the smuggler’s bible


Ermo hurries through the corridor, his ceremonial censer swinging wildly. The dignified processional attitude normally assumed while at large by members of his office he had abandoned in favor of scrambling haste. The captain’s message had been very pointed on the matter.

He bowls through a small crowd of cadets and waves a frustrated blessing over his shoulder without breaking stride.

While not exactly dishonest, the space church’s recruitment literature was—by Ermo’s estimation—notably silent on the various difficulties regarding the reckoning of “Sunday” in orbit. Likewise upon the devastatingly intense social pressures a devout commanding officer might exert.