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Zack didn’t know how long he had been floating in space.
The endless abyss of stars filled his vision, and the overwhelming pressure of silence threatened to make his eardrums bleed.
What he did know, however, was that he was completely and utterly screwed. His navigation systems were busted, the engine was a mess, the artificial gravity had gone down, and to top it all off, the sandwich fabricator on the kitchen deck had stopped working.
Zach was floating somewhere near the control deck, amidst the bodies and blood of his dead crew. Some captain he was, getting all his men killed on their first assignment. It wasn’t even a dangerous one – just a simple pickup of food from the International Supply Depot on the far side of the Arkesian System, for his galaxy renowned sandwich shop ‘SubSpace.’
It was supposed to be easy.
Except the ship’s navigator Lieutenant Vandevoorde, had the genius idea to use the old transport lines as a shortcut, despite them not being used for several centuries and being notorious for Undesirable Activity. Zach knew it was a bad idea, but goddamnit they were running late, and he really needed this to go smoothly. Well, they all did, but Zach especially.
But no, apparently according to some omnipotent fucker, Zach isn’t allowed to have nice things.
He knew something was wrong when their long-range scanners stopped picking up the broadcasts from the INTERPOL Hub. There’d been a confused scramble to figure out what was wrong, before Lieutenant Miller had run a scan of the ship and relayed to Zach that their Subspace Sensors were down and so was the Communication System.
Zach was sat in the Captain’s chair in the centre of the control deck, while his command crew worked quickly around him, attempting to reboot the disengaged systems and resume their flight. But before they could, an explosion ripped through the ship, blowing out the entire left side and plunging the vessel into darkness. Screams tore through the air, along with blaring alarms and shouted commands. Zach figured as Captain, he should probably do something. Pressing a button on the arm of his chair, he broadcasted to the rest of the ship:
“THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN. THE SHIP HAS BEEN ATTACKED. EVERYBODY EVACUATE, THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”
That was all he could remember.
As far as he knew, Zach was the only survivor of the SS. Britannica.
Every part of him ached. Pain radiated through his being, and his white uniform was stained by a slowly growing patch of red coming from the worryingly large puncture wound in his midriff. Not to mention that his left wrist was broken, a piece of scrap metal was lodged in his upper thigh, his right shoulder was dislocated, and numerous shards of glass had pierced his body. Zach had no idea how he was even alive.
Maybe he wasn’t.
God knows he’s not getting into heaven, not after all the shit he’s pulled. Especially not, seeing as he was the one to get his entire crew killed; The people who had attacked his ship were members of a group that Zach had a run in with a few years back. They were cutthroat, cruel and promised Zach they’d get back what he’d stolen. Guess they weren’t ones to break any promises.
Not that it mattered anymore. Zach could feel the life ebbing from his veins like a steady, withdrawing tide.
Death was a peaceful thing.
It was oddly comforting, to feel the fire within your bones slowly extinguish; to feel your mind grow numb and your heart turn cold.
But death was terrifying too.
As the last bit of strength leeches from your veins, you succumb to fear. To the crashing wave of dread that fills your lungs, and gushes down your nose, leaving nothing but a shell of a body with the spirit long gone.
Zach’s eyes fluttered closed. He felt as though his very mind was under siege, a crackling network of pain reverberated through his skull and shot down through his spine. He spent so long trying to build up a future, but he never realised his present would crumble to dust.
But then all of a sudden, the black that smothers him like a blanket is disturbed by a quiet clanking sound from down the corridor. His eyes snap open.
Scavengers? No, it couldn’t be, they were in deep space. A simple scavenger ship wouldn’t be able to make it all the way out here.
There was another clank, but this time, it was followed by the deep, echoing groan of shifting metal that resonated through the layers of his epidermis like a vibration. They were trying to break into the ship.
Whoever it was, Zach simply hoped that they would take pity on him and put him out of his misery. Next to him, Lieutenant Vandevoorde stared unblinkingly at the wall, face stained with rivulets of dark red.
Then, there was a bang, and the airlock door to Zach’s left was gone.
In the threshold stood three men, faces covered by impassive masks and weapons in hand. Their space suits were nothing Zach had seen before; all tight-fitting leather and covered in various dials and tubes that all connected to the masks they wore over the faces, allowing them to breathe. On their feet were stolen Grav-Boots, of which their magnetic soles allowed the three men to walk along the deck, among the floating bodies of Zach's deceased crew.
They moved with a practiced ease and with caution. It was almost elegant, the way that they weaved in-between the bodies while checking them for pulses. So far, they hadn't found a single person alive.
One of them spoke, his voice low and almost sultry. Zach didn’t fail to notice he had a cybernetic arm. “Oxygen levels are safe, provided we seal off this corridor” The other two moved to do so, while the one who had spoken continued to walk down the corridor, checking each body for a pulse as he went. With each step, the man came closer and closer, until he was stood next to Zach, who was playing dead, with his eyes half shut and breath suspended in his chest.
“Eugene, we’ve got the area sealed off.” Spoke the tallest one. “It’s safe to take off our masks”
They did, and Zach was greeted with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen; his skin was smooth, and his hair a dark, tousled mess. His eyes were the colour of freshly brewed coffee and his soft lips let out a soft exhale of air as he clipped the mask onto the toolbelt at his waist. The man had also removed the leather gloves that covered his hand, and was now pressing two warm fingers to Zach’s neck.
Oh yeah, he’d forgotten about that.
“Holy shit.” The man (or angel?) took a hurried step away from Zach. “Keith, Ned, one of them is alive.”
It was at this point that Zach realised that they all had the same distinctive tattoo of a black raven on their necks. Everybody in the entire damn galaxy knew that raven. It was something that children were told as horror stories, and something that any wise man would come to fear.
Space Pirates.