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.

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.

You're Fired...er...Hired

Floor B666, Underground Dungeon, Gensokyo

Guarding the bridge to the underworld was a quiet job. A boring job. A lonely job. Not many beings wanted to travel between worlds and it was Parsee Mizuhashi's job as guardian to keep people from traveling the bridge to the Former Capital. Once in a while, humans would come down to investigate earthquakes or look for hot springs, Kisume and Yamame would come by to visit. Most of the time though, there was nothing for the blonde Youkai to do but keep watch and play her flute.


She was in the middle of practicing a tune called "Flight of the Bumblebee" when the ground began to shake. Not a problem for a being who could fly, she thought as she began hovering above the ground. She continued her practice until, as bits of gravel fell from the ceiling, that the rumbles were growing more intense. That was more of a concern; it usually meant someone was trying to leave. She spun around, ready to fire blinding waves of energy when she saw that the approaching figure wasn't a demon, a Youkai, a human, or anything she'd ever seen during her guardianship of the bridge. It was large, winged, scaly, ugly, and it was also wearing some strange round lens over one eye with an even-stranger hat.

"Halt! Who goes there! Turn back now!" she ordered. "You can't leave."

The beast grinned at her, showing a mouth full of teeth as big as she was. She tried not to gulp too loudly, but held her ground.

"Madam, I snuck past you with so much ease on my way in," the creature said. "You're fortunately that I chose to reveal myself on my way out instead of just sneaking by or, worse, stepping on you."

Such condescension...Parsee's blood began to boil. Everyone who came her way looked down on her. Powerful demons who had permission to come and go, bothersome humans who felt they could just blast their way in, and now this stupid reptile. She raised her flute and began to play a tune she'd written, Green-Eyed Monster, as she manifested flowers made of energy around her.

The petal-like blasts left trails of glowing power as they wrapped around Parsee's new enemy, easily slipping around the creature's neck and wings before constricting. Yet the chains could not break the creature. Parsee changed the tune, firing a staggering rapid-fire stream of energy balls as she teleported around, hitting from all sides.

It yawned.

The guardian growled and prepared to change tactics again when a massive foot came down, pinning her to the ground.

"Is this your reaction to everyone?" the beast asked. "It's spirited, I'll grant you that, but compared to the likes of Arcturus Mengsk, the Society, the Deck, and a roly-poly White Mage you've got a lot of work ahead of you if you wish to destroy the likes of Gentleman Draco."

Parsee struggled to get up, spitting and cussing as she went. She HATED HATED HATED being treated like this! She deserved better! She...she...

"You've got power to be sure, but you waste it sitting down here," Gentleman Draco said. "You spend all your time down here, guarding this bridge, and you get no respect for it. You probably hear tales of other inhabitants of this area going out into the world and doing amazing things."

"What of it?" Parsee growled, feeling like she almost had an arm free.

"I just think it's a shame you have yet to try and actually obtain prestige for yourself. If you truly want to get out of here and do things, earn the respect you crave, accumulate wealth to make other envious of you, come with me and I will teach you the ways of Greed," Draco offered. "Or you can stay here in your pit, guarding your bridge, and getting ignored the rest of your life."

It was such an offer that Parsee ceased her struggling. Leave her post? Leave her BRIDGE?! In exchange for a chance to become great, famous, and more? Dueling fear and desire made her tremble. The dragon looked down with that big grin once more and took a step back.

"What would I need to do?" Parsee asked. "How long will it take?"

"As long as it takes and everything I ask of you," Draco answered. "No more, no less. But if you do as I instruct, you shall have all that you desire and more."

Once the corners of her mouth began to twitch upward, Draco knew she was hooked. "Even what you have?" she asked.

"If you learn everything I know and master it beyond my abilities, there is nobody who can stop you from having what is yours."

"And where can I learn this?" Parsee asked, hovering to look her new mentor in the eye.

"As the humans say, Vegas, baby! Vegas!"

On-the-Job Training

Rebecca huffed and puffed as she slowly made her way up the cliff face. Even though her armor had a built-in A/C and a water dispenser, she was sweating bullets with each step up she took. For what seemed like the thousandth time that hour, she switched on her radio back to Vina.

"Hey V, remind me why I'm the one climbing up here and you're back on the ship watching," she asked, more to distract her from the burning in her lungs than to actually get information.

"You're far more stealthy in your body armor than I am flying around in my armor," Vina explained. "I could just charge in guns a'blazing, but then the mark would escape and I'd feel bad."

Rebecca snorted. "Okay, fine, that's reasonable. So why am I carrying Shaggy?"

"Deinos can't use ropes and pulleys and all that fun climbing gear, and you need his help."

Rebecca nodded. "Fine, fine. Why am I carrying Flutters?"

Although unable to hear the conversation over the radio, the Noibat perched on Rebecca's shoulder chirped happily.

"I don't know," Vina answered. "Have you tried asking her to fly herself up?"

Rebecca grunted, pushing herself now that the top of the cliff was in sight. "No. She listens to you and ignores me while making nests out of my shirts."

The next few minutes passed in silence; Rebecca continued to put one hand in front of the other, not breaking her concentration to tell the flying Pokemon to fly. Soon enough, she'd be at the top and she could catch her breath, have a drink, and then set up her weapons to provide some covering fire when Vina actually launched her attack on the bandit camp the two Sealanders had been hired to bust.

Within the camp, bandits milled about as they sorted the goods from their latest haul. Marauding men and women casually exchanged insults, jokes, and anecdotes as they went about their business. Rebecca could see some basic detection equipment - probably good enough to detect tanks, planes, or robot armors - but the camp lacked more than a few bored sentries for keeping out spies.

"Alright, Shag, you sit there while Mama Rebecca sets up her toys."

Rebecca patted the Deino on his head and began setting up several new toys the Sealanders had been given: an automated mortar, a light machine gun, and some kind of tranquilizer-laden missile or something. She wasn't entirely sure what was in it, but she went about setting it up as Vina had repeatedly instructed and drilled her on.

"Good job," Rebecca's wife had said in praise. "We'll make a passable infantryman out of you yet."

Once the last weapon was set up, Rebecca sent a double-click over her radio: the signal for Vina to move in. With the call made, Rebecca immediately activated the weapons. The mortar scattered explosive shells about and the missile shot into a tent and scattered a paralyzing white mist pouring out while Rebecca laid down a blanket of suppressive fire, cutting down any bandit too brave or stupid to find cover. It was a rather easy job: hold down the trigger, move the barrel around, and ignore the occasional bullet casing bouncing off her helmet.

Once the return fire came, it got slightly more serious. Long range pistol shots weren't going to do much to her, but once the bandits got out a grenade launcher, Rebecca was almost convinced to bug out.

Then Vina arrived in 15 feet of heavy metal, firepower, and thrusters; her beloved heirloom power armor Siebzehn. A big blue hulk, Siebzehn barreled through the bandit defenders like it hadn't even noticed they were there. The only sign that Vina HAD noticed anyone in her way was a volley of missiles fired behind her as she burst into the tent and burst out a moment later with an unconscious humanoid in her arms.

"I've got the mark," Vina reported. "Call for the ship and let's go get paid."

Rebecca nodded, summoning their new spacecraft. She could never remember the current name, the ship's serial number, off the top of her head. She really should get around to naming it. That would have to wait though as a bandit had managed to get close to her position.

Rebecca stared down the barrel of a pistol, wondering if a shot at this range would be able to pierce the lenses on her helmet. A purely academic question though, as the bandit soon found his shooting arm clamped between a pair of vicious, burning jaws as Shaggy took offense to someone pointing a gun at his master. Flutters fluttered about, clawing at the bandit's back as the ship finally showed up.

"Alright, pets, it's time to go home," Rebecca ordered, picking up the gear hastily.

Lab Rat

As light filled her eyes, she began to panic. She didn't know where she was. Last she'd known, she was in a park being chased by a group of angry men with guns, but now she found herself trapped in some kind of strange laboratory. She was surrounded by strange machines, each making its own strange noises and a few had pictures of her on display. A pair of hulking figures looked down upon her, but the light streaming into her eyes kept her from making out any of their features.

"It's regaining consciousness," the figure on her left noted.

"That is of no consequences," the right figured replied. "All the restraints are in place and we've tested them hundreds of times. Let her watch."

The left figure nodded and returned to his console, checking data as it streamed by and occasionally making a noise of approval. "Rather advanced for humans."

"Rather advanced for many things," the right figure agreed. "Almost up to our own standards."

The two continued to work and ignored her. She struggled against her bonds, but as promised they refused to budge.

"It makes me nervous," the fearful figure pressed. "What if it can break free?"

"Then we call in the guards and they squash it like a meatbag," the more-confident figure retorted. "But if it vexes you so much, I will demonstrate its helplessness."

The two returned to looking down upon the table, blocking the light enough for her to make out some of their features: cold, emotionless, and alien. Their voices were like grinding rust. They discussed a machine and gestured towards her, one of them pulling out a strange gun and pointing it at her.

"Now that you're set," the confident one said. "Allow me to demonstrate."

He pulled a lever and suddenly her body was racked with immense pain. Electric shocks ran up and down her body, making her keenly aware of how sensitive her body was. She strained against her restraints, screaming as she struggled to vain to break free of the table. After an eternal five seconds, the pain ceased and her vision became blurry.

"As you can see, she is perfectly secure," the torturer concluded. "We tested all of these devices on Baffle and if he couldn't break free, a little Earther couldn't either."

The fearful assistant relaxed and stowed his weapon. "I am very reassured. We may want to do that again though; we got some excellent data from that and Lord Quick Fix will be greatly pleased by this development."

"Ah, no, it's losing focus and passing out again. We'll put in a request for the next time it's aware though."

As promised, her senses were slowly shutting down, giving her a welcome respite from the pain that had been her existence as long as she could remember.

A Gentleman's Duel

It was to be a contest between gentlemen, a duel between aggrieved sophisticates, a battle between two businessmen of renown who found a wedge driven between them. Unlike many such contests, this one was being fought by a pair of exceptionally-large competitors, one a griffin, the robber-baron Griff N, and the other the widely-known Gentleman Draco. Both stood in the center of the beautifully-decorated halls clad in their finest accoutrements and turned their gazes upon the other creature’s soul.

“Pardon me, page, but I was told I would be facing someone in the Circle of Equals today,” Draco said, beginning the duel. “be a good lad and fetch him.”

“Sadly, sir, that is impossible,” Griff countered. “We scoured every gutter and trash bin in the city and could find none of your caliber, so they sent one of your betters – myself – as a sign of pity.”

Though both competitors grinned, Draco seethed. Rarely was the first exchange not in his favor. Still, no need to let his heckles rise just yet.

“Pity, you say? Indeed, they knew I’d be hungry upon arrival and had a meal waiting for me! I’m not normally expected to fry my own chicken though.”

The griffon bristled a little before smiling. “The only thing you shall be eating will be your own words.”

“You’re absolutely right. I try not to eat junk food if I can help it.”

“That’s not what your midsection-“ Griff angrily countered.

“Oh, we’re resorting to fat jokes, are we?” Draco interrupted. “What other sorts of puerile humor are we going to descend to? Yo Mamma jokes? Knock knock jokes?”

The dragon smiled with predatory humor as Griff began to choke down a furious squawk.

“But if you insist…knock knock.”

Griff glared ferociously, but said “Who’s there?” anyway.

“Griff.”

“Griff who?”

“Some nobody whose biggest business was in a litter box,” Draco answered, dripping with cheer.

For a moment, Griff squatted like he was about to pounce, which would have made the day suddenly fun and excited, but at the last moment the griffon rose again with a forced chuckle.

“Just like a lizard to make a simple exchange drag on,” he spat.

“Oh, we’ve gone to punning! I love puns!” Draco beamed. “Although if you think you’re up to my level, you’re ‘kitten’ yourself.”

That caused quite the victory, however brief, as Griff flinched and stepped back. Weakness confirmed, thought Draco. Time to push.

“Why the long ‘paws’, Griff? Not feeling so catty anymore?” Draco growled, stepping forward.

Before Griff could squawk a response, Draco slammed his foot down. “If you’re planning to make a fee-line to the door, ‘meow’s the time! So stop pussy-footing around or else I’m putting this purr-fect waste of my time on your tab-by!”

With each pun, Draco stomped forward forcing the griffon into a corner. The pathetic excuse for a predator even had his back arched like a little housecat.

“For once though, you’re not the cat in something,” Draco concede. “In this game of cat-and-mouse, you’re definitely THE MOUSE.”

With that last insult, it seemed that Griff had finally hit his limit. He’d been backed into a corner – literally – and there was no way out except through Draco, an opportunity the business dragon had been waiting. With a cross between a roar and a hawk-like shriek, Griff leaped forward, claws swiping. Without so much as disturbing his top hat though, Draco stepped to the side and brought the blunt end of his tail down on Griff’s back.

“In all sincerity though, this has been an enjoyable afternoon,” Draco said, all courtesy and pleasantry once more. “If you ever want another lesson in pain and suffering, please look me up.”

I Never Met a Roid I Didn't Like

July 2014

"If you'll pardon my saying, sir, but mammoths are about to go extinct again."

Draco, draconic CEO and overlord of the wealthy and predatorial Dra Co, didn't mind the pun. He didn't mind the scientist bringing him bad news. He also didn't mind that everyone in the facility he was visiting was a mammal. No, what really galled the self-proclaimed gentleman was that there really wasn't a good solution for the current issue.

For years, Dra Co had been plucking genetic tissue from one frozen, impeccably-preserved specimen of a baby mammoth Draco had won betting on Zoofights. Miniature pets, fur coats, steaks, ivory, leather...there was a great deal of money to be made by cloning the mammoths thousands of times. Unfortunately, that source of income was drying up.

"Continue," was all the response he could make.

"At our current rate of production and the current quality of mammoth we've been cloning, we only have enough genetic material for one more batch of mammoths," the scientist reported. "If we want to keep production going in 2015, we have to begin introducing the DNA of compatible species to the mix. The results won't be 100% mammoth but..."

"But nothing!" Draco suddenly roared. "We advertise pure mammoth and we will make pure mammoth! Anything less than pure and we have to include disclaimers, pay fees, levy bribes, and so on."

Everyone in the room had gone silent. Draco towered over all of his employees and liked it. He owed the company completely and would brook no possible rival within HIS organization. All the scientists and advisors and businessmen hung on his every word.

"We will continue to produce pure mammoths for the rest of the year," Draco announced. "Nix the pet line in favor of beasts we can slaughter for meat, pelts, and ivory. Raise prices by...oh...10% now, an additional 10% next month, and return to the current prices when we get to the last month of the Star Festival. We'll funnel the increased revenue into new research and investments on Porphyrion."

The horde of Yes Men and Egg Heads and other generically-branded personnel scurried about to carry out their orders, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts. He shrugged off a feeling of nostalgia for the old Zoofights days as he activated his personal computer, a Crayfish machine customized for him to comfortably use, to begin researching new avenues. Plenty of Kobber-related shenanigans to profit from: destroyed villages to rebuild, Razaan Redscales' pirates to inform, and more.

One interesting piece of material caught his eye though: Space Pirates.

That bounty hunter reminded the dragon all-too-much of the sort of wandering murder hobo that he frequently contended with in his youth and he'd gone to efforts to avoid being around her. Her adversaries were on the planet though and Scuttlebutt had it that they were building more of their elaborate underground labyrinths. A few more inquiries showed a common theme to their operations: a species of jellyfish-like predators that carried great deals of energy within their bodies. Easily replicated, intelligent enough to be tamed, and possessing a unique natural ability that could be turned to industrial use.

The cost of refurbishing the cloning materials to make Metroids instead of Mammoths would be considerably less than building new production facilities for something else. He jotted down some notes, sent orders to his Shadowrunners, and checked his schedule for the rest of the day: nothing to do but have a nice evening back at home.

Speaking of which...

He quickly called home. The sweet tones of his mate's voice after a long day of work would be music to his ears.

A loud guttural roared answered the phone. Like an angel, Draco thought as he swooned.

"Hello, Chaz," Fergie said after composing herself. "How's the office?"

"We're running out of mammoths, I'm told," Draco answered.

"Roast anyone for this outrage?" his mate said sardonically.

"I'm getting soft in my old age. I let them off with 50 lashes."

"Poor boy...so tortured, having to let your staff live," Fergie giggled un-dragonly. "On your way home, can you pick up a few beasts? I'm starved."

"Of course, my love," Draco agreed. "Another five as usual?"

"Better make it ten."

Which meant fifteen, Draco thought. She'd need to protein while another brood grew inside. More mouths to eventually feed, more impressionable hatchlings to teach the ways of the world to.

Draco grinned, causing one maintenance man to freak out. Life was good.