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Thats gold Jerry…Gold!

Description

Stretch your skills at including Trekslusive references and writing light-hearted comedic content. Think of your own spin on or rendition of Lower Decks.

The contest is simple, drop easter eggs/fan service as much as you wish, while also trying to elicit laughter from the reader.

All submissions must contain at least one instance of an identifiable joke, comedic anecdote, or attempt at comedic wit. You must write a story as one of your characters

500-1000 Word Maximum- You got to be efficient. There is countless ways to try and win this competition.

Lower Decks often contained references to previous Trek shows/movies, so in addition to being funny, your anecdote should also include as many references to Star Trek past and present as possible, the more obscure the better.

Is your character off duty in the ship’s lounge? Are they on duty, passing time on the bridge? Where you set your story is entirely up to you.

Criteria

  • Stories must be in the text box of the competition
  • Must be between 500-1000 words
  • Stories will be graded using the Bravo Fleet Fiction Rubric, which marks on the following criteria: Language, Style, & Mechanics; Adherence to Canon; Perspective; Characterisation; Originality; Use of the Prompt.
  • Story must be written during the event and not be a reused story
  • Must be from a single Author.

Winners

Submissions

User Content Date Entry
Thomas Hunter (#3094)

"The History Exam"

Cadet [III] Thomas Hunter - History Examination Paper:

Question 1: You have accidentally been sent back in time (Oh no!!) - Where did you go, what did you do and how did you maintain the Prime Directive? [80% of your grade]

Answer:
We open in space. The runabout 'Gurney' is under attack, as the heroic Thomas Hunter heroically flies away from several Romulan small craft - there is an exchange of phaser and disruptor fire, as a giant green hand emerges in space and swats the Romulan ships off-course, spinning and exploding.

The hand chases after the Gurney, drifts around it and the hand forms a "halt" which causes the runabout to come to a grinding stop... and then a voice speaks to Thomas, "Well look at you... a chip off the old block..." - The glowing green hand moves into a SNAP, followed by a flashing white light.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We cut to the bridge of the USS Nightingale, Captain Nickolas Hunter is in the captain's chair, looking all handsome and young-ish... well, to be fair, he just looks really old these days. The tactical officer informs him that they have discovered a Federation runabout that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

"Captain's Log - Stardate [April 5th, 2385] - While en route to Mars, in the Sol System, on an urgent rescue mission, we have discovered a Federation runabout that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. There are no indications of where it came from, or how it got out here."

The Nightingale approaches the runabout and locks on a tractor beam to bring the runabout into the shuttle bay, where the chief tactical officer and executive officer walk in and look at the damaged craft, reading the Gurney's name and registry and the ship that it belongs to... that ship being the USS Nightingale, NCC-60808 - the very same ship that they are on. Still, they take the time to read it, and even out loud, as if an audience is supposed to put the pieces together... even with ANOTHER runabout Gurney sitting next to it in the shuttle bay... yes, dear reader, there are two of them... in the same place... at the same time... and thus a mystery begins!!

The Chief Medical Officer hurries into the shuttle bay. She is smart and brave and she would kick my ass if I said anything bad about her... she is also my mother. She opens the door to the runabout, to reveal the unconscious body of the heroic Thomas Hunter, sitting in a very similar fashion that Captain Jean-Luc Picard was in the TNG Episode "Time Squared"

Thomas springs to life in the sick bay with a very heroic scream, letting those around him be alerted to potential danger around them and allowing them to be prepared. It is then that Thomas sees the face of his mother staring back at him. "2385!!... wait you're my mo-" The very lovely doctor interrupts, "My name is Abigail Hunter" - she is also in great shape - "Just relax, Mr Oreon, you've acquired a rather large ecchymosis to several layers of your cranial dermis." Thomas, being as smart as he is heroic immediately reaches for his forehead, "Doc, I know what a bruise on the noggin' is."

Suddenly it becomes apparent, where Thomas is, moreso that his own mother doesn't recognise him. "Oh no, we have a problem" - "Nah, Mr Oreon, just a little bump, nothing we can't fix"

Dr Hunter takes her retinal scanner and shines the light across Thomas' face, checking for his responses. "There was one thing I wanted to ask though..." - The Doc has always been the smartest person in any room. "... Why is there a temporal duplicate of the Gurney in my shuttle bay? And did you really think I wouldn't know my son when I see him?"

Suddenly there is a rumble... and a blaring alarm... and the room flashes red... "All emergency personnel to your stations" - Thomas looks back at the doctor... at his mother... "Ok, sure, Mom, it's me... Q sent me here, don't know why. What's the stardate? Where are we, what's going on?"

Abigail explains that the USS Nightingale is on its way to Mars to respond to a synth attack on the planet and the Utopia Planitia shipyards. "Oh... erm... do me a favour and tell Dad, to separate the sphere, launch the executive shuttles and fighters and then use the runabouts to beam people on board and then send them to the emergency triage rooms.

The doctor looks at her son and smiles, "Erm, sure, I can do that." - The voice of Q emerges through the ether, "You've done your job. Time to return home" - the sound of a finger snap and Thomas disappears, the Gurney disappears and everything is set right again.

Thomas sits in the Gurney, as it hangs in space....

What the [BEEP] was that?

[For the sake of context, my main character is a third year cadet and taking part in their end of year exams. I have decided to respond to this prompt in-character as the author - Also I will be using some quotes and references, so pls don't destroy me for plagiarism.]

 2025-07-22 01:10:40
Aloran (#2232)
Private Submission
 2025-07-21 18:36:48
Cressida Brennan (#2765)

Story link: https://bravofleet.com/story/160581/

________________________

Finally home. 
Well, almost. 

Ensign Leski – who was actually Lieutenant Junior Grade Leski now, but people forgot – stared longingly at the unimpressive grey dot outside the window. 
The closer they’d get, the more it’d morph into Caireann Station. Perhaps equally unimpressive to some – read: most – but… home. 

“Do you need both seats?” 

Leski tore his gaze from the window, and turned his attention to the very attractive, very out of his league woman who was trying to invade his personal space. 

“I have a girlfriend!” he squeaked, an octave or three higher than he had meant to. 

The woman peered at Leski, then at the bag that was occupying the free seat next to him. Then back at Leski. 
Okay then… 
“In the bag?” she asked slowly.

“The station, sorry.” Leski said quickly, then – to avoid any further misunderstanding – corrected himself. “She’s on the station. Not the station. Sorry.” 

“So … not in the shuttle. Meaning I can sit here, right?”, she asked, deliberately slowing her words as if speaking to a child. Or a particularly intelligent rock. 

“What’s wrong with your current seat?” Leski frowned. 

“Klingon next to me has a… very distinctive odor. And can only hold my breath for so long.”

“Yeah sure.” Leski relented, and surrendered the claimed territory. 

“I’m Viv.” and before he could open his mouth again “And you have a girlfriend, yeah, I know. Do you also have a name?”

“Leski.”

There was a moment of silence. Not the fun, flirty kind. Not even comfortable. Just awkward. 

“So. Tell me about that girlfriend of yours.”, Vivienne sighed eventually. Clearly this was the only topic he was willing to converse on.  

“Her name is Neeya. She’s in science. She’s beautiful and so smart and I’ll finally see her again.” Leski said passionately. Neeya was his favourite topic to talk about, and their relationship largely considered the most interesting thing about him.

“Ah. Yeah. The Blackout sucked.” And the invasion did too, but she didn’t mention it. This conversation was hard enough as it was. 

“I was on Risa all that time.”

“Ohh.” Well that explained everything. “What happened to what happens on Risa stays on Risa?”

“I’d never cheat on her,” he said, exasperated. “ But… well my letters didn’t get through. Because of the Blackout. I miss her, that’s all”

“Blackout’s been over for a few months. Did they not ‘go through’ or did she not respond?”

“Probably.. Busy. You know.” Leski shrugged. Then, more to himself than Vivienne, he added “And I don’t believe the rumors.”

Unfortunately – for him –  that was the first interesting thing he’d said so far. And Vivienne picked up on it. 

“What rumors? Come on, tell me.” she prodded. 

Leski shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Someone said she had something with the Chief Science Officer. That’s bullshit, of course. She’d never do that.”

“And are those reliable sources?”

“Well, he’s joking.”

“Weird joke.”

“He’s Vulcan, don’t judge him.” Leski pouted. 

“Fine. So what’s your plan? Surprise her? Replicate some flowers and make out?” Vivienne smirked. 

“Don’t say it like that.”  he huffed. “But… yeah.”

The flowers had seemed like a great idea. Now they seemed stupid. Which meant that he had to think of something else. Crap. 

Leski went back to looking out of the window, where the station had come into view, and it wasn’t until they were ready to disembark that he returned his attention to Vivienne. 

“It was nice meeting you.” he said awkwardly. 

“Beats a smelly Klingon.” Vivienne shrugged.  

Leski’s cheeks flushed.  “I’m sorry I was such a weirdo,

“No problem.”

“Oh. and I didn’t even ask -  what are you here for?”

“ Looking for some inspiration. I write for Star Crossed.”

“T-.. the… tabloid?”

What a stupid question to ask. Of course it was the tabloid. Everyone swore it was garbage – and still read it religiously. Leski, too. 

“Yep.” she nodded, and with a wink, she added  “And thanks. I’m definitely feeling inspired.”

Leski’s eyes went wide. 

Oh. Oh no. 

You guessed it – This is going to be one of those stories. 

 2025-07-20 13:13:49
James MacLeod (#653)
Private Submission
 2025-07-19 14:34:54
Thov th'Zeles (#1644)

The Graw’rath Arena crouched atop the high basalt cliffs of Cait’s western continent. Its faceted dome gleamed under the amber sunset's rays. The stadium pulsed with twinkling iridescent lights, exotic scents, and the electric thrill of anticipation. Low purrs and hisses from thousands of Caitians flowed down from the ascending tiers of seating. The smell of overly marketed fur oil and spicy fish broth drifted from concession drones flying above the stands.

A hexagonal platform of gleaming white alloys hovered a meter off the ground in the center of the audience. Metallic fencing formed a springy border around the combat zone. Overlapping hexagonal patterns projected soft golden shapes along the padded floor. Tiny holo-recorder drones orbited the platform’s edge to capture the fight from every angle. Ferengi Sports Net was broadcasting tonight's event to countless eager subscribers across the four quadrants.

This was no petty skirmish. It was a headline bout. The Black Fury was squaring off against The Silver Whirl. Both aging former champions had two unique styles.

At the apex of the crowd’s murmur, a syrupy Ferengi voice boomed across the communications speakers.

“Esteemed viewers across the stars, welcome to Caitian Kickboxing on FSN! Tonight's event is brought to you by Riverside Casino on Janoor III! Lose your latinum, find your rhythm. Don’t forget to visit Nez for food and drinks, coming soon to a starport near you!”

A lone bead of sweat slid down the diminutive orange man's forehead. Fabrics of metallic copper and silver tones formed his robe. Exaggerated shoulder pads were designed to make the announcer feel bigger. "Nez. At least we're not Quark's."

The crowd yowled as tails batted impatiently, and ears flattened in annoyance across the stands.

Tribal music from the region of Cait known as Me'ew played as the first competitor entered. Drums beat over mystic ambiance.

Fury was an obsidian tomcat of imposing height. The genetically longhaired cat was notorious for trimming his fur down to shorthair length for each fight. The decision left him shunned by many in the longhaired community. Rich golden eyes blinked slowly as he stepped onto the hexagonal-spotted floor. Every motion was measured by sensors. Soft black mittens shaped more like a cat paw's than his own hands were worn. Similar booties covered his furry feet. Orange trim ringed his pads and ebony silk shorts.

Black Fury gave no nod to the crowd. Slow, deep purring rumbled confidently through raspy breaths.

Then came Whirl's explosion of an entrance. The music's tempo increased rapidly. A melodic guitar solo sang to the heavens.

The crowd exploded into joyful purrs and screeching.

The silver tabby darted onto the platform in a streak of motion. Ocean blue eyes shimmered as he twirled mid-run and leapt straight upward. Silver Fury landed on all fours inside of the ring. He leaned forward with an exaggerated stretch that carried his lithe hindquarters skyward. A striped tail rose like a proud flag. Bright pink with reflective piping covered his clawpads. A wrap around his tail bore the unmistakable Nez logo. Fury winked at the nearest camera drone and gave his right hind paw a slow, deliberate lick.

The bell rang.

Fury struck first in a blur of motion. His forepaws came down in diagonal swats with quick snaps. It was less like a punch and more like a cat batting at a toy. Whirl dodged backwards, tail raised. He bounced up and spun into a twisting kick. Both hindlegs delivered what could have been a fatal blow with claws. Instead, they pattered Black Fury with an accompanied verbal yeowl. Whirl's upper body followed the motion into a spinning turn. The tabby chittered, fangs briefly flashing in amusement.

The crowd howled.

Fury narrowed his gaze and lunged with a pair of downward swats meant to pin and pressure. They were reminiscent of a feline slapping a misbehaving sibling. The strength behind them rocked the silver tomcat's head with a dazing impact. Whirl absorbed the first but slipped under the second. He countered with a sudden spring upward. Whirl's front limbs yanked downwards before he delivered another double hindquarter kick to Fury’s midsection.

The fighters separated to dance for positioning. Each threw searching swats towards the other as they exchanged menacing growls.

In the commentator booth high above, the Ferengi host exclaimed, “Folks, if these claws weren’t padded, fur would be flying."

Tails flicked as blows were exchanged. Ears swiveled. Whirl dropped into a low crouch, tongue out in mock panting. Fury hissed and leaned forward to release a combo of four wide-palmed swats.

Whirl twisted and leapt upward, rotating to deliver another signature kick. The striped cat followed with a pair of low swats and a bounding strike. Fury ducked underneath and seized his opponent’s flank with a hind leg hook. This escalated into a full grapple.

The duo batted, kicked, and twisted in a knot of limbs before finally springing apart. Fury panted heavily, pink tongue hanging from his mouth. Whirl kept a strategic distance away from the shadowy tom as a timer counted down to zero.

The bell chimed to mark the end of the first round.

The arena erupted into paw-pounding, tail-thumping applause.

The first round was scored to The Silver Whirl. Fury blinked once before retreating to the corner to refresh. Whirl winked, bowed theatrically, and limped away with a mock-sad mewl.

Holographic text floated above them in Caitian script.

"No prey caught. No pride lost. The hunt remains."

Above the ring, a Ferengi voice reminded the audience to, “Book a ride with Glezorb's ferry service. If it's not with Glezorb, I don't want to go."

 2025-07-17 23:09:05

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