The Soul Eaters (The Thin Hex Line Book 1) by Gwyndolyn Russell (100 best novels of all time .txt) 📗

"You feeling alright, Cap?" He did not even give him a chance to respond. "I always feel pretty stiff after a jump. Only in one of those coffins for a few minutes, but it feels like years."

"Yeah."

"Everything's good. Ship's ready."

"Where's your partner?"

"Medbay. Bad case of hyporexia." He spun in the chair. "Irzazee's suit malfunctioned in the pod. So, he's out, too."

Reaper took a breath, checked the faux window ahead for any visible threats. They were down two members of the bridge. No gunner. No navigator. The others were just making their way to their seats.

"Looks like you'll have to gun and drive. Up to it?"

"Yes, sir!" Willis spun in the chair to face the console. A few switches and buttons. "I'm green."

"Approach the planet. They should come to us."

Willis pushed the throttle forward. They came in at a good pace, feigning an attempt to land or release a landing shuttle.

Right on cue, a ship appeared out of the blackness. They were at a distance, just out of range of the main cannons.

"There's a call, sir." Willis said.

"Patch it through."

Static filled the speakers. When it stopped, a shrill voice called out.

"Hello? Hello! Is this thing on?" Thump. "Goddammit! Why ain't this damned thing ever work?!" Thump. "Agh! Peter, get over here and fix this hunk of junk!"

More thumps and bangs followed. Static. A video finally came through on the small screens at each station. A foul mouth was uncomfortably close to the camera. Rotten teeth stuck outwards. Breath fogged the lens.

"It's on, boss."

"Is it? Oh. It is!" He backed up just enough for most of his dirt covered face to be seen. Middle-aged man who clearly had a hard life. Lean, but lacking any true strength.

"Hello there, you sneaky little thing!"

Reaper scratched at his cheek. He too had a camera on him so the other could see him. He was silent, watching, listening. For a moment, Reaper was debating his life choices. How the hell did he end up dealing with trash like this? This was clearly a man who never worked a day in his life. Got by as a bully. Talked a big game, but never backed it up. He wasn't even worth being called a pirate! Reaper wanted a bigger game than this. He wanted to fight something better.

"Hey! Can you hear me?!" The shrill voice hollered. "You better be listening to me, you rude son of a bitch! I want you to hand over a sizable payment. This here is a toll area, so you gotta pay up if you want to go any further."

"All right." Reaper barely budged. "Give you whatever you want."

“What?” The pirate’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “No resistance? Yer’ just gonna hand it over?”

“Oh, yeah. Come on board and you can have your payment.”

Willis looked back to the Captain.

“It’s a good choice.” The video ended.

“Activate the combat bell.” Reaper still had barely budged.

Willis pried open the clear case over the switch and flipped it. All the lights in the ship faded from white to red. Some of them flashed. A siren wailed briefly every fifteen seconds. All off-duty soldiers rushed towards the armory. Families tucked themselves into their rooms.

“Wait until we can see in their windows.”

Twice the size of the Syndicate, the pirate ship was painted black, marked incoherently in red. Corpses, or rather humanoid jerky, were tied to the outside. Various metal spikes, chains, and other nonsense were welded to the panels.

They waited, motionless, for two minutes.

“They are in range of main cannons!” Willis announced.

“Hold. Windows, Will.”

He leaned over the console, thumb on the trigger.

One minute.

Thirty. Twenty. Ten. Five. Four. Three. Two…

“Fire!”

Thumb down.

A blinding light streaked across the faux window. Ka-BAM! The sound reverberated through the ship.

The side of the ship exploded into a ball of fire. The flames, without an anchor to the ship, pulled away. The hottest, brightest yellow circled around itself with the warming embrace of the reds encircling it. Then a fine blue rim around it. It was left, a fiery ball, to float aimlessly in space, barely moving anywhere. The smoke had done just the same. Lifted from the ship as if guided, circling about itself, until it, too, became a ball.

The ship twisted in its path. Thrusters spat air out. Willis shoved the throttle. The Syndicate flew zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. The pirate ship followed. Its size dragged it down. Willis brought the ship around. Aimed. Fired.

Another burst of flames peeled from the ship.

It had not even fully turned yet!

Willis fired again.

The pirates fired back.

Purple glimmered around the Syndicate. The ship pulled up, twisted around the other, down below. It was all Willis and Reaper could do to stay in their seats. The momentum of their bodies could not keep up with the tight turns and twists. They outmaneuvered the pirates like an expert ballad.

Willis steered the ship through a sphere of fire, the flames opening like a blossoming rose, clinging at the ship before peeling away and closing in on itself again.

A nearby explosion from the pirate ship rattled the Syndicate. One more sweep around. The thundering boom of the last shot fired seemed to ripple through the chassis and panels just a bit longer.

Reaper sat back in his chair, breathing a sigh of relief. The pirates retreated.

Willis jumped up out of his seat, fists in the air, and cheered.

"You did it. Good job, Willis."

Just as Reaper finished his sentence, a panel from the ceiling flew to the floor, narrowly missing the Captain. On top of the panel was a ball of fur that writhed and wriggled. Little padded feet kicked around until the ball stood itself up. The panel continued floating around the bridge room.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" The creature sniffled and grunted. Long ears twitched. "What the hell was that?! What the hell were you thinking?!" Its voice was raspy and deep for something not even a meter tall. An old man by kotoli standards.

The creature glared at Reaper, then snapped around