“Mistress Alemi,” Viscount Otto Birmingham Elroy Biscotti Crashanburn III shouted as he stood, his nasally voice filling the grand hall of the Hohenzollern perfectly. “I welcome you to my humble ship and trust your journey all the way from Kolar wasn’t too exhausting.”

While Hysperians may have eschewed some minor technological marvels, in the name of aesthetics, they seemed happy enough to adopt others for the purposes of presentation. Crashanburn’s voice never should have filled the hall the way it did, if not for a series of carefully hidden speakers, working to give the impression of the sound emanating from the speaker and nowhere else.

“It was adequate,” Selu Levne drawled, not bothering to look at the Viscount, but focusing on the murals and trophies scattered around, hoping to give off the impression of unimpressed boredom. “But my cousins have all spoken fondly of your hospitality, so I hope you don’t mind that I brought some of my men and women with me so they might seek refreshment?”

“Of course, of course,” Crashanburn announced, porters immediately departing the walls to pull chairs out and wave the slew of Starfleet officers in their best piratical gear to seats. Just as quickly, plates of food and carafes of various drinks appeared before them, as did respectable members of the Hohenzollern’s crew beside them as entertainment.

“This way, please, Mistress Alemi,” a man said, appearing at Selu’s side with practised skill at not being detected. The butler escorted her along the table, all the way to the small dais where Crashanbrun had his own personal table, guiding her up the three steps and to the empty seat to one side of the Viscount.

“I must say, Mistress Alemi, your cousins did you a grave disservice,” the Viscount commented as Selu sat. “Not a solitary complimentary word said by any of them.”

“They may have been thinking of my mother,” Selu feigned. “She had quite the reputation that still lingers to the name, despite being dead a year now.”

“Ah, I know that too well.”

Selu couldn’t tell if he was lying, just filling the silence and hoping to be as polite as he could, or actually relating to her statement. And in the end, she decided it didn’t really matter.

“Either way, I believe you have something for me, from your Mistress of the Reliquaries, yes?”

And right there, with that just that idle question, Crashanburn had provided a piece of intelligence about where he had gotten his technology to date from that Starfleet didn’t have yesterday. Others might have missed it, ignored it, or forgotten it later, but Selu made a mental note, preserving the name.

“It is being prepared for transportation to your ship as we speak,” Selu shrugged, then indicated one of the windows. She knew them to be fake, but they were lit from behind and presently gave the impression that Hohenzollern was embroiled in a raging storm. “Seeing as we can’t beam it aboard your ship right now.”

“A clever hiding spot, don’t you think? It allows us to do this trade without pesky troublemakers spotting us. And somewhat poetic that you deliver to me a method to seize Hysperia with, or create a whole new world of my choosing while hiding in what will one day coalesce into the birthplace of a star and planets.”

“I could have chosen a dozen safer locales that were as equally well hidden. Assuming you had something smaller than this castle of yours.” Again she tried to come off as indifferent, bored with the conversation and more interested in watching her own people relax.

“Master Corril was much the same as you when he delivered the obfuscator,” Crashanburn said from behind a wine goblet. “Master Hud, however, was much more able to relax while we waited for our respective underlings to do their work. I would suggest you try and be more like Master Hud.”

“Hud is an idiot,” Selu threw out idly, as if a statement said without thought.

“Once I have the power of Genesis as my fingertips, I promise the Syndicate will have a much elevated position within my court. Both of them.”

She turned to Crashanburn now, looking less bored, almost quizzical. “You intend to keep the charade of the Last Pirate King?”

“I think it adds a dashing air to my character, don’t you think?” Crashanburn flicked golden locks off his shoulder, lifting his chin in what she could only assume he thought was a heroic pose. “Besides, the title has proven useful to building a network of allies who will help me seize the Hysperian throne. Why shouldn’t I?”

“The Last Pirate King,” Selu said, “implies you are the last. By my recollection of events out here in these pathetic, backwards border territories, there have been two so-called Last Pirate Kings. Both were removed from their posts by the same individual.”

“Trifling matter. One I won’t be concerned with for much longer. Soon I shall be unassailable. And the Syndicate and the Kingdom of Hysperia will be able to forge a strong partnership to challenge the might of this backward and failing Federation, restoring the magnificence and beauty of feudal rule to the cosmos.”

“I see,” Selu said.

Crashanburn was about to say something more when an aide stepped up beside him and whispered in his ear. To quiet for Selu to listen in, smart enough to approach from Crashanburn’s far side to shield themselves, making lip reading impossible. The Viscount’s visage shifted, eyes narrowed on Selu briefly, then turned to the aide.

“Bring me a scrying stone,” Crashanburn ordered. The man, obviously expecting the request, immediately produced a large padd from behind his back for the Viscount. Immediate compliance seemed to brighten his mood as he smiled at Selu. “Good help is so hard to find. Treasure it when you have it.” He then nodded to the man. “Run along and inform the Knight-Captain to prepare the obfuscator for use and to alert the boat slip to receive visitors.”

“What’s going on?” Selu asked, feigning a modicum of interest in events she already knew would be happening.

“It would appear Starfleet has found us, Mistress Alemi. Which is, for my plans, exactly what I want.”

“You want to fight Starfleet?” Selu asked.

“Oh, no! Fight them, not a chance. I want to hold them hostage.” Crashanburn’s smile was idiotically boyish. “I’m going to capture their captain, then force their surrender. With an entire crew as hostages, and Genesis at my command, there is no chance Starfleet will ever strike at Hysperia. And as a gift, I’ll even surrender their fanciful ship to the Syndicate. I’m sure you’ll find a use for such a pathetically small ship.”

And to prove his point, Crashanburn spun the padd around to show Selu what his aide had likely told him. Emerging from the murky and violent gloom of the swirling proto-planetary disc outside came the unmistakable shape of the USS Republic, with all of her running lights illuminated for parade.

“And all I ask, dear Mistress Alemi, is your assistance in subduing these Starfleet peasants.”