In the distant depths of airless space, near the Soaring Dragon Nebula, an entity had been coalescing out of a black hole for centuries. When it began its journey, humankind did not notice it at first, but time would alter that.

  As Long John Queeg plummeted toward the surface of a rocky planetoid, he realized he was not as blasé about dying as he had imagined.

  He wrestled with the manual navigational control for long seconds, his heart in his throat as rocks barreled toward him in the viewscreen. With a last mighty heave, he pulled back on the control. The ship’s nose lifted a fraction. The ship landed with an ear-splitting screech, gouging a fissure along the ground.

  The Don Quixote plunged to a halt. An enormous silence fell around Long John. He drew a shaky breath and wiped sweat from his brow. The sensors read an atmosphere near to earth’s, so the air was breathable. That was good, since he knew he would have to make some repairs to the ship that would be hard to do in a spacesuit.

  He grabbed his toolkit and punched the open airlock button. Once he stepped onto the dry ground, he felt as if a blast from a forge had hit him. In all directions the land stretched away, stony and desolate, with rock outcroppings, crevasses and cliffs, but no living things in sight. The wind tasted hot and gritty. He glanced around at the arid landscape and heaved a sigh. It could be worse. At least he was fairly sure he could repair the part that had gotten him into this predicament.

  Sweat began dripping into his eyes, so he tied his red bandana around his head. He checked his reflection in the dark viewscreen and noticed with a grim chuckle that it made him look rakish and piratical.

  He turned to open the plate that housed what he needed to repair, but something flickered in the corner of his eye. He glanced at it and saw a large black spider sitting on a rock. It was about the size of a small dog, its eight knees poking above its head, its beady red eyes staring at him.

  He glanced away from it and saw another spider climbing onto a rock, and another, and another. In all he guessed he saw about thirty large spiders perched on rocks, watching him. “Um, hello,” he said.

  The spider he had first seen spoke a few words in a clackety hissing voice.

  “Oh, shoot.” He realized he had forgotten his translator. Taking a step back, he eased inside the airlock, grabbed the translator device, and stuck it in his right ear.

  Emerging again, he heard the translator’s customary hiss, then the spider leaned over and spoke to his nearest companion. “Does he look good to eat?”

  “Excuse me,” said Long John, clearing his throat. “Greetings. I am not good to eat.”

  “We should decide that, not you,” said the spider. “What are you?”

  “I’m a human. From the planet Terra, in Sol system.”

  The second spider leaned closer. “He looks tasty . . .lotsa muscles.” Their sharp teeth gleamed wetly as all the spiders looked him over.

  “I’m more than that!” said Long John. “Argh! I’m a pirate!” He pointed to his bandana. “See?”

  The spiders exchanged confused glances. “What’s a pirate?”

  “You don’t know?” He thought for a moment. “I’ll show you.”

  In his ship he carried a projector and files of a thousand vids, which he sometimes watched to while away the time. He bounced into the ship once more, collected the projector and a handful of vids, and climbed out again.

  He set up the projector to display on a flat cliff face a few yards from the ship. For a moment he mulled over the vids, debating whether to show them Pirate Gold or The Pirate and the Princess. He settled on Pirate Gold, since it contained more sword fighting and bloodshed, and popped in the vid.

  “Now this is about ships on the ocean, so it’s a little different from my ship, which flies in space. But you can get the general idea.” He pushed Play.

  Apparently the spiders had never seen anything like it. In rapt astonishment they watched battles between tall ships amid smoke and cannon fire punctuated by ear-splitting explosions, pirates swinging on lines from deck to deck, hand-to-hand sword and gun fights, captures and surrenders and ships going down. At the end they were cheering, though their cheers sounded like “Yooghoop!” without the translator, which rendered their cry as “Yippee!”

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  They all disappeared into their holes under the rocks and came out again waving little knives with two-inch blades, like kitchen knives. They shouted, “Pirates! We want to be pirates!”

  “Well, you’re in luck,” said Long John. He stepped up onto a rock and declaimed, “Because I’m a pirate king! And it is, it is a glorious thing to be a pirate king!”

  They threw their knives in the air and yelled “Huugbouy!” which translated as “Hurrah! Now how do we be pirates?”

  “I will take twenty-five of you on as crew. I can use another crew, since my old one abandoned me.” This was actually the truth. His crew had deserted him months ago, complaining that he wasn’t bloodthirsty enough, and they were tired of losing treasure under the influence of some girl’s bright eyes.

  “Hold on a minute.” He went back into the ship and brought out an old scarlet sheet, which he sat down and snipped into squares to make bandanas, one for each of them. When he was finished, he had them line up and tied a scarf on each one of them, until he had a lineup of twenty-five beady-eyed spiders wearing red bandanas, each with a knife and a ferocious gleam in his eyes.

  “You look splendid,” he said, eyeing them critically. “As soon as I repair my ship, I’ll give you some lessons in pirating. By the way, what do you eat?"

  “Whatever we can catch,” said the largest, whose name was Limpet.

  “I don’t see much to catch around here.” Long John cast a glance over the landscape, still seeing no sign of life except for the spiders.

  Limpet shrugged with several shoulders. “Lizards, other bugs, some plants. Some little hoppy things, too.”

  “I wonder if you’d like emergency rations. I’ve got some MREs left over . . .” He climbed back into the ship, and after rummaging around in the supplies, found some old ration kits left from a previous war. He brought them out and opened three of them.

  They contained a gelatinous green thing, a yellowish glop he thought might be potatoes, and a brown object that resembled meat. He held one out, but before he could say anything, the nearest spider grabbed it. His friends huddled around it and the contents vanished in seconds. The spider looked up, licking green stuff from his lips. “You got more?”

  He brought out an armload, and the spiders snapped them up. The MREs were a great hit. While they were eating, Long John climbed under the ship, opened the panel, and succeeded in repairing the drive tube to the spacefold process.

  It was good news that they loved the rations, because he knew he could pick them up in the markets for cents. Nobody with a normal stomach wanted them anymore.

  When he had finished, he lined them up and gave them lessons in knife fighting, not that they needed it. He promised to find them some guns their size. They also went over some judo moves, and the signals for surrender in case their foes gave up. Long John really preferred to avoid bloodshed, so he explained that the less blood that was shed during a pirate encounter, the more prestigious it would be. The spider pirates were not happy about that, but he pounded into their heads that it was a pirate rule.

  After a good night’s rest, he invited them into the Don Quixote. It was a Fighter class ship, one of the smaller size, carrying only six guns on each side. It was designed for a crew of four or five, but twenty-five spiders easily took up less space than humans. There were four fold-out bunks, a small galley with a fold-down table, an autochef, and a small unit for cleaning dishes. The last third was taken up by storage, filled with packs of freeze-dried food, clothing, and spare parts.

  The spiders climbed on board with awe written on their faces, staring around at all the shiny surfaces and tech, and chattering in their language. They bounced on the bunks, slid into the toilet to examine it, stared at the dashboard, and marveled at the viewscreens.

  “Now if you all want to say goodbye to your friends and family, go and do that. I’ll wait for you,” he said.

  They all filed out, a little subdued, but to his surprise they all returned in half an hour, full of excitement. “Sit where you like,” he said. “Limpet, you can take the copilot’s seat.”

  Limpet, bursting with pride, sat in the seat, and Long John showed him how to adjust the straps. “Now we’re going to take off,” he said. “So hold on to something.”

  With relief he found that the ship lifted easily, with no trace of the earlier fits and starts. While they took off into space the spiders maintained an awestruck silence, but once they were up and out, they all crowded below the viewscreens. They stared out in rapt silence interspersed with exclamations of astonishment.

  “I have in mind to go after the fabled treasure of Alkilyte,” he said. “There’s a rumor that it’s going to be transferred from the museum where it’s kept to a private show on Orfeo Four. They’re charging, so I heard, an arm and a leg for admission, so it’s really not for the regular populace. I don’t think it’s fair for the elite to hog all the treasure, do you?”

  “An arm and a leg?” said Limpet, his eyes bulging in confusion.

  Then Long John had to explain that it was an expression, and that led to an explanation about money, and treasure, and exchanging goods, and the difference between stealing and liberating something. He felt as if he were teaching a class of five-year-olds, but in a way it felt refreshing. He realized he had been a bit lonely the last few weeks without a crew.

  Glancing back, he saw that the ship resembled a horror film, with spiders occupying every surface: bunks, counters, tables, and clinging to the walls. But to him it did not seem horrific, just friendly. As long, that is, as they did not get bored and decide to see what he tasted like.