Four men stood with their guns at low ready, clearly eager to exit the elevator. My P8 was already at my shoulder and I was firing into their midst almost before I realized it, and they were firing right back as I sidestepped behind a sturdy looking green crate stacked at the entrance to the room. Bullets whizzed by as two of them crumpled, but two remained standing. One sprinted forward, trying to get out of that killing box while the other focused on lining up a shot on me. I squeezed my trigger and got a “click” for my efforts, then threw myself down behind the crate as hard and fast as I could, groping for a new magazine...

I started to pull to port and dump flares, as before, but realized a split second later that an asteroid would prevent me from finishing my roll, so I veered back to starboard and attempted to roll that way instead. A great shudder shook my ship’s frame as a missile slammed into it and exploded, the shields absorbing most of the damage but at least some of the kinetic energy penetrating them and tearing into my forward left wing extension, the impact throwing me into my harness and nearly ripping my hands off the controls...

I couldn’t take evasive maneuvers, having to keep my nose locked onto the jump point, so I just kept us powering ahead as fast as I could, hoping to survive long enough to make the jump. Then… A rapid beeping sounded, followed by, “Missile warning.” My eyes darted down- the red symbols of 3 missiles sat on my HUD, each with a red circle around them that rapidly shrank to three quarters of a circle, then half, then a quarter as the missiles grew near. “Missiles!” I yelled, in case Mister Fields hadn’t heard the beeping, and began dumping countermeasures. Typically I’d take immediate hard evasive action but I was so close to making the jump and didn’t think I’d get another chance at it- would the countermeasures be enough? Could I decoy the missiles off? “On it!” he answered back, reorienting the turret to face our rear, trying desperately to shoot them down...

I stared through my scope at the burly man in blue and gray armor carrying the bulky gun of some sort. His form faded into a silhouette, then back into focus as steam rolled across the bunker to surround him in a cloud, then dispersed. My heart pounded in my ears so loudly. My rifle was unnaturally still, braced as it was against the make-shift barricade before me. I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry. For a moment I wondered about him, a cardinal sin. I was there to do a job: to stay alive. There was no doubt in my mind what he or his compatriots would do to me if they caught me. The grisly remains of the former occupants of this facility that I’d so far stumbled over spoke volumes to that end. Being shot and killed quickly was the absolute best outcome I could hope for down here unless I came out on top. Considering the training and expertise of the quite expired former occupants, especially as compared to my own, that seemed… well… I REALLY didn’t want to proceed. Every fiber of my being screamed to turn around, slink back around the corner, get on the elevator, get back to my ship, and get the hell out of here. But that wasn’t an option at this point, now was it? I licked at my lips nervously as my finger brushed up and down the trigger. My hand felt suddenly awkward on the grip. Squeeze the grip, don’t pull the trigger. I was overthinking it. I could have shot this man fifteen times by now but I remained there, frozen by a mixture of indecision and trepidation. A commanding voice exploded to my left, “Eyes on hostiles!” followed almost immediately by the sharp report of a gunshot. Something smashed into the barricade below me and to my left. I’ve been found!

“One hour of turret work. That’s it. No questions, no details, just one million credits for some crew. First come, first serve.” The bar erupted into laughter. “Easier ways to commit suicide mate!” the man near the entrance said, summing up the general attitude of the bar as he turned back to his drink. “Offer stands until we’re crewed, we launch as soon as we’re ready.” the man continued, unperturbed. “Hangar 08.” With that he turned on his heel and marched back out the still-swinging door, ignoring the laughter that echoed out after him. I absent-mindedly rocked my mostly-empty glass back and forth on the bartop in front of me, tongue firmly planted in one cheek as I fought my way through a bit of a haze to consider considering the offer. Any other day of the week I’d have laughed him off with the rest of the bar but today… on my last few credits… nearing the end of the glass as it was… “I know that look.” a relatively gruff female voice barked from behind the bar at me, loud and sharp to be heard over the music, honed by years (decades?) of practice but not unkind stirred me. “Know what comes next?” I looked up over my glass expectantly. She met my gaze without hesitation, fiery brown eyes framed by equally brunette curls over a sturdy, no-nonsense frame that could toss your ass out if you crossed her. I’d seen her do it. “Nothin’. They don’t come back.” she leaned back against the counter behind the bar, folding her arms. “It’s called too-good-to-be-true for a reason Rana.” I nodded slowly, contemplating. Digesting. “You want me to keep buying your drinks?” She rolled her eyes. “Shit, and here I thought you were smart enough to listen.” I shrugged. “Broke enough to be hard of hearing.” “Drunk and desperate’s no time to be making business decisions.” she tried once more. I nodded. “Tried sober and desperate. Didn’t work out too well either."

“One, Two, Three!” he said sharply. An explosion of gunfire erupted in the hallway. I ignored it and ran, sticking to the wall. I was doing my best to be a small target, thinking small target thoughts. I raced down past Moros, bullets slamming into the wall next to me. I got to the corner and dove around into relative, momentary safety. I immediately spun and slid back to the corner. I pulled my gun up to cover down the hallway as Fields sprinted past me. He turned to cover the hallway as well, in a much smoother, practiced motion. “Ready Moros!” He said.

“Rana to Fields, Rana to Fields,” I called over comms, hailing him as I dodged and weaved between asteroids. “This is Fields, go ahead.” my speaker crackled back. “Picked up a tail out of Grim HEX, coming in hot, be ready for a fight.” I advised. “Roger that.” His response was crisp and professional but he couldn’t keep all the excitement out of his voice. Laser bolts screamed past my cockpit as my shield indicators flashed red at me. “Shields under attack” the ship read out. I continued to dodge and weave as best I could but I knew my opponent must be pretty close.

I lined up on it and throttled up, powering forward at what was in retrospect too fast a clip. As soon as I came into range I opened up, peppering the Cutlass with ballistic fire, trying to concentrate on the nose, head filled with thoughts of an exploding Cutlass, drifting forward toward it when all the sudden… red flashes stabbed upward toward us from the Cutlass! The turret! Someone was manning the turret!

“Missile warning.” my system said dispassionately. An amber indicator blinked furiously from the console in front of me. “Shit!” I swore, rolling to my right and pulling hard on the stick, dumping countermeasures like they were candy at Christmas. I rolled back to my left and pulled up again just in time to get her into my sites and dump as many rounds as I could directly into her forward shields as she screamed past, far closer than was comfortable. I caught a flash of a silhouette- an arrowhead front end narrowing to a thin waist, then widening to a flared rear- a Gladius! I had to finish this fast, this was everything I feared, she was in a vastly superior fighter when it came to maneuverability!