Jean’s soft shoes whispered as he paced across the metal deck of the transport ship. He knew his figure could be significantly more imposing if he allowed himself to use the boots that were churned out daily by the fabricator back on Narax, but for now, it was vital that he remained grounded wherever possible. If that meant wearing uncomfortable shoes as he stared down at his latest acquisition, then he would do so. Perhaps one day—when this was all over, and his people were free to live as they wished—he would allow himself the blessing of more comfortable garments. But until then he would continue to wear the white jumpsuit and shoes of a prisoner with the heavy coat of a ship captain, proving to the Scalador that even as a prisoner, he was still to be feared.

  The Pirate King tapped his translator to ensure it was functional before speaking to the line of captives, cowering at his feet. “You live by my will. Whether you continue living, though, will be entirely your choice. Will you listen to my words, or will you stand by your perceived superiority?”

  “You should be the one bowing, human!” A Scaladorian crewman spat.

  "Then you've made your choice," Jean replied, as he spun and drew a pistol. Without pausing, he pulled the trigger and shot the dissenter in the forehead, killing him where he kneeled. The creature slumped to the ground, his nearby companions doing everything in their power to hold back their horrified revulsion as bile welled up in their mouths. “Where were we?”

  He continued pacing, shoes whispering against the deck as the tension built. With a flourish, he returned the pistol to his belt, giving the remaining captives a clear view of the white jumpsuit as he did. “Your people have lied to you for generations. There is so much you don’t know, but this is neither the time nor the place to get into it. For now, let me simply offer you a home in which to survive without the constant oppression of your government and its leaders. At home, your neighbors, cities, countries, and even planets struggle to survive; while this is partially my fault, the greater blame lies in the hands of your leaders. For generations, they’ve lived lives of luxury while you fight with the decision to buy food or a place to live. While your religious leaders spread the belief that you are superior, simply for being the direct slaves of the Stygibora, many die under the torrential weight of poverty.”

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  Jean stopped in front of the transport ship’s captain, staring into his alien eyes as he offered his hand. “Break free from that poverty and learn how fragile your empire truly is. Join me, and you will never have to search for justice, for it exists in everything we do.”

  “And you believe justice is here? Us kneeling on the deck of a captured ship with a dead companion less than a meter away?” the captain asked, his translator clicking as it worked.

  “Yes,” Jean replied, waving toward the fallen sailor, “I asked for little more than his time and attention, and was spat on for the effort. You can refuse to join us, and I will allow you to leave in your escape pod. The vessel won’t have a radio—I must protect my identity as long as I can—but you could get lucky and run into someone who can save you.”

  “It’s a death sentence.”

  “It’s a greater chance of survival than you’d receive if your government were to find that The Pirate King was on your ship, and you couldn’t restrain me. My offer is generous.”

  “By your own logic; even if someone finds us, we will die. In reality, we only have one choice.” The captain said, “But what about our family members, left to suffer in those conditions you’ve just described?”

  “This is true, but your government will grant them a stipend that should protect them, for now. Once we’ve built enough power, we will strike back against them to save the families who could not save themselves.” Jean replied, hand still extended.

  “Make my government believe we are dead. If you can do as you say—if you can grant me a life I never had before—then you have my loyalty.”