“Is there anything I can get for you, Viscount?” Mac asked as he led the Hysperian noble, Viscount Otto Birmingham Elroy Biscotti Crashanburn III, into his ready room after a lengthy tour of the Republic.

Sidda had claimed ‘a need to oversee other operations’ after only a quarter hour of the two of them escorting the uninvited visitor through the ship. An excuse he himself would have tried if he could, but alas, he was the master and commander of the ship. And she did have the benefit of work that would likely benefit from either oversight or from her being familiar with the work done. And combined with the Viscount basically ignoring she even existed, her departure barely had any impact.

“Something red would be delightful,” Crashanburn answered back, still looking as bored as he had throughout most of the tour.

They’d started in engineering, the inspection of Republic’s engineer’s work being the chief reason for the Hysperian’s visit, but he’d barely shown any interest at all in the work. Just as he’d barely shown interest in answers to questions he asked of Matt Lake when they toured the science labs. Ask a question, then be bored as soon as a sensible and no doubt much-reduced answer was given.

There was marginally more interest in the Valkyrie starfighters, but again, as soon as detailed answers were presented, Crashanburn turned off, eyes unfocusing and giving off the air of boredom. The only person who hadn’t seemed to bore him immediately was a quick stop in the Pnyx, to see if something less technical could hold the Viscount’s attention, and Revin had actually gotten the man’s attention through the classical medium of food.

With no real libations at hand, Mac winced as he resorted to the replicator, knowing the disdain he was likely to receive from the Viscount. Sensitive palettes and ‘can taste the replicated wine’ being the bullshit that they were that snobs the universe over would always fall back on. But as he returned from the small side alcove, a glass of red wine for the Viscount, white and synthehol for himself, the Viscount’s acceptance pleasantly surprised him.

“I had been hoping to experience the newest generation of alchemators,” Crashanburn said after a sip, using another one of the Hysperian’s silly replacement names for what was Federation-wide a household appliance. “If this doppleganger of a wine is this good, then I must simply know what it is based on so I can procure the original as well.”

“It’s a 2395 merlot from New Terra, the Gordon Winery. I’m sure they would be more than happy to do business with a Hysperian noble.”

Mac’s own taste was performative, to set his guest at ease, before they both claimed seats, not around his desk, but the more at ease social space. He knew he had to play the nice diplomatic game for a bit longer before he could feign a reason to suggest the Viscount leave. Only training and social expectations beat out his brain, saying something he knew he would regret as soon as he said it.

“If time permits, Viscount, I wouldn’t mind a tour of the Hohenzollern.”

“If time permits,” Viscount Crashanburn agreed, inspecting his glass of wine before another ship. “Which I should qualify depends on your blacksmiths, sorry, engineers. As soon as the Hohenzollern’s motive difficulties are remedied, we are likely to be departing in short order.”

An out had just been presented. Now all Mac had to do was convince Engineering to hurry up on coming up with a solution the Hysperians could accept and go about implementing it for them.

“Oh? I understand your people were attempting to protect your engines from subspace radiation and potentially exotic matter interactions.” He couldn’t think of any fantastical ways of describing anything for the Hysperian frame of reference and so went with the option of not bothering.

Crashanburn blinked at him a few times, processing what he’d said, then smiled. “Knight-Captain Filippo said you Starfleet chaps were clever people. I’m pleased to see his judgement and estimation are correct.” He took another ship, bidding his time. “But yes, I tasked my court wizard and blacksmith with devising a method for protecting our engines as we prepare for a grand hunt.”

“Must be some dangerous game,” Mac answered. “You’re preparing to sail into dangerous waters from the sounds of it.”

“The most dangerous!” Crashanburn exclaimed, showing the most emotion he had all day. “The closer you are to the pursuit, the more dangerous it is. And I am ashamed to say I know my target all too well.” He paused, stroking his beard a few times before continuing. “Tell me, Captain, have you ever heard of the legend of the Last Pirate King? I have to assume you have, knowing the company you keep.”

“I have,” Mac answered. He considered Crashanburn a moment, then set his glass of wine down. “Commander Sadovu has told me plenty.”

“I suppose she has.” Crashanburn sounded suspicious, though his nasally accent didn’t help any, most of what he said could be interpreted as him being suspicious of something. “In certain circles, that woman, that creature you keep at your side,” and now he sounded downright mean, “is known as Kingslayer.”

“You will speak of Commander Sadovu with respect while aboard my ship,” Mac said coldly, staring down Crashanburn as the noble was at first aghast at someone speaking to him in such a manner, then evolving through a series of other emotions before settling on smouldering anger.

“If she’s heard of someone resurrecting the throne of the Last Pirate King, she won’t be able to help herself. She will kill them, and I will be forced to kill her if she does.”

“Are you threatening a Starfleet officer?” Mac asked.

“This new pirate king, this pretender to an illegitimate throne, is none other than my own twin brother. And last I spoke with him, he was seeking a weapon to threaten the throne of Hysperia itself. I will not have my brother defame the mighty House of Crashanburn but I will equally not let some Orion barbarian kill him in bloodlust. If anyone is to stop my brother, it will be me.”

“Twin brother?” Mac asked, to which Crashanburn nodded. “Actual twin brother?”

“Dragon’s blood, yes!” Crashanburn cursed. “He is to be making a trade with those despicable and dishonourable Orion pirates that dare call themselves a syndicate in the near future. I know he’s seeking something exotic and strange, to either bewitch Hysperia, or cause the downfall of the House of Billups, hence why I am taking all precautions I can with the Hohenzollern so that I can stop him.”

“Does the Royal Hysperian Navy know of this threat?”

“And advertise my family’s shame?” Crashanburn seemed more offended by that than by Mac’s demand of respect for his absent XO. “No! This will be a family matter. And before you ask, no, I do not require, or want, Starfleet’s assistance beyond what we have asked for. If I am to succeed, then it is a quiet shame we can hide. And if we fail, well, there won’t be a family left to worry about such matters as shame.”

Mac’s first thought was ‘how dramatic’, his second was ‘how irresponsible’. “We, too, are looking to prevent a trade between the Last Pirate King and the Orion Syndicate. Perhaps instead of working together, we’re merely working alongside each other?”

“Coincidentally perhaps?” Crashanburn asked, sounding out the idea. “And I suppose then, perhaps, over a small meal, two gentlemen such as ourselves could mention what we know as part of polite conversation.”

Mac sighed. He’d been trying to give Crashanburn a way to rationalise working together, but the nobleman had just found a way to invite himself to dinner. The two of them were playing by different rules of polite society and Mac was finding himself out played. But he just smiled as he gathered himself. “That sounds like an excellent idea. However, I do have a few matters I must attend to and I’m sure my chef would appreciate some time to prepare a meal. You could return to the Hohenzollern if you wish and return later, or I could have some guest quarters opened for you to relax in until dinner?”

“Do these guest chambers have an alchemator present?” Crashanburn asked, waving the half-drunk glass of wine as an indicator of what he was thinking.

“Of course,” Mac answered.

“In that case Knight-Captain Charles MacIntyre, I would be delighted to remain aboard your ship.”