Pirates of the Holodeck: Being the True and Scandalous Tale of The Grievous and Most Egregious Acts of The Notorious Buccaneer Known as Jamaica Jonny Picard And His Pursuit of the Infamous Port Royal Harlot Crusher Red

“Starboard a point . . . steady. Ease your helm . . . ALOFT THERE . . . Move yourselves on those yards or ye’ll hang from the very same! Get those t’gallants set! SMARTLY THERE!”

The scurvy scalawag bellowing orders stood on the pitching quarterdeck of the fourteen gun sloop of war, Mistral, as she danced gracefully through the waves. He dropped his gaze from his topmen, adjusted his baldric to hang more comfortably and scanned the horizon ahead.

“Do ye not know Port Royal beckons? She’s there, I tell ye, and let all the demons of Hell try and keep me from her.”

Two pirates working in the rigging above heard their lusty Captain’s last bit and quietly reacted.

It’s madness, I tell ye . . . the English fleet is at Port Royal. He’s risking our lives for a slip of a girl . . . a whore!”

“ ‘vast that mutinous talk. That’s the Cap’n’s orders, so that’s where we takes the ship. There’s a gallows waiting for each of us in Port Royal; and no man should be late for his own hanging.”

Cap’n Jamaica Jonny Picard felt the sea spray across his scarred face and black eye patch and laughed aloud with exhilaration. This was living! A ship and crew of his own, the means to go and do as he pleased, and a lusty wench eagerly waiting for him in the fleshpots of Jamaica.

A shout emanated from the maintops, “Deck there! Sail ho, larboard beam!”

“What do ye make of her?”

“A frigate-rigged ship . . . coming out of Port Royal harbor . . . she’s just laid over on the starboard tack!”

“Oho, a foolish captain to bear down on Jamaica Jonny. Split yer lungs, ye devil . . . I’ll know who this upstart is . . . tell me!”

The man at the masthead took another long look, straining to project his vision further. “She’s the Mercy, Cap’n. I recognize her jibs!”

“Mercy, is it? So, Morgan himself thinks he can drive me onto the lee shore of Execution Dock, does he? Well Jamaica Jonny is not one to take the royal pardon and grow grapes the rest of his days.”

A tiny voice came from behind, “Cap’n . . . that ship has twice our guns and twice our men. We have to get out of here.”

The dread pirate Picard whirled about, drawing his cutlass in one swift move. It came to a swift stop just short of the throat of his one meter tall, bearded helmsman, who gripped the tiller while standing on an empty powder cask.

“Damn ye man, I’ll not be questioned by a member of my crew, not even my second in command! Do it again and your head shall swing from my jibbet!”

He turned back to bellow more orders, “Hoist our colours. Man the braces! All hands wear ship!”

The deck of Mistral came alive with rushing and climbing cutthroats as her pirate crew flew to action stations. Sails were unfurled and guns were primed as the nimble sloop swung round in her attempt to gain the advantage over the larger and stronger privateering vessel, Mercy. Picard grinned in anticipation of the approaching battle. The tail of his black headscarf billowed behind him in a macabre, synchronized dance with the dreaded Jolly Roger far above.

“Crowd on every rag of canvas the yards will hold! No privateer can outsail Mistral! Number One, stand by to come about hard on the other tack. We’ll fool that fool of a Welshman and cut across his stern.”

Jonny watched the approaching vessel through his glass. He took note of the privateer’s rigging and bearing. The command to shift sail was quivering on Jonny’s lips when Mercy suddenly sheared off her course, ruining his plan.

“By Neptune’s barnacled beard, he guessed our move! Morgan never could sail like that! I’ll know who this scamp is. SHOW YER COLOURS, YE COWARDLY BLACKGUARD!”

As if in answer to his challenge, a flag began to ascend to Mercy’s mizzenntops. Picard clapped a glass to his one eye.

“A black flag . . . hmm, one I’ve not seen before.”

Picard barked out for the benefit of his crew, “It matters not who this puppy is, or how strong a ship he commands! What say ye m’lads? Will ye serve under Jamaica Jonny and send this rogue to Davy Jones?”

A lusty cheer roared out from the crew of Mistral. One exception came again from the little man at the tiller.

“But Cap’n, they’re too strong; they have lots of guns. What if they fire them at us . . . or board us . . . or . . . or . . .”

The helmsman’s reasonable objection was silenced by a sharp report. His dwarf body was flung backwards over the transom and into the depths below. Jamaica Jonny stood, smoking pistol in hand, scowling at the now unmanned post.

“You’re relieved, Number One. BARCLAY! Man the helm . . . move yourself man, smartly!”

Mistral and Mercy danced about the blue waters of the Caribbean, each trying to bring their guns to bear. Both were successful at the same time.


Death and destruction flew between both ships. Cannonballs and grapeshot tore into ship and crew with equal indifference. Splinters of both wood and bone flew through air, causing more mayhem among the living. The two ships continued their barrage while closing to boarding range.

“It’s cutlasses now, lads! Williams, lead your men into their rigging. When you see me cut down their flag, that’s the time to drop onto them.”


“HUZZAH! . . . HUZZAH! . . . HUZZAH!”

Mercy’s taller decks towered over Mistral’s by the height of a man. Her railings were crowded with fearsome cutthroats brandishing their weapons. Just as the two warships approached to point-blank range, that problem was taken care of by a well-timed volley of grapeshot from Mistral’s swivel guns, evening the odds. Picard was perched on the quarterdeck railing, rope in one hand, cutlass in the other. His baldric was laden with a brace of pistols, primed and ready for action. He shouted to his gunner.

“Well done, Hagsthorpe! Now men, I’ll shoot the first man to board before I give the signal, is that clear?”

A hearty, “AYE SIR!” roared out from the crew. Just then, the two ship’s hulls slammed together in a crash of wood and iron. The musket fire from Mistral’s sharpshooters in the rigging kept their heads down long enough for Picard to give the command.


Picard launched himself at the enemy vessel, clutching his rope as he swung across. He kicked a man in the chest just as he was raising a musket. Cutlass swinging, Jamaica Jonny carved his way aft toward Mercy’s quarterdeck, felling the enemy buccaneers like weeds as more and more of his own crew swarmed across from Mistral. Eventually he reached the mizzen mast and slashed at the flag halyard. Mercy’s black pirate banner fluttered down into the sea. A moment later, dozens of Mistral’s cutthroat crew swarmed down onto the deck from the rigging, howling like banshees and laying waste to Mercy’s crew.

“Where is he? WHERE’S THE CAP’N, YE SCURVY DOGS!? Let him dance with Jamaica Jonny!”

At that second, a boarding ax buried itself in the mainmast with a loud, vibrating thunk, having missed Picard’s nose by a hair’s breadth.

“You want the Captain, Jonny? . . . Come and taste the Captain’s steel!”

Picard turned his scarred face toward the source of the challenge. There stood his counterpart; the Captain of these rogues. Such a vision he had never before beheld; a blood-red, loose billowing swordsman’s shirt, tied together at the midriff; low slung, red leather breeches, sinfully tight; tall black leather boots, a sword belt bristling with weapons; pistols, daggers, drawn saber, and murder in the eyes. But it was not the garb or even the arsenal that caught Jonny’s breath in his throat. Beneath the huge, red feathered hat was a face all too familiar and most unexpected.

“Crusher Red!”

“Jamaica Jonny! How nice to see you, again.”

“This be fortunate indeed. You’ve saved me a trip to Port Royal. I can just take you here.”

“Tis I that’ll be taking you, Jonny . . . on a trip to HELL!”

“You think this wise, girl . . . crossing blades with a pirate?”

“I’ve vowed to bring you down, Jonny. Come, put your throat on this sword.”

“I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request. And by what happenstance come ye to be here? Running a floating whorehouse are ye?”

“I’ll tell you some time.”

“When, love?”

“As the last breath leaves your corpse!”

With that, a whirling tornado of red fury and cold steel was upon Jonny. His cutlass came up in a parry that barely kept his head from leaving his shoulders. A return blow found his opponent not there anymore as his sword hissed through empty air. Crusher Red came at him again, feinting and thrusting. Her blows were easy to deflect . . . when he could get there in time.

God’s Wounds, she’s fast!

Jonny backed off for a moment to appraise his opponent. “You certainly know what you’re doing, girl, I’ll give you that. Excellent form. But how’s your footwork, eh? . . . If I step here . . . very good.”

Another volley of furious thrusts and parries were exchanged as the two opponents felt each other out.

“Indulge me Red, just how is it that you are the captain of these cutthroats? You’re not a sailor, you’re a whore.”

“This whore has had more sailors than you’ve had hot meals. You would be surprised what I am capable of.”

Jamaica Jonny grinned lecherously, “Oh no, I wouldn’t; not if the stories about you are true. I’ve vowed to have you ever since the night at Spittlefield when you chose Morgan over me.”

“And I vowed that night that I would lie with every man on Earth before even looking at you.”

“You will be breaking that vow in just one minute, girl.”

“In just one minute, I’ll be wiping your blood off my sword.”

The conversation again ceased in favor of more mayhem. Red’s saber danced and teased, enticing Jonny’s cutlass to lower its guard, even for a moment. It was having none of it as Jonny pressed his attack.

“You have the skill of a surgeon with a blade, girl, but insufficient strength to back it up.”

“And your blows do possess a certain crude force, but they lack any real style.”

“Oh, do they now? Why not try this style?”

Picard advanced on Red with furious, hacking blows. There was no way to deflect them with her lighter saber. The best she could do was to simply stay out of the cutlass’s way as she probed for a weakness. As the two pirate captains resumed their fencing, a cheer erupted from the main deck.

“You hear that, girl? Your feeble privateers fell like cordwood. The Mercy is now my prize; and so are you, love.”

“I have a prize for you, love.

Stepping back, Red quickly drew one of the pistols in her belt, leveled it at Picard and touched it off. A splintered hole appeared in the mast that a moment before, Jonny’s head had stood in front of. She quickly dropped the gun in favor of the sword again when she realized she had missed. This time, however she was not quite fast enough. Picard’s cutlass expertly slashed down in front of Red, slicing through the lacings holding together her blood red shirt.

“That’s good, girl. Never fight fair when you’re fighting for your life.”

Red backed off and looked down at her half-exposed chest and her ruined silk shirt.

“I will kill you for that, Jamaica Jonny. This shirt cost four doubloons.”

“A trifle, girl. Me holds are bursting with swag. After I’ve had me way with you love, I’ll deck you out in the finest China silk and Spanish pearls.”

“Better first pick out your own coffin, love!”

She renewed her attack, but Red knew she was in trouble. All of her crew was dead or in irons. She alone stood against over a hundred lusty cutthroats. There was no quarter to be asked for or given. Her fencing arm was getting tired and Jamaica Jonny continued to press the attack. His blows forced her backwards and finally up against a bulkhead. Jonny’s crew had gathered behind him to watch the duel between their Captain and the fiery whore. The two combatants hacked and slashed at each other, until finally with a sweeping move, Jonny disarmed his opponent. Red’s saber whistled through the air to splash into the uncaring Caribbean. The point of his cutlass was immediately at her throat.

“That be enough, girl. I’d be losing that belt if I were you.”

Crusher Red glared at Jamaica Jonny as she unbuckled her sword belt. All her remaining weapons now tumbled to the deck. Jonny kicked them away.

“Now girl, time to claim me prize.”

Picard grabbed Red by the shoulders and spun her around, facing her towards his ogling crew. He roughly reached down and tore away the remains of her silk blouse, pinning her arms to her side and displaying her naked breasts to the gang of cutthroats. Her pink nipples hardened as Jonny groped them for the benefit of his men.

“Well me lads, behold Cap’n Crusher Red. Quite a prize, ain’t she?”

Several lustful comments and chortles emanated from the buccaneers. Red knew her fate.

“Lads! Did I not promise ye that all booty gathered on this ship was share and share alike? Well when Jonny’s had his fill, Little Red here will have the privilege of dining with the crew.”

At that, Red struggled furiously, but futilely in Jonny’s grasp.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Could it be that Crusher Red now has a willing sheath for Jamaica Jonny’s sword?”

Laughter and cheers followed Jonny and his captive to the sloop’s great cabin in the stern. The door slammed behind them.

* * * * * * * * *

An hour later, the Ambassador and the Doctor awoke in each other’s arms. The lantern above them swayed in unison with the sound of the rigging creaking above.

That was fun.”

“Indeed . . . Computer, end program.”

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