The Voyage of the Star Wolf

by David Gerrold

“No!”

  For long moments, the ripple crawled sideways across the display. Three times HARLIE expanded the range.

  “Maybe they’ll make it . . .?” Hodel said, hopefully.

  “It’s a long way to go.”

  “But—maybe the Morthans are gone—”

  “You want to bet your life on it?”

  “Uh—” Hodel didn’t answer.

  “I don’t,” finished Korie.

  Leen came up from the engine room then and anchored himself at the far end of the display. He held on with both hands and stared into the glowing field. His expression was tight with anxiety.

  Korie looked to him. “Chief?”

  Leen said, “If they make it—”

  “You think the odds are better for us? They’re worse. If there are any Morthans in visibility range, they’re all headed this way now.”

  “If there are, we should be seeing them soon, shouldn’t we?”

  Korie shrugged. “It depends on how big they are. The bigger they are, the farther they can see—and the faster they can get here. HARLIE, what’s the maximum possible time they can run, before we know that the Dragon Lord was too far away to see them?”

  The answer was immediate. “Seven more minutes, Mr. Korie.”

  “Oh, go baby, go!” said Hodel. “Come on! You can make it.”

  “Stop that,” said Korie. “This isn’t a goddamn ball game.” He was both annoyed and frustrated. He turned away from the display and stared at the opposite wall. He didn’t want his own fear to show. There was a tightness at the back of his throat—almost a need to cry.

  After a moment, he swallowed hard and turned back to the display. It was essentially unchanged.

  “Six minutes,” reported HARLIE.

  Korie clenched his fist to keep himself from shouting. The damnable thing was that he understood Hodel’s impulse. He wanted them to get away, whoever they were.

  “HARLIE—open the lens, just long enough to read their signature, then close it again. I want an ID on that vessel.”

  “Yes, Mr. Korie. Stand by.”

  Hodel glanced to his panel, watching HARLIE proceed. “Lens is open,” he reported. “Reading—” He looked up, horrified. “Lens is closed. Something’s coming.”

  “Oh, shit.” Korie felt the blood rushing to his head. “HARLIE, were we seen?”

  “I don’t know—just a moment.” A heartbeat passed. It felt like a thousand.

  The display flickered. HARLIE added a new hyperstate ripple; it was large and ugly, it had an almost brutal quality. HARLIE added a dull green line to indicate its course.

  “Direct interception,” said Korie.

  “There’s only one ship that could generate a signature that large—” Hodel didn’t want to say its name.

  “They’ve been sitting and waiting, watching for us, picking us off one by one—” Korie tightened both his fists; he bit his lip. He wanted to scream in rage. “You shouldn’t have run!” he finally shouted at the display. “You stupid asshole.”

  Hodel looked at him oddly.

  “Sorry,” said Korie. “We shouldn’t have opened the lens. We scared them into running.”

  “They’re not going to make it,” said Hodel. “Look at that monster close—”

  They watched in helpless silence as the larger vessel overtook the smaller. “We’re too far to see the missile spread,” said Leen. “But they ought to be firing it right about . . . now.”

  “Maybe our guys will have a chance to fire back.”

  “A target that big is awfully hard to miss.”

  “A target moving that fast—” Korie started to say, then stopped himself from finishing the thought.

  “There they go—see that flicker? They’re dropping the fish.”

  “Shut up, everybody.”

  And then it was over.

  The smaller ripple disappeared from the holographic display.

  “Mr. Korie?” said HARLIE. “I am no longer able to detect the hyperstate envelope of the smaller vessel. I believe it has been destroyed.”

  “Concur,” said Korie. “Log it.”

  The Dragon Lord continued along its course for a few moments longer, then abruptly turned upwards and accelerated until it was out of range.

  “They didn’t see us—” Hodel whispered unbelievingly.

  “Goddamn bastards,” said Leen.

  Korie didn’t say anything. The pain in his throat was overwhelming—

  HARLIE broke the silence. “Mr. Korie, I have a probable ID on the Alliance vessel. I believe it was the Alistair.”

  “Thank you, HARLIE. Log it.” Korie turned to look at Leen. “You want to know something? I am sick and fucking tired of holding memorial services! I can’t think of anything nice to say anymore about people who are losing a war! Invite me to a memorial service for the Morthans. I’ll have a lot of nice things to say then.”

  Nobody answered him. Hodel looked away, embarrassed. Li suddenly had something important to attend to on his weapons console. Leen let his gaze return to the now-empty display.

  “That could have been us, you know.” said Korie.

  “I know,” said Leen quietly.

  Korie stared at him, waiting to see if he would say anything more. Leen didn’t look up.

  At last, Korie let go of his tension. “I’ll be in my cabin. And I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  He pushed himself angrily out of the Bridge.

  Return of the Dragon

  Sleep was hard in coming. The destruction of the Alistair kept replaying itself in Korie’s head. The usual mental exercises didn’t work. There was no way to find a blessing in this disaster. Finally, he gave up and switched on a buzz box. Consciousness drifted fitfully away . . .

  “Mr. Korie?”

  “What—?” Korie lurched back to wakefulness. “What is it?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir—” It was Hodel.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Two hours,” said HARLIE.

  “—but we’re picking up some activity.”

  “What kind of ‘activity’?”

  “We think the Dragon Lord is coming back.”

  “I’m on my way—”

  Korie grabbed a clean shirt and began pulling it on. If the ship had gravity, he would have put it on while he walked forward to the Bridge. In free fall, only an idiot would attempt to get dressed while in motion.

  He pushed himself out into the corridor and pulled himself hand over hand to the Bridge and the Operations deck beneath it. He swam down to the display where Hodel and Li hovered. “Where—?”

  “That—” pointed Hodel.

  “HARLIE?”

  “It’s beyond the range of the G-scanners to read accurately, but judging from the mass and velocity disturbances, it could only be the Dragon Lord. I can’t extrapolate what it’s doing.” And then HARLIE added, “It does appear to be headed in our direction.”

  “They saw us,” said Korie. “They’re playing with us.”

  “Make a run for it?” asked Hodel.

  “No. That’s what they expect. That’s what they want. They’re trying to flush us. We’re easier to find and kill in hyperstate.” Korie turned to Li. “Torpedo status?”

  “I’ve got two left. We’ve cannibalized all the rest. But if I power up those two, they’ll make a big enough disturbance to give away our location.”

  “Stand by to bring them up, but don’t do so unless I order it.”

  “What can you do with two torpedoes?” asked Hodel. “You’d need to drop a spread just to get on the probability scale.”

  “I know it,” Korie replied. “Chief Leen? Rig for total silence. I don’t want to radiate so much as a heartbeat. Shut down everything you can. HARLIE?”

  “Yes, Mr. Korie?”

  “Close down all your nonessential functions.”

  “Yes, Mr. Korie.”

  The Bridge went dark then. Only three work stations and the display table remained operat
ive.

  “You think it’ll work?” whispered Hodel.

  “No,” said Korie, honestly. “But—” he shrugged. “Let’s not make it any easier for them to find us either. The way I see it, they’ve got two options. One, they can drop out of hyperstate and search for us in real space. They don’t have to hide, they can open up as big a lens as they want. If they’re any good, they can close with us in six hours. If they make a couple of wrong guesses, we might have as much as two or three days. We can’t even fire our mass-drivers without giving ourselves away.”

  “What’s their other option?”

  “They sweep through the area, hoping to brush us with their fringe. Of course, there’s a danger in that too. If they accidentally intersect our singularity—they’ll destroy themselves too. I don’t think they’re stupid. They have all the time they need. They’ll hunt for us in real space.”

  “We’re running out of options,” said Hodel.

  “Probably. HARLIE?”

  “I have no recommendation at this time.”

  “Right,” agreed Korie. “That’s how I see it too.”

  “There they go,” Hodel pointed. “They’ve found us.”

  The Dragon Lord’s signature was clearer now—and headed directly for the LS-1187.

  Korie grabbed the edge of the display and held himself firmly in place. “HARLIE, show us a locus. Where are they most likely to decant from hyperstate?”

  A pale ellipse appeared along the line of the Dragon Lord’s projected path. HARLIE explained, “If they don’t decant within that locus, they’re likely to miss us—unless it is their plan to brush us with their fringe.”

  “And if they do?”

  “It will take some time for them to recalibrate and locate us in real space. Depending on their distance, we could have anywhere from ten to ninety-six hours before they arrive on station.”

  “My guess on the downside is six hours, HARLIE.”

  “Yes, Mr. Korie—your calculation is accurate. However, I am postulating more caution on the part of the Morthan commander than you are.”

  Korie said to Hodel. “Figure six hours.” He returned his gaze to the display. The signature of the Dragon Lord was just entering the glowing locus.

  “It will take them two minutes to traverse the length of the locus,” said HARLIE.

  “Power up the torpedoes?” asked Li.

  “No. It’ll give them a more precise fix—and if they recognize the signature, they’ll know what we’ve done. Let’s try and look like a derelict—”

  “There they go—” said Hodel.

  The signature of the Dragon Lord abruptly shrank and collapsed in upon itself.

  “HARLIE?”

  “I have an approximate location. They are twenty light minutes distant.”

  “Why so far?” asked Hodel.

  “For them, that’s not far. They’ll scan, they’ll sweep if they have to, and they’ll approach fully armed. They’ve got to have some high-gee accelerators on that monster and appropriate inertial compensation.”

  “That kind of vectoring leaves them real vulnerable to a shot—” suggested Li.

  “Don’t count on them being that stupid,” said Korie. “HARLIE, give me a projection. How long do you think we have before they close in real space?”

  “Between six and ten hours,” HARLIE replied, absolutely deadpan.

  Korie made a snorting noise. “Thanks. Situation analysis?”

  “The situation could be better,” reported HARLIE. “Our crew strength is severely impaired. We are running at sixty-three percent efficiency. Our equipment is in even worse shape. We have no port side disruptors. We have insufficient power for the starboard side disruptors. All but two of our torpedoes have been disabled. If the Morthans follow standard approach procedures, they will not come within weapon range until they have first sent probes in for visual confirmation of our derelict status. Once we are under direct surveillance, it is unlikely that we could launch a torpedo or power up our disruptors without the Morthans taking immediate countermeasures. I would presume that at least one or more of the probes will be armed. Now that the Morthan ship knows where we are, undetected escape is also impractical. Obviously, we cannot outrun the Dragon Lord in hyperstate. Do you wish me to elaborate on any of this?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you, HARLIE.”

  “What are you going to do?” Hodel sounded uncertain.

  “I don’t know,” said Korie.

  “But we have to do something!”

  “To be perfectly candid,” Korie admitted, “I really can’t think of anything useful to do—”

  “But—”

  “Hodel, shut up.”

  Hodel shut. But his frantic expression remained an accusation. The responsibility is yours, Mr. Korie!

  The acting captain of the LS-1187 floated in the air, as adrift as his vessel. He looked cornered. Suddenly, a wild expression appeared on his face, almost a manic grin. “After giving the matter considerable thought,” he began slowly, “I have decided . . . to plant potatoes.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Also corn, tomatoes, lettuce, peas, amaranth, cucumbers, legumes, and winged beans. The latter are especially good for oxygen fixing, I believe.”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  Korie met Hodel’s puzzled expression. “Either the Morthans destroy us or they don’t. If they don’t, we’re still going to have to plant crops now if we intend to eat in the next few months. Most of the aeroponic webs are rigged. Let’s make good use of the time—”

  “And if they do destroy us—? Planting beans doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.”

  “It does to me. It’s something to do—something to occupy my mind. The alternative is trying to get back to sleep. I don’t think I can. If we are going to die, I’d prefer not to waste my last few hours being unconscious. On the other hand, working with living things is a terrific way to put your soul at ease. If I am going to die, Mr. Hodel, I would prefer it to be in a state of grace. Not believing in God anymore, I will settle for second best: a state of internal peace and tranquillity.”

  Hodel blinked. “I can’t believe you’re serious—”

  Korie grabbed Hodel’s shoulder hard and stared into his eyes.

  What he wanted to say was this: “Listen to me, asshole. I’m dry. I’m empty. I’ve gamed it out and I’ve gamed it out and I’ve gamed it out. I can’t think of anything else to do. At the moment, there isn’t anything else we can do. So I’m going down to the inner hull and make myself useful. I want to spend a little bit of time doing something life-affirming. But I have no emotional fuel left. I need to do something to recharge myself—I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and I can’t talk about it to anybody, because the morale on this ship is so desperate.”

  But what he actually said was: “If you have to have it explained to you, then you’ll never understand it.” He let go of Hodel and pushed off. “Keep me posted if there’s any change in status.”

  Winged Beans

  Planting beans is easy.

  You take the seed, you push it deep into the soft cottony webbing, deep enough to stay, then you squirt it with some mineralized water and get out of its way. Move up a few centimeters and poke another seed into the web. Squirt and repeat. Poke and squirt. Poke and squirt. Kind of like sex, but not as immediately gratifying.

  Actually, thought Korie, this really wasn’t such a bad idea. Poke and squirt. Poke and squirt. It’s probably all over the ship by now. The exec’s gone bugfuck. We’re about to be destroyed and he’s planting beans.

  Korie shook his head and kept on working. I can’t explain it. If we survive, it’ll make sense. They’ll say I’m so cold, I’m unbreakable. And if we don’t survive, it doesn’t matter.

  What I’m really hoping, though, is that by taking my mind off the problem, I’ll give my subconscious a chance to work. Maybe there’s something I’ve missed . . .

  I’ve got to stop thinking abou
t it. Except it’s like trying not to think about a big pink worm.

  Korie sighed in exasperation and kept on working. He had a plastic injector in his right hand; squeeze it and a seed pops out at the end of the long nozzle. Planting beans was easy, almost too easy to be fun. Insert the nozzle into the webbing and squeeze. Then squeeze a second time and the seed is sprayed. Pull yourself up along the webbing and repeat the process.

  Poke and squirt.

  The winged bean is a marvelous piece of nature. The bean is edible. The leaves are edible. The roots are edible. All parts of it are tasty. It grows fast and produces useful amounts of oxygen. And it’s historically interesting too. Its genetic heritage can be traced all the way back to ancient Earth.

  Poke. Squirt.

  We could probably have the robots do this, thought Korie. Maybe we should. But then, if we did, what would I be doing now? He snorted in amusement. Probably going crazy. Correction: crazier.

  The Morthans eat their enemies, but what do they do for food between battles? Huh? Maybe that’s why they’re always going into war. Now, there’s a thought—suppose they don’t want to destroy this ship. Suppose instead that they want to capture us alive . . . No, that’s stupid. The Morthans only eat honorable enemies. They couldn’t possibly consider us worthy of a Morthan honor. No, they’re out to destroy us.

  Poke. Squirt.

  Bolting doesn’t work. We saw what happened to the Alistair. Hiding doesn’t work either. Not if they’re searching for us. Creeping away at subluminal velocity is like trying to hide and bolt at the same time. No chance there. And we don’t have the firepower to fight back. We have no options.

  Poke.

  Surrender?

  Korie hesitated, considering the thought. It was more than distasteful. It was anathema. It was the most abhorrent idea of all. Totally unacceptable. His name would be a curse for as long as it was remembered.

  But consider it anyway . . .

  What do we know about Morthans in war? Do they take prisoners? If so, how do they treat them? No, that’s not the question. The question is how could we expect to be treated . . .? No, I don’t see it. This is not a place to expect compassion or mercy. We might very likely be tried as war criminals. They think of themselves as some kind of superior race—they think of us as dumb animals, inferior beings with delusions of grandeur. No, we would not be treated by the rules of the covenant. Hmp. They don’t even recognize the covenant, so that answers that question.