“This is more serious than that, Mike. What can I get for ten dollars?”
“Ten dollars? Gee, I’ve never had to do a ten-dollar exorcism. I’m not sure my heart can stand it. But for ten dollars, you get The Secret Sorcery of the Grand Poobah of the Sevagram. For the finale, I will wrassle the devil himself, two falls out of three, for custody of Hell. Then for my first encore, I drink a whole bottle of trans-Lunar brandy, make love to a feral Chtorran, and kill a Martian woman—I think. Or maybe it’s the other way around.”
“Right.” Korie nodded. “I get the picture.”
“Trust me. I’m worth it.”
“I dunno. Ten dollars is a lot of money—”
“The ten-dollar exorcism comes with a guarantee . . .” Mike began.
“I know.” Korie grinned. It was an old joke. “If I’m not absolutely satisfied, I don’t have to pay and you’ll have me repossessed.”
“Close enough. If it doesn’t work, we’ll give you double your bullshit back.”
“Hey—” Korie held up his hands. “I can get double bullshit from the Admiralty for free—”
“Ahh, but not with my style.”
“Okay,” said Korie. “You’re on.”
The important thing about an exorcism is to dress appropriately.
The crew had gathered in the shuttle bay, it being the only chamber in the ship large enough to hold all of them at once. Most of them had no idea what to expect, only that Korie had scheduled a little party to celebrate the successful recalibration of the phase-injector assembly valve modules.
The lights dimmed and there was fanfare. Spotlights probed and searched and came to a final focus on the far end of the room. A puff of orange smoke exploded out of nowhere and Mikhail Hodel appeared in all his gaudy glory.
Mikhail Hodel was wearing a shimmering hula skirt, a glistening confection made of strands of shredded silvery sheet-polymer, extracted from a catabolic converter. The three-foot feathers on his headdress and staff were injection plumes that had been dyed in ultra-gee zylox and soaked in liquid nitrogen, then exposed to explosive decompression in the forward airlock. His scarlet warpaint was anti-deoxidant gel. The strings of beads and rattles that he wore around his neck and waist, upper arms and wrists, were constructed from interociter spares and pieces of optical conduit. The two glowing hemispheres that made up his steel brassiere were measuring cups from the ship’s galley—which did not explain why they were not quite the same size. His codpiece was the bow tube-fitting of a proton torpedo. The entire outfit was lined with neon conduit, flashing diodes of all colors, several Christmas lights and electric ornaments, sparklers and flash-bombs. He moved in a cloud of smoke and fire and multicolored auras. He was an epiphany of fireworks, lasers, small explosions, whistles, air-bursts, and confetti. Tracks of red and purple light crawled up and down his legs and chest and back.
The crew went wild.
Then he started the music and began setting off the special effects: the lasers and mirror fields, the colored sprays and fountains, the holographic projections and fractal windows—and the cheering and stomping and clapping and hooting and hollering and whistling and yelling hit new crescendos of excitement.
“Oh, Great Ghu!” Hodel invoked the grand spirit of the ceiling. Puffs of sparkling gold smoke rose around him. “Oh, great Fossil of the Fellatious!” Several small explosions went off around the room, filling the air with showers of sparks. “Oh, Grand Poobah of the Sevagram!” Confetti bombs showered the crew with sprinkles of light.
Hodel lowered his voice to a conversational tone and looked casually up at the ceiling. “Okay, now that I have your attention? I’d like some assistance here.” A small firework went off, launched from his tailfeathers. “Rumor has it that this starship is jinxed—” Hodel ignored the shouts of agreement from the crew. Flashes of light strobed and sparkled across his body. “Yes, I said jinxed.” Larger flashes of light spread out from him in widening shockwaves; they rippled out across the whole shuttle bay. “I SAID JINXED,” he repeated. Puffs of orange smoke flamed up around him. “And what, may I ask, great Ghu, god of the ceiling—what are you going to do about it?”
Very directly, Hodel continued. He spoke now as if he were speaking to an employee. “Look, we know that the proper way to worship Ghu is to ignore Ghu. Ghu doesn’t like being bothered. Ghu has more important things to do than worry about a bunch of devolved primates with sexual problems. So the only appropriate way to respect and honor and worship Ghu is to understand that Ghu just doesn’t give a shit. The true believers of Ghu know that it is their sworn and solemn duty to leave Ghu the hell alone.”
Hodel’s voice began to rise. He began to speak in larger and louder and much more excited tones. “Well, Ghu, these brave courageous men and women have been the greatest worshipers of you in the entire universe. Yes, they have been. They have not only ignored Ghu—they have remained totally oblivious to Ghu’s very existence. Can Ghu ignore such absolute devotion? Does Ghu dare?” Hodel’s finger jabbed and the ceiling exploded. Smoke and light and confetti poured outward in ripples of red and yellow and purple afterimages. “I think not,” said Hodel.
Aggressively, he continued. “We demand our reward now! In this life.” Several small explosions, like aftershocks, went off around the edges of the shuttle bay. “Otherwise, we’re going to make bloody damned nuisances of ourselves. So cut the crap Ghu. It’s time to get off your fat butt and give us some god-stuff. We expect you to cast out the bad luck, Ghu! Frankly, it stinks!”
The shuttle bay went almost totally black then. The lights and smoke and sparkles came flashing back up in rhythm, matching Hodel’s demanding chant: “Cast out the jinx! Who cares what it thinks! We are the Sphinx! And the jinx just stinks!”
The crew picked up the chant quickly. They shouted it in unison with Hodel, chanting and laughing and waving noisemakers and sparklers.
Standing at the side of the room, Korie allowed himself a grin. It might work. He grinned. This is the best ten dollars I ever spent.
The crew was chanting enthusiastically, louder than ever. “Cast out the jinx! Who cares what it thinks! We are the Sphinx! And the jinx just stinks! Cast out the jinx—”
Hodel held up a hand for silence. The room went instantly quiet.
“Ghu! Give us a sign!”
The shuttle bay exploded with light. Every effect in the room went off at once. All the fireworks triggered. All the smoke, all the flash-bombs, all the noise and whistles and alarms. The holographic projectors poured fountains of colored light into the air. The mirror fields echoed the displays out to infinity. Showers of sparkling confetti exploded outward from the walls and fell streaming from the ceiling. Paper curlicues unraveled to the floor. Thunderous drumbeats pounded the air with animated air-bursts. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Korie was certain he could hear elephants trumpeting.
“Say what?” Hodel cupped an ear and looked upward. “Could you be a little clearer about that?”
Ghu repeated himself.
It was more of the same—only bigger, better, different. The red seas parted, the volcanoes erupted, the asteroids shattered the surface of the flaming planet, the nova exploded, the lightning outlined them all. St. Elmo’s fire turned them into grinning demons. The imps of Hell danced in the flames that licked around their legs. The Heavens opened and cascades of angels poured forth, singing to raise the dead. Gabriel blew his trumpet. The egg of the Phoenix hatched. The elephants came.
The crew was in hysterics now, cheering, yelling, applauding, shrieking, whistling, stomping their feet, tears streaming down their faces—
And then, abruptly, everything stopped.
The effects faded away. The lights came up. A wave of silence fell across the shuttle bay. As one man, the crew turned to look behind them.
Hodel was the last one shouting. Puzzled, he turned around to see:
Framed in the shuttle bay entrance, filling the hatchway, stood Captain Richard Hardesty.
&nbs
p; He looked like a door that had just been slammed.
The top right-quarter of his head was metal. His right eye was a shining lens.
Korie spoke first. Loudly, he called, “Ten-hut!” The entire crew snapped to attention. Several small fizzing devices were still scuttling across the floor. Smoke was still rising from the corners; confetti and streamers were still dripping from the ceiling.
Hardesty strode coldly into the center of the room. He was dressed all in black and he was terrifying. The crew was shrinking visibly, withering with fear.
Slowly, Hardesty turned, noticing everything: Hodel, the confetti, the smoke, the mirror-fields, the holographic projectors, the various small noisemakers still losing the last of their air, even the elephant . . .
Finally, after several eternities, he spoke. His voice was flat and deadly. “Which one of you is . . . Commander Korie?”
Fearing the worst, Korie stepped crisply forward.
“Would you log me in, please?”
“Yes, sir. This way—”
“I know the way,” Hardesty said. He turned on his heel and strode for the door. Korie followed him out.
They left a wake of silence behind them. The crew was too terrified to speak. It was Hodel who spoke the first coherent word. “Oh, shit,” he said.
Armstrong and Jonesy approached him, puzzled. “What is it?” The other members of the crew also moved in curiously.
Hodel was stunned with the realization. “Oh, my God,” he moaned. “It’s even worse than we thought. We’ll never break this jinx.”
“Huh? Why?” said Armstrong. “Who was that?”
“That—” said Hodel, “—that was Hardesty.”
“The one they call the Star Wolf?” Jonesy asked.
Hodel nodded. “The one and only.” He began shrugging off his steel brassiere. “I’m hanging up my bra—I am never going to tempt the gods again.” He shook his head sadly and pushed past Armstrong and Jonesy. “Next time, they might think of something worse.”
The Captain’s Cabin
The captain’s cabin hadn’t been touched since Captain Lowell’s personal effects had been removed. It looked grim.
Hardesty glanced around with obvious distaste, then stepped behind the desk and sat down. He did not invite Korie to sit. He studied the executive officer grimly.
Korie remained at polite attention, refusing to wither under the other’s heartless gaze.
Finally, Hardesty broke the silence. “This ship is a mess,” he said quietly.
“We’re working on it,” Korie began. “We took a real beating—”
Hardesty ignored Korie’s protest. He waved it off. “I’ve been looking over your records. I don’t like what I see.”
“Excuse me, sir? What’s your point? We still have three weeks of refit before preliminary inspection.”
Hardesty’s look was deadly. “The point is, I’m taking command of this ship, and I want her spotless.”
Korie tried, unsuccessfully, to conceal both his surprise and his anger. “Sir! I was not informed of that.”
“The decision was made only an hour ago.”
“I—yes, sir.” Korie remained at attention.
“You, what?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Say it. You can’t hurt my feelings. I don’t have any.” Hardesty tapped the right side of his head, the metal side. “They took them out.”
“Nothing, sir—it’s just that, well, I was operating under the assumption that I would be allowed to retain command of this ship because—because there wasn’t a captain in the fleet who was willing to take her.”
“You assumed wrong.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I suppose you think this isn’t fair, that this ship should be yours.”
“Sir. Captain Lowell had recommended my promotion—”
“Captain Lowell is dead. And considering the lack of judgment he displayed in leading the Morthans straight to the convoy—and the mauling at Marathon—”
“We had no way of detecting them. The Dragon Lord has one of the largest hyperstate generators ever built. They could see us for years. We couldn’t see them.”
Hardesty continued as if Korie hadn’t even spoken. “—When you consider his entire history of bad decisions, leaving you in command of a starship, any starship, hardly seems appropriate. Leaving you in command of this one in particular strikes me as especially stupid and foolhardy.” Hardesty glanced over and locked eyes with Korie, almost as if daring him to argue.
Korie considered his options. He didn’t have any. He took a breath. “Are you asking for my resignation? I’ve tried to submit it three times already. I would be happy to submit it again if you will accept it.”
Hardesty allowed himself the thinnest of smiles. Respect? Malice? Korie couldn’t tell. “Unfortunately, no, I am not asking for your resignation. But since you ask, yes, I did request another executive officer. Seeing as how I’m bringing in a new astrogator, a new security chief, and a new weapons specialist, it seemed appropriate. But, ah . . . as you may have heard, no one was available.”
“Yes,” said Korie, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve heard. Thank you for your honesty. Is there anything else, sir?
“Yes, there is. What was the purpose of that little . . . demonstration in the shuttle bay?”
“A party. They earned it.”
“I don’t agree,” said Hardesty. “This ship is a disgrace. We’re going to clean it up.” His tone hardened. “You need to know this. I’m not Captain Lowell. I’m not a nice man. And I’m not here to make friends. I have only one job in life. Destroy the Morthan Solidarity. Do you know what your job is?” He looked into Korie’s eyes and waited.
Korie stared right back. This time he chose his words even more carefully than before. “My job is to make sure that your job gets done.”
Hardesty relaxed. He almost smiled. “Very good,” he admitted. “And your disappointment about not getting a command of your own—that won’t get in the way?”
Korie was offended at the question. He stiffened before he answered. “Sir. You can count on me to serve you and this ship to the best of my ability.”
Hardesty grunted. “They told me you would say that.” His nod was a gesture of acceptance. “Listen up. You and I don’t have to like each other. In fact, I would prefer it if we didn’t. It would make it a lot easier for me to continue to believe that you are a stupid fool. But we do have to work together, and that does require a minimum of respect.”
Hardesty waited, but Korie had nothing to say in response. The silence stretched painfully while the captain studied his exec.
Finally Hardesty realized Korie wasn’t going to answer. He retook control of the interview. “All right—let’s make a deal. You train this crew to live up to fleet standards, and I’ll train you to live up to mine. And maybe then you’ll be ready to be a captain—agreed?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Actually? No, you don’t.”
“Then it’s not much of a deal, is it?” Korie smiled. “At best, it’s an order. At worst, it’s a contract made under duress.”
“I see—yes. You have a point. But, it’s irrelevant to me. All I want to know is one thing. Will I be able to depend on you?”
“That has never been the issue . . . Captain.”
“We’ll see,” said Hardesty. “We’ll see.”
Chief of Security
Korie stepped up from the keel into the operations bay under the Bridge. The operations bay was a tiny chamber, all consoles, keyboards, and screens. Only two of the work stations were manned, but both were all green.
He climbed up three more steps and onto the Operations deck. As he came up the steps, he could see the holotable was showing an internal schematic of the ship. Ahead, the forward viewer focused on the distant unmoving stars; it was a cold and dispassionate window.
He knew there was something wrong even before he finished climbing up onto the Ops deck. The s
ilence warned him. The looks on the faces of the other crew members told him—
Korie turned around and froze.
The entire Ops deck crew was staring at Lieutenant Commander Brik. He was nine feet tall. He was four feet wide at the shoulder. His muzzle was striped with red and orange fur. His fangs looked as long as Korie’s hand.
He was a Morthan Tyger.
Morthan. A genetically augmented, bioengineered, tailored in the womb, product of directed evolution. That part of the species that had taken control of its biological destiny and created itself as something fearsome.
Tyger. A subspecies of Morthan warrior. The meaner side of the family.
What do you get when you cross a nine-foot zen-linebacker with a saber-tooth tiger? You get Brik: a Buddhist Gorilla.
He was awesome. He was all meat and bone and muscle. He smelled of hot desert sands tinged with blood. He was Korie’s worst nightmare. And he was grinning.
He was wearing a fleet uniform. Korie was horrified.
The other officers and crew on duty were frozen at their posts. Chief Leen, waist-deep into a dismantled console, was visibly smoldering.
Abruptly, Captain Hardesty appeared on the Bridge, ducking through one of the rear doors and stepping forward to lean across the Bridge railing. “Ah, I see you’ve all met the new chief of security . . . Lt. Commander Brik. You have a problem, Mr. Korie?”
Korie whirled around to face the captain. “Yes, sir. I do. There’s a Morthan on the Bridge.”
Hardesty ignored Korie’s anger. He said quietly, “There are humans fighting for the Morthan Solidarity. There are Morthans fighting on the side of the Allies. It’s a big war. There’s room enough for everybody.” He added, “Commander Brik is here because I asked for him—because he’s the best damned security officer this side of Hell.”
Korie turned resentfully and looked at Brik. Actually, he looked at Brik’s chest. He took a step back and looked up—and up—and up again.
The Voyage of the Star Wolf Page 13
