Author's Disclaimer:

Not mine, save original characters and the situations. Star Trek belongs to CBS, Paramount, and was created by Gene Roddenberry. The Dread Pirate Roberts and various situations that may be discussed belong to S. Morgenstern, as abridged by William Goldman.

Author's notes (with TPB spoilers):

The plot devices within this story assume that Westley and Buttercup did indeed truly escape Prince Humperdink, Inigo Montoya becomes The Dread Pirate Roberts (and Westley's successor), continues the tradition of naming their successors upon retirement, and that the Dread Pirate Roberts continues into the 24th Century, as the most feared pirate plundering the spacelanes.

This plot takes place in the Original Timeline, but will use the JJ-verse stardate convention.

I'm also ignoring how Orions were characterized in Enterprise, preferring the more traditional TOS treatment.

SD 2370.171

Starship Revenge

"Wesley, can I see you in my cabin," Roberts' voice echoed through the Revenge's intercom system. Saluting his sparring partner, Wesley put up his drill saber and headed for Roberts' cabin, toweling off on the way. Pausing at Roberts' door, he pressed the the chime. "Enter," and did as bade.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Wesley, it's been five years since I first brought you aboard as my valet. After that botched raid on Fool's Hope where Chidon died, I promoted you to my second. And now, I'm promoting you again.

"Wesley, my lad, it's time I retired. But before I do, I'm going to let you in on a secret...I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts. My name is actually Hammond. I took the name from my predecessor, whose name was 'Cumberpatch'. Its a tradition that goes back to the buccaneer heroes, sailing the seven seas on Earth.

"Its the name, you see, Wesley. No one would surrender to the Dread Pirate Hammond or Cumberpatch. But they'll surrender after the first volley if it's the Dread Pirate Roberts attacking them. Even the Ferengi and Orions fear the name. We're going to put into Uthepra and pay off the crew. It is, after all, tradition as well."

Wes sat uncomfortably in the center seat of the Revenge. He'd very rarely taken it during Hammond's tenure as the Dread Pirate Roberts, and it didn't quite fit him. Of course, it also didn't seem like his crew fit him, either. His second officer was a Romulan on the run, a drunk at tactical, a Tellerite security chief with a penchant for John Wayne characterizations, a third officer with the same last name, a Vulcan doctor, and a wild Irishman down in engineering. The Revenge, had cleared the starport and was cruising on impulse towards the edge of Uthepran space. "Mala," Wes said, "set course for the Gittai system. Warp 7. Engage when we've cleared the outer marker."

"Warp 7 to the Gittai system. We are clearing the outer marker now." With a couple of taps on the console, the ship leapt into warp.

Sitting next to the Revenge in the Gittai system was the just recently captured passenger liner SS Alexandra. Standing in an observation lounge, Wes watched as the Revenge's shuttles transferred cargo and captured personal belongings to the pirate ship. He hadn't been really thrilled as he ordered the crew and passengers into the ship's common areas, and had his crew secure and override the locking mechanisms. He watched Hammond's reflection against the transparent aluminium viewport enter and walk up to him. "A successful first raid, Wesley," he said.

"Yes, it was."

"You're disturbed about killing those passengers, Wesley, when we've finished plundering her and the warp core overloads."

"Yes, I am. I know we're pirates, but we need a more ethical means of ensure 'no survivors' when we capture and plunder."

"You're still thinking like a Starfleet officer, Wes. I thought 5 years as a pirate would have beaten that out of you."

Wes chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

"What about slavers and pirates?"

"They get no mercy. Their 'cargo' is seized and released, and they get long walk out a short airlock."

Hammond nodded. "And if the cargo is Orion women?"

"They're still seized. I want you to quietly search through the databases. The Vulcan religious orders have rehabilitation programs for former slaves."

"You thinking of being the 'Dread Privateer Roberts'? And you realize that the crew isn't going to like it"

"Of course not. As long as there's latinum and precious stones in the hold, the crew won't have an issue. A wealthy crew is a happy crew. You taught me that." Hammond nodded. "Have Mala find us an abandoned outpost somewhere nearby. Close enough to the shipping lanes, but far enough that we can hide."

Wes had turned his attention back to the Alexandra. The last of the shuttles had cleared away, and the Revenge was slowly moving away as the passenger liner's hull plates began to bulge, then erupt in plasma, flame and spewing atmosphere as the core overloaded. "Understood, Wes," Hammond said as he left the observation lounge.

~~~~~~~
SD 2370.185
Cinder Station

The Revenge cruised up towards the darkened outpost, as it orbited between the system's white dwarf and the debris cloud. Wes stood in front of the viewscreen, looking over the old asteroid mining station turned defense post. Starfleet hadn't even bothered stripping the weaposn when they abandoned this station. Whether the links to the fusion reactors were still in place, only once they were aboard and investigating would they know.

"Well," Hammond asked, as the pirate ship glided to a halt near the station.

"I like it. We're above galactic plane, but close to shipping lanes within the three empires, and Starfleet has probably completely forgotten about this place. We can hide our captured ships within the debris cloud. Have Padraig send an engineering team over."

"And about the other thing, we're close to several Vulcan monasteries that would be willing to assist us in that reintegration matter," Hammond said quietly.

"Good," Wes replied, just as quietly.

"Engineering team's beaming now," Javait called from one of the ancillary stations that ringed the upper bridge deck. "Pulling up tactical schematic on the main screen." The screen changed from the darkened station to a wireline diagram, with pinpoints indicating the engineering party. There was other information on the screen next to the wireline, but the bridge crew were intent on the five dots that made up the party.

"Dark abandoned station orbiting a white dwarf, no lifeform readings other than our own team. If I didn't know better, this has all the hallmarks of a cheesy horror movie," Wes commented, watching the diagram shift as the boarding party moved further along through the station. There were some nervous chuckles around the bridge, as a few of the crew got it. "So much for breaking the tension."

"Captain, I've got Mr. O'Finn on the link."

"On audio."

Padraig's thick brogue rang out over the bridge speakers. "Cap'n. We've gotten down to the engineering plant. The solar batteries are serviceable, so we ken fire up them up. The fusion reactors, dear god these are ancient, have barely enough reactant to fire up, let alone provide power; most of the reactant tanks are drier than Tarelton's flask after a shoreleave bender. Life support's offline, there's ice on some of the panels."

"Those solar batteries aren't going to provide power long one we take possession of the station."

"Aye, I know that boyo. We'll have to refuel the station from the Revenge, and make taking a tanker a priority so that we can refuel both."

Wes nodded thoughtfully, even though Padraig couldn't see him. "We'll do so. Get power and life support operational. Then we'll go tanker hunting. And Padraig, I want you and JB to look into converting the decks above the greenhouse into...long term holding facilities. We'll discuss the reasons why when you get back onboard."

"Righto. Miller, go throw that massive switch. And for Murphy's sake, don't stand on that patch of ice when you do it..." Padraig cut the link from his end.

"Javait, Tarelton- see if we can remote in to flight traffic control services from here. Find us a tanker convoy. Klingon or Federation, doesn't matter. Frank, get down to Engineering and rig for refueling. Once Padraig has power back up on the station, we'll refuel his indicated tanks." Wes stood. "Let's get our new home port up and running folks." Marker lights feebly began to blink against the glare of the white dwarf, as the master circuit breaker was closed.

~~~~~~~
Stardate 2370.186
0245 hours, local

Wes lay in bed tossing and turning on the null-g mattress, tormented by dreams of the family he'd left on the Arcadia, when he headed off to deal with affairs of the Ranch. Usually, they were a shadowy shape, familiar yet unfamiliar in a way, followed by a flash of light, and empty quarters. A chime at his door brought him out of his nightmares. "Enter," he called sleepily.

Padraig entered still in his environmental suit, his hair sweat slicked down, and sat heavily on the seat in front of Wes's desk. "Station's got power now. Number 3 fusion reactor is chugging along like the day she was built, but the other 3 reactors...och, they'll need to be torn down and rebuilt. Life support's functional, but there's this stink like something died in the ventilators and just started rottin' again. It'll take a few more hours for it to clear out...I think. Gravity generators are at 25% and coming up slowly."

"Thanks Padraig Go get some sleep. We'll talk about the station when you're better rested."