"Welcome to Hell," Captain Gardarov said. He handed over the keys that would give Corterelli access to the station's computers, sensors, and – Unity forbid – weapons.
"Er..." Corterelli juggled the bundle uneasily.
"Don't worry." Gardarov was unshaven and greasy, his grin disturbing. "you'll hear them soon enough. The whispers. And you'll curse the weeks. Thought it was a bargain, eh? Full year's pay for three months? The whispers know. They know so much..."
Corterelli made to respond, but Gardarov shoved past him into the transport. With a hiss, he was gone. Corterelli looked around. He cocked his head and listened.
Nothing...
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LOL That so reminds me of this song by Leslie Fish I once listened to on Doctor DeMento.
Carmen Miranda's ghost is haunting Space Station Three.
Half the staff has seen her, plus the Portmaster and me.
And if you think we've had too much of Cookie's homemade rum,
Just tell me where those basket-hats of fruit keep coming from.
Don't go down to the cargo-bay when there's no ship in dock.
You just might hear maracas clack and get a nasty shock
And if you hear a rumba-beat, don't pass the messroom door;
You just might see a tangerine come rolling down the floor.
We sometimes catch a glimpse of her, by station night or day,
But when we try to catch her, she just laughs and fades away.
The station's chief headshrinker takes his notes and drains his cup.
We get rotated often, but she still keeps showing up.
We don't know why we're haunted here, or why it's her that haunts.
We've got a betting-pool for all who wonder what she wants.
The best odds say she likes the rhythm of the station's drive;
They didn't have phase-generators while she was alive.
Carmen Miranda's ghost is haunting Space Station Three.
Not that we're complaining, since the fresh fruit all comes free.
But now and then we wonder what it means for the human race
That ghosts of generations past are taking off for space.
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