An hour passed as the bridge remained sullenly silent, and anticipation grew. Belcia and Lisa had come up from the cargo level, bringing the shard with them, assuring everyone that it posed little threat at this stage. Many of the other crew members had also come up from the other decks, and Saul couldn’t help but feel that the bridge was getting awfully crowded.

  “Four minutes to impact,” Aiden said, sipping a fresh cup of mushroom coffee.

  “Why do you still drink that, knowing you’re about to die?” Belcia asked.

  “I think I’m starting to like it now,” Aiden said between swigs, “besides, doesn’t look like I’ll ever taste real coffee again.”

  Saul gestured, and an ensign brought him over a cup of his own. He took a swig and found that he cringed less this time around.

  “Two minutes,” Lisa said, her face now forever thoroughly unamused, “don’t suppose you’d let me take a pod out now?”

  “Actually, yes,” Saul said, to her surprise, “Seems little point to keep you here to die with us. For that matter, anyone who wishes to not die in a fiery wreck, feel free to take a pod and go. I can’t promise that you won’t end up in prison for the rest of your days, but the choice should be yours. I only ask that you do never reveal the location of Moby and the rest of our comrades. If you cannot do so, then I ask you to stay and let your secrets die along with you.”

  To their surprise, a few of the crew members did stand and head for the cargo bay. Lisa, however, did not.

  “Lisa?” Saul said, puzzled by her remaining with them.

  “You said it yourself – I can’t in good conscience risk the lives of the few good people that were stupid enough to follow you. They wanted a simpler life, and now they have it. Who would I be if I were to take it away from them?” Lisa said, taking up her own cup of the mushroom brew.

  “Thank you,” Saul said with deep sincerity. A few pods from the lower decks could be heard launching as they blasted off toward Belltower station and the Mercurial. Godspeed, Saul thought.

  “Impact has been stopped!” Aiden said, spilling his coffee on himself as he stood.

  “What– how?” Saul asked.

  “The quisabar… I think they’ve taken control of The Betty. They’re slowing us down.” Aiden said, alarmed.

  The Bete Noire’s engines pivoted, firing in the direction of travel, slowing them to a halt over several minutes. As it did, the crew, though stunned at first, worked to ready themselves. Saul directed a few willing crewmen to gear up with what they had on hand and guard the airlocks. Saul remained on the bridge with Aiden, Belcia, Lisa and Cole, each of them pensive and unsure what to do next. The outer hull alarm sounded as something touched down on it with a thud.

  “They’ve extended a docking bridge,” Cole said, “We really are going to die now, aren't we?”

  “I really don’t know,” Saul said, unapologetically and unable to offer his son any solace. He thought of how foolish he had been to have invited his own son into this life, this folly.

  “Docking bridge is far from any airlock,” Aiden said.

  “This ship is ancient. Stands little reason to assume they would have similar docking methods as The Betty. It’s likely that it is as recognizable to their own modern technology as it is to ours.” reasoned Belcia.

  “They’re cutting through,” a crew member warned from the corridor on the other side of the docking bridge, “what do we do?”

  “Stand your ground. If it looks like they are going to attack, open fire,” Saul said shipwide, “though I don’t want any heroes. If it looks that they might offer quarter, you take it. No one dies today that doesn’t have to.”

  On the corridor camera, Saul watched as the outer wall of the corridor suddenly crumbled and fell away. After a good deal of dust settled, a line of giant suited figures stepped in. One of Saul’s crew got nervous, firing a shot from his rifle into one of the giants. The large figure barely flinched, instead raising its forearm, a long slender blade slid out the length of a human man’s torso. The giant raised the edge, cutting upwards and straight through the offending crewman’s gut and up to his face before he hit the floor in a puddle of roiling blood.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Holy shit!” Aiden barked. Belcia and Cole winced. Saul could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

  The rest of the giants paid little interest to the gore, instead stepping around and over the corpse. The killer simply retracted its blade and continued on through the corridor with their comrades. Those human crew members left stunned, laid down their arms immediately and surrendered only to be dragged off back into the opening that connected the two ships.

  “They’re taking captives!” said Cole. Saul could see the young man’s hands were trembling.

  “My order still stands,” Saul reiterated shipwide, “do not resist, and they will not attack.”

  “You think that will save us?” Belcia asked, “That man was shorn nearly in half!”

  “We have no other choice,” Saul admitted, taking his sidearm out of his jacket and resting it on his chair back. He urged his compatriots to do the same just as four suited giants stepped onto the bridge, blades out. They stood half the height of a full-grown man above Saul, and he finally realised why The Betty’s bulkheads had so much headroom.

  A single giant stepped forward, his suit a different shade of silver than the rest and a great deal more exquisite. The suit had a detailed inlay of repeating geometrical patterns intermingled with a scratchy-looking script. This one must be their leader, Saul thought.

  “What now?” Belcia asked. She and the rest of the crew raised their arms in surrender.

  “Black or green earth, this one’s got something to say,” Aiden said with his arms still raised, pointing at the ornate suit of the leader.

  The leader of the quisabar giants tapped his helmet with the largest of his four fingers that seemingly resembled a hoof. The visor slid apart, breaking into several pieces to reveal the being’s true face. It looked around at the faces of the people in the room before landing his gaze on Saul.

  “Shal Calmosh,” The quisabar leader said in a rattling English pressed through thick lower canine teeth.

  “Aye, that’s me,” Saul spoke, despite his barely bottled fear.

  “Thank you for stopping needless slaughter. I am Vilmogurr, Second Primarch of The Devout. However, you are in possession of that which belongs to void,” it said, gesturing at the consoles and bulkheads of the bridge, “We can allow this no longer.”

  “I apologise, we meant no offence,” Saul said, choosing his words carefully, “The Bete Noire – this ship – presented itself to us in a time of great need. We would have died without it.”

  “That may be. Your man fired upon us at first contact. You must come with us,” Vilmogurr said, motioning the other quisabar into the room. They stepped in, surrounding the crew.

  “And he paid for that,” Saul said, “I only hope you have better intentions for the rest of my crew.”

  “You have nothing to fear but nothing to bargain,” Vilmogurr said sternly, “by disturbing this heretic ship, you have become heretic yourself.”

  “Shit, we’ve gone from scoundrel to heretic in the span of a single day,” Aiden said, sardonically.

  Vilmogurr didn’t acknowledge the interruption, instead continuing, “You will come with us now.”

  “Where are you taking us?” Saul asked.

  “A heretic need not know,” Vilmogurr insisted before one of the other quisabar motioned for his attention. The guard raised a cylindrical glass vial, which Belcia had used to store the shard.

  Vilmorgurr suddenly grew angry. Unsure why he was both so interested and enraged by the sight of it, Saul asked, “We found it in an asteroid field nearby. We can take you there.”

  His bargain failed as Vilmogurr gestured to the guards standing by Belcia, Lisa and Cole. They moved towards them, retracting their blades. Instead, the guards grabbed hold of the three, overpowering them with overwhelming force. Lisa and Cole went calmly, being led out of the room, while Belcia panicked. Struggling for a moment, the quisabar swung a meaten fist, knocking her out cold. Cole glanced back, his eyes wide as they were hauled into the corridor.

  “Please don’t hurt them,” Saul pleaded, “tell me what you need, tell me how I can help make this right.”

  “There is no right, no wrong to help. No, no…” Vilmogurr said, “You come with us. Your lives are owned by The Devout.”

  “That’s the second time you mentioned The Devout,” Saul pointed out, “it would help if we knew what that was.”

  “The Devout is the best of us. He is our empire. You serve him now as he sees fit. As do we all,” Vilmogurr explained, stepping over to stand in front of him. The quisabar was truly a giant. Saul had to crane his neck upwards to its fullest just to meet Vilmogurr’s gaze.

  “How can that be? We aren’t citizens of your empire,” said Saul.

  “You are not citizen, no. You are heretic,” Vilmorgurr said, grabbing Saul’s hair by the fistful. The pain was excruciating for Saul as Vilmogurr dragged him by the head out into a corridor. Saul couldn’t see Aiden through the pain, though he imagined he wasn’t far behind.

  Saul screamed and squirmed, trying to get the beast to stop. He tugged at the giant’s plated suit arms, tugged on its hoof-like digits, and kicked at its legs, but everything he did was pointless.

  He knew he was just as far outmatched as The Betty had been.

  And talent never survives war.

  Art by Kira L. Nguyen