“Yes, sir. I’ll remember that.” He looked to Tor. “All right. Send a coded chirp. When we get within thirty light-seconds, hit her with a tight beam and we’ll try for direct conversation.” To Hodel, he added, “Close on her—very slowly. With extreme caution. Shields up. Arm all stations. Let’s assume it’s a Morthan trap and act accordingly.” He looked to Hardesty for his reaction.
The captain nodded. “That was by the book, Mr. Korie.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything else? Do you have any specific orders?”
“What does the book say?”
Korie quoted, “‘Have a security team standing by. If the target vessel doesn’t answer, be ready to board.’”
“That’s correct.”
“You aren’t going to give me any help on this, are you?” Korie said.
“You don’t need any help,” said Hardesty. “At least, not yet.”
Korie turned to his security chief. “Mr. Brik, ready a mission team.”
Brik rose from his chair and approached Korie, looking very stiff.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Korie asked.
“Yes, I do.” Brik’s answer was an ominous rumble that caught even the captain’s attention.
Hardesty turned around to look up at Brik. “All right,” he said. “Enlighten us.”
“Destroy the Burke. Now. Don’t approach her. Don’t board her. It’s a trap.”
Korie looked up at Brik sharply. “How can you be that certain?”
“You are not a Morthan. You could not possibly understand.”
“Try me.”
Brik took a breath. He hesitated only a moment while he selected the most appropriate phrasing. “The Morthan Solidarity is built on treachery. Lying is a martial art. It is a fact of life. It is the means to the end. It is the necessary part of manipulation. To you, lying is only a hobby. To the Morthan, it is a way of life. Humans are considered cripples—because you trust. In the Morthan language, the word for trust means ‘the condition necessary for betrayal.’” He added, “What I am saying to you is insufficient to convey the danger. That ship is coming from Morthan space. It is a trap.”
“But it’s one of ours,” Korie said.
“No. It’s one of theirs now. Count on it.”
Hardesty looked thoughtfully to Korie. “Now, you know why I want a Morthan on the Bridge. It helps to have someone who thinks like the enemy.”
“But we can’t just—” Korie stopped himself. “There are procedures—” He looked to Brik, to Hardesty. “The book says—I mean, we have to go into that ship, because we have to know. The Alliance has to know—it’s the whole mission! We have to ascertain the situation before we act.”
Hardesty agreed. “Yes. That’s what the book says.”
“Sir—? You can’t break procedure—”
Hardesty glared at him. “Yes, I can. It’s an option. Breaking procedure is always an option.”
“But there’s no justification for putting a fish into her—not yet. Not unless you have more confidence in one of Brik’s hunches than in your own orders. Captain, we don’t know what the situation is over there—maybe they’ve locked down for reasons of their own.”
“Don’t assume anything, Commander. Especially do not make assumptions about my decisions.” He frowned thoughtfully as he considered the image of the Burke on the forward viewer. “All right. We’ll send a team in.”
Korie sighed, relieved.
Brik was less sanguine. “From a human perspective, yes, that’s the correct action. From a Morthan perspective—” He shrugged unhappily, as if he couldn’t think of a polite way to say what he had to say. Finally, he just blurted it. “If I don’t have the chance to tell you later, it has been a privilege to serve with you, sirs. Both of you.”
Hardesty looked dryly across to Korie. “Perhaps you should lead the team.”
“Sir?” Korie looked surprised. “That’s Mr. Brik’s responsibility.”
“I know that,” said the captain. “But you’re more expendable.”
“Uh . . . right.” Korie didn’t know if the captain was joking or not. Innocently, he asked, “Am I allowed to take a weapon?”
“That,” said Hardesty, “is entirely your decision.”
The Burke
The tiny point of light on the screen began to resolve. It expanded and became a starship, silent and still.
On the Bridge, the mood became apprehensive and uncertain.
“Fifteen minutes till contact,” said Hodel.
“Still no reply,” reported Tor.
Korie sighed loudly. “I know what that means. I guess I’d better join the boarding party now.” He looked across to Hardesty. “I’m returning your command to you, sir.”
“Acknowledged,” Hardesty said.
Korie hesitated, halfway toward the forward exit. “Don’t you want to wish me luck?”
“If you follow the book, you won’t need it—and if you run into a situation where you have to invent, you’ll need more than luck.”
“Right,” said Korie. “I should have known. Thank you, sir.” He stepped down and out the exit into the forward keel.
The forward airlock and the ancillary dressing bay were the farthest points forward in the vessel. Here, the members of the security team were dressing for their mission. There were lockers, starsuits, helmets, closets, racks of gear, weapons, communicators, rechargers, life-support modules, battle-armor, and a variety of good-luck charms, tokens, and religious icons.
Ten crewmembers, including Brik, were just going through their final checks. Korie also recognized Armstrong, Bach, Nakahari, and Quilla Zeta.
Their starsuits were very shiny, skintight body stockings. Each was a different color. Several had gaudy stripes. Korie neither approved nor disapproved of the fashion. Sometimes it was appropriate, sometimes not. Sometimes it didn’t matter.
Korie opened his own locker and began pulling on his own suit. Brik came over and began assisting him, checking his helmet camera and weapons as he fitted them into place.
“Thanks,” said Korie.
“You’re the last one,” said Brik. “Besides, it would not look good on my record if I failed to bring you back alive.”
“You’re coming with?”
“Despite my misgivings about the situation, I am still chief of security. It is still my responsibility.”
“Then it doesn’t really matter who leads the team, does it?”
“On the contrary. The leadership is the most important part of the job. It is always necessary to know where to fix the blame.”
Korie frowned at Brik. Had the Morthan intended that as a joke or not? He couldn’t tell. Do Morthans joke? Would it be impolite to ask? Korie suppressed the question. There were more important concerns on his mind.
Across the bay, Brian Armstrong was fitting a new power-pack into his rifle. He looked up to see Quilla Zeta smiling shyly at him. “Brian,” she said. “I am still feeling wonderful. You are very ‘wow’ too.”
Armstrong looked embarrassed and annoyed, both at the same time. When was it going to stop? But he faked a smile well enough to say, “Thanks. You’re—uh—?”
Touching herself politely, “This is Zeta.”
Armstrong gestured feebly. “Uh—right. Sure. Anytime.” He looked up to notice Reynolds and Cappy grinning at him. Bach and Nakahari were also visibly amused, poking each other and giggling.
Bach called across to Armstrong. “Wow, huh?”
Armstrong sighed. “All right. Knock it off. The jokes are getting old.”
Korie stepped to the center of the bay then; he was listening to something on his headset. He was carrying his helmet under one arm. He held up a hand for their attention and they fell instantly quiet. As soon as the voice in his ear stopped whispering, he spoke aloud. “All right, it’s a go. We’ve scanned the Burke. The readings are inconclusive. She could be dead. Maybe not. HARLIE’s not sure. What that means—” Korie glanced to Brik. “—is that it cou
ld be a trap. That ship came out of the Morthan sphere of influence. Trust nothing.”
He turned to Brik, drawing him aside with a nod. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “I was going to ask if I could trust you. But now I see that’s the wrong question. What do Morthans use instead of trust?”
“Mutual advantage,” Brik replied quietly.
“I see . . .”
“Mr. Korie, you are a better officer than you know. And the captain has more respect for you than he has publicly expressed. It is to our mutual advantage that you should be aware of that.”
Korie looked at Brik surprised, but the subject was closed. He shrugged and turned to the rest of the boarding team. “All right. Move ’em out.” He locked his helmet on and followed the others into the cramped space of the forward airlock. The doors slid shut behind them.
On the Bridge, Hodel was watching his monitors closely. The LS-1187 had swung around and was now carefully approaching the rear of the Burke. She would join her forward airlock to the Burke’s tail access dock.
Tor was routinely backchecking Hodel’s guidance. As they approached the last go/no-go point, she said, “On the beam.”
“That’s how I read it too,” said Hodel.
Hardesty was standing directly behind the both of them. He spoke in a soft ironic rumble. “Be gentle, Mr. Hodel. Be gentle.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Hodel touched his controls. The mass-drivers glowed for an instant; the LS-1187 slowed. Hodel glanced at the vectors on his console and touched his controls again. And then again. Carefully, he brought the ship up to the tail of the Burke, bringing her to a relative stop at the exact same time.
“Got it!” said Hodel, pleased with himself. He straightened in his chair, grinning.
Tor touched her controls. “Extending docking harness.” A faint vibration could be felt through the floor. It came through the soles of their shoes and through the bottoms of their chairs. And then there was a hard bang and then a thump as the harness connected and clasped.
“I have acquisition.”
“Confirmed.”
The impact was more noticeable in the forward airlock. The men and women of the boarding party were shaken where they stood, but none of them lost their balance. Korie looked across at Brik. Brik’s expression was unreadable. The rest of the team stood in relaxed readiness. Some of them were already in a half-crouch, their rifles held high.
Korie listened to his headset. “They’re extending the docking tube now—”
The tube moved out from the nose of the LS-1187, sliding through the cylindrical framework of the docking harness. It touched the security ring around the Burke’s access port and locked softly in place. Korie moved to the front of the airlock and tapped the green panel at the base of the control board. The board flashed green. “We have a connect.” He watched while the safety programs cycled through a long series of double-checks. “Power connect, good. Gravity, good. Air pressure, good. The mix is breathable. Uh-oh. Computer’s down—no response. HARLIE, do you copy that?”
“Acknowledged, Mr. Korie.”
“Bridge?”
“The mission is yours now,” came Hardesty’s soft reply.
“All right, I think we’re good. We’re not going to need the docking tube. Let’s close it up.” Korie touched a control on the panel.
Outside, the docking harness began to retract slowly, pulling the two ships closer and closer together—until their airlock hatches connected inside the accordion envelope of the docking tube and became one functional unit.
Korie hit the control panel and ordered up another series of safety checks.
“Bridge? What do you read?”
“Same thing you do. The Burke’s running on standby. No internal monitoring available. No network running. No log access. But she’s holding air and temperature, her fans appear to be running. We’re not reading any life signs, but the environment is viable. It’s a shirt-sleeve day in there.”
“Did you send a query? Did you get an ID signal?”
“Yes and no,” said Hodel.
“Damn,” said Korie. He glanced back at Brik, but resisted the temptation to say what he was thinking. “All right,” he sighed. “Blow the door.” He took a step back, then another—
The lock doors popped open with a whoosh of air that nearly knocked Korie back into the man behind him. It was Armstrong, who caught him easily under the arms and pushed him back up onto his feet. “Not quite as perfect a match as we thought—” said Korie and threw himself forward.
The mission team poured through the airlock and into the Burke like a squad of combat-ready marines. They moved quickly through the other starship’s darkened shuttle bay, leapfrogging forward with weapons ready. The Burke’s cargo dock and loading bays were almost identical to those of the LS-1187, except that the Burke was strung with thicker cables and ducting. Korie wondered if that had something to do with the high-cycle fluctuators.
“We’re in—” said Korie. “She’s empty. No signs of battle. No other damage. We’re moving forward.” He pointed to Armstrong and Nakahari, directed them toward a console. “Cover that.” Several of the other mission team members were already moving out across the floor, checking all the entrances to the bay. Two of them eased down the ladder to the Burke’s keel.
Nakahari slipped into the chair before the console; it was dead, but he was prepared for that. He plugged his portable terminal into the monitor socket and it lit up immediately. Armstrong took up a position close by, covering Nakahari’s back.
“All systems green,” the crewman reported. “HARLIE?”
“Downloading now,” HARLIE confirmed.
“You two stay here,” Korie said to them. “Guard the access. Blow it if you have to. Nothing goes back. Not yet.”
Armstrong nodded. “Yes, sir.” Behind Korie’s back, he and Nakahari exchanged nervous glances.
There were two passages forward from the shuttle bay, one port, one starboard.
Korie motioned Brik and Bach toward the starboard corridor. He and Quilla Zeta moved toward the port passage.
The corridor was dark and empty. Only scattered work lights glowed dully. Korie activated the targeting scanner in his rifle and glanced quickly at the readouts. Nothing out of the ordinary. He pushed forward. Quilla Zeta followed quietly.
They entered the upper deck of the engine room only a few steps behind Brik and Bach. Korie glanced across at them. Brik glowered back, shaking his head. Nothing on the starboard side either.
The Burke’s engine room felt eerily familiar. They could have been aboard their own ship—except for the three oversized fluctuator housings that projected out of the singularity cage. Korie eyed them enviously. He circled around the deck until he came to a ladder.
Brik and Bach had echoed his movements on the opposite side. Now Korie gestured, pointing downward toward the floor of the great dark chamber. Bach and Quilla Zeta waited while Korie and Brik descended. They covered the two men warily. Then they followed while Korie and Brik covered their descents.
“Brik, you come with me.” To the two women, Korie said, “Count ten, then follow behind us at a distance.” Korie tapped his headset. “Bridge?”
“Tracking is good. Confidence is ninety-nine. Everybody’s clear. No problems. Go ahead.”
The central keel was dark. Even the work lights were out here. The only illumination came from their helmet beams, fingers of light probing the gloom.
“If you want to have a bad feeling about this,” Korie suggested to Brik, “now’s the time.”
“Morthans don’t get bad feelings,” rumbled Brik. “We give them.”
“Uh, right—”
Korie pushed forward, silently reminding himself, Never again. Don’t tell jokes to a Morthan.
They were only a few steps away from the operations bay when his radio beeped. HARLIE spoke softly into his ear. “Mr. Korie. The Burke’s log is blank.”
“What? Say again?” Korie put a hand on the ladde
r next to him. It led up into the ship’s computer bay.
“There’s nothing to download. It’s been wiped.”
“That doesn’t make sense, HARLIE. What about the ship’s brain?”
HARLIE’s words sounded almost uncertain—or maybe that was only Korie’s imagination. “It’s . . . not in the circuit.”
Korie realized he was staring at Brik’s face. He broke away suddenly and peered up the ladder. From here, he couldn’t see anything but the dark ceiling of the bay.
“Stand by, HARLIE. We’ll check it.”
Korie nodded to Brik. Brik took a sour step back to cover Korie’s quick ascent.
The computer bay was dark and it took a moment for Korie to realize what he was seeing. He swept his beam back and forth, around and across the tiny cabin. A cold chill crept up his spine and shuddered out through his limbs.
Something horrible had happened here—
Everywhere, the destruction was absolute. The Burke’s computer hadn’t been simply dismantled—it had been ripped apart. There were great gaping holes in the walls. Wiring conduits hung limply. There were fractured modules, broken nodes, cracked boards, and shattered panels all over the floor. Korie’s boots crunched across shards and splinters of glass and plastic and metal. The room was ankle-deep in techno-garbage.
It was the first death they had discovered aboard the Burke.
Korie didn’t know what to say.
It was one thing to disconnect a brain. It was another matter entirely to dismantle one. The Burke’s brain wasn’t just down. It was dead.
He wondered how HARLIE would take the news. Probably not well. Ships’ brains considered themselves a tribe—or even a family.
Finally, he said, “The brain has been . . . taken apart. It doesn’t look repairable. Sorry, HARLIE.”
HARLIE did not respond. There really wasn’t anything he could say anyway. Korie imagined that HARLIE was feeding his emotions—did he really have emotions?—into some other outlet, some file somewhere, perhaps, to be played back and dealt with later, probably only in the company of another brain.
Grimly, Korie climbed back down to the keel where Brik still waited for him. Korie shook his head grimly and nodded forward, toward the Bridge. Brik followed him silently. Bach and Quilla Zeta followed at a distance.
The Voyage of the Star Wolf Page 19
