Hardshellz

by Morris Kenyon

  ***

  On a Nineday, it was the same routine as usual. Same old, same old. The pirates brought in our meals and placed them on the metal table. As always, there were two of them, one to serve the food and collect the empties while a second stood by the airlock and covered us with his weapon. They were efficient and had obviously looked after hostages before. Their protective suits steamed and dripped water onto the floor making them look like prehistoric animals newly emerged from the slime.

  I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary and was doing my exercises, keeping myself in trim. I'd just done my fortieth squat thrust while holding the metal table out at arm's length to maintain upper body strength. Both Çrámerr and Julianna worked out but not to my extent. The pirate watched me idly – he'd seen it all before and doubtless he'd see it all again until our ransoms were met.

  Then a flash of light lit up the porthole followed an instant later by a tremendous explosion.