The Pirate Princess

By wdhenning  © 2024

"Wakey, wakey, Princess," said a deep male voice with an irritating sing-song intonation, particularly considering my pulsing hangover.

"Piss off, Angus," I grumbled, face down on my drool wetted pillow. Opening one eye, I peered up at a smirk framed by a full red beard and twinkling moss-green eyes that enjoyed my discomfort far too much.

"Time to pillage and plunder, your highness."

It took a few dizzying moments to recall the events that led to my current condition. Some rival low-life pirate at the Last Gasp Tavern on a run-down space port challenged me to a drinking contest, and I was duty-bound to accept. Normally, consuming rot-gut rum shots to excess was not part of princess etiquette guidelines, but for a Pirate Princess, it's practically in the job description.

Lifting my reeling head, I asked, "Did I win?"

A grin rose on Angus' face. "He hit the floor just before you did, so technically, you were victorious. Your honor remains intact — well, such as it is."

"Yay, me," I deadpanned, lazily twirling a finger in the air. Although, the way my head pounded and my gut churned, it didn't feel like a win. "So, how did I get back to the ship?"

"I carried your drunk arse."

"Oh, yeah." Vague memories surfaced of being draped over his shoulder like a sack of grain, head upside down, and watching his firm arse strut across the dock. "Thanks."

Angus was a muscular mountain and could easily carry three of me. He was sexy as hell, but his inclinations didn't swing towards my gender. I'm sure dear-old-dad, the famous pirate Dahjlonica, assigned him to my ship to keep tabs on me. Not that I minded, since Angus became a loyal friend, at least when not so irritating. He was also my first officer, a damn good engineer, and has pulled my arse out of sticky situations more than once.

"Give me a few a few minutes," I murmured.

With a groan, I stumbled to the head and, with a relieved breath, drained an over-full bladder. A dizzied gaze into the mirror revealed I looked as bad as I felt, with watery bloodshot eyes, sickly pallor, and hair that defined chaos. But I was not a high-maintenance kind of gal — my only adornment being the cherry-red streaks that contrasted nicely with shoulder-length dark hair.

"Why do you do this to me?" I muttered to my image for the umteenth time. Karma wasn't a bitch, just a mirror.

But there be pirate stuff to do. Resigning to the inevitable, I splashed cold water on my face, dragged a brush through unruly hair that refused to be tamed, and staggered out of the captain's cabin toward the galley. I hadn't bothered to change out of my splattered clothes — tight cargo pants and a black tank top. Like I said, low maintenance.

"Mornin', Nova," said an older dark-skinned woman with gray streaked black hair while handing me a fresh-brewed cup of coffee. With a gentle face creased and a lifetime of laugh lines, Gwen looked like someone's favorite grandmother.

"Bless you," I responded. Cradling the precious aromatic liquid, I sat down at a smeared plas-steel table. Like most things on the pirate starship Rift Ghost, the table and benches were bolted to the deck in case of artificial gravity loss. Coffee was a rare treat, reserved for special occasions or severe hangovers. Gwen made it strong enough to raise the dead — just what I needed.

Officially, she was our often-utilized medic and unofficially the ship therapist. Turned out pirating was a hazardous occupation. My father knew her from way back, and I think she was once a lover. Pretty sure he also assigned her to watch over me.

In my woozy state, I hadn't noticed the three magnificent masters of mayhem sitting across from me, which actually was a useful quality for pirate henchmen. Toothless, Stinky, and Scruffy, looking as ragged and unkempt as usual, each in turn lifted a cup to me in congratulations for last night's drunken victory. I still didn't know their real names. They came to my crew years ago because my father had a sense of humor. In the interim, I had taken Toothless to a dentist, not-so-subtly coached Stinky about the importance of personal hygiene within a closed environment, and... Well, Scruffy was still scruffy, and especially today, I identified with that.

Forty-nine souls inhabited the pirate starship Rift Ghost, one of a dozen warships and many more haulers in my father's fleet. Over time, we became like family, a weirdly dysfunctional one for sure, but the family I never had growing up.

"Tactical," I commanded while stumbling onto the bridge, leaning against the rounded hatch frame to steady myself. The coffee helped, but my head still throbbed with each heartbeat.

A holographic rendering of local space popped into view, immersing most of the bridge within it. Green triangles represented us and two flanking scout ships, the Spirit and the Spook. Our target, the Hahn freighter Vega Merchant, and an unidentified escort, appeared as orange triangles. Text boxes with telemetry data floated beside each. Far to one side, the Promesa star system from which we came was represented with yellow dots. A dashed line traced our path.

A freighter escort was unusual this far out, since the unimaginable vastness of interstellar space was more protection than any armed guardian. That made me wonder what the Vega Merchant carried. A bribed logistics manager within the Hahn organization had given us the freighter's flight plan.

I settled into the captain's chair, which sat on a slightly raised dais overlooking three operation seats and a row of angled transparent control panels. Colorful graphics and data flashed across the panels. Two of the seats were occupied. Sitting in the systems chair, Angus peered over the left panel. From there, he monitored the ship's operation and operated the weapons, if needed.

Directly in front of me, Vex sat in the pilot's chair. The tight black body-suit looked painted on her shapely body, and the color of her styled long hair this week was platinum white. Vex didn't mind people gawking, but don't invade her personal space without permission, or you might lose an appendage. I knew she kept a razor-knife stashed inside her right boot.

Vex turned to me, then raised an eyebrow and curled a lip. "You look like hell, Nova."

"I feel like hell. It's a matched set," I grumbled. "Thanks for pointing that out."

Vex has a social filter — just doesn't use it often. I identified with that, too. But she was a damn good pilot, even better than me.

Dillon swaggered onto the bridge wearing his usual tight faux-leather pants and a white flowing shirt that opened down between well-developed pecs. With wavy dark hair, finely manicured mustache on a smooth dimpled tan face, and more than his fair share of natural charm, he could play the dashing swashbuckler role in an old Earth pirate movie.

He winked at Vex, casting an inviting half-smile. Vex sometimes allowed Dillon into her personal space if it fit her mood, and he was quite willing to enter. I permitted shipboard intimate relationships as long as they were private and didn't interfere with duties. In the early years, I hooked-up with crewmen, but one got really possessive, and I had to fire him. Besides, commander and subordinate dynamics always made things awkward, so I didn't do that anymore.

"Have they noticed us?" I asked. As implied by its name, the Rift Ghost was designed for stealth. Anti-reflective coating made us nearly invisible to light sensors and special technology linked to the star-drive suppressed our signature on spatial displacement detectors. Only Angus really knew how it all worked.

Angus shook his head. "No sign of that."

"What have we got?" Dillon asked. Since he led the boarding party, he needed to know.

"It's the Hahn Vega Merchant, but with an escort," I replied. "Use standard boarding procedures."

Dillon lifted an eyebrow. "Didn't we hit the Vega before?"

"Yeah. Twice before." We last raided this ship about a year ago, taking all their cargo pods and leaving their crew to limp home on the partially disabled starship. "Don't think they will be happy to see us again."

"What's the cargo?"

"Don't know. But our intelligence suggests it is a big deal to the Hahn, and given that they sprung for an escort, it might be. Get your team ready."

He responded with a nod, but before leaving, he took up Vex's hand and placed a wispy kiss on her fingers. "It weighs heavily on my heart that we must part, my dearest, but soon I shall return to your sweet embrace."

Vex frowned and snatched her hand away. "Give it a rest, Dillon." Apparently, she was not presently in the proper mood.

Putting a hand over his heart, Dillon's eyes clamped shut and his jaw dropped as if emotionally wounded, but everyone saw through the faux expression. "Though scorned, yet still does my stubborn heart yearn for thee." With a deep bow, he turned and disappeared through the hatch.

As Vex's eyes tracked his retreat, she muttered, "Gotta admit, he sure talks smooth."

"What about that escort?" Angus asked, bringing us all back to the present situation.

"What do you make of it?" I asked.

Angus zoomed the tactical hologram around the escort ship, which flew twenty kilometers off the port side of the Vega Merchant, enough so neither ship interfered with the other's warp field. Based on the space distortion, it was smaller and lighter than the Rift Ghost, but no doubt heavily armed. The floating text box beside the image displayed heading, relative velocity, apparent mass, and other data.

"Looks like a modified Corsair," he said, swiveling his chair to face me. "It's light for a ship of that size, so probably not armored, but it would have an extensive array of weaponry."

"Can we handle it?"

"Phht... No problem," Angus replied with a sly grin. "Been dying to try out the new PADS."

The point automated defense system was his upgrade, which controlled the externally mounted plasma cannons against multiple missile or kinetic projectile attacks. The way he jutted out his chest, I could tell he was proud of it.

"Okay," I answered. "But I hope you are not right about dying." I touched a button on the wide chair arm, opening up the ship-wide intercom, and announced, "We are go for raid. Stations!"

"Vex," I ordered, "match velocity and bring us to the Vega starboard side within its warp field, but stay away from the escort." This action would disrupt the fields and drop up both out of light speed.

Vex grinned as she manipulated the control icons, and a low hum rose from the lower decks as the Rift Ghost shifted course. "Are you hoping the Corsair will overshoot us?"

I grinned in return. "Exactly. That will buy us some time." Turning toward Angus, I said, "Deploy the weapon drones as soon as we drop out of warp and fire a plasma barrage across the Vega's bow. With any luck, they will just give up to the Ghost."

Long ago, my father established a kind of piracy rules-of-engagement, and let them be widely known. If a raided freighter would simply fold and allow itself to be boarded, we, in turn, would only take the cargo and leave the ship and crew unharmed. If they chose to fight — well, it wouldn't turn out well for them. Dahjlonica could be particularly brutal in these situations. Since the hired ship crews valued their own lives more than the cargo, they usually surrendered.

After Vex's deft maneuvers, a sharp jolt shook the ship as both our and the Vega Merchant's warp fields collapsed, disrupting local space. As expected, the escort zipped by at hyper-light relative velocity, leaving us behind. Eight weapon drones, each with two stinger missiles and a short-range plasma cannon, swarmed out of the Rift Ghost's belly like angry hornets, taking positions in a rough circle around us.

"Firing cannons," Angus announced as bright yellow bolts blazed across dark space, passing in front of our prey.

Someone on the Vega bridge probably just pissed their pants. I grinned at the thought.

Punching the button that opened inter-ship coms, I hailed them. "Vega Merchant, this is your friendly neighborhood pirate ship, Rift Ghost. Power down and prepare for boarding."

My eyes widened to the unexpected face that appeared on the forward com screen — Regeous Hahn, grandson of the Hahn patriarch and not a nice person. "What are you doing on a lowly freighter, Regeous?" I asked. "Don't you have minions for that?"

Dark beady eyes under bushy jet-black eyebrows scanned me, and a smirk formed across his thick lips. "You look like shit, Nova."

Had I really looked that bad? I rolled my eyes as Angus put a hand to his mouth to suppress a chuckle. With a sigh, I said, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Regeous. But you know the drill. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Drawing down eyebrows and baring teeth, he cursed, "Go fuck yourself, Nova." Then the transmission abruptly ended.

"The Corsair dropped from light-speed and is coming back around with weapon systems energized," Angus said while gazing at his control panel. "Looks like the hard way, Princess."

Two holographic images simultaneously glimmered into view near the forward display screen, those piloting our scout ships, the Spector and the Spook. Wren and Hawke, twin sister and brother, peered at me with large brown eyes set in rounded dark-tan faces framed by straight shoulder-length black hair. They had listened in to my defiantly ended conversation with Regeous. "How do you want to play this, Nova?" Hawke asked in a deep baritone voice.

The sleek one-man scout ships, waiting far behind us out of harm's way, were small and fast. While equipped with a few missiles and an aft-mounted plasma cannon, they were not designed for battle, rather relying on speed and agility to escape conflict. But this time, I wanted them in the thick of it.

"The Ghost will take on that Corsair," I answered, glancing over to Angus. "Make your way behind the Vega. And when we lay an EMP, move in and shove a couple stingers up the tailpipes, but make sure you don't damage the cargo pods. Then get clear."

Using EMPs to temporarily disable a target was a common enough old pirate tactic such that most freighters installed surge devices to protect their electrical systems. But our new EMP bombs were powerful enough to overwhelm them, if only for a few minutes.

The Vega was a pod hauler with bridge and crew quarters in a rounded module at the bow end, and propulsion systems at the far aft end. Oversized fusion reactors provided reaction thrust out of two tail cones and also powered the star-drive. Twenty-four detachable cargo pods lined the slim tube between. I hoped precise missile hits to the cones would leave it adrift with minimal damage elsewhere.

Both Wren and Hawke grinned, happy to get in on the action. "You got it, Cap'n," Wren replied with glee as their images faded away.

"How long 'till that Corsair arrives?" I asked.

"About six minutes," Angus answered, "depending on what intercept vector they choose."

"Okay," I said, leaning forward with a hand on my chin. "Vex, move us forward of the Vega to draw their attention away from the Spook and Spector."

"Aye, Captain," Vex replied as she manipulated the controls. A low rumble sounded as the fusion thrusters responded, and the acceleration forces pushed me back against my chair cushion, but only for a few seconds before the inertial dampers compensated. "The Vega is responding, turning portside down."

"Adjust course as needed."

Two red triangles appeared on the tactical display coming from the Vega toward us. "Take out those missiles, Angus," I said in an even tone.

Angus grinned as a flurry of yellow streaks shredded the missiles in bright white flashes. He pumped fists into the air above. "Yes! The PADS worked."

"That was only two missiles. It won't really be tested until that Corsair arrives." I gazed at the holographic tactical display and plotted a strategy. "Angus, when we pass by the Vega, lay an EMP in its path, but don't fire its thrusters. You'll have to detonate it manually. At the same time, lay down plasma cannon fire." At the distance between ships, it was unlikely that the cannons would do much damage, if they hit the target at all, but their real purpose was to provide cover for the EMP. If this worked, the Vega would run right into it like a mine.

A wide grin formed on Angus' face as, apparently, he understood the strategy. "You got it, Princess."

I grinned in return. Angus sometimes used the title to tease me, but the little girl in me still dreamed of being a princess. It was the one fantasy I held onto growing up as I bounced between orphanages and detention centers, that is, until my father found me.

The seconds ticked slowly as we maneuvered into position, passing ahead of the Vega. The bridge was eerily silent except for my fingertips drumming on the chair arm.

"EMP away," Angus finally announced. "Firing cannons."

Yellow streaks blazed, decorating the space between ships. But they were more than just random shots. Angus angled the fire to one side of the Vega, and then to another, deliberately missing. The Vega pilot would have believed that our aim was poor as he steered away, but in reality, Angus deftly guided them toward the trap.

"Nice," I muttered.

Once we sped far enough away and the Vega was close enough to the EMP, Angus touched a red icon on his control panel. "Detonating," he said in an even tone.

A bright white star-burst appeared on the visual display, the flash briefly illuminating the Vega forward-starboard side. Simultaneously, the lights and control panel displays flickered here on the Rift Ghost. The EMP would not do much physical damage to the Vega, but it would play hell with the power and control systems, at least temporarily.

I touched a chair arm button to open coms to the Spook and Spector. "Okay, Wren and Hawke, do your thing." On the tactical display, the two green triangles representing our scout ships swooped in toward the Vega Merchant.

"Now for that Corsair," I muttered to myself.

The Corsair adjusted course, vectoring itself for intercept below our port side. It looked like a squat cylinder, about half the size of the Ghost, but with multiple attachments, including menacing weapon placements. A single fusion exhaust cone provided conventional thrust. A swarm of red dots appeared on the tactical display, racing from the Corsair toward us like a demon horde.

"They're launching missiles," Angus announced. "Looks like sixteen... No twenty! First impact in eight-minutes-fifteen-seconds."

"Well shit," I cursed. "They threw the whole arsenal at us. I hope the PADS works as well as you say, Angus."

"No worries," he replied in a calm voice. But I was worried.

"Evasive maneuvers, Vex," I commanded.

We all knew changing course with this large a starship was unlikely to avoid the agile tracking missiles. Nonetheless, Vex altered course down forty-five degrees, also rolling the Ghost slightly to maximize the number of point-defense cannons that Angus could bring to bear. Faint red diamond shapes surrounded each missile, slowly, one by one, on the tactical display as the PADS targeted them.

Then we waited.

"Two minutes," Angus said, breaking the tense silence as the missiles showed up on the visual display. Gray cylinders with a glowing blue thrust tail, they looked ominous.

Punching the ship intercom button, I announced, "Brace for impact."

Angus huffed, "Have some confidence, Princess."

With one minute until predicted impact, the PADS came to life. The ship rumbled as nearby space erupted in a dazzling display of yellow plasma streaks and exploding missiles that rivaled a fireworks display finale.

A victorious grin grew on Angus' face, but faded as one of our weapon drones ruptured in a bright white burst. The grin fully disappeared as an explosion shook the Rift Ghost like a punch to the face. Inertial forces pushed us to the left as the lights flickered.

"Missile hit, port side aft, engineering section," Vex yelled as her fingers flew across the control panel. Based on the moving star pattern on the forward visual display, the strike sent the ship tumbling forward with a slight pitch.

Angus scrolled through the flashing systems display and reported. "Hull breach on engineering deck one, emergency pressure isolation hatches are holding. Damage control response engaged. Number two fusion reactor is down, but no containment breech. Scattered local power failures." As I glared at Angus, he held up his hands. "Hey, the PADS took out ninety-percent of the missiles."

I had to grant him that. "So, there's room for improvement."

A queasy fear rose in my gut. There would have been some engineering crew on deck one, but if they wore the emergency pressure suits like they should have, they might still be okay.

A frustrated groan from Vex drew my attention as she leaned forward over the pilot panel. "We also lost most of the port maneuvering thrusters, and the piloting AI is down. Umm, Nova, I could use your help."

Flinging off my seat restraints, I hopped into the seat to Vex's right and activated the auxiliary control panel, scrolling to pilot functions. Red lights blinked on the port side ship schematic, indicating the failed thrusters. "What do you need, Vex?"

"Stabilize the pitch while I will work on the yaw motion."

With so many thrusters and the AI assist down, the response was sluggish. It had been a while since I manually piloted a starship, but it came right back to me.

Angus said, "The Corsair is coming around. Looks like they're lining up for a portside strafing run."

"Do we have weapon systems control?" I asked.

After touching a few icons, Angus responded, "We do now."

"They shot their bolt, now it's our turn. Light 'em up."

After a few moments for the targeting system to align, he said in an even tone, "Missiles away."

On the visual display, nine deadly darts with faint blue plumes streaked away, one each from the seven remaining weapon drones, and two from a ship platform. The Corsair fought back, weaving course and firing point defense cannons, but three missiles struck true. The ship ruptured in a spectacular bright explosion, splitting apart like a holiday cracker. A breached fusion reactor added colorful expanding plasma.

"Good shooting, Angus!" I said with a smile. "What's the status of the Vega?"

Angus focused the visual display on the freighter. "The aft thrust cones took heavy damage and ship power readings are near zero. They are dead in space."

I opened inter-ship coms. Wren and Hawke's faces appeared within a control panel box. "Good job, guys!" I said. "Move out wide and keep watch in case someone else tries to crash our party." With nods, they ended the transmission.

Touching another com icon, Dillon's face appeared. "Is your team ready?" I asked.

"And waiting," he replied, drawing down his eyebrows. He always was the impatient sort.

"The Vega is dead in space. Let's forgo the breech shuttles. We'll dock directly."

"Okay," Dillon answered with a nod.

"Thanks, Cap'n," Vex said with a grin. "I've got it now."

After returning to the captain's chair, I instructed her, "Maneuver for docking. Let's see what booty they protected."

Vex lined the Ghost bow-to-bow with the Vega for docking — like a kiss, but not a friendly one. I joined Dillon and his boarding team of twenty, fifteen men and five women, at the docking bay. They all wore the usual dark-gray armored pressure suits, adorned with the Dahjlonica Pirate logo in red, stylistic crossed cutlass swords surrounded by a capital D. Toothless, Stinky, and Scruffy, stood as part of the team, grinning from ear-to-ear while holding dark helmets at their side and rifles slung across their shoulders. They lived for this kind of action.

"Standard rules of engagement apply," I said. "Avoid killing, but if they're looking for a fight, give 'em one. And watch out for each other."

I wanted to go, too. But my father had instructed me in no uncertain terms: 'Pirate captains that join boarding assaults die young. Don't! Your place is on your ship.' Given that he outlived all his original peers, I heeded that advice.

Once docking was completed and the green light came on, Dillon twirled a finger high in the air, a sign to assemble. Almost like a choreographed dance, the boarding team donned helmets, brought rifles to the ready, and lined up two-by-two. With a touch of a button, the rounded inner docking hatch creaked open followed by the outer hatch, revealing a short round passage to a closed outer hatch of the Vega.

One boarder rushed in to manually open the hatch while another stood behind him with a plasma cutter in case the Vega crew was uncooperative. Fortunately, the hatch swung inward.

Two hand-sized spotter drones entered first into a dimly lit bay. Dillon observed the drone video on a wrist viewer, and once he confirmed the way clear, motioned for the team to enter. Had an ambush awaited, a grenade or two would have proceeded them. Dillon was a pain in the arse sometimes, but he was damn good at this.

I followed along remotely by tapping into Dillon's helmet cam, watching the action on my tablet viewer. The Vega Merchant crew had no fight left in them and immediately surrendered. Good.

"The Vega forward is secure," Dillon soon announced over the com. "There was no resistance. Moving on to mid and aft sections."

The helmet cam showed Dillon moving down the skinny cylindrical mid-section onto where the cargo pods were attached like fruit on a stem. A drone flew ahead, weaving and ducking to check for hidden dangers. Once in a while, a member of his team appeared beside him. The view bounced as he stepped and shifted with each head turn, making it difficult to make out details.

The Vega was a long ship, nearly a half-kilometer, but mostly cargo pods. It will take the boarding team a while to check it all.

Dillon stopped at the first oblong cargo hatch, which was essentially a docking port for the large pod. He punched in a six number code into a glowing keypad, which he probably coerced from a captured crewman. When the green light came on, the hatch swung open, immediately followed by a second outer hatch.

The camera view steadied as Dillon froze. It took a moment for the camera to adjust to the dim light within, but when it did, my mouth dropped and a chill crawled down my spine.

"Nova... Are you seeing this?" he said with a hesitant voice.

"Yeah," was the only word I said.

Countless terrified eyes looked back at Dillon, and through the helmet cam, at me. So many people jammed into the pod — men, women, children, families huddled together. Hardly anyone moved, except for a few who cradled children and loved ones into protective arms.

Had the Hahn dropped to human smuggling?

"I'm coming in, Dillon," I said over the com.

"Nova, we haven't finished securing--"

I interrupted him. "Check the other pods."

"Okay."

After strapping on a holstered sidearm, I stepped on to the Vega and made my way through narrow passageways to the cargo section. Along the way, I nodded to some from the boarding team who stood watch.

I met Dillon at the first cargo hatch. "Looks like all the pods are full of people," he reported, helmet off and shaking his head. "Said they are from Epirus. Could be thousands of them."

"Well, so much for plundered treasure," I sighed.

Epirus was a harsh and rugged desert world with few valuable resources, and most of the people suffered in poverty. Smuggling people in cargo pods not designed for passengers was at best inhumane, at worst, human trafficking. Anger boiled up from my core as I pondered what fate had awaited these people.

"Have you found Regeous Hahn?" I asked, drawing down my eyebrows. "I want to have a little heart-to-heart chat with him."

"Not yet," Dillon answered, then excused himself to join the hunt.

When I entered the pod, all eyes turned to me and all movement stopped, creating an eerie silence. My footsteps echoed through the rounded metal pod as I moved within the crowd. Most sat or laid on the hard floor, some gathered in family units. Most were young. Clothing was simple, plain, and tattered, and some had no shoes. The worn sacks and satchels scattered around the room might contain all that they own. But most telling was how skinny they appeared, some nearly emaciated.

I raised my hands, trying to relieve the apprehension that hung in the air. It didn't work. "We are not going to hurt you. Who would speak?"

A man with a thin dark face and gray-streaked black hair stood tall, perhaps the oldest one here. "I shall speak."

"Very well."

He limped my way, leaning on a crooked wooden cane, weaving between the others. "My name is Pershon," he said, "and who might you be?" Brown eyes blazed straight into mine, as if challenged my presence. As a representative of his people, I respected that.

"I am Nova Jones, daughter of Dahjlonica."

Pershon raised a bushy eyebrow. "The pirate?" Some of Dahjonica's plunders had been sent to Epirus as aid, especially the food, and he had a loyal following among the poor. Even so, it was not enough to end the hunger, like only a few drops in a leaky bucket.

"Yes. Who are you people, and why are you here?"

His expression softened. "We are of the Tymphia Clan, from the Highland Provence on Epirus. We were promised employment on Aegeus and a new life."

Aegeus, the home world of the Hahn Dynasty, was a prosperous green world, most known for glaring income disparity. A rigid class system separated the wealthy from those deemed less worthy. Brought in to take the dangerous and dirty jobs no one else wanted, these people would become part of the lowest class.

"What did the Hahn charge to deliver you?"

Pershon lowered his eyes and shook his head. "More than most could afford. Labor shall repay the debts."

My heart sank for these people. "Aegeus is not kind to immigrants, Pershon, and your people would become little more than slaves. You cannot trust the Hahn." The luckiest of them would become indentured servants in wealthy houses — the unluckiest sent to the mines or the brothels.

"That may be so, Ms. Jones, but the rains did not come, and a great famine cursed our land," he explained, narrowing his eyes.

He didn't need to say anything more. These people were desperate, taking the only lifeline they had. And the Hahn took advantage of that.

A beep came to my wrist com. Dillon said, "We found Regeous, and we have a hostage situation."

"Are those two things related?" I asked, cringing a bit.

"Yeah. Cargo pod twelve."

Dillon and two of his team met us at the open pod hatch. He scrolled back on his wrist com to show me a drone visual recording. Regeous Hahn stood, his back to the pod far wall, with a frightened dark-haired teenage girl held tight against himself, her neck squeezed within his elbow crook. His freehand held a handgun.

"He only wants to talk to you," Dillon said.

"Lucky me," I replied with an eye roll.

"What are you going to do?"

As I gazed again at the com recording, my heart went out to that crying girl. "Something reckless," I replied, as I released the safety on my handgun and replaced it in the holster.

"Figured as much."

Touching my wrist com, I connected to the Rift Ghost bridge. "Vex, at exactly two minutes from my mark, I want you to pulse the aft thrusters at full output for two seconds."

"That's gonna shake the Vega hard."

"Exactly." I pulled up a timer on the com, setting it to count down two minutes. "Three, two, one, mark!"

Taking as confident a demeanor as possible, I marched into the pod and straight toward Regeous. The people cleared a path for me, probably hoping not to get caught in the line of fire.

Regeous' eyes widened at my boldness, but when the distance between us closed to about eight meters, he shoved his gun barrel against the girl's head and shouted, "Stop! Or I shoot her."

A sob escaped the girl's lips, and she pinched her wet eyes shut.

A cry erupted from the crowd, and a woman stepped forward. "Please... Don't hurt her."

"Stand back, all of you!" Regeous snarled through gritted teeth. The woman relented, tears tracing her dark cheeks.

In the brief moment his attention turned toward the woman, I took two more steps forward, then froze when his attention turned back to me. For this to work, I needed to be closer. "So, what should we talk about, Regeous?"

He waved his gun at me as his brown eyes shot angry fire beneath a furrowed brow. "First, get rid of your gun."

I folded my arms and took one more step closer. "No."

Regeous' eyes widened and his jaw dropped as my defiance rendered him momentarily speechless. I took another small step forward while glancing at my wrist com — forty-two seconds and counting down.

He pressed the gun barrel into her temple, making the girl yelp. "I swear I'll kill her!"

Slowly and deliberately, I drew my handgun, but kept it pointed down, my finger just off the trigger. "Go ahead. I won't stop you."

A woman in the crowed, possibly the girl's mother, shrieked out, "Please, no!" Other arms encircled her waist, keeping her from rushing forward.

My wrist com counted down to twenty-four seconds.

"I am a cold-hearted pirate, after all," I said. "So, Regeous, do you want to die?"

His eyes widened further, and he froze. Obviously, this was not going like he hoped. But then his eyes narrowed again and a cruel sneer grew on his face. Reaching into a chest pocket with the hand that restrained the girl, he pulled a cylindrical can-like object - a particularly nasty thermal grenade. With a finger from his gun hand, he yanked out the safety pin and gripped the lever. "If you kill me, everyone dies."

Well, crap. I hadn't planned on this.

If he released that lever, in six-seconds it will get really hot in here, and today's goals didn't include being flash fried. But fortunately, the electronic timer was reversible, that is, if I got to it in time.

My wrist com counted down to eight seconds.

I crouched slightly and spread my feet apart, bracing for action. "Last chance, Regeous."

Countdown - zero.

The whole pod lurched to my left as if shoved by a massive hand. Regeous gasped and staggered, flailing out his arms. Scattered yelps rose from the crowd, but with my focus, I hardly noticed. Everything seemed to progress in slow motion.

Snapping up my gun, I fired, and a sharp pop reverberated through the pod. The projectile blasted off the top of Regeous' skull, spraying blood and brain matter on the gray wall behind him.

As he slumped down, the grenade tumbled to the floor with a clunk. Progressive red lights counted up toward detonation.

With two steps and a sliding dive, I caught the grenade on the second bounce and squeezed the lever with both hands. The red lights went out with two seconds to spare.

My heart pounded a million beats per minute as I held the fiery death device while sprawled out on the deck.

The woman rushed past me to embrace the trembling and sobbing girl within protective arms, adding more tears.

At the same time, Dillon and two of his team sprinted into the pod. He kneeled at my side and shook his head. "Holy shit, Nova."

"Just another pirate day." I held the grenade up. "Here, get rid of this thing."