The Ghost Ship Gambit¶
The terminal’s PA system crackled, announcing a delay for the Mars transit. Same flickering lights, same stale coffee smell. I was stirring creamer into my cup when the voice hit me—low, raspy, laughing at nothing. “You’re gonna love this part, Fox.”
Not a memory. A scar.
[Archival Note 7: The narrator, identified as Lena Lee (née Park), references “Fox,” a nickname for Fumiko Jensen. Their partnership in orbital salvage operations spanned 2012–2015. Jensen’s whereabouts post-2016 remain unconfirmed.]
We met at the Chengdu Transfer Station, Fumiko and me. She had a plan: sneak onto the derelict E. Kaguya, extract its navigation core, sell it to the highest bidder. “Easy in, easy out,” she said, tossing me a wrench. “If you hear the Jaws music, run.”
I didn’t ask why.
[Addendum 12B: The “Jaws music” protocol was Jensen’s failsafe. A hacked proximity alarm rigged to play John Williams’ theme via comms. Effective, if theatrical.]
The Kaguya creaked like an old whale. Corridors spun with dust, lifeboats sealed tight. Fumiko worked her magic on a hatch while I swept the scanner over rusted panels. “Clear,” I said.
She grinned. “Liar.”
The lights came on.
Not flickering. Bright. Surgical.
Fumiko froze. “That’s new.”
[Editorial Speculation: Power logs for E. Kaguya indicate all systems dead for 14 years prior. No explanation exists for sudden reactivation.]
Then the music started.
Duuun-dun. Dun-dun.
Fumiko bolted. I followed, laughing hysterically. It was absurd! Until the sound moved. Behind us. Ahead. Echoing off bulkheads that shouldn’t have reflected sound.
We didn’t speak until we were back on the escape pod, core in hand.
“You knew,” I accused.
“Suspected,” she said. “Ghost ships aren’t haunted. They’re hungry. Data’s the bait.”
[Redacted Section 18: 43 characters removed per Interplanetary Salvage Code §7.2]
We sold the core. Bought a moon of our own. Fumiko took to drinking. I took to checking my comms for that damn theme song.
Last I heard, she’s on a freighter headed to the Oort Cloud. Chasing something. Or running.
The terminal PA crackles again. On time now.
I toss the coffee. Creamer swirls like debris in a vacuum.
Sometimes, I hum that tune. Just to make sure I’m still alone.
[Final Annotation: Lena Lee’s account remains unverified. The E. Kaguya was destroyed in 2021 during a routine debris burn. No salvage operations were authorized.]