And to Himself He Says, Tonight's the Night I'm Smiling, 'Cause I'm Having Fun
Who: Harry Mudd and his pursuers. (Probably the bridge/engineering crew?)
What: A wild chase!
Where: Throughout space!
Oh, what a life. What a life, indeed. How was an honest merchant going to make his living in such a skeptical part of the galaxy? Honestly! His latest scheme to sell a multitude of planetoids with 'rich reserves' of 'minerals' had fallen flat when he had encountered a woman who claimed to be a xenogeologist, completely debunking his claim that such minerals could naturally form on planetoids in such a part of space, considering the location, size, composition and whatever else he presented about his product. She had humiliated him in front of potential buyers, and he had been chased off the planet by these unsophisticated savages, calling him a charlatan and a thief. The nerve!
Exhaling heavily, he found himself at the helm of his little freighter, navigating the ship through the emptiness of space towards the nearest developed world. He had to be careful this time. Careful to find a town with rich yet uneducated idiots, willing to pay for the contracts of the planetoids - those things had been expensive - or whatever cargo he had picked up along the way.
He was currently carrying a few crates of Romulan ale, a cage with a collection of interesting, six-legged, screeching little animals, little bits and pieces of technology, bottles upon bottles of a gooey miracle potion said to be able to cure skin conditions and slow stomachs, and a drug he hadn't quite tested yet. Aside from the ale, all useless. The man sighed to himself, adjusting the suede hat on his head. No one wanted to spend money on his useless cargo. If he could just get his hands on a few Orion animal women, he'd be set for life...
What he had not yet taken into account, not even noticed, was the Federation ship not too far away from him, patroling the section or passing through or whatever they were doing. His little freighter was... well, to be perfectly honest, not exactly his. The Human merchant he had done business with a few months back had tragically passed away, leaving his cargo and his ship with no owner, and being the sympathetic man that he was, Harry Mudd had graciously taken it upon himself to see to that the ship ended up in good hands. Namely, his own.
Though given that the ship curiously wasn't registered on any Federation database, despite being a Federation cargo vessel, and his own unfortunate lack of a ship's master's license or identification papers, it might not remain his for long.
What: A wild chase!
Where: Throughout space!
Oh, what a life. What a life, indeed. How was an honest merchant going to make his living in such a skeptical part of the galaxy? Honestly! His latest scheme to sell a multitude of planetoids with 'rich reserves' of 'minerals' had fallen flat when he had encountered a woman who claimed to be a xenogeologist, completely debunking his claim that such minerals could naturally form on planetoids in such a part of space, considering the location, size, composition and whatever else he presented about his product. She had humiliated him in front of potential buyers, and he had been chased off the planet by these unsophisticated savages, calling him a charlatan and a thief. The nerve!
Exhaling heavily, he found himself at the helm of his little freighter, navigating the ship through the emptiness of space towards the nearest developed world. He had to be careful this time. Careful to find a town with rich yet uneducated idiots, willing to pay for the contracts of the planetoids - those things had been expensive - or whatever cargo he had picked up along the way.
He was currently carrying a few crates of Romulan ale, a cage with a collection of interesting, six-legged, screeching little animals, little bits and pieces of technology, bottles upon bottles of a gooey miracle potion said to be able to cure skin conditions and slow stomachs, and a drug he hadn't quite tested yet. Aside from the ale, all useless. The man sighed to himself, adjusting the suede hat on his head. No one wanted to spend money on his useless cargo. If he could just get his hands on a few Orion animal women, he'd be set for life...
What he had not yet taken into account, not even noticed, was the Federation ship not too far away from him, patroling the section or passing through or whatever they were doing. His little freighter was... well, to be perfectly honest, not exactly his. The Human merchant he had done business with a few months back had tragically passed away, leaving his cargo and his ship with no owner, and being the sympathetic man that he was, Harry Mudd had graciously taken it upon himself to see to that the ship ended up in good hands. Namely, his own.
Though given that the ship curiously wasn't registered on any Federation database, despite being a Federation cargo vessel, and his own unfortunate lack of a ship's master's license or identification papers, it might not remain his for long.