Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 Read Online Free Page A
Author: Eve Langlais
reminded her of the narrow corridors seen in movies for submarines, all metal, hatches, and pipes running in all directions. What she didn’t see was the crazy guy, although she did hear his voice echoing back from far ahead.
“How the fuck is the primary not fixed yet? Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. Power the second core and prepare the launch sequence, but skip the pre-flight check. We don’t have time for that. We need to get out of here and fast.”
“What of the cargo planetside? Do you still wish to retrieve it?”
Was the stupid woman seriously worried about coconut oil? People were shooting at them.
They want us dead!
It was enough to make her knees wobble, and she sat down hard on the floor. The low hum of the metal grate under her ass increased enough that her teeth rattled.
Boom . The distant thundering sound let her know whoever came after Mr. Abaddon—who was possibly not so batshit crazy but definitely still not dating-material—was still intent on his demise, which, in turn, meant her demise. If this truly was a spaceship, as he claimed, then what the hell was he waiting for to get them out of there?
Getting to her feet, she ignored the little voice that said, He told us to get strapped in. Since she didn’t see any seatbelts and she refused to cower on the floor, she followed the hall to a T-junction. A peek left showed stairs going down. To her right, another hall with several doors, all closed.
The metal walls didn’t have any handy-dandy signage. Just more pipes and valves running in all directions.
Really underwhelming as her first experience with a spaceship went. Maybe that purple fluffball wasn’t an ET but some insect she’d never seen before. It was pretty farfetched to automatically believe this was a UFO, no matter what he claimed. Things buried underground couldn’t fly. Even she knew that.
The whole structure shuddered and groaned. She threw out her hands to balance herself, and yet she still tipped, her staggering steps taking her toward the nearby staircase. She managed to grab a hold of the rails, but another shudder and tilt sent her swinging out over the steps. Since gravity insisted she go down, she hugged the wall and skipped down the stairs as fast as she could, the metal thump of her feet, still clad in the ridiculous steel-toe boots, louder than the increasing engine noise.
At the bottom, she found herself in a small room with a hatch-like door. It had a window. Peeking through the window, she noted a vast space, filled with pallets. Her pallets, the same ones she’d delivered these past few months. She also spotted daylight streaming down, along with a fine sift of sand.
The crazy bastard had opened some kind of overhead doors, and a long-armed crane mechanism tipped with pinchers lowered the cargo she’d delivered not even fifteen minutes ago.
Emma didn’t care though about the fact that Mr. Abaddon seemed determined to not leave his coconut oil shipment behind. She saw daylight. Dusty motes of sun meant an exit. The dilemma was how to reach it.
She couldn’t even try unless she managed to get into the room. A shove against the door didn’t make it budge. Nor did she spy a handle of any kind or a convenient knob.
She took a moment to truly look at the door, which, much like the portal on a ship—the kind made for oceans—sported a wheel in the center of it. She grabbed a hold of the wheel, and although a part of her expected it to fight her and remain locked, it spun easily, and she heard the hiss of air as the seals on it loosened.
When she could turn it no more, she put her shoulder to the door and shoved at it. She almost fell into the room as the door swung open, almost dragging her with it. Lifting her foot over the ledge that formed the frame, she stepped into the cavernous room. It resembled a warehouse with the many stacked pallets, strapped into place with thick metallic threaded rope tethered to fat metal rings in the floor.
The
“How the fuck is the primary not fixed yet? Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. Power the second core and prepare the launch sequence, but skip the pre-flight check. We don’t have time for that. We need to get out of here and fast.”
“What of the cargo planetside? Do you still wish to retrieve it?”
Was the stupid woman seriously worried about coconut oil? People were shooting at them.
They want us dead!
It was enough to make her knees wobble, and she sat down hard on the floor. The low hum of the metal grate under her ass increased enough that her teeth rattled.
Boom . The distant thundering sound let her know whoever came after Mr. Abaddon—who was possibly not so batshit crazy but definitely still not dating-material—was still intent on his demise, which, in turn, meant her demise. If this truly was a spaceship, as he claimed, then what the hell was he waiting for to get them out of there?
Getting to her feet, she ignored the little voice that said, He told us to get strapped in. Since she didn’t see any seatbelts and she refused to cower on the floor, she followed the hall to a T-junction. A peek left showed stairs going down. To her right, another hall with several doors, all closed.
The metal walls didn’t have any handy-dandy signage. Just more pipes and valves running in all directions.
Really underwhelming as her first experience with a spaceship went. Maybe that purple fluffball wasn’t an ET but some insect she’d never seen before. It was pretty farfetched to automatically believe this was a UFO, no matter what he claimed. Things buried underground couldn’t fly. Even she knew that.
The whole structure shuddered and groaned. She threw out her hands to balance herself, and yet she still tipped, her staggering steps taking her toward the nearby staircase. She managed to grab a hold of the rails, but another shudder and tilt sent her swinging out over the steps. Since gravity insisted she go down, she hugged the wall and skipped down the stairs as fast as she could, the metal thump of her feet, still clad in the ridiculous steel-toe boots, louder than the increasing engine noise.
At the bottom, she found herself in a small room with a hatch-like door. It had a window. Peeking through the window, she noted a vast space, filled with pallets. Her pallets, the same ones she’d delivered these past few months. She also spotted daylight streaming down, along with a fine sift of sand.
The crazy bastard had opened some kind of overhead doors, and a long-armed crane mechanism tipped with pinchers lowered the cargo she’d delivered not even fifteen minutes ago.
Emma didn’t care though about the fact that Mr. Abaddon seemed determined to not leave his coconut oil shipment behind. She saw daylight. Dusty motes of sun meant an exit. The dilemma was how to reach it.
She couldn’t even try unless she managed to get into the room. A shove against the door didn’t make it budge. Nor did she spy a handle of any kind or a convenient knob.
She took a moment to truly look at the door, which, much like the portal on a ship—the kind made for oceans—sported a wheel in the center of it. She grabbed a hold of the wheel, and although a part of her expected it to fight her and remain locked, it spun easily, and she heard the hiss of air as the seals on it loosened.
When she could turn it no more, she put her shoulder to the door and shoved at it. She almost fell into the room as the door swung open, almost dragging her with it. Lifting her foot over the ledge that formed the frame, she stepped into the cavernous room. It resembled a warehouse with the many stacked pallets, strapped into place with thick metallic threaded rope tethered to fat metal rings in the floor.
The
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