Star Trek: Bounty - 205 - "Zen and the Art of Corvallen Shuttlepod Maintenance"

BountyTrek · Jul 12, 2025

Hello.

Another ‘adventure’ from the ‘annals’ of ST: Bounty is just about ready to go, you’ll be pleased, disappointed or entirely uninterested to hear.

As with most Bounty stories, it should hopefully work as a standalone tale without having to catch up with the previous 17 tales (and, I’m reliably informed, 660,000 words and counting :eek:

). But as a general refresher/catch-up, the Bounty Story Index is here and this story in particular picks up a plot thread/story arc established in Star Trek: Bounty - 111 - "Love, but With More Aggressive Overtones" which might be worth some background reading.

As ever, I 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
2.05
“Zen and the Art of Corvallen Shuttlepod Maintenance”

Prologue

Orion Free Traders Colony, Orpheus IV
Earth Year 2359

“Gisjacheh!”

The Orion expletive echoed out around the confines of the workshop space loudly enough to rattle the metal frames of the walls.

Denella came rushing in from outside, as if the familiar curse had been a red alert siren. The teenager raced across the mostly-empty interior space of the building, already knowing the precise source of the sound.

“Father?” she called out as she reached the single vehicle standing frozen in place on the far side of the workshop.

The Corvallen shuttlepod was a particularly sleek design. An early 24th century model, and one that was highly regarded amongst Corvallens and collectors alike. The small cockpit and habitation section was a flattened ovoid shape with a front nose that tapered to a sharp point. Twin curved wings sprouted off from the rear of the body for atmospheric flight, and two tightly-slung warp nacelles were located right on the underside of the craft.

It was a handsome vessel, prized for both its looks and speed, and also for its rarity.

Only a few hundred versions of this particular design had ever been made by a famed boutique shipmaker. And most had subsequently been scrapped by the Corvallens themselves, who lived in a region of space with limited raw materials that necessitated wide-ranging recycling policies.

This particular somewhat tattered example had arrived in Rayo's workshop several weeks ago after he had purchased it at an auction in a neighbouring Free Trader system. And, while such a rare and collectable ship was a potential goldmine for Rayo and his family once it was fully restored, right now it was proving to be little more than a major headache for both the engineer and his budding engineer of a daughter.

Ever since it had arrived, their repair efforts had run into endless problems. The unfamiliar design, coupled with old and worn-out components, a lack of freely available spare parts and some not especially careful previous owners, meant that this was becoming a particularly complicated restoration project. And one that Rayo seemed determined not to leave alone for any length of time at all.

“I thought we’d agreed to call it a day for today,” Denella persisted as she reached the stout pair of legs sticking out from underneath the main hull of the pod, “What is it you always say? A good meal and a good rest will give you fresh eyes for your problems?”

Rayo squirmed slightly underneath the pod, his left hand reaching down and grabbing a coil spanner from the ground next to his leg.

“I know,” the muffled voice of her father came back, “It’s just these damn impulse engines. I thought I’d try recalibrating the coil inducers again.”

Denella sighed patiently and playfully kicked his leg with her sandal-covered foot.

“We’ve already recalibrated them four times,” she pointed out, “And we’d decided that we’d just have to replace the whole assembly. Tomorrow.”

She added the final word with a pointed insistence that Rayo couldn’t help but smile at. As much as his fourteen year old daughter was following in his footsteps, work-wise, she could still sound just like her mother when it was time to tell him off for being a fool.

“I know,” he replied as he worked, “But this time, I wanted to try rerouting the power flow through the secondary—”

His explanation was cut off in its prime by a sharp bang. Followed by a wisp of smoke curling out from underneath the shuttlepod. Followed, inevitably, by another expletive.

“Gisjacheh!”

Rayo reluctantly slid himself back out from underneath the hull and saw his daughter’s amused face as she looked down at him with her arms folded in front of her.

“You know,” she smiled patiently at her foul-mouthed father, “You really shouldn’t be teaching your daughter words like that.”

Rayo clambered back to his feet and dusted down his filthy brown overalls, the green skin on his face smeared with dirt.

“If you’re going to be an engineer, you’re going to need to learn words like that.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Absolutely,” Rayo nodded as he wiped his hands on a cloth, “Any engineer worth their salt should be able to swear in at least six different languages.”

The sound of Denella's laughter filled the confines of the workshop.

The building itself was a relatively new addition to Rayo’s business. Built by father and daughter together two summers ago to help protect whatever projects they were working on from the elements of the Orpheus IV colony outside. It was a large enough workspace to house two or three different shuttles or pods at once, depending on their size. But for the moment, only the troublesome Corvallen vessel was taking up space.

“Ok,” Denella sighed eventually,” If you really want to do something before supper, maybe we can finish stripping down the port sensor housing before—”

“Oh no,” Rayo countered with a shake of his head, gesturing to the light summer dress she had changed into, “You’ve taken your overalls off, so no more work for you today. Do you have any idea what your mother will do to me if you ruin another outfit?”

Denella stifled another laugh, recalling the ashen look on her mother’s face when she had walked into the house a few days ago, wearing a previously pristine dress that was now covered in several thick streaks of dirt from her sudden and impromptu decision to fix one of the pod’s burned-out plasma relays.

“Besides,” he continued with a tired sigh, “You’re right. Best we come back to all this in the morning after we—”

He paused for a moment and suddenly looked a little weak, reaching out a hand to support himself on the shuttlepod itself for a bit of stability.

“Are you ok?” Denella asked, placing her hand on his other arm with concern.

Rayo took a deep breath, then nodded his head and smiled.

“Just a little light-headed, that’s all.”

“You’re working too hard,” Denella chided him, still with an edge of worry.

“We’ve got to work hard with this one,” he countered, “If we don’t get those impulse engines working, we’re not gonna get half the price we deserve for this thing.”

Denella knew he was right. As rare and collectible as the Corvallen shuttlepod was, most collectors would rightly want to negotiate a hefty discount for any example still requiring complex repair work. And having paid a decent amount for it at the auction in the first place, she knew that her father was determined to maximise their profits from this one.

Hence why the broken impulse engines, and the problematic coil inducers, were causing both of them so many headaches.

Rayo noted the continued worry on his daughter’s face, and stood back up tall to reassure her of his condition.

“It’s ok, Denella. Must’ve just stood up too fast. Now, I guess I should get myself cleaned up before supper, hmm?”

She looked at his grimy overalls and dirty face and pictured her mother’s reaction if he showed up at the meal table like that.

“If you know what’s good for you,” she nodded with a more relaxed chuckle.

Rayo laughed back, before turning back to regard the frustratingly un-repaired shuttlepod next to them with a slight grimace.

“And then tomorrow,” he added, “We can take another look at those coil inducers. I tell you, I’m gonna get this thing flying again if it’s the last thing I do.”

“We’ll both take a look, together,” Denella reminded him, “So you can stop thinking about overworking yourself, ok?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” the burly Orion man replied, snapping a sharp salute at his daughter for good measure.

She laughed again, before walking back out of the workshop. She could already smell the flavours of supper drifting over from the open kitchen window, as her mother worked tirelessly on a considerably more practical project of her own.

Rayo watched his daughter leave, then gathered up the tools from the ground next to him and carried them back over to the workbench along the back wall of the room. He spent some time diligently returning each tool to its designated spot on the bench, or in the storage cupboards below, or the shelves higher up on the wall. Just like a good engineer should do, making sure everything would be readily available next time he needed it.

As he worked, his mind again raced with possible solutions to the perplexing case of the seemingly irreparable impulse drive, trying not to worry too much about what he might do if he really couldn’t repair it, given the latinum he’d spent to acquire the ship in the first place.

A stray thought crossed his mind, and he felt a sudden engineer’s urge to return to the underside of the vessel to pursue his new theory. But just as he was about to get back to work, he caught the scent of supper and remembered his daughter’s words. And decided it could wait until the morning.

He slipped one tool from the workbench into his pocket, and then slipped off the dirty overalls and hung them up in the storage locker to one side of the bench. Then, clad in the t-shirt and knee-length shorts he had been wearing underneath, he set off for the sonic shower back in the house.

Halfway across the expanse of the workshop, he stopped in his tracks.

Orions, particularly the males of the species, were singularly strong as far as humanoids were concerned. Which was often a huge benefit, given how tough and violent the galaxy could be. But it could also be a hindrance when it came to simple medical conditions. Causing otherwise strong and healthy Orions to completely ignore or miss any warning signs of a deeper physical issue inside themselves.

Rayo had never even considered that his moment of light-headedness when he had stood up earlier was anything more significant than a spot of tiredness until he felt the sudden searing pain in his chest consume him.

He fell to the ground, and slumped down next to the still-unfinished Corvallen shuttlepod.

Outside, Denella was halfway back to their family home, taking her time as she enjoyed the evening sunshine over the colony, when she heard the thud from back in the workshop. She turned back around to the building in confusion.

“Father?” she called out, with a wry smile as she wondered what new curse word she was about to hear this time.

There was no reply.

She took a step back towards the workshop, now a little concerned.

“Father…?”

She waited for a response.

But all she got back was a deathly silence.

Note: Rayo first appeared (also in flashback) in the Prologue of Star Trek: Bounty - 104 - "It’s Not Easy Being Green".

Robert Bruce Scott · Jul 14, 2025

Off to a heart-stopping start! rbs

BountyTrek · Jul 14, 2025

Part One

“I’m telling you. It doesn’t feel right.”

Jirel, the Bounty’s de facto captain, folded his arms where he stood in the middle of his ship’s cockpit, holding his ground in the ongoing debate both literally and metaphorically.

From behind her engineering console at the back of the room, Denella stared back at the unjoined Trill’s insistent face and maintained her own position.

“Honestly,” she sighed, “Nobody touched it.”

Jirel still didn’t look convinced by this statement, regardless of how true it might have been.

“Well, can you at least take a look at it? Give it a quick check-up?”

“Jirel,” the Orion replied patiently, “I’ve got a whole bunch of things on my maintenance list right now. The starboard thruster controls need refitting, the landing struts are overdue a check-up for fatigue and the environmental controls in the guest cabin are playing up. So I really don’t have time to waste on your…problem.”

The Trill sighed and stepped forwards, gently rocking his tattered centre chair back and forth.

“Something’s just different about it, that’s all. Ever since I got back. I’m sure you did something to my chair.”

The debate, such that it was, had sprung up as the Bounty was cruising to Irtok IV. On their way to ferry their former crewmate Zesh back to the Ferengi colony there. Jirel was insistent that, ever since he had returned to the Bounty a few weeks ago, his chair in the cockpit had felt different somehow. And he was equally sure that there was more to the mystery than his engineer was letting on.

With some reluctance, he sat back down and shifted his weight around in the seat.

“No,” he continued with a shake of his head, “It’s definitely not the same. Is it a new chair—?”

“Oh my god,” Denella sighed in frustration, “It’s the same chair, Jirel!”

At the front of the cockpit, Sunek, the Bounty’s oddly emotional Vulcan pilot, spun around in his seat with his usual grin on his face. Ready and willing to add to the growing minor conflict, for his own entertainment if nothing else.

“Maybe it’s just you,” he offered, gesturing to the Trill with a wiry arm.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, y’know, I’ve just noticed that you look like you put a bit of weight on while you were away—”

“I absolutely did not!”

Jirel instinctively dropped a defensive hand to his belly, as Sunek’s grin widened a tad.

“I mean, not a massive amount of weight or anything,” he continued with a casual air, “But I guess you’re looking a bit…podgy.”

“Podgy?!”

“Yeah. Podgy.”

Jirel’s face scrunched into a bemused snort, as he patted his stomach and glanced over at Klath, the Bounty’s Klingon weapons chief.

“Psh. Podgy. You hear that? I’m not podgy. Right?”

The usually stoically serious Klingon elected to lean into his reputation as he looked the Trill up and down.

“Perhaps,” he offered with a booming voice, “Your sudden change in mass is a side-effect of your temporal experiences?”

Jirel’s scoff hardened into an unimpressed leer, as he cottoned on to the fact that his entire crew appeared to be in the mood to brighten up their boring trip to Irtok IV by winding him up.

He had recovered from the experiences that Klath was referring to, finding a modicum of closure to having met a future version of himself that had been thrown back in time while rescuing the rest of the Bounty’s crew from an out-of-control temporal experiment.*

But an unprovoked attack on his weight was another thing entirely.

Fortunately for his ego, there was one person onboard that was in his corner. From the other side of the room, Natasha Kinsen, the Bounty’s ex-Starfleet medic, piped up.

“Ok, you’ve had your fun. But I’d like to remind our captain that, if anything, your last check-up showed that you’ve actually lost a little more weight than this medical professional likes to see just recently. So keep on that meal plan I set you, and ignore these idiots.”

That definitely seemed more like what Jirel had expected to hear about his physical condition. He thought back to his months away from the Bounty, when he had been entirely lost and confused following Maya Ortega’s death. He had barely been eating, preferring to drink instead.

But now he was back where he belonged. And he felt better for it. Especially, if he was honest with himself, knowing he was back on the same ship as Natasha.

“You’re a real buzzkill doc, you know that?” Sunek griped at her as he spun back around to his controls.

An amused cackle suddenly filled the cockpit, as the previously silent sixth occupant piped up.

Sitting on a fold-out seat next to Denella’s console, Zesh laughed in amusement as he followed along with the latest round of idle banter between the Bounty’s crew.

“Ah, things haven’t changed much around here,” the Ferengi observed, “I’ve missed listening to all of this nonsense.”

Next to him, Denella glanced over with a well-meaning smile.

“You know, if you want to come back onboard full-time, you just have to say. Just make sure to say something nice about our captain’s weight…”

“Hey,” Jirel spun around in his seat, a more relaxed smile now on his face, “As my chief medical officer just confirmed, I have never been more svelte. So suck on that.”

“Part of me would love to come back,” Zesh said with a slightly wistful gaze, “But…if that little mess back on Ferenginar proved anything, it’s that body fat isn’t the only thing that this crew is an expert on losing…”

The businessman inside Zesh stifled an internal grimace at the reminder of the latinum he had lost out on at the recent Tongo tournament he had brought the Bounty’s crew into.

Technically, the latinum had never existed to lose in the first place. The entire tournament had been rigged by the organisers after they had run out of funds.

But it still didn’t make the experience any less painful to recall.†

“No,” he concluded with a firm shake of his head, “I think a nice, safe return trip to Irtok IV is all I need right now.”

“Fair enough,” Jirel shrugged, “But while we’re en route, I’m getting to the bottom of this chair issue. Even if I have to personally review every minute of sensor data from the last—”

He was interrupted by an alert chime from Klath’s console.

“I am detecting a vessel, on a precise intercept course,” the Klingon reported.

“Well,” the Trill sighed, snapping back to business mode, “I’m suitably weirded out. Any ID?”

“It is a small craft,” Klath continued as he glanced over the data coming in, “From the configuration and ident, it appears to be from Varalan Security.”

“Confirmed,” Denella nodded as she double-checked the readings from her console, “It’s an old design, but that’s a Varalan Security Tug alright.”

“Ok. Who pissed off the Varalans while I was gone?” Jirel asked, “I’m looking at you, Sunek.”

“Hey. Not guilty,” Sunek fired back, before scrunching up his face in thought, “I don’t think so, anyway…”

“They’re gaining on us,” Natasha reported.

“We can try outrunning them?” the Vulcan offered, eager for a chance for some more advanced piloting than the cruise to Irtok IV had offered so far.

“Varalan Security have a reputation for being especially persistent,” Zesh cautioned from the rear of the cockpit, “And, not that I’d imagine you have the latinum for it anyway, not particularly susceptible to bribes.”

Jirel pondered their predicament. He didn’t exactly want to become a wanted felon in the eyes of Varalan Security by making a run for it. But equally, he wasn’t sure that wasn’t what they already were given the haste with which they were being intercepted.

Before he could make a decision one way or the other, an automated voice suddenly filled the cockpit over the Bounty’s comms link.

“Unidentified vessel. You are in violation of Code 241a of the Varalan Protocols. Prepare for immediate boarding.”

“Welp,” Sunek quipped, “That’s definitely not a good thing.”

The cockpit immediately filled with the whining sound of an incoming transport.

The ranks of the Bounty’s crew tensed up as one as they turned to where the transporter beam was coalescing. Klath even stood up and assumed a defensive posture, though he resisted the urge to grab his bat’leth from where it was hanging on the wall behind him.

Something immediately seemed off about what was happening, however. Instead of a collection of forms materialising, as might be expected from a boarding party from Varalan Security, there was just a single incoming transporter shimmer.

And when the materialising figure fully coalesced, everyone found that they weren’t staring back at an angry seven-foot Varalan, but a considerably shorter figure.

A Bajoran woman, with a scruffy, close-cropped haircut and a lop-sided smile, wearing a tight grey jumpsuit.

Everyone present, save for the still-confused Zesh, recognised the interloper immediately.

And now it was Denella’s turn to stand from her console. In complete surprise.

“So,” Juna Erami grinned, as her eyes locked knowingly on the Orion engineer, “This is what a girl has to do to get some attention around here.”

Note: Juna Erami made her first appearance in Star Trek: Bounty - 11 - "Love, but With More Aggressive Overtones".

* - As detailed in the three-part opening arc of 'Season Two', concluding with Star Trek: Bounty - 203 - "Three Minutes to Three Minutes to Three Minutes to Midnight".
† - For the full painful recollection, see Star Trek: Bounty - 204 - "Acquire, Evade, Retreat, Confront".

Robert Bruce Scott · Jul 14, 2025

I knew it was Erami from the first sensor reading... Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Jul 16, 2025

Part One (Cont'd)

Even as the transport was taking place, the automated systems of the Varalan Security Tug carried out the instructions that had been left behind. The stocky vessel slowed to match the Bounty’s speed, as it pulled alongside the somewhat larger Ju’Day-type raider, maintaining a safe distance as it did so.

While that little manoeuvre had been happening outside, Denella had simply been staring in shock at the unexpected visitor to the Bounty’s cockpit. The woman now standing in front of her and smiling that unerringly familiar smile.

Juna Erami.

With a palpable pang of guilt, her mind immediately went to the stash of messages that the Bajoran had sent her, on a padd back in her cabin. The ones that she had been sending ever since they had said goodbye to each other back on Kervala Prime, where they had kindled the start of some sort of rudimentary companionship while repairing their ships and fleeing from a gang of murderous Pakleds.

The ones that Denella still hadn’t even found the courage to read, never mind reply to.

She had tried, on any number of occasions. And she still hadn’t figured out what was holding her back. Whether it was entirely the damage that her time enslaved in the Syndicate had done, whether it was her palpable inexperience with genuine romance, or whether it was simply the fact that she wasn’t quite sure if this was the companion she wanted to pursue.

But whatever it was, the messages had remained unread.

Denella stifled another rush of embarrassment as she recalled how she had used the messages to help Jirel get over his recent temporal adventure. Promising to confront her situation if he confronted his.* And yet she had lied to him about that. She hadn’t confronted anything.

A further pang of shame followed as she remembered how she had told Sarina, her childhood friend living back on Corvin III, that she had met someone.† Even though she was too scared to even read one of their letters from the other side of the quadrant.

And now that someone was here, in the Bounty’s cockpit. Smiling at her.

With Denella remaining mute, Jirel took it upon himself to break the silence that had descended over proceedings.

“Um,” he managed to the smiling Bajoran, “Are you…working for Varalan Security?”

Given the Varalan Security Tug silently manoeuvring itself alongside the Bounty outside, it was a valid question.

The grin on Erami’s face widened as she finally tore her gaze away from the shocked Orion to the slightly worried Trill.

“Nah,” she shrugged, gesturing out of the cockpit window to the other ship, “Pretty cool though, huh? Razzik-class, vintage 2325. Still got the original computer interface and everything. Hence my little automated hailing message. Made it a nice surprise.”

“Pretty bold surprise,” Natasha offered, “Klath was about ready to repel boarders.”

The Bajoran glanced at the looming Klingon standing behind the Bounty’s weapon controls and gave him a friendly wave. A gesture reciprocated with a gruff nod.

“I doubt it,” she shrugged, “I saw enough of him back on Kervala Prime to know he’s just a big old pussycat, really.”

The scowl that crossed Klath’s face suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with that comparison.

“Still,” Erami continued, looking back at Denella, “When I saw your registry show up on sensors, I couldn’t resist coming over to…say hi.”

Denella shifted her weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling the attention of everyone in the room on her. Her mouth felt dry, but she just about managed a trace of an awkward smile as she finally croaked out a response.

“...Hi.”

“Hi,” Erami repeated with a chuckle.

Just as another uncomfortable silence threatened to descend, Zesh took a step forward and offered his own thoughts on the current situation.

“I’m…confused.”

Erami glanced at the stout Ferengi, noticing him for the first time since her impromptu arrival.

“Huh,” she offered, “You’re new.”

“Just a passenger,” Zesh clarified, “A friend of this group of idiots. And you are?”

“Juna Erami,” replied Juna Erami, offering the Ferengi a handshake, “Though I thought someone might’ve mentioned me.”

She didn’t look at Denella specifically when she said that. But it didn’t stop the Orion from squirming again at the slightly playful implication.

“But,” the Bajoran continued, looking back to Jirel, “I’m glad I found you. Cos, if you wanna make a bit of latinum, I could use a bit of help from that incredibly smart and talented engineer of yours.”

“Must have the wrong ship. Denella’s our engineer—”

“Shut up, Sunek,” Jirel cut in, “What sort of help? And, um, how much latinum?”

Erami smiled again and gestured back in the direction of the Tug she had arrived in.

“That isn’t mine. I’m delivering it. Been working for this super-rich Andorian in the next sector over, one with some very deep pockets. She’s got this huge estate and a collection of dozens of old ships and shuttles. I’ve been helping her out, fixing some of them, picking others up for her. But…there are a few repairs that are way beyond my skill set.”

She paused and glanced back at Denella.

“But definitely not beyond yours.”

The Orion managed to take the complement with a slight nod, still feeling entirely unsettled by the situation that she had suddenly found herself in.

“So,” Erami continued, seemingly unconcerned by the very same situation, “If you can get one or two bits of her collection all ship-shape, she’ll make it worth your while, financially-speaking.”

“Um,” Denella managed, “I—I mean, we’ve got to get Zesh home, and—”

“Well, hang on,” the Ferengi cut in quickly with a glint in his eye, “When you say that this boss of yours will make it worth our while, you mean…all our whiles, right?”

Erami shrugged and nodded back.

“She’s very generous about these things. A proper 24th century philanthropist.”

“Hmm,” Zesh chuckled at this information, “Well, given the circumstances, I think we can postpone my return to Irtok IV for a few days at least. At least I’ll make back some of that latinum you cost me in that Tongo tournament, Jirel.”

“Hey,” the Trill replied, “That was nothing to do with me. Blame Peppy McStarfleet over there.”

His grin and gesture towards Natasha was met with the expected withering look in return.

“I regret nothing,” she affirmed about her efforts to uncover the attempt to fix the Tongo tournament that Zesh had brought them to back on Ferenginar, alongside a newly-qualified female agent for the FCA.

“Still,” Jirel continued, looking back at the Bajoran, “I guess that means we’re in.”

“Perfect,” Erami replied, “Just follow me.”

She began to make a move for the Bounty’s transporter room to organise her return to the Varalan Tug, then stopped herself and smiled at Denella again.

“Hey, seeing as we’re all heading in the same direction, wanna check out a vintage Varalan Security Tug? I’ll even let you work the siren.”

Inside, Denella wanted to do anything other than that. In fact, she had an overwhelming urge to run away and hide in her cabin, to try and escape. To avoid the lies that she’d managed to tell about this whole situation. And to avoid confronting whatever she actually felt for the Bajoran in front of her.

But she knew that wasn’t really an option. And she silently cursed the fact that, along with all of that, the engineer in her really wanted to look around a vintage Varalan Security Tug.

So she mustered another nod, and as much of a smile as she could manage.

Erami nodded happily and headed towards the Bounty’s transporter room, descending down the steps at the back of the cockpit. As Denella went to follow her, Jirel stepped over to her and muttered a question as surreptitiously as he could while the others returned to their duties.

“I thought you said you’d talked to her?”

Denella suppressed a fresh wince, and shot him a look that convinced him it would be best to drop that particular subject.

“Not now, Jirel,” she whispered back, to underline that fact.

The Trill held his hands up in defeat and let the Orion leave with a look of concern. As he turned back towards his chair, he saw that Klath was still standing, looking a little confused.

“What,” he grunted eventually, “Is a…’pussycat’?”

Jirel and Natasha exchanged a quick glance.

“Um,” the Trill replied, “It’s…an Earth creature. Really scary. Nasty. Fierce things.”

“Yep,” Natasha nodded, “Sharp claws. Big fangs. Hunters, really.”

Klath considered this explanation, then nodded and sat back down. Looking a little happier with the comparison than before.

* - As seen in Jirel and Denella's sub-plot in Star Trek: Bounty - 204 - "Acquire, Evade, Retreat, Confront".
† - As seen in the Epilogue to Star Trek: Bounty - 201 - "Something Good Happened Today".

Robert Bruce Scott · Jul 16, 2025

Some really great banter in this scene:

BountyTrek said:
“Must have the wrong ship. Denella’s our engineer—”

“Shut up, Sunek,” Jirel cut in,

BountyTrek said:
“Hey,” the Trill replied, “That was nothing to do with me. Blame Peppy McStarfleet over there.”

BountyTrek said:
“What,” he grunted eventually, “Is a…’pussycat’?”

Jirel and Natasha exchanged a quick glance.

“Um,” the Trill replied, “It’s…an Earth creature. Really scary. Nasty. Fierce things.”

“Yep,” Natasha nodded, “Sharp claws. Big fangs. Hunters, really.”

Delightful! I sense the intergalactic feline distribution continuum will soon issue Krank a housecat...

Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Jul 18, 2025

Robert Bruce Scott said:
I sense the intergalactic feline distribution continuum will soon issue Krank a housecat...

A warrior's pet. :klingon:

BountyTrek · Jul 18, 2025

Part One (Cont'd)

“...And this is the main computer interface. Original buttons and screen.”

Erami gestured across the control panel of the Varalan ship from the forward pilot’s position, with Denella alongside her in the co-pilot’s seat.

It was a relatively spacious cockpit given the small size of the Tug, the dimensions reminding Denella of what she’d seen of the specs of Starfleet’s Danube-class runabout design. Behind the extensive old-school mechanical control panel and the well-worn chairs was a rear area containing a transporter pad to one side and a set of engineering controls to the other, giving access to the recessed warp core of the ship.

Erami’s tour had already taken in the rear section of the stocky craft, containing a small rest area for the crew and a secure detention facility for any ne’er-do-well that the two-person crew had picked up on their patrol. And now, she was finishing off her whistle-stop tour of the cockpit, even as the ship itself warped on towards their destination, with the Bounty close behind.

“And here, we have…”

The Bajoran paused as she pointed to the next bank of controls, then shrugged.

“Actually, I have no idea what that does. Probably not gonna touch that. But this is the, um…”

She unsuccessfully grasped for an explanation of the next set of controls she had pointed out, before Denella stepped in with a quiet voice.

“That’s the secondary power transfer control,” she affirmed, gesturing across the other sections of the console with an engineer’s eye, “Warp intermix regulator, impulse control, sensor display, emergency comms unit—”

“Ok, so you knew what all of this was anyway, and you were just letting me make an ass of myself trying to explain it all?”

Denella glanced at the wry smile on the Bajoran’s face and managed to match it with a shrug and a slight smile of her own.

“I mean…you got most of it right.”

“Huh. Well, that’s something I guess. So, what do you think?”

Erami gestured around the confines of the Tug, her impromptu tour now apparently at an end, as Denella looked around and nodded.

“Yeah. Impressive collector’s piece. She’s in really good condition, for her age.”

“Just like her pilot,” Erami grinned, as she jumped out of the pilot’s seat and paced over to the recessed replicator in the wall to order a pair of raktajinos.

Denella watched her, feeling more relaxed the longer she was spending in her company, though still a little unnerved. It hadn’t escaped her attention that Erami had been entirely focused on her scattergun tour of the ship since they had arrived, showing off the Tug in all of its historic glory. She hadn’t even hinted at the messages she had sent, nor the complete lack of response.

And that was continuing to unsettle her.

Part of her wanted to just ignore it. To keep the conversation focused on the Tug. She was on safe and comfortable ground there. Engineering talk was her forte, after all. But she could also feel the unspoken conversation hanging over them like a choking fog. And she couldn’t understand why Erami seemed to be avoiding it so casually.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the Bajoran offered as she returned with the raktajinos and handed one to the Orion.

For a second, Denella felt herself tense up, and she questioned whether her companion was actually part-Betazoid.

“You’re wondering what happened to the Kendra.”

Denella breathed out in relief. Not part-Betazoid.

The Kendra had been the designation of the Ferengi shuttlepod that Erami had been piloting when Denella had first met her on Kervala Prime. A beaten-up old Na’Far-class vessel that had been riddled with plenty of engineering challenges of its own. But also one that had kept them alive as they had fended off a ship full of angry Pakleds inside the Kervala Nebula.

“Well,” Erami continued as she sat back down, “I’m afraid that the Kendra finally went to the big shuttlebay in the sky. And I know you engineers get emotional about that sort of thing, but don’t worry, I gave her a proper funeral. Full honours.”

Despite herself, Denella mustered a wider smile. But she could still feel the pressure of the unspoken conversation between them, even if Erami remained outwardly oblivious.

For a moment, they sipped their coffees in silence. Then, reluctantly, Denella took a deep breath and decided to try and find a way through the fog.

“So, um, I guess…we should talk. Right?”

“About what?”

Erami’s immediate, breezy response threw Denella off completely. She wasn’t quite sure what sort of reaction she’d been expecting, but that sort of offhand reply hadn’t been on her shortlist.

“Um,” she managed, doing her best to rescue her train of thought, “A—About the messages you sent. And, um, I mean, I’m sorry I never replied, it’s just—”

“Hey, don’t worry about that. It’s cool.”

Erami’s second casual response in a row stopped Denella in her tracks. She stared blankly at the other woman as she lounged casually in the pilot’s seat and smiled impishly.

“I take it that means you didn’t get my joke, then?”

“Wh—? What joke?” the Orion managed.

“When I hailed you with the automated system on this thing,” she explained, pointing to the controls in front of them, “I got it to charge you with violating Code 241a of the Varalan Protocols. Know what Code 241a of the Varalan Protocols is?”

Denella shook her head dumbly.

“Failure to respond to a direct communication.”

The Bajoran woman laughed at her own, arguably overly-subtle joke. Then stopped and sighed as she saw the less amused look on the Orion woman’s face.

“Look, seriously, it’s fine. We had fun on Kervala Prime, I sent you a few messages and you…didn’t send any back. I get it.”

Denella continued to stare, lost in a fresh wave of fog.

For a start, while she knew that the definition of ‘a few’ varied wildly across the cosmos, she was pretty sure that no civilisation would consider the dozens of messages that Erami had sent her, without reply, to meet their criteria for the phrase.

And she was also confused by what Erami meant by ‘I get it’. What exactly had she got? Surely, by her not having replied to her messages, she hadn’t given anything to be got?

The Orion shook her head to try and clear her thoughts, feeling the beginnings of a stress headache starting to ferment inside her head.

Warp cores are so much easier than all this, she sighed to herself.

“I mean,” Erami shrugged, “You know my feelings about…us. But I also understand what you must’ve been through. And I totally get that you’re not ready for anything.”

Denella opened her mouth to respond, and immediately stopped herself.

The truth was that she didn’t actually know how to respond. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for anything or not. She’d certainly suggested as much to Sarina, when she’d told her childhood friend about Juna Erami. She’d told her that she’d met someone. That certainly sounded like she was ready for more than just friendship.

But equally, if she really was ready for something more, then why hadn’t she replied to the messages?

“You ok?” Erami ventured, noting Denella’s continued silence.

“Yeah. I—I’m fine,” she replied, simply adding to the little white lies she’d been telling recently, “It’s just…I dunno. I guess I was expecting an argument.”

Erami scrunched up her already-wrinkled nose at this.

“Do you…want to have an argument?”

“Well I—No. I mean, nobody wants to have an argument.”

“Ok, so we won’t have an argument.”

The developing headache ramped up another level.

“It’s just,” Denella began again, “I—I was going to reply. I was going to send you something, but then…”

Her words tailed off. Because she didn’t really have a good ending for that sentence. What was her reason? Her excuse? Why hadn’t she sent something?

Fortunately, the entirely non-Betazoid next to her offered an answer.

“…You were busy?”

Denella considered continuing her search for a better answer, but ultimately nodded back.

“Don’t tell me,” Erami smiled, recalling all the tales she’d heard of the Bounty’s previous misadventures, “More tribbles?”*

The Orion thought about what had actually been keeping her busy since she last saw the Bajoran on Kervala Prime. As usual, when it came to the Bounty, it was a substantial list. Devious former colleagues. Vengeful, murderous Ferengi. Emotionally-addicted Betazoids. And time-displaced scientific cranks locking them in head-spinning temporal experiments.

In truth, she wasn’t quite sure how to succinctly summarise it all.

“Not tribbles, no,” she managed eventually.

Erami’s smile gave way to a full-on laugh as she took in the obvious implication behind that slightly enigmatic comment.

“Come on then,” she motioned warmly as she hugged her steaming raktajino mug, “I wanna hear all about it…”

So, glad for the distraction from her feelings, Denella started to get her up to speed. And the two of them caught up together, talking for hours and hours as the Varalan Security Tug sped on through space.

As friends.

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

Zesh bounded up the steps of the Bounty’s cockpit, cackling gleefully and rubbing his hands together with relish.

Jirel spun around in his centre seat with a curious look.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” he noted.

“Ah,” Zesh chuckled back, “Why wouldn’t I be? There’s nothing like a good profitable opportunity to bring about a glorious downpour on the sunniest of days.”

Behind his tactical console, Klath thought back to his recent experiences with Ferenginar’s rather damp climate with an unhappy scowl.

Jirel simply offered a shrug back to the gleeful Ferengi.

“I’m not sure we’re gonna get that much latinum just for Denella fixing up some old shuttles, to be honest. Especially split six ways.”

“No, no, not that,” Zesh offered dismissively, “As ever, Jirel, you’re not seeing the bigger and more profitable picture.”

“And I’m assuming you are?”

“Oh yes indeed. You see, I know a thing or two about the antique ship market. And so does Choth, my Markalian contact.”

There was a sea of blank stares around the cockpit at this. Zesh was a little unhappy that nobody had remembered the profit they had been potentially in for back on Nimbus III, when Choth had been prepared to buy the lucrative ranch and its stable water source that he had acquired.

Until the Bounty’s crew had convinced him to give it away to the locals for free in a show of unforgivable generosity.†

“Well,” the Ferengi grunted, “He remembers you…and the latinum you cost us all.”

There was now a flicker of recognition from the others as they caught up. Jirel gestured across to Natasha with an apologetic shrug.

“Again, that was really all her idea—”

“Still regret nothing.”

“Either way,” Zesh continued through the latest round of banter, “I was…fortunately able to smooth things over with Choth after all that. Which is very good news indeed, because he’s a man with plenty of contacts, and he just so happens to have access to a very interesting range of vintage Markalian shuttles…”

“Sounds like a real high roller,” Sunek idly offered with heavy sarcasm from where he lounged in the pilot’s seat.

Jirel ignored that comment, as his face creased into a smile of understanding.

“I see,” he nodded at Zesh, “And you think you’re gonna be able to sell one of them to this Andorian collector?”

“I know I will,” the Ferengi grinned, “I’ve had Choth send over his full manifest, and I’m sure there’s something on there that we can come to an arrangement over. For a fair price. And a healthy finder’s fee for the middle man, of course.”

“Naturally,” the Trill replied, “And…if she’s not interested?”

Zesh’s beaming smile widened even further.

“Ah, as always Jirel, I’m way ahead of you. Because as well as researching what I’ve got to sell, I’ve called in some help to research what the customer might wish to buy.”

He ambled over to where Natasha sat on the other side of the cockpit. She picked up a dented padd and handed it to the Ferengi.

“There you are,” she smiled, “One detailed, if likely non-exhaustive list of the vintage craft currently owned by one Sha’jev Thallis. Our Andorian collector.”

Jirel raised a slightly amused eyebrow at the interaction.

“Who do you work for again?”

“What?” Natasha offered back innocently, “Zesh asked for my help over breakfast. And who doesn’t like doing research? It’s not exactly the way they taught us at the Academy, but I’ve pulled together anything I could find from news pieces, auction records, her own public profile, and so on.”

“Nerd alert,” Sunek called out.

Zesh looked over the information on the padd with evident glee.

“Excellent. Now I just need to spend a bit of time cross-checking Choth’s list against the good doctor’s eager research, and I’ll have just the right pitch for her by the time we land.”

He offered a final victorious look to Jirel as he concluded.

“Rule of Acquisition Number 194: It’s always good business to know about new customers before they walk in your door…”

With that, he turned back to the cockpit steps, eager to get to work. He stopped just short of them and looked back at Natasha with a toothy smile.

“Thank you for doing that.”

Natasha smiled and nodded back at the ever-respectful Ferengi. Then, as he disappeared down the steps, she turned her attention back to the rest of the Bounty’s crew.

“Actually,” she offered, “I’ve done a bit of extra research on this Andorian.”

Jirel paused, midway through swivelling back around to the front of the cockpit, and suppressed a sigh at the latest eager comment from their ever-enterprising doctor. Behind his console, Klath also mentally braced himself, having gotten used to spotting whenever Natasha’s old Starfleet curiosity was about to make an unwelcome appearance.

“Ugh,” Sunek groaned, being entirely less subtle in his own reaction, “Ultra-nerd alert!”

Natasha either didn’t notice, or didn’t acknowledge, the various reactions she had garnered, and pressed on regardless.

“Sha’jev Thallis,” she began, scanning her notes on the screen in front of her, “She’s not just a shuttle collector. She’s a full-on philanthropist, just like Erami said. Earlier this year, she opened a new water treatment plant on Bajor, which she funded entirely out of her own pocket.”

“Doc,” Sunek called out through a theatrical yawn, “Please tell me you’re not opening with your strongest material.”

“What? That’s pretty interesting, no? Someone doing all that just for the common good?”

“She will have had a reason,” Klath grunted with an audible amount of scepticism.

“When did you become such a cynic?” Jirel smiled.

“Shortly after I joined this crew,” the Klingon fired back, with a slight twinkle in his eye.

“I dunno, maybe she did have an ulterior motive,” Natasha shrugged, “Or…maybe she’s just giving back to a galaxy that’s given her so much.”

She scrolled down the screen a little further as she continued.

“She made her fortune in the private shipping trade. Thallis Shipping Incorporated is the fifth largest such company in the Alpha Quadrant. And the only one in the top ten that’s non-Ferengi owned. And it still carries her name even though she retired to her estate on Arvon II and sold the company to a board of investors two years ago. For twenty thousand bricks of gold-pressed latinum.”

Sunek whistled appreciatively at this figure, suddenly finding some interest in Natasha’s research.

“Way to bury the lead, doc. So she’s richer than a month of Liseppian lottery jackpots, and she’s a sucker for giving out handouts to anyone with a good enough sob story? Guys, when we get there, we really need to play up how penniless our poor, pathetic captain is—”

“Shut up, Sunek, “Jirel sighed, looking back at Natasha, “So…you really think Zesh is gonna make his fortune?”

“Well, probably not,” she conceded with a shrug.

“Why not?”

“I mean, it’s us, right? Something’s bound to go wrong at some point.”

Jirel considered this for a moment, then nodded back in acceptance.

Klath’s cynicism was clearly contagious.

* - A reference to the Bounty's adventure prior to their visit to Kervala Prime.
† - A reference to the main plot of Star Trek: Bounty - 105 - "Once Upon a Time in the Beta Quadrant".

BountyTrek · Jul 20, 2025

Part One (Cont'd)

Denella paused in front of the cabin door, her finger hovering over the buzzer.

Not for the first time, she questioned whether this was a good idea.

After a day’s travel, the two ships flying in lockstep throughout, the Bounty and the Varalan Tug were nearing their destination. And for most of that time, Denella had been thinking. And she was now pretty sure she’d come to a conclusion.

Or had she?

Before she could get lost in another train of conflicted worries, she pressed the buzzer firmly.

“Come in!”

The Orion took a deep breath and stepped through the doors.

As she walked into the room, Natasha Kinsen smiled and stood from the desk of her spartan living area, still petting the chirping form of Spotty, the infertile tribble she had adopted several months ago, in her hands.

“Oh,” she smiled, “I thought you were still over with—”

“I beamed back last night,” Denella explained quickly as the doors closed behind her, “To sleep.”

It was the truth. After several hours talking and catching up with Erami onboard the Tug, she had grown tired. And while Erami had offered her space in the small rest area of her ship, Denella had quickly made her excuses and returned to the Bounty. Though, ironically, she hadn’t done much sleeping after all. Her mind had been too much of a whirlwind of thoughts for any of that.

“Um,” she awkwardly continued, “I just wanted—Can I ask a favour?”

“Always,” Natasha nodded, setting Spotty back down inside its cage to graze hungrily on the fresh pile of replicated grain she had placed in there earlier.

Denella relaxed slightly at the human woman’s friendly demeanour, and she pressed on.

“It’s just…when we get to where we’re going, and if I’m going to be doing some work for this Andorian, I—Would you be able to give me a hand?”

Natasha scrunched up her face a little.

“I’m a doctor, not an engineer.”

“I know,” Denella replied, squirming a little where she stood across the room, “But I can…always use some help.”

Natasha remained a little perplexed. She knew her Academy training gave her some basic engineering knowledge, despite her medical specialism. But she also knew, on the rare occasion the headstrong Orion actually asked for help, she was usually at the bottom of her list.

Denella sighed again, seeing that she was going to have to be substantially less subtle to get the help that she knew she needed.

“It’s just…I’m gonna be working with—Erami’s gonna be around, helping me as well. And I just—I’m not sure I—”

Denella paused for a second, again cursing the fact that this wasn’t a simple discussion about warp core maintenance.

“I…think I’d be more comfortable if someone else was there.”

Realisation now dawned on Natasha’s face, coupled with a slight smile of understanding.

“Right,” she nodded, “You want me to be your gooseberry.”

Now it was Denella’s turn to scrunch her face in confusion.

“Sorry,” Natasha continued, “Old Earth expression. Don’t worry, I’ll be happy to help out with your date—”

“It’s not a date.”

The immediate, almost Pavlovian response cast both of their minds back to a similar scene between them back on Kervala Prime. When Natasha had awkwardly misinterpreted the reasons for Denella’s reluctance to play along with her pre-date ‘girly time’.*

That served as another reason for Denella to doubt her decision to involve the human woman in this latest drama between her and Erami. But here she was. And now she was committed to it.

“Sorry,” Natasha shrugged back with a sheepish smile, “Force of habit.”

Denella nodded back in reluctant understanding, then shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

“It’s just, things are still a bit…weird. And I’m not really sure exactly what’s going on between us. And I just don’t—I’d just rather have a friend around, I think.”

“Of course,” Natasha replied, “And of course I’ll help. Though I’m not sure how much use I’ll be with the engineering side of things…”

“I mean,” Denella shrugged again, “I did think about asking Jirel instead, but he’s not exactly subtle. And I thought about Klath, but…he’s not exactly subtle either.”

“For different reasons?”

“Right. And…then there’s Sunek—”

“We’re just not big on subtlety. I get it. We can move on.”

Denella mustered a laugh at this, settling her nerves a little more. Then, she fixed her friend, and now her temporary engineer’s mate, with a more sincere look.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. And don’t worry. I’m not the best engineer, but I’m an excellent gooseberry.”

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

Even from orbit, Arvon II was clearly a lush and bountiful world.

From the cockpit of the Bounty, the crew were able to make out the lush green continents, broken up by dark blue seas. Wisps of light clouds drifted above them in the oxygen-rich atmosphere.

“Nice place,” Jirel mused from his centre chair, glancing over at Klath, “Wouldn’t you say?”

The Klingon glanced over his readouts and shrugged.

“Oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere. Temperate climate across eighty-five percent of the surface. Dense floral vegetation. I suppose it is a…nice place. If you like that kind of thing.”

Jirel snorted in amusement as Klath made it clear in his expression that he wasn’t much for that kind of thing at all.

“I definitely like the sound of it,” Natasha mused, in contrast to the Klingon.

“Psh,” Sunek scoffed from the pilot’s seat, “Give me a nice arid desert any day.”

“Nowhere near enough precipitation if you ask me,” Zesh offered from where he stood.

Denella ignored the light-hearted discussion entirely. She sat at her engineering station, feeling oddly nervous as they waited for the communication they were expecting.

They had arrived in orbit a few minutes ago, and Erami had immediately signalled across from the Tug that they were to hold position for the moment. Then, the Bajoran had taken her own ship down to the surface, to check in with the mysterious Sha’jev Thallis.

In truth, they couldn’t have followed her if they tried. The Tug had de-orbited through a gap in the planet-wide shield grid that the Andorian had apparently had installed. A gap that had disappeared the second the Tug had passed through it.

When you had as much latinum as Sha’jev Thallis had, you tended to keep unauthorised arrivals away from your residence as much as possible.

And so, they waited. And Denella grew more and more nervous.

Not so much about whether they’d be allowed to land. Erami had been clear with them that their clearance would be a formality. More so, she was nervous about working with Erami for the next few days while her feelings were so confused. Even with Natasha as her designated gooseberry.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when Natasha’s panel chimed out an alert.

“Ok, we have landing clearance,” she reported breezily, “Sending the details to your console, Sunek. Aim for the gap in the shield grid, then we’re heading for a coastal area in the northern hemisphere.”

“Right by the sea, huh,” the Vulcan grinned, glancing back at Klath, “Hope you packed your swimsuit, big guy.”

The Klingon met this quip with a typically patient glare, even as Sunek turned back to his controls and gently manoeuvred the Bounty through the invisible gap in the planet’s shield grid and into the upper atmosphere.

It only took a few moments for Sha’jev’s residence to become visible. A vast compound of a home, making no attempt to disguise the wealth of the owner. A three storey mansion was the focal point of the site, angled specifically to give a perfect view out across the pristine ocean. And all around the mansion, the grounds were filled with further evidence of a lavish lifestyle of someone with latinum to spare.

As the Bounty prepared to land, the occupants could make out a large swimming pool coupled with a relaxing poolside area dotted with loungers and a bar area. Further around the grounds was a series of interlocking triangular courts designed for some manner of racquet sport.

Dominating the scene to the non-ocean side of the mansion was the apparent reason for their impromptu visit. A huge dome-shaped transparent aluminium building even larger than the mansion itself that served as a hangar, with an adjacent landing pad.

“Huh,” Sunek mused as they got in closer, “Guess we don’t need to ask where she keeps all those spaceships of hers.”

“Apparently that’s not even the half of it,” Denella replied, speaking for the first time in a while, “Erami told me that there’s a whole underground level to the hangar that’s about twice the size of what you see on the surface…”

Next to the Orion, Zesh couldn’t help but cackle happily.

“A very determined collector, then. All the better to profit from.”

“You think you’ve found something she’ll want, I take it?” Natasha asked.

“More than one. But I think the most likely candidate is a 23rd century Markalian Transport Pod. A particular variant known as the PT-41, the first Markalian ship of that size to have—”

“Warp five capability,” Denella off-handedly muttered.

She glanced over at the Ferengi and mustered a shrug.

“I worked on repairing one of those with my father, a long time ago. But you’re right, they’re definitely a collector’s item.”

Zesh’s grin widened even further.

“And in the almost-perfect condition this particular example is in, a very expensive collector’s item as well.”

Denella nodded back in acknowledgement of that fact, and returned her attention to the view as the Bounty drifted down to land. As they approached the landing pad by the hangar, the Varalan Tug was already parked up. A familiar Bajoran was visible standing next to it.

And the knot in Denella’s stomach made an immediate and unwelcome return.

* - From an early scene in Star Trek: Bounty - 11 - "Love, but With More Aggressive Overtones".

BountyTrek · Jul 22, 2025

Part One (Cont'd)

By the time the Bounty’s crew walked down the rear ramp in their usual disorganised gaggle, Erami had been joined by two more figures.

She stood slightly behind an impeccably-dressed Andorian woman, whose tall and slender figure rather dwarfed the shorter, scruffy Bajoran. Her clothing was also in stark contrast to Erami’s simple jumpsuit. An elegant maroon pantsuit that served to accentuate her warm blue skin and thick white hair, which was tied up in a bob between her waving antennae. A silver necklace hung from her neck to complete the look.

It wasn’t the most ostentatious of outfits, but the fabrics, the style and the simple accoutrements carried the understated dignity of someone very much used to the finer things in life.

It was pretty clear who owned this estate, well before the introductions began.

To the other side of the Andorian woman, the third figure also appeared to need no introduction, but for very different reasons.

Jirel had never really considered Andorians to be a particularly menacing species. Certainly not when compared to burly Nausicaan pirates, or brutish Orion slavers, or even angry Klingons. But he immediately reconsidered that belief as he took in the third figure.

The male Andorian towered over both Erami and Sha’jev. Even from this distance, Jirel suspected he would even have a clear height advantage over Klath.

He was also a man who backed up his height with bulk. Two huge arms protruded from the tunic top he was wearing, which also did little to hide the rest of his muscular frame. His face betrayed signs of a life spent having to use that bulk, blemished and pock-marked with dozens of battle scars.

The sight reminded Jirel of another scarred Andorian he once knew. A one-eyed rogue trader called Thelev, whose path he had crossed on a number of unhappy occasions with the late Maya Ortega.*

He felt oddly guilty at the way that he was now able to recall moments from his life with her without an instant pang of loss. But he still felt something. While his own internal scars had healed, just like those on the Andorian’s face, they had left behind an inedible mark.

Before he got too lost in his memory, the enormous Andorian male suddenly stepped towards them as they reached the foot of the ramp. He held up an enormous paw of a hand which stopped them on the spot. Even Klath felt compelled to reluctantly comply with the unspoken demand. Then, he grabbed a small scanning device from his belt and ran it over each of them in turn, keeping a close eye on the readings.

“Security check,” he boomed out at them, in a voice that was so deep and bassy that Jirel wasn’t sure it wasn’t some sort of artificial projection.

The scanning device reached Klath, just as the Andorian met the Klingon’s unhappy gaze. The two brutes briefly engaged in an impromptu staring contest, before the hulking blue-skinned man continued down the line.

As the scans continued, the Andorian woman stepped forward to offer a more warm and friendly introduction.

“You’ll have to forgive Dashev,” she offered in a clipped and altogether lighter tone, “He’s an excellent head of security, but he’ll never be accused of being a people person.”

If the Andorian wall of muscle took any offence to this, it didn’t register on his features.

“I’m Sha’jev Thallis,” she continued, even though everyone had already assumed as much, “And as dear Erami has already explained to me, I believe I am about to be in your debt.”

“Well, in our engineer’s debt anyway,” Jirel smiled back, “I’m Jirel. This is Natasha, Klath, Zesh, Sunek—”

“Hey, you know our captain here is really, really poor—”

“—Shut up, Sunek. And…this is Denella.”

The Orion felt more than a little conspicuous being introduced like that, but she found that she was instantly reassured when her gaze spotted the smile that Erami was directing her way. And she also noted that Sha’jev’s own attention appeared to be directed at the Bounty behind them, rather than at her.

“Huh,” the Andorian woman nodded as she gazed up at the new arrival on her landing pad, “Now this is very impressive. Very impressive indeed.”

Jirel glanced back at his ship, looking over the familiar weathered and battle-scarred hull made up of a mismatch of differently-hued panels, and then looked back to Sha’jev.

“Really?”

“Of course,” she nodded, “A Ju’Day-type like this must be, what, thirty, thirty-five years old? And it’s still flying, well enough to give six people the confidence to get onboard? Now that’s the sign of a good engineer.”

Denella felt a little conflicted by this statement. She felt some pride at the compliment towards her abilities. But that was tempered with a defensive feeling at the slight against the Bounty itself.

After all, the old girl couldn’t help being an old girl.

“You know,” Erami offered as she stepped up next to Sha’jev, “Denella told me on the way here that this thing literally crash-landed a few months ago. And it’s back up and flying.”

Jirel found himself successfully suppressing a second memory of Sector 374 in almost as many minutes.

“Well,” Denella managed, “That wasn’t entirely thanks to me—”

“And modest as well,” Sha’jev beamed, “My dear, I’m sure you’ll be just what I need. But first, would you care to take a look at my little…collection?”

Denella nodded, then glanced back at Natasha, who nodded as well.

“And as for the rest of you,” the Andorian continued to the rest of the Bounty’s motley crew, “You are all welcome to stay here as my guests. Dashev will make the necessary arrangements. Please, enjoy yourselves. As they say on Earth…mi casa es su casa.”

As she led Erami, Denella and Natasha off towards the hangar, Sunek turned to the others and smiled happily.

“You know, I think I like her…”

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

“Hey, Natasha! Look at this!”

Natasha sighed patiently as she took off in the direction of Denella’s voice again, feeling like a weary parent being dragged around a holosuite program convention by an excitable daughter.

As soon as Sha’jev had keyed in the access code to open the main hangar and the doors had parted, the Orion woman had transformed from the awkward bundle of nerves she’d been ever since Juna Erami had reappeared in her life into her very own hyperactive tour guide.

As far as the eye could see, the hangar was filled with a veritable treasure trove of pods, shuttles and small ships. Each one allotted a specific space on the ground. And Denella seemed to know every single one of them.

Natasha caught up with her as she gestured to a stocky shuttle parked amongst countless other similar ships. This one had a dark orange hue to the hull and a circular orb-like appendage circling around the rear quarter of the vessel as it sat on four stout landing struts.

“It’s a T’Shar-class Vulcan ship-to-surface shuttle!” the Orion beamed excitedly, “They were using these across their fleet more than five hundred years ago!”

“Huh,” Natasha nodded, putting on her best approximation of looking interested, “You don’t say.”

She kept her focus on helping out her friend, as she had promised she’d do. And did her best not to wonder what the others were doing right now. If they were swimming in the pool, or lounging in the sun, or availing themselves of whatever other delights there were in the compound.

I’m doing this for Denella, she reminded herself. I’m her gooseberry.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she,” Sha’jev chuckled as she joined them, with Erami following close behind.

“Wait til she shows you the lower level,” the Bajoran popped up, “She’s got an actual 23rd century Vulcan warp sled down there.”

As Denella’s eyes widened further, the Andorian woman held up a calming hand.

“She’s exaggerating. It’s only the habitation module. Unfortunately, I’m still hunting for a sled to dock it to…”

As displays of modesty went, it wasn’t entirely convincing. But it didn't matter, because Denella’s attention was instantly taken by another of the ships dotted around them.

“Oh my,” she whispered, “Is that a—?”

“A 22nd century Romulan escape pod? Yes. Picked it up in an auction on Ravik III. It had been excavated from a nearby moon where it crashed over two hundred years ago. Poor folks inside were long-perished, of course, and the hull was a mess. But I was able to find a metallurgical expert familiar enough with Romulan construction methods to replicate the replacement parts it needed.”

Denella found herself laughing in joy at the explanation. She even idly wondered what her father might have made of a place like this. It made their old workshop look like a child’s playpen. She was in engineering heaven. All of her previous fears were now long forgotten.

And then, her situation changed completely once again, thanks to one simple action.

Sha’jev glanced over at Erami and smiled.

“See?” the Bajoran offered, “I told you she was good.”

“You certainly did,” the Andorian replied, “Aren’t I so very lucky to have found you, my dear…”

With that, she pulled the Bajoran in closer, and kissed her.

Denella felt a pit of despair suddenly opening in her stomach. Natasha simply flinched in sympathy for her friend.

This time, it definitely wasn’t a date.

End of Part One

* - Thelev previously showed up in a flashback in Star Trek: Bounty - 12 - "The Woman Who Cried, Among Other Things, Wolf".

BountyTrek · Jul 24, 2025

Part Two

Orion Free Traders Colony, Orpheus IV
Earth Year 2359

“Denella?”

There was no answer, save for the clanging sound of an engineering tool hitting the ground. The door to the workshop gently creaked open and Telmis stepped inside. A worried mother looking for her daughter.

Though, in truth, she already knew exactly where she would be.

“Denella!”

She called out again across the workshop, directing her call specifically towards a pair of overall-clad legs sticking out from underneath the single stocky ship in the room.

“Just a minute!” the legs called back.

Telmis shook her head patiently and sighed, walking closer to the legs, and the Corvallen shuttlepod above them.

“Denella,” she repeated, more softly this time, “It’s time. The burial ceremony starts in an hour. You need to get ready.”

“I know,” the legs replied, “But I just need to finish—”

She was cut off by the sudden sound of an electrical spark from beneath the ship, followed by a dull alert noise. And then a single, sharp curse.

“Gisjacheh!”

Slowly but surely, the rest of Denella emerged, filthy and grimy, from underneath the troublesome shuttlepod. This time, she was the one confronted by someone standing above her with their arms folded and an unimpressed look on their face.

“And I suppose he taught you that sort of language, young lady?”

The Orion teenager wiped another line of dirt across her face with the back of her hand as she got back to her feet and placed a tool back into the pocket of her overalls.

“Sorry mother,” she offered, “But…that was supposed to work! We’d tried recalibrating the coil inducers time and again to fix the impulse drive and it didn’t work. But replacing the entire assembly should have! And now I’ve managed to burn out an entire replacement assembly, so—”

Telmis stopped her daughter with a gentle hand on her arm.

“Not now. Please. I need your focus to be on the ceremony today, Denella.”

The young Orion looked back at the pleading eyes of her mother.

In the weeks following her father’s death, she had barely left the confines of the workshop. In here, she had redoubled her efforts to complete repairs on the Corvallen shuttlepod.

The final project that Rayo had taken on.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she had reacted in this way. If she was trying to honour her father in some way, or if she was just trying to distract herself from thinking about what had happened.

But either way, she had found the shuttlepod to be just as resistant to being repaired as it had ever been. Specifically with the troublesome impulse engines. Despite the long hours she’d been working on it, she had made little actual progress. Yet that just made her more determined to keep at it. She was going to fix this thing if it was the last thing she did.

Except now, she could see that, for today at least, her work was over. Her mother needed her more than the shuttlepod did right now.

“I know, mother,” she nodded back, “Let me just pack my tools away, and I’ll get changed.”

She picked up the selection of tools on the ground beneath her feet and moved over to the storage area along the far wall of the workshop to diligently return them to their correct place.

As Denella worked, Telmis slowly stepped around the shuttlepod, taking in the lines of the alien ship, and then cast a rueful eye around the rest of the workshop.

“You know, I wanted a greenhouse.”

“Huh?” Denella grunted back as she slid a hyperspanner back into the right spot on a wall-mounted tool-holder.

“When your father talked about building something at the end of the garden, I told him I wanted a greenhouse. Somewhere I could grow and cultivate plants. But, of course, we ended up with a workshop.”

The younger Orion paused and glanced back at her mother, noting her wry expression.

‘You make that sound like it was my fault.”

“Well,” Telmis noted, “You did have the casting vote.”

“I was eleven.”

“And you always got your way…”

Her mother’s face broke into a smile at this, and she mustered one back as she finished off tidying away her tools.

Telmis turned her attention fully back to her daughter as she worked, a trace of concern now visible on her features. More so than anyone, she was aware of the time her daughter had spent here since Rayo had passed. And she was worried.

“How are you feeling, Denella?”

The teenager stopped in the middle of slipping a matrix processor into the correct drawer, a little surprised by the sudden shift in conversation.

She wasn’t entirely sure how to answer the question.

If she was being completely honest, right now she felt frustrated. Because replacing the coil assembly should have worked. It was exactly what she and her father had been planning to do, after their endless recalibrations had failed. If you can’t fix the part, get a new part.

It had taken her two full days of painstaking work to completely replace the bulky set of components all by herself. And yet, as soon as she had powered the new assembly on, the same issue had reared its head. And without the coil assembly, there was no impulse drive, and there was no repaired Corvallen shuttlepod.

But she suspected that wasn’t the sort of thing her mother was getting at.

“I’m…ok,” she managed eventually, “Best as I can be.”

Telmis stepped up to her daughter, resting her hand on her shoulder. She evidently wanted to dig a little deeper.

“I see,” she nodded, “And…have you cried at all?”

Denella paused again. For the first time, she found herself fully realising that she hadn’t actually cried since her father’s death. At all. She hadn’t shed a single tear over her loss. She’d barely had time to think about it before, given all the work she’d been doing. But now, she couldn’t escape that simple fact.

And she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

It felt as though she definitely should have cried about it. She felt the loss of her father, and her mentor, palpably inside her. And yet, the tears hadn’t come.

For some reason, she opted to lie about it.

“Yes,” she replied to her mother, “A little.”

Telmis studied her daughter again, as Denella studiously avoided eye contact and focused on packing away the final tool. It didn’t take all the powers of her mother’s instinct to see the lie. But she also knew that this wasn’t the time to explore that any further.

After all, they had a ceremony to get to.

“Me too,” she smiled sadly instead, as she gently rubbed her daughter’s shoulder.

Denella forced herself to look back at her mother again. Putting her lack of tears to the back of her mind once again. Instead, she focused on making sure she was doing what her mother needed her to do. While also allowing her mind to speculate further on the shuttlepod’s impulse drive issues.

Maybe there was an unconnected problem in the replacement coil inducers, she mused.

“So,” she said out loud, even as her mind remained elsewhere, “I suppose I should go get changed?”

Her mother sighed patiently as she regarded her daughter’s filthy grey overalls.

“I suspect your father would have had no problem with you wearing that to the ceremony. But I’ve left out a dress and shoes up in your room.”

Denella smiled and nodded back.

Or maybe it was an issue with the way she’d set the power transfer parameters between the coils and the impulse drive?

“Ok mother,” she replied, “I’ll do that.”

She started towards the door, casting a glance at the troublesome shuttlepod as she passed.

“Denella,” her mother called out again, an edge of worry still present in her voice, “You are ok, aren’t you?”

The teenager paused, momentarily feeling a heavy weight on her shoulders. And still not feeling any tears inside.

But would it really have been a power transfer issue with the old and the replacement coils?

“Yes,” she replied as strongly as she could, before idly gesturing at the Corvallen ship, “Or at least, I will be when this is repaired.”

That off-hand comment didn’t quell her mother’s fears. But it was enough of an answer for Denella.

She walked on, out of the workshop.

Leaving her mother alone, standing by the shadow of the Corvallen shuttlepod.

Robert Bruce Scott · Jul 25, 2025

Mixing a little pleasure with business... Maybe Denella should have read those letters after all...

Enjoying the backstory as well.

Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Jul 26, 2025

Part Two (Cont'd)

“Isn’t she a beauty?”

Denella wasn’t really listening. Or even really focusing on what was in front of her.

The last few minutes had been a blur, even as Sha’jev had led them on through her collection, and eventually stopped in front of one specific craft.

It all made sense now. Why Erami had been so unconcerned at her lack of response to her messages. Why she hadn’t felt the need to have a blazing argument as soon as they had been alone onboard the Varalan Tug. Why she’d been so happy to reconnect as friends, and nothing more.

Because she’d met someone else.

Her new gainful employment for a super-rich Andorian shuttle collector was evidently more than just a simple business deal.

And now, all of a sudden, Denella’s inner strife had a new focal point. Now she simply felt a deep sense of embarrassment, for everything she’d done over the last day. The way she’d been so nervous around Erami. The way she’d gone out of her way to get Natasha to help her. Now, the Bounty’s doctor was merely a witness to the humiliating situation Denella was in.

And the simple fact was, as far as the Orion could see, she couldn’t even be angry with anyone for it. Because she hadn’t replied to the messages.

But, to her slight surprise, she definitely felt angry. Angry with someone, anyway.

“Don’t you think she’s beautiful?”

The repeated question shook her back out of her humbled reverie, and back to where Erami stood innocently smiling next to her.

They had gathered around a stocky grey runabout-sized craft towards the rear of the vast collection inside the hangar, with a tapered main body and two stubby wings branching out amidships, with a blocky warp nacelle under each one. Even though she had been so distracted over the last few minutes, her engineering brain identified the ship immediately.

“Oh,” she heard herself say, “Yeah. Incredible.”

To the Orion’s side, Natasha’s fresh concern for her friend was overridden by her own curiosity.

“What…is it?”

“It’s a—” Sha’jev proudly began.

“It’s a Bajoran warp shuttle. Raja-class. Mid-23rd century.”

The prim Andorian looked more than a little irritated at Denella’s interruption.

“Sorry,” the Orion managed with a shrug.

Was that it? Was she angry with Sha’jev Thallis? Had she just, even subconsciously, lashed out at her? Because the confident, elegant Andorian had clearly wasted no time in figuring out what her own feelings for Erami had been?

She found that she wasn’t sure. But she equally found that she didn’t mean her apology.

“Well, that’s what it is,” Sha’jev offered to Natasha, “A fine ship. And a very, very rare one.”

“Yeah,” Erami nodded in bitter affirmation, “Pretty much the first thing the Cardassians did when they occupied Bajor was systematically dismantle any warp-capable vessels they could find. That’s why the resistance had to mostly work with whatever sublight ships were left behind.”

Natasha nodded in grim understanding. It followed the familiar pattern that she’d read about with other planetary occupations throughout history. One of the easiest ways to subjugate a population was to swiftly and effectively remove their ability to escape.

The Bajoran gestured to the shuttle as she continued.

“The only examples that did survive were the odd one or two that happened to be off-world at the time, or that the Cardassians decided to keep as a trophy from their…conquest.”

“And,” Sha’jev added, “While Bajor has built up a new warp-capable fleet of ships since the occupation ended, those are either repurposed transports or freighters sourced from other species, or brand new designs. Meaning that—”

“Spare parts are impossible to come by,” Denella nodded, not even bothering to apologise for her latest interruption.

Was she doing that on purpose? Was that resentment she was feeling towards the Andorian?

“Exactly,” Sha’jev nodded back, keeping any irritation in check, “This was a rare and fortuitous find of mine. But, while the hull and superstructure of this example has been well-preserved, there are still a few issues with the internal systems, and the warp drive…”

Erami smiled at Denella, though the Orion found that she was unable to match that gesture.

“Which is why it was such a stroke of luck that I happen to know the best damn engineer in the entire quadrant.”

Denella noted how this compliment caused the Andorian woman to take a casual step towards the Bajoran and deftly wrap an arm around her waist.

She fought off a fresh urge to run away. To escape.

“Erami does speak very highly of you,” Sha’jev affirmed with a nod, “And if you can do anything for my little ship here, I assure you that I will make it entirely worth your while.”

Denella now felt herself becoming the centre of attention again. A significant part of her wanted to decline. Despite everyone having come this far, and the offer of latinum now firmly on the table, the urge to run away was growing.

And she was still angry. Angry with someone. Angry with everyone. She still wasn’t sure.

“Unless,” Sha’jev added casually, “It’s too big of a challenge…”

And then, just like that, she didn’t want to run away any more. Suddenly, her worries, fears, anger and humiliation were washed away by a surge of competitive pride, powered by her confidence in her engineering prowess.

“No,” she said, almost without thinking,” I can take a look. No problem.”

“Denella—” Natasha began next to her, with a trace of concern.

“No problem,” she affirmed quickly, forcing a smile in the human woman’s direction.

Then, she turned her attention back to the Bajoran warp shuttle. She ignored whatever look Erami was giving her, or any of her concerns, and she focused on the ship that needed to be fixed.

Regardless of her other issues, this was something she could deal with. This was an engineering problem. So she focused on that.

And she didn’t run away.

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

“Ow!”

Dashev, the enormous muscular Andorian head of security, offered no trace of sympathy as he extracted the needle from Sunek’s finger and inserted the sample of green blood into the scanner held in his other hand.

Sunek withdrew his hand and shook it slightly to reduce the stinging from his finger.

“You know,” he griped, “If I’d known there’d be this many security checks for an afternoon by the pool, I’d have stayed at home.”

Dashev remained unmoved as he waited for the results.

They stood inside a small security office housed in a small outhouse next to Sha’jev Thallis’s huge mansion. Alongside the Vulcan stood Jirel, Klath and Zesh, each of whom had already had their own blood taken.

It was the latest in a seemingly endless series of security steps and biometric scans they were being subjected to at the behest of the thuggish Andorian. Although Sha’jev had kindly given them the freedom of her estate during their stay on Arvon II, it turned out that gaining said freedom was a far more involved process than anticipated.

And it wasn’t just Sunek that was starting to lose patience.

“So,” Jirel sighed, gesturing at the scanner, “What’s this one for? Testing for Rigellian fever? Or making sure none of us are Changelings?”

Dashev didn’t bother to look up from the scanner as he grunted his reply.

“Both.”

Jirel couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or not.

Mercifully, a few seconds later, the scanner beeped an affirmative sound and the burly security chief glanced over at Sunek.

“You’re clean,” he boomed out in his comically deep voice, “All of you.”

“Good to know,” Sunek offered back, “But if we’re about to move onto a cavity search, I prefer to be bought a drink first.”

Dashev glared at the sarcastic Vulcan for just long enough that Jirel began to fear that his pilot’s big mouth had just talked them all into a search, then shook his head.

“No. The security checks are now complete.”

“Finally,” Klath glowered, earning an extra glare from Dashev for his troubles.

The two hulking figures sized each other up once again, before the Andorian continued.

“I understand that there are a lot of checks, but they cannot be helped. Ms Thallis is very careful with her security. Especially since we received reports of increased Ossarian pirate activity in this sector of space.”

Jirel glanced at his distinctly motley crew, a little confused.

“You thought we were Ossarian pirates?”

Dashev’s expression betrayed nothing.

“As I said, the checks are complete. And now, if you wish, my men will escort you further into the compound.”

To either side of the gaggle of Bounty crewmates, two more preposterously burly Andorians stepped forwards, muscles straining against their tunics. From where he stood, Jirel thought they might be even bigger than Dashev himself.

“You know,” Sunek couldn’t help but quip, “If you guys ever get tired of this job, you’re gonna clean up on the bachelorette party circuit on Risa.”

Showing no signs of a reaction to the Vulcan’s comment, the two latest members of Sha’jev Thallis’s fully clothed male revue led the group out of the room.

As he reached the door, Zesh plucked up the courage to turn back to Dashev.

“Um, if I may? I was…hoping to discuss a business opportunity with your employer.”

“Huh,” Dashev grunted back with a rare trace of amusement, “That does surprise me, Ferengi.”

Despite the evident slight against his people, Zesh maintained a friendly air as he pressed on.

“Well, I’m sure she’s a very busy woman. But all I would need would be a moment of her time. I assure you she’ll be interested in the proposition.”

The burly Andorian glared at the significantly shorter Ferengi, then shrugged.

“I will pass on the message, Ferengi. Now leave.”

Zesh bowed his head in thanks and scurried off to join the others, leaving Dashev alone in his security office. After another moment, he pressed a button on the wall, and two more Andorian pillars of muscle appeared in the doorway.

“You two,” he grunted, “Make sure you keep a…close eye on our guests.”

The guards nodded sharply and walked off, as Dashev smiled in satisfaction.

Robert Bruce Scott · Jul 26, 2025

Denella's backstory provides a nice foreshadowing for her current behavior. Rather emotionally repressed, but interesting that pre-dates her enslavement. Thanks!! rbs

BountyTrek · Monday at 5:59 PM

Part Two (Cont'd)

“Are you ok?”

“Fine.”

Denella wasn’t fine. She was a very long way from fine.

She had returned to the Bounty to grab some tools for the work ahead, but also to try and get some space away from the others to try and settle her thoughts with a moment of peace.

That plan had been immediately thwarted when Erami had eagerly offered to come and help her.

And, as the Orion walked around the Bounty’s cargo bay, shoving various tools and spare parts into a shoulder bag, it hadn’t taken long for the Bajoran to pick up on the fact that she wasn’t fine.

“Are you sure?” she pressed, as Denella grabbed a coil spanner from a storage locker.

She sighed deeply and forced herself to turn back to the Bajoran. She felt the anger that continued to boil away inside her flare up slightly as she saw her.

Was that it? Was she angry with Erami for everything that was happening to her? No, that couldn’t be it either. None of this was her fault, after all.

“Yes,” she lied again, forcing the thinnest of smiles onto her face, “I’m fine.”

With that, she dropped the spanner into the back, closed up the locker, then walked over to the other side of the bay to grab a tricorder.

Erami shook her head patiently and followed her.

“Ok, but you’re clearly not fine, are you? You’re being really weird. Is this about me and—?”

“I’m fine,” Denella repeated, snapping the affirmation far too quickly for it to come across as a casual remark, “It’s just—I’ve got a job to do. So…let’s do it. Ok?”

She grabbed Old Faithful, her favourite and most reliable tricorder, from where it was stored and dropped it in the bag.

Erami shook her head again.

“Come on, Denella. I thought we were friends?”

“We were—We are friends. Yes.”

“Ok, great. Well, that’s what you wanted, right? When we left each other on Kervala Prime? Just friends. Friends who would keep in touch. Which I…tried to do.”

Denella felt her anger spike again at that loaded comment. She spun back around to the Bajoran, but faltered immediately when she tried to respond. Because she was right. She had tried.

Met by silence, Erami continued, in a more conciliatory tone.

“Look, I guess I should’ve said something to you sooner. About me and Sha’jev. And what happened back there on the landing pad was…I dunno. I guess you just shouldn’t have found out like that. And I’m sorry.”

Denella reached for something to say again, and found herself returning to a familiar lie.

“It’s fine.”

It clearly wasn’t fine, but that was all she could say. She was still trying to figure out the anger she felt. If it wasn’t towards Sha’jev, and it wasn’t towards Erami, who was it towards?

Desperate for some sort of distraction, she idly fished Old Faithful back out of the bag and began to fiddle with the controls in an effort to keep calm.

“It’s just,” the Bajoran continued, “I got no response to one message, then another. And at first I just thought you needed some time to figure things out. Take things slow, like you said…”

Denella kicked off a full diagnostic of the tricorder’s internal systems. Her eyes remained lowered, watching the progress par slowly shuffling across the screen.

“...But then, every message went unanswered. And so I…kinda assumed that you had figured things out. I got the message by…not getting the message. We’d just, y’know, had a good time and then gone our separate ways…”

Denella stared at the screen. The progress bar reached sixty percent.

“...And so I got on with life. I found a new job. And I found…”

Denella felt herself wince. Seventy-five percent.

“...Someone to have some fun with.”

Denella was no longer staring at the screen. She was staring through it, the progress bar was now an out-of-focus irrelevance.

Because she had suddenly figured out her anger. She wasn’t angry with anyone else. She was angry with herself. She could see it clearly now. She’d been so stupid. Stupid, stupid Denella.

She’d asked Erami to stay in touch. And then she’d ignored every single one of her messages as they’d come though across subspace. Too scared to open a single one. She’d told Sarina that she’d met someone. Even though she hadn’t exchanged a single word of conversation with the person she’d supposedly met since Kervala Prime. She’d even forced Jirel to confront his own worries and fears. While secretly avoiding confronting hers in return.

And now, the folly of her inaction was right here, plain to see. Manifested back on the landing pad as a glamorous Andorian billionaire with her arm wrapped around Erami’s waist.

Stupid, stupid Denella.

As the Orion went through a silent moment of clarity, the Bajoran stared back at her and eventually sighed in renewed frustration at her lack of response.

“Ok, good,” she said with a shake of her head, “Definitely looks like you’re fine.”

The tricorder diagnostic completed. No errors reported.

Denella forced her anger with herself back down as she refocused on her surroundings.

“I’ve got everything I need,” she announced simply, slipping the tricorder back into the bag, “Let’s get to work.”

With that, and with the briefest of glances at the Bajoran woman, she made for the rear ramp of the Bounty, forcing her mind back on the engineering challenge she had been set.

She didn’t feel quite so stupid when she was doing that.

“Denella, come on,” Erami pressed in frustration as she walked after her, “It’s not like I didn’t try to stay in touch. What was I supposed to—?”

Before Denella could stop herself, her anger at herself boiled over. And she targeted it straight at the person she’d been so stupid about.

“You know how difficult this is for me!” she snapped, “To be—I mean, whatever this is. You should know that!”

“I do know. Believe me. But, Denella, I wasn’t expecting you to book us a couples holiday on Risa, or start sending me photos of the house you want us to buy on Bajor. You could’ve just…acknowledged me!”

“But I—!”

Denella stopped herself again. Because she didn’t have another point to make. Erami was right. She could have acknowledged her. Read one of the messages. Responded to it. Even if just to send her an update on the Bounty’s engineering status. But she hadn’t done any of that.

She’d been so stupid.

As she faltered where she stood at the top of the Bounty’s ramp, Erami stopped next to her and mustered a sad smile.

“Guess that argument didn’t really help, huh?”

With that, she started down the ramp, leaving Denella behind.

“Um,” she added as she stopped a few steps down, “Listen, I should say. About…me and Sha’jev. It’s…”

Now it was the Bajoran’s turn to seemingly run out of things to say. She sighed in defeat as she failed to find the right words.

“Just…there’s more to all this, I guess. So, please, just…trust me?”

She offered the Orion woman a hopeful shrug, then continued down the ramp.

If Denella had been thinking straight, she might have spent more time considering that rather cryptic statement from the Bajoran. And contemplated what exactly she might have meant by it.

But she didn’t do anything like that. She just reluctantly followed her down the ramp.

Still very angry. With herself.

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

“Ok, this officially makes no sense.”

Jirel stood on one of the triangular courts in the grounds of Sha’jev Thallis’s estate, having changed into appropriately sporty clothing in the courtside changing rooms, which came complete with built-in replicators to provide the player with a perfectly-fitted pristine white outfit.

On the other two sides of the court stood Sunek, who had evidently asked the replicator for a more garish outfit, complete with unnecessary patterns across both his shirt and shorts, and Klath, who stood in his usual dark brown tunic, trousers and heavy boots.

Klingons, apparently, didn’t have a word for leisurewear.

Each of them held a replicated racquet also provided free of charge, with a long, thin handle that ran up to an inverted triangular head, in keeping with the geometric choices of this particular sport. Whatever that sport was.

“I mean,” the Trill continued, gesturing to each of the others in turn, “Am I playing against both of you at once, or what?”

Sunek shrugged his lanky shoulders. Klath just grunted. It certainly wasn’t obvious to any of them what the rules of this pastime were.

The equilateral triangle shape of the court was divided into three playing areas by solid metal partitions running from each corner to the centre. The three areas themselves were then divided in two by a painted line running from the centre back to the middle of each side of the triangle.

In theory, it seemed to follow the pattern of most similar sports across the galaxy. Players competed by hitting a ball between playing areas with a racquet. But the fact that there apparently needed to be three of them on court at once was a baffling new development to that basic principle.

“I told you we should’ve just had a cocktail by the pool,” the Vulcan offered, “I couldn’t even tell you how you’re supposed to win.”

“I assume,” Klath replied from his section of the court, “One wins when they are the only competitor left standing, having slaughtered their two opponents.”

Jirel shook his head and mustered a smile back at the incongruous warrior.

“See, that attitude is why we stopped playing racquetball together.”

Klath’s mouth curved in a glimmer of amusement.

“Ok,” Sunek sighed, picking up a small rubber ball next to his feet, “Let’s just…start and see what happens, I guess?”

The Vulcan gently knocked the ball over the metal divider into Jirel’s section of the court. As soon as it crossed the threshold, a red light illuminated on top of a pole sticking out from the centre of the three-sided net.

“Foul shot,” an automated voice announced, “Point deduction, serving player.”

“Well, what the hell was that for?” Sunek moaned in frustration, “I literally just hit it over the—”

“You’re supposed to serve to Klath.”

The three bemused players turned to see Natasha approaching them from the direction of the huge hangar on the outskirts of the estate, wearing an amused smile on her face.

“Andorian tri-ball,” she continued as she gestured around the court, “Serve moves clockwise for the first ten points, then anticlockwise for the next ten, and so on.”

“Come on,” Jirel sighed, “You cannot possibly know how to play this game.”

“Why not? I had an Andorian bunkmate in the first year at the Academy. She taught me how to play on the holodeck. You have to move the ball clockwise or anti-clockwise, first player to hit a winner scores the point, first to twenty-five points wins the game, and a match is best of five games. Or seven if you’re playing full tournament rules.”

Jirel, Sunek and Klath all exchanged looks as Natasha stood next to the court, apparently entirely confident in her knowledge of this sport. Eventually, Sunek shrugged and picked up another ball.

“Fine, I’ll serve to Klath, then…”

As soon as the ball passed over the net, the red light illuminated again.

“Foul shot. Point deduction, serving player.”

Natasha gestured down to the exasperated Vulcan’s feet.

“Clockwise serves need to be from the right side of the court—”

“Ok, I’m gonna hit the bar,” Sunek sighed, dropping his racquet to the ground with a clatter, “You guys feel free to stay here and continue playing the dumbest sport ever invented.”

As the irritated Vulcan headed off in the direction of the bar area next to the pool, Jirel shrugged and gestured to Natasha.

“You wanna take his place?”

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you newbies and your fragile male egos,” she smiled back, “Can’t Zesh join in?”

She looked around, realising for the first time that the Ferengi was nowhere to be seen.

“He is attempting to…make a sale,” Klath grunted, as he and Jirel gave up on the game and walked over to where Natasha was standing.

Zesh had indeed left them several minutes ago, having been granted the time with Sha’jev to make his pitch.

“Think he’ll do it?” Natasha asked.

“Zesh could sell ski boots to a Vulcan,” Jirel replied with a grin, “He once managed to turn a profit on a cargo bay full of magnesite ore we got lumbered with by selling it to a bunch of actual magnesite miners. Told ‘em they could count the extra ore towards their monthly target and give themselves a week off.”

“As I recall,” Klath added, “A whistleblower then informed the mining consortium of the deception. We were attacked by one of their patrol ships and are still unable to return to that sector—”

“Ok,” Jirel cut back in, his grin sagging with haste, “There were some…complications. But Zesh still made the sale.”

Natasha raised a wry eyebrow at the latest tale of the Bounty’s misadventures before she had joined the crew. Jirel decided to quickly change the subject.

“Well, um, if weird Andorian tennis is off the table, how about we grab our swimsuits and hit the pool, hmm?”

Natasha glanced over at the undoubtedly tempting sight of the heated pool, where Sunek was now lying on one of the nearby loungers having furnished himself with some manner of lurid cocktail.

“Hmm,” she sighed, “I don’t think I’ll be needing my swimsuit.”

“Huh,” Jirel couldn’t help but reply, “Well, I wasn’t gonna be the one to suggest it, but I’m game for some skinny dipping if you are—”

“No,” she patiently cut in, “I mean I need to get back to Denella. To help her.”

“With the repairs,” Klath nodded flatly.

“Yes. And, as it turns out, some other stuff as well.”

She paused for a moment, wondering if she should be sharing so much about Denella’s personal life when she knew the Orion preferred to keep herself closed off. But ultimately, she knew that she was talking to her two closest friends, so she continued.

“It turns out that Juna Erami and Sha’jev Thallis are…kind of a thing.”

Jirel and Klath both responded with looks of concern. And, to Natasha's slight surprise, it was the Klingon who voiced his concerns first.

“How is Denella?” he boomed back.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “I think she’s shocked more than anything. But I’ll try to talk to her when we get left alone on the repairs.”

“Need some help?” Jirel asked, displaying his own worries for his friend, and feeling a little guilty for being so completely distracted by the pleasures of Sha’jev’s estate.

“I think it’ll be fine,” Natasha replied, “Too many cooks, and all that. And it’s not the first friend I’ve had to support through this sort of thing.”

Jirel nodded in understanding, as Natasha turned back towards the hangar. She paused for a moment and glanced back at them with an impish smile.

“In the meantime, I’ll leave you boys to your skinny dipping.”

She walked off, leaving Klath to look firmly at Jirel.

“I will definitely not be—”

“No. Don’t worry. Me neither.”

With that, the two of them awkwardly walked off in the direction of the pool.

BountyTrek · Wednesday at 7:48 PM

Part Two (Cont'd)

Zesh could always sense that a deal was near.

It was the sort of sense that many Ferengi scholars had tried to form into a tangible qualification down the centuries. A skill that could be taught and learned. But as far as Zesh was concerned, it was simply an instinct. A facet of certain Ferengi personalities, and tellingly absent from others. Either you had the lobes for it, or you didn’t.

And Zesh knew he had the lobes for it.

He walked next to Sha’jev as she gave her second tour of the day around her shuttle collection, more than happy to show off her treasures all over again.

Zesh was expertly giving off the impression that the tour had his full attention, and was following along with everything that was being said with part of his brain. But he was also multi-tasking, equally focused on his upcoming pitch. Judging the potential buyer in front of him and deciding on the best approach to take to the sale.

Some of his assessment was proving easier than others. The target of his negotiation wore elegant enough clothing and shiny enough jewellery to make it clear that she was someone willing to spend her wealth on the right purchases.

But Zesh’s eye caught the more subtle messages being unwittingly displayed. As elegant and shiny as her attire was, it was also a dignified outfit. Despite the humble beginnings of this ultra-successful businesswoman, she steered clear of the usual pitfalls of the nouveau riche, who were often taken in by gaudier displays of wealth.

Which meant that Zesh’s pitch would have to reflect that. Sha’jev wouldn’t just want the fastest or the biggest vessel on Choth’s list. She would want something with a touch of class.

And she also wouldn’t be easily duped by any plans Zesh might have had to oversell the ships. While she didn’t appear to have the innate engineering ability needed to look after the collection herself, the tour she was providing was informed and in-depth. She knew each ship in her collection inside and out, and took pride in that knowledge.

All of which affirmed to Zesh that his initial instinct had been correct. The 23rd century Markalian Transport Pod on Choth’s list was definitely looking like the right pitch. As an opener for the negotiation, if nothing else.

But before he could get into all that, Zesh’s lobes were telling him that he would need to lay some groundwork.

“Ah,” the Ferengi offered with a healthy spoon of syrup as they reached the end of the tour, “I’m amazed that one so beautiful can also be so knowledgeable. An excellent tour of your truly magnificent collection.”

Next to him, the Andorian looked over at him with a faintly dismissive expression.

‘Zesh, my dear,” she purred back, “I didn’t build one of the largest private delivery networks in the Alpha Quadrant by falling for that sort of flattery, you know.”

Zesh remained silent, trusting his lobes. After a moment, the hint of a smile flitted across her face.

“But don’t let it stop you. A lady of my years does still appreciate it…”

His lobes hadn’t let him down. The somewhat naked compliment had succeeded in breaking the ice, just as his lobes had told him.

“Flattery entirely born from the truth, I assure you,” he cackled back, “You only have to look around this hangar to see the person behind the collection.”

Sha’jev mustered a slight nod at this latest compliment, her antennae waving slightly. She seemed happy to allow the mildly oleaginous speech to continue.

“And, while I couldn’t hope to improve on such a fine assembly of merchandise, perhaps I many have the means to add to it. In some small way.”

“Ah,” the Andorian smiled, as she stepped away from the restored 22nd century Earth shuttlepod she had concluded the tour with and folded her arms, “Now we reach the crux of the matter. No matter which Ferengi you talk to, there’s always a deal to be made.”

Zesh brushed off the latest slight against his people, privately acknowledging that it would be tough for him to argue against it given what he was currently doing.

“Alas,” she continued, “I already have more than enough Ferengi craft.”

“Psh,” Zesh persisted, rolling with the metaphorical punch before it had even landed, “Who said anything about Ferengi craft? Our shuttles are ten a penny. And, just between you and me, often of a terrible build quality. That’s what you get when you prioritise your profit margins ahead of your raw materials.”

Without waiting for another comment from the target of his pitch, Zesh produced a padd from his pocket with a flourish and presented it to her.

“What I can offer,” he continued, “Is a remarkable selection of quite rare Markalian vessels. In particular, this fully-restored PT-41 transport pod, which happens to be the first Markalian ship of its size to have—”

“Warp five capability, yes,” Sha’jev cut in with a wave of her hand as she studied the images on the padd’s screen, “Fully restored, you say? From what I recall, the warp coils on those things used to burn out every few light years. And I can’t imagine there are many spare parts still available.”

Zesh conceded her point with an amenable nod, still fixated on the sale his lobes told him was unfolding in front of him.

“And I would never dream of claiming otherwise to one as knowledgeable as you. But my contact who can supply this particular ship works with a specialist restorer, capable of replicating precise facsimiles of the old coils. With significantly more durable properties, I might add.”

The Andorian’s antennae waved slightly at this, and her brow furrowed a tad. Zesh picked up on that sign of unhappiness, preparing to steer the deal through some choppy waters if necessary.

“I usually insist that my acquisitions are as original as possible,” she replied, casting another eye over the images, “But…there is certainly a Markalian-shaped hole in my collection. And the rest of the restoration looks remarkable.”

No steering required, Zesh’s lobes reassured him.

“Oh, it is,” the Ferengi nodded eagerly, “So, do we have a deal?”

“No. But we have…a negotiation.”

Zesh’s face curved into a quietly satisfied smile. His lobes were positively tingling at the progress he was making.

But before he could take any more careful steps towards a healthy slice of gold-pressed latinum, Sha’jev was distracted by something else.

“Ah,” she smiled, glancing over Zesh’s shoulder, “And we were just talking about Ferengi craft. Here’s my latest…acquisition now.”

Zesh turned to see a group of her burly male helpers manoeuvring an anti-grav sled carefully through the maze of other shuttles. On the sled sat the unmistakable form of a stocky orange-hued shuttle, partially covered by a simple beige tarp.

“It was delivered earlier this week,” she explained casually, “A real once in a lifetime acquisition.”

As the sled passed them, Zesh took in the vessel underneath the tarp. And as soon as he started to cast a close eye over it, he experienced a thoroughly unsettling sensation.

After all, he was right on the verge of a deal. All those carefully-honed instincts in his lobes should have been laser-focused on that. But instead, he was feeling something else. A feeling he knew from painful experience would bring him no profit at all.

He was feeling curious.

So curious, in fact, that he forgot all about Sha’jev Thallis and their impending negotiations over a Markalian transport pod. Instead, he focused completely on the Ferengi ship on the sled.

Such was his lack of attention on the situation that should have been commanding his entire focus, he didn’t pick up on the sudden look of concern on the Andorian woman’s face, as she took the lead on returning to the deal at hand.

“Well, why don’t we discuss this ship of yours a little more. Somewhere more comfortable, hmm?”

Zesh barely heard her. His attention was still on the partially-covered ship. His curiosity was festering.

He had an unerring sense that he recognised the shape of the shuttle underneath the tarp. And if he was right, then he knew just how significant that might be. He couldn’t be sure, without checking further. But he had seen enough to be curious.

And because of that, he silently cursed the Bounty’s crew. This was all their fault. Their inexplicable urge to meddle in whatever situation they found themselves in, rather than simply extracting the available profit and moving on, was once again proving to be infectious.

Like a disease.

“What do you say?” Sha’jev continued, trying to prompt a response from the distracted Ferengi.

Eventually, Zesh forced his attention back to the sale that he was here to make.

“Of course,” he nodded back at the Andorian, “I look forward to reaching a deal that we’re both very happy with…”

Sha’jev offered a curt nod, before gesturing for Zesh to follow her out of the hangar and back to her main residence.

Zesh followed in her wake, doing his best to refocus back onto his carefully-planned tactics for the next round of negotiations as he walked. But even now, he was distracted. All he could think about was the unerring shape of the Ferengi ship under the tarp. His curiosity wouldn’t be quelled.

He shook his head and sighed, and cursed the Bounty’s crew once again.

Maybe he didn’t have the lobes after all.

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

“Ok, try it now.”

In the cockpit of the Bajoran warp shuttle, Erami leaned across the antique buttons and dials and flicked a stout, well-weathered switch up.

An instant later, the entire panel powered up with a low hum. The buttons lit up, the screens flickered into life, and the cockpit filled with various clunks and clicks from a dozen or more systems coming online for the first time in a long, long time.

“Yeah,” the Bajoran called out with glee, “Attagirl!”

Towards the rear of the cramped cockpit, Natasha cast her eye over the wall-mounted engine control station with as much of an engineering eye as she could muster.

“Looks like all systems are up and functioning,” she reported, “Couple of fault warnings in thruster control and the port warp stabiliser, but that’s about it.”

From underneath the forward panels, Denella shuffled back out from where she had been working underneath them. And found herself awkwardly looking back at Erami, who gazed down at her with a lop-sided grin on her face.

“Good work,” she offered.

Denella failed to locate a smile of her own, and instead got herself back to her feet.

She was increasingly confused as to where she stood with the Bajoran. After their unfortunate exchange back on the Bounty, she had assumed the atmosphere between them during the repairs would be strained at the very least.

But, whether it was because of Natasha’s presence, whether Denella had overestimated how serious the harsh exchange had been, or whether Erami was just messing with her somehow, she had lapsed back into her usual friendly and happy self during their work so far.

Not that the Orion had been matching that sort of demeanour. She was still too troubled by her situation to brush it off like that. Instead, she was doing what she always did. Burying herself in engineering work.

She brusquely stepped away from Erami without a word of a reply, and checked the readings on the panel in front of Natasha.

“Hrm,” she grunted as she wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, leaving behind a streak of dirt as she did so, “We’re gonna need to clear both of those before we think about a test flight. We’ve got green lights on the backups, but I don’t want to be relying on those from the start.”

Natasha studied her friend’s grubby face with evident concern. It didn’t take a great deal of her intuition to see that she was upset about something. But without another word, Denella swiftly headed for the exit at the rear of the cockpit. To continue her repairs.

“Hey,” Erami called out, causing her to involuntarily pause, “I mean it. Good work, Denella.”

The Orion may have found herself pausing to listen to what she had to say, but the only response she offered was a grunt of acknowledgement before she walked off.

Natasha watched her leave, then glanced at Erami, who mustered a sigh of frustration.

“I, um, might go give her a hand,” she said.

Erami nodded glumly as the human woman left, resigning herself to checking over the rest of the shuttle controls alone.

Natasha found Denella in the rear section, with her head inside an access port on the wall.

“Denella, are you ok?”

“Fine,” the inevitable grunted response came, echoing oddly from inside the gap in the hull.

“Liar.”

This direct approach from Natasha caused the Orion to snap her head back out of the access port quickly enough to bang it on the side of the metal frame.

“Ow!” she groaned, rubbing her head with a filthy hand, “Thanks for that, doctor.”

“You’ll live,” the medical professional smiled back in sympathy, “Just…please, talk to me.”

Denella looked back at her friend, and found herself regretting ever inviting her along on this stupid project of hers.

Stupid, stupid Denella.

“Are gooseberries meant to be this annoying?” she sighed eventually.

“Not really,” Natasha shrugged, “That part’s all me.”

Denella couldn’t help but smile wryly. She’d known Natasha for long enough now to recognise where her persistence was going to take them, and there didn’t seem to be much point in resisting.

She ducked her head back inside the access port, as a way to make the conversation easier for her to have, and began to explain.

“Me and Erami…had an argument.”

“Clearly.”

Denella snorted without amusement, even as she ran a microsoldering probe across the shuttle’s port-side warp stabiliser.

“It’s just,” she sighed eventually, “I guess Erami’s right. I don’t really have any right to be mad. She tried to keep in touch, and I didn’t reply. She told me how she felt, and I…couldn’t bring myself to do anything.”

“That’s not your fault,” Natasha pointed out gently.

“I know,” Denella sighed again, finishing her work on the stabiliser, “But it’s also not her fault if she’s…moved on.”

The Orion emerged from the access port and walked briskly to the other side of the rear section, unhooking another panel and starting work on the thruster controls.

“Are you sure that’s what she’s done?” Natasha offered, as she followed her friend.

Denella paused in her work for a moment, forcing herself to consider the question, rather than the engineering conundrum in front of her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted eventually, “And the worst part is…I’m still not even sure what I want. Or even if I want anything.”

“Well,” Natasha pointed out, “You’re angry about this. That might answer your question?”

Denella sighed and shook her head, as she finished working on the soldering joint in front of her.

“Thing is, I’m not even angry at her. I’m angry with myself, for being angry. Does…that even make sense?”

Natasha thought back to the various confused feelings she had experienced in relationships during her life, and nodded back.

“Perfect sense.”

For the first time during the conversation, Denella looked directly at her friend, and managed a slight smile for her supportive comment. Then, she finished up on the final joint and took a step back, her brow now furrowing slightly as she looked over the results of her work on the thruster controls.

And she remembered what Erami had said, when she hadn’t really been paying attention after their argument on the Bounty. About there being more to all this.

“Huh,” she grunted thoughtfully.

“What?” Natasha replied.

Denella looked across at where she had repaired the warp stabiliser, then back to the access port in front of her. In her head, things were starting to not add up.

“Probably nothing,” she managed, “It’s just…”

She chewed her cheek thoughtfully for a second, then swivelled on her heels and took off back to the cockpit, with Natasha moving quickly to keep up with her.

They found Erami still checking over the controls. She smiled when she saw them enter, but that reaction quickly disappeared when Denella began to speak.

“So, what the hell is going on here, exactly?”

“What do you mean?” Erami offered back, with an optimistic display of ignorance.

“You know what I mean,” Denella persisted, gesturing around at the work she’d been doing, “These repairs. You didn’t need me to do them. This ship wasn’t in that bad of a state, you could have fixed it up all by yourself.”

“Ah, I’m not much of an engineer—”

“You kept the Kendra flying for as long as you did. You could definitely have replaced some power cells and repaired a few minor systems. So…why drag us all into this?”

For a moment, the Bajoran maintained her look of innocence. But eventually sighed in defeat under the suddenly-strong gaze of the Orion woman.

“Fine. I was hoping for a bit more time to ease you all into this. But I really do need your help. All of your help.”

“With what?” Natasha asked.

“Not with fixing up a Bajoran warp shuttle,” Denella muttered, “That’s for sure.”

“Right,” Erami nodded, “Not to fix it. But I am gonna need your help…to steal it.”

Not for the first time since she had walked into her life, Denella found herself being entirely wrong-footed by Juna Erami.

End of Part Two

BountyTrek · 2025-08-01T19:42:32+0100

Part Three

Orion Free Traders Colony, Orpheus IV
Earth Year 2359

“Gisjacheh!”

The expletive thundered through the air as the door to the workshop opened and Denella angrily stormed in. Her eyes instantly focused on the Corvallen shuttlepod, where it stood still half-fixed.

Where it felt like it had always stood.

Even though she was still wearing a light patterned dress, as opposed to her overalls, she wasted no time in grabbing a hyperspanner and a scanner from her meticulously-arranged tool selection and heading straight for the rear quarter section of the craft.

She deftly scanned across the exposed section of circuitry to locate where she had left off in her painstaking efforts to re-wire the shuttlepod’s entire impulse assembly, in yet another attempt to solve the unsolvable issue with the engines, and began to work. Just as her father had taught her to.

As she tried to focus, she heard someone else entering the workshop. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was, but her mood didn’t lift at all.

“Denella,” her mother called out, “I’m sorry, but I—!”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” the teenager fired back, keeping her focus on the engineering tool and the circuitry in front of her.

Telmis stopped short of where her daughter was working and shook her head sadly.

“I’m just worried about you, Denella. And I was just trying to help—”

“No,” she cut in, “You were interfering. Again. I’ve told you, I’m dealing with everything. I’m ok. But instead of trusting me, you went and called in a therapist?!”

“Your Aunt Henela isn’t a—She’s just studied a few practices, and—”

“And you called her over without talking to me first. And tried to…spring a trap on me in there!”

Telmis was certain that her daughter was overdramatising what had really happened, but it was clear that Denella felt different.

A few moments ago, she had returned home to find her mother and aunt sitting together in the living room, apparently just for an impromptu social visit. But it hadn’t taken long for her to see what was really going on.

The conversation had almost immediately turned towards Denella herself, about how she was feeling. And specifically, how she was feeling about her father’s death. And in an instant, the teenager had seen through the theatre in front of her. And she saw the real reason that her aunt had been invited over.

And she hadn’t been happy.

“It wasn’t a trap, Denella,” her mother countered, keeping her own tone calm despite her daughter’s evident anger, “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Well…don’t!”

Telmis paused and sighed again, as Denella continued to work.

After a moment, recognising that she was being too harsh, the younger Orion reluctantly lifted the hyperspanner away from the wiring, and turned back to her mother.

“I didn’t mean to snap like that,” she managed, “But, really, I’m ok.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Why are you so sure I’m not?”

Telmis considered her answer, not wanting to set off another blazing row.

“Denella,” she said eventually, “Have you…cried yet?”

The teenage Orion scoffed and shook her head.

‘Is that what this is all about? Did Aunt Henela tell you to ask me about that?”

“She understands that we are an emotional people,” she replied, electing not to lie, “Orions know better than to hide away our feelings like this—”

“I’m not—!”

Denella stopped herself again, doing her best to settle the cavalcade of emotions bubbling inside of her and maintain an outwardly calm demeanour. One that would hopefully convince her mother that everything was ok, and allow her to return to her work on the shuttle.

“I…appreciate your concern,” she continued, “From you, and from Aunt Henela. But really, mother, I’m fine. Of course I miss him, but I’m not hiding my—I don’t need to cry to deal with it, ok?”

Her mother looked back at her with her wide green eyes, doing her best to believe her daughter’s claims. Not for the first time in her life, Denella felt as though she had the ability to gaze straight into her very soul. Ever since childhood, whenever she had told her mother a lie, she had felt that same gaze on her, gently burrowing under her skin to find the truth.

But either her powers had waned over time, or this was an occasion where Telmis didn’t think the truth was ready to be discussed. Because, after a moment, she simply nodded sadly back at her daughter and started to walk off.

As Denella returned to the troublesome matter of the Corvallen shuttlepod’s impulse engines, the older Orion called back again.

“At least put some overalls on, dear.”

Denella looked down at her dress, already streaked with engineering grime in a couple of places, and sighed. As her mother exited the workshop, she walked over to a storage cupboard in the corner of the space where her overalls were stored and opened the door.

Then, as she reached for one of the baggy items inside, she stopped dead. And she stared at the larger set of overalls, hanging to one side on the rail.

Her father’s favourite pair of overalls.

Her hand quivered unexpectedly as she reached out and brushed the rough sandy brown fabric of the clothing, still streaked with grime from the last work he’d done in them. And all of a sudden, the waves of conflicting emotions inside her solidified into something more tangible. Something that felt like a solid ball expanding outwards.

Her eyes flashed with anger. Anger at the injustice of everything. Anger that, she now realised, had been inside her all this time, even as she had tried to distract herself from it. And as she surveyed the extent of her late father’s workshop, she found a focus for her anger waiting for her.

The Corvallen shuttlepod that refused to be repaired.

With a primeval growl, she tightened her grip on the hyperspanner in her hand, raced over to the inanimate pod, and brought the tool down with all her might onto the exposed circuit panel on the side of the vessel, smashing the exposed section into a shower of tiny fragments.

But she didn’t stop there. The rage was absolute. She swung the hyperspanner at the pod again and again and again, her growl transforming into a roar.

The hefty tool slammed into the hull, leaving a series of ugly dents down the side. It smashed into an exposed thruster assembly, sending sparks raining down onto the workshop floor. In a flurry of unbridled fury, the Corvallen shuttlepod bore the brunt of her cumulative pain.

Smash!

Why had he left her?

Smash!

Why was life so unfair?

Smash!

Why did he have to die?

Smash!

And why the hell couldn’t she fix this goddamn shuttlepod?!

Smash! Smash! Smash!

It was only when she had tired herself out and was forced to pause for breath that she realised she wasn’t alone again.

As she panted for air, she stared back at Telmis, who had come back to the workshop after hearing the commotion. For a second, mother and daughter shared an understanding silence. There was no need for anything to be said.

Then, Telmis rushed across to her daughter’s side. Denella dropped the hyperspanner to the ground with a clatter and embraced her mother in a hug.

And then, at last, as she buried her head in the comforting realm of her mother’s shoulder, the tears came.

Star Trek: Bounty - 205 - "Zen and the Art of Corvallen Shuttlepod Maintenance"

BountyTrek

Commander

Robert Bruce Scott

Commodore

BountyTrek

Commander

Robert Bruce Scott

Commodore

BountyTrek

Commander

Robert Bruce Scott

Commodore

BountyTrek

Commander

BountyTrek

Commander

BountyTrek

Commander

BountyTrek

Commander

BountyTrek

Commander

Robert Bruce Scott

Commodore

BountyTrek

Commander

Robert Bruce Scott

Commodore

BountyTrek

Commander

BountyTrek

Commander

BountyTrek

Commander

Similar threads

We value your privacy