Las Vegas, World Creature Wars Monday Fitro
"The world outside of Gensokyo sure is strange," Parsee Mizuhashi thought to herself as she walked through the crowded arena.
In the months since accepting Gentleman Draco's invitation to be his apprentice, Parsee had gotten to experience all sorts of human things that she'd only heard about. Television, fast food, bungee jumping...there were so many things and she'd gotten to try each one of them! She'd learned so much too, such as negotiation and how to negotiate with strength when you had none. Now she found herself in a noisy arena full of screaming fans, each one screaming his or her lungs out in anticipation of seeing their favorite creature, such as Rodaniel Bryan or The Arocknid or some other strange-sounding thing, beat another weird creature to a pulp. Draco had sent her the ticket and told her to come up to a particular private box before matches began.
"Suite 13b," the ticket had written on it. Parsee knocked twice and the door opened.
"...and then I put up a sign saying 'No Active Volcanoes,'"
Parsee found her mentor speaking to a group of well-dressed humanoids: a dark-feathered bird man, a human in dark, heavy armor, and a robot of some sort. Kobold servants, shorter than the lizardman by far, stood nearby with drinks and snacks if summoned. Parsee coughed lightly, causing one of Draco's eyes to turn towards her.
"Miss Mizuhashi, please come in," Draco said congenially. "I was just speaking to some business associates of mine. Baron Kobsworthington the Third, Zett the Black Knight, Nu Alex, meet my new apprentice, Parsee Mizuhashi. She's gracefully offered to help me gain a foothold in this city."
The crow and lizard bowed politely.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mizuhashi," Nu Alex said, extending a robotic hand. "As a former student of Mr. Draco's, you must be quite formidable to have gained his attention."
"Oh, th-thank you," Parsee replied, unused to compliments. "I'm just a gatekeeper. I'm not THAT special."
"She's quite modest, as you can see," Draco chuckled. "I'll cure her of that soon enough."
Even Parsee laughed nervously at that as she took a seat on the suite's balcony. The fans waved signs and screamed their hearts out as the first match began: a whirlwind full of ogres named the Shreknado battling a pelican that pulled assault weapons from its beak named the Scooper Trooper. Bullets and rockets were flying everywhere, deflected into the crowd by Shreknado's whirlwind.
"It's not the same as good ol' Zoofights, but Mr. Rex does know how to put on a good show," Draco grudgingly admitted, politely applauding as Scooper Trooper was being peeled like an onion in a hurricane.
"Um...pardon my asking, Mr. Draco..."
"Ask away, my dear. I didn't invite you here to show you off like a trophy."
"Yes, that's what I was getting to: why DID you invite me here?" Parsee asked.
"An excellent question. I wanted to show you something. This event, this arena, this show...this is our enemy in this city," Draco answered, motioning to the WCW crowd. "Every time we want to succeed, he wants us to fail. I have no doubt Rex knows that I have come here; with the Zoofights Corporation's intention of opening a casino resort, he must know that Kobbers will flock here like crows. No offense, Baron."
"None taken," the Tengu muttered, watching the next match begin.
"But you told me that we need competition," Parsee protested. "Why is he our enemy?"
"A competitor and an enemy are similar: they both want the same thing we want," Draco began explaining. "A competitor will puff up his plumage like a peacock, put up a fine display and improve his product in order to attract attention. An enemy will also put on a display to attract attention as well, but he seeks to misdirect OUR attention while planning to destroy us. Thus, we must destroy our enemies even as we seek to impress and outwit our competitors."
Parsee tried to take it all in, to look at it from a variety of perspectives. She'd likely have a "EUREKA" moment later and put the thought aside for now. "Then why are we here at his event, giving him money to enjoy his product?"
"Like I said, misdirection. He'll know I'm here, I'll put on a good show of being awed by a return to exciting creature fights, and I may even pay him a visit to congratulate him on reviving the ailing WCW," Draco continued with a toothy smirk. "He won't see you though; compared to people like Utsuho Reiuji and Tenshi Hinanawi, you're unknown. You can begin an operation without him suspecting ties to me or the Kobbers."
Parsee's eyes flashed green and jealousy boiled within her. Seeing this, Draco frowned. "Control your temper, apprentice. Business contacts will say things like that to control you, to manipulate you to their advantage. You have that power too though."
"Do YOU say such things to me to manipulate me?"
Draco grinned once more. "Of course. How else are you going to learn?"
For a moment, Parsee gaped with surprise. Fortunately for her, a new match was beginning between a shape-shifting crustacean named Blobster and a bloodthirsty bird named Swanton Slaughter.
Monday, April 27, 2015
The Final Frontiers - Ocard: It's not you, it's...wait, yes, it is you
Year 2405, Unidentified system in the Gorn Hegemony
"Will this prattle never end?" Ocard thought to himself, idly tapping on his command chair.
Although his vessel was the only ship of Cardassian make at the meeting, Ocard's Badi Dea was just one of many independent vessels, most of which were Gorn vessels that had fled during the Klingon Empire's invasion, that had been assembled for what had been billed as "a major undertaking in the history of the Gorn," which he'd translated as "opportunity to make lots of money while others took bigger risks" and was slowly coming to realize to have meant "I hate Klingons and I want you to go shoot them for free."
Ocard had been the majority of his life outside of the modern Gorn Hegemony. He'd been born in a system the Gorn traditionally claimed but didn't own at the time, his career as a slave/raider had occurred mainly in Romulan space, and he'd never actually seen the "glorious jewel" of the racial homeworld, Gornar. His current location was as close as he'd gotten to Gornar and he was slowly finding less and less to be interested in.
He muted his own transmitter. "This is a waste of time. There's no profit in fighting a revolution that's doomed before it's even begun."
Chief Engineer Mulea snorted and looked up from monitoring the other vessels. "Nobody joins a revolution to make money. Freedom fighters are expected to be free, dumb fighters."
Ocard chortled. The Orion woman's quips were as precisely-tuned as impulse engines she gushed over. For the latest time, the Gorn pirate considered himself lucky to have her on his crew. He continued listening to the speaker, some Gorn general who'd been sensible enough to warp his Balaur dreadnought away from Gorn space the moment the KDF approached the border in force, go on and on about how it was the duty of each captain and his crew to help overthrow the obviously-useless royal family and expel the Klingons from the Hegemony while they were distracted with their war with the Federation. A stirring speech, Ocard supposed based on how many other captains were cheering for their host.
"Helmsman, turn us about and set course for Alhena," Ocard ordered. "We need to top off our tanks and I hear they just got a fresh load of Deuterium in."
The helmsman, a fellow Gorn, hesitated before standing up. "Sir, this meeting is important for our race! We need to be a part of this!"
Ocard wondered if he should kill the helmsman for insubordination, but stood before his claws scratched his chair. He calmly stepped forward, placed his hands on the shorter Gorn's shoulders, and looked him in the eye.
"This resistance is doomed to fail, sailor," Ocard stated, looking him in the eye. "You've got a cowardly general trying to rally other cowards, desperate fools, and beings like us who have never even seen Gornar into fighting a bunch of war-mongering savages when even the legitimate ruler has accepted Klingon oversight. There's no profit for us, so I say we get back to what will actually benefit us."
The helmsman, struggling not to be intimidated, took a step back. "Then I respectfully resign my post and wish to be beamed to the surface."
Ocard nodded. Crew members jumped ship frequently when they felt they were rich enough or because they were spies who needed to report to their masters. "Then go talk to the purser, get your take, and get off my ship. In fact..."
Ocard stood up and straight and switched on the shipwide conn. "Attention, crewmembers. I understand that this event has significant personal interest for many of you. I, however, see no reason to become involved in this Gorn Revolution. Any crew members - not just Gorn - who wishes to be a part of this resistance movement is free to collect his due and find passage aboard another vessel. You all have an hour to make your arrangement and get out."
Over the course of the hour, power consumption indicated that 35 crew members, mostly Gorns, had jumped ship. Ocard wished them well, but did not expect most of them to see 2406. Maybe not even the second half of 2405.
"I'm rather surprised none of you jumped ship," Ocard remarked to his bridge crew as the Badi Dea left the meeting.
Talash, Rlim, and Gthath had immediately come to the bridge following Ocard's declaration, reporting on the ones most likely to leave. Who was gone didn't matter though; only who stayed behind.
"Eh...we feel about the same as you do, sir," Gthath said with a shrug. "Gornar never wanted the best for us, so why should we care about it?"
"You'd never make it without us anyway," Rlim added. "I doubt you can even drive a hovercar, let alone a starship."
"And I'm still waiting to get a gold-plated falchion," Talash gave as his reason to stay.
"Good enough for me." Ocard turned to his Orion chief engineer. "Anything you'd like to add?"
"Only that I'm glad you didn't break one of my consoles with poor S'thar's face," Mulea answered. "Or I'd be taking the repairs out of your Risa fund."
Ocard snorted at the thought of actually taking a vacation to the resort world deep in Federation space.
"Alright, alright, union break's over," Ocard growled melodramatically. "Now get us to Alhena's fuel pumps or you're all getting out to push."
Sunday, April 26, 2015
The Final Frontiers - Rebecca: War Begins
Year 2405 - Starfleet Technical Services Academy, Mars
Rebecca's arms looped slowly about, her hands curled up like claws. She lithely moved about like a leopard about to strike, taking deep breaths as she moved through the motions of the Klingon martial art Mok'bara. She silently thanked the gods of class scheduling that her roommate's classes were scheduled for when she had free time, allowing her to take over the entire dorm room for her relaxation and meditation techniques. It also allowed her to the ridiculous heavy metal dubstep that she was oddly relaxed by.
She frequently needed time for relaxation though, thinking incorrectly that the anger and indignity she'd felt during her high school years would cease once she entered Starfleet's school for noncoms, that minds working to better themselves to in turn better society through Starfleet service would be above jealously over receiving a symbiote partner.
HA.
If anything, the Trills who had washed out of the candidacy program and joined Starfleet seemed to feel even more negatively than the Trill high schoolers. Nobody had taken a swing at her yet - though Rebecca felt THAT was inevitable as long as she kept overshadowing them, never mind that none of her previous selves had ever been engineering students - but few were the Trill students who hadn't at some point snapped at her or given her thinly-veiled insults for what they failed to prove worthy of.
In defiance of her attempts at relaxing, Rebecca imagined that she was performing full-power strikes upon her classmates with each motion. Shatter Quont's nose. Box Calisin's ears. Crush a few of Gilz's teeth.
Fortunately for her calm, the communicator began to chime. Incoming call from U.S.S. Carol. Better get presentable.
Rebecca quickly threw on her uniform jacket and turned on her viewscreen before the yellow-uniformed security officer on the distant starship appeared. Long, blonde hair framed the familiar face of Vina.
"Practicing mok'bara again, I see," Vina chuckled.
"You're getting good at reading people," Rebecca confirmed. "Must be all that interrogating you do on those deep space missions."
"Oh yeah, I'm constantly reading these Vulcan mind-reading manuals and studying how to discern why someone's face is flushed," Vina snorted. "No, I see your mat's out again. Kill anyone this time?"
"Only in my dreams, V. Only in my dreams," Rebecca sighed. She quickly jumped onto her bed like she was a teenager calling across town again. "SO what's new? You meet any hot space dudes in the far reaches? Save any for me?"
"The only hot dude I've met out here is a red dwarf sun. We won't be so far though; all survey ships bigger than a light cruiser are being recalled because...well...you heard about Korvat, right?"
Rebecca nodded. The planet Korvant in the Pi Canis Majoris sector, once the site of initial negotiations to end the old Federation-Klingon cold war, had been attacked by the Klingon Defense Force several days ago to remove all non-Klingons from the region. The Federation had sent a fleet of ships to defense the system, thus sparking a new war between the Klingon Empire and the Federation. Many of Rebecca's instructors had told her that this war had been brewing for years, ever since the Klingons had subjugated the Gorn Hegemony, the Orion Syndicate, and several other of their neighbors while the Federation did nothing.
"We're being sent to the Regulus sector to keep an eye on the Neutral Zone," Vina explained. "Not that I think they'll respect the Neutral Zone much longer. Captain's ordered all security personnel to start wearing body armor and training into anti-Bat'leth tactics."
"That form-fitting stuff? Awful, awful things to wear," Rebecca scoffed. "I got to try on a set as part of a test to see how I could improve it. Too tight in the chest for me though."
Vina giggled girlishly. "You'll have to model it for me when you've figured out how to solve that problem."
"I think our training's being rushed a little to fill hulls," Rebecca said, changing the topic before she blushed. "The class ahead of mine is being graduated a year early."
"You could always sign up for full officer training," Vina remarked. "Then you'd get to go to that nice, warm academy on Earth where everyone gets to pretend the war won't effect Starfleet's science programs."
"Pffft...like I'd ever make officer," Rebecca scoffed. "I've got more realistic goals, like figuring out how to make these academy replicators stop sweetening my coffee with gravy."
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
The Final Frontiers - Rebecca: All By Myselves
A hurricane of memories and emotions blew through Rebecca's mind as the Shelby cruised towards the planet Trill. She grappled with the onslaught of thoughts to maintain her identity, struggling to maintain her sense of self even as several lifetimes urged her to integrate into their collective mind. Calm came only from the gentle urging of her friend, piercing through the voices in her head to remember who she was: Rebecca Solveig. Rebecca, not Alaric or Svetlas or Nais! Solveig, not Brandes! A young student with dreams of being a pilot, not a linguistic professor or an opera singer!
She muttered constantly in a dozen languages she simultaneously knew and did not know. Vina constantly tried talking to her, encouraging words about the rest of their academic year. School projects to gripe about, lectures to carefully tune out, a thousand opportunities waiting for her at home.
A chime cut through the tension in the air and a blue-skinned Bolian appeared on a nearby monitor.
"Pardon me, Miss Rebecca, but we've managed to get a line to Trill for you," the Shelby's comm officer reported. "Shall I put you through?"
"Yes, please," Rebecca said, managing to not sound distressed.
The Bolian's image faded and a tan-faced woman appear. Her hair was hasily gathered into a ponytail and a Trill's markings ran up her neck.
"Hi, Mom," Rebecca coughed. "How's it going?"
"I'm doing well, dear, but I really need some things explained to me!" Mrs. Jyla Solveig asked nervously. "Namely, why someone from the Symbiosis Commission got me up in the middle of the night to tell me my daughter was coming home on a Federation starship and why you look so pale."
"I...where do I even begin?" Rebecca moaned, turning to Vina.
"Do you want me to help?" Vina asked. "I've been here the entire time."
"No...no, it should be me," Rebecca sighed. "Let's get the big part out of the way: I've become bonded to a symbiote. I'm a...a host for a symbiote named Brandes."
The look that passed onto Jyla's face was a strange blend of reverence and distress. "My...my little girl's become a host? My girl's a host! Oh my, I don't think we've ever had a host in our family before, and so young! You might be the youngest host ever! Wait until your father hears..."
Rebecca clutched herself as her mother began going on about how great an honor it was to have a symbiote host in their family, trying to ignore the rising memories of when the previous Brandes hosts became joined. The joy that accompanied them threaten to make her retch. She struggled to say something when Vina intervened.
"Mrs. Brandes, please. This is a very hard time for Rebecca," Vina said. "There wasn't anybody around to explain the joining or the procedure to her and she's been having trouble coping."
"Oh my, I'm sorry, dears. I'll make sure the commission has all the required reading for you when you arrive." Jyla wiped a tear from her eye. "And thank you, Vina, for sticking with her right now when I can't."
"You're welcome, Mrs. Solveig. We'll see you soon."
"See you soon, Mom," was all Rebecca could manage.
"I love you, dear. I can't wait to see you!"
Jyla's image disappeared from the monitor and it was all Rebecca could do to lower herself onto the bed gently. They'd managed to get the news out, so that should be the hard part, right?
Year 2402, planet Trill
For the week following her return to Trill, Rebecca - now legally Rebecca Brandes - had been treated like a celebrity in her community. Local news had interviewed her, people wanted to meet her, and members of the Symbiosis Commission had been at her beck and call to explain aspects of being joined to her. Eventually, the Commission experts decided they were no longer needed, leaving only a stack of literature for her to refer to and the novelty of being a young host no longer intrigued people. For better or worse, life had returned to normal.
Except at home. Rebecca was suddenly being held up to higher standards of conduct. Her parents' admonishments frequently included "What would your previous selves do?" The only person who DIDN'T treat her differently through the entire experience was Vina.
Through every subtle change in her personality or whenever she suddenly picked up a new accent, Rebecca could always rely on Vina to keep her grounded. Even now, she was the only person who still called her "Rebecca Solveig" instead of Brandes.
But now her anchor was being withdrawn. Vina, now graduated from high school, was going right to Starfleet Academy.
"Couldn't you put it off a couple of years?" Rebecca asked, watching Vina pack. "I mean, there's still stuff you could do around here, right?"
Vina smiled as she sealed her trunk. "We've had two weeks since I graduated to hang out, Solveig. I don't think there's anything left on our 'To Do' list except get a solid eight hours of sleep."
Rebecca couldn't help but dread Vina's departure. She'd gotten better at suppressing the voices and sorting them out, but she still woke up screaming from time to time as some terrible memory from a previous host's life bubbled up in the form of nightmares, each accompanied by realistic pain and emotion. Her nightmares extended to the real world too; jealous classmates frequently credited her successes to the symbiote even when she achieved things none of the previous hosts had even tried. Her failures were doubly cruel as her detractors remarked that even with a symbiote's help she was a failure. Only Vina's friendship and tinkering with machines in her basement had kept her sane for two years.
And now one of her refuges was leaving for Starfleet.
"You'll still be my friend though, right?"
Vina sighed and gave Rebecca a hug. "Of course I will. I'll write every night and call when I can. Things may change a little, but we'll still be able to complain about school to each other and gossip about guys and everything we do now except share a milkshake."
"I think I can make it then," Rebecca conceded. "But you have to come to MY graduation, okay? I don't want to have to build my own cheering section."
"But nobody else can do the Wave in such perfect sync," Vina teased. "I promise, even if I have to hijack the ship and crash it into the school."
Rebecca snorted. "You'd have to learn which way is up first."
"Easy," Vina scoffed. "It's that way!" She pointed left.
"Close enough," Rebecca said, squeezing her. "Do we still have time for a pizza?"
"Pizza AND a movie. I'll even let you pick."
"I have ten different opinions on a favorite movie and none of the previous hosts have even chimed in yet," Rebecca said daringly.
"Then I pick Star Wars," Vina decided. "I'll let you and the peanut gallery decide which one."
~
The next morning, Rebecca sat watching the departure of a gleaming white shuttlecraft with Starfleet's emblem painted on the side. She squinted as hard as she could, trying to see her best friend through a viewport, but the sun was right in her eyes. A surge of despair and grief threatened to wash her away, but - remembering the promise between friends - she stood her ground and shrugged it off. She believed in the Vina that believed in her and resolved to be strong. First things first, she needed to get to her workshop and just...BUILD something. She didn't know what it would do or how it would work; she could figure that out as she went.
"Maybe a hovering coffee cup. No, did that one last year. A talking food processor? No, that sounds annoying..."
Now that she only had herself and herselves to talk to, Rebecca hardly noticed that she was managing to drown herself out a little bit at a time.
The Final Frontiers - Ocard: If I have to shoot twice...
Year 2402, Traelus System
It was during intense negotiations with his quarries that Ocard preferred to fire the Badi Dea's primary weapon personally. He relished the minute he took to decide upon a target every time he was forced to fire a disabling shot. Normally, blasting a ship's engines - the starship equivalent to kneecapping a sentient - was his preferred method of disabling a vessel, but once in a while whim or wrath suggested he blast the bridge to instantly disable it. He typically refrained from being wrathful though; he'd been careful to build up a reputation for granting mercy to cooperative crews and for not completely emptying a vessel's cargo holds unless provoked.
This time, however, he held off. The freighter in his sights scanned as hauling explosives to a mining colony as well as medicines, foodstuffs, and machines. Normally not a group of items he'd want to steal, but he'd been hired by a Ferengi - and paid 15% in advance - to interdict this particular ship. Insurance fraud, neutering a rival operation, or just wanting discount supplies...there could have been any number of reasons for this attack that didn't matter to Ocard. All he cared about was getting the full amount for getting the machines.
"Happy Trails, this is Gentleman Ocard of the independent vessel Badi Dea. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and demand your unconditional surrender," he broadcast, idly tapping around the trigger.
The Toffli-class freighter began to heave to port, away from the Galor-class cruiser menacing it. The captain obviously hoped to make for open space, but Ocard's trigger finger had an itch to scratch, sending a powerful disruptor beam into the freighter's engines.
"Happy Trails, I commend your daring and unwillingness to surrender. I will forgive you making me have to shoot at you once," Ocard transmitted. "If I have to shoot twice though...well...the results would NOT be gentlemanly. Perhaps you'd like to reconsider your position?"
The freighter, already slowed immensely by the loss of its primary engines, came to a complete stop. Ocard quietly signaled Gthath to prepare their boarding shuttles for launch and waited for the freighter captain to reply.
"This is Captain Pisko of the Happy Trails," a gruff, human voice stated. "If we cooperate, will you guarantee the safety of my crew?"
"Captain Pisko, I will guarantee your safety as long as you guarantee mine," Ocard answered. "Give my slicers access to your computer systems and load up the cargo they tell you into our shuttles, then you shall be left alive to limp to the nearest starbase or shipyard.
The cruiser turned to show its side to the freighter. Immediately, four banks of disruptors locked onto the freighter.
"I would, however, consider any ungentlemanly conduct on the part of your crew a personal offense, however, and you don't want me to feel offended," Ocard hissed. "Understood?"
"C-completely, sir," Captain Pisko gulped. "We'll ready our airlocks."
"Excellent! My representatives shall be over shortly," Ocard said before cutting the channel. "Gthath, launch the shuttles. Put on a show of slicing into their computers, but don't take too much time. We're on a schedule."
"Aye, sir," the Gorn engineer answered. "You sure you don't want Talash to set a timer on those explosives?"
"Only if they refuse to cooperate. Even then, I might say to put an auto-pilot on the ship and let it finish its run without its crew," Ocard confirmed. "Shear the sheep and they'll keep lining up for us. Slaughter the sheep and they'll warn the shepherd."
"As you wish. Shuttles are prepped and launching."
A minute later, a trio of trooper-laden shuttles crossed the distance between the two ships. The captain's chair creaked as Ocard leaned back. It had only been two years since he'd become the master of his own fate and it felt splendid.
Monday, April 20, 2015
The Final Frontiers: Rebecca
Space...the final frontier...a frontier that, once you reach its limit, never fails to find new ways to grow...
These are the voyages of two captains upon whom Fortune has looked upon. Whether she smiled or frowned would depend on your point of view, but however you look at them, their lives were drastically changed by a single event.
Year 2400, Drozana Station, Donatu Sector
"What a delightful game," Alaric Brandes thought to himself. "I should come here more often. Such an amazing experience."
Unlike the other seven players in this game of Tongo, an exciting game of cards and dice the Trill's symbiote had never played despite hundreds of years traveling the stars, Alaric was having fun despite the massive amounts of latinum he was losing. His trip to Drozana had started as an unfortunate detour when the passenger ship he was riding on experienced engine failure and needed to get repairs before heading back to Trill, but he had made the best of it to experience a side of galactic society he hadn't any memory of.
A couple of players soon dropped from the game, fleeced of every scrap of latinum by a large reptilian man, a Gorn if he wasn't mistaken. The massive lizard man simply hissed a sarcastic sorry-not-sorry as he raked up their money, but one of the aggrieved players seemed to take umbrage and cocked his fist back, smashing his elbow into Alaric's face in the process. A broken nose wasn't a new experience in itself, but as part of a game it convinced the Trill academic to go find other diversions for the rest of the day. Doing his best to stem the flow of blood from his nose, Alaric gathered up his remaining funds and left the table.
Unlike the other players at the table, Alaric had no friends to watch his back. The sentient who had lost his money but hadn't elbowed him - the one who had was likely nursing a few nasty cut's from the Gorn's sword - decided to engage in an ancient pursuit of funds: an old-fashioned mugging. Alaric, a stone's throw away from the safety of the vessel he had flown in on, found himself experiencing a sudden stab wound from behind, draining his strength and forcing him to the deck.
"Such a unique experience," he thought to himself as he fell screaming to the deck.
Before his funds could be removed, the assailant was now the assailed as two of the ship's crew, hearing the guttural cry of pain, came to the rescue, brandishing long-barreled rifles that spat blinding stun bolts into the ne'er-do-well's chest. Cries for a medic were quickly answered and Alaric's pain was soon gone.
~
"Is it just me or does this suck?"
14 year-old Trill student Rebecca Solveig looked up from the magazine she was reading to look at the speaker. Her human best friend and current travel companion, 16 year-old Vina Sealander, was pacing about their cabin, pausing to look out the viewport at Drozana Station, long blonde hair swishing back and forth with each step. The two teens were en route back to Trill after a vacation/school trip to Bajor but found themselves stuck on the ship while it performed repairs.
"I agree. Absolutely," Rebecca absolutely agreed. "You know why they won't let us off though."
"For our own good," Vina said in a passable mimic of the ship's captain. "Don't you want to try anyway?"
"Of course I do!"
"SO LET'S!"
"YEEEEEAH!!!"
The two teens, fueled by youthful invincibility, boldly stepped into the passenger ship's central corridor and walked towards the airlock as if they knew what they were getting into. The airlock irised open, showing them the interior of Drozana's docking area. That was the moment they heard the scream and saw the blood flowing from the victim's back.
"Like I said, that's a comfortable cabin we have," Vina gulped.
"Absolutely, I agree," Rebecca gulped in turn.
Both girls quickly turned about to find something else to partake in as the ship's medic dashed past, first aid kit in hand. A grim feeling overtook Rebecca and she paused, lowering her sunglasses enough to watch the victim - a fellow Trill, she noted - be treated. Two crew members carried the man aboard on a stretcher. Rebecca turned to watch until she felt her sleeved being tugged insistently.
"As long as we're out of our cabin, let's go get a snack," Vina suggested. "I think an ice cream or a slice of cake would be good right about now."
Rebecca lowered her head, green pig tails sagging. "I-I don't think I want any food right now."
~
Hours later, Rebecca lay in their cabin trying to read as Vina wrote a letter to her folks about the trip. She'd gotten the magazine on small flight craft before the trip and had managed to read it enough times to memorize it, but the stories of pilot daring, pictures of new upgrades to the Federation's Peregrine fighter, and technical summaries she barely understood thrilled her too much to find something else. Like the craft she adored, Rebecca's head was in the clouds until a loud rapping on the cabin door stirred her.
"You've reached the suite of Solveig and Sealander," Rebecca answered through the door. "Solveig speaking."
"Good afternoon, ma'am. Ship's surgeon Fenton Alton," the caller said. "May I have a moment of your time?"
"Sure, if you don't mind talking through the door."
"That'll do, ma'am," the surgeon agreed. "The passenger list says you're a Trill, correct?"
"I've got the markings to prove it, yes. Why do you ask?"
A few beeps made it through the door as if Fenton was checking a PADD. "Another passenger, Dr. Alaric Brandes, was assaulted earlier today and injured badly. A Starfleet vessel was docked at the time and offered to examine him, but they fear his wounds are fatal."
Rebecca's gut chilled. She and Vina had SEEN it happen. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't know a lot of burial rites-"
"It's not that that we need your help with," Fenton interrupted. "Dr. Alaric is bonded to a symbiote named Brandes, who the Starfleet doctors have told me is unharmed."
The sound of nervously-shuffled feet made it through the door. "I hate to ask this of you, but you're the only Trill on Drozana; will you accept the Brandes symbiote? We sent word to Trill and they're sending a trained candidate, but we need to perform a transplant within the hour or else the symbiote will die as well."
If Rebecca had been nervous before, she was on the verge of panic now. On Trill, being bonded with a symbiote was something only adults did after undergoing years of training to prepare them for the experience. Only 1-in-1000 Trills could even bond, making it a privilege and an honor many of her race would fight for if given the chance.
It was not something she wanted though.
On the other hand...there was the being's life at stake and it was her obligation to try and preserve it.
"It'd only be temporary, right?" Rebecca asked, trying to keep fear from her voice.
"Absolutely. The permanent host should be here in a couple of days, well before the bond with you becomes permanent," the surgeon said with relief.
"O-okay, I'll do it then," Rebecca reluctantly agreed. "What do I need to do?"
"Come with me to the transporter room and we'll beam over to the Shelby," Fenton said.
"Woah woah woah!" Vina protested, leaping up. "I need to come too! For moral support!"
Rebecca silently thanked her friend for volunteering, a refusal on her lips is Vina's request was turned down.
"Of course," the ship's surgeon agreed. "That's a great idea. We'll bring you back here once the operation is complete, so you won't need to take anything."
Rebecca grabbed her magazine anyway, tucking it into her pocket, trying to ignore the black hole that seemed to have formed in her stomach even as Vina excitedly jabbered about being aboard a real Starfleet vessel.
~
U.S.S. Shelby, Sick Bay
After a hurried explanation of the procedure by the Starfleet doctor, Rebecca had been placed on an operating table. She turned her head to look at the injured academic, Alaric, whose skin had gone pale and whose expression suggested great pain despite the presence of several pain killers. She tried once or twice to say something, anything to the dying man, but she was too afraid of what was going on. A machine hooked to her wrist told the doctors of Rebecca's elevated pulse and adrenaline levels, prompting one of them to give her an injection of some sort that put her to sleep for the duration.
Vivid dreams assailed Rebecca's mind as she slept, images of herself giving speeches before a mixed-species audience, of herself sifting through a pile of dust to find trace amounts of valuable minerals, of herself belting out song lyrics in a language she'd never heard as she drove down a dusty road. They'd begun so suddenly, but she had no idea that it was due to her new passenger, the symbiote Brandes.
An unknown amount of time later, Rebecca could finally open her eyes again. The lights were dimmer than in the operating room, but still she flinched. They looked an awful lot like the study halls on Vulcan, she decided as she sat up. Pain caused her temples to throb, reminding her of that time she was forced to escape a cave-in and got clobbered with a falling chunk of malachite.
Wait a second...she'd never been to Vulcan. She didn't even know what malachite was.
Except she had been. She did know.
Or rather, Brandes had been and did know. The realization that her thoughts weren't entirely HER thoughts filled Rebecca with panic and fear, a maniacal sense of violation that caused her to scream. She'd screamed like that when she'd gotten stabbed on Drozana too. No...no, she hadn't been stabbed! SHE hadn't!
She was soon aware of a pair of strong hands grabbing her shoulders, a worried voice begging her to calm down, and golden locks rubbing against her face. Rebecca soon realized that her best friend Torres...no, Vina. VINA was her friend. Torres had been ages ago. Vina was holding her tightly and trying to calm her.
The sound of Vina's voice was like an anchor to a ship set adrift on the sea, holding it place long enough to get its bearing. Rebecca's thoughts began to quiet until her mind was still.
"V-vina..." was all she could croak at first.
Rebecca was suddenly caught in a squeeze as Vina hugged her tightly, thanking the Prophets and the Organians and the Q that she was alright. Rebecca gently reached up and returned the hug.
"What's going on?" Rebecca managed to ask.
"We're on our way back to Trill," Vina reported, releasing all of Rebecca except her hands. "We're still on the Starfleet ship, but they let me grab our stuff first."
"W-why not the ship we WERE on?"
"They said the Shelby would get us there faster but....they're still too slow," Vina answered, looking away.
"Too..late?"
"That ship that was bringing the permanent host was attacked by pirates on their way here. Something called a Badi Dea intercepted them, shot out their engines, and left them drifting. It's...it's been three days since the operation and even at Warp 9 it'll take them another two days to get us home."
The implication hit Rebecca like a speeding truck. After 93 of being joined, a symbiote and host were bonded permanently. It was a simple fact all Trill knew. And with 72 hours gone and more than 21 before the Shelby would reach another Trill, Rebecca was no longer Rebecca Solveig.
In accordance with Trill tradition of hosts taking on their symbiote's name, she was now Rebecca Brandes.
Even with Vina's support, Rebecca began to wail hopelessly until her strength was depleted and she fell once more into the embrace of sleep.
These are the voyages of two captains upon whom Fortune has looked upon. Whether she smiled or frowned would depend on your point of view, but however you look at them, their lives were drastically changed by a single event.
Year 2400, Drozana Station, Donatu Sector
"What a delightful game," Alaric Brandes thought to himself. "I should come here more often. Such an amazing experience."
Unlike the other seven players in this game of Tongo, an exciting game of cards and dice the Trill's symbiote had never played despite hundreds of years traveling the stars, Alaric was having fun despite the massive amounts of latinum he was losing. His trip to Drozana had started as an unfortunate detour when the passenger ship he was riding on experienced engine failure and needed to get repairs before heading back to Trill, but he had made the best of it to experience a side of galactic society he hadn't any memory of.
A couple of players soon dropped from the game, fleeced of every scrap of latinum by a large reptilian man, a Gorn if he wasn't mistaken. The massive lizard man simply hissed a sarcastic sorry-not-sorry as he raked up their money, but one of the aggrieved players seemed to take umbrage and cocked his fist back, smashing his elbow into Alaric's face in the process. A broken nose wasn't a new experience in itself, but as part of a game it convinced the Trill academic to go find other diversions for the rest of the day. Doing his best to stem the flow of blood from his nose, Alaric gathered up his remaining funds and left the table.
Unlike the other players at the table, Alaric had no friends to watch his back. The sentient who had lost his money but hadn't elbowed him - the one who had was likely nursing a few nasty cut's from the Gorn's sword - decided to engage in an ancient pursuit of funds: an old-fashioned mugging. Alaric, a stone's throw away from the safety of the vessel he had flown in on, found himself experiencing a sudden stab wound from behind, draining his strength and forcing him to the deck.
"Such a unique experience," he thought to himself as he fell screaming to the deck.
Before his funds could be removed, the assailant was now the assailed as two of the ship's crew, hearing the guttural cry of pain, came to the rescue, brandishing long-barreled rifles that spat blinding stun bolts into the ne'er-do-well's chest. Cries for a medic were quickly answered and Alaric's pain was soon gone.
~
"Is it just me or does this suck?"
14 year-old Trill student Rebecca Solveig looked up from the magazine she was reading to look at the speaker. Her human best friend and current travel companion, 16 year-old Vina Sealander, was pacing about their cabin, pausing to look out the viewport at Drozana Station, long blonde hair swishing back and forth with each step. The two teens were en route back to Trill after a vacation/school trip to Bajor but found themselves stuck on the ship while it performed repairs.
"I agree. Absolutely," Rebecca absolutely agreed. "You know why they won't let us off though."
"For our own good," Vina said in a passable mimic of the ship's captain. "Don't you want to try anyway?"
"Of course I do!"
"SO LET'S!"
"YEEEEEAH!!!"
The two teens, fueled by youthful invincibility, boldly stepped into the passenger ship's central corridor and walked towards the airlock as if they knew what they were getting into. The airlock irised open, showing them the interior of Drozana's docking area. That was the moment they heard the scream and saw the blood flowing from the victim's back.
"Like I said, that's a comfortable cabin we have," Vina gulped.
"Absolutely, I agree," Rebecca gulped in turn.
Both girls quickly turned about to find something else to partake in as the ship's medic dashed past, first aid kit in hand. A grim feeling overtook Rebecca and she paused, lowering her sunglasses enough to watch the victim - a fellow Trill, she noted - be treated. Two crew members carried the man aboard on a stretcher. Rebecca turned to watch until she felt her sleeved being tugged insistently.
"As long as we're out of our cabin, let's go get a snack," Vina suggested. "I think an ice cream or a slice of cake would be good right about now."
Rebecca lowered her head, green pig tails sagging. "I-I don't think I want any food right now."
~
Hours later, Rebecca lay in their cabin trying to read as Vina wrote a letter to her folks about the trip. She'd gotten the magazine on small flight craft before the trip and had managed to read it enough times to memorize it, but the stories of pilot daring, pictures of new upgrades to the Federation's Peregrine fighter, and technical summaries she barely understood thrilled her too much to find something else. Like the craft she adored, Rebecca's head was in the clouds until a loud rapping on the cabin door stirred her.
"You've reached the suite of Solveig and Sealander," Rebecca answered through the door. "Solveig speaking."
"Good afternoon, ma'am. Ship's surgeon Fenton Alton," the caller said. "May I have a moment of your time?"
"Sure, if you don't mind talking through the door."
"That'll do, ma'am," the surgeon agreed. "The passenger list says you're a Trill, correct?"
"I've got the markings to prove it, yes. Why do you ask?"
A few beeps made it through the door as if Fenton was checking a PADD. "Another passenger, Dr. Alaric Brandes, was assaulted earlier today and injured badly. A Starfleet vessel was docked at the time and offered to examine him, but they fear his wounds are fatal."
Rebecca's gut chilled. She and Vina had SEEN it happen. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't know a lot of burial rites-"
"It's not that that we need your help with," Fenton interrupted. "Dr. Alaric is bonded to a symbiote named Brandes, who the Starfleet doctors have told me is unharmed."
The sound of nervously-shuffled feet made it through the door. "I hate to ask this of you, but you're the only Trill on Drozana; will you accept the Brandes symbiote? We sent word to Trill and they're sending a trained candidate, but we need to perform a transplant within the hour or else the symbiote will die as well."
If Rebecca had been nervous before, she was on the verge of panic now. On Trill, being bonded with a symbiote was something only adults did after undergoing years of training to prepare them for the experience. Only 1-in-1000 Trills could even bond, making it a privilege and an honor many of her race would fight for if given the chance.
It was not something she wanted though.
On the other hand...there was the being's life at stake and it was her obligation to try and preserve it.
"It'd only be temporary, right?" Rebecca asked, trying to keep fear from her voice.
"Absolutely. The permanent host should be here in a couple of days, well before the bond with you becomes permanent," the surgeon said with relief.
"O-okay, I'll do it then," Rebecca reluctantly agreed. "What do I need to do?"
"Come with me to the transporter room and we'll beam over to the Shelby," Fenton said.
"Woah woah woah!" Vina protested, leaping up. "I need to come too! For moral support!"
Rebecca silently thanked her friend for volunteering, a refusal on her lips is Vina's request was turned down.
"Of course," the ship's surgeon agreed. "That's a great idea. We'll bring you back here once the operation is complete, so you won't need to take anything."
Rebecca grabbed her magazine anyway, tucking it into her pocket, trying to ignore the black hole that seemed to have formed in her stomach even as Vina excitedly jabbered about being aboard a real Starfleet vessel.
~
U.S.S. Shelby, Sick Bay
After a hurried explanation of the procedure by the Starfleet doctor, Rebecca had been placed on an operating table. She turned her head to look at the injured academic, Alaric, whose skin had gone pale and whose expression suggested great pain despite the presence of several pain killers. She tried once or twice to say something, anything to the dying man, but she was too afraid of what was going on. A machine hooked to her wrist told the doctors of Rebecca's elevated pulse and adrenaline levels, prompting one of them to give her an injection of some sort that put her to sleep for the duration.
Vivid dreams assailed Rebecca's mind as she slept, images of herself giving speeches before a mixed-species audience, of herself sifting through a pile of dust to find trace amounts of valuable minerals, of herself belting out song lyrics in a language she'd never heard as she drove down a dusty road. They'd begun so suddenly, but she had no idea that it was due to her new passenger, the symbiote Brandes.
An unknown amount of time later, Rebecca could finally open her eyes again. The lights were dimmer than in the operating room, but still she flinched. They looked an awful lot like the study halls on Vulcan, she decided as she sat up. Pain caused her temples to throb, reminding her of that time she was forced to escape a cave-in and got clobbered with a falling chunk of malachite.
Wait a second...she'd never been to Vulcan. She didn't even know what malachite was.
Except she had been. She did know.
Or rather, Brandes had been and did know. The realization that her thoughts weren't entirely HER thoughts filled Rebecca with panic and fear, a maniacal sense of violation that caused her to scream. She'd screamed like that when she'd gotten stabbed on Drozana too. No...no, she hadn't been stabbed! SHE hadn't!
She was soon aware of a pair of strong hands grabbing her shoulders, a worried voice begging her to calm down, and golden locks rubbing against her face. Rebecca soon realized that her best friend Torres...no, Vina. VINA was her friend. Torres had been ages ago. Vina was holding her tightly and trying to calm her.
The sound of Vina's voice was like an anchor to a ship set adrift on the sea, holding it place long enough to get its bearing. Rebecca's thoughts began to quiet until her mind was still.
"V-vina..." was all she could croak at first.
Rebecca was suddenly caught in a squeeze as Vina hugged her tightly, thanking the Prophets and the Organians and the Q that she was alright. Rebecca gently reached up and returned the hug.
"What's going on?" Rebecca managed to ask.
"We're on our way back to Trill," Vina reported, releasing all of Rebecca except her hands. "We're still on the Starfleet ship, but they let me grab our stuff first."
"W-why not the ship we WERE on?"
"They said the Shelby would get us there faster but....they're still too slow," Vina answered, looking away.
"Too..late?"
"That ship that was bringing the permanent host was attacked by pirates on their way here. Something called a Badi Dea intercepted them, shot out their engines, and left them drifting. It's...it's been three days since the operation and even at Warp 9 it'll take them another two days to get us home."
The implication hit Rebecca like a speeding truck. After 93 of being joined, a symbiote and host were bonded permanently. It was a simple fact all Trill knew. And with 72 hours gone and more than 21 before the Shelby would reach another Trill, Rebecca was no longer Rebecca Solveig.
In accordance with Trill tradition of hosts taking on their symbiote's name, she was now Rebecca Brandes.
Even with Vina's support, Rebecca began to wail hopelessly until her strength was depleted and she fell once more into the embrace of sleep.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
The Final Frontiers: Ocard
Space...the final frontier...a frontier that, once you reach its limit, never fails to find new ways to grow...
These are the voyages of two captains upon whom Fortune has looked upon. Whether she smiled or frowned would depend on your point of view, but however you look at them, their lives were drastically changed by a single event.
Year 2400, Drozana Station, Donatu Sector
Many run-down casinos were described as hazy, filled to the brim with sin and disorder, seams bursting with greed. On Drozana, an aging space station, these things were often literally occurring. A life support system unable to cope with all the sentients packed into it. Gambling, prostitution, slave trading, and more occurring in every possible corridor until it looked like a space-faring slum. Ancient welds done to remedy the effects of drunken brawls slowly coming undone and letting the atmosphere bleed off into space.
"By S'Yahazah, I almost wish all the air WOULD leak out," Ocard, a hulking reptilian Gorn pirate, thought to himself as he was dealt a hand of cards.
His captain was off getting hitched to some Orion female, leaving his crew to mull about the station for a week or a month or however long it took for him to grow bored, dissolve the probably-illegitimate union, and go find some more Federation shipping to loot in order to expand his fortune. How Ocard hated that man, a tiny VULCAN of all things acting more like a Romulan, and his ship, a cast-off Bird of Prey that probably had been in service since the Klingons started selling ships to the Romulan Star Empire. Most of all, he hated the series of events that led to him crewing aboard the vessel and its too-low ceilings and too-high mortality rate. Thus, he found himself with all his meager wealth plus some quietly appropriated from the captain's vault in a high-stakes game of Tongo with another seven sentients. A Nausicaan, a Romulan, a Cardassian, and members of other races Ocard didn't know, all gathered around the table for one purpose in mind: fleece the others of everything they'd brought with them.
The hunter in Ocard knew who his prey was though: the Cardassian who happened to be in possession of a starship, a Galor-class cruiser that the ridge-headed cretin had boasted about stealing from the current regime. If Ocard could deprive the man and their other competitors of their funds, he could force the man into a situation where he would, goaded by the copious amounts of Saurian and Romulan Ale, be obliged to put his ship up for grabs. And if he took the loss badly, well, he'd soon find out what it was like on the receiving end of a Ferengi energy whip.
Somehow, Ocard's luck held true. He'd confronted, evaded, bought in, sold out, and indexed exactly as he'd needed to in order to remove the competition one by one. He had to admit it was luck; he preferred games where he didn't NEED luck, just brute force. It was just him and the Cardassian though with a crowd of onlookers watching with interest. Hopefully Ocard's own allies were among them.
The resulting hands greatly resembled a fencing match though: both players gave ground, bet aggressively, feinted with their cards, and never flinched. Finally, the dice turned decisively in Ocard's favor, giving him all the chips in the game. He almost didn't need to fleece this captain; the amount of Latinum he now had could buy him a decommissioned light cruiser or an old warbird. He began sweeping up his chips when the hoped-for happened: the Cardassian put a hand forcfully and slovenly upon the Gorn's winnings.
"Friend Gorn, you must allow me one more chance to win, I plead of you," the captain asked with a slur. "I am certain I have not gotten my break yet."
"All the more reason for me to quit now," Ocard hissed. "While Fortune still smiles upon me."
"Ah, but what if it were a prize no money could buy?"
Ocard almost chuckled. "There are not many things this much latinum could buy."
"I wish to make one more wager with you, and I shall make a wager you cannot ignore." The captain reached into his pocket and pulled out a hologram that he had shown frequently that evening. "My ship, the cruiser Fallar, against all of your winnings."
The pirate stroked his chin thoughtfully and with exaggeration. "Well, I suppose I could go for one more hand. What could go wrong?"
Many voices in the crowd snickered at that while another hand was dealt. The two players gazed at each other and then at their cards as the last hand was dealt. This was undoubtedly the Tango match of the night, with both players bringing their most forceful strategies into play. Ocard leveraged his buy-in, the Cardassian indexed his exchange, both players confronted and evading, but neither would retreat. A final roll of the die would determine the outcome of this fierce battle.
The Cardassian grinned, showing his cards. "Full Consortium," he drawled. The second-strongest hand in the game bared its teeth.
But so did Ocard. "An excellent hand, but unfortunately..." He laid down his cards. "I believe my Total Monopoly has the upper hand."
Side-bets were resolved and shouts of alternating glee and disappointing echoed across the table. The Cardassian briefly looked like he was going to draw a weapon before remembering the energy dampener that disabled all weapons.
All energy weapons at least, Ocard thought as he raised the hilt of his Tsunkatse Falchion into sight. "Can't disable a good, sharp edge." He gathered his winnings along with evidence of the ship ownership transfer and set off to the station's dock, but he could tell he was being followed. A second and then a third set of footsteps fell in behind him, cause for concern until one voice rasped "So do you plan to return the captain's money now?"
Ocard turned and grinned, looking down at a trio of shorter Gorn; members of his assault team, Talash, Rlim, and Gthath. Each watched their squad leader now as intently as they had watched the crowd for signs of interference.
"I suppose I should repay my loan," Ocard sighed. "Although I'll probably need the rest to refit my new starship. And find crew for it of course."
Talash, who had spoken before, snorted. "If you weren't so dead set on 'earning' your ship, we would have helped you mutiny ages ago."
"For a share of that latinum and a chance to tell Captain Logical Illogic where to stuff his philosophy, I suppose we could join you," Rlim added.
The four Gorn chortled over their change in fortunes when another voice added. "So what does it take to get on your new crew?"
An Orion female, not quite as lithe as the companions many sentients expected her race to be, walked down the corridor, wiping her hands on a set of worn coveralls.
"Can you do anything besides look pretty?" Ocard asked, half-sarcastically.
"Name's Mulea, I'm a trained engineer," the Orion said. "I've helped take apart dozens of ships and put them back together sans a few important parts."
"I've got an engineer," Ocard shot back. "Gthath has quite a bit of experience himself."
"As a combat engineer, perhaps," Mulea shrugged. "He might be able to get into a ship and know enough to fix a lot of the electronics, but does he know how to balance a warp core's power levels? Probably not since you don't usually want to fuss with those when boarding a freighter."
"She's got me there," Gthath agreed. "But if you know so much, how do you rewire a torpedo launcher for a full spread?"
"Easy enough." Mulea rattled off a list of engineering procedures, tactical command inputs, and physical modifications.
"If you know so much, why aren't you already engineer aboard some starship?" Ocard asked, knowing the answer already but wanting to hear it anyway.
Mulea spat on the deck. "Because as you pointed out earlier, who expects intelligence from Orion females unless they're Melani D'ian? Most captains assume I'm just a trained primate, mimicking 'actual' engineers. Pah!"
Ocard nodded, pleased. Anyone could fake outrage, but she spoke with such passion and indignation. "Very well. You're hired. Follow me."
Within the hour, the five had formally taken possession, bullying their way onto the cruiser and slowly giving any Cardassian who didn't accept the new chain of command the boot. All in all, the crew was at 30 individuals.
"So what name are you giving your wondrous new command?" Talash asked.
Ocard say in the command chair for a moment and mulled it over. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, to be honest."
Rlim massaged the tip of his snout and shook his head. "You planned to just take off into the stars and you didn't even think of a name in advance? Oh, I knew this was a bad idea."
Hmm...a bad idea? Bad idea. It had a ring to it. But one had to be at least a little subtle when a ship's name, a little cute.
"You're right. It was a bad idea. Or should I say, THE bad idea? Gentleman, I christen this ship the Badi Dea!"
A round of groans and chuckles heralded in this new age of piracy and tyranny. Heads shook until Mulea, having spent the last few minutes examining engineering records, asked "Since this is a Cardassian ship, does that make you a Gul?"
"Pfft. I suppose it does," Ocard agreed. "But I had a better title in mind: Gentleman."
"Gentleman Ocard?" Gthath repeated. "Sounds Terran."
"Yes, well, now we're all businessmen, yes? And as businessmen, we shall also behave as Gentlemen."
"At least," Ocard appended. "Until our...hmm...business associates give us reason to behave otherwise."
Non-Canon DLC Edit:
And then Ocard's best friend Lando Calrissian entered the bridge.
"Ocard old buddy, I don't know how you managed to win this one without me!" Lando beamed. "Oh wait, you didn't!"
Ocard nodded as a Wookiee walked by. "I could've never done it without your amazing tips and gimmicked cards, Lando. You are the best card player in the galaxy."
"I'd say you're flattering me," Lando began. "But I know it's true. This is good bye though, old friend. I found a new galaxy, so I'm taking a Defiant-class ship, renaming it the Millennium Falcon, and going to the new galaxy to become the galaxy's greatest Sabaac player."
"You are too cool for us, Lando," Ocard gushed. "Go and remake that universe in your own image."
And thus Star Wars was born.
These are the voyages of two captains upon whom Fortune has looked upon. Whether she smiled or frowned would depend on your point of view, but however you look at them, their lives were drastically changed by a single event.
Year 2400, Drozana Station, Donatu Sector
Many run-down casinos were described as hazy, filled to the brim with sin and disorder, seams bursting with greed. On Drozana, an aging space station, these things were often literally occurring. A life support system unable to cope with all the sentients packed into it. Gambling, prostitution, slave trading, and more occurring in every possible corridor until it looked like a space-faring slum. Ancient welds done to remedy the effects of drunken brawls slowly coming undone and letting the atmosphere bleed off into space.
"By S'Yahazah, I almost wish all the air WOULD leak out," Ocard, a hulking reptilian Gorn pirate, thought to himself as he was dealt a hand of cards.
His captain was off getting hitched to some Orion female, leaving his crew to mull about the station for a week or a month or however long it took for him to grow bored, dissolve the probably-illegitimate union, and go find some more Federation shipping to loot in order to expand his fortune. How Ocard hated that man, a tiny VULCAN of all things acting more like a Romulan, and his ship, a cast-off Bird of Prey that probably had been in service since the Klingons started selling ships to the Romulan Star Empire. Most of all, he hated the series of events that led to him crewing aboard the vessel and its too-low ceilings and too-high mortality rate. Thus, he found himself with all his meager wealth plus some quietly appropriated from the captain's vault in a high-stakes game of Tongo with another seven sentients. A Nausicaan, a Romulan, a Cardassian, and members of other races Ocard didn't know, all gathered around the table for one purpose in mind: fleece the others of everything they'd brought with them.
The hunter in Ocard knew who his prey was though: the Cardassian who happened to be in possession of a starship, a Galor-class cruiser that the ridge-headed cretin had boasted about stealing from the current regime. If Ocard could deprive the man and their other competitors of their funds, he could force the man into a situation where he would, goaded by the copious amounts of Saurian and Romulan Ale, be obliged to put his ship up for grabs. And if he took the loss badly, well, he'd soon find out what it was like on the receiving end of a Ferengi energy whip.
Somehow, Ocard's luck held true. He'd confronted, evaded, bought in, sold out, and indexed exactly as he'd needed to in order to remove the competition one by one. He had to admit it was luck; he preferred games where he didn't NEED luck, just brute force. It was just him and the Cardassian though with a crowd of onlookers watching with interest. Hopefully Ocard's own allies were among them.
The resulting hands greatly resembled a fencing match though: both players gave ground, bet aggressively, feinted with their cards, and never flinched. Finally, the dice turned decisively in Ocard's favor, giving him all the chips in the game. He almost didn't need to fleece this captain; the amount of Latinum he now had could buy him a decommissioned light cruiser or an old warbird. He began sweeping up his chips when the hoped-for happened: the Cardassian put a hand forcfully and slovenly upon the Gorn's winnings.
"Friend Gorn, you must allow me one more chance to win, I plead of you," the captain asked with a slur. "I am certain I have not gotten my break yet."
"All the more reason for me to quit now," Ocard hissed. "While Fortune still smiles upon me."
"Ah, but what if it were a prize no money could buy?"
Ocard almost chuckled. "There are not many things this much latinum could buy."
"I wish to make one more wager with you, and I shall make a wager you cannot ignore." The captain reached into his pocket and pulled out a hologram that he had shown frequently that evening. "My ship, the cruiser Fallar, against all of your winnings."
The pirate stroked his chin thoughtfully and with exaggeration. "Well, I suppose I could go for one more hand. What could go wrong?"
Many voices in the crowd snickered at that while another hand was dealt. The two players gazed at each other and then at their cards as the last hand was dealt. This was undoubtedly the Tango match of the night, with both players bringing their most forceful strategies into play. Ocard leveraged his buy-in, the Cardassian indexed his exchange, both players confronted and evading, but neither would retreat. A final roll of the die would determine the outcome of this fierce battle.
The Cardassian grinned, showing his cards. "Full Consortium," he drawled. The second-strongest hand in the game bared its teeth.
But so did Ocard. "An excellent hand, but unfortunately..." He laid down his cards. "I believe my Total Monopoly has the upper hand."
Side-bets were resolved and shouts of alternating glee and disappointing echoed across the table. The Cardassian briefly looked like he was going to draw a weapon before remembering the energy dampener that disabled all weapons.
All energy weapons at least, Ocard thought as he raised the hilt of his Tsunkatse Falchion into sight. "Can't disable a good, sharp edge." He gathered his winnings along with evidence of the ship ownership transfer and set off to the station's dock, but he could tell he was being followed. A second and then a third set of footsteps fell in behind him, cause for concern until one voice rasped "So do you plan to return the captain's money now?"
Ocard turned and grinned, looking down at a trio of shorter Gorn; members of his assault team, Talash, Rlim, and Gthath. Each watched their squad leader now as intently as they had watched the crowd for signs of interference.
"I suppose I should repay my loan," Ocard sighed. "Although I'll probably need the rest to refit my new starship. And find crew for it of course."
Talash, who had spoken before, snorted. "If you weren't so dead set on 'earning' your ship, we would have helped you mutiny ages ago."
"For a share of that latinum and a chance to tell Captain Logical Illogic where to stuff his philosophy, I suppose we could join you," Rlim added.
The four Gorn chortled over their change in fortunes when another voice added. "So what does it take to get on your new crew?"
An Orion female, not quite as lithe as the companions many sentients expected her race to be, walked down the corridor, wiping her hands on a set of worn coveralls.
"Can you do anything besides look pretty?" Ocard asked, half-sarcastically.
"Name's Mulea, I'm a trained engineer," the Orion said. "I've helped take apart dozens of ships and put them back together sans a few important parts."
"I've got an engineer," Ocard shot back. "Gthath has quite a bit of experience himself."
"As a combat engineer, perhaps," Mulea shrugged. "He might be able to get into a ship and know enough to fix a lot of the electronics, but does he know how to balance a warp core's power levels? Probably not since you don't usually want to fuss with those when boarding a freighter."
"She's got me there," Gthath agreed. "But if you know so much, how do you rewire a torpedo launcher for a full spread?"
"Easy enough." Mulea rattled off a list of engineering procedures, tactical command inputs, and physical modifications.
"If you know so much, why aren't you already engineer aboard some starship?" Ocard asked, knowing the answer already but wanting to hear it anyway.
Mulea spat on the deck. "Because as you pointed out earlier, who expects intelligence from Orion females unless they're Melani D'ian? Most captains assume I'm just a trained primate, mimicking 'actual' engineers. Pah!"
Ocard nodded, pleased. Anyone could fake outrage, but she spoke with such passion and indignation. "Very well. You're hired. Follow me."
Within the hour, the five had formally taken possession, bullying their way onto the cruiser and slowly giving any Cardassian who didn't accept the new chain of command the boot. All in all, the crew was at 30 individuals.
"So what name are you giving your wondrous new command?" Talash asked.
Ocard say in the command chair for a moment and mulled it over. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, to be honest."
Rlim massaged the tip of his snout and shook his head. "You planned to just take off into the stars and you didn't even think of a name in advance? Oh, I knew this was a bad idea."
Hmm...a bad idea? Bad idea. It had a ring to it. But one had to be at least a little subtle when a ship's name, a little cute.
"You're right. It was a bad idea. Or should I say, THE bad idea? Gentleman, I christen this ship the Badi Dea!"
A round of groans and chuckles heralded in this new age of piracy and tyranny. Heads shook until Mulea, having spent the last few minutes examining engineering records, asked "Since this is a Cardassian ship, does that make you a Gul?"
"Pfft. I suppose it does," Ocard agreed. "But I had a better title in mind: Gentleman."
"Gentleman Ocard?" Gthath repeated. "Sounds Terran."
"Yes, well, now we're all businessmen, yes? And as businessmen, we shall also behave as Gentlemen."
"At least," Ocard appended. "Until our...hmm...business associates give us reason to behave otherwise."
Non-Canon DLC Edit:
And then Ocard's best friend Lando Calrissian entered the bridge.
"Ocard old buddy, I don't know how you managed to win this one without me!" Lando beamed. "Oh wait, you didn't!"
Ocard nodded as a Wookiee walked by. "I could've never done it without your amazing tips and gimmicked cards, Lando. You are the best card player in the galaxy."
"I'd say you're flattering me," Lando began. "But I know it's true. This is good bye though, old friend. I found a new galaxy, so I'm taking a Defiant-class ship, renaming it the Millennium Falcon, and going to the new galaxy to become the galaxy's greatest Sabaac player."
"You are too cool for us, Lando," Ocard gushed. "Go and remake that universe in your own image."
And thus Star Wars was born.
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