Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 (4 page)

“This is very confusing.”

“Only if you’re human, and while I am sure you have many questions, I really don’t care right now. I need to go play pilot if you want us to get out of here alive.”

“What if I’d rather stay here?” was her retort.

“Well, that might be what you want, but that’s not going to happen,” he tossed over his shoulder as he retraced his steps back to the door out of the cargo bay. “The hatches are now sealed, and we are preparing for takeoff. If I were you, I’d find a spot to park your ass and strap in for the ride. Or don’t. It’s your choice, but I warn you, things could get kind of bumpy.”

Just before he reached the door, he staggered as she slammed into him from behind. More than slammed, she pounced him, wrapping her arms and legs around his body.

“You let me off this instant!” she yelled in his ear, punctuating her demand with a thump of her fist. “I didn’t ask to be kidnapped.”

“No one kidnapped you. You chose to board my ship willingly.”

“Willingly?” The word reached a painful pitch. “What choice did I have? People were shooting at me because you”—she stabbed him with her finger—“dragged me into your drama.”

“Excuse me for saving your life,” he retorted.

“I am only excusing you if you let me off this ship.”

“Not happening. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“You can’t do this.” And then she tried to choke him—or did she only hug his neck very tightly because she liked him?

Whatever her reason, he ignored her antics and kept walking. She could cling to him all she wanted. He could handle her weight, and besides, she kept his bare back warm.

He took the stairs two at a time, still with her clinging to his back. As they jostled up the steps, she stopped hitting him, most likely because she had a fear of falling off.

At the top of the stairs, he had only a few steps to take to reach his command center. Once they entered through the jagged door, she finally let go, and he was able to make his way to his seat—oddly missing her warm weight—and dropped into it.

Given the launch was imminent, he couldn’t spare a moment to see what she did behind him, but he did hear the wonder in her tone when she said, “Oh my fucking God. It’s a real fucking spaceship.”

At that, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course it’s real. I told you we were blowing this planet. I can’t exactly do that on a bicycle.”

“Don’t be a sarcastic prick,” she replied. “It’s not attractive.”

“That’s not what the ladies think.”

She cuffed him in the back of the head.

“Hey. What was that for?”

“Because you’re an ass.”

“An ass who needs to pilot this ship, so behave or I might just let you leave…through an airlock in space.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she huffed.

“Try me.” At his passenger’s silence, he inwardly smiled.
Point for me.
He’d get another point once they cleared this planet—alive. He couldn’t wait for her thanks. Oral gratitude was the best.

“Annabelle, what is the status on our power? Are we ready yet?”

“The engines are at eighty-nine percent,” his computer replied. “We can commence the launch sequence. All exits have been sealed. The vessel is pressurized. A course has been plotted to the outer planets.”

“What about that ship waiting for us above ground?” Rafe asked. He doubted it had left yet. It probably waited for him to pop out of the ground.

“The enemy vessel is still present. Orders?”

“Ensure the laser cannon is ready.” Screw the Grykko and their guild. If they weren’t going to play by the regular rules of the game and allow him to bribe them before shooting, then they deserved whatever he did next.

“The rapid-fire weapons are fully functional. However, the canon is out of commission. It still requires reparation from the meteorite damage we took on our journey here.”

He frowned. Was that recrimination he heard in Annabelle’s tone? There shouldn’t be. AIs weren’t programmed to have attitude, but someone apparently had forgotten to tell his onboard computer. Of late, she copped him attitude every chance she got.

Time to take her in for a maintenance check, especially since his last four diagnostics had not found anything wrong with her. When he’d sent a service call in to the programming engineers, they dared to say he imagined the smirk in her tone.
Let’s see if they re-evaluate that opinion when my fist meets their faces.

As Rafe flicked switches and the rumble in his vessel increased, he was very aware of the woman at his back. “You might want to strap in,” he advised his passenger again. “This ride might get a little bumpy.” When he’d buried his ship months ago during a vicious storm, he’d made sure to cover it with firmly packed dirt. Now he needed his vessel to rise from that grave.

“Where the hell am I supposed to sit?” she asked.

“If it looks like a chair, then plop your ass into it. The straps are on the top part of the backrest. Bring them over your torso and buckle them between your legs.”

He heard a creak as she found a spot and a grumble as she clicked the buckle into place. “I feel like a little kid in a car seat.”

“The five-point harness system is a proven safety measure. Why do you think the patent was introduced to your Earth?” The appalling lack of regard the humans had for protecting their youth had forced the more softhearted members of the galactic council to interfere in their societal development.

But now wasn’t the time to delve into the meddling of the Department for the Protection of Indigene Slow Societies—also known as PISS. Not to be mistaken for PISS OPH, the Pretentious Ideologist Secretive Society of Pompous Heirs.

The entire ship shuddered and shook as it prepared to leave its hidden underground lair. With the press of a button, part of his armrest opened, a small panel sliding back so that a control lever could rise on each side. His hands clamped around them.

“Are those joysticks? Are you seriously going to fly this thing yourself?”

He didn’t take offense at her query. He’d spent enough time on Earth to have seen the movies, seen the human technology, and seen also their reliance on technology. They’d learn.

Technology always failed at some point.

In some things, it was best to remain hands-on. Computers, even very smart ones like Annabelle, were limited. Their free thinking, for all that it seemed innovative, was still programmed. A piece of software could not replicate instinct. A computer couldn’t feel that clench in the gut that Rafe used to guide him when he flew during especially intense situations.

In order to obey his gut, Rafe had to be hands-on, and no matter the technology, the best method to drive a spaceship was still, for those with hand-like appendages, the classic control lever. Or, as the human girl called it, a joystick.

Not a bad name.
I certainly get a thrill out of outmaneuvering the enemy.
His fingers curled around the familiar handles, and his thumbs lay lightly against the top. The slightest press would activate the guns located at various points outside his hull. His control levers could do a myriad of tasks, except order a pizza. Actually, there was nowhere in the galaxy he could order a take-out pizza, the one thing he would dearly miss about this planet.

The whine of metal stressing grew louder and took the shuddering of his vessel to a whole new level. At times he wondered if the stress would prove too much for his ship. After all, it was getting on in years, but his
Annabelle
was solid.

He hoped.

“Here we go,” he muttered as he tugged on the joysticks. At first nothing happened as his ship pushed against the tons of dirt on top of it. But the engine was at—he glanced over at the dial to his left—ninety-three percent, enough juice to give him the push he needed.

Grrrr
.
Whrrrr
. Shake. Rattle. When the ship finally managed to rise from its shallow grave, it did so with an almost gleeful scream, and when it popped free of the weight, the engines took on a purr, as they no longer had to work as hard. The intense vibration subsided, but only for a moment.

Whoop
.
Whoop
. Once again, a siren went off as something impacted his vessel on the left-hand side. And, no, it wasn’t starboard. He’d like to meet the human who coined that word. In space, there were stars all around, so they stuck to universal directions. Left, right. Up, down. Fifth dimension. But that required a wormhole.

The blow to his ship rattled it, and his outer hull of poop held, but that didn’t mean he wanted to sit around and let the other vessel use him as target practice.

“Annabelle, switch the view to full surround. Let me see what we’re up against.”

“As the captain orders.”

The entire bridge turned into a virtual theatre. The walls, with their knobs and screens and flashing lights, disappeared, as did the floor and ceiling. A hefty upgrade, but one worth it as Annabelle projected a holographic image of the space around his ship. For all intents and purposes now, it was him against the universe—a universe with a ship determined to destroy his.

He immediately spotted the Krolz vessel, almost directly in front of him and readying to fire again. It seemed they’d fixed their earlier cannon problem. A shame. He’d hoped to avoid a messy confrontation.

A tilt of his joystick saw them banking away from the next missile, and his passenger screamed as the ship rolled. Something thumped, probably a loose part he’d forgotten to stow before takeoff. He could hope only it wouldn’t cause any damage as it went pinballing about.

Ignoring the sound of the wench’s shrieks, he bent his primary focus on making sure they got off the planet alive. The extra loops and dips, though? They were purely to fuck with the girl and for fun.

Whee.
Yes, soaring through the sky in a mad weave proved exhilarating, but he couldn’t just play. The situation was serious, the stakes very real and high.

With his foot, he kicked at a lever lock, releasing his seat from its forward upright position. It initially wobbled then stabilized. Now the seat would roll with his motions so that he could pivot and turn. His viewpoint would not be restricted, as he could visually access all the space around his ship.

It took only a nudge of his body to send himself spinning, giving him an around-the-clock view so he could spot the enemy. He located the other ship weaving behind him, a laughable attempt on their part to foil any guided missiles.

That won’t work with me.
When Rafe aimed, he aimed so that he wouldn’t miss because power, even missile power, came at a cost. Use too much and a ship could be left a sitting zuruu bird, fit only for plucking.

In space, power was life. Given he still remembered the power shortages of his youth, where the choice sometimes came down to breathing or heat, he tended to be a frugal captain.

Hands gripping the joystick, he flipped his vessel, and his gaze narrowed as he calculated where to fire. His thumb tapped the tops of the levers.

Pow
.
Pow
. He couldn’t hear his weapons firing, but he could imagine it and see it. Bright streaks of light shot from the underbelly of his craft. The first one flew too low and passed right under the enemy ship. The second shot, however, managed to score a hit, not quite a deadly one, but enough to take out the enemy’s biggest gun.

“Score!” he yelled.

“This isn’t a sport with points,” she hollered back.

In that, she was wrong. All battles were a sport with a winner and a loser. He liked to win.

Despite the grievous blow to its attack system, the other ship wasn’t done. It still had smaller guns, and probably a prideful need to bring Rafe down. When it came to prideful decisions, humans and the rest of the beings in the universe had much in common.

I also have my pride, and I won’t have it handed to me by a lesser race—and in front of the wench.
Men should never fail while someone of the feminine persuasion watched. It just wasn’t right.

The other ship dove, straight down, its smaller size allowing a greater maneuverability as it moved, trying to get behind the
Annabelle
again.

Oh no you don’t.
No backdoor humping while he captained this ship. Rafe didn’t have to think. His body just pivoted with the seat, keeping his target within sight so that he could fire again.

Bang
.
Bang
. The other ship waffled in the air as both missiles impacted the same zone. It was enough to create a crack in the protective barrier so that the next two shots penetrated.

Smoke leaked from the crack in the bounty hunter’s vessel. It wobbled drunkenly, trying to keep altitude, but it couldn’t maintain it. It sank to the ground, hitting the surface and driving up a pile of dust as it dug a furrow in the earth. He followed the ball of swirling dirt.

“Shouldn’t you be escaping? I don’t think they can follow,” the wench stated, a tremble in her voice.

“I can’t leave yet.” Even if the hunters were grounded and incapable of chase, the other ship knew things, like the fact that Rafe was on Earth, illegally. PISS would want him dead as an example, but that wasn’t the main reason he couldn’t leave without eliminating them.

In the universe, there were a few rules they all abided by. Don’t destroy entire planets. Don’t make suns explode. Don’t create black holes. And don’t leave evidence of advanced technology behind on indigene planets. Because his kind remembered what happened when advanced technology ended up in the wrong hands. The Rhomanii were still looking for a new home world, one not yet infested by their ignorance or anyone else’s.

So what did all that mean? Leave no evidence behind, even if it belonged to hunters just doing a job for their guild.

As the cloud of dust settled, revealing the other ship, he lined up his shot and fired.

Pow
.
Pow
.
Pow
. He pulverized the other ship.

“What are you doing?” she yelled. “You’ll kill them all.”

“Exactly. We don’t want another Area 51 incident.” The Martians had to halt their probing and experiments after that epic failure.

Smoke billowed. The other vessel burned, and burned hot enough to destroy most of it. Rafe could technically leave at this point. It was doubtful the humans would find anything useful in the remains. Still, who knew what information or tools the Krolz had stashed on their ship? He kept firing. Best to not take any chances.