The Eternal Enemy

by Michael Berlyn

“What?”

  “Who was working on ship two, tying in the interface for command control?” Straka asked.

  “I really don’t remember,” Markos said. “Is that what happened? The interface fail?”

  “No. The interface has to exist in order for it to fail.”

  Markos was shocked.

  “Someone was planning on boarding the Haber ship and taking off by himself. He’d rigged the circuitry so that it would have been undetectable. I figure whoever did it wanted to get as close to Earth as possible before detaching himself from the mother ship.”

  “Pretty serious charges, Straka.”

  “I know that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Straka flashed red. “Unfortunately.”

  “Couldn’t someone have forgotten to make the proper circuitry connections?” Markos asked.

  Straka flashed dark blue. “I only wish that could be the case.”

  Terrific, Markos thought. Just what we need.

  “I’m just guessing that it’s Earth he wanted to get close to. But I don’t think that really matters.”

  “I agree. Well, we ought to try to figure out who it is,” Markos said.

  “Get serious,” Straka said. “Who else could it be?”

  “It doesn’t have to be Jackson.”

  “No? Who was it, then?” Straka asked. “The Old One? You? Me?”

  Markos nodded grudgingly. “Okay, so it was Jackson. What do you suggest we do about it?”

  “I don’t know. Just keep an eye on him, I suppose. I fixed it so that the ship can’t be freed from the Paladin without a command from central control. He’s not going anywhere, now or later.”

  “You seem to feel that’s all we have to concern ourselves with—his leaving with one of the Haber ships.”

  “For now,” Straka said.

  “But anyone with that attitude … we won’t be able to count on him if and when we need him,” Markos said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Then we’re better off spacing the slime.”

  “Whoa,” Straka said. “Take it easy, here. We’re not sure it’s him.”

  Markos made a face at Straka he was sure didn’t communicate his disbelief. “You know him better than I do,” Markos said. “Of course it’s him. And you still think we don’t have to do anything else about it?”

  “No,” Straka said. “Whoever did this isn’t suicidal. He’d have gone up with the ship if he was. We’re as safe as possible.”

  “For now,” Markos said.

  Straka flashed red. “For now.”

  Markos shook his head and sighed. “I’ve got to get back to the bridge. We’re about to translate into tau and then run some more tests.”

  “Fine,” Straka said. “I’ll get back to the rest of them. I’ll be in the rec room if you need me. Should we leave Markatens stationed outside Haber two?”

  “Not if you assure me you’ve taken care of the problem.”

  “I have.”

  “Then take him back to the rec room with you.”

  “Fine,” Straka said, getting to her feet.

  Markos watched Straka approach the door, walking under the stress of a hardened body and tremendous G forces. “Oh, and Straka?”

  She stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  Straka smiled. On her it looked natural. “None necessary.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  “Sure.”

  Markos waited until Straka had left before dropping into a meditative state. He needed to work out why Jackson would want to take off for Earth like that. The being who had once been Jackson was capable of violence, anger, and a certain amount of rebelliousness. But that didn’t make him a deserter. He was always a necessary ingredient, a necessary abrasiveness in any situation. If there weren’t that friction or animosity, everyone could fall asleep at the controls. NASA 2 had known what it was doing in selecting him as one of the crew, all right. He served an important function. And Markos didn’t want to lose him.

  Jackson knew that he was no longer a Terran. Still, he viewed himself as being more Terran than Haber. This served another important function for the crew, serving as a reminder of what they had been, what they were now, and what they were going to become.

  But none of that helped him better to understand why Jackson would want to desert. Granted, he did everything under duress, but that was only his verbal personality. If he ever truly objected to something, he would stand firm in his commitment and not give in unless directly ordered. He just bitched about everything. That was his nature. Still, he did what he had to, what his responsibilities demanded, what he’d been ordered to do.

  Straka felt fairly certain it was Jackson, and she was a lot closer to Jackson than Markos had ever been. That experience on Aurianta must have shown the naked sides of their personalities, from humane to atavistic, and that was something Markos had thankfully missed. But Straka hadn’t.

  He would have to keep an eye on Jackson, see what he did, how he reacted to orders, to stress, see whether or not he was truly that disgruntled or just making his standard noises.

  If only he could remember who did the work on Haber two’s interface. The crew had moved around so much and had worked on so many different areas, it was impossible to separate it out. Almost all of the work had been done without any supervision. Who would have thought they needed supervision?

  Markos took a deep breath to bring up his energy level and pushed himself up to his feet. No matter what Straka thought, there was no way he could be sure of any crewmember again. Someone wanted to desert. He knew of one way to find out just who it was, but there would be time for that.

  As he left his cabin, he resolved to be certain of one thing: When the time came to put Jackson into one of the Haber ships, he would not be alone.

  The tau translation was flawless. The mother ship was holding up under its apparent unstable configuration and its added mass. The crew on board had all made their bodies hard and were well protected from the crushing G forces translation had created.

  Markos sat in the command chair, the second watch occupying the quadrant seats. Katawba relieved McGowen at the weapons control post; Wilhelm took over for Jackson at engineering; Kominski replaced Martinez at navigation, while Markatens replaced De Sola at the systems monitor. Straka stood by Markos’s side, ready to relieve him of his watch.

  “Are you all ready?” Markos asked.

  Everyone flashed red.

  “Cathy, would you sit on the deck and attach yourself there, just in case?”

  “Fine,” Straka said.

  “All right, then, Wilhelm. Cut in H-one.”

  Wilhelm punched in the Haber ship’s engine, and they immediately felt the crushing G forces. They let up after a few moments.

  “Markatens?” Markos asked.

  “No system malfunctions.”

  “Velocity?”

  “Two c,” Wilhelm said.

  “Cut in H-three,” Markos said.

  “Brace yourselves, brothers,” Wilhelm said.

  They felt the jolt of pressure. None of it was nearly as bad as Markos had anticipated. Not with their hardened bodies.

  “Velocity?”

  “Four c.”

  “Cut in H-five.”

  “Right.”

  The jolt of G forces seemed less this time.

  “Velocity?”

  “Sixteen c.”

  “Cut in the last one,” Markos said.

  “Right.” Wilhelm pressed the button.

  No one felt any difference in acceleration or G forces.

  “That should be two hundred fifty-six c,” Wilhelm said, his voice filled with awe.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Markos said.

  “At two hundred fifty-six times the speed of light, I should hope so,” Straka said.

  They were drifting through tau-space, watching the stars move by in the viewscreens.

  “It’s all yours, Cathy. I’m g
oing to get some rest. I’m exhausted.”

  “Fine. Don’t worry. Everything up here looks great.”

  He relinquished the command chair to Straka and stood for a few moments, watching the ship’s progress through tau-space. The beauty of the scene was hypnotic, and he listened to the colors the stars in the screens sang to his eyes. The Habers belonged in space just as surely as they belonged on Aurianta, Markos realized.

  Each sunset, each linkup, they listen to the sun speak to them through the atmosphere, telling them the Tao of Space, teaching them the order of the Universe, he thought.

  Until it taught them about the Hydrans.

  21

  Epsilon Scorpio appeared as a disk under logarithmic magnification through the screens. The Paladin was undergoing deceleration, braking into a distant orbit in the Epsilon Scorpio System. The time in tau had passed quickly and quietly for the crew—there were enough diversions on the ship to keep them pleasantly occupied for centuries if need be. Without the need for geltanks, space travel took on a new meaning for the changed crew.

  They had agreed on the first piece of offensive action, and there were several volunteers for the mission. The entire second watch volunteered as a group under the leadership of Straka. Markos’s watch had volunteered too.

  Markos wanted to go down to the planet’s surface and confront some Hydrans face-to-face, so he was more inclined to go with his watch—Jackson, McGowen, Martinez, and De Sola. Straka had quickly pointed out that if anything should happen to him, they wouldn’t stand much of a chance in saving the Habers. Markos could see her point.

  “Besides which,” Straka said, “if we get into bad trouble, we’ll need a backup party.”

  “Like the cavalry,” Markos said.

  “Sure,” Straka said, smiling. “Whatever they are.”

  “All right, Cathy. You’ve got first crack at them. But don’t forget—they’re ruthless, and possibly not even sentient. Don’t spare the weapon power.”

  “Look, Markos, if you’re that worried, why don’t we just slice up the planet from up here?”

  “No, no. Sorry. I just don’t want to lose you. Any of you.”

  “I don’t want to lose me, either,” Straka said. “Just don’t worry until it’s necessary. How close are you planning on getting us?”

  “I figure midway between our jump point and the planet. We’ll leave the mother ship in command of the Old One. You take Markatens, Katawba, Kominski, and Wilhelm in H-Two. I’ll follow in H-three with my shift. We’ll both keep our transmitters open so that the Old One can keep up to date and decide whether or not to go on without us. He can continue on to Pi Hydra with our last effort if we don’t make it.”

  “Right. Let’s get ready.”

  Everyone in the rec room looked calm and relaxed, though a Haber always looked calm and relaxed. They were ready to leave the ship, to fight, to take out the frustrations of what being changed had done to them, of those long days pent up in the compound on Aurianta. Jackson whined and bitched and grumbled about not getting to go along in the first wave and begged Markatens to trade places. Markatens was the wrong Haber to ask. He flashed every color through his eyes but red, and Jackson finally had to give up.

  Markos passed around the crystal the exploratory team had made of the planet a millennium ago, when the first Habers were about to settle the planet. Each crewman melted into the crystal to acquaint himself with the planet’s terrain and vegetation, to get a better idea of what he’d be facing. They discussed what they had seen in the crystal and decided on a course of action.

  The planning session lasted less than an hour. Markos quickly saw what had been missing for those long years on Aurianta, what he’d been missing in trying to figure out how to deal with the Hydrans. Human minds. How quickly they pick up the necessary points for battle, Markos thought. How quickly they formulate plans based on unknowns.

  Their highly refined instinct for survival added significance to each detail of the plan, to each step in planning, to each stage of execution. Leave little to chance, Markos thought, and the odds for survival increase dramatically.

  The thought of having to face the Hydrans with just his children made Markos realize how grateful he was to have the changed crew alongside him, ready to fight. Even the Old One seemed to make a positive difference. He had always figured, deep down inside, that when it came to the fighting, it would be just him, Markos, against the entire Hydran civilization.

  It was time for the final preparations.

  “Come on,” he said, standing, holding out his hands.

  The Old One approached and stood on Markos’s left, linking hands. Markos motioned to Straka with his right, and Straka linked up too. Wilhelm, Katawba, and Markatens added to the chain on Straka’s side, while Markos’s watch shift joined in the circle. Kominski hung back, approaching the almost completed circle warily. His eyes leaked no color, and his body showed only a little uncertainty, a little hesitation.

  “Don’t worry, Kominski,” Jackson said. “No one’s going to kill you.”

  Kominski didn’t find it funny. He stared directly into Jackson’s eyes, his own eyes mingling blue with pure white.

  “I’m sorry, ’Minski. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Jackson said.

  “Yeah, right.” Kominski linked hands, completing the circle.

  There he is, Markos thought. I feel him. The traitor, the deserter. He’s crying out—

  Others swept through his consciousness until the circle of minds became one gestalt. Markos kept a strong hold on his consciousness, not letting it slip as much as he usually did. He had found the person who had fixed the Haber ship so that it could be quickly and easily detached.

  When the linkup was over, they all turned to face Kominski.

  “So it wasn’t Jackson,” Markos said.

  “I owe you an apology,” Straka said to Jackson.

  “Later. Right now, what do we do about him?” Jackson asked.

  “Leave him to me,” Markos said.

  The Old One flashed light yellow flecked with dark blue, and Markos turned to watch what the Old One had to say. The Old One wanted nothing to be done to Kominski, though his arguments weren’t strong. He no longer pleaded for Kominski’s rights, as he would have a few months ago. Perhaps, Markos thought, these Habers are really capable of understanding what the hell is going on.

  “Well, Kominski, you saw what the Old One said. I won’t bother translating it all, but what it came down to was that your life should be spared.”

  “What are you going to do?” Straka asked.

  “Leave him to me,” Jackson said.

  “No, much as I’d like to.”

  “Why don’t we just space him?” Martinez asked.

  “Yeah,” McGowen said.

  “No, that’s not the answer either. Despite what I feel about him, I can’t just waste him like that. Didn’t you all feel what he feels when we linked up?”

  “What?” Kominski demanded, vocal at last. “That I detest you? All of you? That I want to be human again? That I don’t like being a freak?”

  The room fell silent.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Kominski demanded. “Well? I never asked to be changed into this creature I am! I never asked for some freak to mold me in his image! One day I go into the geltank. Sure. And the next I wake up in this body, off to war. Well, not me! I’m going home. Maybe they can change me back!”

  “You’re dreaming, Kominski,” Jackson said.

  “We’ll see about that,” Kominski said.

  “The best thing for you to do is accept it, try to live with it,” Markos said. “I know these people had a choice. You and I didn’t. I was angry at the Habers for a long time. And I was angry at you, too. All of you. It cost Van Pelt his life. And Maxwell his.”

  Kominski was shaking his head back and forth.

  “Enough of us have died, Kominski. Don’t make me kill you too.”

  Kominski backed up a step, but behind him was t
he bulkhead, and the crew blocked off any other possible exit. Markos knew that Kominski wasn’t listening, couldn’t be listening, wasn’t interested in changing what he thought or the way he felt about being changed. Markos wasn’t sure what to do, but whatever he decided, he would have to do it soon. They were well within the Hydran sphere of influence, and every wasted moment increased their chance of discovery.

  Kominski tried to backpedal through the bulkhead, and Markos channeled most of his energy into his eyes.

  He thought calming, relaxing thoughts, focused them into his eyes, speaking a language of light with no words, a language of pure emotion. He spoke words with his raspy voice, words that spoke of a saner, calmer time, when things were right with Kominski and the Universe. His eyes swirled with hypnotic colors, his bubbly voice talked to some inner resource that was the essence of Kominski. Kominski resisted, but had stopped trying to get through the bulkhead, had stopped trying to escape. Markos knew then that he had him.

  He reached out to touch Kominski’s skin, switching all of his calming and relaxing thoughts to his hands.

  The instant contact was made, Markos’s mind floated beneath Kominski’s skin, traveled up his arms to his mind.

  He found what he was looking for. It was like a little ball of clay, a moldable piece of Kominski, his ego, the root of his Terran soul.

  Markos removed it.

  In its place he created a desire, a drive, and a strong feeling of loyalty. Whether Kominski liked it or not, whether he understood what had happened or not, he was a changed being. He was now a Haber.

  H-2 was anything but crowded. It was large for a fighter, for a reconnaissance ship, for an escape pod, but it was the Haber mold. They were fast—faster and more maneuverable than the Paladin would ever be—and capable of withstanding more stress. They could never have been considered one-man ships, but they were the best thing available.

  The Haber controls had been modified slightly as the need for weaponry and visibility had increased. Straka sat in the pilot’s seat, and Wilhelm sat beside her. The large startank before them showed the stars of surrounding space, the odd guidance system that worked so well for the Habers. The screens directly before them had been modified, though, by duplicating the engineering of the Paladin’s screens. When they’d test-flown the Haber ships, the Old One had backed them up. They’d had a difficult time understanding the swirls of color that appeared on the screens during the landing sequence. Their first test flight had been a near-fatal crash, with the Old One interceding just in time to save them.