The Oilman's Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page A

Feng. “Take her and go. If she’s damaged, ye’ll breathe vacuum before dinner.”
    “Aye, Cappin.”
    Phinneas took one final look around to make sure none of his men remained behind. He had no patience for stragglers, but neither would he abandon a wounded crewman if he could help it. Unconscious passengers drifted peacefully as he bounded back through the train toward the ship and salvation. He caught up to Feng at the mouth of the ‘Shark ’s toothy proboscis that had chewed in through the bulkhead. They would have to leave it behind, like they did for every raid, but they could always build more from the raw materials available back at their lunar grotto. Feng pushed the unconscious girl through the tube and followed after her. Phinneas took a final look around and then squeezed in as well. Once past the shark’s teeth, he closed and dogged the hatch tight. Yanking on six levers, he separated the tooth module from the rest of the vessel and the Ethershark was free once more to cruise the byways of the void.
    Phinneas emerged into the familiar humid heat of the bridge, filled with the acrid scent of sweating men and sharp-smelling lubricant. He turned to Zeric, his First Mate. “Secure the hostage. and make sure her bonds are tight. She’s a fiery one.”
    Jeron, one of his spotters, wheeled around from his position at one of the Ethershark ’s scopes. “Cap’n! There’s a British Space Guard on an intercept vector! She’s flying flags ordering us to stand to. Her gun ports are open.”
    Phinneas laughed. This was always his favorite part of the job—barking orders and thumbing his nose at the law. He had been doing it since he was a young man steering Caribbean sea ships full of smuggled cargo, and it never got old. “That’ll be the Southampton . She patrols these lanes. Flagman!”
    “Yes, sir?” The junior pirate Sebastian puffed up his scrawny chest with pride.
    “Tell Captain Bartles to kiss me arse.”
    Sebastian paused, probably unfamiliar with that particular flag combination. “Aye aye, sir.”
    “Helm, prepare to come about. Man and extend the cupolas. I want every man in a suit and hat, ready for canned air.” The men had practiced the dress-out drill for many hours until the entire Ethershark crew could be combat ready in under a minute. Phinneas stepped into his own quilted vacuum suit and zipped up the seal. He grabbed a speaking tube. “Engine Room, give me a hundred and five percent pressure. Stand by for hard burn.”
    Aft and above the bridge, the engineers began to feed additional fuel and oxygen into the fires that kept the ‘Shark ’s twin boilers running hot. The familiar whine of the gyroscopes filled the air and the temperature rose a dozen degrees in as many seconds. Gun crews cranked out the cupolas—small matte-black pillboxes with a single gunner and a gimbal-mounted machine gun that fired bullets embedded in cakes of oxidized gunpowder. The bullets and tracer rounds weren’t of use against the heavy armor of Space Guard cruisers, but they came into their own for point defense against incoming rockets.
    “Range, Zeric?”
    “Looks like a mile, sir, and closing fast.” The First Mate’s face was glued to the primary periscope.
    Phinneas squinted against the glare of Earth through the ‘Shark ’s windows, seeking the steam plume from the approaching cutter. He found it in seconds; the Southampton was approaching from a lower orbit. It would have a clear field of fire within seconds of the Ethershark disengaging from the train. “All right, let’s give them somethin’ to worry about. Harpoon crew, stand by. All hands, prepare for maneuverin’ and acceleration. Helm, relative pitch minus ninety. Mark!”
    The helmsman pulled a lever, spun a wheel, and kicked a pedal. The Ethershark ’s nose dipped downward from the plane of the CR to face the approaching cutter.
    “Harpoon, target the train boiler and fire! Lock yer line at two hundred feet. Forward cannons,