No sooner had Jackson uttered the enthusiastic words when, in the same voice he said, “I’ve been hit! I’ve been hit! Son-of-a-bitch! Shields super heating, 16 percent over critical and climbing. Cockpit integrity is at 4 percent and falling.” “Turn back!” shouted Ashlyn. As she watched Jackson sheer away, a hefty, rocketing white-hot rock struck his left wing, snapping it in two and sending him into a high-g tumble. “I’ve got no response—repeat, no response from stabilizers. Cockpit integrity is at 1 percent. Shields collapsing!” His voice cracked, resigned to his fate. Her comm went silent as Jackson’s highly pressurized containment field collapsed and his ship exploded. Ashlyn’s steely eyes softened. “Godspeed, my friend. Godspeed.” Ashlyn’s view of space suddenly sharpened into crystal clarity, revealing a spectacular sight of flickering stars. The real showpiece, though, belonged to the millions of chunks of Moon debris.
What do You think about Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D.?
