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

by Ben Wolf

  Justin thought he noticed a hint of a smile on Arlie’s face, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared.

  “They got us both out of surgery around the same time, complete with new metal parts. I’ve got prosthetic organs, but she’s just got the one angry shinbone.” Captain Marlowe smirked. “If she head-kicks you with that thing, you’ll see more than stars. You’ll see entire galaxies.”

  “Gonna avoid that, then,” Justin said.

  Captain Marlowe reclined in his chair and folded his arms. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Justin. I’ve enjoyed our little chat.”

  “Me too.”

  “Hope dinner was good?” Captain Marlowe asked.

  Justin nodded. “Haven’t had salmon in awhile.”

  “Yeah.” Captain Marlowe grabbed the bottle of brown alcohol and popped it open again. “Well, we should call it a night, but let’s have one more toast before we do.”

  [Look at you, bro. Makin’ connections. Gettin’ all cozy with the captain and his lady,] Keontae quipped. [Proud of you, man.]

  Captain Marlowe poured the liquor, and Arlie disbursed the shot glasses. They each held one up.

  “Fuck ACM,” Captain Marlowe said.

  Now that was a toast Justin could get behind.

  In unison with Arlie, Justin echoed, “Fuck ACM.”

  Then they clinked their glasses and downed the bitter liquid.

  Justin woke up to a combination of Keontae’s voice, the crackling of the comms, and a persistent pounding ache ricocheting around in his head.

  “Get up, JB,” Keontae said. “Shit’s poppin’ off, and you’re asleep.”

  Justin stirred and sat up, albeit too quickly for his head, which punished him for it. He lay back down, but that wasn’t any better. He groaned.

  “Docking with the colonist ship will begin in approximately twenty minutes,” Captain Marlowe’s voice said over the comms. “Make sure your papers are in order, so to speak, and pack up. We’re leaving the ship for repairs. No crew members can stay behind. We’re all going. We’ll all have to sort out our own accommodations, but there should be plenty of rooms available for rent aboard the ship.”

  Justin squinted at the green light filling his room. Keontae must’ve left his arm at some point last night.

  Justin cleared his throat. “You know, when I said I wanted more privacy, I didn’t mean you should leave my arm and just stare at me while I’m sleeping.”

  “Special occasion, special reason. You heard Cap. We’re gettin’ off this flyin’ scrapyard. Means a brand new network to play in.” Keontae rubbed his ghostly hands together.

  Justin groaned again and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Like the previous bed he’d shared with his two shift workers, this one also creaked, but it wasn’t nearly as bad. It also didn’t stink like body odor and onions. That was the real perk.

  He sat up again, and his head continued to pound. He clutched it with his hands and rubbed his temples with his thumbs.

  “You hit it pretty hard with the happy couple last night,” Keontae said. “Not surprised you’re feelin’ rough.”

  “Ugh. I remember toasting against ACM and a couple of drinks before dinner, but that’s all I had, right?”

  Keontae laughed. “That toast was the beginnin’ of your end, bro. You, Marlowe, and Arlie finished the bottle after that, but you had fun. That’s for sure.”

  “Oh, shit. Did I do something dumb?” Justin moaned.

  “Nah. Y’all had a good time, JB. Don’t sweat it.”

  Justin groaned yet again. “I’m gonna get some water.”

  “Then get dressed. We’re leavin’ this rocket-propelled coffin soon.”

  “Yeah, but we’re coming back.” Justin forced himself up and into his small, but private bathroom. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with water from the archaic sink. It tasted a bit salty, as usual, and he hoped and prayed the colonist ship would offer better alternatives.

  “Not ’til the repairs are done. I did some research,” Keontae said. “Should take a couple days, at least, to make us whole again.”

  Justin turned around and considered running the shower, but he opted not to. If they were going to be on the colonist ship for a couple of days, he could shower with cleaner water wherever he found to stay.

  “Should be a good time, then.” His headache still thundered in his head, but he cracked his neck, rubbed the muscles at the base of his neck, and endured.

  Once Justin got dressed, Keontae jumped back into his arm, and they headed up to the bridge level where the observation deck was located. He found a handful of other rig workers up there, too. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who wanted to see the show.

  A series of shielded windows overhead and in front of them showed the vast emptiness of space as far as the eye could see, as well as a gray object closing in on their position. As it drew nearer, Justin continually had to adjust his expectations for the thing’s size.

  Captain Marlowe had called the colonist ship a “fully formed capital city, complete with infrastructure, buildings, and, of course, people.” Justin hadn’t really been able to picture the size of such a ship, and so when it was finally right on top of them, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It might as well have been its own planet.

  Muted gray metal shaped its angular hull except for a dome that could’ve been the size of a small moon. It gleamed with a sort of reflective red-orange chrome. The color reminded Justin of an old pair of polarized sunglasses he’d owned as a teenager.

  Along the ship’s massive flank, the ship’s name came into view, one gargantuan letter at a time: the CSS Nidus.

  The “CSS” part stood for “Coalition Space Ship,” but Justin didn’t know what the word “Nidus” meant. Maybe it was someone’s name.

  “Means ‘nest,’” Captain Marlowe said from behind Justin, who jumped in surprise. “It’s Latin.”

  “Whoa,” Justin said. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “Wasn’t talking to you anyway.”

  Justin blinked at him. “Uh… aren’t you supposed to be flying the ship?”

  Captain Marlowe shook his head. “Simple docking procedure. Ship doesn’t need me to do anything. AI takes care of that, and First Officer Bush is there as a failsafe.”

  “Oh. Gotcha.” He refocused on the Nidus, but he couldn’t help but glance back at Captain Marlowe again. “You know Latin?”

  “I know that word in Latin.”

  Justin waited for more of an explanation, but he didn’t get any.

  When he turned back again, he caught sight of a pair of dark, enrapturing eyes staring at him. Seething at him.

  Lora.

  She looked away as soon as he made eye contact.

  [Definitely still mad,] Keontae said.

  “No shit,” Justin muttered.

  [The kind of broke-ass game you got with women, and you got the nerve to clap back at me when I’m tryin’ to help you out?] Keontae scoffed. [If that’s how you wanna play it, you’re on your own when it comes to the ladies from now on.]

  “I never asked for your help.”

  [Good. ’Cause you definitely ain’t gettin’ it now.]

  “Fine by me.”

  Justin realized the handful of fellow rig-runners around him were casting occasional glances back at him. To them, it would’ve seemed like he was just muttering to himself.

  Like a crazy person.

  Again.

  “Cool ship, isn’t it?” he asked plenty loud enough for them to all hear this time.

  No one responded to his question. They just turned and looked at the ship again.

  And I have to lead these people. Be their boss. Great start.

  Before long, the Viridian began to move again, and the rig drew in even closer, toward one of several shielded openings near the Nidus’s rear propulsion rockets. Within minutes, the Nidus swallowed the rig whole.

  “Gotta admit, I’m impressed,” Justin said as he turned back to
ward Captain Marlowe, only to find he wasn’t there. When he faced forward again, half of the workers were staring at him again… because again, it looked like he’d been talking to himself.

  Perfect.

  The rig shuddered to a stop, and white-blue lights gleamed through the windows from a ceiling far overhead. The sight of it stirred Justin’s vertigo, and he quickly looked away before his stomach could turn against him.

  “All crew, present yourselves and prepare to disembark the rig,” Arlie’s voice said over the comms. “We’ve successfully docked with the Nidus.”

  Justin didn’t have any personal property of consequence that he really needed to take with him. He’d just received a promotion and a pay bump, so he’d planned to do some light shopping while on the Nidus, mostly for new clothes and some snacks to stash in his private room.

  Now that he didn’t have to worry about everything being saturated with foul smells, he didn’t mind splurging a bit. Life on the rig was rough, and even the smallest comforts would make it considerably better.

  A line had formed at the exit/entry hatch, and Justin lined up behind Al Paulson and Shaneesha, whose last name he still hadn’t learned. Al looked back and nudged Shaneesha, and she also looked back.

  “Hey, congrats on the new gig,” Al said.

  “Yeah, congratulations!” Shaneesha took Justin by his wrist and pulled him into a firm hug, which Justin happily returned.

  Whereas Al was a grizzled old rig-runner with close to thirty years of experience, Shaneesha was maybe twenty years Justin’s senior, middle-aged, and gave off heavy “mom” vibes. Justin didn’t mind that at all; his actual mom had been a waste of breathable air and not much else.

  Shaneesha looked like she could’ve been Keontae’s mom instead, with her darker skin complexion and her hair in short dreadlocks, dyed red.

  Al, on the other hand, could’ve been the father of the entire human race for all Justin knew. He was pretty much smack-dab in the middle of the skin-tone spectrum and had a gray beard that hung low enough to cover the front of his thick neck.

  When Shaneesha finally let Justin go, she held him at arm’s length. “You know Rowley’s as pissed as a bar toilet, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Justin said. “Well aware.”

  “Guy like that—” Al shook his head, “—wouldn’t want ’im gunnin’ for me. He’s reckless. Got nothin’ to lose no more.”

  Shaneesha dismissed Al’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “Don’t listen to this old fool. He’s content where he’s at in life, and you deserve the promotion. You actually care ’bout the rig and what happens to us, so I know you’ll take good care of both.”

  “Of course,” Justin said. “I’ll do everything I can.”

  Al shrugged. “I may be content where I am, but I still know how this trade works. You take from someone, they take from you. Usually more.”

  “He didn’t take nothin’ from nobody,” Shaneesha said. “Cap’n saw fit to give ’im the job, so he did.”

  Al shrugged again. “Don’t matter what you or I think about it. What matters is how Rowley sees it. If he feels slighted, he may try to do somethin’ about it.”

  Shaneesha shook her head and finally let Justin go. “Forget about Rowley, and forget about Father Time here. You just keep doin’ good work, and the good Lord will keep rewardin’ you like He did this time.”

  The Father Time comparison brought a smile to Justin’s face, though he had to admit he’d always pictured Father Time as a man with a long white beard, white hair, and unnaturally pale skin. And maybe wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, just for kicks.

  “Thanks, Shaneesha,” Justin replied.

  She gave him a white smile, and then the hatch opened and the rig-runners began to disembark.

  Justin stole a quick glance back. Despite Shaneesha’s encouragement, Al’s warning had worried him. When he didn’t see Rowley standing in the line behind him nor ahead, it worried him even more.

  [She’s a peach, ain’t she?] Keontae asked.

  “Huh?” Justin nodded.

  Both Shaneesha and Al turned back to face him.

  [Shaneesha. She’s a peach.]

  “It’s nothing,” Justin told the two of them. “Just curious where Rowley is right now.”

  “Like I said, don’t waste any time on that man and his sour grapes,” Shaneesha said. “You do you, and leave him to the Devil to get sorted.”

  Justin smirked. “I will.”

  The rig-runners filed out of the rig, down the boarding ramp, and into the Nidus’s cavernous docking bay. A latticework of metal beams suspended the lofted ceiling over a sprawling sea of smooth concrete, occasionally marked with embedded strips of colored lights and paint.

  Among the beams hung a web of wires, hoses, claws, and machines with pointy ends. Justin couldn’t identify any of it, but he figured it had to be for repairing and maintaining spaceships. Smart to store the equipment on the ceiling in a docking bay this big—that way it was never far away.

  Clean gray walls marked with various numbers and symbols framed countless clear entry fields, all of them far larger than the rig. The same orange glow of the containment field at the base of the rig’s drill surrounded each of the openings. It doubtless functioned similarly, too, as it had let the rig pass through without any issues.

  Beyond those shielded entry fields twinkled trillions upon trillions of stars pinpricked against the black canvas of space. Justin decided not to look out there for too long. No sense giving his vertigo a chance to act up again if he could easily avoid it.

  Altogether, the docking bay probably could’ve held hundreds—if not thousands—of copies of the Viridian, but at that moment, she was the sole occupant of the space.

  Well, aside from the welcoming party of a dozen armed soldiers in forest-green fatigues. Each of them wore a protective mask over their face. They approached in a hovercraft, which Justin was already thankful for because it meant he wouldn’t have to traverse the entire docking bay by foot.

  A man in a burgundy Coalition uniform with close-cropped gray hair accompanied the soldiers, and he approached the two lines of rig-runners that had formed. Like the soldiers, he also wore a face mask.

  “Which of you is the captain?” he asked in a whiny voice.

  From somewhere behind Justin, Captain Marlowe called out, “Here.”

  “Come forward, please,” the official said, and Captain Marlowe and Arlie both complied. “That’s close enough. My name is Charles Wendell. You may refer to me as Officer Wendell. Perhaps this isn’t quite the warm welcome you were expecting, but I’m sure you understand that ships like ours have thorough quarantine protocols that visitors must adhere to.”

  [Quarantine?] Keontae asked. [What for? They think you’re sick or somethin’?]

  Justin shrugged, unwilling to reply verbally in this setting. The more he stood in the docking bay, the more exposed and helpless he felt. The rig, with its narrow corridors, small rooms, and tight confines, had reshaped Justin’s perspective on size. Now he actually preferred smaller spaces.

  Here in the wide-open space of the docking bay, he couldn’t help but feel… off.

  “Each member of your crew must submit to a full-body scan, and your ship will be searched in accordance with Coalition Law. Anyone who does not submit to testing will be quarantined by force for a period of no fewer than fourteen Coalition Standard Days.”

  [They’re gonna scan you and search the ship? Talk about government overreach, man.]

  Probably all routine. Justin didn’t know for sure because this was their first stop since they’d left Jevilos-6, and he’d never worked on an asteroid-mining rig before.

  It didn’t matter to Justin. He had nothing to hide, and he wasn’t sick, at least as far as he knew.

  “No problem,” Captain Marlowe replied.

  “Very well. Then if you’ll have your crew please form two single-file lines, two of our soldiers will administer the scans while the re
st search the ship.” Officer Wendell nodded back at the soldiers.

  Ten of them headed past the crew and into the rig, while two remained outside with their rifles slung onto their backs and with some sort of medical scanners in their hands. The scanners looked like something Dr. Handabi had used back in the medbay at ACM-1134.

  The soldiers scanned the rig-runners one by one, from top to bottom. The scanners glowed white for everyone, meaning everyone passed the scan, including Justin. Apparently, their scans couldn’t detect Keontae, which was good.

  When all the rig-runners had passed, Officer Wendell directed them to stand in two lines again, this time facing the rig. Against the clean lines and pristine interior of the docking bay, the rig looked like a piece of scrap metal that had been chewed up by a grinder and spat back out. The mangled metal spider legs underneath it didn’t help any.

  Stranger still, despite its name, the rig didn’t have a dash of green paint or color anywhere on it. The whole thing was dark-gray, with some spots even darker from rust and grime. The sight of it only served to make Justin feel even more out of place in the expansive docking bay.

  As they all stood there, Justin glimpsed a patch on the shoulder of one soldier’s fatigues. It was a logo he recognized immediately—Farcoast Mining, one of ACM’s chief competitors.

  [Noticed that, too,] Keontae said. [Maybe they’re co-sponsoring the colonists’ voyage or somethin’. Heard about partnerships like that happenin’ before. Companies will cozy up to the Coalition on colonization ventures to try to lay down roots before their competition does. Then they get first shot at settin’ up shop.]

  It made sense from a business perspective… but they’d sent troops, too? The more he thought about it, the more it also made sense. After all, most of these corporations had fought galaxy-spanning wars over copalion resources throughout the last century.

  Farcoast Mining ranked either second or third overall when it came to copalion mining, energy production, wealth, and overall power among similar corporations in the galaxy. ACM still held the top spot and had for the last couple of decades, and it hadn’t even wavered after Carl Andridge’s death.

  To Justin’s knowledge, Farcoast wasn’t actively attacking ACM, but with the Fourth Copalion War still ongoing, sometimes hot and sometimes cold, he couldn’t be sure what was really going on. After all, it spanned the entire galaxy, as did the energy empires of all of the companies involved.