William could already feel the pheromones fill the room. Charles had come a long way since they had first met. He was much more comfortable with his abilities. He was nowhere near as subtle, or as controlled as Ansuya, but then she had a good forty- or fifty-year head start on his friend.

  Charles looked at the captain calmly. “How many crew members do you have on board?”

  The captain simply looked at him, and then he glanced over at William. His features held a look of regret and shame.

  William shook his head, “I guess he doesn’t speak English.”

  “That’s alright we can play charades,” Charles walked over and pointed to the dead crew member, whose blood had made a very large and sticky puddle on the floor, “How many? Number!” Charles demanded coldly holding up his fingers in a counting motion.

  Realization crossed the captain’s face and he held up his one free hand and flashed his fingers, saying the word “èrshíbā, èrshíbā.”

  Charles didn’t understand what the guy was saying but he followed the flashing fingers, five, five, five, five, five, three. The captain repeated the same pattern again and again.

  “Twenty eight crewmen on board,” Charles said.

  “Well, there’s six dead guys out in the hallway, and I wrapped up two more on the lower decks,” William offered.

  “I dealt with a few more as well,” Charles didn’t give exact numbers. William wasn’t sure if his friend was being modest, or evasive about what he had to do while he was trying to escape the trap the ship’s crew had set for them.

  “So what? We’re looking at another dozen or so assholes still running around the ship? Maybe we should go hunting?” William asked with a dark look.

  Charles shook his head, “We could do that, but I think I have a better idea.” Charles looked back at the captain and pointed up and all around them, pantomiming talking loudly throughout the ship.

  The captain watched for a moment before realization dawned on his features. He nodded up and down and pointed to a hand mike on the wall. Charles nodded, walked over picking up the hand mike, “Attention,” William heard his friend’s voice in the hallway and knew that he was speaking to whole ship. “We have your captain and have killed several of your crew,” Charles continued. “If you want to see the end of this voyage, you’ll surrender yourselves to the bridge unarmed.” Charles hung up the hand mike.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The captain started waving his hand and shouting. Charles and William looked at each other. The captain looked exasperated as he pointed his finger and pantomimed shooting Charles. Charles simply nodded and smiled.

  “I think he’s saying that people are going to come up here and try to shoot you, pal,” William smirked.

  Charles returned the smile and nodded, “I’m counting on it. Put him back in the closet. We have some work to do and not a whole lot of time to do it.”

  William shoved the captain back into the closet and replaced the broom handle that was holding the door closed. He moved back to Charles and quickly planned their defense and how best to survive the oncoming assault.

  *   *   *   *   *

  He heard footstep stomping on the deck plates signaling that some crewmembers were on their way to the bridge. Charles had taken a protective crouch behind one of the standing pieces of equipment on the bridge. His head was down but he had a clear line of sight to the door, all he had to do was lean out to his right a few inches, a place that was already taken by his weapon as he held it out in front of him.

  Charles was alone on the bridge. The captain was quietly shut in the closet and William was nowhere to be seen. Charles took a deep breath and waited. The footsteps were accompanied by shouts and yelling just before the hatch to the bridge opened, whining at a high pitch as it swung on its hinges. Charles let out a burst of gunfire from his weapon.

  He raised his head to assess what he had done. The bullets had scored a few solid hits on one crewmember as he slumped to the ground his weapon clutched against his chest.

  “Drop your weapons!” Charles yelled from his place of cover. “No one else has to die! Surrender now, or I’ll be forced to kill more of you!”

  This had absolutely no effect on the crewmembers as two more crewmembers pushed their way onto the bridge spraying bullets all over the place. As the rounds impacted, sparks flew from the instruments and ricochet bullets bounced around the bridge. Charles moved his rifle into firing position again and fired at the crewman’s legs. One fell with a scream of pain, but the other ducked back out of the hatch.

  The downed man’s moans were pitiful to listen to. He rolled back and forth holding his ruined limb as blood oozed from the wound. Charles saw the rapid blood flow and knew he had hit an artery. If the man didn’t get medical attention soon, he would bleed out. As much as he didn’t want any more people to die than necessary, he didn’t give two shits about this man or where he came from. These people were slavers, the absolute worst kind of human being. The fewer of these people that existed, the better. He stayed in his position, ignoring the dwindling cries of pain from the wounded man.

  A loud hail of gunfire issued from the passageway outside. Charles heard screams of pain above the sudden gout of noise. The hatch to the bridge swung open and three crewmen tried to force their way onto the bridge at the same time. Charles let a long burst from his weapon issue out and bullets found all three of his marks. The men collapsed in a heap in the hatchway. Another moment and all went silent on the bridge, and in the passageway. Charles waited a few moments, just peeking over the instrument panel he had hidden behind.

  The bodies that laid in the hatchway slid back out of sight around the bulkhead, one after the other. Charles watched as William stepped through the now clear hatchway. William had a grim look on his face but smiled when he saw his friend stand up.

  “Such a waste,” William muttered looking at the pale dying man at his feet.