panel and pulled up the ship's plan on her ReadyNet. It was an NCP model, and the cockpit wasn't far away.
Kyra jogged down a series of corridors to the cockpit. The door whisked open as she approached. She moved closer and looked inside.
A man was in the pilot's seat, his trousers around his ankles, his eyes closed.
Kyra stepped in, creeping up behind his chair.
His brow was screwed up in concentration, but something made him slow. He opened his eyes and looked up. "Hey, who are you?"
Kyra punched him in the face, knocking him out cold.
The man collapsed on the joystick in front of him.
Kyra grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him from his chair. She dragged him out into the corridor and dropped him face down. Finding a loose length of cable (that became even looser when she yanked it from the wall) Kyra tied him up.
She double-checked his bonds and returned to the cockpit, staring at the controls. There were more buttons than she could count. She accessed a training program on her ReadyNet.
"Hello, and welcome to the Falcon Ramdrive 200 tutorial," a cheery man said. "In just one hundred hours, we're going to show you how to—"
"Fuck that," Kyra said and began hitting buttons at random.
***
The ship slipped away from the station. It leant to the right and scraped off a nearby communications dish. Kyra watched from a station porthole as it fell away into space. The jets activated, spinning it farther and farther into the blackness.
The PA above her crackled. "Attention, fuckwits. The soldier, Kyra Sarin, has just taken our ship. Don't you think hanging onto our only means of escape is a little important? I'm remote piloting it back to the station. Go and kill her, or I'll turn off the oxygen and wipe out the lot of you."
Kyra ducked away from the porthole and ran back down Bravo Wing. She slipped into the first door she found and stopped, calming her breathing.
She heard boots outside moments before she saw the men. Six of them, all running for the Bravo docking port. None of them noticed her.
"If they weren't such dumbfucks, I'd be dead by now," Kyra muttered. She turned and looked around the room she'd entered. A sign nearby read, 'VIP section'.
"Well, well," Kyra said. She walked through a small reception area and into a massive lounge filled with deep leather chairs. On one wall, a large screen watched her, blacker than the shadows.
Kyra searched. "Come on, I know it's got to be here."
Spotting her target, she strode for it - a small cabinet under the screen. She threw it open and stared inside. "Bingo."
Kyra pulled a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and read, "Chipley's Royal Backwash, fifty years aged."
Above her, the lights flickered and came on. The screen sprang into life, a cheery computer-generated anchorman beaming out at Kyra.
"General news," Kyra said, finding a seat and sinking into it. She unscrewed the top of the bottle and swigged from it. She figured it would take the mercs a few minutes to search Alpha Wing, she could relax for a moment. Besides, the scotch tasted so good, she couldn't rush it.
Chapter 8
SHOWDOWN
A glance around told Kyra that no cameras monitored the VIP lounge, so she figured she had plenty of time to savour the soft chair and the delicious scotch.
After ten minutes of scanning the news and looking for any reports of the space station invasion (there weren't any), she called Manik. "Hey, Manik old buddy."
"Sergeant Sarin, are you alright?" Manik asked.
"I'm better than alright. I found the best room on the station."
"Are you drunk?"
"Nah, nah, I'm jus' tipsy. Takin' a break before killing the rest of the bad guys," Kyra toasted Manik with the bottle and took a swig from it.
"You need to stop fighting them. My boss, Manana Masih has agreed to a compromise with WikiDeath. We're going to release some information in return for them abandoning the station. You should stay there, out of sight."
Kyra blew him a raspberry. "Come on, Manik. You know
Kyra jogged down a series of corridors to the cockpit. The door whisked open as she approached. She moved closer and looked inside.
A man was in the pilot's seat, his trousers around his ankles, his eyes closed.
Kyra stepped in, creeping up behind his chair.
His brow was screwed up in concentration, but something made him slow. He opened his eyes and looked up. "Hey, who are you?"
Kyra punched him in the face, knocking him out cold.
The man collapsed on the joystick in front of him.
Kyra grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him from his chair. She dragged him out into the corridor and dropped him face down. Finding a loose length of cable (that became even looser when she yanked it from the wall) Kyra tied him up.
She double-checked his bonds and returned to the cockpit, staring at the controls. There were more buttons than she could count. She accessed a training program on her ReadyNet.
"Hello, and welcome to the Falcon Ramdrive 200 tutorial," a cheery man said. "In just one hundred hours, we're going to show you how to—"
"Fuck that," Kyra said and began hitting buttons at random.
***
The ship slipped away from the station. It leant to the right and scraped off a nearby communications dish. Kyra watched from a station porthole as it fell away into space. The jets activated, spinning it farther and farther into the blackness.
The PA above her crackled. "Attention, fuckwits. The soldier, Kyra Sarin, has just taken our ship. Don't you think hanging onto our only means of escape is a little important? I'm remote piloting it back to the station. Go and kill her, or I'll turn off the oxygen and wipe out the lot of you."
Kyra ducked away from the porthole and ran back down Bravo Wing. She slipped into the first door she found and stopped, calming her breathing.
She heard boots outside moments before she saw the men. Six of them, all running for the Bravo docking port. None of them noticed her.
"If they weren't such dumbfucks, I'd be dead by now," Kyra muttered. She turned and looked around the room she'd entered. A sign nearby read, 'VIP section'.
"Well, well," Kyra said. She walked through a small reception area and into a massive lounge filled with deep leather chairs. On one wall, a large screen watched her, blacker than the shadows.
Kyra searched. "Come on, I know it's got to be here."
Spotting her target, she strode for it - a small cabinet under the screen. She threw it open and stared inside. "Bingo."
Kyra pulled a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and read, "Chipley's Royal Backwash, fifty years aged."
Above her, the lights flickered and came on. The screen sprang into life, a cheery computer-generated anchorman beaming out at Kyra.
"General news," Kyra said, finding a seat and sinking into it. She unscrewed the top of the bottle and swigged from it. She figured it would take the mercs a few minutes to search Alpha Wing, she could relax for a moment. Besides, the scotch tasted so good, she couldn't rush it.
Chapter 8
SHOWDOWN
A glance around told Kyra that no cameras monitored the VIP lounge, so she figured she had plenty of time to savour the soft chair and the delicious scotch.
After ten minutes of scanning the news and looking for any reports of the space station invasion (there weren't any), she called Manik. "Hey, Manik old buddy."
"Sergeant Sarin, are you alright?" Manik asked.
"I'm better than alright. I found the best room on the station."
"Are you drunk?"
"Nah, nah, I'm jus' tipsy. Takin' a break before killing the rest of the bad guys," Kyra toasted Manik with the bottle and took a swig from it.
"You need to stop fighting them. My boss, Manana Masih has agreed to a compromise with WikiDeath. We're going to release some information in return for them abandoning the station. You should stay there, out of sight."
Kyra blew him a raspberry. "Come on, Manik. You know
Similar Books
Love Beyond Sight
Rebecca Royce
Wake The Stone Man
Carol McDougall
Going Down in La-La Land
Andy Zeffer
Tank Tracks to Rangoon
Bryan Perrett
Counting Stars
Michele Paige Holmes
Four Archetypes
Sonu Shamdasani C. G. Jung R. F.C. Hull
Gossie and Gertie
Olivier Dunrea
Unaltered #2_A Diamond in my Heart
Lorena Angell
Sparks & Cabin Fever
Susan K. Droney
The Song of Troy
Colleen McCullough