"You know, normally I have about as much use for female Klingon singers as I do for a disruptor blast straight through my cranium!" "Actually, with a cranium like yours, it would take at least two blasts," the Andorian seated directly to the Ferengi's left cracked. "Watch your tongue, my blue friend!" the Ferengi replied, wagging his finger in the Andorian's direction. "I swear, you guys are seriously making me lose my train of thought here! What was I talking about now?" "Luhvi...Luhvi...Luhvi..." The aged and bulky, yet imposing, Orion was intently poring over the data contained in his information padd, occasionally murming from his seat at the Valerian cafe table. "Yes, I believe you were saying something about how big a fan you were of the Klingon singer Lyrq'fa?" the middle-aged Cardassian man seated to the Orion's right answered the Ferengi. "Now who in the name of Vlath is Luhvi?!" the Orion rumbled quizzically, eyes still fixed to the padd and not paying any attention to the conversation. "Yes, that's right!" the Ferengi gleefully crowed. "Well, like I was saying, I'm normally not a big fan of Klingon music period, but I'm telling you that woman's voice makes my lobes tingle!" (to be continued in the next post...)
Hey, folks! This is my first stab at a work of Star Trek fiction, so I do hope you will be kind! How do you like it so far?? As the title indicates, this is a parody of sorts. As a fan of Deep Space Nine, I was sort of interested in the idea of doing a story set in the criminal underworld, the shady underside of the bright and positive Star Trek future, best represented by the feared Orion Syndicate! I also thought it would be a good opportunity to pay homage to one of my favorite writer/directors. (That's where the whole "parody" part comes into play!) I also welcome the participation of fellow Trek fan fiction writers, because I'm sort of hoping that this has the potential to evolve into something that transcends mere parody status. So if you're a fan of the assorted scum and villainy that populate the Star Trek universe, and if you want to add your creative voices, by all means feel free! However, I would only ask that you just wait a while, as I still need time to finish up the first scene. As you can see, it isn't quite finished yet. In the meantime...enjoy! :thumbsup:
And now, some establishing of time, place, and facts. A bit of exposition, if you will: The time is July 30, 2384. The place is an out-of-the-way cafe on the planet Valerus III. A group of eight people is seated around a table in a corner of the establishment. The members of this group belong to various different Alpha Quadrant species, but all eight are attired in almost identical, yet very fashionable, black business suits. The suit design is Cardassian, with hints of Bajoran influence. The leader of this group is Fadius Vedrev, the Orion man still struggling to make sense of the notes contained within his electronic information padd as the others idly chatter around him. He is bulky and quite aged, yet he regularly carries himself with an air of power and authority - a man respected by many and feared by others. Seated directly across the table from Fadius Vedrev is his son Refius, idly sipping a glass of Valerian trilkberry cola and occasionally chiming in a contribution to the gabble of conversation around him. Refius has been long assumed by many to be the favored heir to the family business, but after several years of certain...questionable choices on a business level and in his own personal life, those people are now having second thoughts. However, as feared a man as his Fadius Vedrev was in his line of work, he was ever the indulgent father and continued to give his son the benefit of the doubt. And he was insistent that his colleagues and associates do the same, and the word of Fadius Vedrev was not one they were particularly inclined to challenge. The remaining six members of the group did not know each other, by either name or reputation, until the day they were called into the services of Fadius Vedrev for a very specific job requiring their talents. It was the Orion boss's decision that in order to protect the anonymity of the group's members, they would each be given aliases. And even though there were no humans among the group, the false names were of Terran origin - specifically the names of fictitious characters in a decidedly macabre genre of Terran entertainment. Chalk it up to a perverse sense of humor on Mister Vedrev's part! The dignified, middle-aged Cardassian seated to Vedrev's right was dubbed Mr. Lecter. About him, it was only known to the others that he was a longtime friend and associate of the Vedrevs, and that he was one of those few individuals who could get away with standing up to Fadius. Going further clockwise around the table, the affable and good-natured if cynical Andorian was named Mr. Myers. The short and stout Ferengi, about whom the others only knew him to be as lecherous as he was talkative, was given the alias of Mr. Krueger. To the left of Refius Vedrev was a very beautiful Trill woman with an eyepatch and a head full of red hair cascading down in serpentine curls. She was Mrs. Bathory. Next was a tall, thin Romulan with pursed lips and an inclination to remain thoughtful and silent unless spoken to. This was Mr. Spencer. And the last of this group was a Bajoran. This man was good-natured enough, even friendly on occasion, but was very opinionated and not the sort inclined to suffer fools glady. This was Mr. Voorhees. (to be continued)
The conversation around the cafe table continued: "Personally, I've never ever been that big a fan of Klingon music myself," said the Bajoran, Mr. Voorhees. "In fact, I've always thought it something of an acquired taste for a non-Klingon palate." Then, spotting a waitress nearby, Voorhees shouted, "Ghirsal! Ghirsal! Can I have some more raktajino, please?" "Well, if all you've heard is that Klingon opera garbage, I really don't blame you!" Mr. Krueger, the Ferengi, quipped back. "Personally," the Romulan, Mr. Spencer, interjected quietly, "I'm an admirer of quite a bit of Lyrq'fa work. You know, Warrior Dance and all that? She definitely had something back then. But when she entered that political phase later on, I kind of tuned out." "Did this increased political stance make you take offense as a Romulan?" queried Refius. At the same time, the thin and plain Valerian waitress arrived with a kettle of steaming raktajino and poured another cup for Mr. Voorhees. "Actually, ghirsal means boy," the waitress clarified. At this the Bajoran glowered slightly, somewhat annoyed at having to be corrected. "Actually, if I understand correctly," the Cardassian, Mr. Lecter, interjected, "Lyrq'fa actually went out of her way to bridge the cultural gap between Klingon and Romulan popular culture! When she went on her performance tours, she visited quite a few Romulan colonies and played to Romulan fans!" "Yeah, that's right!" Myers interjected. "Wasn't she placed on some kind of Klingon cultural blacklist or something for, like, almost two decades?" "Excuse me," Bathory asked the waitress, "but what kind of pies do you have?" "Oh, we have trilkberry, fringnut, and zing lime." "Luhvi...Luhvi...Luhvi Rynd!" Vedrev murmured, still attempting to make sense of the information in his padd. "Now, that name sounds vaguely familiar..." "Well, which do you recommend?" "Well, zing lime's great, but it's a bit of an acquired taste." "I haven't had zing lime pie in almost...fifty years!" Bathory said. "When you had it, did you like it?" "No, but that doesn't mean much, because I was a completely different person back then! Let's give that zing lime pie a day in court, and a nice tall, cold glass of yem's milk, if you please!" "Coming right up!" the waitress replied. "Thank you!" said Mrs. Bathory, giving the waitress a wide rictus of a smile which, coupled with her single wide green eye, the waitress found oddly distressing. But she gave no sign of distress, and merely left. "Luhvi Rynd...Oh yes!" Fadius exclaimed in realization. "She was that Argelian girl I met way back in..." "Give me that!" Mr. Lecter grabbed the padd from Fadius. "That'll be quite enough of that, thank you very much!" "Hey! What gives?" Fadius roared in mild outrage. "Give me back my padd!" "I'm getting really sick and tired of hearing about it, Fadius," Lecter replied. "I'll give it back to you when we leave." "What do you mean you'll give it back when we leave?" Fadius fired back angrily. "You'll give it back to me right now!" "For the past fifteen minutes or so, you've had your nose in that padd and you've been droning on and on about this...Luhvi something-or-other. Luhvi...Luhvi...Luhvi Rynd...Luhvi Rond...mezafezzin' Fluhri Ryndstone! And between this Luhvi and Lyrq'fa and ghirsals and zing lime pie, I can barely even think straight! In case you've forgotten, we've got a job to do, and I find it important to keep a clear head!" "I don't care. I want my padd back!" "Are you going to put it away?" "I'll do whatever I want to do with it, if it's all the same to you!" "Well then," Lecter shrugged. "I'll just have to keep it, then!" "Hey, Fadius!" Mrs. Bathory chimed in with a smile. "You want me to shoot him for you?" "No offense, my dear lady," Lecter retorted, "but if you were to shoot me in a dream, I would strongly recommend that you apologize to me when you awaken!" "'Confession is good for the soul,' right?" Bathory quipped, winking her single eye. (to be continued)
Interesting concept - so after the story wraps up anyone can contribute to the "Tales of the Orion Syndicate"?
^^ Yes, that is correct! As soon as I wrap up this scene in the cafe, that is. At this point, I think it should be pretty obvious what this whole cafe scene is a homage to, but other contributors don't necessarily have to do something along the exact same lines. I mean, exactly what sort of job is Fadius Vedrev and his gang about to pull off? I actually don't know yet! What do you think? I think I'll actually leave it up to somebody else to come up with that. I've come up with what I think is a pretty cool concept and an opening scene which pays homage to a favorite writer/director of mine, so I thought it would be interesting to let somebody else take the reins for a while! I'm actually kind of interested in creating a concept that others can play around with and add their own flavor and influences to, so hopefully this will become a collective storytelling effort! I mean, I might come back to make another contribution of my own, but I'll be sure to respect the continuity established by those who have made their own mark! In the meantime, I'll be sure to let you guys know when I've wrapped this particular opening scene up, and then I'll give the word as to when you can continue the story. In the meantime, who's up for a tall, cold glass of Valerian yem's milk?? It's actually a lot like milk-plus-vellocet (y'know, from A Clockwork Orange). And if you're wondering how it tastes, it's a bit like regular Terran milk, except with a minty fresh flavor that provides one heck of a kick to start off your day! So, if any other Star Trek Fan Fiction writers out there want to have one of their characters order a tall glass of Valerian yem's milk from a replicator, be my guest! Of course, it'll never be "canon," I know, but nothing would make me happier than leaving as much as an itty-bitty dent in the world of Trek fan-fic! (And in case you're wondering who the Valerians are, remember the first-season DS9 episode Dramatis Personae? That's, like, the one and only time we ever get to hear about or see the Valerians, so I feel perfectly entitled to make up any little old thing I please about them! )
(continued) "So, Voorhees," Refius Vedrev inquired, "tell me again about those Argelian ash bars." "What do you want to know?" Voorhees queried. "Well, ash is legal there, right?" Refius pressed. "Yes, but it's not exactly one hundred percent legal, if you know what I'm saying," Voorhees clarified. "I mean, you can't just walk into any old cafe or restaurant and start puffing away. "You're only supposed to smoke ash in your own home or in certain designated places." "And those would be ash bars, right?" "Exactly," Voorhees answered. "Here's the way it works: It's legal to buy it. It's legal to own it. And if you're the proprietor of an Argelian ash bar, then it's perfectly legal to sell it." "And it's legal to carry it as well," Refius asked. "Well, yes, but that doesn't really even matter, because it's not even legal for the Argelian authorities to search you in any way whatsoever!" "Well, one of these days, I'm going," Refius declared. "That's just all there is to it!" "I know you'd definitely enjoy it for sure!" Voorhees stated with a smile. "Personally, I think my boy imbibes and inhales far too many substances for his own good!" Fadius interjected. "If he's going to prove himself to be responsible enough to take care of the family business, he's going to have to cut down!" "Oh, lighten up, papa!" Refius replied, rolling his eyes skyward in annoyance. "Speaking of which," Myers chimed in. "Do any of you remember that infamous ash drought of '76?" The others all nodded their heads in sympathetic understanding. They remembered only far too well. Myers continued, "That was totally insane. You couldn't get any ash anywhere back then! I somehow managed to secure a connection with this Risian girl in the Tovathi sector, but somehow all my friends and associates found out about it! They'd always be contacting me and asking when I'd be able to get them some, because they know I smoked back then. But soon it got to the point where every time I managed to buy some ash for myself I also had to buy for four or five other people! I finally decided that I'd had enough. I was only making this girl rich, and she didn't have to a damn thing. She never even had to meet with these people! So finally I put my foot down and told her, 'Listen, either I tell my friends to find another source of their own, or you give me a batch of ash, I'll sell it them, then give you the money, minus ten percent, and I get all of my ash for free!' Granted, she was none too thrilled with me, but we made it work for a while at least..." (to be continued)
Very, very cool indeed I especially enjoyed the first scene. I was impressed how you managed to transform the 20th century nitty-gritty language into something resembling a more 24th century way of speaking. Which is quite difficult considering the source. This was a lot of fun to read and I would love to see more. I like the concept of allowing others to continue this but it carries the danger that if you can't find any takers (and many are very busy writing their own stuff, including me) this might quickly fizzle out. That would be sad. I wouldn't mind using these characters in some of my own work at some point but I doubt I'll have the time to try and work on this.
(continuing) Myers continued his story, "But pretty soon that arrangement started to become a nuisance! Soon people began to contact me all the time! It got to the point where I had no spare time on my hands to unwind or watch an entertainment vid. They'd be calling all the time asking when I'd be able to get them some more ash and I'd be like, 'Mezafezza, I'm trying to watch The Lethean Mind Plague, do you mind?! When I have some, I'll let you know!' And then these villy-vall dustheads come by - I mean, don't get me wrong, they're still my friends and all, but come on! Here I've got all the merchandise laid out in hundred-crink bags, but they don't want a hundred crinks' worth, they just want twenty crinks' worth! Breaking that shlek up was just a major pain in the tazh! I don't even know how much twenty crinks' worth is! Finally, I simply told my connection that I was getting sick and tired and wanted out. But as it turned out, I was the best ash dealer she had and she depended on me! She was desperately trying to talk me out of quitting. What a guilt trip, man...Eventually, we reached an agreement where I wouldn't be her main man anymore, but that I would take a little bit and sell it to my really close friends. She was amenable to that and agreed to keep the same arrangement as before, but only on the condition that I help her out with certain special tasks now and then." Krueger shot Myers a toothy grin and chuckled. "Special tasks, you say?" "Not what you're thinking, my Ferengi friend!" Myers shot back in mild annoyance. "So go on," Spencer quietly pressed. "Just what sorts of tasks did you have to perform for this Risian girl?" Myers shook his head and smiled. "Oh, this is where the story takes a bit of a twist! You see, she had this cube of ash she wanted to sell and she didn't want to make the buy alone. Usually, her brother went with her, but he just got busted on some sort of stupid orbital parking violation or something and was cooling his heels in a Federation cell somewhere, and she was understandably nervous about carrying around an entire cube of ash. I'm telling you, I had a really bad feeling about it, but she kept pressing me to help out and I gave in because I was just so sick of the guilt trip. So anyway, we're waiting for the buyer to show up at the shuttle transit station on Toveth III, and I'm carrying the ash in my carry-on bag. I had to go to the lavatory, so I told the girl I'd be right back. But when I walk into the lavatory, guess who's standing there? Four Federation security officers!" "You mean they were waiting for you?" Refius asked. "No, they were just hanging out in the lavatory talking about something or other. But right when I walk in they stop talking and they're just looking right at me! I mean, I'm figuring they had to have been able to tell from my antennae that something was up. Panic hit me like a splash of ice-cold water in the face, and every nerve ending, all of my senses, the blood in my veins, everything inside me was just screaming, 'Take off, man, just take off, get the frakk out of there!' All those Fed goons are just looking at me and I'm thinking they've just got to know!" Lecter shook his head and laughed sympathetically. "Now that's a hard situation! So what happened?" "Nothing whatsoever!" Myers replied with a smile. "They just went right back to their conversation. One of the Feds was talking about some encounter with an intoxicated Klingon or something, I can't remember too much of the discussion now. So I just went right to taking care of business and then just walked out of there." The Valerian waitress came back to the table. "Can I get anybody some more raktajino?" "No thanks," Fadius Vedrev replied. "I think it's time we hit the road right now. I'll take care of the check." The waitress handed him the bill. "Here. You can pay at the register." (to be continued)
Well written, especially for your first time Loved the coloful characters and dialog. The good thing is I can jump into it. Can't wait for the next part! :thumbsup:
Nice. I've wondered for years what an episode of Star Trek would be like, if Tarantino directed. I might send some of these guys to Sundancer.
(NOTE: From now on, when I do a post that's off-story, I'm going to put it in italics. - D_P) Thanks for the compliments, people. I'm flattered. I'll get around to finishing this particular segment shortly, and then the rest of you can participate! By the way, did you recognize any of the characters' aliases? I decided not to use colors, because that would be a little too obvious...
(continuing) Fadius turned to the other seven at the table. "I'll take care of the bill, you guys leave the tip." Turning to Lecter, he added, "And when I come back, I want you to return my padd!" Lecter closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Fadius, but I'm afraid it's my padd now." "Hey, Bathory!" he said to the Trill, "I changed my mind! Shoot this piece of shlek, will ya?" With a smile and a wink of her remaining eye, Miss Bathory cocked her index finger towards Lecter and pretended to press an imaginary firing stud with her thumb. Lecter clutched his chest, pretending to be shot. After Fadius left to pay the bill, the remaining seven reached into their pockets and billfolds. One by one, they each tossed a Valerian zocha coin into the center of the table in a pile. First Lecter. Then Myers and Bathory. Then Refius and Spencer. And finally Voorhees. But not Krueger. The Ferengi simply sat with his arms folded. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Refius inquired. "Throw in a zocha!" Krueger simply shook his head. "I don't tip." Myers shook his head in disbelief. "Can you believe this guy?" "Why not?" Lecter wanted to know. "Well, the first indication would be the ears, wouldn't it?" Krueger replied. "I'm a Ferengi, and Ferengi don't tip!" "Do you have any idea what the average Valerian waitress makes an hour?" Spencer gently chided. "I'll tell you, it's not much." "Oh, don't give me that!" Krueger bristled. "If they don't make enough money, they can get themselves some secretarial work in an office somewhere!" "But this waitress was nice!" Myers insisted. "She wasn't anything special!" Krueger shot back. "What's special?" Bathory cut in with a sneer. "Taking you back into the kitchen and giving you oo-mox until your head explodes?" The others laughed. Refius nodded and said, "You know, if I were Ferengi, I just might go over fifteen percent for that!" "You know, just because all of your societies' customs say that you gotta chip in a little something extra for your food service employees, that doesn't mean I've got to go along with it! I'm a Ferengi, damn it! That still counts for something, y'know, even in this day and age!" Myers wouldn't let it go. "So it doesn't matter to you in the slightest that they're at least partially dependent on your tips to make ends meet?" Krueger rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "Do you know what this is? It's the galaxy's smallest ermine violin, playing just for the Valerian waitresses!" Lecter shook his head disdainfully. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about. These people work their tazhe off day in and day out. This can be a hard job sometimes!" "Well, if our pretty little waitress was really working hard, she would have filled my cup of raktajino at least six times. But she only filled it three!" "Maybe she was simply too busy," Spencer said. "Well, if you ask me..." Krueger began. "We didn't," Bathory interrupted, her single eye rolled skyward. Krueger continued, undaunted, "The words 'too busy' shouldn't even be in a waitress's vocabulary!" "Excuse me, Mr. Krueger," Refius said, "but the last thing you need is another raktajino!" Everybody around the table laughed at that, while Refius and Myers reached behind Krueger and slapped their hands together. Krueger simply rolled his eyes. "You know, Mr. Krueger," Spencer added thoughtfully, "there's something that I could not help but notice." "Oh, yeah, and what exactly is that?" Krueger asked. "The fact that you're drinking raktajino in the first place. Correct me if I'm wrong, but raktajino is a Klingon beverage, is it not?" "Your point being?" Krueger pressed. "Oh, nothing," Spencer shrugged. "It just seems to me that you're somewhat...selective in terms of those aspects of other peoples' cultures which you choose to partake in and those aspects which it's more convenient for you to ignore." Spencer raised an eyebrow and gave a hint of a smile. "I daresay Ferengi pride seems to have precious little to do with it." "So you're calling me a hypocrite, then?" Krueger shot back angrily. "I'm afraid he's got you there, Mr. Krueger!" Lecter cut in with a shrug and a smile. "Okay, look, we're getting off topic here!" Krueger retorted. "Look, I'm sorry the Valerian government taxes waitress' tips, all right? It would appear that waitresses are one of the many groups of people that the Valerian government screws over on a regular basis. If it were up to me, if I were a Valerian citizen, I'd probably vote or sign some sort of petition or something that said the government shouldn't do that. But I'm not! I'm a Ferengi. Nobody ever said that capitalism was pretty, right? Long story short, it's not my frakking problem, and if these waitresses expect me to help out with their rent, they've got another thing coming!" Voorhees nodded his head in understanding. "Alright, you've convinced me. I'm taking my zocha back!" Refius shook his head. "Uh-uh, forget it! Nobody's taking anything back." Fadius arrived back at the table. "Okay vrenzlers, let's get vrenzling!" Then he noticed only six zocha coins piled in the middle of the table. "Wait a minute! Now who didn't throw in?" "Mr. Krueger," Myers replied. "Krueger?" Fadius turned to the Ferengi. "Why?" "He doesn't believe in tipping," the Andorian answered. "You don't believe in it. Why?" Fadius asked Krueger. "He's a Ferengi," Myers clarified. "Shut up!" Fadius said to Myers. "Come on, cough up a zocha, you cheap Ferengi skleva worm! I paid for your damned breakfast!" "Alright, fine!" Krueger shrugged. "Because you paid for breakfast, I'll throw in. But normally I wouldn't do this sort of thing!" He tossed a zocha coin into the pile. "Frankly I couldn't care less what you normally would do!" Fadius shot back. He then turned to Lecter, who held out the Orion's padd. Fadius grabbed it, giving the Cardassian an annoyed look. "Let's go to work!" All eight members of the group rose from their chairs, then pushed them back under the table. They then made their exit from the restaurant.
Okay, folks, that's it for the first scene! I shall now turn the Orion Syndicate thread over to somebody else! So what kind of job are Fadius Vedrev and his gang about to pull off? I leave it up to you! :thumbsup:
Well, it's been almost a month now. I would just like to remind everybody that if they want to make a contribution to Tales Of The Orion Syndicate, then they should feel absolutely free to do so. And remember, should I make any contributions in the future, I will respect the established continuity!