“Criminal. It ends today. This ends today. You end today.”

I had created a radio from seven potatoes I took from the fridge, a copper screw I took from one of the panels on the dashboard, a long portion of a copper trim that was around edges of the dashboard, some duct tape, and a backup headset I almost forgot I had under the dashboard– just in time. Although I had to leave what turned out to be several other leaks in the attic unrepaired to do so.

There was static– and we have entered a clearing now, and the nebulous clouds between us were all gone– vacated– and only sort of a perimeter remained as if we had somehow reached an eye of the never-ending storm. Or maybe this nebula had simply decided to give us some room. And we had room; the capital ship– the only enemy– almost demanded it, room. It wasn’t as large as a cruiser, but that was only because it served a different role; it was not distant, mobile artillery. No– it was a medium-ranged ship with far too many weapons to be called a transport vessel. Although it did transport; it transported hundreds of fighters. But it hadn’t released them yet.

Yet without firing it loomed terribly over my ship of only a hundred feet. So it must have been at least a four thousand or so feet long. It was too small, though, to carry any HAVE, so it instead had an array of short-ranged weapon systems, Independent Body Explosives, gas-powered cannons, and a number of weapons that I did not recognize– all likely automated.

There were a hundred capital ships for the hundred jurisdictions under the control of the Confederation who, of course, oversees The Army, although, recently, it appears to be the other way around ever since it was granted autonomous control over this newest ‘jurisdiction.’

So, in the scheme of The Army proper, it was rare to run into a ship like this. So you may call me somewhat special for this privilege that was forced onto me.

Now this ship, in all embroidered gold, was named after the eleventh jurisdiction : Eustacia. Fully, it was the C.L– Confederation Liner– Eustacia, a high jurisdiction known widely for its ability to subsist entirely on what it alone has produced. ‘Liners’ were simply ships longer than they were wide, which was most of them.

Time passed from the first and perhaps only message from the Eustacia. I couldn’t respond because my makeshift radio set lacked the faclities to do so, so instead I weighed my options. It was terribly hard– my hand over my chest, I could only feel what I thought to be a motor where my heart should’ve been, and I was so distracted by it, and it was that my mind was racing. And it beat so fast that it was hurting my hand, near pushing into and away from the stitches which were already loose and nearly gone. Yet I couldn’t take it away. What was now the hum of the ship– an incessant shaking from turbulence– only worsened this; the ship was making me shiver as it shivered.

I crouched down and looked under the space under the dashboard.

“It wouldn’t be bad if the creature just came down now and cut this dread short,” I said. But, the hatch was not one for conversation. That is, there was a hatch, there, under the dashboard and behind the helm; copper, cold, absurdly small, and difficult to reach because of the helm which was bolted to the floor right in front of it– but it was a hatch.

It was open and showed the turret's cab, which protruding under the bottom of the ship, could be rotated horizontally in any direction. The leather seat as well as a label above one of the many buttons, which read ‘Fire,’ were both still plain and easy to see despite the relatively low amount of candlelight able to reach down there because of the many windows of the turret that let the persistent white of the star and intermittent lighting illuminate the little space. What could also be seen was the handy copper rod I kept beside the turret seat that was still angled appropriately to the fire button.

“I could fire you, but I don’t think,” my eyes hung over the invincible enemy, “I don’t think that would all do too much. You only have one round, I believe, since I don’t remember getting the chance to use you in… well,” my voice trailed off. "You have one round."

I had originally plotted the course to the nebula since it was close enough to reach in a reasonable amount of time and would’ve provided adequate cover from the majority of the fleet that I knew was hunting me or, rather, watching me. I knew that something like this could happen, I just hoped that it wouldn't. But it did. So I cursed my poor judgment.

The Eustacia was too close to get away from, merely a mile or so away. Even without LIDAR being active– which it very well could’ve been since a capital ship would probably have properly insulated wiring against something like this nebula– the rangefinders on deck could simply track the reflection of the white light piercing the nebula that reflected off of my port side solar sail which was all out and horizontal toward their direction. Had I been deeper in the nebula, that wouldn’t be a problem, but I also wouldn’t have any solar wind to drift on that far away from the star. That probably only made it easier for this ambitious captain to predict my whereabouts independently and claim me as his trophy.

Truely, the turbulence was already almost knocking me off course and I was hardly a hundred miles in the nebula; combined with this clearing we’ve entered into– where the nearest set of clouds to retreat to were a couple miles away– there was no escape that didn’t leave me very much open to an attack.

The captain seemed to be playing with me, giving me time that he knew I could not use for anything. But, in rhetoric, I still frantically looked around the cabin. The one-shot cannon had to be a last resort, final attack. But there was nothing there that could defeat this. Nothing to remedy a capital ship at my door. Not even that ‘final attack.’ So I looked back at the cannon, jammed the rod through the hatch, and tried to angle it toward the portside where the Eustacia was, but after only a second I dropped the rod and it once again fell and slid back into the hatch. My hands were bleeding again, and the dull pain increased in intensity. So I saw a cockroach crawl out of the hatch.

I looked up at the darkness behind the planks and considered yelling at the creature up there– if I hadn’t been so involved with its existence I could’ve maybe, just– maybe I could have avoided being snuck up on like this. Avoided this— avoided this end.

I took my right hand, which had involuntarily gone back over my heart, bleeding, and pointed a finger, painfully, at the attic.

“I know who you are!”

And the blood streamed down my finger, down my arm, down onto the carpeted floor

“There is only one thing you can be– so that is why I know you. I know you, death. Yes– I know you very well.”

I began to pace around the cabin, keeping my head and finger up towards the labyrinth above my head.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“I know you because you know my friends, whom you have taken. I know you because I see you every day, a passing glance, sometimes a touch. I see you when you linger around unburied corpses, mangled, dirty, and covered with some invisible substance, something like a mud that I know you place on everything that you end– the substance that makes me mourn a loss. The substances on those whose bodies float beside imploded ships in a wasteland of a space. Ruined from you and that thing you cover them with.”

The darkness above the ceiling loomed. But it did not respond.

“I know death is lurking on my ruined ship and giving itself comfort in its walls and especially in its ceiling. And maybe that is why the rest of The Army kept their distance. Because I have death on my ship. And because I know death and yet I have not died.”

The radio’s nonsensical static suddenly cut to a voice.

“I suppose you cannot hear me, then, criminal. Or maybe it is just that you cannot respond.”

My attention returned to the capital ship, and I approached the port side window to watch it as its captain spoke.

“But if you can hear me, then know I do not fully understand how you– and your wreck that you call a ship– have made it this far from the initial encounter at New Levens. No. I do not understand it at all. But I do understand that you cannot fight any more. No, you cannot even alter your course– one of your sails is almost entirely gone, the rangefinders tell me, and the western portion of your ship has been lost a long time ago, they say too. So I understand that I can destroy you alone, without the fighters my crew may send out at any time. Alone, without the many cruisers that lined the distance before. Alone, without the frigites or the Interplanetary Artillery that obliterated your accomplices and yet strangely missed you. Alone. Alone, so it’s that no preparation is needed anymore. And you will be lost at the hands of this ship, not any other. That is why I have revealed myself to you.”

And I was a trophy to him and nothing more. But I was no longer afraid of his ship anymore. No. I now knew why The Army proper had left me alone. And he, alone, was not The Army. So if they left me alone, I, knew that this ship, even if it is a capital ship, will not be what ends me. No, it was impossible. So I was calm. And I went back over to the helm; I sat down in the office chair I had found somewhere in the mess of the eastern hallway; there was a squeak as I sat down. I was very glad I had haphazardly taken it from the dormitory before all that had happened at New Levens; it was meant to be brought up to the that desk with the glued pictures to make something of an auxiliary work station, since the view from the eastern hallway was always paradoxically more grand than the western.

I duct taped myself to the seat, an approximation of a seatbelt, I used almost all of it in thick bindings. I knew he could fire his many cannons at me at any moment. But I also knew that he wouldn’t. Not until I was good and ready. But, before I could do anything else, I saw what I suspected to be an odd lightning. I ignored it, but then it happened again. And I looked over and there was yet another brilliant light coming from what seemed to be the windows of the Eustacia. Flashes which came from windows near its midsection, near where I suspected the fighters would be held. I assumed that they must be igniting the engines, that the captain lied.

I looked away and at the front windows and saw that this sort of eye of the storm was going to end soon, and that we would both be back in the throes of the nebula storm where it would be very easy to lose a small ship such as mine– the reason I came here– especially if there is a violent situation onboard, maybe a grandly timed mutiny. Interesting, since, if I didn’t know that he cannot kill me, I would assume that he would fire now, before I had even that much higher of a chance to escape, but, as herd of cockroaches coagulated in that corner of the cabin that had been damaged by fire, I knew that he would not fire because I had death on my ship.

So I bided my time, and my heart was calm, and my hand was not over my chest, so I calmly orchestrated something of a plan. Now the starboard sail that extended horizontally from the ship was mostly destroyed, however the one on the port was all well and good still which was enough for a janky course correction despite what the captain said. Additionally there was the large, supporting sail near the rear that I believed was mostly intact although I had no way of completely knowing given its position and my inability to EVA to get a closer look since the airlock was currently flooded, and that’s where the space suits were. Regardless, that was well enough in terms of catching enough solar wind for the turn be successful.

I sighed contentedly. I rested my right hand– the hand that had the most dexterity– on one of the hands of the helm.

“This will bring this body pain, but if I bank enough that I can get under the ship I will lose them. Or, if I do not, panic them. When I am under there, I will then decide the next move– no point planning that far ahead.” I breathed in and out and then summarized my plan to myself. “No extreme maneuvers, just a turn. Simple, easy.”

I considered jamming my arm into the gap between the handles of the helm, but I didn’t want to risk damaging this body any further since something can wrong go wrong easily in such a tight fit.

I wondered what death thought about all of this, but, as both of the ships were once again emerged in a never-ending storm, out of the clearing, I perished the thought, and turned the wheel.

It hurt very much; the stitches were torn under the make-shift bandage on the palm of my right hand, and there was a very strong ripping sensation like my hand was a cloth being bent just too far. The ship was already somewhat uncontrollable even when I wasn’t touching the wheel, so it had gotten all excited, and anything unbolted was vibrating along the floor; the cockroaches gaining air. I held firm and the turn went somewhat as expected. But didn’t account for what the ruined sail at starboard would change about the maneuvering of the ship very well.

I had previously angled my ship in a specific manner to induce something like gravity, so once I banked in that extreme way– almost upside down from my original position– gravity followed suit. The fridge, as gravity went from ‘normal’ to gone to upside down, had been the most dangerous object in the room. Dangerous if I was still a death-fearing man. It was sort of to the right and behind me, so when it slid left it didn’t hit me, as expected, and when it went up through the planks and into the attic, I would’ve been afraid that a catastrophic breach would follow, but, of course, was not.

There was a loud clammer as it hit the interior side of the exterior ceiling of the ship. It must’ve dented it, but it did not destroy it utterly. I made a mental note that I should consider bolting more things down later once I got new tools because such things, especially when the candles were knocked over and started that fire, were annoying. The tools were all evacuated during the New Levens encounter, though, so that plan was in the far future.

I had, however, secured the office chair I repurposed to the ground with the last of the adhesive.

The remaining ‘problem’ was that I had no idea where the ship exactly was compared to the Eustacia. Now I knew I would get away, but it would’ve done me well to be aware of the other ship’s position. I was originally planning to get by just with feel since this is my ship, but since the handling was all different due to the damage, it was that I had really lost track of things– especially from the calamity in the cabin which sapped that much of my attention away from piloting.

Just as I was wondering if the cockroaches were among death and all in the ceiling, something emerged from the purple clouds; the gray and black of the Eustacia’s hull, directly in front of me. Its title ‘C.L Eustacia’ was all upside down from my orientation.

And then I was out of my trance, and my heart jumped and adrenaline set fire to my veins. It hurt, but I was back and it felt like the little cockroaches were all gone. 'Death' was gone and a creature again. I was me, and the insanity was over. But I had no time to appreciate that nor why the Eustacia hadn't truly fired. So, practiced and familiar with my own ship, I responded instantly: I kept the helm steady, as a steady stream of blood went up to the ceiling, and I simultaneously extended my left foot under the dashboard, finding the rod with it, and kicking it just right such that it hit the fire button of the turret.

There was a metallic clank and the cannon fire and its mechanism absorbed the recoil– its barrel came back in and then back out– and the ship shook wholly. Then a silent explosion in space which blinded me, my vision all bright and unclear. The munition made a wide hole in the side of the Eustacia; wide enough for most of the ship to fit through. So I aligned it and braced myself; I put my hands in front of my face and my legs up against the dashboard.

I prepared myself to enter, through the most absurd means, the capital ship Eustacia.