by Aaron Crash
At the back of the triangle were the engine room, the cargo bay, and the starcycle port. The bottom level held the entrance to the cellar, a galley, sick bay, and Cali’s cage near the front, next to the library. And yeah, the primary weapons locker. This one wasn’t so well hidden but shouldn’t have anything illegal. Hopefully.
Blaze gazed out a scummy window at the familiar contours of the Lizzie Borden, the scored blue metal, the gray emergency plates, the black windows, the forward plasma guns, and the fusion torpedo bays. Damn, they were going to see the illegal torpedoes right away. It was going to cost them a fortune. They might have to take some real high-priced bounties to pay the bills…bounties that had nothing to do with the supernatural. Goddammit all to hell.
Blaze sighed.
And it got worse.
The robot’s blue hologram emitter flared, and a fifty-inch screen came to life in the air between them. A face filled that screen. Director Alvin Denning. The bureaucrat had inky black hair, parted on one side, and a smile that would scare small children. He wore the official IPC uniform: a suit, a tie, and a name badge clipped to his pocket. “So, Captain Ramirez, we meet again. I can’t be there in person, so I am using this RJX P13rce unit to inspect your ship.”
“Not captain,” Blaze growled. “If you want to call me names, start with asshole. I’d prefer that to captain. I never had much use for officers. If you want to call me Gunnery Sergeant Ramirez, that would be just fine with me.”
Denning’s projected smile turned even smarmier. “Your Astral Corp rank aside, you command this ship. So, Captain Ramirez, are we ready to start?”
Being called a captain didn’t improve Blaze’s mood. “Fine.”
The P13rce’s screen blipped off, but Denning’s face continued to glow in the robot’s blue eye.
Katrina cleared her throat. “Okay, so we need eye scans from all of you. You have been charged with the destruction of IPC property, and the fines have been levied. This inspection is required to see if there are any other infractions. Like the illegal fusion torpedoes that you’ve been warned about before.”
“Yeah, we meant to take care of that.” Blaze rolled his eyes.
Elle didn’t give him a second glance. She was checking out Katrina, and not at all subtly.
Bill clicked. Fernando translated. “Bill would like you all to know that Humans and their laws are laughable. He detests all of you.”
Ling lifted his nose and squinted his eyes. “I must say, Fernando, while I don’t mind, others might find your repetition of Bill’s misanthropy annoying. Personally, to me, it’s a comfort, like a well-repeated mantra.”
Katrina lifted her pad and scanned Blaze’s eyes. “Gunnery Sergeant Ramon Ramirez, commander of the Lizzie Borden. An interesting name.”
Blaze liked that Katrina had used his old rank. Discharged or not, he’d earned that title, paid for it in blood and violence.
Elle offered up the history of their ship. “We named her after the first ghost we captured. It was an old serial killer from Earth that murdered the first crew. We found her adrift.”
“Ghosts? Really?” Katrina smiled. “We know you claimed her as salvage. It’s an interesting story.” The auditor scanned Elle next. “Elle Ramirez, second in command, and Ramon Ramirez’s sister.”
“Little sister,” Blaze said.
“By two whole minutes.” Elle shook her head. She hated to be reminded he’d come out first, December 31, 11:58 PM, two minutes to midnight in the year 2665. She was born right at midnight on the first day of 2666. Seconds later, hell had literally broken loose, killing their father.
Katrina scanned Ling next. “I can’t pronounce your real name, for obvious reasons, but you have an alias. You are Ling, the security officer. You must have a very difficult job, busting ghosts and chasing down ghoulies.” She laughed at her little jab.
“I have a great deal of help,” Ling said seriously.
The auditor did Bill next. “Again, a Phasmida name I can’t pronounce. They call you Bill. You’re the chief engineer.”
“We prefer the term Clicker. The idea that our ancient culture can be reduced to Terran stick insects is rather insulting,” Fernando said. “And Bill doesn’t speak Human, though he understands it when he can force himself to listen to your primate chatter.”
Bill nodded, somehow managing to make his insect features convey his disgust.
“Sorry,” the auditor said. “I don’t have to deal much with Clickers and Meelah. The IPC lets the Union deal with trans-species investigations.”
Katrina scanned Fernando and said, “And you are the doctor.”
“Yes,” Fernando clicked. “I find Human anatomy fascinating. You have such an array of glands and secretions. And your sexual appetites are quite complex and captivating. Some bodies, of course, are more attractive than others.” He regarded Elle.
The Onyx witch glared at him. “Okay, Katrina, we’re all scanned. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Katrina turned on Blaze. “Gunnery Sergeant Ramirez—”
Denning cut her off. “Dammit, he’s Captain Ramirez, Trina.”
The auditor inhaled deeply and let out the breath slowly, struggling to keep in control. “Blaze, do I have your permission to board your starship and run a level-two inspection?”
“Yes, Trina, you do,” he said. So far, he liked this auditor a lot.
The airlock whooshed open, and they walked through a short corridor to a ladder that led into the ship. The P13rce robot shifted around, shortening its arms and folding its legs, tucking them in until it was walking on its knees. The fleas continued to whir over the skin during the reconfiguration.
They moved down the top deck’s hall. All of the spiders had been swept out by the flush, but crusty white foam from the fire suppression system clung to the walls and the floor. They went through the master suite, blackened and ruined. Blaze glanced at the bed. Things had been going well with Selena until she had spidered out. Selena? Or was it Serena? Damn.
Trina ticked things off her list. They walked down the central stairway and checked out the cargo bay and starcycle port next. Denning’s robot reconfigured itself to walk upright. Denning, on the screen, frowned at the acid holes in the deck. A doorway connected the cargo bay to the engine room. They crowded inside, standing in front of control screens winking above control boards. Trina took notes on the purple glow of the SWD coils. To attain faster-than-light speed, the spacetime wave drive created massive waves that both pushed the ship and pulled her through reality to cross the vastness of space. Otherwise, for jetting around planets, they had blue-fire engines.
“Your engine room is impressive,” Trina said. “I’ve not seen one better configured.”
Bill clicked. Fernando didn’t translate his hate and cursing. Bill adored the ship, but hated everything and everyone else, except for his brother. They took a passageway from the engine room to the Clickers’ suite. It was a sparse space, the only “furniture” honeycombs on the walls where Bill and Fernando curled up to sleep. They made the combs themselves, spitting up a goop that, once hardened, they could shape into their ancestral beds. Gross, but the Clickers liked it that way.
A few spare parts and engines lay on a table. And a loose hydrogen shell. Before Trina or Denning could see it, Blaze swept the round into his hand and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans.
So far, the good-looking auditor and Denning hadn’t found anything that would totally screw them. They just might pass the inspection.
Next they entered Ling’s quarters, which lay between the Clickers’ room and the bridge. Hydroponic tower gardens filled the place, growing Meelah leaves, the main diet of space sloths. Fuzzy green caterpillars dangled from silken strands. Ling ate the insects once a week, on Sundays, for the protein. Other than that, it was just leaves for the Shaolin sloth.
Elle’s room was next, across the corridor. Her suite was all red silks and black candles. The walls were scrawled with ancient markings done in b
lack and red paint. She hooked an arm around Trina and motioned to the silks and furs covering her sleeping dais. “I can give you a full tour of the bed later.”
Trina glanced at the P13rce unit and whispered to Elle, “Keep it professional. Denning is out to get you for some reason.”
“Oh, we know his reasons,” Elle replied easily. “We have a long history with your boss. He doesn’t believe in Onyx energy either.”
Denning heard that. The robot’s blue eye turned on them both. Blaze sighed.
Denning’s pompous voice buzzed through speakers on the P13rce unit. “The existence of the so-called Onyx phenomena has never been verified by IPC research scientists. It’s a myth. A scary story spacers tell their children.”
Elle’s eyes flashed in anger. His sister could argue about the malicious energy for hours. “It’s because Onyx energy only reacts to those who believe in it. We know, through quantum studies, that the observer has a direct effect on what they observe. Your scientists go in doubting, and so they see nothing. However, you’ve seen all the video—”
Denning’s mechanized laughter cut her off. “Doctored video and hearsay. You’re a dangerous lunatic trying to scare IPC’s good consumers. They do not believe in your stupid religion, and neither do I. Even the Clickers don’t believe in your Onyx nonsense.”
All eyes went to Bill and Fernando. Bill clicked, and they all knew what he was saying. Fernando, though, had another point of view. “Bill hates you. And while officially, my people do not accept the Onyx phenomena, there are those in our research labs who understand the power. And they have definite reasons why they want to keep it a myth. And none of them are good.”
Blaze frowned. “Can we get on with it? I want to see how much we owe and if we’re going to do any jail time.”
“Oh, you will be going away for a long time,” Denning said through the robot. “I’m going to make sure of that. This inspection is just a formality.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Trina said under her breath.
Then they went to do a quick tour of the third deck. Katrina stopped in front of the first airlock into the cellar. A narrow spiral staircase would lead her to the second airlock and then the third, but Blaze hoped their alibi would stop Trina from going down there.
“That leads to the secondary hold, doesn’t it?” she asked.
The Clickers and Ling stood back, putting their backs against the wall. Elle and Blaze stepped forward to stand next to Trina and the P13rce unit.
Blaze nodded. “Yes, that’s what we call the cellar. And if you notice on our charter, you’ll see that it’s been checked and cleared. We have special dispensation.” That had been a gift from a previous auditor who’d been haunted by a dead husband. That very husband was in the cellar thanks to one of Elle’s snare spells.
Katrina nodded. “But we have to look in there. We can’t ignore it.”
“Open it, Ramirez! Now!” Denning’s voice broke from the computer.
Elle dropped a feather out of her pouch, and it drifted to the floor. She hissed a word in her Onyx speak. The syllables vibrated, and then she said in a malevolent voice, “We have special dispensation. You do not need to look in the secondary storage.”
All expression left Trina’s face. “I do not need to look in secondary storage. We can skip it.”
“What?” Denning thundered. He was speaking through the robot and so wasn’t affected by Elle’s suggestion spell. “Of course we have to look there. It’s an inspection of the entire ship.”
“Look again,” Katrina said. “It’s been filled with hullfoam. That’s what it says in the reports. Even if we opened the door, all we would see would be a solid space.”
Hullfoam was spacer tech designed to fill cracks in the hull. So that was how the last auditor got around the forms. Clever.
Blaze shot Elle a look. “That’s right. We can open the door, but once the hullfoam hits oxygen, it’s going to fill the hallway. It’s a problem we need to fix.”
“Next time, Ramirez,” Denning grumbled.
“What a complete douche nozzle,” Elle whispered under her breath.
That was an understatement. If Denning hadn’t been so incompetent, he would’ve reviewed the file and would’ve seen the issue. He could’ve warned them to solve the problem before the inspection. He probably thought he’d intimidate them into compliance. Which was a laugh. After what they’d just faced? Denning and the IPC seemed pathetic.
Sick bay had light auburn walls, brown floors, and a spattering of recovery beds—all plain and unremarkable. The galley could use a good cleaning, but none of them liked to cook, and so none of them thought about cleaning it much. Most of the time, Blaze and Elle ate protein packs integrated with water in a stew of any number of flavors. Pork green chili, chili Colorado, beef stew, chicken noodle soup, chickpea curry, spicy lentils, and the list went on and on. Elle sometimes made tortillas or a loaf of bread and never quite cleaned it up.
Ling had his leaves and caterpillars. The Clickers preferred a high-protein fungus they grew on one of Ling’s tower gardens.
Blaze figured their next crew member would be a cook. He was getting tired of reintegrated slop even though it came in a dizzying number of flavors. And though fresh fruits and vegetables were hard to come by, if they had an actual cook, he could come up with a garden and figure it all out. Now, when they wanted greens, they’d hit Ling up for his Meelah leaves for salads. Clicker fungus was completely disgusting.
Four more rooms—the weapons locker, Cali’s cage, the library, and the bridge. They didn’t have a choice about any of the rest of the place. Elle opened the doors to the armory, and the auditor crept in followed by her robot boss, reconfigured to fit between the shelves. Plasma rifles lined the walls, along with an array of pistols. Elle’s fusion handgun sat there, but Katrina walked right by it. Cases of ammo for the plasma weapons were stacked next to a whole crate of hydrogen shells. Dammit, Blaze thought he had moved that.
“Killing ghosts takes a lot of ammunition,” Katrina quipped.
“The ghosts are dead already, sweetie,” Elle answered. “We use these guns for Human bounties. I cast spells to deal with the undead.”
“Spells, sure.” The auditor picked up an old-fashioned shrapnel grenade. “The undead. Sounds so scary.”
Denning walked past another box of hydrogen shells. He stopped, and a mechanical flea crawled up over his head to sit on his neck. The IPC director was staring right at the box. This was it. But a red light winked across the blue, and the eyes turned purple for a second before turning back to blue. He continued walking in great slamming stomps. Katrina checked off their inventory of weapons, only looking for what was on the list and discounting anything extra.
Blaze and Elle exchanged glances. Were they going to get through this? Even if they didn’t find any violations in the weapons locker, they still had Cali’s room. Not presenting her as a crewmember during the initial scanning would bust them.
“Onyx energy detected,” Lizzie’s computer voice broke through comms.
Blaze tapped behind his ear, and his combat display came online. He glanced through all three decks, and there wasn’t any sign of Onyx energy. The cellar glowed, but it was always glowing. Always.
Elle slipped a little piece of mirror from her pocket and cast another spell, growling out the verbal component. It was a detect Onyx spell. She held up the mirror and then shook her head. “Nothing, Blaze. Lizzie must’ve made a mistake.”
“Like with the spider breeder demon?” Blaze asked. Bad mojo had hit their ship, he could feel it. No way would Denning and his ginger underling have missed the hydrogen ammo. And what Denning said next?
“We are done withhh thhhis section. Let us go to the bridge.” The voice seemed different, breathier, emphasizing the H’s.
Cali’s qaurters, as well as the library, were right down the way. He should’ve demanded to see the entire level. The last auditor they’d had hadn’t made any provisi
ons for the forward-most quarters at the front third level of the ship. The library/guest room wasn’t a big deal. Cali’s cage? The claw marks on the walls would definitely pique the IPC’s curiosity.
But Denning wasn’t following protocol. What the hell?
The robot led the way, tromping up the stairs. Katrina followed. Blaze took a minute to hit the armory. He went through and handed out plasma pistols to his crew, but to Elle, he tossed a big holster and her fusion pistol. One of them should have a star-energy weapon just in case the plasma weapons didn’t work on whatever bad thing had crawled into the ship.
As they walked up the circular staircase, he asked Elle, “So, you can’t do another flush, can you?”
She shook her head. “No, that spell messed me up. I’m not going to be able to do it again. Not for a long time. And Lizzie wouldn’t handle it so well either. I’m thinking the issue we just had with the Onyx energy might have been leftovers from the ritual.”
“So, you have snare on hand?” Blaze asked.
“I have snare, and I have exorcise, but I’m running low.” She buckled on her holster and stopped to tie the strap around her thigh. “Those back-to-back spells took a lot out of me.”
Blaze nodded grimly. He turned to Ling and the Clickers. “Keep an eye out,” he told them. “Something is going on. Something isn’t right with Denning.”
Ling had his concussive bo staff. Plasma-enhanced metal bands tipped each end of the length of wood. He thumped it down the hallway as they walked to the bridge. “Listen to the Meelah inside you, Blaze. The universe inside has the wisdom you need. Everything is Meelah, and Meelah is everything.”
“Maybe,” Blaze growled. “But I’m glad I have this.” He patted the plasma pistol he’d tucked into the back of his jeans.
Fernando clicked. “Ling, your overuse of the word Meelah damages the meaning of the word. If language is a metaphor, then words should have specific, precise meanings.”
“Not the time for philosophy,” Elle said sternly.
“Not philosophy, darling Elle, but linguistics.”