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   Chapter 31 No.31

Dead Beckoning By Christina Engela Characters: 5477

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:01


"Think you can handle it?" Came the voice of his friend and captain of this ship, Mykl d'Angelo, who seemed to be smiling with amusement at his discomfort.

"It's a sick joke." Blachart smiled and nodded back at him. "But sure, I'll do it – what's not to handle?"

"You mean, you're going on a suicide mission into Corsair-held space, have to avoid getting killed – or captured and then killed... stop me if you've heard this one before?" Mykl wisecracked.

"Yea." Blachart grunted. "Didn't we do that already?"

Mykl grunted back. Yes, they had done something similar to this – but that was a different time, a different place – another, different Meradinis.

"The sword looks good on you." Mykl observed appreciatively. "I see you came prepared!"

"Yes, " He replied, left hand going to the handle of the katana tucked in the sash round his waist, and patting the Luger in the holster slung at his belt with the other. "And 'old faithful' too."

Mykl chuckled and placed a friendly hand on Adam's shoulder. "Sure – it's not as if we haven't done this kinda thing before, eh?"

Adam shook his head and uttered a little snerk.

"How the hell do I let you talk me into these things?" Adam retorted. "I'm smarter than that. At least, I used to be."

"Well, " Said the Captain of the Antares, grinning "That's because I can be very persuasive."

"That you can, Captain d'Angelo. That you can."

"Okay, seriously now… Ease on in, there's no need to be a hero. Just get past their look-outs, scout around, land, check the place out, and come back. Oh, and if you could knock out that energy screen, it would be nice."

"Go

xactly the wrong angle. A plume of flame burst into existence around it, tapering off and marking a trail as it plunged. On the flight deck, pandemonium reigned. Bathed in the intense light radiating through the view ports, a man was struggling almost vainly against the apparent will of the craft to destroy itself. Considering that in all probability the shuttle would succeed and be smashed into a smoking crater in the ground – then the detail that he was an average-looking, well-built man with about a week's stubble on his face, was somewhat irrelevant.

"The bloody thing's as user-friendly as an A-bomb!" Blachart growled at the hapless pilot, just as another bump in the turbulence shook both him and Ensign Brenton – the man in the seat beside him – to the bone. His white-knuckled hands gripped the armrests of his seat tightly as Brenton frantically tried a different tactic to boost the anti-grav units in the hope that it might slow the ship's fiendishly fast descent, but beating the control console with his own clenched fists every other second didn't seem to be working.

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