So which cavalry will arrive to extricate which adventurers from from which sticky wicket first? It's like the plot is having a Mexican standoff with itself... Nice setup!
Thanks!! rbs
Thanks!! rbs
Star Trek: Bounty - 8 - "A Klingon, a Vulcan and a Slave Girl Walk into a Bar"
- Thread starter BountyTrek
- Start date
Part Four (Cont'd)
The three Bounty crew members kept their focus on the weapons being pointed at them by the two familiar newcomers to the penthouse, and kept their own disruptors raised.
Not that this seemed to faze Mizar at all, who merely waved dismissively at the trio of weapons pointed at him as he stepped over to the pile of latinum.
“You can put those away,” he motioned, “Don’t forget that we’re one little button click away from wiping out that little ship of yours…”
Denella stole a glance at Sunek and Klath, and nodded a silent acknowledgement. They all, especially reluctantly in Klath’s case, lowered their weapons. Mizar acknowledged their concession with a smug nod of his head, and then took in the pile of latinum with a greedy smile.
“Now, this is what I was waiting for,” he grinned.
“Who the hell are you?” Palmor barked out at the tall Ktarian, “I don’t recognise you.”
“I’m just a man who happens to know how much of a crook you are, Palmor,” Mizar drawled, still with one glinting eye focused squarely on the latinum, “And one who knew how much of a payday robbing you would be. If you want to know why we chose you specifically, you’d need to talk to my colleague.”
Devan felt the urge to shrink back as the attention of everyone in the room suddenly swung over to him. But he forced himself to stand as tall as he could, and kept one thing in his mind to ensure that his often fleeting resolve didn’t waver this time.
One single image. An image of her face.
Of those looking at him, Klath, Sunek and Denella waited patiently for an explanation, while Tegras and Evina looked a little confused, having never seen him before. And Palmor Fot suddenly looked significantly paler.
“You…” he whispered, “You’re behind all this--?”
“Please, d--don’t talk,” Devan managed to snap out, keeping his disruptor pointed squarely at Palmor and his finger on the trigger, “You know why I’m here.”
Palmor swung back around to the others, his eyes widening with fear.
“You can’t trust this man, ok? What has he told you?”
“Actually, very little,” Denella said truthfully, “We were kinda hoping to get some answers at the end of all of this.”
“Just what have you done this time, Palmor?” Tegras added with a shake of his head.
“You don’t understand,” Palmor continued, “This is all a big misunderstanding--”
“He knows what he did,” Devan replied, his hand with the disruptor starting to shake slightly as he prepared for what he had to do, “A--And now, I’m going to--”
He was interrupted by the sound of another incoming transporter beam.
Two more forms coalesced inside the increasingly crowded penthouse. Two that were again familiar to most of those present in the room, and significantly more appropriately dressed than the last time anyone had seen them.
It hadn’t taken Jirel and Natasha long to figure out where they needed to beam in. Even the Bounty’s often temperamental sensors could pick up the lifesigns of a Klingon, a Vulcan and an Orion from orbit of an otherwise almost entirely homogenised colony such as Varris IV.
But any relief they felt as they saw the familiar faces of their crewmates again was short-lived. Jirel immediately turned around to the shocked Devan.
“Hey, Devan, stop,” he called out, “Please!”
Devan was momentarily stunned at the sight of the Trill and the human, and struggled to find anything to say to his former colleague. But Mizar had no such issues.
“I thought I said goodbye to you two,” the Ktarian grouched, seemingly not overly concerned that his own hostages had escaped.
“You did,” Natasha replied, “It was gross.”
“Huh, but you broke out and beamed down here. Tut, tut, that wasn’t part of the deal. I’ve got a mind to detonate that little bomb anyway--”
That was enough for Denella to whirl around to the Ktarian and raise her disruptor once again. He’d threatened the life of the Bounty, after all.
“You do that, you’re not getting out of here alive!”
The determination in her face as she growled those words at him were enough to make Mizar pause and second guess his position for the first time since he had arrived.
“Hey, hey,” Jirel managed to his engineer, “Let’s - all of us, ok? - put the disruptors down for a bit, ok? And just calm down.”
Denella ground her teeth, but reluctantly lowered her own weapon. Mizar followed suit with a shrug of his shoulders, then tapped a command into a device in his other hand. For a sickening moment, Jirel wondered if that had been the command for the bomb. Even if he still wasn’t entirely certain it was a bomb.
Instead, a split second later, the pile of latinum shimmered and disappeared, as Mizar’s shuttle’s transporter whisked it away. Fifty bricks of latinum literally disappeared before everyone’s eyes.
“Well,” Mizar purred, “I’ve got everything I need.”
Jirel sighed and turned his focus back to Devan, who had been looking at the Trill ever since he had beamed in.
“Ok, so, Devan, you’ve got the latinum, so there’s no need to do anything else, ok?”
“I--I’ve told you, Jirel. You can’t stop me from--”
“He’s gone!”
Evina’s cry was enough to cause everyone in the room to look around in shock. It quickly became apparent that, as everyone else had been arguing with each other, Palmor Fot had taken the opportunity to disappear as completely as his latinum had.
“No!” Devan screamed.
Without waiting, without even thinking, he took off with his weapon raised. Heading for the exit of the living area next to where Palmor had been standing, and the steps that led up to the landing pad.
Jirel jumped into action, following his friend. Equally close to the door through which Devan had bolted, Natasha instinctively tagged along as well.
“Ok, that’s enough of that,” Mizar called out, just as the other Bounty crew members were about to follow in their wake.
Denella, Sunek and the limping Klath turned to see that Mizar’s disruptor was raised again, the Ktarian still looking entirely in control of the situation despite the sudden flurry of activity.
“Let’s leave them to it, hmm? Devan just needs to do what he needs to do.”
Klath grumbled slightly, causing Evina to look over at him.
“Feel like a hostage yet?” she offered with a friendly smile.
The Klingon didn’t match her smile, and simply grumbled again, even as Mizar stifled a slight yawn.
“Shame though,” he offered idly, “I had been hoping to see someone die today…”
****************************
Palmor Fot had run. Because that was exactly the sort of thing that Palmor Fot was best at.
Whenever he found himself in a sticky situation, he had an instinctive ability to get out of it. Usually exactly like he just had, by waiting for an appropriate distraction and then making a sharp exit, either literally or metaphorically, leaving everyone else to clean everything up.
It was exactly how he had been able to get involved in just about every dodgy deal on Varris IV without ever leaving enough of a trace to get caught. And here, in his own penthouse, he had spotted a window of opportunity to sneak away and make for the landing pad.
Now outside, he swiftly dashed across the pad, stumbling slightly in a deep puddle that was left behind by the still-driving rain as he made for the freshly liberated personal shuttle that was still parked there.
He may have lost a hell of a lot of latinum, but he knew he had more where that came from. And if he could escape in the shuttle, he could shop the others to the authorities and be home free.
As the rain soaked him to the skin, he reached the steps of the shuttle and tapped at the external controls to open the door. He breathed a sigh of relief. He had made it.
And then he heard the voice.
“Stop!”
Palmor’s stomach sank. Even as the door began to open, he turned around and squinted back through the rain, to where Devan stood on the far side of the pad, his disruptor raised.
“N--No further, Palmor,” he added for emphasis, stepping towards him.
Palmor licked his lips. This was undoubtedly a setback, but he was still sure he could talk his way out of this one. He’d talked his way out of worse situations before. And behind him, he heard the shuttle door fully opening with a dull thud. He was just a few steps from his escape.
“Listen, Devan,” he replied with an amenable tone, “I know you’re upset, but this isn’t the way to--”
“D--Don’t talk!” the other Ktarian snapped back, “Nothing you say can change what has to happen here!”
He took another step forwards, edging closer to his target.
Behind him, the door to the stairway opened again and Jirel and Natasha raced into the driving rain themselves, stopping when they saw the standoff in front of them.
“Devan!” Jirel called out.
The Ktarian didn’t turn back. He didn’t even flinch. He kept his weapon raised.
“This is the man, Jirel,” he called back, “The one that took her from me!”
“I get it,” Jirel replied, “But this is way too crazy a reaction to--”
“Oh no,” Natasha gasped, grabbing Jirel’s arm in shock, “He took her from him, Jirel. He didn’t steal her. He killed her.”
Jirel’s jaw dropped as he processed that comment, silently cursing himself for not having seen the full truth of Devan’s words earlier.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Palmor insisted, taking half a step backwards, “You can’t blame me for--”
“Her name was Etara,” Ryan bellowed out into the sodden night’s sky, “S--She was Ktarian. And she was the most perfect woman I’d ever met.”
He took another step forwards, rage now entirely overriding his earlier timidity.
“A--And then she came to Varris IV to work on a new mining deal for her company. And she met Palmor Fot. And his drug empire.”
Jirel stepped towards his friend, with Natasha following suit. But the Trill struggled to find the words to respond to his friend’s raw angst.
“Devan, I had no idea--”
“Felicium!” Devan spat out.
Next to Jirel, Natasha’s mouth gaped in horror.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
“What’s felicium?” Jirel asked.
“Heavy narcotic,” she explained, “Originally developed on a planet called Brekka as a cure for the Ornaran plague, but so addictive that they turned it into a dependency. Starfleet intervened and broke the cycle, but without any other industry to speak of, the Brekkans turned to selling the drug on to the rest of the galaxy.”
“I--It’s everywhere on Varris IV,” Devan added miserably, “Thanks to this man.”
Palmor kept his hands raised up in front of him, an appeasing look on his face.
“You have to understand, I’m just a businessman providing a service--”
“It consumed her,” Devan continued, cutting the other Ktarian off with a furious glare, “Took away everything that was perfect about her. A--At first, I tried to keep her supplied with enough of it. But with felicium, you can never have enough. You can never be satisfied. And eventually we ran out of latinum, and Palmor Fot cut us off…and then the withdrawal started.”
Natasha flinched in sympathy. Jirel grimaced. Palmor tensed up further. Devan stifled a sob.
“It sent her insane. S--Screaming in agony. Begging me for help. And then, one day, when my back was turned, she g--got away, and s--she--”
His body convulsed in a sob. The disruptor in his hand wobbled slightly. Jirel had heard enough, he stepped through a puddle towards his old colleague to comfort him.
“No closer, Jirel,” Devan managed as he heard the splash of water behind him, “I can’t let you stop me. Not now.”
Jirel obediently stopped, having only reduced the distance between himself and Devan by a few feet. There was still half the length of the landing pad between them.
“Devan,” Jirel urged, raindrops dripping off his forehead, “I know you don’t want to do this. It might seem like the right answer, given everything that’s happened, but I promise you that you will regret this the moment you press that trigger.”
Devan shook his head and stared down at the disruptor for a moment, as Palmor took another fearful half-step back towards the safety of the side door of the shuttle.
“There’s no other way,” Devan replied eventually, “A--And this is why I had to find someone like Mizar Bal to help me with all this. Because you might have given me passage here, but you wouldn’t have helped me to do something like this.”
“Well,” Jirel managed with a sad smile, “I guess you got that part right.”
Devan still didn’t take his eyes off Palmor, but he nodded in acknowledgement of Jirel’s comment, even as his wife’s face flashed through his memory once again. He stifled the fresh wave of emotion and stared back at where Palmor still stood, frozen in terror, gripping his disruptor a little more tightly.
And then they heard the sound of the transporter.
The three Bounty crew members kept their focus on the weapons being pointed at them by the two familiar newcomers to the penthouse, and kept their own disruptors raised.
Not that this seemed to faze Mizar at all, who merely waved dismissively at the trio of weapons pointed at him as he stepped over to the pile of latinum.
“You can put those away,” he motioned, “Don’t forget that we’re one little button click away from wiping out that little ship of yours…”
Denella stole a glance at Sunek and Klath, and nodded a silent acknowledgement. They all, especially reluctantly in Klath’s case, lowered their weapons. Mizar acknowledged their concession with a smug nod of his head, and then took in the pile of latinum with a greedy smile.
“Now, this is what I was waiting for,” he grinned.
“Who the hell are you?” Palmor barked out at the tall Ktarian, “I don’t recognise you.”
“I’m just a man who happens to know how much of a crook you are, Palmor,” Mizar drawled, still with one glinting eye focused squarely on the latinum, “And one who knew how much of a payday robbing you would be. If you want to know why we chose you specifically, you’d need to talk to my colleague.”
Devan felt the urge to shrink back as the attention of everyone in the room suddenly swung over to him. But he forced himself to stand as tall as he could, and kept one thing in his mind to ensure that his often fleeting resolve didn’t waver this time.
One single image. An image of her face.
Of those looking at him, Klath, Sunek and Denella waited patiently for an explanation, while Tegras and Evina looked a little confused, having never seen him before. And Palmor Fot suddenly looked significantly paler.
“You…” he whispered, “You’re behind all this--?”
“Please, d--don’t talk,” Devan managed to snap out, keeping his disruptor pointed squarely at Palmor and his finger on the trigger, “You know why I’m here.”
Palmor swung back around to the others, his eyes widening with fear.
“You can’t trust this man, ok? What has he told you?”
“Actually, very little,” Denella said truthfully, “We were kinda hoping to get some answers at the end of all of this.”
“Just what have you done this time, Palmor?” Tegras added with a shake of his head.
“You don’t understand,” Palmor continued, “This is all a big misunderstanding--”
“He knows what he did,” Devan replied, his hand with the disruptor starting to shake slightly as he prepared for what he had to do, “A--And now, I’m going to--”
He was interrupted by the sound of another incoming transporter beam.
Two more forms coalesced inside the increasingly crowded penthouse. Two that were again familiar to most of those present in the room, and significantly more appropriately dressed than the last time anyone had seen them.
It hadn’t taken Jirel and Natasha long to figure out where they needed to beam in. Even the Bounty’s often temperamental sensors could pick up the lifesigns of a Klingon, a Vulcan and an Orion from orbit of an otherwise almost entirely homogenised colony such as Varris IV.
But any relief they felt as they saw the familiar faces of their crewmates again was short-lived. Jirel immediately turned around to the shocked Devan.
“Hey, Devan, stop,” he called out, “Please!”
Devan was momentarily stunned at the sight of the Trill and the human, and struggled to find anything to say to his former colleague. But Mizar had no such issues.
“I thought I said goodbye to you two,” the Ktarian grouched, seemingly not overly concerned that his own hostages had escaped.
“You did,” Natasha replied, “It was gross.”
“Huh, but you broke out and beamed down here. Tut, tut, that wasn’t part of the deal. I’ve got a mind to detonate that little bomb anyway--”
That was enough for Denella to whirl around to the Ktarian and raise her disruptor once again. He’d threatened the life of the Bounty, after all.
“You do that, you’re not getting out of here alive!”
The determination in her face as she growled those words at him were enough to make Mizar pause and second guess his position for the first time since he had arrived.
“Hey, hey,” Jirel managed to his engineer, “Let’s - all of us, ok? - put the disruptors down for a bit, ok? And just calm down.”
Denella ground her teeth, but reluctantly lowered her own weapon. Mizar followed suit with a shrug of his shoulders, then tapped a command into a device in his other hand. For a sickening moment, Jirel wondered if that had been the command for the bomb. Even if he still wasn’t entirely certain it was a bomb.
Instead, a split second later, the pile of latinum shimmered and disappeared, as Mizar’s shuttle’s transporter whisked it away. Fifty bricks of latinum literally disappeared before everyone’s eyes.
“Well,” Mizar purred, “I’ve got everything I need.”
Jirel sighed and turned his focus back to Devan, who had been looking at the Trill ever since he had beamed in.
“Ok, so, Devan, you’ve got the latinum, so there’s no need to do anything else, ok?”
“I--I’ve told you, Jirel. You can’t stop me from--”
“He’s gone!”
Evina’s cry was enough to cause everyone in the room to look around in shock. It quickly became apparent that, as everyone else had been arguing with each other, Palmor Fot had taken the opportunity to disappear as completely as his latinum had.
“No!” Devan screamed.
Without waiting, without even thinking, he took off with his weapon raised. Heading for the exit of the living area next to where Palmor had been standing, and the steps that led up to the landing pad.
Jirel jumped into action, following his friend. Equally close to the door through which Devan had bolted, Natasha instinctively tagged along as well.
“Ok, that’s enough of that,” Mizar called out, just as the other Bounty crew members were about to follow in their wake.
Denella, Sunek and the limping Klath turned to see that Mizar’s disruptor was raised again, the Ktarian still looking entirely in control of the situation despite the sudden flurry of activity.
“Let’s leave them to it, hmm? Devan just needs to do what he needs to do.”
Klath grumbled slightly, causing Evina to look over at him.
“Feel like a hostage yet?” she offered with a friendly smile.
The Klingon didn’t match her smile, and simply grumbled again, even as Mizar stifled a slight yawn.
“Shame though,” he offered idly, “I had been hoping to see someone die today…”
****************************
Palmor Fot had run. Because that was exactly the sort of thing that Palmor Fot was best at.
Whenever he found himself in a sticky situation, he had an instinctive ability to get out of it. Usually exactly like he just had, by waiting for an appropriate distraction and then making a sharp exit, either literally or metaphorically, leaving everyone else to clean everything up.
It was exactly how he had been able to get involved in just about every dodgy deal on Varris IV without ever leaving enough of a trace to get caught. And here, in his own penthouse, he had spotted a window of opportunity to sneak away and make for the landing pad.
Now outside, he swiftly dashed across the pad, stumbling slightly in a deep puddle that was left behind by the still-driving rain as he made for the freshly liberated personal shuttle that was still parked there.
He may have lost a hell of a lot of latinum, but he knew he had more where that came from. And if he could escape in the shuttle, he could shop the others to the authorities and be home free.
As the rain soaked him to the skin, he reached the steps of the shuttle and tapped at the external controls to open the door. He breathed a sigh of relief. He had made it.
And then he heard the voice.
“Stop!”
Palmor’s stomach sank. Even as the door began to open, he turned around and squinted back through the rain, to where Devan stood on the far side of the pad, his disruptor raised.
“N--No further, Palmor,” he added for emphasis, stepping towards him.
Palmor licked his lips. This was undoubtedly a setback, but he was still sure he could talk his way out of this one. He’d talked his way out of worse situations before. And behind him, he heard the shuttle door fully opening with a dull thud. He was just a few steps from his escape.
“Listen, Devan,” he replied with an amenable tone, “I know you’re upset, but this isn’t the way to--”
“D--Don’t talk!” the other Ktarian snapped back, “Nothing you say can change what has to happen here!”
He took another step forwards, edging closer to his target.
Behind him, the door to the stairway opened again and Jirel and Natasha raced into the driving rain themselves, stopping when they saw the standoff in front of them.
“Devan!” Jirel called out.
The Ktarian didn’t turn back. He didn’t even flinch. He kept his weapon raised.
“This is the man, Jirel,” he called back, “The one that took her from me!”
“I get it,” Jirel replied, “But this is way too crazy a reaction to--”
“Oh no,” Natasha gasped, grabbing Jirel’s arm in shock, “He took her from him, Jirel. He didn’t steal her. He killed her.”
Jirel’s jaw dropped as he processed that comment, silently cursing himself for not having seen the full truth of Devan’s words earlier.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Palmor insisted, taking half a step backwards, “You can’t blame me for--”
“Her name was Etara,” Ryan bellowed out into the sodden night’s sky, “S--She was Ktarian. And she was the most perfect woman I’d ever met.”
He took another step forwards, rage now entirely overriding his earlier timidity.
“A--And then she came to Varris IV to work on a new mining deal for her company. And she met Palmor Fot. And his drug empire.”
Jirel stepped towards his friend, with Natasha following suit. But the Trill struggled to find the words to respond to his friend’s raw angst.
“Devan, I had no idea--”
“Felicium!” Devan spat out.
Next to Jirel, Natasha’s mouth gaped in horror.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
“What’s felicium?” Jirel asked.
“Heavy narcotic,” she explained, “Originally developed on a planet called Brekka as a cure for the Ornaran plague, but so addictive that they turned it into a dependency. Starfleet intervened and broke the cycle, but without any other industry to speak of, the Brekkans turned to selling the drug on to the rest of the galaxy.”
“I--It’s everywhere on Varris IV,” Devan added miserably, “Thanks to this man.”
Palmor kept his hands raised up in front of him, an appeasing look on his face.
“You have to understand, I’m just a businessman providing a service--”
“It consumed her,” Devan continued, cutting the other Ktarian off with a furious glare, “Took away everything that was perfect about her. A--At first, I tried to keep her supplied with enough of it. But with felicium, you can never have enough. You can never be satisfied. And eventually we ran out of latinum, and Palmor Fot cut us off…and then the withdrawal started.”
Natasha flinched in sympathy. Jirel grimaced. Palmor tensed up further. Devan stifled a sob.
“It sent her insane. S--Screaming in agony. Begging me for help. And then, one day, when my back was turned, she g--got away, and s--she--”
His body convulsed in a sob. The disruptor in his hand wobbled slightly. Jirel had heard enough, he stepped through a puddle towards his old colleague to comfort him.
“No closer, Jirel,” Devan managed as he heard the splash of water behind him, “I can’t let you stop me. Not now.”
Jirel obediently stopped, having only reduced the distance between himself and Devan by a few feet. There was still half the length of the landing pad between them.
“Devan,” Jirel urged, raindrops dripping off his forehead, “I know you don’t want to do this. It might seem like the right answer, given everything that’s happened, but I promise you that you will regret this the moment you press that trigger.”
Devan shook his head and stared down at the disruptor for a moment, as Palmor took another fearful half-step back towards the safety of the side door of the shuttle.
“There’s no other way,” Devan replied eventually, “A--And this is why I had to find someone like Mizar Bal to help me with all this. Because you might have given me passage here, but you wouldn’t have helped me to do something like this.”
“Well,” Jirel managed with a sad smile, “I guess you got that part right.”
Devan still didn’t take his eyes off Palmor, but he nodded in acknowledgement of Jirel’s comment, even as his wife’s face flashed through his memory once again. He stifled the fresh wave of emotion and stared back at where Palmor still stood, frozen in terror, gripping his disruptor a little more tightly.
And then they heard the sound of the transporter.
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Oooh rich with cliffhangers... CeJay would be proud...
Again - really nice world-building both with the Kitaran colony and the larger universe.
Thanks!! rbs
Again - really nice world-building both with the Kitaran colony and the larger universe.
Thanks!! rbs
Part Four (Cont'd)
“Ugh.”
Mizar tutted audibly as he checked his chronometer again.
Ten minutes. It had been ten minutes since Devan had disappeared on the trail of the fleeing Palmor. And Mizar’s feet were getting itchier by the second. He pictured the fifty bricks of latinum, sitting safely onboard his tiny shuttle in orbit, and tried to focus on that positive.
“You got somewhere to be?” Sunek piped up, filling the silence that had descended in the same way that he always seemed to, regardless of the situation.
Mizar glanced over at the perma-grinning Vulcan with a mildly irritated glare.
“I’ve still got a bomb on your ship, don’t forget.”
“Oh yeah,” the Vulcan fired back, “Real big talk for a--”
“Hey!” Denella snapped, with palpable concern, “Let’s not play chicken with my ship, ok?”
Sunek adopted a slightly more grumpy expression, like he’d just been told off by his mother, and shrugged his lanky shoulders.
Behind the bickering duo, Tegras and Evina stood with Klath, who was now propping himself up on the back of one of Palmor’s lavish sofas to keep the weight off his injured leg.
“Do you think he’s really going to shoot Palmor?” Tegras asked the Klingon in a low mutter.
Klath suppressed a wince, both from a sudden surge of pain from his leg, and from the unmistakable sign that he was getting dragged into another conversation he wasn’t especially keen on having.
“I do not know,” he admitted eventually, “I have not known that individual for very long.”
He paused and considered the events that had just unfolded, then continued.
“But…I saw a familiar look in his eyes when he saw Palmor Fot. A look that a warrior recognises. The look of striving for vengeance. And being at peace with the consequences of doing so.”
It was a look that Klath knew all too well throughout his life, and had last seen some months ago when he had fought a vengeful Klingon named Kolar to the death. But he decided not to explain that particular story to his current company. Even so, the two Ktarians shuddered slightly at the implication of Klath’s words.
“So, it was all true,” Evina mused after a pause, “The hostage-taking, the weapons, everything that you did down here. You and your friends weren’t doing it out of choice.”
“No,” Klath acknowledged, “We were not. But I…apologise.”
The Ktarian woman offered a thin smile, and then looked over at Tegras for a moment. But before she could offer anything further, Mizar loudly tutted again.
“Right,” he sighed, “That’s just about enough waiting. If that idiot up there wants to spend the rest of his life on this fleapit of a colony, so be it.”
“Charming,” Denella replied acerbically, without a trace of amusement.
“I’ve done what he asked me to do,” Mizar shrugged back, “And I’ve got my latinum. So that’s good enough for me.”
“You’re a special kind of idiot, you know that?” Sunek griped.
If Mizar was further irritated by the Vulcan’s quips, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he allowed a victorious smile to crease across his face.
“On the contrary,” he replied, “Unlike you hapless morons, who’ve been running around down here without a clue, I’m the one who actually had the plan from the start. One that seems to have reaped me plenty of rewards. And now everything else will be blamed on you idiots. So, farewell.”
Before Sunek could get in another retort, Mizar tapped a command into his communicator and patiently waited for the computer to beam him back to his shuttle.
And nothing happened.
The victorious smile faltered slightly as he quickly tapped the device again.
And still nothing happened.
As Mizar’s smile vanished entirely, a dawning grin of realisation appeared on Denella’s face.
“Problem?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“The transporter,” he grunted, “What the hell’s going on--?”
The main door of the living area hissed open behind Mizar, causing him to spin around on his heels in shock. Framed in the doorway stood a young woman in a Ktarian security uniform, pointing her phaser straight at him.
“Regulations governing the infiltration of a hostile’s location require that active units beam in a safe distance away, and activate transporter inhibitors before proceeding. To prevent escape.”
The woman stepped fully through the doorway, keeping her weapon raised.
“My name is Deputy Jalon Sep. And you are all under arrest.”
****************************
“Hold it right there, son.”
Tylor pointed his phaser across at Devan, as he took another step towards Palmor.
“Great,” Jirel couldn’t help but sigh sarcastically at the sight of the security officer, “Just what the situation needed. More people with guns.”
The grizzled Ktarian ignored the Trill entirely, keeping his focus on the active target. Just as his decades in security had taught him.
“My name is Security Chief Tylor Ral, Varris IV Security Division,” he continued, “And I’m gonna need you to drop that weapon.”
Devan paused mid-step, but his own focus was still on Palmor at the doorway to the shuttle.
“You heard him!” Palmor screamed through the rain, “Stop this, now!”
“You took her from me,” Devan hissed at his fearful quarry, “You destroyed everything!”
Jirel turned to the grizzled Ktarian security chief and gestured to his raised phaser with concern for his old colleague.
“Please, don’t shoot. We can explain.”
“I’m all ears, friend,” Tylor replied, not bothering to question the apparent presence of a Trill and a human on Varris IV for the time being and keeping his focus on the armed Ktarian halfway across the landing pad, “But first, how about your buddy over there drops his disruptor.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was very much a demand.
“Devan,” Jirel called out, “Listen to him, please. Let’s just talk!”
“I--I’ve told you, Jirel. Talking didn’t work. N--Not with counsellors, or doctors, or anyone.”
“Yeah, but it might now,” the Trill persisted grimly, “With a friend.”
Devan didn’t turn around. He didn’t lower his weapon an inch. He just pictured her face. She was smiling.
“You should listen to them,” Palmor offered with a nervy edge, “No point getting shot by Ktarian Security over this, is there?”
As he spoke, he licked his lips and tried to calculate how quickly he could realistically propel himself inside the shuttle and power the thing up, assuming there was an appropriate distraction.
He concluded that it was worth a try. Especially as he didn’t want to get involved with Ktarian Security either.
“He’s not backing down,” Natasha muttered urgently at Jirel.
Not that he needed that pointing out. Devan remained focused squarely on Palmor.
“Hey,” Jirel tried again, “If you want justice, we got it right here. Ktarian Security just beamed in, Devan. So let them handle this, ok?”
“He’s right, son,” Tylor chimed in, “You’re pointing that weapon of yours at Palmor Fot. I know all about him. And if you talk to me, I can deal with him the proper way, ok?”
Palmor didn’t like the sound of this at all, and returned to bargaining for his escape.
“I have more latinum,” he babbled to Devan, “I could give you--”
“All the latinum in the quadrant won’t make up for what you did.”
“I--I really didn’t mean to--”
“I know you didn’t,” Devan interrupted, “You just didn’t care.”
He inched another step forwards. Tylor’s finger tensed on his own weapon’s trigger. Jirel licked his lips and tried one final time.
“Ok, Devan, ask yourself, is this really what Etara would have wanted?”
Devan’s face flinched for the first time since he had arrived on the landing pad. He stared down at the weapon in his hands as the rain thundered down on the collection of bedraggled figures on the pad.
He considered the disruptor. The one he had bought just for this. The one he still hadn’t actually fired in anger.
He thought about Etara. He pictured her face, and her smile. He thought about their first date. Their first trip together. The first time he had met her parents. Their wedding day. Their honeymoon. Their life together. Or what life together they had managed to have.
He pictured the woman she was, before the felicium. And he considered Jirel’s question.
And as his mind flooded with memories on the soaked landing pad of a criminal’s penthouse, he slowly lowered his disruptor.
Jirel felt his stomach untighten. Natasha breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“Alright, son,” Tylor nodded, “That’s a really positive step. Now just walk back over here, ok?”
Devan acquiesced. He kept facing Palmor, but he took a slow step backwards, as Tylor, slowly but surely, started to pace over to him. Ready to take the mysterious disruptor-wielding man into custody for the time being.
In front of him, at the foot of the shuttle’s steps, Palmor’s nervousness evaporated, giving way to a look of undeserved relief, with a tinge of self-satisfaction.
“Well,” Palmor offered, “I’m glad you’ve seen sense.”
Devan stared at the Ktarian. His mind was flooded with a fresh assault of memories.
He thought about the latinum he’d spent to satisfy her unsatisfiable cravings. He thought about the sound of her screams, as Palmor Fot’s felicium had agonisingly left her system. He thought about the sinking feeling of dread he felt when he returned to their apartment and found her missing.
And he thought about her funeral.
And then he didn’t think about anything. He allowed his instincts to take over.
He raised the disruptor and fired.
It caught Palmor square in the chest, with enough force to send him flying back into the hull of the shuttle, before he slumped down onto the wet surface of the landing pad.
Devan heard Jirel cry out from behind him, as he stared at Palmor’s lifeless form.
A split second later, he felt himself falling, toppled by the force of Tylor Ral slamming into him and forcing him to the ground. Not that such a dramatic action really mattered. He released his grip on the disruptor immediately. It clattered to the floor as he fell, having served its singular purpose.
Jirel stared in shock, feeling Natasha grab his arm instinctively as they watched the scene unfold. Whatever he had been hoping to prevent by escaping from the Bounty’s cargo bay and coming down here, he had failed.
With Devan offering no resistance, Tylor quickly cuffed him and forced him back to his feet, before he glanced over at the unmoving form of Palmor, a neat disruptor blast in the centre of his chest. He looked back at Devan and shook his head.
“Shouldn’t have done that, son,” he grunted with a shake of his head, as he led him away.
Devan didn’t reply to the older Ktarian man. But he did look over to Jirel as he was dragged past where the Trill was standing, with an empty look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he offered simply, “For all of this.”
Jirel grimaced and nodded back at his old friend.
“Yeah. So am I.”
End of Part Four
“Ugh.”
Mizar tutted audibly as he checked his chronometer again.
Ten minutes. It had been ten minutes since Devan had disappeared on the trail of the fleeing Palmor. And Mizar’s feet were getting itchier by the second. He pictured the fifty bricks of latinum, sitting safely onboard his tiny shuttle in orbit, and tried to focus on that positive.
“You got somewhere to be?” Sunek piped up, filling the silence that had descended in the same way that he always seemed to, regardless of the situation.
Mizar glanced over at the perma-grinning Vulcan with a mildly irritated glare.
“I’ve still got a bomb on your ship, don’t forget.”
“Oh yeah,” the Vulcan fired back, “Real big talk for a--”
“Hey!” Denella snapped, with palpable concern, “Let’s not play chicken with my ship, ok?”
Sunek adopted a slightly more grumpy expression, like he’d just been told off by his mother, and shrugged his lanky shoulders.
Behind the bickering duo, Tegras and Evina stood with Klath, who was now propping himself up on the back of one of Palmor’s lavish sofas to keep the weight off his injured leg.
“Do you think he’s really going to shoot Palmor?” Tegras asked the Klingon in a low mutter.
Klath suppressed a wince, both from a sudden surge of pain from his leg, and from the unmistakable sign that he was getting dragged into another conversation he wasn’t especially keen on having.
“I do not know,” he admitted eventually, “I have not known that individual for very long.”
He paused and considered the events that had just unfolded, then continued.
“But…I saw a familiar look in his eyes when he saw Palmor Fot. A look that a warrior recognises. The look of striving for vengeance. And being at peace with the consequences of doing so.”
It was a look that Klath knew all too well throughout his life, and had last seen some months ago when he had fought a vengeful Klingon named Kolar to the death. But he decided not to explain that particular story to his current company. Even so, the two Ktarians shuddered slightly at the implication of Klath’s words.
“So, it was all true,” Evina mused after a pause, “The hostage-taking, the weapons, everything that you did down here. You and your friends weren’t doing it out of choice.”
“No,” Klath acknowledged, “We were not. But I…apologise.”
The Ktarian woman offered a thin smile, and then looked over at Tegras for a moment. But before she could offer anything further, Mizar loudly tutted again.
“Right,” he sighed, “That’s just about enough waiting. If that idiot up there wants to spend the rest of his life on this fleapit of a colony, so be it.”
“Charming,” Denella replied acerbically, without a trace of amusement.
“I’ve done what he asked me to do,” Mizar shrugged back, “And I’ve got my latinum. So that’s good enough for me.”
“You’re a special kind of idiot, you know that?” Sunek griped.
If Mizar was further irritated by the Vulcan’s quips, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he allowed a victorious smile to crease across his face.
“On the contrary,” he replied, “Unlike you hapless morons, who’ve been running around down here without a clue, I’m the one who actually had the plan from the start. One that seems to have reaped me plenty of rewards. And now everything else will be blamed on you idiots. So, farewell.”
Before Sunek could get in another retort, Mizar tapped a command into his communicator and patiently waited for the computer to beam him back to his shuttle.
And nothing happened.
The victorious smile faltered slightly as he quickly tapped the device again.
And still nothing happened.
As Mizar’s smile vanished entirely, a dawning grin of realisation appeared on Denella’s face.
“Problem?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“The transporter,” he grunted, “What the hell’s going on--?”
The main door of the living area hissed open behind Mizar, causing him to spin around on his heels in shock. Framed in the doorway stood a young woman in a Ktarian security uniform, pointing her phaser straight at him.
“Regulations governing the infiltration of a hostile’s location require that active units beam in a safe distance away, and activate transporter inhibitors before proceeding. To prevent escape.”
The woman stepped fully through the doorway, keeping her weapon raised.
“My name is Deputy Jalon Sep. And you are all under arrest.”
****************************
“Hold it right there, son.”
Tylor pointed his phaser across at Devan, as he took another step towards Palmor.
“Great,” Jirel couldn’t help but sigh sarcastically at the sight of the security officer, “Just what the situation needed. More people with guns.”
The grizzled Ktarian ignored the Trill entirely, keeping his focus on the active target. Just as his decades in security had taught him.
“My name is Security Chief Tylor Ral, Varris IV Security Division,” he continued, “And I’m gonna need you to drop that weapon.”
Devan paused mid-step, but his own focus was still on Palmor at the doorway to the shuttle.
“You heard him!” Palmor screamed through the rain, “Stop this, now!”
“You took her from me,” Devan hissed at his fearful quarry, “You destroyed everything!”
Jirel turned to the grizzled Ktarian security chief and gestured to his raised phaser with concern for his old colleague.
“Please, don’t shoot. We can explain.”
“I’m all ears, friend,” Tylor replied, not bothering to question the apparent presence of a Trill and a human on Varris IV for the time being and keeping his focus on the armed Ktarian halfway across the landing pad, “But first, how about your buddy over there drops his disruptor.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was very much a demand.
“Devan,” Jirel called out, “Listen to him, please. Let’s just talk!”
“I--I’ve told you, Jirel. Talking didn’t work. N--Not with counsellors, or doctors, or anyone.”
“Yeah, but it might now,” the Trill persisted grimly, “With a friend.”
Devan didn’t turn around. He didn’t lower his weapon an inch. He just pictured her face. She was smiling.
“You should listen to them,” Palmor offered with a nervy edge, “No point getting shot by Ktarian Security over this, is there?”
As he spoke, he licked his lips and tried to calculate how quickly he could realistically propel himself inside the shuttle and power the thing up, assuming there was an appropriate distraction.
He concluded that it was worth a try. Especially as he didn’t want to get involved with Ktarian Security either.
“He’s not backing down,” Natasha muttered urgently at Jirel.
Not that he needed that pointing out. Devan remained focused squarely on Palmor.
“Hey,” Jirel tried again, “If you want justice, we got it right here. Ktarian Security just beamed in, Devan. So let them handle this, ok?”
“He’s right, son,” Tylor chimed in, “You’re pointing that weapon of yours at Palmor Fot. I know all about him. And if you talk to me, I can deal with him the proper way, ok?”
Palmor didn’t like the sound of this at all, and returned to bargaining for his escape.
“I have more latinum,” he babbled to Devan, “I could give you--”
“All the latinum in the quadrant won’t make up for what you did.”
“I--I really didn’t mean to--”
“I know you didn’t,” Devan interrupted, “You just didn’t care.”
He inched another step forwards. Tylor’s finger tensed on his own weapon’s trigger. Jirel licked his lips and tried one final time.
“Ok, Devan, ask yourself, is this really what Etara would have wanted?”
Devan’s face flinched for the first time since he had arrived on the landing pad. He stared down at the weapon in his hands as the rain thundered down on the collection of bedraggled figures on the pad.
He considered the disruptor. The one he had bought just for this. The one he still hadn’t actually fired in anger.
He thought about Etara. He pictured her face, and her smile. He thought about their first date. Their first trip together. The first time he had met her parents. Their wedding day. Their honeymoon. Their life together. Or what life together they had managed to have.
He pictured the woman she was, before the felicium. And he considered Jirel’s question.
And as his mind flooded with memories on the soaked landing pad of a criminal’s penthouse, he slowly lowered his disruptor.
Jirel felt his stomach untighten. Natasha breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“Alright, son,” Tylor nodded, “That’s a really positive step. Now just walk back over here, ok?”
Devan acquiesced. He kept facing Palmor, but he took a slow step backwards, as Tylor, slowly but surely, started to pace over to him. Ready to take the mysterious disruptor-wielding man into custody for the time being.
In front of him, at the foot of the shuttle’s steps, Palmor’s nervousness evaporated, giving way to a look of undeserved relief, with a tinge of self-satisfaction.
“Well,” Palmor offered, “I’m glad you’ve seen sense.”
Devan stared at the Ktarian. His mind was flooded with a fresh assault of memories.
He thought about the latinum he’d spent to satisfy her unsatisfiable cravings. He thought about the sound of her screams, as Palmor Fot’s felicium had agonisingly left her system. He thought about the sinking feeling of dread he felt when he returned to their apartment and found her missing.
And he thought about her funeral.
And then he didn’t think about anything. He allowed his instincts to take over.
He raised the disruptor and fired.
It caught Palmor square in the chest, with enough force to send him flying back into the hull of the shuttle, before he slumped down onto the wet surface of the landing pad.
Devan heard Jirel cry out from behind him, as he stared at Palmor’s lifeless form.
A split second later, he felt himself falling, toppled by the force of Tylor Ral slamming into him and forcing him to the ground. Not that such a dramatic action really mattered. He released his grip on the disruptor immediately. It clattered to the floor as he fell, having served its singular purpose.
Jirel stared in shock, feeling Natasha grab his arm instinctively as they watched the scene unfold. Whatever he had been hoping to prevent by escaping from the Bounty’s cargo bay and coming down here, he had failed.
With Devan offering no resistance, Tylor quickly cuffed him and forced him back to his feet, before he glanced over at the unmoving form of Palmor, a neat disruptor blast in the centre of his chest. He looked back at Devan and shook his head.
“Shouldn’t have done that, son,” he grunted with a shake of his head, as he led him away.
Devan didn’t reply to the older Ktarian man. But he did look over to Jirel as he was dragged past where the Trill was standing, with an empty look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he offered simply, “For all of this.”
Jirel grimaced and nodded back at his old friend.
“Yeah. So am I.”
End of Part Four
Pretty much baked in, given who Palmer is - just couldn't keep his mouth shut. So I'm guessing that disruptor was set to kill. Now Jirel and crew are going to have to do some fast talking to get out of this one...
Thanks!! rbs
Thanks!! rbs
Part Five
The reunited crew of the Bounty found themselves in familiar surroundings. Not for the first time, and almost certainly not for the last time, they were corralled together, inside a secure detention cell.
They had been brought back to the headquarters of the Varris IV Security Division by the backup teams that had arrived to assist Tylor and Jalon, and had little choice but to surrender to their inevitable arrest. Especially when Jalon had followed procedure and read out the full list of charges against them.
Kidnapping, extortion, violence, conspiracy to commit grand larceny, theft of a civilian shuttle, not to mention a multitude of minor traffic offences that Sunek had managed to rack up during their early morning high speed chase through the skies.
And so, a detention cell it had been.
“All things considered,” Sunek offered from where he sat on the floor, slumped against the rear wall of the cell, “We’re kinda boned.”
“We’ve got some pretty big mitigating circumstances,” Denella offered as she perched on the end of a hard metal bed in the corner of the cell, “I mean, they had two of us strapped to a bomb.”
“Yeah, right, we were only following orders,” the Vulcan quipped, “That one always goes down well.”
Natasha ignored the usual bickering amongst the Bounty’s crew and walked over to the shimmering forcefield at the front of the cell, where Jirel stood and stared out into the rest of the holding area, silently musing on what had just transpired.
“How’re you holding up, Spotty?” she offered.
Despite his inner worries, he glanced over and gave her a knowing look.
“Seriously, if that catches on again, I’m dumping you out an airlock.”
She smiled, managing to coax half a smile back. Jirel silently cursed how helpless he was to do anything else when he saw her face light up. Then, he turned back to stare out of the cell. He had no idea where Devan had been taken. Nobody had even seen him since Tylor had marched him back off the rooftop. Presumably he was elsewhere in the headquarters, being interrogated along with Mizar.
“I just wonder,” he muttered eventually, “If I could’ve talked him round. If I’d have said the right thing, or tried a bit harder…”
“You did all you could,” she affirmed, “He was just dealing with way too much. I can’t imagine going through something like that.”
She suppressed a slight shudder as she remembered Devan’s full story.
“And,” she continued, “If it makes you feel any better, Varris IV is a Ktarian colony, which means they’re covered by Federation law. Which means a Federation penal colony. Not a stint on Rura Penthe.”
Jirel considered this and then nodded.
“I guess,” he replied mirthlessly, “Maybe we’ll wind up being cellmates. At least then we’d be able to catch up properly.”
She grimaced slightly at the reminder of their own potential fate.
“Wanna know the worst thing?” he continued.
“Always.”
“Devan kept saying that the reason he got involved with Mizar, rather than coming straight to me, was because he needed someone who’d help him kill.”
He paused again, wondering quite how open he should be from inside a detention cell.
“Truth is,” he concluded eventually with a sigh, “Having heard his story…I’m pretty sure I would’ve helped him.”
Natasha paused for a moment, and Jirel turned back to her.
“I mean, maybe,” he corrected himself, “I dunno. Sorry, I shouldn’t--”
“No,” she replied, “I get it.”
Before their discussion could go any further, they were interrupted by the sound of the door to the holding area opening, and three familiar Ktarians entering.
Deputy Jalon Sep walked in the middle with a slightly unhappy look on her face. On either side, she was flanked by Tegras Pel and Evina Jix. As they reached the forcefield of the cell, the Bounty’s crew all stood to meet them. With some effort, in the still-injured Klath’s case.
“Well,” Jalon managed after a moment of reluctance, “I suppose you’re all free to go.”
She followed up her comment by deactivating the forcefield with a quick tap of a button, as the residents of the cell stared back in shock.
“Is this a bit you’re doing?” Jirel managed, “Cos it’s really good.”
“No,” Jalon replied, gesturing to Tegras and Evina, “These two have given us the full details of what transpired here. And after a discussion with the other hostages from the Ktarian Moonrise, nobody is willing to press any charges.”
Tegras and Evina smiled in satisfaction, looking over at the confused figures of Denella, Klath and Sunek inside the cell.
“We explained everything to the security teams,” Tegras explained, “How it was all down to those other two, pulling the strings. So to speak.”
“And how you’d actually tried to save our lives,” Evina added, gesturing to Klath’s injury, “Despite the cost.”
Klath gave a respectful nod back at the two Ktarians, as Denella smiled widely.
“Thank you,” the Orion replied.
Next to the two civilians, Jalon wasn’t quite done.
“Still, that only deals with some of the items on the charge sheet. But, with the statements you’ve already given, and with the two ringleaders in custody, not to mention the…unique circumstances of this particular case, my Chief has decided to waive the other charges. Except one.”
She handed a small padd to a still-confused Sunek.
“Trelok, you are hereby banned from piloting any form of atmospheric vehicle on any Ktarian colony for life. Commencing immediately.”
Sunek glanced over the padd and grinned, mostly in relief.
“Suits me,” he shrugged, “Those things suck.”
Jalon hadn’t been expecting that reaction, but she disguised it well, and merely turned on her heels and started for the door.
“Wait,” Jirel called out, “What about Devan? Devan Gol?”
Jalon paused and looked back at the Trill.
“The Chief is talking to him now, and he is fully cooperating. But he will be charged with murder.”
Jirel wasn’t entirely sure what else he had been expecting to hear, but he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness. He nodded back glumly.
Once again, it was down to Sunek to break the uncomfortable silence that descended.
“So, how about we get the hell out of here. Before someone changes their mind?”
****************************
After some relieved farewells to their erstwhile hostages, the Bounty’s crew returned to some even more familiar surroundings. And there was one more major issue to deal with.
The five of them stood around the metal cylinder in the Bounty’s cargo bay, as Denella carefully worked on opening the top of the device.
“There’s still one thing that’s confusing me,” Natasha offered as the Orion engineer worked, “Who the hell is Trelok?”
“Oh,” Denella replied, “He’s a gritty, hard-nosed vigilante from the Cerris Nebula. Men fear him, women love him--”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sunek griped with a modicum of irritation, “Of course it’s gonna sound stupid out of context.”
Klath, his injured leg now more permanently repaired after a short trip to the Bounty’s medical bay, looked over at the still-confused human woman.
“We are yet to locate the appropriate context.”
Sunek griped some more as Denella’s work continued, carefully undoing the series of screws that kept the lid on the cylinder.
“You know, we could just beam it into space,” Jirel offered.
“Yeah,” Natasha added, “Definitely a good idea to add an act of terrorism to our charge sheet just before we leave orbit.”
“Still not entirely convinced it’s a bomb,” he fired back with a slight grin.
He could already feel his old self starting to return. He still felt some residual regrets about what had transpired. But one thing he had learned during his time on the Bounty was that it was rarely healthy to dwell too much on things they had no power to influence.
So he just compartmentalised it up inside. Which he appreciated was probably equally unhealthy for plenty of reasons. But it was how he and his crew seemed to operate.
“Well, I’d feel better knowing it wasn’t a bomb,” Natasha admitted, “Given how long I spent tied up to it.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Sunek piped up again with a cheeky grin, “Top marks on your choice of underwear, doc.”
Natasha shot an unimpressed look at the Vulcan who, one way or another, had gotten to know an awful lot about her just recently. At least her darker secrets, that he had mistakenly found out during a desperate mind meld when she had been rendered comatose by a plant toxin, were still secret for the time being.
“Heh,” Jirel added with a grin of his own, “I guess if nothing else, I got some pretty good blackmail material out of all of this.”
Denella looked up from her work to give the Trill a knowing smile.
“Didn’t yours have little spaceships on them, Jirel--?”
“Ok, so we’re all agreed to never mention the ‘tied to a bomb in our underwear’ incident ever again,” he interjected quickly, looking at each member of the group with genuine sincerity.
Denella stifled a chuckle as she finally lifted the lid off the cylinder.
“Well, either way--Oh, wow.”
“What?” Klath asked.
“Yeah, I’m gonna need some proper tools over here. This thing’s a bomb.”
****************************
After Denella had deactivated what had turned out to be an entirely functional cabrodine bomb, they had set course away from Varris IV. And then the entire crew of the Bounty had decided it was finally time for some rest.
Sunek had headed straight for his cabin as soon as he had set the autopilot, while Denella and Klath hadn’t been far behind.
Meanwhile, the other two crew members had headed for the dining area, having realised that they hadn’t eaten for some time.
As Natasha toyed with the remains of her double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings), her go-to meal after all manner of crises, she looked up at a still-preoccupied Jirel.
“You could always talk to him about it, you know.”
The Trill smiled wryly, knowing exactly who she was referring to. The one person he knew who might be able to do something for Devan, now he was set to be prosecuted under the auspices of Federation law.
His father. Admiral Jenner.
“I mean,” he offered back as he pushed his own unfinished meal away, “You’re the one still on speaking terms with him.”
“Touche,” she nodded.
She reminded herself that she still wasn’t entirely sure why she was on speaking terms with the admiral. Why exactly he had asked her to effectively keep tabs on Jirel and the Bounty’s movements as they went about their business.
But that was an issue for another day, she surmised.
“Anyway,” Jirel added, “Even if my relationship with him wasn’t a therapist’s wet dream, I’m pretty sure that getting someone off a murder charge would be a step too far. I guess Devan’s at the mercy of the system now.”
Natasha nodded in understanding, even as Jirel stood up and took his leftovers back to be processed back into the replicator.
“You sure you’re ok?” she called out as he walked.
“Sure,” he shrugged, “Like I said, he was an acquaintance.”
Natasha had seen enough by now to see through the lie. But she didn’t want to push it any further, so she let it slide, even as Jirel made for the exit.
“Any other acquaintances from your old scrapyards we need to look out for?” she asked.
This time, it was Jirel’s turn to have a memory of a woman’s face flicker to the front of his mind, but he quickly dismissed it.
That was an issue for another day as well.
“Nope,” he lied, before turning back to her, “Um, but, also, I am sorry, you know? About being an idiot earlier. With you. And Mizar--”
“Apology accepted,” she replied quickly, not wanting the Trill to make things any more awkward on that front.
“Right,” he nodded back with a smile, “It’s just…I guess I feel like I know you pretty well now. And you can definitely do better than Mizar Bal.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow at this, slightly amused by Jirel’s attempt at a pep talk.
“Yep,” she replied, “I can.”
The Trill paused at the doorway for a moment, considering whether he should follow up with what he had been intending to follow up with. It was enough of a pause for Natasha to jump in on his behalf.
“I can do better than that, as well,” she added knowingly.
Jirel floundered for a moment, before mustering a grudging smile.
“Yep,” he nodded back, “You can.”
He walked out of the doors and Natasha watched him leave, before she turned back and idly took a bite out of the remains of her double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings), as she got lost in thought herself, contemplating the Trill that had just walked out of the room.
And not for the first time in the last 24 hours, she cursed her terrible taste in men.
****************************
It was early the following morning when Deputy Jalon Sep returned to her desk at the Varris IV Security Division’s Headquarters. Despite the very late shift she had endured the night before, she was in earlier than anyone else who had been on duty during the crisis.
She had barely slept in the meantime as well, her mind racing with thoughts about her greatest piece of crime fighting on the colony to date.
This hadn’t been just another meaningless patrol, or a false alarm, or a minor drug bust or scuffle between street gangs. This was a major event. Hijackings, murder, the lot.
She was still slightly perturbed by the willingness that the Chief had shown in letting the five strangers go, given that they clearly appeared to at least be accomplices. Regardless of how unwilling they might have been. Still, she hadn’t questioned his orders.
Although, as she sat and worked on the paperwork from last night’s arrests, she decided that she might bring it up with him during a quieter moment today.
As she worked, she was approached by Section Constable Rogan Kel, a slightly scatterbrained man on the next rung of the latter below her. And one that she had eased past during her initial rise through the ranks before she had arrived on Varris IV.
Not that it seemed to bother Rogan Kel that a woman many years his junior outranked him. He was one of the security personnel who had been here for so long because he had no real plans for career progression. As he arrived at her desk, he handed her a small padd with a friendly smile, and took a sip from a mug of steaming coffee.
“Section Constable,” she nodded formally, “What do you have for me?”
“Release papers from this morning,” he explained jovially, “All processed now. But we need you to countersign for the records.”
She suppressed a sigh. Once again, the Varris IV Security Division was playing fast and loose with procedures. Procedures meant that she should have countersigned the release papers before the subjects had been processed, not after.
Still, all of her minor concerns about a lack of due process vanished into irrelevance when she saw the actual name on the top of the papers.
“Devan Gol?” she gasped, “That’s the guy we picked up for murder! What the hell does the Chief think about this?”
Rogan looked a little confused, as though the cogs of his brain were still being lubricated back into life for the day by the coffee in his hand.
“Chief was the one who signed them off in the first place,” he shrugged.
Jalon looked at the padd again. He was right.
“What the hell?” she snapped, all of her usual calm decorum forgotten, “I need to talk to him about this. Right now!”
“He’s not in yet,” Rogan replied, taking another lazy sip from his mug, “Must be running late, I guess. Could wait in his office, if you wanted?”
She stood from her desk, nostrils flaring in indignation.
“I’m going to do just that, Section Constable. Thank you.”
She stormed across the bustling office, leaving Rogan and his coffee behind, and straight into the Chief’s private sanctum. She didn’t even bother to stand on ceremony and wait outside, instead sitting herself down in front of his vacant desk.
She wanted answers. Answers as to exactly why Security Chief Tylor Ral had just let a murderer walk free.
And so she waited in his office.
For a very long time.
****************************
Ex-Security Chief Tylor Ral leaned back in his chair and smiled.
He was reclining in his study back at his private residence on the outskirts of the main settlement on Varris IV. And he couldn’t remember the last time one of his headaches had flared up.
This wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Technically, he was supposed to have started his next duty shift an hour ago. But instead of being there, he was at home. With who he wanted to be with.
“Tell me,” his wife, Ilena, smiled as she walked into the room to join him, “If you really have retired early, how come your office keeps trying to call?”
She dropped his comms unit onto the desk in front of him, just as it chirped out another alert.
Tylor shrugged and spun around in his chair, beckoning her to sit on his lap.
“Well, the thing is,” he replied, “I sent my official statement of retirement to Central Security back on Ktaris this morning. It’ll take a bit of time for the old wheels of bureaucracy to turn enough to get the message out to the office here.”
“You could always tell them,” she pointed out as she gently sat down.
“Eh, they’ll figure it out.”
She smiled and hugged him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, barely able to believe that she’d finally got him all to herself.
As they broke the hug, he reached up and stroked her aged face with his hand, eliciting a slightly coy reaction from the love of his life. He knew that she no longer felt as though she could quicken a man’s pulse. But as far as he was concerned, she was still as beautiful as the day they’d met. And on that matter, his was the only opinion that counted.
He couldn’t help but smile back at her, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek.
“So,” she said as she playfully batted away his affection, “I guess I’m going to have to get used to you being around the house all the time now, am I?”
“Not necessarily. Actually, I thought we might go travelling.”
At this, she looked a little confused.
“Travelling? Where?”
“Wherever you’d like, my darling,” he smiled, “Thought maybe we’d start with a month on Risa, and work our way out from there.”
“A month?” she chuckled incredulously, “Someone’s feeling flush.”
“Hey, I’m retired. On a very generous pension.”
She studied his face. Something didn’t quite add up to her. But she couldn’t quite place what it was, and eventually, a feeling of joy overwhelmed her other concerns.
“I’ll think about it,” she affirmed, as she stood back up, “And in the meantime, I’ll fix us some tea.”
She walked off, leaving Tylor to recline one again, as he planned everything out in his head.
He could explain to her that the new executive shuttle he was planning to buy was a gift from the Ktarian government for his forty years of service to the force. He could explain that their luxury suites on Risa were part of a package deal that he’d managed to wrangle. He was pretty sure he could explain everything away.
As his attention drifted to the relentless rain outside, he thought about his final act as Security Chief for Varris IV.
Devan Gol had told him everything. About his wife, the drugs, his misery and his need for revenge. And in that moment, he had decided to take pity on him. And organised his release papers before his officious deputy had the chance to intervene.
Maybe it had been the story itself that had convinced him, the sense of trauma he felt to hear of Devan’s loss, and all the times he’d worried about losing Ilena.
Maybe it was the fact that, in a strange way, Devan had done him a favour by killing Palmor Fot. The master criminal of Varris IV was no more.
Maybe it was because he was feeling demob happy that close to retirement. After all, they still had Mizar Bal bang to rights for the little crime spree that had just taken place.
Or maybe it was the offer that Devan had made him. The offer that, in the heat of the moment, he had trusted his instincts over.
Tylor smiled in satisfaction as he watched the rain fall outside.
It was probably that last one, truth be told.
After all, fifty bricks of gold-pressed latinum was a hell of a retirement package.
The End
The reunited crew of the Bounty found themselves in familiar surroundings. Not for the first time, and almost certainly not for the last time, they were corralled together, inside a secure detention cell.
They had been brought back to the headquarters of the Varris IV Security Division by the backup teams that had arrived to assist Tylor and Jalon, and had little choice but to surrender to their inevitable arrest. Especially when Jalon had followed procedure and read out the full list of charges against them.
Kidnapping, extortion, violence, conspiracy to commit grand larceny, theft of a civilian shuttle, not to mention a multitude of minor traffic offences that Sunek had managed to rack up during their early morning high speed chase through the skies.
And so, a detention cell it had been.
“All things considered,” Sunek offered from where he sat on the floor, slumped against the rear wall of the cell, “We’re kinda boned.”
“We’ve got some pretty big mitigating circumstances,” Denella offered as she perched on the end of a hard metal bed in the corner of the cell, “I mean, they had two of us strapped to a bomb.”
“Yeah, right, we were only following orders,” the Vulcan quipped, “That one always goes down well.”
Natasha ignored the usual bickering amongst the Bounty’s crew and walked over to the shimmering forcefield at the front of the cell, where Jirel stood and stared out into the rest of the holding area, silently musing on what had just transpired.
“How’re you holding up, Spotty?” she offered.
Despite his inner worries, he glanced over and gave her a knowing look.
“Seriously, if that catches on again, I’m dumping you out an airlock.”
She smiled, managing to coax half a smile back. Jirel silently cursed how helpless he was to do anything else when he saw her face light up. Then, he turned back to stare out of the cell. He had no idea where Devan had been taken. Nobody had even seen him since Tylor had marched him back off the rooftop. Presumably he was elsewhere in the headquarters, being interrogated along with Mizar.
“I just wonder,” he muttered eventually, “If I could’ve talked him round. If I’d have said the right thing, or tried a bit harder…”
“You did all you could,” she affirmed, “He was just dealing with way too much. I can’t imagine going through something like that.”
She suppressed a slight shudder as she remembered Devan’s full story.
“And,” she continued, “If it makes you feel any better, Varris IV is a Ktarian colony, which means they’re covered by Federation law. Which means a Federation penal colony. Not a stint on Rura Penthe.”
Jirel considered this and then nodded.
“I guess,” he replied mirthlessly, “Maybe we’ll wind up being cellmates. At least then we’d be able to catch up properly.”
She grimaced slightly at the reminder of their own potential fate.
“Wanna know the worst thing?” he continued.
“Always.”
“Devan kept saying that the reason he got involved with Mizar, rather than coming straight to me, was because he needed someone who’d help him kill.”
He paused again, wondering quite how open he should be from inside a detention cell.
“Truth is,” he concluded eventually with a sigh, “Having heard his story…I’m pretty sure I would’ve helped him.”
Natasha paused for a moment, and Jirel turned back to her.
“I mean, maybe,” he corrected himself, “I dunno. Sorry, I shouldn’t--”
“No,” she replied, “I get it.”
Before their discussion could go any further, they were interrupted by the sound of the door to the holding area opening, and three familiar Ktarians entering.
Deputy Jalon Sep walked in the middle with a slightly unhappy look on her face. On either side, she was flanked by Tegras Pel and Evina Jix. As they reached the forcefield of the cell, the Bounty’s crew all stood to meet them. With some effort, in the still-injured Klath’s case.
“Well,” Jalon managed after a moment of reluctance, “I suppose you’re all free to go.”
She followed up her comment by deactivating the forcefield with a quick tap of a button, as the residents of the cell stared back in shock.
“Is this a bit you’re doing?” Jirel managed, “Cos it’s really good.”
“No,” Jalon replied, gesturing to Tegras and Evina, “These two have given us the full details of what transpired here. And after a discussion with the other hostages from the Ktarian Moonrise, nobody is willing to press any charges.”
Tegras and Evina smiled in satisfaction, looking over at the confused figures of Denella, Klath and Sunek inside the cell.
“We explained everything to the security teams,” Tegras explained, “How it was all down to those other two, pulling the strings. So to speak.”
“And how you’d actually tried to save our lives,” Evina added, gesturing to Klath’s injury, “Despite the cost.”
Klath gave a respectful nod back at the two Ktarians, as Denella smiled widely.
“Thank you,” the Orion replied.
Next to the two civilians, Jalon wasn’t quite done.
“Still, that only deals with some of the items on the charge sheet. But, with the statements you’ve already given, and with the two ringleaders in custody, not to mention the…unique circumstances of this particular case, my Chief has decided to waive the other charges. Except one.”
She handed a small padd to a still-confused Sunek.
“Trelok, you are hereby banned from piloting any form of atmospheric vehicle on any Ktarian colony for life. Commencing immediately.”
Sunek glanced over the padd and grinned, mostly in relief.
“Suits me,” he shrugged, “Those things suck.”
Jalon hadn’t been expecting that reaction, but she disguised it well, and merely turned on her heels and started for the door.
“Wait,” Jirel called out, “What about Devan? Devan Gol?”
Jalon paused and looked back at the Trill.
“The Chief is talking to him now, and he is fully cooperating. But he will be charged with murder.”
Jirel wasn’t entirely sure what else he had been expecting to hear, but he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness. He nodded back glumly.
Once again, it was down to Sunek to break the uncomfortable silence that descended.
“So, how about we get the hell out of here. Before someone changes their mind?”
****************************
After some relieved farewells to their erstwhile hostages, the Bounty’s crew returned to some even more familiar surroundings. And there was one more major issue to deal with.
The five of them stood around the metal cylinder in the Bounty’s cargo bay, as Denella carefully worked on opening the top of the device.
“There’s still one thing that’s confusing me,” Natasha offered as the Orion engineer worked, “Who the hell is Trelok?”
“Oh,” Denella replied, “He’s a gritty, hard-nosed vigilante from the Cerris Nebula. Men fear him, women love him--”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sunek griped with a modicum of irritation, “Of course it’s gonna sound stupid out of context.”
Klath, his injured leg now more permanently repaired after a short trip to the Bounty’s medical bay, looked over at the still-confused human woman.
“We are yet to locate the appropriate context.”
Sunek griped some more as Denella’s work continued, carefully undoing the series of screws that kept the lid on the cylinder.
“You know, we could just beam it into space,” Jirel offered.
“Yeah,” Natasha added, “Definitely a good idea to add an act of terrorism to our charge sheet just before we leave orbit.”
“Still not entirely convinced it’s a bomb,” he fired back with a slight grin.
He could already feel his old self starting to return. He still felt some residual regrets about what had transpired. But one thing he had learned during his time on the Bounty was that it was rarely healthy to dwell too much on things they had no power to influence.
So he just compartmentalised it up inside. Which he appreciated was probably equally unhealthy for plenty of reasons. But it was how he and his crew seemed to operate.
“Well, I’d feel better knowing it wasn’t a bomb,” Natasha admitted, “Given how long I spent tied up to it.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Sunek piped up again with a cheeky grin, “Top marks on your choice of underwear, doc.”
Natasha shot an unimpressed look at the Vulcan who, one way or another, had gotten to know an awful lot about her just recently. At least her darker secrets, that he had mistakenly found out during a desperate mind meld when she had been rendered comatose by a plant toxin, were still secret for the time being.
“Heh,” Jirel added with a grin of his own, “I guess if nothing else, I got some pretty good blackmail material out of all of this.”
Denella looked up from her work to give the Trill a knowing smile.
“Didn’t yours have little spaceships on them, Jirel--?”
“Ok, so we’re all agreed to never mention the ‘tied to a bomb in our underwear’ incident ever again,” he interjected quickly, looking at each member of the group with genuine sincerity.
Denella stifled a chuckle as she finally lifted the lid off the cylinder.
“Well, either way--Oh, wow.”
“What?” Klath asked.
“Yeah, I’m gonna need some proper tools over here. This thing’s a bomb.”
****************************
After Denella had deactivated what had turned out to be an entirely functional cabrodine bomb, they had set course away from Varris IV. And then the entire crew of the Bounty had decided it was finally time for some rest.
Sunek had headed straight for his cabin as soon as he had set the autopilot, while Denella and Klath hadn’t been far behind.
Meanwhile, the other two crew members had headed for the dining area, having realised that they hadn’t eaten for some time.
As Natasha toyed with the remains of her double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings), her go-to meal after all manner of crises, she looked up at a still-preoccupied Jirel.
“You could always talk to him about it, you know.”
The Trill smiled wryly, knowing exactly who she was referring to. The one person he knew who might be able to do something for Devan, now he was set to be prosecuted under the auspices of Federation law.
His father. Admiral Jenner.
“I mean,” he offered back as he pushed his own unfinished meal away, “You’re the one still on speaking terms with him.”
“Touche,” she nodded.
She reminded herself that she still wasn’t entirely sure why she was on speaking terms with the admiral. Why exactly he had asked her to effectively keep tabs on Jirel and the Bounty’s movements as they went about their business.
But that was an issue for another day, she surmised.
“Anyway,” Jirel added, “Even if my relationship with him wasn’t a therapist’s wet dream, I’m pretty sure that getting someone off a murder charge would be a step too far. I guess Devan’s at the mercy of the system now.”
Natasha nodded in understanding, even as Jirel stood up and took his leftovers back to be processed back into the replicator.
“You sure you’re ok?” she called out as he walked.
“Sure,” he shrugged, “Like I said, he was an acquaintance.”
Natasha had seen enough by now to see through the lie. But she didn’t want to push it any further, so she let it slide, even as Jirel made for the exit.
“Any other acquaintances from your old scrapyards we need to look out for?” she asked.
This time, it was Jirel’s turn to have a memory of a woman’s face flicker to the front of his mind, but he quickly dismissed it.
That was an issue for another day as well.
“Nope,” he lied, before turning back to her, “Um, but, also, I am sorry, you know? About being an idiot earlier. With you. And Mizar--”
“Apology accepted,” she replied quickly, not wanting the Trill to make things any more awkward on that front.
“Right,” he nodded back with a smile, “It’s just…I guess I feel like I know you pretty well now. And you can definitely do better than Mizar Bal.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow at this, slightly amused by Jirel’s attempt at a pep talk.
“Yep,” she replied, “I can.”
The Trill paused at the doorway for a moment, considering whether he should follow up with what he had been intending to follow up with. It was enough of a pause for Natasha to jump in on his behalf.
“I can do better than that, as well,” she added knowingly.
Jirel floundered for a moment, before mustering a grudging smile.
“Yep,” he nodded back, “You can.”
He walked out of the doors and Natasha watched him leave, before she turned back and idly took a bite out of the remains of her double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings), as she got lost in thought herself, contemplating the Trill that had just walked out of the room.
And not for the first time in the last 24 hours, she cursed her terrible taste in men.
****************************
It was early the following morning when Deputy Jalon Sep returned to her desk at the Varris IV Security Division’s Headquarters. Despite the very late shift she had endured the night before, she was in earlier than anyone else who had been on duty during the crisis.
She had barely slept in the meantime as well, her mind racing with thoughts about her greatest piece of crime fighting on the colony to date.
This hadn’t been just another meaningless patrol, or a false alarm, or a minor drug bust or scuffle between street gangs. This was a major event. Hijackings, murder, the lot.
She was still slightly perturbed by the willingness that the Chief had shown in letting the five strangers go, given that they clearly appeared to at least be accomplices. Regardless of how unwilling they might have been. Still, she hadn’t questioned his orders.
Although, as she sat and worked on the paperwork from last night’s arrests, she decided that she might bring it up with him during a quieter moment today.
As she worked, she was approached by Section Constable Rogan Kel, a slightly scatterbrained man on the next rung of the latter below her. And one that she had eased past during her initial rise through the ranks before she had arrived on Varris IV.
Not that it seemed to bother Rogan Kel that a woman many years his junior outranked him. He was one of the security personnel who had been here for so long because he had no real plans for career progression. As he arrived at her desk, he handed her a small padd with a friendly smile, and took a sip from a mug of steaming coffee.
“Section Constable,” she nodded formally, “What do you have for me?”
“Release papers from this morning,” he explained jovially, “All processed now. But we need you to countersign for the records.”
She suppressed a sigh. Once again, the Varris IV Security Division was playing fast and loose with procedures. Procedures meant that she should have countersigned the release papers before the subjects had been processed, not after.
Still, all of her minor concerns about a lack of due process vanished into irrelevance when she saw the actual name on the top of the papers.
“Devan Gol?” she gasped, “That’s the guy we picked up for murder! What the hell does the Chief think about this?”
Rogan looked a little confused, as though the cogs of his brain were still being lubricated back into life for the day by the coffee in his hand.
“Chief was the one who signed them off in the first place,” he shrugged.
Jalon looked at the padd again. He was right.
“What the hell?” she snapped, all of her usual calm decorum forgotten, “I need to talk to him about this. Right now!”
“He’s not in yet,” Rogan replied, taking another lazy sip from his mug, “Must be running late, I guess. Could wait in his office, if you wanted?”
She stood from her desk, nostrils flaring in indignation.
“I’m going to do just that, Section Constable. Thank you.”
She stormed across the bustling office, leaving Rogan and his coffee behind, and straight into the Chief’s private sanctum. She didn’t even bother to stand on ceremony and wait outside, instead sitting herself down in front of his vacant desk.
She wanted answers. Answers as to exactly why Security Chief Tylor Ral had just let a murderer walk free.
And so she waited in his office.
For a very long time.
****************************
Ex-Security Chief Tylor Ral leaned back in his chair and smiled.
He was reclining in his study back at his private residence on the outskirts of the main settlement on Varris IV. And he couldn’t remember the last time one of his headaches had flared up.
This wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Technically, he was supposed to have started his next duty shift an hour ago. But instead of being there, he was at home. With who he wanted to be with.
“Tell me,” his wife, Ilena, smiled as she walked into the room to join him, “If you really have retired early, how come your office keeps trying to call?”
She dropped his comms unit onto the desk in front of him, just as it chirped out another alert.
Tylor shrugged and spun around in his chair, beckoning her to sit on his lap.
“Well, the thing is,” he replied, “I sent my official statement of retirement to Central Security back on Ktaris this morning. It’ll take a bit of time for the old wheels of bureaucracy to turn enough to get the message out to the office here.”
“You could always tell them,” she pointed out as she gently sat down.
“Eh, they’ll figure it out.”
She smiled and hugged him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, barely able to believe that she’d finally got him all to herself.
As they broke the hug, he reached up and stroked her aged face with his hand, eliciting a slightly coy reaction from the love of his life. He knew that she no longer felt as though she could quicken a man’s pulse. But as far as he was concerned, she was still as beautiful as the day they’d met. And on that matter, his was the only opinion that counted.
He couldn’t help but smile back at her, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek.
“So,” she said as she playfully batted away his affection, “I guess I’m going to have to get used to you being around the house all the time now, am I?”
“Not necessarily. Actually, I thought we might go travelling.”
At this, she looked a little confused.
“Travelling? Where?”
“Wherever you’d like, my darling,” he smiled, “Thought maybe we’d start with a month on Risa, and work our way out from there.”
“A month?” she chuckled incredulously, “Someone’s feeling flush.”
“Hey, I’m retired. On a very generous pension.”
She studied his face. Something didn’t quite add up to her. But she couldn’t quite place what it was, and eventually, a feeling of joy overwhelmed her other concerns.
“I’ll think about it,” she affirmed, as she stood back up, “And in the meantime, I’ll fix us some tea.”
She walked off, leaving Tylor to recline one again, as he planned everything out in his head.
He could explain to her that the new executive shuttle he was planning to buy was a gift from the Ktarian government for his forty years of service to the force. He could explain that their luxury suites on Risa were part of a package deal that he’d managed to wrangle. He was pretty sure he could explain everything away.
As his attention drifted to the relentless rain outside, he thought about his final act as Security Chief for Varris IV.
Devan Gol had told him everything. About his wife, the drugs, his misery and his need for revenge. And in that moment, he had decided to take pity on him. And organised his release papers before his officious deputy had the chance to intervene.
Maybe it had been the story itself that had convinced him, the sense of trauma he felt to hear of Devan’s loss, and all the times he’d worried about losing Ilena.
Maybe it was the fact that, in a strange way, Devan had done him a favour by killing Palmor Fot. The master criminal of Varris IV was no more.
Maybe it was because he was feeling demob happy that close to retirement. After all, they still had Mizar Bal bang to rights for the little crime spree that had just taken place.
Or maybe it was the offer that Devan had made him. The offer that, in the heat of the moment, he had trusted his instincts over.
Tylor smiled in satisfaction as he watched the rain fall outside.
It was probably that last one, truth be told.
After all, fifty bricks of gold-pressed latinum was a hell of a retirement package.
The End
Sneaky little ending there... Ral had better take his wife and hot-foot it off planet before the paperwork catches up with him.
Another fun Bounty ep - Thanks!! rbs
Another fun Bounty ep - Thanks!! rbs
Thanks both for reading and commenting throughout! Always nice to know that someone somewhere is being vaguely entertained by all this nonsense!
As for the latinum question, it’s possible I low-balled that amount slightly. I don’t think any precise value has ever been ascribed to a ‘brick’ of latinum unless I've been checking in the wrong places, but in DS9, the Lissepian Lottery has a jackpot of 1000 bricks, which I’ve seen compared online to an average modern day lottery prize of $10 million, so I guess Tylor just pocketed half a million dollars by that measure. Whether that’s enough to retire on, I’ll leave up to you. If it feels a bit low, I offer the following non-canon loopholes:
1. He also has a decent savings account/pension to cash in.
2. Thanks to Grand Nagus Rom, 50 bricks of latinum buys you a lot more now than it used to.
Also, I'm not even sure if you need to pay for vacations to Risa. I mean, Riker had a timeshare there and it's not like he had a steady salary. It was always very confusing how the people still using money/people who had 'evolved' beyond money interactions happened in the TV shows tbf. It's probably been explained somewhere, but I like to think that the DS9 crew stuck everything they ever bought on the Promenade on some big collective tab that nobody ever paid.
Either way, if that’s the biggest plot-hole in my rarely fact-checked writing, I’ll take that as a win.
And the next Bounty misadventure shouldn't be too far away. You'll be pleased/horrified to hear.
To quote John Lennon: "Imagine no possessions. I wonder if you can."
For STH, I've worked around this conundrum by describing a "post-scarcity economy." Meaning that people are not required to work for a living. Instead, they work for self-fulfillment. In a cashless society, there is no money - only credits which are probably measured in energy use. It takes a certain amount of energy to produce material goods beyond the basic necessities of housing, clothing, food and education.
So if you want, for example, expensive musical instruments, you would work to earn the energy credits required to create and deliver them. Exampli Gratias: Ensign Harry Kim's clarinet - purchased with energy credits and produced by Voyager's replicator.
Thanks!! rbs
For STH, I've worked around this conundrum by describing a "post-scarcity economy." Meaning that people are not required to work for a living. Instead, they work for self-fulfillment. In a cashless society, there is no money - only credits which are probably measured in energy use. It takes a certain amount of energy to produce material goods beyond the basic necessities of housing, clothing, food and education.
So if you want, for example, expensive musical instruments, you would work to earn the energy credits required to create and deliver them. Exampli Gratias: Ensign Harry Kim's clarinet - purchased with energy credits and produced by Voyager's replicator.
Thanks!! rbs
Don't know if I've already read the part of STH with that explanation in, or if I've just seen you post it elsewhere, but it makes a lot of sense. Either way, you've probably put more thought into it than any of the writers of the TV shows did.
(Still catching up with STH btw, and still enjoying it. Though it doesn't help that I keep disappearing for six months and falling another half a dozen episodes behind! Just got to the big reveal at the end of the first volume
).
(Still catching up with STH btw, and still enjoying it. Though it doesn't help that I keep disappearing for six months and falling another half a dozen episodes behind! Just got to the big reveal at the end of the first volume
).
Don't know if I've already read the part of STH with that explanation in, or if I've just seen you post it elsewhere, but it makes a lot of sense. Either way, you've probably put more thought into it than any of the writers of the TV shows did.
(Still catching up with STH btw, and still enjoying it...Just got to the big reveal at the end of the first volume
I kind of had to think all the ST politics and economics through because I wanted to tell a big story about Federation politics and economics and demographics. The economic theory and political structure stuff typically shows up in Emory Ivonovic's podcasts and in various political speeches by the Andorian Emperor and other political leaders (a lot of this shows up in Year 3.)
Here's hoping you find the big reveal at the end of the series even more eye-popping...
Thanks!! rbs
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