Slaver's Due
03 Nov 2016Kyndi the Badass Space Chick
Wait. Wait! I can make this worth your while!
Time dilates as the barrels spin in what seems like slow motion. If this doesn't work, we'd be seeing if my piloting skills could dodge point-blank multicannon shells.
I'm not optimistic.
My heart is pounding under my chest, and I can feel the slick feeling of sweat under my flightsuit. My mouth is already dry, staring down the business end of the array of multicannons pointed at me. The barrels slow to a halt, and the Anaconda moves even closer. I can see right into the bridge, the same man as before arrogantly strutting around as he rises from the captain's seat amid his flightsuited crew. He's puffing on a cigar, making me wish mightily for an o-head joint myself.
The comm-link chirps its readiness, and I take a deep breath, my eyes never leaving those multi cannons.
Time to tap-dance like never-before, Kyndi Jane...
Ah. Thanks for not shredding my ship. It would have been such a terrible business decision on your part!
Yeah, of course I'll cut to the chase. You're not giving a girl much choice, are you?
Look- I've got a cargo hold full of convicts. Goddamn dozens of them. You're welcome to the whole kitten kaboodle if it'll persuade you to look beyond this little misunderstanding.
From where? Glad you asked. Bolton Asylum, right here in good ol' Chuuku. This meat gets pumped full of enhancers the second it arrives. Keeps their strength up, lets 'em split more rock. Enough time passes, they're more like bulls than men. Perfect for pit work.
What am I doing with their stock? Simple. The ones that get too 'roided-out get transferred elsewhere, documented as victims of mining accidents. I was going to sell these to one of your competitors, but that big-ass Anaconda with those Gatling guns is making an awfully persuasive argument right now. So how about I donate the whole load to you pro bono?
What's that? The change of heart about hauling meat? Listen, pal- it's really simple: if it's innocent meat, I don't haul it. If is isn't, I do. Crystal?
Tell you what- I'll jettison a free sample. You like what you see, and fifty more are on their way. Sound fair?
Alright. You've got a deal. First one's incoming.
So long, asshole. Enjoy the pits.
The sound of the cryopod being ejected echos through the Cool Under Pressure's hull, my cargo bay doors snapping open and then shut. A retrieval limpet deploys from the Anaconda and makes a beeline for the free-floating container. From being so close to the massive vessel's bridge, I can see the slaver turn to leave. I follow him with my eyes until he disappears behind the sliding bridge door, and I try my best to recall the layout of an Anaconda.
He should be walking down the main corridor right now...
...and entering the central lift...
... exiting the lift...
... waiting for the cargo bay to cycle life support...
... walking up to the cryo pod and cracking it open...
My heart pounds as I slowly transfer power to engines. I was only going to have one shot at this, while Mr. Slaver was busy inspecting Mr. Convict. I've stayed parked like a good little smuggler chick, so the bridge crew has relaxed their guard.
In theory.
And if I gunned right past the Anaconda, they would be momentarily paralyzed, unaccustomed to acting without orders. Even then, it'll take them awhile to throttle up and turn to pursue.
I hope.
My teeth grit together as my gloved hands grip the joystick and throttle.
Only one way to find out...
The Cool Under Pressure explodes from its stationary position, rocketing only meters above the Anaconda and causing its bridge crew to duck for cover. So close do I fly to the slaver that I glimpse little blue shield ripples coming up over the canopy glass. But no matter- I'm committed to this mad dash, and I'm pushing my ship as hard as I can.
I've already selected a destination system, and I align the ship with the jump point. The Anaconda is already on my tail, her autocannons making my shields ripple, but with a little luck...
The mass lock from the pursuing slaver complicates the jump calculations, stalling my exit from Chuuku. Over the comm, I hear the slaver spew vile threats and promises- and a strange, warm feeling spreads throughout my body.
I'm going to make it, and he knows it.
The cannon rounds continue to impact, and the comm is still exploding with his vitriol- but I smile.
I've been beating men like this since I was sixteen. Men who want to control me.
Who want to dominate me.
Who think of me as their inferior.
Who see me as an object.
And who can't conceive of a spunky little purple-haired smuggler chick ever getting the best of them.
My shields are worn down to their last ring, but it doesn't matter. The jump countdown reaches zero, and the stars before my canopy begin to distort and shake, the tunnel to another star system stretching before me. As the slaver bellows one last unhinged epithet, I allow myself to laugh back at him.
Silly boys. They always talk a good talk, but they never learn.
A rush of exhilaration passes through me as the vibrant colors of witchspace rush past the canopy.
They never learn until they've pushed it too far: I'm Kyndi Jane McCaskil, and I stay free.
