Smooth Criminal
You've been hit by... you've been struck by...
"I'm not reckless. I just don't have time to be careful."
Kinley Pryse was fast asleep, boots propped on the flight controls, hat tipped low over her eyes. The hum of her ship was calm, steady, that is until the alarms shrieked like a banshee in a wind tunnel. She bolted upright, boots thudding to the floor, shoving her hat back atop her tousled brown hair. Red lights strobed across the cockpit. Incoming vessels, three of them, trying to box her in.
A comm crackled to life. "Unidentified vessel, power down and prepare for search and inspection."
"Chit!" she hissed.
Without hesitation, she yanked the controls upward, sending the ship into a steep vertical climb. A chorus of metallic crashes erupted from deeper inside the ship. She winced. Forgot to lock down the galley again. Great. That mess would have to wait. So would the cargo, especially the kind that didn't do well under scrutiny. Sure, the smuggling compartments were top of the line, but why roll the dice when you could just punch it? She twisted the yoke hard, sending the ship into a tight barrel roll and cutting a tight arc between the patrol ships. They weren't ready for her kind of flying. As she weaved and dove, their formation scattered in a scramble to keep up. Inside, though, things were faring less well.
A loud bang, then the sound of colorful swearing echoed down the corridor. Moments later, a bleary-eyed man stumbled into the cockpit, hair in complete mutiny, one hand bracing against the doorway, the other clutching a half-spilled cup.
"What in the frak is going on?!"
Kinley didn't look up, but the corner of her mouth curled into a grin. "Gotta be honest, love, I forgot you were here." She didn't have more than a glance to spare at last nights mistake. She had some fancy flying to do before she worried about the awkward morning after goodbyes, because one thing was for sure;
They would never catch Kinley Pryse.
A Smooth Criminal