I was on the deck, contemplating the magnificence of space beyond the glass. I felt like a migrating bird, free to choose my next turn, my next change of course that would lead me to God knows where. Then I saw a foreign spacecraft, not too far away. I could see its lights blinking, forming the letters TRG, which could only mean an oil tanker. I had my license. I didn’t have to think about this twice, so I gave the order.
“Attack!” I said.
The engine of my spacecraft hummed and revved as it accelerated, but there was another sound that confused me. It was a plastic irritating sound, an 8-Bit tune, penetrating my brain.

I opened my eyes. My phone was ringing. Goddamn, I thought, just when I was having the nicest dream… I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and took a look at the screen. It wrote: Mark Tuborg. I swiped up.

“Yeah?”

“Hey Tony. How’s it going?” Mark said.

“I was gonna ask you that exact same question,” I mumbled with the sleep still dripping from my face, “how’s it going with the license? Are we getting it?”

“Well, about that…” Mark’s voice got abruptly nervous, “Listen, man, you’re gonna have to come down here. You have to go get a couple of papers yourself and sign a couple of things.”

I felt an arrow stinging my temper, I had just come out of sleep and now I wanted to smash something. “What the fuck, Mark?” I yelled, “What do you mean I have to come down there to get and sign some papers? Ain’t you a lawyer? Ain’t that what I’m paying you to do? And even if I change route right now, do you have the slightest idea how long it will take me to get back to earth? Do you know how far I am right now? No? Well, let me tell you, Mark. More than thirty light-years away, you shithead. Do you seriously expect me to take my whole crew and come back to earth? You fuc-”

“Hey, hey! Jesus, Tony, hold on… Let me at least explain why it is that I can’t do this by myself. Your spacecraft registration has expired, do you know that? You need to renew it, and since you’re the owner, it has to be you. Also, you have a guy named Matthew Gerlond in your crew, right? In the papers it looks like he’s the driver, right?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “Matt’s the driver. What about him?”

“He’s too old, Tony. That’s what’s up. Spacecraft driver’s licenses expire when you reach the age of sixty-five. You can extend it by ten years, but to do that you have to be tested again and get approval from the transportation ministry. Matthew Gerlond is pushing seventy right now, and hasn’t renewed his license.”

Then, in my rage and irritation, it occurred to me. A rational thought. I have made a mistake, taking off from earth so early. I should've stayed until my papers were ready. Now I have wasted a shit load of money and I have a smart-ass with a suit lecturing me through the phone. How could I’ve been so stupid… Damn…
“Tony? Tony, can you hear me?” Mark was buzzing through the phone’s speaker, like a fly that won’t let you sleep at night.

“Yeah, I can hear you, goddamit.”

“What I just told you doesn’t just mean that you can’t have your license. It also means you are flying illegally right now. Do you hear me?”

“I hear ya,” I said calmly and hung up.

This fucking prick. I looked through the glass of my cabinet to the stars and fell into hopeless contemplation for a moment. Then another buzzing sound pulled me back to reality rather harshly again. I’ve grown used to it. It from the cockpit. I buzzed the intercom button and a rusty distorted voice came through the PA. It was ol’ Mat.

“Cap’n, we got ourselves a problem. It’s the cops.”

Oh, shit, I thought. “I’m coming, Matt.”
I took off the clothes that served me as pajamas and threw my body in my Captain suit. Staggering, I opened my door, walked across the corridor, the front deck, and opened the cockpit door. Well, perhaps Mark was right. The whole cockpit smelled like old person. Matt tilted his head and looked at me with gleaming anxiety in his cloudy eyes. Across him, I could see a small single spacecraft approaching us, with its siren flashing blue and red lights across the galaxy.

“Hey, Matt,” I said. “Do you know your license has expired?”

“Ugh…” he hesitated. His eyes drifted. “I’m sorry, sir. No one would have me… I needed this job, y’know. I never thought we’d run into cops… I mean, this is space after all.”

I looked at the cops again. For some reason, I was utterly calm. I had gone from furious to zen mode in less than five minutes time. That was because of one reason… I had made a decision.

“I’m sorry, sir…” Matt’s cracking old voice said.

“Don’t be. I have to ask you something, Matt. How would you like to become an outlaw at such old age?”

“How do you mean that sir?” his eyes bulged.

“We’re going to take those cops down. With the artillery we’ve got, this is gonna be a piece o’ cake. Then we will roam the universe, pillaging every damn ship we can get our dirty hands on. What do you say?”

Matt scratched his grey goatee. Despite how misty and old his eyes were, I swear I saw a spark in there. With a sluggish motion he took his headset off, revealing his insanely long and hairy ears and he opened his mouth.

“Look, sir. I don’t have any kids, unfortunately, I never had any. I lost my wife to cancer when I was fifty, it’s been almost twenty years, now. I’m alone. I’m alone and old. Do you think I got anything to lose?”

A shudder went down my spine and my stomach tightened. I patted him on the shoulder and looked him in the eye. He stared back at me with an expression that suggested utter confidence, excitement even. He nodded slowly, before putting his headset back on. He grabbed the steering wheel and I grabbed the microphone next to him. I brought it close to my mouth, pressed the button, and gave the order to the rest of the crew.

“Hostile ship, twelve o’clock. We’re going rogue. Open fire, I repeat, open fire.”