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The gunner was nervous. His foot tapped the safety catch on and off, sending jitters through the rest of them. Allan wanted to tell the idiot to cut it out, couldn’t he see he was winding up the rest of the squad. But that would just make it worse. It was a miracle they hadn’t torn themselves apart already. This morning he had woken up to a vision. He ignored it as he had ignored all visions since his teens. 

The gunner stopped his tapping on the safety catch. The room was suddenly full of the noises of sweaty men breathing nervously. That silence, full of noise, spoke to allan. Say something. The silence pleaded for a leader, even a pep talk, but the thought made Allan sick to his stomach. How had he let it end like this.

 It’s not the end yet. We still have a shot. The thought was a lie, but it was a comforting one. He forced himself to stand, throat dry, the inside of his armor soaked in nervous sweat. He didn’t know what he would say, but it had to be better than the silence. He cleared his throat, as if everyone wasn’t already looking at him, and looked around at his whipped crew. Scoundrels, murderers, cowards, rapist, the worst of the worst. 

“ Ah what the hell. You’re all going to die. You’re a bunch of scum who would sell your own mothers for a drink or a hit. We had a good run there for a while, but that’s over now.  It’s either die hitting this civy ship or die of starvation out in the dark. So when we hit this ship….. remember, this is it. We are done. I don’t care if it’s filled to the brim with knights, you fight, because this is it.” There was dead silence as the boarding party stared at him waiting, wanting, needing. So he gave it to them. “But…..” He could feel them lean in, hear the quickening of the breath. They needed it almost as bad as he needed a cigarette. “ ….If we can take a scientist, an engineer, alive, we can build our own place. We can live, we won’t have to go out raiding and they won’t come hunting, even if they do they won’t find us. So for God’s sake try not to kill every man you see.” He reached up to take the cigarette out of his mouth and stub it out, only to realize he didn’t have one. He let his hand fall. “God I need a cigarette.” there was a scattering of nervous laughter.  

It was all lies of course. They could take all the engineers they wanted but they would never rebuild. They were the dregs, they didn’t make things, they destroyed them. That was their use. Politicians needed them to campaign on, governments needed them to blame things on, citizens needed them to look down on, and churches needed them to be brought to salvation. At least until the new church had come along. That church seemed ready and willing to help them down to hell, speeded by troops of angry fathers, vengeful uncles, and raging brothers, armed to the teeth. Allan was a little peeved at  this new church, pedling “love your enemy as yourself,” and “turn the other cheek” for the last two millennia, then reversing their stance at the very end.  But he couldn’t really blame them. He was as much a hypocrite and many worse things.    

The gunner tapped the safety catch, an intentional sound. The hushed mutterings that had followed his little speech immediately quieted. The gunner was leaning into his controls, the old harness that held him creaking audibly. They felt the slight thumps as two rounds were discharged. There was a moment of silence before he let out a whoop. 

“ Got ’em, Crippled. No sign of weapons.  They won’t be tripping out of here unless someone brings them a new engine.” He was met with a couple raggeded cheers, but there was no heart in it. They had seen this before. Bait. an unguarded ship waiting to be crippled filled to bursting with eager brothers, fathers and uncles. All ready to board and kill everyone on the unfortunate attacking vessel.  

There was a tense moment of silence as they approached. Sweat tickled Allan as it slithered down his back, teasing him beantheth his body armor. He clutched at his assault rifle, the only one with any ammo left on the ship. The rest of them had small arms and clubs. They all shifted as they heard the scream of metal gouging metal. 

“ Beaters to the front.” He bellowed, slapping them on the back as they passed him, lining up more from habit than obedience. The shrieks of the ship died to moans then silence. 

“ Helmets.” He bellowed, keying his own. The metal face snaked over his own. Crawling up from his chest plate and fastening itself to the attachments on his neck. He felt the cold metal folding to encase his neck and ears. The click and hiss as the whole set sealed itself. He could see out of a single dark eye slit of hardened glass. All those around him were his twin, black skull painted on their metal face plates. He smiled to himself despite the tension.

 The last pirates in human history, unable to think up anything more creative than a skull. Nothing ever really changes. 

Each of the beaters tossed a line back. He grabbed one and clipped the end to a rail, then clipped himself to it, hands already beginning to shake. God if you are real save me. He clamped down on the thought hard and twisted it out. An old habit, hard to break. The gravity turned off and the room began decompressing.  

“Beaters ready!” He yelled, thumbing the com on. He received a few grunts of acknowledgement. The spirit of the crew was dead, only a matter of time until the body went as well. The bay doors opened. 

Infinity stretched before them, but to their left was food, water, power, even women if they were lucky. The beaters clambered onto the Civilian ship. It was too sleek for an ore hauler, promising something much nicer. 

Another bad sign.

 He was certain now that this was a trap. From nearly fifty years of living, Allan had learned that if something looked too good to be true it probably was. The others must see it too. But there was nothing left for them. If the church hadn’t laid a trap they would have starved in space. They could have tried for earth, but that would have meant encountering the Fleet, and even if they made it past the Fleet, what was on earth? Radiation and blasted deserts. No fuel, certainly no food, water for all, but wormwood came with the water half the time. 

The beaters hauled themselves along the sides of the ship, using mag hooks like swimmers doing the breaststroke. Allan watched as they spread out slowly, the ship was a small cruizer, it looked like one of the early pleasure ships from the twenty-eighties. Cruise from earth to mars to the belt in a year-long excursion.  Daily orgies, unlimited buffets, brain wires, drug sims, Neural reconstruction. He found himself fantasizing, a cruise of now geriatric hedonists lost in space, partying in the belt for the last forty years. That would be poetic justice. Skull-faced demons coming at last to collect the souls of the damned. 

He snapped out of the daydream as A21 sent out the “door” ping. Allan grabbed 21’s Line and skated out to see what he had found. Others where already  gathered around the door when he got there, heads pushed together communicating privately. 

“ What’s the holdup?” He asked, slowing himself to a stop as he arrived. 

“ The thing’s unlocked.” 

“ Our lucky break, eh.”

 No one laughed. He looked around at the dozen or so men. A part of him wanted to just open the damn trap and dive in, come what may.  But they still had to pretend. Though only God knew why. Perhaps it had to do with that false hope he had given them. 

“ Hack the doors anyway, we’ll key them remotely just like always.”  The tension among the crew grew as they worked. He was lucky they had run out of stims two months ago. The beaters were always keying themselves up with the stuff before a job, and they would have cracked if they’d been on the stuff now. 

They backed off forty meters, a little over half the ship length, and opened the door. Nothing happened, which was what Allan had been afraid of. No one wanted to stand in the airlock and the inner door wouldn’t open unless the outer door was closed. So it was either blast it open and vent the ship or have someone stand in the airlock when the inner door opened calling the all clear. He remembered the last ship that had blasted the doors on. Human shapes being sucked out into the darkness, boiling and freezing as they burst. A good haul wasted. 

“ What the hell, I’ll do it.” Allan was surprised he had said it. Normally he was immune to idiot courage. It was a bad decision, it let the whole crew know he was ready to die. Bad for morale. But he couldn’t find the energy to care. No one said anything to him as he made his way to the airlock, skating alone in the silence of space. 

 He floated in a slow circle inside the airlock as they backed off for the second time. The other doors closed, gravity slowly engaged allowing him to come to his feet easily. a set of lights flashed over the door, first red, then green. Would it be an explosion or just a couple of men with armor piercing rounds waiting on the other side of the door? He wondered if he would have any profound flashbacks. Would he have time? Or would it just be over? Forever blacking out and never coming back.  Nonexistence…… The door opened. No explosion, no men with guns. Nothing. 

 He sounded all clear and stepped into the ship, rifled raised. A pristine white fitting room with old blue and white space suits. The goofy kind, big and baggy,  fishbowl helmets, overly large, coated in dark tint. 

He moved to the open bulkhead, a good thing they hadn’t blasted the doors, grabbed one of the overly large helmets, and tossed it through the open door. It bounced down the open hallway. No explosions, no alarms, no shots. He could see all the way down the hall, lined with doors on either side. The airlock opened behind him and five beaters came in, clubs in hand. The black skulls grinning in shy amusement at the surroundings.  

“ Nothing.” He said over the com. The skulls all nodded. “Check the hall, don’t get distracted unless you see a civy. Park. you’re the chaser for now. If we see more than one, stay together. We will head to the command deck, see who’s running this ghost.” Again the skulls nodded. They all knew what to do. They trotted past him through the bulkhead.  He stepped out after them. A wall map informed him that the command deck was straight ahead. Either he was wrong about this being a pleasure ship or the church had gutted all the pleasure out of it. It was obviously now a transport, Though it had to be one of the slowest transports in the system. A beater paused at a side door marked “ Women’s Quarters.” 

“ Save it.” Allan barked. “Lock down the ship and we will have plenty of time for that later.” another five borders sent pings from the airlock. Over half the boarding party was in. His mood was beginning to lighten.

 Maybe this isn’t a trap, maybe luck’s on our side today.  They reached the command deck bulkhead. Unlocked. Allan keyed the door. It was a large domed room, doubled tiered with gold and silver inlay framing massive screens. There was an old holoprojector in the middle of the dome, shut off for now, in front of it a man stood. He was dressed in a brown robe and had thin features. Allan had seen dozen’s like him. A Zealot, one of the crazies. The kind that would sing hymns while they were being burned alive. A good old-fashioned “turn the other cheek” type of Christian. 

The man smiled at them and opened his arms. 

“Welcome to the Redeemer.”   Allan was tempted to shoot the man right there, but he wanted information. 

“ Don’t kill him until I say so.” The beaters, once they had seen that the Zealot was unarmed, had ignored him and started searching the command deck.  Allan walked up to the man.“What does she carry?” 

“Eternal life.” 

Allan slapped him. His armored glove striking hard against the man’s cheekbone. The zealot was sent sprawling. He stood over the priest and put a booted foot on the man’s hand. 

“None of that. I don’t want your preaching or your salvation or eternal life. What cargo does the ship carry.” 

The zealot cringed as Allan began to press with his boot. Though his voice was calm when he answered. 

“ She doesn’t carry anything. Just enough supplies for one man to live for six months.” 

“ That so?” Allan lifted his boot. Then stomped down hard. He watched the zealot as he writhed, holding in a scream. 

“ You want me to believe that you jumped all the way out here, to the edge of the belt, with just enough rations to get back?” 

The zealot smiled through his pain. “ No, I left with just enough rations to get here. Tomorrow the food runs out.”  Allan kicked the man in the short ribs. He thought he felt a crack but wasn’t sure. He kicked him again just to make certain. 

“ You’re a funny man, though predictable, I bet I can tell you your life’s story… You came out here, with some great ‘Purpose’” Here he waved his arm, floating the word like he was wafting a smell. “ and this Purpose is to bring eternal life to the last unbelievers. Only we don’t want your nonsense.” He stepped on the priest’s hand again, for good measure. The man groaned. 

“ Boss.” He turned toward Park. 

“ What?” He snarled .

“ There’s nothing. Just a little water and food, no fuel, maybe some salvage if we look manually.”  

Allan found he wasn’t surprised. He had known as soon as he had seen the priest. 

“ We’ll scrap what we can.” He turned back to the priest. “ You, my friend, have a long hard death ahead of you.” 

“Boss! There’s a ship on the radar.” He felt his blood turn cold. So that was the trap. 

“ Back to the ship!” He roared. No one needed the command.  They were all racing that way.  An explosion rocked the floor, The lights went dark and his next step lifted him into the air as gravity turned off. He groaned internally. His own ship would have either run, or been disabled. Switching to infrared he tried to ping his crew. Nothing. They were jammed. His earlier apathy returned. They were dead, sitting ducks. The Church could blow them up, starve them out or board and slaughter them. He looked ahead and saw his men’s orange outlines, still making their way down the corridor. Then he saw more orange outlines. They poured through the bulkhead at the airlock, there was some small arms fire and then his men were overrun and the newcomers were moving toward him. The lights flipped on and he was slammed to the floor as gravity engaged. 

He didn’t think but lifted the rifle to his shoulder still prone and fired into the crowd of white armored suits. Quick precise three round bursts, armor piercing ammo. Two dropped, the rest scattered into the doorways and side chambers. He saw one of the bodies of his men being dragged into a side passage. 

They are taking us alive. 

The thought washed away all his apathy towards death. He could not be taken alive. If they found out who he was, what he had done…. He couldn’t face torture. He got to his feet, and ran. A couple of small-arms fire pinged off his back but didn’t slow him. He burst into the command deck and turned, keying the door shut and locking it. The priest lay on the floor still curled into a ball mumbling a prayer. Allan ignored him, searching the room with his eyes till he saw it. 

EMERGENCY LIFECRAFT. He sprinted over, heaving at the door. It opened. 

Thank God. 

He went to the end of the small chamber where a computer was camped inside the wall. 

“ Launch the pod.” 

“ unrecognized personal, captain permission required.” The computer informed him smoothly. He cursed then turned,  running towards the priest. A red glow was emanating from behind the sealed door. They would be through soon. He grabbed the priest by the leg and began dragging him toward the pod. 

“ A good thing I didn’t kill you right out, isn’t it? I guess this is your chance to convert me.” He was talking out of panic, half laughing. The cutting had gone quiet. He was nearly there. 

The door exploded inward, white suits pouring through. He ignored them.

 Almost there. They started firing at him. Several shots rocked his head, darkening his vision for a second, another one hit him in the back of the knee and he fell, but through the pod’s open door. Bullets ricochet around the interior of the life pod, He roared at the priest to send them off, then began firing out the doorway. Time seemed to slow as shots swarmed past his head, an angry hive of bees flying around the enclosed space. A shot bounced off his face plate cracking the glass of his visor half blinding him. Another hit him in the shoulder, His rifle was torn from his hands and then they were coming at him, no more shots. They wanted him alive. They knew. He screamed, scrambling for the back of the ship, huddling against the wall. They came for him, to repay him. Yet they never got to him. 

The doors closed. The computer announced their impending launch and they were off.  Gravity slipped away a heavy blanket being lifted. The computer informed them to remain seated and belted in until they reached their destination. Earth. Five years remained until arrival. 

Allan laughed. He laughed so hard he shook, tears rolled down his cheeks under his faceplate till he opened it up, and his laughter rolled around the small cabin, a manic cracking of a broken throat screaming out relief and irony. He laughed until he had no voice left, then he shuddered uncontrollably. Floating unchecked, sometimes bumping from wall to wall. When the convulsions released him he opened his eyes looking around. 

The priest lay unmoving, blood slowly flowing from several wounds, dark red moons orbiting him. 

There were four seats, a waste valve, a storage locker and the computer at the far end. It was riddled with bullet holes. He floated over to the priest. The man was breathing, though barely. A wave of panic burst on him. Dying alone, trapped in this small cave. He floated over the locker withdrawing some first aid packs and began applying them to the priest. Three gunshot wounds. One in the arm, another in his leg and a third in his gut. 

“ You’ll be fine, just a patch or two. I’ve had worse.”  The first aid patches sealed themselves to the priest, molding to the skin. 

“ Just you and me now.” he said, nervous about the silence. “ Just a priest and his congregation, eh?” He slowly positioned the priest in one of the seats, belting him in. 

“ It’s just you and me. Off to nowhere. travelers in the void….” he looked at the man’s face, already swelling from where his gantlet had struck him. He was a skinny pale youth surely not more than twenty. Allan found his heart swelling with enormous love for the man, a brother, or long lost son perhaps. 

“ Just you and me…” He repeated, trailing off. The patches had turned black. The priest was dead. He looked at the young man, the boy. A waste of life. A sack filled with water and meat. Dead. 

Why would you let this happen? He felt tears welling in his eyes. His throat locked up as he tried to speak, or cry, or vomit. He flailed uselessly as he spun in zero-G. A Proximity warning came on, then silenced as a ship connected. His mind moved slowly, groping for something. He was supposed to resist, fight. Wasn’t he? He needed more time. He needed…. Something. Maybe a cigarette. His grandfather had always said he needed some good old fashioned religion. The gun was in his hands, aimed at the door. They would turn on the G first, then gas or flashbangs. It wouldn’t matter, his helmet would keep him safe from both. Three shots, drop someone then his knife, or maybe he could steal a weapon from one of the fallen. He could do it. He’d made it this far. The G came on, but the wrong way. He dropped towards the ceiling. As he hit he saw the door open. A canister bounced once then exploded. Black. 

Paint bomb. He keyed his visor, only to be blinded by a flashbang the next second. He fired knowing this would be his last free action. His last chance to hurt anyone. He couldn’t hear it but he felt the gun jump three times.  Then he dropped it and put his hands up. 

“ I repent, I repent, I’m one of you now!” He screamed. He couldn’t hear his own voice. His arms were yanked behind his back, and cuffed there. This was it. He was done. Caught. He wondered if he would go to hell. Grace was free wasn’t it? He screamed his continued repentance.

” I confess Jesus as my lord, and believe in my heart God raised him. Isn’t there no condemnation?” Someone struck his face and he was quiet. His vision was returning and he could hear muffled yells outside the ringing of his ears. Someone hit the backs of his knees and he fell. He knew what would happen now.

At least its not torture. There was less noise now as one man spoke.

My evil deeds no doubt. Then there was silence. He took this as his turn to speak.

” I protest, I have repented of my sins and I’m now a brother in Christ. Aren’t you called to forgive?” He could just make out the response.

“We’ll let god judge whether or not you’ve repented. You’ve had your run here.” The silhouette motioned and he felt, then didn’t as the world tilled and he lost all feeling in his body. He saw his headless corpse for a moment, then didn’t see.