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

on screen, he must have realised that he’d done it too quickly to actually see anything inside. He did it again. Then he leaned back against the hull, tilting his head back. He tapped the raised barrel of the gun against his lips, evidently trying to decide what to do next.

It was dark in the hold and the pirate had no idea whether the robot and I were in there. He turned and looked directly across the clearing to where we were hiding. I thought that he had seen us, but his gaze was unfocused. Even if he did spot us, I didn’t think we were in much danger.

“I bet he can’t hit anything with that gun,” I whispered.

I was wrong about that. The big pirate sneezed again and the gun went off. He screamed, dropping the pistol and clasping his hands to his face. I couldn’t see what had happened but there was blood.

“He shot off his own nose,” the robot said.

I was torn between wanting to go to the injured man’s aid and wanting to get away. His injury didn’t look to be life-threatening. Self-preservation won out.

“We should get our weapons,” I said. “That shot will bring the others out.”

The robot nodded agreement. “We don’t have much time.”

If the other pirates proved to be as good as this first one, we didn’t have much to worry about. But it would be a mistake to assume they were all inept. That’s Quincy’s Second Law of Survival: Never underestimate the enemy.

I found my pistol and gun belt hidden under the palm leaves. The robot’s cannon was also there as was a large canvas duffel bag filled with ammunition for both of our weapons. A second duffel bag held an assortment of other robot weapons and arms – by which I mean limbs rather than weapons. I buckled on my gun belt.

The robot gripped his left forearm with his right hand. A twist and the arm came away at the elbow. “Take my arm,” he said.

“But we’ve only just met,” I muttered, taking the limb from him. I shoved his arm into the duffel bag with the other spares. For some reason, I also put the Bertie the Bear toy in as well. A souvenir. Or maybe I just didn’t want to leave completely empty-handed given all that I had been through on the wreck of the Celestia.

I watched the fat pirate stagger up the ramp into the Celestia, looking like a big kid with a nose bleed. Hopefully, the adults inside would help fix him up.

The robot twisted the cannon into place and there was a high-pitched whine as it began to charge. It appeared to be working again.

I was hoping that we could just make a run for it. Get into the cockpit of the cargo lifter, fire up the engines, and be off before the other pirates appeared. No such luck.

“They’re here,” the robot said.

I placed my hand on the cannon, preventing him from raising it. “No killing,” I said.

“That is your preference?”

“With me, it’s an absolute rule,” I said.

“It will take me some time to adjust to peacetime conventions.”

“Start now.”

“No killing,” he confirmed. “Are non-lethal injuries permissible?”

“Yes,” I said, “but try to avoid loss of limbs.”

“And your intention is to stay and fight them?” the robot asked.

“It’s the only way we can beat them.”

“Gaining victory over them is important to you?”

“This is not an ego thing,” I said. “We have to deal with them if we want to get away from here.”

I think he was going to argue this point, but at that moment an explosive slug blew splinters out of a tree trunk a foot from my head.

Standing at the top of the Celestia’s ramp was the female twin, Bella, the rhinestones on her boots and shirt catching the sunlight. Wielding a couple of revolvers like Calamity Jane, she looked like she belonged in a musical. She didn’t burst into song. She fired at my head again and this time a splinter of wood scratched my cheek. The cylinders of her guns were loaded with explosive rounds. A direct hit from one will leave a hole in your chest big enough to put your fist into.

Her brother, Bolly, appeared behind her. He looked equally sparkly but had added a large pair of sunglasses to top off his ensemble. He probably thought they made him look like a professional marksman. They made him look like a giant bug. He held a long-barrelled pulse rifle – a sniper’s weapon. In the right hands, it was accurate over a greater distance than a pistol. It’ll make a hole that you can poke a finger into – but the hole will go right through you. It had laser sights and a targeting system that linked to the shooter’s computer and projected sights directly onto the retina.

Bolly fired off a few shots in our general direction while his sister ducked out of the hatchway and ran doubled-over to hide behind a stack of crates that we still hadn’t loaded onto the cargo lifter. When she was safely out of sight, Bolly stopped firing but kept sweeping the barrel of the rifle left and right, staying out of sight just inside the hatch.

“Can you deal with him?” I asked.

“Without killing him?”

“Without killing him.”

The Celestia’s hatch slammed shut suddenly. It sliced the protruding barrel off the rifle. Bolly was safe on the other side of the hatch, but I bet he wasn’t happy about having the end chopped off his weapon.

“You still have control of the ship’s systems?” I asked.

“I am still within range at the moment.”

“The hatch should hold them for a while.”

“They will override it manually from the inside,” the robot said. “We do not have much time left. We should leave now.”

“I’ll deal with her, you go and prepare the cargo lifter,” I said.

The robot didn’t move. “It is already set to go,” he said.

“Do you know what’s in those crates she’s hiding behind?”

“Robot parts and medicines.”

“No explosives?”

“The explosives are