Ghost Ship

by Marquis, Michelle

  Ghost Ship

  Copyright © April 2010, Michelle Marquis

  Cover art by Anastasia Rabiyah © April 2010

  Amira Press, LLC

  Baltimore, MD21216

  www.amirapress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-936279-18-0

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Amira Press.

  Dedication

  To the sci-fi fans

  Chapter One

  It’s a big risk coming here. Second Officer Dirk Fowler snuck into Chief Sonya Miller’s stateroom and was immediately surrounded by her perfume. A rush of potent sexual hunger consumed him, and Dirk had to force himself to calm down. He yearned to lie on her bed, wrap himself in her sheets, and masturbate the tension away, but he didn’t dare. His ferocious lust was as unexpected as it was immediate and only served to reinforce his growing obsession with her.

  Hurry up. You don’t want to get caught in here. Her watch will be over in less than an hour. She’ll probably come back to get some sleep.

  Dirk went to her hamper and hunted through the cotton fabrics for her discarded panties. He found a pink pair and brought them up to his nose. Sonya’s light but earthy musk filled his senses and brought on a fierce and painful erection. The system implants in his brain mapped Sonya’s chemistry, determining that on the day she’d worn these, she had been fertile.

  Dirk stuffed the panties into his pocket and carefully snuck out of her room. He came into his own stateroom and closed the door. With his back against it, he removed his aching cock. He took the panties from his pocket and caressed the cotton panel along the plump tip of his member. Then he wrapped his hand around the shaft and pumped the muscle as slow as he could stand. In his imagination, he was pushing his rod through her hot, wet flesh to the music of her lusty, frantic cries. Wave after wave of sweet agony rushed him as images of her dark brown skin against his became more vivid and arousing, and the whole time Sonya was crying out his name.

  Then, all too soon, his release came. Dirk climaxed into Sonya’s panties, drenching them with his passion. His heart thundered in his chest as he waited for his desire to subside. A text message came through on the wall monitor. It was from Mikey, the cook on the mess decks.

  All it said was—She’s here.

  Chapter Two

  Meat again.

  Ground beef—or what passed for it on the dinner line of the USS Mastodon. At least it was a change from the lumpy, breaded nuggets of chicken and rabbit they were usually offered. Yeah, rabbit. Who the hell ate rabbit in this day and age? What was the Command doing, breeding the poor creatures in the bowels of the ship as a fallback in case they ran out of food? The thought made Sonya’s stomach wrench in revulsion. It probably wasn’t a good idea to ponder the rabbit question just before eating.

  Each cafeteria item was nestled in an aluminum pan surrounded by brownish-green flakes of dried parsley. Sonya swallowed her distaste and glided her tray along to the rice and veggies. As usual, the vegetables were wallowing in a quarter-inch of liquid and looked mushy and overcooked. She sure wished there were more vegetarians on this ship. Then maybe her beloved green beans and carrots would get more respect. But that was pretty unlikely on an almost all-male third-tier cargo ship. Maybe if some of these guys varied their diet a little, she could get some decent food once in a while. Grimacing, she scooped a generous serving of brown rice onto her plate and then carefully selected the best-looking vegetables to place on top.

  Mikey, the cook, came up behind the trays, beaming like a father whose son had just made the Little League team. His white apron, normally soiled with grease splatter by the end of his shift, looked bright white, matching the bleached appearance of his hat. “I opened up a can of asparagus just for you.”

  Sonya glanced at the limp spears. “Thanks.” She selected two just to be polite and placed them on the side of her tray like they were loaded with gunpowder. “What else do you have back there in cans?”

  “As far as vegetables go?” He scratched his brown razor stubble. “Not much, I’m afraid. But I’ll have one of the boys go down to the storage decks and see what he can find. How’s that sound?”

  “That’s very nice of you, Mikey,” Sonya said. But she knew no one was going to find any hidden gems down there. Every once in a while Mikey tried to help her out by rummaging through the mess deck supplies for new vegetables, and each time he came up empty. Her asking and him looking was just a game they played, a private joke between the two of them.

  Sonya grabbed her tray and scanned the mess deck looking for a place to sit. She had her choice so she settled on a table in the rear. She took her seat wondering who would be fool enough to be awake at the ungodly hour of 12 am. A man and a woman from engineering were sitting three rows in front of her. The man was picking at a hole in the vinyl tablecloth, and they both spoke in hushed tones. Their trays of half-eaten food had been placed on an empty table nearby. They both wore the weathered look of people just coming off a long six-hour watch. She knew exactly how they felt.

  Then, just as she thought she was safe from silly chitchat, she spotted Second Officer Fowler making his way through the mess line. He was casting a pleased look in her direction, and that just couldn’t be good. Dirk was the king of inane chatter.

  Sonya sighed and ducked her head down.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like Dirk—he was a nice-enough guy. It was just that he was . . . well, strange. As the first Marine veteran on board and the only cyborg, Dirk was one imposing giant. From his six-foot-five height alone, Sonya knew Dirk had been a large man even without the cybernetic implants, but with them he now had superhuman strength. Everyone on board feared Dirk, which Sonya could tell bothered him. So the muscular fortress tried to offset his intimidating presence by being overly friendly.

  But even with a more pleasant personality than most, people were still wary around Dirk, and for good reason, because despite his usually calm demeanor, Dirk was damaged goods. Damaged by the peacekeeping mission in North Korea where he was deployed for more than five years, damaged by the landmine that had taken both his legs and a portion of his right arm, and damaged by a wife who rejected him the moment she saw what his military sacrifice had cost. Who wouldn’t have been squirrelly after stuff like that?

  Dirk was well known for loud and frequent night terrors that woke anyone within three staterooms of his own. He could also fall into some of the darkest moods Sonya had ever seen, and with all that mechanized power behind him, Dirk could really do some damage if he wanted to.

  Of course Dirk had never shared all the particulars of his Marine background with her. She’d learned most of it from their captain, Logan, who tended to babble like a lonely barge operator whenever he got a few drinks in him.

  Dirk was headed right for her.

  Groaning inwardly, Sonya lowered her head and pretended her meal was the most delicious thing she’d eaten in months. If she was lucky, Dirk would get the hint and go sit by himself. But, just as she feared, Dirk didn’t get this message. Instead, he sat down across from her, his huge frame making the steel bench groan as he settled into his seat. “Good morning, Chief.”

  Sonya gave him a fragile smile.

  He glanced down at her plate and scoffed. “No wonder you’re so skinny. I don’t know how you can live off that stuff.”

  Sonya glanced down at Dirk’s plate piled high with scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage, and funny bacon, which was bacon that looked like bacon but really was something else. Ugh. “What is that supposed to mean? I’m hardly skinny, and plenty of people on Earth choose a vegetarian diet, Dirk. It makes us feel healthier, and we’ll
probably live longer than you meat-eaters.” She glared at the contents of his plate. “Besides, I don’t know how you can eat that stuff,” she said. “I can almost hear the plaque collecting in your arteries.”

  “Now is that nice? I didn’t talk about your rabbit food like that.”

  “At least it’s better than chowing down on Bugs Bunny himself or whatever that mystery bacon is.”

  Dirk frowned down at his meal. “This is my standard midnight snack. There’s not one piece of rabbit on my plate.”

  “It’s a joke, Dirk,” she replied flatly. Sonya didn’t bother arguing any further with him. There was no point. He would just think she was being difficult. Not wanting to prolong their conversation, she picked up her fork and started eating. Dirk sprinkled salt on his meal and dug into a golden-brown mountain of hash browns. He wolfed down several large mouthfuls before Sonya had even finished chewing one. The man was a complete beast.

  “So, you going to sleep when you’re done?” he said, talking with his mouth full.

  Sonya leaned back and blinked a few times, fearing he was going to spit a fragment of food on her. “I’m very tired, yes.”

  Dirk grunted, and Sonya had no idea what it meant. Neanderthal for ‘I see’ perhaps. “I was going to ask you to come and play a game of pool with me in the officers’ lounge.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Dirk, but no thanks.” A fleeting moment of guilt nagged her. What if he thought she was snubbing him because he was a cyborg? But then she watched him shovel food into his mouth. The muscles of his wide jaw bunched and released at the sides, the solid angles of his face showing no indication of softness. He’d be fine. There was nothing vulnerable about Dirk. The former Marine was all controlled emotion and solid masculine instinct.

  Sonya’s two-way radio crackled, and she cursed under her breath. She flipped it open. “Chief Miller.”

  “Hey, Chief, this is Whittmeyer on the bridge. Listen, we have a contact.”

  Sonya waited for the petty officer to say more, but the radio just fell silent. “What kind of contact?” she asked.

  “Uh, I don’t know, ma’am. Looks like another ship,” Whittmeyer said.

  “Is it one of ours?”

  “I don’t think so, ma’am. I’ve never seen anything like it. Our ship’s computer can’t ID it either.”

  “Did anyone notify the captain?” she said, trying to keep an angry edge out of her voice. Captain Logan was supposed to be her relief on the bridge, and he’d promised her he’d be there within ten minutes of her leaving. But here it was, an hour later, and he still hadn’t gone up to properly relieve her. She just knew the captain was still passed out in his stateroom and she was going to end up taking the second watch. Again.

  “We sent the roving watch to wake him up, but he told us to contact you,” Whittmeyer said.

  “Of course he did,” Sonya muttered. “I’ll be right there,” she radioed to Whittmeyer. After tossing her partially eaten meal onto the tray, Sonya got up. She felt a little lightheaded, so she paused for a moment to let it pass.

  Dirk studied her as he rubbed a napkin across his lips. His scrutiny was decidedly unwelcome, like a predator sizing up injured prey. The napkin scraped against his rough cheek like it was sandpaper.

  “You okay, Chief?” he asked.

  “I just need some sleep is all.”

  “I can try and wake the captain up myself if you want.”

  Sonya flashed him an impatient grin. “No, thank you. I’ll just handle this myself. I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how Whittmeyer exaggerates. See you later, Dirk.”

  “Wait up, Chief,” he said, grabbing both their trays and placing them on the conveyor belt to the scullery. “I’ve got to see this so-called alien contact for myself.”

  Sonya sighed, defeated. “Come on then. Let’s go take a look at this great big mystery.”

  Chapter Three

  Traveling back and forth along a standard trading route, Sonya saw many different kinds of ships, but she’d never seen anything like this. The ghost ship, or so they’d nicknamed it to avoid calling it the alien ship, was huge. It was at least the size of a naval aircraft carrier, and heavily armed. The hull of the vessel wasn’t the standard silver or dark gray but a deep rust color that appeared black in some places. Both sides of its long body had an abundance of tinted windows that reflected the stars around them as the ship slowly rotated in space. The engines were dark and lifeless.

  “Can you enlarge the image?” Sonya asked Whittmeyer.

  The image on the screen grew bigger, offering more detail. There was no doubt about it. This was no human ship. First off, it was way too big. None of the governments or private companies on Earth would have spent the money to build a monstrosity like this. Second, the ghost ship was obviously intended for its crew to travel long distance in space. That was something no Earth agency or company had any interest in since there was no profit in it.

  “You try to contact them?” Sonya asked.

  Whittmeyer nodded. “Every channel, every language in our database. Nothing. We scanned the ship and did pick up that she’s running on a small reserve of auxiliary power. If anyone’s alive on board, they must be in cryo-sleep.”

  Dirk leaned against the bulkhead and frowned at the screen. She knew how he felt. No one wanted weird. There just wasn’t enough pay for the trouble that came with it.

  Sonya puzzled over the ship a moment in silence. “But it’s odd that their ship’s computer wouldn’t have woken them up. We’re pretty close. I would think their systems would alert them to our presence. Isn’t that pretty standard on most vessels?”

  “Most Earth ships,” Whittmeyer said.

  “Maybe the ship’s computer is damaged,” she ventured.

  “Or maybe we’re not close enough,” Dirk said.

  Whittmeyer shrugged. “Or maybe they’re all dead.”

  Sonya turned around and stared at Whittmeyer. This was big. They needed the captain up here. “Did you try getting Logan out of bed again?”

  Whittmeyer made a disgusted face. “I did. He wouldn’t come. He said you would deal with it.”

  Sonya scowled. “He’s the goddamn captain. What channel is he on?”

  Whittmeyer glanced at his radio. “Four.”

  * * * *

  The alarm went off for the fourth time, beating him in the head with its annoying din. This time Captain Logan Connor didn’t hit the snooze button. This time he just turned the damn thing off and shoved it. It flew off the nightstand and struck the far wall with a plastic crack. The holographic readout went black. His radio chirped angrily from where it lay on the bed next to him. Every high-pitched sound cut into his brain like an ice pick.

  Logan grabbed the offending device and flipped it open. His elbow knocked an empty bottle of gin from the nightstand. It hit the floor with a loud crack and rolled half an inch. Logan ignored it. “What?” he croaked into the mouthpiece.

  Sonya’s voice came over the line cool with pent-up fury. “We have a contact, Captain.”

  “What kind of contact, Chief? I keep asking, and no one will give me a straight answer. Are we talking about a meteor, a dust cloud . . . what the hell is it?” Logan asked. He propped some pillows up against the headboard and experimented with sitting up. The action made the pounding in his head worse, so he sank down lower until the pain was tolerable. His stomach twisted, threatening to purge.

  “It’s an alien ship, sir.”

  “A what?” Logan shouted into the radio. Had Sonya finally lost her mind? He’d been all over this solar system, from one end to the other, and he’d never seen—never even heard of—contact with an alien ship. And now on an established cargo route back from Mars his chief is trying to tell him they’ve made contact with aliens. Logan might have laughed had he not been in so much agony. He opened his bedside drawer and fished around for a pain reliever.

  “We have encountered an alien ship, sir,” Sonya repeated as if she were explaining theory
of relativity to a small child. “We’ve tried to contact it several times, but so far, no response.”

  “Is it Russian?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How about Chinese?”

  “I would recognize it if it were an Earth ship, Captain.”

  “Maybe the damn thing is Indian or Korean. You know them countries have that crazy writing that no one can read but them.” He opened a bottle of ibuprofen and tried to empty four into his palm when half the bottle spilled out. Logan swore under his breath and selected the ones he wanted, dumping the rest in the drawer.

  “No, sir,” Sonya said, her voice taking on an Arctic chill. Then after a brief pause, “Are you coming to the bridge, Captain?”

  The bitch was pissed. Logan was scheduled to stand the night watch, but he was already over an hour late because of this damn hangover. And Sonya was less than thrilled to be having to take his place after already standing a six-hour watch. Logan was sorry he was late, but he was sick, man. Didn’t anyone give a shit about that? But his being ill wouldn’t matter to Sonya. She was all cold professionalism and iron nerve. God, how he hated her guts sometimes. Sonya would keep after him with her bullshit calls every few minutes until he got his ass up there, no doubt about it.