The Commuter Collection

Space Pirate

The dimly lit metal corridor smelled of stale air, the hum of the air recyclers just loud enough to be annoying. Flaking red paint lined the corridor walls, either end almost invisible in the darkness, the corridor seemed endless. Metal grating covered the floor, grey pipes and tangles of various coloured cables visible through the large, deep gaps. Spots of white, solidified foam dotted in and around the pipes and tangles of cables, some showed their age with their sickly shade of yellow.

She sat on the grated metal floor, her back pressed against an ugly windowed slab of a door along one wall of the corridor, her legs outstretched in front of her. She was broad shouldered, tall, and muscular. She wore black, loose-fitting clothes padded with leather in no particular pattern, and large black boots with thick rubber soles. The faint glow of the cigarette in her mouth silhouetted her deep, dark brown skin in the dark.

She took a slow, deliberate drag, the glow brightening the gloom around her for a few seconds, and then exhaled. The air recyclers hummed louder in complaint as they breathed in the smoke. An empty socket on the ceiling clicked in defiance of it, a relic of a smoke detector long since replaced. What was the point of owning a ship if you couldn't at least smoke on it? She took another drag and held it in her lungs. The warmth spread out from her chest to the rest of her body, and she felt delightfully lightheaded for a moment. She released once more, and again faced the vocal wrath of the recyclers and missing smoke detector.

"What do you know about ancient Pirates?" She asked the door calmly, her voice almost soft. There was no response.

For a few moments she sat, part turned toward the door. She felt a pang of annoyance in her gut. On the floor beside her was a small, worn, black metal box with a small, white button on the side, and a speaker on the front. She looked at it, frowned, and grit her teeth, as if it was the intercom's fault for not being activated. She snatched it up and pressed the button. The box crackled into life, someone breathed frantically and heavy on the other side.

She repeated the question, this time addressing the box. She raised her voice, repeating the question slower, louder, and enunciating each syllable. It was a reflex from humanity's time before interstellar travel and communities, eras long before her birth in the stars.

"Wh- what?" A small, panicked, and clearly confused voice replied. Their breathing was laboured; hard and fast.

She swore under her breath. The voice on the other end clearly had more to say, but she let go of the button and the speaker shut them off mid-sentence. She took another couple of drags on her cigarette. She ran her left hand slowly through the coils of her hair, a long, black afro, which surrounded her head like a dark halo. She allowed herself a few minutes silence, dragging her cigarette down to the middle, until she heard a faint noise against the door.

It was too light to be banging, they'd given up on that hours ago. She pulled back from the door and regarded it for a moment. The vibrations were just strong enough to be slightly audible. She pressed her ear to the door, and a sick smile crossed her lips. The slightly high pitch of the noise could only mean one thing, scratching. She took her cigarette between her index and middle finger of her right hand and pulled herself up. She looked in through the window.

Almost fully transparent, a thick layer of grime inside it obscured the view. Still, the blurry outline of the man scratching hopelessly against the door was unmistakable. He wore a tattered and dirty robe. Once it had probably been white, but time, and captivity, turned it closer to a cream-like colour with sickening yellow patches dotted around it. He was crouched down, just barely visible through the window at that angle, but she'd seen it enough times to recognise what he was doing. She let out a blood-curdling laugh. It was probably better the man inside didn't hear it.