The ship was of ancient design, bullet shaped with four extended outboard nuclear engines, one of them crushed and mangled. Its hull was battle scarred, and ringed with ugly large bore weapons snuggled within sleek indentations. Circular patterns dotted the long fuselage, giving evidence of its deadly cargo of long-range missiles.

“Looks to be an Omega Class Saber-Star from the Alpha Centauri Wars, ma’am.”

Admiral Latina Mars rested a hand on her scanner’s shoulder, looking down at his screen. “Then what the Pleiades is it doing all the way out here?”

“It may have been in Slip-Space when it was damaged, and then drifted.” He looked up at her. “A ship could drift a long way in three thousand years.”

“If it was stuck in Slip-Space, its crew dead, it couldn’t have reentered normal space,” said the Admiral. “What’s its energy output?”

“Nothing. Dead in the water, ma’am.”

“Life signs?”

“No, ma’am.”

She turned to her Captain. “Norrin, bring us within ship to ship range.”

“Aye, Admiral.” He maneuvered the massive Jupiter Class Flag Ship to within a mile, and matched the other vessel’s drift speed. The U.C.C. Allure was five times the size of the antique and dwarfed her battered surface.

“Can you make out its marking signature?” asked the Admiral.

Captain Norrin nodded. “On the front screen now, Admiral.”

The vessel came into sharp focus and then the image zoomed to a close up of the front nose cone. A stylized name was painted across the bow. “The War Hammer.”

“It’s not possible,” said the scanner operator. Eyes wide, he looked at the Admiral. “Is it, ma’am?”

“Apparently it is.” Latina moved closer to the screen. “Prepare Swan Song for launch and have Team One meet me in the hanger.”

#

Team One consisted of a three-man security squad, a medic, a science officer and the Admiral. Swan Song docked without incident, and Lt. Merral Jones attached a magnetic hatch relay and opened the two doors between the airlocks. By protocol the three security members entered first, clearing the immediate area for the rest of the team.

“All clear,” said Lt. Jones, her voice sounding strange.

Latina’s brows drew down. “Is something wrong Lieutenant?”

There was a brief hesitation. “No, ma’am. But it’s not pretty.”

The rest of the team members looked at each other through their visors. Latina had never known Jones to give an ambiguous answer before. Shrugging, she led the way into the airlock. As soon as the door behind them closed and the one in front of them opened she understood Jones’ answer. The interior was pitch black with only the team’s helmet lights illuminating the walls, floors and ceiling. There was blood everywhere. Red, glistening and frozen in place for perhaps centuries.

Lt. Jones and the rest of the security team held their rifles at the ready even though they all knew it was impossible for anything living to be on the vessel. Doctor Serriz and Science Officer Torrin Diesel looked like they wished they had weapons as well.

Dr. Serriz nudged Diesel. “I overheard some of the crew talking about this ship, but I don’t know the story myself.”

Diesel nodded. “It’s sort of a myth, a legend. Nobody really thinks of it as even being real. Until now I guess.”

Latina almost stopped Diesel, but let it go and began scanning the long corridor.

“Legend has it that during the Alpha-Centauri Wars the lead ship of the United Conglomerate Consortium, The War Hammer, was overrun and captured by rebel forces. For a while it wrecked havoc among the UCC forces. But when the war started going bad for them, the crew mutinied, killing the captain and taking over. They went pirate, attacking vessels on both sides, plundering the cargos and slaughtering the crews. No one knew where they would strike. After the war, entire fleets were sent out to find and apprehend them. It took nearly a decade but the UCC finally succeeded in trapping them. Fifty of the Fleet’s fastest and most powerful ships attacked. The War Hammer destroyed a number of the ships before sustaining fatal wounds of her own. But the attack had damaged The War Hammer’s Slip-Space Converter, making it impossible for them to escape. The leader of the pirates,” here Diesel leaned closer to the Doctor and raised his eyebrows melodramatically, “ a brave and bold rascal named Banner Dreadnaught but known to all as Banner the Black, had one more trick up his sleeve. He managed to board one of the damaged UCC vessels and stole their Slip-Space Converter. Taking massive hits from the remaining ships he was able to maneuver free and start the Slip-Space process, which took a little longer back then. Anyway, the Commander of the Fleet saw what Banner was up to and had just enough time to get off a finale shot. And it was some shot. He hit the starboard outboard with a directional implosion burst that detonated the nuclear engine and forced all its radiation content into the ship itself, just as it passed into Slip-Space.”

The doctor looked at the bloody walls. “I see. The radiation must have acted like a powerful microwave emitter, cooking them from the inside until they exploded.”

“That’s the theory, doc.”

The admiral’s voice broke over their speakers. “Would you two care to join us?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the two spoke in chorus.

Latina pointed at a pile of ash surrounded by a puddle of frozen blood. “What do you make of that, doctor?”

“If the legend’s true, this would probably be the result of the engine’s directed radiation blast.” The doctor hesitated, holding up a hand. “But wait, if the entire crew was killed, and the ship lost in Slip-Space, then how could anyone know if the crew really died at all?”

“Well, go on,” said Latina looking at Diesel. “Finish the story.”

Diesel cleared his throat. “The thing is, doctor, that wasn’t the last sighting of The War Hammer. Every so often, over the decades and centuries, a ship would go missing. Of course space is a dangerous place and many of them were probably victims of natural or man made disasters, but once in a great while a survivor would be found.”

“A survivor?”

“Yes,” said Diesel. “The unlucky man or woman would be found in a shuttle, or pod, set adrift with no engines. Insane. Always babbling about Banner the Black and The War Hammer.”

“But that’s silly,” said the doctor. “Even if the crew did manage to survive, they couldn’t live for three thousand years.”

“You’re missing the point,” said Diesel. “It’s a ghost ship.”

The doctor reached out and knocked on the bulkhead. “Doesn’t feel like a ghost ship to me.”

“This is your first ship duty, doctor,” said Latina. “You’ll find sailors, airmen, and spacers are a superstitious lot.” She waved a gloved hand at the gore splattered scene. “But you think this is consistent with the legend’s account of the radiation burst?”

“Yes,” said the doctor. “The blood would explode from the body, and the tissue itself, along with the clothing and bones would turn to ash.”

“Why wouldn’t the blood burn to ash?”

“Normally it would, but with a hull breach the blood would freeze instantly after hitting a wall or other conducting surface.”

“We’ll split up to search the ship,” said Latina. It’s small compared to the Allure, but it will take awhile.” She pointed to a security officer. “Carnsworth; you, the doctor, and I will take the control room and officer’s quarters. Jones, you take diesel and Willard and search the engine and weapon bays, then hit the crews quarters and we’ll meet on the bridge.”

The two groups split up at the first “Y” junction. Latina passed several piles of ash which was not that disturbing, and long sections of blood spattered walls which were. The entire scene had a strange feeling of unreality as their lights splashed and winked at gore stained bulkheads and hatches. It seemed impossible that the blood could have stayed so perfectly intact all these centuries. But the freezing bite of space had left it exactly the same as the day it was torn from the pirate’s bodies.

Latina’s booted foot struck something hard. Looking down she saw an old style space helmet. There was blood slapped across its cracked visor. She picked it up, a chill tickling her spine.

“That looks like an old design,” said the doctor.

“Yes, but not old enough.”

Carnsworth moved closer. “You’re right, Admiral. Look’s to be mid or late Sirius era. At least a thousand years after the big war.” His towering bulk was a comfort to Latina, as was the rifle he carried.

“How could it have gotten here? And why the blood?”

Over their helmet radio’s broadcast a scream of primal terror. It was Diesel—incoherent—shrieking—but clearly him. And then it stopped.

“Diesel,” called Latina over her radio. “Diesel, this is the Admiral, where are you?” She waited. “Diesel…Jones…Willard, come in.”

No answer.

“I’ll go find them,” said Carnsworth.

“No,” said Latina. “We stay together, we’ll back track and…”

Blood sprayed across the inside of Carnsworth’s visor. There was a gurgle then he slumped to his knees. Something punched through the front of his space suit, showering them with blood that crystallized before it made it to them and bounced off their suits like thrown sand. Latina saw the impossible. Behind the crumpled form of Carnsworth stood a swirling cloud of ash with a solidified skeletal forearm and hand sticking out the dead spaceman’s chest. As she stared, the head of the dust cloud formed a grinning skull with long exaggerated teeth.

The doctor screamed.

Latina grabbed up the fallen rifle and fired point blank at the skull. The purple beam shattered the bone back into ash and the entire structure dissipated.

“Not possible-not possible!” screamed the doctor. Latina didn’t know if the doctor meant it was impossible for ash to dissipate in a non-gravity atmosphere or if the entire scene was impossible, but she didn’t wait to figure it out. She clutched at his arm and dragged him back toward the airlock, their magnetized boots clunking horrendously as they ran.

They were almost there when the shockwave hit, throwing them both off their feet. Latina hit the bulkhead, her head slamming against the inside of her helmet. She tried to stay awake, but darkness closed until it was as limitless as space, and she knew no more.

#

When she awoke, Latina found herself in the airlock. The doctor was gone, and so was the Swan Song. Looking out the small porthole of the outer airlock door she saw the small shuttle’s crushed and torn hull, floating a few hundred meters away.

A fist of terror clutched at her heart and she looked over to where The Allure should be. There was nothing but a blurred fog of debris, dotted here and there with human bodies, tumbling endlessly outward from what had been the once proud Flag Ship of the UCC.

The door slid open before her. Latina turned and saw faces pressed up against the inner airlock door’s porthole. They were a nightmare collection of skulls, with tattered bits and pieces of flesh and eye and muscle, slapped haphazardly across scarred bone.

As she watched, the inner door started to slip slowly open. They were coming for her, and she had heard too many tales of what pirates did to women. She turned back to the open airlock and saw a slat stretching out from the floor into empty space.

Latina nodded, understanding. As the commander of her fallen vessel she was being given the choice. She could face them, or she could do what pirates had made others do for millennia. Stealing herself, she stepped through the airlock, and began the long walk down the plank.

The End