Something poked him in the ear. It was a sound. A loud one. Oh, just tinnitus. Snipes slapped his head until it switched to the other ear, then he pushed his head further into his filthy pillow. It didn’t help. He reached for The Thunder God, but it wasn’t there. He couldn’t remember where his old shotgun was, he’d lost it ages ago; months, maybe years, but quite ‘ago’.

He groaned into the gritty pillow.

“Oi, old fuck, get up,” who’s voice as that?

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

“Eat me,” Oh, it was Kayla.

Snipes pulled himself up, fell down, then pulled himself up again. The closet he called his quarters smelled like his armpits. He reached in the dark for a bottle, but they tumbled over each other. He found one, eventually, that had something in it, and poured most of it down his filthy shirt. It took him another ten minutes to find his second left boot. Another ten to find a right boot.

Then he pushed out into the corridor of the ship. It had been white once, long before Snipes went grey. Visha never would have stood for this neglect, and it angered Snipes. He charged with new purpose to the bridge of the DP-20.

“The fuck is going on? Who’s cleaning this boat?”

“Ah, My Lord, we’re ready to lift off,” A small man with a brown mop on his head, what was his name?

“Then fucking do it, what are you waiting for?”

Snipes couldn’t hear it, but mop-head, Kenno, said to the guy sharing his cobbled together terminals, “He hasn’t tried to shoot anyone with his fingers yet, must be good day.”

Tolla, Kenno’s compatriot, tried with limited success to suppress a snicker. Snipes, in the background, flopped onto the floor in the absence of a throne. His boots were on the wrong feet, but no one on the bridge mentioned it.

“You bunch of half-wits found her?”

“Watch who you’re calling half-wits you burned out old shit,” Kenno yelled back.

“We’re looking towards her last known, My Lord,” Kayla said, ah a breath of fresh air, “VE space,” The air was less fresh.

“Those sunsabitches hung me out to dry!” Snipes screamed from the floor.

Tolla looked at Kenno, “I like them already.”

The bridge crew, Tolla, Kenno, Kayla, Zip and Zap, and Shield, pushed their buttons. From Snipes’ perspective, a lot of people he didn’t know were hitting buttons to take him back to Osk, back to his kingdom, and the only person that could make sense of it.

He promised the pirates the stars, and he’d taken them all across them. The question lingered, why had they left him alone on that planet of mud and ashes? They brought freedom and madness with them, and what greater gift was there? He burped up a bit of outdated imperial ration and left it on his once-white shirt. Who cared, if they had lost their taste for battle, then he would conquer his own territory.

The ship shuddered, lept forward, then made a kind of grinding-groaning noised that made Snipes pucker a bit. It was what a ship did before it exploded, he’d been on a few exploding ships between piracy and The Corps.

“Well, Old Fuck, hyperdrive is a wash,” Kayla said with astounding finality.

“Then un-fuck it,” Snipes slurred.

“No, we’re just going to chill here in space,” Kenno said, eyes rolling near out of their sockets.

Snipes didn’t see the crew frantically running from one panel to the other and taking things apart.

“Fix my goddamn ship!”

“It’s not your ship!” Kenno yelled back, “It’s our ship, and learn sarcasm.”

“It’s the third coupler from the left,” Snipes said.

“Left of what?”

“The thingy that looks like a maligned dick,” he said.

“Found it,” Kayla said, “and it does look like Kenno’s dick.”

“It does not!”

Kenno pushed the levers forward and the stars stretched into eternity. Snipes stood up and smiled. He brushed the crumbs from his beard and pawed his hair back. His shirt was dirty, an airy light affair, but now turned grey. He stood his full height with shoulder back, and for the briefest moment, any who looked saw the Pirate King, but nobody looked.

“Hah hah! The Feather flies!” Kenno yelled, elation spread across his face.

“Is that really what you named this scrap heap?” Snipes asked.
“Yeah, man, it flies and floats, it’s a feather.”

“If you say so.”

“37 hours to VE space.”

Snipes growled, found his flask again, and this time most of it made its way into his mouth.
“You have a history, old man?” Tolla asked.


“A very long and dirty one, my friend,” Snipes said, “very long, and very dirty.”

“If you say so.”

Snipes just nodded and missed the weight of his gun and cutlass on his hips. He ran his hand over his beard.

Didn't he use to have someone to shave him?