The machine shop was spacious but well filled; its equipment, mostly robotic, some nanotechnic, might have to make a variety of things. An area offside was reserved for handwork. Brent sat on a stool at a bench, fitting together items that had been produced for him. Electronic parts from stock lay waiting. A computer displayed the diagram that guided his hands.
Chancing to have an errand there, Yu spied light beyond the big shapes. She wove her way between lathe, drill press, and drop hammer to see what it meant. Brent heard her and looked around.
“Good day watch,” she greeted. “What are you doing?”
He smiled the smile of his that charmed. “Occupying my time. Usefully, I hope.”
She glanced at the bench. A cylindrical frame, about three centimeters by fifty, rested half assembled. It was clear that after the circuitry and powerpack were installed, the frame would be completed, an organometallic skin attached, and a stock with a grip fitted. “What is this, if I may ask?”
“Well, I didn’t plan to say anything till it was ready, but no reason not to tell you. It’s nothing startling. The computer easily designed it to my specs. Check the program if you like. I’m cobbling together a prototype to test how the hardware behaves in practice. It’s a short-range radionic override for simple cybernetic systems—for instance, doors, locks, cooling fans, gas filters, conveyors.”
“You want to be able to take over control of them? Why?” she asked, nonplussed.
He laughed. “Not I! But the station—” He laid down a spot catalyzer, turned toward her, and spoke earnestly. “The black hole’s thrown a lot of surprises at us. They cost us several probes, a boat, and two lives. What’s next? What might it derange in the station, given that close orbit? A small but critical item could suddenly go wild or inoperable. Something like a stuck flowgate, maybe. Under the wrong circumstances, that could bring on a disaster.”
She frowned in skepticism. “The station’s well-built for homeostasis and self-repair, you know.”
“Oh, yes. But what harm in one more emergency backup? If this thing seems practical, we can transmit the plans and have the machines there make a few for the maintenance robots to use if it’s ever necessary.”
“If.”
“It gives me something to do,” he said.
Sympathy answered: “I understand, Al. Yes, carry on.”
“Not makework, either. Not quite. It could prove helpful. Unlikely, but it could. Having gotten the idea, I’d feel remiss if I didn’t develop it.”
She regarded him. “That is good of you.”
He smiled again. “Considering that I’d rather we go straight home? Well, since the decision went against me, I’ll do my best for the ship and the mission.” In a near whisper: “Jean and Colin’s mission.”
Her tone softened further. “We have misunderstood you, Al.”
He shrugged. “Or maybe I’ve misunderstood me. Anyhow, call this a gesture, if nothing else.” He paused. “Please don’t tell anybody. I’d like to spring it as a surprise.”
“When we are all together,” she proposed. “In the wardroom. Turning a mess meal into a feast of reconciliation.”
“Aw, that’s too fancy a word.”
“I’ll help you arrange your surprise,” she offered.
The medical center consisted of an office and, behind a door, a sick bay as well equipped as most hospitals had been on Earth. Mokoena found Cleland there. He rose.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Tim,” she said. “Hanny caught me, and I couldn’t break away. It was too important. Too fascinating, to be honest. You’d told me your problem isn’t urgent.”
“N-no harm done. What was the, uh, distraction? Something to do with the aliens?”
“What else?” Ardor radiated from her. “Quantum life—She wants me to list whatever analogies I can with organic biology. No, not analogies. Correspondences? Basic principles? Oh, Tim, we’re at the dawn of a revolution like nothing since they identified DNA!”
“We can’t stay here forever,” he groaned.
“No, no. Just long enough to—” She stopped and looked more closely at him. He stood clean and properly clad, in his careless fashion. But the face was haggard, with a tic in the right cheek, and the hands shook slightly. “Never mind,” she said. “Here, sit down.” He resumed the edge of his chair. She settled behind her desk. “What is your trouble, dear?”
“I’m feeling worse and worse. Jitters, insomnia, nightmares when I do sleep.”
“It shows. I’ve been more and more worried about you. And you’re off alone with Emil so much of the time. Nothing wrong with that, but you hardly have a word for your fellow humans.”
“I feel trapped.”
She nodded. “I know. Listen. Selim Zeyd has accepted the situation. He’s adjusting to it, making the best of it. Al Brent seems to be doing likewise. You are whipping yourself to pieces. Tim, you must change your attitude.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Well,” she told him briskly, “you did have the sense to consult me before I hounded you into it. We’ll do a physical examination today. If your ills are psychosomatic, as I expect, I’ll put you on a euthymic. And we can talk, of course, anytime you wish.”
He tried to meet her eyes. “I think, uh, I think it’d help if you explain to the others—I’m not being unfriendly, I simply can’t handle sociability.”
“Withdrawing into your shell is no medicine.”
“Why not? Till I, uh, get my thoughts sorted out. Actually, I’m, uh, fairly at ease with Al.”
“M-m, yes, you two always have been close. Complementary personalities? Well, if he’s adapting, maybe he can teach you something.” Mokoena rose. “Come, let’s start that examination”
In this guise Cleland got the excuse he wanted, to be absent from mess or other gatherings whenever he chose, to shun conversation and evade questions, to prefer the company of Brent or a Tahirian, without arousing suspicion.
Nightwatch: stillness in empty passageways. Brent stood with Ivan, Leo, and Peter before the arms locker.
His device unsecured the door. It slid aside, the alarm silenced. Light fell in on racked, darkly gleaming barrels. Boxes and powerpacks filled shelves, like hunched beasts.
His companions were tensed. A smell of fear blew from them. “(These are not for us,)” Ivan spelled.
“(They should not be for anyone,)” Brent said. “(I have explained that we brought weapons in case of unforeseeable dangers. Nuclear missiles for the ship; small arms against ferocious wild animals or something equivalent. We here must make sure they are not used on sentient beings.)”
Peter’s mane bristles stiff. “(Could they be?)”
“(Yes.)”
“(How innately violent and irrational is your species?)”
“(Some of us are, some are not. For most, it depends on upbringing and circumstances. Once Tahir, too, knew bloodshed)”—though never on the scale that Earth did, again and again and again. “(Now let us work fast. Quietly but fast.)”
Brent stepped into the locker and passed the weapons out. His fingers lovingly stroked the first several. The Tahirians loaded them onto a cart.
Having closed the door, he would conduct them to the shuttle docked on this side of the gap, and they would conceal their booty inside it. Come mornwatch, the Tahirians would do what they had arranged with Nansen, cross over to the hull. Ostensibly it would be to fetch biotechnic gear of their own stowed there, they having decided to run experiments on terrestrial bacteria for the sake of science and to pass the time. They would indeed bring the stuff back. But first they would have carried the weapons to a hiding place Brent had shown them on a display of the ship’s plan.
It was probably needless, but a strategist should provide for all contingencies he could imagine. The hour might come when he was glad the Tahirians, too, had no ready access to an arsenal.
They saw him emerge from the gun-empty locker with a twin-load machine pistol and a box each of disabling and
killing cartridges. “(What do you want those for?)” Ivan demanded.
“(To make certain,)” Brent said, tucking them under his cloak.
Certain that he would have the sole firearm.
Daywatch and evenwatch followed.
Cleland led Emil and Simon to the Tahirian section. He had sought them out earlier and asked them to meet him at this time. He would accompany them back to their fellows, he said, and act as human representative while the new arguments for termination were presented to them.
It was pathetically easy to deceive Tahirians. They had such vague notions of deliberate falsehood; and they could not read any nuances of human expressions, intonations, body language, only the most stereotyped attitudes and the bald Cambiante.
Ivan, Leo, and Peter promptly surrounded them. Cleland stood by to help in case they resisted. It trumpeted in him: he was no longer passive, a victim; he was taking action.
Illumination fell gentle over white napery and shining tableware. Yellow, lavender, and purple clustered in a centerpiece of chrysanthemums from one of the gardens. Bottles stood open, cabernet sauvignon breathing, to go with the roast whose fragrance drifted out of the galley—synthetic, made by the nanos, but identical with the original, and no creature had had to die. It was Nansen’s turn to select background music, and Vivaldi’s “Concerto in G Major” danced for whoever cared to listen.
At this hour the captain felt its lightheartedness was no mockery. Since the tremendous news of quantum-level intelligence broke, moods had soared. Mostly.
His glance went down the table. No garb quite matched the formality of his blue dress uniform, but everybody was in good clothes. On his right, Ruszek chatted with Mokoena and with Zeyd beside her—not exactly cheerfully, yet it was more than the mate had done for a number of daycycles. On his left Yu and Sundaram glowed in their mild way. He wished Dayan, beyond them, were at his side; she had thrown off her own depression and talked enthusiastically whenever she got an opening, about the research and everything else that came to mind.
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.”
39.
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.”
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