Air sung in her throat. She sucked it down and it bloomed cool in her lungs. Clawing for support her hand smacked a cup from its perch atop a table and, toppling, it spewed dry sediment over the shining floor. Coughing and shaking her head free of fogginess, captain Orpicea heaved herself upright and stared across an unfamiliar mess hall. For a moment she had no idea where she was. Then she went rigid and snatched at the clasp of her helmet. The seal was in place. In fact, it felt like an entirely new suit. It clung strangely to her body like someone's borrowed clothes.
The drone? Probably. Removing her helmet seemed drastic, but it had clearly saved her life.
With hands that were still trembling she searched the suit. In one of its pouches, she found its power lead. Steadying herself on the table, she rose.
Her footfalls mumbled through her suit as she stomped through the belly of the ship. That was the one blessing in this mess; if the ship had an atmosphere, her passage would have been loud enough to hear between decks. A quick interface with the first terminal she could find led her to the helm. She met nobody on her way there, not even bodies. Just wreckage and blackened plating.
Helm accepted her without protest. Banks of tangled wiring consumed walls that were skirted by dusty panels. The room hummed with tiny unseen fans and the contented ticking of busy electronics.
Two azure eyes peered out from over the back of the captain's chair. Its voice came croaking through her suit's radio.
'Finally,' it said, twisting to its feet.
She kept one hand in her suit pocket, fingers tight around the power lead. 'This your crew's?' she said, rapping her knuckles on the helmet.
'Yes.'
'Any left?'
Its eyes flickered. 'I am the acting CO. Tell her, Kelly.'
The intercom blipped. 'SD003183-8N,' it said, 'is my acting CO.'
Orpicea spoke to the ceiling. 'A drone can't command a starship.'
'I seem to be managing,' said the drone. She ignored it.
'All other candidates were exhausted.' The ship appeared to think for a moment. 'It wasn't anything bad, if that's what you were thinking.'
'Oh,' said Orpicea. 'That's a load off my mind.'
The drone set its palms on a console and leaned over it, watching her. It occurred to her that this was a rather unusual pose for a drone. 'There was an accident.'
'You don't say.'
'Your suit identified you as captain Orpicea. Is that correct?'
'Former captain, really.'
'Oh?'
She cleared her throat. Keeping one eye on the drone she wandered over to one of the displays. 'Yes,' she said, poking one of the controls. She frowned at something she saw there.
'Oh?' The syllable was a perfect echo of its previous one.
She wrinkled her nose. 'I had an, ah . . .'
'. . . Accident?'
Orpicea scowled at the drone. It watched her, poker-faced. For the first time she noticed its eyes were blinking asynchronously.
It stirred. 'Step away from the equipment, if you would. Now: ex-captain Orpicea, allow me to say that I'm very pleased you have recovered from your little episode. I'm very pleased about it, and I'm sure Kelly is too.'
'I'm very pleased,' said the ship.
'So. As a servitor drone I have an obligation—and as acting CO I have the authority—to extend to you all possible aid. The orbital habitat Little Tynte is, at your pod's acceleration capability, within one month's flight; would you permit me to furnish you with the requisite fuel and oxygen?'
Orpicea weighed this for a moment. She stepped away from the display and approached the drone. She looked up into the gleaming slab that was its face. 'Drone,' she said. 'Why are the sleeper pods set for several millenia past their expiry?'
'What? That must be a mistake.'
She twirled her finger at it. 'Turn around and unlock your interface. I'm going to access your logs.'
'Excuse me?'
'Ship,' she said, holding the drone's gaze, 'as the only human aboard this vessel I'm invoking command authority. You appear to have been hijacked by this drone.'
'Heavens! Have I?'
The drone's eyes flared. 'No. No!' It stiffened, and for a second Orpicea thought it was actually going to attack her. Then its eyes guttered. As it turned it almost seemed to slump. Its interface hissed open on its back. Orpicea stifled a grin. This was too easy.
'Thank you very much,' she said, and ramping it up well past the recommended voltage she jammed the suit's power lead into the exposed socket. Her helmet lights spluttered as the drone convulsed. She could hear its servos whirring through the vibrations in her suit. Its arm vomited sparks. She ripped the lead free and it twitched, went taut, then tipped over like a plastic doll and lay still upon the floor.
'There's my counter offer,' she said. 'Ship, set a course for Little Tynte. And where's my fucking suit?'
'Captain Orpicea,' said the ship, 'we are being hailed. Also, my name is Kelly.'
An orange indicator flashed at the far end of the helm. She stared at it. She swallowed.
'Also, your suit is still in the docking bay.'
'Shut up,' she snapped. Between Myriad station, the servitor drone at her feet and her frankly conspicuous presence aboard this charred husk of a ghost ship, Orpicea racked her brains for all the reasons someone might have to hail this ship that didn't end up with her dead or imprisoned.
She couldn't think of very many.
