Black Hull by Joseph A. Turkot Page B

bit of cargo we’ll be
needing first.”
     
    Shots sounded from the Cozon below.
     
    Someone’s been shot. Sera?
     
    “You’ve got my husband aboard that
ship,” crackled the com.
    “Sorry—he shouldn’t have stolen our
ship.”
    “I’ll fire,” she threatened.
    “Kill us all?”
     
    Sera returned with a body on her
shoulder and a bit of plastic in her hand.
     
    “Got Husson and our plastic,” she said.
She started sealing the floor again.
    “Release him immediately,” called the
woman again in a panic.
     
    Mick looked over to Sera. She shook her
head; the man, her husband, was dead.
     
    “My husband is on that ship!” screamed
the com.
    “Grab his body,” Mick whispered to Sera.
    “I’ve just sealed the hull,” she said.
    “I’ve got an idea.”
     
    She reopened the floor and dropped in
again.
     
    “You’re going to have to board to get
him back. He’s a hostage now. But we can trade. Your light-class for him and
this cruiser,” Mick said.
     
    Sera returned, hauling the bandit’s body
on her shoulder. She threw him to the floor beside Husson and resealed the
floor.
     
    “Alright—permission to dock.”
    “He’s in our ship. Don’t try anything.”
    “Nothing,” she said.
    “Poor Cozon, she was a good ship,” XJ whined.
    “She was,” GR agreed.
    “Their light-class doesn’t appear in
very good condition either,” Sera said.
     
    She brought the cruiser on top of the
Fogstar, latched on, and opened the floor.

28
     
    Mick beheld a goddess: clinging
spacesuit wrapped her like candy, beauty apparent on each inch of her face and
form, except for her expression, which hinted at weakness, sadness. Sera spoke
to her:
     
    “Do you have any idea whose ship you’ve
stolen?”
     
    No reply. XJ worked coordinates into the
Fogstar’s nav. Destination: the green popsicle.
     
    “Go ahead. You’ll find your husband
strapped to the bay door. And if you don’t want to get blasted out of the sky,
don’t follow us back.”
    “There’s no other planet in cruiser
ranger,” she said, her perfection warped by despair.
    “That’s a consequence. Nothing more,”
Sera said, raising her pistol to the woman’s face. “Off.”
     
    She left through the ceiling hatch, back
into the cruiser.
     
    “Release us XJ,” Sera said. She closed
the hatch.
     
    A scream came through the com.
     
    She’s seen the body.
     
    Thumping sounds came from above, the
rapping of fists upon plastisteel. The Fogstar detached and raced away from the
refugee cruiser.
     
    She’s alone. Drifting in the void.
Waiting for rescue. Who will come for her, to save her, a cosmic masterpiece of
flesh? No one.
     
    “She’ll die out here,” Mick said.
     
    Sera glared at him.
     
    No words from her—cold hard Sera. These
situations and cares—they won’t matter later. An old voice: There is no
later . A strange impulse grew in Mick. He recalled Karen in gold, young and
floating upon melody, brave enough to tempt love. A row of knuckles collided
with Sera’s forehead. She writhed, struggled to fight back. Mick struck again,
and her eyes rolled into her head.
     
    XJ and GR whirred, unsure how to react.
Mick assured them she was fine, just unconscious. He turned the Fogstar around.

29
     
    “What’s your name?” Mick asked.
     
    The widow’s delicate frame squirmed
maniacally, the nylon straps binding her unyielding to her thrashing rage.
     
    “You killed him! You’re going to die for
this,” she went on, the same as she’d done for fifteen minutes.
    “Mick, we should be back to Melbot’s in
just under an hour,” XJ said, motoring into the Fogstar’s bay where Mick had
strapped his captive to a hull beam.
    “Right, thanks,” he said, watching the
young girl in front of him.
    “Mick, Sera is still unconscious. Are
you certain she’s okay?” he asked.
    “She’s fine.”
    “Okay Mick. I’ll let you know when we’re
entering atmosphere.”
    “Right.”
     
    XJ returned to GR in the