When he stepped out onto the Command Deck, he saw that Jarell had parked himself in the executive officer’s chair—a breach of etiquette so gross that Korie couldn’t believe the man had done it deliberately. He had to be ignorant of the ways of the ship. Unless ... he wanted to send a message. The glittering vial was nowhere in sight. Blintze stood glumly behind Jarell.
Parsons was just sitting down in her own chair. “Commander Tor? Would you please prepare a set of courses for Commander Jarell’s inspection?”
Tor swiveled around in her chair to stare at the captain with a questioning expression. Excuse me?
“We want to cross the rift and dive into the heart of the Morthan sphere.”
The look on Tor’s face went from curiosity to disbelief. Is he crazy or are you?
“Commander Jarell has a very convincing argument,” Parsons said, without explaining.
Korie glanced sideways to Brik. The big Morthan was standing in the Ops Deck so he could be eye-to-eye with those on the Command Deck. “I really hate it,” Korie said dryly. “I hate being convinced like this.”
“The Cinnabar Option?” Brik asked.3
“Too dangerous,” Korie said. “And too messy.” And besides, HARLIE is down.
“Captain ...?” said Tor, fumbling for the right words. There were none.
Jarell reached into his jacket and pulled out the biotube. He held it up high so everyone on the Bridge could see it. For a moment, the Bridge was silent—except for the usual background hum of ship sounds.
Korie glanced backward. Bach and Shibano were in front of the hatch, Easton and Armstrong were still in the corridor; they all had their weapons out. Korie held a hand low to indicate caution. He noticed that Easton was trembling—he had to do something. And quickly. He stepped forward and said, “Captain, I didn’t have a chance to tell you before. The warp core of the number two engine has to be flushed. The microstabilizer fields have been lethetically compromised and Chief Leen needs to do a suborchial inter-alignment on the bivalve spline. We can’t run with a gelatinous wobbly.”
Parsons blinked at him as if he’d just said, “The gostak distims the doshes.” And then, without blinking, she replied crisply, “I specifically told Chief Leen not to flush the warp core in a stress-field depression. That’s why the bivalve is misaligned! You can’t get the revolvitrons stabilized in a gravitational perplex! Where the hell did he learn engine deconstruction! Goddammit. I don’t want excuses. I want results.” She turned to Jarell, and her tone became sweetly apologetic. “I’m sorry, Commander. We’re not going anywhere for awhile.”
“It’s all right, Captain,” he replied. “I’m sure you and Commander Korie can reconfigure the double-talk generator in no time. Certainly before I’ve decided on a course.” He wasn’t fooled.
Parsons didn’t even acknowledge the failure. Her voice became more business-like. “It’ll take several days to get free of the gravitational effects of the red star. We won’t be able to enter hyperstate for a week. Are you planning to stay awake the whole time? It’s two months to cross the rift. You’re going to have to sleep sometime.”
Jarell nodded. “I understand you had your HARLIE unit simulating our LENNIE.”
“Yes, and it drove the poor unit psychotic. We’ll be decontaminating it for months.”
“I have a better idea. Let’s bring it back online. We’ll use the LENNIE programs to stand watch over me while I sleep.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Korie.
“I do,” said Jarell. “Discussion’s over.”
Korie looked to Parsons. She nodded. Korie said, “I’ll get to it right away,” and remained where he was standing.
“What about the plasmacytes on the hull of our ship, Commander?”
Jarell shook his head, a gesture of dismissal. “That’s how we’ll infect the Morthan worlds—we’ll dive through their upper atmospheres and leave a trail of infection. By the time the plasmacytes drift down to the ground, we’ll be long gone.”
“I meant—won’t they eat through our hull?”
“No. The radiation shields are a natural containment. As long as you don’t lower them, we’re safe.”
“And after our mission is over, how will we get off the ship safely?”
“Don’t worry about that either. There’s a cure.”
“No, there isn’t. We searched the Norway. The biotubes were empty.”
Jarell shook his head. “You didn’t find it, that’s all.”
Parsons looked away, momentarily at a loss, trying to figure out what she could say next. For the first time, she noticed the security team behind Korie. She bit her lip, then looked across to Brik. “Commander Brik. Let’s be very careful here. I don’t want anyone trying anything stupid.”
“I appreciate that, Captain,” Jarell said. He turned around in his chair and looked past the captain, past Korie—to the security team waiting at the hatch. “You’re dismissed.” They didn’t move.
Korie nodded to them. “Pull back.”
Bach and Shibano started to back away. They ducked through the hatch. Armstrong moved to follow them—but Easton stayed where he was, pointing his stinger pistol directly at Jarell’s head. “Let me do it, Captain! Just give the word!”
Confession
Without taking his eyes from Jarell, Easton spoke to Captain Parsons in a voice that was harrowing in its desperation—and its deadly certitude. “I can drill him right through the eyes. He’ll be dead before he has a chance to break the seal.” He stepped closer to Jarell.
Jarell held the vial up so Easton could see the top. “Look, stupid—see that button? It’s a doomsday trigger. If my heart stops, the seal explodes, the vial shatters.”
“No problem,” Easton said. Still aiming the weapon at Jarell’s head, he reached over with his other hand and adjusted the target setting. “I’ll set for wide-beam stun.”
Parsons took a step forward. “Daniel. Put that stinger down. Now.”
“I’m sorry, Captain—I can’t. Give me the order, please.”
Jarell looked over to Parsons. “You realize, of course, what will happen when that stinger beam hits this vial. Even on the lowest level, it will provide enough energy for the wavicles to escape the containment bottle.”
“Don’t do it, son,” Parsons said. She didn’t want to make it an order—because if he disobeyed it, she’d ultimately have to prosecute him for insubordination. Or worse. And she didn’t want to do that.
Thinking quickly, Korie stepped into the space between Jarell and Easton. He looked directly into Easton eyes. “You’ll have to shoot through me, Dan.” Jarell took advantage of the opportunity to take a cautious step back.
“Why are you protecting him?! He’s a walking LENNIE.”
“I’m not protecting him. I’m protecting you.”
“I’m trying to do my duty—”
“Not this way. Dan, listen to me. I know what you’re going through—”
“No, you don’t. You’ve never been bonded.”
“I was married. And my wife was the most special person in the universe to me. And our children were our greatest joy. So don’t tell me what I don’t know. But let the Fleet handle this. I promise you, Yonah Jarell isn’t going to hurt anyone ever again. Dan! Give me the stinger.”
Armstrong took a step out of the hatch and called softly, “Danny, please. Please, listen.”
Easton shook his head. “The man is evil. The man doesn’t deserve to live. Captain, give the order.”
Korie whispered, “Dan, we can’t afford the luxury of revenge. Hate is a disease. I don’t want the Star Wolf infected with it any more than I want this ship infected with plasmacytes. Hate made the plasmacytes. Is that what you want to continue?”
And Armstrong took a step forward and said softly, “Is this what Paul would have done? Do you think he would have wanted you to kill in his name? If he were here, what do you think he would say?”
Easton wavered, undecided.
And then—he blinked. And blinked again.
Standing in front of him was Paul Berryman. Alive. Healthy. Sparkling. “Honey, I’m home,” he said.
“Paul—”
“Dan, shut up and listen to me. I’m only dead. I’m not gone. Everything that we ever had together, it’s still right here—inside of us. Don’t piss it away on him. He’s not worth it.”
“Let me kill him for you—”
“Don’t kill anyone for me, Danny. That’s not the legacy I want.” And then he added, “And if you do that ... I’m not sure I can come back again—”
Easton sagged. “Damn you! Damn you!” Abruptly he swung his arm sideways and held the stinger pistol out to his side, where Korie took it gratefully from his hand. “Attaboy, Danny,” someone whispered. Armstrong? Berryman?
Korie handed the weapon sideways—to Parsons—and grabbed Easton before he could collapse unconscious to the floor. “Call Williger! My God, he’s burning up—”
And at the same time, someone else was screaming too. It was Jarell: “What the hell are you doing?!!”
Blintze had grabbed the glittering little vial out of Jarell’s hand, and now, as everyone watched, he popped it into a pressure-spray injector. Before anyone could stop him, he applied it directly to his forearm—the telltale hiss told the entire story.
“You stupid asshole! What have you done?!”
Blintze ignored him. “Captain Parsons, I believe I’ve just solved the plasmacyte problem. Will you please have me transferred over to the Norway?”
Jarell screamed. “You disloyal traitor!”
“No, Yonah. It’s over. Enough is enough. No more killing. No more.” He looked to Parsons hurriedly. “We have a limited amount of time, Captain. Only a few minutes before these things turn into bloodworms.”
Williger entered the Ops Deck from the forward hatch. She came around the side of the main display, followed by two Quillas—one carrying an emergency kit, the other carrying a stretcher. They headed straight for the Command Deck.
Parsons was already calling out orders. “Security—take Commander Jarell to the brig. And Easton and Blintze to Med Bay.”
Bach and Shibano had already seized Jarell. Now, as they escorted—almost dragged—him off the Bridge, Blintze turned back to Parsons. “No, Captain. The transfer tube.”
“We can save you!” And then she added, “I think.” She looked to Williger. “He’s got plasmacytes in his bloodstream.”
“Get him to the Med Bay. Fast!”
“No. Get me to the transfer tube. I don’t want to be saved, Captain. I don’t want to grow old listening to my conscience. Listen, I made a mistake. I trusted Jarell. And the Norway died. All of my friends and colleagues died.” Blintze’s whole demeanor had changed in the last few moments—he no longer looked like a man with a death sentence. His eyes were alive with enthusiasm. “I’ll tell you what we discovered. The plasmacytes are something beautiful. Not a war weapon at all—but a kind of life that’s marvelous to see. The Regulans perverted it. We can cure it. We can heal it.” He spread his hands wide in an act of supplication. “Captain Parsons, this is where the sickness stops. All the hate. All the dying.”
“This is a death sentence, Dr. Blintze.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s a life sentence. Do you want to know why you couldn’t find the cure on the Norway? Because it isn’t there. I had it all the time.”
“Then why didn’t you use it?”
“Because ...” Blintze spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Because ... I had to hide it from LENNIE. A LENNIE isn’t just paranoid, it’s a death-engine. It’s a killing machine. It hates life. The only way to work with a LENNIE is to show it that you’re inventing new ways to kill. Make yourself a partner in death. Serve LENNIE or die. If LENNIE had realized that I had saved the cure, he would have destroyed the Norway, and it would have been lost forever—all the research, everything. I didn’t want that to happen.”
“It would have been better all around if it had,” said Parsons, starting to feel annoyed.
Blintze ignored her. He continued quickly, “I had to synthesize it in isolation—pretending to be doing something else the whole time; but LENNIE figured out what I was up to and let the plasmacytes loose. But he only thought I’d completed the theoretical part. He didn’t realize I’d only been writing down my notes on things to test after I’d already performed the experiments. That was the only way I could leave a trail. It almost worked. When you arrived, I realized I had to find a way to get it off the ship and out of LENNIE’s reach. I almost told you when I came aboard—but then your HARLIE unit swore at me and I realized I couldn’t trust it either. Somehow LENNIE had infected it. So I injected myself with the cure because ... because I couldn’t think of any better place to hide it. And now that you know, you need to get me off this ship and onto the Norway, where I can try to make a difference. And I’ll need a stinger pistol with a self-destruct timer on it, please.”
“It’s suicide,” said Parsons.
“I’ve earned the right.”
“Nobody’s earned the right to decide when a life should end.”
“You can believe that if you want. I believe otherwise. Captain, we’re wasting time.”
“I think you’re really afraid of what a Board of Inquiry will do to you,” she replied.
“Maybe so. But we’re still wasting time.”
“Suicide is the coward’s way out, Blintze. It’s nothing more than a way to say ‘fuck you’ to the universe.”
“Fine,” said Blintze. “Believe that too. But we’re still wasting time.”
Parsons looked away. She looked to Williger—the doctor was already bent over Easton, applying several small devices to his chest and arms. She glanced up long enough to say, “It’s triage. Let him go.”
Parsons looked to Korie. Korie closed his eyes and nodded his agreement.
“All right, Dr. Blintze. Have it your way.” She offered him the stinger she still held. “Mr. Korie, please escort Dr. Blintze to the transfer tube. Have Chief Leen activate the repulsor fields immediately. Send a robot over first—have it destroy the Norway’s power supply—I don’t want LENNIE out of commission, I want him dead.”
“Thank you, Captain—”
“Don’t thank me. I’m not doing it for you.” Blintze nodded an acknowledgment and started to step past her. She stopped him with a look and added, “I’m a Catholic. I believe that suicides go to Hell. I’m supposed to try to stop you. But I can’t. My only real regret here is that you’re not taking Yonah Jarell with you.”
“If you want—” Blintze started to offer.
“Just get the hell off my ship. As fast as you can.” She turned away deliberately.
When she was sure that Korie had escorted Blintze safely off the Bridge, she turned to Williger; the two Quillas were just lifting Easton’s unconscious body onto the stretcher. “Will he be all right?”
“He’s suffering a triple-whammy of aftereffects, but yes—I think so.”
“Good. Dr. Williger, I don’t want to court-martial this man. Find me a reason not to. Now, who’s on Chaplain duty? I’ve just been an accessory to a mortal sin and I need to go to confession.”
“Wait till tonight, when I’m on duty,” growled Williger, following the stretcher aft. “I’ll make sure that your penance will be the worst in your life.”
“Bring an extra glass. I think Korie will be joining us—”
Transformation
On the Bridge of the Norway, Makkle Blintze stood alone. He had a camera and a scanner. He set the remote down in the center of the Ops Deck and looked around. The light from the camera filled the Bridge, but it cast dark shadows that left gloomy corners behind everything.
Around him swirled a quiet hurricane of pink and gold flickers. Some of them drifted toward him—and into him. Others danced in the air. There were so many, he could almost hear them.
“Can you see me?” he asked. “Can you hear me?”
“We have monitoring,” Korie’s voice came back to him.
“Good,” said Blintze. He opened the seals on his starsuit. “I’m taking off my headset now. And as you can see, the forward display is off. The entire Bridge is dead, so I can’t see you or hear you anymore. I’ll keep reporting for as long as I can. I don’t think this is going to take very long. I’m the only warm body left on the ship and every wavicle aboard is trying to get to me. It’s almost as if they can tell I have what they want. The worms are creeping this way too. But I don’t think they’ll get here in time. As soon as I’m sure the bloodworms inside my body have been infected with the recombinant genes, I’m going to activate the self-destruct on the stinger. That will guarantee the creation of recombinant wavicles. I’ve got a low-level scanner here. I can’t scan myself, but I can scan for residual radiation, and we’ll be looking for telltale spikes in the ultra-high and ultra-low bands. Stand by.”
Blintze stepped up onto the Command Deck and balanced the scanner on the executive officer’s chair. Then he lowered himself respectfully into the captain’s chair. “Nice. I like it. It’s a throne. A feeling of power, almost.” He held out his arms and waved them, making swirls of wavicles in the air. “It doesn’t hurt. It tickles a little, but I expected that. It’s kind of ... sensual. Oh, hell, why am I being modest now? It’s a very sexual feeling, like that tingle you get just before orgasm. Only it just keeps going and going without ever going anywhere.
“When I was a child, I used to wonder how I would die—it terrified me. Not the dying, but the loss of control it represented. I admit it, I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of suicide—of knowing how and when I would die. And why. At least this is a noble death. Maybe as noble as I can achieve.” He fell silent for a moment, lost in thought, then after a long pause, began speaking again. “Sorry about that. The truth is, I don’t have any right to claim nobility. I participated in something dreadful—a weapon of mass destruction. Possibly the greatest sin a human being can commit. And all the self-justifications and rationalizations and excuses and reasons and explanations ... aren’t worth a bucket of warm shit. The truth is, I let myself be a very ordinary person, just going along, being led, doing what I was told—not willing to take a stand. Not willing to make waves—but certainly willing to make wavicles ... Until now, when it’s almost too late. And anything worthwhile I might say or do now is going to be outvoted by a lifetime of cowardice. I guess this is a deathbed conversion. And therefore worthless. It undoes nothing.
Blood and Fire Page 23
