So I wrote this sci fi short story for school and I'm really proud of it.
Sunlight shone through the large open windows of the starship hanger, illuminating the insides in a thick yellow light and burning freckles into Harley Bennett's dark skin. Harley – along with her recent employer, Victoria Abel – had been crouched behind a pile of cargo crates, spare cables and netting that shielded them from the hanger's air space for the better part of an hour, watching the ships coming and going. People milled around the hanger's ground space on their other side, mostly ignoring the two, whose clothes were worn enough that they could be passed off as dock workers, or maybe ship engineers – which, technically, Harley was.
Feeling stiff, tired and hot, Harley made to shift positions, preferably placing herself out of the direct line of the sun, when Abel stiffened and made a motion with her hand.
Their target had arrived.
Harley stood and peered over the top of the crates to get a complete look at the docking stations. The hanger was already fairly full, mostly with carrier vessels used by corporate merchants – they were giant ships that took up most of the hanger's air space and dwarfed the other ships – and the tiny frigates used by independent merchants, but also light- and heavy-cruisers that were hired by corporations to protect their wares or indies who had enough business to afford high-class protection. They were all hooked up to docking stations and cables and wires hung all over the place, charging the ships' batteries and feeding them fuel and other supplies.
A new ship had entered the hanger and was making for the empty station closest to the two women. It was small, old and built to go in a straight line hard and fast. Its body was battered, scorched and devoid of most of its paint and the wings made unhappy clicking sounds as the dock grips attached to them.
Harley stared at the ship in silence as real dock workers approached and began hooking up cables and wires, taking in the whole train wreck that she had gotten herself into. Finally her brain kicked in and she turned to Abel with incredulous expression on her face, “That's the ship?”
Abel looked up at Harley, who was half a head taller than her even when she wasn't crouching, and nodded, “Yep, that's her.”
“She should be a junk yard.”
Abel made an annoyed motion with her hand, “She's good enough for me. A little make-over and she'll be good as gold. So she ain't got manoeuvrability; I don't need manoeuvrability. I need speed and the ability to take heavy hits with the grace of a rock wall and she's got that in plenty.”
Harley frowned back at Abel, still not fully convinced of the ship's ability.
“Plus, she's a free-wheeler, which is good enough for me in and of itself,” Abel added.
That, at least, made sense to Harley. The ship being a free-wheeler explained why it was in such bad conditions, and also meant that it was ten-times easier to get away with stealing. Being an independent merchant just meant that you didn't work for one of the large corporations that were slowly but surely taking over the galaxy's star systems; you were still licensed under some government or union and therefore everything you owned was protected and traceable. Free-wheelers were licensed on-demand. It meant that is was harder to get into certain areas and there was no institution to back you up, but you didn't have to answer to anyone and that was good enough for some people. But it did mean that if someone was to come along and take off with your equipment then no one would be willing to track it down again.
And once a free-wheeling vehicle had been given a new paint job there wasn't a person in the universe who could fine it again.
As they'd been talking the dock workers had finished up and Abel made shushing motions at Harley when people started steeping out of the ship. Being a small ship it only needed a small crew and all up only twelve people, all dressed in Martian-style clothing, stepped out and excited across the hanger, which by Harley's counted was the entire crew and, presumably, a few merchants.
“Is that all of them?” Harley asked.
“I don't know. Maybe. Probably not,” Abel said, “They didn't take anything with them, which could mean that their cargo is still in the ship, in which case they'll have guards. That, or they're going to buy cargo here, in which case they'll have guards.”
Harley raised an eyebrow at Abel, who shrugged and added, “They've got no insurance. It's up to them to keep their ship in their own hands.”
Abel stood and, with a last look around the area to make sure no one was watching them, made her way towards the ship, Harley trailing after her. After Abel had tapped inconspicuously at the ship's door lock with no reaction, Harley stepped forward her palm-held rig system and jammed it into the lock's sensors. Lines of numbers that made no sense to Abel popped up on the lock's interface, but a few taps from Harley made them disappear again and the door rushed open. Both women stepped into the air-lock chamber and Harley made for the next door, which would lead to ship's main hull, but Abel stopped her and jerked a finger at the first door, which had already clicked shut behind them.
“Make sure that's unlocked. I don't want to have to waste precious seconds unlocking it again if I need to throw someone out.”
Harley nodded and moved back to the door, while Abel continued into the ship's hull and headed down towards the navigation terminal. After rigging the door so it would remain unlocked, Harley followed Abel's path into the hull, but instead of heading the navigation terminal she turned instead towards the pilot bays.
One of the advantages of hijacking an old model space ship was that the entire ship could be controlled from a single computer station, as all the controls were hooked up, unlike new designs which split the controls into multiple stations. That made Harley's job sufficiently easier.
Harley passed a pair of dimmed pilot stations, where assistant flight controls would work, and approached the main station of the ship, which would give her access to the entire vehicle. Though Harley was technically an engineer, not a pilot, she was determined that her skills and knowledge of ships would get her she, and Abel, needed to go.
She was just passing her fingers of the back of the helm's seat when she felt herself grabbed from behind and slammed against the floor. The breathe was knocked from her lungs and a hard crack hit her ears when her nose broke as it collided with the metal plates that made up the ship's walkways. Shock paralysed her body and her mind blanked. She vaguely registered Abel shouting from somewhere deeper in the ship, over the sound of buzzing in her ears, but it wasn't until she felt a heavy pressure on her back that adrenaline rushed her back to the present.
Whoever had pushed her to the ground was kneeling on her back. A low chuckle reached her ears and she felt the cold barrel of a gun press into the back of her neck, as she struggled to breath with her face flat to the floor.
“Sounds like your friend's just met Kruger. Doubt you'll be seeing her again. 'least, not alive,” said a deep, guttural voice. Harley's heart skipped a beat at his words and she started squirming against her, kicking her legs and flailing the one arm not pinned beneath her.
A heavy blow caught the back of her head and she was still again. The world, or what little of it she could see from the ground, spun and black spots crossed her vision. The person on her back spoke again, “I wouldn't do that if I were you. See, the thing is, I'm choosing not to kill you.”
A gunshot rang out through the ship and Harley's blood went cold. Abel was a cyber-reality (C.R.) soldier. She used cyberware implants to fight and defend herself. She didn't use guns. Which meant –
“See, I told ya. Oi, Kruger!” Harley twitched at the person's sudden shout, “Come held me out with this one!”
Harley tried to shut out the person's voice and instead concentrate on her breathing, but with a bloody nose and not much room to move her neck she was finding it hard.
The person took her gun off her neck, grabbed her arms and tied them behind her back as she tried to squirm into a better position. Once her arms were done they stopped for a moment and called out again, “Oi Kruger! The leave the damn bitch and get down here!”
With her ear pressed into the floor Harley could hear approaching footsteps and she twisted her head up to get a better view down the ship's bridge. When she saw who was marching down the walkway towards them she nearly shouted out. Bruised and looking slightly the worse for wear, but otherwise unscathed, Abel was advancing on them with her cyberware armature glowing orange around her right arms and her eyes filmed over with her C.R. view.
Harley felt the person on her back shift their balance as they raised their gun to aim at Abel while shouting, “The fuck are y-”.
Before they were able to finish Abel swiped arm hand across her vision, drawing an electromagnetic pulse out of the ship's system and into the person. They cried out in alarm and fell off Harley. In a second Abel had sprinted across the remaining walkway and landed on top of him. Harley struggled into a sitting position and pushed herself against the pilot's seat to remove herself from the struggle. Abel was sitting on top of the person, now revealed to be a middle-sized man with too much hair and a bad shaving job, and slammed her right hand into his chest, hitting him hard and sending a second jolt of electricity through his body. This time he stopped moving.
Abel sat down on the floor, switched off her cyberware and turned to Harley, “You alright?”
“Uh-huh,” Harley nodded as she tried to use her shoulder to wipe away some of the blood pouring from her nose.
Abel nodded back, stood up with a swift grace and hauled Harley up with her, “Turn around; I'll get these chords off.”
Once Abel had untied Harley she shoved her towards the pilot seat before striding back over to the man, “Get this ship up and running and drop the cargo. It's bad shit I don't want to have to deal with.”
Harley made a noise of acknowledgement and had powered her rig up when Abel added, “Lean you head forward slightly and pinch your nostrils. For the bleeding.”
Harley nodded, did as she was told, then hooked up her rig with the helm computer. The screen lit up instantly and Harley started pouring through series of numbers and letters to unlock the systems while Abel let out an endless stream of grunts and curses as she dragged the man down the walkway in order to throw him out the airlock.
“And do it quickly,” Abel called from she ship's door, “I can see the owners of this hunk of junk coming back and I don't want to deal with any more people. Especially not the cops.”
Harley mumbled something that sounded vaguely like a “Got it” had the words been shoved through a blender. The ship was humming rather happily as it powered up and Harley quickly tapped a series of keys to drop the contents of the cargo hold.
“How do I close this damn thing?” Abel yelled down the hold.
Harley shook her head and closed the door herself, earning her a yelp of surprise from Abel, then directed the ship to warm up its thrusters and disconnect from the docking system.
“Wha bou de ober?” Harley asked as Abel ran up the walkway.
“He was in cargo hold,” Abel replied, crouching next to the other woman, “Sucks for him. Now let's get out of here quickly, I think the saw me shoving their guard out of the lock.”
Harley nodded and gracefully manoeuvred the starship away from the docking station and out the hangar. Abel clung to the back of her chair until the were well away from the hangar – from the entire port – and making their way out of the planet's atmosphere before letting out a loud whoop.
“We've done it! We're off that goddamn rock and on to better things. To space!” she laughed.