The Stolen Ship

The *Crimson Void* slid effortlessly through the stars, its crew still riding high after their victory over Earth's outdated *Delta*-class cruisers. Michael Briggs stood at the helm, eyes scanning the readings as they passed through the debris field they'd left in their wake. Three ships—aged and battered—now floated lifeless in the blackness behind them.

"They didn't stand a chance," Shai said with a satisfied grin, standing beside the weapons console, still running on the adrenaline of their fight. "Not bad for a bunch of rust buckets."

Michael's lips curled into a wry smile as he surveyed the wreckage on the viewscreen. The *Delta*-class cruisers weren't the formidable ships they used to be. Their shields were weak, their weapons sluggish and outdated. The crew of the *Crimson Void* had taken them apart with ease. Now, they had something far more valuable: salvage.

"Vela," Michael called, turning to his comms officer. "How much of those ships can we strip for parts?"

Vela's sharp eyes flicked to the data on her console. "*We can strip the engines, weapons systems, and most of their hull plating. The electronics are a mixed bag, but we'll take what we can use. We'll need to bring all three together to make something worthwhile, though.*"

Michael thought for a moment. "You're right. If we can cobble them together, we might just have enough to sell at the next black market. The engines could fetch a decent price, and the weapons will definitely get us some attention. We're not leaving anything behind. Get the crew ready for salvage. We need everything, including the prisoners."

"Prisoners?" Shai raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I'm sure we could sell the crew as well. These Starfleet types might fetch a decent price if we're looking to make a bit more coin."

Michael gave a nod. "Exactly. We'll bring them in, sell them to the highest bidder. Maybe even some of the black market brokers could use a few Starfleet officers to sell off to the highest bidder—or to other factions who like a little *extra* information."

Sovan, the Vulcan tactician, raised an eyebrow. "*Capturing Starfleet officers may present complications. However, given their current status—outdated and ineffective—we could likely extract valuable information and make a considerable profit from their sale.*"

Michael shot Sovan a grin. "Exactly. They're no longer useful to Starfleet, but they might be valuable elsewhere. Let's make sure we're thorough. We're not just pirates—we're businessmen now."

Within an hour, the crew was hard at work. Shai and T'Lan led the charge on the engineering deck, overseeing the dismantling of the three *Delta*-class cruisers. While the ships' designs had once been state-of-the-art, time and neglect had taken their toll. The weapons systems were outdated, but the *Void's* engineers were savvy enough to salvage several disruptor cannons, torpedo launchers, and plasma coils. These could be refurbished, or at the very least, sold to someone with more credits than sense.

"*These guns are better than anything we have,*" Shai remarked, grinning as he and T'Lan loaded several weapons into storage compartments. "*I'd say the *Void* could use a few more upgrades after this haul.*"

Meanwhile, Vela and Sovan worked their magic on the electronics. The navigation systems, though older, were surprisingly well-maintained. There were still useful components to be extracted—communications arrays, sensor arrays, and computer core fragments. They stripped every inch, turning the *Delta* cruisers into a pile of parts that would be a lucrative asset once sold.

Michael stood at the command station, watching it all unfold with a calculated gaze. He had no interest in wasting any time; every part of those ships could be sold for profit, and the crew was already working on bringing in the prisoners. The *Crimson Void* was a pirate ship, but it was also a business, and Michael had learned long ago that in this life, survival often depended on being both ruthless and shrewd.

"Shai, have the prisoners been secured?" Michael asked over the comms.

"Yep. We've got the whole crew locked up in the brig," Shai replied, his voice laced with amusement. "A couple of officers, a few engineers, and one or two of the more experienced ones. I figure we can get a good price for the lot of them."

Michael's eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction. "Good. The black market doesn't care much for the crew's loyalties. They care about what they can sell—and these guys are about to get a taste of that reality. Vela, do we have a secure way to transport them?"

Vela's eyes flicked to her console as she checked the security feed. "They're locked up and monitored. If they make any funny moves, they'll be put down fast."

"Keep an eye on them," Michael said, nodding. "The last thing we need is one of them causing problems."

As the crew continued their work, the *Crimson Void* began to look more and more like a salvage operation, its hold filling with parts, weapons, and Starfleet officers who had once been the pride of Earth's military. The salvage operation continued for hours, and by the time the *Void* was ready to depart, they had stripped the three *Delta*-class ships clean.

With their bounty secured, Michael turned his attention back to the prisoners. He walked to the brig, where the former Starfleet officers were being held in a makeshift containment area. The crew had made sure to secure them properly, but there was an underlying tension in the air as Michael approached.

One of the officers, a tall man in his mid-thirties with a graying beard, eyed Michael warily. "You'll never get away with this. Starfleet will come for you."

Michael leaned against the wall of the brig, watching the officer with cool, measured eyes. "Starfleet doesn't even know what they're up against yet. You were part of a fleet that was *retired* for a reason. The *Delta* cruisers? They're scrap. You're all just a little more scrap now."

The officer sneered, but it was clear he knew the truth. There was no help coming for them. They were far from Earth, far from anything that could save them. 

"And what will you do with us?" the officer demanded, though there was an undercurrent of fear in his voice now.

"Sell you," Michael replied simply. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find a buyer with a taste for old Starfleet officers—or maybe someone who needs a little *intelligence*." He grinned darkly. "Either way, your services are no longer needed by Earth. You'll be useful to someone else."

The officer glared but said nothing more. His defiance had crumbled, and Michael could see the resignation in his eyes. There was no escaping the truth: their careers with Starfleet were over.

With the *Delta* cruisers stripped clean and their prisoners secured, Michael gave the order to leave the system. The *Crimson Void* lifted into the depths of space, leaving the wreckage behind, and the crew began preparing to make the jump to the nearest black market.

"We've got a solid haul," Michael said, turning to his crew, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Engines, weapons, and a few *souvenirs* to sell. Once we hit the market, we'll make a fortune. Keep your eyes open—there's always someone looking for a deal."

With their loot secured and their course set, the *Crimson Void* shot off into the black, ready to claim yet another victory in the pirate's life. Michael knew this was only the beginning—there would always be more ships to plunder, more crews to capture, and more money to be made.

And as long as the *Void* flew, no one would be safe from his reach.

"Let's see how much we can get for these *rust buckets* and their crew," Michael murmured to himself with a satisfied grin. "The galaxy's about to get a reminder of who's in charge now."

**Chapter Five: Profits and Preparation**

The black market was a far cry from the polished corridors of Starfleet Command. Located in the depths of an uncharted asteroid field, it was a chaotic hive of activity. Ships of all shapes and sizes, from sleek smugglers' vessels to rusted mining ships, orbited a large space station—a rough, neon-lit trading post where anything could be bought, sold, or traded. It was here that the crew of the *Crimson Void* would liquidate their haul.

Michael stood at the entrance to the bustling marketplace, his arms crossed as he surveyed the scene. The *Void* had docked with a small, unassuming platform that led to the heart of the station, and the crew was already unloading their salvage. Weapons systems, engine parts, and the hull plating from the *Delta* cruisers were being carted off to eager buyers with thick wallets. But the real money, Michael knew, lay in the prisoners.

"*We're making a killing today,*" Vela said as she walked up beside him, her eyes scanning the market. "*They'll pay top credits for those Starfleet officers. You know how much people like to get their hands on *live* intel.*"

Michael nodded, watching as one of the brokers—the kind who specialized in information and contraband—moved in with a small team of armed guards. The broker's sharp eyes scanned the crew's prisoners, noting their rank and appearance before making his offer. Michael was no fool; he knew how to haggle.

"*What's the count?*" Michael asked, turning his attention back to Vela.

"*Three officers, three engineers, and a few lower-ranked crew members. I'd say about twenty thousand credits for the officers alone,*" she answered. "*The rest of them might bring in another ten thousand.*"

Michael raised an eyebrow. "*Not bad for a few old ships and some intel.*"

Vela smirked. "*Not bad at all. You're going to need that money if you want to keep upgrading the *Void*. I'm not sure we're done making repairs yet.*"

Michael's grin widened. "*That's the plan. Let's make sure we get the best deal possible. I'll deal with the broker. You keep an eye on the crew.*"

The trade went smoothly, with Michael handling the negotiations and securing a substantial sum for their haul. The Starfleet officers, their faces solemn and resigned, were handed over to the broker. They would be taken to a facility where they could be sold to the highest bidder, or worse, kept as prisoners for those who dealt in black-market information. Michael didn't care. Once the credits were in hand, the deal was done.

The *Void* had brought in a considerable profit, but there was no rest for pirates. They still had work to do.

---

Back on the ship, the atmosphere had shifted. After weeks of intense raids and close calls, the crew now had time to breathe. The hold was full of credits and supplies, and the ship had a newfound sense of purpose. Michael had given the order to begin the next phase: upgrades.

Shai, T'Lan, and Sovan worked side-by-side with the ship's engineers, tearing into the systems of the *Void* to install the salvaged parts. The stolen *Delta*-class weaponry was retrofitted into the *Void's* weapons systems, adding new disruptor cannons and torpedo launchers. The engines, scavenged and rebuilt, now hummed with an improved pulse—faster, more efficient, capable of outrunning any ship that might come after them. They even managed to integrate some of the outdated Starfleet technology into the *Void's* sensors, giving the ship an edge in detection and stealth.

Vela, meanwhile, spent her time at the communications station, cracking encrypted frequencies and scanning for any incoming transmissions. She kept a close watch on Starfleet communications, certain that Earth wouldn't give up so easily. But for now, the *Void* was off their radar—at least, for the time being.

As the ship's systems came to life with fresh energy, Michael found himself in the crew lounge, a rare moment of downtime. The crew had gathered to unwind, sitting around a table littered with food and drink. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the room as they shared stories, jokes, and a little bit of camaraderie.

"Never thought I'd end up on a pirate ship," T'Lan said with a dry smile as she leaned back in her chair. "But then again, I never thought I'd leave Vulcan, either."

Shai chuckled, taking a swig from his mug. "Yeah, same here. I always figured I'd be running *clean* operations, no one ever told me I'd be hunting down old *Delta* ships for parts."

Michael leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. The *Void* was becoming more than just a ship. It was a home, a place where his crew had found purpose—where they all shared a common goal. The crew was as mismatched as the ship itself, but there was something about the way they worked together that made it all feel right.

"*This life is different,*" Sovan said, his usual stoic demeanor softened by the camaraderie. "*But in its own way, it's fulfilling. I have grown accustomed to the logic of piracy.*"

Michael raised an eyebrow. "*Logic of piracy?*"

Sovan nodded. "*It is simple, Captain. You take what you need, and you keep moving. No waste, no time for hesitation. The ship is a tool, and we use it to survive, to thrive. I find it… elegant in its simplicity.*"

The rest of the crew exchanged glances, their faces lit by the dim glow of the room's lights.

"*I'll drink to that,*" Vela said, raising her glass. "*Here's to simplicity.*"

The crew clinked their glasses together, a rare moment of unity among pirates and outcasts. They were no longer just a group of people thrown together by circumstance—they were a team. And for the first time in a long while, Michael felt a deep sense of pride in his crew.

The night stretched on, filled with conversation and laughter. But even as they reveled in their newfound peace, Michael knew that this wouldn't last long. The galaxy was vast, and there was always more to conquer, more ships to plunder, and more opportunities to seize.

As the crew made their rounds, finalizing upgrades and repairs, Michael found himself at the helm once again. The *Crimson Void* was ready. They had the weapons, the systems, and the crew. Now all they needed was the next target.

"*Vela,*" Michael said, turning to his comms officer. "*What's the word on the next job? Anything in range?*"

Vela tapped a few buttons on her console, scanning the local systems. "*There's a rich shipping lane just a few sectors away. A few independent freighters passing through, not too heavily guarded.*"

Michael's grin returned, and he leaned back in his chair. "*Perfect. Let's make some credits. Prep the crew, we're heading out. The *Void* has a new mission.*"

The crew gathered, the mood turning serious again as they prepared for their next heist. The *Crimson Void* was a pirate ship in every sense of the word, but it was also a ship with purpose. And Michael knew this was only the beginning. There was always more to take, more to conquer, and more to claim.

The galaxy had no idea what was coming.

With the engines now roaring at full power and the crew ready for whatever lay ahead, the *Crimson Void* surged into the stars once more.

Their next adventure awaited