Phantoms of Earth

[Scorlord]

Another day, thought the lone pilot, another dollar.

He sat in a old and patched leather seat. The normal harness dangling at the sides as the soft hum of the engines sung its tune. The ship was old, covered in lines of grease. Paint faded and chipped decorated the steel box like the starlight outside.

The ship was torn apart and repaired with what was there. Wires ran from one panel to another, and sometimes to multiple. The cold blue light flickered at a stead beat every minute or so. Displays near the pilot were fussy, and cracked. The only good screen showed a flat field of green with specks of white highlighted with each basing ripple, which came from the bottom of the screen.

Without warning the sensor hit a blue speck. A small alarm chirped and the pilot leaned forward in his chair. His face was covered in stubble, and a good layer of grime. His old eyes were framed by wrinkles and busy white eyebrows. They strained hard to focus on the blip. It was just ahead of the ship, he hit a switch and looked up. A small light beamed from above his cockpit and shown the vast field of debris. Plates and wires floated in silence as the lone ship moved ever so slowly to the foreign object.

‘Bout time I found something, he thought as his eyes looked through the screen. The field around him was an old one. The metal and design suggested something out of Earth itself, back during the escape to the Sirius sector. The ship digging its way through was a first generation CSV, like the inside dirty, old, jury-rigged, and missing all but a pinch of paint. Small bits of debris bounced harmlessly off the shields as they flicked with their strikes.

“Warning, unknown ship on approach.” Sounded the ship, making the old pilot grab his chest and curse under his breath.

You damn thing, already close to death, don’t need to rush it! He thought looking at the ships location. It was moving fast, but was just short of a hundred klicks from his ship. It had no known ID or signature, but it moved like a ship. He eyes darted back and forth from the object still buried from his sight, and the rushing blip on his screen. Shit, what in the hell could that be? There shouldn't be another ship out here for a few systems. Especially one that doesn't seem to exist. His eyes widened for a moment and then punched his controls to increase the speed. The curtain of floating wreckage rushed past his ship bouncing off his shields and burned a little when it came close enough to the engine. Nomads, has to be. One pass Jimmy, not luck, no going back. Best not fight something unknown for something in this field.

The CSV rushed closer and closer to the blue blip. The incoming ship was moving faster, but still over 50 klicks out. Jimmy looked back and forth from the screens and window nails bite as his ship came into view of his prize. A simple cylinder was highlighted on his screen. Looked like an old cryo-tube, but with no time to space the white lighting of the tractor beam reached out with its ghostly hand and snagged the cylinder. As the CSV rushed past its open cargo bay grad the pot and some bit of debris and flew past.

Alright, that jump hole should only be another ten klicks, that bastard still has 30 to catch me. Come on you rusty, pile of junk, get my ass home!

“Enemy ships on scanners.” Add the computer.

“What?!” Jimmy said aloud looking at the scanner. A whole swarm of ships were coming towards him, many where only 20 klicks out.

Oh sweat mother of junk, where is the damn jump hole! He mentally screamed as the purple and red cloud flashed with light before him. With in an instead the view filled with stars streaking past into a blur before a final blinding flash of light. The his eyes slowly adjusted back to the dark starlight, but this one different, empty. And nothing on his scanner. A loud sigh came from him, as he slumped back into his chair.

“Ship,” he muttered, “Plot a course for Rodchester base.”

“Plotted,” the ship responded.

“ETA?”

“Two days, six hours, twenty minutes, and thirty-seven seconds.”

“Make it so you pile of junk,” he cursed as he slowly left his chair. He walked to two steps to the hatch leading to the cargo hold. “I’ll be looking at my find, anything pops up tell me.”

“Affirmative, James.” The computer said with a different, very cold voice. Jimmy paused, and looked at the closest speak.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do not recognize command, please rephrase,” said the computer with the old emotionless voice.

“Getting told old, starting to jump at shadows.”

“Do not recognize command, please rephrase.”

“Never mind.”

“Affirmative.”

Jimmy walked slowly into the cargo hold, plates, wires, rocks, and thawing organic material littered the floor. But his main object sat in the middle, surprisingly upright, but covered in whatever was around it when it was grabbed. Hull plating and panels were the main obstacles in his way, but a quick shove they fell to the floor with a echoing crash.

The prize was an old cyro-tube, it held the name, Liberator.

[Scorlord]

“Warden,” said a ensign standing at attention before the silvered hair woman looking out the massive window. “here are the latest duty reports from each deck.”

“Thank you William,” said the Warden slowly turning towards the ensign. She gave him a small smile and took the datapad into her hand. He gave her a crisp salute and walked away from her. He joined other crew members on the busy bridge. She turned back to the window looking into the ebony sea before her. The starless screen held nothing to focus on, like the ship was frozen in space.

She stood aboard the LPS Folsom, one of three supermax prison ships of the Liberty sector. The ship was heavily armed, and stocked to house over three thousand souls, plus the two hundred crew. But only forty-seven prisoners called this prison home.

Like her two other sisters, the Folsom was only designed to carry a hundred of the worst prisoners Liberty has ever had the displeasure of having. Serial killers, escape artists, terrorists, anyone who would cause a normal prison hell in their own right. Unlike other prison liners used only to ferry convicts from one system to another, these were designed to hold them forever. Life, for these prisoners meant they would never see another ship for as long as they lived, if not longer.

“Warden,” said another one of the crew members. This one bore the rank of lieutenant, a older woman just barely in her thirties. Her blonde hair, held in a neat bun, with wire-framed glasses reflecting the computer screen. “I'm picking up a single ship, a CSV, an old one.”

“Odd.” Said the Warden not even looking to the voice. She flashed a grin, into her faint reflection in the window. “Do you think it has spotted our ship? I don't recall our sensor mask ever being truly tested.”

“No ma'am. Its barely has any power on, life support at best.” said the Lieutenant. “To be honest I've seen more power used in a datapad.”

“Will it be in our way?” She said finally turning around walking towards the Lieutenant. Her polished heels clicked on the steel floor. The mood in the roomed changed to curiosity over the lone ship. Their route would take them in a deliberate path around known space, well away from pirates, Houses, companies, and especially the prisoner’s friends.

“No, but it will come with in eye sight, just off our port side.”

“Then I think its best we ignore it. Send a basic message letting know we are a normal liner.” Said the Warden leaning over the back of the computer. She gave the Lieutenant a very evil grin, a practiced one of a trickster. “No need for them to ask what a supermax prisoner liner is.”

“I would agree ma'am,” said the Lieutenant returning the smile.

“Jack,” said the Warden looking over to another man, young just out of his teens. “Be sure to jam any communications until we are out of his sensor range. “

“Yes ma'am,” said Jack.

“Right then, I will be in the office. Come and get me if anything happens.”

* * *

“Computer,” said the Warden in her office that was attached to the bridge. It was covered in datapads, and books. A few of her black suits lay on the couch and floor. They, like the rest of the crew, held a grey stripe on each cuff, with the words Nos caveam daemonium, we cage the demon. “ETA till next rotation of crew?”

“Three years, two days, twenty hours, seven minutes, and ten seconds.” said the robotic voice.

“Thank you,” she said falling into the couch. She kicked over her heels and tucked her feet under her, and read through the datapad. Her eyes darted across the screen and tapped to advance the page. Minutes passed by as the only sound of tapped glass softly echoed in the room. “Computer, please send Michael Luther to my office.”

“Affirmative Warden.” Almost on cue the door opened and a older male walked in. He held the classic look a muscle bound, salt and peppered, old man. The bushy mustache was solid black, refusing to age like the rest of his head.

“I think you're starting to read faster,” he said closing the door behind him. He quickly joined her on the couch stretching out on the opposite side.

“I am,” she said with a playful smile. “So Raymond is trying to cover his cell in his own filth again?”

“So it seems,” he said scratching his neck. “Do we pull him out again and clean the cell?”

“Maybe this time, we try something new. Have the mess add laxative to each of his meals, very watery meals. Soup, stews, etc. Let's clean him out, give him a few days in it, and see who wins.”

“I don't think any other ship would let their prisoners have their way.”

“Well, they are here for live, might as well make them learn to play by my rules.”

“Mel, you have no rules.”

“See, they are easy to follow. These men and woman have nothing else, no contacts outside, no contacts between each other, just us. We give them plenty of books, movies, for Pete's sake Andrea is making paintings that are going for millions. Her daughters are set for life.”

“True, but the LPI thinks we should try and do the normal method.” he said looking down at his watch. “They seem to think we are avoiding their rehabilitation.”

“Micheal,” she said with a frustrated smile “does the LPI recall they sentenced these men to life without parole?”

“I don't think they do,” he said with a small chuckle. “Anything else we need to do to the herd?”

“It looks like the rest of them are behaving in an appropriate manner. Nothing said anyone should be on suicide watch. Notice anything on your rounds?”

“No, but-”

“Excuse me Warden,” said the voice of the computer. “The CSV is broadcasting an SOS signal.”

“Odd,” said Mel quickly hoping to her feet. Micheal was already at the door.

“Something new to deal with,” said Michael as Mel quickly walked past him into the bridge with many of the crew looking out the window.