to the door and then frowns as an error message flashes across the screen. "I can't synch up with the ship."
"You thought you could?" I look at him in surprise. "Even I'm not that dumb."
He gives me a withering look. "It's one of my family's ships. Of course I should be able to connect with the system. I have access to everything. Or I should." He frowns down at his data pad. "Someone's been tampering with things."
"Let's go tamper back," Kaspar says eagerly. He nods at the door. "Say the word."
"Er, before we race in…do we know how many crew were on this ship when she last left port?" I ask Straik, curious. The bigger the crew is, the more likely the odds for a mutiny.
"Seven," he says. "All very loyal sa'Rin males."
"Huh," is all I say. "Seven crew to operate this enormous ship?"
Kaspar shrugs. "So it's not livestock, then."
I guess not.
Straik turns to Kaspar and nods. He slides his data pad back into its holster and pulls his fancy-looking blaster back out. I admire it for a moment. I need to steal me one of those. Before I can ask where he got it, Kaspar hits the panel on the ship.
The doors glide open in a silent welcome.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up again. We didn't have to hack that at all. "Ghosts," I whisper again.
9
ADIRON
I follow close behind Kaspar, my weapon at the ready as we walk down the hall of the eerily quiet ship. The lights are on, and the floors surprisingly dust-free. That doesn't mean anything, of course. The cleaning bots could be going through their regular cycles, not realizing that there's no one on board. The hall itself is long and unadorned, the walls the same treated metal that most ships are made from. There's no damage to the gray paint coating them, either. No scratches or blaster scorch marks, and best of all, no blood. That's a good sign.
Kaspar lifts his head and sniffs the air. "You smell that?"
I look around and sniff. I don't smell anything. Well, no, I take that back. I smell dust and the air is sour and musty, but nothing else. "I don't smell anything but your socks," I joke.
"The air smells, but it's not as bad as it should be," Kaspar points out. "I thought it'd smell like your sac when we came in here, but nothing smells that bad."
I snicker, because that's a pretty good one.
"But no dead things, and the air's not too bad." Kaspar gets a thoughtful look on his face, his blaster raised at the ready as he looks around. "Someone's here."
"Hmm." I turn to look behind me and I can't help but notice that Straik and his men are waiting near the door, watching Kaspar and me wander in. I guess we're bait as much as anything else. Lovely.
I turn back to the front, taking a few steps ahead of Kaspar as he pauses. The hall branches in three different directions, all of them leading to new long corridors and myriad closed doors. There's a lot of places for someone to hide.
Kaspar turns back to Straik. "You have a schematic, right? Which way to the bridge?"
As my brother speaks, a pale face peers around the corner.
My heart skips a beat in my chest. Keffing ghosts. I was right. Before I can scream like a child, though, the pale thing steps forward and I realize it's not a ghost.
It's a pale human.
I fire up my blaster, the cartridge whining as it comes to life, and instantly, Kaspar is on alert. He turns at my side, his blaster pointing in the same direction as mine.
"Don't shoot," the human calls out, raising her hands in the air. For a moment, her voice sounds so much like my sister Zoey's that my skin prickles. This female doesn't look much like Zoey, though. They're about the same age, but this one's got pale yellow hair falling around a small, heart-shaped face and bright green eyes. Her expression is one of pleasure as she takes a few cautious steps forward, and I can't help but notice that she's small. Where Zoey was short but sturdy, this one is slender and delicate.
She's also wearing next to nothing.
Her clothes are rags, her small feet bare. What once might have been a standard issue jumper (worn by ship crews and maintenance) is shredded. It hangs at her hips in pieces, a skirt that shows far too much pale,