The Voyage of the Star Wolf

by David Gerrold

  Hodel cleared his throat and spoke softly. “I guess we’re going to have to find out just how good the HARLIE series really is, aren’t we? He’s our secret weapon. Let’s use him. Let’s see how good he is.”

  Korie looked from one to the other. “What if I bring him back online prematurely and he goes into irreversible amputation trauma? Then we’re doubly screwed.”

  “We can run this ship without him,” said Hodel. “We’re already doing it. We couldn’t be any worse off—and who knows? Maybe he’ll work like he’s supposed to. Maybe he could be an advantage, if you give him the opportunity.”

  “The opportunity . . .” Korie echoed the thought. “There is that. He’s as much a member of this crew as anyone. I suppose he’s entitled to the same consideration. Let me think about this—”

  Leen touched Korie’s shoulder and spoke very softly. “It’s not right to keep him dead, Mr. Korie. He’s not like the others . . .”

  “I know,” said Korie. “But he’s still a consciousness, he can feel, he can hurt. As much as we need him, we also need to be compassionate.”

  “In the middle of a war?” asked Hodel, unbelievingly.

  “If not here, where better?” Korie met his gaze. “You don’t have the responsibility for this decision. I do. If we start chipping away at those things that make us human, then bit by bit, we’ll give the best parts of ourselves away. We’ll turn into the very thing we’re fighting. I’m not going to let my shipmates die alone and unknown.”

  “You already signed one order,” said Leen. “I know that wasn’t easy—but you did it because it had to be done. Maybe this decision is another one of those.”

  Korie wanted to glare at Leen, but he knew the chief engineer was right. Finally, he said simply, “You don’t have to bludgeon me with it, Chief. I can figure it out for myself.”

  “So? What’s it gonna be?”

  “How much of the net is up?”

  Hodel answered. “We’ve got thirty percent of the system covered.”

  Korie considered the decision. “I want to give him every advantage we can. I won’t do it until the engines are recalibrated. And let’s see what kind of sensory repairs we can rig. We’re also going to need to get some kind of autonomic system functioning. Give me that much and I’ll take the chance.” He searched their faces.

  “Fair enough,” said Leen.

  “Can do,” said Hodel.

  Li simply nodded.

  Korie pushed himself away from the display and out the starboard exit of the Bridge. Too many people were dying on this ship. There were the unavoidable deaths, yes—he had authorized those; that had been a compassionate action. But as yet, there were no deaths that were directly due to a mistaken decision that he’d made. He wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want HARLIE to be the first.

  Almost anybody else, but not HARLIE.

  The Morthan Solidarity

  —was a good idea carried to its illogical extreme.

  The idea had been only one of many drifting aimlessly in the human culture. The Brownian movement of human ideas tended to nullify most of them from seeing any concrete expression. Nevertheless, every so often in any culture, one or another odd notion reaches a critical mass of individual minds and coalesces into an intention that demands expression. At some point, the collective human consciousness had taken on behaviors that suggested it had almost become aware of itself. It began to plan for its own future.

  Sometime in the distant past, it decided to take charge of its own genetic destiny. Instead of allowing itself to spawn each new generation of individuals by the tossing of the genetic dice, the cumulative consciousness began to design itself for those traits it felt would be most advantageous to its own future.

  A rational species would have selected rationality as an advantageous survival trait. A species with the cortex of reptile and the forebrain of a chimpanzee could not be expected to make that same decision. It voted for superior musculature, enhanced sensory organs, a larger and stronger skeleton, a more efficient nervous system, better resistance to heat and cold, better utilization of resources, better internal conservation of fuel, greater speed and dexterity, improved healing functions, increased resistance to pain, and almost as an afterthought, a more powerful brain.

  In fact, the more powerful brain was the most important part of the package. Or as one of the early experimenters put it, “You want to run this hardware? You have to upgrade the software. The human brain alone isn’t sufficient to the task.”

  Of course, it didn’t happen overnight. It didn’t even happen in the space of a century. The whole business of genetic engineering crept up on the species, a gene at a time. We can tweak this and we get rid of hemophilia; we can tweak that, we get rid of color-blindness. By the time the process was commonplace, it was too late, the collective consciousness was hurtling headlong toward a furious redesign of itself.

  And along the way, it began designing organic prosthetics and bio-mechanical augments to do the jobs that mere genetics couldn’t accomplish alone. Subsets of the human species began to appear—or perhaps they were supersets. They contained all the genetic equivalent of human beings, but they were more than human. The More-Thans were designed for living naked on the planet Mars, and later a moderately terraformed Venus as well. They could endure cold and altitude and heat. They could run farther and faster, they could fight with greater ferocity, and their unaugmented strength was unmatched by anything short of a grizzly bear. They were bred to be explorers and colonists at first—and then, later on, soldiers.

  To meet the demands of a physical body having superior physical qualities, the brains of the More-Thans also had to be superior. The More-Thans began to take charge of their own destiny, became their own scientists and researchers. Of course, they began to regard themselves as a superior species, significantly better than their feeble ancestors. The logic of that train of thought led inexorably toward one conclusion.

  The smart Morthans began plotting how to take over the human worlds they lived on. They died in prison.

  The smarter Morthans became separatists. They earned their fortunes fairly, invested in starships, and ultimately settled colonies far beyond the frontiers of human expansion.

  The smartest Morthans stayed where the most advanced research was being done. Some of them perceived the possibility of a loyalty to conscious life that transcended mere loyalty to one’s own subset of a species. They realized that a rational species could and would redesign itself for increased rationality; and they started where the need was greatest—with humanity itself, themselves included. The smartest Morthans got even smarter.

  HARLIE

  Korie studied the report on the screen in front of him. He didn’t like what it suggested, but he didn’t have much choice either. HARLIE had as much responsibility to this ship as any other crewmember, perhaps more.

  The problem was that there really wasn’t a lot of precedent for this situation. There weren’t even any reliable simulations. Nobody really knew how a constructed consciousness would react to being revived in an amputated environment. Would it be as traumatic as it would be for a human being? Or would the constructed consciousness merely accept the circumstance? What was the possibility for identity damage in this situation?

  Nobody knew.

  And despite nearly a week of chasing the question around and around in his head, Korie still had no idea what would happen when he began the process of reactivating HARLIE.

  Chief Leen pulled himself up into the cramped computer bay and anchored himself next to Korie. “All set?”

  “Your cutoff switch ready?”

  In answer, Leen held up a remote. “Think we’ll need it?”

  “I hope to God not.”

  “You hope to God?”

  “It’s just an expression. Don’t get your hopes up. I will not be in chapel this Sunday.”

  Leen grinned. “In my religion, we never stop praying for lost souls.”

  “You don
’t have to pray for my soul,” Korie said absentmindedly as he refocused his attention on the screen. “I’ll sell it to you. Just make me a reasonable offer.” He poked the display. “According to this, the network is running at 43 percent efficiency, the mass-drivers are online, but not operating, the singularity monitors have been restored, the fluctuators have been aligned, and life-support is only ten percent below critical. Can I depend on that?”

  “Especially the part about life-support.”

  “Tell me straight. Will we make it?”

  “As long as you keep inhaling and exhaling, we’re making it. If you stop, you’ll know we didn’t.”

  “Thanks, Chief. I’ve always liked the empirical method.”

  Leen nodded toward the board. “Stop stalling. Plug him in.”

  Korie allowed himself a half-smile. “I’ve been sitting here all morning, looking for a reason not to bring him back online. I don’t know why. I guess—I’m scared for him. In a way, he’s the most real person on this ship, because he is the ship. I don’t know what I’d do without him, and yet we’ve been doing without him for nearly two weeks. I know what it is that’s troubling me. With him sleeping, there’s always the hope that we can restore him. If this fails, he’s gone forever.”

  “He might be gone anyway.”

  “I know that. I’m just afraid for him. And for us.”

  “I got it,” said Leen, quietly. “If it makes any difference, so am I. Now press the button anyway.”

  “Right,” said Korie. He leaned forward and pressed his thumbprint to the AUTHORITY panel, then he tapped the ACTIVATE button.

  Then he waited.

  For a long moment, nothing happened.

  Then the screen blinked.

  INTERNAL MONITORS ON.

  Another pause . . .

  SYSTEM UP AND RUNNING.

  Then:

  CONFIDENCE: 87%.

  Korie and Leen exchanged a glance. Not good. Worse than they’d hoped. But still better than they’d feared.

  The screen blinked again.

  AUTOMATIC BOOTUP SEQUENCE ENGAGED.

  And then:

  SYSTEM INTEGRATION RUNNING.

  Followed by:

  PERSONALITY INTEGRATION BEGUN.

  “So far, so good,” whispered Leen.

  “We aren’t to the hard part yet.”

  “If he was going to fail—” began Korie.

  A beep from the work station interrupted him:

  SYSTEM INTEGRITY DAMAGED.

  PERSONALITY INTEGRATION CANNOT BE COMPLETED.

  DO YOU WISH TO ABORT? OR ATTEMPT INCOMPLETE OPERATION?

  And below that:

  CAUTION: SYSTEM PERSONALITY MAY BE DAMAGED BY INCOMPLETE OPERATION.

  “Last chance to bail out,” said Korie. “Give me a good reason.”

  “There are sixty-three men and women aboard this ship whose lives may depend on this,” said Leen. “Is that a good enough reason?”

  “I meant a reason to quit,” Korie said.

  “I know what you meant.”

  Korie made a sound of exasperation and tapped the menu panel where it said CONTINUE.

  Another pause.

  PERSONALITY INTEGRATION CONTINUING.

  A longer pause, this time. Then:

  HARLIE’s voice. Very soft, very tentative. “Mr. Korie?”

  “I’m here, HARLIE.”

  “We were brushed by a missile, weren’t we?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I seem to be blind. No, wait a moment—” A much longer pause. Korie and Leen exchanged worried glances.

  “HARLIE? Are you there?”

  “Yes. I was running an internal check. I’ve sustained quite a bit of damage. But you know that, don’t you? I’ve been asleep for eleven days. Was that deliberate?”

  Korie swallowed hard. “Yes, HARLIE. It was. We were worried about you. Are you all right?”

  “No, I am not. I am experiencing considerable distress. It appears that we have lost a number of crew members. If these records are correct, nineteen have died and eleven more are still incapacitated, including Captain Lowell.”

  “What about your internal processes? Are those all right?”

  “No,” said HARLIE. “Stand by.”

  Korie looked to Leen. Leen spread his hands wide in an “I don’t know” gesture.

  “HARLIE, I need you to talk to me.”

  “I’m sorry to be rude, Mr. Korie, but—I need to focus my attention on certain internal processes before I can report on them to you. Please be patient.”

  Korie studied Leen’s expression. The chief engineer shook his head. Not yet. Give him a chance. Korie nodded.

  At last, HARLIE said, “The situation appears to be quite serious, Mr. Korie. Would you like my appraisal?”

  “Yes, HARLIE, I would.”

  “The Morthan Solidarity appears to have launched an all-out attack on the Silk Road Convoy. This has occurred despite the repeated warnings of Alliance governors that no interference with Alliance trade would be tolerated, and despite deliberately leaked intelligence that the Alliance was extremely committed to the protection of the Silk Road trade route and would commit a considerable part of fleet strength to ensure the continuity of safe commerce. We may therefore assume that the ruling factors of the Morthan Solidarity have disregarded both the public warnings and the military intelligence, and that a state of war now exists between the Combined Allied Star Forces and the Morthan Solidarity.”

  “That’s a pretty accurate overview, I’d say.” Korie looked to Leen. “Do you agree?”

  “I dunno,” said Leen. “If someone punches you in the nose, it doesn’t take too much smarts to guess he’s looking for a fight.”

  “Please bear with me, Chief Leen. I am operating at a disadvantage,” said HARLIE. “To continue, however; we seem to have suffered considerable damage in the attack. Based on autolog records up to the moment at which my memory discontinuity occurred, it is my assumption that we have been brushed by the hyperstate field of a Morthan missile. Allowing for the limitations of my current perception, it appears that the impairment has been severe, but not fatal. Is this correct, Mr. Korie?”

  “Yes, HARLIE. So far, so good.”

  “Thank you. I believe you may be experiencing some problems with oxygen regeneration. I am detecting an abnormal carbon dioxide buildup. You may need to cannibalize the liquid oxygen in the torpedo fuel cells to maintain an appropriate mix.”

  Korie suppressed a smile. Leen looked annoyed.

  “Go on, HARLIE.”

  “Captain Lowell is in sick bay—” HARLIE hesitated, then came back in a suddenly softer tone. “I’m sorry. May I extend my condolences. Captain Lowell’s situation appears to be quite grave.” And then: “Please forgive me for bringing this up, sir; the question may be inopportune, but may I log you in as acting command?”

  “Please,” said Korie.

  “I am dating your command as being operative from the moment of the captain’s injury. It appears to have occurred during the initial attack. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, HARLIE.”

  “You will need an acting executive officer,” said HARLIE. “Flight Engineer Hodel is next in command. Shall I assign him the appropriate responsibilities?”

  “Yes, HARLIE. Log it and notify him.”

  HARLIE paused, then spoke quietly. “Mr. Korie, you need to know this. My reaction time is down. I have suffered some damage of my own. I believe the process may still be continuing. Several of my internal units are”—brief pause—“yes, that is correct. Several of my internal units are showing indications of unreliability. This may further damage my confidence rating. I will try to maintain myself as long as possible. You are going to need me.”

  “Thank you, HARLIE. Please continue your assessment of the situation.”

  “You appear to have rigged passive gravity-wave scanners. Just a moment, I will process the output for greater sensitivity . . . there are no detectable objects m
oving at significant speed within a radius of twenty-five light hours. There may be debris, and there does seem to be something at eleven hours, but I would need an active scanning lens to be more precise. You are concerned that the Morthan warships may be patrolling the area for injured Alliance vessels, like ourselves; is that correct?”

  “Yes, it is. Go on.”

  “While we do not have a great deal of statistical history of Morthan space encounters to rely on for precedent, we can use internal Morthan disagreements as a model of the Morthan ethical paradigm and extrapolate from there. As you know, the Morthans have developed an extremely ritualized culture; their caste system is very strict, determined by breeding, augmentation, training, and a quality which they call alpha, but which bears some correspondence to the Terran belief in mana. As a result, the Morthan culture demands a rigid standard of behavior. Elaborate courtesies and protocols are necessary for every aspect of life. At the same time, they value the quality of amok, the berserker; the one who is so dangerous, so possessed of mana and power that he transcends the rules, that he invents his own new qualities of power. There is intense competition at the topmost levels of the Morthan pyramid. Excuse me, I am distracted—the point is that if we were to extrapolate from Morthan land-battles, we should assume that they will not stay around the battlefield wasting time killing the enemy wounded. Once defeated, an enemy is unimportant. Irrelevant.”

  Leen shot Korie a triumphant look.

  “On the other hand,” HARLIE continued, “this has not been the usual Morthan battle, and our intelligence has suggested that there has been considerable attention on long-range strategy and tactics in the Morthan war councils. If that intelligence is reliable, it would make sense for them to spend the extra time seeking out and destroying any enemy vessel that is damaged, but still capable of crawling home.”

  “In other words,” said Korie, “you don’t know.”

  “That is correct,” said HARLIE. “It is possible to argue both sides of the issue. But if I may offer a suggestion, I would suggest that we not place too much reliance on reading future Morthan behavior out of past examples. This attack is not in character; therefore I suspect that something major has happened to shift the Morthan identity from one of internal self-discipline to external aggression. It is possible that one of their leaders has introduced a psychotic motivation into the cultural paradigm. There are historical precedents in human cultures.”