“That is something of an understatement,” Consherra remarked coldly, moving in protectively beside her mate. Dyenlerra, oblivious to all else, was busily checking the joints of Velmeran’s armor to see if the suit beneath, which was exposed only at these points, had been penetrated.
“He warned me. I refused to listen,” Valthyrra admitted, aiming her remarks at Consherra. “I am not infallible, although I have been around long enough to learn from my mistakes. I will not make that mistake again.”
“You may not have a second chance,” Consherra said darkly, taking hold of Velmeran’s left arms as if to assert her claim on him. “Perhaps another ship will have greater respect for his abilities.”
Dyenlerra impatiently slapped her hands away, forcing her to release her hold on Velmeran. “You people can air your grievances later. Just now he is on his way to the medical section for a complete scan.”
She physically turned her bemused patient and led him toward the lift. Consherra followed uncertainly; she was well aware that she would not be allowed inside the medic’s examination room, but she meant to stay as close as possible. Valthyrra remained where she was, watching, and equally aware that she was not welcome.
“Well, I really screwed it up this time,” she said softly. “I have not been in this much trouble since the time Dveyella was going to take him away from me.”
“Maybe not,” Mayelna said as they turned toward the lift, getting out of the way as the bay crew began to remove the wreckage of the fighter. “Velmeran will not want to leave, and I trust him to say so.”
“Why would he not want to leave?” the ship asked bitterly.
“Because you are still the best fighting ship in the wolf fleet, in spite of yourself,” the Commander insisted. “He needs you as much as you need him.”
“I was not exactly helpful when he needed me this time,” the probe’s camera pod sagged, the mechanical equivalent of a dejected sigh. “Just now I feel old and useless.”
Mayelna glanced at her and smiled. “You know better than that. And, if it is any consolation, I will tell you that he makes me feel very old from time to time.”
The medic took Velmeran to a private diagnostic chamber and locked the door, forbidding even Consherra to enter. She cautiously removed him from his scorched armor, sometimes having to force catches that were now reluctant to open, then set her naked and nervous patient on the table and gave him a very thorough examination with her most accurate and sensitive scanners. She was soon satisfied that he was neither burned nor had suffered internally from shock or buffeting. She finished by bringing up a very large and intimidating microscopic scanner and, to Velmeran’s astonishment and profound embarrassment, aimed it at the portion of his anatomy that made him most nervous.
“The monitor in your suit controls says that you took a sustained heat of over twenty degrees above body temperature,” she explained without looking up. “We can take a surprising extreme of temperatures, even heat, for limited periods of time. But you were in that overheated suit for some time, and too much heat for too long can damage the genetic code you carry, perhaps resulting in sterility.”
“Sterility?” he asked cautiously.
“Which, fortunately, you do not have to worry about,” she said as she switched off the machine and pushed it out of the way. “At the very most, you might be unable to have a successful mating for several days.”
“And there might be some danger of genetic defect?” Velmeran inquired.
“No, of course not. Have you ever heard of a Kelvessan with genetic defects? It cannot happen.” She secured the machine in its storage cubby and tossed pants and shirt to her patient. “You recall what happens in cell reproduction? The DNA chain splits in half, and a special molecular machine runs up each half, pulling out amino acids and sticking them in the proper place to form two identical chains. In most natural organisms this little machine occasionally makes mistakes, sticking pieces where they do not belong.
“But our little replicator is smaller than that. It has the ability to check itself. When it finds a mistake, it will either back up and correct it or break the DNA chain to prevent cell division. In our species, an uncorrectable defect results in termination of the pregnancy at the time of conception. After the first few cell divisions, the loss of one or two defective cells at a time has no lasting consequences. Neat trick?”
“I suppose,” Velmeran agreed. “They must have thought of everything when they made us.”
“Perhaps. There are certain failings in character that could have been corrected genetically, but I have no real objection. If they had tried to make us absolutely perfect, we really would have been machines.” She paused and shrugged. “Speaking of conception, Baressa tested out pregnant this morning. She was impressed with your efficiency.”
“Efficiency is one of my strong points,” Velmeran said as casually as he could, although he did not hide his dismay well. In fact, he was fortunate to be sitting down when he heard that. “Who knows?”
“Well, I do, of course. Consherra knows. I am sure that Valthyrra knows, and Mayelna might.”
“That is quite enough. This is supposed to be Baress’s child,” Velmeran reminded her.
Dyenlerra frowned. “I wish that I could understand your objection. Any other male would be delighted to be in your position.”
He shrugged hesitantly. “When… when Consherra first came to me, I made a promise — to her, I think, and certainly to myself — that I would never compare her to Dveyella or do anything to make her think that she is not my first choice.”
“And this is the simplest way to prove it?” the medic asked. “I guess that I can understand that. But have you ever thought that this is a selfish act on your part? Consherra wants you to mate, and it does not worry her. What does worry her is your refusal. She blames herself.”
“Then I have no real choice, do I?” he asked.
“That is for you to decide,” Dyenlerra told him.
Consherra herded the entire pack before her, sending them firmly and quickly into the common room that served all their cabins, sparing one hand to pull Velmeran behind her. There were, however, several others besides just the Helm and the nine pack members. Three other pack leaders were there as well: Shayrn, Daeryn, and the redoubtable Baressa. This was clearly a council of war — perhaps even a mutiny. Just yet they were not sure which, and they were waiting for Velmeran to tell them what to do. And, if it seemed that he was still undecided on the matter, Consherra was not.
“Pack your bags!” Consherra told the younger pilots. “We are leaving here as soon as we can if we have to pack a very large dinner and depart in our fighters.”
“Wait a moment,” Baressa said firmly. “Meran, I stand with you in this. But first I want to know just what did happen out there. As I understand it, you warned Valthyrra of a trap and she ignored you?”
Velmeran shrugged helplessly. “I told her that I could predict the future. Naturally, she found that difficult to believe.”
The older pilot looked startled. “Indeed? If I may dare to ask, can you predict the future?”
“He made three predictions in a row, and they all proved true,” Consherra answered for him. “He said that we would find a Class M freighter long before it came into scanner range. He said that her crew would abandon the ship intact, and that it would explode.”
“Explode?” Daeryn asked.
Velmeran shrugged. “Once it was close enough to get a fix on the Methryn, it drove itself straight at her in the hope of getting close enough to blow itself up in her face.”
“With what?” Baressa asked. “A conversion device that large should have scanned.”
Velmeran glanced up at the others for the first time, roused from his own thoughts. “There were three conversion devices of tremendous size. Valthyrra saw them, I am sure, but simply assumed them to be the ship’s generators. Which they were.”
“But generators cannot be made to explode,” Baress protested.
“Any generator is a conversion device that can be made to explode,” Velmeran said. “Class M’s have limited sentience, apparently enough to override their safeties.”
“That is so,” Baressa agreed. “But where does that leave us? You knew what was going to happen, and Valthyrra ignored you. She is still at fault in this matter, since it could have been avoided.”
“I do not know,” Velmeran said uncertainly, once again seemingly unaware of the others as he retreated back within his own thoughts. “It might be tempting to hold Valthyrra to blame, but I cannot. Even I could not believe completely until I had proven myself.”
“That is still no excuse for her to treat her best pack leader like that,” Consherra said hotly. “Any other ship would consider herself very lucky to have Velmeran, and willing to pay him the attention he deserves.”
“It is up to Velmeran,” Baressa said, gently reminding them of who was the real leader of this group. “If he goes, then I will go with him.”
“Me, too!” Shayrn agreed enthusiastically.
“And me,” Daeryn added.
Velmeran glanced up, confused, as if suddenly aware of what was going on.
“Wait a moment!” he protested. “Who said anything about taking half the packs on this ship and going anywhere?”
“You did,” Shayrn insisted.
“I did?”
“Actually, Consherra is the only one I recall having anything to say on the subject,” Baressa said. “What do you have to say?”
“The matter is already resolved, it seems to me,” he said. “My ability to predict has been tested and successfully proven, and I came out the hero because I happened to be right. As I see it, I have won and I have already gotten all from it that I can expect. Whether or not Valthyrra and I will ever again be on close terms is beside the point. I am Commander-designate of this ship, and here I must stay.”
Baressa shrugged. “How can I argue with that? I cannot believe that today’s mistake will be repeated. Just remember that we will always be here when you need us.”
At that signal the others withdrew as quietly as they could, the younger pilots retreating to their cabins while the pack leaders departed. Obviously the matter was not completely resolved; Velmeran now had to make his peace with Consherra before he could mend his affairs with the rest of the ship. And Consherra still had a great deal to say on the subject. Taking Velmeran firmly by the hand, she pulled him inside his own cabin and locked the door behind them.
“Meran, do you really know what you are doing?” she demanded. “I can get you on board another ship, one with greater appreciation for your talents.”
“One that would allow me to command and be meekly subservient to my every order?” he asked, seating himself on the bed as he watched Consherra pace nervously. “I cannot leave now. Valthyrra needs me.”
“Valthyrra needs to have her circuits checked!” She declared explosively. “And so do you, if you hold any false loyalty to that ancient automaton. You had no business going out there and risking your life… “
“Will you slow down and at least try to be reasonable,” Velmeran said with more firmness than he had used with her in a very long time. “I am Velmeran, and this is my decision. Not yours. Not Baressa’s. Valthyrra Methryn might have her faults, but she is still the best fighting ship with the best group of pilots in the wolf fleet. This is what I have to do.”
“Why?” Consherra insisted, only slightly daunted.
“You know well enough. I want to make an end to this war, and my battles will be fought here, with Donalt Trace. He is looking for the Methryn.”
“Well, he can just as easily look for you elsewhere,” Consherra said calmly but firmly. “And I would be just as happy if he did not find you. Why do you think he has to be your special problem?”
She paused, surprised to realize that he was sitting on the edge of his bed, crying silent, calm, lethargic tears of desperation and weariness. She realized then just how selfish her own position on this matter had been. Shamed by her own behavior, she hurried to comfort him.
“Meran, what is it?” she asked with gentle anxiety.
“What do you think it is?” he asked in return. “I am tired of it all. I am tired of having to be responsible for every move this ship makes, of being accountable for every life on board. I am tired of always having to be right and watching out for everyone else’s mistakes. I am just tired of being me, Velmeran the Magnificent. It never gives me any rest.”
“Yes, I suppose you are,” Consherra said as she sat down beside him. “There is never any rest for you. But you took this burden upon yourself.”
“Yes, I know,” he agreed, and sighed in resignation. “I never knew how easy I had it when I was still chafing against my inabilities. And yet, as difficult as it can be, at least my conscience is clear. Ability brings its own responsibility. But I am so tired. And I am afraid.”
“Why?” Consherra asked suddenly, glancing at him suspiciously. “Meran, what is wrong? Is there trouble?”
Velmeran hesitated, then nodded wearily. “Yes, terrible trouble. Sometime within the next two weeks the Methryn is going to have to fight something that we have never seen before, and she is not going to win. I will have to do everything I can to save her.”
“Meran, no!” Consherra cried, knowing that he had no choice. “Why does it always have to be you?”
“Because this is my game,” he answered. “Donalt Trace is looking for me. He is going to use his new toy to rip our carriers apart until I stop him. I have no choice.”
Consherra nodded slowly. “I know, and I will help you all that I can. What can I do?”
“Love me,” he replied simply. “Help me to forget that I am frightened and alone. That is all you can do for now.”
That was a bold request for him, and one which worried him. Always before he had needed love, even longed for it, but he had never asked for what, in his own belief, could only be given freely. But his time was short, and the future he saw frightened him. The Methryn would live, but at the price of a life. And he knew the price. Within the next two weeks he might finally be free of the burden of responsibility, for he would quite likely be dead.
4
Maeken Kea had accepted the command of the Challenger knowing that she did not particularly like the idea, but she did not have time to regret it. By the end of her first shift on the bridge, however, she knew that she both disliked and regretted it. This beast was all ship, a relatively small and superfluous crew, and two captains. No, it was not even a ship, just a mobile planetary defense system. Maeken was smart enough not to be impressed by technology for its own sake; therefore, she was not impressed. If it could fight and defeat a Starwolf carrier, then she would be impressed.
The theory behind this ship was sound, she did have to admit that. The possibility remained that it might just be able to defeat a Starwolf carrier in equal combat. But Commander Trace was after big game: he wanted Velmeran and the Methryn. And Velmeran was too smart for him, smarter even than herself, Trace, and this ship altogether. She knew that Trace meant to force a confrontation with the Methryn, and she had strong doubts about their ability to win that battle.
Marching the halls at a furious pace, Maeken turned onto a main corridor and ran straight into a monster. Since her diminutive human form was no match for this towering hulk of quasi-reptilian flesh, she promptly bounced off and fell on her rump in the middle of the floor. Startled, her first reaction was to reach for her gun. Then she recognized this massive obstruction as a Kelfethki warrior and paused. The massive saurian head cocked inquisitively, the enormous green eyes regarding her.
“Pleesh ekshuz me,” the Kalfethki hissed. He reached out with a hand that could have encircled her waist and lifted her as easily as if she were a small pet to be picked up and held.
“And you are?” Maeken demanded as he assisted her to stand. She weighed thirty-eight kilos, while the Kalfethki weighed perhaps three hundred. But au
thority carried its own weight, and she assumed this talking dinosaur to be part of the crew.
“Ahee am Kramthk, af dee Kalfethki foorze.” His reply was prompt enough, if unenlightening. “Eeyu air dee Kapton?”
“Of course,” she said less sharply. She did not at all like this talk of a Kalfethki force, but she thought it best to remain on good terms with a potential army of the beasts. “Are you an officer?”
“Hay schmall hwun,” Kramthk replied sociably. “Ahee vash up to dee bridgsh to schpeek weth dee Schector Kommandor.”
“Very good,” Maeken responded promptly, not at all sure what the Kalfethki had said. He stepped carefully aside, opening a passage for her to continue. But she hesitated a moment and looked up at him. “If you would, what is your duty?”
“Ahee am en interpretor,” Kramthk replied proudly, flashing a toothy grin.
Maeken only shrugged and continued on. At this point, nothing surprised her.
What was Trace thinking of, bringing a Kalfethki ‘force’ on board this ship? The Kalfethki were a saurian race, higher than true reptiles even though they laid eggs and had no fur, but lower than true mammals despite the fact that they were warm-blooded. They were immense beings, three meters tall and five from their nose to the tip of their powerful thrashing tail. But they remained dull-witted and primitive, still as much animal as intelligent being. Their warrior code and complex religion of demons and prophecies were their only vestiges of civilization, for they possessed few ethical and moral virtues.
It was that fierce warrior code that made them useful as fighters, and yet their worship of a demanding and bloodthirsty god made them too dangerous to keep in useful numbers. One of their many cherished prophecies held that they would someday cleanse the stars of all aliens, murdering entire races for the glory of their god, and they looked forward to that day with eager anticipation. Maeken could imagine the Kalfethki in revolt, having convinced themselves that this unique ship was the divine gift they needed to wage their holy war.
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