by Ted Blasche
With the grace of a Saren she-leopard, the captain turned her back to him and sauntered toward the exit. As she crossed the floor, two things caught Chester's eye. The second, a bone handled blade in its well-worn scabbard, dissuaded his attention from the first. He watched until the tavern door slammed shut behind her before collaring the barkeep.
"What's with that Nutter broad?"
"You mean Captain Nutbuster?" He continued polishing a glass as he answered, "Word has it she served as first mate on a Labritine cruise ship. Those alien pervs have some strange ideas about the duties of a first mate, but she stuck it out. As soon as she saved enough for a down payment on a junker, she jumped ship and never looked back." Filling the glass with ale from his tap, the barkeep placed it in front of Chester. "This one's on the house."
"Why?"
"Folks around here think her Labritine experience turned the captain real sour on two things. If there's anything Nutbuster hates worse that aliens, it's men. Can't blame her much, but knowing that won't make a man's life on her ship any easier."
Chester took a deep draw on the ale. "I've got to take the job; it's the only offer I've received in six months. Why does everything bad happen to me? Everybody treats me like I'm cursed."
"Losing a ship will do that for anybody." The keep leaned closer. "If I were you, I think I'd opt for debtor's prison, but if you're going to take a birth on the Amazon, be forewarned, Sharky's a mean drunk and an expert with that blade on her hip. I've seen her fillet a couple of loudmouths here...all in 'self-defense,' mind you. She never starts a fight, but she always ends 'em. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. That way you just might avoid getting spaced without a suit."
Finishing his drink, Chester left to check out his new berth, finding it at the farthest end of the spaceport near the class one warehouses. The Amazon squatted like a fat frog on the near edge of a like-constructed fleet of transports.
Initial impressions are usually accurate, but this time they came up short. This squat freighter matched the barkeep's description of a junker, bereft of the sensor and communications pods plastered on its sister transports. At first glance, its outer hull showed the meteor scars of a thousand near misses. Chester climbed into the cargo hatch, pleasantly surprised to find the ship's insides pristine. He wandered in the general direction of a string of curses emanating from the engine room.
Her jumpsuit covered in oil, Sharky emerged, a spanner wrench in one hand and her blade in the other. "Oh, it's you." She sheathed the blade. "So you're accepting my terms?"
Swallowing his pride, Chester nodded. "Yes, Cap'n, minimum wage with bonus on arrival at each destination."
"That's half-share bonus until you prove you're more an asset than a liability."
"Yes, ma'am." He wanted to yell, "I'm a licensed captain, not some dimwit-crate-pusher." Only the image of debtor's prison kept his lips cemented shut.
"Good, you can start by checking our stowage. We're transporting a consignment of fuel and foodstuffs to an archeological dig on some God-forsaken rock circling one of the rim stars. We'll be taking a few shortcuts so I want everything secured like your grandmother's corset."
"Where do I bunk?"
"There's a hammock in the cargo area. Your predecessor slept there"−she paused−"until he mouthed off once too many times."
"You fired him?"
"In a manner of speaking." The glint in her eyes and wicked turn of her lips cautioned against any further discussion of this topic. "Now get your butt down into the cargo bay and double check everything. I don't trust the dockside rent-a-slave labor pool."
Following orders, Chester inspected the cargo, finding several weak lashings and a few completely unsecured crates. He barely finished his inspection when the launch warning sounded. Scrambling for his hammock, he snapped the safety straps in place as the ship's thrusters fired full-throttle, slamming him with ten Gs worth of added weight.
Once the FTL drive kicked in, the ship entered an artificial quantum null zone where the quiet calm of transition space prevailed. Thinking the captain might be more communicative when there was nothing else to do, Chester climbed up to the bridge. He found Sharky busily laying in several alternate flight routes.
"Cap'n, ma'am."
Sharky spun her command chair to face him. "What are you doing on my bridge, Mule?"
"Mule?"
"You heard me. You're my mule, a pack animal to load and unload cargo. That's all you are to me, so before you do something stupid, I'll warn you one time and one time only. Mules belong in the hold, there's no place for you on my bridge, not now, not ever. So get your ass back down to the cargo hold where you belong, and don't let me catch you straying from there."
"But I was pilot certified and a licensed captain..."
"That's past tense, and don't you forget it. As long as I'm the captain, you're a mule, and if I catch you anywhere near my bridge again, I'll skin you alive." Her hand dropped to rest on the bone handle of her blade. "On my ship you'll never touch a bridge control."
Gulping, Chester backed toward the hatch. "Yes, ma'am." He took the steps two at a time and didn't stop running until he was safely tucked behind cases of foodstuffs at the far end of the cargo hold. Other than venturing to the ship's head, located between the bridge and the hold, he stayed put until the ship dropped back into normal space at their destination.
"Prepare to transfer cargo," Sharky's voice crackled over the intercom. "Their shuttle will be docking in zero-ten. Suit up if you don't want to see your lungs get sucked from your mouth."
Chester scrambled to don his gear, barely locking down his faceplate when a thump announced the clamp of a shuttle to the Amazon's hull. The danger light flashed red as the air compressors removed the hold's atmosphere. When the light ceased its warning, cargo bay doors swung in to expose the shuttle's open bay. Two suited shuttle crewmen pushed an oversized crate into the center of the Amazon's hold, and then quickly began transferring fuel containers and foodstuff crates into their empty cargo hold.
Chester circled the new cargo before keying his communicator. "What's this?"
At first, he received no reply, but after repeating the question, one of the crew turned to stare into Chester's eyes. "Alien artifact. The eggheads want to transfer it to their university for further study."
"And good riddance, too!" the other crewman added.
"What'cha mean by that?"
"The damn thing's creepy." All three men stopped loading to gawk at the crate.
"Yeah," his partner added, "strange noises, smells, thumps, some kind of scratching...Scary stuff."
Sharky appeared in the cargo hatch, her faceplate steaming slightly as she ordered, "Stop playing 'What's in the box?' and get you asses to work!" She pushed a crate with her boot. "I'm sealing the hatch in zero five, you'd better have all that cargo transferred, or you'll be going hungry." She pushed off toward the bridge.
Chester picked up a crate of dehydrated potatoes. "Better kick it, guys, she means business."
True to her word, the hatch activated five minutes later, closing as the last crewman leaped across to his shuttle. The captain fired-up her main drive but left a hard vacuum in the cargo hold until she activated the FTL. Chester's oxygen gauge was touching red before the klaxon sounded the return of normal pressure. Cautiously cracking his facemask, Chester sniffed, relieved to smell the stale air.
Muttering profanities, he stripped off his suit and stomped up to the bridge. Careful not to cross the threshold, he yelled, "Hey, Cap'n, why'd you leave me trapped in my suit like that?"
Sharky dropped her head to glare from under her eyebrows. "You aren't getting paid to have a coffee klatch with the locals."
"All I did was ask what we're hauling. I thought it would help to know how to handle it."
"That's your first mistake." She glared at him.
Trying not to sound defensive, he asked, "What mistake is that?
"You don't do any of the thinking on my ship."
> "But..."
"The last time you tried thinking on your own, it cost you a perfectly good ship. I pay you for your back, not your brain, Mule."
Chester began, "That's not fair."
Sharky cut him off. "I don't have to be fair. I just have to be the captain. Now get your butt back to the cargo hold and stay there."
Chester laid low in the hold for the next two days, but then he heard those creepy sounds. The first time, he almost jumped out of his skin, falling out of his hammock to bounce on the deck. What the...? "Is that you, Cap'n?"
Hearing no response, he decided that it must have been a dream and crawled back into his hammock. What was that? They woke him again. Must be loose crates rubbing together. He dragged himself out of bed to check, but every strap was secure. Maybe I'm losing my mind. No, I lost that when I took this scum-suckin' job.
Once again, the muffled thumps woke him, and Chester lay in his hammock, trying to make sense of the noise. When he heard it again, the lack of sleep coupled with his innate curiosity spurred him to investigate further. After checking the general stowage, he approached the monster of a box they uploaded at the last stop. What did those guys say about noises? Maybe some critter got trapped in this thing.
Grabbing an oversized crowbar, he broke the metal bands securing the crate's wooden superstructure. He pried off one slat, and the soft sounds intensified. Whatever you are, you had better be warm and cuddly. If not, you're going out the hatch. He enlarged his opening but remained unable to identify the source. A different sound reached his ears. Was it mewing or perhaps weeping? What the hell is making that noise?
He pulled slat after slat from the crate, ripping off the cloth padding until he exposed a gargantuan, ornately festooned fire pit. Clipped into a recess at the side of the pit he spied an ash shovel and a fireplace poker, each of them gold-plated with thumb-sized gems embedded in their handles. Chester wrenched the poker from its mount for closer examination, hefting it in his hand. This thing feels like solid gold.
Dollar signs dancing before his eyes, Chester checked the ash shovel. Its weight also suggested gold, not the iron or steel he had expected. He sat it next to the poker and continued his exploration, eventually finding a small lever that, when pulled, released a false front on the fire pit. The sound, definitely weeping, came from this compartment. Kneeling to peek inside, he spied a jewel-encrusted vase that promised even greater riches.
Pulling the urn from its hiding place, he twisted the cover, breaking the wax seal holding it in place. A puff of green smoke billowed from the open container, slowly coalescing into a vaguely human shape. The emerald body could pass for Captain Nuster's, but there the comparison stopped cold. Ears twice the size of his own rose to points on top while curling into hooks where the lobes should be. Eyes the size of oyster shells each held the pearl of an iris in a head devoid of hair.
Suddenly moving close to stare him in the eyes, the apparition demanded, "Who are you, strange creature?"
The voice grabbed him like a vice, compelling him to answer, "Chester Norfer, crewman on the cargo ship Amazon." Resisting the power of her presence, he added with as much force as he could muster, "Who the hell are you?"
"How dare you..." The green body expanded toward him.
Picking up the poker, he swung it with all of his might. The makeshift weapon passed through the green mist causing it to swirl, small eddies spinning off before reforming as her body. "Oooow, that tickles. Do it again!" When Chester accommodated her demand, she giggled like a schoolgirl. "Harder...harder...faster...more...again...please.
After several minutes of major league batting swings accompanied by a few overhead tennis slams, the green cloud cried out, "Enough! I can't take any more."
Sweating from the exertion, Chester plopped down on the deck, resting his back against the fire pit. "What's your name?"
Formally, she announced, "I am Giva, Goddess of the Night. You're leaning against my altar."
"Funny, it looks like one hell of a big barbeque pit."
"On occasion, it has served that purpose, but that was long ago."
"Are you a ghost?"
Tittering, Giva answered, "To your species, I suppose I am." She giggled once more. "This body was once as solid as yours. We Oraneans pass through stages of existence beginning as liquid, then turning solid and eventually becoming the gaseous state you see now. In the last state, we are considered gods."
"Why the god status?"
She ticked off the reasons. "In our final stage, we're shape shifters, impervious to anything that might kill a solid, and there's the power of telepathy."
At that moment, Chester realized that she wasn't talking to him, yet her words were forming in his mind, language and syntax perfect. "Telepathic? How do you do it?"
She edged closer. "I send a small tendril that permeates the receiver's brain, allowing thoughts to transfer between us."
For the first time, Chester noticed a paper-thin, gossamer filament of green encircling his head. He blinked. "Oh!"
She soothed, "Don't worry; it's perfectly harmless and quite effective."
Recovering, he whispered, "This would make a fantastic parlor trick."
"But not as spectacular as whole body possession, although accomplishing that feat is a bit tricky."
"Why would you want to do that anyway?" He saw a second diaphanous tendril floating toward his ear.
Her thoughts came through crystal clear. "After eons of disembodied existence, one comes to miss the corporeal senses. The smell of a flower, a sweet sound of lute playing in the rain, the beauty of a summer sunset, to taste anything." She paused, drawing down into a ball. "And a man's touch." Her green cloud swirled before settling into a perfectly proportioned feminine shape once more. It shimmered like a bowl of gelatin. "How I miss that!"
"I'd offer to let you possess me, but there isn't much in the way of sensory stimulation in this ship."
Giva sent a tendril to caress his face. "So sweet, but impossible. Only a body of the same gender would be compatible." They sat in silence until she added, "But were that to happen, we could explore many possibilities. I would revel in the touch of a man such as you."
As Chester's mind rolled over those possibilities, a new question reared its head. "How did you get sealed into that jug?"
"Imprisoned for acts not of my doing. Cast into a gilded urn to spend eternity in isolation. However small, your wielding of the ceremonial fire-stick was the first feeling I've experienced in a millennium of your years." Giva enveloped him. "And I want more. I would give anything, do anything, make any sacrifice to be solid again."
"There's always Sharky, my captain."
"Captain?"
"She owns this tub and that makes her the pilot of record at every docking station."
"So this owner-captain being is the only other body on the ship. That limits my...our choices considerably."
"Sure, but she's the right gender and not a bad choice." Under his breath, he added, "For a lot of reasons."
Again, Giva's tendril tickled his mind. "Yes, she would be ideal."
"Okay!" Chester barely contained his excitement. "How do we go about this body swap thing?"
"It's not a swap," she answered. "I must assume complete control of her. Once I'm whole again, I will provide you with...a more...tangible...reward."
Experiencing the sensuous undertone of her offer, Chester leapt to his feet. "What do I need to do?"
"Entice her to approach within a body length of my altar where my power is strongest. I'll do all the rest."
Running to the bridge, Chester shouted from the threshold, "Captain, we got a problem!"
Sharky spun to face him, a cloud of anger forming around her face. "What did you screw up this time?"
"It's that thing we're transporting for those grave-robber guys. Come quick!"
The captain followed him into the hold where he stopped next to the opened crate. "Look at this."
As Sharky stepped closer, the
green mist rose from the altar, enveloping and melting into her body. Without making a sound, she went rock-rigid before collapsing to the floor and remaining so for nearly a half hour. Then she sat up and began rubbing her body.
Hugging herself with both arms, Giva/Sharky exclaimed, "Oh, this feels so-o-o-o good!" With a fluid motion, she rose to her feet. "Your captain was a strong one, more so than I expected."
"Yeah, she was a tough one, but not bad to look at." Chester moved closer, reaching out to touch her body.
Giva/Sharky took him by the hand, instead. "You must show me this ship and everything that makes it run."
A wrinkle crossed his brow. "But Sharky knows all of that. You only have to tap into her memories."
Again, she snuggled closer, hooking Chester's arm with hers. "Alas, she is no more. There's only enough room in this magnificent body for one of us, so she had to die." Softly and sensuously, Giva rubbed against him. "But that's better for both of us, is it not?"
Shaking his head, Chester muttered, "It a damn good thing I'm a pilot, otherwise we'd be screwed."
"Yes, but you must teach me everything you know."
"Don't worry your little head about that. I can handle the ship," he chuckled, "while you handle me."
"Oh, no! That won't do, won't do at all."
"Why not?"
"Think about it. I'm supposed to be the owner and registered captain of this ship. How would it look if I were to suddenly forget everything I know?"
After a moment's thought, Chester agreed, "Yeah, we have to keep everything looking legit or somebody might get suspicious." He aimed her toward the engine room. "We'll start here."
Giva proved a quick learner, able to thumb through tech manuals at an unbelievable rate. In an hour, she knew more than Chester, a fact he found embarrassing.
Slamming the last tech manual shut, she bluntly ordered, "Take me to the bridge." Seeing his reaction, she smiled coyly. "Please?"
Chester followed her up the stairs to the bridge, actually ogling her behind, no longer intimidated by the blade swinging in sync with her hips. At the hatch, she stepped through, beckoning him to follow. "Show me the controls."