She resisted the strong hint that the best help she could offer him at this moment would be to get out of his way. Instead she leaned back in her seat, as if she were comfortable. “That looks very much like the model in the operations room.”
“It should.”
“Has Gennadius given you access to the base mainframe computer? Everything it has in memory?”
Domingo nodded. “He and I are still talking to each other. I told him I needed it, and he’s a reasonable man, up to a point at least. He wants all the fighting ships in his district as well equipped with information as they can possibly be.”
Polly had more questions to ask; but Domingo grew more restless, answering in monosyllables, staring at his slowly growing and developing model. She prolonged her stay only a little longer, because he so obviously would have preferred to be alone. She wanted her presence to be welcome.
On the morning after that talk in the control room—base time was coordinated with that of some of the larger colonial settlements on nearby rocks—Polly was up at about the same time as most of the Shubran survivors. After eating breakfast in the common mess, she found a general discussion going on among a group of Domingo’s fellow citizens and sat in on it, listening.
The group that had settled into a small meeting room after breakfast comprised some twelve or fifteen Shubrans, all of them crew members from the various ships in the orphaned Shubran relief expedition. Some of them were already well into the formulation of determined plans to reconstruct their lives, talking about going back to Shubra as soon as possible and rebuilding there, starting the colony over.
Others in the group declared that they had had it with Shubra and never wanted to go near the place again. The two factions were not really trying to convince each other, Polly thought, and it seemed unlikely that the whole group could ever agree on any single course of action.
While this discussion was in progress, Gennadius came to the door of the meeting room. The Base Commander looked somewhat happier than he had yesterday. “I have some good news, people. A manned courier ship has just come in from Sector. They’re responding fully, just as we had hoped, to the Liaoning disaster. I think we can take it as guaranteed that the response of the government will be the same in your case when they hear about it. Disaster funds should be available from Sector Government for resettlement on Shubra, too, or anywhere else in this district where they’re needed.”
The people in the little group looked at each other. Both factions, the resettlers and those in favor of moving on, displayed generally pleased reactions. Someone asked hopefully: “You think we can depend on that, Commander?”
“I think so. As far as I can see, Sector still plans to have the whole Milkpail colonized some day. Even if now that looks like a rather distant goal.” Gennadius added: “And I want to see it, too. The more people there are living in my territory, the easier my job gets.”
“Colonies can do well in the Milk,” someone offered, trying to be optimistic. “We’ve just got to protect ourselves better. Nebula’s still full of life.”
“A thousand-year career for busy berserkers,” objected one of the survivors who was ready to give up. No one among the optimists reacted noticeably. Cash in your chips if you want to; we’re going on living .
The discussion, informal but earnest and substantial, continued. The future of Shubra, Polly thought, was perhaps being decided here and now. Without the uninterested mayor. And without the high proportion of the Shubran survivors who were out in their ships, trying to protect other people’s lives and homes. Well, she wasn’t going to worry about it—she had enough to worry about already.
When Commander Gennadius left the meeting, she tagged along with him.
He glanced sideways at her and, without breaking the rhythm of his long strides down the corridor, opened the conversation with his own choice of subject. “I’ve got another roomful of people just down the hall here.” At that moment Iskander Baza passed them in the hall, exchanged nods with Polly, and looked after them curiously as they marched on. Gennadius continued speaking to her: “These are not refugees, for once. These are incoming, potential colonists, just in from Sector. Naturally their ship diverted here to base when her captain got word of our alert. I want to have a little talk with them before they start hearing everything about our problems at second hand. You’re welcome to sit in, if you like. I’m not trying to whitewash the way things are.”
“Thank you. I’d like to sit in.”
With Gennadius she entered the next conference room, where the atmosphere was vastly different from that in the one they had just left, though about the same number of people were present. The men and women assembled here looked different from the psychically battered colonists in the other room. These newcomers were obviously nervous but still healthy, without the indefinable appearance of victims.
By now the newcomers had heard the full official announcement of the multiple disasters, which was a recital of bare facts, accurate as far as Polly could tell. And in the short time they had been on the base they had almost certainly heard more than that, from survivors and at second hand. They were, naturally enough, worried and uncertain.
As Polly followed the commander into the conference room, one of the group was standing in front of the others, talking to them about berserkers. The speaker was one of the older people present—none were more than middle-aged— and her voice carried sincerity if not necessarily authority.
“When berserkers move in, people move out. It’s that simple. Trying to live in a sector where they’re active is like sticking your hand into a shredder. It’s just about as sensible as that, and as brave.”
The speaker glanced over her shoulder, saw Gennadius looking at her, and finished defiantly: “I’ve been through this before. I know what I’m talking about!”
Polly could see the base commander pausing, deciding silently that this called for a more serious speech than he had first intended.
Gennadius made no attempt to hush the woman, but let her finish. Only when she had returned to a seat did he himself take over her position at the front of the room.
He looked out over his small audience calmly and gravely, letting a little silence grow. Then when he judged he had the timing right, he said: “All right. We’ve had a very severe problem in the nebula the past few days. A series of disasters, in fact. But as you can see, this is a very strong base, secure against attack. Starting from here, and with the support of Sector, we’re prepared to take back what we’ve lost—in terms of territory, at least. So there’s great opportunity in the Milkpail right now, the opportunity that I assume you’ve all come here to find.”
Gennadius went on, delivering an encouraging message without in the least fudging on the catastrophic facts of recent history.
“Sure, we’ve had severe problems, on the scope of some great natural disaster. But I—” The commander appeared to grope for words. “How can I put it? We are not facing some kind of demonic monsters here. I don’t know how many of you hold beliefs of any kind in the supernatural, or what those beliefs are. But never mind that, it doesn’t matter. What we are confronted with here are machines, just like— like this video recorder.”
While he was talking, the door to the corridor had opened quietly, and Iskander had come in, with the captain right at his shoulder. Their arrival was in time for them to hear the base commander’s philosophy regarding berserkers.
Domingo spoke one word, in a soft voice: “Leviathan.” He said it as if it were the answer to some question that everyone in the room had been groping for.
“Welcome, Captain Domingo.” Gennadius nodded toward the new arrivals. “A man who has had a very recent and very tragic experience with berserkers. He has—”
The captain smiled. It looked to Polly like a madman’s smile. “Not just with berserkers, Commander. With one particular… machine. That word’s inadequate, though, isn’t it? Machine. And the experience, as you call it, was not simply tragi
c. No. Tell them the truth.”
Gennadius was exasperated now. “Your world was attacked by one machine that people have given a name to, as if it were some great damned artificial pet. Or god, or idol. Well, it’s none of those things. Why is the wordmachine inadequate? That’s what a berserker is.”
“Oh, is it? Tell me more.” Domingo’s voice was still quiet.
“There’s not much more to tell. Essentially. If you want to know the truth, it and the others are no more than overgrown, out-of-adjustment machines.”
Domingo had no comment on that for the moment. He listened in silence as the base commander continued his efforts to encourage the potential new colonists. With all the news of berserkers in the air, Gennadius said, he wanted to dissuade them from the idea that the obstacles were just too overwhelming. “Some people get the notion that the berserker problem can never be managed. That’s wrong. They’re machines, that from our point of view happen to be malfunctioning. That’s all they are. And if we can keep a sun from going nova, as we sometimes can, then we can ultimately manage a few machines.”
Domingo broke in at that point. “You think Leviathan’s only a machine? That it just happens to be out of adjustment?” He paused. “I’d like to show you what it is. I’d like you to be there when I pull out its heart.”
Gennadius coldly returned the captain’s burning stare. “You’ve had a hard time, Domingo, but you’re not the only one who has. I respect what you’ve done, and what you’ve been through, but getting revenge on a piece of metal is a crazy enterprise, in my opinion.”
Polly sucked in her breath audibly. She sensed that the commander’s words were a deliberate shock tactic, but she didn’t think that it would work.
The would-be colonists were watching and listening very, very intently. Their heads turned back and forth like those of spectators at a match.
“Only a piece of metal. You think that?”
“That’s what they are. You have some kind of evidence to the contrary to present? I’d like to see it.”
“Is my body a machine? Or yours? Or was my daughter’s? What was her body, Commander? What was it?”
There was a pause that seemed long. At last Gennadius said: “In a manner of speaking, I suppose we’re all machines. I don’t see the point of looking at it that way, though.”
“I can see that you’re a machine,” said Domingo, looking at the commander speculatively.
Polly could feel her scalp creep. Not from the words; something in the tone.
The potential colonists were still watching and listening with great attention.
The commander, she could see, was working hard at being almost casual and even harder at being tolerant. Polly supposed he did not want to freight this madman’s behavior with importance in the eyes of the others watching. “If you have tactical suggestions to make, Captain, I’ll be glad to listen to them up in the operations room. Meanwhile there’s something else I wish you’d work on. You’re still mayor of Shubra. Some of these people might be interested in going there. I think it’s your place, your duty, to talk to them and—”
“If I’m still mayor of any place, it’s hell. As for your rebuilding, I want none of it.”
“As mayor, you—”
“You want my resignation?”
“It’s not my place to accept it. Talk to your citizens.” Then the commander softened. “We’ve all lost, Niles. Not like you, maybe, but… we’ve got to start thinking of where we go from here. There are decisions that won’t wait.”
“I know what won’t wait.” Domingo looked at the commander, and at Polly. She could get no clue from his eyes as to what he expected her to do. A moment later he had left the room. When she followed him into the corridor, a few moments later, he and Iskander were already out of sight.
CHAPTER 5
The Sirian Pearl. along with the other ships of the Shubran civilian relief squadron, had seen no actual fighting and had sustained no damage while shuttling from one disaster to another. Such minor refitting as was required to get her perfectly ready for action had already been taken care of at the base. The Space Force had been eager to help with the maintenance. Gennadius wanted every human ship in the nebula to be as fully aimed and equipped and ready for combat as possible.
More combat was expected soon, though with berserkers you never knew. Anyway, it was certain to come eventually.
The Pearl was almost alone in the docks, except for a few Space Force ships, a couple of them undergoing routine maintenance, a couple of others being held in reserve as transport and for defense in the unlikely event of a berserker attack on the base itself. Four Twenty-five had truly awesome ground defenses. From the enemy’s point of calculation, there had to be more tempting targets out there in the nebula, colonies only lightly defended now after the years of relative peace and quiet.
Domingo’s ship was solidly down in dock, with Gujar Sidoruk and Iskander Baza walking and climbing over and around her, giving everything on the outside a looking over, probing with tools and fingers into missile-launching ports and tubes, field projectors, the snouts and nozzles of beam weapons. The checkout was really unnecessary, but Gujar at least was nervous enough to need something to do. Iskander had come along, and they talked while they conducted an extra inspection.
Iskander, hands on hips, stood tall on the uppermost curve of hull. He said: “You know, Sid?”
“What?”
“I’m really looking forward to taking this ship into action.” He sounded more serious than usual.
Gujar straightened up from a beam nozzle and looked about restlessly, swinging his electronic probe in one huge hand. He responded that he himself was not looking forward to anything. Going after Leviathan was just something he had to do, and he wanted to get it over with.
Sidoruk was not as familiar with this ship as the other crew members were. He had a few questions to ask about the new weapons and systems Domingo had insisted on having built into his ship.
Gujar had been taking it for granted that the Pearl’s armaments were adequate for the formidable task Domingo was planning. But now it seemed to him that, in answer to a couple of his questions, Iskander was slyly trying to raise some doubt in his mind, as if just for fun.
Gujar was still frowning in vague puzzlement when the two men heard footsteps approaching, clomping up a flexible ladder that curved around the curve of hull. Presently Polly Suslova’s head and shoulders came into sight. She greeted the two men and asked, “Where’s the captain?”
Baza smiled at her. “He’s aboard. I looked in half an hour ago and he was sleeping.”
Despite the smile, she had the feeling that this man was hostile to her, that somehow he felt possessive about the captain. Baza, as far as she was aware, had had no family anywhere, even before the Shubran massacre.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll let him sleep. He needs the rest.” She looked at Gujar, who was leaning against the railing of the curving stair, gazing glumly into space. He didn’t appear to be listening to the conversation, but it was hard to tell.
Polly faced back to Iskander, as the second-in-command asked her: “You think the captain’s unhealthy? I don’t.”
“Have you seen him like this before?”
“Like what?” Polly could read no feeling in Iskander’s smooth voice. “He’s ready to hunt berserkers. If that makes him crazy, there’re a lot of lunatics around.”
“I’m sure there are. The point is that until a few days ago he wasn’t one of them.”
“He’ll be all right, when he gets Leviathan.” The broad-shouldered man sounded very confident.
That woke up Gujar. “If he can get it.”
“He can.”
Sidoruk turned around, frowning. “I thought you were just telling me our weapons might not be good enough.” Polly asked Iskander: “Do you think that’s what Domingo needs?”
“He thinks so.” Baza started to move past her to the ladder. “Excuse me, ma’am. It’s time I went to
operations and took a look at things.”
Polly moved out of Iskander’s way, but she had another question for him before he left. “You’ve known the captain a long time. Were you with him when that crash almost wiped out his family ten years ago?”
“I was. But you’d better ask him about that.” And with a lightly mocking little salute, Iskander was gone. Gujar Sidoruk had roused from his unhappy reverie enough to pay attention to Polly’s latest question.
“What do you want to know about the crash?”
“I was wondering if berserkers were involved in that, too.” Ships disappeared, sometimes, in every part of space, even without berserkers’ help. “Yes, I remember it well. It wasn’t just berserkers. It was the same damned one.” Thinking of Domingo, Polly let out a little wordless moan of empathic pain. She sat down on the curve of hull—carefully; the metal tended to be slippery and there was a considerable drop. “Tell me.”
“Well. His wife—her name was Isabel—and two of their three kids were on a ship coming back from somewhere, I forget where, to Shubra. The ship managed to send off a courier before she crashed. Her captain thought Leviathan was chasing them, and the courier message said he was just about to take some risky evasive action. That was all that anyone ever heard from that ship. Either the berserker got them, or he wrecked his ship trying to get away from it. Tried to go too fast in a cloud, or whatever. No lifeboats ever showed up anywhere. No survivors.”
“I see,” Polly murmured again. Again someone’s feet were clanging solidly up the ladder. In a few moments Simeon’s head came into
view. “There you are—some of you, anyway. There’s news. One of Gennadius’s squadrons is supposed to be straggling back in here to the base, all shot up. They tightbeamed a message ahead, saying they’ve just fought a battle.”
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