《The start of the most amazing space pirate ever known...》


 What is old, is new...

    ¡°There is never enough time! I thought I had three months, where did the time go?¡±


    Corvus waited a few seconds before stepping back from where he was standing, allowing the pages, data slates and ink well to hit the floor and splash ink on a heavily ink stained floor.


    ¡°Captain, despite all your hard work, it is time. We have arrived, just like you knew we would. Your crew will be selecting those who are fated to come with us soon enough. If you do not finish up here, you might miss it.¡±


    A dark, foreboding laugh echoed throughout the room from his captain as Corvus waited as things played out as he expected. Incapable of holding himself back, Corvus tilted his head slightly early to receive what was to come next.


    ¡°Odd that your name is not sidewinder, or viper¡­ Corvus does not fit you. No tail to eat.¡±


    Turning away from the captain¡¯s chair, Corvus walked to the far bulkhead and pulled down the captain¡¯s long coat. Twisting on his heel as swift and as capable as a dancer, the coat flared out and barely skimmed the book that flew past to hit the bulkhead inches away from where Corvus had been standing moments earlier. He would have sighed, but this was the treatment Corvus had gotten used to, having seen this exact thing happen time and again. With swift, measured, and dedicated steps he walked up to his captain¡¯s bowed shoulders to drape the coat around them. Pulling a brush out of a side pocket of his pants, Corvus did one last dusting of the shoulders before stepping back and inspecting his captain.


    ¡°Now captain¡­ you know that the crew is already upset for setting sail for the past three months nonstop with no fight or fun. If you are not there, you risk them picking the wrong crewmate and what would happen then? My heart shudders at the thought of who they might pick.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    A furious brown eye looked out from between dirt embedded, oily hair that spilled over to obscure the captain¡¯s face. A rictus smile was plastered on his face if Corvus had to guess, and it was his knowledge that had kept the ship running for all these years. Sadly, it was no longer amusing that he was always one the crew seemed to bet on, if only things could have been different.


    As much as the captain looked disheveled, his clothing was always to the high standards of Corvus as a pirate ship could never have a disheveled captain despite how the man felt. Bowing low, arm across his waist, Corvus waited for the trusted sound of the captain gaining his feet. This was a dance they had played out over the many years they were together, and one that did not appear to be ending any time soon, at least if Corvus had a say in things.


    The wooden chair creaked as the captain¡¯s hook caught under the chair under its right arm. His peg leg skipped along the floor for barely a moment before it found traction. With a tired grunt and the pop of old bones, Corvus could hear the comforting sound of his captain and oldest friend standing. His gyro-jet pistol scraped across the wooden table before it was delicately placed into its holster. Hearing a single boot stomping on the metal floor, Corvus stood erect to find his captain adjusting his clothing to go meet the newest shipwright.


    ¡°May the universe damn us for what we need to do.¡±


    The bile of self-loathing and disgust was heavily weighing those words, but Corvus just nodded in reply, having heard the statement countless times from his captain.


    ¡°Should we go sir? We would not want to be late, now, would we?¡±


    For the first time in a long time, Corvus had a reason to beam an honest smile as his captain heartily laughed at something their leader felt was funny. The levity of the moment would surely raise his spirits, or so Corvus hoped. It was not normal to meet the footsteps that fate led out for you despite your wishes. This moment was always an interesting one, and one that Corvus had been looking forward to watching. He found that once again he wanted to skip down the hall for the play that was about to play out, but Corvus refused to do so, as it would be disrespectful to such a moment in time.

 Dangerous Company

    Lorenzo stood on his feet like he was standing on an old water bound ship, swaying one way and then the other. He forced himself to keep standing. Bloody, swelling fists held high to protect his face, he looked at the three thugs who had attempted to rush him moments ago. The biggest of the three stood in the doorway, moving his jaw around before spitting a bloody tooth on the dusty wooden floor.


    ¡°You know, boy, all you must do is hand over the equipment you have there. All we are is hungry men. Our bellies will not fill themselves.¡±


    The evil laugh of the man¡¯s two companions said enough on their own. They were not hungry. Well, at least anything solid. Over the last few days, these thugs had been looking for things to trade for whiskey or rot gut. If they had taken the meager items he had left outside on the porch for them, it would not have come to this. But no, life was not meant to be easy for Lorenzo, so once again, he defended himself. As always, it was him against many, a story as old as time if his papa had been right before he had died.


    His papa was a drunk, and had not been right once in his life, so Lorenzo pulled his fists tighter and pulled his arm back to go on the offensive once again. Leaning into the punch, Lorenzo threw his fist forward at the unexpecting braggart, who was too busy looking to the right at one of his two companions. He could tell that the punch was lined up exactly where he wanted it. Once it landed, it would hurt.


    A loud beep split the air from behind Lorenzo and in his sheer startlement, he twisted around, hitting the old wooden wall with his fist. He had no time to feel the pain, as his eyes wandered across the scrap he had cobbled together over the last few years. On the big, cracked screen was a fast-moving green dot heading towards the center. His papa had been wrong in his entire life, but Lorenzo knew in his gut he was not.


    A sonic boom shook the small shack, throwing dust out from every crack, crevice, and opening. Taking a quick glance at the big man darkening his doorway and the only way out, Lorenzo grabbed the rickety wooden chair he had spent over half of his life sitting in. The sign he was looking for was here. He would not need the chair anymore and it would be of better use battering his way outside.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Swinging it up, as soon as the chair came to shoulder height, the blast wave hit. No one knew how long the old wooden shack had stood there, but it had been far older than Lorenzo. He and the three braggarts were witness to its end. A fist of air broke the old, wooden shack apart like a tsunami hitting a card house. All four men were thrown from their feet, to ceremoniously land hard a way from where they started.


    Lorenzo coughed, feeling as if he had just had the wind knocked out of him by a prized fighter. As he fought hard to force his lungs to work, he watched through blurry eyes as the three braggarts ran to their fallen skimmers. Once they had their right side up, two of the three got on their machines and drove off. The leader of the pack ran over to an old skimmer that had been cobbled together out of scrap. Pulling important wires from the engine, Lorenzo yelled furtively as the big man laughed before driving off.


    Slamming one hand into the dirt in frustration brought a cry of pain from Lorenzo, but he did not allow it to stop him. Throwing broken timber from him, he pulled himself to his feet before shuffling towards his small and decrepit wooden lean-to he called a home. Forcing himself to focus on what he was doing; he denied himself the chance to look up and see the newcomers who burned across the afternoon sky.


    Whipping the standing curtain aside that he used as a door, he slipped into the shadowed interior. Seconds later, a loud roar burst from within and Lorenzo shot his motorcycle out through the doorway and into the afternoon sun. Instead of taking the roads that the skimmers took, he turned off-road to take a risk to race across the hard packed desert.


    Above him, the sky burned as something broke through the upper atmosphere and battered its way lower into the heavier air. The sky¡¯s fire trail lit up the ground for miles, but Lorenzo only had eyes for where he was going. If he was not careful, he would take a wrong turn, hit a dip, and crash. He did not wish to allow all his hard work to end up ending his life, all because he got distracted by a spaceship coming to this dying plant.


    Leg out to stabilize an extra fast turn, Lorenzo risked a glance at the roadway and saw the dust plums that the three skimmers were causing. He would lose this race if he did not pick up his pace, so he let his leg whip back painfully as he gunned the engine. Because of being distracted, Lorenzo bit down on a cry as his left ankle slammed into something unseen, but no less painful for it. Forcing himself to place his hurting foot back on the peg of the motorcycle, he raced on in the hopes of our race the pack of drunks trying to race him to his prize.

 Racing for the skies and a hew freedom

    Sliding to a stop, Lorenzo jumped off his motorcycle next to the elevator cage that led up the sheer cliff face of the only mesa in the area. Ever since the god forsaken colonists had tried to settle on this dead rock, they had used this as the perfect, natural platform to perform trades on. Lorrenzo just hoped he was correct, that this was where the ship would stop to call for a new crew.


    As his left leg hit the ground, a sharp pain raced up his leg, and he cried out as he fell over into the dirt. Flipping onto his back, he pulled up the offending leg and saw that his left ankle was bleeding from within his boots. With time running out, he grabbed a hold of his short-sleeve shirt and pulled at the arm. The old, well used cloth ripped as he had hoped it would. Using the cloth, he bound his ankle up over his boot, hoping it would work temporarily.


    Three skimmers stopped a way away, throwing a dust cloud Lorenzo¡¯s way, forcing him to hide his face and spit out the remains that threatened to coat his lips and teeth. Boisterous laughter rolled across the area as the drunks got off their vehicles. Lorenzo did not allow them to distract him from trying to tenderly get up on his feet. From the sound of things, they had seen him, as there was some swift cursing before the thump of running feet.


    Hobbling across the packed dirt towards the far side of a mesa, it was going to be a race to see who would make it to the elevator first. When metal screeched, Lorenzo looked just in time to watch the three drunks slam the flimsy metal door across the open elevator. Refusing to give up, Lorenzo hobbled forward through the dirt despite the pain. When he was just a few feet away from the elevator car, the biggest of the drunks punched the button, smiling at Lorenzo as they rose.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Drawing in a deep breath, Lorenzo was about to yell and curse like his papa had all those times, but he stopped himself. He refused to be like his mama or papa. After all the work he had put into his life to be something better, he refused to fall to their mistakes. Mind whirling with everything he knew about the area; he knew there was some way he could still make the meeting if only he could remember what it was. Despite the pain, he walked as his mind wandered, so it could piece together all he knew about this place.


    When Lorenzo was about ready to give up, he looked up at the mesa that stood before him and saw the old shipping line. It was crazy; he told himself even as he hobbled towards it. No one had used it for a hundred years, but if he did not find a way off this rock, he was dead either way. Leaning heavily against the rock, Lorenzo took long moments to unhook a loading cable from the main line. Winding the wire securely around his forearm despite how crazy it was, he reached back and pulled out his trusty vibro knife.


    Pulling down with his wrapped arm, Lorenzo found the bite into his arm not terrible for the moment. He knew he would have to see how bad it would be once he was being held aloft by that arm. While there was no way to test it, he did the only thing he knew to do, and that was to cut the main line.


    Back during the ancient colony days, they had secured a line that ran up to the mesas top with weights. It had been well used and worked hard. With it still holding the weight at the top of the mesa after all this time was a marvel of engineering, technique, and proper materials. That was before Lorenzo cut through the main line, holding the weight at the top with his vibro knife. One moment the line was taut with tension, and the next there was a loud snap and a poll of dust that remained where Lorenzo once stood.