His days pass quickly. Wil spends all of it on the bridge—all of it, that is, that isn’t taken up with grabbing something to eat in the kitchen or taking care of other needs in the small head, which he’s found it located behind the bridge, next to the airlock antechamber.
By the time the Reaper enters orbit over Fury, Wil has a basic grasp of how to pilot an Ankarran Raptor (which is what he’s discovered the Reaper is), though landing on a planet might still be a bit out of his skill set still.
“Computer, are you able to assist me in landing the ship?”
“Affirmative,” comes the emotionless response.
Wil wonders if the computer realizes how close it is to crashing into a planet and exploding. “Good. Please guide me the through the process, take over if I give the command. Is that understood?”
“Affirmative. Incoming comms from Fury Space Control.”
“Put them through, audio only.” Wil would prefer no one to know he’s the only one on the ship.
“This is Fury Space Control,” barks a voice. “Please state your business.”
Though nervous, Wil manages to negotiate a landing pad at a low-rent spaceport. He could afford better. The ship’s account is fairly healthy, but he doesn’t know how long it’ll be until he can make more money, or how much it’ll take to doctor up some records.
The landing goes smoothly—or at least as smoothly as Wil could hope for, given that he’s never landed a spaceship on an alien planet before, despite the few bumps and hiccups along the way and a near collision with a bulk freighter. That had resulted in a lot of screaming, both from the freighter and from Space Control.
The spaceport isn’t all that impressive, even to Wil, who’s never been on an alien world before. It’s overcrowded, smoggy, and congested, just like Los Angeles. Granted, the occupants are all alien races: tall and short, blue, green, purple and red, tentacled, multi-limbed, slug-like, and even gelatinous, but otherwise not really that different. God, am I already getting used to this? Wil wonders.
“Computer, secure the ship,” he says, as he walks down the boarding ramp. “No one allowed on or near until I return. If anyone tries, issue one warning, then fire.”
“Acknowledged.” The inner doors to the cargo area close behind him.
Wil wanders the spaceport for a few hours, before catching on to how it’s set up. There is the obvious surface layout: clothiers, food stalls, technology shops, all in little groupings. But then he starts to see the underlying organization. Thankfully, being a human among beings who either don’t know what a human is, or do and find it interesting, helps them open up when he asks questions. Another hour of wandering about, and he’s knocking on a door to a storefront that looks like it hasn’t been occupied in years.
The door opens, and small face pokes out. “What do you want?”
“Your help,” Wil says. He’s not sure this is a good idea, but from what he’s been able to piece together, the being behind this door is his best bet for actually surviving the next few weeks.
The door opens, and Wil enters, before it slams shut behind him. As his eyes adjust, he sees that his potential savior is a roughly four-foot-tall green alien, with a big head. The being walks ahead of him, through an anteroom which has a shimmering privacy field over the doorway. Beyond is a workshop that puts NASA to shame. There are monitors everywhere, and computer consoles of various sizes and shapes.
The small being turns. “So, what do you want?” It points to a stool on the opposite side of a work bench. Wil sits down and begins to outline his problem.
“Easy,” the alien says. “You got money? This won’t be cheap. Also, we’ll have to do the last of the work on your ship.”
Wil spends another three hours sitting in what the small being—Ben-Ari, he said his name is—calls his ‘customer lounge.’ There’s not much to do in this lounge other than sit and watch some alien news channel, which seems to be the only thing—other than porn—that Ben-Ari streams into his little hacker’s den.
Finally, the alien says, “I’m done, here.” He tosses a bracelet-like thing to Wil, who catches it easily. “That’s a wrist comm. I’m sure you saw them on your old crew. When we get to your ship, I’ll tie the wrist comm to your ship’s computer systems, after I’ve changed its name and registration data.”
The walk back to the spaceport is certainly shorter than Wil’s original journey. Less than an hour after leaving Ben-Ari’s shop, they’re in the Reaper’s computer access area, located in the engineering space. Ben-Ari is crawling around inside the computer core, while Wil sits at a workbench, exploring the features of his new wrist comm.
“Hey! Human,” Ben-Ari calls, as he crawls back out of the access space, tablet in hand. “What do you want to call your new ship?”
Wil looks around the engineering space, thinking of Jax and Rolo, of Ulgo and Lanksham, the two other crew members he never got to know, all of whom died in the Hulgian space station. Ghosts who Wil will never forget. Beings who could have killed him when they found him or left him to die in his pod, but who instead showed him a kindness not common in the galaxy. Ghosts.
“She’s the Ghost. That’s her name. Ghost.”
Ben-Ari nods, “The Ghost, good name.” He taps on this tablet a few times. “Done.”