Blood and Fire (29 page)

As Captain Parsons took her seat, Goldberg reported from the helm, “Ready for burn.”

“Initiate,” Parsons said without ceremony. As important as the maneuver was, it would take nearly a week to complete.

The bloated red star was so huge—and the wall of flame they were heading into was so vast, more than a hundred times the diameter of Jupiter—that both ships together would need to accelerate backward and upward for several days. That would take them just
over
the spear of flame pulled out from the red giant. Another three weeks of steady acceleration would be necessary to escape this system.

The plasma engines on the two starships were not high-powered thrusters. They were steady-state units: long tubes of synchronized magnetic rings designed to accelerate plasma particles to near lightspeed. They could fire either forward or back. The
Star Wolf
had linked up nose to tail with the
Norway
and both ships would fire their engines forward. The momentary acceleration would be so feeble as to be unnoticeable, but the cumulative effect would be enormous.

This maneuver would also destroy the
Norway
. The abrasive scour of accelerated particles from the
Star Wolf
's engines would grind the
Norway
like sandpaper. The ship would likely end up radiating like an incandescent bulb. If it didn't disintegrate first. But before that happened, Captain Parsons expected to get two or three days of useful acceleration from her engines.

There wasn't much to feel from the plasma torches. But the instruments showed that both the
Star Wolf
's and the
Norway
's engines were working together. The first course correction check was scheduled in one hour.

Parsons motioned Korie to her side. “We're going to need a memorial service.”

Korie raised an eyebrow. “Before we've figured out a way to detox?”

“There's no danger of opening the ship to space. We're not disposing of any bodies. And we need to resolve the crew's sense of loss. I want you to schedule something right after dinner.”

“In the Cargo Bay? Music? Prayers?”

Parsons nodded. “That sounds good. A full service. That's probably the best way to proceed. I didn't know Hodel very well. I gather he was quite popular. And Berryman was well respected too. Would you say a few words about them?”

“I can do that. I'll check their event-of-death files. May I suggest we issue a liquor ration tonight? For a wake after the service? There'll be more than a few folks wanting to toast the memory of their friends.”

“I'm Irish, Mr. Korie. You don't have to explain it to me. Set it up. You know what's appropriate. Have Cookie lay out a buffet.”

Korie returned to his work station and Dr. Williger took his place, stepping up to the side of the captain's chair. “How's he doing?” Williger asked softly.

“He seems subdued,” Parsons replied. “I'm keeping him busy.”

“He's been through a lot. He needs to rest.” Then she added, “But I've never known an officer yet who followed his doctor's orders.”

Parsons smiled gently, then glanced perceptively to Williger. “How are
you
feeling?”

“Exhausted. And angry.”

“I want to talk to that security officer. Easton. As soon as he's able.”

“He's still in shock. They were very close.”

“Damn shame. They were the only stable relationship on the
Wolf
...”

“You noticed that too?”

“This is a strange ship, Dr. Williger. A very strange starship. I'm thinking of having a warning label stenciled on the bow. For my successor.”

“What? And spoil the surprise?

Parsons almost laughed. But Williger hadn't come to the Bridge to exchange jokes. She levered herself out of her seat. “Korie, take the conn.” Motioning for Williger to follow, she stepped through the hatch into “Broadway.” The two women faced each other from opposite sides of the corridor.

“You found something,” Parsons said. A statement, not a fact. Her tone was suddenly serious.

“Maybe. I don't know.” Williger rubbed her nose in distaste. “It's a stupid idea—something Korie and Brik discovered in the last set of research logs. And something Blintze said in the wardroom. And something about the way life organizes itself. I think the wavicles are trying to cure themselves. They don't
need
to seek out our blood streams, but they do. There's something in human blood that they
want
. And I think whatever it is, it's something that will help them get back to where they once belonged. The fact that they can't is what makes them so crazy and vicious.”

“But you found something specific?”

“Maybe. I need a decision.”

“I'm a captain, not a doctor—”

“This is a captain's decision.” Williger explained, “I've been studying Blintze's notes. He was able to identify specific binding sites in the bloodworms. They're not there in the wavicles. You can't do anything to the wavicles, but when they go particulate, you can put out bait—viral strings which go right to the binding sites. The new code will become part of the bloodworms and it should reorganize their structure ... maybe. Then, when they go wavicle again, the new code transmutes too and we should have a new kind of
mother
form—the right kind which will create not only feeders, but also carriers to spread the new genetic sequence to other mothers. This is what Blintze was working on. He was ready to test it when the accident happened.”

Parsons' eyes narrowed. “Tell me something, Dr. Williger. What would have happened if Blintze's experiment had been successful?”

“All of the bloodworms would have been transmuted and cured—in a matter of hours, days at most.
All of them
. And the wavicles would have become totally harmless.”

“Uh-huh. That's why it wasn't an accident.”

Williger hesitated. “Is it
that
obvious?”

Parsons nodded. “If you're paranoid enough. Korie figured it out. Brik knows. I suspected it from the beginning. I was only waiting for confirmation from you. And you figured it out too.
Someone
doesn't want the bloodworms cured.” The way she said it, there was no doubt about who the
someone
was.

“So what do we do?” asked Williger.

“Will this process really cure the bloodworms? Will it detox the
Wolf
?”

“HARLIE thinks it could. It should. If it works. I want to try. I think
we can synthesize the viral bait. We can use a common retro-virus. But there are two problems ...”

“And the first one is?”

“Someone or something is going to have to go back aboard the
Norway
to retrieve the samples Dr. Blintze was working on.”

“We can send a remote. What's the second problem?”

“Assuming that Dr. Blintze's code works, there's only one sure way to expose the bloodworms to it.”

“In a human bloodstream.” A statement, not a question. Parsons looked across the corridor at Williger.

“Yes, that's the drawback,” Williger agreed. “The only time the binding sites are open is when the bloodworm is in a living bloodstream.”

The two women studied each other, their eyes locked.

Finally, Williger spoke the words aloud. “It'd be suicide.”

Parsons looked at the floor. “Okay. We'll have to find another way.”

“I don't think there is one.”

“Well ... let's burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“Success,” said Parsons, “comes from being too stubborn to lie down and die.”

They were gathered at the Forward Airlock Reception Bay. A small, waist-high robot was humming quietly to itself. All six of its operating arms were folded close to its body. Several had been refitted with special-duty tools.

The repulsor fields were up and running at full strength again, and the robot was programmed to complete its mission on its own, even if contact with the
Star Wolf
was lost. The robot was nicknamed Isaac—a tradition so old that nobody really knew its origin.

“All right,” said Parsons to Shibano. “Let's do the simulation one more time and then we'll go for it.”

Parsons looked up as Korie approached. “Oh, Korie—thanks, but we don't need you right now.” She frowned at him. “You still look a little weak. Why don't you go to your cabin and rest?”

“I thought I'd stand by. In case you needed me—”

“Thanks,” Parsons repeated. “But you're really not needed here. Go rest.
Don't do anything
. That's an order.”

Was that a rebuke?
Korie was still too woozy to be sure, but he nodded his acquiescence and headed aft again. But not to his quarters. He wasn't tired. He was restless. And he was hurting. And he needed to do something. Anything.

But there was nothing he could do. The captain had specifically told him not to do anything. She didn't
need
him. No. More to the point, she didn't
want
him. She didn't trust his judgment anymore. And why should she? Two crewmembers were dead because of his mistakes.

Korie climbed into the Intelligence Bay, the tiny chamber behind the Command Deck where HARLIE lived. This time, though, it wasn't because he wanted to talk to HARLIE—or anyone. It was because he specifically
didn't
want to talk. And the Intelligence Bay was one of the places where he was least likely to be found by accident. Except for maintenance teams, Intel-Bay was the most
un
visited part of the starship. It was considered HARLIE's private space, and most crewmembers felt uncomfortable there, as if they were inside HARLIE's brain. And, in point of fact, they were.

But Korie liked it because it was private. It was a place where he didn't have to be an officer, a place where he didn't have to think according to the rules. Inside HARLIE, he was literally in a different mental space, and despite the cramped proportions of the chamber, he actually felt freer here than anywhere else on the vessel, because here was a place dedicated entirely to
thinking
.

But now, he wasn't here to think. He was here to
not
think. From the first moment he had stepped aboard this ship, he'd had deaths on his hands. Now, he had two more—Hodel and Berryman—and his soul was tearing itself apart. He'd made assumptions. He'd made errors in judgment. He'd gotten overconfident in his ability to think things out—and he'd stumbled into a disaster and made it worse. And been rescued only by the actions of others. He felt helpless. He hadn't felt this worthless since ... since receiving the news that Carol and Mark and Robby had been killed. Since receiving the news that he wouldn't be captain of the
Star Wolf
—not allowed to go out and hunt down the killers. This was as bad as that. Maybe even worse.

Before, he had only felt frustrated with everything outside of himself. He knew he could do it and was being denied the opportunity. Now, he felt frustrated with himself. And afraid. Because he didn't know if he could do anything at all anymore. He had learned
to doubt himself
. Not a good trait for a captain. Or an executive officer. He could end up like ... like Captain Lowell. Too afraid to do the right thing—and stumbling into an ambush like the mauling at Marathon.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Korie?”

“I'm fine, HARLIE. I just need a quiet place to think.” That was how bad this was. He couldn't even talk it over with HARLIE. Despairing, Korie laid his head down in his arms. The console displays glowed around him, showing words, numbers, graphs, diagrams, animations and probability screens. He ignored it all. He just closed his eyes and crawled inside his pain. His soul writhed.

Part of his mind was chattering at him.
You built this cross yourself. You climbed up on it and hammered your own nails in. You put yourself here. And you're the only one who can end it. Forgive yourself and go on, Jon.

“Thank you for sharing that,” Korie said to himself. And went on despairing. It wasn't just this, here and now—it was everything. How did other captains deal with the pressure, the demands? What was it they had that he didn't? He couldn't possibly be the only one who ever crashed and burned like this ... but what did it matter anyway? He was the one who'd crashed and burned. Nobody else was here crashing and
burning. Nobody else was here hurting. “Fuck you very much,” he told his mind. “Leave me alone.”

“
Phlug-yoo-too
,” said HARLIE.

Korie ignored it.

“
Eat shlitt and malinger
.”