((Sydney-Class Free Trading Ship “Sir William de Rule”.))
((En-route to Starbase 118.))
Service in the name of prosperity.
And, as ever, that prosperity was solely intended for James Finch. The cargo was marked on the manifest drums and drums of various flavour enhancers, and the same again of pheromone supplement. Their destination was some Ferengii or other named Bree who apparently ran a store, or a series of holosuites or something.
It made no odds to him. It was a cargo.
And a well-paying cargo for a change, which was the main thing. It had gotten Bunny off of his back for the last few days at least.
Alexandra O'Hare was the longest serving First Mate and Cargo Chief he'd ever had. The fiery Irish woman was always prodding him to find cargo that would pay and not to rely on cheap easy runs that half the time left them out of pocket and wallowing under unpaid moorage fees and running costs. It was during those frequent spells of inactivity that his Chief of Engineering would come bending his ears about all the parts they needed, and all the work she couldn't get done without them.
118FC: Incoming vessel, this is Starbase one one eight flight control, please respond.
Finch: This is Captain Finch of the free trade vessel Sir William de Rule. We are inbound to deliver cargo to your commercial centre.
118FC: Transmit your crew and cargo manifest please, Mr Finch.
Finch tapped a few keys to comply, cutting the link as he did so. He huffed to himself as he put his booted feet up on the console.
Finch: oO *Captain* Finch. *Captain!* Oo
118FC: Free trade vessel de Rule, you are cleared for approach and docking. Tranmitting your landing instructions now.
((Timeskip - A couple of hours later.))
His C17 pirate-style bucket boots clicked as he stepped down the gangway of his ship. He wore a pair of crossed holster belts at his hips, and a long brown overcoat on top of his white shirt and blue britches. His long hair was tied back, a faded red cloth tied about his head and a battered bicorne hat perched atop it. His beard was braided and a pair of gold teeth shone brightly amongst his pearly - almost perfect - whites.
The overcoat had a crew patch of the William de Rule on its left arm, and pinned to the lapel was a tatty and faded Merchant Marine Service Ribbon.
Ground crew bustled here and there, unloading pallets of boxes and drums from the cargo hold. The massive drums contained the flavour enhancers, and the boxes contained phials of the pheromone. Or, was it the other way around?
Shrug. Who knew?
They'd got the stuff here, and now for the important part. Money!
As he walked forwards, Finch held his arms out wide in greeting to the Ferengii woman before him.
Finch: Madam Bree! How delightful to see your..... ::ahem.:: face again.
Finch: oO Captain Finch! Oo Hmm, yes it's all here.
He feigned insult, waving a hand about the place in a mildy effeminate manner.
Finch: Be my guest!
“Captain” James Finch.
Lt.Cdr. Arturo Maxwell.
Chief Tactical Officer.
Starbase 118 Operations.