Star Trek: Starbase 777 - techno-targ-tent

In the middle of the area with the carnival games was a big tent with moody lighting. The sounds of popular Klingon Opera and also Klingon Acid Punk could be heard emanating from the area. Situated in the very center of the tent was a square with a short gated perimeter and in the very center of THAT was a... mechanical targ! A techo targ, if you will. The Targ looked fierce! Its tusks were pointy, its face had been sculpted into a snarl, and it even had sound effects! Lots of scary murderous pig-like noises. It looked as if it had been caught in mid gallop. And it was shiny. A Klingon woman decked out in hand made Klingon armor that looked old and leathery and beautiful with a cape of red and spiky boots was s tanding at the corner of her tent watching as people gazed at the targ. Whenever anyone lingered for more than a few seconds she would grin mischievously and ask, "How would you like to try your hand at riding my techno targ? If you can last long enough, you'll win a special prize..."

Edgar wandered in, eyeing the mechanical creature with curiosity, and a bit of stupid intrigue. It couldn’t be too different from those mechanical bulls on earth, could it? He lingered at the door, attention caught at the idea of a prize. He was… typically good at not falling off of things, at least. Using that to his advantage to win a prize was right up his alley.

The woman who could only be assumed to be the targ operator cackled, locking eyes with the young man. "You there!" She said, pointing a taunting finger at him. "You are studying my targ. Do you dare give it a shot? Hm?" She laughed again and gestured to the targ with a wide sweeping motion. "If you think you are brave enough, that is." Her eyes narrowed but she was still grinning, huge and toothy smile.

“I’m brave enough.” He confirmed with a grin matching the energy of her own, “Been told I lack self-preservation skills. That’s probably useful here.”

1

“Oh ho ho! Well then, it seems we have our first victim of the evening!” She said with a roar of laughter. “Come this way, then, and we will see how you fare.”

With a spring in his step, he made his way over, nodding at the woman. He patted the back of the mechanical targ, looking to find a way to hop up.

Klingons weren't well known for making things easy or comfortable. After some inspection, Ed would realize he just had to grab the mechanical targ's neck and throw a leg over. Whether he does it gracefully or not is up to you, dear writer. "What are you waiting for?" The Klingon woman asked. "Mount the targ and ready yourself!"

“Working on it!” He replied, hoisting himself up onto the fake creature (and nearly losing a shoe in the process), making sure he had a good grip. “I’m ready.”

The woman watched as Ed scrambled onto the targ, laughing all the while. Once he was situated, she darted to a column off to the side of the perimeter of the targ riding area. She made a very mischievious smile and pressed a button. The targ noises got louder, and it let out a screeching howl and began to move. 🎲4

Rolled: 1d20

[4] ➜ 4

A bit disturbed by the screeching, he clung onto it, unable to stop a fit of laughter. He was sure he’d get thrown off, but it was, objectively, very funny. 🎲17

Rolled: 1d20

[17] ➜ 17

"Ah, so you are a more skilled rider than I expected. We shall see how long you last in my tent. Can you handle THIS?" She pressed another button and the targ made a growling noise and bucked. 🎲2

Rolled: 1d20

[2] ➜ 2

18:29

It apparently didn't buck that much.

“You sure you’re trying to challenge me?” He laughed, “Or am I a skilled rider? I didn’t expect to be.” 🎲13

Rolled: 1d20

[13] ➜ 13

"Do not insult me! You think I would go easy on you? I would never..." She huffed and pressed like three buttons and threw a lever forward. Why wasnt the blasted thing working? Or perhaps this was all part of her plan. 🎲4

Rolled: 1d20

[4] ➜ 4

18:40

Well, the targ jerked again but barely. Some weird hissing noise came from the mechanics below Ed. (edited)

Despite being an engineer, he wouldn’t have to have any knowledge of mechanics at all to know that noise meant bad, bad news. “Shit.” He whispered, before saying, “As long as you don’t kill me, lady, bring it on.”

"Killing you with a mechanical targ would not be honorable. I would have to kill you in combat, which is forbidden on this Starfleet station. However, I will make you fear for your life. If only this blasted targ would do as I command!" She threw another lever and pressed a button again. `

18 (edited)

Rolled: 1d20

[18] ➜ 18

18:50

The targ jerked back to life, a little smoke coming out of the base of the machine. It roared and flailed forward in an attempt to fling Ed off!

“Yeah, good poi—“ The targ kicked into gear, and he held on for dear life, trying not to scream. 🎲1

Rolled: 1d20

[1] ➜ 1

18:57

His grip slipped, shoes digging into the sides of the mechanical beast as it somehow rocked more and more, until he lost any semblance of control. The targ rocked sharply, sending him into the air. For a brief moment, it felt like he was floating, before the hard ground greeted him with reality, knocking the breath out of his lungs. After a minute of lying there, he let out a wheezy laugh. “Holy shit. Hooooly shit.” He breathed, “No dishonourable death for me. Thanks for that.”

1

"You are welcome. You may be a better warrior than either you or I previously believed. Now, send your friends! And don't die a dishonorable death!" She bowed to him and moved to inspect her mechanical targ to make sure it wasn't actually on fire or broken.

“You got it!” He replied, grinning like an idiot as he peeled himself off the ground, only limping a little, “Let me know who else falls, yeah?” The extent of his injuries would be, at the worst, a big bruise, and one that he could bribe M’Rish to fix up without telling anyone.

1

The next person doomed to fall seemed to not be very far, as Tarsek approached the tent just in time to see the ensign get launched several meters away from the mechanical beast. Targ ridding… it did look similar to the old videos Garcia had shown him of Earth cowboys and farmers, ridding agitated horses or even bulls in some occasions.

The Klingon woman had spent a few minutes making sure the targ was functional and not a danger to its riders or others. Once she was satisfied, she turned and scanned the crowd. There were a few people watching and laughing, some folks milling about, and then her eyes landed on Tarsek. "You!" She pointed a finger at him, like she had at Ed. "Do you wish to test your riding skills?"

He walked closer, inspecting the technological replica of the animal. “I might take the chance.” Tarsek approached her with a firm posture. Klingons did not respect hesitation. “Is this challenge practiced today with real animals as well?” He knew some cultures still did, and wondered if Klingons actually used the targs for such.

“I believe you should. Though I am curious about your logical reasoning.” She raised a thoughtful eyebrow. “In some communities it is an enduring practice. It certainly is not representative of all of Klingon society. But I find it a worthy endeavor. One of many to measure the strength and courage of individuals I meet.” She seemed to like Tarsek.

He raised a ta’al. “I am Cdr. Tarsek of House V’hgai, son of Sopel, son of Terok. I happen to be a diplomat.” He revealed through a formal and traditional introduction. “And as a diplomat, I find it in the best interest of my craft to get to known cultures outside of my own at any given chance. Sometimes in a practical way.” (edited)

She grunted and nodded. “Krona, daughter of Marna, of house Korgan.” A slight bow. “Well well well, a diplomat. And a commander at that. You must be very diligent.” She laughed, again. This woman laughed a lot. “Well, smooth talking won’t help you stay on the targ. What say you? Are you ready to get some practical knowledge as you say, Tarsek of house V’hgai?”

”Indeed, Krona of House Korgan.” Tarsek undid the satchel that held his robe closed and placed it on a fence close to them. It would be extremely impractical to attempt to ride with it. Underneath, he wore a simple black shirt and trousers. He moved towards the steel beast now, analyzing the construct. No saddle, nothing to hold yourself to. He placed both hands on its back before jumping with both legs and swinging his right one, favored due to the lack of injury, in a smooth motion. Due to his height and strength, it was not hard to get on. Now the real challenge would be to not get off. (edited)

1

“Good. Hold on, Tarsek. Hopefully this will be a wild ride. Perhaps you will impress me, even.” She smiled and walked back to her machine with the buttons and began pressing them. The targ whirred to life again, the snarling noises getting louder and the beast began to shake. 🎲11

Rolled: 1d20

[11] ➜ 11

21:40

A slightly above average jolt from the targ - powerful, and with about a 50% chance of being bested. Would Tarsek be able to hold on?

Despite being the equivalent of a Vulcan farm boy, ridding was not something done through most of Vulcan, including his home land. He held on to the targ as soon as it made the first sound, his legs squeezed so he would not be thrown far and prepared himself for the machine to come to life. 🎲7

Rolled: 1d20

[7] ➜ 7

Narrator:The targ’s first jolt was too strong and Tarsek couldn’t stay mounted on the machine.

Not prepared enough as it seemed since with the jolt Tarsek went to the ground right beside the machine on his back, though not hard enough to suffer any wound. Getting up, his black shirt now full of dirt, he looked over to Krona. “If it is not an issue, I would like to try again.”

“No, of course not, V’hgai. You may try again. If your pride is not too bruised.” She smiled impishly and gestured for him to mount the targ again. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Up again he went, bracing himself. Why would he feel less for failing a task he never prepared for? This was a learning opportunity after all.

The woman was mostly just trying to get into his head, though she assumed he would brush it off. Especially as a man used to having nuanced conversations like a diplomat. “Ready yourself!” And she flipped a switch and pressed some buttons, urging the targ to spin. 🎲1

Rolled: 1d20

[1] ➜ 1

23:19

There was a weird grinding noise and some smoke. Again?! Tarsek would be able to stay on, unless he just completely flopped. Unlikely.

This time the targ seemed to fight not him, but the woman’s command, as it did not move. “I am not the only one battling it, as it seems.” 🎲1

Rolled: 1d20

[1] ➜ 1

2

23:24

As soon as he said that, the acidic smoke coming from the machine invaded his nostrils, irritating his lungs, and the man started coughing deeply.

So the rule was usually “meet or beat” the required difficulty class, and because Tarsek doesn’t technically have a negative modifier, there’s not really a way for him to get thrown off. And therefore, due to the fact that the dice gods have willed this techno targ to be pretty dang janky, he stays on. Unfortunately he got a little bit of mechanical smoke in his lungs, but it was a learning experience, right? “Blasted double crossing engineer… this targ has been nothing but trouble!” She kicked her control panel and then threw a lever up and… 🎲17

Rolled: 1d20

[17] ➜ 17

23:29

…the targ jolted, still smoking, but started spinning rapidly!

There is no pretenting otherwise: the chances of Tarsek staying on that thing were dim. Between the powerful motion of the targ and the smoke that made his eyes water and his lungs scream, Tarsek could only hold for dear life. 🎲12

Rolled: 1d20

[12] ➜ 12

23:35

As expected, he fell. Not spectacularly, but with the jolt he could feel his left thigh, the same one wounded three years ago, give in, lacking the strength to keep him mounted. His back met the dust again and he lingered there a second before standing carefully. His leg seemed fine, it was a momentary give. A warning for him to practice more and strengthen it for future endeavors.

“A pity. You were doing so well!” She walked over to Tarsek and offered a hand to help him up. “Would you like one last try? Or are you done?” She seemed earnest. “I should check for fire first though…”

”I am amenable to another try, if you have no more voluntaries, that is.” He accepted her help. “And after a fire check.” Smoke was one thing, he certainly would not like to have his clothes set on fire. A good thing he put his robe aside.

“Good, good.” She looked out into the crowd and saw no one making a move to try their hand…yet. She was sure it had nothing to do with the cursing and the smoke whatsoever and was actually entirely due to their dishonor. Obviously. “Stand back, please.” And she walked up to the targ, peering into a spot underneath it where the targ connected to the gyroscopic part that allowed it to move. “Ah yes,” she reached her arm up in there and ripped something out, some sort of wires that looked a bit melty. “Didn’t need those anyway. That should be fine.” She turned back to Tarsek. “Alright, climb up again. This will be your last chance to earn the prize… which I am realizing I forgot to give to that young man. Damn.”

1

He wasted no time climbing up. It was now or never.

Krona strode confidently back to her console with the wires in her hand and pressed a button without even waiting for Tarsek to get completely situated. 🎲9

Rolled: 1d20

[9] ➜ 9

00:11

Ok, not too bad. The targ whirred back to life, moderately wiggly, one little buck. It could be enough to throw someone but the odds weren’t stacked against the Vulcan at the moment.

She walked through the festival grounds, observing it all after having had food, diverse drinks and having some fun at some of the stands. She heard of the mechanical targ challenge and decided to check it out. Once she arrived at the tent, her eyes almost jumped out of her face. “TARSEK?! What… you… YOU CAN DO IT! COME ON!” Even with the shock of the situation, surprised Garcia gave place to supportive Garcia in a matter of microseconds.

He prepared as best as he could, the targ moving almost immediately after he mounted. He buckled up against the motion. In the background, he heard the shouts, unmistakably belonging to Garcia. 🎲5

Rolled: 1d20

[5] ➜ 5

Well, it had been a long run. And while Tarsek had been very determined, Lady Luck had not been with him.

Another time the Vulcan bit the dust. Well, he had been stubborn but he had to know when to give in. He rose and tapped his clothes so the dust would leave him.

”Tarsek!!! Deus, Tarsek…” She ran closer to him and the mechanical beast. “I can’t believe you actually got up there! Are you okay?” Her eyes frantically scanned him for wounds.

Krona grabbed something from a compartment in her control board and walked toward the pair. “He should be fine, big strong man he is.” She cackled and met Tarsek’s gaze. “You fought valiantly. Take this.” And she handed him a small plushie of the mechanical targ. “And, I assume you’re Starfleet and capable of tracking down that young man from earlier. Give him this one.” She handed him another targ plushie. “And you didn’t ride, but you look like you like plushies.” And she gave one to Garcia too!

2

”Yeah, he is big and strong but that was a hard fal… OH ITS SO CUTE.” Garcia immediately stopped to take the mini-targ with wide eyes. It was simply adorable!

He accepted his plushie, analyzing it. Shelly might have fun if he took it back home. “Ah, you mean Ensign Castelo.” Tarsek had seen the boy fall, and being one of the victims of Tal Shiar abduction, he memorized his face and name. “I will deliver his prize.” And now he had two plushies on his hands, moving to retrieve his robe by the nearest fence.

”Oh, Ed rode too? You guys are full of surprises today! Not that I didn’t think you had it in you, but I thought I might have had to do a little convincing for you to join the activities.” She smiled. She was glad Tarsek had some fun, or the Vulcan equivalent for all that was worth.

"Castelo. Nice name. Rolls off the tongue. But yes, give that to him for me. I forgot, this blasted thing keeps breaking..." She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Regardless, it was a pleasure to meet you, V'hgai. Stay honorable." She smiled, and then walked off to maintenance her targ again. By kicking it a few times.

1

Elohae slipped into the targ tent then, curious as he entered into the space and looked around, his eyes resting briefly on Commander V'hgai before they fixed on the mechanical targ. He lacked his earpieces at the moment, safely secured in their armoured box in a pocket next to his heart. He'd decided to come along in a simple white vest with a blue long sleeved overshirt on. Oh he knew Vara'l had elected to come looking all fashionable, he'd be one of the ones who convinced them to do so but well. He.. had really just elected to throw something on. As he'd then reached to his PADD with one hand once fully inside, itching to ask questions about what happened to be here, his free hand reached for the armoured ear piece case. Did so before he stopped briefly, remembered what had been done to him, though paled in comparison to what could have been done. How his earpieces had been subverted as they had along with his implants. Remembered also what his counsellor had stated. He then retrieved the box and opened it. Once he retrieved the earpieces, he settled them into place on his ears and then engaged them. With a inhaled breath then exhaled slowly, Elohae pulled out his PADD and moved further into the tent, looked to see who to approach to ask about the weird Targ

1

“Greetings, newcomer. Are you here to try your hand at riding my targ?” She smiled impishly as she walked over to Elohae.

His implants warned him, though there was part of him that still distrusted them, as the person approached and talked with him. He turned after moments unsure pause as he watched them. Initially, he frowned and signed in SSL. "I'm deaf." Confused as to what was meant by riding a targ before his eyes fixed upon it. He then pointed at the targ, confused. "That?" Elohae signed then, curious before he tapped on his PADD and played a mesage. "Hello, do you mean, try to ride on that?"

"Ah! Would it help if I used a PADD? Or is there another accommodation I can make for you, sir?" She moved to grab a PADD from somewhere close by in her tent. "Yes, my targ." Untranslatable word. "It is a Klingon animal. We eat them or keep them as pets. Mine is mechanical. I run this game as an opportunity for people to show their strength and dexterity. The targ will buck while you attempt to stay on. The longer you stay on, the more obvious your honor and the more glory!" She laughed.

A slight smile followed the Klingon's response before he tapped his own PADD, composed a message and allowed it to state. "If you're able to use a PADD that'd help or if you wave at me in my view when you want to alert me to something so I can turn to lipread." At the response, he looked to the mechanical targ then to the lady, curiosity peaked. Peaked as he tapped a response on his PADD. "Seems very interesting." He gestured to it as the then tapped on his PADD, pressed play as the PADD asked for him. "Can I have a go?"

She tapped buttons on her PADD that would take down what she was saying and make it visible to Elohae as she spoke. She had done this earlier too when she grabbed the PADD, but we're putting it in the description for posterity. Elohae deserves it! Anyway, a big smile appeared on her face. "You may certainly have a go. All you must do is stay on the targ as long as you are able. The longer you stay on, the better you do. When you mount it, I will give you a sign," and she made a Klingon equivalent to the thumbs up. "When I do this, I will wait five seconds for you to ready yourself, and then I will begin the machine. Understood?" She pointed at the gate where Elohae could enter. "If so, your steed awaits." And she walked to the console, expecting Elohae to go forth.

When the Klingon proceeded to inform him he could have a go, Elohae grinned a bit! Did so before he tapped on his PADD again and allowed the message to play once more. "Understood, I'll head that way." He then started over toward the gate, paused near it to set his bag down somewhere safe before he entered! Once he'd entered, he headed toward the targ and started to mount it! Once safely on for now, he looked for the Klingon and her signal!

She gave her signal, and true to her word, 10 seconds after the targ began to buck! Better hold on, Elohae! 🎲14

Rolled: 1d20

[14] ➜ 14

🎲2 Elohae clutched hold and attempted to resist the Targ's bucking and tossing. Struggled and struggled hard as it jerked about! Wow this robot moved and moved quick!

Rolled: 1d20

[2] ➜ 2

Not that it helped him much as he slipped off of it went flying, landed and then rolled. He then worked his way up to his feet as he grinned then looked to the Klingon then looked to the Targ! He then, as he assumed that the Klingon didn't know SSL, moved to his bag and retrieved his PADD. Once he'd retrieved it he tapped open the PADD and inputted a message. His PADD then stated. "That was enjoyable, please could I try again?"

The Klingon woman, Krona, grinned. It seemed her targ was starting to act normal again. Perhaps the kicking truly was the best repair method. She'd have to tell Kron that later. "Certainly," she said with a smile and a laugh, holding up her PADD where Elohae could see. "Simply mount the targ again, and raise your hand in a fist like this," she gestured. "As soon as you do, I'll start the machine once more." Her eyes narrowed but the smile was still huge on her face. "Today is a good day to die, warrior." And she turned to take her place back at the console.

The Romulan nodded a bit then when the lady responded, the PADD kept in his view as she proceeded to outline what to do. He then grinned a bit at her final statement as he concealed a slight twinge of emotion that danced within his stomach at that statement. As she then took her place at the console he returned his PADD to his bag and turned before he headed over to the Targ! Once situated, he raised his fist in the manner he'd been directed too! He reckoned he was as ready as he'd ever be!

The woman was obviously quite pleased that many had been interested in trying their hand at riding her targ. And especially pleased that it had managed to throw most of them off quickly. She was happy to give Elohae another try - his glistening eyes and determination were charming. "Ready yourself, man!" She raised her fist in the way she had before, met eyes with Elohae, and pressed the buttons to initiate the targ's sequence. 🎲2

Rolled: 1d20

[2] ➜ 2

18:22

The targ shook, but very minimally. It would take a spectacular failure on Elohae's part to not defend against its mere wiggling.

🎲9 Elohae struggled to stay on as he grinned a bit at what he managed to slip read and the targ started to move!

Rolled: 1d20

[9] ➜ 9

14:11

He managed to stay on though he struggled. He made no sound as he struggled but instead grinned and mouthed. "Wooo!*

Elohae had in fact done it, staying on. Krona sighed. The dang machine had really been giving her grief today. She kicked the console and then smashed a few more buttons. 🎲14

Rolled: 1d20

[14] ➜ 14

17:00

“Aha!!” That should give him a run for his money… The targ jerked to the left, then to the right, and then began to spiiiin in a circle!

🎲9 A glance directed toward the Klingons antics alerted him a half second before the Targ changed how it moved. Alerted him as he clutched on harder and attempted to weather what came, struggled as it started it's new movement and spinned!

Rolled: 1d20

[9] ➜ 9

20:04

Struggled in vain as the spin of the Targ ripped his hands clear and launched him from it. He then landed on a mat, rolled a bit and used the momentum to stand up. Did so as he turned and grinned at the Klingon lady. He then bowed a bit at her as he moved over to his bag,retrieved his PADD and tapped on it. "Thank.you, that was fun."

"You are welcome." She said, holding up her PADD so Elohae could see as she approached with a prize in her hands. "For all of your efforts, you have won this." And she handed him a small Targ plushie. "Take your new pet with you and go forth." She smiled and nodded to Elohae. When he took the plush, she walked off and tended to her tent for the remainder of the festival.