Untitled Star Trek/TPB crossover Chapter 0

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Untitled Star Trek/TPB crossover Chapter 0

Postby Scooter » Sat Aug 22, 2015 7:03 am

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

LCDR Jack Landry sat dozing at the controls of his runabout, the Musconetcong*, as it cruised on sublight engines before his next navigation point. He’d departed the Arcadia two weeks ago, on detached duty to attend to family succession issues with the Ranch, on Rhydin. And, of course, his stepmother didn’t want to deal with it, but she had her own attendant issues of being an Admiral. There was the rub. Jack had dealt with being the son of an Admiral throughout the Academy, as his brother, Daniel, was along with the personal records for the family set by him at the Academy. He knew that being compared to siblings was difficult enough, but the added stress of their father’s position as sector commander for the Rhydin Sector wasn’t helping his brother. Or it would be, if he hadn’t suffered a massive, and nearly fatal, heart attack.

He was still three hours away from his next navigation point when the sensors and threat alarms began screaming at him. Phaser fire was bracketing the runabout, as Jack began raising shields, and plotting a jump to warp. “Oh crap,” he muttered, looking at the tactical display. Sitting on the screen was a three-view of the attacker—the frankenship of the Dread Pirate Roberts, the Revenge. Legends told in the corners of dark spacer bars spoke of how the ship’s appearance belied her actual capabilities. A weapons rating that could be bested only by Excelsior or later class ships, sublight maneuverability that rivaled the new Akiras or Steamrunners, and a warp core equivalent of the Galaxies. All wrapped up in a spaceframe that looked like the pickings from the boneyards. The Musconetcong shook as the Revenge’s phasers tore at the smaller ship’s deflectors.

Jack threw the runabout into an evasive pattern, as the threat board continued to scream out its warning of phaser locks. The smaller ship was thrown into a violent three axis spin when hit by photon torpedoes. Warning and caution lights popped on, as critical systems were either crippled by the Revenge’s weapons fire or through cascade damage. Shields were redlined, one nacelle had been blown clear off, and the ship was bleeding warp plasma. The aft lounge and port cargo pods were vented to space, leaking atmosphere. Weapons were off-line, not like they could do much against the Revenge’s overlapping and reinforced shields.

“Starship Revenge, this is the Federation runabout Musconetcong. What are your terms?”

No terms, Federation. Heave to, lower your shields, and prepare to be boarded.

“Not that there’s much left, but I’m done all that I can,” Jack replied, lowering what was left of his shields and powering down his engines. The runabout jerked as the crippled ship was captured by a tractor beam and pulled into the Revenge’s hangar bay. Jack tucked a photo of his wife and kids into his uniform tunic and waited, standing near the hatch.

The hatched opened, and standing there was a man, dressed all in black, his blue eyes piercing through the half mask covering the upper portion of his face. “The Dread Pirate Roberts, I assume?” The man in black nodded, as his crew entered the Musconetcong, and rifled through the areas that hadn’t been exposed to space. “I know of your policy about no survivors,” Jack knelt. “Then, be quick about it.”

Behind the mask, Roberts arched an eyebrow, intrigued that this Starfleet officer wasn’t begging. “Why should I?”

“Because I want my wife and children to know that I didn’t beg; that I died with my honor intact,” Jack replied coolly.

“Stay your weapons,” Roberts said to his crew. “You- stand up. What’s your name?”

Jack thought a few moments. “Wesley,” he said, deciding to use a pseudonym. After all, the son and stepson of flag officers would make for an excellent bargaining chip for ransom.

“Well, Wesley, I’ve never had a valet before. Although, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

“Nothing of value on board, Roberts, ‘cept him” one of the pirates said, pointing at Jack. “Could be worth some sort of ransom, or to the Orions. Doubt for much, other than labor.”

“Really, now Chidon,” Roberts said drolly. “I’ve already taken him as my valet. Are you challenging my authority.”
Umo Chidon stepped back “No, not at all. I was just thinking he’d be worth more.”

Roberts handed his sword to Jack. “Alright, Wesley. Chidon has impunged not only your honor, but that of your superior...me.”

Jack hefted the sabre, and took a few practice swings before entering his stance. “Alright, Chidon. Do you want to retract your statement that all I’m worth is just slave or will we have have it out, right here, right now?”

“Bah,” the pirate grumbled, as he eased his own cutlass out of it’s hanger. “Starfleet doesn’t know how to fight. Especially not with swords”

“You’ll find that I’m not your ‘common’ Starfleet officer,” Jack quipped, as he saluted. Three slashes later, Chidon’s hand was on the deck of the runabout, still clutched around the hilt of his sword.

“Impressive. Most impressive,” Roberts commented as he motioned for two of the crew to take Chidon to sick bay to get the stump treated. “Osh, tractor the runabout out, and destroy it. Despite what you’ve proven tonight, Wesley, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning. Atesiahr Th'etarat and Vurgick will show you where to hang your hammock.”
Oh are you from Wales ?? Do you know a fella named Jonah ?? He used to live in whales for a while.

— Groucho Marx
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