The Voyage of the Star Wolf (13 page)

“But—”

“Hodel,
shut up
.”

Hodel shut. But his frantic expression remained an accusation.
The responsibility is yours, Mr. Korie
!

The acting captain of the
LS-1187
floated in the air, as adrift as his vessel. He looked cornered. Suddenly, a wild expression appeared on his face, almost a manic grin. “After giving the matter considerable thought,” he began slowly, “I have decided . . . to plant potatoes.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Also corn, tomatoes, lettuce, peas, amaranth, cucumbers, legumes, and winged beans. The latter are especially good for oxygen fixing, I believe.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

Korie met Hodel's puzzled expression. “Either the Morthans destroy us or they don't. If they don't, we're still going to have to plant crops now if we intend to eat in the next few months. Most of the aeroponic webs are rigged. Let's make good use of the time—”

“And if they
do
destroy us—? Planting beans doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me.”

“It does to me. It's something to do—something to occupy my mind. The alternative is trying to get back to sleep. I don't think I can. If we are going to die, I'd prefer not to waste my last few hours being unconscious. On the other hand, working with living things is a terrific way to put your soul at ease. If I am going to die, Mr. Hodel, I would prefer it to be in a state of grace. Not believing in God anymore, I will settle for second best: a state of internal peace and tranquillity.”

Hodel blinked. “I can't believe you're serious—”

Korie grabbed Hodel's shoulder hard and stared into his eyes.

What he wanted to say was this:
“Listen to me, asshole. I'm dry. I'm empty. I've gamed it out and I've gamed it out and I've gamed it out. I can't think of anything else to do. At the moment, there isn't anything else we
can
do. So I'm going down to the inner hull and make myself useful. I want to spend a little bit of time doing something
life-affirming.
But I have no emotional fuel left. I need to do something to recharge myself—I can't sleep, I can't eat, and I can't talk about it to anybody, because the morale on this ship is so desperate.”

But what he actually said was: “If you have to have it explained to you, then you'll never understand it.” He let go of Hodel and pushed off. “Keep me posted if there's any change in status.”

Planting beans is easy.

You take the seed, you push it deep into the soft cottony webbing, deep enough to stay, then you squirt it with some mineralized water and get out of its way. Move up a few centimeters and poke another seed into the web. Squirt and repeat. Poke and squirt. Poke and squirt. Kind of like sex, but not as immediately gratifying.

Actually
, thought Korie,
this really wasn't such a bad idea
. Poke and squirt. Poke and squirt.
It's probably all over the ship by now. The exec's gone bugfuck. We're about to be destroyed and he's planting beans.

Korie shook his head and kept on working.
I can't explain it. If we survive, it'll make sense. They'll say I'm so cold, I'm unbreakable. And if we don't survive, it doesn't matter.

What I'm really hoping, though, is that by taking my mind off the problem, I'll give my subconscious a chance to work. Maybe there's something I've missed
. . .

I've got to stop thinking about it. Except it's like trying not to think about a big pink worm.

Korie sighed in exasperation and kept on working. He had a plastic injector in his right hand; squeeze it and a seed pops out at the end of the long nozzle. Planting beans was easy, almost too easy to be fun. Insert the nozzle into the webbing and squeeze. Then squeeze a second time and the seed is sprayed. Pull yourself up along the webbing and repeat the process.

Poke and squirt.

The winged bean is a marvelous piece of nature. The bean is edible. The leaves are edible. The roots are edible. All parts of it are tasty. It grows fast and produces useful amounts of oxygen. And it's historically interesting too. Its genetic heritage can be traced all the way back to ancient Earth.

Poke. Squirt.

We could probably have the robots do this,
thought Korie.
Maybe we should. But then, if we did, what would I be doing now
? He snorted in amusement.
Probably going crazy. Correction
: crazier.

The Morthans eat their enemies, but what do they do for food between
battles? Huh? Maybe that's why they're always going into war. Now, there's a thought—suppose they don't want to destroy this ship. Suppose instead that they want to capture us alive
. . .
No, that's stupid. The Morthans only eat
honorable
enemies. They couldn't possibly consider us worthy of a Morthan honor. No, they're out to destroy us.

Poke. Squirt.

Bolting doesn't work. We saw what happened to the
Alistair.
Hiding doesn't work either. Not if they're searching for us. Creeping away at subluminal velocity is like trying to hide and bolt at the same time. No chance there. And we don't have the firepower to fight back. We have no options.

Poke.

Surrender?

Korie hesitated, considering the thought. It was more than distasteful. It was anathema. It was the most abhorrent idea of all. Totally unacceptable. His name would be a curse for as long as it was remembered.

But consider it anyway . . .

What do we know about Morthans in war? Do they take prisoners? If so, how do they treat them? No, that's not the question. The question is how could
we
expect to be treated
. . .?
No, I don't see it. This is not a place to expect compassion or mercy. We might very likely be tried as war criminals. They think of themselves as some kind of superior race—they think of us as dumb animals, inferior beings with delusions of grandeur. No, we would not be treated by the rules of the covenant. Hmp. They don't even recognize the covenant, so that answers that question.

No. There can be no surrender.

Squirt.

But that still leaves us without a choice. No, that's not correct. We have a choice. We can choose how we want to die. And I can answer that question without spending much time thinking about it. We're going to die with dignity.

Poke. Squirt. Poke. Squirt. Korie worked with renewed intensity.

What's the best way to die
?

Hm. In bed with a naked redhead on your ninety-third birthday
. . .
shot by a jealous husband.

Okay, then what's the
second
best way to die
?

Fighting.

Let's consider that thought. What's the best way to fight back? What's the trap that we can set for them
?

Poke.

They know we're not dead. They had to have seen our scanning lens.

Squirt.

Hm. This is definitely not a state of tranquillity.

They won't endanger their own ship.
. . .
We could turn this ship into a bomb.

Poke.

But will they get close enough
?

What can we do to lure them
?

Squirt.

Make a noise like a Morthan cookie.

Korie stopped where he was. He floated in front of the webbing, thinking.

Food. Do the Morthans need food
?

It's traditional for them to eat their enemies, but there aren't any bodies left after a space battle. Is that why they're scouring the area looking for human ships? No. We're not honorable enemies. We're inferiors.

Okay, it's not food. What else do we have that they might want?

Our technology? Maybe. . . .

If we could get them to think that we're incapable of fighting them off, they might attempt a docking—and we could detonate a torpedo—

“Yes, that would do it all right,” Korie said aloud. “And what a nasty surprise.” He looked at the seed-tool in his hand and smiled to himself. “This was a good idea.” He turned back to the webbing thoughtfully. “Now, how do I get the Morthans to cooperate.”

“You want me to what?” Chief Engineer Leen looked horrified.

“I want you to blow a hole in the side of the ship.”

The chief engineer shook his head in mock exasperation. “I'm sorry. There must be something wrong with my hearing. It sounded like you said you wanted to blow a hole in the side of the ship.”

Korie just glared. “Don't be cute, Mr. Leen.”

The chief stopped his pantomime of deafness and resumed his normal sullen attitude. “All right. Enlighten me.”

“The port side disruptors. They blew up when the fringe hit us, right? Well, I don't think the hole there is big enough. I think when the disruptors blew, they ripped a hole in the hull. A
big
hole. And we lost most of our air.
Whooosh
! Explosive decompression. Only a few of us survived. We're living in starsuits. We've managed to restore some power, not a lot. We're fighting like hell just to stay alive—but anyone looking at the ship from the outside would clearly understand that we're just a big fat prize waiting to be picked up . . .”

“And when they get close enough . . .” said Leen, “we put a torpedo into them, right?”

“Right,” said Korie.

“They'll be watching for a trap.”

“Probably.”

“As soon as they see us fire, they'll fire back.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“They'll kill us, you know.”

“They're going to kill us anyway,” said Korie. “Let's take the bastards with us.” And then he added, “Besides, there's always the chance that we might catch them by surprise. In that case, we might survive.”

“We'd still have a hole in the side of the ship.”

“But we'd still have a ship around that hole.”

Leen nodded. “All right, let me think about this. I can peel back the hull. I suppose you want the inner hull and the life support module breached too?”

“We have to be convincing.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that. This is a really shitty idea, you know. One of your absolute worst.”

“Agreed.”

“You understand that I'm absolutely opposed to it. I think this idea stinks. The crew is going to hate it too.”

“No question, Chief. It stinks on ice.”

“Of all the orders you've given since you took command, this is the one I hate the most.”

“Me too,” said Korie.

“If you order me to do this, I'll have to do it—but it'll be under vehement protest.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Korie agreed.

“Good!” snapped Leen. “Just so you understand that.”

“I do.”

“Well, all right—” Leen's manner relaxed, became more workman-like. In fact, he sounded almost
enthused
by the challenge. “Now I can evacuate most of the air before I start cutting. We won't lose much. Still, it sets us back. It really hurts. I mean, if we survive, it's going to be harder than ever to get home.”