Chapter 19: Always Bigger Fish

Hustler One beholds the map of the Kingdom of Holfort that it acquired from the Bartford Family months ago as it sits in a bar, nursing a drink as it plots its next move.

It left Carkus a week ago aboard its ship, the Little Buzzard, and only now reached Larradon; a port city and local trading hub that would be its last stop to the Redgrave Dukedom. It is a modest city with developed urban sprawl and a booming economy centered around trade and transport-related services. It is located in the middle of a shared border between 3 viscountcies, and is a prime stop for merchants heading anywhere else in the Kingdom.

Hustler One hates it. The streets are too narrow for future expansion, the sewage system is too primitive to support a larger population, corruption and crime is prevalent, and a thousand other issues plague this place. It is a disgrace that humanity has been allowed to degenerate this far.

But, the A.I internally grumbles, perhaps it’s not all bad. The lack of any advanced infrastructure will make development and uplifting that much easier in the long run.

“Miss Nielsen! A pleasure to see you again!” the barkeep laughs. “Your courier business doing well?”

“Mr. Garth. I see you’re still working, despite your age.” the A.I smiles, nodding back. “You know, you really should consider retirement– you are well into your 60s now.”

“Bah, this body still has plenty of life in it. I can manage for a little while longer.” the older man grins. “And don’t you think you can deflect from my question– how’s things for you?”

Hustler One allows a genuine laugh to titter past the gynoid’s lips. There is something pleasant about having someone worried for you, regardless of what their relationship between you is. Once again, the A.I’s purpose is renewed and it’s reminded of its goal to return humanity back to the heights they originally fell from.

“I suppose age does come with its own benefits.” the gynoid laughs. “It is going well, thank you. I’ve managed to secure a delivery to the Redgrave Duchy– something they acquired in Carkus. I can’t say what, though.”

“Ah, probably some kinda loot then. No worries, I can keep my mouth shut.” the old bartender nods. “What route will you be taking tomorrow?”

“My usual route through the Olfrey Viscountcy.” the A.I traces a path through said Viscountcy on the map spread out before it. “I usually go around it to avoid paying the ludicrously expensive passage tolls that household is known to impose on ships and traders. But this time, I’ve got a letter of authority from Lord Redgrave that would allow me to bypass whatever attempts those penny-pinching vipers would do to stop me.”

“A letter of authority from a ducal house? Saint’s briefs, you’re moving up quickly aren’t’cha?” the barkeep laughs, patting the gynoid’s shoulder. “I remember the first time you came here looking all nervous and lost. You sat down and grilled me for a good while for information!”

“I also remember paying you quite handsomely for said information.” Hustler One reminds the older man.

“Bah, most of that money went into your tab anyway– didn’t feel right to rob you like that over local hearsay!” the barkeep’s laughter subsides. “Though, if you are goin’ into the Olfrey’s turf and flash that letter of yours… I’d recommend hiring some mercenaries for protection.”

“Oh?” Hustler One shifts in its seat, attention caught. “Why is that?”

“A few trader vessels came under attack recently in the Olfrey Viscountcy– Sky Pirates.” the barkeep starts. “There’s a lot of ‘em, and their ships and Armors aren’t something to scoff at either. The Olfreys say they have it under control, but there’s still sightings of the bastards flying around in and around Olfrey territory. A lot of merchants go around the Viscountcy now, from what I’ve heard.”

“How frequent are these pirate attacks?” Hustler One asks, eyes narrowed. “And how can they be occurring so deep in Kingdom territory if it’s this severe?”

“I can’t say how frequent these attacks are, but it’s a little tellin’ that merchants are avoiding the Viscountcy if they can or hire mercs if they have to sail through.” the barkeep rubs his chins. “This could just be a quick little thing, since the Olfrey’s are deploying their ships. But the pirates are always a little quicker to escape.”

Hustler One rubs her chin, considering the circumstances. It nods its gynoid body.

“I see. Well, thank you for the information Mr. Garth.” the A.I says. “But I think I will be fine on my own.”

“Are you sure? That ship of yours might be a Lost Item, but the Sky Pirates have numbers on their side.” the barkeep grunts. “I know a few good guys– they’ll agree to pull bodyguard duty at a discount. You’re a pretty little thing, and your crew have a lot of pretty faces. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to ya’.”

Hustler detects another anomaly in its subsystems, and another niggling feeling manifests itself in its gynoid body; this time a pleasant warmth in the body’s chest. A quick scan from its databases identifies this feeling as ‘happiness’, though a variant of it that’s… tamer.

It’s pleasing in a way that the A.I finds enjoyable. It figures that this anomaly’s effects would be beneficial in the long-term and decides to not alter it.

“I’m grateful for the concern Mr. Garth, but that won’t be necessary.” Hustler One says. “The Little Buzzard has weapons and the crew can handle themselves. And if the pirates do prove to be more dangerous than expected, well…” the gynoid smiles. “I have an Armor pilot I can rely on for added protection.”

“Are they any good?” the barkeep grunts, relaxing a little.

“He’s been out of action for a long time, so his skills are a little rusty, but it’s nothing he can’t shake off.” Hustler One says. “Sky Pirates should make for a good warm-up to get back into the swing of things.”

=X=X=X=X=X=

“Captain, spotters have eyes on the target– a lone ship.” a rookie reports. “It’s sailing through the edge of the Olfrey territory, headed west.”

“Heh. Just as I thought.” the pirate lord, Goldwin, laughs. “Muster the fleet. Get flotillas 1 and 2 moving; block off the ship and force it to stop moving. Every other ship, fall in behind the Mary-Ann and advance slowly.”

“Aye captain, relaying orders now.” the rookie nods.

“A little too much for a single ship, eh Cap’n?” Goldwin’s first mate asks, stepping up. “15 ships and 20 Armors feels kinda excessive.”

“I agree with ya’, but these came straight from those asswipes from the Olfreys. They want that ship intact and whatever it is it’s carryin’.” Goldwin shrugs, careless. “From what they heard from their people, it’s carrying something really important from Carkus. We get it, let them ‘heroically’ retrieve it, and get paid a fortune. As a plus, they’ll let us keep whatever pretty women are on the ship– no strings attached.”

“Heh. Ruthless even for members of nobility.” his first mate laughs.

“There ain’t nothin’ ‘noble’ about them– they’re merchants are usurped an earldom. Despite their new position, they’re still capricious penny-pinchers that hoard whatever scrap of power and influence they can find.” Goldwin snorts. “No better than a nest of vipers, those Olfreys.”

“And that speaks volumes comin’ from a literal pirate.” the first mate chuckles. “Still, a damn shame for that courier though. Heard she was a pretty little thing with an amazing rack.”

“I’m calling dibs on her.” Goldwin smirks. “You and the boys can have your way with her after I’m satisfied.”

“Knew I followed you for a reason.” the first mate laughs, walking into the bridge. “All flotillas are in position, Cap’n.”

“All ships, advance.” Goldwin orders. “Comms officer, open a line to the ship– I wanna talk to the lass myself before we get her.”

=X=X=X=X=X=

Hustler One beholds the 6 vessels that have cornered her bow, starboard, and stern. Initial scans inform the A.I to the presence of 4 Schooners and 2 Brigs, with a complement of 10 Light Combat MTs modified for aerial combat. Another 9 vessels approach from the port side; made up of another 3 Schooners, 3 more Brigs, 2 Frigates, and a single Galleon or Man O’War. All of these ships have been modified, sporting armor plating and breech-loaded cannons.

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Between these ships were 20 Armors, which were all modified Light Combat MTs fitted for aerial combat with heavy machineguns and unguided rockets. On the Galleon, the A.I’s scans pick up what looks like an AC, a light-weight model specced for melee combat as well as possessing functional shoulder weapons.

“Now how did pirates acquire that…” Hustler One muses. A light blinks on the captain’s console. “Hm? An incoming transmission? My, how daring.”

A simple command has the gynoid technicians patching the connecting through to the main speakers– voice-only as there is no camera on the pirates’ ship.

“Hello hello!” comes a sleazy, gruff-sounding voice. “Am I speaking to the beautiful captain of the ship and owner of Nielsen Courier Services?”

“I’m surprised common scum like you are knowledgeable in matters beyond plundering and murdering.” Hustler One answers, voice mild. “But yes, you are speaking with Lana Nielsen. May I know who it is that I have the misfortune of speaking with?”

“Ooh, feisty! I like that!” the scumbag laughs. “Call me Goldwin. But you’ll be calling me ‘Master’ soon enough, same with the rest of your crew.”

“Presumptuous.” Hustler One comments.

“But not incorrect! See, soon enough I’ll have you in some tasteful negligee and chained to the edge of my bed along with the prettier-looking girls you have with you~” the pirate laughs, and another anomaly pops up in the A.I’s subroutines that it quickly identifies as ‘disgust’. “So make it easier on yourself; let my men come aboard and hand over whatever it is you’re transporting.”

“And allow you to disrupt my burgeoning business? No thank you.” Hustler One snorts. “Instead, let me make a counter-offer– surrender and follow me to the Redgrave Dukedom. I’ll allow the good Duke to decide your fates rather than killing most of you myself.”

A hearty, mocking laugh filters through the speakers, and the A.I sighs. It sends orders to the ship, loading rounds and readying ordinance.

“You’re in a single ship outnumbered 15 to 1!” the pirate says between peals of laughter. “You don’t even have an Armor complement! What could you possibly do to me and my fleet?”

Hustler One shrugs.

“This.”

=X=X=X=X=X=

Panels all over the Little Buzzard slide open; revealing dual-barrel and rotary barrel turrets and loaded missile bays. The front-most tip of the ship’s bow unfolds, revealing a nose-mounted cannon muzzle from which electricity arcs outwards. Pirate Armors halt in the air, the small vessel’s rapid transformation shocking them into temporary immobility.

That moment is all the Little Buzzard needs.

High-velocity naval guns open fire, rotary cannons filling the air with lead and shredding whatever Armor is within range; able to track the comparatively sluggish MTs and turning them into burning scrap.

Their larger brethren turn to the Schooners and Brigs, opening fire and punching through their primitive armor plating to shred the wooden interior and kill the men within. The ships turn to present their broadsides and return fire, but the Little Buzzard’s guns far outrange theirs– allowing Hustler One to shoot with impunity.

One missile bay fires its payload, sending 20 missiles screaming through the air. 3 Armors and their pilots are blown out of the sky by single missiles, while the majority of the remaining projectiles fly for the 6 battered ships that initially hemmed it in place.

The vessels haven’t even recovered from the turrets fire before the missiles hit home– their armor insufficient to withstand warheads meant to core through much tougher material. Metal plates turn to slag and shrapnel, propelled inwards by the explosions to kill the crew. Men turn into ghosts faster than they can think, and such is the heat from the missiles that they reach magazines; which detonate with such violent force that the vessels are shorn into pieces that fall down into the abyss below.

Less than 5 minutes after the first shot is fired, the immediate airspace around the Little Buzzard is now clear of hostiles; the single smaller boat turning around to face the rest of the pirate fleet on its port side, all of whom have stopped advancing.

=X=X=X=X=X=

“...h-how– but your ship is so tiny! How can it pack so much ordinance?!”

“That’s for me to know and for you to never find out. Will you surrender now?”

“T-To a woman and a single ship?! You think me mad if I’ll even consider–”

“Pity. Charging main gun.”

=X=X=X=X=X=

The Little Buzzard’s nose-mounted cannon hums. Light and energy gathers, coalescing into a tight ball from which lightning arcs out. The single ship stabilizes as the pirate fleet starts to scatter.

Too slow.

The energy cannon fires with a deafening roar of thunder and the echo of lighting. The gathered light solidifies into a single pillar of heat and power, thrice as wide and over ten times as long as the Buzzard. It crosses the distance in an instant, engulfing several ships and Armors– turning them to ash. The displacement of air and sudden heat throws the other small boats off courses, a few even crashing into each other. Men fall overboard or suffer horrible, disfiguring burns.

A moment later, the beam dissipates. Where there used to be 9 ships now 5 and a half remain, with the half ship plummeting to the abyss. The plating on the Galleon’s starboard flank glows a dull red, and its sails are alight with flames. Men scream and die on the deck, a few running overboard in their agonized panic.

The Little Buzzard starts closing in, moving with a deceptive slowness. Its guns open fire and tear open holes in the remaining ships’ hulls or turn the men on the upper decks into red mist. The surviving Armors fly off into the distance, panic and self-preservation overcoming whatever little loyalty they had to the pirate lord that recruited them.

A few Schooners and Brigs turn, attempting to flee from the smaller ship’s wrath. The Buzzard opens another missile bay and fires its payload, sending another cloud of projectiles towards the fleeing vessels. Against such slow targets they all hit home, shredding armor and igniting their magazines. The explosions consumes the ships whole, and they fall into the abyss below– all hands lost.

The Galleon finally, finally start to move; turning to its undamaged port side and bearing all 125 of its guns to the Buzzard.

The smaller vessel is faster, shooting its guns and tearing apart the bigger ship’s hull. Cannons and men are flung away from the force of the Buzzard’s shells hitting home, and the smaller ship stitches lines of fire as they strafe the Galleon’s flank.

It keeps firing, keeps shooting, coring out entire sections of the pirate vessel and purposefully avoiding the magazines to maim and wound the larger vessel. Parts of the ship’s deck collapse, crushing men and compounding on present damage to cause cascading failures all over the Galleon’s superstructure; crippling it but ultimately not sinking it.

Suddenly, mercifully, the Buzzard’s guns stop firing.

=X=X=X=X=X=

“This is the Little Buzzard. Are you still alive pirate scum?”

“...y-yes.”

“Good. Do you surrender now?”

“...w-will you spare us?”

“Only if you surrender.”

“T-Then we s-surrender.”

“Good boy. I’m sending boarding parties now. Be sure tell your remaining ships to stand down too, or else I’m sinking you and then going after them.”