Starhunt: A Star Wolf Novel (18 page)

“Uh, Mr. Korie is a stern disciplinarian, sir—but again, he’s strictly by the book.”

“Come on now, Al.” Brandt leans up against the shelf with the typer on it. “I asked you what you
thought
of him; I didn’t ask for a textbook description.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s all that’s necessary for me to know about Mr. Korie—or think about him.”

“You don’t have any opinions of your own. . . ?”

“I don’t know what more you want me to say, if that’s what you mean.”

Brandt brushes a speck of dust off the typing machine. “What I meant was—what do you think of him
as a person
?”

Barak shakes his head. “I . . . don’t.”

Brandt accepts that. He chews it over thoughtfully and accepts it. “All right.” He straightens. “Would you like me to tell you what I think of him?”

“Uh, sir—”

“I think that First Officer Korie is the most dangerous man on this ship. He has a single-mindedness of purpose which is all-consuming and deadly. Everything in his life and everything in this ship is being sacrificed on the altar of his incredible ego—”

“Oh, now, that’s hardly—”

“—and his manic determination to be a battle commander is perhaps the most dangerous of all—especially because of his violent temper. Have you noticed his fits of hyperthyroid nervousness? Have you watched him on the bridge? When in pursuit of that bogie, Mr. Korie becomes like a madman—”

“Sir, I must protest—”

Brandt is brought up short. “Protest?”

“Mr. Korie is not—that bad.”

“Not . . . that . . . bad. . . .” The captain hesitates. “You mean—you wouldn’t mind following him into battle.”

“No, sir; I wouldn’t. Mr. Korie is—is a careful planner—”

“Al,” says Brandt. “I
would
be afraid to follow Mr. Korie into battle.”

For a moment, there is silence between the two men. Finally, Barak says, “Why, sir—?”

“Look around you, Al—you see this ship? The
Burlingame
—an F-class cruiser. Do know how old this ship is? Do you know the state of her equipment? Do you know the condition of this—this hulk?”

“I know it could be better,” the astrogator says carefully.

“Yes,” Brandt smiles at that. “It could be better—it certainly couldn’t be much worse.”

“You exaggerate, sir. There’s been a lot of work done on the engines lately and Mr. Korie has had a lot of new equipment installed—”

“Ah, yes, that’s another example of his—what did I call it?—his single-minded determination to be a battle captain. The
Burlingame
is his toy. He thinks he’s going to turn her into a fighting ship—he thinks he already has.”

Barak doesn’t say anything. His expression is carefully neutral.

The captain is striding back and forth in the narrow room. “Al, this ship is not the fighting machine Mr. Korie thinks it is—these men are not battle trained. Korie has become so possessed by his vision that he’s blind to the truth of the matter. The
Burlingame
is little better than a moving wreck—despite Korie’s improvements. She was supposed to be scrapped three years ago. Instead they recommissioned her.” He slams his hand against the plastic paneling of the wall. “She’s nothing but a hulk! A rotten, stinking hulk—”

Barak is looking at the floor. “I’m sorry you think that, sir. I—I like this ship.”

Brandt looks at him, suddenly surprised, “You do?”

“Yes, sir.”

“For God’s sake—why?”

Barak shakes his head. “I just do. She’s small and she’s comfortable and she’s easy to live with.”

“Easy to live with?”

“If you know what you’re doing and if you’re not in too much of a hurry to get somewhere else. Mr. Korie wants to be a battle commander. I don’t blame him for being impatient with the
Burlingame
. He wants to get off. There are other men on this ship who’d like transfers off too—for one reason or another—I don’t blame them for being impatient either—”

“Al,” Brandt says in a sharply serious note. “I’m one of those ‘other men’ who wants a transfer off.”

Almost a whisper, “I know, sir.”

“You do?”

“Yes, sir. The whole ship knows.”

“Oh. Well—I suppose it really isn’t a secret anymore.” He wipes at his nose. “Well, anyway, I want to get off too.” He sits down on his bed, facing the astrogator. “I want a base job. I want to help them win the war where I can help best. You know they’re fighting this war all wrong, Al—they’re fighting to win. And that’s not how to win a war anymore. Now, you win by—enduring.”

Brandt pauses. Barak is leaning morosely forward in his chair, staring at the floor, his elbows resting on his knees, his head sunk low on his chest. He nods slowly to show that he is still listening.

“Al,” explains the captain, “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to meet the enemy. I just want to outlive him. In order to do that, I have avoid contacting him. That’s why I—”

Barak looks up sharply. “Sir, I figured as much. It seems to me when you said we should sneak up on him that you were purposely trying to give the enemy a chance to get away.”

“Why didn’t you say something then?”

“I—wasn’t sure.” He returns to his contemplation of the space between his shoes. “Besides, you explained it so well—”

“Mm, yes. I don’t want that bogie, Al. I don’t want it. I—I’m not afraid of him, don’t misunderstand; it’s just that I don’t think we could survive a contact with the enemy. We’re not that fast or that skillful, or. . .,” he trails off. “I couldn’t just give up the chase, turn around, and head for home, though. It wouldn’t—be right. So I did the only thing I could. I let him get away.

“Al, I’m a career man. The navy is my life—I was running ships for years before this war broke out. Now, everything’s changed and I—there are new kinds of officers now. They don’t understand what running a ship is all about. Like Korie, they think it’s some kind of game—they’re possessed by the idea of war. They—

“Al, Korie thinks he’s transformed this ship into something more than it is. But, he hasn’t—and there’s no way to tell him he’s mistaken.

“Oh, look, I’ll admit he’s done a fine job in many respects. I’m pleased with the way he’s tightened up the
Burlingame
. And I don’t mind letting him have a free hand with the crew and the engines. It’s one less thing for me to worry
about—and it’s good experience for him if he ever gets a ship of his own. But—a battle commander? No—I don’t want to trust my life to his hands. The
Burlingame
is still a hulk. The best that can be said for her is that she moves and holds air. Al, we’re going to survive this war. We’re going to endure. We’re going to do it by not chasing after the enemy and looking for trouble. Is that such a terrible thing?”

“I don’t know, sir—,” Barak’s voice is low, almost inaudible, “—but Threebase sent us out here to do a mission. We’re supposed to do it—or die trying. I think this ship—Korie too—deserves a chance to prove itself. I think you’re wrong for holding us back and not letting us have the kill.”

A pause. “All right. That’s your opinion. My opinion is otherwise. Korie isn’t ready, this ship isn’t ready, and this crew isn’t ready for battle. I did what I did to keep us from making contact with the enemy and I’d do it again.” He stands abruptly, crosses to the opposite side of the room. “Al, tell me, don’t you want to live? Why are you so easygoing? How do you get along with Korie? Why do you like this ship?”

“If you have to ask, you don’t understand. I just do. I’m that kind of person.”

“All right. Well, what do you think. Al—I mean, about what I’ve just told you? Don’t you see that I’m right?”

Barak doesn’t move. He is shrunken into himself and staring at the floor. His face is troubled; his eyes are almost moist. “Sir, I don’t know. I don’t know—I’ve always depended on my captains to do my thinking for me. I—I don’t like to see them—show signs of weakness.”

“You think I’m being weak?”

“I don’t know—I think so. I wish you were running this ship instead of Korie, but—you’re not—I want to serve a captain I can support 100 percent, sir.”

Brandt looks at him for a long time. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice is stiff.

“Nothing, sir—I—”

“Go on, Al. You can say it.”

“I already have, sir.” Barak’s words are choked. “I respect the captain you should have been—so does the crew. But it’s Mr. Korie who gives the orders now—”

“He does it by my authority!” insists Brandt, a little too loudly.

“I wish you were right, sir—but he does it by his own authority. The crew obeys him.”

Brandt is stiff. “They obey
me
. I’m the captain.” He repeats it. “
I’m
the captain.” His mouth forms the words again. “I’m the captain.”

Barak stares. There is silence.

Brandt returns his gaze. “Well?” he demands.

“Yes, sir.” Barak is resigned. “You’re the captain.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barak.”

Barak lowers his eyes. “May I be excused, sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Barak. You may be excused.”

The only constant in the universe is change.

—I CHING

The opposite of change is not resistance to change, but change in the opposite direction.

—I CHING

The only thing you can be sure of is that you can’t really be too sure of anything.

—TOM DIGBY, twentieth-century

American philosopher

On his way back to the bridge, Korie stops at the radec room. “Rogers, Bridger—”

Bridger looks up; Rogers keeps his gaze fixedly on his monitors.

“I just wanted to tell you to keep your scanners wide open. We’re starting a prolonged search of the bogie—you two are the key part of it. If you don’t do your job, we might as well not go. But you’ll do your jobs; I—have confidence in you.” He looks from one to the other. “You haven’t let me down yet.” He looks at Rogers in particular, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. The boy is rigid before his console; the brace across his back gives him a bulky, hunchbacked appearance. “Well, carry on—” The first officer continues on to the bridge.

He drops into the Command and Control Seat familiarly. “Donnelly,” he calls, even before he has settled himself; the officer at the pilot console looks up. “What’s our warp factor?”

“A hundred lights.”

“Increase it to a hundred and thirty. Continue on the same search patterns.”

“Yes, sir.”

Korie checks the controls of the seat then; satisfied, he begins to reassure himself as to the ship’s operational status. Everything is still at workable levels—fine . . .

He taps the intercom. “Engine room—”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put Chief Leen on the line, please.”

“Yes, sir.” After a pause, “Leen here.”

“Chief, this is Korie.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I just wanted to compliment you and thank you.”

“Sir?”

“Your crew did a fine job during this morning’s maneuver. We didn’t catch the bogie, but your men seemed to be at peak efficiency. I’m pleased with them.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ll tell them for me, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir—but if you’d say a word to them yourself, it might be better appreciated.”

“Yes, of course; you’re right. I’ll try and get down there later.”

“Mr. Korie—?” The chief’s voice is cautious. “About the gym—”

“Chief,” Korie cuts him off. “Let’s forget about it.” He chooses his words carefully. “I’m sure there’s a good reason why it wasn’t properly secured.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We have more important things to concern ourselves with. We’re still going after that bogie; we’re in a search pattern now. We’re going to keep searching until we find him. I’m only concerned now that you keep your generators running tightly and your crew on top of every situation; so let’s not worry about the gym. If the engine room crew continues to perform as well as they did this morning, there won’t be a word said about it.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll do our best.”

“Fine—uh, Chief, there’s one more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“We’re not through with the drills. I’m scheduling a new set of them. Three hours a day for each watch.”

There is silence from the other end. When he does answer, Leen’s voice is noticeably colder. “Yes, sir.”

“These will be full battle simulations, but they’ll be a different kind of problem from the ones we were working before. These will be discovery and attack maneuvers, a little more complicated and difficult.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll be—ready.”

“Good. Thank you.” He switches off. For a moment he relaxes in the chair, fingers tapping on the arm of it. The bridge hums to itself around him.

Forward, the big screen shows the stress-field lines flickering steadily past, but at an off vector. Instead of plunging headlong through it, they are moving diagonally downward across the rectangular gridwork.

Korie makes a decision; he touches the arm of the chair. “All hands, now hear this. This is First Officer Korie.” He pauses for a second—as if to catch their attention—then continues, “As you know, we lost the bogie this morning—but we haven’t stopped looking for him. He may still be in the area and we’re going to keep searching until we find him. Even if he’s trying to move out of the area, we’re going to catch him.

“I want to congratulate all of you—and thank you—for your fine performance of your duties. And I hope I can continue to depend on you as this search progresses. We still have a very good chance and we’re going to make the most of it. With your continued support, there’s nothing we can’t do together. Again, I thank you.” He switches off.

Jonesy is standing at his right, waiting to talk with him. “Yes?”

“It’s about this search pattern. I have a couple of questions.”

“Yes?”

“We’ve increased our speed by thirty lights, but that’ll add another twenty light days of visibility to our warp. Are you sure you want that?”

Korie looks at him. “You’re right, but we don’t have much choice.” He swivels to face the other. “It’s like this—we have a time limit; we have only ten days in which to find that bogie, but we also have a certain amount of area to cover. Ordinarily, I’d say we should keep our speed low so the enemy doesn’t
know where we are any more than we know where he is; but in this case, we have to find him fast.