by J. Boyett
“Enough,” said Farraday. “We’ll deploy a warning buoy, one that’ll give any approaching craft a heads-up for the next thousand years. As for killing Du’Thokk in cold blood ... I’ll take it under advisement. And that is the last I want to say about the issue for now.”
That was close enough to a direct order that the others swallowed back the further objections that were clearly straining to come out of their mouths. Farraday kept a sharp eye on them till he was sure they were going to behave, then turned his scowl to the shuttle bay, again waiting for Jennifer to arrive, but now with his good mood dissolved.
It wasn’t that he was happy to see Du’Thokk go unpunished—if he let himself think too hard about what the shaman had tried to do to Jennifer, not to mention the rest of the crew, or what he actually had done to Blount and poor Cosway, then it was all he could do to refrain from ripping apart the whole damn planet.
But Du’Thokk wasn’t a threat now—Farraday was sure of that, as long as Horowitz kept monitoring for his psy waves. And if they set out enough warning buoys, he needn’t be a threat to any other visitors. And as a Fleet officer, Farraday had sworn an oath not to inflict harm upon any creature which did not pose a clear threat to him, his ship, the Democratic Empire, or its allies; he’d also sworn minimal interference with primitive cultures. Their dangerously precarious stance since the rebellion didn’t incline him to ignore those oaths; quite the opposite. If they weren’t going to stick to their principles, then what had been the point of rebelling? They would have done better to have stayed safe and gone along with the Provisional, in that case.
At least the argument had distracted everyone from the other big question: how Du’Thokk could have known what their plan was, enough to have taken advantage of it. But Farraday had reluctantly told Carlson and Walsh about that moment when he’d been talking to Jennifer, when he’d felt an intrusive something brushing against his mind. Perhaps that had been Du’Thokk, gleaning some fragment of Farraday’s ideas on the robot, which he’d just been thinking about. Of course, there was no way Du’Thokk could have understood the concept of a robot, really. But he must have picked up enough to know that Farraday planned to send one, that it would be a teensy bit ensouled, that Farraday didn’t think the pinch of soul it would carry was enough to create a risk, but that as a matter of fact it would be enough to let Du’Thokk get a toehold.
Carlson had frowned when Farraday described the experience, as had Walsh. The witch had said, “From the sensations you describe, that might be a pretty accurate hypothesis. But I’m concerned that your aura would have been able to pierce the spell shield that way. Do you think Du’Thokk could have summoned you, somehow? Implanted within you a drive to leave the protection of Galaxy?”
Farraday had shrugged his shoulders and sort of hemmed and hawed. He wasn’t keen on explaining that he had missed Jennifer so badly that apparently it had been enough for his astral body to pierce all the ship’s thaumaturgical defenses, even if only for a moment.
The shuttle docked. He anxiously watched its progress on the monitor, and when the shuttle bay was repressurized and the bay door opened it was all he could do to stop himself from running in. The shuttle hatch had opened and its ramp had descended. Jennifer and Blount were already exiting along with the robot, who carried Cosway’s body down the ramp.
Farraday stopped a few paces short of Summers. “Lieutenant,” he said, his throat tight, managing at least enough formality not to call her by her first name.
But all she gave him in return was an exasperated look. “Sir, I think the doctor and the witch should take a look at Blount. He’s been through a lot of trauma.”
Farraday snapped himself out of his trance. “Of course,” he said. “Lieutenant Blount, are you all right?”
“I killed Cosway, sir,” said the big man softly. “I feel I should be put in the brig, sir.”
“No one sees it that way, son.”
“I remember doing it, sir.”
Mercifully, Dr. Carlson and Witch Walsh were already, with Fiquet’s help, ushering Blount to Sickbay. Dobbler, Miller, and Blaine followed, so as to give Summers and Farraday space.
He was grateful for that. He turned back to Summers and opened his mouth to speak; but she cut him off.
“Not now, please, Captain.” In her tone there was no hint of the loving companion, only the weary officer. “I don’t feel it would be appropriate. Because it’s not over yet, sir. Not as long as we’re in range of Du’Thokk.”
***
Meanwhile, in the tech mages’ lab, Horowitz’s colleagues had gathered around to congratulate her. During the operation of the robot, they’d left her alone—the fact that she had to monitor Du’Thokk’s psy waves at the same time as using her own essence to ensoul the robot, had made for an exhausting task. Now, though, everyone expected that monitoring psy waves should be easy-peasy, since the readings showed she had drawn her soul back in from the robot.
“You’ve made history, Chief!” enthused one of her subordinates. But Horowitz only continued to gaze dully at her screen.
Other tech mages exchanged looks. But nobody really thought anything of her awkward manner. They were a pale and pasty lot, generally speaking: wallflowers who, when they did try to speak at length, tended to find themselves spouting on about arcana interesting to no one but themselves. All of them had seen too many eyes glaze over in the course of one of their monologues, for them ever to have developed much comfortable facility with social repartée.
So they were sympathetic. But as time ticked by, they started to get impatient, too. This was a time for celebrating—the Galaxy had just foiled a major threat to members of its crew, and at the same time reaffirmed the necessity of tech mages, which sometimes got called into doubt because of the unpredictability of their results. Shyness was one thing, but everyone was ready for Horowitz to shake it off. They wanted to go to the canteen and pretend to get drunk on synth-beers after their shift, and it wouldn’t work if the person they were supposed to be toasting was busy moping, or wasn’t there at all.
“Come on, Chief!” said Landers, another tech mage. “You did it! You squashed that shaman. I guess he wasn’t so powerful after all, right?!”
At that, Horowitz did seem to come back to life. Her head twitched, and she turned to face the other mage—she smiled, even.
Landers’s mouth started to twitch into an answering smile, then faltered. As much as everyone wanted the chief to liven up, somehow this face was not what they’d expected.
In fact, it didn’t look like Horowitz at all.
Eleven
The greeting party from the shuttle bay had all gathered in Sickbay, except for Dobbler. Blaine had sensed that if the ensign kept chafing in the captain’s presence under that order to not discuss killing Du’Thokk, he was liable to lose his cool and say something insubordinate. Since it was likely to be something she herself agreed with, she preferred to nip the possibility in the bud. So she’d made up a task for the ensign, and sent him to the bridge to accomplish it.
Blaine watched the other crew members. Blount was lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling—Blaine didn’t think he had actually been sedated, but he sure looked like he had. Poor guy. Witch Walsh and Dr. Carlson were hovering over him, conducting their very different examinations. And a few feet from the foot of the bed stood Summers; standing next to her was Farraday.
Blaine took in the way Summers grimly kept her eyes fixed on Blount. She wasn’t sure the attention was entirely due to concern; she suspected it was also in part a way to avoid meeting Farraday’s gaze. He was certainly looking at her, though he tried to fight it; he was struggling to keep his attention on Blount, at least until the doctor and the witch confirmed he was all right. No doubt Farraday was watching Blount partly because he really was concerned, but Blaine thought it was also because he knew that was what Summers wanted him to be doing.
Poor guy.
Meanwhile she saw that Miller’s attention had strayed to
something beyond the window into Carlson’s and Walsh’s lab. Blaine walked over to him, thinking that anything interesting enough to distract Miller from one of his wounded men must be worth checking out.
Behind the glass a metal-and-plastic headset was resting on a tabletop. A gray compartment bulged out of one side, making it look a little like a pair of earmuffs with one muff missing. Attached to the compartment were colored lights and miniature dials.
Miller didn’t look away from the thing as Blaine came to stand beside him. He said, “That’s the psy dampener. If they’d got it prepped in time, we could have figured out a way to slip it on Du’Thokk, and we’d still have Cosway.”
“Roy, don’t start torturing yourself by making up ways things could have gone differently. There’s no way we could have gotten close enough to put that thing on his head. Even if we’d had some protection from his control, he could have unleashed his Helpers on whoever we sent down.”
“Yeah, I know. I just hate losing people.”
Back at Blount’s bedside, Farraday suddenly got tired of feeling useless. He was worried about Blount, but there was nothing he could do for him, and he didn’t want to get in Carlson’s and Walsh’s ways.
He wanted to reach out and take Jennifer’s hand, wanted to to give it a reassuring squeeze to let her know Blount was going to be all right. That would have been highly inappropriate, of course. But all of a sudden she turned to him, and gave him a small, strained smile. It seemed to Farraday that the strain came from her weariness and worry, not from negative feelings about him. The effect on the captain was as good as if they’d shared the hand-squeeze after all.
He thought of Horowitz. She’d done something pretty amazing, and it had worked out. She’d earned a special thanks from the captain, and he saw no reason not to give it now, while Carlson and Walsh were busy. If he got all the formalities out of the way, then he’d be free to comfort Blount as best he could, once the others were done.
Taking a step away from Summers and the bed, he raised the wrist-relay to his mouth and said, “Horowitz.” He waited for the prompt to cause Horowitz’s own relay to ping her, and then for her to call him back.
He kept waiting. There was no reply.
He frowned. That was weird. He said her name again: “Horowitz. Jan Horowitz.” Still nothing.
Okay, so he’d try the whole lab. “Tech mage lab,” he said.
Again, nothing. Nobody in the lab answered the call.
Farraday glanced up to see that the others had noticed. Miller and Blaine had left whatever they’d been looking at and come to stare at him apprehensively. Carlson and Walsh stayed with Blount, but they were looking at him, too.
His relay whistled. Checking the readout, he saw that it was Landers, one of Horowitz’s subordinates. He accepted the call: “This is the captain speaking, Landers, are you in the lab?”
“Yes, sir! But sir, I ... I don’t think Horowitz’s robot worked exactly the way we thought it would....”
There was a loud crash, and the signal went dead.
***
It was Witch Walsh who offered an explanatory theory while Fiquet dashed into the lab to grab the dampener.
“It’s that soul,” he said. “Dammit! How could we have been so stupid? In order to get the robot past the Galaxy’s own defenses, Horowitz slipped a fragment of her own soul into it. Just a sliver, but I bet that was enough for Du’Thokk to get a foothold. He possessed the robot, and once Horowitz drew the soul back into her own body that possession spread to her.”
“And there wasn’t any way to predict that?” demanded Miller through grinding teeth.
Witch Walsh spread out his hands helplessly. “Who ever heard of anyone able to manipulate such a tiny amount of soul? We knew Du’Thokk was powerful, but it never occurred to us even to suspect capabilities like that.”
Fiquet came rushing back with the dampener headset just as Farraday was about to order the two to stop squabbling. “I can slap this thing on her head, sir, if Lieutenant Commander Miller can clear me a path.”
They all stared at mousy, quiet Ensign Fiquet, who’d just spoken in a tone that would have made once think she was in command. By reflex, the other officers opened their mouths to explain why someone else should be in charge of the dampener. But each was surprised to find that no good reasons suggested themselves.
Fiquet was the only one who really knew how the dampener worked, except for Walsh and Carlson—and the witch and doctor would be needed, if there were any wounded. So, leaving the witch and doctor behind, the group took off running out of Sickbay, toward the nearest lift.
The situation was this: Horowitz was still in the tech mages’ lab, and while she might not really be Horowitz anymore, she wasn’t yet completely Du’Thokk either. From his Long House he had projected his soul up via the robot into her body, and according to Landers had apparently managed to totally subvert her to his will, transforming her into his puppet. Landers thought that he’d ben surprised by his failure to immediately integrate his entire personality onto her brain and body. All his powers were not active; Horowitz/Du’Thokk had incredible telekinetic powers, which were enabling him to hold the tech mages captive and short-circuit communications. But the powers of mind-control and possession, which were more complex, seemed to be beyond him, except in the case of Horowitz herself. Horowitz had probably been susceptible only because she’d literally invited the possessed soul-material back into her own essence.
Landers opined that Du’Thokk was probably planning to use his telekinetic powers to modify Horowitz’s brain structures, to make her possessed body capable of the kind of mental enslavement he’d demonstrated on the planet surface. If he managed that, they’d be completely helpless.
“He must have been banking on using these powers immediately upon arriving in Horowitz’s body,” commented Miller after they were all crammed into the lift, speeding toward the tech mages’ lab. “I doubt he was planning on being helpless.” Usually Miller wouldn’t have described an unheard-of level of telekinetic power as “helplessness,” but considering what they’d seen the shaman do to Blount and the Helpers it seemed appropriate.
“Then he’ll be trying to figure out how to modify Horowitz’s brain, as we speak.” Summers spoke with a strained urgency. “Unfamiliarity with human brain structures is the only thing holding him back. With his level of telekinesis, once he’s able to intuit what changes need to be made, he’ll be able to make them instantly.”
The fear in Jennifer’s voice spurred Farraday into action. He slapped the relay button on the lift’s wall. Lieutenant Beach’s voice crackled through the speaker: “Beach here.” As always when he’d been left with the conn, he sounded pleased as punch.
“Beach, where is the Galaxy now in relation to Du’Thokk?”
“Sir, we’re currently on the far side of the planet from him.”
“Fire up the thrusters and prepare targeting systems. As soon as we’re in range, I want you to blast that longhouse. Be as surgical as you can ... but the top priority is to kill that bastard.”
“Aye, sir,” said Beach. He sounded only a little flustered.
It was as if Fiquet had been electrocuted. Body tense, eyes bulging, she gasped, “But, sir! Anything could happen if Du’Thokk dies suddenly. The shock could kill Chief Horowitz. Not to mention all those Helpers!”
“We can’t risk having Du’Thokk’s full-blown powers here on the ship, on our side of the spell shield,” Farraday said firmly.
Fiquet clearly knew he was right, but that only accentuated the horror in her face. When the doors opened, she shot through them ahead of everyone else. They streamed out after her.
***
Another ten-kilo hard drive slammed into the bulkhead of the tech lab, fast enough that if it had hit someone’s head it would have converted it to brain-paste. Landers ducked back under cover. From the other side of the cramped lab Horowitz let out an enraged, strangled howl that sounded like gibberish to the other ma
ges, but which they suspected was Du’Thokk’s language. Objects continued to spring out of their places to fly across the room and carom off the walls. Apparently they were doing so at random, as spontaneous manifestations of Du’Thokk’s rage. Landers knew that was lucky, since if Du’Thokk got hold of himself (or herself, now that he was inhabiting Horowitz’s body—or, well, whatever), and actually sent all those heavy hard-edged objects against the mages huddled in refuge behind the lab counter, they’d be killed. Still, their workshop was going to be trashed, and who knew when they’d get replacements for most of this stuff.
Landers held her wrist up to her mouth. “I don’t know if part of the reason Horowitz is screaming is because of physical pain caused by cerebro-structural alterations,” she said, not sure if the captain could even hear her or if Du’Thokk might be telekinetically blocking transmission altogether.
Guardi turned to her, practically rolling his eyes. “That’s impossible,” he said. “There aren’t pain receptors in the brain.”
Landers glared at him, but for the moment chose not to point out the insanity of scoring points against her on her lack of in-depth anatomical knowledge of the brain, at a time like this. “Anyway,” she said. “My point is, there isn’t much time before we’re all dead. At best.”
***
As it happened, others could hear their transmission. Not only Farraday, Fiquet, and the others, who were only seconds away from the lab. But also the bridge crew.
Beach was doing a pretty good job of hiding his fear; it was detectable mainly through the tension in his fingers, and the fixity of his stare. The rest of the bridge crew was also keeping it together, despite some squirming here and there.
Beach looked at the helmsman. “How long till the laser cannon is in range of Du’Thokk?”
“Fifty-seven seconds, sir.”
“Once we’re in range, take the shot. Don’t wait for my command.”
Someone spoke up: “What about Chief Horowitz? What’ll happen if we kill Du’Thokk while he’s still in control of her mind?”
