Deep Space, somewhere between Suleiman and Easter in the Solomani Rim: 1117
"Heads up, gang," Grant muttered. The undulating greyness of
jumpspace gave way to the star-dotted velvet black of deep space, and the
Serendipity's sensor boards lit up and began processing data frantically.
Grant looked up and out of the huge viewport, scanning the skies for any
unusual sights. "Kherk," he said absently, "How's it look?"
"Working on it," Kherkhoulloth said mildly, practiced hands flying
over the controls of the nav panel. A threedee star map appeared before him,
rotated slowly and shifted a tiny bit. He barked loudly, a Vargr's best try at
a laugh. "Harf! Kakh, I'm good! I am so GOOD! I want a raise, Cap'n!"
"I assume," Grant said drily, "That we're where we want to be."
"Close enough to hit with a thrown rock!"
"Nice work. Start setting up our next jump, and pulling fuel from the
reserve tanks. We're halfway between nowhere and nowhere right now, and I
don't want to be stuck here any longer than I have to."
"Aye, sir."
Grant flicked on the shortcom and called, "Power deck!"
"Sanchez here, sir." The voice sounded harried but happy, he noted.
"How's she look, Wu-Shun?"
"Slicker than a stinkscrabbler's egg sacs, sir," came the cheery
reply. "I just have to do some cooldown checks and make sure the crystals are
okay, and then we can power up for jump again."
"Great. Get on it." Grant changed channels, not waiting for an
acknowledgement, knowing that Sanchez wouldn't have bothered anyway.
"Tactical," came the booming, resonant voice over the speakers.
Grant sighed wearily. "Turn down your voxbox, O'Connor," he muttered,
"You're not impressing anyone."
"As you wish, sir," replied a woman's sexy contralto.
"Oh, very funny," Grant snapped. "Look, do you even have a setting on
that thing for your own voice?"
"Of course, sir," said a man's strong, thickly accented tenor. "But
it's been so long since I lost my throat, I don't even remember what it sounds
like."
"Oh, tragedy," Kherkhoulloth sang from his station, "My heart erupts
in a thousand bleeding holes at the very thought of it!"
"I like you, Kherk," came the voice. "That's why I'm not going to
crush you like a rotten skymelon."
"What's Tactical saying?" Grant interjected. "If you don't mind."
"A lot of things, sir," O'Connor replied. "We have ghosts of any
number of things: interstellar hydrogen, artifacts from old stellar flareups,
and we're not far from Suleiman's Oort cloud, so there are comets to deal with
as well."
"I reiterate," Grant said in a level tone. "What's Tactical saying?"
"We're all alone, sir. No immediate risks."
"THANK you, O'Connor," Grant said. "Keep me posted if the deep scans
come up with anything. We'll be out of here in an hour or less, but--"
"Whoa!" O'Connor interrupted him. "I have something here, sir!"
"What is it?" Grant called up the Tactical display at his station, and
Kherkhoulloth looked over at it curiously.
"Metallic object. Don't know how I missed it on the first sweep; it's
big. Really big."
"Take it apart," Grant ordered. "Every scan we have."
"I'm on it, sir. Hector, arm and warm the main guns."
"Main turrets armed and ready," came the imperturbable computer's
voice. "Target select on unidentified object confirmed and tracking."
"I want those scans, Daryavayush!"
"You've got them, sir," O'Connor replied. "Up on the display."
The holovid began streaming numbers across the vague, grainy outline
of the distant object. Grant scanned them, reading aloud, as they went by.
"Cold to almost the background level, no air, no life, little or no
organics, no power sources, no radiation, volume echo versus densitometer
indicating it's hollow, a ship of some kind. But totally dead." Grant shook
his head. "Weird."
"I vote we leave it alone and get out of here," Kherkhoulloth gulped.
"Oh, no! We have to explore it! Let's get in closer and have a look!"
Grant and Kherkhoulloth turned as Jaeger stepped onto the bridge, vidcam in
hand and rolling as he walked. He pointed the powerful camera to the heavens
and looked about for the mysterious object. "I don't see it," he complained.
"We're a good two hours' trip from it," Grant said. "And I'm not sure
we want to get any closer."
"It could be a trap," Kherkhoulloth suggested uneasily. "Let's jump!"
"I recommend exploring it, sir," O'Connor's voice chided. "This is a
very strange occurrence, and I'd hate to pass it up."
"You wouldn't pass up a chance to get a nuke dropped on you, just to
have the experience!" Kherkhoulloth snarled.
"No," O'Connor replied mildly. "I've HAD nukes dropped on me before.
How do you think I ended up looking like I do?"
"Aegh," the Vargr muttered. "Sir, our ESCAPE course is laid in."
"Thanks, Kherk. Plot a low-fuel loop for that...THING out there."
"You're going to look at it?" Kherkhoulloth said disbelievingly.
"WHY, for the Old Ones' sake?"
"Because it shouldn't be there," Grant said. "Other ships have
disappeared in this region before. If it's a ship, it may be salvageable."
He smiled thinly at Kherkhoulloth. "You know, MONEY?"
"Ah!" Kherkhoulloth nodded sagely. "That's one word I understand!"
Grant smiled at that; if nothing else, the navigator was predictable
in his unpredictability. He switched the intercom to all-ship. "Sanchez, can
you give us some maneuver power while running the jump prep?"
"Sure, but not once we start the charging sequence...."
"Hold off on that," Grant said thoughtfully. "we've got something to
look at first."
Jaeger smiled at that. "A real, live ghost ship," he said happily.
"The drama and pathos of a crew lost forever in space, the Flying Dutchman of
the Solomani Rim. It'll make great copy for my next movie."
"I'm hoping it's a real DEAD ghost ship," O'Connor said softly. "If
it's alive and we can't tell that from here, this could be a very interesting
trip, in all the wrong ways."
"We're going," Grant said, taking the control stick. "Prepare for one
point five gees."
Kherkhoulloth slapped a hand to his forehead. "Why am I convinced that
we're going to regret this?"
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