Excerpt: On Pirates and Pasta (Working Title)

Space pirates were everywhere. Their ships had been hidden behind various asteriods and the occasional moon. They were in a strategically advantageous position to attack the Allied ship — the sun was behind them, facing the Allies, so they couldn't see. "Captain!" someone called frantically. "Pirates on the starboard — !" He never finished his sentence. It seemed as though he'd been thrown out into the vacuum that is space, where sound doesn't travel.
Jimothy Afton sighed sadly, regretting the loss of another valuable crew member. Jones had been an intelligent one, too, a valuable addition to the onboard research team. Those pirates, those horribly wasteful wastrels that plagued every spacegoing voyage ... He was sick and tired of them.
Jim turned in his chair to face the "window" that displayed the ship's relative speed, internal pressure, and the like, as well as the space beyond the screen. Touching the controls on his chair, he toggled to the status of the ship's protective shields. "We're at 75%, people!" he yelled to the crew, warning them that it was going down.
They continued to return fire, knowing all the while that it was futile. The pirates had the clear advantage, and they'd somehow managed to obtain decent weapons and shields — probably by theft, come to think of it.
"Jim, I think we should leg it," said his First Mate. "They'll see it as a dishonor on our part, but we can always return in force later. This was an am—"
Jim cut him off. "I know. Prepare for warp, everyone!"