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In and  for my crimes in a past life
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Feb 4, 2024 04:36
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Kaboria-7 Black Hole Memorial 249 words Apex Magazine / Strange Locations Welcome traveller to the Kaboria-7 Black Hole Memorial. As a precaution please ensure you keep your ship well within the safety beacons marking the event horizon. Before us lies the wreckage of the Adamant Fleet, lost in one of the final battles of Our Divine Conquest. An unnamed commander of the Mask of Worlds, knowing the fight to be lost, turned their imperator drives inwards and created the black hole you now orbit. Some smaller ships were able to escape the immense gravitational pull but vital systems were damaged. They have been left here as a memorial to the untold numbers of dead; for more information on each please refer to our supplementary material. If you tune your comms to Galactic Standard Frequency you can hear the remnants of the fleet's SOS beacons. As there were so many simultaneous broadcasts it can be difficult to discern any one signal, but thanks to the efforts of our volunteers we have identified no less than __54__ unique messages from Divine ships. These signals will persist indefinitely due to the effects of the black hole. Kaboria-7 itself survived relatively unscathed and is now a jewel of the Divine Worlds, responsible for 17.7% of this sector's industrial output. Although its orbit has been skewed by its proximity to the black hole, calculations assure us all it is in no immediate danger. This broadcast beacon has been brought to you by the Divine Worlds Cultural Legacy Commission. Please consider a donation as you leave.
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Feb 5, 2024 04:45
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Late, Again 165 words Gooseberry Pie "Just meet me at eight outside Scalini's," she tells me on the phone right after she says she isn't coming home first. I just scoff and reply, "sure," because how many times has she made that promise? I roll my eyes as she hangs up, where she can't see. She'll be late, like always, and I'll be soaked to the bone by the time she arrives but I know I'll see that smile, the one that shows just a hint of teeth and says, "oh, it's you," and I know I'll forget everything, like I always do. Later she'll joke that she's so awful with appointments she'll even be late to her own funeral, and then catch me off guard with a quick kiss that makes me laugh. It makes me want to hold on to her, to keep her always in my sight, to be late to her funeral too because I'm still at home, stealing kisses from a girl with a wolf's smile.
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Feb 5, 2024 04:45
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Rano Pano 249 words Flash Frontiers / QUIET | MARIRE We're lying down in a field, sharing one set of earphones and listening to the climax of something noisy when I tell you I'm moving away. The wire trails down to her iPod sitting between us, where our fingers are not quite touching. Earlier you'd been cracking jokes almost non-stop. The sun is high above and I can feel my skin burning. Three days before I leave I head out to see you one last time, hoping this time, anything will happen. Someone I've never met before is already lying in bed next to you, watching a movie I pretend not to enjoy. I don't see how it ends. We try and chat online, but the time difference makes long conversations difficult. I get a message on my birthday every year, and send one back. Five years later I'm flying home. I've made a playlist of our favourite songs to drown out the plane and I'll skip to the same three songs, over and over until I fall asleep. Just before we land I wake up to slow, pounding drums and think of you. We'll meet for coffee, one of a dozen coffees with people I used to talk to every day, and an hour later say goodbye. Another four years and I'm sitting on another plane. The birthday message didn't come this year, or the last. Seven years, and I've got flights booked. I think about you for the first time in years, and wonder where you are.
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Feb 5, 2024 04:45
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In!
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Feb 6, 2024 08:01
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Ten Steps 788 words "Ten." Oh gently caress this is it, he thinks to himself as he takes the first step. It is the hardest of his life and he almost has to think through the muscle movements: which to contract first, what to twitch next, how to push himself forward. As he puts his foot down it slides forward slightly on the gravel, the dry crunch mirrored a split-second later by the man he's cursed to kill. gently caress, he thinks again, come on, pull yourself together. Around him Sir Burrell’s garden is a warm burst of colour in the summer heat, reds and yellows deliberately layered to draw the eye but he ignores it all, keeping his face forward. A fly buzzes somewhere behind his neck and instead of swatting it away like he normally would he grips the pistol in his left hand tighter. It's so much lighter than I was expecting. And colder. "Nine." Sir Burrell takes this step just before he does. This time he doesn't slip, but the sound startles him, though he tries not to show it. He sounds confident. Does he sound confident? he asks himself. A quieter voice asks, are you? "Eight." These three steps have felt longer than the day leading up to them. He had rehearsed over and over what he was going to say, this grand speech about the damage done to his family, to his sister's reputation, but in the moment, when he had talked his way in and was face to face with Sir Burrell all he had managed was a measured, "for Alyssa." Then he punched him. I hope his face is still stinging, he thinks as he remembers just how satisfying it had felt to throw that punch. Years of buckling politely under the insults of others had sharpened his rage to a needle point, and to finally let loose had been ecstatic. "Seven." He's already moving forward as the next step is called out, feeling light on his feet. Twenty paces. He’s smirking now, although he doesn't realise it. He'll look about as big as a brandy bottle. Yeah, I can definitely hit that. Almost too easily. This confidence he has found is intoxicating. He imagines turning at the end, calm and collected as he takes aim. He imagines Sir Burrell buckling over, mortally wounded but not dead, not yet, but bleeding out slowly and, more importantly, painfully. "Six." What if he's faster? He hadn't considered this. He should have considered this, he should have prepared more, but he couldn't let the wound stand any longer. Too late for that, another voice, one dripping with derision tells him. Ahead blue and purple flowers sway gently in the breeze. "Five." Everything in his world has narrowed. All that remains is a voice calling steps and counting the measure of a life. Mine, or his? he thinks quietly. He's not even certain whoever is calling the steps has a body any longer—that instead something more primal has come to bear witness. That his cause is so just the entire world is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. That nothing at all between heaven and hell could possibly be as important as the potential now stretched out a dozen paces between these two men. "Four." The metal of the pistol is now warm against his hand. He imagines it continuing to heat with each step, as he pours his life into it until it is burning hot and with all that fire launches across to bury itself in Sir Burrell's chest. It would burn you too, the quiet voice tells him. It should, the other voice replies. "Three." The thoughts are coming too fast now, voices cutting themselves off as they compete for his attention. Two more steps—you shouldn't have come—too late to run now—you're hosed you're hosed you—remember to breath—you're hosed—I don't deserve this—you definitely deserve this—let them know—poo poo gently caress poo poo gently caress gently caress—he doesn't even care about—be strong—a mistake—she'll never—you're weak you're— I'm FINE! he screams inside his head, trying to drown out the voices, but especially that quieter one, the one that sounds like his sister. The one that says, I'm sorry. "Two." Another step. This is it. He blinks away the tears that are forming, not daring to look anywhere but forward. At the end of the garden, dappled in sunlight, is a bed of familiar blue flowers. Phacelia campanularia, he remembers. Desert bluebells. Just like her eyes. He smiles mournfully. A sign he's going to succeed? Or that he'll never see this colour again? "One." He takes a final step. Stands tall and proud. Shoulders tensed, arm steady. Please. "Fire!" He spins, and raises his arm. A finger twitches. There's a bang and—
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Feb 12, 2024 04:35
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Week 602: (Un)familiar Places I've got a couple of trips planned this year, returning to places I visit only every couple of years, if that. As a result I'm thinking a lot about what they will look like and if I can still find my way around. This week I want you to give me a story about once-familiar things. Places or people or things you used to know extremely well, but now feel different. Give me unsettling stories where the details are somehow just wrong . Flash rules will be available in the form of a random song lyric by Matt Berninger of the National, and will grant you a bonus 250 words. As usual, no fanfic, erotica, quote tags, gdocs, etc. Word limit: 1,250 (without flash rule) / 1,500 (with flash rule) Sign-up deadline: Friday 16 February at 11:59pm Pacific Time (US) Submissions deadline: Sunday 18 February at 11:59pm Pacific Time (US) Judges: Captain_Person cptn_dr ??? Travellers: derp Thranguy Toaster Beef The Saddest Rhino Black Griffon Slightly Lions Fat Jesus Captain_Person fucked around with this message at 05:14 on Feb 17, 2024 |
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Feb 13, 2024 06:38
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derp posted:im way behind again on novel words but what the hell put me in with a song lyric It's a terrible love and I'm walking with spiders Thranguy posted:In and flash Like a note on the ankle of the last living pigeon cptn_dr posted:In and flash There's a science to walking through windows without you Toaster Beef posted:In, flash You in a Kentucky aquarium, talking to a shark in a corner
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Feb 13, 2024 08:37
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The Saddest Rhino posted:In and flash Why did you listen to that man, that man's a balloon
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Feb 13, 2024 19:43
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Slightly Lions posted:Alright I'm in. Flash me. You and your sister live in a lemonworld Anyone want to help judge?
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Feb 14, 2024 20:05
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Feb 17, 2024 09:11
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Week 602 Judgement This week I asked for the story equivalent of the uncanny valley. Most of you opted for a story about relationships, some of you took a big swing, and while none of you failed — which is to be commended — only one was victorious. Firstly the loss goes to Fat Jesus for a story without any conflict, that unfolds almost entirely through dialogue that was a slog to read. Slightly Lions gets our Honourable Mention for a compelling tale with strong characterisation. If you hadn’t cut half your words this could have stolen the win. Our winner this week is Toaster Beef for a weird and heartbreaking tale that made great use of both prompt and flash rule. Congratulations, the crown is yours. May your reign be cruel but brief. Crits will come later tonight.
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Feb 19, 2024 20:25
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Week 601 Crits Fat Jesus - Story Time Jimmy goes to visit his friend Dave after getting out of prison. He accuses Dave of turning him in to the police, which he was thinking about doing himself, but lets this slide as they agree to get back into the business of selling drugs. Uranium Phoenix has already given you a detailed breakdown in the Discord but here’s mine: this story makes a decent stab at a friendship changed by a betrayal, but I feel this gets undermined immediately by how little they seem to care. Most of it takes place through straightforward dialogue, and could be improved by breaking these sections up more. Throw in some sensory details, some more action—show us how each new turn is affecting both characters. Also pay attention to your punctuation and formatting. If a line of dialogue is followed by a tag describing who’s speaking then the dialogue should end with a comma, not a full stop. Each line of dialogue should be its own paragraph too, not bunched up in a single block of text before arbitrarily starting a new one. Derp - cabin Flash rule: It's a terrible love and I'm walking with spiders An unnamed narrator is driving to visit a former lover on a whim. The drive feels unfamiliar, and at the end their cabin is empty. They look around, leave a terrarium, and drive back towards home. This fits the prompt and is a great use of the flash rule with very vivid descriptions throughout. There’s some repetition of detail that works to emphasise a reluctance to move forward, and the prose stylistically feels disjointed, reflecting the narrator’s frame of mind. Unfortunately this overstays its welcome, and the run-on sentences lose their impact towards the end for me. My biggest criticism is that nothing really happens. Even your narrator is unsure why they came back. I know I’m guilty of mood-focused pieces myself, but I never got much of an image of the actual characters, just what the cabin looked like and some things they used to do. Toaster Beef - Exhibit Flash rule: You in a Kentucky aquarium, talking to a shark in a corner The narrator enters an aquarium and makes their way to the mermaid exhibit. Along the way they reminisce on their mother’s diagnosis and transformation into a mermaid. Their mother finally swims into view, and they realise the transformation is complete. I liked this one a lot. It’s equal parts weird and heartbreaking which I’m a sucker for, and moves between the present and past with ease. The impact each stage of the transformation has on the mother is well explored, and I like how grounded and normal everything feels—that this is just another kind of medical diagnosis, just another “retirement” program. The final line is a great closer too, and tells us everything we need to know about how this has changed our narrator. Black Griffon - Dark room A presence crawls up through a person’s body to their eyes and mind. The body is next to a dark room, and something about what they’re about to do frightens them. They walk through the motions of developing a photo, before upending a bottle of fluid over their eyes. I’ll admit I struggled with this one. There are lots of evocative fragments (I particularly liked “sewing machine staccato”) but equally there are lots of phrases that sound too clever for their own good (“deserted enfilade of your corpus” being the worst offender). It’s inventive but I don’t get any sense of returning to something unfamiliar, rather that something is in the process of changing. In a different week with a different prompt this might have done better. Slightly Lions - Familiar Flash rule: You and your sister live in a lemonworld Charles gets a call to meet with his ex, Molly. They talk, and flirt, they clear the air and go for a walk together. Molly leads Charles into a forest to a hunter’s blind where she traps him with her “sister” Maeve, leaving him to be devoured. Another one I really liked that made good use of the prompt. There are lots of good details, and both Charles and Molly feel developed and messy as characters. When we finally learn why Molly left it hurts, as does his reaction. You kept me right up until the end, where the final line feels unearned—where did we ever get the sense Molly was cruel and uncaring like this? Charles’ viewpoint is so skewed by his interest in her that this side of her seems to come out of nowhere. If I didn’t know you’d cut so much from this already I’d still feel like things were missing. The Saddest Rhino - Spoiler-free and Spoilered Guide for Amber Villa with New EMF Update (LATEST UPDATE 19/2/2024 PLEASE READ BEFORE PLAYING) Flash rule: Why did you listen to that man, that man's a balloon This is a fan-written walkthrough for activating and completing a new update for a game that’s been mysteriously discovered. At the end its revealed everyone’s playthrough is recorded and uploaded to a secret youtube account, and that the creator of the game has possibly been murdered and footage of this has been uploaded too. This was a really fun idea that goes hard with the prompt, but possibly too hard—it’s difficult to imagine the game being described from all its disparate elements. We’re bombarded with so much detail that I don’t have a strong idea of what the game was originally like. It also feels like you forced the flash rule in at the very end, rather than actually incorporating it. It’s a fun creepypasta, but all the interesting stuff comes in the final few lines. If there was more about Jake and the actual origins of the update, and less of the gimmick of a walkthrough this could have performed stronger. Thranguy - Orbis Tertius Ut Volvitur Flash rule: Like a note on the ankle of the last living pigeon This describes an alternate history, one in which pigeons were made extinct following an avian flu pandemic, and the rise of various soldier republics around the time of (our) first world war. Marley, an investigator, successfully translates a message left tied to the remains of a pigeon, starting a chain of effect that leads to the development and use of nuclear weapons. This piece sets out to write a convincing alternate history that I found very compelling. There’s an uneasy sense of inevitability—that even though events in this history proceeded differently, we still wind up in the atomic age—that’s a neat twist on the prompt. Where this one falls down for me is in its construction—there are too many long, drawn out sentences that are tricky to read, and I stumbled along trying to figure out what the point of it was. Take your opening paragraph for example—the actual writing is good and what it’s describing is interesting, but the entire thing is one sentence over 100 words long that says, “the earlier photos of this bird are remembered best.” I think there’s a better story in here, with some tighter editing.
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Feb 20, 2024 09:47
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In!
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Mar 13, 2024 01:01
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Unspoken 1,219 words I’ve been staring at the treeline for nearly an hour now, picking at my cuticles with jagged fingernails as I lean against my fifth-hand car. It feels so stupid, being here. Everybody’s always joked about this place. At the centre of the forest is silence. Everybody always has something different to say too, something to make their telling worth listening too. None of the details match, though you can sometimes trace one passing from person to person. They only agree on one thing. At the centre of the forest is silence, and you tell it your secret. It’s the absurdity of this that’s holding me back, I tell myself. A forest can’t make things right. Trees aren’t listening. I pat the pocket of my jeans, feeling the misshapen lump of keys and trinkets. What would I say, if I left right now? I drove to the forest because I can’t tell you how much this hurts me. I went because I needed to start moving but even that first step was still too much. So I came home, and smiled only when you were looking, and felt this knot deep in my chest grow tighter. A flutter of movement catches my eye. I watch as a starling hops through the branches, flitting between bands of light and shadow. It keeps disappearing deeper into the trees, before reappearing a few moments later, always in my line of sight. Does this really scare me so much? If nothing else, I could do with the fresh air. I push off my car and walk under the branches. I’m expecting a sudden shift, some momentous restructuring of the world to mark my passage into something new. Or something much older, rather. Instead I just step off the gravel and into the forest. After all, I’d been on plenty of hikes at the suggestion of others. What made this one so different? What strikes me most is the colours. I have never seen so much green gathered in one place, from the bright emeralds of leaves caught in sunlight to the brown-flecked moss climbing the trunks. The carpet of brittle leaves on the forest floor is the darkest of them all, nearly grey mixed with muddy browns, hiding roots that threaten to trip if I lose focus. I lose myself for a few moments wandering forward, picking my path from one sunbeam to the next. It’s quiet, and the air smells thick with dirt and rot. If there was a babbling brook winding through the trees that would be too perfect, and I’m glad for its absence. I feel more at ease this way. The weight in my chest sinks lower, dragging me back into my thoughts. What if I don’t find the centre? What if I walk for hours, alone, and leave this unsaid? I push deeper into the forest. As best as I can I try to walk in a straight line, hoping once I’m done I can retrace my footsteps. It’s a futile thing, and the forest keeps throwing trees in my path, forcing me to sidestep, and scramble down uneven slopes. The thought of getting lost never occurs to me. I pass the time trying to think of a pithy way to describe this. Something to make light of it all, years from now once my heart is settled but still guarded. If you whisper a secret in the forest and no one is around to hear it, did you really say it? The trees are getting taller as I go further, so tall that trying to peer at their tops makes me dizzy, like I’m going to stumble over backwards. I imagine sharp eyes peering down from the branches. Imagine whole communities living and dying in the canopy, chattering to themselves as I walk past. Hundreds or even thousands of creatures, fighting and hunting without ever stepping foot on the ground, living lives every bit as messy as anyone else. I feel small. It feels like hours have passed since I’ve entered. There is still light slipping through the branches but I can’t see the sun past them, unsure how low it has dipped towards the horizon. Looking back up to the canopy I notice a border around each branch, a gap between one tree and the next. Between them the sky is so bright it hurts to look at. There’s a name for this phenomenon, and I’m trying to remember what it was called. I’m sure I knew at one point. I’m so distracted that I almost miss it—a catch between heartbeats, the briefest moment my breath isn’t tired and gasping. The beat between nothing and the crack of leaves again under my feet is what catches my attention. I freeze in disbelief. It looks no different to the rest of the forest. It’s barely even a clearing, just a brief space between trees. Nervously I pick up a rock, turning it over in my hand, then I lob it towards the ground. It lands without a noise. It’s real. Everybody always spoke of it as real, but the distance between rumour and certainty may as well put you in another country. I carefully walk around it, trying to gauge the bounds of its silence, slowly circling closer until there’s only one thing left to do. I step inside the void, expecting it to feel cold. All the sounds of the forest have been abruptly muted, even my breath, with one step and it’s this combination, of warmth and light but being kept at a remove, that raises goosebumps along my arms. I watch as a starling—surely not the same one?—lands on a nearby branch and opens its beak. My brain fills the emptiness around me, imagining an echo of birdsong. I scream. I scream as the knot in my chest uncurls itself, all that wound tension providing power that is immediately wasted. I scream until my throat is raw and my face is red and tears are streaming down my face, this hole at the centre of the forest swallowing it all, more alone than I have ever been, digging jagged nails into soft flesh hard enough to bleed. I scream until even if there was no void I still wouldn’t be making a noise, straining and gasping, expending all my breath as I close my eyes and feel nothing. The starling keeps watch, unfazed. I finish screaming and collapse in on myself. My chest is heaving as I draw breath deeply, silently, quickly. My heart is pounding in my chest, blood roaring in my ears and I’m struck by just how loud it all is. Cut off from the world I realise I’m filled with so much noise, and as I listen to my heart beating so quickly there’s almost no pause, I realise just how much life there is in me. Even with nowhere to go, even completely alone, I still have all this life inside of me. I slow my breathing down, taking control once more. In deep through the nose. Pause, and release. And again. Moment by moment the thunder in my chest calms. Standing still I close my eyes. I whisper my secret to the forest. The forest listens. I wipe the tears from my face and wait for its reply.
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Mar 18, 2024 02:27
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Hell yeah I'm in, gimme one card plz
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Mar 26, 2024 05:38
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Dead Drop 1,965 words Two of Wands Alina realised something was wrong seconds before the cargo bay blew up and crippled her ship. It was meant to be another straightforward collection, though she would never describe them as easy. Emphis, her main contact for these smuggling jobs, only ever left her a set of deep void coordinates and a trajectory, and the complex orbital calculus required to work out where the package was now, three weeks later, still made her head hurt. It was boring work, but boring meant safe. It had only taken her three attempts to grab the cargo, the Good Intentions matching its spin and velocity as she operated the drone arm. A tie for her personal best. Then it blew up and left her for dead. “Rovhal!” She slammed her fist against the console, dozens of flickering red warnings casting a sinister glow over skin paled by decades living off-planet. Engines, weapons, comms—everything useful, dead. From the outside she knew there was no hope. On the off-chance another ship was this far from the lanes all they might ever see was the briefest sliver of shadow across any of a thousand different stars. “Another friendly ship,” she added out loud. Now that the immediate shock of the explosion had worn off her brain was starting to think ahead. Her gaze flicked to the radar, mercifully still active, before quickly making the adjustments to divert additional power to it. It wasn’t doing much good elsewhere and—there! Right on the edge of its range, two arrows aimed directly towards her. “Pirates,” Alina spat. She’d had plenty of run-ins with them before, and the scars that marked what each had cost her. These could be any number of pissed-off mobs with guns and a grudge—Esca Syndicate, the Val’shar Clan, or even the Bloody Smile still doggedly chasing her through system after system. Clearly whoever they were knew the Good Intentions well enough to knock its systems out but leave her alive. And not only that, but they knew where to find her. “Oh, Emphis,” she said quietly. He’d been reliable, but like everybody she worked with he valued his own life first. She doubted he put up any resistance. “Okay, inventory,” she muttered to herself, running a hand over the stubble of her scalp. Years of piloting solo had taught her the importance of being methodical. “Myself, check. Useless box with a hole the size of Salvation Orbital, check.” She counted each off on one hand. “Emergency suit, lasgun, check.” “Mag-mines.” She sighed. The mag-mines were a treat, something she’d been saving in case she ever found that rear end in a top hat Riko again. Nothing said, “I hate you, please die,” quite as definitively as high kiloton anti-ship explosives applied to the human body. “Check.” Alina grimaced in the red light. She had the start of a plan, and prayed she had enough time. * * * Her eyes were fixed on the outside hull of the ship where her maglock boots were firmly stuck in place. She didn’t like to stare too long at the stars. Seemingly every culture and race had some concept of constellations, tracing histories or mapping the future in those imagined lines. To Alina, so far away from all those billions of people, all she could picture was a vast web across the heavens, an impossibly colossal prison. It had always been this way. She was a born spacer, and accustomed to the constant mobility that came with it. Going planetside made her twitch, and even stations like the Weald couldn’t be called home for too long. She needed to be on the move, to feel like she could always escape. The stubble on her scalp itched again. This always happened when she was stuck in a suit, no longer able to scratch it. A jolt reverberating through her ship pulled Alina back into the present moment. Whoever the pirates were, they’d arrived and started docking near the cargo bay. Just one—the other was probably hanging back for now. If they were smart they would sweep the exterior of the hull, which is why she had wedged herself tightly amongst the ramshackle photon rocket stacks under one wing. With her ship comms dead Alina could only guess at what was happening inside the Good Intentions. By now they should have found the first—and only—mag-mine she had left inside the remains of its cargo bay. She thought she’d done well to strike the balance between hidden enough to look genuine, but impossible to miss. Enough to look like she had set up a hasty ambush inside the ship. They’d be forced to go slowly now, checking every nook for an explosive surprise. Like the one she held now. She began to creep around the exterior of the hull one step at a time, making sure each maglock boot was engaged first before taking the next. The left boot felt weaker than the right and she remembered noticing this before, six cycles ago. Like so much else in her life, if it wasn’t immediately written down somewhere it fell out of her head in the next moment. Around the hull of the Good Intentions both pirate ships came into view. They were long and thin, little more than a tube with an ion thruster at the back. Enough room for four including the pilot inside, maybe three if they were wearing bulky armoured suits. You had to pay a premium for the sleek ones. Painted down the side in streaks of red was a large, toothy grin. The Bloody Smile. They’d found her. Well, almost, she thought to herself. Alina gently tossed the bundle of mag-mines she held out to one side, letting it float away in the zero g and pull the coil of cabling between her gloves as she guessed the distance to the first ship. Roughly two dozen paces, maybe a little bit more. Luckily it was angled away from her, giving her plenty of margin to work with. The cockpit of the first ship, the one that had coupled itself to the Good Intentions, was empty. She could see the pilot of the second ship sitting up front, not paying much attention. They had a long, flat face covered in red scales. Not anybody she knew personally. The pilot, maybe catching the movement of the mag-mines in the corner of one eye, looked up and followed the line back to where she stood atop her own ship. No more time for subtlety. She started to swing her arms in a wide circle around her head. The cable went taught as the bundle of mag-mines on its far end gathered momentum. She ground her feet into the hull, bracing herself as the counterweight picked up speed, twisting the cable to aim it right behind the cockpit. The pilot raised its arms, panic spreading over its face. She could see its mouth open to scream. The mag-mines made contact with the hull. A delay while they latched on, just enough for Alina to kneel and brace herself and— Light. An expanding ball of electric white tore the ship apart. The edges of it caught the first ship too, and her own, breaking off chunks in all directions. There was no sound but she felt the explosion rocket back down the tether, remembering to drop it at the last moment as it whipped past her and out into the void. A shot from the rear of the ship clipped her shoulder, spinning her around as her left boot came unstuck. She grabbed the lasgun off her back as she kicked her foot out to against the rotation, bringing the sights up towards the domed helmet climbing through the hole in her cargo bay. Barely enough time to aim before she fired off a volley, the last shot connecting and snapping the pirate’s head back as their body drifted away from the ship. The recoil pushed her back towards the hull and she locked her boot into place, before disengaging and pushing off to soar towards the rear of the ship. Two more helmets stuck up from the cargo bay as she fired off another volley, hoping desperately they connected. The shots had slowed her down, and she planted one foot on an aerial and kicked off at an angle to her original trajectory. Ahead was a hole in her ship’s hull, barely two feet wide. As she came upon it she jammed the tip of her lasgun in and flipped up, now perpendicular to the ship as she aimed the gun straight down at the last figure hiding below. One shot and the body bounced off the floor while she flung out a hand to grasp on the torn metal sheeting, slamming her body down flat against the ship. Her body twitched, desperate to get moving again, she had to force herself to lie still, one hand holding the lasgun towards the rear, one gloved hand on the hull of her ship. It was still. No vibrations through the metal. She let out the breath she’d been holding. Sweat had dripped off her face, pooling uncomfortably in all corners of her helmet. Cautiously she skimmed across to the larger hole in the cargo bay and peered down. Three bodies in bulky personal armour floated amidst the twisted and scorched metal. She looked up towards the remaining pirate ship, rocked loose by the explosion, and let out a swear as she recognised the figure frantically grasping at the controls in the cockpit. Without thinking she kicked off from her ship again, biting her lip and praying he wouldn’t get the ship moving in time. Two quick shots behind her to speed up and correct course sent her crashing into the frame of the still open bay door and she collapsed into its artificial gravity with relief. Back inside atmosphere, the sounds of a ship coming to life surrounded her and for the second time in as many minutes Alina let out her breath. She pulled herself up against the curved interior of the ship, mercifully empty but for the figure in the cockpit. She stamped one foot loudly on the metal plating as she brought her lasgun up. Emphis spun around, a bright smile on his face as he recognised her before bringing both hands up in surrender as he spotted the lasgun pointed at his chest. “Alina, darling! I can—” She waved a hand to cut him off. “Save it. Are you going to be helpful? Or does our contract end here?” His face fell. “I can help! I can—” Emphis stuttered. “I can fix things, I can—” She glared back at the cowering figure, disgusted at how easily he had turned to grovelling. “You ever cobbled together a working ship from spare parts and wreckage?” His mouth twitched into a nervous smile, hands still raised. “Not as such, no, but we have a perfectly serviceable one right here we could—” “No.” Alina punctuated the statement by tucking the lasgun into her shoulder, trying not to wince as it pressed against a fresh bruise. “The Good Intentions is not salvage.” Emphis dropped his hands in defeat. “Very well. I am used to making do, I am certain we can figure it out as we go.” “You’ll figure it out.” She pushed past him in the cramped cockpit and collapsed into the pilot’s chair, making sure to keep her lasgun trained on the smuggler at all times. “Suit up and go see what we’re working with. Start with their engines, we should be able to swap mine out. And Emphis?” He turned to look back at Alina, who had finally removed her helmet and was running one hand over her scalp. “If you’re good, there might be room for you on the way home.”
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Apr 1, 2024 00:45
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