Refusing Excalibur by Zachary Jones

pulled out his utility knife.
    “What are you doing, fucker?” asked Gaz.
    “I’ll fashion a temporary patch from the dead guy’s suit so we don’t lose more air while the others look for a patch kit,” Victor said as he made his cuts. He peeled away the suit from one of the dead man’s legs until he had a patch of material large enough to cover the hole. He tried to ignore the pale white flesh of the leg revealed by his efforts. He walked over and covered the hole. The suction pulled the patch outward, but Victor kept it from being sucked into space.
    Most important, the gush of air escaping from the hull stopped.
    At about the same time, Toren and Dom both appeared with kits.
    “Open one of those and bring me the bolt gun,” Victor ordered. He turned to Gaz. “Can you hold this down while I secure it?”
    Gaz nodded and held the improvised patch in place.
    Dom broke open her kit and handed Victor a pistollike device.
    He took it and fired bolts into the bulkhead, drawing a circle just outside the breach. When he was done, he said, “You can let go now, Gaz.”
    “That patch ain’t gonna hold,” he said.
    Victor put down the bolt gun and picked up his utility knife. “Just need it to buy a few minutes while we put on a real patch.” He cut away the excess material outside the ring of bolts. He then pulled out the actual patch, which looked something like a stove pot cover. He pulled the strip off the edge of the cover, exposing tar-black sealant.
    Victor placed the real patch over the makeshift one and pressed down until the sealant was secure. “All right. That should hold until we have a chance to patch the exterior.”
    Gaz nodded. “Good work, fucker.” He patted Victor shoulder. “I look forward to seeing if you know how to fight.”
    They returned to their seats. No one made an effort to identify the crewmember whose insides were decorating the ship’s interior. Victor suspected it would be his job to clean that up. Joy.
    Several minutes after Victor strapped himself back in, the Fortune vibrated again. This time, only once.
    “Got ’em! One pirate vessel disabled. Gaz! Get your people ready, they’re about to earn their pay,” announced Captain Hyde.
    “You heard ’im. Time to get ready,” Gaz said.
    The precombat jitters the hull-patching job had pushed aside now returned. Victor went back to checking his gear over and over again to distract himself.
    Several long minutes later, Gaz shook his shoulder. “Time to see what you’re made of, fucker.”
    Victor nodded and got up and headed to Fortune ’s front airlock. Just outside the inner door, he grabbed a handhold.
    Behind him, Gaz said, “Fara shot out the pirate’s engines without breaching the pressure hull, so it’s likely most, if not all, the fuckers will still be alive.”
    Victor heard a thunk on the other side of the inner door as the Fortune docked with the pirate vessel. Gaz unslung a grenade launcher. “You fuckers better get ready. Things are about to get loud.”
    Gaz pressed a button on the control panel, and the inner hatch swung toward the ceiling. Victor followed behind Dom as she took position on the left side of the outer airlock door. Gaz, with Toren in tow, took position on the right.
    The inner door closed behind them, and, for a moment, they were trapped inside the airlock. Then Gaz hit the release on the outer airlock hatch. As soon as it swung up, he looked around the corner.
    “Their outer airlock is closed.” Gaz’s head turned to face Toren. “T, breachin’ charges.”
    “Got it.” The stocky man walked up and planted four cone-shaped charges on the hatch.
    Victor noticed the airlock pressure was increasing. He looked up and saw Gaz turning a dial on the controls.
    As if sensing Victor’s question, Gaz said, “I’m overpressuring the airlock to make sure the door goes into the pirate ship instead of being sucked toward us.”
    Victor nodded. Toren finished planting his charges and returned to