

“Gabriel.”

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