What had been his hopes and desires before all of this? He had those then—and ideals below the pain and the endurance. To fulfill himself? To discover the reason for his existence? At one time, in the worst part of his life—almost insane, when they had put him away—he believed in nothing. Life was absurd, without meaning, a freak smear of matter and energy gyrating mindlessly in the midst of measureless vacuum. He had wanted to die then—no, he even wished he had never existed. That was the lowest plunge, when he had tried to kill himself and they stopped him. And Dr. Severs had said, “Well, Div, if you find a key, you know there must be a lock somewhere.” That phrase stood out long after the other things that Severs had said drifted away into his subconscious. Perhaps he was a key to something . . . perhaps he had a purpose in life, a place to belong. This was why he had assented to leaving Earth to contact the alien the Pegasus had found—somehow knowing that perhaps this would give his life meaning, if only in service to the human race in some obscure way. He had found much more, hadn’t he? Here, with the universe at the fingertips of his mind, and a future of wonder awaiting him—didn’t this surpass everything he had dreamed of before, yearned for achingly?
Yes, he told himself in his secret heart. Of course.
Of course . . .
The kid in the mess hall would be number sixteen. It was working.
Alone, she pulled her tray out of the service machine, turned around, and trained her eyes on her target. He was sitting in a desolate corner of the nearly empty room, forlornly forking his slim rations into his mouth. Couldn’t be more than twenty-three, she figured. Face hardly touched by beard. Soft hazel eyes beneath auburn bangs. Ston had identified him. A spanking-new ensign, assigned to the Pegasus at the same time as Ston had been. Ensign Dinni Rosher. A good guy to talk to, Ston had said. Always very moody, when I knew him. Very disappointed with the service. He should be a knockover, the way things are now.
She made a point of passing behind him on her way to the food dispenser machine. The emotions that waved from him were fairly negative: unhappiness, tinged with real bitterness. Above all, he seemed terribly tired. She felt for him.
“Mind if I sit here?”
His head jerked up at her words. His eyes were startled. “Uh—why?”
“I’m lonely. It depresses me to sit alone in this place.” Tentatively, she brushed his mind with a soft, comforting stroke of empathy.
“There are others around.”
“But you’re the only one by yourself.”
“Oh.” He smiled dutifully, nodded at the chair across from him.
“Sure. Have a seat. I don’t promise you fascinating company.”
“Simple company will do.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Simple.”
Mora set her tray down. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Don’t mind me.”
“You don’t look too cheery. How come?” The tentative brush of her Talent undeflected, she allowed more empathy to wash over him, gradually. Already, she could feel him loosening up. Good. A susceptible mind.
“Oh,” he said after sipping at his half-gone soy milk. “Things.”
“Not so good?”
He looked up at her. “Are they good for anyone nowadays?”
“No. I suppose not.”
He looked more closely at her. “Hey. I know who you are. The shiplady. Yeah. Mora. Mora—”
“Elbrun.”
“Yes. I never used you.”
“I’d remember you.”
“Rumor is you started us on this crazy goose chase.”
“Not really. I had no choice. It was the captain who gave the orders. Not me.”
“Galactic Command, you mean.”
She probed. A very upset fellow, this Dinni Rosher. He fairly resonated dissatisfaction. It showed up as moroseness on the surface—but she could detect much more beneath. The emotions he gave off when voicing “captain” and “Galactic Command” were negative. Very negative indeed. He was ripe.
She sighed softly, rubbing her short length of yellow hair as she spoke. “I hear it was Captain Darsen who authorized pursuit of the alien. Not Galactic Command.”
His hazel eyes stared straight into hers. “That’s impossible.”
“Suppose it was possible,” she countered airily, playing with her food, making it all seem light and cheerful—a little game.
“Then the captain is—no . . . it’s unthinkable.” He shook his head conclusively.
Raising her fork, she waved at him slightly. “Well, suppose the captain has taken the matter in his own hands. Suppose he disobeyed Galactic Command, and for his own reasons took off after the alien. It does make sense, doesn’t it? I mean, Galactic Command sending us off on a fool’s mission, with low supplies—many, many light-years from known space. It’s unprecedented. Would the usually conservative GC do such a thing when the odds are slim to none of catching the quarry? Which, you have to admit, can hardly be categorized as hostile to the Triunion. Suppose an this is the case.”
“What are you getting at?” His food sat before him, forgotten.
Her smile stiffened. “Who is our actual allegiance to in the service? Our captain—or Galactic Command?”
He turned his eyes away, nodding. “Yes. I see what you mean. But what proof do you have? You’ve used the word ‘suppose’ a lot.”
This was the most difficult part, because there was no solid tangible proof to give. Only Coffer’s word. It was necessary at this point to convince him both with her rhetoric and her subtle manipulations of his emotions. She had never been very good at that as a shiplady. But in her present role she tried as hard as she could.
“No such order from Galactic Command was ever received.”
“But how do you know that for a fact?” insisted Rosher.
A gentle nudge of empathic feeling: Believe me. Believe me. And: “If the order had been sent, it would have passed through Chief Communications Officer Norlan. It didn’t.”
“You have this from Norlan?”
“Yes. Put yourself in his place. What would you do if you knew what he knows?”
A pause. Rosher chewed his lower lip softly. Looked up at her. “How do you know Norlan’s not just making all this up?”
With all her mental force, she attempted to open herself up to him. His eyes blinked. He was getting something. “Because of my Talent,” she said quietly. “I’m a regular human lie detector. And Norlan didn’t lie. I got this information through Leana Coffer, the executive officer.”
Briefly, she detailed the situation on the bridge as Coffer had relayed it to her, centering on Darsen’s madness and Tamner’s virtual control of the Pegasus. She buttressed her case by pointing out the common-knowledge facts of Security’s dealings with unrest on the ship. As she spoke, the emotions waving at her from him became more positive. She finished up quickly, letting him bring up the reason for their talk.
“Coffer is organizing opposition, isn’t she?” said Rosher in a low voice. Co-operative vibrations: he would help.
“What can I do?” Was that a quaver of enthusiasm she felt from him?
“A lot.” And she told him exactly what.
Leana Coffer’s Joumal
(Vocoder transcription authorized
by Leana Coffer. Original recording
voice-locked per program 774-D.)
I’ve received a report from Mora. Ston Maurtan passed it on to Gary Norlan, who reported to me. She says she has enlisted forty-three crew people—twenty of them officers. Five are assigned to monitoring the ship’s computer and doing routine programming—they may be most useful. If they can turn the ship itself against Darsen, we may save lives which would otherwise have been wasted in fighting. Mora also claims eleven command personnel. I’ll have to see how many of these I can arrange to have on duty on the bridge and in t
he chartroom when the rebellion begins. Unfortunately, Mora has recruited only one security officer, a fellow named O’Hari. He should be able to obtain a few hand weapons from the armory, but this will hardly be decisive. Worse, it indicates that most security people are loyal to Darsen—perhaps they’re enjoying the new authority that Darsen’s paranoia has given them.
It’s obvious from Mora’s report that we’ll need some diversion, to throw Security off balance when we make our move. I have a plan, but it will entail high risks for Mora and Ston. They’ve been so loyal that I almost can’t ask it of them—but if not them, then who?
We must use terrorism.
There’s an area of the habitation module particularly vulnerable to sabotage, one which is easily accessible. It’s at the bottom of the main lift shaft, just below sleeper deck. If a big enough hole were blown in the hull there, depressurization could occur on every deck accessible to the main lift. This area is also as far from the bridge and engineering sections as any point in the ship.
I want Ston and Mora to position themselves there and threaten the ship. They will claim to have a bomb.
Such a threat will draw off enough Security from the operational sections of the vessel to facilitate our take-over. Ston and Mora are perfect for the role—they’re outcasts, with a history of erratic behavior. Further, Security won’t dare take direct action against them, for fear of detonating the bomb. If all goes as planned, Ston and Mora won’t have to hold out very long. If it doesn’t, they’re both dead.
But then if my plan fails, we all are.
I’ve sent them these instructions, using Gary Norlan as a go-between.
Now the fate of the Pegasus is in their hands.
THIRTEEN
As soon as Mora heard of Coffer’s plan from Ston, she took the chance and re-contacted one of their six officers in Engineering Maintenance. With very little trouble, she was able to secure a compact metal box, various electronic paraphernalia that Ston had requested, chemicals, a battery, and a laser soldering gun.
While Mora coordinated dispersal of the few weapons that Bisc O’Hari had been able to obtain for her, Ston busied himself in her cabin, making his “bomb.”
O’Hari was a big, somber, silent man. When Mora had approached him, feeling he was a prime target for enlistment in the mutiny, he had cut short her preliminary conversation and fixed her with his slightly bulging eyes. “You’re organizing a mutiny, aren’t you?” For a terrifying moment, she thought that perhaps her Talent had played her false, and was certain that the security officer would grab her, toss her before Tamner, and that would be it. “If so,” the man continued, “I want in.” No explanation. “I think I can get some weapons,” he said, after she explained the details. “I’ll be sitting in the third row of the Tri-Vid theater this evening. If I am successful, there will be a plastic package underneath the seat when I leave.”
Evidently, he had been successful.
In the package she picked up that evening were two laser pistols, and four beam stunners. The lasers were of especial value—generally, not even the security officers were allowed to use the pistols, except for the most extreme emergencies—they carried the beam stunners to render opposition helpless. But the fact that the armory’s laser supply had been opened meant that Tamner was getting ready for that extreme emergency, should it arrive.
She kept the lasers for herself and Ston. After all, they would be most vulnerable for the longest period of time. The stunners she stealthily distributed among contactees in Engineering and Computer Control. She assumed that O’Hari could take care of the bridge.
When she returned from her tense rounds, all four stunners now in the hands of mutineers, Ston was happily seated at her desk, playing with his new toy.
“It’s mostly for effect, actually,” he said, pointing out the series of dummy controls and lights he’d placed on the box. “For the record, this is a plastimax bomb. Those are easy enough to make, if you’ve got the right materials. They’ll believe us.” He smiled down playfully at it, chuckling. “The best part of it is that it really is a bomb.”
“What?” cried Mora in disbelief.
“Yeah. Your Engineering Maintenance contact got exactly the chemicals I wanted for a smoke bomb, operative when I press my remote control button.” He held up a little plastic box. “It might help a lot if we get a bunch of security people breathing down our necks. Who knows?”
Mora nodded. “Yes. Who knows?” A pang of fear swelled in her.
Fear for herself and Ston. A momentary glimmer on the fringes of her consciousness: Smoke. Fighting. Ston. And then it was gone.
She leaned over and kissed his head. “I love you, Ston.”
“Love you too,” he said, preoccupied with a bit of wiring.
She sighed. “How will we know when we phase into normal space? They might not announce it.”
“Easy. One of us can sit up on the observation deck. When the phase begins, so do our operations.”
A sudden realization hit her. “Ston! I just realized—we’re talking about everything in the cabin. The surveilance monitor—”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Don’t worry. I found it a couple of days ago. It’s in your intra-ship speaker. Not very original. The first thing I did when I got these tools was to fix it. Anyone listening now will just think we’re not even in. After we get all this together, I’ll switch it back and . . . and we can act like we just came in, or something. You think I’d talk about this thing here if I thought Security was listening in?”
“No. I suppose not.”
“I don’t blame you for being all wound up. You’ve been doing a great deal of work, Mora. Now, according to what Norlan told me, tomorrow’s the big day. So why don’t you get some sleep, okay? I’ll be finished with this in a little while, and grab some as well. We’ll both be fresh tomorrow.”
“Fresh for the slaughter,” murmured Mora,
“What was that?” asked Ston absently.
“Nothing.” She slipped into bed, was quietly thoughtful for a while. Then, “Ston?”
“Hmmm?”
“If we get back—”
“When we get back,” he corrected.
“When we get back, to whereever we’ll end up, what will happen—with us, I mean?”
He stopped working, turned to look at her. “I told you, we’ll stick together, help each other out.”
“No, Ston. I mean us.”
“Oh.” He turned back to the box, but did not resume work, “She is fading, Mora,” he said in a soft voice. “And you’re getting stronger inside me, in ways Adria never was. Will that do for now?”
“I guess it will have to,” she said.
They had long since reached the center of the Null-R energy vortex, the intertwined Div Harlthor and the ship-being; long since passed tnrough the manufactured hole in space that had been their destination. Now they waited for those who would greet them, those of Tin Woodman’s kind.
Div had learned much. Of the plan, and of its consequences. And, more personally, he had learned more of himself . . . and why he had caused, subconsciously, the Pegasus to follow them.
It was all so strange, and yet it explained so much.
They conversed, as they waited.
“Our lives must seem very long to you,” said Tin Woodman.
“Yes,” responded Div. “During the time you orbited Aldebaran, all of human history occurred. So many billions of lives passed, without any understanding . . . of what I’ve discovered. I never suspected what I was beginning when I grabbed at the chance to escape my prison. Perhaps I did what I did intuitively. I hope more strongly than you can know that I can communicate these things to the humans aboard the Pegasus, if they come, if they live . . . the things I’ve known since I have melded into you.”
“You were fulfilling a dream which stretches beyond the beg
innings of your race. So am I. Do you know that you have altered my inner world profoundly? I have never had a sense of myself as separate from my symbiote—certainly never with Vul. You are almost insubstantial in so many ways, but you hold to a sense of yourself with great tenacity. By now our merging should be complete. You will not let the existence of us consume the knowledge of you and I. It seems—perverse.”
“Does it trouble you?”
“Yes. Very much. And yet I find it stimulating in many ways.”
“There is still so much that I do not understand yet. I wonder if I ever will.”
“Not at as long as you remain ‘I.’”
“No doubt your brethren will find me and my kind much different.”
“Do not worry, my love. They will accept. They must.”
Div considered. “Is there anything that I—we can do to assure the safe arrival of the Pegasus?”
“We can only sense it at this distance. There is nothing we can do. The internal strife aboard may be fatal . . . the force of the passage may destroy the primitive vessel. No, there is nothing we can do . . . but wait.”
Deep inside, Div felt a pang of regret. “We should not have beckoned them . . .”
“You did it out of love. Do not be concerned. We have only to wait.”
Time passed. Eventually, the others arrived. There was great joy among them at the return of their long-lost brother. When the link was made, they said, “Come, brother. The journey to our present home is long. We should leave now.”
But the creature that was Tin Woodman said, “No. We must wait.”
The Pegasus phased out of its Null-It jump, close to the heart of the galaxy.
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