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was still programmed. A piece of software could not replicate instinct. A computer couldn’t feel that clench in the gut that Rafe used to guide him when he flew during especially intense situations.
    In order to obey his gut, Rafe had to be hands-on, and no matter the technology, the best method to drive a spaceship was still, for those with hand-like appendages, the classic control lever. Or, as the human girl called it, a joystick.
    Not a bad name. I certainly get a thrill out of outmaneuvering the enemy. His fingers curled around the familiar handles, and his thumbs lay lightly against the top. The slightest press would activate the guns located at various points outside his hull. His control levers could do a myriad of tasks, except order a pizza. Actually, there was nowhere in the galaxy he could order a take-out pizza, the one thing he would dearly miss about this planet.
    The whine of metal stressing grew louder and took the shuddering of his vessel to a whole new level. At times he wondered if the stress would prove too much for his ship. After all, it was getting on in years, but his Annabelle was solid.
    He hoped.
    “Here we go,” he muttered as he tugged on the joysticks. At first nothing happened as his ship pushed against the tons of dirt on top of it. But the engine was at—he glanced over at the dial to his left—ninety-three percent, enough juice to give him the push he needed.
    Grrrr . Whrrrr . Shake. Rattle. When the ship finally managed to rise from its shallow grave, it did so with an almost gleeful scream, and when it popped free of the weight, the engines took on a purr, as they no longer had to work as hard. The intense vibration subsided, but only for a moment.
    Whoop . Whoop . Once again, a siren went off as something impacted his vessel on the left-hand side. And, no, it wasn’t starboard. He’d like to meet the human who coined that word. In space, there were stars all around, so they stuck to universal directions. Left, right. Up, down. Fifth dimension. But that required a wormhole.
    The blow to his ship rattled it, and his outer hull of poop held, but that didn’t mean he wanted to sit around and let the other vessel use him as target practice.
    “Annabelle, switch the view to full surround. Let me see what we’re up against.”
    “As the captain orders.”
    The entire bridge turned into a virtual theatre. The walls, with their knobs and screens and flashing lights, disappeared, as did the floor and ceiling. A hefty upgrade, but one worth it as Annabelle projected a holographic image of the space around his ship. For all intents and purposes now, it was him against the universe—a universe with a ship determined to destroy his.
    He immediately spotted the Krolz vessel, almost directly in front of him and readying to fire again. It seemed they’d fixed their earlier cannon problem. A shame. He’d hoped to avoid a messy confrontation.
    A tilt of his joystick saw them banking away from the next missile, and his passenger screamed as the ship rolled. Something thumped, probably a loose part he’d forgotten to stow before takeoff. He could hope only it wouldn’t cause any damage as it went pinballing about.
    Ignoring the sound of the wench’s shrieks, he bent his primary focus on making sure they got off the planet alive. The extra loops and dips, though? They were purely to fuck with the girl and for fun.
    Whee. Yes, soaring through the sky in a mad weave proved exhilarating, but he couldn’t just play. The situation was serious, the stakes very real and high.
    With his foot, he kicked at a lever lock, releasing his seat from its forward upright position. It initially wobbled then stabilized. Now the seat would roll with his motions so that he could pivot and turn. His viewpoint would not be restricted, as he could visually access all the space around his ship.
    It took only a nudge of his body to send himself spinning, giving him an around-the-clock view so he could spot the enemy.