Starfarers (49 page)

Maybe she and Ruszek would repair their relationship,
maybe not. Nansen didn’t know just what had gone amiss, and recoiled from prying. What mattered immediately was that she was herself again, and Ruszek in the course of becoming himself. Though he kept stealing looks at her. …

Empty chairs. He had ordered Kilbirnie’s put in storage. “Where is Mr. Brent?” he asked. “Does anybody know?”

“He told me he had something to show us,” Yu said. “He must be preparing it. I am sure he will come in a few minutes.”

“And Dr. Cleland called me with word he is indisposed and will stay in his cabin. A shame.”
But we
are
better off without his gloomy presence
, confessed that which Nansen kept imprisoned, rebellion against having to be always the captain.

“Too bad.” Ruszek reached for a bottle. “Let’s pour.”

Nansen offered him a smile. “Impatient?”

“Thirsty, damn it.” The mate filled his goblet, drank barbarically deep, but then spoke across the table in civilized style. “Any more wonderful discoveries today, Ajit?”

“No, unless they lie somewhere in the flood of input,” Sundaram replied. “We have been composing our own next messages. Communication is—a two-way street, do the Americans say? But it isn’t easy.”

“Describing our kind of life, matter life,” Mokoena added. She nodded to her right. “We are going to need you, Selim, very much.”

“And I, poor lorn physicist, struggling to see how any of this can possibly be.” Dayan was joking; blood beat high under the fair skin.

“You will,” Nansen called low.

“Drink to that.” Ruszek raised his goblet. Others moved to charge theirs.

Zeyd, who had acute hearing, turned his face toward the entrance. “Footsteps,” he said. “Al is here.” He laughed. “Excellent. I am starved. Bring in the soup.”

The second engineer trod quickstep into sight. He carried an object somewhat like a small, clumsy rifle. And—Nansen stared, narrowed his eyes—was that a pistol at his hip?

From the passageway, Brent pointed the device. It buzzed. The door, which was the single exit from the wardroom, galley, and sanitor complex, drew shut.

Nansen sprang to his feet “Open!” he shouted. Already he knew it would not, and the manual control was frozen.

Ruszek bellowed. His chair clattered to the deck behind him. He plunged, shoulder foremost. Impact thudded. He lurched back, pale, and sagged to the deck.

“That was unwise,” Nansen said flatly. “You only gave yourself a bruise, if not a dislocation. Dr. Mokoena, see to him. Hold back, everyone else. Quiet, quiet. Stand by till we know what is happening.”

In helmet
, gauntlets, and apron, Brent stepped to the wardroom door. He aimed a large ion torch. Flame hissed out, blue-white. Cleland kept his eyes away from the actinic glare. Brent played the fire along first the right edge, then the left. Sparks showered. Metal glowed, sagged, coursed in thick rivulets, and congealed. “There,” he said after a few minutes. “No matter how they may gimmick the lock, they aren’t going anywhere without leave.”

He narrowed the jet. Lightning-sharp, it cut straight through. He drew a rectangle, about ninety centimeters wide by fifteen high, some 180 centimeters off the deck. When it was almost finished, he reached with an insulated glove, caught a slumping edge, and tugged it toward him. Thus the piece clattered down on his side.

Setting the torch aside and shedding his protection, he moved closer. The rim of the hole was still hot but not molten. “All right,” he said. “You can come talk. Just don’t
touch anything till it cools.” He had told the captives over the intercom what he meant to do.

Nansen’s face appeared, stiff as a winterscape. Ruszek scowled beside him. The others pressed at their backs. “Very well, Mr. Brent,” the captain snapped. “Now will you explain the meaning of this?”

Brent returned his look. “You know it,” he said. “I’ve taken command. We’re going home.”

“Are you insane?” Nansen’s glance went to Cleland, behind and offside from the second engineer. “Are
you?”

The planetologist clenched his fists. His mouth writhed.

“You are,” Brent stated. “You, the great Ricardo Made Nansen Aguilar, monomaniac, megalomaniac, egomaniac.” His voice mildened. “Hanny, Mam, Wenji, Ajit, Selim, Lajos, we’re acting on your behalf. Yours and humankind’s.” The tone went harsh. “He’d have kept us in this orbit of the damned year after year after year, till one way or another the black hole destroyed us. It would have, the ghastly thing. Jean died to warn us. But no, Ricardo Nansen would not heed. We’d have died, and everything we’ve won, every treasure of knowledge and power we have to give our race and keep it forever starfaring, all would have died with us. For nothing but to serve this man’s self-grandeur.”

“And so you’ve sealed us in here,” snarled Ruszek. “You brotherbuggering swine, let me out and I’ll serve you rightly!”

Nansen lifted a hand. “Quiet, Lajos.” The use of the first name emphasized the order.

Yu called past him: “You plotted, you two. You deceived us.”

“We had to!” Cleland yelled.

“You betrayed your ship and your shipmates.”

Cleland shrank back.

Brent turned and clasped his shoulder. “Steady, Tim. They’re just swearing. They were bound to.”

Sundaram spoke levelly. “You overlook the fact that a majority of us wish to stay.”

“By now, all of us in here,” Mokoena said.

Nansen made another hushing gesture. “What of the Tahirians?” he asked.

“They have their own arrangements,” Brent told him. “We’ll take them home as promised. Then we’ll set course for Sol.”

“Do you two shitbrains suppose you can conn the ship by yourselves?” Ruszek roared.

“
She
can by
herself
,” Brent answered. “Personnel only have to instruct her where to go and how fast. I’ll study up before leaving orbit, but already I know, if I keep maneuvers simple and straightforward—back to Tahir’s sun, back to Sol—
Envoy
will do it.”

Ruszek sneered. “How do you expect to make planetfall? On your ass?”

“We probably won’t need the boat,”, said Brent, unperturbed. “Tahirian spacecraft will rendezvous with us in their system. At Sol—we’ll see what we’ll see. But we’ll have had a year en route to learn the boat’s operation and practice with virtuals and test flights. It’s mainly robotic, too, after all. Piloting’s not hard if you don’t attempt anything risky.” A whipcrack: “Like what you made Jean do, Nansen.”

“Please,” Cleland begged. “We want to be your friends. We
are
your friends.”

Ruszek spat at him through the slot.

“Lajos, no,” Nansen said. He pushed slightly at the mate, who took the hint and moved aside. “What are your plans for us?” the captain demanded.

“That depends on you,” Brent replied. “Each of you. Listen. You have a washroom, sanitor, and galley in there. I’ve cut this opening so servitors can bring you food, medicine, whatever you need. Sorry about your having no bunks, but they’ll push expansible mattresses through. You can dump your dirty stuff out, and it’ll be cleaned and returned. You’ve got a screen for entertainment, education, the ship’s database, the whole culture of Earth—which we’re going to enrich and uplift.”

Zeyd advanced to the slot. “Each of us, eh?” he murmured.

“Your choice,” Brent said. “You can come home prisoners, to trial, or free and heroes”

“Trial?” Yu exclaimed from the rear. “What makes you imagine—”

“Hold, please, Wenji,” Zeyd said. “Captain Brent, if I may give you that title, I would like to hear more, privately. You know I have always wanted an early return.”

Brent laughed aloud. “Nice try, Selim. But I’ve watched your mind changing as the news came in.” Starkly: “The news from hell. I’d sooner trust”—his voice warmed—”you, Lajos. You’re honest And you’ve hated every minute here. You long for Earth, blue sky, green grass, women, children, freedom. Think about it, Lajos.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Tears blurred Cleland’s eyes.

“Then make amends,” Nansen said.

“That will do,” Brent clipped. “The servitors will bring your mattresses, collect your garbage, and transmit me your requests. Meals will arrive at our usual times. Or just food will, if and when you prefer to do your own cooking. Behave yourselves, and think.”

Dayan came forward. “Tim,” she said, “we thought better of you.”

“It’s for you!” Cleland cried.

“That will do,” Brent repeated. “Don’t listen to her, Tim.” To the rest: “I’ll look in on you daily or oftener, and I’m willing to talk with you here or on the intercom, if you don’t abuse the privilege. At reasonable hours and in reasonable style, okay? Shipmates, think how this one man, Nansen, has forced this to happen. Think hard. Good night.”

He turned to go. Cleland hesitated. “Come,” Brent ordered. “Pick up the torch and that chunk, and come along.”

He strode down the corridor. Cleland slouched after.

Nansen gathered
his people around the table.

“First and foremost,” he reminded them, “we must keep control of ourselves. Anger and anxiety will wear us down without leaving a mark on these bulkheads.”

“What can?” asked Sundaram.

It was as if they were closing in. The bright murals on them had become scornful. Air felt chill.

“Suggestions?” Nansen invited. “Engineer Yu?”

“Nothing comes to mind,” she sighed. “I will keep trying.”

“Don’t bother,” Zeyd advised. “This is a mental problem. Can we work on Brent?”

“I don’t believe so,” Mokoena said. “Of course, I had no inkling he would go this far. But in my opinion, nobody will persuade him, now that he’s in motion. He’s utterly intense, driven, fearless.”

“Unstable?” wondered Nansen.

“Not really, I think.” Mokoena’s manner became clinical. As the physician, she was also the psychologist.
Though what matters most is how nature endowed her with a feeling for others
, Nansen reflected. “He is insane in a way,” she said. “The stress in him has snapped whatever restraints he had. But it’s an emotional imbalance. He projects his traits on you, Ricardo. Otherwise he’s rational. His plot and the bold, flawless execution show that.”

“Those ambitions, those expectations, you call them rational?” Dayan demurred.

“He is taking a wild gamble, yes. He knows it. For him the prize is worth the stake—power, adulation, his name written huge in history.”

“How?”

“It’s plain to see, by hindsight. Remember how often he spoke of what we can do at Earth, armed with the technology we’ve acquired from the star cluster and the Tahirians. It does have tremendous military potential, doesn’t it? But we’d not likely ever permit such use of it. Meanwhile, in his eyes, we have kept him here, unemployed, empty-handed, caged, while we hazarded his life for the’ sake of more knowledge; knowledge of nothing but academic interest. Oh, he understands full well that what he’d bring to Earth may prove puny and irrelevant. But down underneath he does not accept that understanding. For a chance at destiny, he’ll risk, he’ll sacrifice, anything and anyone.”

Nansen nodded. “It sounds right. Earth has known many like that.”

“Too blood-drenching many,” Dayan said between her teeth.

“Well,” Zeyd proposed, “if we can’t influence him, what about the Tahirians?”

“To begin with,” Nansen pointed out, “we have no parleur. And Brent has undoubtedly brought them under his authority. I wish I knew how. Poor Emil, poor Simon.”

“Poor all of them,” said Sundaram.

“Tim, then,” Zeyd pursued. “We heard him, we saw him. He’s bewildered, fighting his conscience. We can talk to him.”

“Get him close to the slot,” Ruszek rumbled. “I’ll reach out and grab his throat.”

“That would not unseal the door,” Nansen said.

“Brent wouldn’t surrender anyway,” Dayan added. “If we get unruly, he can starve us into submission. My people learned long ago how that works.”

“Argh!”
Ruszek’s fist thundered on the table.

“Lajos, no,” Sundaram urged.

Ruszek looked at the linguist as if in appeal.

“That injured shoulder is giving you much pain, isn’t it?” Sundaram continued. “If the company will excuse us, I think you and I should retire to the galley for a time.”

After that door had closed on the two men, their comrades heard the low sound of a mantra.

“We all need some inner peace,” Nansen said. “Tomorrow we’ll organize. Establish an exercise program, for one thing. Now we should try to rest.”

They had not thought to ask for night clothes, other changes of garb, towels, toothbrushes, or anything else, nor did anyone now feel like putting in the request. Tomorrow would do. There was barely enough unoccupied space on the wardroom deck, if mattresses were laid side to side and end to end. With illumination quenched, though light streamed relentless in through” the hole, bodies stretched out and strained to lie quietly.

Nansen heard Dayan breathing on his right. He stole a look. Her eyes were shut, her countenance quiet amidst the loosened red mane, but he wondered if she really slept. Himself, aching with weariness, skull filled with grit, he could not. These, his crew, his trusty folk who trusted him, how might he help them endure? How keep them what they were? Confinement as-cramped and hopeless as this bred cancers of the spirit, rage, spite, selfishness, at last hatred. … Lovers, what about them? And those who had no lovers. … Mokoena, if she kept her jollity, perhaps could provide a little fun. Sundaram’s serenity might help more persons than Ruszek. Given the screen, they could hold classes, learn from each other. … But always they would be gnawing on the dream of escape. … He had to get to sleep. He had to say alert and capable. It was his duty.

The servitors
had set up a table in the common room. Until another galley was constructed, food must be prepared in the reserve unit on the gimbals, and would be uninspired. Nanotechnic recycling produced first-class materials but did not cook them. However, the victors were no gourmets; and first-class champagne remained unlimited.

In this triumphal hour, on the evenwatch after the coup, two bottles stood in their cooling jackets before Brent. Beethoven’s “Eroica” soared from the player, on whose screen a color abstraction leaped and whirled in time with the music. An ozone tang livened the air, as if a rainstorm were drawing near.