Holodeck chats prt2

Posted on Saturday December 10th, 2022 @ 1:28pm by Lieutenant Stan More & Gunnery Sergeant Maximilian Pfaffenheim

3,217 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Concluding Affairs
Location: Holodeck
Timeline: Current

[ ON ]

-Holodeck-

- Imperial Spanish brigg-of-war 'El Viento de San Domingo'—

As the holodeck set about building a new scenery, the Sergeant looked at More. "Name's a handful, but I just like to keep them organized." In a few moments, the first sensory impulses hit the two men - the air began to smell salty, the muddy ground replaced by strong wooden planks, now swaying, and as the sun rose high above, the two were suddenly standing on a sailing ship. Max took a moment to take a deep breath of the air and look over the deck, now full of sailors and officers dressed in almost ancient uniforms. "Lieutenant... welcome to the Imperial Spanish brigg-of-war 'El Viento de San Domingo'."

Stan looked around him. It was fantastic. A real old style wooden sail powered battleship. He was in love. Imagine not being encased in a metal air-sealed cocoon . To hear the creaking of the rigging above or to have the wind at your back. Then again life expectancy of the crew was low, bad food and water. Plus cruel discipline and disease.

“ This is brilliant. You so lucky to have this wee program” Stan said.

"It's an old one, too. Family heirloom, if you can call a computer program that.", Max replied, taking in the scenery. "We're not exactly dressed correctly for this, but you don't want to miss what happens... well, soon."

As he said this, the ship suddenly neared what appeared to be a fog bank. "Let's take a little stroll before that.", the sergeant commented and led More towards the helm. It was occupied by an officer of advanced age, with experience in his eyes, who was humming a song unmelodically. "Lot of familiar faces on this ship. It's a family joke that everyone adds a different family member somewhere in the simulation without saying where. Let's see if who we can spot."

Stan looked around. He was really enjoying this program. His friend was so lucky to have it. Stan thought it was far better then his family battle programs.

“ By the way yer don’t mind if I call yer Max do ye?” Stan asked

Max shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat, Lieutenant.", he responded nonchalantly, before his eyes narrowed at an officer standing atop the forecastle. "Hold on, I think I see him..." With a quick inhale, the sergeant shouted across the deck. "¡Oye, Julio, baja aquí!"

The figure in question, perhaps a little surprised, turned around and made its way over the deck. As he approached, the uniform of an officer became apparent, as did his stern gaze and somewhat eccentric mustache - and as did his apparent lack of surprise upon seeing the sergeant. "Bienvenido, Señores, but how often do I have to make it clear to not address me like that in front of the men?", he asked Max. "And what by the virgin Mary are you wearing?"

"Ah, just something a bit more traditional.", he explained. "How are the seas today?" The officer, Julio, raised an eyebrow, leaving the question unanswered, before turning to More. "Not so fast, señor de Toro. I believe I have not seen your companion before. Alférez de Navio Julio Bernandino Alvidrez de Frías... and you might be?"

Stan had studied this period in history. So he knew how to answer. He bowed his head.

“ I am Stan Collin More from Edinburgh , Scotland. I am escorting my friend here on his journey sir. With your permission of course Captain.” Stan said politely. With a bow of the head.

Julio raised an eyebrow. "A Scotsman, I see? Very well. We need every man we can get - I do hope you can put that... sword... to good use.", he commented, noting the rather large size of More's medieval weapon. "Word is, señores, there are privateers about. It is our royal mission to rid the waters of this menace, naturally. According to last we heard, a French sloop is prowling these very waters... and it is quite fast."

As the officer explained, the two could note the fog starting to close in around the 'Viento' - a gray, thick soup, which evidently the Spaniards had been counting on. "You see, normally the French privateers could simply outrun us, so we are hoping to use the fog to approach undetected. Keep a sharp look-out. If you require arms more... suited... to a ship, I shall refer you to my first Mate Hernandez."

Stan turned to Maximilian.

“ This sword could do more harm then good. I think a change would be a good idea. Any ideas Maximilian?” Stan asked

The sergeant rubbed his chin. "I believe a cutlass would be optimal. Short enough not to get stuck on anything, easy to manipulate. I'll trust Hernandez' judgement on that one.", he commented, at which point the officer turned and went to send the aforementioned First Mate over. As he was out of earshot, Max continued.

"They say he's based on my great-grand-something, the captain. Frederick Detlef Pfaffenheim. Nothing Spanish about him, funnily enough, but he was a captain and had a moustache, so I assume that was considered sufficient to give him the role, as it were.", he explained with a joking gesture towards De Frías. "But, well, the tradition is strong in both lines of the family. My brother and I are the first ones who aren't wearing the yellows, reds or blues, if you will. He more literally than me, of course."

“ But you are a marine. That’s higher then my department. You guys go in first while we guard the rear. Ooh I like the look of that cutlass. The holodeck safety is on isn’t it?” Stan asked.

"It is. No need to expose yourself to injury when it's not the real thing.", the sergeant commented. "And it depends on how you look at it, I suppose. Starfleet's not a military, at least most of the time. Believe you me, you would not want Marines to do your Security work. We aren't nearly as personable. Or considerate. The Corps has its own... culture, so to speak. When you think of Starfleet, you don't really think of us.", he elaborated. "But at the end of the day, everyone has their role to play. There are no 'higher' departments, far as I'm concerned."

“ Yer know. I should nay be saying this. But sometimes I feel that maybe we do need you guys helping in security. No one cares about yellow shirts anymore. In the olden days like when this wee vessel sailed the seas for real. A man in uniform was something to be feared.Not like now. Yesterday I had two cadets stick their fingers up at me. They where drunk as a giddy frog on a merry go round. But before we could nab them they ran off. Nay. If we had some marines with us. Those cadets would be in the brig laying in a puddle of their own spit.” Stan said.

"And it would probably get us hauled in front of the captain.", Max added. "It's mostly about the presence, really. We like to joke that when you become an NCO in the Corps, you're visited by the ghost of your old Drill Sergeant to teach you the secret tricks of being a scary son-of-a-gun. But, well, scaring cadets into submission isn't exactly what we're supposed to be doing. They won't learn how to act like Starfleet from that. Although if I'm honest, I've been tempted before. May have put on my sergeant's voice once or twice, too." He flashed a short grin, noting the fog starting to become thicker.

Hearing a pair of steps, he turned to receive their equipment from the first mate - a cutlass each, and a bandolier of two flintlock pistols. "Word of warning, don't try to reload them. They're mostly there for show. Smoothbore and all, you may as well be throwing racquetballs at an EMH."

Stan looked at the flintlock pistol he was handed. It was a shame it would vanish if he took it out of the holodeck. It was more a work of eat then an instrument of destruction or in this case not.

“ My they certainly knew how to build them. Look at that wee pattern work on the trigger. Incredible. So tell me once again. Who are the bad people here?” Stan asked.

"Well, there is a little bit of randomness built for novelty's sake, but French privateers. Piracy and privateering was rampant in these waters during this time. We're chasing the 'Faucon'. Or rather, we *think* we're chasing it, if you catch my drift - so let's have look around... it should show up any minute now."

Stan moved to the side of the ship and looked out at the sea. The view was starting to become obscured by a mist that start to form. He narrowed his eyes as if Stan could see through it.

“ Is that a good or bad sign?” He asked

Max narrowed his eyes too and scanned the fog. "It... *should* start clearing a little, actually...", he told Stan, scratching his head. "Computer, specify program?" A moment later, the computer responded. "Current program is Pfaffenheim Recreational One-Seven-Null-Two Bravo."

The Staff Sergeant was still scratching his head when a yell of alarm from the crow's nest startled the entire deck. "¡Francés! ¡Estribor adelante!" Turning around, a shadow was indeed quickly growing, as if heading right for the Viento. Nearby, Julio immediately began yelling orders, and Max put a hand on the handle of his cutlass. "...Guess that's what my mother's code comment about 'repeatable experiences' was about!"

From somewhere in the mist there was a flash of light.Then a booming sound and something whistled through the air. It hit the water very near the ship. Drenching Stan in sea water.

“ Max you did say the safety was on?” He asked.

Max frowned and asked no one in particular - "Computer, confirm safety is on?" A moment passed before the reply chimed, by which point it was already half-drowned out by cannonfire. "Holodeck safety confirmed online."

"Good reminding me.", he told Stan as they took cover. The privateer was within gun range, yet stubbornly closing the distance while periodic flashes signalled more cannonballs on the way. "I think this is the permutation where they try for a boarding attempt right away!", he told Stan, loudly, as a round shot hit the Viento's broadside with an ugly splintering noise.

Julio, meanwhile, had taken to yelling as loudly as possible to still be heard over the deafening noise of the gunnery duel, sword in hand. After a moment, he made his way over to the two men, not running as showing fear of any kind was a no-go for an officer. "Señores, the time has come. If you are quite finished with inspecting the woodwork, there will be boarders to repel shortly."

Stan looked at Max.

“ When they say boarders I suppose he means attackers? Och I have to warn yer. I am nay….I mean not good a close combat with a sword. You best keep your distance. The safety maybe own stopping these people hurting us. But it won’t restrict us hurting each other even by accident.” Stan warned.

Max considered, then took a few steps away. "Thanks for the warning... and yeah. Here they come!" While the two had been taking position on the low aftcastle of the ship, the privateer vessel was still coming. It seemed the holodeck pirates did not want to risk a gunnery duel with a potentially superior opponent, and soon the two ships were close enough that some of the Spanish marines opened fire with their muskets while the French ship steered to come alongside the Viento.

With a crash, the last broadsides of both ships were fired, and then all hell broke loose. Max could just about make out Julio who, drawing his own saber, was ordering around the sailors and marines on the forecastle. No less than eight pirates jumped on the aftcastle. The sergeant discharged his pistol, which as expected missed, and instead immediately grabbed it by the barrel.

The voice of Hernandez, the first mate, rose above the clamoring just behind the pair. "Aye, señores, watch the mast and rigging!", he shouted, just as a piece of wood from above hit the deck just in front of one of the pirates.

“ You know Max. This is how they used to do things. No shields or long range transports. Good old hand to hand combat. Canons blasting away. Angry sailors armed with all kinds of flesh piecing weapons. No phasers. Good old fashioned feisty cuffs. So what was the outcome of this battle?” Stan asked.

Dodging one of the pirates' cutlass strikes, Max used the opportunity to push one of them into a pile of rope. One - admittedly overly stylized - swing at another piece of rigging sent the man dangling several meters in the air as his foot had gotten caught in a loop.

"Well, different times, certainly. This'd be right up the alley of my old company LT, back on the Ford. Klingon - I could see us wielding bat'leths right about now!", he replied, keeping light on his feet like a boxer. "Well, the end's always mostly the same, but it can vary a little based on the program iteration, actually. In reality, a brigg like the Viento would almost certainly come out on top in a fight like this. Now if we were fighting a proper sloop-of-war and not just privateers, that'd be a different story!"

As if on cue, the noise rose amidships as the Spanish marines began to assert their training, though the struggle continued, with sailors dueling in pretty much every place imaginable.

Stan ducked as a cutlass slashed just where his head had been. He could smell the blood on the blade as it missed his nose.Stan kicked out hitting his would be murderer in the groin. The man went crossed eyed and fell into a heap.

“ You know Max this is kind of fun. But I don’t see any women fighting. With my ancestors the men and women fought side by side. In some cases the women where more brutal then the men. My Grandma tells the tale of one women. Morag was her name. She was known for biting off the ears of her attackers. Morag would keep them as a kind of trophy.” Stan said

The privateers' numbers were steadily thinning now, giving Max the opportunity to ponder that statement for a moment. "You sure your clan didn't secretly immigrate from Q'onos way back then?", he asked jokingly. "But yes, at this time in history, even having a woman aboard was apparently considered bad luck. People were really superstitious about that for some reason."

“ That’s a strong possibility. My people the Scots have always been fierce warriors. During the Second World War on Earth. The most evil people on Earth the nazis. Referred to us as the devils with skirts. Maybe this not having lassies on board. Was made out to be bad luck by the top brass. They did not want their men distracted. By a bonny face and curvy dress. Believe me ya could nay the same about the Scottish warrior females. Big beefy lassies with wild eyes and enough anger. To power their strength to cleave a man’s head in two.” Stan said

Max's mind briefly wandered, imagining the gigantic warriors from earlier that way. "Remind me to never run into a temporal anomaly back to medieval Earth, then!", he quipped back. "Not sure I could quite handle that." As far as he was concerned, having to face terrifying male fighters as well as equally terrifying female ones simply would make the whole affair doubly terrifying.

The direction of the fight was well and truly shifting now, the privateers evidently having miscalculated their boarding attempt, and their numbers were really thinning now. Turning in the direction of their ship, Max hesitated as he left his view glide over the command deck. "Huh?", he heard himself say, surprise evident in his voice, as the Marine's eyes fell on a peculiar looking figure standing at the steering wheel.

"Lieutenant!", he called out to Stan, as he looked around for a suitable piece of rigging. Two thick pieces of rope, conveniently, swung around to where they had been fighting, which he grabbed quickly, making a mental note to check who had written than particular code, later. Stepping up to the railing, he pointed at the other ship and offered Stan one of the ropes. Between the two gaped an artificial wooden chasm of perhaps five or so meters, leading to a watery grave below.

Stan looked rather nervously at the chasm. But Max had said the safety was on. He noticed his friends face change when he looked towards the steering wheel.

“ Whose that?” Stan asked his friend.

Max shrugged, not looking at the water below. "Well, it's either who I think it is... or I'm going crazy.", he stated with a slight smirk. "Only one way to find out, though!"

The figure, dressed in opulent yellow clothing, whirled around from its position at the sound of the ropes and two pairs of boots hitting the wooden deck. drawing a saber in the same motion. Upon closer inspection, they wore a yellow coat over a red shirt and trousers, and a quite massively black tricorn with a singular, blood-red feather in it. Long, black hair and a confident posture made it clear that this was no ordinary officer.

Righting himself after landing on the deck, Max turned around to Stan. "Lieutenant More, meet... my mother."

Stan almost lost his footing. He looked at Max’s mother.

“ Your mother? How did she end up in this program?” Stan asked.

"Someone must have programmed her in in the latest patch...", Max answered, scratching his head.

Before he could say anything else though, the privateer commander drew her weapon, pointing it squarely at the pair. "Spanish dogs!", she bellowed with a notable accent, flourishing the saber. "You have not beaten me yet!" With that, she turned and yelled an order in French, to which her crew responded by beginning to cut the rigging holding the two ships together.

Max raised an eyebrow. "A little overbearing, maybe.", he commented, before stepping forward and resuming his role in the simulation. "In the name of the King of Spain, I place you under arrest!", he proclaimed, cutlass pointed at her, though he didn't get very far before he had to parry a strike.

"Yup, definitely my mother.", Max commented as he fell back to Stan and the captain began approaching, saber drawn. "She's Security too, well, in real life. I'd wager you'd get along quite well."

Stan was about to say hello. When the Captain used some colourful language and swung a cutlas at him. It came so close he could smell the blood of recent victims. He started to back away.

“ Your mother you say…” He said alarmed.

[OFF]

Lieutenant Stan More
Security
USS Poseidon

&

Gunnery Sergeant Maximilian Pfaffenheim
First Sergeant
Marine Detachment
USS Poseidon

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