Chapter Eight: Worlds without End without End without E-
(a click, then silence underlined with a static hum)
NARRATOR: (coughs) Sorry about that. Track started skipping on my iPod...
Chapter Eight: Pirates of the Delta Quadrant
A black dagger shape silently cruised through the void between the stars, its three ion engines flaring with intense blue light from the massive reactions within. The ship, just a bit over a mile long, bristled with hundreds if not thousands of gun turrets of all sizes.
The ship had started out life as an Imperator-class Star Destroyer, mark II, but over its long service life had undergone many not-so-trivial alterations. The reactor was overpowered, the gun output was higher, and some in the Imperial Navy would say it was crewed by a complete madman.
On the bridge of the behemoth, a certain Liet Kynes was somewhat inclined to agree. While he was certainly a madman in his own right (running around with an Improbability Cannon, which was somehow powered by a peculiarly British cup of tea, tended to do that to you), the captain of this ship took the cake—no, actually, Liet mused, that was a poor choice of wording seeing as the captain was currently enjoying a large carrot cake.
"So," the captain said between mouthfuls of cake, reaching up with one hand to adjust his tricorner hat, "what approach can we take to solve the issue at hand?"
"And what issue be that, exactly?" Liet asked, suddenly unsure why his accent had changed to that of a 16th century seafarer. He also appeared to have gotten shorter and sprouted a thick, stubbly beard.
"Why, the rum issue, of course," the captain replied. "There's been a dreadful shortage of rum in these parts. It is our mission," he said, slurring his words slightly, "to boldly go where no man has gone before... in search of rum! Savvy?" The captain staggered slightly, letting the frosted bottle of alcohol he had been somehow holding slip slightly before catching it again.
Liet just stared at the captain before slapping his palm into his forehead. He had a sneaking suspicion that another crossover had started.
(Meanwhile, a long time in the future, in a galaxy far, far away...)
A small, three hundred meter starship fled quite literally for its life, pursued, of all things, by a dozen giant cubes. Its hull was gouged and scarred from weapons fire, parts blackened and charred where the hull had failed and the internals of the ship had been exposed. It had been designed as an explorer, not a fighter, and this was painfully obvious as yet another green beam lanced out from one of the cubes and struck it in the docking bay, the doors violently exploding outward as the atmosphere within vented to space.
On the bridge of the small ship, as it rocked from yet another hit, the crew struggled to maintain their composure.
"Direct hit, Deck 12," Lieutenant Tuvok reported from the tactical station.
"Maintain evasive course," Janeway reaffirmed. "B'Elanna, what is your status?"
"Warp drive is still offline," the half-Klingon reported from Engineering. "They're not making this easy on us." There was the sound of a muffled explosion over the comm, and then static.
"We've lost internal comms," Tuvok reported. "The computer is attempting to re-route around the damaged areas."
Janeway turned around to face Seven of Nine, who was standing at the Astrometrics station. "Have you found anything that could help us yet?"
"Not yet-" Her voice trailed off. "There appears to be a wormhole forming directly in front of us."
A flicker of hope flashed across Janeway's face, for the first time in several days. "Ensign Kim, take us toward it, full speed. We may have a chance to escape."
Before Kim had a chance to respond to the order, however, Seven spoke again. "I'm reading something emerging, it's more massive than the Borg cubes although smaller."
"On screen," Janeway ordered.
The next sound could only be described as the crew collectively crapping their pants.
( ISD Black Pearl )
"That went well," Liet remarked as they emerged from the wormhole. "But what the hell are those?" he asked, pointing forward at the dozen giant cubes.
The captain shrugged. "Not my problem. Do they have any rum?"
"That be a 'no', Captain," someone reported at the Comm-Scan station. For some bizarre reason, now that Liet looked about, none of the crew were wearing standard Imperial uniforms. Instead, they were wearing a mixture of rags and Victorian era clothing.
"How about fair wenches?"
"Again, no," Comm-Scan replied. "But they do be having some sort of metal appendages stuck all over. If you're into that sort of thing, that is."
Liet had a brief feeling of deja-vu.
"They're hailing us, Captain," Comm-Scan reported again.
"What be they wanting?" the Captain retorted.
"Apparently they want to ... assimilate us. Resistance is futile or some such nonsense."
"Awk! Resistance is futile!" squawked Lt. Cotton's parrot.
"Will nobody shut up that parrot?" The captain asked, then thought about it for a moment. "Tell them that the only thing I'm interested in assimilating right now is more rum. If they don't have any, they are welcome to go bugger off."
"They're firing at us, Captain. Cosmetic damage only."
For the first time since Liet had been on board, the Captain seemed visibly angry. "Nobody scratches the paint on my Pearl! Ready the guns for a full broadside." He walked over to a giant wooden wheel that was inexplicably located in the middle of the bridge, and began turning it quickly. For some even stranger reason, the Star Destroyer began spinning about like a ship on a turbulent ocean.
Of course, what really had Liet puzzled was the sound that the guns made when they fired. As several thousand green bolts lanced out toward the dozen or so cubes, he could also smell a bit of sulfur.
Several seconds later, the battle, such as it was, was over with charred bits of Borg floating in deep space.
"Now that unpleasant business is over with, does that frigate have any rum or wenches?" the captain asked.
A viewscreen popped out of the ceiling and soon Janeway's face was displayed on it. "Thank you for saving us from the Borg," she began.
The captain waved his hand dismissively. "They didn't have any rum or wenches. Do you?"
Realization dawned on Janeway's face. "Wait a second... You're pirates!"
"You obviously possess astounding powers of reasoning. Now may I suggest you use that new-found intellect to locate us some rum? It would certainly be a shame if we were forced to commandeer your vessel."
"The Federation banned liquor," Janeway half stammered. "But we can give you synthetic rum, which tastes just like it."
The captain frowned. "What sort of screwed up society bans liquor? Rum is what makes the world turn..." He paced back and forth several times before finally realizing something, and pointed to Seven of Nine, who was visible at the back of the bridge. "Well, in that case, we'll just take her with us. This universe is boring anyway."
"I will not stand for your demands!" Janeway shouted. "She is one of my crew!"
The captain shrugged. "Well, don't say I didn't give you a choice." He cut the transmission off and turned to the pit. "Lock tractor beams and prepare to board."
The stormtroopers of the Black Pearl, surprisingly, actually did wear the classic white uniforms. Unsurprisingly, the uniforms were painted, scarred, and covered in bandanas and other fabrics. Instead of carrying the standard E-11 blasters, they all had long blaster muskets with wooden stocks and bayonets affixed to the front.
Thus, after Voyager had been pulled in so that its bridge dome rested inside the Black Pearl's hangar bay, a platoon of stormtroopers grabbed cables and swung down to the dome. They planted charges on top of the dome, and after the charges had gone off, they jumped down onto the bridge.
Several of Voyager's crew attempted to put up a fight, but the lack of cover on the bridge was their biggest enemy. A number of redshirts were shot, the blaster muskets giving off a plume of sulfurous smoke with every shot fired.
Janeway had backed into the turbolift with the rest of her crew, and they were hiding behind the walls, taking shots as they could. She picked off a couple of stormtroopers before one, unseen on the other side of the door, jumped out and lanced her through with his bayonet. He got shot with a phaser for his troubles, but unfortunately for Janeway a bayonet through the lung is hard to recover from, especially when the bayonet is rusty and jagged.
The last thing she remembered before blacking out was Seven being dragged away by the strange troopers.
( ISD Black Pearl )
"Orders, Captain?" the helm asked as the captain half-staggered, half-swayed toward them. He was holding an ancient looking compass in one hand, its dial spinning wildly. With his other hand, he was mimicking the compass's needle with his finger.
The compass finally stopped moving and he pointed off in the distance. "We go thataway."
"Aye aye, Captain."