Warp Point

by Darrell Bain

  Dan smiled at the man and leaned close so that no one else would overhear. “It really doesn't matter much, Lieutenant. It was done strictly as a weight and space problem. The fewer useless articles we take on board, the more room we have for things we might really need."

  “Yes, sir. There's one other thing they're complaining about, sir. Some of them attempted to bring personal firearms with them. They were confiscated as they came aboard, of course, but there's still hard feelings."

  “They've been tagged and stored, haven't they?"

  “Oh, yes sir."

  Dan thought for a moment. “General Hawkins asked if we had room on the ship for a firing range, and whether the ship could handle one. It turned out to be possible on both counts, so I rigged one up. I think it might be a good idea to allow the civilians to check out their personal weapons and have them take some practice and safety instruction as time permits. It's entirely possible the military may need help at some point in the future and it would be nice to know they wouldn't wind up shooting us instead of the enemy. Commander Saddler, if you'll remind me when we get back, I'll have the orders drawn up."

  “Yes, sir,” Stacey said, grinning inside at having to call her husband “sir” in public. It was laughable in a way and had already become a private joke with them, especially in the bedroom.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Several hours later, inspection finished, they were back at their own house, where another command post had been set up in a large unused bedroom. They each had a desk and monitor there. Hawkins also officed part time with them in the house. He was there when they arrived. Stacey reported to him about the firearms and the newly decided-upon name for the ship, then departed for the den. Dan stayed behind for a moment.

  “How's it going?” he asked.

  “We'll be ready. Our biggest problem is integrating the foreign scientists and U.N. delegation into the ship. Your edict about conversational English ruffled some feathers but it sure has made mine and Matt's jobs easier."

  “Where is Matt, by the way?"

  “He and Tara are in the ship. He said they had to take a break from administration and get their own department under control."

  “Guess they zigged when we zagged while we were aboard. Did the president ever decide on the religious delegation?"

  “Just now came in. Two Catholic priests, two Protestant chaplains, a Hindu and a Buddhist. Those are the formal appointments, of course. I don't know about the affiliation of the crew. We have their preferences in their personnel records, but the records don't say how strong beliefs are, and I really don't care one way or another so long as there's no proselytizing. As for the Muslims, they'll decide on their own who their Imams will be. Frankly, I'm glad the issue is settled; I don't like fooling with religious matters, but I suppose it's necessary. Most people seem to have a need for it in one way or another. The only one I really had a problem with is McCoy. I could have done without him, but the president insisted."

  Dan nodded agreement. He didn't know the man personally but had no love for televangelists in any form. It was impossible to go against orders from the White House, though.

  “Did the president agree to our recommendations on the U.N. delegation?"

  “Any time now. In fact, there's something coming in now. Maybe that's it."

  Dan had intended to leave but from the interested expression on Hawkins’ face, decided to stay. He sat down, and a moment later he had his answer.

  “It was a compromise, just like politicians. We wanted representatives from the Security Council only. They wanted every single nation to have a rep on board, which is impossible, as you well know."

  He did; he and the inner circle of Matt, Tara, Stacey and Hawkins had all stood firm on that request. “So what's the compromise?"

  “Two delegates from each of the members of the Permanent Security Council and one from each of the rotating members. None from the general assembly."

  Dan counted in his mind. “That's what? Twenty something members in the delegation. It's still too many to make any kind of decision other than a compromise no one would be satisfied with."

  “Perhaps that's best. I got a ruling that they're an advisory body only, rather than having any real power aboard ship. Of course we'll be held accountable for decisions upon our return—but I have a private agreement with the president that he'll veto anything we don't agree with."

  “What happens if he's out of office by the time we get back?"

  Hawkins shrugged. “Then we could be in trouble, depending on what happens out there."

  Dan wondered if he should tell others besides Hawkins about the ship's armament. The weapons were entirely concealed in the bowels of the ship and weren't likely to be discovered unless they had occasion to use them. He decided to talk to Stacey before making a decision. So far, Hawkins hadn't revealed the secret to anyone, not even his own boss or the president.

  * * * *

  “I Christen thee U.S.S.F. Pioneer,” the First Lady said loudly, and swung the champagne bottle vigorously. She had been warned beforehand to give the ship a good whack with the bottle. All too often at christening ceremonies the bottle didn't break on the first swing. It happened this time with the First Lady.

  She stared at the unbroken bottle in her hand in surprise, then swung again. It still resisted her intentions, remaining intact. Befuddled, she turned to Stacey, who was standing next to her. “It feels like I'm hitting a pillow, she said."

  “Do you mind if I try?"

  She handed the bottle over. “Go ahead; I'm certainly not doing any good with it."

  Stacey swung, and it was just as she had said—it felt as if she had hit a pillow, though not exactly. It was more like the hull of the ship absorbed the kinetic energy of the moving bottle and gentled it into a caress.

  Eventually a corkscrew was located and the bottle opened in the traditional way. The champagne was then sprayed on the ship by shaking the bottle with a thumb held over the spout then letting loose. The ceremony limped on to its end with the political speeches, which no one remembered a minute afterward.

  Hawkins said nothing until later that day when they were back inside the house, in the command center and alone. He already suspected what had happened but graciously waited on either Dan or Stacey to tell him.

  “I guess the ship's protective shield works for champagne as well as bullets,” Stacey said as she sat down. She felt very foolish. “I should have known what would happen."

  “Well, you told me beforehand about the shield and I didn't consider it either."

  “What have you said about it; or rather, has anyone asked why the bottle didn't break?” Dan waited anxiously for the answer.

  “So far it's been attributed to a tough bottle and weak swings. I hope that story holds up. If anyone suspects the ship has a protective force field they'll probably extrapolate and figure it possesses offensive capability as well."

  “Damn. Well, do what you can. I'm going to stay mum on the subject. If anyone asks, I'm just going to say Stacey's been expending all her energy in, um, other ways."

  “You'd better not, or you'll see just how much energy I do have!"

  Dan laughed out loud, despite the seriousness of the breach of secrecy. If all was not well on their return to Earth, the weapons might be needed. Of course they might be needed on the other side of the warp point, too, he thought.

  * * * *

  Wynona Golden's neurology department consisted of herself, another doctor and a technician. It was an adjunct to the Medical section and in theory was under the Medical Director's authority. In practice, the director seldom bothered her. When Dan was in the ship the next day, he stopped by to see her, an occasion she had been waiting for and becoming increasingly anxious about as the time before departure grew shorter and shorter. Her day to leave the ship and say goodby to family was almost here. Fortunately for her, neither the other doctor nor the technician had reported aboard yet, so she had th
e Captain to herself.

  “Why Dan ... Captain, I mean. How nice to see you! Is this in the nature of a formal inspection?” Her lips parted in the beautiful smile she was becoming known for as she stepped forward to take his hand.

  “Strictly informal, Wynona. I'm just making the rounds, trying to touch base with every department before we leave and see whether there's any last minute problems I can help with."

  She seized the opportunity like a feline predator leaping on its prey. “As a matter of fact, I do have something I need to show you."

  “Oh? Tell me about it."

  “I can show you better. Sit down here in my chair and watch the screen.” She gestured and as Dan was seating himself she felt in the pocket of her lab coat for the vial. She had attached it so that when she held it and gave it a half turn, it released the top part, consisting of a tiny syringe filled with a quarter of a cubic centimeter of a hypnotic drug furnished by her Russian controller.

  Dan started to turn and ask what he was supposed to be looking for, but she stopped him quickly. She leaned over and reached for the screen controls with her right hand while placing her left hand behind Dan and on his left shoulder.

  He became uncomfortably aware of her breast near his face, protruding from the open lab coat. She wasn't wearing a bra and her large breasts pushed at the fabric of her blouse, limning the nipple against the cloth and revealing its shadowy presence beneath.

  Wynona closed her eyes and punched a button on the console. It produced a brilliant flash of light, just as she had planned. At the same time she stabbed her forefinger against the end of the tiny syringe, injecting his shoulder muscle with the drug.

  “What was that?” Dan blinked, half blinded by the flash.

  “That's what's wrong. It does that every time I touch the console right there. Can you figure out what it is?” She stood back upright now that the first part of her mission had been accomplished, and waited for the drug to take effect. It shouldn't be long, she knew it was purposely designed to be very quick acting.

  He brought up a visual image of the workings of the console and found nothing to correspond with the flash of light. Perhaps something was wrong beneath the protective cover? He tried again, thinking that his mind felt sluggish, as if ... suddenly he made the connection between her hand on his shoulder, a little prick of pain and the flash of light. He had been drugged! He tried to get up from the chair and found that his muscles were failing him.

  “Just sit still, Dan,” Wynona said in a soothing voice, then continued talking in the calm monotone of the professional hypnotist, telling him to relax, relax...

  He knew what was happening but was powerless to prevent it. In a last desperate effort to keep his wits about him, he cried out to the ship, seeking protection. His voice was so subdued that Wynona didn't even hear him. She continued talking. Directly, she thought he must be under. She asked him if he felt sleepy but got no response. Another unanswered question followed, then another as she grew increasingly anxious. Something was wrong. Then as she watched, Dan slid off the chair and floated gently to the floor, as if they were in the light gravity field of the moon rather than Earth.

  Her hand went to her mouth in alarm, but she had no idea what was happening other than thinking the drug must have been much stronger than intended. She knelt down, intending to take his pulse, but strangely, her hand wouldn't come nearer to his body than at least twelve inches. It was as if a transparent protective covering was guarding him. She decided that the best thing she could do was get out of the office and leave him where he lay, then pretend she had gone for help when he fell off the chair. Seeing his shallow breathing, she thought the drug was probably going to kill him. She got up ran for the door.

  As she approached, the seam that normally denoted the exit faded from sight. She mouthed an oath and pressed where she thought the touch-sensitive latch had been. Nothing happened. She was still trying desperately to find a way out when the door opened suddenly. Stacey and Hawkins stepped inside, guns drawn.

  * * * *

  Dan woke up while still lying on the floor of the neurology office. The first person he saw when he opened his eyes was Stacey. “It's ... a drug ... I think ... she ... she...” He couldn't make his mind work right, nor would his body obey. It took another ten minutes before he managed to move. Stacey helped him into a sitting position, then to his feet. He took two careful steps to the chair he had been sitting on when he passed out. Sitting there was the last thing he remembered until he woke and saw Hawkins and his wife.

  “The ship sent me an alarm,” Stacey said. Her voice was shaky. “When Chet and I got here, we thought you were dead."

  “Where's Wynona? She pretended something was wrong at the console, then drugged me somehow. I think she injected something into my shoulder.” He rubbed the spot and felt a faint soreness still remaining. “There was a flash of light, then in a minute or two I began feeling funny. I heard her talking like she was trying to hypnotize me, but that's about the last thing I remember.” He looked around to see if she was still there.

  “She's under confinement and being questioned right now,” Hawkins said, understanding Dan's glance around the room.

  “Is she talking?"

  “She wasn't until I had the doctor give her a shot of pentothal. Then she began speaking in Russian and I had to find an interpreter. I've got my intelligence officer and the interpreter in with her now. We should have some answers soon, but I'm guessing she was a sleeper agent the Russians slipped past us somehow. Bad news."

  “You know it. It makes me wonder how many others like her are aboard."

  “Yes,” Hawkins said, voice glum. His brow was creased with a frown.

  Dan thought his mind must finally be functioning almost normally because he had a sudden idea. “Did you say the ship notified you, sweetheart?"

  “Yes. I felt it in my mind. The alarm must be part of the protective shield that's around us all the time, so long as we don't get too far from the ship."

  “Uh huh. I suspected. Chet, as soon as your intelligence officer finishes up with Wynona, send him to the house, along with a psychologist. We do have a psychologist, don't we?"

  “Yes, we do. Several, in fact. What's on your mind?"

  “Bring a programmer, too. I think maybe I might be able to flush out any others like Wynona. Come on, honey. I want to go home and have some coffee with a nice big dollop of brandy added to it."

  * * * *

  Two hours later the specialists Dan had requested were waiting with Hawkins in the command center at their home.

  After they were introduced, Hawkins said “She'd rigged an attachment under the console and off to the side, a halogen flash cube. It distracted your attention while she jabbed you."

  “She had already distracted me.” He gave no further explanation, having already told Stacey about the provocative way Wynona had gone about springing the trap. “Now, gentlemen, here's what I want, as quickly as you can put it together. I need you to write a program I can feed to the ship on ways it might spot a potential traitor. I know there's signals people give off when they're caught in a lie, even if not rigged up to a detector. And there's questions to be asked from intelligence that ought to produce the signals. Further, there's different mind sets at work; most of the crew should be enthusiastic about the voyage itself and not thinking of ways to screw it up. The three of you work together and write the program and give me the software. Then I'll have the ship begin asking unobtrusive questions to everyone aboard. I want the program by tomorrow this time. Got it?"

  “But...” The psychologist began to object.

  “No excuses. Work all night if you have to. Requisition all the help you need from General Hawkins but get it ready. Comprende?"

  Hawkins turned over the software cube the next day at noon. Dan and Stacey were waiting. They went over it together and noted several minor errors. After correcting them, Dan carefully fed the parameters to the ship while sitting in the captain's c
hair in the ship's command center. He had cleared the room except for Stacey before beginning, wanting no one to know what was going on other than the three specialists and the inner circle. When he had finished, they walked out, holding hands and to hell with what anyone thought about consorting with his executive officer while on duty.

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Several times over the next few days, Dan and Stacey were alerted by the ship's protective shield of possible spies and/or traitors. Twice the warning came at night, with one of the alerts coming at the most inconvenient moment possible. Later on they could laugh at the interruption, but at the time it was very aggravating.

  Conferences of the inner circle of Dan, Stacey, Matt, Tara and Hawkins, along with selected department heads, were held every morning now, and sometimes an additional session was required in the afternoon. Dan had wanted to have the meetings moved into the captain's stateroom aboard ship by this time, but Hawkins had refused to allow them to even enter the ship again after the program began running, citing possible danger from undetected spies.

  “Four days until blast off, or whatever the ship does when it gets started,” Hawkins finally said at an afternoon session. “I can't guarantee we've caught everyone who's a threat, but we've definitely removed all the ones tagged by the ship. I can't do any more than that."

  “Good work,” Dan complimented him. “I sure don't have any guarantees either, not after the way we cobbled that program together, but we've done what we can. How many did we catch?"

  “More than two dozen. From five different nations."

  “Okay; surely that's all of them. Stacey and I are moving in tomorrow morning. If it'll make you feel any better, we're both going to be armed all the time we're in the ship. I know carrying a sidearm openly would signal a lack of confidence by the captain in his crew, so we won't let them show, but we'll have them."