Spacewalkers

11

I stood in the darkness of the room, watching the metal doors of the ship's outer airlock move slowly apart. Painfully slow. The blaster handle creaked with synthetic coating in my palm. The weapon of the future was already ready to unleash a lethal bolt of plasma at the first enemy unfortunate enough to meet me. I was beaten by a small shiver from the desire to finally warm up with real opponents.

I want to let off steam and test my strength.

Finally the doors parted enough to let in the light pouring in from outside and the shadow of a head blocking it. A loud voice echoed through the compartment:

- Hey, bedding?! Why are you taking so long? The captain is already waiting for his victims!

The man's face squeezed between the doors, not at all afraid that someone might be waiting on the other side. He was confident in the witch and her abilities. In vain.

While he squinted to see something in the darkness, I put the barrel of the blaster to his forehead.

- Who the hell are you?!

- Boo! - I said, pressing the trigger or whatever modern weapons have instead of a hook with a spring. 

The blaster illuminated the gloomy airlock bay with a bluish flash. The pirate's head remained in place contrary to my expectation, but in the forehead there was a burnt hole the size of an old ruble coin. There was no recoil or any click. Just a flick of the finger, a flash and the enemy is dead.

All this is somehow unusual. I'm used to the recoil in the hand, the smell of gunpowder, the deafening roar. And then silence. Only smoke billowing through a hole in the head of a loser who so recklessly decided to shove it where it was not needed.

The flaps parted even more, allowing the body to go limp on my outstretched hands. Taking a step forward, I boarded the pirate ship under cover of a makeshift shield.

Having moved to this world, I saw the docks of the academy of the inquisitors out of the corner of my eye. Clean, tidy, sterile, if a little empty. But it was clear that they were being followed. I also saw the rich interior of my ship, and although it is not so beautiful now due to the numerous skirmishes that took place on board, it did not look poorer. And it would seem that all ships should be like this: well-groomed, tidy, clean. Even in my time in the navy, ships were polished to a shine, so that the captain could see his reflection on the metal surface. I'm exaggerating, of course, but that's what my acquaintances who served in the Navy told me. I also grew up watching space adventure movies, where even the most inveterate loser in the galaxy has a ship that looks better than most expensive apartments in the center of Moscow.

Therefore, when I stepped on the pirate ship, I was struck by its squalor. I can't describe it any more. Walls covered with incomprehensible inscriptions, torn posters with naked women and furriodes, smudges of rust and hanging threads of an incomprehensible plant that sprouted through the bars of the ventilation grill. The floor is dirty, there are dubious traces of an incomprehensible liquid on the walls, an unpleasant musty smell hits the nose, from which an unprepared person will begin to stir up. As if he got into a crap drug den, the owners of which have generally forgotten what personal hygiene and sanitary standards are.

There were about five people waiting for me outside. Dressed in rags and clothes that clearly did not fit them, they sat on boxes drinking something from green plastic bottles. From their squinted looks and relaxed, cheerful faces, one can understand that they were not going to board my ship at all, but simply sat and waited for the witch to deliver us to them.

- Hey, Frankie! Well, where is that purple bitch?! - slowly turning his head in my direction asked one of them.

When his alcohol-clouded gaze was finally able to focus on me, you could see the emotional metamorphosis that had taken place on his face. The self-satisfied joy of a successful and self-confident person was replaced by misunderstanding, then surprise, and soon it could have acquired some other shade if not for the plasma beam that pierced his eye.

The pirate fell, and I threw Frankie's body onto the others standing nearby. Unlike the one killed on the spot, they were more efficient. Jumping away from the body flying at them, they drew their swords from their scabbards and rushed at me. It is worth giving them their due, the hops in their eyes did not prevent them from stepping firmly on the dirty slippery floor, but the intelligence was definitely lowered to the minimum values. Right now, it was not difficult for me to shoot them on the way, since the distance separating us made it possible to do this. And it surprised me.

- Are you fucking normal pirates or what? I snarled in disappointment as I holstered my blaster and then my knife.

I only have one hand to deal with them. I wanted action, but I got a drunken brawl with idiots who decided to rush into close combat with the shooter. How disappointed I am!

I pushed the first one who ran up with a feeling of complete disgust to the side, leaving the line of his sword strike. With my increased strength to the limits of human standards, his flight was several meters and ended at plastic tanks with an incomprehensible liquid inside. Which he knocked over on himself, after which he began to stink wildly throughout the entire docking compartment.

The second one was not so drunk, but when he ran up to me, the stink from the fumes made my eyes water. Still, my body belonged to a pampered and spoiled boy who did not hold anything heavier than his own insignificance in his hands. Therefore, if the old me would not even notice such smells, now ... Everything is bad.

Nausea rises to the throat, it becomes difficult to breathe. All this stench inside a pirate ship with something incomprehensible impurities ... Damn! But how can you even bring a ship to this? How do they even live here?

"Who are you, you little bastard?" yelled my adversary, brandishing his sword.

I didn’t even have to try to dodge, it was not difficult to deflect his hand. Then it remains only to make a hooking of the leading leg, on which he now leans and help him fall to the ground by pressing his hand on his chest. I didn’t finish it, because the third jumped up so quickly that it surprised me and I had to step back from the fallen enemy, leaving him kicking displeasedly on the floor, making clumsy attempts to get to his feet.

- Apparently, this bitch did not cope there! - the pirate said loudly, pointing the blade of the sword at me, - So we ourselves will chop you into pieces, shit!

I just sighed in frustration. If it weren't for the desire to warm up and test my strength, I could have shot these idiots a long time ago and would have continued on my way. But damn... It's too late to change my mind. He wanted to, so get out.

- He is strange, - the pirate, who got to his feet, asked, screwing up his eyes.

After examining them all, I realized that they looked quite ordinary. Scars on emaciated, wrinkled faces with huge bruises under the eyes, dirty hands, greasy hair. But they all looked like the average middle-aged men you'd see in a bar in the evenings. Ordinary hard workers who love after work to skip a glass of beer and relax and gather their thoughts before returning home. Pirates would be washed and not distinguished.

- Shall we call the others?

Do you consider yourself to be weak? - there was a loud growl.

There were two dead and three living who now, holding their swords at the ready, looked at me, but it turns out that I did not notice the one who was sitting with his back to the ship, covered with an old blanket and thus almost merging with the surrounding trash, which they called the ship.

Now this same pirate, after his statement, got to his feet, demonstrating to everyone his high growth. Shrugging his shoulders, he threw off his blanket and stood near the metal stairs leading upstairs. It was a furriod. In his appearance, he was very different from Terra, more like a huge wolf or even a werewolf, which was shown in films. Muscular arms, an elongated mouth with powerful yellowish fangs, black hair with white spots on the chest and back of the legs. He stood dressed in some kind of light armor with his arms crossed over his chest and wagging his tail with a sly grin.

- What did you just say? - the pirate exclaimed in annoyance, whom I threw into the containers.

He stank so strongly that the furriod who had snarled at him grimaced.

- I said! That three of you are enough to kill this kid, - he said in a hoarse voice, and then, drawing in the air with his nose, added, - I also smell a female, a furriod on him ... A strong smell. Oh yeah. Inside he has a female and she is very passionate, judging by the abundance of her smell on him.

But this is not good. I guessed that furriods differ in structure, appearance, and, in general, all animals that can be found on earth are included in them. But this damn dog, who smelled the presence of Terra, is annoying me. He's giving the guys an incentive to attack me right now. Why would he? Is he…

- From the same you bastard, damn it, - I said with a grin, as soon as the pirates, inspired, decided to attack me.

This dog decided to set weak drunks on me, and only then finish me off when I weaken. Smart, no doubt about it. Especially considering the strength of the furriods. Even if it was hard with Terra, I'm afraid to imagine what it would be like to fight him.

Dogmeat smirked behind his teammates, if you can even call them that. They kept their swords of an alloy I didn't understand pointed at me. They were more like the same ones used by all awakened in my time: an elongated blade in its shape, more like a blade in a clerical knife, no guard, and a simple handle - a typical ninjato. So it seems that this sword used by Japanese shinobi was called. Unfortunately, the influence of Japan on popular culture turned out to be very strong at the beginning of the twenty-first century, from which many began to adopt their style of weapons. Fortunately, there was a good reason. It was rare to see an awakened wielding a bastard sword or mace when such mobile and quite deadly blades were available.

The pirates attacked at the same time. They swung their blades, trying to strike in such a way as not to give me room for maneuvers and evasions. But three drunkards will never succeed in attacking synchronously. There will always be someone who delays or strikes too quickly. That's just what I grabbed by the hand, pulling it up to me and pressing on the brush with the sword, forcing it to drop.

Seeing my similar feint, the others scaredly deflected their blows, bouncing to the sides so as not to harm their own. And in the meantime, I kicked him in the back of the knee, causing him to fall. Hands clasped their heads in a habitual movement, a slight effort and a characteristic loud crunch heralds everyone about the loss of another fighter in this drunken herd. I hate such people.

The sword lay at my feet, but I didn't bend down to pick it up. I want to kill them all with my bare hands. But with the dog already decide what to do next. He is just waiting for his moment when he can attack and kill me. I suppose he wants to then personally appropriate Terra for himself. No. She is mine. The ship is also mine, as is the witch now. And I don't like to share my things with anyone.

Without waiting for a new attack from the pirates, I decided to take the initiative myself. Apparently they were already afraid to make any attempts in my direction, because every time my movements turned out to be deadly for one of them. There is nothing to be surprised here. They don't even know how to use swords. During the attack, the center of gravity is not where it should be, the blows are delivered as if they are trying to chop wood with an ax, and not kill the enemy. They hold the weapon too tightly, which is why it is not difficult to knock it out. It's not particularly difficult to predict their attacks.

As soon as he closed the distance too quickly, the pirate exclaimed in fear and slashed his blade from side to side with such a strong swing, as if he was trying to cut invisible branches in the forest at the level of his shoulders. Having abruptly gone down, I take a long step towards him and hit the base of my palm on his chin. With my strength, his head twitches so violently that he flies into the air. Blood splatter falls on me like rain, and a piece of tongue lands on my hair. I swipe it from there, trying to suppress long-forgotten bouts of disgust and desire to run back to the ship and wash.

The second one tried to hit me from behind, he hit as if he was holding a short knife in his hands, which he was trying to stick into my back.

Having guessed the moment, I deviate to the side, turning on the spot, thereby allowing the sharp blade to pass along the body, rushing into the void, dragging the unfortunate owner with it. Further, I have already observed tears flowing from his eyes. He understood that this was his last mistake made in the battle with me and now he will die. But that doesn't make me feel sorry. Never in my life will I regret a freak who robs people and gets pleasure from it, and I still keep quiet about violence. I'm sure they do this often...