Schmidt peered at the soldier. “Watch out for these guys,” he said.

“They’re not going to kill me, Hart,” Wilson said. “That would look bad.”

“One day you’re going to be wrong about these things,” Schmidt said.

“When I am, hope that I’m very far away from you,” Wilson said. Schmidt grinned at this and headed back to the shuttle bay control room.

Wilson entered the shuttle. The pilot and one of the soldiers were Lalan, like Sorvalh and Captain Fotew. The other was a Fflict, a squat, hairy race. It motioned to Wilson to have a seat. He did and stowed his MP-35 beneath his feet.

“We have translation circuits built into our suits,” the Fflict said, in its own language, while a translation came through a speaker on its belt. “You can speak your language and we’ll get a translation through our audio feed.”

“Likewise,” Wilson said, and pointed to the speaker. “You can turn that off if you like. I’ll still be able to understand you just fine.”

“Good,” the Fflict said, and turned off the speaker. “I hate the way that thing makes me sound.” It held up a hand and contracted the appendages twice, in a greeting. “I’m Lieutenant Navill Werd.” It pointed toward the Lalans. “Pilot Urgrn Howel, Corporal Lesl Carn.”

“Lieutenant Harry Wilson,” Wilson said.

“Have you been in a vacuum environment before?” Werd asked.

“Once or twice,” Wilson said.

“Good,” Werd said. “Now, listen. This is a joint mission, but someone has to be in charge, and I’m going to propose that it’s me, on account that I’m already supposed to be in charge of these two, and it’s my shuttle besides. Any objection?”

Wilson grinned. “No, sir.”

“Wrong gender,” Werd said. “But your ‘ma’am’ doesn’t exactly work either, so you might as well keep calling me ‘sir.’ No need to make things complicated.”

“Yes, sir,” Wilson said.

“Right, let’s get this thing moving,” Werd said, then turned to nod at his pilot. The pilot zipped up the shuttle and signaled to the Clarkethat they were ready to depart; the Clarkestarted the purge cycle for the bay. Corporal Carn eased himself into the co-pilot’s seat.

“This is my first time working with a human,” Werd said, to Wilson.

“How’s it going so far?” Wilson asked.

“Not bad,” Werd said. “You’re kind of ugly, though.”

“I get that a lot,” Wilson said.

“I bet you do,” Werd said. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Thanks,” Wilson said.

“But if you smell, I’m pushing you out an airlock,” Werd said.

“Got it,” Wilson said.

“Glad we’ve come to this understanding,” Werd said.

“The lieutenant is like this with everyone,” Corporal Carn said, looking back at Wilson. “It’s not just you.”

“It’s not my fault everyone else is hideous to look at,” Werd said. “You can’t all be gorgeous like me.”

“How do you even get through the day being as gorgeous as you are, sir?” Wilson asked.

“I really don’t know,” Werd said. “Just by being a beacon of hope and good looks, I suppose.”

“You see what I’m saying here,” Carn said.

“He’s just jealous,” Werd said. “And ugly.”

“You guys are a hoot,” Wilson said. “And here my friend Hart thought you might try to kill me.”

“Of course not,” Werd said. “We save that for the second mission.”

The shuttle backed out of the bay and headed to the Urse Damay.

*   *   *

“All right, who wants to tell me the weird thing about this ship?” Werd said, to no one in particular. The lieutenant’s voice came in through Wilson’s BrainPal; he, Werd and Carn were all in separate parts of the ship.

“The fact there’s not a single living thing on it?” Carn said.

“Close, but no,” Werd said.

“That’s notthe weird thing?” Carn said. “If that’s not the weird thing, Lieutenant, what is?”

“The fact there’s no evidence that a single living thing was ever on it,” Wilson said.

“The human gets it,” Werd said. “This is the strangest damn thing I have ever seen.”

The three soldiers had carefully navigated themselves over to the tumbling front end of the Urse Damay. The shuttle pilot had matched the spin and rotation of the ship fragment, and the three traversed across by way of a guide line attached to a magnetic harpoon. Once they were over, the shuttle backed off to a less dangerous distance while continuing to match the tumble.

Inside, the tumble was enough to stick Wilson, Werd and Carn to the bulkheads at crazy angles to the ship’s internal layout. The three of them had to be careful when they walked; the open communication channel was occasionally punctuated by the very tall Corporal Carn cursing as he bumped into something.

The front end of the Urse Damayhad been severed from its prime power source, but emergency power was still being drawn from local batteries; emergency lighting flooded the corridors with a dim but serviceable glow. The glow showed no indication that anyone had walked the corridors in the recent past. Wilson pulled open doors to living quarters, conference rooms and what appeared to be a mess hall, judging from the benches and what looked to be food preparation areas.

They were all empty and sterile.

“Is this ship programmed?” asked Carn. “Like a skip drone?”

“I saw the video replay of its battle with the Nurimal,” Werd said. “The Urse Damaywas using tactics that suggest more than just programming, at least to me.”

“I agree with that,” Wilson said. “It sure looked like someone was here.”

“Maybe it’s remotely controlled,” Carn said.

“We’ve swept the local area,” Wilson said. “We didn’t find any drones or smaller ships. I’m sure Captain Fotew had the Nurimaldo the same thing.”

“Then how did this ship fight with no one on it?” Carn asked.

“How do we feel about ghosts?” Werd said.

“I prefer my dead to stay dead,” Wilson said.

“The human gets it right again,” Werd said. “So we keep looking for something living on the ship.”

A few minutes later, Carn was on the open channel. He made a noise; after a second, Wilson’s BrainPal translated it to “uh.”

“What is it?” Werd asked.

“I think I found something,” Carn said.

“Is it alive?” Wilson asked.

“Maybe?” Carn said.

“Carn, you’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Werd said. Even through the translation, Wilson could hear the exasperation.

“I’m on the bridge,” Carn said. “There’s no one here. But there’s a screen that’s on.”

“All right,” Werd said. “So what?”

“So when I passed by the screen, words came up on it,” Carn said.

“What did they say?” Wilson asked.

“‘Come back,’” Carn said.

“I thought you said there was no one in the room with you,” Werd said.

“There’s not,” Carn said. “Hold on, there’s something new on the screen now. More words.”

“What’s it say this time?” Werd asked.

“‘Help me,’” Carn said.

*   *   *

“You said you had expertise with technology,” Werd said to Wilson, and pointed to the bridge screen, hovering at an off-kilter angle above them. “Make this thing work.”

Wilson grimaced and looked at the screen. The words on the screen were in Lalan; a visual overlay from his BrainPal translated the message. There was no keyboard or operating tool that Wilson could see. He reached up and tapped the screen; nothing. “How do you usually work your screens?” Wilson asked Werd. “Does the Conclave have some sort of standard access interface?”

“I lead people and shoot at things,” Werd said. “Access interfaces aren’t my thing.”

“We have a standard data transmission band,” Carn said. “Not the voice transmission band, but for other things.”

“Hart?” Wilson said.

“Getting that for you now,” Schmidt said, in his head.

“Look,” Carn said, pointing at the screen. “New words.”

You don’t need the data band,the words said in Lalan. I can hear you on the audio band. But I only understand the Lalan. My translation module is damaged.