Jackson put the glass to his lips and inhaled deeply. God, how he loved the smell of alcohol. So bittersweet, so intoxicating, so forbidden. He chuckled quietly, tipped the amber liquid into his mouth and swallowed, savouring the feeling and the taste as it slipped down his throat.

“Rules were made to be broken,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t you agree, Jonesy?” He asked loudly. The boy in the corner didn’t look up from his book.

“If you say so, sir.”

            Jackson frowned, got up and staggered over to the boy, supporting himself on the wall as the ship lurched.

“Gimme that book.”

“But-”

“Gimme the goddam book, Jonesy!”

“Sir, with all due respect-”

“I’ll give you all due respect,you little shit!”

            Jackson kicked the boy hard in the face, grunting in satisfaction as he slumped to the floor. Blood poured from his nose. 

“Fucking time-waster. Anyone else wanna read?” he leered to the others. Four crew, all men, all slumped drunkenly on the benches, the cargo strapped to the bay in between. No answer.

“Didn’t think so.”

 

The Nebula had been in flight for three universal days. Their cargo, a small shipment of alcohol raided from a merchant craft, was headed straight for Arcadia, a large docking station for raiders on the fourth moon of Likos. Likos itself had been deserted for eons, its harsh environment too inhospitable for sentient life. Of course, it attracted a wealth of scientists, but they never discovered the docking station. Nobody but the raiders even knew of its existence, not least its location.

            And for those three days, tensions had been mounting. Captain Jackson was almost always drunk or drinking, his crew no better. Petty fights kept breaking out, endangering the cargo. There was no authority, no sense of leadership or dignity or honour. Six men in a small craft, constantly drunk, constantly fighting- No. Five men in a small craft, constantly drunk, constantly fighting. One of them had seen no more than fifteen universal years of life, and only one of those had been spent with the crew of the Nebula.

            He was nothing special, a kid from a bad background seeking a better life. Such was the story of many raiders. But somehow he was different. Where others loved the action of raiding a ship, the fear, the adrenalin, the testosterone, he enjoyed only the sheer skill required to accomplish the raid. Whether the others admitted it or not, it was his mind, his skill that kept them alive.

And his name was Kutos. Or had been, before Captain Jackson. Now he was known as Jonsey, a name he despised almost as much as the crew of the Nebula. It was a beautiful ship in the grubby hands of the careless.

And now those same grubby hands, or at least the Nebula’s autopilot they called Sora, was guiding them toward the legendary dock of Arcadia with an almost full load of alcohol. Twenty bottles. The loot had been fifty, but the price was sufficient anyway. Twenty bottles lying perfectly still in a huge refrigeration unit, their amber contents like pure gold. One bottle could fetch nearly a hundred thousand uni, uni being the universal currency. Since the Intergalactic Peace Act and the formation of the United Systems, a new system of measuring everything was created. Everything was universal. Money, age, weight, even language, was now the same throughout the U.S.

There were, of course, objections to this new system. Rebellions were formed, assaults on the central command planet launched time and time again, but this was inevitable. Humans were such territorial creatures, so narrow-minded and selfish. The rebellions were easily quashed, the futile resistances wiped out, and the old laws and rules abolished. And yet, in the new empire of peace and unity and equality, there were still a group of humans who refused to bow before the U.S, a group who were seen as ignorant barbarians exerting a petty and pathetic revenge on what they did not approve of. But the higher powers of the U.S. did not share this view. They knew as well as the Raiders that ships were being picked off strategically, and in fear they shot down any Raider ship on sight.

Because both parties knew only too well that this stalemate could not last. That soon enough the balance would tip one way or another, and when they did, all hell would be unleashed. They could never co-exist. The only question was whether the U.S. would fall, or the Raiders.

 

Ultimatum.

 

Of course, stealing twenty bottles of an incredibly illegal substance was petty money, stealing for the sake of stealing, for the sake of a little pleasure on someone else’s behalf. Though, petty money was in fact many millions of unis.

            But Kutos had not joined the Raiders for this stupidity he was witnessing onboard the Nebula. And suddenly, as Jackson knocked him unconscious, his last thought was that as soon as they docked, he was gone, vanished into the crowd.

 

A better life.

 

The world became black.

 

 

He woke with a quiet groan, blinking the stars from his eyes. Rolling over only to see gloom, he blinked again and froze. No cargo. No crew. The ship was deserted.

            He scrambled to his feet, slipping on a pool of vomit but grabbing onto the railing. He frowned, took his hand away, and looked around. Even in the dim light the truth was glaringly obvious.

 

He wasn’t in the Nebula anymore.

 

Staggering to the door, he pressed his face up to the circle of glass and peered out. A long, dimly-lit corridor stretched away from him. Kutos swore viciously, kicking the door with a hollow boom. Running his fingers over the door, he found what he was looking for. In the dim light he could just make out:

 

LEVEL 1: LOW THREAT

ARCADIA TRADING DOCK

 

He bowed his head, slumped down against the door. It seemed he wasn’t in on the cut anymore. Looking back, it was pretty obvious they’d been planning this for a very long time. It seemed his wish had been granted long before he had wished for it.