Battleship Raider, Paul Tomlinson [inspirational books for women .TXT] 📗

“What is it?”

“A lifeform approaching.”

“The dragon?”

“The mass of the lifeform is consistent with the Crichtorax.”

“That’s not good.” The safest place to be was on the other side of the hatch. I looked at the girder – I had another couple of inches to cut through before I could open the access the flap.

“How far away is it?”

“At its present speed, it will be within striking distance in three minutes.”

I wasn’t sure if the computer meant me striking it or it striking me. My gun belt was hanging on the end of a rope with the rest of my stuff. I could haul it up and sit and wait. Hope it got bored and went away. And if it didn’t, hope for a couple of clear shots at its torso. Or I could try and get the job done and get inside.

“Warn me again when it is a minute away,” I said. I fired up the cutter again, turning up the heat – this didn’t need to be pretty. Metal began running down in thick orange gobbets.

“Sixty seconds,” Trixie said, as I got the flap open.

“I’ve got it.” Wary of accidentally touching the hot metal, I reached for the crank. It wouldn’t move. After forty years it was no surprise to find that it had seized up. I had a little can of spray lubricant ready for just such a thing.

“Thirty seconds,” Trixie warned.

Still the crank wouldn’t budge. My hand slipped and my bare arm touched the still hot cut metal.

“Dammit!”

There was an answering roar from the jungle. And then a large phlegm-coloured eye appeared, the dragon’s head was too wide to enter the crevice where I was huddled. I froze, hoping the poor light and its weak vision would prevent it from seeing me properly. The head drew back a little and then the yellow tongue appeared, testing the air and flickering towards me. One fork of the tongue brushed my arm lightly and I resisted the urge to bat it away. Licked by a dragon, how many men could say that had happened to them? I hoped I would live to tell the story. The tongue withdrew and the eye reappeared. Did it know I was here? If it reached in with its claws I was toast. I was still clutching the laser cutter and my thumb brushed the starter button. Should I risk an attack of my own? What the hell, I was canned meat as it was. I thumbed the button and thrust the flame towards the dinner-plate-sized eye.

There was a horrible sizzling sound and an even more horrible smell. The dragon’s roar almost deafened me. It pulled back and I heard it crashing away through the jungle. I’d had two narrow escapes – I didn’t think there would be a third. I needed to get inside before Fangzilla returned.

I reached for the crank, hoping the lubricant had worked its way into the mechanism, but it was still stuck tight. The angle I was working at meant I couldn’t get as much leverage on the crank as I needed, but I didn’t think I had enough time to cut away more metal to improve this. And there certainly wasn’t time to cut through the hatch itself. I had no more than an hour’s worth of daylight left and I was sure the dragon would soon be back to give me more than a friendly lick.

I turned on the cutter and adjusted it to its lowest level. I was going to wave it quickly back and forth over the crank mechanism to heat it up. Then I’d spray more lubricant on it to cool it down again – and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to free it up. I did this twice and the second time I felt some movement in the mechanism. Unless I imagined it.

Trixie spoke softly in my ear, but I didn’t need her to tell me that the dragon was on its way. The jungle was silent again – except for the noise of the dragon’s approach. It was coming and this time it was angry. And probably blind in one eye. Maybe I could take out its other eye. I hauled on the rope to bring my pistol and the rest of my stuff up. My heart missed a couple of beats when the line snagged, but a sharp tug freed it. And for some reason that made me think of something else. I needed a hammer.

Percussive engineering was what my grandfather used to call it. Anyone who is ever faced with a stubborn piece of machinery always uses it. Either as a first move or a last sign of frustration, you hit it with a hammer. I applied the head of the hammer to the end of the crank. It made a satisfying clanging sound that vibrated along the hull. I hit it again.

“Thirty seconds,” Trixie said.

Behind me I felt the hatch move. I hit the crank again and the hatch moved some more. It was open an inch or more now. I leaned back against it, trying to force it inwards and whacking the crank at the same time. Then I felt another thud! And it wasn’t me hitting anything. The dragon had collided with the outer hull. I could see its shark teeth snapping at the opening and then one of its clawed hands shot in towards me. A talon raked down my boot, scarring the leather as I tried to scramble backwards. I used the hammer to fend off the claws but in the narrow space I didn’t have room to swing it like a weapon.

And then I was falling backwards, in through the hatch. I dragged my stuff in after me and I heard the drones zip in behind me. I slammed the door shut.

It was pitch black inside and all I could hear was the dragon’s claws scraping on the outside of the door. I turned the wheel on the