Zero G had Mach floating easily in the air over his pilot seat, legs stretched out and one ankle over the other. Topping up their antimatter in Waystation Proxima Psi had taken all of one hour before they leapt into the long dark between arms of the galaxy, most of which had just been waiting in a queue chatting with the flight control girl. She had seemed quite nice and more than a little interested in Mach; Maybe he would route past on the way back to Precipero to buy her dinner. Her neuralink number was filed away in his at her insistence, so clearly that was some sort of invitation to do just that. It was, however, a little atypical to have a human working flight control, but Proxima Psi was also as out of the way as out of the way got so maybe the crew just cycled the job around to have a bit of variety in their lives. Talking to impatient pilots and strange aliens still had to be better than watching the particle colliders converting hydrogen siphoned from the gas giant into antimatter in case it randomly decided to explode day after day.

  Speaking of strange aliens, Mach twisted over to look at Dryn, who was either asleep or staring intently at the status displays of their engines. Or possibly both, Mach wasn't entirely sure his species slept like humans did. Either way his eyes were open, not that they seemed to ever close, and he was entirely still in his seat. A quick turn of his head sighted Cory in the living space in the middle of the holonest, happily chasing after imaginary rabbits made of bacon at maximum speed. The whippet's tongue was out as he panted, and he seemed to be having the time of his life through the hazy half formed images which Mach could see despite being saddled with his armor. He would have to remind Cory to wear his helmet at all times other than when bathing or eating, bad dog. Blue eyes swung back to Dryn, his attention refocused.

  "Hey, you up, Dryn?" That heavy head, bulkier still in the vac-suit, rose to fix on Mach's bubble helmet.

  "Yes. What concerns you?" That lilting, soft voice held no more reproach now than it ever had, though Mach wasn't exactly good at reading Xarlozch emotions beyond the obvious. Oh, the struggles of being merely human.

  "I'd like to ask you a question about religion, if you don't mind. I know it's a very personal topic, but I'm really curious about something." Those manipulator handibles gestured in what was unmistakably excitement.

  "Of course! What would you like to know? Would you like to accept the grace of Christ into your life, so that you might gain salvation?"

  "Not sure I really fit with the faithful crowd, Dryn." Mach shook his head faintly, possibly just to ignore the faint shades of concern in those orange eyes. "No, I'm just curious why."

  "Why?"

  "Yeah, why. You aren't a human, and our people only encountered each other, what, two hundred years ago? Yet you're the most devout person I've ever met, in an old religion that doesn't even apply to your species. So, y'know, why?"

  That big, heavy head twisted slightly to look at Mach in contemplation, or possibly even greater pity. Definitely one of the two, and Mach wasn't particularly sure it wasn't the latter.

  "That is a question with a long and complicated answer, but I will try to keep it as simple as possible for you." Okay, that look was definitely pity. "In short, our own scriptures had significant overlap with the not-human specific parts of your 'Holy Bible'. Our story of creation was the same, except we were said to be God's steadfast workers instead of his first creation, and our fall from Grace was a result of an imposition of the universe's corruption rather than a trespass of our own. All we lacked was a path to salvation for our sleeping dead, merely a promise of guidance from the stars." Dryn focused directly on Mach. "Then, when we began to waver in our faith and question the truth of the universe, we met you. Flawed, lacking, imperfect, yet somehow blessed when it came to creation and expression than any other species we had met before. And, in your scriptures, we found the continuation of our own, a sacrifice for all under God's eyes to wash away the sin without exception."

  Mach's eyebrow rose faintly, the sole outward expression of how weirdly uncomfortable and guilty he felt in the presence of an alien that believed in his own species' faith stronger than he did as a human. "Really?"

  "I speak in all honesty. Hidden between the human stories about human struggles with human failures, of which there are many, there was a promise that we knew to be genuine and all encompassing, despite not being made directly to us."

  "That's... kinda surprising." Mach shrugged faintly, trying to regain his sense of center as he floated in weightlessness. The intensity and conviction Dryn spoke with made him feel somehow... less. He twisted his head towards the whippet, still playing in the holonest with a boundless enthusiasm that Mach knew would yield to a very long nap soon enough.

  "How about you, Cory? You believe in God?"

  The whippet skidded to a stop, the holonest fading to allow him to lock eyes with Mach. He regarded the pilot with dark eyes for a long moment, heavy with emotions Mach couldn't quite read.

  "Of course I do, how could I not? The universe overflows with wonder and life beyond measure, instead of being barren and empty." The whippet plopped down on its narrow hindquarters on the mirage of turf then tried to scratch at his neck through his vac-suit. "That humans doubt it mystifies me, but you are dense in ways that make me glad to be a canine instead. We do still love you despite your severe and numerous failings, though."

  "I echo the sentiment." Dryn chipped in, earning a snort from Mach.

  "Okay, wow, went straight for the throat there." A twist spun Mach back upright, floating over his seat serenely. "You should be glad I'm thick skinned, or else I'd be a little upset at the moment."

  "Do not cry little biped, God still loves you too, even as you consume the tasty colorful wax pens and adhesives..." Dryn locked rigid, his eyes suddenly unfocusing to stare off into space. His handibles twitched reflexively, as if rapidly typing on terminals. "Temporal sync just dropped .1%."

  Mach blinked, his retort dead on his lips. A mental command restored the gravity control systems, ramping up slowly to 1g to pull him back down into his chair. An itch in the back of his mind started, some pilot's instinct triggering. The engineer twitched again.

  "We have dropped another .2%, and the rate of decline is increasing."

  "Cory! Get your helmet on and into your cradle!" Mach still didn't know exactly what was happening, particularly not when so far from any known gravity wells, but it didn't take a whole lot of guesses as to why the extremely sensitive to spacetime distortion time control system would suddenly start failing. "We're about to hit something!"

  That was an overstatement, the sync calibrated to fail within fifteen light seconds of a celestial body; Pilots would have time to react as to not plow into it at half lightspeed at that distance, assuming they were at their controls or had autopilot activated. Still, it was functionally true that the Winnerbagel was about to plow nose-first into something with a massive gravity well, though hopefully insubstantial like a dark matter node. Cory paused beside Dryn, his doggy helmet floating itself within the engineer's reach, and a handible snatched it from midair then carefully pressed it between waiting ears. The inner mechanisms folded the helmet around the whippet's skull, sealing and latching, as the dog himself leapt up to be caught by the arm that cradled him.

  Simultaneously Mach pulled the gravity center back to induce grav-drag, the inertial compensators working in tandem to not convert the occupants into a slurry against the windshield. As the temporal sync plummeted, the infinite dark outside flared with dim light as momentum was converted to raw energy and funneled into the shield projectors. The Winnerbagel shook and rattled harder and harder as Mach sent the center even further back, the lights outside cycling up through dark red to blinding white. The last step down of the sync was a massive drop to one/one, as if they were suddenly within the atmosphere of a planet. Mach's mouth dropped open to speak as the emergency systems activated to drop their speed to a near-stop, the shield converted into an energy projector that unleashed a ring of ultrawhite plasma. It rippled out from the Winnerbagel into the absolute emptiness in between galactic arms, thousands of years away from being seen by anyone that might have been watching.

  Alarms sounded as their shields went down, projectors overloaded from the emergency stop procedure. Neurlink icons flickered as the Ramjet system automatically retracted, as well as shield restoration countdowns thrown over by Dryn springing up in his field of view. Mach's hands gripped the sticks as he switched to direct controls, ready to avoid whatever obstacle had pulled them from hyperlight travel. He squinted at the viewscreens, seeing... nothing? The thought that they may have hit an uncharted dark matter nodule crossed Mach's mind, as unlikely as that seemed. It may not have been a commonly used route between arms, but other ships had made this jump before and they would have found it already. A gentle nudge on the left stick sparked the antimatter rocket the tiniest bit, sending the Winnerbagel cautiously forwards.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "Anything coming up on sensors, Cory? Planetoids, micro black holes, dark matter clusters?"

  The whippet scanned across the viewscreen in concentration, the action more reflexive as the combined whole of the Winnerbagel's sensor suite was piped straight into his own neuralink. "There is definitely something out there, but there is too much interference. I think we may be being jammed."

  "We are also fully within a planet sized gravity well. Projecting the estimated origin point to you." Dryn chipped in, while still working away to restore their shields.

  Mach squinted at the viewscreen suspiciously, then began angling the Winnerbagel down and away from the glowing sphere in his vision that hung a distance in front of them. A harder bump of the throttle kicked the ship forwards. Cory went rigid in his cradle, armored tail dropping low between his hind legs.

  "Interference resolved; Hostile ship detected. Coriander class carrier, heavily modified, IFF codes are... privateer. Please begin evasive manuevers." Tremors ran through the ship as the point defense turrets deployed, each linked into the whippet's mind.

  "Affirmative." Mach responded, even as the viewscreen shimmered to show the immense, blocky, and ancient carrier starship that loomed nearly on top of the little CSPS ship. It was several thousand feet wide and half again as long, bristling with turrets and launchers matched with immense spools that spoke of grapple torpedoes. A flick of a switch set controls back to indirect, then Mach slammed the grav point far to the front. The Winnerbagel plummeted through the space between stars past the massive pirate ship, even as a ripple of fire along its bow from every launcher heralded a coming storm of torpedoes. A faint cock of Cory's head signalled his confusion.

  "G-point maneuvering is not advised. Please resume use of the antimatter drive."

  Mach shook his head, pointless as the gesture was inside his bulbous helmet and with the whippet facing away from him as well. "No can do, too much threat to life with that much focused hard radiation."

  "As your security officer, I dissent with your not utilizing maximum force when warranted." The hull of the Winnerbagel began to thrum as its turrets roared, each hammering out hundreds of iron slugs that shredded the encroaching missiles in blooms of silent flame.

  "Noted." Was all Mach responded with as he spun the Winnerbagel into a corkscrew, the dozens of remaining torpedoes that evaded the point defense fire into hot pursuit. A jerk back on the right stick pulled the ship into a steep climb, then a series of undulations on both axes sending them into a serpentining sine wave. Shields were nearly restored, with just less than a minute left.

  "Dryn, can you-"

  "Brace for impact!" Cory yipped over Mach, the point defense turrets still roaring on the outside of their hull. The entire ship pitched back with a clanging roar as the torpedo slammed into their tail and latched on, the squeal of plasteel almost deafening as equally hard claws dug into the armor. Mach fishtailed the ship in an attempt to dislodge it. All he gained was another roar as a second landed and latched on. A sigh escaped his lips as he pulled the sticks back to neutralize the g-point, no further point in evasive maneuvers; Even if Dryn reactivated the shields they'd just reinforce the tethers latched onto the hull. The Winnerbagel was well and truly captured now, the grapple torpedoes reeling it back towards the pirate carrier.

  "Sorry guys, made the wrong call."

  Dryn side eyed Mach through his helmet, no anger apparent in his expression. "I trust in God's plan, and that we will persevere through whatever hardships may come."

  Cory remained silent, though he detached from his cradle to alight on the deck. A few pawings raised up a floor plate on actuators, revealing an equipment bay specialized for him and him alone. He paused, fixing Mach with dark eyes through his helmet.

  "You are kind. Perhaps too kind. That is... less of a flaw than one might imagine. As your Security Officer I recommend compliance followed by patience; once the situation is fully assessed I will take matters into my own paws and enact rescue operations, if they are warranted." The whippet slid into the underfloor bay, the decking hissing closed above him. A few nudges of the stick put the grav point beneath the hull, restoring normal gravity, and Mach sat back in his chair to wait.

  It took only a few minutes and one more harsh clang of a final anchor securing for the Winnerbagel to be reeled into a docking bay, Mach obligingly setting it down on rudimentary landing gear. A mental flick toggled the cargo bay to open, and the pair descended into the bay with their hands raised. Mach's eyes took in the handful of other small ships scattered about in various states of disassembly, resting for a long moment on a particularly sleek alien yacht shaped like a crimson needle with inlaid gold ornamentations. Something about it gave a distinctly predatory air despite its slenderness, like it only begrudgingly accepted the opulence but would be at home dancing among starborne enemies and dispensing death.

  What weren't sleek and deadly looking were the pirates, five foot tall three legged hunchbacks with a single, dual pupil eye. What flesh exposed, not covered by the drab and styleless rags of their not-so-uniforms, was rubbery dark skin and lumpy, mottled boney plates in crucial locations: Vozgaretts. Mach raised an eyebrow inside his helmet at the, to him, visually displeasing aliens; Their culture was almost universally peaceful, friendly, cooperative, and meshed very well with galactic society as a whole. That about a dozen of them were pointing what seemed to be pulse rifles directly at him and Dryn was rather unexpected, but there were always outliers in every species he supposed. A mental flick activated the translator system and set it to broadcast, his neuralink converting his intended meanings into raw data any alien system made in the last millenia could recognize and compile into close-enough linguistic equivalents.

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen! We employees of the CSPS are fully willing to cooperate, and you will find our ransom and equipment continuance insurance policies up to date and very generous. I trust we can reach an understanding that will satisfy us both, as well as have my vessel back on its way in short order?"

  A particular Vozgarett, with a few patina'd medals implying he held a superior rank to the rest, took a step forwards with his pulse rifle aimed firmly at Mach's chest. When he spoke it was in a series of incomprehensible grunts, squeals, and a tone-pitching continuous buzz, but fortunately his own system broadcast its own version of translator-data.

  "Your Spesos are not what we are interested in. Your cargo and ship systems, however, are." He took another step forwards, the rifle nudging in a commanding sort of gesture. "Provide the access code for your ship, and take off your helmet."

  Mach blinked at the declaration that money was beneath their interest; Why insist on goods and parts when raw cash can provide practically anything one might need or want in a galaxy with many, many ports where nobody cared how you got that money? Still, CSPS procedures and common sense insisted he cooperate, so Mach figurately threw over the keys to the Winnerbagel with a broadcast of its access codes. A quick check of his vac-suits filters showed the pirate carrier's air entirely compatible with humans and surprisingly clean of biologicals, so with a pop he pulled his helmet off, slowly placed it on the decking, then straightened and fixed the lead pirate with a smile.

  "I trust that's acceptable?" The pirates squeaked and grunted untranslatables at him while gesticulating wildly, then when they quieted Dryn posed a polite question of his own.

  "Would you like me to remove my coverings? I would be quite happy to strip down to my shell, and you are welcome to keep my vac-suit for its scrap value." Mach's eyebrow twitched, though even he wasn't sure if he was annoyed or amused by that. The pirate boss just twitched a hand dismissively at the Xarlozch, earning a sigh of disappointment from the engineer. His proboscis unfurled from the underside of his chunky but otherwise flat face as he studied Mach, twitching in a way the human found fundamentally yet inexplicably unsettling.

  "The enginebug will find gainful employment fixing septic systems, but you... you are a prize. One that will make an unsatisfied queen in need of a gem for her harem very, very happy, and us significantly more valued."

  Mach's eyebrows shot up at that. "Excuse me? Aren't you going to drop us off at the next port, to find our own way back? As is, y'know, standard for uninsured aggrieved parties of space piracy?"

  "Not at all! You have an entire life of luxury and meaning to anticipate, one where all your needs are met as long as you meet all the various needs of she who holds you so dear!"

  A long pause came as Mach processed the implications of that, his jaw hanging open, as the feeling of dread building as his brain slowly came to its conclusion. Still he voiced the question, as seemingly obvious as the answer was.

  "Are you guys slavers?"

  The Vozgarett flinched back as if slapped, the affront clear and visible despite how fundamentally unhuman its facial structure was.

  "A very cruel and dismissive term! We are Re-employment Specialists, finding lifelong careers for our esteemed clients and superlative employees for our clientele! Our satisfaction rating is four stars, and with you it's sure to be five!" A look that was either cunning or constipated creased its singular eye. "And with the prizes your ship holds, our capacity for recruitment will surely expand a thousandfold, so we might re-employ entire cities at once!"

  A sharp gesture from the boss had the other elevenish pirates prodding the two of them with their rifles, urging them towards the door at the far end of the converted cargo bay and its bevy of ships being chop-shopped.

  "Let us show you to your temporary accommodations so you can get comfortable; Don't hesitate to call on us if there is anything you need to ensure a safe and pleasant journey to your new life, we will be more than happy to assist you."

  Mach trudged on silently, his mind whirling at the situation. This was a problem, and it was going to get to be a much bigger problem very, very soon.