The Big Bang

I was spinning like an ice dancer on an upper. My surroundings blurred by so fast I struggled to keep my bearings. Not that there was much to rely on. Deep space isn’t known for its prolific landmarks or roadside attractions. Still, Bruno’s ship flashed across my visor over and over, providing the vital point of reference I needed.

I had to get control. My time was running out.

I had stowed away in Bruno’s personal cabin while we passed through the wormhole. I revealed myself upon exit, catching him by surprise.

Or so I thought.

I opened the cockpit door and aimed my .44 magnum straight at his chest. I admit that I was slightly taken aback when I saw him wearing his long johns—a nice pair too. Either he had a pre-planned space walk in the near future or he was paranoid. Or both.

Personally, I’m paranoid. So I always wear mine. But I haven’t met many people—neither competition nor marks—that do the same.

“That’s a poor choice of weaponry,” he chided.

I can’t say I disagree. I was always a sucker for the classics. In this case I held a steel, double-action, .44 magnum with a six-inch barrel. It reminded me of my dad.

“That’s a matter of opinion. It gets the job done.”

“Perhaps too well. You’re likely to punch a hole right through the hull.”

“I’m fine with that. Are you?”

The ape of a man—in both size and face—scowled.

“No.”

“Right. Give me your hands.”

That’s when he did it. The moron. Bruno must have rigged his ship to blow out all the oxygen, because the next thing I knew, both of us were sucked out the emergency hatch. Being caught off guard, I was knocked around on the way out. I lost my gun, but my mask flashed closed automatically from the sudden change in pressure.

I was angry. I had let my guard down. And I lost my favorite gun—which was probably spinning out of control in space somewhere . . . just like me. I was so sure I had gotten the edge on Bruno. I mean, his eyes bulged when he saw me. He wasn’t a good enough actor to fake that. Still, his trap sprung before my finger could pull the trigger. And so there I was. Spinning wildly. In empty space.

“Nicely done, Silas.”

I often berate myself.

To let Bruno get away hurt. I’ll admit that. I had tracked him for a full month and was getting close to my contract’s deadline. But these things happen in the Body Hunting business. Clients understand. Even if they don’t like it. So that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that I could see Bruno back in the cockpit. And he was strapping in.

I knew Bruno. He wasn’t about to leave me floating in space. Not when he knew my ship would pick me up in a few hours. No, Bruno would kill me and leave me. That was the smart play. It would give him at least another two months before a new contract was formed.

My left hand initialized the small control panel on my right forearm. The liquid display glowed at the touch. I used the directional vents of my long johns to stop my perpetual and sickening ballet. As fast as I could. Relying solely on trained and tested muscle memory. Until, finally, my body was still.

The spinning had lasted maybe 30 seconds. But each second felt like a star-life. I don’t care how much combat you’ve seen or training you’ve had, high speed zero-g turns will make anyone sick. I hated the drills in basic. I hated when it happened during the War. And I most certainly hated it now. Lucky for me, I always regained composure pretty fast. My eyes and stomach settled quickly.

Just in time to see the hatch of Bruno’s cockpit close.

My right arm instinctively reached for the railgun mounted to my back. I pulled the rifle forward and aimed, cinching its butt firmly against my right shoulder. It was a sleek black semi-auto rifle. Word in the dark was that the military was working on a full auto. No small task.

My left wrist rested on the stock of the rifle, clamping down and securing the rifle in place. My left fingers remained glued to the control panel on my right forearm, ready to maneuver.

I trained the red dot in my sight toward Bruno. But the reflective coating on the cockpit hatch ruined my visibility. And the ship was moving. Rotating toward me. A crappy shot. A worse situation. I needed a better plan.

Bruno piloted an old Class-D Mako. It was a small personal cruiser, fine for lonely and secluded interstellar travel. None of the comforts of home, mind you. But plush if you grew up in the slums like most of us.

Like most affordable spacecrafts, the outside was a hulking jumble of irregular shapes and sizes. Every engine was housed internally. As were most of the computer systems. But everything else—every system, container, and accessory—found the backside of its housing protruding into space. That’s what happens when aerodynamics become irrelevant. Every once in a while you’d see a sleek ship, of course. But they were reserved for the mega-wealthy. Those who could afford to spend a fortune on pure aesthetics.

I used my left hand to steer me away from Bruno’s ship. It was too late to board. Bruno would complete his turn and fire before I even got close. My only choice, then, was to disable him and break in. I needed to find something vital to shoot.

The fuel was a perfect choice. No fuel, no travel. No travel, and his body was mine. Besides, nothing else was obvious.

I could have piloted the Mako. But I had never owned one. So I was only guessing at what most of the bulges were along its exterior. If I wasn’t careful, I could hit some coolant and blow him up. Not that I needed Bruno alive, mind you. But I find it looks more professional when you bring a body back breathing.

So I settled on the fuel. You can always spot the fuel cells.

I took aim and fired. The slug drove straight into Bruno’s ship, leaving only a thin blue trail of static gas behind.

How I love my rail rifle. Almost as much as I love shooting—anything—in space. You never need to worry about distance. You never need to consider weather or wind. You just take aim and fire and your slug sails straight until the next big bang.

A Big Bang.

I always thought that phrase was funny. There’s no sound in space. How could you have a big bang? You’d only get a big flash, followed by speeding projectiles of various makeup, size, and temperature.

Which is exactly what happened. And quite unexpectedly.

My slug hit its target as intended, ripping a beautiful hole in the fuel cell. Massive globules of pink liquid sprayed and spun, splattered and coalesced into the dark. A truly beautiful and elegant sight.

Then came the unexpected.

A blinding flash. There for a second and gone just as fast. Leaving behind black metal. Torn and warped and spiraling. Showering outward in spherical chaos.

With some panic, I sped backwards as fast as my suit would take me. Debris was coming fast and catching up. The further away I got, the more distance between each deadly shaft and shard, leaving me some room—I hoped—to navigate the mess without getting hit.

It wasn’t until I dodged the first wave that my mind had the luxury of wondering what had happened. Bruno’s Mako had exploded, obviously. But how? Without oxygen, the Mako’s fuel couldn’t ignite. The ship wasn’t fancy enough to have an oxidizer blended in. I knew that much. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have fired. Bruno must have repressurized and oxygenated the cabin while he prepared to kill me.

Priorities.

That’s why he died.

Oh well. No real loss.

I could see the cockpit spinning about 60 meters ahead and to the right. It was moving away but at a slow pace. It turned on a single plane, as if on display at some public war museum. If Bruno’s body was still in one piece—or even if most of his body was still in one piece—it would be there.

I reholstered my rifle to my back and used the control on my forearm to initiate the autopilot in my Whaler. It’d probably take a few hours to arrive. But it’d show up. The wormhole wasn’t very far away. Meanwhile, I could use the time to look for my .44 magnum. I’d hate to lose that gun. Oh yeah, and to secure Bruno’s corpse.

My job is to bring back bodies. They don’t need to be alive. It’s one of the perks of my chosen profession.

My name is Silas Godfrey. Body Hunter. I just retrieved body number 116 amidst the floating wreckage of a Class-D Mako that I took out with a single shot. That it happened by accident only adds to the fun.

God, I love my job.

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