Even as his ship fell towards the black hole with ever increasing speed, Wes craned his neck back, riveted by the view in the rear port.
"They're crazy!" He yelled in the empty cabin. "They'll never get free now! It's suicide to follow me."
Still, the other ship continued to gain. He could clearly see the gaping black mouths of the copper-rimmed blast ports. The ship had a huge, old-style hammerdrive, which dwarfed its life-support section. It was one seriously overpowered machine.
Wes had no idea what they wanted. He had given up bracing himself for the imminent blast from those orifices of destruction. They could have shot him at far greater range and avoided the pull of the black hole. He had nothing of value, and his ship, though hot in its time, had not only been seriously superceded by the new technologies, but was falling apart at the seams.
The pursuing ship would soon catch up, and then what? There was nothing Wes could do. He had long since lost control of his ship to the gravity well, which sucked him in.
Outside, the swirling cloud of gases filled the entire forward view. Streaks of purples and brilliant white were being sucked from the neighboring nebula into the voracious well. The gases concentrated and grew brighter as they reached the center, only to border on the absolute blackness of the black hole.
The large silver and bronze craft bore down on Wes and matched speeds, its bulk blotting out the overhead view. He could see that it had a rather small crew area. Two small hatches suddenly flipped open and a pair of grappling hooks flew out with puffs of propellant.
"Fuck!" Wes broke for the suit-locker on the other side of the cabin as the feel of their hardened-steel claws impacting on the ship made the whole ship shudder. The sound of the claws contracting on the thin shell of the hull chilled him to the bone. He glanced up to see a suited figure flying toward him from a larger hatch that had opened. He slammed the door on the locker and groped for his suit. As he struggled into the legs he heard a thud against the hull.
He looked up, but could no longer see the attacker, who was presumably at the air lock. There was a vibration against the hull that felt like a cutting tool. As he yanked the zipper to his throat he heard the outer hatch open without the airlock cycling. His fingers struggled with the collar latches, which always got stuck.