Wes's Story, Pt3

[Wes Roberts 0]

Revenge

Enroute to Caledonia IV

 

Wes's in port cabin had been set up for the dinner. The table set, the silver from the service of Admiral Tairan, the crystal acquired from the Grand Nagus' own ship, the china from a Romulan senator's baggage. The artwork on the walls were from various masters from known space included an original Manet that was on its way to an outer colony and somehow got diverted from its final destination. In the ship's galley, delicacies from all over known space were being prepared, while several bottles of a Mhiessan label Romulan Ale were being decanted. Music by Vivaldi, Mozart and Brahms cycled through in the background.

 

As the ship's bell chimed seven times in the last dog-watch (1900 hrs, ship's time), the senior surviving officers of the Cunard Victoria and Starfleet entered, under escort from the Revenge's marines. Roberts stood, mask set in place. “Ladies, gentlemen, welcome aboard the Revenge. I do apologize for not being able to meet with you earlier, securing our prizes, running the ship. As you know, typical command concerns.” Wes turned to his Tellerite officer. “GW, make sure that there are guards posted outside.” GW grumbled and grabbed a glass of Ale, before sticking his head out the door, and making sure that there were at least two guards on the door, and squad down the corridor. One couldn't be too careful with Fleeters around.

 

“May I introduce my senior staff—Egeanin, my senior navigator; Selamderen, ship's surgeon; Mr Bryne, my senior gunner. And you've already met GW McLintock, Marine officer. He's never given us any other name or a reason why he'd choose a Terran name.”

 

The senior Fleet officer nodded to each officer Roberts mentioned, but looked at the Orion female in the black latex cheongsam on Wes's arm. “And where do you fit in motley crew,” LCDR Dent asked.

 

Maighdin gave the Commander one of her sultry smiles. “That is, between myself and my Lord.”

 

Clearing his throat, the senior surviving fleet officer introduced himself and his party. “Lieutenant Commander Dent, formerly of the USS William Tell,” “Lieutenant Rachael Grainger, USS Abbe, Lt. William Smythe, USS Solon; Dr Vanessa Risicato, Cunard Victoria's medical officer; and Chief Purser Thomas Cottam.”

 

-=-=-=-=-

 

Dinner had moved pleasantly along, without any of the awkwardness of of the first informal dinner reception between Chancellor Gorkon and Captain Kirk, almost 100 years ago, and still a matter of much discussion amongst the etiquette crowd of how not to host a dinner reception. The stewards had cleared the dinner and dessert plates, snifters of brandy or liquor of choice left with the diners. “So, Captain Roberts,” Dr Risicato asked, “I assume you'll be dropping us off at the nearest starbase, while you take our ships back to wherever it is you lair?”

 

“I'm sorry, Doctor, but I'm afraid I can't afford to make this exception,” he replied, sipping 200 year old Napoleon brandy from a crystal snifter.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it's nothing but work, work, work, all the time.” He set the snifter down, his eyes hard behind his mask. “No, you won't be released. And by now, Starfleet has probably wandered into the little battle zone, and has detected multiple warp signatures, debris and empty lifeboats. They'll have either declared all the survivors dead, Missing in Action or considered POWs.

 

“Nor will all of you remain aboard my ship. I'd rather you not eat me out of house and home. And since you will be considered 'dead' in the great bureaucracy that is the Federation, what I offer is much more tangible than what the Jem'Hadar or Cardassians offer.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“You're to be colonists on my world, which, for the moment, shall remain nameless. Its simply an offer I extend to most of my captures. Unless they are truly the dregs of society, then they get one option—the airlock.”

 

“Not much of a choice, is it, Mr Roberts,” Dent said.

 

“No, but given the alternatives, you'll find your new home pleasantly pleasant. And far from the war raging across the Alpha Quadrant.