by James Palmer
“A ship was in trouble and we saved the pilot,” said McCoy. “We don’t know why the ship blew. Unless it was the curse.”
Commander Verne glanced self-consciously at the door, which he had locked after it closed moments ago.
“I don’t want to hear any talk about ghost ships and curses,” Verne said, pointing his metal index finger in McCoy’s face. “These space jockeys are superstitious enough as it is.”
“With all due respect, Sir. I think we have a bigger problem.” Betty-12 looked at their commanding officer.
“Oh? Do enlighten me please, Lieutenant.”
“The Star Lance, Sir. It existed at one time, and was lost. It was carrying a top secret drive and classified weaponry.”
“That the Navy would love to get its hands on again,” Verne finished, his mood darkening even more than it had been after the Black Bird 5's arrival. “Not to mention the Orgum-Ree, and every space pirate in the Fringe. If we can believe the stories.”
“We have to check Rand’s story out, Commander,” added McCoy, running his hand through his unruly red hair.
Verne nodded, mulling this over. “We can’t keep it under wraps for long, either. That pilot is down in sickbay babbling away about his precious claim. Not to mention the curse.”
Verne looked at McCoy, then Betty-12. “I want you two to go back out there and find the Lance.”
“But Commander, what about the curse?”
“Don’t ‘but’ me, McCoy. There’s no such thing as curses. Besides,” He softened, gave McCoy a fatherly wink. “If there is a curse, it looks like you and your copilot broke it.”
“How did we do that?” asked Betty-12.
“By coming back alive.”
McCoy shook his head. “OK. We’ll check out the pilot’s story. He ranted his coordinates the whole way back. But what do we do when we find it?”
“Call me and sit tight,” said Verne. “I’ll call the Navy. Eventually. But we need to guard it against anyone else finding it. We’ll move the Black Hole to its location if we have to. Now get out of here.” He thumbed a button on his desk, unlocking the door with a ping.
Betty-12 exited first. “I’ll bring you back a souvenir, Commander,” said McCoy, grinning.
“I’d rather you didn’t. Now move.”
“Yes, sir.”
As they walked to the hangar bay and the Black Bird 5, McCoy noticed their fellow Space Rangers, and even a few Spacers 1st Class, staring at them as they passed, speaking to each other in hushed tones
“Good news travels fast,” whispered McCoy. “Let’s go. The sooner we can confirm Rand’s story the sooner we can get this over with.”
Ten minutes later they were leaving the hollowed out asteroid that was Black Hole headquarters. Once they were at a safe distance, they engaged the skip engine and slipped into null space.
*
Commander Verne didn’t have to wait long for news to get out.
A nurse that was ministering to the pilot’s injuries heard him rambling about the Star Lance. Not knowing exactly what he was ranting about, and having not yet received Commander Verne’s gag order, she let it slip to a member of the maintenance crew, a Spacer 1st Class who was just getting over a case of Valuvian flu and had come in for a follow up visit. This Spacer had scarcely returned to his refueling duties in hangar bay two when he told four others what the nurse overheard. In a confined, isolated space, even one the size of the Black Hole, that was all it took to get the rumor mill going.
Even though no one aboard the Black Hole frequently talked to the Galactic Navy, Space Patrol liaison Lieutenant Commander Sergei Voroshilov was shrewd enough to figure out that something big was going on that he didn’t know about. That would not do. As soon as he finished the day’s paper work (the Galactic Navy required copious records of the Space Patrol’s goings on, in triplicate) he headed for Commander Verne’s office.
Verne’s office door opened at the Russian’s approach.
Verne wanted nothing more than to dive into the nearest escape pod and head anywhere. The gravity well of a gas giant would be preferable than his own office at this moment.
Voroshilov stood in the open doorway for a few seconds, as if trying to read the secret in Verne’s hard features.
Voroshilov stepped inside. “Somebody here is keeping a secret.”
*
“There was a slight burst of Hawking radiation near the coordinates the pilot gave us,” said Betty-12. “I’m laying them in now.” The Black Bird 5 was still skipping through null space, headed toward the vague coordinates the pilot Nathan Rand gave them before drifting off into incoherent babbling.
“Why would the Star Lance be giving off Hawking radiation?” McCoy asked.
“I do not know, but I have a feeling we are about to find out.”
The Black Bird 5 emerged from null space within a few thousand kilometers of the coordinates. They were dangerously near Sector 12's Oort cloud. Ahead of them out the viewport, Mars McCoy and Betty-12 could see dozens of blacker bulges against the blackness of space, while the Black Bird 5's radar lit up hundreds more of the dirty snowballs that made up this system’s ring of comets.
“Our friend must be a comet miner,” said McCoy. “He never expected to find a ship out here. I’ll bet he got too close before he knew what he had.”
“I am detecting no signs of it now,” said Betty-12. “No infrared, no radar blip, no radio bursts. It’s like it was never here.”
“The Oort cloud could be occluding it. We’ll have to go in there.”
“That is very dangerous.”
McCoy sighed. “I know. But it has to be done. Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”
“Roger,” said Betty-12, her hands on the controls.
Slowly, cautiously, Mars McCoy guided the Black Bird 5 into the cloud of comets.
*
Lieutenant Voroshilov took a seat opposite Commander Verne’s desk, his squat frame making him look even shorter than his five feet six inches. He continued to stare at Verne across the desk, like a boxer sizing up an opponent before the first round.
Verne swallowed hard. “What can I do for you today?”
“I have heard rumors,” Voroshilov’s thick Russian accent made the comment sound more threatening than it probably was, but this thought didn’t comfort Verne in the least. He decided to play dumb, at least for now.
“What kind of rumors?”
“I think you know, Commander Verne,” said Voroshilov icily. “And if this is something the Navy should know about, you need to tell me. Now.”
Verne leaned back in his chair and breathed a heavy sigh. “Look. I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.” He glanced down at some unimportant paperwork he had pushed around on his desk all day.
“The Navy will not be pleased that the Space Patrol is keeping secrets.”
Verne sighed, tapping the metal fingers of his right hand on his desk. “It’s nothing. McCoy and Lieutenant Betty rescued a ship pilot who had some crazy story. I sent them to check it out.”
“What kind of crazy story?”
“Something about a ghost ship.”
Voroshilov started, then grew silent. “Space is vast. There are many ghost stories.”
“Yes there are,” agreed Verne. “Would you like to tell me one?”
Voroshilov shrugged. “Not today.”
“Then I guess we have nothing more to discuss.”
Voroshilov nodded and stood. He left Verne’s office without another word.
Verne leaned back in his chair and watched the Navy man go. Good, he thought. Now it’s his turn to sweat a little. The Lance was beyond top secret, in spite of half the galaxy swapping stories about its disappearance. If he would rather stay silent about what he knows than get useful intel the Navy would love to have, then that’s his choice.
Still, he did not like the thought of sending two of his best people into something they did not know about.
*
Navigating the comets that tumbled through space mere kilometers from the Black Bird 5 wasn’t as easy as McCoy hoped, but it was challenging enough to appeal to his adventurous nature. Betty-12 manned the controls as she always did, showing no emotion. She could be walking down a maintenance corridor on the Black Hole for all the expression she showed. McCoy concentrated on the flight controls, relying on sight as much as the instruments; they were close enough to the dirty balls of ice that he could see them through the Black Bird 5's forward viewport. Betty kept her robotic eyes on the instruments and weaponry. If a smaller comet got too close before they had time to maneuver away, she had standing orders to blast it into its constituent elements.
“Any signs of our quarry yet?” McCoy asked after they had been navigating through the comet field for an Earth standard hour.
“Not yet,” said Betty-12. “Nothing but comets as far as the eye can see, and the sensors can detect.”
McCoy grinned at his copilot’s attempt at levity. “If she’s in here, we’ll find her. I’ll bet our pilot friend got so excited he got too close to one of these snowballs. That’s why his ship blew up.”
“His ship’s hull was fully intact,” said Betty-12. “Comet impact does not explain what happened to his vessel.”
“Well,” said McCoy. “I guess that just leaves the curse.”
“You humans are too superstitious,” said his lovely copilot.
“Maybe. But I’ve heard plenty of stories about ships that encountered the Star Lance and were destroyed, and of crewmen that met with some violent end after returning home from their encounter. Stand by for emergency starboard burn.” He hit the thrusters and the ship tilted wildly to the right as a ball of ice and rock twice as large as the Black Bird 5 soared past them.
“That was way too close. We’d better find that thing quick. These guys are getting thicker the further in we go.”
“I just might have something,” said Betty-12, glancing at her screen. “Twelve point one mark eight. Do you see it?”
“I don’t see anything.”
Betty-12 pressed buttons. “Going to infrared. There was something there thirteen nanoseconds ago.”
“You can measure time in nanoseconds?”
“Can’t you?”
McCoy chuckled. “If you see it again for longer than thirteen nanoseconds, give me a holler.”
“There it is again. This time at Twenty-seven oh four mark two.”
“That’s nowhere near the first coordinates,” complained McCoy as he piloted the Black Bird in the direction Betty-12 indicated.
“I know. But it’s there.”
“Well, then so are we.”
What they saw defied all logic.
Ahead and above them was the largest ship Mars McCoy ever saw. It was a long, dark needle with a bulge of drive clusters at one end, drifting at an odd angle among the comets that filled the Oort cloud. She was clearly battered and broken; large holes lined her bulk big enough to drive a Navy destroyer through. Comet shards and other debris drifted through those sections, like dust motes in a cathedral. The outer hull was severely charred and pockmarked by micrometeorite impacts from years in space.
“I hope there’s enough left of her to get registry info for confirmation,” said McCoy.
“Mr. Rand was obviously able to ID her. That should not be a problem.”
McCoy moved them in closer. The comets were beginning to thin out, pushed aside by the Lance’s defense fields, which had remained curiously in operation during its years adrift.
Finding it easier to maneuver, McCoy’s curiosity was winning out over his desire to avoid the curse, and he edged the ship closer.
“Look at her,” he said. “She must have been some ship. I’ll bet the Navy went nuts to lose her.”
“They’ll soon have her back.”
McCoy frowned to think that the bureaucrats of the Galactic Navy would be getting their hands on it. The Star Lance was the stuff of legend, bigger than the Navy. Bigger than all of them.
“We have confirmation,” said Betty-12. “Magnification of the hull shows a serial number still intact and legible. It is the Star Lance.”
“Where have you been all this time?” McCoy said in a low voice, as if he was whispering to the ship. If Betty-12 noticed this strange human behavior, she didn’t comment.
“Your orders, Captain?”
“Just like Verne said, contact him and hang tight.”
“I’ll raise him on the null radio now.”
“Good,” said McCoy. “In the meantime, let’s check this baby out. From a safe distance, of course.”
McCoy hit the rear thrusters, edging the Black Bird 5 closer to the derelict vessel.
“I am detecting null space distortion,” said Betty-12, staring at her screens. “Also EM activity, especially on the radio end of the spectrum.”
“The null space distortion could explain why Rand’s null radio was acting up,” said McCoy. He gritted his teeth and pushed the Black Bird closer. He thought about the rescued pilot and his ruined ship and wondered how he could keep them from suffering the same fate. Faint light from the system’s distant sun limned the derelict in a ghostly glow. Seeing it here, like this, in one of the most unlikely of places made McCoy think of something.
“Where was the Star Lance when it disappeared?”
Betty-12 paused, checking her internal memory banks. “It disappeared after entering null space, just after it left Hyben Station.”
“And they got all the way out here in twenty-seven years?”
Betty-12 understood where he was going with this. “Drifting as it is, even at sub-light velocities, would take the Star Lance at least two hundred years to reach its current coordinates.”
“Exactly. I think I know why so few people have ever stumbled onto her before.”
Betty-12 nodded. “The null drive is still operational.”
“Yes. That also explains why people all over the galaxy claim to have spotted her. She keeps skipping in and out of normal space.”
Mars McCoy hit the com button on the null radio. “Black Bird 5 to Black Hole. Come in, Black Hole.”
“Black Hole here. What can we do for you, Captain McCoy?”
“Get Commander Verne on the double. I have a private, his ears only message.”
“Roger.”
While they waited, McCoy scanned the derelict Star Lance with his naked eye, admiring the Navy’s handy work. For a bunch of bureaucrats, they created the deadliest piece of flying steel he had ever seen. The Lance was listing horribly, punched through with holes, but everywhere McCoy could still see signs that this had once been a grand ship, and he wondered why the Navy never commissioned another to replace it.
Mars McCoy and Betty-12 watched as the ship rolled past them, the light of this system’s distant star illuminating shattered conning bubbles, gun turrets bristling with blast-cannons, protrusions containing sensor arrays. A small comet about the size of the Black Bird 5 caromed soundlessly off one of the sensor nodules, sending ice bits flying that shimmered like sparks of electricity.
“She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”
“I do not understand the question. “The Star Lance is perfectly symmetrical, if that’s what you mean.”
McCoy scowled. “What is taking them so long to get Verne on the radio?”
“It’s this null space distortion. I suppose we were lucky to get through at all.
“B-black . . . to ack Bird . . .,” the null radio sputtered as it came to life.
“Black Bird 5 here,” said McCoy. “We have found the Star Lance. I repeat. We have found the Star Lance.”
“Holding position,” said Betty-12. “The null space distortion is waning here.”
More static from the null radio. Then, “Sit tight, McCoy.” It was Commander Verne’s voice. “We’re . . . inging the lack Hole . . . you.”
“Did I hear that right? He’s bringing the entire Black Hole here?”
“That
is what I gathered.”
“Roger that, Commander."
“That’s probably a good idea,” said McCoy. “We’ve got pirates.”
“What? Where?”
McCoy pointed off to their right, where a rainbow spiral of light, the telltale sign of null space distortion, just appeared, ejecting a familiar and lethal-looking attack cruiser.
“It’s the Purge,” said Betty-12, noticing the ship’s telltale pirate markings.
“The Star Tigress!” shouted McCoy. “She must have gotten Rand’s distress signal too. This makes things much more interesting.”
“Their blast-cannons are energized,” said Betty-12, checking her instruments.
“Wait,” said McCoy. “Don’t we even get a hello?”
“I don’t think Captain Yin is in the mood for pleasantries. Recommend evasive maneuvers.”
McCoy glanced at his copilot. “You think?”
The Purge fired its forward blaster-cannons, the yellow beams of energy searing through space just ahead of them, melting comet fragments instantly in their wake.
“Whoa,” said McCoy. “That was close enough to blister the paint.”
“They are hailing us.”
“Put it on screen.”
A small section of the Black Bird 5's viewport vanished and was replaced by the darkened interior of the pirate ship. Framed in the middle of the viewer was the beautiful face of Captain Sonya Yin, her long blue black hair twisted into a tight ponytail. Her eyes widened when she saw McCoy’s face. “We have legal claim to this wreckage,” she hissed.
McCoy shook his head. “Sonya, Sonya, Sonya. When did pirates start making legal claims?”
Captain Yin visibly bristled at McCoy’s use of her first name, but said nothing.
“This is property of the Galactic Navy, and therefore is exempt from salvage claims made against it. Besides, everyone who ever found it died or went insane. You want to be next on that list?”
“If anyone dies here today, it will be you, McCoy. Now stay out of my way or get your molecules scattered among these comets.”
McCoy tousled his thick red hair and gave his best boyish, devil-may-care grin. “As fun as that sounds, I think we’ll pass.”
Sonya Yin gave a long, icy laugh. “Such bravado. You’re all alone out here, McCoy. It’s just you and your robot.”