In the spirit of Halloween, here’s an excerpt from my book, The Pirates of Andromeda!
“Ghost Ship”
The life of a space pirate was often brutal, and nobody knew that better than a pirate named Fishbone. A member of the Crimson Skull Gang since he was a teen, Fishbone got his name from his propensity for choking people. He had done and seen things that would make a serial killer say, “That’s a bit too much…” Now in his early thirties, he bore the scars of a ruthless life, including a long one down the left side of his face partially covered by an eyepatch.
Fishbone absentmindedly scratched the empty hole beneath the patch as he watched, with his good eye, a monitor on the bridge of a Crimson Skull starship. Everyone’s attention, with whatever eyes they still had, was focused on a merchant ship shown on the screen.
“It’s adrift,” Fishbone told the captain, a grizzled pirate with a gold tooth and silver earrings.
“What’s she called?” the captain asked.
“The Waverley,” Fishbone replied. “Reports say she went missing a week ago.”
“What about her crew?”
“Scans don’t detect anybody aboard, sir.”
“Ah, a ghost ship you say?” the captain said.
“Aye,” Fishbone said, “but scans say she’s carrying a full cargo hold.”
The captain’s gold tooth sparkled.
“Blixx has been wanting more ships,” he said. “He’s been King of the Pirates for a fortnight, and he’s been givin’ orders like the Emperor himself.”
Fishbone gave him a knowing nod. “Aye.”
“No matter,” the captain said. “We’ll do what he wants for now, I reckon. Assemble the crew and we’ll go aboard. Let’s see what this ghost has for us…”
The pirate ship maneuvered alongside the Waverley, a freighter three times its size. A pressurized gangway unfolded until it linked the two vessels. Ten pirates, including the captain and Fishbone, crossed to the opposing airlock where Fishbone attached a device to the locking mechanism. After a long wait, they heard the mechanical bolts in the hatch unlock and the captain himself pulled the door open.
“Well,” the captain said, “go on then!”
The first pirate to board wore a helmet spray-painted red. Large with wide shoulders, he had trouble passing through the hatchway but managed by turning himself sideways. Imaginatively, they called him Big Tom.
“What do you see, Tom?” the captain asked.
“It’s dark,” Big Tom replied.
“Well, turn on the lights!” his commander shouted.
“Can’t,” the big man said. “They don’t come on.”
The captain grumbled but put his hand on Fishbone’s shoulder.
“Be a good lad and go find the emergency lighting,” he said. “We’ll use the flashlights until you do.”
“Aye, Capt’n!” Fishbone replied.
“As for the rest of ya,” the captain went on, “we’ll split into two groups. I’ll lead one to the bridge while the other heads to the cargo hold and sees what they be carrying.” He then added, “Oh, and keep your comms on, so we can hear each other!”
With the captain’s voice speaking through his earpiece, Fishbone headed aft down a corridor to the engine room where the emergency lighting controls would be. Instinctively, he gripped the handle of a long knife on his belt. With his other hand he aimed the flashlight ahead, the beam falling on pipes running along the walls and the metal floor. Bits of trash and cigarette butts lay along the way.
While he inched through the blackness, he listened to the conversation going on in his ear.
“Capt’n,” someone said, apparently from the group headed to the hold, “we passed the escape pods. They’re all missin’.”
“Good,” the captain replied from the bridge group. “Looks like they abandoned ship alright.”
Hearing their voices was a comfort, Fishbone thought. A dead ship gave him the creeps and he wished somebody else had come with him.
Bah, there’s nothing in the dark that’s not in the light! he thought. Of course, there’s a fair amount that’s in the light that can be scary too…
Fishbone passed more garbage and a fair bit of leakage from the pipes. The smell of raw sewage drifted over him and he looked down. A puddle beneath one of the pipes had spread halfway across the floor.
“Disgusting!” the pirate said.
“You okay, lad?” the captain asked over the comm.
“Oh, aye, Capt’n!” Fishbone stammered. “Just this ship is a filthy mess.”
“True that,” he replied. “We’re in the crew quarters near the bridge. There be food wrappers about and a fresh meal sittin’ on the table. I’d say they left in a hurry…”
Fishbone shined the light over the wall. A word stenciled in yellow read, “ENGINEERING” with an arrow pointing to the left. The pirate took a look down the hallway in that direction, but it was more of the same. He grumbled but went that way, hoping he’d reach engineering soon.
“We’re in the cargo hold,” Big Tom said on the comm.
“What do you see, lad?” the captain asked.
“It’s full!” Big Tom replied excitedly. “Crates to the ceiling!”
“That’s what I like to hear!” the captain shouted, stinging Fishbone’s ear. “See if you can find the manifest.”
Finally, Fishbone reached the hatch of the engine room. He tried the handle, but it was locked tight. From a pocket, he retrieved the electronic pick they had used on the outer airlock and attached the device to a panel beside the hatch. Fishbone waited patiently for a few minutes, but the sound of the bolts unlocking didn’t come.
“Are you at engineering yet, Fishbone?” the captain asked gruffly on the comm. “We’re tired of trudging through the dark!”
Fishbone swore to himself and then said, “I’m here, Capt’n, but the pick ain’t openin’ the hatch!”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know!” Fishbone complained. “It should be the same as the airlock but it’s like there’s a separate encryption added on top of the original…”
At the same time, Big Tom from the cargo group was talking in his ear. “Rooster? Where the hell are you?”
“What’s the problem?” the captain asked from the bridge.
“We lost track of some of the men while we were searchin’ the hold,” Big Tom replied.
“Who are you missing then?” the captain asked.
There was a pause and then Big Tom replied, “Rooster, One-Eyed Jack, and Steve.”
“How could you lose Steve?”
“Because it’s bloody dark!” Big Tom shouted anxiously.
“Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, Tom,” the captain said. “I’m sending some of my group aft to help. Okay?”
“Mm, okay.”
“Fishbone?” the captain continued.
“Aye?” Fishbone replied.
“If you can’t get the hatch open, come forward to the bridge and you can try getting the lights on from here.”
“Understood, Capt’n!” Fishbone said and pulled the electronic pick from the door. He pocketed the device and headed back the way he came.
Heading the opposite way, the pirate found the going nearly as difficult as before. The flashlight illuminated the same bulkheads and floor planks, but nothing looked familiar. He passed the puddle of sewage, but even the smell was different.
The flashlight flickered and Fishbone stopped, giving it a shake.
“Damn batteries,” he said aloud.
He started again, winding through the pitch-black corridors until his boot stepped into a pool of oil, thick like molasses syrup.
Goddamn it, he thought.
He scraped the sole of his boot on the metal deck, leaving a long smear. The streak of oil looked strange, so Fishbone knelt and fixed the light on it. He touched the oil and examined the tip of his finger. It was reddish.
Fishbone felt his stomach churn and drops of sweat beaded on the back of his neck.
Wiping the blood on his pants, he stood and followed the pool with the light until coming to its source, a body lying on the floor. The flashlight revealed a spiky, orange mohawk.
“Rooster?” Fishbone asked but he already knew the truth. A deep gash ran from one of Rooster’s ears to the other.
“Capt’n!” Fishbone shouted. “Rooster’s dead!”
Someone else answered, “Come to the bridge.”
“Who’s this?” Fishbone asked, but there was no reply.
He lifted his eyepatch and wiped away the sweat that had collected there. He flipped the patch back down and scanned the passage ahead, the light casting long shadows off the garbage on the floor. Swapping the flashlight to his left hand, Fishbone pulled out his knife and held it firmly, though his palms were wet.
“Big Tom?” he stammered. “You still need help in the hold?”
No one replied over the earpiece.
Fishbone considered his options, but none of them were good. He thought about returning to their ship.
There’s still a few crew aboard there, right?
Or were there? Maybe he was alone in space, far from anywhere. Alone, except for whoever or whatever was aboard the Waverley with him.
You’re a damn pirate! You’ve strangled more men than you can count! You’re not going to let a little darkness put the scare in you!
These where the things people tell themselves in the night, especially if you’re a pirate who strangles people.
Fishbone gripped the handle of his blade a little tighter and walked until he came to the bridge hatch. The door was closed but not locked, and Fishbone pulled it open on creaking, poorly lubricated hinges. The hatch swung to the side and the pirate stuck his head through the doorway.
Inside were three pirates, all dead, lying on the floor. The captain was one of them, his head some distance from his usually attached body.
The captain stared at Fishbone with milky, dull eyes.
At the center of the bridge, the command chair swiveled to face the doorway. In the chair sat a man in his thirties, wearing a long dark coat. His head was shaved to a short stubble.
“Hello,” the man said. “My name’s Magnus Black and I have a few questions for you.”