Korie allows himself a very slight nod of the head. “That would probably be . . . a good idea.”
Pan considers that statement too. “There’s just one more thing, Jon.” He looks directly into Korie’s heart. “Was it necessary for Rogers to be so badly beaten?”
Korie is silent for a very long time. “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”
“Probably not. It would probably make me feel—even more uneasy.”
“Then put yourself in my place. If I had—somehow—been responsible for that beating he took—how do you think I would feel about it?”
Pan sips at his drink. “I’m sorry. I withdraw the question. Whatever it was, it must have been very necessary.”
The two men sit in silence, sipping quietly at their drinks. After a while, Korie says, “Sometimes, I don’t like myself very much.”
Panyovsky nods. “I can understand that.”
They sit quietly a while longer.
Panyovsky is just pouring them each a refill when Mike sticks his head back in the door. “You want the scuttlebutt now? Or are you still in conference?”
“Come on in. Talk to us. What’s up?”
“Well—” begins Mike, perching himself on a stool. “Everybody wants to know how Rogers is doing. They’re genuinely concerned. It’s amazing how protective of him they are. I told them he was still in recovery, and probably out of danger, I had to tell them that much.”
A flicker of annoyance crosses Panyovsky’s face. Mike, the gossip. He sighs. “That’s all right. I just didn’t want the details discussed.”
“Oh no—anyway, captain’s got Wolfe in the brig. For his own protection.”
“Eh?”
“Oh, yeah—Rogers is the crew’s little pet now—uh—there’s a thing he did—” Mike breaks off, looking meaningfully at Korie.
Korie lifts one hand to wave it away. “It’s all right, I know about it.”
“About what?” Panyovsky asks.
“The tap into the console.”
Mike looks surprised. “You knew?”
“Rogers told me.” Korie explains to Panyovsky. “He accessed the set-ups for the drill simulations for the crew.”
“They cheated—?”
Korie shrugs. “I guess so.”
Pan looks speculatively at Korie for a half second, then dismisses the thought and turns back to Mike. “Go on, Mike. What else?”
“Oh, not too much more. I’d say their mood is pretty ugly. They were beginning to like Rogers—so now they’re mad as hell. At everybody. At Wolfe. At the captain. Barak. Even Jonesy got bawled out, I’m not sure why. Funny—it’s the first time in a week I’ve heard language like that without Mr. Korie’s name in the same sentence—uh, sorry, sir. No offense intended, but—well, you know what I mean—”
Korie smiles easily. “It’s all right.”
“Anyway—they’re pretty wrought up. I guess the best way to describe it is that they’re looking for somebody to kill.”
Panyovsky digests that for half a beat, then turns abruptly to look at Korie. Korie is remarkably impassive. Panyovsky stops himself from giving voice to the thought in his head. Mike, the gossip. “Uh—yah, Mike, thanks. That’s about what I figured they would feel—uh—” He turns to Korie. “You still want that sleeping pill?”
Korie nods.
“Mike—will you get me a couple Valex? Now, listen Jon, you’ve just had a drink, so do your doctor a favor and don’t take this pill for at least an hour. All right?”
Korie says, “I’m no dummy.”
“You probably haven’t had enough to make a difference, but different systems react differently, and I’d prefer to operate on the safe side.” He takes the capsules from Mike and passes them to Korie. “Let me know if you need anything else, Jon. I’ll be here.” He locks eyes with Korie. There is a moment of understanding. And then the moment is past, and Korie turns away with a mumbled thanks. Panyovsky looks after the departing officer with a troubled gaze.
Korie returns to his cabin and puts the two Valex in the disposal.
Then he lays down on his bunk again, wearing a thoughtful expression.
(Whatever is going to happen next,) he tells himself, (it is very important that I be nowhere near the bridge when it starts.)
He thinks about the status of the three psychonomies he has been juggling—the relationship with the other ship, the group dynamic of the crew of this ship, and his own internal psychonomy. He has done all he can for each of them.
There is nothing more to do.
Except . . . play it out to the end.
After a while, he dozes.
THIRTY-NINE
Nature abhors a hero.
—SOLOMON SHORT
Korie is roused by the alarm. His body is out of bed and racing toward the bridge even before his mind is fully awake. The raucous sound of the klaxon scrapes him into awareness.
It’s happening!
The bridge is panic and confusion—Brandt is standing before the Command and Control Seat demanding to know what is going on. Before him, on the big red screen, the wobbly has swollen to enormous proportions. At the astrogation console, Barak is screaming into a mike—“I don’t care what your instruments show—the damn thing just blew up like a—”
And Leen’s voice is a confused blur from a speaker: “—but the monitors are as steady as—”
Korie doesn’t stop for amenities. He crosses to Brandt, pushing him roughly sideways. “Goldberg! Initiate emergency unwarp procedure!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Goldberg snaps back, not even looking up.
Korie doesn’t have time to notice Brandt’s startled expression. “Barak, belay that noise! Jonesy, cross-vector and set up a non-standard evasion pattern. Don’t wait for recalibration after unwarp.”
“Huh—? Uh, yes, sir!”
Korie unclips his hand-mike from his belt. “Radec! We’re under attack. Set up a probability locus and initialize the proximity fuses. Set for automatic activation thirty seconds after release.”
An unfamiliar voice responds, “Huh—?” And, “Who is this?”
“It’s Captain Ahab, asshole! Now load that goddamn harpoon or I’ll nail your fucking hide to the mast!”
Startled looks flash his way—but suddenly the bridge is too busy for reaction—
“Kill that klaxon!” Korie whirls about. (My God! Willis! I completely forgot—) “You—!! Willis! Log this with everything you’ve got. And don’t screw it up!”
“Uh—uh, yes, sir!”
(—and hope for the best!)
“Korie! What are you doing—?”
“Sorry, Captain—there’s no time to explain. Al, if you’re not going to help, then get out of the way! That’s no fucking wobbly!”
The astrogator flinches, then bends to his board.
Korie studies the screen for a full second. Good. Just as he thought. He starts snapping new orders. “Reverse all field polarities on my mark, stand by.”
“Standing by.”
“Minus three—two—one—mark!”
The ship shudders momentarily—
And Leen is screaming through the communicator, “What the hell is going on up there!”
“Leen—this is Korie, and I’m in command, and you’re going to do exactly as you’re told, or I personally will come down there and separate every single one of your bones from every other one. Prepare for unwarp.”
“Uh—prepare for unwarp.”
He checks the bogie again—it still hasn’t changed course. (Probably—maybe!—we’ve moved faster than they can react!)
Brandt grabs Korie by the shoulder. “Is this another one of your drills—?”
Korie shakes loose, ignoring him. To the mike, “All right—don’t worry about the details—emergency unwarp—now!”
Another shudder and—
“Answer me, dammit! This is another one of your mind-games, isn’t it—”
“Drop the eggs!” Korie orders. “Three sp
reads of three.”
The ka-chunka-chunka-chunk of three missiles breaking free from the launch bay shudders through the ship. Brandt’s face goes white—
“Two!” Korie cries. Ka-chunka-chunka-chunk!”
Barak turns to stare. Jonesy too, astonished.
“Get back to your boards! Prepare to rewarp! Leen, have you got that?” He doesn’t wait for Leen’s “Aye, sir.” A quick glance back up to the screen and “Drop three!”
And as soon as he feels the solid ka-chunka-chunka-chunk, he calls, “Rewarp, now!” He strides forward to the helm and looks at the board over the helmsman’s shoulder. “Cover all sensors. Null polarity on those grids.” To the mike, “Radec, leave one eye open on the stress field! All radiation shields at full power!”
The screens are blank now.
The ship shudders once and a voice calls, “We’re back in warp—”
“Stand by,” Korie says.
And takes a breath. And then another one. And another.
Brandt is staring at him. Barak too. Slowly, other heads turn to look.
“What’s. Going. On. Mr. Korie?” Brandt is absolutely rigid.
Korie lifts up one hand, as if to signal time out. “Just stand by. Watch the screen—”
“There’s nothing there—not even the wobbly—”
“It’s all right. We didn’t have time to recalibrate. Just watch—”
“Counting,” says helmsman. “Fifteen seconds.”
Barak is standing now, “What was that maneuver, Korie?”
“All right,” Korie says. “He was coming in at us—I knew our only chance would be to dogleg just before we unwarp, so he couldn’t accurately fix a probability radius. But he had to be well into his own unwarp procedure already, so we at least could get a rough fix on him—”
“Thirty seconds—”
There is a flicker of light on the screen, then a second, then a third. “First three missiles into warp.”
To the mike, “Radec, is our warp coded?”
“Yes, sir—and scrambled. Those missiles won’t come home.”
“Thank you.”
Three more flickers of light appear on the screen, the second spread.
“But there’s no ship—”
“He has to be still unwarped. He would have dropped out just about the same time we did. Either way—”
All the men are staring at Korie now. What is he talking about?
The last spread of missiles climbs into warp. The missiles have only enough power for a short-range run in warp. But if they’re close enough—
“Our only chance,” says Korie, “was to drop our spread and be climbing back into warp before he could realize what we were doing. He might have been able to see us dogleg and unwarp—but I’m betting that he couldn’t react fast enough to—”
Barak is incredulous. “Is that what this is all about?” You still believe there’s a bogie—!”
“If I’m wrong, Al—we’ve lost nothing—except three spreads of missiles. But if I’m right—I just saved our lives!”
“It was only a wobbly—one of your goddamn Hilsen units probably threw a circuit—”
“We’ll know in a minute—look, the missiles are hunting—”
“That’s not an accurate scan—”
“It’s close enough for me.” Korie drops into the Command and Control Seat, staring intensely at the screen. Barak and Brandt exchange glances—is the man mad? Or what—?
“Five minutes—” says Korie. “He’s got to be within five minutes of us. How long have those missiles been out?”
“Two minutes, fifteen seconds.”
“No sweat yet—”
Brandt opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He turns resolutely and stares at the screen. He isn’t sure what to believe any more. Barak wants to say something but—he throws himself back into his seat instead.
“Two minutes, thirty seconds. Still running.”
And then—there’s a new flicker on the screen. “That’s him—he’s climbing back into warp!”
There is a stunned moment, an instant of time frozen, as if sealed in amber, as one by one, the men on the bridge of the starship Burlingame turn to stare at the single new point of light on the screen.
“No,” says Barak. It’s just our wobbly come back.” But even he isn’t sure.
From Brandt comes the question, “Did he drop his missiles?”
“Probably,” says Korie. “I don’t think we scared him that much that he’d forget.” Then, to the mike, “Stand by to change warp codes. Just let them get a fix on the old ones first.”
“We won’t see them till they go into warp—”
“Stand by with scramble evasion warp—”
“Standing by.”
“Three minutes.”
Barak is staring with a near-wild expression. There has to be some better explanation! “There’s no missiles, yet, Korie—” he says. “That’s no bogie. It’s just our wobbly come home again.”
“Sure, Al—that’s right. Be sensible.” Korie swivels to look at Barak. “But I don’t have to be sensible. I’m already mad. So I might as well go for the big one. I don’t have anything else to lose!”
Barak stares back at him. Almost regretfully, he says, “I never expected this of you, Jon.”
“Don’t teach your grandma how to suck eggs, Al,” Korie slaps the chair arm impatiently. “I haven’t got time for that one, now. Another couple minutes and we’ll all know the truth.” He swivels forward again.
The warp on the screen is steady—the Burlingame’s missiles are moving toward it, but uncertainly.
Someone says, “They’re having trouble tracking.”
“Not a good sign, Korie.”
“Shut up, Al—he’s probably doing evasions. But if we dropped them fast enough, they’ll find him before they power-out. They’re too close not to.”
“If he’s there.”
“There was a time when you wanted him too, Al—Unh!” That last was in response to a sudden burst of twenty-seven new points of light on the screen.
“Oh, shit! He dropped his whole load.”
“Recode and go!” To the hand-mike, “Leen! Give me everything you’ve got—I need fifteen minutes flat-out!”
“Aye, sir! You’ve got it!”
Barak is still staring at the screen. “He really was there!”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you? That he wanted to blow kisses at us and play tag! We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“Look—”
On the screen—the enemy missiles are veering toward their own—
“Oh, shit!”
“Shut up—” Korie thumbs his hand-mike and prepares to give an order. Then stops. Closes his eyes and counts. Then, “How many missiles have we got left?”
“Twenty, sir.”
“Damn. Barely enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to drop another spread.”
“You’re out of your mind. We don’t dare unwarp—”
There are three flashes of nonexistence. “First spread destroyed. They homed on the warps.”
“We don’t have any choice—if we don’t stop his missiles with something, one of them is sure to stop us. It’s dangerous—but have you ever heard of the Valsalva maneuver?”
“The experimental—?”
“Not even experimental. Theoretical. Won’t be experimental until they find a ship captain stupid enough to try it. Here we go—”
Another three flashes of nonexistence and the second spread of missiles is destroyed. “If he gets our last three, he’s still got eighteen left to hunt with.”
“Right.” Korie thumbs the mike. “Arm those harpoons, me swabbies! All of them. Set for hunt and code them to activate all on the same signal.”
“Huh—?”
“Just do it! Don’t question it.” He switches off in time to see the third spread of missiles disappear from the screens. “Eighteen le
ft. Here we go. How long till they close?”
“Three minutes.”
“All right, men—this is where we find out if those drills did any good. On my commands now—missile bay, start dropping your torpedoes now!”
“Huh—?”
“Who is this?!!” Korie roars.
“Dropping missiles, sir!!”
“Leen—?”
“Sir!”
“Stand for emergency unwarp—and then rewarp ten seconds later.”
“I don’t know if the generators can handle that—”
“There’s only one way to find out—”
They are interrupted by the sudden thundering vibration of missiles breaking free—KA-CHUNKA-CHUNKA-CHUNKA-CHUNKA . . . The sound goes on and on and on.
“Dropping missiles while still in warp?!!”
“By the time they get to the edge of the field, the field won’t be there—” Korie is counting silently.
“Last missile away—”
“Unwarp!”
A violent shudder of discontinuity and—
“We have unwarp—”
Korie cries—“Activate missiles!”
“Signal sent!” A beat. “Acknowledgment. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—and twenty! All gone!”
“Thank you, General Missile Corporation! Rewarp!”
And another shudder of discontinuity and—
Korie thumbs the mike again, “Mr. Leen! Get us out of here. Let’s run like hell!”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Field polarities?” asks the helmsman.
“It hardly matters. Any direction at all. Al, give him an evasion scramble.”
Korie stops then, and sinks back into the chair. He can’t remember when he stood up. He is gasping for breath, but he never takes his eyes off the screen. “Total elapsed time out of warp?”
“Seventeen seconds, sir.”
“We may have a chance. We may just have a chance.”
“I can’t believe it,” Barak is saying. “How could you know—?”
Korie turns to his astrogator and gives him his biggest possible cat-who-ate-the-canary smile.
The helmsman calls, “Missiles up and running. His eighteen to our twenty.”
“I’d sure like to see the look on that bastard’s face right now,” says Korie. “When he realizes what we’ve done—”
Starhunt: A Star Wolf Novel Page 25