#refit enterprise is the best

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter.

Your musical tastes have you firmly rooted in the late 20th Century. That’s called A Rut. This week all inspiration is coming from THE FUTURE! Welcome to the 21st Century. 

Aries 

Look at you-u-u. Buckin’ the theme right from the gate. Instead of enjoying the theme you decided to look ahead to Spring Training by getting The Pittsburgh Pirates’ theme song, “Let’s Go Bucs! A New Pirate Generation” from 2011. Their first game is Feb 25th, so get ready to lose a lot of money. This week… stop gambling.  

Taurus 

Ok, this is starting to be a “Thing”. You’re supposed to get something from this century, not something from 1940! “Vote For Gracie” wasn’t exactly a toe-tapper, but it did get some people to write in Gracie Allen for President that year. Believe it or not she was way smarter in real life than she acted professionally. This week stop acting like you don’t know what’s going on around you.

Gemini  

Are you all conspiring to make a mockery of this week’s theme? Gemini? Your song only seems to have a pretentious title. “Outdoors at 7pm, Sunny Main Street”. I can’t tell you who the artist is but it’s from the Wii U’s version of “Super Smash Brothers”. The idea of cute little family-friendly characters in big-time beat-em-up gaming just says what we need to know about you. This week keep up your long-running streak of NOT kicking a puppy. 

Cancer Moon-Child 

Ok, now this is just annoying. Never mind that you’ve gotten “At This Moment”, originally by Billy Vera and the Beaters in 1986… but it’s a cover from 2009 by, of all people… Michael Bublé. Look, sure, he’s a great performer - pulling in full shows over and over again. But, look. Singers typically don’t have a successful career with albums 75% filled with covers. Unless your family name is “Yankovic”, just try to be original in your thinking.  

Leo 

OK, well… This is just getting sad. You don’t need to know what your song is, just that the band in question is called “Panic! at the Disco”. Well, it USED to be a quartet in 2004. Then they fired and replaced the bassist, then two left and were replaced, and finally it became, basically, a solo act - which will end its run at the end of March. This week stop being a prima donna.

Virgo 

(*SIGH!*) AnOtHeR CoVeR. You know what? Fine! The song is “Don’t Pull Your Love”, originally sung in 1971 by “Hamilton, Joe Frank and Reynolds”, yes that’s the group’s real name. But your version came out in 2019 by voice actor extraordinaire Rob Paulsen. This week if your plans to take over the world fail, just remember - Rob had nothing to do with it going south! Take responsibility for your own failures.

Libra ()

You’re all gunna kill me. FINE! Libra - you get the original Broadway Cast recording from the musical, “In The Heights”. We’re going to assume you only speak English for a minute. If you listen to Latin American families yelling back and forth at each other, you’ll notice that they effortlessly slip between English and Spanish, and you will never lose one iota of context. This week start learning languages that sound angry; like German… or Klingon…  

Scorpio ()

Just… What the hell is with all these covers?! You’ve got the 2000 release of “Big in Japan” by Embraced. Yes, you will recognize the song and the melody and the lyrics, but… (*Pause*)  Be ready to gargle a lot of warm salty water to heal your throat after singing along with this version. This week, put Epsom Salt on your grocery list.

Sagittarius 

WELL, now! We finally get away from all these cover songs and get to an original song for a change! The song is 2013’s, “From The Future, Next Tuesday”. Which is obviously a tongue in cheek reference to the U.S.S. Enterprise-B’s launching in “Star Trek Generations” when everything was going to be installed “Tuesday”. The band for this one is… (*Beat Pause*) OH COME THE HELL ON!! “The Shake-Ups In Ponyville”?! This is My Little Pony Fan Music?! You know what? I give up! Congratulations, Sagittarius! You did what nobody else could - you broke me. Are you proud of yourself? Hmmmm?

Capricorn 

………. Screwit. I’m broken. Uhh… “Now is the time to try something new. 10% off on Ginger Pork with this coupon.” We got that one from Pagoda Village Kitchen up the street. They’re pretty good.

Aquarius 

You think we’re gunna be better than that for you? Nope. “Call your parents, kiss your pet, brush your teeth, and only drink fluoridated water this week.”

Pisces  

Someone wanted a Super-Naughty ‘Scope for you this week. It’s gunna wait for next week. You’re not getting any special treatment ‘til we recover from this damned set. 

And THOSE are your Horrible-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook and Discord.

#horrorscope #horoscope #parody #comedy #humor #rob paulsen #pinkie #pinkie and the brain #shake ups in ponyville #the best looking Enterprise was from ST TMP #constitution refit #captain john harriman

[quasi-normalcy]

(Prominently featured ships only, I'm afraid)

#star trek #star trek the original series #star trek the next generation obviously #star trek picard #kelvinverse

[fancoloredglasses]

Star Trek, Part 3: The movies I-VI (Thank you, George Lucas!)

[All images are owned by Paramount. Please don’t sue me]

[QUICK NOTE: This is a bare-bones review of the films rather than my usual tongue-in-cheek blow-by-blow review since I’m trying to cover six movies in one review. If you would like to see any of the films reviewed in-depth, please let me know]

After the end of the original series (and the brief flirtation with animation), fans were certain that was the end for Star Trek. There were rumors that a new series was in the works, but most knew they were just rumors.

That all changed in 1977 when a film set a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away hit theaters and changed the landscape. Suddenly, Paramount was VERY interested in a movie based on Star Trek! Fortunately for Paramount, everyone was on board for a motion picture-sized paycheck.

A few years have passed since the end of the series in canon. The entire crew has received at least one promotion.

Since most of the sets, models, and costumes were either destroyed or not suitable for a larger screen, a number of changes had to be made, starting with the uniform.

(Thanks to veniceogar.xyz)

Most fans complained about the new uniforms, saying they looked like sleepwear.

But if they complained about the updated uniforms, there were little objections to the updated Enterprise!

(Thanks to Paul Scollon)

The ship looked much more futuristic than the series (in canon, following the five-year missions, the surviving Constitution class starships underwent a major overhaul with updated warp drive, updated deflector array, and a larger body. In fact, there were so many changes that the class was re-designated “Constitution Refit”) One interesting cosmetic update: The class lost the “battleship grey” paint job in favor of the metal plates of the hull being visible.

But if the exterior was significant upgrade, wait until you see the interior!

Yes, the controls were still chunky as hell, but at least it didn’t look like the 60's vision of the future (more like the 70’s vision)

There was another major change when the franchise hit the big screen…

The Klingons somehow developed bumps on their forehead. This has been mentioned in canon (over a decade later), but was never explained until over 20 years later!

The film felt like a 2 hour episode of Star Trek (in fact, you could say it was inspired by an episode!)

The film was well-received enough that a second film was green-lit. However, the tone would shift to be a bit more action-oriented as Paramount brought in Harve Bennett as executive producer with little input from Roddenberry.

The sets were a little darker and another uniform change was made that would endure through the next six films (though I'll only be covering the next five in this review. Stay tuned for the sixth in a future review!) and (canonically) the next 70 or so years.

(Thanks to Nerdist)

The second film (considered by many to be the best film of this era, if not the entire franchise)…

…brought back a villain from the episode Space Seed…

Khan Noonian Singh (played by Ricardo Montalban, who was famous for playing Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island), the result of genetic engineering in the late 20th century (you all remember that, right?) In the episode, Khan was awakened after being asleep for 200 years, attempted to take over the Enterprise and was marooned when he failed. Now he’s back and looking for revenge!

The movie also introduces Carol Marcus, an old flame of Kirk’s who developed a technology known as Genesis that could instantaneously terraform a planet (of course, if there’s already life on said planet, it wouldn’t be there for much longer!) In addition to revenge on Kirk, Khan wants the Genesis technology.

Fans were excited for this new take on Trek, but were up in arms due to a scene near the end…

(Thanks to TheAmazingSkipper)

It seems that Leonard Nimoy was tired of being associated with Spock over the past 2 decades and wanted out. However, perhaps due to fan backlash, he agreed to return…if he could direct his return!

In the third film, it’s revealed that the planet Genesis (that was created at the end of the second film) has somehow brought Spock back to life. The Enterprise is due to be decommissioned, but in a desperate attempt to save their friend, the command staff of the Enterprise steal the ship to rescue Spock.

(Thanks to Prometheus of Videos)

…but run afoul of a Klingon Bird of Prey (commanded by Christopher Lloyd of Taxi and Back to the Future fame)

If the fans were happy about the return of Spock, they were horrified about what needed to be done to do so!

(Thanks to spartakirk109)

In the end, Kirk and the crew capture the Bird of Prey and seek asylum on Vulcan, which is where we begin with the fourth film (also directed by Nimoy)

In this film the Earth is threatened by a giant vessel looking to talk with whales (which are extinct in the 23rd century), so the crew (finally returning to Earth to face judgement for stealing the Enterprise) goes back in time to the 20th Century to get some, saving the planet.

Starfleet is grateful, but someone needs to be punished for stealing the Enterprise, so they demote Kirk to Captain and ship the crew off to their new assignment.

(Thanks to April 5, 2063)

Yes, their new assignment is the USS Enterprise NCC-1701-A (AKA the Enterprise-A, but we’ll just keep calling it the Enterprise) In canon, the ship was the USS Yorktown, but is re-commissioned as a thank you to Kirk.

As far as the fifth film…it is considered the worst of the franchise. There are a number of issues, beginning with the film being made in the middle of a strike by the Screen Writers’ Guild (see? It’s not just a modern issue!), meaning no possibility for rewrites (and boy howdy did they need several!). Additionally, the film wanted to work with Industrial Light & Magic (the company responsible for the effects on the Star Wars franchise), but their primary teams weren’t available. Rather than work with one of the secondary teams, the producers went with another company that…well, let’s just say they should’ve gone with the ILM B-Team. Finally, William Shatner made his directorial debut, and let’s just say he should’ve stuck to acting.

The final film of this era of the franchise (released in time for Star Trek’s 25th anniversary), The Undiscovered Country, dealt with a conspiracy to end peace talks between the Federation and the Klingons with the Enterprise stuck in the middle. It also marked the decommissioning of the Enterprise-A after only 3 films (though canonically it's as old as the original Enterprise was when it was destroyed)

(Thanks to Arrow Of Videos)

Of course, this would not be the end of Star Trek, as a brand new television series debuted shortly after Star Trek IV hit theaters, but that’s a tale for another review.

If you would like to see any of the films reviewed in depth, please let me know!

#star trek #william shatner #leonard nimoy #deforest kelley #james doohan #george takei #nichelle nichols #walter koenig #uss enterprise #fan colored glasses

[anarcho-skamunist]

I want to test the waters for a star trek kinda poll because i think it would be fun to do this with more ships. maybe even do brackets.

#star trek

[uss-genderprise]

#polls #star trek #tos #tng #ent #enterprise #aos

[owenthetokencishet]

#star trek #uss enterprise #ncc 1701 #ship discourse #star trek ships #star trek poll #ship polls #sovereign class sweep #reblog for a bigger sample size

[startreksetplans]

Science ship WIP - post STVI

Had an idea and just had to try it out. This is an early work in progress - so there are features missing such as the bridge module.

I wanted to apply the Excelsior design and technologies to a much smaller ship. This one is 879.5 feet - smaller than even the TOS Enterprise.

This ship would perform the duties of a science vessel, focusing on missions too big for an Oberth class, but not requiring a full Excelsior.

This ship has no neck, so no saucer separation, but it has an alternative. In emergencies, the entire warp core, systems, nacelle struts and nacelles can be ejected as one module.

The ship then escape the warp core breach on full impulse.

Nacelle Design:

The grills wrap around the nacelles so that regardless of tilt, it will always have line of sight with its counterpart on the other nacelle. This way it the nacelle can be used for other designs in other orientations.

The nacelle model still needs to have mount points added for the nacelle struts.

The nacelle ends were based on the Enterprise B nacelles, but with a little simplification / streamlining. These nacelles are lot smaller than the Excelsior refit, so I figured they would not need as much support structure.

Warp Core module:

The horizontal warp core separation module was inspired by both the Excelsior nacelle strut mounting point and the Voyager prototype model.

It seemed a good fit for small ships, those without necks or blended primary and secondary hulls - to only separate off a small section instead of losing half the ship.

Also when you separate a ship, the saucer has to not only have duplicates of all the resources (food, equipment etc.), but also all the systems (deflector emitters, environmental et.). You also need to build in the separation mechanisms.

In the smallest of ships, in there any room for all that stuff and the crew facilities?

With the separation of the warp section, the nacelles are ejected as well. Damage from the nacelles can cascade down into the warp core, so best to get it all out in one go. Also having the warp core disconnect from the nacelle conduits before ejection would delay this emergency response.

The warp core module does also present an opportunity though - the service life of the ship could be extended by easily swapping it out with a new module with a beefier warp ore and nacelles. Though there would be limits based on maximum warp forces tolerance of the ship's frame.

You could swap the module out for Enterprise C style nacelles or maybe even for a four nacelle version.

That's the project so far ad my thoughts that led to its design. Still a fair way to go before its finished, but I feel its on the right track.

Hope you all like the ship.

#star trek #ship #design #3d model

[scots-dragon]

I'm in a Star Trek hyperfixation mood, let's do this.

#prime universe only

[staringdownabarrel]

A thing I've tended to notice among established Trek fans is a willingness to defend Captain Jellico. It makes sense that some people would do this: it's counterintuitive, so it's a viewpoint that caters to that contrarianism for the sake of contrarianism that plagues a lot of very online spaces, and it's something that appeals to people who think Starfleet should be a 1:1 comparison to real-world militaries.

Now, this isn't a post that's going to harp on about whether or not I think Starfleet is a military. I think it is, but it's also very clearly more than that, too. Basically, I think the "we're not a military" lines should be taken to mean "we're not just a military and we prefer doing the other stuff".

This also isn't going to be a post about whether or not Starfleet is an accurate representation of real-world militaries. I straight up just don't care if it is or not. Besides, I'm not really qualified to give an answer to this--I've never served, I don't know anyone who served particularly well, and I don't spend a lot of time reading about military codes of conduct and whatever.

Really, my big contention with the "Jellico was great" takes is that a lot of it ignores that the crew of the Enterprise-D were also experienced military officers at this point. All had served in the operation against the Borg cube in the Best of Both Worlds two parter, and they'd been the ones to come up with the way to defeat it. All had held important positions in the fleet blockading the Klingon-Romulan border during the Redemption two-parter as well. Both of these operations had been among the most important military operations Starfleet's known to have engaged in during the TNG era prior to the Dominion War.

It also ignores that there's already a huge difference in tactical capabilities between a Galaxy-class starship and the bulk of the Cardassian fleet at this point. This was very well established in The Wounded, where the Enterprise curbstomps a Galor-class cruiser and it's heavily implied the Phoenix could do the same. The Cardassians and the Federation were never militarily equal; it's just that the Federation chose to not act like it.

So when Jellico comes onboard and starts making wild changes without warning or explanation, it's not justified just because he's a military guy and Riker isn't. Riker's about as military as it gets, and prior to this, he was portrayed mostly as being as by-the-books as it gets. The problem is that Jellico doesn't know how to communicate.

I know there's the "Oh, but they were strapped for time" defense, but I don't really buy into that. Most of the stuff he wanted to change was stuff that it would have taken about a minute to explain. Most of it could just be a "sometimes Cardassian weaponry can have this effect if it hits a certain way, so we need this done to guard against that" kind of thing. Riker is portrayed as having had a pretty good working relationship with every other commanding officer he'd ever had, so he would have gone along with that if Jellico had just said it.

I don't think Jellico was necessarily entirely to blame for the entirety of the animosity between him and Riker, though. Some of it rests entirely with Starfleet Command. Really, they probably should have transferred a couple hundred extra people over to the Enterprise to help with these on-the-fly adjustments Jellico wanted to make. Given that the Galaxy-class can have a crew of up to 5,000 and the Enterprise had around 1,000, the only reason they hadn't done it earlier was probably because it was close enough to Federation space for the most part that it could just go to a starbase for a refit if it got banged up hard enough.

I also kinda feel like it would have been fine to have Jellico on the Cairo and Riker temporarily in command of the Enterprise, and just say that the diplomatic meetings would be on the Enterprise because it was the nicer ship. If shit got real and they had to fight, it'd probably be better to have the second ship waiting in the wings ready to go anyway.

#star trek #star trek tng #star trek the next generation #tng #the next generation #rant

[retro-watching]

seaQuest DSV S1 Ep1 To Be or Not To Be

I don't normally do this but me wanting to watch this show again so very badly is what prompted this whole project (shout to @tesria for buying me the boxset because she is literally the best)

But anyway I'm going to live blog my watching of this first episode.

But I'm putting it under the cut so you can skip it if you want to

Shorter review and ratings here:

Short review:

It was silly, and fun, and seeing Jonathon Brandis as Lucas made me want to cry. (RIP Jonathon). Anyway I love this show

Ratings:

Story: 6/10 - it was a pilot episode and a lot had to be established but it was gripping enough and I was engaged the whole time

Acting: 6/10 - mostly it was pretty good but there were a few low moments. Mostly from secondary characters

Cheese: 8/10 - It has a talking dolphin named DARWIN

Enjoyment: 8/10 - I had so much fun with this

Effects: 4/10 - I should be more generous for the time but holy shit did it not age well

Charm: 8/10 - but holy shit was it charming and fun to watch

Cringe: -1/0 - there is a DOLPHIN who TALKS

Aged LIke Milk: -1/0 - I have to give it one for the opening credits and the effects cause holy shit

Overall ranking:

B Tier

Beginning:

Anyway I watched some of this episode on a very low quality pirate ages ago but nothing is better then seeing it proper picture.

The opening credits look like they were done in windows movie maker over stock images of sea life while John F. Kennedy talks about how we have salt in our blood and other bodily fluids because we came from the ocean and therefore belong to the ocean.

It's very weird.

Then we pan to some very questionable early cgi of an underwater settlement that's declared to be in: "The Near Future" and then we see a sign for an settlement that's declared to be established in the far distant future of 2016

This is going to be amazing.

Now we have a couple of cgi ships chasing a smaller cgi ship where Bobby barely makes it in the airlock but uh oh! It was scavenging in another confederation's territory and now the Military is being called in!

Now we seaQuest the biggest of the cgi ships. It is so unconvincing looking.

Oh Jaxor is the lieutenant! Hi Jaxor!

A blond woman is the captain and I know I already watched enough to know this but even before I watched part of the jacked copy months ago I knew she was going to be a villain on sight. She has the poise of "I'm evil but trying to be low key about it"

Oh her second in command fucking hates her

Also I love her.

She's giving her speech about how she can get peace by murdering people despite command saying "No don't do that."

Second in command is relieved her of command because he's great.

...Okay now it's 13 months later and apparently there is United Earths Oceans Organisation which clearly military as fuck.

Apparently they need someone not so military but military enough to command the ship and there is only one man good enough but he'll never take the job

Apparently to get this guy to take up the job the commander (second in command guy) has to pretend to be terrible at his job.

Okay we have eccentric beach man with a dolphin who is the person best for the job. Nathan Bridges (Or Roy Scheider)

Lots of scientific bullshit and also Nathan's old friend is the one recruiting him.

He is pretty good at playing the curmudgeon I'll give him that.

The dolphin is named Darwin

Hints of a tragic backstory and a dead wife. Why are dead wives always named Carol?

seaQuest is being refitted to be the Enterprise underwater

Dead son too and why are dead sons usually a Robert or Johnny?

Oh he shaved.

More terrible cgi. I think I found it really impressive as a kid but it's very silly now.

This wants to be Underwater Star Trek so bad

The bad guys are capitalists

Where is that accent from?

Also yeah the blond lady has joined as a minion

...Okay so there is a guy who deals with contraband and got a guy male pattern baldness meds.

...the dolphin talks.....it's so fucking funny you have no idea.

JONATHON BRANDIS! Our boy genius Lucas who made the system that lets Darwin speak! He's so cocky and I want to cry. When Jonathon Brandis was reported to have died I cried so much. He was so important to me growing up.

Lucas is such a little shit. I love him

Commander Jonathon is playing his part but he's so tense I want to hug him.

A computer shows a hologram on a stream of water to answer moral or ethical dilemmas. Also did I mention that Nathan Bridges helped design this ship?

Also they left port with him on board and against his will

Capitalist Bad Guys are stalking them.

The seaQuest is shaped like a sex toy from Bad Dragon.

Am I wrong?

Skeevy Contraband guy is great.

Ah he also says he knew Nathan Bridger's son and also he was apparently briefly married to the stern and upright lieutenant in the command.

Bad guys making their move

The Bad Guys plan is going to convince Nathan to take command

Every time Jonathan Brandis is on screen my heart hurts.

Commander Jonathan is doing his best job to force Nathan to take command but it hurts because he's great but also he's genuinely under pressure

Evil Blonde Lady is single minded and also sabotaged the ship

Ah Jonathan is revealing the plan he was told to follow.

Who plays Jonathan? I love him.

Oh Don Franklin. He's been in a lot of stuff! Anyway he's good.

Also the ship heals itself? What the fuck?

Also the Tough Lieutenant is now controlling an undersea mech with vr stuff

Ah no Jonathan is still pretending he's an asshole. But I love Jonathan

head scientist is a sassy older lady btw.

Lucas is going to save the day by fixing the computer virus

I already care about these characters. Even when it's cheesy the acting is emotional. Also Nathan has accepted his role as captain! Yay!

Maybe Jonathan can be a good guy again.

oohhhhhhhhh Nathan taught evil Blond Lady

MONTAGE TIME

I love a villain who knows who they are and don't give a shit

They are using the talking dolphin to mark the enemy ship. Also the Scientist Lady is like "This is kinda fucked up" I like her a lot

The bad guy pony tail minion is the only questionable actor other than the "Where Is My Accent From" Capitalist

Stark is sexy in her evilness. She has no motivation other than "Fuck everyone else" which is very very sexy of her.

The CGI dolphin is hilarious btw

Holy shit she started hitting a guy because he was trying to get her to leave the sinking sub! I love her! She's so unnecessarily evil.

Also pony tail guy was Evil Capitalist Of Unknown Accent's son apparently.

Sassy Scientist and Nathan will have a will they won't they relationship but the AI now looks like his dead wife.

Lucas is having bonding time with Nathan.

When I was like 9 I thought I had a crush on Lucas but looking back I think it was gender envy because I spent my teens really wanting to look like Lucas.

Ah we are back to stock footage of the ocean with dramatic music.

Anyway I loved this. This was great in every way

#retro watching #seaquest #s1 ep1 #to be or not to be

[etymologyofmind]

A Cultural Display

The former Cardassian space station of Terok Nor was a true marvel of engineering, though by the standards of many Federation species, its subtle and nuanced virtues might be challenging to work out. During its peaks of operations, the broad, open spaces, lacking any semblance of cover or decoration, and its narrow, terraced catwalks, would have been gated off and segmented by security checkpoints, with floor panels lit up with any number of deterrents, from gravity plating tuned too high to cross to electrified panels, either one of which could be triggered remotely by a taskmaster at the touch of a button. Where now the upper catwalk viewports showed every manner of trading ship, merchant vessel, and battle-hardened veteran cruiser on its way to refit or stopping to refuel, once they would have been angled to face the unbroken void of the upper firmament, away from the starfield of the milky way, or simply covered by blast shields. The entire station had been built with singular enterprise in mind, and every deck, from the docking pylons to the central Operations Center, had been refined and optimized to tend to the industry of indentured labor and ore processing.

Under the focused guidance of the former Cardassian military regime, it had been an emblem of power and a symbol of dominance: Orbiting a suitable world, the station could produce enough raw materials to outfit a fleet of ships, supply building materials to all corners of an empire, and fuel trade on any number of militaristic fronts. Orbiting an unsuitable world, such as Bajor, it had stood as a symbol of oppression and a reminder to the occupied people of their capital world that their occupiers would always look down on them from on high, switch in hand, as they toiled towards their own demise.

Under Federation guidance, it orbited neither, and served no such purpose, but inarguably held a yet more powerful role at the doorstep of the Temple of the Prophets, a grotesque gargoyle which defended both the gateway to the unknown and the hearth of the Alpha Quadrant, its clawed arms spread wide in welcome like a bear trap. Its new curators, the liberated people of Bajor, stood distinct from the Federation who had overseen their transition to freedom and held it as an open, independent port, enriching and being enriched by all. Gone were the traps (mostly) and unmade were the checkpoints (largely), and all signs of indenture were shrouded in gaudy uniforms and behind sample trays and drink carts, glittering with gold pressed latinum. True that it was now gilded, but for many, it remained a cage, and one sanctioned by the ancient Gods of commerce to which all bloodlines swore fealty at one time or another.

It was, by far, the best place beyond the borders of the Klingon empire to get a Raktajino. The beans were shipped to the station in secret, received through back channels, and processed locally by Kaga, one of the twelve master brewers who had been entrusted the secret of House Luwak to be carried offworld. Since it was all legal, with no actual exchange of contraband, the local authority enabled the theater of Kaga’s import process due to their affinity for his culinary mastery, and by proxy missed out on a number of small variances to the above-board manifests which were inevitable in doing business. To Kaga’s credit, these were most commonly in the form of contraband ingredients or luxury alcohols, but from time to time, something small, seemingly innocuous, and special made it through hidden in the dirt of a pallet of Gagh.

In the midst of the free flowing turmoil of what amounted to a space-bound port city merged with a holy mecca, Durok sat on one of the uncomfortable durasteel commissary chairs that littered the untenured cafeterias which were strewn haphazardly around the promenade, free for the use by any who found themselves willing to unburden onto someone else’s scarcely finished crumbs. Against all reason, he looked relatively at ease, his long boots kicked up on to a table, one arm draped over the back of the unpadded seat for balance. His free hand held a padd, casually tapping now and then to skim or scroll through contents as he whiled away some time. Every now and then, he’d balance the screen on one of his knees, take a drink of the Raktajino nearby, before returning to his apparent leisure. Despite the busy flow of people on the lower concourse, no one drifted too near him, and more than once, he deigned to ignore pointed fingers and careless whispers.

The crowd reaction was unsurprising. Durok was not a subtle presence on the frontier station, where Klingons routinely did business and spent time on leave. He knew that to anyone who had even a passing rapport with his more conventional brethren would find his appearance to be, at best, disconcerting. At worst, it would be instigatory in a way which did not bode well for him. It probably did not help that, in addition to the open-breasted Starfleet issue command jacket which slouched lazily over his shoulders, in the traditional unsleeved way he preferred to wear it, he wore a shiny silver coloured surcoat underneath made of the durable yet light weight interlocking metal tiles of Klingon light plate. And, while the non-standard epaulets of his jacket bore the Star Fleet delta insignia, a glossy black badge of the Klingon Empire glistened like a beetle across the braided sash he wore, buckling the uncommon cord-woven device together across his heart. Around it, a number of other insignia which told a story few outside the Klingon empire would understand spoke of his achievements and honours bestowed as might medals pinned to a Human uniform. The only thing more at-odds with his outfit was how well he wore it.

As Durok idled through his reading, ignoring things around him, small clusters of people began to gather, watching, waiting for the inevitable. In groups of two or three, shift workers, traders, off-duty Starfleet crew and Bajoran workers started to huddle up, occasionally visited by one of the three Ferengi who flitted about between them, taking notes on little coffin-shaped digital tools. Fitting. An alarm, pre-set on his padd, chirped at Durok as he turned a page, and he showed a sly Klingon grin beneath his smooth near-human brow, dull-coloured teeth jutting in menacing points behind handsome lips. Feigning a stretch, he glanced about at the disorganized clots forming in the traffic of people to take them in, and noted the distinct absence of two factions he did not, at this time, expect to see: Klingons, and security.

Perfect.

Idly, he returned his attention to the book on his padd, reading through an excerpt:

‘And this is my own opinion; for, where he could and should give freedom to his pen in praise of so worthy a knight, he seems to me deliberately to pass it over in silence; which is ill done and worse contrived, for it is the business and duty of historians to be exact, truthful, and wholly free from passion, and neither interest nor fear, hatred nor love, should make them swerve from the path of truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, storehouse of deeds, witness for the past, example and counsel for the present, and warning for the future. In this I know will be found all that can be desired in the pleasantest, and if it be wanting in any good quality, I maintain it is the fault of its hound of an author and not the fault of the subject’

Durok had read this passage, and this book, in a number of languages; as Human works went, it was an interesting satire, though its telling was archaic and riddles with its own biases, it told fascinating tales of romance, and fools, and of bold men charging at giants who did little more than push the wind, simply for a taste of adventure. While he was ruminating on the passage, a shadow fell across his padd, causing it to automatically adjust its backlighting to maintain a comfortable readable warmth. Yet, long before they’d blocked the light, the sound of heavy boots and sneering jackal growls had heralded the scent of blood and sour sweat couched in the questionable hygiene of armour kept clean only on the outside. It was a scene so familiar to him that it may as well have been scripted.

Tipping brown eyes up to take in the hulking form looming over him, he let the pad tip down against his belly, its screen dimming out automatically. He did not move in any other way, casually maintaining his repose as he took in the craggy-faced young Klingon who had stepped ahead of his two kinsmen to interrupt Durok’s reading. Though the newcomer would tower over him were they standing on even footing, his face was green with inexperienced, almost avaricious hunger for the conflict coming to pass, and the two who flanked him stamped and sneered at his sides. At least their leader could maintain his still stance. Durok shook his head, tipping the padd back up with a bored expression, and said:

“I did not realize that they made bulkheads so restless on this station, but truly nothing else could be so thick as to block my light.”

For a long beat, the crowd around them stilled, and the three Klingons gaped at the words he’d slung at them, such a casual, careless dismissal of their hostility. Many unfamiliar with Klingon ways, unknowing of the rites and rules of engagement which extended even, and perhaps most, to bullying, might have expected the boisterous youths to immediately stomp Durok to death for such an insult, but he had grown up among them, long enough ago to learn from the past and plan for the future, and knew that they’d glean no honour from such a move. Predictably enough, his hand shot out just in time to capture his Raktajino from the tabletop before the leader of the pack howled in outrage, stooped low enough to capture the metal frame by its edge, and heave it half way across the clearing that had formed around them. Since the table had been magnetically locked to the deck plate, the act caused a small fountain of sparks as a small power conduit in the base overloaded and shorted out, and several of the crowd in its trajectory skirted aside from where it came skidding to a halt against a bulkhead. Waiting a long moment to make his point, Durok kept his legs balanced precisely as they had been a moment before, as if the table were still holding them up, before languidly unfolding them to come up to his feet.

“I don’t pretend to understand what issue you take with my drink, Bekk,” he began, taking a deliberate gulp of the cooling coffee, “but I assure you, it is of as fine a Klingon pedigree as one will find in this sector or any other. Can you say the same?”

Gasps rose among not only the crowd, but from the two other Bekk, Klingon crewmen, at their leader’s back. Without directly coming out and saying it, Durok had simultaneously called his challenger’s courage and lineage into question in a way that, according to forms, demanded that the boy declare himself, his allegiance, and the formality by which he sought satisfaction for the insult before the conflict could move forward. If the boy attacked him now, he’d be seen as having been baited by mere words into attacking a smaller, unarmed target, who had not been subdued by more than brazen, bullheaded force. He would look the fool and dishonour his family in the same act. Furthermore, for someone so obviously not-Klingon to make such a demand from the boy was an audacity which could not, rightly, go unanswered without shame equal or worse. He would be forced to acknowledge Durok as a superior in order to press the challenge, and premise the aggression as a bid to capture the smaller man’s authority. The boy absolutely bristled with rage at the indignity of the offense.

Through grit teeth, and from a face blackened with outrage as dark as Durok’s Raktajino, the boy began to declare himself. “I,” he spat, literally, causing the smaller man to wipe flecks from his face in an exaggerated gesture, “am Kronn, son of Morogh, of house Konjah. I will not stand for some eel-faced pretender slurring insults at my honour with borrowed courage and a slanderous tongue. Take those stolen glories from your breast and fall to your knees, and perhaps I will spare you a look at your own ass when I twist your head from your neck.”

The boy reached out to paw at the field of markers on Durok’s breastplate, causing Durok to snap his hand out, viper quick, and catch the boy’s arm at the wrist. His grip was like steel, and his thumb with its pointed, tapered, fully Klingon talon of a nail, dug painfully into a cluster of nerves bundled between the cords of tendons which controlled his grip. The boy’s hand spasmed and went limp, causing him to cry out in shock, but he could not pull his arm back from the smaller man’s grasp on the first tug. The effort dug the biting nail in deeper, and wisely, the boy stopped struggling lest he seem desperate. While painful and potentially crippling, the gesture wasn’t yet an attack which could justify Kronn’s escalation of the conflict, so when one of his two fellows lurched forward to intervene, the pained youth put up an arm to push him back in line. Durok flashed a crooked smile, and spoke.

“If you are challenging me, Kronn, son of Morogh, then I should find it in my rights to assign you a more worthy adversary than myself. An un-blooded Bekk does not simply challenge a Captain and receive recognition for their foolishness, after all.” On finishing his statement, Durok released the boy’s wrist, which he took care not to cling to as he carefully lowered the throbbing arm to his side, clenching his fist for relief rather than in outrage, which he had in abundance. The other of the boy’s companions saw his opportunity to lurch forward, past Kronn’s injured arm, and throw his face directly into Durok’s unflinching gaze.

“We do not recognize your ‘rank’, Human filth. This cowardly Starfleet ploy does not entitle you to Klingon respect!” He grinned, lustily, filled with contemptuous disregard for the Game of Stags in the face of his decision that Durok was not qualified, as an apparent outsider, to play. “Perhaps I should carve ridges into your face so that you can also have a pretender’s scars?” he declared, reaching for the knife at his belt. Kronn reached out simultaneously to stop him, but it seemed neither needed have had moved, because Durok held the boy’s D'k tahg poised in such a way that it pressed against a seam in his assailant’s armour on the lower belly, but was hidden by their bodies from the accumulated crowd. None had noticed him take the weapon, and Durok’s face showed a lazy, impatient disdain as he stared the second youth down, slipping the dagger pointedly, but carefully, into the boy’s belt before he stepped back.

Kronn’s outrage had begun to falter into uncertain wariness as Durok failed to cow to their abuse. He was not yet ready to give up the antagonism, but caution was taking root amidst the bluster. “Who are you, then,” he began, “to lay claim to my heritage, and the noble ways of my people?” he demanded, taking an opportunity to wring some feeling back into his wrist.

Durok smiled, uncertain as to whether his announcement would mean anything to the boys: it was not impossible, as Durok’s legacy was not without honour or glory, but he did not make a point of advertising it as much as many others in the Klingon culture may. His ideals, interests, and plans did not require that he be recognized by all for his work, only that he be recognized by those for whom it was meaningful. He had served during the recently ended Dominion war, though, and other conflicts beside, so it was possible they would know him by his name. “I am Durok, son of Romgar, of house Maleth.” He said simply. “I invoke my right to choose a more appropriate challenger for someone of your rank. Do you deny me this right?”

Kronn, initially, glowered at this, but a moment later his face cracked into a broad, victorious grin. None of the three gave any sign of recognizing his name, but among the crowd, a stir of conversations fluttered to life, and the Ferengi began scurrying about again, frantically taking new bets. Kronn finally replied “I acknowledge this right, son of Romgar. You may choose an adversary for me… from your crew, of those assembled here. If you can find one of your own willing to stand in your stead and bear the beat down of your shame, I will gladly carve my way through them to you.” Kronn turned from Durok then, throwing his arms out wide, looking into, pandering to, the crowd. “WHAT OF IT THEN? Are any of you this imposter’s Beq? Who would you call on, son of Romgar, to spill their blood for your cowardice?”

None of the crowd stepped forward, and Durok was not surprised. Further, he was delighted, because he knew something none gathered did: his own crew did not yet know who he was, as the maiden voyage of the Vellouwyn had yet to take place. Those assigned to her would be among the Starfleet voyeurs assembled, waiting for the call to stations which would introduce them to their new commanding officer.

But Durok had other plans. Without bothering to look around, he said in a voice which casually projected to the heights of the vaulted bulkheads above and to everyone watching: “Crewman Yao Si Gur, step forward, if you please.” There was a stir at one end of the clearing, and a group of about seven off-duty Starfleet crew began babbling amongst themselves. Everyone turned to look at them, and it was not long before one of the group stepped forward: a small Human woman with sleek black hair which exploded into a fray of almost Klingon kinks and waves behind the band at the base of her neck. Her features were a melodious mingling of Asian and African traits, speaking to a shared ancestry in both roots. She held a severe, neutral look somewhere between a poker and a resting bitch face, and seemed both confused and concerned at having been called out. Her uniform was the light green of the science division, and her lapel bore the single-slashed rank of a simple crewman. She paused about ten paces into the clearing, standing not quite at attention, and responded: “Sir?” hesitantly, not sure herself whether Durok was actually of the captain’s rank he appeared to be.

Kronn looked at the woman and bristled in undisguised, outraged disgust. Behind him, one of his cronies, unable to help himself, fell into a fit of uncontrolled, boisterous laughter, while the other, the one who Durok had disarmed, looked warily between the other two Klingons. Durok sneered at the disrespect of the display, and beckoned Yao Si Gur to step forward, which she did not immediately do. Good, he thought, she has wits enough not to over-commit.

“Crewman Yao Si Gur, you are recently posted to the Vellouwyn, is it so?” Durok did not take his eyes from Kronn as he spoke, although the other could not keep his gaze on the captain’s, too busily distracted by the comparably diminutive Human who had been called forward.

To the question, the young crewman fell more easily into a stance at ease, her hands comfortably falling to the small of her back as she set her feet shoulder-width apart: she had not been called to attention. “Sir.” She replied, more firmly. She began to take in the Klingon speculatively, though her considerations were her own.

“You come from the Rutger, your first assignment. It was a diplomatic ship, no? Carrying envoys into various Cardassian summits and meetings with the Breen, and such, since the end of hostilities?” he implored further, collecting affirmative Yes Sir responses to his questions. “Your previous crew had a compliment of seventeen, and attended five conferences in the past two years. You served as a cultural attaché to a Vulcan diplomat—Mis Suvar, no?” more and more as he went on, it became apparent to the young crewman that Durok knew her folio well, and that such information, while available to anyone who might deign to do research, would probably present little value to anyone she might encounter at this far-flung outpost at a brewing fight on the promenade. Each satisfied that they’d established her credential, her company behind her had fallen into a mixed set of worried stances, many of the Starfleet crew gathered around them falling readily into a similar At Ease as Yao Si Gur, a habit from cadet training. Others were less formal, many looking worried about what was forming. Overhead, the rails of the catwalks overlooking the floor were filled with gawking spectators.

Finally, Durok nodded. “Thank you, crewman. I understand if you feel that this challenge may be beneath your notice, but you are a familiar face to me, and I felt confident I could at least ask if you would stand for your captain in this challenge. Though the more I consider your ability, the less I feel it would be fair to the son of Morogh to subject him to the humiliation of the difference in your skills. You may step back.”

All at once the gathered crowd erupted into raucous cacophony. The three Klingons grouped up together, closing ranks as outrage saw them surge at Durok like a pack of jackals facing down a lion, ravenous but wary of a dangerous foe. Howling curses spewed in solid Klingon, epithets most courtesy filters on the universal translators rendered in their raw, untranslated forms filled the void between the noise. Among the assembled, only Durok and Yao Si Gur stood unmoving, the first in his same casual disdain for the Klingon youths, and the second not breaking her posture when she was released to step back. Finally, Kronn gathered himself enough to speak.

“YOU DARE! You insult the house of Konjah with each breath! You demean the honour of combat by submitting this pitiable specimen for me to consider as a worthy opponent? Have you such need to die by a Klingon blade that you would make enemy of entire houses of the Empire for your sad little game? Run away little girl, this false man will get you killed for his vanity.” Kronn’s hands clenched and unclenched, reaching, yet falling short, of his sheathed dagger. He knew that despite the insults, the Game of Stags had not yet reached the point where he could brandish his weapon and yet save face. As infuriating, as impossible as it seemed, as unlikely as it was amongst the players on the field, Durok had them cornered without having lifted a finger.

The captain tilted his head in disappointment. “I have no quarrel with house Konjah, young Bekk. Many and spirited are its warriors, and noble is its blood. Even yet I have no quarrel with you, regardless of how you may have disrespected my Raktajino. But you are a young, inexperienced, and, again I say, unblooded warrior, who has come before me with the audacity to claim challenge. I have sought out among the least storied of my crew for one who might be fit enough for your call, and found that I cannot think of even one who would not be demeaned by such an unfair fight.” Again, the crowd surged at the insults, couched as they were in soft, but earnest words. “Still,” he went on, before Kronn could interject, “I have invited my patient crewman to indulge me in this sordid affair, and so, I will not decline your challenge on her behalf. If she should see fit to honour you with a lesson, I will not stand in her way.”

Kronn turned from Durok, puffing his chest. He seemed to grow in height and stature, booted feet falling in a heavy tread as he tried to step through the deck plating with each stomp. His features fell into shadow as the overhead ambiance backlit his features, lighting the fringe of his hair in an auburn halo, like smouldering flame. The human crewman did not flinch, nor relax out of her posture, simply tilted her head defiantly, meeting the Klingon’s gaze. “So, little Human: what will it be? Is today a good day to die?”

There was a long pause, as everything seemed to hang on the shoulders of crewman Yao Si Gur’s implacable calm. She said nothing for a long time, simply staring Kronn in the face, scrutinizing him in silence. Eventually, the Klingon gave up on the game, and threw up his hands, turning around to face Durok again. “You see? She cowers like a fawn. Your champions are as feeble as you are, Starfleet pretender. You have no honor between you.” He laughed, spitting a sticky gob at Durok’s booted feet for emphasis.

Durok, for his part, grinned fiendishly, laughing for the first time since the encounter began. “Foolish p’takh! You forget yourself. She does not answer to the likes of you.” Durok turned in a circle with his arms in the air, the captain’s jacket hanging from some device across his shoulders. “Oooh little Human! Is today a good day to die?” he scoffed in sheer mockery of Kronn’s theatrics, pacing around to play to the crowd. Jeers and laughter came from all quarters, and finally, he came to a stop in front of the crewman, who stood where she’d stopped when she first stepped forward, waiting patiently.

Facing the Human woman, he changed his entire posture, bringing his feet and knees together firmly, arms to his sides, hands on his thighs. Looking her earnestly in the face, the captain gave his young crewman a respectful bow, through which he did not break eye contact. “What say you, crewman Yao Si Gur of Turkana IV? Will you humour your captain’s foolish request to discipline an upstart whelp from her sister-ship, the honourable IKS Maraag?”

Behind him, Kronn snarled viciously, and the quieter of his two sword-brothers, who had long since begun questioning the theatrics of their ‘unplanned’ encounter widened his eyes, stepping forward to grab the leader by a leather-clad shoulder, only to be shrugged off. “Kronn, wait! Something—” he started, but was drowned out when Yao Si Gur looked past Durok’s formal bow to lock eyes with Kronn, and nodded acceptance.

Suddenly it seemed as if the entire promenade was gathered into a wall of packed space, where nothing bigger than a hand scanner might fit through the cracks. Still notoriously absent were the station’s security, although some among the crowd seemed curiously reserved and attentive for un-uniformed men. Studded among their ranks were now a noteworthy number of Klingons as well, although none of them crossed the invisible line which had, by seeming consensus, formed a picket around the demonstration on the floor. It took several minutes for the uproar to die down enough for anyone in its midst to speak, and Durok spent no small amount of that time beckoning to the crowd for celebration of the act to come.

When it finally quieted, he turned to look at the four mismatched youths squaring off in the impromptu ring. Yao Si Gur still stood at ease, and the three Klingons looked anything but, one suspicious, one apprehensive, and one, Kronn, seemed different now that the challenge was accepted: less boisterous, and more serious: his instincts told him something was off. Durok smiled his respect at this, and immediately set to undercut it once more, in the sake of fairness.

“Good then, it is settled. However, my champion is unarmed, and while I would not want for you to become seriously injured, it is only fair that she have some tool to defend herself. With our challenger’s permission, I would bestow a favour to even out the odds?”

Kronn looked suspicious, but he could hardly argue: the Klingon had, mentally, prepared himself to discard his own weapon before engaging the Starfleet child, but something about her ease and unflappable calm had made him reconsider. He nodded, subtly, uncertain what that concession might mean. Bowing to Kronn with somewhat more casual, but equal respect as he had to his champion, Durok stepped up to Yao Si Gur, reaching out to smooth the unwrinkled and crisp cut of her uniform’s shoulders in a display of platonic affection.

“Thank you, crewman. You honour me, and so I shall honour you. Please accept this token of my esteem.” Reaching to his hip, Durok pulled up not a blade, or a baton, but the clasp of the cloth sash that hung across his chest. Holding it up for her to see, he unclasped it, reclasped it, then unclasped it again, and then quickly disentangled himself from the device. Holding it out to the young woman before him, his lip curled in a cunning, knowing sneer, and while Yao Si Gur seemed initially surprised at what he offered, her calm face broke from its unreadable calm for the first time, and she grinned back as she returned his respectful bow.

As she collected the sash and Durok stepped away, returning to his coffee cup where he’d left it on one of the metal seats nearby, he sat down and feigned kicking his feet up for a moment before gesturing theatrically at the still-sparking table against the wall. Again, people in the crowd laughed, though Kronn ignored them simply to jeer at Yao Si Gur as she ran her hands over the bundled scarf. “What trick is this, pretender? You mean for your foolish Bekk to fight me with garments? Fine, then let what comes be on your head.”

The human, however, was ignoring all of them. She had accepted the challenge, and accepted her captain’s favour. The sash in her hands had been tied in a way which bundled its bulk into a relatively weighty bulk, stiff but pliant, and able to be unwound if she moved her hands cleverly around some of the knots and weave. She felt its weight in her hands, and wrapped it around her wrists, tugging to get a sense of its play and pull. Kronn’s disdain moved through stages of confusion, disbelief, and concern as Yao Si Gur began twirling the sash around in her hands, whirling it around her body with steady hands and controlled maneuvers which quickened in pace and grew more impressive in complexity as she got accustomed to the weapon in her hands. Many watching had not expected her display, as she’d given no indication of ceremony, nor did she give off a sense of bravado in the demonstration, she had simply slipped into what were clearly familiar forms as she got to know the tool she now held.

As she continued through her routine, Durok stood and sauntered over to Kronn’s elbow, drinking his Raktajino with a loud slurp, and leaning up to speak conspiratorially: “I hope you are paying attention, young warrior. There is honour to be had here, if you are courageous enough to claim it. No lessons are learned without pain.”

Kronn glowered down at him, but gone was the attitude, replaced with a tactical appraisal of a suddenly unsatisfying situation. “You planned this, together. You seek to make a fool of us. This game is lowly and treacherous. I will find no honour in crushing a pair of charlatans.” The words were bold, as they need must be, but his passion for them were gone. He watched Yao Si Gur carefully as she moved through her forms, and as her routine escalated from simply moving the sash, to letting it move with her, and then letting it move her, it seemed, as she became more athletic in the display. “I have never seen anyone move like her, but this is all just dance and performance, surely.”

Durok shook his head and clapped the young man on the shoulder consolingly. “Planned this, young warrior? You challenged me. Surely no one led you to me, but you and your brothers sought me out at rest and insisted on what is to come. Remember that next time you spoil for a fight. I assure you, my champion has never met me before the day, but I would be a poor captain not to know the crew I’d hand picked for the challenges that lay ahead of each of us. If you and your kin are to survive beyond the maw of stars,” he said, causing Kronn to jerk his gaze away from his opponent in surprise, reappraising this ‘pretender’, “then you will need to know when to hold em, and know when to fold em, as they say.”

He grinned wildly again, pushing himself away from the trio of Klingon youths with a deep, retreating bow. “As for me,” he said, a little louder, “one can hardly say I misled you about who I am. After all,” his hand brushed across the studded array of commendations—for valor, for cunning, for bravery and tactics in service to the empire— “I wear my heart on the outside for all to see this day.”

His cup was empty, but his heart was full. All around them the crowds clamored for the thrill of combat, bloodlust at an all time high, and latinum flowing in rivulets between bettors and their collectors as they howled for action. Durok raised his arm high, and cried out loud enough to be heard over the uproar: “FOR HONOUR! BEGIN!” And, casting his arm down, the loud metallic clang as his cup crashed against the deck plating hard enough to half-crush it, and put a small dent in the durasteel before sending it rocketing up over the catwalk on one side of the crowd, ringing the bell for combat to be joined.

Immediately, Yao Si Gur dropped into a low stance, presenting Kronn with a profile like the blade if a knife. She was small, agile, and graceful, and the sash granted by her captain ran across her shoulders from arm to arm, held taut between her wrists. The Klingon advanced with a charge, rushing at her like a ram, head lowered, nostrils flared: he reached for her as a giant trying to scoop up an easy meal, but the quick Human hopped easily out of his path, rolling past his feet and into his flank. As his heavy booted foot came sailing in past her head, lashing out as he tracked her movement but could not correct his own momentum, she caught it in a loop of the sash and planted her body with as much power as she could get on the deck plating. Kronn’s strength was such that she was quickly pulled along with his stride, unable to get the purchase to stop his initiative, but the trick had its effect and the large Klingon missed his next step, stumbling to a knee as she rolled quickly out of reach and took to circling in a low, creep that seemed to defy the comfort of upright anatomy.

The crowd cheered as battle was joined, many leaning over the railings to shout for one champion or the other. Kronn’s two sword-brothers, denied the ability to either participate or retreat, lingered awkwardly at one side of the arena with Durok, watching events unfold. They had tied their honour to their leader’s by supporting him in his challenge, and though they should, by all rights, have had full confidence in their casual brigandry when it had been a clear target like Durok, things had not played out at all as they had expected, and suddenly they were tangled up in a web of liability: Durok had played their own cultural rules in a master hand, dealing out, card by card, inarguable manipulations that put them now at a very public disadvantage.

Kronn came to his feet with a growl. His face had fallen into a stone mask of outrage, realizing that there would be no easy win in this challenge. Perhaps if he’d gotten his hands on the pretender, things would have been different, but something nagged at his confidence in that, too. He turned to track Yao Si Gur as she circled him, feeling the heat of further outrage rise as he realized that to others, he looked like cornered prey. Resolving to change that, he stalked out along the edge of the clearing, forcing the Human to back away from him along a wall. Each time he sped up to try and catch her, she’d backpedal more quickly, staying out of range. At length he stopped, throwing up his arms dismissively. “Is this all you know to do, little Human? Retreat, retreat, retreat? Is this how your kind accept a challenge, by presenting a bold face and then running away?”

The audience roused to Kronn’s bait, jeering and booing at Yao Si Gur’s change in performance. Slowly, she straightened her back, dragging her forward foot across the deck until it perched against her knee, balancing on one foot. With a twist of her wrist, she unbound the end of the sash and pulled it through her fingers to let it unravel. “As you wish, honoured opponent. I had simply thought to see if you were bullish enough to charge head first into a wall.” She began to twirl the scarf around her in light, airy circles, reminiscent of the dabo dancers who performed around the Promenade, with the ease and grace of an Orion sovereign. Kronn sneered his disdain, pulling himself up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest in clear disappointment of her display, but a moment later as she began to advance on him in long strides, deft flicks of her wrist caused the length of the cloth to ripple in fast, tightening waves, each ending in a sharp snap as it reached the end of the tether.

When she came in range, Kronn did not budge, nor did he assume any sort of defensive stance. The cloth did not intimidate him, nor did it distract him, and he kept his eyes on his opponent, convinced of the ruse. A moment later, he found himself unable to track her movements: with two sharp cracks of the cloth whip in her hands, now twisted round itself into a tight bundle that lent weight and body as she whirled it around. The tips flicked out across his eyes sharply enough to draw blood and cleave fur from the brush of his eyebrows, suddenly changing the stakes of the encounter as red flowed freely down his cheeks and into his vision. Gasps and cries of shock rose up around them as dark Klingon essence spattered from the end of her weapon onto the deck, and Durok, from the sidelines, called out helpfully: “FIRST BLOOD TO YAO SI GUR!”

Kronn was caught entirely off guard by the assault, and clasped his hand over his eyes as the blood suddenly washed through them. He stumbled, careening into the arms of the crowd behind him, who pushed him back into the ring as was tradition. Yao Si Gur did not move to push the advantage as he reeled, standing with the same poise and patience she had shown since being called forward, though she took the opportunity to rebind her sash and drape it across her shoulders as she watched him. Behind her, out of sight, one of Kronn’s sword-brothers growled, pulled his D'k tahg and started forward with a purposeful, yet stealthy stride.

Seeing this, Durok darted forward, hooking his boot into the brace at the base of one of the steel chairs. He moved preternaturally fast, dragging the heavy chair along with him as he closed the distance between himself and the sword-brother. Before the man could take three steps into the ring, Durok swing his leg in a stunning overhead arc which dragged the chair along with its momentum. For a moment, the man had both feet in the air overhead, one hand barely touching the deckplates, and in the next he pulled his feet downward in a vicious kick. The edge of the chair came down sharply on the top of the man’s crest, cracking viciously behind one of his pronounced Klingon ridges which, for all their duability, were meant to be struck straight on, not from above.

The Klingon’s head bobbed on his neck as he stopped in his tracks, shoulders shrugging up reflexively as the boy dropped his blade to the deck. Landing flat on his feet, hands clasped behind his back in a perfectly straight posture, Durok kicked the chair which still sat hooked to his boot, and skidded it between the sword-brother’s legs. Bringing one arm forward, he braced it under the young Klingon’s chin, and leaned in to say: “There was a reason our ignoble ancestors sought to steal power from human secrets, my boy: the creatures whose strength we sought to consume were called Augments, and they were deceptively ferocious.” With a gentle shove, he pushed the stunned boy to sit back on the bloodied seat, and cast a stern look over his head at the other, bidding him silently to care for his bond-mate. The wiser, wide-eyed youth nodded curtly and laid a hand on the other’s shoulder possessively.

Back in the action, Kronn had gathered his wits, raking his fingers through his eyes to clear them, thick Klingon blood clotting quickly. When she knew he could see her again, Yao Si Gur smoothed herself back down into her blade-edge stance. Recognizing the need to change his approach, Kronn knew he’d need to get a hold of his opponent to achieve any traction in this battle. Better footwork, more attention to his opponent, less bold confidence in his own superiority. He began to use more complex maneuvers, feinting, lunging, treating her for the first time as if she were armed with a dangerous weapon. Despite this, he could not bring himself to draw his own blade against a scarf.

The first time he nearly caught her, he found his forearm wrapped in her sash, pulling him off balance and spinning him around. Thinking he recognized the tactic, he caught hold of the garment the next time she pulled the trick, and she used it to gain her own leverage, sweeping under his arm to pull his elbow around the wrong way. Each time he caught her, she caught him instead, and put him off balance; each time she pushed him a little further, hurt him a little more. He had the simultaneous sense that she was toying with him, but that she was doing so out of necessity, as she had no real idea of his limits, or what it would take to stop him without being caught and broken apart herself.

At first what he had taken to be taunting, a premise set by Durok’s jibes and common to the Game of Stags, he was coming to realize was a necessity imposed on her by the self same man when he pitted such an unbalanced opponent against a brazen Klingon warrior. Though It was frustrating to him to be unable to catch her, even meaningfully lay a hand on her, he was beginning to learn that her approach to fighting was both bold and cautious, proud and honourable, with neither mockery nor indignity in her tactics.

The longer they fought, the more interested he became, and the more he found he enjoyed this opponent: soon he was laughing with each exchange, learning to lean in to her attacks and counter-attacks, pulling where he may have pushed, twisting away from a feint he may have followed through. Once, he misjudged a grab, and she slid between his legs with his arm bound in her sash, pulling him head over heels to crash against the deck with a thunder of metal and laughter. Once, she misjudged him and he spun her around, throwing her across the arena to land un a rough tumble which saw her come to her feet with a gash under her eye and a grin on her face. Twice more she switched tactics with the sash, going between clinches and throws to the lashing gale of stinging whips depending on her need to close or retreat to regain her advantage.

The end of battle came both inevitably, and all at once. While the crowd was not subdued by the long play of action between them, some of them were calling for blood or satisfaction while the pair on the floor were lost in learning each other’s ways. Then, during one exchange, Yao Si Gur decided to gamble, and Kronn decided to surprise her with a defense: the two tactics collided in a curious tangle where the Klingon was bound around the throat with the knot of her sash against his windpipe, but he finally caught grip of one of her wrists, and his hand clasped in a vice grip, holding her still against him. She, however, had set him off balance, driving him back and to a knee so that he leaned precariously and could not gain his footing. She had one leg braced on his chest and the other on top of his planted leg to help push him backward, and by the wild look in her eye he knew that she knew the only way she’d get out of this clinch would be if she could keep the pressure on and keep him from rallying before her knot achieved its purpose.

The crowd stilled, and even the two sword-brothers had come to their feet, being recovered enough to know that this would be the deciding clinch. Durok stood with his arms crossed, one hand over his mouth, disguising his mood with a pensive look. Blood thrummed through Kronn’s head, rumbling in his ears as the air thinned in his lungs. His eyes swam until they found hers, his lips parted into a delighted smile, and he guffawed a precious bubble of air past her clinch, and with pointed purpose he let go of her wrist and brought a shaking hand up to palm over her face in a sign of Klingon respect. She met his gaze through his splayed hand, and with a blink, let go of her clinch. Leaning backward, she pulled him forward as he sucked in a titanic gasp of air, but he did not pause to labor over his breath. In the same move that released him, he pulled his leg up from under him, capturing the Human woman in a clinch of his own. Shock claimed her face for a moment, but rather than attack, Kronn pulled her bodily up on to his shoulder like a trophy, ensuring she was seated and balanced, but gripping her legs so she could not flee.

On all sides, spectators erupted at the upset. The noise was deafening, and it would be impossible to imagine that the cacophony was not being heard at every level of the station. Durok glanced about, his face unreadable, waiting to see what would come, and noted the number of holo-cams picking up, and likely broadcasting, the fight. This moment would be telling, and it would be seen by many, many people across any number of quadrants. He watched the Klingon and his captive with bated breath.

Kronn let the crowd surge for a long moment, staring around the massed and teeming mob. Yao Si Gur’s sash, which had thusfar served her to great effect, was tucked under his free arm and bound around her wrists, leaving her unable to retaliate against his greater strength. Her face had resumed its impassive neutrality as she too surveyed the crowd, though her eyes gleamed with uninterpretable emotion. Kronn could see it when he next looked up at her, and saw fear there, but also, moreso, curiosity and exhilaration: here was a true warrior, who had shown him a true account, and mercy at the last to savour his dignity. Kronn threw up his free arm, releasing her weapon to flutter free, and she made no bid to resume their battle. As he held his hand high, he waited for the crowd to die down and answer his clear appeal for silence before gathering his breath and shouting: “HONOUR AND GLORY! To Yao Si Gur of Turkana IV! Victory is hers this day!” Atop his shoulders, Yao Si Gur threw her arms overhead in victory, celebrating the acknowledgement she had been given as her due. Taking the opportunity, she unwrapped the sash from one wrist, and as the crowd cheered, she snapped the bound fabric in a set of dextrous displays which, with each twist, unfurled more of the cloth. Unseen to Kronn, but clear to all of his spectators, the bloodied flag unfurled for all to see: across a field of star-specked black, the icons of both the Federation and the Klingon Empire had been emblazoned on the sash, standing equal yet apart, but connected by a black and gold band that linked the two.

Durok smiled warmly, and touched his hand to his brow, saluting his crewman and her new ally. He better than most knew of the bonds forged in respect for another’s skills, and in learning humility for one’s own without being humiliated to teach it. To Kronn he offered a Klingon salute, tapping his fist to his chest and receiving acknowledgement in kind. Then, as though on schedule, he turned and faced the crowd at his back, which parted to admit a team of Bajoran security officers, some with riot gear, which set about getting the promenade to disperse. Several of them broke off from the rest and began to escort him away from the scene toward the central turbolift which would take him to the stations operations center. Captain Durok of the Vellouwyn had an appointment to keep, and he expected there would be much to discuss.

==============

“The part that galls me,” stated Colonel Kira Nerys as she stood looking out the viewport from the administrator’s office she now held as a command post, “is that you actually bought a permit for this escapade.”

Nerys was a bold figure, renown since the liberation of Bajor. Her face was plastered across holo programs and news trids, and had been for years, as news from the front reached the furthest corners of the affected Alpha and Beta quadrants. While Durok had not had the pleasure, yet, of meeting her, he had learned much about her exploits and personal demeanor before coming to Deep Space Nine. Nonetheless, it was hard to make out from her face what it was she actually felt about the situation: as with many Bajorans, sardonicism merged seamlessly with both delight and wrath with equal ease in the Bajoran heart. Their spirits, their Pah, were varied in his experience, but whether as warriors or priests or farmers eking out a living on contested land, he had yet to meet a Bajoran who did not have a resilient and fierce inner fire.

The way she was grinning at him made him wonder if she wanted to praise him or murder him, or both, and he delighted in being the subject of her ire in either regard. He knew his stunt had been an unexpected surprise to station management, but he had undertaken to couch the delivery before indulging himself in a number of surreptitious and bureaucratic ways. “When this came across my desk a week ago,” she went on, “it was listed as a ‘cultural display’, and the special security accommodations for un-uniformed security was proposed as being necessary to respect immersion.” She tossed a padd across the desk, where it skidded to a stop on the smooth glass next to a baseball on a small dais. “You even requested extra for ‘the safety of uninitiated pilgrims.’ The audacity!”

Durok grinned, but did not answer with more than a supplicating gesture of simple prayer, for which she rolled her eyes. She turned the chair next to her enough to sidle into it, still simply staring into his soul with those dark, glittering eyes. “And the gambling permits, that was a nice touch. I didn’t even think they were for the same thing. A sporting event: I admit that my security team thought for sure you’d be doing something on the holosuites, but no. And if that were not enough, there’s this—” she tapped another padd, sliding it into the middle of the table between them where it went ignored. “—special requisition for communications array bandwidth lease for a theatrical performance. You literally did everything you could have possibly done to arrange a pit fight on my station without crossing any legal traps. I am going to have to have my policy analysts torquing our permitting system like O’Brien digging through the EPS relays for months just because you decided to stop by on your way through.”

She leaned forward on her elbows, propping her chin up on her palms, and grinned open-mouthed at him, as if simply taking him in for a minute. Behind him, the two security escorts which had shown him to this meeting stood at attention, perfectly professionally silent, and as uncertain as he was about what she would do or say next. For someone like Durok, the colonel was a treasure of uncertainty, authority, and primal menace which made his pulse race; he could not help but smile right back. “What I want to know,” she finally said, “was how you knew they’d both be there. You couldn’t have faked that setup, Durok. That fight was a match made in hell, and you couldn’t have picked better fighters for it. But they weren’t invited, weren’t coerced, and unless you count yourself, weren’t baited to be where you wanted them to be. How the hell did you manage to pull that off?”

Durok laughed as her smile cracked into genuine warmth. No one had been seriously injured in his ‘cultural display’, and for a station which thrived on commerce and entertainment, he’d driven significant business in a spike which he’d managed to curb at its peak. He was, all told, more pleased with the results than he had expected to be, because the gamble of playing the two young crewman from either faction against one another had not been guaranteed in either respect. Nerys was right: the sword-brothers may not have decided to goad him, though it was a calculated risk. The crewman and her company may not have stopped to watch, but he knew where they were headed, given their rental of a holosuite for a Parrises squares match, one he’d have to refund for them. She may not have taken the challenge, and he may not have taken the bait: on the whole, the possibility that their unpredictability could have overturned all his carefully laid plans stacked up far higher than he’d deserved to succeed through, but his chosen champions had played their parts admirably, if unwittingly.

“That part was easy,” he said, setting one booted foot over his knee in the signature posture he’d come to adopt over the years. “I happened to know their captains.”

[sl-walker]

A character of your choice can't sleep because of events from earlier in the day/week or just because it's one of those nights where there's too much to think about. Can be sweet or sad.

So, I actually already wrote this one some time back.  It leans very heavily on canon events, so people well-familiar with TOS will recognize what's going on, but everyone else will just have to take what they can from it.  It's pretty heavily stream-of-consciousness, and it's probably either an aside of a longer tale not yet written, or an actual part of it.  It also refuses to ignore that being possessed and used as a murder weapon would be pretty damned traumatizing, and the mission-of-the-week reset wouldn't erase that in anything like reality.

--

2267

The transport was in fair shape; just another connection in the long string of embarking, disembarking, aiming true for Earth and trying to grapple with the fact that he wasn't aboard the Enterprise. Scotty had taken precisely two long-term vacations away from his ship mid-mission in his career; the first for a birth, and this one for-- --for a death. His own. And for three others. Kara, Lieutenant Tracy, Sybo. The transport was in fair shape; her engines were smooth and steady, but he had a hard time right now not listening for the Enterprise's harmonies and melodies. Seventeen years now, absent time in refit or repair, and usually he did all right even when he was aboard someone else's ship in the short term, but right now, he kept listening for the Enterprise, even though he'd left her of his own accord, abusing the hell out of his large bank of accumulated personal leave time. The captain had approved it after raising both of his eyebrows looking more'n a wee bit shocked by the request; he had requested it three days after Argelius II, which was exactly the amount of time it took him to stop shaking long enough to do anything besides work, which, of course, had been the only way he managed to remain functional during that three days; work, and the knowledge that he was going to go home, to his other home, for a little while because-- --because he had to. So, the captain approved his leave and then he had to wait a couple more weeks so that they'd be anywhere near a transfer point, and then he got himself killed. Scotty didn't remember that part. Funny enough, despite being spooked by it some, it was a whole lot easier to cope with in his head than Argelius II had been. Mostly because he didn't really remember it. And because he didn't have to wash blood off his hands after it. He crossed his arms tighter over his civilian coat, pressing his right shoulder against the bulkhead, and stared out at the streaked view of warp speed. Grateful it was a high speed transport -- not cheap, but he didn't want to waste time -- and still wishing it could go faster. Then again, he was fairly sure even the Enterprise at maximum warp couldn't outrun what was chasing him. The transport was in fair shape; the hum of her warp and impulse drives, tandem, through the deckplates under his feet, but he kept listening for the Enterprise. Seventeen years. Seventeen years, and he knew every note, every melody and every harmony, and the way they blended, and how sometimes they sang so perfectly that the hair on the back of his neck would stand up, following the current through the soles of his boots, the buzz through his skeleton, and the hum through his spine. There was no song like it, in the universe. And he'd left her. Scotty hunkered down a little into his coat, trying to breathe off the panic. He could feel it all down his arms, from his chest, and he knew that if he gave into that particular compulsion, he'd be back in his tiny temporary cabin scrubbing his hands red. He'd already done that more times than any sane, rational officer of the line would ever do. He'd left her. His ship. His song. He'd left her. He'd left her, and aye, his engineering crew was damned good. The best. But with all they were facing, all the time it seemed without a break, it was hard to reconcile. Every bit of the Chief in him, at war with every bit of the rest of him, the part that couldn't sleep for more'n an hour or two without jerking awake in a panic and the part of him that needed to get away from her, long enough to get himself back together. To go back to his island, to go back to his family, and heaven help him, to start really considering exactly what he was going to do with himself. The transport was in fair shape; he kept going back to that, in his head, a touchstone that she was running fine and that she wasn't the Enterprise. Both of which he needed to remind himself of. His head was muddled; he still had a pretty steady headache from exhaustion and a concussion that would be awhile yet in healing, and he couldn't keep a bloody grip on anything, right now, except that if he didn't retreat, he wouldn't survive. And every bit of the officer in him was telling him to buck up, to go back and just deal with it, and he couldn't. He ground his teeth together, like he'd done a million times in the past few weeks, and he held on by his fingernails until he could breathe right again, and he outright refused to fall apart sitting in a high speed transport surrounded by civilians. Every bit of the Chief, of the Starfleet officer, pulling backwards for his ship and home. Every bit of a man who'd had his body used as a murder weapon, who'd been killed and resurrected, driving forward to safety and home. Three hours later, after having startled out of another cold, dark nightmare, he scrubbed his hands practically to bleeding and then spent the rest of the ship's night with his penlight in hand to try to chase it all away, hanging on with everything he had to everything he could so he might just make it home. The transport was in fair shape. Maybe she'd even be fast enough.

#scotty #arc of the wolf #st:tos #i have opinions™ #like i have not ranted about them in many years #but they are still opinions™

[randomdeinonychus]

Been rewatching a lot of the Star Trek spin-off shows recently and it has me once again ruminating on my favorite Enterprise designs.

My absolute favorite is, of course, always going to be the refit and Enterprise-A from the Original Series movies.

To me, this is just how a starship should look. It's a perfect update of the original design and it looks amazing on so many levels.

My second favorite has quickly become the Enterprise from Discovery and Strange New Worlds.

It definitely helps that I picked up the really cool Hallmark ornament of it last year.

It's a perfect blending of the original show design with the best parts of the refit. The only thing it's lacking is the torpedo launcher on the "neck," but that's true to the original series design.

After all, the Kelvin timeline Enterprise had the launcher and it didn't make that design any better.

My third favorite is definitely still the Enterprise-E.

Sure, it looks a little bit like Voyager, but I love how it calls to mind the classic Enterprise with some elements of the Next Generation mixed in. Plus, unlike Voyager, the big nacelles keep it from looking like a serving spoon.

I still haven't gotten to Picard yet, so I can't say how I feel about the F or G or whatever letter they are up to now, but I look forward to finding out.

#star trek #uss enterprise #starships #nerdiness #star trek: the motion picture #star trek strange new worlds #star trek: first contact

[the-lady-general]

What was up with Una in A Quality of Mercy? It's gotten so bad that I actually sat down with Cicero's c-questions and a fresh notebook, and decided to share with the class. Beware of proper heavy spoilers for s1 SNW.

TL;DR: I think Una turned herself in to Robert April during All Those Who Wander. Encouragedby the support of Chris, La'an, Joseph and Christine she tries to become the first properly, offically commissioned Illyrian in Starfleet. And this time, she's doing it by the book. With a courtroom episode!

Una's arrest came so suddenly after sidelining her for so long that I still don't really know what to make of it, but this theory is the one that makes the most sense to me. What does everybody else think?

Here's my thought process:

What - Una was arrested for violating Starfleet's genetic manipulation directive. Which we don't have in writing. But two things stand out to me: It's a Starfleet directive they got her for, not a Federation law - so she will be tried by a court martial (as "the best first officer in the fleet") rather than a civilian court. And she was arrested, which means there was hard evidence of her altered genetics, rather than just probable cause for an investigation. There was no investigation on the Enterprise because Chris would have told us.

Where - On the Federation side of the Romulan Neutral Zone. Apart from the Enterprise, the Cayuga and the Outposts, there seems to be little in the way of civilisation, or free, independent press. Running towards the Neutral Zone is a possibility, but carries the risk of sparking a war. Communication with Earth seems to be on a delay.

How - Captain Batel arrests Una on orders from an unknown source that could include anybody from Robert April (who seems to be both hers and Chris' direct superior from ep 1) to Starfleet Intelligence, and I'm not even ruling out Harry Mudd just yet. Chris seemed completely surprised by the arrest, so he wasn't warned or informed, and from Batel's dialogue we can infer that she thought he was unaware of Una being Illyrian as well. Meaning that nobody on the Enterprise is currently under suspicion for knowingly aiding a criminal. I think it's worthy to note that Batel's ship is potentially a Sombra class - which would make her faster than Enterprise. The dramatic irony of losing two senior officers in two weeks on those ships sounds like something the showrunners would do.

When - During refitting the outposts. Chris was just having An Episode, which Una witnessed and (unless I'm reading too much into it) seemed distressed by, as if she knew she wouldn't be able to be there for him. The previous week she delivered the power cells to K-7 and was notably (suspiciously?) absent ever since. Anybody who knew she's Illyrian was on Valeo Beta V, so she had the opportunity to make her move in secret.

Who - Batel said she was acting on orders; I think Robert April is the most likely source of those orders. He knows Una and Chris personally, so he knew he'd have to outmanoeuvre Chris with the arrest. Sending his ex/fuckbuddy/girlfriend/? on a faster ship without warning certainly did the trick, and even so, Chris, captain of the flagship, came very close to becoming Starfleet's second mutineer. So who delivered the evidence to Bob? Chris (already had the opportunity to turn Una in; refused), Joseph (partner in crime; they both have dirt on each other), La'an (best friend and life debtee despite her frustration in ep 3) and Christine (ride-or-die bro; specialty in genetic manipulation adjacent field) would never rat her out. That leaves only Una herself.

Why - For the longest time the X-Files nerd in me wanted it to be a secret government cover up of the Disco/Control thing. But then Chris and Spock would have been neutralised in some way as well soon after Una. Meanwhile, Una has already turned herself in once. After the captain (rules side of things), the security chief (actual threat assessment), the CMO (ethical/medical concerns) and the nurse (general opinion/enlisted crew stand-in) all learned and accepted who she was, Una might have hoped that her wish - being welcome in Starfleet as an Illyrian rather than a Human - might come true yet. So she takes the gamble and stacks the odds in her favour: She turns herself in to her old war buddy Bob, gives him everything he needs for a court martial, and hopes to set a legal precedent for Illyrians in Starfleet. Her long-term goal would be to earn her commission officially, without having to lie about her species. And who knows? Maybe that will eventually allow the Illyrians to join the Federation as valued members.

#snw #curator on ao3 #snw spoilers #strange new worlds spoilers #i am VEXED #this is going to complicate my prison break story no end #fuck-a-doodle-doo #i wish fontana was alive then the courtroom episode about the almost-human's humanity next season would just be a given #and i could move on with my life #fanfic #writing #and wild speculation

[sethshead]

-- ST TMP - The Enterprise - unused original music --

I will stick my neck out and say that the original version was the better stand-alone piece of music. It's gorgeous, atmospheric, the orchestration luminous and shimmering in the best tradition of Strauss and Chabrier. But it is not an effective film score cue.

As Goldsmith says, it lacks a clear motif for the Enterprise. There's the hint of one for a single measure before it refocuses back on texture and harmony. There is no immediate sense of heroism and adventure, of nobility and fanfare - the difference a descending major 3rd makes over a major 2nd!

As a work of art, the final cue is blocky, simplistic, hackneyed: it sounds like a cliché, and feels spent after the climax, while the original version was sublime as it wound down. Yet that was exactly what this four minute cue (exceptionally long by film standards, almost comically luxuriating in the fan service of the refitted Enterprise fly-by) needed to convey in the context of this space opera.

I think when film score gets a bad rap, it's not because of misogyny conditioning us to snub our noses at a collaborative art form; I think it's because writing for such immediate, unambiguous, unnuanced effect feels manipulative and like a dumbing down of the composer's full artistry. It's the difference between popping a joint and an hour massage; themes are often reduced to the most basic martial and epic of conventions, far more masculine-coded than feminine.

There is an art to writing an effective film score, however, that is distinct from composing an extended concert work, as this example should illuminate. It's hard to get across a mood in 30 seconds, even using all the obvious tropes available in a musical vocabulary. One isn't better than another; they're just different registers, different magisteria.

But damn, I would love to hear the unused cue turned into a longer orchestral piece or suite movement.

#Youtube

[owedfavors]

ON OFFERS OF COMMAND ;

three times, starfleet has offered una a command of her own.  the first comes between five year missions. the second comes while she oversees the removal of the holographic comms system and the refitting of systems in spacedock during pike’s time onboard discovery. the third comes while enterprise undergoes repairs after the battle with control. all three times, una declines, though the third time she accepts a temporary assignment onboard the uss archer until enterprise’s repairs are complete.

after una declines the offer a third time,  starfleet command makes it clear that they will not actively extend the offer another time — but it is a standing offer:  she need only say the word.  una never tells captain pike of these offers,  but he knows. admiral april has spoken to him on more than one occasion to ask for his assistance in persuading una to change her mind.

she has several reasons for the decision to remain as first officer onboard the enterprise,  ranging from the rational to the emotional.  on a rational level,  she considers herself better suited to the responsibilities of first officer than the responsibilities of captain.  her strength is in the day-to-day management of the ship,  not in big picture decisions and managing the emotional well-being and sense of unity of a crew.  if anything,  her time on enterprise with pike has convinced her of the latter;  he is the best captain she has served with,  and she knows herself incapable of his style of command.

somewhere in the middle of rational and emotional,  there’s her desire to keep her head down.  una is well aware that she has already gone too far in distinguishing herself.  the more she does so,  the greater her chances that her illyrian heritage will be discovered.  she also prefers to be out of the spotlight,  content to run things behind the scenes with no need for visibility or acclaim.  a captaincy forces her into position as the figurehead of a ship and crew in a way she has no desire for.

on the emotional end of the spectrum,  she’s grown far more attached to the enterprise, her captain, and her crew than she is prepared to admit. she has invested so much in the upkeep and wellbeing of this ship,  and she has come to call members of the crew her friends in a way she has never allowed herself to do before. that’s not something she finds herself willing or able to walk away from.

#⤷ file / characterization.