Cloven & Clover: A Percival Bálor Misadventure (Part I)

Posted on Sun Feb 22nd, 2026 @ 6:26am by Lieutenant Percival Bálor Ph.D
Edited on on Sun Feb 22nd, 2026 @ 5:16pm

1,709 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Preservation Instinct
Location: Folnar III

The rain on Folnar III did not fall so much as it descended down with monstrous intent, reminding Percy of Ferenginar. It came in warm sheets that slicked the broad leaves of the jungle, transforming the the soil beneath Lieutenant Percival Bálor’s boots into treacherous mudslides if he was not careful enough. The moisture was clinging onto his beard, the one he had grown since leaving the USS Ontario several weeks ago. His collar was tight and his patience was growing thin. The air tasted green and metallic, like life decomposing faster than it could form a new bloom.

Nevertheless, Percy pressed forward. He had no choice in the matter. He was stubborn and had set his mind to this months ago. He needed to find the Folnarian jewel plant. He had wanted Lieutenant Commander Chernova to go with him, but fate had different things in store for Anahera. She was back on Ontario doing whatever the Ambassador class starship had gotten itself into.

The canopy above him blotted out the sky, reducing daylight to a bruised purple twilight threaded with bioluminescent insects, some which had a hell of a nasty bite to them. The second-hand Cardassian scanning device in his hand pulsed softly, its readings as temperamental as the terrain.

Somewhere ahead, buried beneath this feverish jungle of roots and thorns, was a Folnarian jewel plant... one of the rarest botanical anomalies he had ever pursued. He told Starfleet that this was the reason he’d come. Science. Duty. Cataloging the improbable. The reality was Percy had come here for something much more personal, immensely private.

He told himself many things over the past several weeks, fueled by love and propelled even further by pure stubbornness, Percy had made his way to Folnar III, an independent world plagued with crime, and it had ties to the Orion Syndicate. Those were not just rumors. The disruptor wound on his shoulder that was healing poorly was proof of their presence on the planet. If that wasn't enough proof, the dead pilot of the shuttle he had chartered to get to the planet was an unsettling reminder.

Behind those rationalizations lingered the truth: he craved the danger, the solitude, the stark reminder that survival could still feel personal. He was here because he needed to be. It was important to him to locate the plant, collect some of its resin, and harden it into the prized jewel it became under certain conditions.

“Signal still inconsistent,” he muttered, more to the jungle than to himself. Amanda already thinks I'm crazy. This would just be more evidence for her case study files on me he thought to himself, and that made him snort, the first time he found humor through this whole ordeal in days. The Tellarite cadence of his voice mixed with his Irish accent sounded harsh in the damp quiet. “Typical. Of course the universe couldn’t simply surrender its curiosities without providing me a melodramatic struggle.”

He stepped over a root that writhed faintly under his footfall... alive, perhaps even sentient, and Percy pushed through a curtain of fernlike fronds that slapped him in the face with a prickly sting. His civilian field coat snagged briefly on a thorn. The alias he’d adorned in the city clung to him just as stubbornly: Dr. Seymour Oinks, Xenobotanist with questionable credentials and a convenient lack of Federation affiliation. Sweet little lies and flimsy as could be as it soon turned out.

He heard the quick movement behind him, not too far away. Oh great. My friends are back he thought.

A disruptor blast carved through the foliage to his right, hissing past his shoulder and exploding against a tree trunk. Bark exploded whilst the rest atomized. Percy didn’t flinch so much as he pivoted a bit.

“Well,” he sighed, already reaching for the phaser concealed at his hip, “I suppose some introductions are in order.”

Three Orions emerged from the greenery behind him, their emerald skin was glistening with rainfall, and predatory satisfaction etched on their faces. Their weapons glowed faintly, leveled casually menacing him, or attempting to. He refused to give them any satisfaction of showing fear.

“You lied, Doctor,” the foremost one called, her voice low and amused. “Or should we say… Lieutenant.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed, calculating angles, distance, wind. “Oh, you wound me. I spent nearly ten minutes crafting that persona, and I much prefer Doctor, I did not waste my youth away at university for nothing."

A second Orion spat. “You’re Starfleet. That makes you valuable as a hostage."

“Really?” he said dryly, thumb brushing his phaser’s activation. “What Pakleds do you have running your intelligence operations? I'm not just Starfleet. I will have you know that I am Doctor Pervial G. Balor of the Janus IV Balors, heir apparent to the mining empire, blood descendent of Ambassador Gora bim Gral, and Chief Science Officer of the Federation Starship Ontario. I do tend to appreciate in hostile markets.”

Clearly, they had enough of his yammering. They fired.

Percy dove, rolling through mud that swallowed his sleeve to the elbow. He came up on one knee, phaser already howling as he fired a narrow beam that forced the nearest Orion behind cover. Steam curled from scorched leaves. The jungle erupted in light and sound. Disruptor bolts searing past him, insects scattering like embers. Phaser fire being returned.

He retreated deeper, not running blindly but haphazardly guiding the pursuit, drawing them away from the direction his tricorder indicated. In his mind, he kept the plant’s coordinates anchored even as adrenaline sang through his veins. Percy would be back for that plant.

Branches clawed at his face, roots tried to snag his ankles, and vines snapped beneath his boots. He vaulted a fallen trunk just as another bolt sheared splinters from it that scaled his up along his back. Fortunately, not taking much of the wooden shrapnel.

“You’ll find me a very disagreeable captive,” he called over his shoulder. “I snore. I critique décor, really... absolutely dreadful company."

A shot grazed his side, heat flashing through fabric and skin. Percy let out a snarl, but did not dare slow. Keep running you damn Pig! he scolded himself. Pain sharpened his focus, narrowed his world to three simple things: motion, survival, and that singular beacon on his scanner.

Then the scanner chirped again. Urgent, triumphant!

Percy practically skidded to a halt in a small clearing carved by chance or fate. At its center stood the jewel plant. Really? Seriously.... right now. Right here? I'm getting chased and shot at, and I stumble upon you.

It rose just about waist high, its leaves thick and translucent like sculpted blown glass. From its core extended bulbous nodules weeping a viscous, luminous resin that dripped in slow, syrupy threads. Even in the dim light, the substance shimmered with an eternal flame.

Percy stared despite himself. “Oh,” he breathed. “Precious darling. You're well worth all this Orion melodrama.”

Of course, Percy having stopped meant the Orions were not far behind. Then, they crashed into the clearing just a few moments later.

“Hands up!” one barked of the Orions.

Percy did raise them... very slowly with his phaser dangling loose between two fingers, Cardassian scanner in the other hand. His expression softened into a tired smile.

“You’ve arrived just in time,” he said. “Scientific history is about to be made" proclaimed Percy. He moved before they could process the sarcastic remark.

The phaser snapped upward, discharging in a wide arc that forced them apart. Percy pivoted to the plant, producing a containment vial and field heater from his satchel with practiced efficiency. Resin pooled into the vial, thick and radiant.

Disruptor fire scorched past his ear. 'Hey! I need that ear, you green bastards!"

He activated the heater. The resin reacted instantly, hardening in seconds into a multifaceted jewel the color of captured star-fire. Percy laughed... breathless and utterly defiant. “There you are.”

Another blast struck his shoulder, throwing him against the plant’s base. The jewel nearly slipped from his grasp, but he quickly clutched it tight, rolling behind a tangle of roots. Mud smeared across his cheek as he fired blindly, buying space.

One Orion fell back with a cry while the others pressed closer.

Percy pushed himself upright, pain radiating, pulsating through him like heat lightning in the summertime. Rain streamed from his hair into his eyes, but his grin remained sharp.

“You see,” he called, voice roughened but resolute, “this is the difficulty with your plan. I’ve already achieved my objective. Everything after this is simply… theater my darlings.”

He fired yet again with precision replacing bravado. The clearing flickered with energy bursts, shadows jerking in violent choreography. Finally, the Orions withdrew, dragging their wounded companion into the undergrowth, their curses fading into the humid gloom.

Silence reclaimed the clearing save for rain and Percy’s unsteady breathing. He pointed his phaser at the plant. He had taken its resin, but it did not deserved to be exploited on this world by the Syndicate. Others were out there in the jungle, but this one... this one eyes had seen. Percy fired his phaser, eliminating the plant.

He lowered the phaser and looked at the jewel resting in his palm. Its facets caught the muted light, scattering it in fragile brilliance. “For something born in mud and violence,” he murmured, “you are unnecessarily beautiful. Reminds me of a handsome half-Tellarite I know." Ah, narcissism. Amanda, you might just be onto something Percy mused and chuckled.

He tucked the jewel carefully away and began the trek back toward civilization and its consequences, limping but unbowed. The jungle closed behind him, swallowing evidence of the conflict that had unfolded within it.

Dr. Percival Bálor walked on through the rain, carrying with him proof that even in the darkest places, he could still carve out something rare, and survive long enough to regret it later undoubtedly, but not today, nor tomorrow. He had plans for that jewel that he had risked his life and all his limbs, and ears for.

 

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