"Look at the little bitch, cowering in the corner," he sneered. "And soon freezing in space." The outline stepped forward and reached down towards her, as Sura tried to press her back through the wall. When the hands were nearly close enough to grab her she snatched out at them and tried to throw the man off balance, but only succeeded in jerking him slightly forward.
Her assailant simply grunted and twisted his arms to grab Sura's wrists. He heaved her to her feet and started to manhandle her, ignoring her feeble struggles, back the way he had come. Sura could do nothing more than panic and struggle, all thought gone now. Did he mean it? He meant it! Death, cold, vacuum, grasping and tearing the life out of her, and no escape! To die, die die! She was back in the entrance airlock; the pilot wrenched her free of him and darted out.
She tried to fling herself after him, but she had no experience in zero gravity and just sent herself spinning against the wall. The door closed, leaving her back where she was, in the dark, only now with the mind-numbingly terrifying prospect of being hurled out into space. Stunned by recent events, Sura simply curled up and waited.
The pilot collapsed in the bridge chair, and for a moment he thought of nothing except recovering his breath and calming his mood. He needed to think, and for the moment there were no pressing issues demanding instant decisions and reactions. The Coriolis station still spun nearby, but there was no unusual sign of activity, and in this galactic backwater they would likely as not pay no attention to the Gecko drifting along nearby.
The peace was probably not permanent - the pilot was well aware of that. The crazy women was still sitting in the airlock, where he should have left her, instead of dragging her out for no good reason. Someone was chasing her, and the man had no idea why. Without knowing that he was in no position to judge what their reactions would be. They had seen her enter the ship, but would they pursue the vessel? Did they want her alive or dead? Would he get a chance to negotiate, or just be blasted apart? The idea of combat in this vessel was not appealing. It had been cheap, and looked badly maintained even before you took into account its original design limitations.
The weapons that had been fired at them in their flight through the station could have killed them, that was certain. The fact that they had not been hit said nothing - they may have not been intended to be hit, or they may have been lucky. With that he had found the answer to his first problem. Escape this place, and sort the woman out later. Despite his anger with her, and the current perilous situation, he had no appetite for cold-blooded murder, and was not about to carry out his threat spacing her.
It took him a few moments to find his way into the ship's navigation system using the unfamiliar controls, but before long the main display changed to show neighbouring systems. At the moment they were just named points; time could be spent later configuring it to provide coded summaries of each one. The pilot rapidly scanned through them, calling up further information sheets in turn.
Somewhere fairly safe, but not too inquisitive - he had no doubt that he was carrying a fugitive, and had no desire to face GalCop about her, as well as whoever was chasing her. The few various worlds in range offered little - some too dangerous, others run by paranoid governments who would scrutinize every detail of every ship passing through their territory, if they had the capabilities. He had arrived at Qudira from the industrial power of Inines, not too dangerous a system but not one he cared to venture back to at the moment. Bierle? Run by a confederacy of various corporate powers and old nation states, not too heavily infested with the pirates he held ultimately responsible for his current dilemma, and the type of place that didn't look too closely into your business unless you were making a nuisance of yourself. It would do.
In more organised systems various space and traffic control centres would carefully order every move of a ship preparing to go into Witchspace, but the only response from Qudira Orbital Control when he requested a jump path was "Fine. See ya." Still, following procedure even without someone insisting on it was wise, and no great chore. The computers should know how to approach the jump better than he did, and he was quite content to leave them to it.
He did up his seat straps, and waited. The ship sat there, apparently doing nothing, whilst its drive started purely internal actions. A countdown timer appeared - fifteen seconds to jump, and escape from this god- forsaken place.
Five seconds. The radio came to life. "You are ordered to hold position and abort jump procedures. Failure to comply will result in immediate hostile action."
Shit! Too late to comply, even if he had any intention of doing so. Whatever had happened to him had all the signs of illegal action in any case. Failure to obey such an order would have no impact on his legal status. Let them go to hell!
Then the twisting, distorting sensations of hyperspace entry, amplified twentyfold beyond his normal experience, before calm and the tunnel. The pilot unbuckled his harness with shaking hands. Was this going to happen every time this wretched craft jumped? The distortions were normally mildly unpleasant, but he was used to it, but never before had it felt so severe, the mark of a hull with a poor C-holding capability. Nothing to do about it but endure, and keep jumping to a minimum. You got what you paid for when it came to ships.
He was safe for a while now. Even if there was anyone capable of tracing his jump no ship had followed him straight in to Witchspace, so there was little chance of them copying his route exactly. His egress point would likely as not be quite distant from that of any pursuers.
Nothing to do now. In Witchspace, the ship was out of control, locked on target until it returned to the normal universe. Time to sort out that woman, and find out what the hell was really going on.
Chapter 6 - Explanations and First Encounters
The pilot unbuckled himself, stretching to relieve the aches the jump had left in his muscles. He hoped his passenger had suffered worse, left floating in a zero-G environment whilst the transit occurred. Steeling himself, for he was tempted to leave her locked away for the duration of the journey, he moved to leave the bridge. A though crossed his mind; he paused to rummage around in some lockers behind his seat until he found a small sidearm.
When he reached the door to the ship's entrance lock he pressed the button to activate it, and stepped back quickly, onto a part of the floor where the Gecko's dubious artificial gravity wouldn't cause him any surprises.
The door opened to reveal a scene of misery. Bruises were starting to show on her face, along with numerous small cuts, and a few gobs of vomit drifted slowly around. The pilot grimaced in revulsion at the sight, and the smell. He had no pity for the cause - everything that happened to her was deserved, and that it had messed up his ship only made him angry. She seemed to be conscious, but paid no heed to him. Then something else caught his eye - a small metallic flash, as something drifting in the detritus caught the light from the open doorway. Some of the woman‘s other possessions were also scattered around the small room, but they were immediately identifiable, and ordinary. This other object appeared to be some sort of jewellery or ornament; he could just make out that something was engraved on its surface, but what was unclear.
”Out you come,• the pilot ordered the semi-comatose woman. She still ignored him, too caught up in her own misery. He tried pointing his pistol at her. She was facing his way, but didn‘t react, even if she had seen it. Messed hair covered her face, and he couldn‘t see if she had her eyes open. Setting it to minimum power, he fired the pistol over the woman‘s head. A couple of sparks flashed from the point of impact on the far wall.