“This is about sex, isn’t it?” Brik asked.
Her color deepened. “Yes. I think you’re very sexy.”
Brik stared at her, aghast.
“I’ve offended you,” she said. “Haven’t I?”
“I thought I made it clear,” he replied. “Morthans don’t have sex. Our children are grown in tanks. Artificial wombs.” He took a breath. “There are no Morthan females. Only males. Males are stronger than females, females do not make warriors. Why should we waste valuable resources breeding individuals who cannot fight as effectively as males. A synthetic womb is more cost-effective than a woman. This way we have twice as many warriors. And besides,” he added, “the sexual urge distracts a warrior. This way is better.”
“You don’t even have sexual urges?” Now it was Bach’s turn to look horrified.
“None that I know of,” said Brik. “The sexual urge has been rewired. Sublimated. To the best of my knowledge, Morthans are not capable.”
“Not capable of pleasure?”
“No. Not capable of sex. We have pleasure. Fighting is pleasurable. Very pleasurable. Winning is best.”
“Is it an orgasmic pleasure?”
“I don’t know. Never having experienced the orgasm, I’m not sure I can make a fair comparison.”
Bach sank into herself, looking both stunned and defeated. She shook her head in disbelief. “I never knew this.”
“Before the war,” Brik said, “if I had told you this information, I would have had to kill you. And then myself. Now, it doesn’t seem to matter so much anymore. So many of us broke our allegiance to the Solidarity when they . . .”
“When they what?”
“They became blood-drinkers. I would prefer not to speak of these things now, Lieutenant.”
“I know it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. But you promised honesty. Are you saying that the Morthans of the Solidarity drink the blood of their victims?”
“No,” Brik said. “Even worse. They drink each other’s blood in bonding ceremonies. It became an act that many of us believed was perverse. It was very much like sex.”
“Sex is nothing like that,” Bach corrected.
“It seemed that way to my fathers,” Brik said. “And to me. Any act in which bodily fluids are exchanged for the purpose of bonding and pleasure, that is sexual, correct?”
“When you put it that way . . .” She allowed herself a smile. “You make it sound so clinical. It’s really a lot more fun than that. I wish I could show you.”
“Please . . .” Brik held up a hand as if to stop her. “Please don’t talk like that.”
“Sorry,” said Bach. “Tell me about your... genitals. Is that the way you were born?”
“You mean the apparent lack of penis and testicles?” Brik said without embarrassment. “Yes, that’s the way all Morthans are born. Without the need to breed, there is no need for an unnecessary organ. The enlarged genitals of humans are truly bizarre to us. No wonder you people think about sex so much. Tell me, do you really find those things attractive?”
Bach blushed. “On the right man, yes.”
“Very strange,” Brik said. “The Morthan penis is very much the right size. Hold up your hand. Hold up your little finger. Yes, like that. Only not so long. Just to the second joint. You can’t see it because it’s usually retracted deep within the folds of skin. This affords much more protection against injury. Human males are extremely fragile in this regard, aren’t they?”
Bach grinned. “Human males are even more fragile in their egos. The size of the penis is also very important to a human male. Don’t you sometimes feel inadequate by comparison?”
“Inadequate?” Brik asked. “Over penis size? What a stupid idea. I am not my penis.”
Abruptly, Bach started to giggle. “You really are more than human.”
Brik frowned at her. “I don’t understand the joke.”
“No human male would ever say such a thing—at least no human male that I know.” A thought occurred to her. “You were right to be modest, Brik. You should continue to keep the nature of your genitals confidential.”
“Why?”
“Well . . . um, this is hard to explain, but some of the people on this ship who don’t like you would probably use your lack of genital size as a measure of your... uh, capability.”
“Capability?”
“For maleness.”
“Maleness?” Brik frowned. “But all Morthans are male. It makes no difference. Besides, my capability has been proven in battle.”
“Your capability as a warrior has been proven in battle. What about your capability as a lover? To humans that’s even more important. And . . . frankly, most humans would find your situation somewhat bizarre. Without females,” Bach asked, “how do you really know that you’re male at all? You’re not anything yet, Brik. By human standards, I mean. The point is that most men, and probably most women, would regard you as sexually inadequate.”
“They would be correct,” Brik said uncomprehendingly. “Morthans don’t have sex.”
Bach regarded Brik oddly. “Is that really true? Or is that what you believe?”
“It’s true.” Brik said coldly. His tone of voice suggested that it was not a subject he wished to pursue.
“Doesn’t that... bother you?”
“No. Should it?”
“You don’t feel a loss? You don’t feel cheated?”
“Sex and the effect it has on humans seems to be a very messy business. I’m glad not to have it in my life.”
“It’s not messy,” Bach began, then stopped herself. “Actually, it’s nice.”
“Nice? The way that some humans pursue the activity, nice is not the word I would use. Obsessive seems more appropriate.”
“No,” Bach corrected. “Sex is merely an expression. What humans really want—really need—is love. And some of us are even lucky enough to experience it in our lifetimes. Just enough of us to keep the rest of us hopeful.” She said that last sardonically, with a self-deprecating smile.
Brik accepted this information. “Love. That involves trust, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“No wonder there is so much betrayal in human relationships.”
Bach sighed. She started to stand up.
“You’re leaving? Why?” Brik was puzzled.
Bach looked unhappy. She brushed at invisible lint. “Because . . . I was about to say something that would probably offend you. It’s easier to leave.”
“Say it,” Brik commanded.
“You’re sure?” Bach looked doubtful.
“Say it.”
“All right,” she agreed. “The truth is that I feel sorry for you, Commander Brik. Not knowing love. That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Sex a person can live without, many people do, but never knowing love . . . that’s a very special kind of hell. It’s something I wish I didn’t know about you. It makes it very hard for me to . . . I mean, you deserve love. Everybody does.”
Brik accepted this judgment without apparent reaction. At last, he responded. His voice was stiff. “There’s pity in your words. It implies superiority on your part. It suggests weakness and failure on mine.” He stood up, towering over Bach. “The truth is, you don’t understand. You’re locked inside your own perceptions. You can’t know what an honor and privilege it is to be a Morthan. You can never know that. And for that you’re the one who deserves the pity. You’re a human and you’re enslaved to your hormones. I’m not. I’m the one who’s free here.”
“Have it your way,” Bach said. “Believe it or not, this was productive. Because now I see how wide the gap is between us.” She stopped at the door. “Thank you for your honesty.” She didn’t add anything else.
The door popped shut behind her. Brik stared at it for a moment, then sat down again. She hadn’t said something. He didn’t know what it was she should have said, but he sensed the absence of it. Some acknowledgment that she enjoyed their talk perhaps? Or perhap
s some kind of invitation to talk again in the future? Despite the apparent pleasantness of their parting, he was certain that it had actually been an angry one somehow.
Humans.
He was going to have trouble sleeping again tonight.
Gamma
Quilla Gamma was a thin blue woman; she was as hard-looking as a man, and probably as strong. Armstrong wasn’t willing to speculate any more. He’d already made too many wrong guesses about Quillas. The two of them were loading the last few equipment cases into the cargo boat for transshipment to the Houston. He’d reached a grudging accommodation with himself and was now concentrating on the job and the joys of long-term celibacy.
Gamma was saying, “LS-805 had an imp. She came home hinked so badly, her crew wore starsuits the whole way. We should be wearing starsuits too.”
Armstrong grunted as he hefted a case of fibrillation spares. He’d noticed that Gamma was suited, but hadn’t said anything. In fact, all the Quillas were geared up. He’d thought about it, but hadn’t wanted the extra encumbrance while he was working the cargo deck. Without robots—Korie had traded them away too—everything had to be loaded manually. The fibrillation modules were heavy enough under the best of circumstances. Although the ship’s gravity had been reduced to onequarter gee in the cargo deck, the crates still had mass. Size and inertia had not been cancelled, and the job remained just as difficult as if they were operating under normal gravity. “What happened to the 805?” Armstrong asked, turning back for another trip.
“Well the black box showed six hinks. Could have been twenty aboard. They were never sure.”
“But how did they—”
“Plasma drivers fired immediately after docking,” Gamma said bluntly. “Docking was the signal that set it off. One of the hinks they did take out was a bit that would have turned the singularity containment field off and then inverted the singularity. No Stardock left if that one had gotten through. What they missed was still pretty bad. The torches turned a corner of the station cherry-red and fried everyone on the spur. But better than eighty percent of Stardock L.R. survived. Almost half the personnel.”
Armstrong considered that in uncomfortable silence.
The Quilla added softly, “The ‘intimate contact’ suffered by the LS-805 consisted of a pair of Morthan infantry, captured and taken into custody after their transport craft was disabled. They escaped custody and fought a pitched seven-hour battle with the crew of the LS-805. Every trap they set was set during those seven hours before they died.”
Armstrong looked around nervously. “And how many traps have we found now? Twenty-seven? How many more are there still undiscovered?”
Gamma rolled the last keg of Chief Leen’s Southern Starshine into the cargo boat without comment. She met Armstrong’s gaze directly. “The good news is that we’re still alive.”
“That’s good news?”
She shrugged. “We had a Morthan ambassador aboard for twelve hours. If he’d wanted to destroy us, we’d have been dead by now.”
Armstrong shook his head. “He wanted the high-cycle fluctuators.”
“That was plan A.”
“He had a plan B in case of his own death?”
“Stardock,” Gamma confirmed. “Everyone knows it.”
“Whew,” Armstrong exhaled in amazement. “I can’t imagine thinking that way. No wonder Korie’s so crazed about detoxing the ship. It doesn’t make sense to me. How can we ever be sure we found everything? We’d be better off scrapping her.”
Gamma smiled, an expression as mysterious as the Mona Lisa’s.
“You know and you can’t say, right?”
Gamma smiled again.
“Yeah, well, I heard the same rumors you did,” Armstrong said, trying to bluff the Quilla into talking. “They did try to scrap her, and Korie tried to resign, and the admiral’s ulcer was acting up so bad she left the whole thing in limbo. We were all supposed to be transferred out and Korie squelched it. That really pisses me off. Y’know, I applied for a transfer three times.”
“Yes, we know,” Gamma said quietly. “We also know how you got transferred to this ship.”
“I didn’t know she was underage,” Armstrong protested. “She told me she was eighteen. And how was I to know her mother was a vice admiral?”
Gamma didn’t respond to that directly. “Perhaps you should learn to think about something else once in a while?”
Armstrong snorted contemptuously.
“Besides,” added Gamma. “Korie may have done us all a favor.”
“Huh?”
“Keeping us away from Taalamar. The casualty rate will be high.”
“Mpf,” said Armstrong, almost thoughtfully.
The Bridge Crew
Korie entered the Bridge through the upper access, crossed to the starboard ladder, grasped the rails with both hands and easily slid down the few steps to the Ops deck. Brik, Bach, Tor, Jonesy, Hodel, and Goldberg were waiting around the large elliptical table that held the holographic astrogation display.
“Good,” said Korie, acknowledging their presence. “Thanks for being here.” He glanced around the table, meeting each one’s eyes. They were looking at him curiously. He was wearing his starsuit and carrying a foldable plastic helmet. “Um, just a readiness test,” he said casually. “Nothing to worry about. Because of our recent experience with unauthorized EVAs, our security officer”—Korie nodded meaningfully to Brik—“has pointed out to me with justifiable concern that we are behind on our starsuit certifications. So I thought I’d wear mine for a few days to get it recertified, that’s all. Please be seated.” He sat. The others seated themselves too. One or two were frowning to themselves.
Korie continued without apparent notice. “Before we begin, I want to acknowledge something. We know that there’s an imp aboard. We know that we can’t really keep anything secret from it. We’re not going to try. Isolated as we are, there’s nothing it can do to affect any other ship. And because we’re effectively dead in the water now, there’s little it can do to affect us. So, in that regard, we’ve pretty much neutralized it. For the moment anyway.”
He turned his clipboard on and turned to the first page. “What we need to do now is consider the larger context in which we’re operating. It’ll give us a better sense of direction. I want to stress that this is an informal conversation. What we’re going to discuss here is strictly for our own benefit. There are some things I’ve been thinking about, and I want the benefit of your input. This is not an admiralty-authorized backgrounder, but even so let’s keep this discussion to ourselves. There’s already enough idle speculation about the war.”
They nodded their agreement and Korie began. “Thank you. HARLIE, are you with us?”
“Yes, Mr. Korie.”
“Bring up the first display please.” A graphic representation of the immediate neighborhood—one hundred light-years in each direction—shimmered into place. Korie pointed toward the upper part of the display where three red lines slanted down toward the center. “Those are the three fleets of the Morthan advance. We’ve code-named them Dragon for the center thrust, Worm for the one on the left, and Tiger for the one on the right. Dragon is commanded by Admiral Tanga. Worm was under the helm of Admiral Gellum, but intelligence says that he was killed in a duel and Worm is now apparently under the command by the ultra-militaristic Admiral Tofannor. Tiger is being led by someone named R’nida. No title given. We know nothing at all about R’nida, who he is, where he came from, nothing. The other two are ranking members of the Military High Command. R’nida is the joker in the deck. We have no background on him, we have no way of knowing what he might be thinking, or what are his theories of war. The War College currently believes that he may be someone else operating under a code name specifically to confuse us. But we really don’t know for sure.”
Korie held up a hand. “But that’s not our concern right now. I just wanted you to know who the players in the game were. More important, I want you to look at
this schematic of the Morthan advance.” He pointed up at the representation again.
“First, there’s the mauling at Marathon. The Silk Road Convoy gets hit by Dragon in the center. Within days after that, Last Chance and New Alabama are scourged by Tiger on the right; scourged, despite the fact that neither has significant military value. Almost simultaneously, Worm, on the left flank, bypasses Marano. Dragon in the center doesn’t spend much time mopping up at Marathon, but advances to capture New Casa and scourge Verde and New Hope. Now Worm captures Vannebar and . . .” This one was hard to say, but Korie forced himself to continue. “. . . and scourges Shaleen.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence on the Bridge. The others knew.
Korie ignored it. “If you backtrack the fleet movements, you see that Tiger and Worm both had to be enroute to their targets even before the mauling at Marathon. If Dragon’s attack had failed, the others would probably have turned back as well. HARLIE says that an operation of this size must have taken at least ten years of preparation. The Silk Road was not a major trade route until just a few years ago, and it was never a military threat to the Morthans until last year, so clearly it was a target of opportunity in a much larger plan. All of this is fairly well known, I’m not revealing anything new here. But look, if you put the Marathon mauling into the context of the larger battle plan—”
He drew their attention back to the map, where the schematic of the attacks was playing itself out again and again and again. “It’s obvious what the main thrust of the Morthan advance is. Direct to the center. The Admiralty believes that Taalamar is next. It’s slightly to the left of Worm’s advance, but it’s a fairly significant target and at this point in their advance, it isn’t impractical for the fleet to widen its front. I should probably note here that we’ve got every significant target in a twentylight-year crescent ahead of the Morthan fleet frantically evacuating as many of their citizens as they can.
The Middle of Nowhere Page 22
