Blood and Fire

by David Gerrold

The sound of it was loud enough to knock them all backwards. The flare of the stinger expanded like a fireball and became a cloud of sparkling wavicles, all pink and gold and brightly flickering. They spread out quickly across the Bridge, alighting on consoles, chairs, and bulkheads—and the starsuits of the mission team—flickering briefly before disappearing into nothingness.

  Korie spoke first. “Star Wolf, did you get that?”

  His headphones replied with silence. All their headphones were silent.

  “Star Wolf, acknowledge.”

  On the Bridge of the starship, Captain Parsons massaged her temple wearily. She knew she had to acknowledge Korie’s request; she just didn’t know what she could say. Or should say. Finally, she took a breath and said softly, “We saw it.”

  Korie’s voice was unnaturally calm. “We have to assume the whole ship is infected. Some kind of—we don’t know. Did you see the wavicle burst?” And then, after a moment, he added, “We must also assume that the entire mission team is contaminated.”

  Parsons didn’t acknowledge that. She was too preoccupied—upset. She pulled off her headset and tossed it onto her chair, then stepped curtly across the Command Deck to Molly Williger. “What about a biofilter?” she asked quietly.

  Williger, noting the captain’s actions, switched off her own headset before replying. “It won’t filter out wavicles. Half-wave, half-particle, they’d slip right through.”

  Parsons half-turned forward, looking over the railing that separated the command deck from the lower Operations Deck. “Mr. Brik?”

  Brik’s tone was ... different. As if he knew something. His voice sounded unusually gruff. “I have to agree with Mr. Korie.”

  From the Norway, Korie’s next words sounded like the voice of a dead man. “We can’t come back,” he said. “We can’t risk infecting the Star Wolf. Captain, do you agree?”

  Parsons looked from one to the other. Her eyes met Williger’s first, then Brik’s, then finally came to rest on Tor’s. The astrogator’s face was pale—a reflection of her own? She knew that she was looking for an answer that she wasn’t going to find. Her Bridge crew was as bereft of ideas as she was. Finally, surrendering, she nodded her head, regretfully picked up her headset and put it back on. “Yes, I agree,” she said. Without emotion, as if she were quoting directly from the regulations, she added, “The safety of the Star Wolf has to come first.”

  Korie turned around slowly, meeting the eyes of the rest of the mission team. An odd little phrase was lurking in the back of his head, but he resisted the temptation to say it. You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.

  It wasn’t necessary. Clearly, the team already understood that this was now a one-way mission. The realization showed in their eyes.

  I’m dead. He realized it himself. I’m dead. I just haven’t fallen down yet. I’m still walking around, but I’m dead. What a curious feeling.

  Korie shook his head. He tried to blink it away, but he couldn’t.

  I should be scared, but I’m not. I’m ... pissed as hell. I’m not done. I didn’t get to finish. I wanted to be captain. I wanted to beat the Morthans—

  Parsons’ voice cut into his thoughts. “Get the log from that ship, Mr. Korie. Find a working access. I want to know what happened over there.” And then she added, “Maybe there’s something useful ...”

  Korie didn’t say what he was thinking. Instead, he uttered a curt “Will do.” He motioned to his team. “Hodel. Let’s go get that goddamned orange box.”

  Plasmacytes

  On the Bridge of the Star Wolf, time had collapsed and lay in broken shards all over the deck. The officers looked from one to the other, each hoping that someone else would have an answer, would know what to say or do. The moment stretched out painfully.

  Finally, Brik turned quietly—as quietly as any Morthan could move—to Captain Parsons. He caught her eye and she looked at him questioningly. He looked to Dr. Williger, she nodded her agreement. “May we speak to you please?” He inclined his head aftward and Parsons realized he was asking for a private conference.

  The captain nodded. She led the way aft, through the hatch into “Broadway.” The first cabin aft of the Bridge was the Communications Bay; the second was a tiny conference room that doubled as the Officers’ Mess. As she entered, she pulled off her headset, made sure it was off and tossed it on the table. Brik entered the cabin after her, stooping to fit. There were few places in the starship where he didn’t have to crouch, this wasn’t one of them. He stepped over to a work station and scrunched down before it. He punched in his code and brought up a display for her to see. Dr. Williger stepped up beside them both.

  Brik tapped at the readouts grimly. “Captain Parsons, HARLIE couldn’t say it in the clear. The observed phenomena on the Norway matches the description of plasmacytes.”

  Williger added softly, “Also known as ... bloodworms.”

  Parsons reacted sharply. Bloodworms? But even as she started to deny it in her mind, she could see the truth of it on the faces of Brik and Williger.

  Brik continued dispassionately. “The only recorded plasmacyte infection occurred on the fourth planet of the Regulan system. That planet has been quarantined for nearly 250 years.”

  Williger noted, “HARLIE gets a ninety-three-percent probability match on the symptoms.”

  Parsons accepted the information dully. “Does anyone else know?” she asked.

  “No. It’s double red-flagged. HARLIE is only cleared to tell the captain, the XO, head of security and the chief medical officer. Korie has probably figured it out already. We can alert him on his private channel, but ... we thought we ought to talk it over first.”

  Parsons rubbed her forehead, unhappily. It was one thing to do this in a simulation; it was quite another to have the reality of it growling in your face.

  And Brik still wasn’t through. “Captain,” he said. “We have standing orders ... to effect the complete and total destruction of any infected ship. Including crew and passengers. Rescue is not to be attempted.”

  Williger completed the thought. “Too many ships were lost attempting rescues.”

  Parsons sat down at the table. She put her fingertips together and stared at them. She knew what she was required to do now. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Molly Williger put a cup of something hot in front of her. Chicken soup? Parsons looked up at her, and from her to Brik. Her face was ashen. “That was 250 years ago ...” But she was grasping at straws, she knew it.

  “The orders are still in effect,” said Brik.

  Williger sat down at the table then. She reached across the corner and put one hand on the captain’s. “Listen to me. There is no known cure. There is no record that anybody has ever survived plasmacytes ...”

  “The order is clear,” said Brik.

  “We hardly had a chance to work together,” Parsons whispered to herself, looking forward, as if she could see through the bulkheads, through the hulls of the Star Wolf and the Norway. “I don’t even know them.”

  “Would that make it easier?” asked Brik.

  Both Parsons and Williger looked to him in annoyance. “Shut up, Brik,” said the doctor.

  “I can’t. I’m not ready to give that ... that kind of order,” Parsons said to Williger.

  Williger glanced to Brik.

  Brik looked harder and more implacable than ever. “Captain ... if you refuse to give that order, I’m required to relieve you of command and carry it out anyway.”

  “I didn’t say I was refusing to give the order,” she said. “I’m just not ready to give it ... now. We need to talk about this. Think about it.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” said Brik. “Nothing to think about. Just do it. It will be easier all around.”

  Parsons’ expression tightened, as if she were reminding herself that she must not kill the bearer of bad news. As tempting as it was. No matter how bad. Parsons looked worriedly forward again and shook her head. She looked
abruptly back to Williger. “Wait,” she said. “Just wait a minute. We need to satisfy ourselves that there is no alternative.”

  “There is no alternative,” said Brik. “The orders are specific.”

  Orders

  “Mr. Brik,” Captain Parsons’ voice had an edge to it that none of them had ever heard before. “Shut up. That is an order.” She picked up her headset, turned it on and spoke into it. “Security to the Officers’ Mess. On the double.” She looked to Brik. “I know the orders, Mr. Brik. I know why they were written. I know what I am required to do. That does not mean I am not allowed to consult with my other officers. If you make any attempt to relieve me of my command, I will have you shot as a mutineer. Are we clear?”

  Before Brik could answer, the hatch popped open and two security men entered. Armstrong and Cappy. Both were carrying rifles. Both looked grim. They looked to Parsons expectantly.

  The captain’s voice was hard-edged. “Commander Brik needs to think about the chain of command on this starship. Unlock the safeties on your rifles. If he attempts to take any action that I do not order, shoot him as a mutineer.”

  “With pleasure,” said Cappy, unlocking his safeties.

  “I don’t want you to enjoy this duty,” Captain Parsons replied. “And I don’t want your commentary on it, either.” She looked to Brik. “Do you understand me, Mister? I am the captain of this ship and I will make the decisions. I will not be stampeded into any action—not by you, not by FleetComm. Any questions?”

  “No, Captain. No questions. I understand your situation entirely. But I feel I should inform you that two security guards will not be enough. I also feel I should inform you that they are inefficiently placed. Crewman Armstrong should be in that corner to cover the cabin from one angle, and Crewman Cappy should provide covering crossfire from that corner of the cabin.” Cappy and Armstrong looked at each other and, realizing that Brik was right, moved into the appropriate corners. “Even so,” Brik continued, “I could still put them both out of commission before they could fire their weapons. I tell you this because I want you to know that my cooperation is voluntary and not compelled by threats of violence.”

  Parsons looked at Brik with cold, wary eyes. A Morthan standoff? It didn’t matter. She’d won the point. Brik had acknowledged her authority. And that was the important thing.

  She turned to Williger. “All right, Doctor. Talk to me.”

  Williger hesitated. Parsons realized why and turned to Cappy and Armstrong. “What you’re about to hear stays in this room. If this news leaks before I’m ready to announce it, neither one of you will survive your court-martial. Understand? All right, Doctor, go on.”

  “There’s not a lot to say.” Williger’s voice was paved with gravel. “There’s nothing we can do for the people over there. Not the crew of the Norway. Not the mission team.” She leaned forward, speaking bluntly, despite the two security guards. “Nobody has ever survived bloodworms. Nobody has ever rescued anybody off a ship with a bloodworm infestation.”

  “I know that, Doctor,” Parsons said. “But before I issue any order that will haunt me for the rest of my life, I need to confirm for myself that there is no alternative. Do you know why that ship is out here—here? The other side of nowhere. An uninhabitable, useless star system. A self-destructive orbit. Have you considered the why of this situation?” She glanced to Brik, including him in the question. “That ship is out here doing research. On the bloodworms. There’s no other reason why it could be out here. Korie and I have been wondering about the circumstances of this particular supply mission from the moment we loaded fourteen locked cargo containers and a sealed manifest. When we picked up its first distress signal, we unsealed the manifest—and it was obvious they were out here working on something extremely toxic. Something that we didn’t want the Morthans to know about.”

  Parsons looked directly to her Morthan security chief. “Clearly, what is going on out here is critical war research, Mr. Brik. Critical. We don’t know what knowledge they developed. If anything. But whatever they discovered, whatever they found out, they paid a very high price for it. The ultimate price. If we destroy that ship now, then all that knowledge is lost, and those people will be dying in vain. So will our crewmates. I’m not giving the order to destroy that ship until we can successfully download her log. Whatever they discovered, if we don’t bring that information back, then we’ll be betraying our even more important imperative to support the prosecution of this war to our fullest ability. Do you understand that, Mr. Brik?”

  Brik nodded curtly. “May I speak?”

  Parsons raised an eyebrow. A questioning look.

  Brik rumbled, “There is the very real possibility that while we are delaying the termination of the Norway, the bloodworms will find a way to cross the transfer tube—repulsor fields or no repulsor fields—and infest the Star Wolf.”

  “I’m aware of the danger, Mr. Brik. I believe I know something more of the bloodworms than you do.” Ignoring him deliberately then, she turned back to Williger. “Tell me, Doctor. Suppose we download the log of the Norway and find something in it that demonstrates a way to contain the plasmacytes or treat a plasmacyte infection—would you take the chance? Would you try to save our shipmates?”

  Williger didn’t answer, but the pain showed in her face as she thought about the question. Finally, she wiped her nose roughly and said, “You’re grasping at straws, Captain. You’re looking for hope where there’s no reason to—”

  “Just answer it, Molly,” Parsons said, with sudden gentleness. “If there’s a way, would you take the chance?”

  “As a fleet officer ... I wouldn’t, because I wouldn’t violate our standing orders.” She hesitated uncomfortably and added, “But as a doctor ... I can’t turn my back on a patient in need.”

  Parsons nodded. “So if I ordered you to take the chance, what would you do?”

  “What are you thinking of, Captain?”

  “Just answer the question, Doctor.”

  “I would follow your orders,” Williger said carefully.

  “Thank you.” Parsons’ tone was equally careful. “So if I asked you to analyze the records of the Norway, I could depend on you to evaluate the risks to the Star Wolf fairly?”

  “Captain,” Williger said stiffly, “I’m offended that you would even ask these questions.”

  “I understand your offense, Doctor. You need to understand that for me to make an appropriate decision, I need to know not only what I’m dealing with, but the feelings of my command-level officers as well, because that’s part of the process. I can’t make a commitment to anything unless I know who I can depend on. I already know that I cannot depend on Mr. Brik—”

  “I take offense at that, Captain,” Brik growled. Literally growled.

  “As well you should. But understand something—suppose there is a way to rescue our shipmates. Suppose I decide that we should take that risk. I will be violating a Class-Red standing order. Even if we succeed, I will face a Board of Inquiry at the very least, and quite possibly a full court-martial. Even if acquitted, my career as a command officer will be over. Do the both of you understand? I am considering trading my career for the lives of our shipmates. It is possible that just by having this conversation with you, I am ending my career, because it is evidence of my willingness to disregard a Class-Red standing order. Certainly by delaying the destruction of the Norway, I am putting all of us at risk. And I fully expect Mr. Brik to file a security report on what is happening here. I’d be disappointed in him if he didn’t. But as a human being, I have to have this conversation. I have to live with the consequences of any decision—and I don’t know about you two, but my conscience has a seriously aggravating voice. I don’t want to listen to it whining if I don’t have to.” She looked from one to the other. “Yes, we may still end up having to destroy the Norway, and frankly, based on everything I’ve heard so far, I expect that’s the most likely resolution to this whole thing, but until I’m convi
nced that there’s no other alternative, I’m not willing to give the order. I want to be convinced that there’s no way out.”

  “There’s no way out,” said Williger.

  “Convince me,” repeated Parsons.

  The Orange Box

  The Star Wolf and the Norway hung silently in space, seemingly motionless—the red glare of the giant sun was a looming wall, a radiant presence, a warning and an ominous threat. The two ships fell together toward flaming dissolution.

  Aboard the Norway, the mission team was running on automatic, continuing their duties as a way of avoiding the trap of their own thoughts. There were two access panels to the starship’s orange box. One was set into the base of the bulkhead directly behind the captain’s chair. The other access was in the forward wall of the Communications Bay, a tiny space between the Command Deck and the Officers’ Mess.

  Korie and Bach had opened up the panel on the Bridge side first. The panel popped out of its mountings easily, sliding out and to the side. Inside the bulkhead, a display of blinking green lights revealed that the orange box was fully operational. Korie exhaled in relief. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He slid a code card into the box’s access panel and typed in a set of passwords. The display reported OPERATIONAL.

  He turned to the other members of the mission team. “Hodel, you and Easton go around to the other side and start a download. I want to look at the Intelligence Engine. Berryman, Shibano—check out ‘Broadway.’ See if there’s anyone else alive in this half of the ship.” The look on Berryman’s face stopped him. “What?” he asked.

  “HARLIE said that there were life forms moving toward us.”

  For a moment, Korie didn’t get it. Then he remembered. “Oh. Right.” He looked from one to the other. “He must have meant the wavicles.”

  “It’s hard to get good readings off those things—” Berryman said.

  “I don’t know what else he could have meant—” But the thought was a troubling one. “HARLIE?” Korie asked. “The life forms you said were moving toward us—where are they now?”