This is a flash fiction set in my Starlight Galaxy space opera series.
By Juneta Key
I swear I saw one, as the turbo blasts volleyed from the Atticus M-Class Battlescout. Three shots bounced off our shields.
“Shield capacity decreased by 25%,” Geary, my modified MEC-BOT, said next to me in the co-pilot seat.
This might possibly be the last ghost-run I made for the cause.
The Sabre, a modified piece together luxury transport and starfighter, was built for speed and stealth over fire power. What it lacked was reinforced shielding and battle armament. The focus had been hidden cargo boots for transporting goods or people.
Galactic Patrol should not have been out this far. They lack the resources to patrol The Fringe.
Okay, we needed a plan. “Geary, ditch cargo bay twelve. We need to lose some weight.” The Sabre couldn’t take many hits like that.
“The Watcher’s won’t be happy, Jory. They’ll stick you for the…”
“I know. Just do it. I’ll worry about that if it happens.” I had built Geary as a kid, from parts I scavenged falling from the battle debris ring around our homeworld, Saratova, The Mechanical Planet.
Another blast caught our tail, in that moment I swear, there was a space angel peering into the viewport, right at me. Her eyes held a universe of stars. I blinked.
“Shields at 9%.” Geary’s bot-hands worked at three times the speed of mine. He dumped the cargo. “Shields back up to 18%. Two more hits and we are fried wires and roasted space parts.”
Suddenly we were dead in space as the M-Class lassoed us with a tractor-beam. The Sabre strained and shuddered. We were caught.
“Jory?” Geary’s voice actually went up a couple of octaves.
“I know.” I flipped switches, punched buttons, and rotated a few capitor caps. I moved to the back control panel, and rewired the power relays. “I have the hyper-port back online. Put all our power into that.”
“But Jory, without shields the force could pull us apart.”
“I know. Do it.”
I strapped back in,and activated the hyper-port as I fired our last cannon-torc directly into the tractor-beam of the Battlescout. We jerked. Stalled. Jumped. The stars coalesce into pinpoints.
“You did it.” Geary shouted..
I relaxed back into my chair for a split-second, and then unstrapped. “I’m going to check damage in the cargo area. I swear I heard the ship seams splitting in that last strain.”
Checking the last compartment port, I crossed the flight deck where the land-rover and speeder-bikes were housed.
I halted. Not sure I was seeing what I was seeing.
My space angel stood before me, so bright she blinded me, and then the glow dissipated. “Find me.”
The voice was faint. She dimmed.
“Where are you? Who are you?”
Just one word and she was gone, but I knew I was going to find her. A deep certainty resonated within me. Space angels, nor the world Ayestorm Wyndom were fables.
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