Ship of Ghosts

by David Bischoff

  “Keep me in suspense no longer,” said Sha Sutt.

  “The race, Captain, was known as the Nokmadi. They were explorers, it has been said. And carriers of knowledge that has seeded many legends amongst the planets. Most interesting of all these legends are the stories of holy gems.”

  “Holy gems? Say more.” Sutt could feel her heart rate speed up.

  “Objects with tremendous capabilities, Captain. Some say they are not jewels as such, but vessels of power—what some people would call power gems, a melding of natural properties and technology far beyond our capabilities. The Forthari have legends of such gems going back a thousand cycles: they say they were possessed by an ancient race who used them to see through the chaos of the universe. There is a similar legend among the Koppalu: they say that such gems were used to wake the dead. Their scientists investigated the legend for many cycles, but they were unable to make progress. However, neither the gems nor the ancient race said to possess them have ever been encountered by a Peacekeeper force, and some have said that we can dismiss the reports as the childlike beliefs of lesser races.”

  It was true that such beliefs were officially discouraged. What the navigator could not report was what the insiders in Peacekeeper missions knew—what Captain Sha Sutt knew. There were indeed power gems in the universe. Some had been located. Nothing with any of the puissance or potency described in legend, of course—but artifacts nonetheless, crystalline silicon forms of quanta-batteries that not only gave off light and heat, but small doses of other kinds of quanta-energy. Mysterious quanta-energy that Peacekeeper scientists had not been able to qualify or really even use to any effect. What they had been able to determine, these scientists, was that the crystals were not natural. They had been formed by an intelligent race. The call had been put out to captains of all Peacekeeper ships: keep a lookout for anything remotely resembling these crystal-gems, for they could be a great source of power for our noble cause.

  A thrill of excitement coursed through Sha Sutt. Could this not only be an ancient Nokmadi ship—but could it also contain the power gems? Fully powered? Why, if that were so, not only might she be able to seize the Leviathan and its crew, but she would be able to bear a prize of great value back with her as well. No: prizes! Nokmadi power-gems—and the location of an ancient Nokmadi vessel, filled with knowledge and treasures beyond estimation.

  “Ah,” she said coolly, “I see.” Her eyes swept the bridge, looking at her crew. “We are a small bunch. Ten Peace-keepers. But we are a Hunter ship, are we not? We were born for such a mission as this. This is the way in which we shall not merely serve our cause and our masters, but become masters ourselves, eh?”

  Even as she smiled slightly—something she very rarely did—she could see that her smile and what she said made its point to every mind on the bridge. Their eyes mirrored her enthusiasm. If they had been fearful before of this new sight in this new and dark sector of the universe, now they knew that the adventure ahead of them was not merely dangerous duty, but potentially rewarding on a very large scale indeed.

  “Sensor officer,” said Sutt, “what other kinds of energies are you reading?”

  “Many, Captain,” said the sensor officer, gazing down at his displays. “Most abundant is a low-level background energy, a type unknown to our tracers. However, what seems most significant is the kind of energies I am not reading.”

  There was a moment of silence as the officer squinted at the controls and tapped in orders.

  “What I am not registering is any evidence of propulsion. No active motors, rockets, quanta-engines—no faster-than-light drives whatsoever.”

  “So what you’re saying,” said Sha Sutt, tapping upon her artificial leg in a musing fashion, “is that the alien ship has merely been drifting—out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “And nowhere is correct, Captain,” the navigator chipped in. “We’re more than half a light-year away from any kind of star or solar system.”

  “Then it’s been this way for a very, very long time.”

  “A hundred thousand cycles at the least,” said the sensor officer. “The kind of energies utilized for FTL have a long half-life, and unless the über-physics here are truly beyond our ken, no engines have been used for at least that long.”

  Tap tap tap of short fingernails on hard metal-and-plastic prosthetic leg. “Go on, sensor officer. Continue analysis.”

  “Analysis continuing, Captain. But as I said—”

  Sutt smiled again. Oh, but the Lords of the Peacekeepers gave their captains wonderful little bags of treats and goodies.

  “Lieutenant, take over for a moment. I must visit the evac.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Captain Sutt rose from her chair. With one last glance at the image in the vu-screen, she turned and clumped back toward the utilities room. She could have made it so that it was not so obvious she had a false leg—but prosthetics were not uncommon amongst Peacekeepers. In fact, the loss of a limb in service to the cause was an emblem of great honor.

  Still, Sutt did not wish any of her crew to know exactly what other uses she had for her false leg.

  In the small, antiseptic-smelling evac chamber, Sutt unsnapped her trousers on both sides and let the material slide down to the floor. She lifted her false leg up to the commode’s edge. Thought impulses from her brain directed servo-motors reasonably accurately. Nonetheless, she helped things along with the guidance of a strong hand. Balance then steady, Sutt commenced to work on the faux-flesh of her thigh. The tapping was coded. Freckles served to locate pressure points. The faux skin peeled back neatly. The tertiary storage drawer was exposed, and Sutt tapped the necessary pressure-point. The drawer slid open, exposing a mass of slots, all occupied by neural-data cells. She thumbed on a guide, examined the glowing green result and then selected one of the cells. A tiny disc of slender but sturdy silicate slid out, and Sutt took it. When she had pulled her trousers back on and secured them properly, she waved her hand over the evac unit. It made an almost undetectable flushing sound, and she returned to the bridge.

  “Here. Read this data and compare radiation quotients,” Sutt told the sensor officer. “Determine if there are any matchups.”

  The sensor officer stared at the tab of silicate. His training meant that he knew better than to ask any questions. He laid the silicate tab carefully in a small depression on the sensor panel and clicked it into place. “Assessing, Captain.”

  As Sutt returned to her chair, she fancied she could feel the power—no, all the powers—thrumming in her right leg. You gave this chance to me in your way, Aeryn Sun. Perhaps I should thank you, because in doing so you have brought about your own demise.

  The sensor officer looked up from his console. “Captain, there are matches.”

  “Excellent. As I thought.” She stood and leaned on her chair, addressing the crew. “Hunters of the DarkWind. We now have more objectives than Commander Crais gave us.” She smiled fully now, letting all of her satisfaction show. “And I promise every one of you that should we succeed in those objectives, you all will be rewarded fully!”

  She looked at the Leviathan and the ancient ship that flowered around it, but saw only her own destiny.

  * * *

  “Rygel,” said Zhaan, “we need to talk.”

  “Talk? Yes, talk is my speciality!” Rygel XVI brightened and hoisted a commanding finger in the air. “Why, do you realize that I had diplomats during my reign, yes, thousands of diplomats and emissaries and aides de camp with the best rhetorical skills in the business! And these people could talk the stars from the sky and the great gazoom bird from its plakuu nest. But who was the best talker? Me! Me, me, me! Why, yes, let’s talk!”

  The diminutive despot sat now amongst his minions. The DRDs murmured and buzzed about him, eyestalks waving adoringly, little lights bleeping with electronic love. The crowds of them nearly filled the bridge, and they had whirred out of the way with seeming reluctance when Zhaan had moved to take a s
eat between Rygel and some of his acolytes. Ensconced on his ThroneSled, fingering his whiskers with satisfaction, Rygel looked happy, thought Zhaan, which was very strange, considering that a gigantic alien planetoid-thing had just stuck tendrils into the side of Moya and their chance of survival had diminished considerably.

  “Rygel, we need to talk, not prattle! We could die at any moment!”

  “As ever, my dear, I panic only when actual pain and disaster nip at my tail. Believe me, what I do now is appropriate. The royal intuition instructs me on this course. In the last few cycles I often wondered if I would see another dawn. In fact, I didn’t see a dawn for many cycles. But you see what I mean. When tomorrow may not bloom, you seize the moment and squeeze all the pleasure in it. Correct, my acolytes?”

  The DRDs squeaked, grouped around him on the floor.

  “We must begin to take action,” Zhaan continued in a firm voice. “We can’t reach the boarding party, we can’t speak to what’s captured us—”

  “Time to loll about and create pleasures for ourselves, I say. Speaking of which, I have been experimenting with the food cubes and have discovered that lightly sautéing them in copper gives a pleasant aftertaste…” Rygel sniffed and licked his lips. “I’m feeling a bit peckish. I wonder if I can interest you in cooking a meal for us?”

  Zhaan grabbed the ridge of his eyebrow and held fast.

  “Rygel, this is an emergency,” she said emphatically.

  “Let go of me. That’s the emergency,” insisted Rygel. He tried to squirm away, but Zhaan held fast. “Let me go … ouch … oh my, oh dear! Zhaan, Zhaan, you’re going to rip the Imperial brow right from its roots! Oh … oh … oh! Subjects! Help me! Help!”

  The DRDs buzzed and chittered, as usual.

  “Forget help for you,” said Zhaan, administering a tad more pressure. “I need help from you.”

  “I’m only a little fellow … ooowwwwwww … I am so limited,” whined Rygel. “Oh, oh!… in my present circumstances…”

  “In your present circumstances, you are a cunning little piece of Binurian protoplasm, that’s what you are,” said Zhaan in a calm voice. “It’s vital that we communicate with our friends, and perhaps even more vital that we contact the creatures who are holding Moya prisoner.”

  “I’ll do … ow … I’ll do whatever I can…” Rygel said in a strangled voice.

  Zhaan looked straight into his bulging yellow eyes. He tried to turn his head, but her hand was steady on his protruding brow. “Rygel, you’ve accomplished quite a bit in learning to work with the DRDs.” Her voice was now soothing. “This communication system—remarkable. And the intelligence displayed. I am magnificently impressed. I think we can use this for the good of all—as befits a royal personage such as yourself.” She released his brow.

  “I would feel flattered if I weren’t in such agony!” sniffed Rygel, rubbing the side of his head.

  Zhaan bent down and patted one of the DRDs thoughtfully. “I want you to talk with Pilot and Moya. A communications genius such as yourself may be able to figure out exactly what sort of communications systems this alien ship uses.”

  Rygel blinked. “Radio, surely? Isn’t that the usual?”

  “Obviously Pilot has tried all bands—and we get nothing. What else can we try? Can you find something in those voluminous and unpredictable pockets of yours? Or reprogram the DRD communicator? Get to it, Rygel. We need answers.”

  Rygel folded his arms and heaved an immense sigh. “A king is often called upon to help the lowly. And pray tell, what will you be doing while I’m tinkering with the innards of Moya’s comm units?”

  For the first time, Zhaan was the one to sigh. “There is very little I can do, it seems. I will enter into a certain Delvian trance. This will enable me to go deep into my memory and the ancestral memories of my people that are passed down within me. Perhaps I will find more about the Nokmadi there.”

  “Meditating!” cried Rygel, nodding his head forcefully. “Sitting quite still! That is a strength of mine as well, although I find the process goes better with a food cube or six to nibble on…”

  Zhaan rose abruptly from her seat. “You know the communications networks, Rygel. Confer with Pilot and the DRDs. The second you work anything out, rouse me. I shall be at the opposite end of the bridge.” She strode away without a backward glance.

  Rygel reached into his pocket, rooted around for a minute, and withdrew another small mechanical gadget. This one was a scrambled piece of wire with a short yellow tube hanging off it. Rygel turned it around in his hand, feeling the shape of the wire and peering down the tube. The tube was full of pocket lint. “Don’t think so,” he said to himself, and reached in his pocket again.

  Zhaan moved to the far side of the bridge, where the trough of water brought to mind the tranquillity of her garden, back on her home planet, so many light-years away. She felt a momentary rush of sadness that she had not seen her garden for so long—and that she might never see it again. She had a brief image of the way the sunlight slanted through the dark green fronds of the chappa tree. Sighing, she sank into her meditation position, trying to focus her mind and to ignore Rygel’s mutterings.

  She spread her aquamarine robes over her lap so that they draped onto the floor without any folds. It was time for the rite of Urgashanou, the one rite that could reach the ancestral memories deeply buried like seeds in loam. The rite was a sacred thing, usually reserved for the very top echelon of priests. She had read the books, but like all but a tiny handful of the priesthood, she had never attempted the rite. Traditionally, those who undertook it devoted many years of study to the process.

  This was because there was one problem with the rite.

  It either vaulted you to a level of understanding at which all the memories of the Delvian ancestors were available to you.

  Or it killed you.

  She took a deep breath and began.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Who are you?” D’Argo demanded, moving to stand in front of the alien figure sitting at the end of the table. “What are you? Where is our friend? Why are you holding our ship? We demand answers!”

  This ghost was humanoid, and he had all the exemplary features valued in Sebaceans. The sleekness, the strong brow and fine eyebrows. The long nose, the pinched lips—the deep, deep eyes. He looked, in fact, a bit like Crais, only slimmer and with a better musculature.

  Musculature? How could a transparent being, wondered Aeryn, have a musculature? She could see right through him!

  The being wore a tunic, a cape and a simple pair of breeches. He looked not at all like a spacefarer, but rather some kind of gentleman farmer.

  He smelled, thought Aeryn, of the first day she had ever set foot on her native planet, after being in space for so many, many cycles. He smelled of the sunlight she felt on her face, and the fresh air and the wind. He smelled of happiness and freedom, and fulfilment. He smelled like warmth and safety.

  Her defenses went up immediately.

  The transparent being simply looked at them, his gaze mild.

  “Welcome to the World,” he said. His voice was soft and low.

  Aeryn found herself lowering her eyes. She looked up again. The figure seemed almost real, but his outlines were just a touch insubstantial, the colors of his clothes, hair and complexion just a bit pale. She noticed that his eyes were green.

  “I’m glad we can finally speak with you,” she said finally. “I hope you will help us.”

  “And so it is with us, I think,” said the ghost.

  “Who are you? What are you?”

  “My name is Yanor. My people are the Nokmadi.”

  D’Argo nodded with satisfaction, pulled out a chair, and sat down, his Qualta Rifle across his lap. “Zhaan was right about your identity. And what about our comrade, Crichton, the one swallowed by the wall-thing—or the nightmare-thing. Is he alive?”

  Yanor spread his translucent arms wide and a smile lit his features. “I am happy to say that Crichton is
not only alive, but he is being enlightened. And he’s at a higher stage so far than you.”

  D’Argo looked over at Aeryn: he looked as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Aeryn felt a rush of emotion: great relief, even joy. So their new adventure was not fatal—so far.

  D’Argo leaned toward the ghost and said with great intensity, “And why have you captured our ship?”

  The figure nodded in sorrow, as if he knew the questioning would come to this. He pushed back his chair from the table and rose. “We have captured your ship because we need your help—and we are desperate,” he said. “I hope you will help us, and in return we may have great powers to help you.”

  Aeryn noticed that the mounds of food on the dishes had stopped steaming. She touched the edge of a plate: it was cold. Indeed, the plate, the tablecloth and the whole room looked as if they had lost something: as if they had lower resolution, or not quite as high a degree of reality. She had the not entirely pleasant feeling that things could start to become transparent at any moment. The candles flickered, and the light was perceptibly dimmer.

  “Do you have maps we can consult?” asked D’Argo.

  “When will you return Crichton to us?” said Aeryn.

  The ghost moved to the wall. “We have nearly as many maps as there are galaxies,” he said. “And we will set off for the place where Crichton is, and as soon as we get there, you may see him. Now, so you know what is at stake, I would like to show you the World.”

  “Your ship is called the World?” said Aeryn.

  “No,” said the ghost. “Our ship is the World.” Now he almost had a twinkle in his gemlike eyes. He turned to the panelled wall and beckoned them.

  Cautiously, Aeryn advanced. She kept her pistol in her hand, and D’Argo maintained a grip on his Qualta Rifle.

  Yanor touched a panel on the rear wall and the whole thing slid aside as soundlessly as a curtain parting over a screen.

  A blast of sweet wind blew over them, and the smell of grass and honeysuckle was in that wind. A pair of small suns hung in the sky, among a froth of cumulus clouds. Light of blue and green lustre fell down upon brooks and fields choked with flowers. Beyond them were craggy mountains, splendid and mighty. Aeryn could almost taste the freshness of the air.