I was free falling. Twenty-five thousand feet and plummeting over primo real estate. Beings paid good money to get this kind of view but they were usually aboard sightseeing ships. Between the spotlights, the city lights, and the incessantly blinking advertising boards below, I could barely see what I was doing.
Sourcemind aka Ninety-five was nowhere to be found. He was so heavy that his burnt out carcass made a beeline to the planet below. My mystery woman, on the other hand, was a bit of a waif. Tall, skinny, yet curvy in all the right places.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Jones shouted.
“Improvising! Get down there!”
Jonesy abided. The Star Streaker roared past me on a vertical course. I aimed myself in the general direction of my quarry, but I needed some help.
The LaMonza Corporation’s CTK Sparkmatic Attack Cord is an essential tool found inside the duster of discriminating bounty hunters everywhere. You’ve probably heard of it by its more commonly used nickname, the spark whip.
I drew mine but I didn’t arm it. I didn’t want to fry the poor gal after all. I whirled around a few times and then let it loose with a deafening crack sound as it coiled around the woman. It caused her considerable pain as she woke with a start, a frightened expression on her face. I didn’t want to hurt her but I was low on options and the world below was getting closer and closer.
With a flick of my wrist I snapped her up to me and uncoiled the whip from around her body. The exchange we had next went something like this:
ME: You’re not much of a conversationalist.
Together, we fell past our ship. Jones was hovering steadily, waiting for orders. I cracked the whip again, catching it by the side bay door’s handle.
“You’re insane,” Jones said.
“Fine,” I replied. “Next time you fight the death bot and save the girl and I’ll fly the ship.”
“Put ‘er on autopilot and reel us in already,” I said.