The Kruton Interface (17 page)

“My behavior?”

“Yes. Hardly normal. Have you ever had therapy? I never needed it, but there are any number of support groups you can join for that sort of thing. I’m serious now.”

Wanker looked at the strange physicist with disbelief. “Oh, you’re serious now?”

“But seriously, folks. Don’t worry, Captain, mental illness is no stigma. Why in no time at all they’ll have you back on your feet and on pills for life. Why it won’t—”

Wanker said, “I’m going to kill him.” He lunged and got his hands around Strangefinger’s throat.

Almost everyone got in on the scuffle. Wanker’s fingers didn’t seem to want to be pried from Strangefinger’s windpipe. Strangefinger kicked and punched, ineffectively, as he began to asphyxiate.

Finally the Crew managed to separate them.

Wanker was breathless. “Wait, wait. Let’s all calm down … just… calm … down.”

“Yes, let’s,” Rhodes said.

“I think if we all cool down and take a moment for self-evaluation, if we look at this situation rationally and logically, I think we’ll all see that this man has to die… ”

Wanker made another lunge for the physicist but this time was restrained by Rhodes and Svensen. Darvona was in tears.

“No, I’m okay, I’m okay,” Wanker said, his wrath spent. “It’s all right.”

Strangefinger retreated to the other end of the bridge, coughing and choking.

They let go of Wanker and he sat down heavily.

That was cathartic for me,” he said with forced cheer. “Was it cathartic for all of you?”
 

“Take ‘er easy, Captain,” Rhodes instructed.

“Oh, shut up, you big, scrawny hick. We’re all going to hang, you know.”

“He’s right,” Svensen said.

“But it wasn’t our fault!” Warner-Hillary said indignantly.

Everyone fixed her in a stare.

She flinched. “Well, it wasn’t…
entirely
our fault.”

“I did it,” Darvona said. “It was my fault. My carelessness.”

She fell into Warner-Hillary’s arms, crying bitterly.

There, there,” the navigator said softly.

“Crying’s not going to help,” Rhodes said. “Darn it, let’s keep our dignity.”

“We’re lucky if we keep our heads,” Sven muttered.

Rhodes was about to reply, but seeing Strangefinger approach, he held off.

“Really, I must protest this treatment,” Strangefinger said.

The crew all looked blankly at him. The voice was completely different. Gone were the funny posture, the quick movements, the vaudeville shtick. This was not the Dr. Strangefinger that everyone had come to know and either love or despise.

“Shameful, that’s what it was, attacking me like that.”

Wanker couldn’t quite get it. “Who the hell is this, now?”

“He’s got his off-the-shelf persona switched off,” Rhodes said.

“Ohhhhhh,” Wanker said as understanding dawned. “So, you think you’ve been mistreated?”

“Yeth.” The voice, reedy and high-pitched, carried a slight lisp. “You’ve exposed your bourgeois insensitivity for all to witness. You’re a hopeless Philistine.”

“Sorry, take it up with this Phyllis person, whoever she is.”
 

“Very funny. You’ve ruined my project. Completely ruined it. You… you fascist!”
 

“What the hell’s a fascist?”

“It’s what you are. You’re a brute. You have no culture, no sensitivity, no compassion. No appreciation of art and creativity.”

“What the hell is creative about a computer that spouts French novels? That’s silly!”

“Oh, that was just a gag. It had nothing to do with the experimental drive, which, for your information, was a qualified success, despite your clumsy bungling.”

“It was an unqualified disaster!”

“I’ll wait until the data is processed before I rush to judgment,” Strangefinger said with hauteur. “I am a scientist.”

“You
are a joke. By the way, where’s the fast patter now, the witty repartee?”

“You’re hopeless,” Strangefinger sniffed.

Darvona said, “Admiral Dickover calling again, Captain!”

“Wonderful. Well, this is it. Not just a court-martial. A trial for treason! They’ll hang me from the highest yardarm. Very well, put him on the big screen. Wait, I forgot again.”

“Sir, the big screen seems to have fixed itself.”
 

“What?”

Everyone looked. Sure enough, the immense data and video screen at the front of the bridge was showing a picture, albeit a strange one.

“What fresh hell is this?” Wanker asked despairingly.

“Oh, I know,” Darvona said. “I’ve seen these before. Old Earth television broadcasts. You can tune them in every once in a while.”

“Television? You mean broadcast television, back in the days before atomic energy?”

“I think it was after,” Darvona said. “Anyway, this picture is probably a century and a half old. It’s been propagating through space that long.”

“No kidding,” the captain said. “What’s that big wheel he’s spinning?”

“I think,” Rhodes said, “this is what they used to call a gaming show.”

“Gaming show? They played games on television?”

“Yes, sir. Yeah, that wheel sure is intriguing.”

“Nice-looking woman, there,” Sven said. “The blonde.”

“Too thin,” Darvona said.

“Hey, the admiral.”

Darvona said, “Oh! Sorry, sir. Audio only?”

“I knew video was only a fad. Yes, Admiral, sir! What can I do for you, Admiral Dickover, sir?”

Dickover barked, “Wanker, do you know anything about a Systems vessel attacking and destroying a Kruton battle cruiser on the Kruton side of the Interface?”

“Who … me? Uh … why, no! No, we haven’t seen any Kruton battle cruiser....”

“Then what are you doing on the Kruton side of the Interface?”

“Uh … uh … uh … uhh … Engineer! What are we doing on the Kruton side of the Interface?”

Sadowski said, “Hoots toots, mon! D’ye think me sae fou? Nay, ‘tis th’ banks and braes ‘o bonnie Doon!”

Dickover asked, “What the hell did he say?”

Wanker made an expansive gesture, arms out, laughing nervously. “Who knows? I don’t.”

Dickover said, “Captain Wanker, you might be interested to know that that Kruton battle cruiser was hijacked by Kruton extremists bent on war with the United Systems. Or worse, looking to litigate. The Kruton high command has informed us that the ship was destroyed by an encounter with a hyperspace anomaly. That’s just a cover story of course. We suspect that the extremists planned that confrontation and had undercover help. You just might have a Kruton spy on board, Wanker. We tried to send you a message to return to base. Did you receive it?”

Covering with forced laughter. “Oh!…
that
Kruton battle cruiser … oh, yes! Yes! I didn’t know which one you… of course, sir. I suspected as much all along. I fed them line a little at a time, sir, sort of testing them… and then … I had them, sir, and I closed the trap.”

Dickover said with obvious skepticism, “Yes, of course. This has been an embarrassment to the Krutons. They’ve lost a battle cruiser, but they’ll swallow their pride and won’t raise a stink. But they might sue. Did you sustain any damage?”

“Yes, sir. The, uh, Kruton ship rammed us.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dickover said. “They rammed you? On the Kruton side of the Interface?”

“Yes, sir. Well be months in the dock. And we have casualties. Dr. Strangefinger was injured.”

“This is terrific. Listen, let me talk to the chiefs of staff and the pols and get back to you. We just might have them where we want them. As for you, Captain… ”

“Yes, sir?”

“You were in the wrong place at the right time and… incredible as it sounds, you did the right thing. Congratulations, Captain Vahnker.”

“That’s Wanker! I mean … Oh, never mind.”

“You’d better see about that Kruton spy. Return to base immediately. Dickover out.”

Wanker for a moment looked stunned. Then, slowly, a smug, self-satisfied grin spread across his freckled face.

He sprang to his feet and crossed the bridge to the spot where Rusty and the scientist were still playing cards. “Oh, Dr. Strangefinger?”

“Yeeeeessss?”

Strangefinger was back in character.

“Looks like there’s a Kruton spy aboard. Any idea who it could be?”

“Well, now, let me see. Spy, spy… ” Of Rusty he asked, “Know of any spies around here?”

Rusty honked and pulled out a magnifying glass.

“Actually I haven’t seen a spy around these here parts in a month of Sundays.”

“Well, well see. Lieutenant Roundheels! Front and center!”

Darvona got up from her post and came over. Wanker grabbed Darvona and pushed her toward Strangefinger and she wrapped her arms about him. “No, you couldn’t be anything but human, Strangefinger. You’re too sleazy.”

Wanker maneuvered Darvona toward Rusty. She kissed him, and the flaxen-wigged clown blushed like a schoolgirl.

Wanker said, “I guess idiot, here, is human, too.”

The blow tube whooshed and everybody looked. Alighting from the bounce pad was yet another strangely dressed man. This one wore a shabby, ill-fitting, wide-lapeled suit and a curiously conical narrow-brimmed hat. He approached.

“Hey, boss. What’s-a matter for you? We hear a big-a boom and then we hear another ka-boom and then-a we don’t hear nothing. What’s-a going on?”

Wanker said, “Good lord, another one. Now, who’s this?”

“One of my other assistants. Calls himself Chicolini.”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Darvona said.

“Yeah, neither have I,” Sven corroborated. “He never made the Stateroom scene.”

“I kind-a like to keep to myself,” Chicolini said.

Wanker pushed Darvona toward the stranger. She squealed and ran away.

Dr. O’Gandhi had been watching. He stepped up to the new visitor with an instrument that resembled a salt shaker. He whistled softly.

O’Gandhi said, “Temperature too high, heartbeat all wrong… Dave, this man is indeed a big fat Kruton!”

Wanker looked at the instrument. “How can you tell using a salt shaker?”

Dr. O’Gandhi looked at his instrument and his eyes went round. “Oh, my gosh. What a fool I am being. I picked up the wrong thing.”

“Krutons can simulate any human life function,” Wanker said.

“I am feeling a perfect ass,” Dr. O’Gandhi said, blushing.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Strangefinger said.

“He’s got to be a Kruton,” Wanker said. “One of you does, anyway. Is this the one who chose the test site?”

“That’s him,” Strangefinger said. Wanker folded his arms and stared at Chicolini. “Well?”

“Shu’, I’m a Kruton! But Im-a study to be a salad!”

“You won’t like life in the slaw lane,” Strangefinger quipped.

Wanker said, “Well, here’s our Kruton spy. What do you have to say to THAT, Dr. Strangefinger?”

Strangefinger didn’t have the opportunity to answer. In an instant, Chicolini was gone, replaced, his stocky, hunch-shouldered human body utterly transformed into a three-meter-tall monster out of the worst nightmare any human being could fear to have: a hulking horror that towered above the humans, brandishing pincers, tentacles, stingers, and clawed appendages. Its head looked like an elongated melon. The horrible mouth clicked and snapped, its metallic teeth gleaming.

Screams, panic. The crew scattered and dove for cover.

The creature howled, and then, mind-bogglingly, collapsed on itself and was gone. All that was left was a puddle of green liquid, but it was a curiously mobile one. The puddle moved, flowing over the deck toward the blow tube. Reaching its destination, it shot up the tube in a thin gurgling stream, like liquid being poured in reverse, and disappeared.

Slowly, the crew came out of hiding.

“Now what?” Darvona said.

“Now,” Wanker told her, “we have a Kruton loose on the ship. A creature that can assume any shape whatsoever, instantly.”

“It could look like me,” Rhodes said. “Or you.”

“Or any of us,” Captain Wanker said.

CHAPTER 17

The
Repulse
streaked back through the neutral zone, leaving Kruton space.

A tense quiet filled the ship. A head count of all humans aboard was taken, and the toll turned out higher than Wanker had expected. Strangefinger had no less than three technicians whom the captain had never set eyes on: two men and one woman. They were, compared to their boss and his sidekick, relatively conventional in dress and demeanor.

In addition, two security men were aboard, one of whom was the redoubtable Smithers. The other spaceman was named Blake.