Chapter 2 part 7

Plasma Lance? More Like Plasma Chance!

Plasma Lance? More Like Plasma Chance!

"Hold position. Gravity snare ahead."

My fingers danced across the comm panel, switching frequencies to the Diana crew’s channel. "Lunar, Moona, sensors are picking up an artificial gravity distortion. Suggest we pause and assess before proceeding."

I signaled the trailing ships to cut thrust, letting momentum carry us closer to the scattered wreckage drifting in our path.

No question about it—tucked among the jagged remnants of obliterated asteroids was something that didn’t belong.

A gravity snare. Invisible tendrils of manipulated force, woven to ensnare ships mid-flight like a spider’s web catching unwary prey. A pilot’s worst nightmare in the endless dark.

These things were supposed to be tagged—registered with the Mercenary Guild, broadcasting identification codes like a warning sign. But this one? Silent. Unmarked.

And worse, built into its core were pulse emitters designed to fry a ship’s shields on contact. The kind of tech you only saw in outlaw sectors.

Typical Rim-world garbage. Always cluttering up the black with their half-baked hazards.

"An unregistered trap," Yunikon observed, her tone razor-sharp.

"Let’s crack it open," Moona replied. "We’ve handled worse this cycle."

"Amateurs these days have no respect," Yunikon muttered. "Sure, they can play pirate in their backwater systems, but out here? It’s a hazard."

"Maybe the Guild should start requiring written exams," I quipped, only half-serious. "At least a basic etiquette manual."

Yunikon scoffed. "If they did that, half the Guild would vanish overnight."

She wasn’t wrong. The Mercenary Guild was a mixed bag—half legitimate hunters, the other half glorified scavengers with delusions of grandeur. 

Sooner or later, someone needed to clean house before the whole organization got dragged through the void.

"You’ve got a sharp eye for traps," Moona remarked.

"I’m… passable. Not like you void-born hunters who’ve been doing this since birth. I still slip up, so go easy."

"No, you’re better at spotting them than I expected."

"Wait, was that… a compliment?"

"It was."

"Your tone makes it hard to tell."

"Too noisy."

"Hahaha."

"Quiet, Yunikon."

"Yes, ma’am."

Scanning for anomalies had become second nature since I’d started working this sector.

Not that I felt particularly skilled at it. What others called "decent instincts" still left me second-guessing myself. I had to rely on my abilities more than most, which meant working twice as hard just to keep pace.

"Energy signature," Moona announced abruptly.

"Huh? Where?" I asked, squinting at the sensor display.

"Dead ahead," Aioi cut in, her voice calm as she highlighted the readings.

She always spotted energy trails before anyone else, while I was still untangling the void’s chaotic static.

"She’s right. Good catch, Aioi."

"Nice spotting, Aioi!" Yunikon chimed in.

"Ehehe."

Watching Aioi bask in the praise, I understood why Diana treated her the way they did. She was their youngest, their rookie—practically doted on like a little sister.

Couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth for her.

"What’s the reading?" Moona asked, breaking the silence.

She was dissecting the energy signature, her voice clinical. Probably calculating the creature’s mass from the way space itself bent around it.

"A space narwhal, most likely," she concluded.

"Of course Narwhal would attract the one creature with his name on it. Did you send it a formal invitation?"

"It’s migrating, not attending a dinner party," I grumbled.

"Maybe it’s here to challenge you for the title. ‘Only one Narwhal allowed in this sector.’"

Aioi, ever earnest, piped up: "But Mr. Narwhal’s way scarier! I bet it’s running just from hearing his name!"

"Scarier? I’m flattered," I deadpanned. "Next time, I’ll just roar over the comms. Save us the ammo."

Yunikon snorted. "Do it. I’ll submit it to the Guild’s ‘Xeno-Diplomacy’ archives."

"Hard pass. Last I checked, my horns are purely metaphorical."

"For now," Lunar muttered. "Keep lurking in debris fields, and you’ll sprout one."

Aioi tilted her head. "Would it… be a half spec blaster-horn?"

The crew burst into laughter. Even Moona cracked a smile.

"Alright, enough," I said, rolling my eyes. "Let’s not test cosmic evolution today."

Space narwhals. The scourge of deep-space travelers. These massive, horned beasts were infamous for their brutal simplicity. They didn’t just bump into ships—they skewered them.

Oddly enough, they fed on radiation. The impaling? Probably just instinct. A nasty evolutionary leftover.

Veteran Guild hunters despised them more than most, if only because their bio-plasma horns had absurd range. Every cycle, narwhals claimed lives, even among seasoned crews.

But the payouts? Worth the risk.

Their bio-armor, horns, and even their flesh fetched premium prices. Personally, I preferred shattering the horns—less hassle that way.

"It’s outside its usual territory," Moona noted. "Probably just passing through."

"Not heading toward any energy sources. Strange," Yunikon mused.

"With rookies harassing them lately, their patterns are all over the place," Moona explained.

"Probably overthinking it. What’s your take, Narwhal?" Lunar asked.

They always tossed these questions my way.

"I’m no biologist," I replied, leaning back in my seat. "I just shoot what crosses my path. Don’t track their habits, just follow Guild bulletins and scan when it feels right. Civilian instincts, you know?" I glanced at the sensors again. No changes. "Nothing but debris on scopes. Should be clear to proceed."

"Understood. Moving forward."

"Roger."

As we cruised onward, I caught myself wishing for a decent fight—a narwhal, a space shark, anything.

Something to prove my strength. I still hadn’t tested my lance in real combat.

But fate had other plans.

"Oh?"

"Guah?"

A cluster of raider ships slid into view, emerging from the asteroid belt like scavengers from the shadows.

One bulky mothership and a handful of aggressive-looking fighters.

Raiders. The bottom-feeders of the void.

Obviously, they weren’t here to exchange pleasantries.

"Huh. Raiders," Yunikon muttered.

"They’ve gotten bold lately. The ones hiding in the rocks must’ve retreated deeper."

"Still, bringing a ship that size into an asteroid field? Reckless."

"Don’t bother predicting raider logic," I said dryly. "Want me to handle them?"

"Your call, Narwhal," Lunar said. "Want me to soften them up first?"

"No need. One shot’s enough."

The raiders powered up their weapons, clearly emboldened by our presence. All-female crews like Diana were prime targets for scum like them.

But that arrogance would be their downfall.

"One plasma charge is all it takes," I said, a grin tugging at my lips. "Why? Because one is all I need."

"Here we go."

I primed the plasma lance, feeling the capacitors hum as energy coiled inside.

"Your aim’s off," Yunikon teased.

"Too far," Aioi added, giggling.

"No giggling, Aioi."

I tuned them out, locking onto the raiders ahead.

"Fire!"

BOOM!

The plasma bolt streaked forward—only to scorch a nearby asteroid.

"Shhh… damn," I muttered.

"Pathetic," Yunikon said, barely stifling laughter.

"Hey, everyone starts somewhere," Aioi defended.

"Show them the power of the Plasma Lance!"

"Gyah!?"

Ignoring them, I closed the gap, slipping into the raiders’ blind spots and ramming their hulls.

The lance punched through reactors and bridges alike, silencing their ships—and their mockery.

"Accuracy needs work," Lunar said, smirking. "But decisive."

"Diana! Mop up the stragglers and alert security!"

"Aww… the weird lance is toast," Yunikon giggled.

"Not like I need finicky weapons anyway," I replied.

My trusty half-spec blaster had never failed me. It’s more than a tool—it’s an extension of myself. There’s a rhythm to it, you know? We move in sync. So I’ll stick with it.

We dispatched the remaining raiders while waiting for security to arrive.

"...Still using that oddball blaster?" Lunar asked, eyeing the weapon at my side.

"Properly tuned, it’s got surprising range," I said. This half-spec blaster responds to me in ways standard models don’t, bending to my will in ways you wouldn’t believe.

"It works."

"You should upgrade to a proper blaster," she said, unimpressed.

"You don’t understand my half-spec blaster’s potential," I replied, chuckling.

The others exchanged skeptical glances, but I’d prove it.

It’s not about raw firepower. It’s about synergy. This blaster? It’s like a second instinct. But you wouldn’t get it.

When the right target appeared, they’d see.

"Mr. Narwhal’s half-spec blaster is strong," Aioi said earnestly.

"Oh? You get it, Aioi?" I asked.

"Yup. Hard to argue after seeing it work."

"See?" I said, turning to the others.

"Hmm… well, I’ve heard the stories from Aioi, but it still sounds far-fetched," Lunar muttered. "Maybe spar with Goressa later?"

I winced. "Uh… maybe not."

It wasn’t that I’d lose. Goressa was just… terrifying.

"Alright, break time," Yunikon announced.

After handing the raiders over to security, we continued through the asteroid belt, dismantling traps and clearing hazards.

Eventually, we reached the maintenance station.

"Someone’s already here," Aioi said, frowning.

Survey teams sometimes used these stations, so it wasn’t unusual.

But the mood shifted.

"The question," Yunikon said grimly, "is whether they’re friendly."

"...Yeah."

The station, isolated and defensible, was a perfect hideout for pirates.

And we all knew it.

Author's Note:

Ah, welcome back, dear reader! I see you've survived another round of cosmic chaos and raider ruckus. Let's dive right into the latest escapades of our beloved Galaxia Narwhal—aka the man who can turn a simple patrol mission into a full-blown battle for survival and a test of spacer wit.

First off, let me just say, if you thought facing off against a Void Titan was easy, try dealing with a gravity snare and a bunch of raiders. It's a test of skill, patience, and the ability to endure the increasingly sharp tongues of your crewmates. But hey, all's well that ends with a successful mission and a few laughs, right?

And let's talk about our starry-eyed recruits—fresh from the Guild’s Training Camps, ready to take on the void with nothing but excessive confidence and substandard equipment. They're like space foam, folks. Barely formed, still drifting, and entirely unprepared for the harshness that lies beyond regulated space. But amidst all the chaos and competition, there's a sobering truth. Life out here in the void isn't easy. It's a constant battle against chaos, noise, and the cold, unfeeling expanse of space. Yet, these folks keep going, day after day, with a resilience that would put a black hole to shame.

So here's to the gravity snares, the plasma lances, the kebabs, the ale, and the kebabs. May your missions be ever successful, your victories ever in your favor, and your optimism ever unfiltered.

And remember, if you ever find yourself in need of a good laugh or a heartwarming tale of triumph against the odds, just tune in to the next chapter of "Plasma Lance? More Like Plasma Chance!" Trust me, it's going to be out of this world.