Pirate Captain Bartholomew Davis's Story

Jim "the news man" Taylor came falling through a void in the sky still half asleep. He instinctively reached for a parachute cord only to remember he hasn't worn a parachute in two years. the sensation of the wind and realization that he has no way to slow his fall jolts him completely alert. he falls for thirty seconds before a last ditch effort to be saved he shouts, " I'll buy anyone a drink if you save me from falling!"
Out from a shadowed alley a gravity field emerged to catch Jim at the last possible moment before impact. Jim got set down gently on his feet. Jim ran in the direction of the alley to pursue his savior, only to get distracted by the wind whispering to him, "come find me," in that all too familiar voice of the mystic woman who he had met the previous day on his world. Jim paused to observe his surroundings more closely, it was quickly apparent to him that he was far from his world.
"Is this real? he exclaimed for anyone to answer. As he waited for an answer he was sure he already knew he wandered to a nearby cafe to order a coffee. He pulled out his small flask of whisky to add to his coffee. He sat there sipping his spiked coffee in peace taking in the details around him using his reporter senses.

Bartholomew Davis, Captain of the Virgin Mary, last of the infamous privateer space pirate ships, like his ship was a relic of another time, barely remembered. He teleported down from his ship circling Terra to Wing City Spaceport. Bartholomew knew he was running late to his meeting, as he hustled through the busy streets, he muttered to himself, "damn this robot leg, piece of garbage cant keep up in this gravity." He refused to admit that he was getting too old to be running these errands by himself. This job was different though, it was a high profile client who wanted some ancient earth relics. As he turned down the last alley to get to his destination he spots a man fall from the sky. He tried to ignore it as he was already behind schedule. Call it him going soft in his old age or intuition he turns to face the falling man, puts down the chest of loot, and fired a gravity field from his cybernetically enhanced right arm to save the falling man. He picked the chest back up and continued to hurry down the alley. Bartholomew reached the end of the alley, pressed in 6 stones particular stones on the wall and entered through a new door that materialized where there was only wall before. the room was warm and dry. There was a faint smell of vanilla and tobacco in the air. He sauntered across the room past the bar. he stopped at the back rook being guarded by two armed men that demanded he relieve himself of his armaments. Bartholomew acknowledged the guards requests handing over both guns at his sides and the one at the small of his back before entering.
Bartholomew entered the back room to see his client, an ugly fat man by the name of Baron Harkonness sitting next to a man he didn't recognize. Bartholomew set the chest down next to the table and sat across from the two men. Before Bartholomew could question who it was who sat next to his client, the baron gestured to the seated young man and said, "Captain Davis this is my son Bart-"
"change it," Bartholomew quickly interjected expression as cold as liquid helium.
The baron broke out in laughter, Bartholomew's expression never changed. "I jest, I kid, it was merely an attempt at humor. I almost got you that time didn't I? But on a serious note this is my expert in the field of ancient earth antiques. He will be evaluating to see if what you've brought me is genuine or not."
Bartholomew picked up the chest and sat it on the table between them. He unlocked the chest with a key that formed from one of his cybernetic fingers. Before opening the lid Bartholomew confirmed, "25 million credits per item as we agreed previously, correct?"
"If it passes inspection," the baron replied.
Upon confirmation Bartholomew opened the chest to reveal thirty-seven cassette tapes, a walkman cassette player, a beanie baby, and an undamaged pair of rayban wayfarer sunglasses. The baron's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the sight of such historic treasure. The inspector came to grudgingly admit that every item was genuine. never had such a collection of this scale been found since the Voyager's golden album.
Bartholomew finally showed the first signs of a smile as he saw such a large payday come his was. Bartholomew waited until all the funds were transferred into his accounts before he picked up his now empty chest. He tipped his hat towards the baron and his associate.
"Pleasure doing business with you two I look forward to hearing from you soon." Bartholomew said on his way out. He stopped at the guards and gestured to the velvet pillow his guns were on. Bartholomew re-holstered each gun with the swift clean motion that only someone who's one with their weapon could ever hope to achieve. He exited through the door that he came in. He sauntered back up the alley with a gentle sway in his stride and a grin on his face. he reached the square and saw an unusual man sitting by himself drinking what appeared to be coffee. As he was about to pass the unusual man he realized it was the man he saved from falling earlier. Instead of continuing to pass by the stranger, Bartholomew decided to sit down across from the man. after sever long moments of silence Bartholomew breaks the silence and said, "You're welcome for earlier."
"Thank you, miste-"
"Captain, its captain Bartholomew Davis. And you are?"
"My name is Jim, Jim Taylor and I owe you a drink," Jim replied.
gently stroking his bushy beard, "A life debt can't be so easily paid for with coffee. The way i see it, you owe me at least three years of your life," Bartholomew replied calmly
"We can get to that later, but first a drink. I did say I'd buy a drink for anyone who saved me and I am a man of my word. so what can i get you, an Irish coffee?"
"not sure what that is but sure if you're buying Jim."
Jim signaled a server and ordered another hot coffee and creme.
"So I see I'm in a spaceport of some sort and there's a lot of tech I've never seen as well as thousands of types of aliens. I can safely assume I'm not on earth anymore. If those previous statements are facts and based on your name, appearance, and the fact that you only have one empty chest in your possession I can deduce that you're cargo is, shall we say, less than scrupulous. what will it take to get an interview with you?" Bartholomew shifted in his seat, its not the first time that a stranger got the gist of his method of income but he was the first to do so so casually without any hesitation and knowledge of his surroundings. Bartholomew opened his mouth to respond after a momentary pause. At that moment the coffee arrived. "hold that thought," Jim said as he pulled out a flask from one of the pockets on his vest, "The secret to a good Irish coffee is to gently mix in the whiskey to the coffee." He gently stirred in the whiskey from his flask and passed the drink to Bartholomew.
Bartholomew hesitated before taking a sip. He gently put the cup back onto the saucer and with a visible grin he conceded, "that's the best coffee I've had."
Jim smiled warmly, "I'll give you the rest if you get me off world."
Bartholomew picked up his cup finishing off his Irish coffee, sat the cup down gently before he reached out his right hand to shake Jim's. "you've got yourself a deal."
Jim shook Bartholomew's hand. Bartholomew's grin turned into a booming roar of laughter, his cybernetic hand detached from his wrist and was locked onto Jim's. Bartholomew tapped the base of his left ear and said, "Bring me and our new guest of honor up to the ship in 5,4," he picked up the empty chest, "Take a deep breath Jimbo, 1!"
there was a flash of light and both Jim and Bartholomew disappeared from Wing City Spaceport.

Darth Xalgan waited in the spaceport. He paced across the hangar like a prowling tiger, steel boots clanging menacingly on the metal grates. A dark cape flowed behind him and flourished as he turned directions.

“Incompetent Terrans…” the Sith hissed through his respirator.

“Cheer up, my lord.” Xalgan’s twi’lek companion replied. “I’m sure the ship will be all fixed up before too long.”

Vette watched Xalgan stew in his irritation. She placed her hands on her hips, fingers drumming on the hilts of her blasters, and kept an eye on the hangar door. Though she trusted his instincts, it wouldn’t do for a threat to sneak up on them while he was distracted.

“We can hardly spare more time here than we already have, Vette.” Xalgan growled, dark side energy churning around him. “We must return to Imperial space with all speed. I have been gone from my station for far too long.”

Admiral Steele was making his way through the spaceport, a very stern look about on his face, as he was flanked on either side by Aschen marines, each wearing their signature black BDU uniforms, with armored gear worn over them.

"Sir, your Condor will be arriving, shortly to take you back to your ship." The Marine sergeant reported. "Command has stared that it is of utmost importance that you return to Imperial space with all due haste." The Sergeant added, as the group rounded a corner.

Rythmic footfalls filled the hangar that Darth Xalgan was pacing about in. The doors opened up in the opposite side of the large bay, and a formation of six soldiers, in clearly identifiable Aschen uniforms could be seen. They clasped their disruptor rifles tightly, as they maintained their formation around a stern looking man, in a dark grey, and blue uniform.

They stopped about a hundred feet away, near an empty landing pad. Each Marine took in the sights all around them, and they fanned out around various crates, and equipment to take defensible positions in the event of a fight. Each soldier moved with the discipline that betrayed years of training, while the older man stared out the hangar into the skyline before him, then he checked his watch.

Shrknar glanced over his shoulder at the self-important Admiral Steele, who was just across the promenade. His nostril slits flared open, accompanied by a hissing exhalation of machine-assisted breath. The denizens of this world were... strange.

He had other things to attend to, however. Not to be dissuaded from his mission, he set out for Gambit's Bar to meet with his Terran contact.

"We've got company, my lord." Vette said, hand resting on her blaster and eyes trained on the soldiers.

"Calm yourself, Vette." Xalgan hissed, respirator sighing. "They're only Aschen, and if they were looking for a fight... they would have brought more men."

The twi'lek nodded, but she remained vigilant. Xalgan likewise ceased his mad pacing, straightened his back, and calmed his breath. Control. He thought. I am a Sith, not a wild animal. Strength, yet peace. Power, yet wisdom.

Xalgan watched the aschen soldiers through the dark lenses of his helmet. Though he doubted any malice on their part, he had heard the rumors, and so he opened himself to the ebb and flow in the Force to read their intentions. He was confident he could wipe out the entire unit in the space of six seconds if he needed to, but he would not be caught unawares.

Senseless violence was also unbecoming of a Darth.

The Admiral kept his eyes on his surroundings, and his Marines followed suit. Several eyes were on the Twi’ilek, and several shrill whines emanated from the Aschen group, as thumbs flicked across power switches, and several holographic sights, that weren’t there previously had flickered to life. Several Aschen soldiers powered their disruptor rifles, and Admiral Steele quickly took notice.

“Sergeant.” Steele said calmly. “We’re not here for a firefight.”

The Marine sergeant nodded, but cast his second nod in the direction of the Darth and his accomplice.

“They’re watching us, the Xeno has her hand on her weapon.” The Marine whispered.

Their intent was clouded by their hatred of this place, their Xenophobia, but nothing malevolent surfaced, the Admiral kept his own thoughts closely guarded, but he seemed to be waiting for something.

Darth Xalgan sneered beneath his helmet.

"Vette..." He said, loud enough for the marines to hear him. "I do believe that these aschen are afraid of you. How quaint. I can feel their hate... their disdain. They would be wise to keep their guards up. Few have seen a Darth firsthand and lived to tell the tale. I am not without mercy, however, and I find the wasted lives of perfectly good soldiers to be distasteful."

"Gee..." Vette rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "How kind of you. You are, by far, the nicest evil guy I know."

The gathered Aschen soldiers watched Darth Xalgan closely, his words did not fall on deaf ears, though, and more than one Marine had their eyes affixed to him.

The Marine sergeant closest to Steele slowly leaned over, and began to whisper.

"Et Xeno contumeliam nobis."

"Ego animadvertit" Steele replied.

He looked back out to the landing pad, as the shrill whine of an Aschen Empire Condor VTOL troop transport began to fill the inside, a moment later, the angular, imposing form of the Aschen transport craft could be seen as it carefully maneuvered into the hangar bay, touching down delicately on the landing pad.

Steam hissed from release vents near the landing gear, and the rear deployment ramp opened as the engines began to die down.

Two Adepts of war emerged, clad in a deep black armor, towering at nearly ten feet in height. Their boots made a dull thuink against the metal plates of the landing pad, and they cradled their weapons, twenty-two millimeter heavy magnetron rifles, an Aschen designed coilgun designed to accelerate a hyper-dense projectile at high velocities.

Steele simply cast a sidelong glance at Xalgan, and spoke to his sergeant loud enough to hear.

"We have nothing to fear, Sergeant, these... Sith would be foolish to challenge us." Steele said, huffing. "Afterall, the last Sith lord to challenge the might of the Aschen Empire paid for it dearly, as we massacred her armies, and set fire to her planets."

"Ad Victoriam." The Adept of war called out, saluting Steele briskly.

"Afterall, our military might is without equal. Have you seen a Star Destroyer go up against a Reverence, Sergeant? It was a... short battle." Steele added, starting towards the ramp.

In a fitting moment of dramatic irony, another ship pulled into the hangar and touched down several meters from Darth Xalgan. A Fury-class Interceptor lowered its ramp, and a dark-clad robed figure stepped out onto the hangar. A fully enclosed helmet, much like a fencing mask, and a crimson hood shrouded their face.

"It is natural for the predator to quell the weakest of the flock." Xalgan replied as the figure approached him. "And so the herd is made stronger for it. The wolves should be wary, however, of challenging the alpha. They have ascended to their station for a reason, whether through guile or strength, and so would be a more... fitting adversary."

"Master," the figure knelt - a woman by her voice. "Your ship has been repaired and refueled. Are these people troubling you? Do you require me to dispose of them?"

"No, Lady Wilsaam." Xalgan placed a hand on her shoulder. "That will not be necessary. Come, let us return to the Gravestone. I am sure the rest of the Alliance must be fraught with worry over my absence."

Chondra Balencio had enough of this planet, and longed for the quiet solace of home. Now to begin the journey back. The hem of her white robes brushed the ground as she maneuvered through security and towards the terminal where the shuttle waited. Anyone short enough would notice her feet didn't touch the ground, but it wasn't enough to draw an unusual amount of attention to her. If there was one thing she learned here, it was to expect the unexpected. Always.

The wasn't going far, but it was the fastest and safest way to start going home. What was it called again? She stopped in front of a display and read down the lines. Ah, yes, there it is:

The Pharos - 30 MINUTES TO DEPARTURE

THE PHAROS - 20 MINUTES TO DEPARTURE - DESTINATION: BLUE HEAVEN

A voice sounded throughout Wing City Spaceport, "THE PHAROS - 10 MINUTES TO DEPARTURE - FINAL NOTICE TO BOARD"

Irahel arrived from a small flash of light near the terminal for The Pharos. It took her a moment to get her bearings right, but sure enough she knew where she was. Irahel swore under her breath for a solid minute before marching down the terminal towards The Pharos.

After all she had done to get away from this planet, away from her old Master, only to wind up right back here?
No. Nope. Nah. Time to leave.

The Rocketeer stands in the spaceport, wishing he had a ship, then shakes his head. He needs to get onto a ship. There's no chance of him getting one.

James Ward climbs out of his ship's cockpit, which he calls the Thunderbird IV. He had arrived with a package, some computer parts or something like that, and he had heard of a potential employer he was going to try to meet up with. He didn't know the precise details, but he really just needed the money so he could find another job. And then he could use the money from that one to get another one. And another one after that. It was a slightly boring life, but the thrill of the task is usually what payed off. He surveys his surroundings, and then reaches back into his ship and removes his bag, a sort of satchel. Inside it are the parts he's delivering, and the person he's delivering it to might have a job for him. He just hopes it's not going to be too much trouble.

He looks around, trying to see if the person is here.

Xavier sits by himself in the main spaceport lobby, keeping a keen eye on everyone coming through. He wears his green hoodie over his pale face despite it being past dusk, and has his backpack on his lap. The blue lights against the steel structure complemented the coming night, and a nice change from how drastically different the night appeared in the woods. Needless to say, Xavier was ecstatic to have his day out of the Detente. Well fed, too.

He knows through Terra's dark web that he is looking for 'The Courier', but an extensive deep dive through several personal firewalls across the galaxy told Xavier the man's relative age and his first name. James. He had seemed to be dependable enough, and his interactions were admittedly difficult to trace (perhaps because of a lack of experience) which Xavier appreciated. Not as if anyone would have an interest in this transaction, it was harmless enough. It was an idea Xavier had that would require a certain amount of elusiveness.

Immediately Xavier saw the one who would be his 'Courier'. He was wearing a trenchcoat, a fashion choice Xavier had once trialled with the Detente to look more menacing. It was a week of ritual bullying before he decided to return to his own dependable attire. He knew James would be looking for him, which Xavier had made difficult by not revealing any aspect of himself. He did, however, explain in great detail the times and places for the Courier to be to pick up the package and exactly where and when he should be to drop it off. The sum of his reward outvalued the ease of the request, a quarter paid upfront and the rest on delivery.

He produces a small disposable comms unit from the pocket in his hoodie. A device mass produced for business firms, Xavier had bought a bulk pack of 50 the majority of which remained in its box at home. He had tried suggesting the Detente use them, but as with most of his suggestions they had been ignored. No longer. A message is sent to The Courier's own communicator.

"GREEN HOODIE. BACKPACK. BY THE CURRENCY EXCHANGE. - X"

James Ward looks down at his wrist as his Comms gives him a notification. GREEN HOODIE. BACKPACK. BY THE CURRENCY EXCHANGE. -X.X, as in his employer, which he didn't know much about. He's suspicious of it at first, but he isn't one to question his employer's abilities. So he throws his satchel over his shoulder, looks around, and then closes up his ship. He starts to walk towards the currency exchange, and, seeing the man in the description, approaches him and holds out the satchel to him, dropping it into his lap. "Here's your stuff."

“Excellent.” Xavier said.

His voice exuded a childish sort of obnoxiousness, although his intonation seemed to imply he was at least trying to be intimidating. It wouldn’t be so bad if this man wasn’t so physically imposing. Of course, he didn’t know about Xavier’s enhanced biology.

“I’ve sent the rest of your pay wirelessly, as promised. You’ve done well. Much faster than Escargo Express. Here’s hoping the manufacturers have done their job as well.”

Xavier examined the package for any damage or signs of scuffing. It looked well enough and had obviously not been opened. Xavier put the package into his backpack, mostly empty beside his laptop for this situation. He smiled.

“You didn’t tamper with the package. You don’t seem to be too concerned with legality. Tell me, James, how flexible is your morality when compared to your wallet?”

The term ‘wallet’ was hyperbolic, of course. Very few carried around physical currency. And mentioning his name? Well, that was Xavier showing off.

James looks down at 'X' before answering his question. First off, this guy knowing his name is kind of suspicious, as he usually keeps it out of dealings like this, but he supposes that it wouldn't be to hard to find. So he'll let that slide. And he obviously didn't mess with the package, he's not interested in computer parts and all that. Another thing is that it seems that he's asking about his willingness to do a job. At least he's says he's paying him, so he checks his Comm device for the confirmation of the payment. Yep. It was there. He thinks a bit before speaking. "My morality doesn't come into jobs. It's the morality of my employer that matters. I just do the work." He feels like he's said enough, but he continues. "Look, if you have a job, I'll take it."

Xavier smiled.

“Really, it’s more a question of skill than morality. If the job is done perfectly, then no one will get hurt and no one will even know it happened.” He said. “My affiliates- subordinates, really… Have an interest in the blood banks of Wing City. We’re scientists, and the blood is necessary for our research. There is one in Wing City central that I’ve always felt charged a little too much for the product they delivered. Now when there are foolproof ways of attaining as much of the stuff as we could need, for no charge, it doesn’t seem sensible, does it? Here, have a look at this.”

Also coming from his hoodie pocket, Xavier offered the Courier a ‘USBat’, an inconspicuous little black USB with two needles on one side and a modular adaptor on the other.

“I just need you to infiltrate the bank, find their server room and pierce any of their servers with that device there, see? Once accomplished I will have a driver waiting to return you to the spaceport and our business would be concluded. Assuming you agree and all goes well, you will receive what my and my subordinates would have paid the bank. Easy money for someone like you. Am I right?”

He was very sure he was.

James glances at the employer as he takes the USB, and nods. "How much is the pay? I can't go around breaking into banks for near nothing, you know." He's not exactly unsure of his capabilities for this job, but this feels like a big thing to be asked to do. He wants to make sure he can accomplish the task and then be rewarded in a way that he sees fit. "I mean, I know it's not like you're asking me to kill anyone, but this is technically il-" He cuts himself off as he realizes most of the things he does aren't nescessarily legal, so he just nods again. "Where is this blood bank?" He feels kind of suspicious towards this guy, he honestly doubts him being a scientist, but he supposes he doesn't need the truth. He pockets the USB, and looks back up at X.