and crabby computer core and lowering his body temperature by a few degrees, but the computer was now set not to recognize him as a life form. He shook his head, he really had to get Cyn on the ship to deal with the thing. A couple of upgrades and one of the new AI cores and Milly wouldn’t know the place.
He leaned out and peered down the corridor. Like all the lower decks, this one didn’t have the luxury of the extruded fabric walls and neat checker plate flooring that marked the bridge and upper levels. Instead the walls were bare bulkheads marked at intervals by internal support struts and the floor was little more than a mesh walkway over the conduits and piping running beneath.
But he wasn’t interested in the interior decoration. Instead, his attention was fixed on the boarding hatch ten feet down, on the opposite wall. Standard issue, it featured interlocking rings to clamp onto the hull of another ship, and an arc cutter to slice pressurized plating. A one-stop operation that both created a big enough hole to board through and equalized the pressure on both sides at the same time. It was a sweet bit of equipment he’d heard about but never used.
The sound of the hatch sliding open echoed through the corridor. Johnny tightened his hold on the pistol grip of his rifle and waited. Sure enough, a leg extended through the opening.
“Told you we’d dropped out of jump space. I didn’t think this crate could move so fast…it’s bigger than your butt. And we all know how fas—”
Johnny squeezed the trigger. He’d never purposely shot to wound before, but he did now, peppering the leg and torso which emerged from the hatch. The energy bolts sizzled as they streaked through the air, burning through clothing and skin alike to slam into the tender flesh beneath. The hijacker’s body danced like a marionette with a maniac on the strings as screams filled the corridor. Fuck, his shoot to wound skills needed some updating.
Six hits. Vital organ damage, femoral artery damage, circulatory system fatally compromised. Death imminent.
His onboard kept up a stream of information as he moved from cover, stalking toward the board hatch and the dying man squirming there as the damaged artery in his thigh continued the paint the inside of the opening scarlet.
“What the fuck?! Darrick…fuck fuckfuck!”
Johnny ignored the swearing from inside the shuttle in favor of wrapping a hard hand around the newly named Darrick’s ankle and yanking. The still twitching man slithered from the hatch into a boneless heap in front of it. Johnny didn’t flinch as blood splattered in a warm spray over the side of his rib cage and down over his leg. The pulses were getting weaker now and the light in Darrick’s eyes fading as his heart struggled to find blood to pump. He was fucked, properly fucked, and try as he might, Johnny couldn’t find any sympathy in his heart.
“Screw you, asshole!” The hijacker still inside the shuttle screamed and slammed the internal door across. Johnny shook his head. As if a thin sheet of metal was going to stop him. The carbine clattered as he dropped it on the metal floor next to the dead man.
Winding his shoulder back, Johnny let fly with his fist. Punching like the machine he was, he hammered at the metal in front of him, venting all his rage and fury on the barrier. Thuds rang out like old-fashioned gunshots as he punched deep holes in the metal. It screamed and squealed, twisting like a living thing under his blows before one heavy punch spilt it like the skin of an overripe orange. His lips quirked, a line from an old holo-vid he’d seen a week ago springing to mind.
“Heeeeere’s Johnny.”
Grabbing the edges of the split metal, he tore it like paper, throwing huge chunks behind him before shouldering his way through the gap. He dropped onto the floor of the shuttle, trench knife in hand, and looked around for the occupant.
“Fuck you, you stay away from me, bastard!”
Johnny
He leaned out and peered down the corridor. Like all the lower decks, this one didn’t have the luxury of the extruded fabric walls and neat checker plate flooring that marked the bridge and upper levels. Instead the walls were bare bulkheads marked at intervals by internal support struts and the floor was little more than a mesh walkway over the conduits and piping running beneath.
But he wasn’t interested in the interior decoration. Instead, his attention was fixed on the boarding hatch ten feet down, on the opposite wall. Standard issue, it featured interlocking rings to clamp onto the hull of another ship, and an arc cutter to slice pressurized plating. A one-stop operation that both created a big enough hole to board through and equalized the pressure on both sides at the same time. It was a sweet bit of equipment he’d heard about but never used.
The sound of the hatch sliding open echoed through the corridor. Johnny tightened his hold on the pistol grip of his rifle and waited. Sure enough, a leg extended through the opening.
“Told you we’d dropped out of jump space. I didn’t think this crate could move so fast…it’s bigger than your butt. And we all know how fas—”
Johnny squeezed the trigger. He’d never purposely shot to wound before, but he did now, peppering the leg and torso which emerged from the hatch. The energy bolts sizzled as they streaked through the air, burning through clothing and skin alike to slam into the tender flesh beneath. The hijacker’s body danced like a marionette with a maniac on the strings as screams filled the corridor. Fuck, his shoot to wound skills needed some updating.
Six hits. Vital organ damage, femoral artery damage, circulatory system fatally compromised. Death imminent.
His onboard kept up a stream of information as he moved from cover, stalking toward the board hatch and the dying man squirming there as the damaged artery in his thigh continued the paint the inside of the opening scarlet.
“What the fuck?! Darrick…fuck fuckfuck!”
Johnny ignored the swearing from inside the shuttle in favor of wrapping a hard hand around the newly named Darrick’s ankle and yanking. The still twitching man slithered from the hatch into a boneless heap in front of it. Johnny didn’t flinch as blood splattered in a warm spray over the side of his rib cage and down over his leg. The pulses were getting weaker now and the light in Darrick’s eyes fading as his heart struggled to find blood to pump. He was fucked, properly fucked, and try as he might, Johnny couldn’t find any sympathy in his heart.
“Screw you, asshole!” The hijacker still inside the shuttle screamed and slammed the internal door across. Johnny shook his head. As if a thin sheet of metal was going to stop him. The carbine clattered as he dropped it on the metal floor next to the dead man.
Winding his shoulder back, Johnny let fly with his fist. Punching like the machine he was, he hammered at the metal in front of him, venting all his rage and fury on the barrier. Thuds rang out like old-fashioned gunshots as he punched deep holes in the metal. It screamed and squealed, twisting like a living thing under his blows before one heavy punch spilt it like the skin of an overripe orange. His lips quirked, a line from an old holo-vid he’d seen a week ago springing to mind.
“Heeeeere’s Johnny.”
Grabbing the edges of the split metal, he tore it like paper, throwing huge chunks behind him before shouldering his way through the gap. He dropped onto the floor of the shuttle, trench knife in hand, and looked around for the occupant.
“Fuck you, you stay away from me, bastard!”
Johnny
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