Chapter 327: We Both Hated the Last Rocket

Horass aimed past me at the winch controls, which was a clever way to kill my plan without politely delivering a rocket to the snake waiting to catch one.

The machinery cage sat several meters to my left. If he destroyed it, the blast could fill the room before I reached a useful angle, and the loose return cable would become another good idea I died near.

[System: Last little job for the evening, ya disaster. Survive the duel and stop his immediate attack, and you pocket seven thousand EXP and thirty IP. Try collecting it with the same number of heads you arrived with.]

I would accept the work, although I wanted the listing to mention the applicant was currently being interviewed by a rocket launcher.

I moved toward the cage, making the opening obvious. Horass tracked me without firing, watching for the moment I committed to protecting the controls instead of myself.

He had seen enough to suspect another can was available. That didn’t mean he knew exactly how close the projectile needed to come, and I wanted him guessing while the engine pulled against the cargo load above us.

The exposed guide rattled beside his boots. A broken packing strap had caught around its base, dragging one loop of return cable closer to the structural beam each time the ship rolled.

I had noticed the movement earlier, and now I understood what mattered. I couldn’t hold Horass, but the ship’s powered cargo system could pull a loaded platform without asking whether the load felt superior.

I needed him in the loop and the engine still running. Unfortunately, he possessed eyes, intelligence and a deeply offensive interest in keeping both useful.

"You could still leave, mate. I would even tell everyone the tree frightened me, provided you didn’t make the story longer with another war about breakfast."

"You were trying to buy movement with conversation," he said. "It was a fair attempt, but I had heard better offers from a lieutenant trapped in a portable toilet."

[System: Ask if the lieutenant made it out, because I could use a success story from someone having a similarly shit evening.]

Horass fired while I was still thinking of a reply. The rocket traveled toward the cage, and I threw myself across its path before I could turn fear into another failed calculation.

It entered three meters with a clear line of sight. Beer caught it, leaving a cold metal can pressed between my coils while the sudden absence of impact made Horass change his footing.

The timer started at ten seconds. I had no shield, no second catch and no safe way to hold the thing until everybody became reasonable, so I flew low across the open lane with it held firmly against me.

Horass stepped around the cable loop, exactly as expected. Then he swung the launcher toward my head, using the heavy weapon as a club I couldn’t capture inside a drink.

The blow clipped my jaw. My vision blurred, the can nearly slipped, and the pain made every clever thought briefly share one very simple opinion about tofu.

I caught the can with a tendril before it fell and opened it toward the damaged cargo brace behind Horass. The stored rocket left at its original speed, and I dived behind the solid winch housing before the impact.

The brace failed with a bang that hurt through the metal cover. A loaded cargo platform shifted above us, jerking the return line sideways as the still-powered drum tried to take up the sudden slack.

Horass reacted fast enough to save his head. He jumped clear of the falling guard, but the sweeping loop caught his lower body and dragged him against the structural beam before he could clear the lane.

The ship did the pulling. I heard the beam complain, saw his roots scrape deep marks in the floor, and understood that if the engine kept winding, neither of us would enjoy what happened next.

[System: You’ve caught the bastard, mate, but that winch doesn’t know the difference between winning a fight and making vegetarian toothpaste.]

Then I needed the machine to stop before my victory became something served in a tube.

I couldn’t reach the controls through the locked cage. Mine Now had cleared while we argued, and the small external control box sat within three meters, but stealing it would tear connections I didn’t understand.

I left it where it was and used a tendril through the mesh to hit the large emergency stop. The engine-driven drum halted, its brake taking the load while alarms changed from angry beeping to a steady mechanical shriek.

Horass strained once against the cable. The beam moved a fraction, enough to show he wasn’t helpless forever, but his injured leg folded beneath him before he could gain leverage.

I hovered beyond his reach with the empty can tucked against my coils. My jaw hurt, my side hurt, and the burned fin had reopened enough to make holding position a stubborn act rather than a graceful one.

His launcher lay on the far side of the cable. I pushed it away with a tendril, keeping my body out of reach while he watched the movement without another lecture.

"That was better," he said through clenched teeth. "You finally stopped asking your body to win a contest it hadn’t entered at the right weight."

I wanted to laugh, but the first attempt hurt so badly I settled for showing my teeth. The machinery had trapped an A-rank opponent, and all it had cost was most of a ship and several personal reasons to visit a doctor.

I kept clear of his arms while checking the exit, because an injured A-rank opponent was still an A-rank opponent and I had used up my supply of clever bruises.

A crack spread along the damaged beam. Horass heard it too, and his eyes moved toward the deepening water beneath the door while I looked at the cable holding him exactly where I could finish the fight.