Of Plunder and Booty
Posted on July 14th, 2010 by Douglas McKnight and Persephone Busard

“Of Plunder and Booty”
Douglas McKnight as Charles Coburn with Percy Busard as Bernaea

“…P.P.S. Yes, yes I was just challenging you to come fight me. Your ship is a piece of shit, and so is your face.”

The Risan quirked an eyebrow as she finished reading the note.

“And you left this pinned to a chair…by a dagger, in the shuttle of a Federation Admiral.”

“Warrior poet.” the author in question confirmed somewhat distractedly, tucking a maroon silk shirt into a fresh pair of black pants and securing the ensemble with a wide leather belt as he checked the overall effect in his cabin’s mirror. “That’s me.”

The Risan woman looked over the picture she’d been holding of said stabbed note once more, shaking her lovely brunette-maned head with a dazzling smile.

“…Classy. So…what’s the game plan, then, Captain?” Her smile widened to a grin. “Can we blow something up in this game plan? You know how I love blowing things up.”

“Trying to recall if you’ve ever wasted an opportunity to remind me.” he fired back with a relaxed grin. Sitting upon his bunk, Charles Coburn, captain of the Surprise took the need to pull on his boots as an opportunity to qualify the jibe. “Though if megatons really DO matter, I’d have thought you’d have got your jollies in with the starship Trafalgar.”

His smile faded a bit at that, remembering how another ship in engineered distress had gotten close enough to an unshielded Federation starship for its payload to be detonated, disabling the target none too gently. Coburn himself got no particular pleasure upon boarding and seeing for himself how appropriate the metaphor of a carcass to be scavenged was. Radiation poisoning was a nasty way to die, but in his line of work, he was prepared to indulge a fair few somewhat sociopathic impulses in those around him. Particularly when it meant opening a gaping if very temporary hole in Starfleet’s patrols in this region, without paying the conventional cost in lives associated with taking on a Defiant class starship. Like his adversaries, he would do what he must.

“And need I remind you.” he continued. “ I was all in favor of doing the same thing on this particular outing. I’m not a lazy man, but it seems an awful waste of effort to go to all the trouble of sneaking a nuke you don’t plan to use aboard the flagship of the Federation’s third fleet. But then I was there in my capacity as experienced consultant as much as raid commander, so…not my rodeo, as they used to say back home. And I suppose I can’t fault a fellow “privateer” too much for getting a bit greedy. The point is, she at least came through as far as getting me back out of that little catastrophe, so let’s start with a situation report. And where shall we start, hmm? Ah, yes. You’ve been dressed like that for the entirety of my absence, haven’t you?”

Bernaea, AKA Boom Boom Bernie looked about herself. She didn’t see anything wrong with what she was wearing. In fact, the last time she’d been in contact with her mother, she’d heard pasties and handkerchiefs were all the rage in Risa…as much as clothing of any kind could ever really be.

“What? Not authoritative enough? I could wear black ones, I suppose. Maybe pinstriped?”

To be fair, Coburn couldn’t say the idea didn’t merit some consideration. Quite a bit of it, in fact. But all the same, a capain’s first, if not necessarily favorite duty was to his ship, and his recent return from the failed Atlantis raid had turned up at least one pressing command issue in need of resolution.

“Bernie…” he began again, rising to consider his armaments for the day. His beloved Spanish style rapier was of course a must…perhaps the Klingon disruptor as well? Had some nice heft for an energy weapon, really gave the wielder a ready sense of the power behind it as he swung it into position. Of course, for intimidation factor, a big bang was not to be overlooked, and Machen Bren projectile weapons were available in quantity to soldiers of the Kelmyn Confederacy via its Orion connection. “Let me try and put this another way. What happened to my ship? More specifically, what, by your best recollection, transpired with the paint job?”

Bernie frowned. “Hey, that had nothing to do with me. I didn’t hit the asteroid. And it was a small one anyway! Barely chipped the paint, and now the skull looks all cracked and badass. I don’t see a problem.” The way she said it indicated that she obviously saw the problem that was about to emerge, but was really, really hoping he miraculously wouldn’t. If that didn’t work, she would employ the pout.

“Skull fractures are indeed a fearsome reminder of a warrior’s prowess.” Coburn agreed, trusting the light sarcasm to carry its own momentum without too big a push from him. Disruptor, he decided. And the main gauche, of course. “Though I do get a little more skittish about it when “bone” is actually a metaphor for the hull that corrects my lamentable incapacity for breathing in space. You know what? Maybe, just maybe, this is more a problem of disparate technical backgrounds. Navigation, I know, was never so much a focus of yours, so in short…well, it’s somewhat involved, actually. Steering in three dimensions, over interstellar distances in which the error of the barest fraction of a degree has the potential to drop you off at the event horizon of a black hole. So, it’s complicated. A lot of variables, of the mathematical variety no less. Can you see, therefore, why it might complicate things for the man tasked with such a chore, when the only numbers he finds himself able to readily concentrate on are 38-25-38?”

The Risan woman in front of him reacted more with surprise than dismay, although it was clear this conversation was coming to a conclusion that would involve putting on a shirt, which she deplored. Still, she couldn’t help but ask.

“Charles, how do you know my measurements? I don’t even know my measurements.”

“I looked. What do you think we’ve been talking about?”

Bernie sighed. “Fine. I promise I will wear clothes while on deck, starting as soon as I can find some. Happy now?”

“My dear, I’d rate it no higher than a sense of professional satisfaction. Nevertheless your devotion to duty shall not be soon forgotten. Needless to say, of course, what one chooses to wear or not wear on their own time is entirely their own business. Those of our trade would be hypocrites all to stand in judgement.”

Hand then pausing mid-reach for the previously decided upon arsenal, a smile turned the corners of his mouth upward.

“And unless I’m entirely mistaken, your duty shift doesn’t ACTUALLY start for another hour or so, correct?”

Bernie returned Coburn’s smile with a wry grin then.

“Yeah, yeah. Such a professional, you are.” She then re-examined the stabbed-note picture, and attempted to change the tone of the conversation to a little more serious one. After all, her captain had issued a challenge to a dangerous man. This, while by no means out of the ordinary, always led her to ask the same question. “So…what are we going to do about this Blackthorne guy, then? Gentlemanly duel? Photon blast to the face? Both?”

An exaggerated sigh of regret was promptly issued, the exaggeration having proven a time honored way of downplaying actual regret. Handkerchiefs, by God! But he supposed after having just vaguely implied he was not a hypocrite, he could hardly play the rank card and then complain when his First Mate wanted to talk shop. Well, perhaps next time then. After all, there weren’t many men on this ship who had their own shower. With one last forlorn shake of the head, he secured the tools of his trade about his person, then threw his signature frock coat over it. Dark green with gold lace trimming, it was his signal to crew and rival alike that he was the Gentleman Pirate once more, ready to resume his beloved command. Thus, inviting Bernie to exit the cabin first with a sweep of his hand, he made his way out onto the deck, immediately returning a number of nods and terse but sincere greetings as he made his way to the bridge.

“I’m not terribly averse to overkill. But even so, I wouldn’t mind being able to answer that question seriously. Most officers to achieve such lofty rank have a bit of pride one might work with, and some of them even value ceremony as highly. Had I been able to engage him in a longer conversation, or even had the chance to take a look at his office…well, I’m sure I’d be in a much better position to parlay properly. As usual, our most powerful weapon is good intelligence, and I have no intention to present myself unarmed to someone who spends most of his time flying around in an unusually sleek looking artillery piece. I think we should make a few calls. What say you?”

“I say calls sound good, just make sure we play this out carefully. The last thing I want is some Federation ponce to take out my favorite captain and leave me to take care of Frankie.”

“My cat,” Coburn began with something not unlike true outrage “is an animal both stately and majestic. I named him accordingly. And that name, if you please, is Sir Francis Drake!”

“…Yeah, whatever. Just don’t get yourself dead.”