The Ghost Ship (MOSAR Book 3)

by C. R. Turner

  Hawkins places his hand on my shoulder and sits beside me. “Sorry, mate.”

  I try not to move. I’m still reeling from hitting my head, and every motion makes me nauseous. We sit together, neither of us talking. After a while, even the assailants shut up.

  Eventually, the hallway door swings open and Bradley and Marcus enter. My nausea has almost passed, and I can now focus properly.

  Marcus sees the two assailants, and his eyes flash.

  His expression doesn’t escape Bradley. “You know these people?”

  Marcus retracts his expression. “Ah … I think they might be members of the salvage team.”

  “What?” Bradley stares at Marcus as if he’s about to punch him out. “You told me you got them all.”

  “Well … how was I supposed to know how many there were?”

  Bradley shakes his head and asks Hawkins, “Have you been able to get anything out of them?”

  Hawkins stands. “Neg, sir. I don’t even know what language they’re speaking. Although, I’m pretty sure I have a new way of telling someone to go to hell.”

  I chuckle, then immediately suppress it when I see Bradley’s clenched jaw. But I think I see a sparkle in his eyes.

  “Everybody out,” Bradley orders.

  When I stand, I find the nausea has passed, and I no longer feel dizzy. We all gather in the hallway while Hawkins locks the door behind us.

  Bradley transmits over the Core-link. “Bradley, all personnel contact. I want all SESS specialists and the Cosmic Origin flight crew to head back to the Cosmic Origin until further notice. SF Raptor to report to the base of the lift tower with both canines for a full security sweep of the Timberwolf. Op-41. Final.”

  Op-41. That’s a starship bridge raid. I bet Marcus wouldn’t know that.

  “Do you think there are more of them?” Marcus asks.

  “I guess we’re about to find out,” Bradley replies sternly.

  As we head back to the lift, I ask Bradley, “Where are Emerson and Taylor?”

  “Emerson was on security detail watching some of the SESS specialists and Taylor was with Miller in the bridge.”

  Hawkins and Marcus walk side by side, avoiding eye contact. I couldn’t imagine Hawkins liking Marcus, not that he would ever say as much.

  “Your Ashra’s charged?” Bradley asks.

  I turn it on its side and read the backlit blue bars. “Pos, sir.”

  Ten minutes later, we’re crossing the guard-railed bridge to the lifts. Taylor and Sam are already waiting for us with Max and Jade.

  “What took you so long?” Taylor asks.

  “It’s a good half mile from the brig to here,” Hawkins says.

  Taylor shoves Hawkins in the ribs with her elbow. “You could have done that in a minute flat, Hawk.”

  “Bradley, Emerson, contact?” Bradley and I look back to where we’ve just come from. A Hurricane’s approaching headlights beam inside the M1.

  “Emerson, right behind you, sir.”

  We all watch as the Hurricane comes rumbling up. Emerson climbs out and joins us. In his tight-fitting, long-sleeved striker force shirt, showing off his massive muscles, he looks ready to take on anyone. I head to Max’s side and Sam joins me. As we make eye contact, she reaches out and touches my arm. I mash my bottom lip into my top lip. Max becomes restless, and I wrap my arm around him and lean in. Sam pulls back, and I think I can make out a faint frown. There’s something on her mind, but now’s not the time to ask.

  Bradley stares straight ahead at the lifts – deep in thought.

  Emerson throws Taylor a frown and asks in his usual deafening voice, “So Stocky, when are you going to invite us all around for a spit roast?”

  “I don’t know.” Taylor looks over at me. “Miller or Stinson will have to come over and help me butcher one of my walking hamburgers.”

  Everybody laughs, even Bradley.

  “Sounds good,” Emerson replies. “We’ll bring the alcohol, you provide the beef, and when we’re all chockers, we’ll crash in your Hati hammocks in the shade of the willows next to the river. Sleep for a couple days.”

  I’ve not yet been to Taylor’s, but that sounds great.

  “What do you think, Walker?” Hawkins asks.

  I nod and a smile, keeping my eyes on Marcus. He’s focused on Bradley who’s still staring at the lift. The lights are ascending through each level. Someone is making their way to the bridge. Not one of us.

  Marcus’ face is overcome with concern. “Wait a minute … isn’t Op-41 a bait-and-capture move?”

  Bradley and Marcus lock eyes.

  “Bridge raid!” Bradley replies. “We’re cleaning up your mess.”

  Bradley walks to the lift and selects the bridge floor on the touch screen. Hawkins and I mount Jade and Max. We all check our Ashras one last time.

  “When were you going to tell me?” Marcus asks.

  Bradley glares at Marcus with zero emotion. “I just did. If you’re not up for it, you can wait here, we’ll let you know when it’s all over.”

  Marcus glances at Sam, then runs to the back of the Hurricane, grabs an Ashra and rejoins us. The shaft doors open and we pile in. Hawkins and I sit on Max and Jade, while the others form a circle. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when SF Raptor and two Canine Maximi emerge in the centre of the bridge.

  As the lift ascends, I watch the foreign characters change on the screen – numbers, I presume. I don’t know why I’m staring at them. I can’t read them. The lift decelerates as the mechanical iris on the bridge floor opens. Hell, we’re exposed until the lift reaches the bridge. They better not lob a grenade down the hole; we’d be screwed.

  The bridge erupts in a storm of weapons fire and smoke from scorched metal and plastic. The assault seems to be coming from the flight deck consoles Sam and Marcus were sitting at. Looks like there are just three of them.

  “Stinson, left flank. Hawkins, right flank,” Bradley orders.

  I rib Max toward the port side of the flight deck. From the height of Max’s back, I spot the salvage team, hundreds of feet away, hunkered behind one of the consoles. The rest of SF Raptor advance as Hawkins and I tighten our pincer move. An energy weapon blast flies past my shoulder, so close I feel the heat off it. I tug on Max’s reins three times, and he lowers his head. As we close in, I take aim and fire. My target falls to the ground – out cold.

  Bradley and Sam drive straight up the middle as Taylor and Emerson fan out. Bradley takes down another. One to go. The bridge falls to silence as smoke rises. The remaining man stands, holding his weapon above his head in surrender. “Fra lart, fra lart.”

  Taylor looks down at a flash burn on her arm – she’s been caught by an energy weapon. She walks forward and takes the man’s weapon. She then grabs his hand and twists it right back, grabbing hold of his elbow so he can’t fold it. He’s not going anywhere. Taylor puts more pressure on his arm, forcing him to his knees, then pushes him onto his stomach. With her knee on his back and his arm wrenched around behind his back, Taylor grabs his free hand and cuffs him – textbook arrest. I imagine Taylor hog-tying cattle on her ranch with equal proficiency.

  I command Max to move in closer as the smoke clears. Bradley and Emerson cuff the remaining two.

  “We’re all good,” Marcus calls out. “None of the ship’s flight consoles are damaged.”

  I jump off Max and go to Taylor’s side. She’s glaring at Marcus, probably imagining beating him to a bloody pulp. “Roll up your sleeve,” I order. Her burn’s not too bad – a quick dressing, and she’ll be back in business. The only conscious assailant starts jabbering in his native tongue. I glance between Bradley and Hawkins, the language lost on all of us.

  “Sir, what do you want to do with them?” Hawkins asks.

  Bradley thinks. “We can’t dump them on Barchee. They’ll die.”

  I stop dressing Taylor’s wound. “Sir, shouldn’t they be incarcerated?”

  “For what? If they’re tellin
g the truth about salvaging the Timberwolf in interstellar space, they technically haven’t done anything wrong, other than roughing a couple of us up.” Bradley looks the three men over. “We’ll lock them up in the Cosmic Origin and have them taken back to Terra Primus for holding until we can corroborate their story and confirm that there’s no foul play involved with the crew’s death. Emerson, get one of the Hurricanes.”

  “Pos, sir.”

  After dressing Taylor’s wound, I pack my gear away, deep in thought. I drop my backpack on the ground and ask Marcus, “How did you communicate with the salvage team if you can’t speak their language?”

  “I had a translator with me,” Marcus replies. “When the Ollen-5 government showed up, my translator ran off.”

  Bradley shakes his head. “Did it occur to you that that piece of information would be important for the security of the mission?”

  Marcus shrugs.

  Bradley shows Marcus his back and grumbles under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

  Late afternoon. The team are spread out around the bridge, studying the ship’s systems. I sit next to Sam while she riddles herself with the alien language. As she types away, the holograph changes, displaying a myriad of gauges and charts – some appearing to be power levels.

  Something catches my eye – one of the massive gun turrets on the deck is cycling through its range of motions.

  “Is that you?” I ask.

  Sam shakes her head. “It’s not me.”

  Sam and I sit up and look around. Bradley, who’s standing nearby, looks over in Emerson’s direction. He’s sitting at a console on the starboard side, hundreds of feet away.

  “Emerson, is that you?” Bradley asks over the Core-link.

  “Pos, sir. Just checking out the weapons systems. Do you mind if I fire one of the graviton cannons?”

  Bradley thinks for a second. “Yeah, go ahead. Let her rip.”

  We all stand and wait with bated breath. The turret swivels to the port side and the three barrels rotate up with what appears to be high precision – moving from rapid motion to standstill in the blink of an eye. I jump when the first barrel recoils, sending a giant thud through the ship. Whatever’s fired out of the barrel is invisible to the naked eye but must contain gargantuan amounts of energy to shake the Timberwolf like that. Half a second later, the middle barrel fires, then the third. I wouldn’t want to be in the firing line – that would be the end.

  Bradley twists his head, I guess taken aback by the sheer power of the ship.

  “What the hell was that?” a panicked voice comes over the Core-link. With the Cosmic Origin still docked in the fighter bay, it must have given them a fright. There are a few laughs as Bradley apologises for not giving them a heads-up.

  After an hour of reading the graphics and foreign text, I tie certain words to various systems. To the starboard side, low on the holograph, there’s a table of icons with text on each of them. Above the table is a word I’ve not seen anywhere else.

  I point. “What does that say?”

  Sam reads the text for a short while and shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

  Sam calls her dad. “What does that word mean?”

  Marcus frowns as he tries to decipher the words. “Ah … I’m not across that.”

  I shake my head to myself. He’s so pretentious.

  Sam calls out, “Taylor.”

  As Bradley and Taylor join us, Sam asks, “What does that word mean?”

  Taylor reads through the display. “Colour.”

  Marcus shakes his head. “It can’t be. That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That’s what it says, sir.” Taylor glares at Marcus and then encourages Sam. “Try finding the display on the console.”

  I look over Sam’s shoulder as she flicks through the displays until the same palette of icons comes up on her console.

  Sam looks up at Bradley. “Can I try it, sir?”

  “What will it do?” Bradley asks with concern.

  “I don’t know,” Sam replies. “It might just adjust the colour of the holograph.”

  “Yeah, sure. Give it a hit,” Bradley replies.

  Sam smiles and looks back at the screen. When she selects one of the icons, another display pops up. When Sam confirms the command, there’s a flash of light. Sam leaps to her feet. We all stare open-mouthed out the forward windscreens at the irregular-shaped panels that cover the ship – they’ve all changed from beige to matt white, camouflaging the ship against the crusty surface of the salt flat.

  Bradley’s eyes widen. “What the …”

  “That’s amazing,” Taylor says.

  Sam returns to her console and selects another icon. This time, the ship changes to a matt black. Space camouflage! Sam selects another icon, and it turns dark green.

  “Alright … that’s enough. Put it back on the setting it was on,” Bradley says, smiling as he rests his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  Chapter 5

  Early in the morning, we finally get back to the infirmary after a second day of escorting the SESS specialists around. I climb out of the Hurricane and join Bradley at the back as he swings the rear doors open. Inside a large grey plastic box are half-a-dozen hazmat suits. Bradley hands me mine. I drop my backpack and Ashra, then bend to step into the pants.

  “Knife!” Bradley says.

  I shake my head in frustration and remove my knife from its thigh holster. Rookie. Once my pants and jacket are on, I zip the two together. With my hood on, I clip a Chem-tracer to my suit, then grab my backpack and Ashra.

  Bradley does likewise and we enter the infirmary. I’m relieved the smell of decay is blocked by my suit. When the lights come on, I clear a bench. With the Chem-tracer in my palm, I hold the on-off button down until it springs to life. I select the wide chemical agent scan and the digital display cycles through its tests as I walk around the room. After a minute, it beeps. I touch one end of the Chem-tracer to a bench, and it automatically tests the surface for any chemical residues. Nothing.

  “Nice!” I look a device over that’s sitting on a bench. “Bradley.”

  Damn it, I haven’t set my Core-link to transmit. I’m on fire today. I fumble through the thick plastic for the button on my wrist device and hold it down till I hear it beep.

  “Bradley.”

  He walks over. “What’ve you got?”

  “It’s a D-SOAP,” I say.

  Bradley looks at me blankly.

  “A DNA sequencer organ and appendage printer,” I add.

  “Huh. I wonder what they use it for?” Bradley asks.

  “They probably use it to repair injured infantry when they’re in a …”

  Bradley smiles. “That was rhetorical, Walker.”

  “Oh.” I laugh. “Sorry, sir. I had my sarcasm detector off.”

  Bradley chuckles.

  I walk over to the corpses and examine them through the clear plastic window in my hood, which is fogging slightly from my breath. From what’s left, the bodies look human. I’ve often wondered how the Makri came to be. If they evolved completely independently and ended up looking just like us through some universal constant. Seeing these bodies from the other side of the galaxy makes me think I’m onto something.

  I unbutton the shirt of one of the deceased and open it. The skin’s dried and torn open in areas – expected for this stage of decomposition – exposing some remaining flesh and organs. There are no visible injuries; his skull’s intact and none of his legs or arms is broken.

  I find a test tube rack on a shelf, get ten small sample tubes out of my backpack, and then prepare ten syringes.

  “Can you help, sir?”

  “Sure, mate,” Bradley replies.

  I fit a drill bit in my small handheld drill as we walk back over to the bodies.

  “What’s that for?” Bradley asks.

  I point to a corpse. “Can you hold his head?”

  I chuckle when Bradley groans but does as I ask. I press the bit against the corpse
’s skull and start drilling. After a few seconds, the bit plunges through.

  Bradley looks away. “Awwwwh.”

  I smile. “He’s not complaining.”

  Bradley laughs.

  I carefully insert the syringe into the skull, making sure I don’t contaminate the sample with the surrounds. After aspirating some brain tissue, which has turned dark grey, almost black, I deposit it into the sample tube.

  Bradley looks over as we squat alongside the next body. “You know everyone on the bridge is listening to this.”

  I hear laughter through the Core-link and grin.

  Samples collected from all ten corpses, we head back to the bench. I power up a microsphere nanoscope and find ten slides. I smear some brain tissue onto a slide, reseal the sample tube, place the slide into the nanoscope, set it to its highest magnitude and lean in. “What the hell!”

  “What is it?” Bradley asks.

  I study it for a short while before turning around. “I think it’s some sort of hybrid nanoid.”

  Bradley’s face is slightly obscured through the rippled clear plastic and fog of his breath, but his wide eyes give away his surprise. “Is it still active?”

  I shake my head. “Neg, sir.”

  Marcus breaks in over the Core-link. “It wouldn’t be. Nanoids get their power from the subject’s circulating electrolytes.”

  Bradley shakes his head, probably thinking the same thing I’m thinking – how could he possibly theorise that an alien hybrid nanoid works the same as the nanoids we’re familiar with?

  “Can I’ve a look?” Bradley asks, his voice pitching up in intrigue.

  I step out of the way.

  Bradley has a good look, then steps back. “Do you think that’s what killed them?”

  “Maybe. But I’m studying virology not nano-engineering. Marcus would probably know more about this sort of thing than me.”

  “Take a guess,” Bradley says.

  I lift my palms. “It could have, but they could just as well be providing benefit … longer life … who knows? There’s no way of knowing unless we can observe one that’s still active.”