Captured By Space Pirates

The restraint around Kira Voss’s left wrist clicked once every time the skiff changed thrust.

She woke to that sound.

Metal pressed against her spine. The deck shuddered beneath her, and somewhere above, engines hammered in uneven bursts, as if the vessel had been stitched together from wreckage and dared the stars to tear it apart. Blue emergency strips pulsed along the cargo hold walls. Each flash revealed another cage, another heap of sealed crates, another body curled beneath a thermal sheet.

Kira tried to move.

The chain between her wrists snapped tight.

Pain lanced through her shoulder. She sucked in a breath and rolled onto one elbow. Her skull felt packed with hot sand. The last thing she remembered was the mining moon’s white horizon, the flare of a weapon, and armored figures dropping from the dark.

Her boots were gone. So was the belt at her waist. A narrow metal band circled her throat, cold against the fine scales beneath her jaw.

“Don’t pull it,” someone said.

Kira froze.

A guard stood beyond the nearest cage, half hidden by the blue light. He wore a patched pressure suit with the pirate crest painted across the chest: a black hook laid over a red star. A shock baton hung at his hip. His face was broad and gray, with one artificial eye glowing amber.

Kira glanced at the chain. “Release me.”

The guard laughed. “That’s not how this works.”

“Then tell me how it works.”

His artificial eye whirred as it focused on her. “You wake. You stay quiet. You wait for inspection.”

Kira pushed herself upright. The movement made the collar tighten. Not enough to choke her, but enough to warn her. A thin vibration crawled beneath her skin.

The guard tapped two fingers against the baton. “Try the chain again and the collar teaches you the first rule.”

“I have no interest in learning from you.”

“Everyone says that before the first lesson.”

He moved away as the skiff lurched hard to starboard. Crates slid across the deck. One struck the bars of a cage with a hollow boom, and a frightened voice cried out from inside.

Kira turned toward the sound.

A young male from some furred species crouched behind the bars, clutching his arm. A collar identical to hers glimmered at his throat. He met Kira’s eyes, then looked down quickly.

Not prisoners, she thought.

Cargo.

The realization settled more heavily than the chain.

She examined the restraint without touching it. Her wrists were locked in a single black cuff, smooth except for a narrow seam. The chain ran from the cuff to a floor ring between her knees. A tiny red light blinked beside the seam. The collar carried a matching light, synchronized with the cuff.

A slave-key system, perhaps. Her people had used similar devices in old military prisons, though never openly. The key would not be carried by the guard at the door. It would be somewhere on the command side of the ship, linked to the collar through a control grid.

Kira lowered her gaze before the guard could see her studying it.

“What is this vessel?” she asked.

“Skiff.”

“Whose?”

The guard’s grin widened. “You’ll hear his name soon enough.”

The hatch at the far end of the hold opened with a hydraulic groan. Two more pirates entered, dragging a prisoner between them. He was tall and insectile, his six limbs bound together by a web of glowing cable. One pirate shoved him toward an empty cage.

“Inspection corridor is ready,” said the taller guard. “Captain wants the new catch checked before we dock.”

The first guard straightened. “Already?”

“Captain Solen wants everything checked twice.”

The name moved through the hold like a draft.

Captain Solen.

Kira kept her face blank while the pirates unlocked the cage. The insectile prisoner stumbled inside. The door slammed. A blue line appeared across the bars, sealing it.

The first guard pointed at Kira. “That one goes next.”

Kira looked toward the hatch. Beyond it lay a narrow corridor lit by white inspection lamps. Three doors lined one side. The nearest bore a yellow warning symbol. A camera lens rotated above the frame.

If she reached that corridor, she might find a control panel. A manual release. A weapon. Anything.

The chain gave her less than a meter of movement.

The guard approached and crouched in front of her. “Stand.”

Kira remained seated.

His artificial eye narrowed. “I said stand.”

“I heard you.”

The baton came free with a soft electric crackle.

Kira’s muscles tightened. She had survived the ambush by pretending to be dead beneath the dust. She had survived waking because she had not panicked. Panic belonged to the body. Survival belonged to the mind.

She placed one hand on the deck and rose.

The chain dragged behind her, scraping over the metal. Her knees weakened, but she kept her balance. The guard seized the back of her collar and pulled her toward the hatch.

His glove smelled of machine oil and old blood.

Kira twisted sharply.

For one instant, the guard lost his grip....