The Middle of Nowhere

by David Gerrold

  Korie awoke when his oxygen alarms went off. He was down to thirty minutes air supply. He’d been asleep for two and a half hours. “Oh, shit!” he said. He hadn’t meant to allow himself such a long rest. He unstrapped himself from his seat and headed back to the Star Wolf.

  He replaced his air tanks in the cargo bay and headed for the engine room. Chief Leen was supervising the reinstallation of the last singularity grappler. Korie floated up next to him.

  “How bad?” he asked.

  Leen shook his head. “If it works, I want a Heisenberg trophy.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Korie.

  “Spare me the old jokes,” said Leen sourly.

  “Sorry,” said Korie. “For what it’s worth, I’ve already written you up for a serious recommendation.”

  “I’d rather have a good stiff drink.”

  “That can be arranged too. You’ve got two kegs of moonshine behind the scrubbers. As soon as the ship is repressurized, you can open one.” Leen looked at him, surprised that Korie had such accurate knowledge of his inventory. Korie ignored it. “It’s been aging for two weeks, that should be enough, shouldn’t it? Now tell me about the stardrive.”

  “Can’t test it,” Leen said gloomily. “I don’t know that it’ll work. This was all done by hand. We had to jack those grapplers into place and secure them with hand-clamps. We lined them up with lasers. Maybe they’ll hold. She passed the preliminaries. We’re checking secondary calibrations now. I don’t think she’ll pass, if she does I’ll be surprised. But we have no way of focusing any tighter, so you can forget about fine-tuning. We lost our last venticulars when the traps went off. We didn’t dare take them out, we’d have made the imp suspicious, or triggered a deadman trap, and you traded away our spares, so you’ve got no call to complain. The only calibrators we have left are junk. And we’re working without alignment tubes anyway, so it’s a moot point.” He made a sound of disgust and disbelief. “If she works, we’ll be running with a very loose focus. You’ll have lousy control. She’ll skid like an ice cube on a griddle.”

  “Good. That’ll make us harder to hit. What kind of speed?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Either we’ll slide or we’ll grind. There’s no in between.” The chief added, “I’m thinking of applying for a transfer.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t want to be on a ship where the CO treats his engines like this.”

  “Oh,” said Korie. “You didn’t tell me you wanted to live forever. I wish you had. I would have planned things differently.”

  “I’m serious,” Leen said. “Give me one good reason why I should work my butt off for you, if this is what you do to my engines.”

  “One reason? Okay. You’ll never find a CO who will challenge your engineering skills as completely and as thoroughly as I will. You’ll never be on a ship again where you’ll have to solve problems this impossible. You’re not fooling me, Chief. You like playing superman. Any other ship, you’d die of boredom.”

  “Don’t tempt me. I don’t mind dying. I just don’t want to do it today.”

  “You’re welcome to get off here,” said Korie. “But you’d better do it soon, because—”

  His headphones chimed. “Mr. Korie?” It was Tor. “We have a bogey.”

  “I’m on my way,” he replied. “Sound the alarm.” To Leen, he said, “Heat those tubes. We’re going to find out how they work the hard way. You can finish quitting tomorrow. I may go with you.”

  “If we live,” muttered Leen, already pulling himself down to his workstation.

  Watching

  Korie was last to arrive on the Bridge. He had the farthest to travel, and he had to go through the valve-lock in the keel. He swam up through the Ops bay and up onto the Bridge, where he strapped himself into the captain’s chair quickly. He began pulling off his helmet.

  Work lights had been strung across the Bridge, and three of the consoles had been detoxed and reactivated. Brik was already in his chair, speaking to his headset. Korie unclipped his own from the side of his chair and listened to the chatter for a moment; then he called to Tor. “ETA?”

  “Three minutes. We’ve got a bearing.”

  “How big is she?”

  “Big. Very big.”

  “Can you be a little more precise than that?”

  “That’s as precise as I can give you. It’s possibly a juggernaut.”

  “We never get the little ones, do we?” Korie said to himself.

  “The starboat’s ready,” reported Goldberg.

  “Sounds good.” To his headset: “Chief?”

  “We’re ready. We’ve got forty percent and rising.”

  “That’s better than I hoped for. Thank you. Prepare to initiate warp.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Korie was already leaning forward, ready to give the next order, when Tor spoke quietly. “We’ve got a second bogey.”

  “Where?” said Korie.

  Tor held up her board for him to see. A small white dot was arrowing inward from a high starboard angle.

  “What the hell—?” he started to say, then caught himself. “My God, it’s the Houston.”

  “She got her fluctuators working!” said Tor.

  “It was that last load we sent over. Dammit! We should never have given her those spares! She’s making an attack run—”

  “She’s going to get creamed—” said Hodel.

  “Belay that,” said Korie.

  They watched in silence as the small white dot converged on the larger pink one. Suddenly, the pink blip disappeared. A second later, the white one too.

  “They’re dropping missiles,” Korie said.

  “They don’t have a chance,” said Brik. To Korie’s sharp look, he explained, “They don’t have the range. The Morthan missiles have three times the running distance. They can’t get in close enough.”

  “There they are,” said Tor. “The Houston’s back in hyperstate.”

  “Can they outrun the Morthan birds?” asked Jonesy.

  “No,” said Brik, with finality. “They can’t.”

  “They’re going into evasive patterns—” Tor reported.

  “It won’t work,” said Brik. “It will only delay the inevitable.”

  “You’re a lot of help,” said Tor, annoyed.

  “Can you pick up the missiles at all?” Korie asked her.

  “Not at this distance. Not with a passive lens. Maybe if we could open a hyperstate window . . .?”

  “No, I won’t take that risk.”

  “I didn’t think so,” said Tor.

  “There’s the Morthan,” said Hodel. “What’s he doing?”

  Korie peered over Tor’s shoulder at the display. The Morthan ship was moving rapidly to overtake and pass the Houston. “He’s power-loading his bubble. He can do that for about thirty seconds. It’s very dangerous.”

  The Morthan ship pulled ahead of the Houston, went a little farther, and then dropped off the screen again.

  “They’re doomed,” reported Brik. “He’s dropping another spread. He’s got her bracketed.”

  “Shit,” said Korie. They watched helplessly. The white dot continued to skitter back and forth within an ever-narrowing circle of probability. For a moment, it looked as if it were going to escape. It raced suddenly upward—

  —and then abruptly vanished.

  “They’re gone,” said Jonesy, unnecessarily.

  After a heartbeat, Brik spoke. “On the plus side,” he said, “the Morthan juggernaut may now believe that was us they destroyed.”

  To the others’ uncomprehending looks, he explained, “They knew there was a ship here. That’s what they were looking for. They found a ship and destroyed it. That gives us a small strategic advantage.”

  “You know . . . ?” Korie said abruptly to Brik. “Remember when I said that there were times that I don’t like you and times that I really don’t like you? This is one of those times when I really don’t like you.”


  “Thank you for sharing that,” Brik said dryly.

  “Let’s hope they believe it,” said Hodel, pointing at the display, trying desperately to get the subject back on purpose.

  “Would you?” asked Brik.

  Tor interrupted. She pointed at her screen. “There they go. The Morthan is back in hyperstate. He’s heading in again. ETA is now two minutes.”

  “Well, there’s your answer,” Korie said. “He doesn’t believe there’s only one ship out here either. So much for our small strategic advantage.” He turned forward again and gave an order. “Jettison the dolly.”

  Good-bye Dolly

  “Roger that,” said Goldberg. He unclipped a plastic cover on his board and flipped the red switch beneath it. Something went thump at the aft end of the vessel. “The dolly is free,” he reported.

  Korie looked to Brik. “Tell me that we fooled the imp. Tell me that it went through the docking harness and trapped itself in the dolly.”

  Brik stared impassively back at Korie.

  “I didn’t think so,” Korie said ruefully. He turned forward again, “Wake the boat, Mr. Goldberg. Send the signal.”

  “Roger that,” Goldberg said, and flipped the next switch over. “The starboat is now tracking.”

  “Distance?”

  “Three kilometers and widening.”

  “Too close. We’re cutting it too close,” Korie said. “We should have jettisoned her earlier.”

  “You wanted to upgrade her programs one more time,” said Brik.

  “So call me a perfectionist.” To Tor: “Where’s the bogey?”

  “She’s coming in almost straight toward us—wait a minute. She’s dropped out of hyperstate.”

  “Too far away!” Korie almost came out of his chair. “What the hell is she doing?”

  “Not giving us room to shoot back,” said Brik. “She’s dropped a spread of hunting torpedoes. She’ll be gone in a minute.”

  “If she doesn’t see something blow up, she’ll come back—”

  “Then we’d better blow something up. She thinks she’s found the Stardock.”

  “Goldberg?”

  “Starboat is seven kilometers away.”

  “We’re going to get fringe effects,” warned Brik.

  “Unavoidable. Now hear this. Secure yourselves. We’re going to get brushed by a hyperstate fringe.” Korie wished he could wait just ten seconds more, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t dare. “Trigger the boat.”

  “Done,” said Goldberg, simultaneously throwing the third switch on his board. He tossed it aside. “The boat is now triggered.”

  “Nothing’s happening,” said Tor.

  “It was always chancy,” agreed Korie. To his headset. “Chief, stand by to run like hell.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Tor—and then reality flickered for a moment as—

  —Carol was with him and Timmy and Robby and they were—“Oh, Jon, I’m so scared!” He reached for her and—

  . . . came back to consciousness quickly, it wasn’t as bad as the last time, the first time. It wasn’t a big field, it hadn’t been too close, and besides they hadn’t been enveloped themselves, so there were no internally reflected effects and so this wasn’t as bad, it wasn’t as bad, if only it had lasted just a moment longer—

  The lights were flickering back on.

  “Starboat away,” gasped Brik.

  “And?”

  “Just a fucking minute,” mumbled Tor. She picked up her jury-rigged board and banged it once on the console, then looked at it again. “I’ve got the boat.” Then she added, “The bogey is still down.”

  “They’ve got to have seen the boat by now.” To Tor: “What does the boat look like?”

  “It looks like... nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s got the weirdest signature.”

  “That’s the torpedoes. They’re not designed to work with so much power.”

  “They’re going to burn out,” said Goldberg.

  “The boat is closing... closing . . . The boat is down,” reported Tor. “The signature just went out.”

  “How close did she get to the bogey?”

  Tor shook her head. “Halfway. Maybe.”

  There was silence on the Bridge. Korie rubbed his nose, his forehead. He ran his hand through his hair. They waited. The moment stretched out.

  “Anything?” asked Korie.

  “Nada.”

  “They had to have seen the boat,” he repeated to himself. “What are they doing?”

  “They’re probably trying to figure out what it was,” said Tor. “Its signature was bizarre.”

  Korie rubbed his ear. “Maybe,” he admitted. He tried to imagine the situation from the Morthan side.

  Here’s a bleep from a probe. A suspected location for Stardock. Fast attack in. Drop out of hyperstate, drop a spread of hunting missiles, and—something makes a run at you, then disappears from your screens. What do you do? Hide? Or fight?

  He looked to Brik.

  Brik shook his head. No comment.

  Tor was looking back to them both, a questioning expression on her face.

  “We wait,” said Korie.

  “How long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “Those hunting torpedoes are coming this way,” she reminded.

  “Yep,” agreed Korie. “Mr. Goldberg, drop the package.”

  Goldberg pulled a second board onto his lap. He unclipped the plastic cover and flipped an arming switch, and then pressed a launch button. Again, they felt a thump through the metal of the ship, through their chairs. This one wasn’t as large as the last one.

  “ETA for the hunting torpedoes?” Korie asked.

  “Seven to ten minutes. If they have a fix. Twenty to thirty if not.”

  “That’s what they’re waiting for,” Brik said. “For something to go boom. They need confirmation of the kill.”

  “Something will go boom real soon now,” Korie agreed. “Goldberg? As soon as the package is three kilometers away, arm it. Now hear this. Stand by to power-down. Total power-down in fifteen seconds.” To his headset: “Chief, this means you too.” To Tor, he ordered: “Keep your lens open, shut down everything else.” Korie leaned back in his chair, readjusted his safety harness. He glanced at the time. Six minutes. Maybe less. Maybe more...

  Waiting

  “Is it getting cold in here?” asked Tor.

  “It’s your imagination,” said Korie. “It takes a lot longer than this to lose heat.”

  “We’ve been powered down for an hour and a half.”

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Good. Just remember, as uncomfortable as you are, it’s worse for the imp.”

  “You think so.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Those torpedoes are overdue.”

  “They’ll get here. Goldberg?”

  “Sir?”

  “How’s the package?”

  The package was eight hyperstate warheads in a bundle. They had been pulled from their own torpedoes, and kept under twenty-four-hour guard, suspended in the center of the cargo bay and surrounded by motion detectors. They were detoxed daily. They were presumed clean. They gave off signals resembling an attempt to shield Stardock-like activities. Homing torpedoes wouldn’t search for mass, but noise, so the Star Wolf had to be as inert an object as they could make it. They needed the torpedoes to aim for the package.

  “Package is still alive,” said Goldberg. “Nothing yet.”

  Korie turned to Brik, “Tell me you found the imp.”

  Brik looked impassively back.

  “It knows,” Korie said impatiently. “I swear to Ghu, it knows. All of our plans, everything, no matter how careful we’ve been—handwriting all our orders, using one-time code pads, detoxing, securing, isolating, spacing—it still knows. I’m sure of it. Somehow, it found out.”

  “That is a possibility,” said Brik. “And even if it isn’t a possibility, that�
��s still what it wants you to think.”

  Korie shook his head in exhaustion. “There’s a limit to just how deep a head game I can play, Brik. My brain hurts.” He shuddered, partly from the cold, partly from the strain. “I think it’s waiting till we get back to the real Stardock. What if all the traps it set off are decoys?”

  “There isn’t much left it can do,” Brik said. “We’re dead.”

  “The package just armed itself,” said Goldberg quietly. He was listening to his headset. The package had given off a distinctive bleep.

  The Bridge went silent.

  “Torpedoes approaching. Three torpedoes. ETA in ten seconds . . . five . . . three . . . one . . .” He put his headset down. “The package is gone.”

  “It went off!” said Tor. “We saw it on the lens! Multiple spikes!”

  Korie exhaled softly. “Okay, okay...something went boom. Maybe, they’ll believe it was the Stardock.”

  “They’ll come looking,” said Tor.

  “They don’t dare,” said Korie. “Where’s the boat?” To his headset: “Chief, the package went off. Prepare to power up.”

  “The boat is coming back online!” Tor reported. “The program worked!”

  “Of course, it worked. I wrote it,” said Korie. “What’s it doing? Dammit, can we get the main display restored?! !”

  “It’s charging the last known position of the bogey. Its signature is larger than ever. It looks like some kind of superjuggernaut. Closing... closing... closing... it’s down again.”

  “Mm-hm. Good.” Korie explained, “You can only run those torpedoes so long and then they burn out. We run them for fifteen seconds and stop, it looks like a monster warship making an attack run. The other side doesn’t know what it’s doing when it drops out of hyperstate. They have to assume it’s doing the same thing they just did—dropping a spread of hunting torpedoes. Watch your board, Tor. Fifteen... ten . . . five. . . .”

  “There they are! They’re running!”

  “Gotcha, ya sonsabitches!” Korie exulted.