StarDestroyer.Net BBS

This was based off an old RAR! thread of mine, along with some Suggestions by The Yosemite Bear.
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Pirate Lords
Leighton White

Chapter-1

Lord Captain Maximillian von Seersberg took out his spyglass to see the prey that stood in-front of him and smiled. He had overseen his new ship, the Prince Wernher through three months of shakedown before being assigned her first mission. In two weeks he had avoided unnecessary conflict found something that he was looking for. He saw the Venoan flag fluttering in the wind above the craft, a paddlewheel freighter in the area of 5,000 tonnes going by the name of Tramonto. She probably could outrun him, but she had been coming in towards his position beforehand and had to make a pretty major course correction to try to get away, which, according to some quick estimation had given him the time he needed.

“Distance is five kilometers, Captain.” An ensign said for confirmation.

“Very well,” he said calmly “fire a warning shot and tell the Semaphore to inform these Venoans that after firing they have a minute to surrender.”

“Aye milord!” he announced as he set about sending the messages to their appropriate stations. About half a minute latter, the massive forward turret was brought to bear and fired its projectile with a deafening explosion and a cloud of white smoke. A few seconds afterwards, he made out the splash a few hundred meters off the craft’s port bow and heard the rattle of shutters alongside the general sounds of metal and steam. He picked out his pocket watch and kept tract of the time.

“Milord,” the Ensign said “we have a white flag and it looks like they’ve cut there engine.”

The captain snapped his watched closed “Very good, helm bring us in upon her. Ensign, have a force of Marines and prepare for boarding. Have gunnery ready to fire another set of warning shots, in the sea if she continues to move or into her hull if she tries to fire.”

The next thirty minutes aboard the Prince Wernher were very busy, but never the less people did there work with a good demeanor. The promise of prize money had a way of raising moral that most officers respected. The Captain did a quick rundown of a few junior officers, ordered a few sharpshooters take up positions if things got dicey and selected a boarding force as the two ships closed in on each other.

As they came closer to the now stationary ship he made a note to look at the Tramonto and was in general impressed. She was a few years old but was in general good condition, but what grabbed his attention in particular was her armament. The seas of Pacifica held numerous forces which posed threats to commerce including pirates, nautilians, the occasional sea monster, various radicals and of course the navies of hostile nations, but he never the less found it odd to the degree to which this Merchantman had been outfitted. She had a broadside with four gunports, which were invariably had some old breach loading guns bought off at discount from some military hoping to dispose of their old weaponry in the most budget friendly manner. What impressed him was the pair of 150cm pivot mounted guns, one forward and one aft and what looked like a Gatling Gun mounted near the bridge. She was well prepared against a Tengu attack and might be able to hold off an attacking Sloop if she played her cards right, though if her crew tried anything stupid now she would stand no chance against the powerful arsenal of the Prince Wernher. As the Gangplank was lowered he casually wondered about what such a heavily armed freighter was carrying.

Maximillian was the third to embark onboard the Tramonto, following behind a pair of Ursoid Marines. His forces would have to make use of the Tramonto’s crew to man it en route to Eisenstadt despite the fact that they might try to revolt, either in an organized or unorganized manner. If worse came to worse he could loose his prize along with a few dozen of his soldiers and even unorganized attacks could be dangerous to someone onboard. Having a pair of two four hundred kilo armored bears that were just as good with rifles as a human and could rip a man apart unarmed on the side of your captors had a way of steering men away from lines of thought of Rebellion and making it clear from the first second they would be there did a lot to drive the fact home. As he boarded one of the bears announced his name.

“Lord Captain Maximillian von Seersberg, eight Graf Seersberg of Lord Wolfgang-II’s Eisenstadtisch Navy!”

He marched aboard about forty men followed behind him. In front of him the officers of this ship stood, and given the dress he was easily able to snoot out the skipper of this craft. The Captain of the Tramonto was a tall fortyish man with a long face and a white goatee. Along with him was a squat chief engineer with a moustache and six other officers. Max took a look at the leader “And who are you?”

The leader walked forward. “I am Giuseppe DiCarlini, captain of the Tramanto.” He said calmly in Trade.

“Very well, your ship and it’s is now by right of conquest property of the Principality of Eisenstadt. You will sail her to Wilhelmsberg under the observation of this garrison under the command of Lieutenant Liebig.” He gestured to the young officer who nodded slightly. “You and your crew will turn in all small arms. That aside, if things go smoothly and without incident you have my word that none of the crew’s personnal possessions onboard will be confiscated nor any unnecessary harm brought upon you or your men, though any attempt of insurrection will be met with appropriate force.” Max was not a vindictive man. The situation that brought this meeting into existence had nothing to do with him. That honor lay with Venoa’s Thirty Seven who thought that now was a time to snip off a couple of vassal islands from Walkersland, one of the principality’s more reliable trading partners. Besides, he understood the fact that families, especially rich ones capable of affording highly armed freighters in a society run by rich families, desiring Prisoners of War be returned could help move a state to take her chances at the negotiating table sooner than latter. “In the meantime, we will conduct a search of this vessel. Is this understood?”

The Venoan paused for about two seconds “Yes” He finally responded in a voice that seemed more ashamed than anything else.

“Very good, inform your crew of this.”

“Very well” He said before making his way to a nearby hatch.

“Squad One, make your way to the armory” Max turned to face what he assumed was the chief engineer and pointed to him “You will lead them.”

“Very well.” The Engineer said in a very carful tone of voice.

The captain then pointed to who he believed to be the chief engineer. “You will show them there.”

“Yes Signore” he said in the voice of a man which had at best a loose understanding of Trade and clearly spent an amount of time around coal smoke and dust that could not to have been healthy. He walked as twelve men followed him down through a hatch.

“Squad two, Search this ship.”

“Aye!” said Seargent Fei. With that he and his men made their way through a hatch, a few seconds latter while wandered about the deck of the ship the guard of an Ursoid marine taking a good look at what he had, noting that everything looked to be in exceptional order. A few minutes latter, Sergeant Fei came in smiling.

“Milord!” The young migrant’s son said enthusiastically “We had identified the cargo; apparently Heer DiCarlini has carrying a load of Roadsteamers.”

He was shocked. “Really, well show them.”

“Yes, Milord!” With that, the Captain walked down into the Cargo Hold with an escort of two men. Sure enough among a few crates containing miscellaneous items of at best marginal interest there were several dozen Civilian Roadsteamers.

This was quite a haul indeed. While there had been some road going steam vehicles for nearly a century, they had in the last couple of decades gotten much better for reasons he did not fully understand but from what he heard had to do with engine and suspension design. They had gone from clumsy novelties built by eccentrics with a surplus of mechanical skill and funds to a must have item for the upper levels of society and governments that liked making a show for civic events. There had been hundreds of companies which had sought to cash in on this trend. However most of these were local operations that could only produce a handful of machines and often could not match the quality and prestige factor of those made by a capital select elite of manufacturers, a couple of which turned out to be Venoan. The average functional Roadsteamer was a luxury item that would be well out of the price range of most men, but a quality status symbol like these fine Venoan vehicles would command a price at least twice what a locally produced vehicle would. He grinned; the 25% share of the prize money he would receive in a few months time was going to be higher than he expected.

“Well, this explains the armament” He murmured as he inspected the vehicles. He wondered about inspecting them for a few minutes before turning about to the Sergeant. “Anything else to report?” he asked.

“We have found that the have a Marsupial Man working in the engine room as a technician. Besides that nothing too out of the ordinary for a Venoan Freighter.” He was a bit surprised about the Marsupial Man, but despite being odd it was nothing to be concerned about baring a few scenarios that were quite unlikely given the context of this ship and her crew.

“No attempts at fool hearty rebellion?”

“No, milord.”

“Very good, let’s hope things stay that way. Compile a full report for Lieutenant Liebig by sunset tomorrow.”

“That you will, Captain.” He said as the two made their way out of the cargo bay.

Afterwards Max made his way back to his ship. As soon as he was onboard he made his way to the Ships Shrine, sacrificing a small amount of incense and offering a few prayers of thanks to the appropriate gods for this victory, he spent most of the afternoon overseeing minor details and overseeing a few reports and doing captainly things to make sure things would run smoothly and seeing the confiscated weapons before the Tramonto started up again and began the three day long trip to Wilhelmsberg. At the end of the day he had a rather lavish dinner with his senior officers in Celebration of this victory. As soon as everyone was seated and the food had arrived he proposed a toast.

“To our prize, May the Tramonto be the first of many victories to grace the honor and record of ship and her crew!”

“And to grace our bank accounts!” Said his Chief Engineer proudly to general approval of the staff. The meal itself proved to be adequate for such an occasion, although definitely not the best dinner he had. The same could roughly be said with the wine, it was nothing outstanding although it did go very well with the chicken in the captain’s opinion and as such had three glasses. This was enough to build up a sort of inertia in him, after the meal had ended Max retired to his quarters and took out a flask and spent about an hour listing to one of his favorite records before collapsing on his bed and falling asleep. In his opinion this had been a good day. The morning afterward, however began rather badly.

This has a good 7th Sea and Dark Water vibe on it.

One small nitpick though - you have boarding Squads One and Two headed for the Armory, and Squad two searching the ship. Here's the relevant passage;

“Squad One, make your way to the armory” Max turned to face what he assumed was the chief engineer and pointed to him “You will lead them.”

“Very well.” The Engineer said in a very carful tone of voice.

“Squad two...” He quietly asked

“Yes Lord Captain” said Seargent Fei.

“Go down to the armory and collect what weapons you can.”

“Aye Milord!”

The captain then pointed to who he believed to be the chief engineer. “You will show them there.”

“Yes Signore” he said in the voice of a man which had at best a loose understanding of Trade and clearly spent an amount of time around coal smoke and dust that could not to have been healthy. He walked as twelve men followed him down through a hatch.

“Squad two, Search this ship.”

That error has been fixed.

Zor

Minor edit involving gun range.

Zor

Chapter-2

The Republic of Venoa was something of an oddity among the nations of Pacifica in terms of politics. Hard line monarchists and democrats had both seen Venoa in contempt for its form of government while die hard Socialists generally had a lack of love for this state. Venoa had a generally hereditary ruling class of nominally 250 families which had political powers that commoners did not as well as certain duties (several of which coming across as rather daft) and the suffix “Di” added to their last names that could technically be considered a nobility known as the Patricians. However the Patricians were generally looked down upon by the nobles of other nations as the title of Patritician was based on wealth. Houses could be stripped of their title if they failed to pay a head tax imposed on the patriarchs of Patrician houses or in case of a monumental failure or crime committed by a Patriarch and when there were less than 250 Patrician families, the vacant positions could be bought by anyone born in Venoa to fill up the ranks. The Patricians also shared power with the guilds, various organizations of tradesmen that Patricians were barred from joining. The ultimate ruling of the city was handled by two entities, a council of thirty seven individuals, nineteen representatives appointed by the guilds, nineteen that the patricians elected from their ranks. Both categories holding their position until they either stood down or died. From these ranks, one was further elevated from the council to the position of Doge, the Ruler of Venoa who had a lot of theoretical power, but never the less had to answer to the thirty seven.

The politics of Venoa was a long and tangled history of plots, counter plots, alliances, betrayals, assassinations, foreign interactions by various groups and constantly shifting loyalties among these players. In the battle between the guilds, the Patricians, the thirty seven collectively and the Doge there was never a clear winner. Power shifted, but never settled. Once century the Doge might rule as an absolute monarch, the next he might be just a figurehead to the whims of the thirty seven as they made their plans.

Bizarrely enough this ballet had gone on for over thirteen centuries ever since the basic system was laid out by Alberto-I after he managed to kill the last of the savage kings that had taken power in the city after the end of the Second Empire. After this major change Venoa gradually grew in importance for the next seven centuries until it reached its Zenith, becoming a massive mercantile power and one of the most powerful island states despite having few natural resources beyond the occasional surplus of grain, average coal and iron of dubious quality. It became a cultural and commercial center with unrivaled universities and ruled over dozens of vassal islands. At the Zenith of her power, Venoa commanded hundreds of war galleys which she could produce faster than anyone. At the same time alliance of states that held control of the Dragon’s Spine island chain and with it a major share in the most stable route of the western spice trade.

Then began a two century long period of decline. Not so much of Venoan failure but in success, namely the success of other more northerly states and the lack of continuing success on part of Venoa. Shipwrights of nations to the North and East developed the Caravel and the Galleon, craft that were far better suited to braving the harsh weather of the open ocean enough to bypass island chains. These ships also proved to be at an advantage over galleys in combat, what they lacked in maneuverability they made up for in firepower. This gap grew as Venoa was forced to make concessions in treaties while facing a few notable rebellions and lost her colonial assets one by one. In the end what was left was a marginal island state, heavily populated and culturally significant but behind the times and with at best marginal resources, a state of insignificance which lasted a century and a half.

Fortunately Venoa was given a second chance, starting when Vincenzo the Quiet, one of the more unusual Doges ascended to power and managed to fairly quietly restructure the Republic, most notably setting up policies to attract foreign artisans and tradesmen (especially in taking full advantage of the Shinobi Diaspora), negotiated treaties that yielded and improvements in law enforcement. He was said to be mad in his own special way, but he managed to sure up social order, improve relationships with other states and opened up several significant flows of income at set a stage for a gradual recovery of prominence in terms of wealth. Subsequent leaders had used this new base of power to try to restore the lost status of Venoa through military action, motivated by the ambitions of their leaders and in recent years a desire among the people of Venoa to reclaim their lost status and glory.

These ambitions had sparked the Walkersland; Six months ago a Venoan Fleet invaded the islands of Steelridge and Fulmara in the Southern Archipelago to gain control of their high production yields of citrus, tea, copper and Latex and the Walkerians had been fighting tooth and nail to reclaim them. This move had some unexpected side effects, as Doge Vittorio-III had been forced to deal with. Yesterday after several months of Protest, the Principality of Eisenstadt decided to declare war for continuing to peruse its conflict. As such, he had assembled a special staff of advisers to deal with this scenario over lunch.

The Doge stood and gestured these men to their seats as they entered the room. He was a heavyset man, though this was the result of an indulgent personality rather than inactivity, as well as somewhat making up for his high diameter by standing nearly two meters tall. He had short brown hair that stood in defiance of male pattern balding, a face with a set of generally boxy features that was dominated by his spectacles and a chestnut moustache. He wore the black robes that had become the symbol of the office. Vittorio was generally regarded as, if nothing else not one of the worse Doges, but never as a great one. He usually was an inactive man that generally left technical issues of state to advisors, save for military affairs which he had a childhood fascination with. He gestured them to their seats before taking his chair. “Gentlemen, as we are aware we now know that Eisenstalt was not bluffing in its diplomatic moves. First of which being the security of the home island and our vassals, what are the risks of such assets to an Eisenstalt attack?”

The lean balding figure wearing a black kimono got to his feet. Most Shinobi groups that had settled in the Eastern Archipelago had adopted the local dress of their new home isles. “From what intelligence we have, that would be an unlikely turn of events, my Doge.” The high sensai said “The aims of Eisenstalt here is to force us to the negotiating table through commerce raiding, an assault on our assets would only escalate the conflict to an unmanageable point. If they dedicate too much of their reserves in an assault against our assets, Pogoria might be able to muster enough forces retake Swinsla, to say nothing of the subtler effects that this would have on other states leading to diplomatic repercussions. Escalation is unlikely unless we exacerbate things by assaulting one of their islands.”

Admiral DiGianfigliazzi raised his hand as the Daimyo finished speaking, politely swallowing a calamaro before speaking. “In that regard we are safe as we simply can’t afford to do that. We have stretched our navy fairly thin to deal with the Walkerian fleet as is, especially with the Martello undergoing major repairs. Eisenstadlt has a major numerical advantage of what reserves we have in the home fleet and in particular they have at their disposal their full line of battle. We can not stand against their navy toe to toe without leaving our conquests outnumbered by the Walkerians.”

“Very well.” The doge said “What can be done to deal with the Boars?” Unlike some of his more cautious predecessors, Vittorio was not above making the occasional slur.

“Our best bet is to focus on setting up defenses on our new islands.” General Ferrigno said. “If we focus on defending our conquests, we can relieve some of the pressure on the fleet. I would suggest re-enforcing our garrisons with additional forces, especially artillery as soon as possible. We dig ourselves in deep and accelerate our efforts to rebuild the fortresses while having enough boots on the ground to make any attempt to retake our new islands a long, hard fight. I am sure we can squeeze a few thousand more fighters from the patricians and manage to levy in more help from the locals. I would also recommend bringing in a few Doge Cannons and increasing the Runabout complement for the Land Navy’s garrisons.”

DiGianfigliazzi never much liked Ferrigno, in no small part to the rivalry that is typical between Navy and Ground forces and the more local longstanding rivalry between guildsmen and patricians, but did have a point here. “The General is right; quickly strengthening our defenses is the best course of action. However, his plan still leaves noticeable gaps that the enemy could exploit. So far, we have kept the Walkerians from Jorgsonland and Copperhill Island and no matter what defenses we have we definitely don’t want them to have the ability to establish a blockade. I would recommend investment in torpedo boats to better protect the coastline. It can be done fairly quickly and give us a much better ability to break, or at least disrupt blockades. I also would consider conversion of another airship to Tengu carrier for general patrol.

“If we do this, we should be able to pull five, maybe six frigates and a battleship out of the Southern Archipelago. It will mean placing a fair bit more burden on our destroyers and subs than I would like to see dumped onto them, but we should be able to hold the line. Meanwhile we begin organizing convoys for our major traffic for protection. At the same time we establish several squadrons with a recon airship assigned to each to hunt down Eisenstadt’s raiders and cargo ships. This is not a perfect solution, my Doge, and we will be fighting a war on two fronts but hopefully we can pressure them to the negotiating table.”

“What about privateers?” The Doge asked

DiGianfigliazzi’s face shifted slightly, just enough to show the contempt most Navy men had for them. Never the less he did know the math of this scenario and again, conceded to what needed to be done. “In this case I believe we have the short term, we could probably find enough raider crews which could prove their usefulness to us against their commerce and possibly some of Eisenstadt’s lighter fleet elements. Payment is likely going to be an issue. We might be able to find some of the more flexible groups and we have a few crews in custody that have been made more, although there are still a large number that will work for only coin or weapons. The former might mean we might need to go pull out a few loans, but I would still prefer this to handing knives over to those who might turn them onto our throats.”

“Understandable,” the Doge said “But we are in a position where our options have become much more limited.”

“Very well, I can trust that our master Sensei can arrange some contacts.”

“I am sure my people can make the necessary contacts.” The Shinobi leader said. Some people, particularly the older military types found this distasteful and underhanded, but Shinobi had long ago found that making use of both genders had its advantages in infiltration and intelligence gathering.

“On the matter of privateers, we do have an interesting group in our custody.” The Doge added “This being crew of one Adria Malenkov, who had devised a fairly interesting form of piracy using airships. With the oversight of a few officers, this might throw Eisenstadt off guard.”

DiGianfigliazzi did was not fond of the Doge’s suggestion for a variety of reasons, mostly because the last thing he wanted was a new form of piracy emerging on his behalf. Despite this, he still had his duty to the Republic. “Very well, although I would prefer it if she and her lot was placed under the supervision of a few of my more capable officers.”

“Do what you see fit in this matter.” The Doge said moving on “Now, can we get some foreign assistance?”

The Doge’s chief diplomatic advisor began to talk; handing out several folders he had prepared beforehand “As mentioned before, the Porgorians desire to retake their lost islands. At the same time, the Duchy of Rulintoff, the United Commonwealth and Salvardia have also lost territory to the expansionistic desires of Eisenstadtian princes over the past fifty years. However I should note that the latter three states are fairly weak with their largest ships being a pair of light cruisers while the Porgorian fleet, while fairly large is for the most part hopelessly out of date. On the same note, I should point out that Eisenstadt is not without its friends and sympathizers, especially in the southern and western archipelagos.

“As far as recommendations go, our best bet would be attempting to strike an alliance with Karnipur. The current prince of Eisenstadt has got on their Raj’s backside after he sold a couple of their rivals a few squadrons of Land Ironclads and their diplomatic teams made a rather literal mess out of things at a banquet after over-indulging in the local spirits. At the same time, we had furnished their navy with a pair of frigates and their land navy with a dozen Runabouts over the last decade while the Raj himself has developed a taste for Roadsteamers and we might be able to curry his favor with one of our more exotic. Finally, Karnipur is in a fairly good position to launch attacks on Eisenstadt’s commerce in the Southeast of the western archipelago. Porgoria could be useful, but we should avoid too much interaction and especially any treaties or alliances. They will be of most use if we keep them as a looming threat that Wolfgang needs to keep an eye too.”

The Doge considered this “Sound advice, make arrangements for this matter.” The meeting continued on. Often such a meeting would involve complicated debates on what should be done with scathing criticisms flowing back and forth between the members. Never the less what transpired in these opening words became to what was eventually formulated as a set of rough pencil outlines are to a finely made image. There were adjustments made here and their in light of reports to the treasury or quartermaster’s corps, working around the more byzantine aspects of Venoan internal politics and the occasional correction. Any error was dealt with and corrected in a tactful, if not always friendly manner out of a lifetime of conditioning to be cautious with words, professional respect and unification in cause where defeat meant fingers would be pointed about. This mess was big enough that, win or loose (but especially so if the latter), it would have severe consequences to any faction or person who was perceived to be blundering about without purpose while others were dauntlessly fighting to defend Venoa against it’s foes.

Chapter-3

Castrum Aulus was one of the oldest and the most infamous buildings on the Venoan Home Island. It predated the Republic by over eight centuries, built by the Second Empire before it truly became as such while the fractured remains of the First Empire still lingered as a few backwards shells to the southwest. At first, it was just a somewhat larger fort, but as time went on and the local governors proceeded to set up new sets of fortification it gradually drifted in function from keeping soldiers out to keeping prisoners in. It used to be home to thousands of Galley slaves who were packed densely together in as few rooms as possible to save money on firewood. It also served as the work area for sets of men with skills and equipment of a horrendous nature.

Things had changed in recent years, nowadays it was an usual occurrence for more than two men to be crammed in; The torturers had been dismissed long ago while the prisoners now got a fresh pair of pants and shirt every solstice, most were put to labor that was bearable if not always pleasant and the meals were, if not fattening and bland, were kept well away from starvation. Nowadays the worst lot of Venoan criminals got sent to a few hot islands in the southern archipelago to slave away in a few rough and tumble colonization programs owned by the wealthiest of the Patricians and Guilds or simply put in front of a wall with a firing squad. Despite this, the place still held its infamy. It was said that occasionally plaster in cells would give way to reveal the maddened prayers and verses of monotheist prisoners carved into the brickwork or on bits of parchment hidden in long forgotten cracks. That for some convicts the Gods did not see Death as being a proper end for their sentence and shackled their souls to the prison itself. That penny pinching administrators occasionally cut back on operating costs by getting the meat for Tuesday’s stew not from the slaughterhouses, but from the executioners. Most of the latter stories about the guards and such were not true and they occasionally published reports to reform groups about improved conditions, but the place still had its legends which endured and thrived.

A pair of Ursoid guards walked down a hallway on all fours alongside a Human colleague. Only one of the Ursoid guards had a truncheon, although considering that the prisoners were humans this was largely unnecessary. The human did his job and knocked on the door “Adria Malenkov, the Warden would like to speak with you.”

The door was opened, revealing a woman in her early thirties dressed in a pair of leather overalls, heavy boots and a short sleeved shirt sitting on her bed. She was short, at about 165 centimeters and was on the whole fairly slim figured, but never the less looked rather stronger than you would expect for a woman of her height and general build. She had fairly short cut dull brown hair, a couple of noticeable scars along her arms and hands that betrayed a fair deal of work. Her face was rather lean and while having no features that in of themselves came across as ugly, they played off each other in a manner which did not please the eye. Over all, the effect was that of moderate attractiveness that had been gradually compromised in the name of practical functionality over years a work heavy environment. Many women tended to look like this after a year or so in the Castrum, but she had only been brought in last month. “What is it?” she quietly uttered in Trade.

“I am here on behalf of the Doge to inform you that you have been given an offer. Come with me.” With that Adria let out a sigh and followed the guards without a fight, doing so would be either be a display of futility or an act of suicide depending on the guard’s mood. With that she was quickly and briskly escorted down the hallway to one of the prison’s cafeterias, there she noticed that her crew had been brought as well. She was eventually seated between her cook and Robert, a Marsupial Man. With this, she cracked a slight smile.

“Good to see you again, Captain.” The stocky and slightly ursine creature said in a deep voice that while perfectly legible was distinctly non human.

She smiled “Good to see you as well,” she whispered quickly, their was a general murmur of people who feel the need to communicate but are being observed by other people with truncheons who tend to believe silence is golden. In this noise and the silence of the guards, she felt safe enough in brief bouts of speech, so long as she drew no attention to herself. “Hopefully, this is what I think it is and we will be out of here.”

Robert’s Face with its large black nose, small eyes and short pointed ears contrived some way of displaying confusion. “What do you mean?” He said inquisitively.

With that, Adria rolled her eyes. “It looks like they just might be in the market for some privateers.” Many people dismissed Marsupial Men as being stupid, which was by and large untrue. When it came to keeping the machinery of an airship working, there were few human Mechanics that could keep up with or do as fine a job as Robert. However, one needed to realize their shortcomings. Marsupial Men were veritable sponges for information in the four year long period between the time when they were first able to spend long periods of time out of the pouch to puberty, with a concentration and willingness to learn that made even the most jaded human teachers weep. However, by adulthood they became well set in their ways and hard pressed to learn new things. This was combined with a level of creativity slightly better than that of cheese and an instinctive tendency to see humans as authority figures gave a general impression of stupidity. Most military types had a dim view of them, when it came to their flight or fight mechanism, fight was generally left aside in their minds in place of finding the nearest safe location and getting to it. This inbred cowardice in the face of predators and enemies was something that took massive amounts of conditioning to overcome. For the most part, the only times they would fight was if they were backed into a corner or if their trigger was set off, which only happened in very specific circumstances and was not something you wanted to set off.

To modern civilization they were quite a new thing. While there were plenty of fossils of Marsupial Men across the islands of the world (mostly in the older ruins) the only place where they survived the cataclysm was in a large crater over fifty kilometers across on a very inaccessible island. The island itself had a deceptive coastline surrounded by Reefs, rocks, bays and small islands. Once the actual coast was reached inland was a maze of craggy mountains, valleys, swamps and rainforests that got more unpleasant the further you got in with noting of interest besides a few species of birds, a couple of Naga and Merfolk tribes living near the coastline and a largely uninhabitable mountainous inland.

Only the advent of airships four decades ago had allowed for it to be accessed, where explorers had discovered dozens of villages of the creatures where they went on, farming and passing information from generation to generation with nary an error. While outside the world changed, they grew crops, bread herding dogs, raised unusual cattle, pigs and strange things which looked like catfish with legs (mostly for fertilizer, traction and leather, they did not have much of a taste for meat), built houses out of brick, maintained roads with stones and gravel, kept windmills working and so forth. They only had to deal with the odd maniac or wild dog and for that they had attack dogs and a few specialists which had trained enough to have some loose fighting capacity with axes, butcher’s cleavers and knife throwing for fighting and for the most part keep their nerve.

Their origins were a great mystery, although not for lack of effort in recording events. When asked by archeologists about the past, they led them into dark storehouses filled with books containing their strange fluid flowing syllabic scrip manned by archivists. They had no poetry, no stories beyond a few tales of the feats of particularly gifted individuals in certain fields and no music a few work songs, but they did keep dry, sober but exact records of events that went back at over five thousand years, and the only reason only reason why things did not go back further was due to decay of the parchment they wrote on and the occasional fire. The only older documents were a few clay tablets, a few stone ruins and a few gold plates kept by the Raptors.

Once this population was discovered, logged and documented, soon airships were chartered by opportunistic businessmen and people began spiriting away specimens, often voluntarily picking up recruits, to work in factories or mines or other rough jobs, or to breed and produce new laborers. Producing new workers proved to be difficult, as it took some trial and error to get effective and time efficient training down and they bred an animosity. Worker’s unions saw them as stealing jobs, those who believed in purity thought them to be worthless dregs, there were concerns about the trigger after the first incidents were recorded and the fact that they could not hold down liquor drove many to distaste or even hate them. Never the less, you would be hard pressed to find a human which could repair an airship’s engine like Robert.

The warden walked in to a podium and pulled out a few sheets of paper. “Captain Malenkov and the crew of the Fireshrike, on behalf of his lordship Doge Vittorio, I present you this offer.” He said in rusty Trade “You have been kept alive because you and your talents might, at some day, come to be useful to us. That day has come. Our nation is currently at war with the Principality of Eisenstadt. In exchange for freedom and a Letter of Marque and a mooring and repair port for your vessel, you will target Eisenstaltish commerce and be allowed a significant share of the plunder there of. A couple of agents are also to be added to your crew.”

“And if we refuse?” Someone said among the background that Adria could not identify.

“If any one of you refuses,” He said “that person will be executed by firing squad at noon tomorrow. What is your answer?”

Adria came to the conclusion fairly quickly; this was a time of desperation for Venoa. The general rule was if captured pirates were deemed useful enough to keep on hand if the need arises and offer to let you out in exchange for privateer work, the response of rejection was that of locking them back up for a few more months or possibly a year or two. If the need was somewhat pressing, you gave them a week of extra hard labor afterwards. With a few exceptions, when they decided to execute you if you say no it meant that that the need for you was unusually urgent. This meant that the leash would probably be held more loosely. “It seems as if you leave us little choice, I accept.” There were a few cries afterward confirming this, her crew was capable and reliable, but they fortunately lacked the sort of pride that separated the Pirates that retired in luxury with those whose careers ended in grand gestures.

“Very good,” the Warden said, quickly scrolling down the result on a paper “At six O’clock tomorrow evening a train will be ready to take you to the Aerodrome. You will be given.” A pair of guards began dispensing a few envelopes. “Here is a report with necessary information. You are dismissed.” With that, he walked away.

With that, the crew walked away. There was some murmuring, but Adria managed to shut them up with a few cold looks and quiet comments. They rest of the following two days followed without incident; in place of work, there had been a set of assemblies and briefings, in which several naval officers explained the situation and asked and answered questions as well as periods that were set aside for reading files. After a quick dinner the crew was escorted out under guard to the rail station and by eight they had arrived at the Venoan Aerodrome. The area was large enough that for the sake of convenience and practicality, a few passenger steamers had been set up and of course a few were waiting for her and her party, along with a few guards that she felt were less to prevent escape than to remind her crew that escape was a really bad idea.

The Aerodrome took up a lot of the saw dozens of airships on mooring towers, hovering about awaiting their time to land and stowed away in great hangers as Tengu messengers flew about, carrying forth documents and messaged which were too long to be practically sent by semaphore and assisting with the mooring and unmooring. About the place were several cannons on specialized mounts manned by lazy men reading magazines and slowly eating their lunches. These guns were not as high caliber as the monsters on a battleship, but matched them in length. They did not need the ability to level six houses with every shot, they just needed to be able to get a shell to the target and fire and gravity would handle the rest. There were also a few smaller hangers housing gliders and the new areoplanes. There were also a few workshops nearby the aerodrome and she saw a few steam tractors pulling carts with components and a hanger where the framework for a new airship was being assembled, with men, marsupial men and constructs moving over the framework and scaffolding like spiders.

While part of her still loathed the idea of working as a privateer, she did admit it had its advantages. Everything was done with a sense of purpose and was done quickly, neatly and efficiently. Aerodrome workers were paid notably better wages than dock workers and were placed under very tight observation. This had to do with the economics of air freight and passengers. If you wanted to deliver two hundred frozen beef carcasses from Neo Valdonia in the Southern Archipelago to Porgorian Sausage makers or the cold houses of Fengli for an upcoming coronation, a dozen airships could not compete with a cattle freighter. If you wanted to move a chest full of gold marks to pay off an army or you were a Venoan Patrician or captain of industry who desired to take your family to see the twelve thousand year old Temples of Xiatelopal or go on safari in the wild sections of the southern archipelago, you chartered an airship. They could not carry much in the lines of kilograms per ship, but they could carry it safely and at a speed of up to a hundred kilometers an hour as the crow flies with an exquisite view, so generally things they carried were worth a lot per kilogram.

This fact manifested itself in regards to ports as such. At Venoa’s harbor, merchants always calculated that about a hundred Kilos of their load would have disappeared into pockets, lunch pails and toolboxes during loading an unloading by men who were paid damn little, often had wives and children or had a soft spot for some of the local urchins who they did not want to see involved in shoplifting. Pirates could easily maneuver their loot through ports to buyers with a co-operative captain and a couple of Marks. In the aerodrome, if something got lost behind a radiator the flight crews would be under intense scrutiny, interrogation and would be off lucky if they got two weeks of docked pay.

A byproduct of said security was that if you were a suspected Pirate, you could easily be snouted out in a respectable aerodrome, which was hell on her airship because she had to make repairs and refueling at whatever run down dump they could get to. If it was not for general thrift, a fairly large cash flow and the engineering skills of her crew, she was confident that she would have long ago died crashing into the sea in a collection of aluminum, balsa and cloth which would probably be on fire. Now she could simply request replacement parts and if they did not have them in store, there were machine shops. If you have to be on someone’s leash, best to be on one with a decent kennel.

After ten minutes she arrived at the Fireshrike, which looked to be in decent shape in its hanger. All six of its engine nacelles had some work done on them, although with Nacelle five this was so because it had been replaced with a newer unit after it was destroyed in their capture. She regarded this with mixed feelings, it might have been an overall improvement and according to the report the new engine alone was eighty three kilos lighter with a minor increase in power, but she knew that the engineers hated anyone laying their mitts on it and their were a few features she had installed onboard that that had either been stripped or meddled with.

At her arrival she was met by a few more guards led by a pair of men in black and dark kimonos with briefcases, revolvers and a straight Ninjato which betrayed their fuction in this matter. One was slightly shorter than usual by Venoan Standards with a noticeable baldspot in dark brown hair, one somewhat taller, somewhat younger and with lighter brown hair. While the traditional image of a Shinobi that people generally got involved the smooth features of someone from the western archipelago, it was no secret that the enclaves were more than willing to accept in foundlings and even the occasional son or daughter volunteered by their parents.

A few centuries ago the Shinobi were exiled after the unification of their ancestral home islands, various groups of them settled where they could, a few crossing the Serpent’s spine and setting up shop in the Eastern Archipelago where they found a politically volatile zone with hundreds of island states and on them plenty of clients who valued their skills at intelligence gathering, espionage, guerilla warfare and assassination. Within two hundred years, dozens of enclaves of Shinobi had sprung up and applied their services to those who required it and were willing to pay.

As far as leash keepers went, there were few better than Shinobi. There were myths about them and what they could do, and she knew that most of them were not true. In a straight one on one up close quarters fight they did not stand a chance against a normal Ursoid warrior unless they were very quick and lucky with powerful poisoned weaponry on hand, but this point was mute because she never employed Ursoids due to weight limitations. She had a crew of forty six people including Robert and the Tengu. Of which every one which did not have a pouch were at least capable in a scrap, but she was sure that if the need arose those two could do a lot of damage to her ship and crew. Most of them were at least Detectors or Walls, which meant that they held advantages in the area of ambushes leaving aside the stealth courses. This, when combined with ten to twelve years of training with blades, poisons, firearms, explosives, their assortment of clever gadgets and other things meant to take them down safely, you needed to get them cornered with about three or four men. She probably did not even have the home field advantage anymore, as they undoubtedly had gone over the Fireshrike a dozen times to nullify any home field advantage.

The older one advanced on him “Captain Malenkov and crew.” He said in a calm tone of voice that betrayed nothing save for professional respect. “I am Paulo and this is my college Giovanni.” As he said that, the tall gave a respectful nod. “We have been assigned to serve as oversight for you for the duration of the war.”

“Captain Malenkov.” She responded. “Might I ask you how long it will be before we set off?”

Paulo grinned slightly and handed a notebook and a pen to the captain. “You will launch in a week’s time after a shakedown flight. You will give us a list of any specific equipment and supplies your ship and crew needs. After which, you will go after Eisenstadltian cargo shipping and bring you’re catch back to Venoa, hopefully within three months. Destruction of an Eisenstädtische Marine warship is not required but it will be looked nicely upon by the Republic and your bank account. Any attack against non Eisenstaldtian ship or those of the Principality’s active allies in this conflict will not be tolerated. If you provide us with some success at the end of this wretched conflict, you and your crew will be given amnesty in Venoan Territory so long as you don’t act against the Republic or her allies, and your Letter of Marque will still be valid.”

“Alright,” she said slightly annoyed “I have read the reports. May I ask you a question?”

“You may.”

“When there is a boarding action where my men are dying in the name of the Doge will you and your colleague be alongside them or filling out reports with a hot cup of coffee?”

“My lady” he said with a smirk “This is not the first time the Republic has employed privateers with this arrangement. Either I or Giovanni shall assist your men in taking ships, depending on circumstances.”

“Very well”

“A team of guards shall show your men about the ship,” he said calmly “hopefully we can get things to their liking.” She knew that largely they would not be, but she was confidant that they would either get over it or correct it on their own terms latter.