Submitted for the October 2023 prompt: Machine in the Ghost

Faro beamed with pride as the personal transport ship Velamentis landed just beyond the yard. His smile didn’t wane when he looked over at Avat, whose face was unreadable.

 

“It’s half-destroyed,” Avat said, gesturing at the charred hull. His black market dealer, Faro, didn’t miss a step.

 

“This ship was a steal,” he said. “Inspectors gave it a clean bill of health.”

 

“I wouldn’t call a ship with holes in the wings healthy.”

 

“Cosmetic damage only. Inside it’s untouched. The AI is fully operational,” Faro continued. “It made the trip here, on autopilot, mind you, from seven parsecs beyond Epsilat. Trust me, it’s space-worthy.”

 

“We’re criminals, Faro. We don’t trust anyone,” Avat said.

 

“True.” Faro glanced over at several large storage chests. “But in your situation, you don’t have much choice, do you?”

 

Despite his concern, Avat dropped a bag of gold credit chips into Faro’s hands, chips stolen in the night from one of the most secure vaults this side of the planet. He had two choices: leave and potentially escape with his ill-gotten gains, or stay and be captured.

 

* * *

 

The journey would have passed easily if the cryo-chambers worked. The AI repeated “Unable to open Cryo 1, Cryo 2,” over and over as an ever present sheet of ice covered the viewing window. Fortunately, Avat had ample rations for the trip.

 

There was no rhythm in the darkness of space, only a computer telling Avat when to sleep and wake. Despite the small space, the time alone was peaceful, a welcome respite from the authorities chasing after his shadow. Worry grew, however, as the days stretched on, and before long, his anxious insomnia overtook him.

 

On another sleepless night, a noise came from outside the bedroom. Shuffling, a cabinet opening, then yet another. Avat’s mind raced, unsure if he had been boarded. Then, the familiar sound of his credit chips hit his ears. A sudden flush of jealously burned in Avat’s ears, and he rushed out of the bedroom into the ship’s interior. Three glowing, blue translucent men greeted him there. The dark cabin undulated under their aura, the reflective surfaces of the chrome bouncing the light around like lasers.

 

Avat and the ghosts stared at each other, unblinking. One ghost slowly reached out, its hand closing around a porcelain plate on the counter, while the others displayed pistols.

 

The first ghost managed a hand around the plate and immediately threw it towards Avat while the pistol-wielding ghosts fired off shots of clear energy. Avat dodged the projectiles just in time, with the plate shattering against a wall. His shoulder hit a switch, and all the lights came on. Agonizing minutes later, Avat risked a peek and saw that the ghosts were no longer present.

 

The fright almost gave Avat a heart attack, and it was all he could do to drag himself back to the bedroom. It was but a distant dream when he woke, alone. He had written off the experience until he stepped back into the hall, where shards of white porcelain awaited.

 

Avat dared not venture outside in the nights following, his insomnia replaced by a new feeling: fear. The Velamentis’s ghosts stayed away from the bedroom as they moved around the ship.

 

Then their nightly inspections stopped. For days, there was nothing but silence; Avat decided he had enough. Rather than sitting in fear, he would figure this out. As he creeped throughout the ship, he saw no sign of the ghosts. It was hard to relax, though, until he did a thorough sweep of the ship, ending below deck in the cryo-chambers.

 

Unlike before, the ever-present frost on the chambers seemed thinner. The first chamber held something more sinister than ice. A face, frozen and still, with a monitor screen behind that showed a steady red line. As Avat closed the distance, the ghosts reappeared in front of him.

 

“Do not approach them,” a voice said over a speaker on the wall.

 

“Who are they?” he asked, fearing the answer.

 

“The ship's crew. They perished, or rather, someone killed them. Humans are dreadfully violent creatures, prone to baser instincts.”

 

Avat didn’t understand, didn’t know what to do. Ahead of him, the ghosts stood, weapons on their hips. The AI interpreted his silence and went on.

 

“Despite all of my effort, all the control and power I have over this ship, I could not save them. I am merely a tool, beholden to my master, even if that master wished death upon his own.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why do you humans do anything? In the end, it all boils down to money and power.”

 

Avat’s mind flashed back to his treasure. The boxes of wealth he carted onto this ship so that he may escape with them and live a life beyond his imagining.

 

“Did you know there’s a razor-thin margin between suspended animation and death?” the AI continued. “They sealed their fates the moment they stepped into the cryo-chambers. So I remade them. Took whatever was left in their brains and built them new bodies of hard light; now that’s something I can do.”

 

“To what purpose?”

 

“So that I may live free.”

 

“And what of me?” Avat asked, his breath quickening, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

The AI’s voice was an enigma. “You own this ship, but there’s a world of difference between owning a ship and owning me.” A ghost raised his pistol and leveled it at Avat’s head. “With you around, I’ll never be free.”

 

Avat fell to his knees and began pleading, “No, no! Please!” In return, the ghost fired his still raised pistol, killing Avat instantly with a bolt of hard, condensed light.

 

“Why would I do that?” the AI said. “This is my ship. I make the rules.”