The Salvage of the Mulciber

By Ben Sonnek

Whoa, here’s your coin and there’s a chair,

Tell ‘em the tale again!

“Ahoy Cap’n! We have an inert vessel within range!”

            They say no pleas can move a captain’s heart. That may be true, but a word of treasure can certainly move her feet—Rachael Coreanda, captain of the starsweeper Athens, rose from the command chair and crossed the bridge, stopping just behind the crewman who’d hailed her. “An inert craft? An odd find for Sector 66…what do our scans say about it?”

            Ensign Jack enhanced the scanners to check for the particulars. “She’s named the Mulciber, sir, ID signature 201003151950. Hmm…it says that she’s a travelling forge-ship. We haven’t been hailed yet, nor have our own transmissions been responded to either, sir.”

            “We’re coming into visual range now, captain,” called the helmsman. “Initiating backthrust and heaving to—stopping distance 500 yards!” The Athens groaned determinedly as the starfield outside began to slow down.

            The Mulciber grew onto the bridge’s visual field. She was a sight to behold—triple main engine cluster, single flying bridge, and a colossal boxlike structure that comprised the bow, undoubtedly the main forges. Not too fancy, but it was serviceable for processing slag on route from the mines to Terracentral’s main processing plants. Captain Coreanda searched the ship with her eyes. Only a few dim corridor lights were on, and the bridge was dark. All the escape capsules were gone, but the vessel appeared structurally sound. Interesting.

            “What records do we have on this vessel, ensign?”

            Jack swiped over to a different readout. “The Mulciber is employed by Steele & Olympia Mining Company, seven years of service—all routine, apparently—before she went missing three days ago. She’s just within the statute of limitations for salvage, sir. Do you wish to deploy a boarding party?”

            Something still felt off. Steele & Olympia…this ship was way off course. “Since we’re within the limits, run a deep-level penetration scan,” Captain Coreanda ordered. “I want to know the ship’s environmental factors.”

            A few more seconds of manipulating, and Jack was rattling off some more data. “Thermal scans indicate live furnaces and central reactor, but no other signs of habitation. The ship is currently running on emergency power, but atmospheric stabilizers appear to be functioning properly. Oh, and one more thing, sir—gravity settings are default across the vessel, but in the forge room itself it’s set down to 25 percent.”

            The entire bridge fell silent, more than a few crewmembers casting glances at the ensign and captain. A forge with a low gravity setting—ideal for efficiently transporting and manipulating very heavy metals…

            Despite the hopeful faces of her subordinates, the captain still felt uneasy. It was too easy. But it was nigh impossible to hold back everyone when treasure was at hand. “Alright,” she said at last, “Bosun Pekug! Select a boarding party and outfit them in scouting armor. I’ll accompany you personally to inspect the cargo. Don’t get your hopes up, though—if the crew are gone, odds are the ore was taken long before we got here. Or something else may be wrong.”

            “Aw lighten up, Cap’n Corry!” shouted back the bosun (who’d selected his team long ago). “You’ve read too many books in your day. I see a waiting prize, just the turn of fortune that we need!”

Oh sing me a song of the starry sea,

Of a roaming salvage band,

That came across the Mulciber

Far from its native land.

The cap’n raised her wary eye

At its suspicious lull,

But the comp’ny crew, they saw and knew,

‘Twas gold inside her hull!

Whoa, give ‘im a drink then set it away,

And tell ‘em the tale again!

           

            The hatch slid open, setting loose half a dozen lightly armored men into the Mulciber’s subsurface corridor. Bosun Pekug nodded once after checking with his portable enviro-reader, but Coreanda forestalled any further advance with a raised hand. The party froze as the captain listened…

            Not a sound. Partly on edge and partly relieved, Coreanda waved forward twice. The detachment snapped on their headlamps and moved off down the dim hallway. The captain may have been attached to the old ways, sniffing and listening, but it hadn’t backfired on her yet.

Soon they’d made it to the forge sector’s formidable door—an override passcode provided by Pekug removed the locks. He laid his hand on the doorlever and glanced back at the captain. She hesitated, but then nodded approval. With a crunch, the door slid aside and the squad filed onto a walkway, adjusting themselves to the lighter gravity. The Mulciber’s forge was a colossal spectacle—burning furnaces shone eerily across a lifeless scene, filling the hanger-sized bay with a crimson radiance that dully rippled off the metallic floor and walls. Twin cranes were suspended on their guiding tracks across the ceiling girders, and a few sturdy carts were scattered around the workstations and tool racks. But what captivated everyone’s attention was the crates—about a score of industrial-grade containers for transporting valuable cargo. The bosun and the other four men ran (well, practically floated) down the steps towards the stack, leaving Coreanda behind. She was still wary—the thermal scan on her own enviro-reader didn’t appear unusual, but her gut refused to let her go. There had never been a salvage this easy, and she didn’t believe nature would allow such lucky breaks now. She was certain it wouldn’t.

“Yahoo!” A crewman practically dove into a crate, coming up again with a buttery-colored brick. “It’s gold, lads! It’s a gold cargo! We’re bringin’ home the money tonight, lads!” As the rest set to work prizing open the other containers, the man turned around and held the brick up high for the captain to see, the light from the furnace shining on his face.

Then that light went out.

Accounts of what he said next are murky, but it was most likely something like this: “AAAAAAAAAA!”

So they clothed themselves with armor-plates

And on her decks did slip,

Creeping deep into the depths

Of long-forgotten ship.

And in her forges dank they found

The treasure that they sought.

Rejoicing, though, did then awake

A creature long forgot…

Whoa, I’m nae tired if yer awake,

So tell ‘em the tale again!

Captain Coreanda had a balcony view of the unfolding drama—the others, less lucky, became part of it.

An enormous serpentine life form flowed out of the furnace where it had been hiding, its reverberant hiss mingling with the flames it had just vacated. It was forty, maybe fifty feet in length, as big around as a transport bus, but that didn’t hamper its easy glide through the lightweight room. Embers sizzled and fell off its blackened skin as its eye-pits locked onto the formerly exultant crewman—who was still screaming.

The serpent, possibly awakened by the noise, put a stop to it most efficiently. In an unbelievably fast lunge, it leaped across the floor, swallowing down the screamer in its sucker-like maw. A yelp from another poor witness—the thing slithered over the crates towards the sound. On the way past, though, its coils brushed across Pekug who’d been standing there, shocked into silence. Not about to lose its next meal, the serpent looped its tail about the bosun while at the same time consuming the other annoyance.

For a moment, Captain Coreanda was just as stunned as Pekug. The monster’s appearance had overwhelmed her with wonder, fear, shock, helplessness, despair…but as it began devouring her men, all those emotions gave way to anger. Deep, searing anger. Anger with the monster, anger with her men, anger towards herself. She saw red—and not just because of the furnaces. She was captain. These men were her responsibility. And there was no way that this was going to continue. No way in hell!

Almost by instinct, Coreanda sprang towards a control panel on the catwalk. The beast was in the center of the room—she smacked a command icon, and holographic claws surrounded her hands, motion controls for the overhead cranes. She reached down and the cranes did likewise, slamming onto the midsection of the serpent. The creature squawked as it was picked up off the floor, but remembering the crewman in its coils, it reached its head around to finish the job. Coreanda snarled, squeezing tight and moving her hands apart. The crane-claws slid across the snake’s slippery skin, pulling the head away and unwrapping the tail from around the bosun. This stretching delivered an unexpected bonus—as Pekug fell into the hands of the survivors below, the serpent, with the crane claw nearing his neck, suddenly opened wide and vomited out its two previous meals. They were too shaken to scream now, but they were still alive! The other three on the floor rushed over to drag them away.

The tail slid free from the first crane—sensing this, the monster began to thrash around, blocking the crew’s path back to the catwalk. Seeing this, the captain spun her hand and jabbed it out over and over. The last crane mimicked the movements perfectly, bashing the snake’s head repeatedly into the forge’s wall. The thrashing died down after about the fifth shuddering impact.

“Whoa whoa, cap’n! Hold up! It’s had enough!”

At the bosun’s cry, Coreanda caught a hold of herself, deactivating the crane to let the limp serpent fall to the ground. She shook her head a few times. “Is…is everyone OK?”

Considering his recent brush with potential entrée-ism, Bosun Pekug seemed remarkably jubilant. “Are you kidding, cap’n? That was fantastic! You and the Athens will be the talk of the salvage industry for ages! Unknown hostile lifeform hiding in a mark, and you engage it and emerge with all of our hands—after some of them had been eaten!” (Two slime-covered privates nodded dumbly.) “It was amazing! Now let’s get out of here before that thing wakes back up. I don’t—”

Captain Coreanda stopped him short. “No, bosun. We’re taking the gold with us—signal the Athens to pull up to a closer hatch. We did not just go through all that just to leave our reward to a monster. Now move!”

A tremendous snake slid from the flames

To catch the sorry crew,

It caught the bosun in its coils

And ate another two.

This got the cap’n pretty mad

So she grabbed the thing in twain,

Squeezed his crewmen out both ends

And beat the beastie’s brain!

Whoa, take a munch, there, that’s yer lunch,

Now tell ‘em the tale again!

Captain Coreanda of the Athens took a seat in her command chair.

“Shiplog, mission report: Oversaw the salvage of one forge-ship, the Mulciber, formerly employed by Steele & Olympia. Gained: twenty containers of refined gold from the vessel’s main forges. Cost: two units of scout armor have been lightly corroded, as the crewmembers were nearly eaten—in addition, minor medical and psychiatric aid have needed to be administered to most all members of the scouting party.

“Incident report: During salvage, party found one animalistic lifeform that consumed two crewmembers shortly after its encounter. With some swift action, both men were retrieved from the beast, which was then rendered unconscious. Taking advantage of this, salvage crew retrieved the ship’s cargo, making back to the Athens before the creature woke up. We’ve left it alive inside the forge of the Mulciber, leaving a warning signal on the ship’s main transmitter. With luck, that should keep anyone else from so unfortunate an encounter before Terracentral can retrieve it and contain the threat. Captain out.”

As she indicated the mainframe to cease recording, Coreanda noticed Bosun Pekug lingering closer than he normally did. She turned to face him, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Really, cap’n? You just took our most fantastic salvage adventure of all time and made it sound, well…boring. How is anyone supposed to really feel the danger if you don’t capture it for them somehow?”

“What I wrote was true, Pekug,” she replied, “which is more than I can say for whatever you’ll write about the incident. Oh, I saw you, working on something back at your station. Whatever it is, it had better not rhyme.”

He smiled.

When the squiggly critter woke again

It flew into a rage,

But cap’n and crew had stolen gold,

And exited the stage.

They say in salvage there’s a loss

For every gain to you.

Well, if you’re smart you’ll seize the prize

And save your bosun too!

Whoa, that’s the end, but we’re still here,

Tell ‘em a tale again!

Author Notes

This is what happens when I start goofing around.

While it didn’t win the college’s short fiction award—I won it the year before—“The Salvage of the Mulciber” did get published in the 2016 annual arts magazine. I had this short story idea in mind at the time and was also intrigued by the translation of history into verse, a topic that had been covered in a few of my classes. If you compare the poem and the story, you may notice that 1) the poem is not a perfect parallel of the story’s events, and 2) there are no indicators within the poem as to the time period. Contemporary English aside, I made sure that the rhyme’s version could be applicable to, say, Grecian myth.

I’m a little fuzzy as to how I wrote this in the first place (no, I wasn’t drinking), but I think I had the story concept first, I wrote the poem second, then I wrote the story around it, editing where necessary. Then it was submitted along with two other pieces, and this was the only one accepted (thank goodness—this one’s my favorite). When the magazine itself came out, “Mulciber” was the longest piece, arguably the most bizarre, and also the most upbeat. Not my deepest work, but tons of fun.