This is the start of a story of Space Pirates. ‘Nuff said.

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By Eddie Del Rio

It always struck him as strange the times he remembered the old man.  Like right now, as he stood in the Displacement chamber and waited for the ship’s Quantum Drive to power up. He should be thinking about how he was going to deploy his men once they materialised on the Consular Ship that had foolishly strayed into his path.
“A long time ago, when the oceans men sailed across were blue instead of black, men still believed they could find all they wanted in life through adventure and the pursuit of treasure,” the old man’s voice came back to him, caught in the sing song litany that often both began and ended the tales he told, pausing just long enough to draw in the interest of a young lad and his annoying sisters, “but in the end, for all their seeking, they all found the same thing, ” another pause, the lad shuffled his feet restlessly, the sisters pouted impatiently, “Treasure gives only cold comfort and adventure only wistful reminiscences for old men, but there are much greater things than either. Brotherhood, Family and,  most of all, Love; for these things endure beyond the greyness of age and the glamour of riches,”
He shook his head, discarding the old fool’s words to focus on the task at hand, then checked over himself for the fourth time. His shield belt was fully charged, as were the two psi-blade shortswords that hung from it – his main and preferred weapons, but far from the only ones. There were 6 smaller psi-blades hidden in sleeves, boots and inside the lining of his long coat,  and then two obsidian-steel daggers for last ditch defence hidden at the small of his back and a micro hand cannon in a concealed thigh holster for when even his last ditch defence had failed. After all, firing a cannon inside a ship was tantamount to suicide.
The static crack of the Probability Capacitors snapped through the air of the Displacement Chamber and the engines of the Dark Wave cut out completely, causing a negative surge that made all the lights dim. His men stiffened noticeably. His first mate, Sleepless Jim, turned to him.
“Your orders, Captain,”
“Corvus?” He asked of the air around him, the sound of his voice stirring the Dark Wave’s AI from deep processing.
“Yes, Captain Storm ?” The sexless but intentionally sinister voice of the Dark Wave’s mind came from all around, soft and slightly sibilant, as if whispering in the ear of each man listening, not speaking out loud.
“Displace and Transmit to the target co-ordinates please,” He asked, long since over the discomfort, if not the distrust the voice of Corvus engendered.
“Coordinates locked. Transmitting in five..four..three..two..one..Transmit.”
With the last word came a blackness and an absolute cold that lasted an eternity but was over in less than a heartbeat. Then he was blinking under the bright light of the Consular Ship bridge, his hands ready on the pommels of his swords. He could hear gasps of shock coming from people he couldn’t quite make out yet, then the hiss of his men drawing their blades, the oil of practice making them swift

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Comments
  1. […] (post apocalyptic supernatural thriller) Writing Burn (near future fictional rock bio) Writing The Dark Wave (sci-fi space opera with Pirates), Writing/editing Tapestries of the Veils (epic urban/steampunk […]

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