“I’m in.”

  “Then go on and get before that devil finds us again.”

  Cenn smiled, leaned over the railing, and just barely spotted the body wedged through a crack in the Razor’s hull. The scavengers had changed tactics, targeting the ship’s plating instead of the doors. The tools needed to breach space-grade alloy were usually specialized and brutal to wield without a rig, but like their suits, the tools were makeshift and seemed only just stable enough to get the job done.

  The man trying to wriggle through squealed as he got stuck.

  “Fran, you meathead, you blasted it too small,” Nicola snapped.

  “Too small? Look in a mirror.”

  “Well it wasn’t enough—hey! Push me gently, these edges are sharp.”

  Cenn dropped her bag of toys from the catwalk. It landed with a metallic thud right in front of the crack. The chatter below went silent. Cenn stepped off the rail, hit the deck and rose slowly, pounding her open palm with the wrench.

  “Good. You’re back.”

  “Gimme out,” Nicola bleated. “Out, out, out!”

  Cenn charged forward, wrench raised just as the body popped out like a cork, he rolled down the ship’s hull into the crater.

  Cenn lowered the wrench and barked into the crack, “Cowards!”

  A low hum built beneath her boots, climbing fast. Cenn didn’t bother looking for the source—instinct yanked her back. The hum sharpened into a shriek as a hull-buster blast chewed into the crack.

  She staggered, vision swimming. Light drained. The floor seemed to fall away—

  Her foot slammed down, snapping her back upright. The world cleared just in time to see a fist rocket toward her face. She leaned back, but too late as it clipped her cheek and whipped her head aside.

  Reeling, she stumbled back as the man barreled into her, driving them both to the ground. Cenn clamped her hands onto his suit and the moment her back hit the bay floor, heaved, tossing him a few meters thanks to the low gravity.

  “Die, She-devil!”

  Another scavenger charged her, this one with her own wrench in his hand. Just before he swung at her, Cenn kicked his knee sideways with a crunch and rolled clear. The wrench smashed the deck, spraying metal chips into her face.

  The man rose, wobbling on his good knee. He hauled the wrench up one-handed, but it outweighed his strength and Cenn caught his wrist easily, twisted, and retrieved her trusted weapon.

  “I’ll take that.”

  She wound up and at the last second, snapped her hips the opposite direction, swinging at the first scavenger that had gotten up from her toss earlier and tried to jump her from behind.

  The wrench sank into his gut, and he folded around the blow dropping with a pained wheeze. She ripped the wrench free and clipped the second scavenger in the shoulder as he reached for her.

  Motion to the side.

  Another figure crawled through the crack, the hull buster strapped to his chest—so that’s how they were grounding it. The weapon was meant to lock to a ship’s plating before firing, but the scavengers had retrofitted this to their own needs.

  The hum rose again. Cenn found herself square in its line of fire.

  Then—steam hissed from the exterior vents. Spooked, the man hesitated, the whine of the hull buster dimming.

  Cenn reeled the wrench behind her head with both hands, stepped forward, and hurled it end over end into the mist. She couldn’t see it make contact but heard the clank and crunch that followed as the man toppled down the hull.

  The scavenger with the busted shoulder ran toward the gap afterward. Instead of giving chase, she dragged the other moaning scavenger—the one with the broken knee cap, for sure—by the collar, and heaved him at the gap.

  “Thanks for visiting Hell. Hope you enjoyed your stay.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The man tried to wriggle through but wasn’t fast enough to avoid Cenn’s foot as she booted him the rest of the way, and he faded into the tumbling steam.

  She poked her head out, and saw the rest of the gang crawling out of the crater. For a heartbeat she thought about dropping down and finishing them, then reminded herself the only reason she was still alive was because of her defensive positioning inside the Razor.

  She was thankful for her gut instinct as a second later six fresh figures slid down the crater wall, weapons ready and another hull buster in tow.

  “Breach, captain,” she muttered, saluting no one. “Prepare to be boarded.”

  She scooped up her bag, retrieved the wrench, then jogged back up the platform, sealing the vestibule and bridge doors behind her.

  Snake stood over the console, the status renderings appearing more like red fireworks.

  “Thanks for the steam back there, partner. It really—woah!” Cenn caught her reflection in the view port. The first three inches of her hairline were blackened and standing on end, and her eyebrows were singed clean off. She looked demonic with her red skin and…

  “Ah, that explains the nickname.”

  Snake turned, eyes bugging.

  “And here I thought it was the beating I gave them,” she shrugged, “how are we doing?”

  Snake couldn’t decide which part of her face to look at.

  “Get over it.”

  She leaned over the readings herself. Reds, oranges, and yellows flashed across the display as the Razor bled. Without major repairs, she wouldn’t hold pressure in space again.

  “Doors to the bridge are built to resist breach. Hopefully the old man didn’t mess with that. And the hull above us is three times thicker than where they got through just now,” she checked her watch, “should buy us some time. Been almost two hours since the crew left—and the kid. Some party they’re missing.”

  Snake shrugged and pulled up exterior feeds. More scavengers. More cycles. They swarmed the Razor like ants.

  “You know, maybe it’s good Arthur snuck away. A few saw the bay was empty. Maybe they’ll decide we’re not worth it.”

  Snake gave a tight nod.

  Movement flickered on one of the cameras. Snake enlarged the image, grunting. For a man who rarely made a sound, that was an alarm bell.

  “What is it?”

  He flicked to the propulsion feed. The booster flaps were being forced shut. Across the Razor, engines were choked off one by one.

  “Should’ve moved when we had the chance,” Cenn muttered. She’d thought she could hold them herself. Now the scavengers would strip the Razor piece by piece, but there was still a chance they’d leave her and Snake on the bridge. Maybe.

  The feeds showed the raiders hauling out their wounded. She elbowed Snake.

  “See? Nothing we can’t handle.” She wiped the sweat from her face and felt the bare, scorched skin.

  Chainsaw engines roared to life outside. Cenn’s grin died as cables snapped taut across the hull. Snake switched feeds, to see men prowling the perimeter, rifles at the ready.

  “So they’re taking the whole thing,” Cenn said, “any chance we can move?”

  Snake pointed at the propulsion readings and shook his head. Fire the engine now and the sealed vents would blow it back in their faces.

  “Well…that’s not entirely unhelpful,” she tapped her chin. “charge the booster anyway, I want it primed to blow.”

  Snake shot her a look.

  “Relax, ideally we’re not on the ship if we have to blow it, but we’ll make a big splash if we need to.”

  Snake’s stare said enough.

  “I hear you. We’ll wait for an opening.”

  The Razor lurched, sliding free of the crater. Cenn braced, expecting the grind of the hull on stone—but felt nothing. Gravwells, small ones, must've come prepared for this type of work. Lifts. These scavengers were organized after all, more than she’d given them credit for anyway.

  Still, fending off that first wave had been exquisite. She couldn’t help but imagine how one sided it would’ve been had she been Occam’s pilot. Vehicles and rifles were nothing compared to that kind of power.

  As they cleared the crater’s shadow, the full convoy came into view: rows of cycles towing the Razor, each with a pair of armed guards.

  It looked like Mars all over again. The scavenged armor, the ragged discipline, the suddenness of their attack—exactly like her tour. Martian resistance always struck when the mecks were isolated, and if they couldn’t take them, they blew them sky-high. Them being towed was actually a good thing; though she didn’t want to assume these were Martians.

  Snake tapped the booster display, the afterburner was charging, inch by inch. Cenn prayed the scavengers couldn’t hear it. Better if they never knew—better if the blast came when they were all close together.

  The Razor’s nose turned slowly, angling away from Quay, and into the rugged wastes.

  “At least they didn’t get Occam,” Cenn muttered, “imagine telling Mina some deadbeat raiders walked off with the meck. All things considered, pretty lucky to—what’s wrong?”

  Snake jabbed a finger at the view port. Off in the distant wastes, a pinprick glittered, moving and growing fast.

  Cenn squinted, “lovely.”

  Occam barreled into the fray, booting the first bike aside like a soccer ball. Despite wishing it was her meck to pilot, she felt a surge of pride—which vanished almost immediately as in the next instant Occam’s foot got tangled in a tow cable. The giant toppled, sprawling.

  “Our hero…”

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