Ship's Log

by Lawrence P White

  It must still be here, cloaked. They were setting him up.

  As he stared at the screen, his respect for the Harbok went up a couple of notches. They were cagey, and he was in very, very big trouble.

  But he was an Earthman. He could be cagey as well. Could he beat them at their own game?

  His eyes darted from ship to ship, estimating trajectories and capabilities, looking for a way out, looking for a miracle. His hand froze above the keys as a thought flickered through his mind, a thought he latched on to and considered. A gleam lit his eyes as the radical idea fleshed itself out. He needed a better vantage point.

  Greg punched keys feverishly. The screen slued sideways, then down as he experimented with different vantage points. He finally positioned himself above all the other ships so that he looked down on a large portion of the solar system from a position well above the plane of the ecliptic. His vantage point was quite a long way out, how far he did not know, but it did not matter. There, spread out below him, were all the players, their course lines tying them together like the threads of a tapestry. His ship was the red circle in the center. The position of Arlynn’s baseship, the green square, was still unchanged, probably because it needed to wait for him. He believed that Arlynn’s message, which was still going out over the radio, would have informed them that an untrained Earthman was flying the ship. Her baseship would have no choice but to wait for him.

  Of the six fighters dispatched to assist him, three continued toward him. The other three were headed back to their baseship. The lone Harbok fighter was slowly angling in from below to intercept. The position of the Harbok baseship was unchanged, but only because the computer did not know where to put it. It had appeared well below the plane of the ecliptic, and Greg suspected it was headed for Arlynn’s baseship, though it had the option of going for him as well.

  His idea solidified further in his mind. Earlier, he had changed his flight plan to go faster and had felt brave making that slight change. But what if he really changed things? What if he changed his destination? What if he angled upward toward some randomly chosen point far out in space? Since he was the prize, everyone would have to follow. The Harbok fighter, or fighters, behind would be forced to angle up with him, and they would have farther to go before catching him. Arlynn’s three fighters would also angle toward him, but they would be cutting the corner. They would end up chasing him from the side rather than head on, which would enable them to join with him or, better yet, to engage the Harbok from the side before reaching him. The Harbok baseship might be left totally out of the picture, depending on how fast it could go and how soon it had turned in their direction. At the very least, Arlynn’s baseship would be between himself and the Harbok baseship. That would force the decision on who the Harbok would go for – they would have to focus on the baseship.

  Was he being selfish? Did he want to pull the baseship into this? A baseship’s purpose would be like that of an aircraft carrier. Its fighters were there to protect it, not the other way around, but in this case, the mission might come first. He believed the baseship’s mission was to get the science behind the cloaking device to Arlynn’s people. That science was probably more important than one ship, even if it was a big ship.

  He went to work with a vengeance. As scary as the whole idea was, the encroaching jaws of death provided all the impetus he needed to head out into the unknown. Selecting precisely where he wanted to go took longer than he wanted, but he forced himself to go through all the steps carefully. A major blunder at this critical point could prove deadly. His only recourse being trial and error, he selected a point directly above his present position but well out in space, established his course line, then laboriously did the same for the Harbok fighter behind and Arlynn’s three fighters ahead. No good, the Harbok fighter got there first. He repeated the process several times during the next hour until he got a solution that was close, then he punched the ‘execute’ button.

  His ship immediately changed direction, and he sat back to wait for the others to respond. Ten minutes later, the Harbok ship showed a change of course, but the better part of an hour elapsed before the green fighters turned. His distance to them was still so great that there was a considerable delay while the energies of the drives crossed the gap.

  He spent the next two hours fine-tuning his course to garner the most advantage he could from his plan. During that time, the computer showed Arlynn’s baseship and its three remaining fighters getting underway and heading out to join his new flight path.

  After pushing the ‘execute’ button for a final slight course improvement, Greg took two more aspirin and curled up in his sleeping bag on the floor of the bridge for a well-earned rest. His last look at the tactical display centered on the blinking Harbok baseship.

  * * * * *

  Aboard Arlynn’s baseship, Kannick watched the consequences of Arlynn’s ship making the course change with a sense of awe. Suddenly, the admiral had choices to make where none had been possible before. She could hold her present position; she could simply leave; or as she chose, she could go to Arlynn’s assistance. Going to Arlynn’s assistance placed her ship in jeopardy, an unthinkable act with a baseship, but though unorthodox, he was proud of her decision to rescue Arlynn.

  He would like to have credited the surprising maneuver to Arlynn, but he knew that not only was she out of the picture in cold sleep, she would never have put a plan like this into effect. It contradicted all norms because it drew the baseship into the battle, a risk she would never have considered.

  So, who had executed the maneuver? It seemed utterly unlikely that Arlynn could have foreseen events and programmed the ship to make the course change on its own. That left only the Earthman, Greg Hamilton. But how could an Earthman do such a thing? Such a perfect thing?

  Kannick understood the strategy right away, even though it was not a strategy he would have considered any more than would Arlynn. He and his people never purposely fought, and that’s what this strategy was all about. His three fighters would be able to engage the single Harbok fighter now and keep it occupied while Arlynn’s ship escaped. His men might not take out the Harbok fighter, in fact they would try not to take it out, but they could keep it tied up. His baseship was now clearly between Arlynn’s ship and the possible Harbok baseship. The potential for a real battle suddenly loomed. There had never been a battle between baseships. He and his people were not even certain Harbok baseships could fight.

  His own duty suddenly clarified. His fighters might be called upon to defend the baseship, something they had only simulated, not actually done. He put his crews on alert and notified the admiral that he would be ready if needed.

  Her response was predictable. “Prepare the ships, but do not launch. We do not want to antagonize the Harbok. Unless we threaten them, they have no reason to attack us.”

  “Very well, Ma’am. We’ll be ready,” he confirmed.

  * * * * *

  Greg slept like a log for ten hours and awoke with a roaring headache and a sore throat. For the first time, he became concerned about his health. This was no time to be sick. He forced down a light breakfast, followed by more aspirin, then he headed for the bridge.

  He studied the real-time display briefly, then he punched up the flight-planning mode and was encouraged by what he saw. The intercept angles were working. In fact, the three closest friendly fighters had altered their courses slightly to join with the Harbok fighter instead of him, giving him a tiny bit more breathing space. The intercept angles were small enough that the three fighters would be able to engage the Harbok from the side.

  The other three friendly fighters had apparently gone back aboard the baseship while he slept. The baseship’s rendezvous with him was quite a bit beyond where he would join the first group of fighters owing to its late start, but that was okay. Surely the friendly fighters could keep the Harbok busy long enough for the baseship to join up.

  He had hoped the lone Harbok would simply give up and tur
n away. The fact that it had not done so added fuel to his belief that it was not alone. He would have to spend more time with the simulator. It looked like he might need it.

  His main concern now was himself. He was sick, and medical help lay half the solar system away. He did not get sick often. Consequently, he did not deal with illness very well. He usually just excused himself from humanity and went off to be alone until he was better.

  That was not an option now. The fighting would begin in a few hours. He might only be a spectator, but he had to be ready just in case. With the stakes as high as they were, he needed to be at peak efficiency, yet here he was with a good case of strep, or something equally obnoxious. What bad luck. He had not been around anyone who was sick during the past week, at least not that he knew of, except Arlynn. And she had a Harbok bug . . .

  He sucked in a short breath, calculating. She had become ill several days after going into the Harbok base, the only place where she could have picked up the bug. It was now several days since she had become ill. If this bug worked fast, if it had an incubation period of only a few days, then . . . No! He would not jump to conclusions. He would not.

  But he did, of course. The facts fit entirely too well, and it would be foolish to ignore them. He had what Arlynn had, plain and simple, and there was no cure. She had been able to arrest the disease only by taking the cold sleep medicine. That was not an option for him, certainly. As similar as they might be on the surface, he and Arlynn were aliens to each other. Her medicine would more likely kill him than help him.

  There was no solution to this problem, at least not one he had any control over. Even after he reached her baseship, it was unlikely they would be able to help. They would need lots of time to study his body before formulating a cure.

  Despair settled over him like a cloak. Concern for events outside the ship evaporated. What did it matter? It wasn’t fair. The thought of dying didn’t bother him as much as did the fact that it was so unfair. He had done well up to this point. To have all the glory snatched away by some alien microorganism breeding rampantly throughout his body was just too much. And to top it all off, he really felt lousy. He shuffled aft and retrieved his sleeping bag, then he curled up in the command seat to stare despondently at the brightly colored symbols on the screen.

  Later, he found himself wondering about the others racing to their appointed meeting with him. What were they like? What were they thinking? What were they doing right now? Arlynn’s fighters were probably manned by five or six crewmembers each, including women if he understood her culture correctly. They were probably waiting tensely for the battle to be joined. This would be the hardest time, the waiting. Were they running battle simulations, honing their skills, testing weapons? Would they still be alive tomorrow? The three fighters would be the primary players for their side, their purpose to protect him by destroying the Harbok fighters, or at least take the heat off him until their baseship came within range.

  And the Harbok. Giants. What were they like? They were the enemy for the moment, but he did not dislike them or wish anything bad on them. Instead, he wanted to meet them, learn who they were. What were they doing on Earth anyway? How long had they been there? Why did they sometimes expose themselves, creating UFO scares? Were they testing us, or were they trying to frighten us? Were they playing upon our fears as if we were some dumb animal, or what? He had no answers to those questions.

  And the ship chasing him—was it alone? If so, with odds of three to one—four to one counting him—theirs was a desperate attempt to protect the secret of their cloaking device. More likely there was more than one ship back there. They were probably coolly calculating how and where they would spring their ambush. Would they try to sneak right up on him, invisible, before blasting away?

  Why did this even have to happen? From the hints Arlynn had given, it sounded as if the whole mess was just a mistake. The loss of life to come seemed unavoidable but needless. Such a waste! He could never support war just for its own sake. Possibly individual battles, he wasn’t sure. This one was inevitable. Each side had legitimate reasons for being here, but the simple fact remained that a good long talk between both sides might resolve the issues in a positive and permanent manner. The players were all in position because their civilizations needed them here, but he had never personally met a warrior who wanted to fight. Quite the opposite in fact. Most professional soldiers would go to almost any reasonable lengths to avoid conflict.

  He wanted to avoid the conflict, but even more, he wanted to deliver Arlynn to her people. If he failed, she would die. Was there anything he could do to stop this? He felt his interest rekindle as he examined the idea for possibilities, wondering if he could find some way to prevent what was ahead, or failing that, to at least go out in style, to somehow make a more positive statement for the two of them.

  His eyes wandered from ship to ship on the screen, looking for a way to get their attention, to send up a white flag of truce just long enough to make a deal. He shrugged off the sleeping bag with a sense of determination. So far, he was only sick, not dead, and who knew – maybe the bug wasn’t fatal. Maybe his body would fight it off. He still had a goal, and he still had a promise to live up to, his promise to get Arlynn and her bag of secrets to the baseship.

  Then he wondered if he could, perhaps, do even better than that. Maybe the Harbok would talk to him, and through him to Arlynn’s people. He had wanted to get all three parties together from the very beginning. Could he? What kind of a signal could he send the Harbok?

  He got up from his seat and shuffled back to the communications console where the blue light still shone. Arlynn’s message was still going out, repeating itself over and over again. What had she done to send the message? He racked his brain, but none of the switches and buttons in front of him meant anything. He couldn’t even find a microphone. He sat down in the seat and let his hands brush lightly over the keys around the blue light, but no sense of rightness came to him. With a scowl, he sat back in the seat to let his mind search for other ways to signal.

  Could he pulse the drive in Morse code? No. If he slowed down, he would be placing himself right into Harbok hands. That was not asking for a truce, that was surrendering. He banged his hand on the table in frustration, but that failed to produce any miraculous results either. He envisioned an old bi-plane drawing a message with smoke in the skies over Earth, but he could hardly do that up here. He even considered putting on one of the space suits, going outside and waving his arms or flashing a light or something, but aside from the obvious technical difficulties, the idea terrified him. Besides, the other ships were still hundreds of miles away.

  He was beginning to feel again like the ignorant animal he really was, caught up in events beyond his control. Then his eyes looked forward past the three empty pilot chairs to the screen. There, a complex display of ships and sophisticated trajectories filled the screen, all of it etched into the background of the Milky Way and its billions of bright stars, dim galaxies, and hazy nebulae.

  The person he had been four days earlier looked upon the display with wonder and some disbelief. Did I do that, he asked himself? Can I have learned so much in such a short time? A very smart ship played a big part, but the strategy on the display was his very own plan. Every person, every ship occupied its place here because of the choices he had made. The idea staggered him, though on reflection he knew that every one of those ships and people were after him too.

  Well . . . not really him. He wasn’t that important. They were after the gray bag.

  He found himself looking out at space, real space, beyond the computer-generated symbols to the stars beyond. He had not really paid much attention to the stars since leaving Earth. He had been so focused on the computer displays that he had unconsciously filtered out the raw view of the star-filled background on the screen.

  There’s so much here, he thought, standing up. So much to see, so much to learn, an endless variety of places and aliens to meet. Some of
them were close by, yet he couldn’t even communicate a simple message to them.

  “I want to be a part of it!” he shouted angrily, feeling cheated.

  The screen responded with a sudden flurry of activity around Arlynn’s baseship. A yellow rectangle appeared in front of the green symbol of her baseship, just far enough ahead to be out of laser range. Little yellow circles quickly spewed from it, though they disappeared faster than he could count them.

  The Harbok baseship! No longer just a probable, it had snuck up on Arlynn’s people and launched a fleet of cloaked fighters.

  Her baseship immediately changed course, turning away from the attackers, and also turning away from its rendezvous with him. Its shield began glowing with hits as the attacking fighters closed within firing range. Yellow circles briefly appeared, fired, then disappeared.

  He left the communications console and returned to his seat, waiting impatiently for some defensive response from the baseship. Long minutes passed before it returned fire. He watched as first one, then another Harbok fighter lit up with hits, then disappeared. He could not tell if they had been destroyed or just re-cloaked, but he suspected that anyone unlucky enough to encounter a baseship laser would probably find its shield overwhelmed.

  Her baseship appeared to be retreating at full speed, but because the Harbok had attacked from in front, it could not completely avoid flying into the swarms of fighters. Could it launch its own? Its shield glowed constantly. Surely any launches would have to be preceded by lowering its shield, perhaps even shutting it off. He watched with growing dismay as the flickering yellow circles of Harbok fighters engulfed the baseship, firing almost at will, only occasionally finding themselves targets of its powerful lasers. How long could it sustain this onslaught? Could the Harbok fighters’ relatively puny lasers breach the baseship’s shield?