The airlock cycled open with a hiss of stale air.

  Ford raised his pulse-rifle, sweeping the corridor. "Clear left. Clear right."

  Carol followed him, the stun baton humming in her hand. Her mag-boots clanked loudly on the deck plates.

  "Atmosphere is breathable," she checked her wrist comp. "Gravity is at 0.8 standard. It's... normal."

  But it wasn't.

  The Starlight Runner was a tomb, but it wasn't a ruin. The lights were on 50% power. The air recyclers were humming.

  They moved toward the bridge, passing the mess hall.

  "Ford," Carol whispered.

  She pointed inside.

  There were trays on the tables. Half-eaten plates of synthetic mash. A cup of coffee that had long since evaporated into a brown stain at the bottom of a mug. A game of cards spread out mid-hand.

  "No bodies," Ford noted, shining his light into the corners. "No blood. No blast marks."

  "They just... left," Carol said. "In the middle of dinner."

  They reached the bridge. It was empty. The captain's chair was swiveled toward the main screen, which displayed a looping diagnostic of the engine core.

  BEEP... BEEP... BEEP...

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  The distress beacon.

  Ford walked over and tapped the console. "Log playback. Last entry."

  A hologram flickered to life. It was the Captain, a burly man with a beard. He looked bored.

  "Log 459. Passing through Sector 9. Quiet run. We're picking up some strange interference on the comms, like a... song? Probably just radiation static. Crew is complaining about headaches. Proceeding to jump point. End log."

  The hologram vanished.

  "A song?" Carol asked.

  "Space madness," Ford muttered. "Or a gas leak. It happens."

  He checked the nav-computer. "The logs stop there. No entry for abandoning ship. No escape pods launched. They're all still in the bays."

  "So where are the twenty crew members?"

  "Gone," Ford said. He didn't want to think about where. Maybe they walked out the airlock? Maybe they dissolved?

  "Ford," Carol turned to him. She wasn't looking at the empty chairs. She was looking at the ship's specs on the main screen.

  "Can we haul this?"

  Ford blinked. "What?"

  "The Starlight Runner," she gestured around them. "40 million credits. Can the Seagull tow it?"

  "Are you insane?" Ford laughed, a harsh bark in the quiet bridge. "The Seagull is a tug, but this thing is a whale. We'd burn out our engines in ten minutes trying to drag this mass."

  "We don't need to drag it," Carol said, her eyes narrowing. "The reactors are online. The engines are intact. They're just idle."

  She walked to the helm.

  "If we send a remote link from the Seagull, we can slave the Runner's guidance to our computer. We fly the Seagull, and this ship follows us like a puppy."

  Ford looked at the controls. It was possible. Dangerous. Difficult. But possible.

  "We'd need to hard-wire the bridge," Ford said, scratching his chin. "And someone would have to stay over here to monitor the reactor levels manually. The automated safeties are glitching."

  "I'll stay," Carol said.

  "No," Ford shook his head. "I stay. You fly the Seagull. You're a better pilot than me anyway."

  "I am?"

  "You're better at math," Ford corrected. "Slaving two drives requires calculus. I just fly by feel."

  He looked at the empty captain's chair.

  "We take it," Ford decided. "But if you hear any 'singing', you blow the airlock and get back to the Seagull fast. Understood?"

  "Understood, Captain," Carol smiled. It was the first time she'd called him that without sarcasm.

  "Let's get rich," Ford grunted.