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

BountyTrek · Sep 22, 2025

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:

Star Trek: Bounty - 201 - “Something Good Happened Today”
Star Trek: Bounty - 202 - "The Bat, the Birds and the Beasts"
Star Trek: Bounty - 203 - "Three Minutes to Three Minutes to Three Minutes to Midnight"
Star Trek: Bounty - 204 - "Acquire, Evade, Retreat, Confront"
Star Trek: Bounty - 205 - "Zen and the Art of Corvallen Shuttlepod Maintenance"

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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

BountyTrek · Sep 22, 2025

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:

BountyTrek · Sep 24, 2025

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.

Robert Bruce Scott · Sep 24, 2025

Loving the tailored sales pitches...

BountyTrek said:
“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

BountyTrek · Sep 26, 2025

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.

Robert Bruce Scott · Sep 26, 2025

Someone has had a holo-ghost-writer... I wonder if we're about to meet old Jirel here...

Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Sep 28, 2025

Robert Bruce Scott said:
Someone has had a holo-ghost-writer... I wonder if we're about to meet old Jirel here...

Thanks!! rbs

Hmm. But surely now, old Jirel never existed. Because young Jirel never went back in time. Except that means that old Jirel was never around to make sure that he never went back in time, and--Oh no, a paradox! :wah:

BountyTrek · Sep 28, 2025

Part One (Cont'd)

“To celebrate the release of the latest adventure in the Captain Jirel and the Starship Bounty series, we are offering an exclusive special offer, for a limited time only! Experience the first ten adventures in full for a group discount of twenty-five percent!”

An enormous starship cut through space. The Starship Bounty was a fierce raptor-esque design, with two aggressively curved wings branching out from the imposing main body. Each surface of the ship’s hull was covered in a chaotic array of prongs and talons that seemed to serve no purpose from a practical spacefaring perspective.

“Each adventure has now been upgraded for the latest holosuite technology, giving access to six extra playable missions!”

On the Starship Bounty’s bridge, the heroic crew of five stood ready in a vast circular amphitheatre of a room, filled with a dozen or more flashy, translucent workstations that made the expansive layout seem comically understaffed.

“Captain Jirel, this is suicide!” Natasha called out from behind one of the consoles, “That’s an entire Romulan battle wing out there!”

Sitting in his throne-like centre chair, Jirel flexed his biceps and leaned forwards with intent.

“I guess it is suicide, isn’t it. For them.”

He shot his lover a winning look before eagerly barking out a series of commands around the rest of the bridge.

“Denella, bring the multiphasic shielding online. Klath, fire up the quantum disruptor cannons and load all adaptive polaron torpedo tubes. Sunek, commence an attack run!”

The battle was joined, as the Starship Bounty fired all available weapons at the approaching battle wing of dozens of Romulan Warbirds.

“And five additional exclusive cut scenes per adventure. Including some previously deemed too hot to handle!”

Inside a lavish set of quarters befitting a hero of Captain Jirel’s status, Natasha delivered a fierce slap across Denella's face, as a shirtless Jirel watched on.

“I hate you!” she spat at the Orion woman, “You’ve seduced my man for the last time, you green-skinned temptress!”

Denella recovered instantly from the slap, her mouth curving up into a seductive smile as she stepped towards the other woman.

“Oh, I’m just getting started, honey,” she purred, “Besides, I happen to know for a fact that you’re a lover, not a fighter…”

As the Orion woman got closer, Natasha began to squirm and strain where she stood, as if she was trying to fight against some unseen force.

“Damn…you!” she grunted feverishly, “Must…resist…those…Orion…pheromones…”

But she didn’t resist for long. Almost immediately, she pulled the bikini-clad woman close to her and kissed her passionately. Behind the two embracing women, Jirel grinned and looked straight ahead, shrugging his shoulders as he elected to break the fourth wall for some reason.

“Sometimes, I love this job…”

Denella began to unzip Natasha’s catsuit, and Jirel’s grin widened.

“And don’t forget, playing now across five hundred dedicated holosuites right here in Markon City, the all-new Captain Jirel and the Starship Bounty adventure! The Quest for the Stone of Unity! Featuring more accurate physics than ever before!”

The Starship Bounty performed a dizzyingly complex and physically impossible manoeuvre for a ship of its size and bulk, while firing off multiple different banks of torpedoes into a fleet of what looked to be ten thousand Klingon warships, each of which seemed to explode from a single hit.

“More playable and dramatic rescue missions!”

Jirel punched a Nausicaan in the face, and saved the kidnapped Natasha.

Jirel punched a Romulan in the face, and saved the kidnapped Natasha.

Jirel punched a Ferengi in the face, and saved the kidnapped Natasha.

“And more boss fights than ever before! Including an all-new enemy!”

Captain Jirel stood up from his command throne and stared at the viewscreen, his jaw dropping open as he saw the view ahead resolving. All around him, the rest of the crew stared as well, with a mixture of shock and venom.

“My god,” Natasha whispered fearfully, “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Jirel nodded grimly, “It’s…the Borg.”

The vista froze in place, as the excited voice cut in again.

“Captain Jirel and the Quest for the Stone of Unity! Sign up for a free trial mission, or book your playing spot now, and receive a free gift of your choice! Choose from an exclusive Captain Jirel tote bag and water bottle, or your own stuffed Klath plush toy!”

A quieter, more sped up voice continued.

“Free trial mission pack contains indicative gameplay only. Tote bags, water bottles and plush toys available on pre-order, voucher for future redemption provided upon purchase of the full program. Terms and conditions apply.”

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

The five real members of the real Bounty’s crew stared down at the Markon V-emblazoned padd, as the advert on the screen concluded.

They had reconvened at Sunek’s cocktail bar of choice, and while Jirel and Denella had initially brought the happy news that they had received an offer for a supply run to a Mizarian colony with a delivery of engineering tools, Natasha and Klath’s discovery had trumped that information.

“Huh,” Jirel managed eventually, as the padd displayed the same static title card of the Starship Bounty’s smiling, posing crew that Natasha had first seen in the administration centre.

“I mean,” Natasha scoffed from the other side of the table, “That is definitely us, right? There’s no way that’s not supposed to be us.”

There was no counter argument to that suggestion. From the names of the characters to the species involved, it seemed unmistakable.

“I guess that explains why we’ve been getting so many looks since we arrived,” Jirel offered back with a sigh.

“But…how?” Denella managed.

“I have no idea,” Natasha replied, now bristling with righteous indignation, “But this is a complete violation of our rights! It’s disgusting!”

“Wasn’t all disgusting,” Sunek shrugged as he idly sipped a cocktail and gestured to Natasha and Denella, “I liked the bit where you two made out—”

“Shut up, Sunek,” Denella growled.

Jirel studied the image on the screen of the padd and shook his head at the sight of the five grotesque caricatures.

“Yeah, this has to be us. Looks exactly like us.”

Despite her boiling anger, Natasha couldn’t help but pause and aim a pointed scoff squarely in the direction of the Trill’s ego at that comment.

“Oh, really?” she sighed, gesturing to the tower of muscle in the image, “Think that’s a good likeness do you, Mr Universe?”

“I mean,” he replied defensively, puffing his own chest up as best he could, “It’s not a million miles away from—”

“Ok,” Denella cut in impatiently, “We need to do something about this. Talk to someone. Put a stop to it. Right now!”

That plan of action received complete agreement from around the table. Sunek drained the dregs of his cocktail and the five of them hastily took off for the door.

As they walked back out into the bustling streets of Markon City, they began attracting attention all over again. Including from one particular Wadi girl, who stopped in her tracks when she saw them walk past.

And then, as they disappeared into the crowds, she scurried off to spread the word.

Robert Bruce Scott · Sep 28, 2025

BountyTrek said:
a dozen or more flashy, translucent workstations that made the expansive layout seem comically understaffed.

With a small inscription on the dedication plate indicating the bridge had been designed by J.J. Abrams...

Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Sep 30, 2025

Part One (Cont'd)

The bat'leth plunged down onto the reception desk with graceful precision, neatly cleaving the built-in computer terminal in two.

The Wadi receptionist quivered in shock where he stood and stared at the shattered remains of his brushed metal desk. The Klingon on the other end of the bat'leth was evidently not in the mood to be kept waiting.

“My colleague said,” Klath grunted at the terrified Wadi, “That we would like to speak to the head administrator of this facility.”

Alongside the angry warrior, Jirel flinched slightly. He had been hoping that his charm offensive on the polite but rather officious receptionist was on the way towards paying dividends. But his weapons chief’s patience had clearly worn thin.

And, in fairness, he wasn’t the only one. To Jirel's other side, both Denella and Natasha were fuming silently in the hapless Wadi’s direction, arms folded across their chests.

Only Sunek seemed happy to wait. He sat in one of the reception area’s comfortable chairs, tapping at the padd they had brought with them from the cocktail bar.

“I—I will see if he is available,” the receptionist stammered, “B—But—”

“No buts,” Denella cut in tersely, “Trust me, the big guy gets angrier.”

The receptionist’s eyes widened further as he stared at the curved blade sticking out of his gently smoking console, then back up at the dark glower of the Klingon himself. He didn’t doubt the Orion’s words for a second.

“I—I understand,” he managed to stammer, “I—It’s just that…you’ve broken my comms panel.”

Klath looked down at the console that he had just impaled, where a wisp of smoke drifted up from the shattered remains of what he now understood to be the receptionist’s comms panel.

But the Klingon didn’t miss a beat, and merely shrugged his wide shoulders.

“Then take us to him.”

The Wadi receptionist nodded fearfully and slowly stepped away from the carnage on quaking legs, gesturing for the group to follow him.

Klath calmly wrenched his bat’leth back out of the ruined reception desk and returned it to the sheath behind his back, before nodding politely back at the Wadi.

“Thank you.”

A short time after Klath's demonstration of his unique approach to the concept of a charm offensive, the Bounty’s crew found themselves sitting in an elegant meeting room down one side of a long polished wooden table.

On the other side sat a plump Wadi called Trolow, who had introduced himself as the head administrator of Markon City. He looked down at the padd in his hand, displaying an image of Captain Jirel and his crew, and then back up at the five unhappy individuals in front of him.

After a couple more glances down to the padd, and back up at his uninvited guests, he offered a calming smile and a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Well, I can see some…superficial similarities, I suppose. But I am sure this is a simple coincidence.”

“A coincidence?” Natasha snorted, “Even our names, and the name of our ship, are the same! Markon V is using our likenesses without permission. And profiting heavily from it, by the looks of things!”

Trolow's face lit up at this comment.

“Ah, indeed. This has been a most pleasing game. The Captain Jirel series has brought much interest to our humble planet. It has been a roaring success.”

“I’ll bet it has,” Denella grunted, entirely unamused.

“Either way, Administrator Trolow,” Jirel added, “This is definitely us. Our names, our species, our exact upper body definitions—”

“You have to let that go,” Natasha sighed.

“—And you need to shut that program down.”

Trolow’s cheery expression dropped like a stone at this suggestion.

“Shut it down?” he repeated slowly.

“Yep,” Denella nodded, jabbing a finger at him across the table, “We want that program purged from every goddamn databank on this planet. And…please tell me this hasn’t gone galactic.”

She didn’t want to contemplate the possibility of this particular program having already spread through the galaxy, making it impossible for them to ever fully eradicate it.

Fortunately, Trolow shook his head.

“No. Captain Jirel and the Starship Bounty is a Markon V exclusive game. At least until we have agreed a fair deal for any franchising rights.”

“Well, that’s one good thing, I guess,” Denella sighed, “We wipe the program here, and it’s gone for good.”

“But…how can you be sure?” Natasha asked.

“Because of a clever bit of code. Any attempt to transfer or copy the program corrupts the data chips of the device that the copy is created on. So we maintain exclusivity.”

“And charge whatever the hell you want for people to play it, I’ll bet,” Jirel muttered.

For the first time, Trolow seemed a little unhappy at that statement.

“The Wadi do not play games purely for money. We play games for the joy of it. And I’m afraid I have no intention of wiping this particular game.”

Klath instinctively began to reach for his bat’leth again, for another demonstration of Klingon diplomacy. Jirel stopped him with a raised arm and kept focus on the portly Wadi.

“How come you knew about us, anyway? None of us have ever been to Markon V before. I’ve never even met a Wadi until today.”

“Well, the game you speak of was not designed by the Wadi,” Trolow explained, “It was given to us, by the creator.”

“Great,” Sunek sighed, “Religious nutjobs. That’s all we need—”

“He just means the person who created the program,” Denella pointed out patiently, “But…who was that?”

Right on cue, the doors to the meeting room opened, and a new figure stepped in.

“Ah,” Trolow said with a smile, “Excellent timing. I took the liberty of inviting the creator to this very meeting.”

The Bounty crew turned as one in the direction of the door, and all stared in shock when they saw who had walked in.

“You?” Klath grunted unhappily.

In the doorway, smiling back at them, stood Martus Mazur.

A galactic con artist, one who the Bounty’s crew had handed back to Edosian authorities after rescuing him from a pre-warp civilisation a year ago. And one whose parting message to them as he had been taken away had been a promise that he would get his own back one day.

“Hi there,” he beamed back at the shocked row of faces at the table, “Long time, no see…”

Note: The Bounty crew's first run-in with Martus Mazur, and his promise to get his own back, was detailed way back in Star Trek: Bounty - 106 - "He Feedeth Among the Lilies".

Robert Bruce Scott · Oct 1, 2025

BountyTrek said:
And one whose parting message to them as he had been taken away had been a promise that he would get his own back one day.

Blast from the past... Way back in the past... Be careful what enemies you make. And make sure mortal enemies end up dead before you leave them. Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Oct 2, 2025

Part One (Cont'd)

“Klath! On your right!”

The enormous, snarling Klingon monster spun on his heels, just as another Romulan soldier charged in with his weapon raised. He dispatched the foe with ease, swatting him away with a swing of his burly arm and sending him into the wall of the corridor with a sickening crunch.

Meanwhile, Jirel used his own powerful arms to knock out another of the soldiers, before spinning round and dispatching another with a powerful roundhouse kick. But he took no joy from these easy kills. He knew he was no closer to his target.

“Captain Jirel! Help me!”

Natasha called out for him from the end of the corridor, where the corrupt Romulan Praetor had her in his fiendish grasp.

It hadn’t taken the Starship Bounty long to track down the Praetor’s flagship, and overwhelm the gargantuan vessel’s defences. From there, Captain Jirel had been able to swiftly remove his vest top and beam over along with the heavily armoured Klath. But even though they had completed that stage of the mission in record time, there were still plenty of challenges standing between him and his captured lover.

Not to mention the Stone of Unity.

Klath felled another two soldiers, tossing them aside like rag dolls. But just as they reached the final few soldiers between them and their quarry, the next level activated.

“Guards! Attack!” the Praetor called out.

From around an intersection in the corridor just ahead of the Praetor and the hapless Natasha, two fresh columns of soldiers rounded the corner and charged forwards. Klath and Jirel readied themselves to repel the next wave of deceptively easy to beat enemies.

But just then, they heard a familiar voice behind them.

“Hey! You started without me?”

Jirel sighed in frustration, just as the first soldier got within punching range.

“Computer, freeze program!”

The lines of soldiers, the scheming Praetor and the squirming woman in the silver catsuit all froze in place. Jirel and Klath glanced at each other, then turned around.

In the now-visible door of the holosuite, Calla, a diminutive female Wadi, stood with her arms folded, tapping her foot.

“You were late,” the shirtless and bloodied Jirel called back with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I was held up!” the nerdy teenager in the door called back, “But I’m here now, so you’ll just have to reset the game so I can join.”

To Jirel’s side, Klath emitted a fierce flurry of guttural growls and snarls in Calla’s direction. She rolled her eyes.

“Computer, remove character maps.”

In a split second, Jirel and Klath’s forms shimmered and disappeared, leaving behind the less imposing forms of two gangly male Wadi teenagers.

“Sorry,” the taller of the boys, Jarro, offered, “I forgot you can’t talk when playing as Klath.”

“And fine,” the other boy, Devro, added nervously, “We’ll restart the level. B—But we’re not changing characters.”

“Hey, hang on,” Calla argued, “That’s not fair! You know Klath’s my favourite!”

“That’s what you get for being late,” Jarro replied with a shrug, “Besides, I’ve saved up enough credits on my account to unlock his Golden Mega Bat'leth. We’ll need that if we’re gonna complete the final level.”

“Ok, then why can’t I be Jirel—?”

“Because he’s Jirel,” Jarro nodded definitively in Devro's direction.

The more nervous of the two boys took a moment to respond, as if he was going to instantly cave in and hand over his own favourite character. But he mustered a defiant nod instead.

“Great,” Calla pouted, “So I have to be Sunek again? He sucks! He’s only got one fighting move, so I have to stand around neck-pinching everyone while you two have all the fun!”

“You don’t have to be Sunek,” Jarro pointed out, “Just be one of the girl characters.”

“They suck even more! Natasha has no proper fighting moves, plus I’ll just end up getting kidnapped and being a non-player while you two rescue me. That always happens!”

“N—Not always,” Devro muttered.

Calla coughed patiently and gestured back down the holographic corridor, where the frozen form of Natasha was waiting to be rescued. Devro conceded the point with a shrug.

“So play as Denella then,” Jarro persisted “She’s got a dagger and everything, and almost as many fighting moves as Klath and Jirel.”

“No,” Calla sighed, “I’m never comfortable in her…outfits. Plus our scores always dip when I play as her. It’s like you two get distracted. For some reason.”

The two awkward teenage boys glanced guiltily at each other for a moment, before turning back to their unhappy friend.

“You know, t—they just released a new accessories pack for her character,” Devro pointed out, “Might be something better in there?”

“Yeah,” Jarro nodded, “The writers have said they’ve heard people’s complaints, and they’re working on making her a better role model for female players.”

Calla sighed again and shrugged in defeat.

“Computer, display Denella Expansion Pack update.”

In the middle of the three of them, entirely extraneous to the paused scene around them, the Denella character appeared, frozen in place and slowly rotating around on an invisible platform. Clad in a plain green bikini.

“What?” Calla scoffed, “That’s the same thing she always wears!”

“Ah, no, wait,” Devro replied, “Look.”

He pointed at the rotating character’s bikini bottoms. Calla peered closer to see that there had, in fact, been a change to the outfit. Now, two words were proudly stitched into the material in shiny gold thread.

Girl Power.

Calla rolled her eyes to the heavens.

“Oh, for the love of—Fine, I’ll be Sunek. Let’s just get on with it.”

“Computer,” Jarro called out, “Reset program to the start of the current level. Same difficulty. Include player three. Character map: Sunek.”

“By the way,” Devro asked as he glanced at Calla, “H—How come you were late?”

At this, Calla’s demeanour shifted. She smiled broadly back at him.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot the big news. They’re here!”

The corridor shimmered and changed as the holosuite instantly transported them back to the start of the level. The two boys looked confused.

“Who’s here?” Devro asked.

“The crew of the Bounty! Here, on Markon V! The actual, original crew!”

The two boys glanced at each other again.

“Nah.”

“No way.”

“I’m telling you, they are!”

“Ok,” Jarro shrugged, “Prove it.”

“Oh, I will, don’t worry about that,” Calla smiled back, “But first…”

The three of them shimmered, and were replaced by the battle ready trio of a shirtless Jirel, a snarling Klath and a stoic Sunek. The Vulcan in the plain white robes raised an eyebrow at the burly Trill.

“…I believe we have some Romulans to kill, Captain Jirel.”

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

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite crew.”

There was a distinct element of gloating to Martus Mazur's tone, as he calmly paced around to Trolow’s side of the table.

“The kind, friendly souls who found me marooned and alone on a desolate, isolated planet. And then decided to hand me over to the Edosian authorities, rather than bothering to help me get to the nearest starbase.”

The Bounty crew members maintained their unhappy glares in the El-Aurian's direction.

“Really?” Jirel scoffed, “That’s the way you tell that story?”

The Trill turned his attention to Trolow.

“See, we did find Mazur after he’d crash-landed on a planet. That part checks out. But he missed out the fact that the ship that crashed was an Edosian Prison Transport. And how he was busy fleecing the locals on the planet with one of his stupid con tricks.”

“All while giving them radiation poisoning,” Natasha added.

“Now, hang on,” Mazur retorted, “That was all a simple—”

“Oh,” Jirel added, “And not forgetting the bit where he pulled a disruptor pistol on us and shot me in the leg.”

“Which I apologised for at the time,” Mazur countered again, “Besides I said I’d get that whole matter with the Edosians straightened out, didn’t I? And I also told you that I’d be seeing you around. And, well, here we are.”

Jirel shook his head in frustration as he gestured down to the Captain Jirel image on the padd.

“This?! This is your revenge?”

“What were you expecting? Something ridiculous and unbelievable like I tie you all up to a giant bomb inside your ship’s cargo bay or something?”

The Bounty crew exchanged sudden guilty glances at each other that neither Mazur nor Trolow could understand, before the El-Aurian continued.*

“And besides, the Captain Jirel series may borrow certain…elements from your crew. But I’ve been very careful to make sure each character is a distinct and unique legal entity under any major galactic law. I mean, really, do you think that’s what you look like?”

He snorted as he tapped the image of the muscular Jirel posing in the image on the padd.

“Don’t answer that,” Natasha muttered quickly at the Trill sitting next to her, “It might prejudice our case.”

“And,” Mazur added, “This was just supposed to be a nice little money-spinner. I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up on Markon V, was I?”

“You had to know we’d find out sooner or later,” Denella argued.

“I suppose. But by that point, I assumed the franchising rights would be sorted and I’d have enough latinum to retire to a beachside mansion on Risa.”

Denella's eyes narrowed in anger, as Sunek leaned forward and wagged a finger in the direction of the El-Aurian with a sudden look of understanding.

“I get it now,” he nodded, “Double M Entertainment. For Martus Mazur.”

“A little on the nose, I suppose,” Mazur shrugged, “But you have to call yourself something.”

“I’ve got a few ideas if you’re struggling,” Denella muttered.

“And none of this changes the fact that you’re exploiting us,” Natasha chimed in, “And worse, you’ve turned us into a bunch of freaks and weirdos and walking cliches!”

“You’d be surprised how little work it took,” Mazur smiled back.

The unhappy looks down the Bounty crew’s side of the table darkened a little further.

“Also,” the El-Aurian continued breezily, “There’s nothing exploitative about—”

“We’ve seen the adverts, Mazur,” Natasha cut in, “We know what sordid little things you’re making these characters do in there.”

Mazur turned a little defensive at this comment, and gestured at Natasha and Denella where they sat glaring at him.

“Ok, I know which plot you’re referring to. But that was all very tastefully done. Nothing explicit, all strictly for a teen and up audience. And really, all the writers wanted to do was to explore what it means to be a woman in the 24th century—”

“Oh, shut up,” Natasha sighed.

“Also,” Sunek chimed in again, tapping the screen of the padd with a wiry finger, “My character’s just this dumb, boring, stoic Vulcan. And I’ll have you know that’s a stereotype I’ve been working very hard to break away from.”

“Working a little too hard, some would say,” Mazur muttered back.

“Ok, well now I’m really mad—!”

“So,” Jirel sighed, turning the focus back to Administrator Trolow, “As you can see, this is clearly all just your esteemed…creator’s way of getting back at us. And, regardless of whatever legal protection Mazur here thinks he has, we really want to get this program removed. Ok?”

“Psh,” Mazur scoffed, “I really don’t think Mr Trolow here is about to delete the biggest moneymaker on Markon V right now. Minus my thirty percent cut, of course.”

The plump Wadi administrator had listened to the bickering in silence, struggling to follow along with a lot of what was being said. Now, with the eyes of everyone in the room back in him, he stroked his bearded chin thoughtfully as he contemplated the parts of what he was being told that he understood.

“Well,” he said eventually, “This…does change things, I think.”

Mazur’s smug expression disappeared. He hadn’t been expecting that response.

“This changes nothing,” he countered quickly, “I’ve told you, we’re covered legally. And Captain Jirel is making your planet untold riches right now.”

“True, on both counts,” Trolow conceded with a nod, “But this is a game.”

He tapped on the image on the padd knowingly.

“And all Wadi know that games have to be fair. This game…no longer seems fair.”

“Counterpoint: Games don’t have to be fair,” Mazur persisted, “Didn’t the Ferengi teach you people anything?”

Trolow’s mouth curled into a slightly sad smile, tinged with an air of wistfulness as he recalled his own home, and all the games he’d left behind so many thousands of light years away on the other side of the Bajoran Wormhole.

“They taught us how games work here in your Alpha Quadrant, yes. But while we may have cast off much of our own games over the last few cycles around this distant star, this is still a Wadi facility, and fairness is still important.”

“Great,” Denella nodded, “So you’ll delete it then?”

“Perhaps,” the Wadi administrator replied.

“Well, what the hell’s that supposed to—?”

“A game!”

The gleeful outburst from Trolow was enough to stop Denella mid-question.

“Excuse me?” Jirel asked instead.

“My people have many traditions, and much experience in resolving matters like this. And as Markon V is a Wadi planet, that seems the fairest way to do it.”

“With…a game?” Klath boomed out in bafflement.

Trolow’s eyes twinkled with excitement as he nodded back.

“But of course! Games are good! Allamaraine—!”

“Nope,” Mazur snapped quickly, “Not that. Don’t do that.”

If the Wadi administrator was offended at being shut down like that, he didn’t let it show. Instead, his smile widened in anticipation.

“Oh yes, we should play a game. And I think I have the perfect game to play…”

End of Part One

* - That sort of ridiculous and unbelievable thing would never happen to the real Bounty crew, obviously. Ahem.

Robert Bruce Scott · Oct 2, 2025

BountyTrek said:
“Oh yes, we should play a game. And I think I have the perfect game to play…”

Fair enough. Courtroom antics are simply another type of game with very complicated rules... Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Oct 4, 2025

Part Two

“This is a stupid idea.”

Natasha offered the summary to the rest of the Bounty’s crew as they sat around the table back in the ship’s dining area. They had returned home after Administrator Trolow had provided the terms of the game he was proposing, and given them some time to decide whether to accept them or not.

And it was turning out to be a difficult decision.

“I agree,” Klath nodded, “We must find an alternative resolution.”

“There isn’t one,” Denella sighed in defeat, “Unless we wanna run up a whole bunch of criminal charges by firing a few torpedoes at their main computer core.”

“Yeah,” Sunek nodded, “I’ve done some checking, and Mazur’s right. He’s covered legally for all of this. Which means the only option we have is this dumb Wadi idea.”

Jirel resisted the temptation to pass comment on the fact that Sunek had apparently done some work without being asked, chalking that one up to his new medication as well. Instead, he focused back on the task at hand.

“So, we’re out of options,” he sighed, “We have to…play the game.”

“If they even honour the result,” Natasha countered, “And this is still a stupid idea.”

“Trolow assured us that he’d honour it,” Jirel pointed out, “And it sounds easy enough. We play this program of Mazur’s, as ourselves, against our…fictional counterparts. Trolow sets us a challenge to complete, and if we win then he wipes the program.”

“And if we lose,” Denella pointed out, “The program stays. And gets franchised out across the rest of the goddamn quadrant.”

“This is a really stupid idea,” Natasha offered for emphasis.

“But,” Jirel pointed out with a hint of his usual misplaced confidence, “We’re not gonna lose, are we? Doesn’t matter what they look like, they’re still just holosuite characters.”

“Jirel,” Natasha persisted, “We can’t wager our likenesses like this! I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being known as the woman in the silver catsuit! To say nothing of what they’ve got Denella’s character wearing in there!”

The Orion woman flinched slightly, remembering the look of her character in the game. The green-skinned Orion temptress. For everyone playing, she was sure it was treated as a bit of harmless titillation. But for her, it was a very unhappy reminder of her time in the Syndicate. When she really had dressed and behaved not a million miles away from that. And not of her own volition.

For all she had done since escaping the Syndicate, and her recent progress in her personal life with her budding long-distance relationship with the Bajoran Juna Erami, she still felt the shadow of her time there on her soul.

“Could be worse,” Sunek offered, oblivious to her momentary strife, “Could be wearing a set of dorky robes like my character.”

Both Denella and Natasha turned to shoot looks that could kill at the Vulcan.

“Really?” Natasha fired back, “This is the hill you want to die on? And I mean literally die.”

Sunek went to respond, but he managed to find enough self-awareness to recognise the looks and elect not to push his luck on this particular issue.

“Guys,” Jirel said, “Come on, we can do this. It’s just a stupid holosuite program. And we’re the best crew in the galaxy, right?”

He looked around the table, at a sea of deeply unconvinced faces.

“Fine, I’m in,” Sunek shrugged, “There’s no way I want the whole quadrant thinking I don’t have a sense of humour.”

“I guess I’m in as well,” Denella sighed, “But if we lose, I’m revisiting that whole ‘torpedo to the computer core’ idea.”

Klath paused for a moment and affixed a particularly scathing grimace to his face. But he eventually nodded in affirmation as well. Everyone then waited patiently for the final member of the crew to reach a point of acceptance.

“This,” Natasha said eventually, “Is a really, really stupid idea.”

“All our ideas are really, really stupid,” Jirel pointed out with a smile, “But as ever, it’s the best we’ve got. And we can definitely win this.”

The others forced themselves to look a little more positive about their chances, even as Jirel sat up a little straighter in his chair and continued.

“Plus, I’ve been doing a few extra push-ups lately, and I really think my chest is—”

“You have to stop,” Natasha sighed.

“Right,” the Trill nodded back.

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

“This is a stupid idea.”

Martus Mazur paced around Trolow’s office, as the Wadi administrator sat calmly behind his desk, working at a computer terminal.

“I mean,” the El-Aurian continued to rant, “You people are far too obsessed with games. You try to solve all your issues with games. It’s so annoying!”

Trolow shrugged in appeasement, and continued to work.

“I already told you we’re covered legally. You don’t need to offer them anything. But instead, you’re risking all of the profits we’re making on some stupid game?”

“Games are fun,” Trolow pointed out simply.

“And if they win, you’ll actually delete the whole program?”

“Of course. Because they won the game!”

“Well that’s idiotic,” Mazur scoffed, “You’d be throwing away enough latinum to buy yourself half the sector, once we get the franchise rights sorted.”

Trolow paused his work and patiently looked up at the unhappy El-Aurian.

“Mr Mazur, as I have tried to explain to you so often, the Wadi do not see material wealth as the ultimate goal in life. It is a means to an end, so long as we can enjoy our—”

“Your games,” Mazur finished on his behalf, “Yes, I’m starting to understand what you meant by that now. Unfortunately.”

The professional con artist paused in his pacing and regarded the man behind the desk. Not for the first time in his long and ever-dubious career, he wondered whether he had gotten into a scheme with the wrong business partner.

“You could at least let me help out with that,” he continued, gesturing at the computer terminal that Trolow was working on.

The administrator looked up with a knowing glint in his eye.

“The Wadi alone will be responsible for the rules of the game,” he countered, “No outside input from anyone else. That way, we ensure…fairness.”

“I resent that implication,” Mazur responded witheringly, “I wasn’t going to try and cheat. Just…spice up the game a little bit. We’re risking a hell of a lot more than they are on all this.”

“The game will be interesting enough without your input, Mr Mazur. Trust me.”

Mazur couldn’t help but scowl in response.

In truth, he wasn’t overly concerned about losing. He was sure that the characters in the Captain Jirel program would be suitably overpowered compared to their real world counterparts. But still, he’d seen enough of this particular crew back on the Makalite planet to know that he would be wise not to completely underestimate them. Especially if he wanted to keep this latest source of latinum rolling on.

So, he left Administrator Trolow to work on making the game fair. And wondered to himself what changes he might make to the rules of the game when he had a chance to do so.

After all, there were plenty of other computer terminals on Markon V.

Robert Bruce Scott · Sunday at 7:33 AM

Liking the presentation of Wadi culture. Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Monday at 7:56 PM

Part Two (Cont'd)

The five members of the Bounty’s crew walked down the busy main promenade of Markon City’s main holosuite complex. This time, none of them were paying any attention to the adverts all around them. Or to the number of stares they were getting from passing pedestrians, now they knew why everyone was staring.

At least, none of them were apart from Sunek.

“I mean, this is kinda cool?” the Vulcan said, still trying to keep a positive spin on his trip to Markon V, “We’re kinda like celebrities.”

“I have no wish to be a…celebrity,” Klath grumbled.

“Seconded,” Denella added.

“Guys, come on,” Jirel jumped in, “We’re nearly there. And then all we’ll be famous for around here is as the people who beat this stupid program and got it deleted forever.”

To Jirel’s side, Natasha felt the knot in her stomach tighten slightly.

“The fact that you’re so optimistic about our chances is making me really anxious, just FYI.”

Jirel didn’t break his stride, but he couldn’t help but glance back at her with a cheeky edge to his smile.

“I’m serious. We’ll be fine. And what is it I say in that program? ‘Don’t worry, gorgeous, you’ll be back in my arms in no time’—”

“You even think about trying to make that a thing, and I’ll break both of those arms of yours. Then I’ll take you back to the medical bay and fix them. And then I’ll break them again.”

Jirel deferred to her with a nod, and they walked on. Until their path was blocked by three gangly, excited young Wadi.

“Oh. My. God,” one of the boys gasped.

“Y—You were right! It’s them!” the other stammered.

“What did I tell you?” the sole girl of the group nodded, just as excitedly.

The quintet of Bounty crewmates stared at the unwelcome appearance of what appeared to be an impromptu fan club. And the three Wadi youngsters stared back.

Denella noted with a mixture of discomfort and anger that both of the male Wadi were staring straight at her. And despite the modesty offered by the baggy overalls she was wearing, she also noted that neither was even attempting to make eye contact.

Meanwhile, the female Wadi took the bold act of stepping towards Klath, holding out a small padd in a shaking hand and gazing up at the Klingon with star-struck awe.

“Um, I’m sorry for asking, but…could I have your autograph?”

Klath glared back down at the young girl with no attempt to disguise his disdain.

“My what?” he snapped.

As the Wadi girl shrank back slightly, Sunek took the chance to step forward with a grin and gesture for the padd.

‘Hey, adoring fan, you can have my autograph.”

“No thanks,” she replied, shaking her head dismissively and keeping her awe-struck attention on the Klingon, “I like Klath. Sunek’s…kinda boring.”

“Ugh, see?” the Vulcan snapped at his colleagues, “It’s those stupid robes! How dare Martus Mazur invent a universe where Klath’s cooler than me! Have you ever heard anything so stupid in all your—”

“Shut up, Sunek,” Natasha fired off, with none of her usual patience.

As the Vulcan continued to grumble to himself, Jirel offered a friendly smile to the three Wadi.

“I’m guessing from…all this that you’re familiar with a certain holosuite program?”

“Not just that,” the girl smiled back, finally tearing her attention away from Klath, “We’re your biggest fans! I’m Calla, and this is Devro and Jarro.”

The two male Wadi finally wrestled their own attention away from Denella’s overalls, and stepped over to their friend’s side, looking equally delighted with what was happening.

“W—We’ve played every game a dozen times or more,” Devro beamed, “A—And we’ve nearly completed all the bonus quests!”

“Is that so?” Jirel replied awkwardly, “But, I mean—”

“And we know some people are saying that it’s starting to get derivative, but we think it’s just as good as ever,” Jarro nodded, “Well…except for Adventure Thirty-Seven. A group of renegade space hippies steal Sunek’s brain.”

“Steal my what?!” the Vulcan snorted incredulously.

“Surprised they could find it,” Denella muttered under her breath.

“Ok, I heard that—!”

“But,” Jirel persisted to the excited teenagers, “You know that’s not us, right? I mean, it’s just a holosuite program. They’re not real people. Even if some of them look quite similar to how we look in real life—”

“Jirel,” Natasha sighed.

“Never mind.”

The trio of Wadi watched the bickering crew with some confusion, but their generally delighted expressions showed no signs of shifting.

“I mean,” Calla replied, “We know they’re…just games. But it’s kinda well known that all the best holosuite programs are based on real people.”

“It is?” Denella asked, repressing another spike of anger as the attention of the two boys returned straight to her the second she spoke.

“Yeah,” the female Wadi continued, “It’s just sort of become a thing. The writers of the programs have learned how to do just enough to make the characters different enough to avoid any sort of legal issue, while still having enough real-life information to make them believable.”

“Well,” Sunek continued to grouch, “If Mazur thinks turning me into some sort of lame robe-wearing dork is gonna stop me from taking legal action, then he’s got another thing coming—”

“Actually,” Jarro cut in, tearing his attention away from the irritated Denella for a moment, “It can be hard to tell just how much they made up in these stories. I mean, is it true that the Bounty can reach Warp 17?”

“Do the numbers even go up that high?” Natasha asked with genuine curiosity.

“Ah, no,” Jirel answered, “More like Warp 7 with a strong tailwind.”

“Um, also,” Devro added, his focus still on Denella, “I—In Adventure Fourteen, The Curse of the Romulan Tomb, Denella uses a phased electron beam to crack open the final lock in the Pyramid of Praetor Novus. But…wouldn’t a phased polaron beam have made more sense?”

The Orion blinked a few times at the Wadi youth in bemusement.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Meanwhile, Klath noticed that Calla had stepped back over to him, staring up at the hulking Klingon with renewed awe.

“What?” he growled angrily, flashing her fangs at her.

She flinched slightly at the display of aggression towards her, but didn’t step back. Which surprised Klath a little.

“S—Sorry,” she managed, “It’s just…Klath’s my favourite character, you see. He’s so strong, and powerful, and when I grow up, I wanna be a warrior, just like—”

She was stopped by the Klingon leaning down towards her and growling with significantly more menace than before.

“You will never be a warrior!” he snarled, “You are not a Klingon!”

With an extra snarl for effect, Klath successfully sent Calla scurrying back to her friends, though with more of a look of disappointment on her face than fear.

Elsewhere in the group, Denella had also reached her breaking point.

“Hey!” she snapped at the two male Wadi, “Either of you two spend another second staring at me, and I’m gonna cut your goddamn eyes out, ok?!”

To emphasise that her threat wasn’t an idle one, she made a show of grabbing her trusty Orion dagger from her belt and waving it at them. Both Devro and Jarro's eyes now boggled for very different reasons than they had been before.

With a slight grimace, and having evidently made a very bad first impression with their Markon V fan club, Jirel led his motley crew onward down the promenade, leaving the three rather shell-shocked young Wadi behind.

As Calla considered Klath’s scathing words and Devro and Jarro pictured the light glinting off Denella’s sharpened dagger, all three of them silently settled on the same unhappy conclusion from their run-in with the Bounty’s real crew.

Never meet your heroes.

Robert Bruce Scott · Monday at 10:55 PM

BountyTrek said:
Never meet your heroes.

As quoted in the final episode of Wednesday, Season 1...

Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Wednesday at 8:19 PM

Part Two (Cont'd)

“Hey! They even got the squeak on the pilot’s seat right!”

Sunek smiled gleefully as he rocked back and forward in his familiar chair at the front of the Bounty’s cockpit, each movement accompanied by a clear squeak from the hinge of the base.

“That’s a really annoying noise,” Denella sighed from her engineering console.

“Yeah,” Jirel smiled from his centre chair, “But at least he stops talking every now and again.”

Sunek stuck his tongue out at the Trill and continued to rock back and forth, as Jirel swivelled around in his own chair and took in the rest of the room.

It was definitely an impressive sight. In as much as it was exactly the same unimpressive sight that he always saw from this vantage point. The Bounty’s dented, battle-scarred cockpit housing the Bounty’s dented, battle-scarred crew. It all felt reassuringly familiar to him. Except, this time, he was actually looking at a facsimile of the real thing. Which was what made it so impressive.

The crew were all real. But the cockpit, the chairs, and indeed the entire Bounty was nothing more than a holosuite recreation, programmed by the Wadi. Programmed down to every last detail. Including the squeak on Sunek’s pilot’s seat.

Jirel glanced down at the tattered fabric of his centre chair and noted that the worn-out material also looked to be an exact copy of the real thing, currently housed back in the real Bounty’s cockpit on the outskirts of Markon City.

He began to feel like it wasn’t just an impressive copy, but a slightly unnerving one as well.

“You should find everything to your liking,” Administrator Trolow’s voice boomed in from all around them, “Our designers have been quite thorough.”

The sound of his voice was a little unnerving as well. It was filtering in via a comms link, as usual. But with Trolow being external to the program that was running, his voice was arriving via the holosuite's own comms system, not the fake one in the fake Bounty.

“Seems that way,” Jirel called back with as friendly a tone as he could muster, “I’m surprised they were able to do such a good job.”

“They based the design on the sensor data we have of your vessel from your arrival. Our scans have to be quite thorough. For…security reasons.”

Natasha suppressed another flash of annoyance at this casual comment. Unannounced security scans of approaching vessels was a standard part of galactic travel, of course, but the usual scan was designed to merely look for weapons, contraband and the like. Not to record enough data to produce a perfect facsimile of the entire ship.

She resolved not to look too closely around the rest of the ship, suppressing a shudder at just how many of the crew’s personal lives had been copied along with the cockpit itself.

Showing no signs of having any concern for their privacy, Trolow continued.

“You will find every part of your ship’s controls, weapons and defences have been precisely replicated in the program. No surprises. A fair game.”

As he spoke, Klath began to tap at the weapons controls. He grunted in acceptance at the apparent accuracy of the Wadi’s words.

“And,” Trolow added, “Your opponents have had their own character programs altered in order for them to better understand the rules of the game. And, of course, what’s at stake: Their very existence.”

“Hang on,” Natasha called out indignantly, “Don’t phrase it like that. That makes it sound like we’re the bad guys!”

“Ah,” the Wadi offered cryptically, “Every villain is the hero of their own story…”

“What the hell is that supposed to—?”

“Nat, not now,” Jirel cut in, keeping focused on their task, “We’re all ready to go, right?”

“The game is ready,” Trolow affirmed, “And the rules are simple: Survival. Both ships and crews will be deposited in a playable galactic map. If you are able to defeat them, the Captain Jirel programs will be deleted. If they defeat you, then they will remain property of Markon V.”

“I really don’t like this,” Denella muttered in Jirel’s direction.

“Ok,” Jirel affirmed back to Trolow despite his engineer’s protests, “Let’s go. We’re gonna kick their stupid holosuite-generated asses!”

Trolow let out a chuckle over the comms link. Nobody in the cockpit was able to tell whether it was meant to be good-natured or mocking.

“Very well,” he added after a moment, “Then…let the game begin!”

The comms link went dead, and the view out of the Bounty’s cockpit window switched from the blank white background of the program’s staging area to the inky blackness of space. Without waiting for any further prompt, Jirel snapped straight into his best swashbuckling space captain mode. The one he saved for the worst of emergencies.

“Ok, focus everyone. Sunek, prepare for evasive action. Denella, all power we have to shields and weapons. Klath, get that trigger finger warmed up. And Nat, the second you see anything on sensors, let us—”

“I see something on sensors,” she reported immediately, “Another ship. Closing on our position at…Warp 16?”

“The numbers are definitely not supposed to go up that high,” Denella sighed.

“Sunek, get us out of here,” Jirel called out, “Before they get—”

“They’re here,” Natasha reported again.

The Bounty’s crew watched on as, directly ahead of them, their opponents dropped out of warp in a bizarre explosion of sound and light, quite unlike any switch from warp to impulse speeds that any of them had ever seen before.

And in an instant, the two Bountys met for the first time.

One one side of the curious divide, the tattered weather-beaten form of the thirty year old Ju'Day-type raider. And on the other, the Starship Bounty in all of its glory. A vast, kilometre-long design, with raptor-like wings sweeping around either side of the enormous sharpened edges of the main body, replete with banks of disruptors, torpedo launchers and other more baffling accoutrements.

“Holy crap,” Jirel couldn’t help but report to the others, “That is one ugly-ass ship.”

“One ugly-ass, enormous and heavily armed ship,” Natasha added, “Jirel, I’m with Denella. I really don’t like this.”

“Come on,” the Trill replied, keeping up his swashbuckling side, “We’ve taken down bigger targets than this, right?”

“Name one.”

Jirel paused for a moment, as his swashbuckling side temporarily escaped him.

Meanwhile, Klath was busily tapping at his sensor readouts, reporting back the results with some incredulity.

“Tactical scans indicate they are equipped with sixty-five omni-directional phaser strips, forty twin disruptor banks, a dozen quantum torpedo launchers, and a doubly recursive shield network.”

“And what have we got?” Sunek couldn’t help but offer, “Two dodgy phaser cannons and a micro-torpedo launcher that only fires straight half the time.”

“Why do they even need that big a ship—?” Denella began.

Before she could get any further, they found themselves not only confronted by the Starship Bounty, but by its crew as well.

Out of nowhere, five figures suddenly appeared in the Bounty’s cockpit. Each of the Starship Bounty’s grotesquely distorted characters stood and surveyed their adversaries, as the real Bounty’s crew did the same.

Klath jumped out of his seat and stared up at the sight of the eight foot tall armour-plated version of himself that was snarling down at him through blood-red eyes.

Sunek spun in his chair to see a tall, slender Vulcan in white robes cocking an unimpressed eyebrow in his direction.

Denella glared angrily at the barely-clothed green-skinned woman who opted to drape herself over the edge of her console, winking back at her with relish.

Natasha found herself looking back at a doe-eyed woman in a silver catsuit, who looked a little fearfully back at her.

And Jirel was confronted by the square jaw and bulging muscles of his own distorted avatar, who grinned confidently back at the Trill in the real Bounty’s centre chair.

“Well, well, well,” Captain Jirel boomed out confidently, “So…this is what we’re up against. Hope you don’t mind us dropping in using our new HCI.”

“HCI?” Jirel asked dumbly.

“Holographic Communications Interface,” the dispassionate voice of the alternate Sunek responded impassively, “A most intriguing piece of technology. While our bodies remain onboard our ship, we are able to project a fully interactive image of ourselves up to a range of fifty light years.”

“I don’t like you,” Sunek offered back to his doppelganger.

“How does that even work?” the engineer inside Denella couldn’t help but ask, “And how is that any easier than just using a comms channel?”

“Oh, it works just fine, honey, don’t you worry,” the bikini-clad Orion reclining on her console purred back.

“And it’s better when we get to talk face-to-face,” Captain Jirel added, flashing a smile filled with perfect dentures in the real Natasha’s direction, “Especially when it’s a pretty face…”

Both Natashas reacted badly to this comment.

The one in the dignified plain tunic top gave a withering look back in response to such an agricultural display of flirtation, while the one in the shiny catsuit flashed a look of undisguised jealous rage at the other woman.

“Take your eyes off him!” she spat out, “He’s my man!”

The real Natasha’s withering look gave way to a full-on eye roll as she gestured to the other woman with her hand.

“I’m not—”

As soon as her hand got within three feet of the doppelganger Natasha, she suddenly shrieked and collapsed to the deck below.

“Captain Jirel! Help me! I’m in great peril!”

Natasha’s eye rolling intensified.

“Oh, for the love of—”

“Ok,” the real Jirel managed to butt in, “This is all a lot of fun. But maybe we should, y'know, get on with things?”

“Of course,” Captain Jirel replied, striking an odd heroic pose as he did so, “But you should know that you’re taking on the greatest crew in the galaxy. We’ve battled Tholian marauders, we’ve destroyed entire Klingon battle wings, we’ve even taken down the Breen's central command!”

“Yeah?” Jirel found himself retorting, “Well, just the other week, I pushed an Andorian in a swimming pool. So…” *

He shrank back slightly as his own heroic story failed to quite match the braggadocious claims of his opposite number.

“Come on, team,” Captain Jirel beamed, striking his most heroic pose yet, “Let’s do this!”

To emphasise the importance of his order, the holographic representation of the fake version of Jirel deftly pulled off his vest top, revealing his spotted pecs to the world once again.

“Wh—? Why would you even do that?” the real Jirel uncomfortably scoffed.

Before he could get an answer, the freshly shirtless Captain Jirel and the rest of his crew vanished from wherever they had been posing, snarling, reclining, cowering or meditating. Just as instantly as they had arrived.

“Seriously,” Jirel continued, “Who does he think he’s impressing by doing that all the time—?”

“Jirel,” Natasha called out patiently, “Focus?”

“Right,” he nodded quickly, swivelling back around in his seat to regard the gargantuan scimitar-themed monstrosity ahead of them, “What are they up to?”

“They are charging weapons,” Klath reported urgently, “It appears to be taking them a considerable amount of time to complete that task.”

“Ok. So, we make a run for it?”

“I’ll buy that for a slip of latinum,” Sunek nodded.

“No,” the Klingon cut in again, “We strike!”

“Oh,” the Bounty’s pilot sighed sarcastically, “Of course Captain Hopeless Battle wants to go get us all killed—”

“No,” Natasha cut in, “Klath’s right. We attack.”

Jirel glanced over at the Bounty’s medic, who stared back with deadly seriousness.

“You saw them, right?” she persisted, “They’re a bunch of arrogant, big-headed, horny idiots. And they’re supposed to easily win every fight they get into. Probably none of the enemies in this stupid program have ever attacked first. So they’re overconfident.”

“They have not yet raised their shields,” Klath pointed out to back up her point.

“Besides,” Denella added, “If the dials on that stupid ship out there go all the way up to Warp Eleven, we’re not exactly gonna be able to get away if we turn tail.”

Jirel smiled back at his crew and nodded.

“Ok, insanely aggressive battle plan it is. Sunek, take us as close as you can on a strafing run. Klath, fire everything you’ve got!”

“With pleasure,” the Bounty’s weapons chief grunted.

The tiny Ju’Day-type raider burst forwards towards their enormous foe, as Sunek took them on a skillful tight pass of the Starship Bounty’s weapon-strewn hull. As they skimmed along the underside of the vast craft, pulses of phaser fire shot out from their wing-mounted cannons, followed by a volley of tiny micro-torpedoes slamming into the hull.

The effect was immediate and spectacular. A wave of fiery cascading explosions went rushing across the bigger ship's hull, sending flames and sparks out into space.

“Yeah!” Sunek whooped from the pilot’s seat, “Take that, Stupid Sucky Robe Guy!”

“Nice shooting,” Jirel grinned at Klath, “Sunek, bring us around for another pass, let’s finish these idiots off and—”

“Minimal damage,” Natasha reported suddenly.

“What?!” the Trill spat back, “Minimal damage?! Did you see how many explosions there were? Half their ship’s on fire!”

“I guess a lot of that was for…show,” she shrugged back, “But underneath all those explosions, we barely scratched her.”

Jirel stared out at the burning, but apparently undamaged, Starship Bounty for a second, then sighed and shrugged.

“Ok, fine, we’ll keep going. Sunek, let’s go for a second run. Klath, this time use twice as many—”

“Um,” Denella cautioned suddenly, pointing out the cockpit window, “What the hell is that?”

Jirel followed where she was pointing, and stared in shock.

From out of nowhere, underneath the Starship Bounty’s still-burning hull, something shimmered into existence. A distortion, almost like a transporter effect, gave way to the sight of a gargantuan disruptor cannon that ran almost the entire length of the kilometre-long vessel.

A split-second later, the end of the cannon glowed a fiery red, and sent a fizzing burst of disruptor fire out through the darkness of space.

The Bounty was incinerated in an instant, killing everyone onboard and leaving behind nothing but a scant few atoms of dust.

* - He's not lying. He did do that just the other week.

Robert Bruce Scott · Thursday at 10:45 PM

BountyTrek said:
The Bounty was incinerated in an instant, killing everyone onboard and leaving behind nothing but a scant few atoms of dust.

I recall ending Episode 14 of Star Trek Hunter in a similar fashion - destroying the ship and killing the entire crew...

Thanks! rbs

BountyTrek · 2025-10-10T20:12:41+0100

Part Two (Cont'd)

“Game over.”

The calm voice drifted down from the speaker system in the holosuite’s ceiling.

The five Bounty crew members found themselves standing in the silvery cage-like confines of the empty holosuite, as a peppy and upbeat piece of music kicked in to indicate the conclusion of their holographic entertainment.

“Thank you for playing Captain Jirel and the Starship Bounty,” the voice continued, “Unfortunately, your performance was not strong enough to place you on this month’s high score list. Please try again soon.”

Jirel stared straight ahead for a moment, trying to erase the sight of the burning ball of weapons fire that had torn through his ship a split second ago from his memory. Then, after blinking a few times, he turned back to his equally disorientated crew.

“Well, what the hell was that?!”

Nobody had a specific answer for that. But Denella responded quickest, stalking over to the Trill with an angry glare and pointing a green finger in his face.

“I’ll tell you what that was. That was us losing this stupid game, which you had even more stupidly decided was a good way of getting this stupid program deleted for good!”

“Yeah,” Sunek nodded, pointing his own wiry finger at the Trill, “And now everyone’s gonna see that robe-wearing version of me and assume I’m that lame in real life!”

“Shut up, Sunek,” the Orion growled, “Otherwise you’re gonna need experimental surgery if you ever wanna see that finger of yours again.”

As Sunek hastily retracted his digit from the ongoing debate, Jirel looked around at the unhappy faces of the others.

“W—Well, that’s not my fault!” he persisted, “I didn’t know they’d have some sort of…magic gun!”

“Not a magic gun.”

The quintet of Bounty crewmates turned in the direction of the voice, to see Martus Mazur and Administrator Trolow entering the holosuite now the game was concluded.

“What that was,” Mazur continued with his best and most insufferably smug smile, “Was the Starship Bounty’s new URC.”

“URC?” Natasha asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“Ultimate Replicator Cannon. A thrilling new upgrade the writers have been working on for a future adventure. Capable of scanning any enemy ship, identifying its weaknesses and then replicating the perfect weapon to defeat them. The beta testers are loving it.”

“Well that doesn’t make any sense,” Jirel argued, “And it’s definitely not fair.”

“Plus it’s just bad storytelling,” Sunek added, “If your characters just have some big magic device that can make any weapon they need, where’s the drama? That’d be like having some big weird god-like being making all their enemies disappear just when they think there’s no escape—!” *

“Not now, Sunek,” Jirel muttered quickly.

Despite the protests, Mazur continued to beam back at them, revelling in his victory.

“Well, the important thing is we have a conclusive victory for Captain Jirel and the Starship Bounty. And that means that we’re keeping this program right where it is—”

“Wait.”

Mazur’s gloating smile flickered a tad as Administrator Trolow spoke up.

“What now?” the El-Aurian sighed as he glanced at the portly Wadi.

“That…new weapon. You say it is still in testing?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then why was it in our game?” the administrator argued.

Mazur paused for a moment. A flash of irritation crossed his face as he realised that Trolow wasn’t going to let this one go.

“Well,” he replied eventually, “It will be part of the Starship Bounty universe very soon. And I thought this was the perfect chance to test it against—”

“Those were not the rules of the game,” Trolow chided him.

“Hah,” Jirel nodded, seizing the moment, “See? Mazur cheated, just like he always does. Which means that we won!”

“I didn’t cheat!” Mazur snapped back.

Administrator Trolow lazily stepped over to a control panel on the wall of the holosuite and tapped the screen for a moment or two.

“Hrm,” he grunted, “There were several alterations made to the program after I locked down the parameters of the game yesterday.”

“That’ll be Mazur,” Natasha offered.

“Ok, fine,” the El-Aurian sighed, “I made a couple of…minor alterations. But I assumed it would all be just part of the game. Not a problem.”

“Then why did you not tell me about it?” Trolow fired back at the taller man.

At this, Mazur could offer nothing but a scoff and an abrupt change of subject.

“B—But, this was a dumb idea in the first place! Gambling a latinum-generating machine like the Captain Jirel program on some stupid game? Our crew would’ve won either way, I just wanted to…make sure they did.”

Trolow shook his head at the creator and sighed.

“Well, this is most unfortunate."

“But,” Denella argued quickly, “That means we won, right? Which means this goddamn program gets deleted. Now!”

The administrator considered this, then shook his head.

“No,” he replied, “But it does mean that…this game wasn’t fair.”

The tone of the Wadi’s voice carried enough solemnity to underline just how serious that transgression had been.

“Which means?” Jirel ventured, not entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Trolow’s mouth immediately curved into a happier smile.

“Which means we need a new game!”

Jirel couldn’t see the faces of his colleagues from where he was standing. But he was sure he felt four pointed and annoyed glares being directed squarely at his back.

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

“On your right, Klath!”

The call came at just the right time, as four more Cardassian soldiers came charging out from behind their hiding place.

The enormous snarling warrior dispatched them with aplomb, tearing the first one in half and slamming three of the others into the corridor walls with enough force to leave a substantial dent behind in the metal surface.

Up ahead, a freshly shirtless Jirel thundered a punch straight into the midriff of another Cardassian, his pectoral muscles glinting with sweat as the fight was knocked out of another adversary.

Just behind Klath, Denella fought an equally decisive rearguard, sending a Cardassian tumbling to the ground with a deft thrust of her dagger, and parrying the attack of another by absorbing the hit on the scant sliver of gold armour covering a tiny section of her left hip.

After a few more snarls and punches and thrusts, the corridor was clear, and the trio of figures raced on to the next intersection.

“Ok,” Jirel called to the others, “We just need to get to a turbolift and reach Level 17 of the New Obsidian Order’s top secret moonbase, and there should be a save point. Everyone’s health still holding up ok?”

Klath snarled an affirmation, while Denella checked the readings on a bracelet on her wrist.

“My battle armour's down to fifty-seven percent,” she reported, “Ugh, it’s so hard to deflect some of these hits onto such a small amount of protection!”

As they ran, she stumbled slightly, emitting a fresh groan of frustration in the direction of the matching golden battle attire on her feet as she regained her balance.

“And it’s really hard to run in these heels!”

Klath offered an understanding snarl back, even as they reached the turbolift and shot through the doors as they opened.

Afforded a moment of calm, the shirtless hero, his enormous armour-clad Klingon and the woman in the golden high heels looked at each other.

“So,” Jirel shrugged, “Um, once we save, you wanna play the next level?”

There was a moment of silence, punctuated only by the ongoing alarm sounds as the Starship Bounty’s assault on the New Obsidian Order’s base to recover the Bajoran Scrolls of Kai Opaka continued.

Eventually, Klath growled unintelligibly in response, earning slightly frustrated looks from Jirel and Denella. Seconds later, the huge Klingon’s form shimmered out of existence, leaving behind the altogether less imposing form of Calla.

“Sorry,” she shrugged, “Forgot the voice limitation. Computer, freeze program.”

The alarms ceased as the turbolift froze in place. Jirel and Denella’s forms also disappeared, revealing the forms of Devro and Jarro respectively.

“W—What’s the matter?” Devro asked.

“I dunno,” Calla shrugged, “I guess I’m just not feeling it today.”

“Me neither,” Jarro nodded, “Besides, we’ve played this adventure ten times now.”

“But we’re on for our record score,” Devro pointed out, before gesturing to Calla, “A—And I thought you were happier now you get to be Klath?”

“That’s another thing,” Jarro added, looking uncomfortably at his friend, “I know what Calla means now about playing as Denella. Stop…looking at me.”

“I wasn’t—!” a flustered Devro began.

“You were,” Jarro cut in definitively, “A woman can tell.”

Calla backed up this comment with a firm nod, as Devro squirmed on the spot and backed down from any further attempt at a defence.

“S—So, what?” he said instead, “We’re just giving up on a record score?”

“I guess we are,” Calla shrugged again, “I mean, do you really wanna carry on?”

Devro considered the question for a moment, then reluctantly shook his head.

“I guess not,” he sighed, as he looked around at the frozen program, “It…doesn’t really feel as cool any more, does it?”

The other two teenagers shook their heads in unison. All three of them were still very much smarting from their run-in with the real Bounty’s crew on the promenade earlier.

“Do you think they really hate us?” Jarro asked after a moment.

“N—No,” Devro tried to insist, “I’m sure it was just our fault that they reacted like that, y’know?”

“Klath looked like he wanted to kill me,” Calla muttered miserably.

“So did Denella,” Jarro nodded, flashing a guilty look at the equally guilty Devro.

They stood in glum silence for a few moments. And none of them made an attempt to restart the program, even just to get to the save point that lay at the end of their turbolift journey. Instead, they all turned to one side of the frozen scene, as Calla called out again.

“Computer, end program and exit.”

The trio of Wadi walked through the holosuite door that appeared in front of them, now all feeling less like a heroic crew than ever before.

And the Bajoran Scrolls of Kai Opaka remained in the hands of the New Obsidian Order.

* - Obviously there's no way that sort of silly deus ex machina solution would play out for the real Bounty crew. Ahem.

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

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