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V.O. 1.1: Huntress
🕑 Added 2025-12-05 22:38:54 +0000 UTCPlunder and pillage.
That was the job.
Crude and unvarnished, stripped of all the romantic nonsense the old Earth vids tried to paint over the business of piracy.
For Vex Kaine, it was a calling — though she'd be the first to admit it was a distasteful one for a woman of her particular... assets.
She stood now at the sensor station of the Blood Meridian, one hand resting on the console's worn plasteel surface, the other absently brushing a strand of midnight-black hair behind her ear. The gesture was calculated, as were most of her movements — a subtle reminder to the many men around her of what they could see but never touch.
Her uniform hugged her fit figure like a second skin, the deep crimson fabric stolen from a Colonial Navy supply depot three years prior and altered to fit her frame with meticulous precision. The top three buttons of her collar hung perpetually open, revealing just enough of her collarbone to be tantalizing without crossing the line into the vulgar. Her pants were regulation tight, tucked into boots that added three inches to her 5’7 height and made her legs appear to stretch on forever.
She was twenty-six standard years old, though she could pass for younger when it suited her purposes. Her face was what the old Earth poets might have called "classically beautiful"— high cheekbones that caught the light, full lips that seemed perpetually on the verge of either a smile or a sneer, and eyes the color of pale amber that could freeze a man's courage or melt his resolve depending on her mood.
A small scar traced a white line through her left eyebrow, a souvenir from a boarding action gone sideways near the Titan Shipyards. She'd killed the bastard who gave it to her, of course, but decided to keep the scar as a reminder that, while beauty was a weapon, it was never the only one in her arsenal.
Lust was her primary tool on this ship. She wielded it with the precision of a surgeon's laser. She'd learned early in this business that manipulation came easier than brute force, especially for someone with her particular combination of intelligence and physicality.
With these men, it didn’t take much.
A brush of her fingertips along a crewman's jaw, lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary.
An opportune stretch that happened to accentuate her modest but well-proportioned chest.
A dazzling smile while maintaining eye contact a few seconds longer than custom dictated — just long enough to plant a seed of hope, but not so long as to promise anything concrete.
All of it, whether subtle or overt, was enough to make the men around her melt like reactor slag under a plasma torch.
She was a prize they could not conquer, a fruit perpetually dangling just beyond their reach. Simply allowing them to catch a hint of her carefully chosen fragrance (something expensive, looted from a merchant prince's private quarters, with notes of jasmine and gunpowder) was enough to ensure their loyalty.
Or at the very least, their compliance.
Oh, she wasn't deluded enough to think she could take command of the Meridian outright.
For one thing, captaining a pirate vessel in the lawless reaches of the outer system required more brutality than subtlety. Violence delivered without hesitation or remorse — the kind of violence she simply didn’t have the stomach for.
For another, Captain Darius Kragg himself was formidable in ways that transcended mere physical prowess. He was a man who possessed enough raw will and hard-won wisdom to resist her charms entirely. She'd tested him once, early on, trailing her fingers across his shoulder while leaning over to point out a target on the tactical display. He'd caught her wrist in a grip like a vise, squeezed until her bones ground together, and told her in a voice flat as vacuum that if she ever tried that particular trick again, he'd space her without a suit and watch her eyes boil out.
She'd believed him. Still did.
And besides, why in the black would she ever even want to command?
Acting as Kragg's unofficial first officer allowed her to garner most of the benefits of leadership without exposing herself to the truly dangerous risks. All the bounties and arrest warrants bore Kragg's name and face, leaving his crew mostly anonymous in the authority databases. If it ever came to true disaster — like a Navy patrol cruiser stumbling across them, or an encounter with a corporate security frigate with actual teeth — she and a handful of hand-picked subordinates could simply steal one of the ship's fast cutters and vanish away into the asteroid belts. Too small and insignificant to merit a vigorous pursuit.
Meanwhile, she earned a lieutenant's share of every prize — not the captain's cut, certainly, but far more than an average crewman. She lived surrounded by whatever luxuries their targets happened to possess: genuine Martian whiskey, silk sheets from the Callistene habitats, jewelry carved from asteroid gemstones that caught light in enchanting ways.
All in all, Vex thought she lived a beautiful life.
Not that she was just a pretty face without genuine talent, of course. No one survived long in Kragg's crew without pulling their weight. The captain tolerated no parasites, no freeloaders taking up precious percentage shares for minimal contribution. He was a veteran of twenty-three years in the ‘trade,’ and his solid if unspectacular success rate had drawn a cadre of dependable scoundrels, with Vex crowning the collection like a jewel in a setting of rough-cut stones.
While her ability to command boarding actions was merely adequate — about on par with a Colonial Academy dropout who'd barely scraped by through the tactical courses — her real value lay in her mastery of sensors and information warfare. She was a specialist, and the expensive black-market neural implants threaded through her cerebral cortex proved it. Sixteen million credits’ worth of illegal augmentation hardware, purchased, stolen, or otherwise appropriated piece-by-piece over the last five years, each installation requiring weeks of recovery with a not-insignificant risk of neural rejection.
But the investment had paid for itself a hundred times over.
With those implants fully engaged, she could penetrate sensor scans through electromagnetic interference that would blind conventional equipment. She could analyze and identify structural weak points in enemy vessels; spot cloaked ships lurking in the debris fields; and crack basic encryption protocols in the time it took most people to finish a cup of coffee.
And her connections within the mercenary underground — carefully cultivated through a combination of charm, blackmail, and strategic favors — allowed her to receive intelligence about juicy targets long before the rival pirate crews even knew the opportunities existed.
It was this combination of talents that kept her alive and prosperous aboard the Blood Meridian. Captain Kragg greatly valued competence above all else, and she delivered results.
Normally, female officers in her position had to make certain... sacrifices.
Had to… “prove their loyalty” through the oldest transaction known to humanity. And indeed, she'd been propositioned more times than she could count, offers ranging from crude and businesslike to the almost romantic.
But she'd chosen her posting after months of careful research, after quietly investigating the reputations of dozens of pirate captains operating in the Jovian sphere of influence. Other captains would have taken her on as a concubine — or worse, made her a communal plaything for the crew. And not just the male captains, either! In fact, female captains were often even worse, tending to get jealous and vindictive at others’ youth and beauty.
Captain Kragg, in comparison, was the best of a bad lot.
He was experienced, cautious, and reliable in his own way. Yes, he was a brutal, cruel bastart, and he had his moments of volcanic rage like any other pirate captain worth fearing, but…
But he only unleashed that side of his nature when someone earned it through genuine incompetence or betrayal. Not that he was above becoming physical when frustrated, of course — she'd once seen him break a nav officer's jaw for plotting a course that nearly flew them into a patrol ambush — but at least he never inflicted crippling injuries. No missing limbs, no blinded eyes, no permanent disfigurement. Kragg understood the value of the carrot as well as the stick. And therefore, his leadership kept the Meridian running at something approaching peak efficiency… or, at least, as close as was possible with a crew of undisciplined cutthroats.
As for his more... personal proclivities? Well. Kragg left the women alone entirely, allowing his crew to have their violent way with whatever female captives they took. But boys, on the other hand? Now those were fair game. And Kragg liked his boys young and innocent.
The younger, the better.
Kragg had very specific appetites, and no one, not even the hardest veterans among the crew, wanted to know the details of what happened behind the sealed doors of his quarters.
To Vex, it didn't matter. Those boys were like the walking dead anyway. The Meridian wasn't exactly in the hostage business — too risky, too much chance of drawing unwanted attention from grieving, politically-connected families with resources. No, it was better to just amuse themselves with the goods, then kill the witnesses, and space the bodies in deep orbital zones where the radiation would rapidly degrade any DNA evidence.
It was ugly. It was brutal and inhumane.
But it paid well.
A firm hand landed on Vex’ shoulder, interrupting her thoughts. She felt the weight of the captain's command ring against her collarbone — a small, but deceptively powerful mobile device that controlled the ship's ultimate command functions. A master override that could lock out every system aboard. The fingers squeezed, not quite painful but definitely commanding, drawing her attention away from the sensor display.
She suppressed the instinctive urge to slap the hand away and instead turned her head to meet the stern visage of Captain Darius Kragg.
He was a hard man, to be sure; a hairy and muscular brute with a spectacular dark beard. At sixty-one standard years old, he moved like someone two decades his junior. His skin was the color of coffee mixed with ash, weathered by decades of recycled air and cosmic radiation.
Numerous scars crisscrossed his features like some twisted spider web. A puckered line across his forehead where a blade had opened him to the skull. A divot in his left cheek where a projectile had punched through and somehow missed anything vital, a burn mark on his neck where a plasma conduit had ruptured during a close-quarters firefight.
His eyes were chips of black ice, cold and calculating, missing nothing.
"Aye, Capt’n?" Vex kept her voice level, professional.
"It's almost time." Kragg's voice was a bass rumble, like distant thunder on a world that still had weather. "I want you suited up and leading the second boarding team."
The words hit her like a physical blow.
What?
"B-but sir!" She couldn't quite keep the shock out of her voice. "I'm just a bridge officer! I'm not trained for direct boarding combat — I've done sensor work, intel analysis, and I’m much more valuable as a—"
The hand on her shoulder tightened, fingers digging into muscle hard enough to leave bruises she just knew she would feel for days.
"Ain’t no time like the present, Kaine. You've been strapped to that console for so long it's a wonder you remember how to walk. We run a pirate ship here, lassie! A little grit in ya guts will do ya good!"
She opened her mouth to argue further…
Then caught the look in his eyes and promptly closed it again. There was no point. Kragg sometimes enjoyed imparting perverse “lessons” about the nature of their profession, and there was no changing his mind when he got like this.
"Besides," the brite continued, and something that might have been a smile touched the corner of his scarred mouth, "yer the one who identified this target for us! If anyone deserves first crack at the prize, it's you! We’ll call it a… reward for a job well done."
Gee, thanks, she thought bitterly, but unstrapped herself from the sensor station. Another sensor specialist — a wiry man named Torres with a set of implants almost as extensive as her own — slid into her seat without a word.
Vex threw a deliberately sloppy salute toward Kragg, earning her a grunt that might have been approval or disdain — it was genuinely hard to tell with him — and headed for her quarters.
