Blood and Fire

by David Gerrold

  “We’re dealing with a LENNIE,” said Korie. “And LENNIE never gives anybody anything.”

  Williger put her head in her hands, hiding her face. If she didn’t look so angry, she would have looked tired. But her words betrayed her real feelings. “I don’t know what to say, Captain—I’m sorry. I let you down.”

  Parsons was sitting in her usual position at the head of the table. She glanced across the corner to her right, to where Korie was sitting. Williger didn’t see the look that passed between them.

  Korie took a breath and leaned forward. He looked to Parsons—request permission to do this?—Parsons nodded. Korie turned back to Williger. “Dr. Williger? Yes, you screwed up. And we’re going to put a severe reprimand in your file—”

  Williger looked up sharply, glaring across the table at Korie.

  “—just as soon as we get home. Now get back to your lab and resume work on the recombinants. That’s an order.”

  For a moment, the doctor didn’t get it. Then she did. She shook her head in annoyance. “Don’t handle me, Korie.” Then she pushed her chair back and got up. “I’ll be in the Med Lab, Captain, if you need me.” She pushed out, muttering.

  Korie looked to Parsons. “I could have handled that better, couldn’t I have?”

  Parsons shrugged. “You got the job done, didn’t you?” Then turning back to the issue at hand. “Let’s get Jarell and Blintze in here.”

  “Under guard,” suggested Korie.

  Parsons nodded grimly. “Under guard.”

  Explanation

  Armstrong was on security detail. He and Bach escorted Jarell and Blintze to the wardroom. They were followed by the ship’s security chief, Commander Brik. Brik indicated chairs at the far end of the table and the two men sat. Then Brik dismissed the security detail.

  Jarell looked impatient and anxious. Blintze, on the other hand, seemed haggard and worn. Jarell took his chair with a let’s-get-this-handled air of authority, but Blintze seemed resigned, almost fatalistic.

  At the opposite end, Parsons was sitting stiffly in her chair. The captain always sat at the head of the table. Korie sat at her right. Brik placed himself against the bulkhead, near the door. Parsons waited a moment before beginning, as if to establish that she was in control of the room, and when she finally did speak, her voice was harder than Korie had ever heard it. “Commander Jarell. I’m ready for answers.”

  Jarell looked blandly across the table to Parsons. “I’m really not prepared to discuss this with you, Captain.” Beside him, Blintze sagged unhappily.

  Brik spoke quietly. Accusingly. “We’ve decrypted the Norway’s course log. Your astrogational records show a projected course through the heart of Morthan space.”

  Jarell spread his hands wide before him, as if demonstrating that he had nothing to hide; but his manner was disingenuous. “Captain Parsons,” he began. “We’re at war with the Morthan Solidarity.” He glanced to Brik. “May I ask, where do your sympathies lie?”

  “Commander Jarell,” Parsons interrupted. “Where is your authorization for this operation?”

  “Captain,” Jarell stared down the length of the table at her. “Do you understand the seriousness of this war? Perhaps your association with your security officer”—a sideways nod to Brik—“has affected your perspective on the danger facing the human race.”

  “I am very well aware of the dangers we face, Commander.” The captain’s voice had gone unusually flat and cold.

  Jarell didn’t notice. Or perhaps he did. He lowered his tone, almost conspiratorially. “Captain Parsons, how can I convince you—demonstrate to you—that what we’re up to here could very well be the most important mission of the war? You know what happened at Marathon—”

  “I was there.”

  “Then you know how they savaged our fleet! They came out of nowhere—a thousand ships, ten thousand, more! They fell upon the fleet in wave after wave of fire! An avalanche of horror and destruction! The ships exploded and the people died—brave men and women! The marauder wolf packs hunted down the stragglers and killed them. They searched for the dying and the injured and they slaughtered them without mercy.”

  “You weren’t there, were you?” said Korie, quietly. “That’s all very poetic, but that’s not how it happened.”

  Jarell looked as if he wanted to argue. He clenched his fists in front of him, and his voice took on an edgy quality. “You don’t understand, do you? You’re out here in the dark between the stars, alone. Alone. Isolated. You don’t get to see the big picture—the broader perspective—what’s happening along the entire war front. Those of us who stand apart, we get to see it all. We can see what you can’t.”

  Parsons, Korie and Brik all exchanged skeptical glances. “An interesting hypothesis,” Korie said dryly.

  “The Morthans swept away our defenses!” Jarell continued. “Do you deny that? The frontier is an open door, a thousand light years across. They’ll come sweeping in like the apocalypse! Our beautiful green worlds lie at their mercy—the heart and soul of our species lies within their grasp! What they did to Shaleen, what they did to Taalamar, they’ll do that to a thousand more worlds—”

  “They haven’t yet,” interrupted Brik quietly. “If they had been planning an all-out advance, they would have done it by now. I do know something about the way Morthans think,” he said without irony. “I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to guess where the Morthan fleets have gone—or where they’ll strike next.”

  “Then you agree that an all-out advance is possible!” Jarell said.

  Brik looked skeptical. “You don’t listen very well, do you?”

  Korie glanced across the room at Brik, a thoughtful expression on his face. Something Brik had said ... but it was a conversation that would have to be pursued later. He turned his attention back to Jarell. The man’s face had gotten redder. His expression was furious. He was so frustrated, he was standing now. “Am I the only one who sees the danger here?”

  “We’re all aware of the Morthan danger,” Parsons said. “Perhaps more than you realize. This ship is one of the few to escape the mauling at Marathon. Commander Korie and Mr. Brik have both met the enemy face-to-face. I trust their experience and their judgment in these matters.”

  Jarell heard that. He stopped himself with a quick gesture of conciliation. “Forgive me, Captain. I apologize for being so ... intense ... about this. I’m used to dealing with civilians who are so far removed from the immediacy of the danger that they don’t take it as seriously as they should. I’m not used to being around people who are as committed as I am.” He sat down again and placed his hands carefully on the table before him. He glanced around nervously. “Is there ... coffee? Or something? Can I have something to drink?”

  Parsons nodded to Korie, who pulled on his headset and requested coffee service.

  “The thing is, Captain,” Jarell continued, “Fleet Command started this project as a ... a desperate gamble. The first thought was that we might use the bloodworms as a kind of a doomsday weapon. If the Morthans overran us, we could infect every planet they captured. The idea was to make their victories worthless. And eventually, there would be no point to any further advance.

  “Then we had a second thought—” Jarell fell silent when Quilla Delta entered. She was carrying a tray with a coffee urn and several mugs. She placed it in the center of the table and exited quietly. Korie pushed the tray in Jarell’s direction. His hands shaking visibly, the man poured himself a mug of dark black coffee. The sharp aroma filled the room. Korie kept his face impassive; he could tell just by the smell that Cookie had used the bitterest coffee he had. Jarell wasn’t going to enjoy this cup much. At the very least, he could expect severe heartburn. Jarell looked around. “Doesn’t anyone else want some? No? Blintze?”

  Blintze had put his face into his hands, as if he were wishing he were anywhere else but here. He looked up long enough to shake his head no, then withdrew back into his own sad shell of resignation.

>   Parsons prompted, “Go on, Commander Jarell.”

  “Well, our second thought was that we might not have to infect any worlds. All we had to do was let the Morthans know that was our intention. Perhaps the mere threat that we might use weapons of mass destruction would make them think twice—but they’ve already thought twice. That’s what Morthans do. They scourged Shaleen and bombarded Taalamar. The threat to respond in kind can’t possibly be a deterrent, because they’ve already included it in their plans. They expected us to respond in kind. That’s why they had to destroy the fleet—to disable our ability to deliver that kind of a knockout punch to a Morthan world.”

  Korie looked across the room to Brik, wondering what he thought of Jarell’s analysis. Brik’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes were narrowed. Not a good sign, Korie thought. He glanced over to Captain Parsons and gave a slight shake of his head. I don’t believe it either.

  Jarell hadn’t seen the brief exchange of glances—or if he had, it didn’t matter to him. He continued with his explanation. “What we finally realized was that if we were to stop the Morthans, we would have to do something so big, so drastic, so devastating that they would be paralyzed with fear. If we could shatter their sense of invulnerability, they would become psychologically incapable of continuing the war. If we could demonstrate that the consequences of further advances would be total destruction, they would have no option but to withdraw. With one mission, we could break the back of the Solidarity. We could avenge the fleet, Shaleen, Taalamar and all the other worlds they’ve savaged. We could end the war now, before it rages out of control across the heart of the Alliance.” He finished his coffee, made a face and pushed the mug away. “Captain? Don’t you agree?”

  Parsons sighed. She folded her hands before her and rested her chin thoughtfully on them. “I understand your concern,” she said. “I understand your fear of the Morthans and the threat they represent. I even admire your willingness to consider the military use of such unthinkable horrors as bloodworms. It takes a special kind of mind to juggle such dreadful possibilities.”

  “Then you agree ...?” Jarell’s eyes were bright with sudden enthusiasm.

  “Absolutely not,” Parsons said.

  Confrontation

  To Jarell’s frozen expression, Captain Parsons explained, “To be perfectly honest, Commander, I cannot think of anything more horrible that we could do than what you’ve just described.” She looked over to Brik, then back to Jarell. “I might not know as much about the Morthans as you claim to, but I know Commander Brik—and I know from my experience of him that the Morthans have a code of honor. It isn’t our code of honor, but it is such a rigid discipline that they would rather die than suffer dishonor. If we were to unleash such a weapon on the Morthan Solidarity as you are suggesting, it would be an act so vile, so disgraceful, so detestable in their eyes that they would feel justified in retaliating with even greater horrors against us.”

  “What greater horrors are there than what they’ve already done to us?” Jarell demanded.

  “I don’t know,” snapped Parsons. “And I don’t want to find out.”

  “These are evil beings, Captain! They’re not human—they’re monsters. Terrible and vicious and utterly ruthless. We have to be even more ruthless. We have to be a thousand times more dangerous! We have to do this, Captain.”

  Parsons placed her hands flat on the table and glowered down the length of the room. “As convenient as it is to regard the Morthans as the spawn of hell, as demonic beings driven by satanic furies—as satisfying as it might be to regard the enemy as less than human and thereby worthy of our rage and enmity and hatred—I must tell you ... that’s a way of thinking that does not serve us. Our job is to stop the enemy—not become him. Commander Jarell, this is one weapon that human beings must not unleash. Not here. Not anywhere. Not now. Not ever. It violates all possible standards of decency and justice.”

  Jarell’s response was surprisingly calm. He quietly repeated, “We have to do this, Captain. We’ve come too far to stop now.”

  “I see,” said Parsons, coming to a conclusion. “You never had any authorization for this part of the mission, did you?”

  “We were supposed to hold ourselves in a state of readiness. Why would the Fleet authorize the preparation of such a capability if they weren’t prepared to use it?”

  “I repeat. You have no authorization to proceed, do you?”

  “I have a moral authorization,” said Jarell. “We all do. Our mission is to preserve and protect the Alliance. We have the capability to end this war now. And when the last Morthan world dies, writhing in agony, a grateful Alliance will thank us for our wisdom!”

  “I sincerely doubt that,” said Parsons. She glanced to Blintze. “Doctor, you haven’t said a word yet. Do you agree with Commander Jarell’s goals?”

  Blintze’s face was in his hands. His eyes were covered. What he had been thinking during this entire meeting was unknowable. Now, he just shook his head, back and forth. He lowered his hands and his eyes were red and puffy. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” he said. “This isn’t what I signed on for. Oh, no—yes, it is—but I lied to myself. I thought I was searching for a cure. I—I think I always knew there was a military possibility, but I lied to myself about it because ... because I didn’t believe it would ever get that far. And then it was too late. I’m sorry, Captain.”

  Parsons nodded, satisfied that she finally had some sense of what was happening here. She glanced over to the tall Morthan Security Chief. “Commander Brik, place these men under arrest.”

  The Vial

  Brik was standing at the ready, but he made no move to advance on Jarell. Instead, he spoke quietly to his headset. “Security is on the way.”

  Jarell didn’t even blink. “I’m not surprised. I should have expected it. I knew the Solidarity would try to stop us. They sabotaged our LENNIE. And they sent this ship—the Star Wolf—to make sure the bloodworms were neutralized. The Judas ship. You’re betraying the Alliance again. First you lead the Morthan fleet to the Silk Road Convoy. Now you destroy our last, best chance to strike back. Oh yes, they’ve infected you with their thinking. Code of honor? New Geneva Convention? All that crap. That’s their way of limiting our actions while they ignore the rules of conduct and sweep across the Alliance. The deaths of billions of human beings will be on your conscience, Captain Parsons! Everything is perfectly clear now. I see who really runs this ship—” He spat in Brik’s direction.

  “Commander Brik,” Parsons said quietly. “We’ll need restraints for Commander Jarell.”

  “No, you don’t!” Jarell stood up, backing away.

  The hatch popped open then, and four security officers entered. Bach, Shibano, Armstrong and Easton. They had their weapons drawn. “Take Commander Jarell into custody,” Brik ordered. “Try not to hurt him.”

  “Captain—!” That was Blintze.

  Jarell had backed up against the bulkhead. He had reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial—filled with pink and gold flickers. He held it out before him like a shield.

  “—he’s got plasmacytes!”

  “Don’t anyone come any closer!”

  Parsons and Korie both came to their feet, horrified. “Don’t anyone move—don’t anyone do anything stupid.”

  “A containment bottle,” explained Jarell. “We developed these on the Norway. I didn’t know if it would work—coming through the suppressor fields and the repulsors—but it did. Now I can see I was wise to do so. Captain Parsons, I am going to complete my mission. And you’re going to help me. Or you’ll have plasmacytes on the Star Wolf.”

  “We already have plasmacytes on the Star Wolf. On the hull.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Jarell replied. “Hull alloy is a natural containment. That’s where we got the idea for these—” He held up the bottle.”

  “If you release those,” Parsons said, “You’ll die too.”

  Jarell shrugged. “I’m not afra
id to die for my beliefs.” He added, “And if I’m not afraid to sacrifice my life for the cause, I have no problem sacrificing your lives as well.” He grasped the top of the vial. “Unless you deliver this ship to Morthan space ... I will break the seal.”

  Blintze spoke now. He advanced quietly on Jarell and spoke in a voice that was half-whisper, half-croak. “You’re doing it again! Aren’t you? Haven’t you learned anything from what happened to the Norway?”

  “Yes, I have,” said Jarell. “I’ve learned not to trust anyone else.” He stepped forward, holding the vial before him. “I mean it, Captain. Set a course across the rift.”

  Parsons looked to Korie, looked to Brik, looked back to Jarell. “Can we talk about this?”

  “There’s nothing left to say. The time for talk is over.” Holding the vial before him, one hand on the seal, Jarell moved toward the door—and the Bridge.

  The Bridge

  “Let him pass,” said Parsons.

  Brik frowned at the instruction, but he gestured to the security team. They backed carefully out of the way as Jarell stepped through the door into the corridor. “Come on, Blintze!” he called.

  The haggard scientist made his way embarrassedly across the wardroom, muttering “excuse me, excuse me,” as he pushed past Parsons and Brik. “I’m sorry, Captain. Really, I am.”

  Parsons followed him into the corridor. Korie started to follow after her but Brik reached down, grabbed his shoulder and pushed him aside so he could follow the captain—and Jarell. He gave Korie one of those looks that could have meant anything but probably meant let me handle this. He ducked down to fit through the door, then Korie followed. He glanced over his shoulder and motioned for the security team to keep behind him.