Blood and Fire (8 page)

By that definition, most of the officers in the fleet could be considered trans-human. It came with the job. Few people were born into a trans-human state, but almost all evolved into it living on a starship. But some officers were more trans-human than others. Korie, for instance ...

Korie finished with Hodel and spoke now to HARLIE. “Status report?”

HARLIE replied blandly, “The transfer tube is fully pressurized. Integrity is confirmed. Repulsor fields are focused. Confidence is high. All mission preparations are complete.”

“All right,” said Korie. “On my mark. Let's go.”

At the aft end of the Reception Bay, Parsons and Williger watched grimly. The interior hatch of the airlock popped open and the mission team began filing quickly into the cramped space of the airlock tube.

“Mr. Korie—” Parsons said quietly into her headset.

“Captain?” His voice came back through her earphone.

“Let's be careful out there.”

Hearing that over his suit-phones, Korie smiled in recognition. It had been the watchword on Parson's first ship, the
Michael Conrad
. Maybe it could be the watchword here too. Certainly, it should be.

Hodel saw Korie's smile. He'd heard the captain's instructions, but not having the same background as Korie, he saw it as a straight line needing a topper. Ever the comedian, he poked Wasabe in the ribs and added, “Yep. Watch out for sparkle-dancers and man-eating tribbles.”

“A man-eating tribble?” Wasabe asked.

“Some men will eat anything,” Hodel replied blandly, reaching for a handhold.

Korie, Bach, Hodel, Shibano, Berryman and Easton lined up in three rows of two in the airlock tube. As the hatch popped shut behind them, each grabbed one of the handholds above—this was a precaution in case of sudden decompression. Not that they expected it, but it was part of the drill.

“We're green,” said Korie. “Do it.”

Through their suits they could hear the mechanical sounds of clamps engaging and locking—additional fail-safes on all the hatches. The deep heterodyning note of the repulsors was more noticeable
here
; an almost palpable sensation that made the hair on the back of the neck stand up in dismay.

Korie studied a display on the bulkhead. “Tube pressure confirmed here,” he reported.

For a moment, nothing happened, then—

The hatch opened slowly, revealing the interior of the transfer tube. The semi-translucent material of the tube looked solid, an illusion of air pressure. The presence of the looming red star seeped through the membrane; one side of the tube was dark, the other glowed with a brooding crimson tint. Railings extended the length of the tube to provide handholds for the starsuited crew. Exterior to both ships, the transfer tube was a null-gravity zone.

Standard procedure would have been to leap out into free fall and coast across.

But not here, not now. Not with the repulsor fields throbbing.

The fields were a physical presence, like invisible surf pushing them inexorably forward. Coming from the other direction, it would have felt like pushing through gelatin and spiderwebs and elastic; it would have felt as if the air had been
thickened
. Moving
with
the pressure was like riding a rising balloon. It was a tangible sensation. The mission team grabbed handholds on the railings and let themselves be pushed along.

The combined strength of three concentric fields was focused into the transfer tube. The power expenditure to maintain a palpable force of this strength was enormous. The
Star Wolf
had shut down all of her non-essential systems to maintain this safety barrier.

Korie had never moved through such a strong field before and it gave him a queasy sensation in his gut as the pressure worked on his internal organs. And then, abruptly, he was through the thickest part of the field and coming up to the outer hatch of the
Norway
's forward airlock. Even so, he could still feel a residual push.

Korie turned and watched as the entire mission team came across. Lt. Bach was the last to exit the
Star Wolf
's airlock. Korie reported, “All right. We're clear. Seal the hatch.” It popped shut with a hard mechanical thump—the
Star Wolf
was secure. And as soon as the
Norway
's hatch was opened, the mission team would be regarded as contaminated ...

Hodel was watching a set of readouts on the arm of his suit. “Pressure is equalized to the
Norway
,” he announced.

Korie acknowledged the report and turned forward to the
Norway
's forward hatch. He held an entry card against a reader plate, and waited
for the panel to turn green, silently praying that the
Norway
would recognize their authority. He didn't want to manually force the hatch, he didn't want to cut his way in. He wanted this operation to run smoothly. By the book. The panel went green and Korie whispered soft thanks to the unseen crew on the other side. “That's a good sign,” he said.

“Yeah, they're only paranoid, not crazy,” agreed Hodel.

“It's wartime. Everybody's crazy. The only question is whether we're crazy
enough
. All right, here we go. Bach, Easton, Shibano—” The security officers pulled themselves into position just behind Korie. They unshouldered their weapons. They raised blast-shields into position.

Korie punched the OPEN panel with his gloved knuckle. The panel flashed red and showed the word TESTING—and then the hatch popped open in front of them and they were staring into the empty airlock of the
Norway
.

They waited a moment, to see if anything would happen. Nothing did. “It's still a go,” came the captain's voice.

The chamber ahead was dark and featureless—except for the lack of light, it was identical to the lock they had just exited. Korie released his grip and allowed the repulsor field to push him forward into the silent ship. The security team followed. They oriented themselves vertical to the
Norway
, moved through the airlock hatch and dropped to the deck.

When the last crewmember had entered the airlock—it was Helen Bach—they sealed the hatch and waited while the
Norway
ran its own air pressure checks. The throb of the repulsors faded behind them.

“Looks like the autonomic system is still up and running,” Korie noted, as much for his team as for the listeners still aboard the
Star Wolf
: Parsons, Tor, Brik, Williger ...

“That's good news,” said Hodel. “Makes all our jobs easier.”

“Mission Team, we copy that.” Tor's voice came through their suit-phones.

The last panel flashed green. “All right, let's go.” Korie popped the final hatch. The interior of the
Norway
lay before them ...

It was not a reassuring sight. The Airlock Reception Bay was dark. There were two starsuits still hanging on the racks and one fallen to the deck. A scattered assortment of equipment lay about—as if someone had tried to dress in haste, without regard for procedures. Without regard for anything except escape.

“Hodel?” asked Korie.

“Already scanning.” Hodel was studying the readouts on his suit arm. “Nothing yet.”

Korie switched on his external speaker. “Ahoy the
Norway
! Is anyone here! We're here from the
Star Wolf
. We're here to help you! Ahoy the
Norway
!” He held up a hand for silence. The mission team held still. Listening to the silence.

“Ahoy! Anyone ...?”

No one.

Korie gestured and the team moved forward—from the Airlock Reception Bay into the keel. It was bad news. Too many lights were out. The keel was shadowed and gloomy.

“Sir?” Hodel pointed. Korie followed the direction of his gesture.

Something in the darkness. Something that flickered insubstantially. And was gone. And then flickered again in another place. Like fairy dust or very faint fireworks.

“What is it?” Hodel asked. “What does it mean?”

“It means ... I guessed wrong.” There was a cold hollow feeling growing in Korie's gut. “We should have come in the other end.” To Hodel's look, he said, “I expected them to be thinking logically. Sorry, Mike. The job just got harder.”
I made a mistake
.

“Mission Team, report,” said Tor dispassionately. “What are you seeing?”

“Some kind of ... it's hard to describe. Fireflies? I'm not sure. Adjust your display. It's very faint.”

“Okay, we've got it now.”

Korie glanced at the small monitor panel set inside his own helmet. It showed what they were seeing on the Bridge of the
Star Wolf
. The flickers were clearer on the screen. They left tiny dark trails. But they were still insubstantial, appearing and disappearing seemingly at random. Not a lot. It was like something half-glimpsed out of the corner of the eye; when you turned to look directly, it was gone. Korie had the impression of tiny lights that were pink and gold and red, but not really.

And then there was that
other
thing—the sound of the
Norway
. It was
different
. There were none of the familiar background noises of a living ship. Korie's eyes narrowed. The air circulators were off. The coolant pipes were silent. The water and sewage systems were equally still. The silence was eerie. Even the quiet beeps from the various monitors were absent. Starships aren't silent. No matter how well designed or constructed, whether macro, micro or nano, things make noise. Liquid flows through pipes. Air moves through tubes. Everything whistles, vibrates and hums like the pieces of a massive faster-than-light church organ, striking deep chords and mechanical harmonies. This ship ... didn't. The effect was terrifying.

“The ship is deserted?” Hodel asked.

“No,” said Korie. “HARLIE detected life aboard her. They're just not at this end.” He unclipped several small round probes from his suitbelt, activated them and tossed them down the corridor. The units righted themselves in midair, popped open tiny lens ports and scanner outlets, then headed deep into the
Norway
. Back on the
Star Wolf,
a control team would monitor and direct the units.

Korie waited for a confirmation from the captain. “The probes aren't showing anything alive. But there's a lot of noise in the signal.”

“Your orders, Captain?”

“Get the log and get out of there.”

“Aye, aye.” Korie gestured the team forward.

Bach and Shibano followed close on Korie's heels. Bach swung her rifle nervously from one side to the other.

“Afraid of ghosts?” Shibano whispered to her.

“Nope. Just don't want to be one.”

Korie frowned back at them. “Belay that chatter.”

“Aye, sir. Sorry.”

They came to a vertical intersection in the corridor, a place where ladders extended both up and down. Also diagonal access tubes opened off to the starship's farm. Korie directed Bach, Easton and Hodel up the ladder to the “north end” of “Broadway”—where the ship's main corridor terminated. He, Shibano and Berryman continued aftward through the keel.

The funny flickering in the air was a little more noticeable here. Berryman frowned at his scanner's readings, a growing sense of disquiet in his chest. “Sir?” he said to attract Korie's attention.

Korie hesitated, waiting. “What is it?”

“Some kind of ...
wavicle
, I think.” Half-wave, half-particle, with some of the behaviors of each. Unpredictable.

The flickers were starting to drift toward them now. They looked harmless, but clearly, they were an unknown phenomenon and had to be regarded as deadly until proven otherwise. Certainly, they were related to the condition of this vessel.