The Chronicles of Clyde- Ghost Ship

by F. E. Arliss

  Shaking herself free of her fugue, Daer said, “When the fuses blow, they report that to a system that maintains the shields for all of the Gem asteroids. It would have been information available to everyone who had access to the database for the shields. It wouldn’t have been just Gem 11 that had that information,” Daer blurted out. “That makes it a much bigger pool of suspects, doesn’t it?” She asked, gazing at him with concern. “The information could have gone out from any of the asteroids, not just 11.”

  Digger scrubbed one hard hand over his face and raked it through his dark wavy hair, causing it to stand on end, a la Einstein. “Yes, that widens the pool of suspects and makes my job a lot more difficult,” he agreed with a sigh. “It was a good catch, though Daer. Thank you.” He added this last with a squeeze to her shoulder.

  Not understanding completely what urged her on, Daer went into his arms and hugged him close. “It will be alright,” she whispered. “You’ll catch them.”

  A firm hand tipped her chin up so she could meet deep brown eyes. “Thank you for that vote of confidence,” Digger said gruffly, then bent to brush her mouth with his own. Returning for a second, deeper meeting of their lips, Digger pulled her hard against his chest.

  Daer revelled in the warm, spicy scent of him and the hard-corded muscles beneath his jacket. Digger Cole might not be the tall, heavily-muscled type, but he was wiry and strong. As he hoisted her up against the wall, Daer could tell that it took little to no effort on his part. It made her feel delicate and feminine and she melted against him, opening her mouth wider and sliding her tongue against his own in urgency.

  Running her hands up under his close fitting uniform, Daer loved the feel of his hot satin-smooth skin and rippling muscles. When he bit the tendon at the side of her neck, her nails contracted into his skin and she moaned like a wild animal. Arching into him, she forgot everything except the moment.

  Half an hour later, Daer threw herself up the ladder to her bunk and buried her face in her pillow. “Oh, heavens! What had she done? She’d made out with Digger Cole in a maintenance closet!” Daer whimpered into her pillow.

  “So much for owning the universe! She’d just shagged the grumpiest guy she’d ever met. Ok, so he was the hottest too! Maybe she just wanted someone who was unavailable? No! Don’t think about it!” Daer commanded herself. It was sex and very pleasurable. No need to feel guilty or uncomfortable about it. There was nothing to be sorry for or ashamed of! She was the owner of her destiny!

  Straightening up with a start, Daer threw herself off her bunk and went back to work whistling. Now that was the spirit, she told herself with a grin! Own the day!

  Several days later, the minefield was beginning to take shape around the asteroid. The dump’s large stores of ore were a treasure trove and any good security team would see it as the most vulnerable threat level. Daer was sure that didn’t make Gem 11 feel any better, though turret guns were going up now on the highest points on all the asteroids. Large caches of hand-held armaments had been delivered to qualified personnel on all stations as well.

  Daer was currently making up practice schedules for the crew to hone their weapons skills. Each person would be issued a sidearm, but first they had to be cleared for them by a series of target tests and ‘judgement call’ situations. Anyone who didn’t qualify would not be issued a weapon.

  So far, according to Supervisor Ward, only about half the crew was qualifying. Most of the equipment operators and pilots were passing the targeting tests. It was the ‘judgement call’ scenarios that were wreaking havoc with the qualifying tests. Many of the participants were over-reactive and ended up killing all the ‘friendlies’ in the scenarios. Ward didn’t want to give people a live weapon that might end up getting fired at civilians out of fright or poor judgement. A good plan, Daer thought.

  Daer had qualified the first day, thanks to Uncle Wiley’s teachings again. She’d exited the range with her new weapon strapped to her thigh just as Shawn Lawrence was being shown out of the ‘judgement call’ scenario bay with an enormous scowl on his face. Sure enough, he’d bungled the test and killed a bunch of ‘civvies’ during the scenario. When he saw Daer’s holstered weapon, he turned a violent shade of red. “You bitch!” He growled at her, then stumbled from the room in a rage.

  His uncontrollable temper was not a prime candidate for a weapon and Daer was relieved he hadn’t qualified. For all she knew, he might try to off her with it if he was given one. Shawn Lawrence was not a nice guy.

  Most people who didn’t qualify were happy not to carry a sidearm. Not Shawn! He went immediately to Director Kapour and accused Daer of tampering with his results. Kapour ordered him to see the platform shrink and informed him that his anger issues would preclude him from ever being allowed to carry a weapon. Which made him even madder. The shrink prescribed a series of anti-anxiety meds. Daer was not fool enough to think Shawn would actually take them.

  Supervisor Ward decided to have Shawn Lawrence returned to UZ627 and evaluated at an Intergalactic Guard clinic for anger issues. Daer was relieved at first, then worried even more when she found out he wouldn’t be leaving for a week or more. A whole week with Shawn during this stressful time with weapons floating around didn’t seem like a fun time.

  Chapter Eight

  Short Memories

  Turned out that the mole was on Gem 11 after all, but he hadn’t been hard to find. This particular traitor wasn’t smart enough to hide all of his signature trail when accessing the data-net to send the coded coordinates to his pirate friends. He’d done the obvious wipes of feeds, but as a mechanical assistant working on the hardware fittings for the security dome, he wasn’t prepared for the intricate details needed to eradicate his presence from the software data trail.

  He’d erased the easy part, but left the deeper feeds intact. Shooting the console hadn’t blown the information up as he’d hoped either. All in all, it was a fairly ham-fisted attempt at sabotage.

  He’d been approached on Uzi in the very bar where Daer, Penni, Randy, and Liv had first gone to get Cokes. She wondered briefly if she’d recognize the pirate contact. Digger would be reviewing the footage and she couldn’t wait to question him about it.

  The Intergalactic Guard were not taking the incident lightly. The perpetrator would be executed. In this new universal order, treason was as highly punishable as ever.

  He’d done it for money of course. He’d wanted off Gem 11 and back to ‘civilization,’ as he put it, on Uzi. He wanted a piece of land where he could open a bar. The traitor would get that piece of land, just not in the manner he wanted. His ashes would be dumped on it as fertilizer.

  Daer thought the incident was ridiculous. People had already forgotten that Earth was dying. They were lucky to be here and not suffocating from radioactive fumes and pollution. Humanity had such short memories.

  The week had flown by. Daer had spoken briefly with Digger. The cruiser they were returning the prisoner to Uzi on would be stopping briefly at ‘the dump’ to pick up passengers. She hoped Shawn Lawrence would be among them. Daer couldn’t wait to see him go.

  When the cruiser arrived, Digger messaged Daer to meet him in the canteen. She arrived quickly, eager to see him and hoping for a few moments alone. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw his back ahead of her, sitting alone at a table, nursing a cup of coffee. Sliding into the seat next to him, she whispered, “Hey handsome, how are you holding up?”

  Digger turned tired eyes to her and gave a slight shake of his shaggy brown head. “It’s been a long week. I’m tired, but glad it’s about over. We’re only on ‘the dump’ long enough to load the other passengers and top up our fuel. The trip to UZ627 will almost be a relief,” he added, with a grim smile. “Maybe I can get some sleep once we get underway. I’ve got Gil Dewalt in lockdown in the hold and guards on him non-stop. He’s not smart enough to try anything. I hope!” Digger said with a derisive snort.

  “Just when you think that, though, they always come up with so
me new dumbass thing to do,” he added with a little grimace. “Would it be ungentlemanly of me to say I’d like to visit the maintenance closet with you?” He asked with a lazy smile. “I’d like to hold you for a few minutes before we have to get underway. Just the thought of all that silky skin you’re hiding under that uniform kept my spirits up this week. And more than that, too!” he added with a laugh.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Daer said, then sashayed out of the canteen and down the hall. Seconds later, Digger followed.

  Daer supposed that shagging in the maintenance closet wasn’t the classiest thing she’d ever done. On the other hand, public sex was a no-go and the bunkroom had zero privacy. She supposed they weren’t the only ones using the maintenance closet for a little stolen intimacy. They’d found an empty wine bottle in there this time and had a laugh over the tiny space’s big purpose. Love limited to 4x4 feet. Oh well. Love was love, and far better to experience it than to have none.

  Digger, chivalrous as ever, rasped his bristled jaw over every inch of her bare skin while murmuring simple, beautiful compliments to her. It was the most mesmerizing sex she’d ever had. The first time had been combustion. This was worship. She felt special. Each feature praised and lavished with attention. Time passed in a racing blur. When a small alarm sounded from Digger’s wrist, they both groaned. Time to go. Daer kissed him as wildly and as deeply as she could.

  “Will I see you soon?” she asked.

  “We’ll be back in a week or so. Be safe. The pirates may even now be planning another attack. I hope not. We’re more prepared now. Still, take care, ok?” Digger asked quietly, staring into her eyes.

  “Ok,” Daer answered. “You too.”

  With a last kiss the two separated, Daer to her office and Digger to the cruiser’s departure pad. Time would seem slow with Digger gone, but work would keep her busy. She sighed a long slow sigh and settled down to scheduling. Argh! She was beginning to hate scheduling.

  Chapter Nine

  Chivalry

  Daer trekked out to the loading zone in her armored flight suit. A new cargo hauler had landed and she was going to meet the crew and get the paperwork done for the loading. Why did they still call it paperwork? Daer hadn’t seen actual paper with writing on it except for a few times in her life and that was mostly in museums. Paper killed trees. That had killed a planet. Most people were completely paranoid about it. Calling it paperwork was really just a hangover from a few centuries earlier.

  Daer thumbed the tab on her cuff to activate her halo-helmet and then tapped the button that infused the high-tech titanium armor she wore with nanites with varying roles. Some sealed wounds, others regulated temperature, and there were probably a score more that she didn’t even know the purpose of.

  Since arriving on ‘the dump’ she’d seen several accidents involving heavy loads that had removed or crushed limbs and even one trauma where the lack of halo-helmet had caused severe brain damage. Some of the more ‘macho’ types didn’t wear the armor and scoffed at those pilots that did. Daer just rolled her eyes at them and said, “See you in the prosthetics bay sometime,” or “I’ll remind you of that when you’re sucking lunch through a straw,” and left them to their hubris.

  The crew of the cargo hauler were gathered around the lowered ramp to the hold of their ship. The manifest documents said Clyde.3 was the name of the ship. It was an unaffiliated hauler and came complete with insurance and partial ownership of the load they were going to be accepting. Very unusual and a highly sought after set of attributes in a hauler. Supervisor Ward was supposed to come out to meet them too. He’d whistled in appreciation when he’d seen their details. “Quite the catch for ‘the dump’ to get a crew of this quality. Let’s keep them happy. They have an excellent record. We’re lucky to have them,” he’d added.

  “This load is going way out past most of the known galaxy mapping,” he said thoughtfully. “This has to be one rough and ready crew to risk uncharted space. This load is going to a place called Renegar. It’s a desert planet. The haul is a new mineral used as an alkaline base. Usually an additive for soil amendment. Wonder what they want something like this for. Wouldn’t think it was worth the risk,” he added, then shrugged his shoulders. “I guess that’s their business, not ours.”

  When Daer reached the lowered ramp, a skinny, grizzled-looking man extended a scarred hand, missing the first two digits. Daer grabbed the misshapen lump and grinned while pumping it vigorously. “I’m Daer Null, your loader for this run.” Usually this was a test where she came from. Extend the mangled bit and see if the other party has the stones to handle it. She did.

  It made her happy, somehow, to see this experienced Commander give her a test she knew she could pass. Mangled flesh was not unusual where she came from. Farmers lost all sorts of bits to accidents. War gave lots of wounds to the young as well. To not pass this test would have been an epic fail on her part.

  The gray-haired Commander rubbed a hand over his buzz-cut head, then grinned at her and said, “Pleased ta meet ya, miss. I’m Commander Dermott Quirke. This is the crew of the Clyde III, though we just call him Clyde. My family’s ships are all called ‘Clyde’, so it can get confusing,” he explained with a lopsided grin. This is my First Mate and wife, Moira Quirke,” he said, indicating a slightly built woman with grey-streaked red hair and blue eyes that practically snapped with intelligence.

  “The tall lad there next to her is my son, Tate Quirke. He’s our Second Mate,” Dermott Quirke said with a grin. Daer let her eyes linger a few moments on the tall, well built man. His dark hair and blue eyes were certainly easy on the eyes, she acknowledged.

  “Then you’ve got my daughter, Tally Quirke,” he waved a gnarled finger at a woman in her mid-thirties that was a slightly younger, mirror-image of her mother. “She does all things detail-oriented. Mind like a steel trap,” he added proudly. His red-haired daughter blushed happily.

  “Frick and Frack there at the end are our deckhands, Molly Pile and Gavin Doyle. They’ve been with us for years and are family,” he added.

  Supervisor Ward had arrived behind Daer when the introductions had begun and now thrust out a hand. He too, managed a credible shake of the twisted appendage. “Pleased to meet the crew of the Clyde.3,” he said formally. “Gem 8 is grateful to have a crew of your quality to deliver our loads. Please let Daer here know if there is anything that you need before you depart. She’ll be happy to show you the canteen and public spaces should you wish to partake of them.” With that he shook each crew members hand, nodded to each as he did so, and departed back into the interior of the station.

  “Shall we get this party started,” Daer asked, motioning towards her hover-loader. “We’ve got a big order for you, and I promise to be very careful balancing the load,” she added looking towards Tally Quirke for confirmation. The red-head nodded in affirmation.

  The following three hours flew by in a blur of concentration as Daer loaded container after container of ore. The load was a heavy one and several times the sensors showed they needed to shift the load for optimum navigation control. The Quirkes and their crew moved swiftly and surely as they rearranged containers and indicated using hand signals where they wanted Daer to place the myriad containers. The hold already held a small aqua-vat that had to be maneuvered around. Some of the ores were unstable and had to placed within energy containment fields. The Quirkes had a very smooth system setup for that.

  They were an easy crew to work with, Daer acknowledged. Each member stayed focused, worked hard, kept extraneous chatter to a minimum and were very polite. This was by far the best crew Daer had loaded for.

  The last container loaded, Daer stepped down from her pilot’s seat to finish the contract on her tablet. Walking up the ramp of the Clyde, she heaved a satisfied sigh at the impressive sight of the neatly stacked cargo and brightly humming containment fields. Chatting amiably to the crew, contracts flew back and forth through the ethers. “We appreciate what a competent crew yo
u are,” Daer said, enthusiastically hugging Tally Quirke. “You guys are awesome.”

  “You’re pretty awesome yourself,” grinned Tally. “We rarely get such a light hand on the controls. Clyde appreciates your easy touch!” She added with a laugh. “He may look a little rough and dented, but heavy handling hurts his feelings!”

  Daer laughed and patted the dented hull of the cargo hauler. “He’s really much bigger inside than he appears from outside,” she said thoughtfully.

  Hurled forward by a violently churning impact wave, Daer tried to catch herself as a series of explosions rocked the platform to the starboard side. As she stumbled forward, Tate Quirke caught her under the arms, whirled her around behind him and drew his side-arm in one smooth motion.

  Clearly this crew were ready for trouble. He’d flowed through the motions as though it was second nature. Daer would find later that it was entirely natural. Not just second nature, but an instinct bred into his lineage through generations of ancestors always on guard against marauders.

  Two more enormous percussive blasts had Commander Quirke slapping the ramp door closed and issuing orders, “Get us airborne Moira! Molly! Gavin! Mind the guns! Tate, get Daer strapped in. We don’t have time to lose.” With those barked orders, the old man bolted for the bridge. “Situation report, Moira!”