fading away, bursts of random static that somehow seemed to formed patterns just beyond his grasp, and beneath it all a low hiss of background noise.
Paul shivered again. 'What is that?'
'Space ghosts.' Tweed's lips quirked in a smile that was only half-humorous. 'That's what they're called, anyway. You lower the noise filters for your radio receiver and expand the frequency reception band. Then you hear them.'
A long, low moan whispered across the circuit. 'Jeez. That's weird. I guess it's actually really weak signals, Earth-origin and like that, too weak and distorted to be understood? And background radiation and stuff like that?'
'Technically, yeah. A physicist can give you a full run-down of the likely origin of every sound you hear. But… if you listen to it, out here, you hear other stuff. Stuff that doesn't seem to fit technical models.' A sound like a whisper, seemingly just a fraction too quiet to be understood, echoed softly, then vanished into a series of static bursts that almost sounded like Morse code, but weren't. 'That's why they're nicknamed space ghosts. If you listen long enough, you start to hear things. Long lost ships calling for help, maybe. Aliens sending messages, maybe threats or maybe greetings. Other stuff.' Jan Tweed half smiled again. 'I served with a warrant officer once who swore that one night he heard his name called, clear as a bell, by an old shipmate. A shipmate who'd been dead several years.'
Paul fought down another shiver. 'He was probably just messing with you. You know warrants. They love to play games with the minds of junior officers.'
'Maybe.'
'Mr. Sinclair?' Paul turned as his name was called. Petty Officer Juniro, the quartermaster of the watch, was nodding solemnly. Usually, the quartermaster and the bosun mate of the Watch sat in the rear of the bridge, conversing among themselves in a social world separate from that of the officers until professional duties required communication. 'Sir, there's stuff out here that doesn't belong in any technical manual. That's a fact, sir.' The bosun nodded as well, her face somber. 'You heard of the Titan Expedition, right?'
'The Titan Expedition? Which one?'
'The second, sir. Where they lost those people?'
'Oh, yeah. An ice quake, wasn't it?' He glanced at Tweed for confirmation. 'They'd landed on what they thought was a stable section of the ice sheet covering that moon of Saturn, but then the sheet started breaking apart and throwing out plates of ice that could have sliced through the ship, so the lander had to do an emergency lift off to avoid being destroyed. Several members of the exploration team didn't make it back in time.'
'Right, sir. And then the fourth expedition.'
'The fourth? That had two landers, if I remember right. That's about all I know of that one.'
Juniro nodded, his eyes intent. 'Right, sir,' he repeated. 'The third expedition, that one went somewhere else on Titan, but the fourth came back to near where the second one had landed. And it had two landers. Well, they hadn't been down long, the first ship's night in fact, when the watch standers on the first lander spotted some people moving on the surface.' Paul raised his eyebrows to indicate interest as Juniro continued. 'They was surprised, you see, 'cause there wasn't supposed to be anybody out exploring just then. But they spotted these suits moving. After they saw the first couple of them they tracked back and spotted the others coming up out of a cleft in the ice. Then they watched 'em, six of 'em, walk up to the second lander and walk up the access ladder and into the airlock.'
Paul glanced at Tweed, then back at the quartermaster. 'So?'
'So, like I said, sir, there wasn't supposed to be anybody on the surface just then. The watch notified the expedition commander and he called the second lander and demanded to know who the hell had sent a party out. And the second lander says 'Nobody.' They said they hadn't sent anyone onto the surface. So then the commander asks 'em who just came aboard the lander and they said 'Nobody.' And sure enough, the auto-logs for the second lander didn't show anybody coming in through the airlock. But the three watch standers on the first lander, three of 'em, sir, all swore they'd seen six suits walk to that lander and climb aboard.'
Juniro paused, looking from Paul to Lieutenant Tweed to the bosun. 'That's when they remembered the second lander had been the same lander used in the Second Expedition. The one that left those crew members behind, sir.' Juniro paused again. 'And there'd been six of 'em, sir. Six crew left behind to be swallowed by the ice. Well, the instruments all said nothing had happened, but the watch standers on the first lander, they knew what they'd seen. Those six crew members, they'd finally made it back to their lander.'
Silence stretched, before Paul became aware he was holding his breath and inhaled deeply. He glanced at Tweed, who was frowning at the deck, then at the two enlisted. The quartermaster and the bosun nodded at each other, apparently sharing in a knowledge born not of physics but of years riding the deck plates, no trace of covert mirth on their faces. A long, undulating rhythm of static rolled out of Tweed's speaker, ending in a brief shriek which seemed to choke off abruptly. Outside, the stars glittered coldly.
Carl Meadows chuckled softly. 'Juniro's a bull artist, Paul. He can spin a great sea-story, but don't buy any bridges from him.'
'So that stuff about the fourth Titan expedition isn't true?'
Carl shrugged. 'I've no idea. Could be.'
'The logs from the expedition-'
'Wouldn't prove anything. If the incident wasn't there, you could argue the commander ordered them not to log it, or that the logs had been censored afterwards.'
Paul frowned. 'I thought logs couldn't be altered once they were recorded.'
'Oh, hell, Paul. Maybe I ought to try to sell you a bridge. Of course they can alter logs. They're just electronic data. I don't care what safeguards officially exist, I'll guarantee you there's ways to get around them. Stuff happens that no one wants to be in logs, right? So you change history a little. Click, click, click. Never happened. All is right with the world.'
Paul laughed. 'Okay. So I'm naive. I'm an ensign.'
'You've been one for a few months, now.' Meadows grinned. 'You've got to start learning sometime.'
'Yes, sir, Lieutenant Junior Grade Meadows, sir. So what do you, personally, think? Is that Titan stuff just a ghost story?'
Meadows pursed his lips, then shrugged again. 'Hell if I know. Sometimes that stuff is easy to believe. Other times it sounds like nonsense. On the bridge, on the mid-watch, in the middle of nowhere, it plays real. But tell it in a bar on Franklin Station and you'd probably find yourself laughed out of Earth orbit.'
'Then you're an agnostic on space ghosts?'
Carl grinned again. 'Human spirits can seem a long ways away out here, but it's too damn cold and empty to be comfortable with atheism. Call me a space ghost pragmatist.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
'Hey, Sinclair!' Paul winced slightly as Ensign Sam Yarrow stuck his head in the stateroom. Turning, he saw Yarrow standing in the hatch to the ensign locker and smiling at him with apparent commiseration. 'I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Commander Garcia was checking how his junior officers were doing on their Open Space Warfare Officer qualifications.' Paul barely kept from wincing again. With everything else demanding his time, he hadn't even looked at his OSWO qualification requirements in over a week. 'He wasn't too happy. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.'
Yeah, I bet. I also bet you were the one who got him thinking he should check on my OSWO quals, after you'd gotten a bunch of your own OSWO stuff signed off. Outwardly, Paul just nodded. 'Thanks.'
'No problem. Just-'
'Coming through. Make way,' Kris Denaldo barked, elbowing Yarrow to one side. Ignoring Yarrow's glower, she focused on Meadows. 'Carl. You promised to check off some of my OSWO qualifications. I've got maybe half an hour before all hell breaks loose again. You free?'
'Free enough.' Carl gestured to Paul. 'And, by sheer coincidence, Paul here is also ready to get some of his OSWO stuff signed off. Right?'
'Uh…'
'Right. Come on.' Meadows and Sinclair crowded out past Yarrow, then Denaldo flattened herself against the bulkhead to let Meadows take the lead as he headed for the compartments near the outer hull.
