Ghost Ship

by Kathryn Hoff

  “Long story.”

  I stepped closer to the confrontation, palms up in a calming gesture. “Archer, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t spare anyone else,” Kojo said. “I need you here…”

  “Then you go,” Archer said. “Haven’t you done enough to Patch?”

  Kojo rolled his eyes. “Here it comes.”

  “What?” Charity hissed at me. “What’d he do?”

  The console pinged and I scurried to touch the maneuvering rockets. “Archer, I told you, Kojo didn’t mean to harm me. He was trying to…”

  Archer’s vibration hit fever pitch. “He sold you to a Selkid gambler!”

  Charity’s mouth opened to a soundless O.

  “So what!” Kojo shouted. “That’s none of your…”

  Archer started his punch from somewhere near his hip. His gloved fist swooped toward Kojo’s face. Kojo must have seen it coming—he grimaced but made no effort to avoid it.

  Charity rushed forward in a flurry, shouting “Stop it!” just before Archer’s punch connected—with Charity.

  She fell into Kojo’s arms in a tangle.

  “Archer!” Kojo cried. “Now look what you’ve done.” He set Charity back onto her feet.

  Charity straightened her—my—cloak. “You burzing morons. What do you think you’re doing?”

  Archer bounced. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Are you hurt? I didn’t mean to hit you!”

  “But you meant to hit your captain?” Charity rubbed the reddening spot on her cheek, looking from Archer to Kojo.

  Archer looked daggers at Kojo, taut as a bowstring, fists still tight. Kojo stood with his back to the bulkhead, eyes wary.

  I’d tensed, too, as if I were facing a brace of pirates and not my own crewmates.

  And in the middle of the triangle, Charity held her ground, chin up and hands on hips, as commanding in my long cloak and yellow beret as a princess among her palace guard.

  “What kind of ship is this? Archer, nothing justifies lifting your hand to your captain. Kojo, if you been dealing your sister, then I’m ashamed of you. And Patch, what’s got into you, letting your brother bully you and letting poor Archer fight your battles?”

  Archer unclenched his fists and turned aside. “He doesn’t deserve to be captain.”

  Kojo’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hair. “You want the job?”

  “That’s enough,” I said. “Kojo’s still captain, and he’s doing his best to fix our problems. Archer, punching him won’t help—and for your information, Charity, I did make my feelings known at the time. Vigorously.”

  Kojo nodded, rubbing his ribs as if they were still sore.

  “And if you’ve both calmed down…”

  “Hug,” Charity said. “That’s what my mama always makes my brothers do. Fight’s over, hug and be done with it.”

  Ping. I turned to adjust the portside maneuvering rocket. Out of the corner of my eye I watched the two men approach one another cautiously.

  They clasped for only a moment before stepping back.

  Charity nodded gravely. “There. Done. And I’ll go with Patch to Grand Duchess.”

  Ancestors. “No need for that,” I said. “I can do it on my own.” Looking after an inexperienced tagalong would be worse than being alone.

  Kojo gave Charity his most charming smile. “You’re Davo’s crew, not mine, Mzee Charity, but I’d be grateful. Despite what Archer thinks, I do care about my sister.”

  Charity straightened and said with dignity, “I’ll be glad to help, Captain.”

  “Good. Problem solved.”

  Archer frowned, arms folded, foot tapping. “Patch, you’ll stay in communication with me every moment. And Kojo…we’re not done.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Dark star

  All alone on Duchess. Except for the dead.

  And Charity, who was worse.

  Oh, she caught on to moving weightless quickly enough, tumbling and swimming like a kid in a pool while I guided three of Sparrow’s power mods through Duchess’s dark, lifeless passages.

  “Patch, look! You’re upside down.” She floated past, feet toward the ceiling. “I had no idea this was so much fun.” Her helmet lamp cast crazy, shifting shadows as we passed closed cabin doors and half-seen stairways.

  Archer scolded into the mics, “Charity, you’re supposed to be helping.”

  “I’m willing, but Patch won’t let me touch anything.”

  No ghosts seemed to trouble Charity, but for me the feeling of disquiet was stronger than ever. At least, wearing the enviro suits, we were warm.

  “Patch? What does engineering look like?” Archer’s voice in the helmet mic sounded far away.

  Cold. Dark. Menacing.

  “Not too bad,” I said. “Lots of ash.”

  In the thin atmosphere, fine motes hovered like fog, swirling in my backdraft as I passed through. They tended to settle toward the port side, where the grav pellets—lined up on Sparrow’s near bulkheads—exerted a slight pull.

  Archer would hate it.

  “The thruster control panel’s fused,” I said. The faces of the dials were blackened and misshapen. I held my glove over the panel—the sensor registered some residual heat, just a smidge above the space-cold rest of the ship.

  From the safety of Sparrow’s engine room, Archer gave instructions. “You’ll have to clean the module bay connectors—the surface ions will attract fine dust like a magnet.”

  “Understood.” As annoying as it was to be ordered around by Archer, his voice comforted me. The eeriness of the dark, silent ship weighed on my mood. Was I getting as superstitious as Terrans, afraid of ghosts?

  Charity went to work wriggling into the power mod bays with an electrostatic cleaner. I connected new cables to the mod bays, bypassing the fused propulsion consoles to send power directly to the consoles for the six maneuvering rockets.

  “Did Kojo really sell you to a Selkid gambler?” Charity asked.

  “No,” I said. “Yes,” Archer answered.

  “We’re working it out,” I said. “We did a job for the Selkid to clear a debt. The indenture will be released in a few days.” If nothing goes wrong.

  “You two don’t act married,” she said doubtfully.

  “We’re working that out, too,” Archer said.

  I let that pass, but Charity didn’t. “I mean, you work together, but married people are supposed to do more than that. Talk. Spend your free time together. Share meals.”

  “Exactly,” Archer said.

  “We eat together,” I said, then cursed myself for falling into the trap.

  “Share bunks,” Charity finished. “That’s kind of the point.”

  “Can we drop this, please?” I asked. “Like Archer said, we’re working on it.”

  “Sure.” Even through the mic I could hear the gloom in Archer’s voice.

  As soon as Charity cleared the connecters for each power bay, I shoved a power module in place before the floating dust could glom on again.

  I straightened from installing the last mod. “Archer, all the cables are connected now and three mods are installed. I don’t know how good the power bay interface is—without the air filters running, there’s still way too much ash.”

  “That will have to do,” Archer said. “We’re only half an hour to breakaway. Send power to the consoles.”

  I reached for the power bay control.

  “Uh, Patch?” Archer said. “Maybe back up first.”

  “Fine. Charity, wait in the passage.”

  I plucked a telescoping thingamajig from the tool cabinet, backed up, and hit the on switch.

  It sputtered. It smoked. But four of the rocket consoles lit up.

  “All right. Four rockets live. Limited success.”

  “Limited congratulations.”

  We tried more cleaning, but the final two consoles stayed dark.

  “Let it go,” Archer said. “I think four rockets will be enough to steer. Breakaway
in a quarter hour.”

  “Time to play?” Charity asked, bobbing between deck and ceiling.

  She wouldn’t be able to see my frown through the helmet. I felt like a schoolteacher trying to damp down an unruly six-year-old. “Time to rest, Charity. Stay on the safe side and conserve your air.”

  My words seemed to echo in the empty ship. How often had Duchess’s dead crew been told the same?

  Hiram called over the mic. “Com check. You there, Kojo?”

  “Sparrow’s engine room ready. Archer’s on propulsion, I’m on maneuvering. Setting heading four-four-two and I hope to Zub that takes us back to the Road.”

  “Patch?”

  “Me and Charity, ready in Duchess. Just tell us where to point her rockets.”

  It was time to face the real danger—the point where we would break away from the neutron star’s pull.

  Or we wouldn’t.

  Silently, I addressed Duchess’s crew. We’re not your enemy. We’re here to help.

  The only answer was a deepening surge of hostility.

  Charity practiced somersaults at the portside rocket control, while I manned the aft and starboard consoles.

  “All right, crewmates,” Hiram said. “Ready engines. On my mark, Sparrow, engines one-quarter, course four-four-two. Duchess, port rocket thirty-two, aft rocket seven-one. Crank ’em up.”

  Duchess’s rockets stirred to life with a vibration I felt through my gloves. With no working grav control, acceleration pressed us aft, making Charity scramble to stay in position.

  “Stresses on the link,” Archer called. “Patch, a touch to port rocket, oh-thirty.”

  “Oh-thirty.” I checked over Charity’s shoulder as she adjusted the balance.

  “Grav readings holding,” Hiram said. “Get ready to increase Sparrow’s propulsion. Increase power.”

  A long, slow push, Kojo had said.

  Long minutes passed between instructions, requiring nothing from us but patience.

  Charity drifted away from her station.

  “Stay in place,” I said.

  She flung out her arms to twirl in the air. “This is boring. We can’t even see what’s happening.”

  “Conserve your suit’s air.”

  It was a waste of oxy, having Charity with me when I could have handled the rockets alone. Maybe I should send her back to Sparrow, rules be damned. Or maybe I should just let her play—let her enjoy herself until her air ran out and she started to gasp and turn blue…

  I pulled myself up short. Where were these thoughts coming from?

  “I just wish we had a working scanner,” Charity said.

  So did I. In my head, I knew we were powering forward, accelerating away from the tiny lump of immense gravity, but it didn’t feel that way. With nothing to measure against, I felt like we were trapped in orbit around some exceptionally boring planet, doomed to circle forever. Torture.

  Grand Duchess’s crew must have gone through that torment, waiting for death, knowing they were stuck like a fly in a spiderweb. Spending their last days, maybe even weeks, waiting for the end, minimizing activity and even limiting speech to conserve air. Passing one another in silence, full of unspoken regrets and recriminations.

  Cursing the enemy who put them there.

  I spun, sending myself into the ceiling. That thought had definitely come from someone besides me. I didn’t see any ghosts, but they were there. Waiting. Hating.

  I shivered inside my enviro suit. These spirits were more than resentful—they meant us harm.

  I sent them a silent assurance. Please don’t fight us. We’re taking you home.

  Hiram called, “Patch, adjust port rocket, two-five.”

  I bounced my way back into position. “Two-five.”

  Charity giggled. “Stay in position, Patch.”

  “Archer, increase power to three-quarters,” Kojo ordered. “Whoa, wobbling. Patch, port, three-three!”

  “Three-three.” I’d felt no wobble, no extra vibration, cocooned in the dead ship.

  Long, quiet minutes passed as Sparrowhawk gradually increased power to her propulsion. It made no difference to Duchess. For all I could tell, the ship might as well be adrift.

  It was a shame the engineering section was such a mess. Grand Duchess had been a fine ship. She could be again. Swap out her propulsion and load up her power bays, and she could once again serve Barony’s patriotic purposes. Lead the way to new colony sites, oversee defense against the encroachers from Troy. Barbarians, envious of Barony’s hard-won resources. Always ready to take advantage of any weakness…

  “Patch! Power to aft rockets!”

  I startled awake, adrift near the aft bulkhead. “Aft, aye, what heading?” I scrambled to the console.

  “Five-three,” Charity hissed. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I adjusted the aft rockets.

  “That’s better,” Hiram said. “Steady on, mates.”

  Archer’s voice broke in. “You all right, Patch?”

  “Fine. Sorry, I just drifted off for a minute.” How had I fallen asleep at my post?

  “Good thing Charity’s with you,” Kojo said, the smugness evident in his voice.

  I switched my mic to helmet-to-helmet. “Put your mic on local, Charity, and tell me about your family. How many brothers do you have?” Anything to help me stay awake.

  Charity enthusiastically described her three brothers and little sister and their life in the recycling commune. I paid scant attention, responding automatically to Hiram’s directions.

  As Charity chattered about picking apart obsolete gear and selling the components and scrap for reuse, a bit of my mind rebelled. Why not tell her to sleep to minimize use of air?

  I shook my head to drive away the intrusive thoughts. Falling asleep here could end up with all of us dead.

  Maybe that was what the Duchess spirits wanted—death for any stranger who intruded on their domain. Or maybe they were so envious of our lives that they wished us all to join them in their frozen afterlife. Were all Terran ghosts so hateful?

  Beloved ancestors, intercede with these restless spirits. Tell them we mean them no harm.

  As Charity prattled on about her brothers’ hijinks, I found myself twisting to look over my shoulder, uneasy at the feeling of being watched.

  I hated the Barony ship. Worse, I feared it.

  I checked my oxy gauge: half an hour of air left before we’d have to abandon Duchess.

  “Good news!” Hiram called. “Gravity readings are dropping to normal. We’re past the field.” A weak cheer from Sparrow’s engine room sounded through the com.

  “Yeah!” Charity turned a somersault.

  “Thank Zub!” Kojo said. “Patch, shut down Duchess and come on back.”

  “Gladly.” With relief, I powered down the mods. No need to put them back in cold storage, the ship was already cold enough to freeze Zub’s pitchfork.

  Feeling much better, I joined Charity in careening off bulkheads, heading for the airlock. I was more than ready to leave. Never again would I complain about Sparrowhawk’s tatty furnishings or aged grav generator. She was home and I’d be damn glad to be back aboard her.

  Hiram broke in on the com, “Kojo, check your scanner. That runabout that shadowed us…”

  Duchess shuddered, rattling the airlock lever under my hand.

  I knew that feeling—a concussion blast, dangerously near my ship.

  CHAPTER 18

  Nemesis

  My helmet mic relayed the hail blasting through Sparrowhawk.

  “Selkid cutter, towing Barony vessel: that was just to get your attention.” A woman’s voice, Terran. “This is Captain Lili of the runabout Nemesis, sailing under letters of marque. Stand down, cutter, we’re coming aboard.”

  Ancestors! My ship under threat, and me stuck on Duchess.

  “Why the hell should I?” Kojo shouted in response. “I’ve got a bigger ship, bigger guns, and a real mean streak when it comes to freebooters trying to hija
ck my load.”

  “Privateer, not pirate,” the Terran voice answered. “I’d like to do this without bloodshed. I swear on my heart’s blood to release you and your crew unharmed if you give up without a fight. Otherwise, the lot of you can go to hell this very day. Your choice.”

  Privateers—pirates given legal cover by some government to raid its enemies’ vessels. I wondered which side had thought Nemesis a good ally.

  “Hiram, sidewind.” Kojo puffed into the com. “I’m going to the turret.” Hiram issued terse instructions to Archer.

  Kojo must be out of his mind—evasive maneuvers while towing a vessel the size of Duchess? Not to mention the grav still skewed.

  Archer called, “Patch, I need you on Duchess’s rockets.”

  “I’m on my way.” I pushed off to return to engineering. “Charity, stay here. If your air gets lower than five minutes, go back to Sparrow.”

  “But…”

  “That’s an order.” I grabbed the door frame to direct my trajectory into the passage.

  Bam. The deck slammed into me. Hiram was twisting, trying to keep the attackers from grappling onto Sparrow. With Duchess’s grav gen as dead as the rest of her, I was being shaken like a pea in a baby’s rattle.

  On the com, Kojo dished out orders to Hiram and Archer. In the background I heard the distinctive snap of the door to Sparrowhawk’s gun turret.

  Duchess shuddered—another concussion blast. What was happening to my ship?

  I ricocheted into engineering. Without Duchess’s rockets, Sparrowhawk was helpless to maneuver.

  Again came Captain Lili’s mocking voice. “Give it up—that ship you’re yoked to is an anchor around your neck.” Her hail had a background of popping sounds. I hoped that meant Sparrow’s guns were hitting their target.

  Engineering’s consoles were dark. Damn! I’d have to run through the cold-start procedures again.

  Reconnect the jury-rigged bypass cable to the console. Prime the module bays. I tried to slow my breathing. Concentrate on the task, don’t think about a pirate trying to blow a hole in Sparrowhawk. Don’t think about the gleeful malice of the Duchess spirits.