An Eternal Nemesis - Space Pirates

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It does not take much to be free. Actually, it takes very little, as any space pirate would testify, outside of a court of law, of course. It is doing that makes us free; not having.

Captain Silvarre of the Union Prominence fleet, a registered subdivision of the Coalition, reviewed the results of their recent success. A venture into a renegade planet near Saturn. A planet that had not been known to the public, for most of its' colonized days.

"Gold," the captain requested.

"Five hundred," a rough voice answered from below the captain's deck, aboard the Cut Mink. The ship was named after an accident involving the First Lieutenant's pet, and the Captain's pet lizard.

"Five hundred?" the captain demanded, in a curious, but friendly voice.

"Oh," the voice of the First Lieutenant apologetically announced, "that number is wrong."

"Wrong?" The captain asked. "Who has left our friendly company, in recent days, Kirk?"

"Jamison, Captain," Kirk said, after approaching the captain's chair.

Depicting the renegade pirate Jamison.
Photography: Nuno Silva, Makeup & Hair: Cheri Chung, Model: Bradly James

"Let me guess, oh no, let me guess," the captain interrupted condensing arguments from the lower deck. "Deck Hand Jamison, and maybe two more friends, decided to take an early vacation. Right, Kirk?"

"Yes, sir," Kirk answered, and quickly replaced it with, "Yes, Captain."

In the lower levels of the Cut Mink, were imprisoned the previous 'maintainers' of the now captain Silvarre's glorious business vessel. The Lieutenant approached those cells, followed by a group of young recruits, full of confidence.

"Watch your step," he warned one of the younger recruits, as the lad walked precariously near to the cages. The boy stepped away, and felt a quick tug at his coat.

"Help," the miserable creature inside the cell cried. The boy ignored it. "I can get you gold," it growled the name of the precious metal, and insisted. The Lieutenant paused mid-step, and so did the group behind him.

"You say, err, gold? Gold, my friend?" He turned towards the cell holding the creature.

"Yes," it failed to pronounce its' affirmation. But the meaning was not lost.

"You two," Kirk pointed at two of the boys. "Take our esteemed guest to the captain, for further examin... for a chat. Now!" The young recruits approached the cell, opened it with their identifying tags, imprinted on their hands, and grabbed the creature, forcefully.

As the group continued through the hall of the ship's prison, Kirk received a private transmission from the captain, which said, "Take five, keep two." Kirk knew it was solid advice.

When they reached the requested cell, Lieutenant Kirk ordered to, "bring five out, and if any of them resist, beat them as hard as you can." The lads moved into action, with the sound of bodily harm, echoing from the cell.

Five thin and tall creatures, composed mostly of tentacles, crouched before Kirk. Three of them were selected to lead the scouting mission, after the renegade Jamison. Well, renegade as much as any pirate can be.

"The other two will be brutalized every half an hour, for one minute, until we get the prize. Got it?" Kirk asked the prisoners, not expecting any misunderstandings from the aliens. The creatures drooled thick watery liquids, now supposedly cajoled into compliance, and bobbed their heads in a rather circular motion.

Using remote surveillance equipment, the captain and his primary crew were able to hear and see everything that went on, during the reconnoiter.

"Never trust someone with kids, I say," the captain warned, and murmurs of agreement surfaced from behind him, on the deck. "Those aliens should have known better, than to let their kids on board. Now, all they know is my orders and fear," he finished with a merciless laughter that regularly caused his crew to become enamored to his methods.

The vessel that Jamison had stolen, in order to transport his stolen gold, well, as stolen as any gold can ever be from pirates, did indeed have some combat capabilities. However, it was no match against the vast matrix of laser shields that a mining vessel operated; specifically, the Cut Mink.

The encouraged aliens managed to locate and attach to Jamison's boat, and as they dragged him back towards the Cut Mink, Jamison tried, in a last attempt of bravado, to fire his magnetic pulse canons at her.

"I brought you back the gold, from these thieving aliens, captain," Jamison saluted in a serious manner, as he was put inside the command deck.

"Oh, indeed, you did, my Hand," the captain fondly referred to Jamison.

Evidently, the corpses of two aliens, last seen in their duty as boat maintainers, were found on the vessel stolen by Jamison. Without pause, Jamison used them to his favor.

"Killed them with my own two hands, captain, and proud of it," he said with an accent that attached itself to no specific colony.

"Give me one reason not to send you to alien duty, Jamison," the captain nodded at Kirk, to escort the younger man down below, where no duty was ever favorable.

"I," Jamison hesitated for a brief moment and contrived, "I am the only one signed on the new artifact contract, Captain."

The captain hesitated. It was, after all, a very valuable contract. And it really was Jamison's work that got them that contract. There was a lot of competition for it, as well. A lot of messy competition, that gave them even less friends in the fleet, than they had before.

"Kirk," the captain ordered.

"Yes sir," Kirk answered, and once more his previous military service had derailed the space manners required from him on board. "I mean, yes captain," he mended.

"Assign Hand Jamison a lower rank, and remove his privileges from the boating deck."

"Right away, captain."

"And Jamison," the captain added.

"Yes, captain?" Jamison turned back, as Kirk's massive hand started moving him backwards.

"No more vacations." The captain's eye glimmered against the shine of the information screens, and a twinkling of a smile surfaced. Jamison, for just that moment, felt some real concern churning up in him. But only for a moment.

The Cut Mink and its' unrecorded space escort were last seen heading towards the moons of Jupiter. Official reports tell of an upcoming ancient alien artifact transport deal, but for some reason, only a minor clerk was signed on it, instead of the expected signatures of the Captain of the vessel and his second best. The signature read, "Dougler Jamison, Head of Accounting, in the name of the Cut Mink."

An Eternal Nemesis

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The human life span is estimated at between one and one and a third Earth millennium. Over a thousand years of passion, knowledge, and the will to grow and expand into the vast universe. Humanity, although it is now a unity of several different species, have not stirred away from their original cause. The unveiling of the great unknown.

A war of unprecedented scale had begun anew, now that the enemy chose their new leader. Commander Tuk Am Lai Pal of the Gan Is Is Me Is dynasty. The greatest strategist the universe had ever born. A creature of such vast intellect and keen intuition, that it is considered to be a worthy foe, even by the brilliant Commander Kall of planet Tailtwo, the leader of the human Coalition.

"Captin," a voice crackled in the Command Hall of Greatness, inside the most technologically advanced spacecraft of the Coalition, the Fist of Power. "Captain Kall?" It repeated.

"I am here, Sergeant. Speak," the commander ordered.

"A fleet of Unspeakables had been identified," the voice paused and then added, "and I cannot tell where they are headed, Sir."

The Captain looked back at his General Advisor. The duty of the 'advisor to the captain' was to warn of any dangers that any line of action may present. The advisor nodded, grimly, knowing that they had no other choice, but to follow the guidelines.

"You know what to do, Sergeant," the Captain answered. "Prepare the fleet in defensive positions, and scramble to nine. I will let you choose our method, once you know more."

The Captain turned back, and marched away from the hall. He would not let a bunch of nonsensical Unspeakables disturb his work, on the Board of Action. A team of educated and heavily experienced sergeants was already expecting him there, to confirm their plan. He had to make sure it was a good plan. The enemy would not let them fail, and enjoy a safe retreat.

The future is sillier than you ever imagined!

"It is the war of the century," said Markolas. His hair a monument of defiance, standing straight up on his scalp, held by the majestic force of magnetism. Magnetic hair was the fashion. "It is the war that no one will ever remember!" He exclaimed, and recanted, "I mean forget! Never forget!"

"Forget?" Asked Salastyan. In pure contrast to his party, Salastyan was tall, black skinned, and bald. "Forget? Are you..."

"Never! The Unspeakables at war! Can you even imagine that?"

"No, that is exactly why..."

"Exactly! It is unimaginable! Can you even start to comprehend the meaning..." Markolas trailed on, his mind already shifting away from the war. His mind, like a bird at flight, flying across the great oceans; never waiting for others.

"If the war is so great, then why do you not join it?" Asked Salastyan under a frown, now slightly irritated.

"Join?" Markolas asked, not hiding his despise at such an idea. "Join, ha! I have no time for games. I am a philosopher," he said, as if it was a perfectly reasonable counter.

"They do have philosophers in the Coalition," retorted Salastyan. "They have got all sorts. You do not even have to actually kill anything, to be a part of their crusade."

"Crusade? Do not make me laugh, Salastious."

"It is Salas..."

"My friend," Markolas interrupted, or rather, did not let the other's interruption interfere. "I am no thug. I have no desire to scream in battle, as I murder my fellow creatures. My fellow intellectual partners." He turned, as if searching for an example, and then found one. He pointed, rudely, at a near by Unspeakable. The Unspeakable, a creature beyond the measure of any physical domain; a creature which simply cannot be described in any way, or even proximity, stared back. Markolas shivered, visibly, and lowered his hand.

"Yeah," Salastyan drawled the vowels and smiled, "your fellow. I can see that." He did not turn to look at the Unspeakable. His intuition revealed to him that it is most likely that their 'fellow' was busy talking to another being, not even a creature; not even of their own space or time.

This is a new science-fiction satire series. Please check back shortly, for new and exciting episodes!