The Stars Came Back by Rolf Nelson Page A

any craft of that name. (Tap tap tap) No fuel requests under that name… No quarantines on it. No bonded cargo listed as being from it. Or for it. No passengers, either. If it’s here, it’s a Flying Dutchman .
    InfoClerk looks up at Helton, shrugs her shoulders and spreads her hands in mute apology.
    Helton: Is there anyone else here that I could talk to?
    InfoClerk shakes her head.
    Helton takes a deep breath, leans on the counter, and looks tired.
    InfoClerk glances over Helton’s shoulder, sees Floyd, waves him over.
    InfoClerk : Glad to see you’re back.
    Floyd: ( To Helton) Which is it?
    Helton shakes his head.
    Floyd: (Surprised, to Info Clerk) Not here?
    InfoClerk : No. He says he checked before coming, but… (shrugs to indicate no data).
    Floyd: Could it be one of the hulks?
    InfoClerk: Maybe. Boneyard ships are a different company.
    Helton: ( Worried) Boneyard?
    Floyd: Ships that can’t fly. Old wrecks and such. Used for parts and parties. Not likely, though. None of them are that big, unless it’s a small ore hauler. They’re something like 30k gross tonnes, I think.
    Helton has a pained expression on his face.
    Floyd: I’m headed that way . Work out past the end of Concourse 4. We could take a look out there first so I can check in, though there’s nothing anywhere close to that mass out there. Maybe one of the old guys knows something about it.
    Helton: Well, it’s a start. Lead the way.
    Floyd heads down the concourse, Helton following.
     
    Allonia
    DISSOLVE TO
    EXT - DAY - Road on the outskirts of the port
    Helton walks along a dusty road betw een an outbuilding and old, tarp-covered, dusty, crusty, ship. He stops, looks at the generic beige warehouse building, sporting the number 1701.
    Helton: ( To self) Well, there’s the right building, and he said across from it.
    He looks at the ship. Looks at the building number. At the ship. He makes a skeptical face and shakes his head.
    The ship is a little more than 70 meters long, and half that wide. It looks like it’s been there forever. Streaked, dirty, large tarps over parts of it, uncertain color underneath the crud and graffiti. It’s a very simple and angular design like a flattened hexagonal prism, with sharply pointed ends. It seems to be resting directly on the ground, without landing struts or gear holding it up. There is a fold-away boarding hatchway/ramp in the side that is down, and it looks massively thick. It is about 1.5m wide, with an old-fashioned airlock hatch open at the top, slightly inset. Dimly visible in the shadows, something inside of that is closed across the hatch. Overall, it looks like a mostly intact wreck of a very old ship. A tarp flaps in the wind, reminiscent of an abandoned building in a spaghetti western, and under it he catches a glimpse of lettering. He steps up to get a better look. Under it, hand painted in fading, chipped paint, is Tajemnica .
    Helton: ( Quietly to himself) Well, well, well. So here you are. At least the rest of the chips were worth something. (Sighs in resignation) Not quite what I was led to expect, but free’s a good price. Let’s see what sort of mysteries are inside.
    H e mounts the stairs cautiously. They seem rock solid. At the top of the stairs is a scan pad with a dim light next to it. He holds the title up to it, and pushes a button. Nothing. He holds his hand to the pad. Nothing. He folds the paper up, slips it back in his breast pocket, reaches forward and opens the door. It is a simple home-made screen door. He steps in through it. Dark inside. The screen door closes with a sharp bang behind him. He pulls out and turns on a small flashlight, revealing a cramped, narrow passageway into the ship, about 3m long to the next open heavy-duty airlock hatch. He stands next to another airlock door at the top of the stairs. It looks like an ancient submarine with sets of massive water-tight hatches. He moves cautiously inward. As he passes the inner hatchway, there is a slight scuffle