At fifteen, Samson Black lived the life of a normal boy in a normal town in a peaceful land. At sixteen, his home burned under an angry sky, turned to ash by indifferent monsters from the stars. Samson Black, at eighteen, had a veteran’s eyes and a killer’s heart. His face showed the lash of sudden vacuums, ozone, and cruel solar winds, while his body boasted the scars of fights found on three worlds and the spaces in-between. And at twenty-one, Samson took the mustering-out pay given to him by a grateful Terra, and disappeared into the more reckless parts of the world.
At thirty-five, Samson Black appeared at the space dock of Luna’s Port Royale; and in that aptly-named privateer’s haven he swiftly rose to wealth and power. But Samson only cared for one thing; vengeance. He knew which alien ship destroyed his life. He knew that it, at least, survived the Invaders’ ignominious retreat from Terra. And he knew how to find it again.
Samson Black thirsted for revenge. In full measure, with no stint. And no-one -- not the Terran Space Navy, not the Honorable Privateers, and certainly not the Invaders -- would prevent him from drinking it to the full.