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 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.