The Ghost Pact: A Sci-Fi Horror Thriller (Tech Ghost Book 2)

by Ben Wolf

  Justin was about to return fire, but Al Paulson, another member of the excavation team, sounded off first. “The only thing you’ve ever been balls-deep in was that holo-girl back on Yovado-2. Or… was it a guy?”

  “Shut up, Paulson.” Rowley pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Or you’re gonna wake up without any balls at all.”

  The viewscreen in front of Justin bleeped, and the targeting reticle turned bright green—pretty much the same color as Keontae when he projected into his human form. A small percentage indicator under the reticle read “100% accuracy.” The highest percentage possible, and virtually impossible for any human to hit.

  Any normal human, anyway.

  “Ha!” Justin whirled around. “Suck on that, Rowley.”

  Rowley’s countenance darkened, and his perpetual scowl deepened into a mopey frown. “You are a bastard, Barclay.”

  “Call me what you like, you jealous prick,” Justin countered. As he picked up the comms with his human left hand, the metal fingers of his right hand tingled again. He pressed the “talk” button on the comms and said, “We’re clear to begin drilling… with 100% accuracy.”

  “Are you kiddin’ me?” A woman’s voice crackled over the comms—Shaneesha, who was running the containment cylinders for this shift. She was one of eight on the excavation team, including Justin, Al, and Rowley. “How’d you hit the bullseye on that shaky-ass system? Didn’t think that was possible.”

  Justin paused to consider how best to answer that. Then he grinned. “Call it supernatural intervention.”

  [Finally, I get the credit I so rightfully deserve,] Keontae said.

  With the targeting in place, Justin’s job was done for the time being. Now he could watch as the drill positioned itself to do its work. Guided by his—well, by Keontae’s perfect targeting, the drill emerged from a giant dome in the ceiling above Justin’s position and extended down toward the containment field below and the asteroid beyond.

  Normally, Justin used the viewscreen on his terminal to track the drill’s movements, but not for this part. He loved watching the old machine do its work.

  The drill could perform a wide range of functions, including actual manual drilling with an arsenal of metal alloy drill bits, all of them harder than diamonds, as well as via purdonic lasers. It could puncture through the solid rock of an asteroid in a variety of ways, utilizing combinations of manual and laser-based drilling when necessary.

  Despite its age, the drill had yet to fail to do its job.

  As the drill’s long cylindrical shaft continued to descend toward the glowing orange containment field, past the various sublevels of the rig, Justin had to admit Rowley was right: it did kind of resemble a big dick. He resolved to try not to think about it.

  The containment field, now their last line of defense against the vacuum of space, allowed the drill’s shaft through without incident. While Justin didn’t understand exactly how it worked, he knew that the drill’s outer shell was made of an alloy that could pass through the containment field without breaking its seal.

  Because if that seal decided to break, or if the energy couplings on the containment field faltered, they’d all be sucked into the vacuum of space.

  The sight of the drill pushing through the containment field so many levels down reignited Justin’s sense of vertigo. He’d mostly overcome it thanks to the shit he’d faced back at Andridge Copalion Mine (ACM)-1134, but every now and then it popped back up. His vision spun and swirled, and he blinked hard and looked away.

  Don’t think about any of that, Justin told himself. Just do your job.

  [Easy, JB,] Keontae said. [Just breathe, brother.]

  “I am breathing.” With each new breath, the stink of old metal alloys, dust, grease, oil, and fuel filled his nose. Strangely, the mixture of scents stilled his churning stomach and his swirling vision instead of doing the opposite.

  [Well, breathe more,] Keontae said.

  “Thanks,” Justin replied, his voice flat. “I’m good now.”

  Below him, a vivid yellow light flashed bright, then it dimmed. Instead of looking down again, Justin watched the viewscreen on his console. The drill’s purdonic laser had fired.

  Apparently, whoever was running the penetration sequence—also a terrible name for it—had decided the asteroid’s geological composition would better play with the laser than with a puncture from one of the alloy drill bits.

  Whatever the case, his job now was to make sure the drill stayed on course. As wannabe planets, asteroids’ makeups could vary drastically from layer to layer. Those variations in asteroids’ elemental structure could potentially push the drill off course, whether it was using the laser or one of the drill bits, as could any seismic instability.

  It was Justin’s job now to recalibrate and reposition the drill as needed. Or, more accurately, it was Keontae’s job.

  Justin’s right shoulder ached with phantom pain. It had long since healed and fully integrated his robotic arm after the accident back in ACM-1134 on Ketarus-4, but Justin still remembered the pain of losing his arm.

  Lingering aches had followed him in the subsequent days and weeks, especially in light of everything else he’d endured in that time, and they were easy to recall now, right when he really didn’t want to recall them. Naturally.

  But he’d left all of that behind. All of it except for Keontae, who’d managed to hitch a ride in his arm before Justin left the planet. And now they were bound to each other, at least until they found a better option.

  The drill wobbled a bit. Justin’s metal palm and fingers touched the console again, and again they tingled. Keontae righted the drill’s aim, and the next instant, the drill broke through.

  On the viewscreen, Justin saw the telltale teal glow of copalion, the most energy-rich and volatile fuel known to the universe.

  “Jackpot,” Bobby Carlisle’s voice scraped over the comms.

  Justin’s grin returned. He’d spent almost the last decade mining the teal stuff on distant worlds, working for every major mining company in the galaxy. But after all that had happened at ACM-1134, he’d vowed never to mess with the stuff again.

  The problem was, he didn’t know how to do much else. When he’d happened upon Captain Marlowe’s rig and his freelance extraction operation, Justin figured it was an acceptable compromise.

  Now that he’d gotten his hands dirty as a rig-runner, Justin had reached a point where he didn’t mind extracting copalion, even though he hated the stuff and how it drove greed across the galaxy. But that greed meant this haul was going to make them all a lot of money.

  A series of joyous whoops and shouts sounded throughout the excavation decks. Even in the sparse lighting in this part of the rig, Justin saw the raised fists of at least two of his coworkers. They’d be celebrating after their shift with homemade rig hooch—something Justin had tried once and had resolved to never drink again after they’d explained how they made it.

  The drill continued to lower into the asteroid and began to siphon the raw copalion up into its interior, where a network of pipes redirected it into one of Shaneesha’s storage cylinders—one specifically designed for holding copalion. Others held molten silver, gold, and platinum, and others still held other precious and semiprecious metals, also molten.

  But even combining all of those metals wouldn’t come close to fetching the kind of price the copalion would. Then again, filling the copalion cylinder was never a sure thing. They’d gotten damned lucky to find a score this big.

  The reticle on the screen flickered red, and then it flickered out. A shudder rocked through the drill, rattling the entire rig.

  That’s not normal.

  Justin spoke to the viewscreen—to Keontae inside the system with his voice. “What’s going on?”

  An alert flashed onto the screen. {: Seismic Instability Detected :}

  Justin’s metal fingers tingled, and Keontae’s voice filled his mind again. [We gotta pull out, JB. This is bad.]


  Justin cursed. He deactivated the targeting system and got on the comms. “We’re in trouble. Retract the drill.”

  “Belay that,” Rowley thundered over the comms. “I’m watching the seismometer right now. We’re well within safe ranges.”

  [He’s full of shit, JB,] Keontae warned. [We got plenty of copalion. Don’t let this leech be greedy, or he’s gonna kill all of us.]

  “You’re sure?” Justin asked, away from the comms.

  [Absolutely. Checked the data myself. Ran scenarios. Likelihood of a catastrophic failure is 68% and risin’ with each gulp of copalion we take out of ’er.]

  Justin hadn’t been working this gig for long, but he’d quickly learned that all asteroids eventually grew too unstable for extraction operations to continue. But for the catastrophic failure potential to already be at 68% and rising—well, that was a nightmare scenario only moments away, unless they did something.

  [Put me back in the system. I’ll handle it,] Keontae said.

  “No,” Justin said. “This has to be Captain Marlowe’s call.”

  The drill shuddered again, for longer this time, and the old rig rumbled and creaked in response.

  “Shut it down,” Justin repeated into the comms. “The asteroid’s gonna break apart. If we lose the drill, we’re done out here indefinitely, or worse.”

  “You’re sure about this, Barclay?” Captain Marlowe asked over the comms.

  Justin glanced up, though he couldn’t see the cockpit above him from his position. There were too many other decks and metal implements separating them for that. “Totally sure.”

  “He’s got shit-for-brains, as usual, Captain,” Rowley insisted. “We’ve only gotten about half the copalion, and that drill’s rated for way more seismic strain than what this rock is outputting.”

  “I’m telling you, Captain,” Justin cut in, “this is bad news waiting to happen.”

  “And I’m telling you to shut the hell up, Barclay,” Rowley shouted. “You’re not gonna tank my payday because you piss yourself every time the rig shudders.”

  “Push it as far as you safely can,” Captain Marlowe said. “And cut the bickering. Focus on your jobs.”

  Justin pressed further. “Captain, I—”

  “Enough, Barclay,” Captain Marlowe ordered. “We keep pulling until we can’t anymore.”

  As if on cue, the drill and the rig shuddered again, longer and more violently this time.

  “Captain, if we keep pulling, there won’t be a ‘we’ anymore,” Justin said.

  “Ignore him,” Rowley shouted over the rumbling. “We’ve just hit the halfway point. We get the rest of it, and it pays for the whole excursion twelve or fifteen times over.”

  [These dumbasses are gonna get us killed, JB,] Keontae said. [Well, you at least. I’m already dead… technically.]

  “If I put you back into the system, can you shut it down?” Justin asked.

  Before Keontae could answer, an ear-piercing crack ripped through the ship, followed by a klaxon blaring an alarm.

  Justin looked at his viewscreen. Then, not believing his eyes, he rushed to the railing at the edge of his deck and looked down, vertigo be damned.

  Below him, a huge fissure had nearly split the asteroid in two, with the drill still lodged in the center.

  2

  The asteroid was literally breaking apart beneath the ship, and chunks of rock, now broken free, pelted the Viridian’s hull and sparked against the containment field. The drill continued to buck and bounce and wobble, and the rig danced along, following the drill’s dynamic lead.

  Justin stole a glance at Rowley, whose expression had shifted to sheer terror—three minutes too late.

  [Put me back in the system, JB!] Keontae shouted in his mind. [Now!]

  Justin smacked his palm against the console with such force that he didn’t feel Keontae leave this time, but he’d gotten into the system all the same.

  Keontae had already navigated the rig’s network many times over since they’d boarded the ship, and now he moved at light speed through the circuits and connections to salvage not only the drill but also the entire operation.

  Justin didn’t know if the drill could actually be saved. With copalion’s potential for volatility in a confined space, they might’ve already doomed the drill. If they couldn’t extract it in time, and the asteroid blew, the best they could hope for was the drill snapping off.

  At worst, the force of the shattering asteroid could tear the rig itself apart and kill them all.

  Justin knew each of the workers on his shift—Rowley included—were frantically doing their part to forestall the rig’s destruction, but he also knew that Keontae was already working on all of it faster than any human ever could.

  “Captain,” Justin said into the comms, “be ready to detach once the drill is clear. Maybe sooner, if—”

  “Understood, Barclay,” Captain Marlowe replied. “First Officer Bush is ready.”

  The asteroid was a hefty size, at least three times the size of the rig herself, but it was far from the largest they’d harvested since Justin had come on board. For all he knew, the rig’s spidery legs might be all that still held the asteroid together. If that was the case, maybe they could extract the drill without it sustaining more damage.

  “The drill’s retracting,” Rowley shouted into the comms. “It just cleared the containment field. Close the—”

  The airlock doors clapped shut before he could finish his command.

  The quaking persisted, now more rigorous than ever, but the drill was clear of the asteroid and encased inside the rig once again.

  With his hand on the console, Justin spoke into the comms. “Now, Captain!”

  The same grumbling of old parts and gears and pistons rattled throughout the rig, but then the shrieking of metal racked Justin’s ears, followed by the thunder of hundreds of boulder-sized raindrops pattering on the Viridian’s hull.

  Justin refocused on his viewscreen. The asteroid had blown apart, and one entire side of the rig’s spider legs hung below it, warped and useless, flopping against the void of space and getting battered by progressively smaller chunks of rock.

  Before long, they’d cleared the asteroid field entirely and just floated against a black backdrop dotted with trillions of white pinpricks.

  Only then did the shaking fully stop.

  Only then did Justin allow himself to breathe full breaths.

  [We’re good, JB.] Keontae must’ve reentered Justin’s arm at some point along the way. [Too damn close, but we’re good now. Except for that landing gear.]

  Justin just nodded and breathed. By this point, he’d had more near-death experiences than anyone he’d ever heard of, and he had no desire to add any more to his collection.

  “Barclay, Rowley,” Captain Marlowe said over the comms, “my quarters. Quick like a scorper.”

  Justin cursed under his breath, then he set off toward the rig’s living quarters.

  Justin’s journey from the excavation decks to the Viridian’s main levels took him up a series of metal staircases and through narrow corridors that made him grateful he had vertigo instead of claustrophobia.

  The Viridian was a Stinger-Class rig, but like most ships of its type, the bottom line was ever in the forefront of the owner/operator’s mind. As such, certain corners got cut. Sacrifices were made. No one aboard lived anything even close to a glamorous lifestyle. Practically speaking, the word “luxury” meant the same thing as “fantasy.”

  In his short duration aboard the rig, Justin had heard the Viridian referred to as a Stingier-Class ship plenty of times, and it was absolutely true.

  He pushed it all out of his mind, though. He passed the bunkroom, then the meager kitchen and dining area, then the showers and toilets.

  Justin hadn’t seen the rig’s whole system yet, but somewhere, buried beneath pipes and hoses and metal, a water-purification system recycled their waste into potable water—in theory, anyway. The water still had a weird
tang to it, so he avoided drinking it when he could.

  When he couldn’t, he reassured himself it was just leftover chemical treatments rather than lingering raw sewage, or he tried not to think about it at all.

  He reached the captain’s quarters next, and he knocked on one of the few closed doors on the entire ship. The hatch wheel spun, and the door swung inward, into the chamber within. First Officer Arlie Bush, a ginger-headed firecracker compacted into the body of a forty-something, muscular five-foot-two cheerleader, stood before him.

  She was also Captain Marlowe’s wife, or life partner, or whatever, and they shared the captain’s quarters. But instead of a ring, an ornate silver tattoo adorned the base of her ring finger and curled around to its underside.

  Justin waved at her.

  She scowled and motioned him inside with her head.

  [Daaaaamn. It’s gonna be like that, I guess,] Keontae said. [Look, if they fire you for doin’ the right thing and goin’ against your jackass supervisor, then walk away. Not worth those headaches.]

  Justin didn’t want to answer him, not in such a confined space where everyone could hear him responding. It would come across as him talking to himself. Captain Marlowe could get away with that at times—it was his ship, after all—but Justin figured he’d better not push his luck any more than he already had.

  He’d only been in the captain’s quarters once before. He remembered the disheveled bed with its burgundy blankets rumpled and stretched across it as if an army had marched over the mattress. Two off-white pillows lay there like two dead battered bodies left in the soldiers’ wake.

  Arlie motioned him toward an adjacent chamber, which in and of itself gave the captain’s quarters a sort of homey feel by virtue of having more than one room. Rounded metal walls arched upward and became the ceiling, then they arched back down again on the other side of both chambers, which also made the quarters feel a bit like a jail cell.

  In the adjacent chamber, Justin found Captain Marlowe and Rowley Pine sitting at a harsh but simple metal table, both hunched over steaming mugs as if meditating, or perhaps deep in prayer. At that same table, Justin had signed his employment contract with Captain Marlowe with nothing but a firm handshake and a smile.