Bellowing in agony, Ramirez jerked instinctively away from the pain in his foot; off balance from kicking Jordan, he stumbled. The blaster discharged wildly, slagging something invisible in the smoke.

Jordan kicked expertly at Ramirez’s groin, but the maneuver was hampered by his awkward position on the deck: one hand wrapped around the haft of his knife, the ruined life support package propping him up like pillow. He connected, only to discover the pirate’s suit was a padded model, designed for light boarding actions.

Ramirez tried to raise his stabbed foot, but the blade had wedged through the sole of his boot and lodged in a gap between deck plates. Even Jordan was surprised by this lucky coincidence. He used the pack as a rocker, kicked with both feet at Ramirez’s midsection, sent him toppling over.

The knife wrenched free with a screech. The blaster roared again and Jordan smelled his own burned hair.

Regaining his equilibrium and his feet, Jordan felt a tug of air past his ears.