Avast me Hearties!

Posted on 12 May 2016 @ 9:22pm by Ensign Miraj Derani & Ensign Calin

3,630 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Episode 11 - Divinum Mundi
Location: USS Galileo Holodeck
Timeline: MD7 2000

[ON]

The holodeck doors slid open to show Miraj waiting for him. She had tied her pink hair back into a pony tail that bound from the nape of neck to only a few inches to the end at the side she had added a couple of long curls, held in place with generous helping of wax and hairspray.

She was dressed in 18th century earth dress, typical of the age of sail. She had buckled shoes and white stockings that disappeared under tight red knee-breeches. She had a white silk shirt with a neck cloth, under a red vest and a black frock coat heavy with gold frogging on top. She was twirling a tricorn hat between her palms.

"You came!" she beamed at him, slapping the hat on to her head then looked him up and down.

Calin stepped through the holodeck archway which dematerialized behind him in a shimmer. While it was usually quite problematic trying to discern the general mood of a Vulcan, the expression on Calin’s face was quite dour. He was dressed in white shirt covered by a long navy blue officer’s jacket emblazoned with golden trimming, all of which was negligibly faded in regions, and a Monmouth cap of matching color. The grey knee high boots were sturdy enough for sea-like conditions, and a Cutlass hanging at his side looked quite lethal.

“I told you that I would. I interrogated the ship’s computer for suitable attire,” Calin acknowledged, looking awkward as he was still getting accustomed to the tall grip of his heavy boots. “I believe this accurately matches the time period you described.” He took a moment to study Miraj’s exterior. The dourness subsided.

She looked nearly as enthusiastic as the day she graduated from the academy, and her choice of personal aesthetics seemed to light up the scene. As far as he could tell, only one thing was off. “I should note that according to earth records, synthetic hair coloring was not invented until 1907 by French chemist Eugene Schuller. Your Boslic heritage is something of a giveaway.”

She knew he was teasing, knowing how he would alway play up the logic-bound vulcan sterotype. She bounced over to him, pleased at how much effort he'd put in, and not decide to rely on holographic overlay. "Well if anyone gives me any trouble I can order them to walk the plank. Starting with you." she gave him an impish grin.

Calin raised an eyebrow. The thought of going into the water, likely frigid, at any point during this holographic exercise hardly seemed appealing.

"So, we're going to be doing the boarding scene from the end of Bloodbeard's Bounty. The aim is to board the Spectre de La Mer and kill or capture its captain, the dastardly Captain Luciene De Valle. Now you can be Bloodbeard's first mate, Mr Sabatini; or the Master-at-arms, Mr Staines; or Barnabas Bates, the chief gunner? I've called dibbs on Captain Bloodbead."

The entire notion of reenacting a scene from earth’s ancient past – a time when humans had only just barely begun to involve beyond their innate talent at primitive aggression – seemed unappealing to Calin. Depending on the protocols for this exercise, such a fight could yield substantial amounts of blood and dismemberment. Yet, Miraj looked as though she were chomping at the bits. Calin attributed it to her parentage. It only seemed fitting that she would assume the role of Pirate Captain. Calin began to survey his immediate surroundings. The holodeck had accurately brought up a scene that matched Miraj’s description. They were on one ship, while another hung some distance ahead. From a glance upward to gloomy billows that effectively blocked out the sky, it was also a likely possibility that intense rain and thunderstorms would follow.

Calin reluctantly withdrew his saber and held it against what little light there was. Having been replicated, its edge was dulled so as to prevent injury. The computer would take this into account so as to ensure the appropriate effect as it passed through holographic flesh and bone. “Do you have a recommendation?” He asked of Miraj, knowing that her intimacy with pirate lore was unsurpassed.

"Staines and Bloodbeard see the best of the fighting in this one. You be Staines. Ready? Computer, start program."

And before he could say anything one way or the other, the ship came to life around him, surrounding him with a mottley band of swarthy dogs, in a hodpodge of clothes and weapons. All of them were scarred or mutilated, missing teeth or eyes or hands, there was a handful crowding at the rails, ready with hooks on ropes. Others swarmed the masts and yards, hauling on ropes, and yet more were manning the deck cannons.

Miraj had run to the poop deck, standing at the rail above the wheel. "Bring us about, Mr Sabatini! Put them in range of the long nines!" She brandished a flintlock in the direction of a man with dark hair whose plait had long turned to matted dreadlock. "Are you ready on the guns?"

"Aye aye sir."

"Then fire as soon as we're in range." She commanded. "Mr Staines! Are your men ready to board?"

Calin joined at her side, looking onward to the distant ship which, now that the program was active, was growing dangerously close. At Miraj’s question, he looked behind him and saw no fewer than a dozen men looking quite eager, and assumed they were the ones she was referring to. Not a single one of them looked as prepared or well-equipped as a Starfleet away team. But then again, these were different and more brutal times. Several had sabers, axes, knives, or boarding pikes, all of which looked poorly maintained. A few had muskets or blunderbusses on hand for ranged combat.

“The men are… prepared, Captain,” calling Miraj by such a title felt strange in his mouth, but he thought she’d prefer it if his conduct was in-character. “But first, perhaps it would be logical to develop an action plan before we begin our assault? Without detailed analysis of the enemy vessel and its crew, we have no way of knowing whether we are about to encounter an inferior or superior force. Casualties amongst the crew could be significant.”

"I have a plan," she insisted as the hull of two masted brig got closer and closer. They had an extra mast compared to their prey and were closing fast. "Pound them with the guns until we're close enough to board, then you will hook their rail and drag them in close, and then we all swing over and and try not to die before we get De Valle. Easy!"

The incredulous look that Calin cast towards Miraj might been picked up by her since she’d known him so long. To others, it would have fallen into the nearly featureless mask he wore. He was grateful that nothing in the holodeck could actually harm them – safety protocol failure notwithstanding. The Spectre de La Mer was coming alongside now, and both crews were readying their cannons for full broadside barrage.

A rocky wave in the water almost knocked Calin into Miraj, but he caught himself by a rope. “Aye aye, ma’am.” Calin moved towards his gang of boarders who were by now looking at him intently. “Prepare to board on the Captain’s order.” He instructed, grabbing a boarding hook from one of the men. While the computer would undoubtedly maneuver events so that enough of the boarding party would latch their hooks onto the enemy vessel, Calin was confident that his Vulcan precision would behoove their efforts.

Once he was certain that everybody was ready, he looked back to Miraj. “The crew is ready on your order.”

There was a bellow of thunder, and the longest of the Hades canons on the bow shot back on their running ropes as they spat their nine pound shot across the water, sending up sprays of splinters.

Miraj laughed. "Good shot Barnabas. Sabatini, up on their starboard side if you please. Main guns get ready!"

It took only another minute of tense sailing, the wind slapping the canvas above their heads and they were in range. "Fire!" Miraj screamed, and the twenty-four pounders roared. The enemy ship gave the same order, and a hordes of steam, like the very breath of hell.

The Spectre de la Mer was a smaller ship, but its guns were heavier. Thirty six pound balls flew across the deck of the Hades gouging chunks of english oak from the rails. Men screamed and tumbled from the tops, the lucky few to be caught by the rigging.

Miraj should straight as the carnage rained around her. "To the lines, Mr Staines! Bring them to us!"

Calin moved into position and checked to ensure that the rest of his team had done so as well. When he looked at the Spectre de La Mer, now severely rattled from the naval engagement, he tried to imagine what he was about to do as merely a simple exercise in hand-eye coordination and dexterity. Swinging his hook in a counter clock-wise motion, the others followed suit. When he tossed his line expertly through the ratline of the Spectre de La Mer, unleashed theirs across its hull. Calin was by no means an expert when it came to 18th century naval boarding processes, but his reasoning skills made up for the lack of experience. He pulled hard on his line, and working together, the Spectre de La Mer had nowhere to go. The two ships crashed together. Musket and blunderbuss fire ripped through the crews. A musket ball missed Calin’s shoulder by a narrow margin, tearing into the chest of the man next to him.

The Vulcan looked to the wounded man, then tossed a quick glance to Miraj. “The ship is ready!” He announced.

Miraj jumped to the rail, grabbing hold of a swinging rope, rady to leap across, "Allright you scallywags! Give quarter if they offer, but I want De Valle dead or alive. Otherwise fight like the scaberous scum you are! Rum and Booty!"

The battle cry was taken up along the side of the ship, and at its Height, Miraj pointed with her pistol, gave a wordless scream and swung across to the enemy ship.

Quite incapable of emulating the kind of ferocity that Miraj presented, Calin nonetheless made his way across to the Spectre de La Mer. Before he could even begin to take stock of the situation, one of the Spectre de La Mer's crew came at him with a large axe. Calin dodged, and made it easy doing so, then pressed his forefingers and thumb against the man's neck. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, but was quickly replaced by other fighters.

Unsheathing his sword, Calin did his best to block the attacks without necessarily inflicting a mortal wound himself. Violence was not something he cared to demonstrate even in a simulation. When the opportunity to incapacitate his attacker came, he either applied the Vulcan nerve pinch or used the blunt end of his sword to knock the assailant unconscious. Twice, he was able to throw the person overboard where they would be unlikely to cause trouble again.

Miraj stuffed her pistol into her belt, and then grabbed the rope with both hands, and swung over the tiny gap between the Hades and the smaller brig.

It was just a short swing, and she quickly realised she was goign to overshoot the clear spot she was aiming for and land in the middle of a gang of DeValle's buccaneers. She let go and crashed to the deck in an ungraceful heap. A burly pirate ran to her, a belyaing pin raised over his head. In a panic she pulled out her pistol and shot him, and he collapsed on top of her.

She scrambled up, shrugging out of the heavy black frock coat and looked around for the next target. There was a tar aiming a stern chaser at her ship. Well futtocks to that. She grabbed up a fallen cutlass and charged at him, slashing wildy. The blade caught in his shirt and stuck wildly into his rib. He screamed, and staggered, knocking the mouth of the small cannon around so it pointing down the deck of the Spectre De La Mer, dropped the match cord onto the primed firing pan and sent a six pound ball hurtling through the boarding party.

In one moment, most of the men to Calin's left had simply vanished. The computer's graphical settings subdued the amount of gore he would have faced, but the wave had not been so kind. Calin found himself knocked backward, uncertain as to whether he'd been hit, grazed, or merely disoriented. By the time he checked his limbs, the tide of the battle had swung clearly against them. He looked up in time to see a group of the Spectre De La Mer's defenders rushing towards him. Calin tried to stand, but a dull jab at his backside indicated he'd been struck from behind.

In all reality, the pain would have been much more substantial, potentially enough to indicate a broken shoulder bone or worse. Another praise for safety settings. Someone wrestled Calin's arms behind him.

Seeing Her boarding party dead, Miraj's first thought was to get to Calin, who was being dragged up by more of deValle's men, dashing to the stiars to the ships waist. The guns on both ships roared again, sending more clouds of smoke and splinters through the air, and Miraj tumbling from the stairs to the quarter deck.

When her ears stopped ringing, the first thing she saw were two black boots. She looked up the boots to see the man who wore them. Captain deValle was a thin man, his dark hair was loose from its tail, and his sharp cheek bleeding from glancing shrapnel.

"Bloodbeard." he sneered with an atrociously exaggerated french accent. "I was expecting someone taller. And with more beard."

Miraj got to her feet unsteadily, realised she was unarmed, and jumped back to where her cutlass had fallen. DeValle drew his rapier from its scabbard. It came out with a smooth silken hiss and he moved to a low guard with sinuous grace.

Miraj swallowed. "Well, I was expecting someone ..uh.. french." Go witty banter, Miraj thought, and raised the sword towards him.

He gave her a sneer and flourished a wrist; before she could even move, the point of his rapier had slashed down the front of her red vest. The buttons flew off, bouncing along the rolling deck. "Are you sure you want to do this, little girl?"

She lunged for him, he side stepped, knocking her cutlass wide with a contemptuous beat, and as she went past h slapped her rump with the flat of his blade and sent her stumbling into the capstan. "You are outclassed, little girl. Surrender, and I'll let you go home to your dolls."

She turned on him, and quoted him one her favourite bloodbeard lines. "Surrender is a french word. I don't speak French!" She slashed wildly, and he parried effortlessly, before kicking her in the rump and sending her sprawling across the deck.

"I can do this all day." deValle told her. "And by then, all of my men will have slaughtered all of your. Look." He gestured with the tip of his rapier.

She looked. Calin was gripped firmly by several of deValles crew. Several more were pointing their pistols at his face. "Calin!" She started to dash towards him.

DeValle caught her by the scruff of the neck, "On no, little girl we aren't down yet." But she shrugged out of the red vest, leaving him holding the silk garment in his hand, determined to gut the first pirate she got to. "Take another step, and my men will shoot!" deValle shouted at her.

She froze. "Let him go."

"Then I suggest you learn to speak French. I want your surrender. Drop your weapon and tell your men to stand down."

Calin wasn't sure why Miraj was treating the scenario so seriously. This was, after all, a holodeck simulation. There was only a minimal probability that Calin could experience any harm. And before it could come to that, the computer would intervene. Then he realized that she was staying in character. He elected to do the same. Clearing his throat, he tried to sound as though he were concerned. "Do not worry about me, Captain. Should I... perish here... let it be for a worthy cause."

Miraj ground her teeth. "If I surrender, will you let my crew go unharmed?"

deValle considered it. "You have my word."

Miraj threw down her cutlass

Two men holding Calin by both arms wrestled him into the air, while the rest of the Spectre De La Mer's's attackers were being disarmed by its defenders. The expression on Calin's face was unreadable. He looked to Miraj. "You made the most logical decision possible, Captain." He suggested. "It is better for the crew to be tried and imprisoned than to die needlessly."

deValle swaggered up to her "Logic?" he laughed. "Logic would be for her to fight to the bitter end. A sword in the gut is far preferable to what follows for a pirate captain." The Frenchman grabbed her by the chin, examining her face. "Especially the pretty ones."

Calin raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it is better to live to fight another day, Mr. deValle."

"Mais, Ouis," deValle said. "It would be a waste of such a wicked pirate." He turned to Miraj. "Maybe a partnership would be more profitable than swinging you from my yardarm? What do you say? A pirate king should have a queen."

Miraj chewed her lip, thinking. "I get to keep my crew?"

"Why not," DeValle said.

"Then we have an accord." Miraj held out her hand to shake on it.

deValle took it, then turned it over and kissed her knuckles, "We have an accord. But I need a demonstration of your commitment to following my orders." He gave her a sly, foxlike grin and turned her to look at Calin. "Make him walk the plank."

"That violates your accord, Mr. deValle." Calin contributed. Granted, this was a holodeck simulation. The worst thing that could happen to him was that he'd get wet. But getting wet wasn't something he much desired, particularly if the water was as cold and rocky as these. "Not to mention that I have served with the Captain for many years. She has come to trust and rely on me."

But the thought of Calin doing something as iconic as walking the plank made Mirajs eyes light up with mischief. "It's true he's been a faithful swab before the mast." Her own expression turned sly. "But if I must, for the sake of the rest of my crew.

DeValle's posse of scurvy dogs started to propel Calin onto the rough wood that had been slid out over the gently lapping waves. DeValle handed Miraj her cutlass.

She stepped behind the vulcan and poked him in the back until she had him at the end of the plank. "I'm sorry Mr Staines. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

Calin's brows furrowed. "I do not approve of this course of action." But even as he protested, he was helpless to prevent the two strong arms at either side from dragging him over to the plank, heaving him towards the edge as though they were tossing the trash. When Calin turned, he saw Miraj standing at the other end. He considered further protest, but the twinkle in her eyes led him to believe she wouldn't listen.

"Keep moving, Mr Staines." she called out edging out along the plank to prod him in the rear with her cutlass, a gleeful grin plastered on her face. "Its either a cold bath or some really embarrassing stitches in sick bay. Make the logical decision here and no-one needs to see your pasty backside." She poked him again for good measure.

Calin would have rolled his eyes, if he'd been anything other than vulcan. Instead he turned quickly on the slippery plank, knocking the cutlass aside and catching hold of her arm, and in the same movement jumped, pulling Miraj down into the cold water with him

Miraj screamed in suprise and a second later she plunged under the sea's surface, and she kicked to reach air. She broke the surface spitting out sea water, and laughing. "Cheat!"

There was a light in Calin's eyes, the closes to actually showing amusement he had. He was treading water, enjoying the surprised, look and general outrage on Miraj's face. "It was suitable recompense for your betrayal."

"Calin, we'll make a pirate of you yet," she grinned , then shivered. All she was wearing was her silk shirt which the water had turned see through and clung to her body, underlining the fact the water was cold.
Calin averted his eyes, and she was suddenly aware of it. "Er, Computer, End program."

The water, the ship, the cheering pirates, all vanished, leaving them standing there, bone dry. The silence stretched.

"So," Miraj asked, "Was that fun."

"it was diverting," Calin allowed, which was tantamount to a standing ovation.

Miraj breathed a sigh of relief, "Good!" she said. "Now lets go get some grog!"

[ON]

A JP between

Ensign Miraj Derani
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Galileo

&

Ensign Calin
Security Investigations
USS Galileo

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