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Star Trek: Bounty - 206 - "Any Resemblance to Actual Persons is Purely Coincidental"

BountyTrek

Commander
Red Shirt
Hello. :)

The latest ST:Bounty ‘adventure’ is just about ready to go as we plod towards the middle of ‘Season Two’. And this one might just be the silliest one yet. :biggrin: As ever, I’ll try to leave context notes for any bits of backstory/ongoing arcs, but this is pretty much a standalone bit of stupidity. And any terrible, cliched writing that follows is (unlike every other Bounty story) entirely deliberate. :lol:

Hope you enjoy reading!

Star Trek: Bounty is a slightly off-kilter series set in the Trek universe that focuses on the adventures of the ragtag crew of a small civilian ship, who do what they can to get by in the Alpha Quadrant. They're not exactly Starfleet spec, but they try to keep on the right side of the moral line where they can.

The story so far:

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Star Trek: Bounty
2.06

“Any Resemblance to Actual Persons is Purely Coincidental”

Prologue


Why was it always Nausicaans?

Jirel Vincent stood heroically poised on one side of the cavern, his right foot propped up on a rocky outcrop as he stared grimly across the dank expanse at the line of adversaries in front of him. Ten burly Nausicaans stared right back at him. Each wielded a sharp blade in their hand, and each leered with deadly intent.

But Jirel didn’t flinch. The Trill maintained his heroic pose and did what he always did when he could tell that a fight was unavoidable.

He pulled off his tight-fitting vest top and tossed it to one side, revealing the perfectly sculpted physique underneath. Two delicate rows of spots ran down either side of his bulging pectoral muscles and tapered down either side of his improbable washboard abs.

He was more than faintly proud to see that one or two of the Nausicaans flinched at the sudden display of raw masculinity, and he casually flexed his immense biceps to add to the effect.

“Ok then,” he called out, his booming voice filling every corner of the cavern, “Let’s do this.”

If he needed any more encouragement, it came from a familiar and significantly more fragile voice crying out in peril.

“Jirel! Please! Help me!”

He turned his square-jawed features to the source of the plea, where one of the Nausicaans at the front of the pack had a hefty arm wrapped around the hapless form of Natasha Kinsen, her long red hair billowing around her shoulders. He instantly felt his heart race as he saw her, so beautiful and so fragile.

And he also noted that the force with which the brutish Nausicaan had snatched her moments earlier had been enough to rip the flimsy fabric of her favourite skintight silver jumpsuit.

As outfits went, it wasn’t exactly standard issue. But that didn’t matter on a ship that played as fast and loose with the rules as the Bounty did. And, as a red-blooded male, Jirel had certainly never had cause to complain about her penchant for such attire. Right now, as she writhed in vain in the grip of the monstrous creature that had kidnapped her, the already daring neckline of her suit revealed even more of her cleavage thanks to the hefty rip in the delicate fabric.

It took all of Jirel's iron will to force himself to refocus on his enemies, before his wandering eyes got lost in lustful desire.

“Help me, Jirel!” she despairingly cried out again, “You’re my only hope!”

The muscular Trill cracked his knuckles as he sized up the Nausicaans again.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” he called out to her with a cocky, pearly-toothed grin, “I’m gonna have you back in my arms in no time.”

Despite her perilous position, Natasha couldn’t help but feel a sense of reassurance, along with a distinct flicker of desire at the sight of her lover in all of his overtly masculine glory.

Before Jirel had a chance to charge forwards and mount an immediate rescue, he felt a calming presence next to him. He didn’t need to look around to know that Sunek was at his side.

“If I may just interject,” his faithful and unflappably stoic Vulcan counsel offered, “There is no logic in attempting this assault. It is highly improbable that we will be able to defeat ten battle-ready Nausicaans.”

The shirtless Trill glanced at the Vulcan, who was clad in his ubiquitous white robes that indicated his ascension to the highest levels of logic, and couldn’t help but laugh heartily.

“Ah, Sunek, my oldest friend,” he exposited unnecessarily, roughly slapping the wiry Vulcan on the back for good measure, “You crack me up sometimes.”

Sunek regarded him with a curious look and a precisely raised eyebrow.

“To suggest that I am capable of such an action is…not logical.”

Jirel stifled another hearty guffaw, before turning back to the patiently waiting Nausicaan gang and clenching his jaw, and several of his more glamorous muscles to boot.

“Well, there’s not a lot that’s logical about what we do out here, is there? But we always get through in the end. Especially with our…secret weapon, hmm?”

Sunek considered this additional piece of clunky exposition and nodded, maintaining his stance next to his captain and mentally preparing for his own part in their forthcoming battle.

“Listen,” Jirel called out to the Nausicaans with multiple layers of bravado, “We’re just out here to track down the Stone of Unity and claim the two thousand bricks of latinum as a reward. We had no beef with you guys. Until you took…my woman.”

“You killed our leader back on Risa, Trill!” the Nausicaan clutching the helpless Natasha spat back, “And for that, you will pay dearly!”

“I believe that to be an accurate summation of the reasons for their discontent towards us.” Sunek calmly pointed out.

“Hey, it’s not my fault the guy didn’t take kindly to me beating him at dom jot,” Jirel smirked back at the Nausicaan, “But, look, I’m a good guy, so I’ll give you one more chance to let her go, and get the hell out of here.”

The row of enemies maintained their positions, and kept their blades raised.

“Alright,” the Trill continued with a slightly mocking tone, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Denella, you ready?”

The Nausicaans looked a little less sure of themselves as Denella stepped out of the shadows to Jirel's right. The impossibly beautiful Orion woman slinked into the light with a well-practiced sultry swagger, clad only in her ubiquitous cloth bikini.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she purred back at Jirel with a voice like Tholian silk.

He failed to prevent a slightly lascivious leer from creeping onto his chiselled features in response, one that even the imperiled Natasha was able to pick up on. Not that she had much cause to complain about that. After all, she had been seduced by the Orion temptress and her pheromonal charms almost as often as he had.

“Alright,” Jirel nodded with a cool sense of command, “Denella, unleash Klath!”

Denella draped a hand onto her scantily-clad green thigh and smiled back at the Nausicaans.

“Oh dear, boys,” she offered in her usual lust-tinged tone, wiggling her hips to emphasise her speech, “I think you came to the wrong party…”

She delicately pressed a control surface running along the string of her bikini briefs, and the cavern immediately filled with an unearthly roar. The Nausicaans looked around the confines of their location, all suddenly fearful. Not even their worst nightmares could have predicted what was coming.

Out of nowhere, Klath, fully powered up in his all-black battle armour, charged into the middle of the group of stunned adversaries.

With a feral, animalistic roar, the Bounty’s enormous destroyer tore into the nearest Nausicaan, before flinging him into the rock face at the back of the cavern with a sickening crunch.

He grabbed a second Nausicaan as they tried to flee, biting into this one with his fangs and wringing him from side to side like a tiger toying with its prey, before clamping down harder and snapping the weakened foe’s neck clean in two.

Jirel looked at Denella and Sunek, before flexing his muscles again.

“Come on then,” he grinned, “Why should he have all the fun?”

Denella winked back at him, and gently touched another tiny control interface secreted onto her minuscule outfit.

“Enable battle armour!” she called out, apparently to nobody in particular.

Her scant clothing shimmered, as her bespoke replicator link-up program supplied her with her fighting attire of choice. The solid gold bikini that appeared actually covered even less of her body than the cloth one it replaced, but it accentuated her figure in just the way she liked during battle. Which, as any woman would tell you, was the most important trait of a good set of armour, after all.

Satisfied with her instant costume change, she grabbed her dagger from the sheath on her hip and charged at the remaining Nausicaans.

Next to Jirel, Sunek dispassionately stepped to his left and caught a fleeing Nausicaan with a deft neck pinch, felling the brute instantly.

“Fascinating,” he muttered to himself as he watched his foe slump to the ground.

Jirel readied his own weapon of choice, his burly fists on the end of his tree trunk-sized arms, and raced at the Nausicaan holding onto Natasha, sending him flying with a single powerful punch.

As the flailing Nausicaan released his grip on Natasha, Jirel effortlessly caught her before she fell to the ground, holding up her entire slender body with one arm before pulling her in close.

She felt another rush of desire as she melted into the Trill’s strong arms, while he felt similar as he allowed himself a moment to appreciate her figure encased in the remains of her catsuit.

All around them, the battle continued to rage. Klath roared in victory as he flung another Nausicaan like a ragdoll across the cavern. Sunek dispensed another coldly logical neck pinch to subdue another foe. Denella cut down an enemy while carefully ensuring that all of her favourite angles were being kept visible to any and every observer.

Natasha looked up into the eyes of her captain, and her lover, and ran a quivering hand down his exposed muscular chest.

“Told you I’d have you back in my arms in no time,” Jirel beamed.

“My hero…” she whispered breathlessly back at him.

They kissed each other passionately, against the backdrop of carnage.

Suddenly, they froze in mid-embrace. In fact, the entire scene froze. As if time itself had stopped.

All that could be heard was a new and strangely confident voice, which drifted out over the top of the now-static image.

“The most incredible adventure in the four quadrants! Experience it now, not later! Immerse yourself in the astonishing adventures of Captain Jirel and the Starship Bounty, only three strips of latinum per player!”

As a rousing orchestral tune swelled up out of nowhere, a slightly quieter and more sped-up voice took over.

“Proof of purchase required before players may enter the holosuite. Double M Entertainment accepts no responsibility for any injuries sustained, including those caused by holosuite safety malfunctions outside of their control. In-play purchases are in operation, some may be needed to complete certain missions. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.”

After a few seconds, the advert began to play again from the start.

End of Prologue
 
Also, has this humble fanfic forum been harvesting bots or what? Haven’t logged in for a while, but just seen that while my Bounty story threads usually get 2-3k hits over their life on the front page, the last one now has 22k and counting. :wtf:
 
Part One

The Ju’Day-type raider Bounty slowed to sublight speeds as it approached the satellite.

Though, to call it a satellite wasn’t entirely accurate. It was a gargantuan rectangular construct the size of a small asteroid, one of many that were strategically located at each of the Markon star system’s Lagrange points.

The entire flat surface of the front of the gigantic objects consisted of a single vast communications screen, with a small transmitter relay in one corner. And the purpose of the complex Markon satellite network was threefold.

Firstly, the relays sent out a steady coordinated pulse through the entire system that forced any approaching ships to gently slow to sublight speeds as they approached. All the better to see the screen.

Secondly, the relays then tapped into the internal comms system of said approaching ship and ensured that they were set to transmit through every active speaker onboard. All the better to hear the screen.

And finally, with its semi-captive audience’s eyes and ears suitably attuned, it was time to begin the sales pitch, as any one of dozens of bright, welcoming adverts began to play on the enormous asteroid-sized display.

“Welcome, good travellers, to Markon V! Where there is entertainment for everyone, no matter what your heart might desire!”

As the excitable voice filled the Bounty’s cockpit, the screen in front of them lit up with various examples of the promised entertainment.

“Try your luck at our friendly and generous casinos! Relax your body and mind in our spa facilities! Enjoy the latest immersive entertainment in our five thousand interactive holosuites! Give your tastebuds a trip of a lifetime at our galactic cuisine-spanning food courts! Or simply kick back with a cocktail in our stunning selection of rooftop bars!”

The dizzying orgy of indulgence on the screen continued, as the voice reached the end of their enthusiastic sales pitch.

“Orbital visitor slots start at just five slips of latinum per day, and landing spots from just ten slips of latinum per day! So come on down to Markon V! The galaxy’s biggest party is just getting started!”

As the advert finished and the screen briefly went blank to reset itself for the next passing arrival, a second voice delivered a substantially faster legal disclaimer.

“Visitor slots allocated on a preferential basis. Markon City Loyalty Club members take precedence during peak hours. Exact number and availability of holosuites may vary due to routine maintenance schedules. Full terms and conditions available via subspace transfer.”

With the assault on their senses apparently complete, the mood in the Bounty’s cockpit didn’t seem to have improved as a result of the sales pitch.

“Sunek,” Jirel, the ship’s de facto unjoined Trill captain, sighed from the centre seat, “This…had better be worth it.”

At the front of the cockpit, the Bounty’s grinning Vulcan pilot spun around in his seat and shrugged his lanky shoulders.

“Trust me, this place sounds awesome, if what that Antidean trader told me was true. Plus, it’s the busiest neutral port for the next ten sectors. Even we must be able to find some work here.”

“And,” Denella, the Bounty’s Orion engineer, called out from her console behind Jirel, “I’m guessing while we do that, our pilot will be availing himself of those rooftop bars we just heard about.”

Sunek accepted the charge with little more than another shrug.

“Hey, I’m the ideas man. You guys can handle all the little details.”

Before anyone could say anything else, and despite the Bounty now having jetted past the huge satellite screen at impulse, the comms line suddenly blared out another cheery message.

“Welcome, visitors! We have detected that you are newcomers to our friendly planet! Right now, Markon V is offering all first-time visitors twenty percent off their first deposit at any of our casinos or bookmakers! Simply hand over the offer code we have forwarded via subspace link!”

Jirel patiently massaged his forehead, as he heard a growl from over his left shoulder.

“This,” Klath, the Bounty’s gruff Klingon weapons expert, grunted, “Is insufferable.”

“It’s just a bit of a hard sell, that’s all,” Sunek argued, determined not to let everyone else’s sour mood spoil his anticipation, “That was probably the last time they’ll even—”

“Welcome, visitors! We have detected a Klingon aboard your vessel! And right now, Markon V is hosting an exclusive fifteen week run of the great Kovikh’s legendary opera The Battle of Gal-Mok, performed nightly at the Markon City Opera House! Tickets start at just eight slips of latinum for a restricted view seat! Book now!”

“Can we turn that off?” Jirel sighed with irritation, “It’s really starting to—”

“Welcome, visitors! We have detected a Trill aboard your vessel! Markon V offers a pioneering Trill massage treatment! As one of our highly trained staff massages the host, carefully directed sonic waves massage the symbiont inside! Prices start at ten slips of latinum for a single session—!”

“I can’t turn it off,” Natasha Kinsen, the Bounty’s ex-Starfleet medic, reported from her right-side console, “It’s somehow established a level ten encrypted link with our comms array.”

“Level ten?” Denella piped up, “Don’t think even the Tal Shiar go that high.”

“Either way, I guess we just have to just let it…play itself out.”

Jirel sighed again, strongly suspecting that this would be his first and last trip to Markon V.

Although, this particular planet hadn’t always been quite such an assault on the senses.

Less than a decade ago, Markon V had been little more than a humdrum spaceport, one of many thousands dotted throughout the quadrant for civilian ships to refuel and relax.

It was always a busy port, located close to enough shipping lanes to enjoy a steady flow of passing trade, and far enough from any other resupply points to ensure that said passing trade had few alternative options. But aside from the basics, it hadn’t offered much for visitors to indulge in.

But then, the Wadi had arrived.

The first formal visitors through the Bajoran Wormhole had provided Deep Space Nine’s crew with a curious first contact*, but a peaceful one. And several Wadi companies had elected to expand their operations into this new land to spread their love of games throughout the Alpha Quadrant.

One such group established themselves on Markon V. But they quickly found that their traditional games, such as Chula or Klon Peag Drop, didn’t really appeal to their new audience, and it wasn’t long before the new Wadi gaming complex on Markon V was struggling.

And then, as was so often the case with vulnerable businesses around the galaxy, the Ferengi Alliance came calling.

Having seen the potential that Markon V had, representatives from Ferenginar introduced the Wadi to some of this quadrant's more traditional entertainment forms, from Dabo wheels to holosuites and beyond, and the most effective way to monetise them. All for a healthy cut of the profits.

Slowly but surely, Markon V became more and more popular. And as it did, more and more of the old Wadi games were mothballed or removed entirely to make way for more profitable casinos, restaurants and other attractions.

And now, Markon V had developed into a vast industrial complex of Alpha Quadrant entertainment, all still overseen by the Wadi. A 24-hour party planet, surrounded by asteroid-sized advertising hoardings.

And plenty of other advertising options as well.

“Welcome, visitors! We have detected a human aboard your vessel! Right now, get two for the price of one with all purchases from the breakfast menu from our historic 21st century Earth diner. And all non-corporeal lifeforms get in free!”

Jirel tried his best to ignore the latest growl from the irritated Klingon behind the Bounty’s weapons controls, and gestured back to his pilot.

“Sunek, just get us landed. Quick as you can.”

A mere fourteen adverts later, the Bounty was securely parked on one of Markon City’s outer landing platforms.

At a very competitive daily rate.



* - As detailed in one of the greatest episodes of Star Trek ever made. :shifty:
 
Loving the tailored sales pitches...
“Visitor slots allocated on a preferential basis. Markon City Loyalty Club members take precedence during peak hours. Exact number and availability of holosuites may vary due to routine maintenance schedules. Full terms and conditions available via subspace transfer.”
And the disclaimer. I'm sure there are more ahead. Vendor not responsible for damage to ship sensor systems, non-corporial entities, or any biologics with ellian-ray allergies...

Thanks!! rbs
 
Part One (Cont'd)

If their approach to the planet had been a lot to get through, Markon V was just as much to take in when you were down on the ground.

Markon City, the main populated area on the surface, was a veritable melting pot of alien species. A bustling hub of tens of thousands of visitors, all excitedly weaving their way through the gaudy, advertising-laden walls of the buildings all around them.

Most of the buildings were towering skyscrapers. But instead of rows of shiny windows, each side of every building was plastered with multiple video screens, each one pumping out an endless loop of promotional images for Markon V’s endless temptations.

As the Bounty’s crew walked down the busy main street of Markon City, they couldn’t help but be distracted by it all.

One second they were being shown a rich, velvety sauce being poured over a steaming dessert in a promotional video for Mama Ral's Delavian Chocolate Emporium. The next, a scantily-clad man and woman beckoned them closer in an advert for something called the Rubicun III Experience*, with a tagline that assured interested patrons that discretion would be part of said experience.

The garish adverts, coupled with the noise of the bustling pedestrians all around and the cavalcade of differing genres of music blaring out of every establishment they walked past at street level, was all adding up to a particularly unpleasant sensory assault. To everyone, it appeared, except Sunek.

“Isn’t this place great?” he grinned at the rest of the Bounty’s crew as he led them past a boisterous karaoke bar engaged in a group singalong of a rowdy Tellarite drinking song.

He was met by four entirely unimpressed glares, as his colleagues regarded the chaos around them.

“Sunek,” Jirel eventually replied on everyone’s behalf, “This place is a nightmare.”

This unhappy summary didn’t seem to put the Vulcan off his cheery stride.

‘Ah, don’t be like that. You just need to loosen up, start enjoying yourself. How about we find a bar, get some shots in, and—”

“I thought we were here to look for work?” Klath cut in.

“Spoilsport,” the Vulcan shot back.

“He’s right,” Jirel pointed out, “So before we think about downing any shots, we need to find where the job postings are listed around here.”

They walked on, and Natasha began to get a slightly unerring feeling from the cavalcade of aliens all around them.

“Does anyone else feel like we’re getting a lot of looks?” she queried.

“No more than usual,” Denella replied from her side.

It wasn’t said with any arrogance, more a sense of depressing familiarity. The Orion woman was used to the unwelcome attention she tended to get based on the way she looked, especially at bigger ports like this. A legacy of decades of galactic myth and propaganda about women with green skin.

When she had first been rescued from the Syndicate by the Bounty’s crew, it had taken several months before she had felt comfortable enough to even venture off the ship in a port like this. But slowly and surely, she had been able to block it out, like a persistent background noise.

Jirel, on the other hand, was less used to attracting gawps and stares from passers-by, and he couldn’t help but feel as though Natasha was on to something.

“I dunno,” he replied, “Now you mention it, maybe?”

“They can probably tell we’re new around here,” Sunek offered, “And you know why? Cos we’re not doing anything fun! Come on, one round of drinks? I’m buying?”

Jirel sighed and gestured for the group to step over to one side, taking shelter from the bustling pedestrian traffic in an alcove between a self-service raktajino bar and a gaudy advertisement for a new type of low-warp Ferengi personal shuttlepod.

“Alright, let’s keep focused,” he said with his best captain’s voice, “We just need to find some work. A delivery, a shuttle run, anything.”

“Sounds kinda boring,” Sunek muttered.

“I’m fine with boring,” Denella argued back, “We should do more boring things.”

“Ok,” Jirel continued, “Let’s split up, cover more ground. Me and Denella'll head over to the loading bays, see if there’s anything we can pick up on the fly. Nat, you and Klath try to find some sort of administrative centre for this place, see if there’s some official job postings. And Sunek—”

“And I,” the Vulcan nodded solemnly, gesturing to the busy street behind them, “Will selflessly start searching around for something useful for us to do around here.”

Jirel paused, a little taken aback. He idly wondered whether that seemingly genuine offer of help was another side effect of the emotion-calming medication Sunek was continuing to take.

“I mean,” he replied eventually, “Yeah. That’d actually be really helpful—”

“Starting,” the wiry Vulcan continued with an eager jab of his finger, “With that cocktail bar over there.”

He sauntered off in the direction of one of the establishments on the other side of the street, leaving Jirel to sigh in acceptance.

“…Of course.”

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

A few moments later, Natasha and Klath had managed to escape the crowds, having ducked into what a friendly passing Wadi had informed them was the Markon City Administration Hub.

A similarly friendly receptionist had then pointed them to the job boards on the fifteenth floor, and after a short turbolift ride, they were finally nearing their goal.

The only minor downside was that, despite them now being in a decidedly less busy administrative building, there was no let up in the relentless advertisements. Even though this was a place of work, not play, Markon V was apparently still eager to tempt you into indulging a vice or two.

And Natasha had to reluctantly admit that the relentless bombardment of temptation was starting to have an effect on her.

Somewhere between a scrolling video advertising a fully-licensed burger restaurant in the viewing gallery of Markon City’s second tallest building and a picture-perfect scene of tranquility showcasing a brand new horse riding holosuite program set in the rolling hills of Risa’s southern continent, she began to wonder whether there wasn’t something to this Wadi venture.

“You know,” she proffered to the decidedly grumpy Klath, “Maybe Sunek's right. Maybe we could afford to stay here for a bit. Enjoy some downtime?”

“I disagree,” the Klingon grunted back, as they walked on.

Natasha stifled a sigh. Even though she had been onboard the Bounty for well of a year now, and she had bonded with the surly Klingon on any number of misadventures, she still found his lack of interest in conversation to be a tad frustrating. Out of all the Bounty’s crew, she felt as though she still knew barely anything about him. Which she was taking as a serious demerit against her own social skills.

But she wasn’t willing to give up. And she spotted another opportunity to try and break through her colleague’s tough and often monosyllabic exterior.

“Come on, there’s nothing here that tempts you?”

Klath paused for a moment and glanced at the nearest advert. Which appeared to be for some sort of scented body oil that a pair of attractive, smiling models were rubbing onto their exposed torsos with award-winning levels of fake enthusiasm.

He turned back to her with a knowing glare.

“No.”

With that, he walked on.

Natasha sighed and hurried off to try and keep up with his enormous strides.

“Ok, that was bad timing. But it’s not all massages and gambling and gluttony. What about that Klingon opera, hmm?”

She was happy to see that Klath at least appeared to consider this, even as he looked around at their rather hollow and gaudy surroundings.

“Based on what I have seen, I do not believe that this planet will be capable of treating Kovikh's work with the respect that it deserves.”

Despite the second negative response, it was at least considerably more than the usual grunts and monosyllables he usually offered up. And Natasha took that as a sign of progress.

“Well, we could give it a go?” she pressed, “I mean…I’ve always wanted to get into Klingon opera, but I don’t know where to start.”

It was a white lie, but told in pursuit of furthering a friendship. And it was one that she was delighted to see garnered a genuine look of interest from the Bounty’s weapons chief.

“You have?”

She hadn’t. But Natasha was just glad to be making progress. So she pushed the white lie a little further.

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded, “I mean, I sometimes hear you playing some in your cabin and it always sounds so…loud. And, um, passionate.”

She gave herself a mental high five as she saw the corners of Klath's mouth curl imperceptibly up in appreciation of this comment.

“It is very passionate,” he nodded, “When performed well.”

He stopped on the spot, and Natasha did likewise. His expression turned to one of contemplation as his brain began to tick over with this new, slightly inaccurate information.

“However,” he continued, “I do not believe that The Battle of Gal-Mok is an appropriate opera for a first-time experience. It is very long. There is a lot of backstory. And a lot of blood.”

Natasha wasn’t quite sure how she had become embroiled in a discussion about Klingon opera. But now she’d broken through Klath’s exterior, she tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Well,” she shrugged, “Maybe instead, we could—”

“But I would be honoured to put together a playlist of suggested listening. Some particular passages to give you a full grounding in the art form.”

“Oh, right, I—”

“And I have a wide selection of holosuite performances from throughout history to view. The 2173 performance of Kah'ton's ‘An Honourable Death’ in Bar'or Lhess Opera House is particularly excellent. Impeccable performances throughout all six acts. And five encores.”

Natasha felt a rising need to try and reverse out of her little white lie all of a sudden, as the list of homework Klath seemed determined to assign her continued to grow.

“I am impressed, doctor,” Klath concluded with a genuinely respectful nod of his head, “I did not realise you were so cultured.”

She mustered a weak smile back, and wondered just how long a six-act Klingon opera might take to sit through. And whether a budding friendship was worth it.

“Well, that sounds, um, great,” she managed, “But, in the meantime, after we’ve checked the job boards, how about we go and—”

She stopped her further overtures towards trying to find a less operatic means to connect with her friend as the video screen behind Klath’s right shoulder switched to a new gaudy advert. She instantly gave the screen her full attention. Klath, a little bemused, turned and did likewise.

On the floor-to-ceiling screen, a flashy title card displayed five figures, posing heroically for the camera. Five figures that looked oddly familiar, if grotesquely distorted.

At the front of the group stood a handsome, square-jawed Trill, with bulging muscles that seemed to be straining to escape from his tight vest top.

Next to him, draped longingly over his arm and gazing up at him with adoring eyes, was a red-haired human woman clad in a preposterously tight silver catsuit.

To the Trill’s other side was a stony-faced Vulcan in pristine white robes, with his hands steepled in front of him in a calming and peaceable manner.

In front of the trio, lounging provocatively on the ground, was an Orion woman, dressed in a bikini that consisted of little more than three tiny triangles of fabric strategically placed to offer the slightest sliver of modesty.

Finally, towering behind them was an enormous eight-foot monster of a figure, encased in jet black battle armour and bearing its terrifying fangs on its unquestionably Klingon-ish face.

And despite the impossible muscles and the skimpy outfits and the protruding fangs, there was little doubt who Natasha was looking at as the five figures stared back at her from the screen.

And having finally managed to get Klath to talk more, it was her turn to become monosyllabic.

“Huh.”



* - Here's Worf enjoying The Rubicun III Experience.
 
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