STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS

by David Bischoff

  “Tars Northern was also your copilot. You and he cohabited for a time. You created a few zygotes together for the state, did you not?” Andrew said, and there was a touch of the sardonic in his voice: unusual for a machine, or a projection of a machine, or whatever the hell he was, Chivon thought. “An expert manipulator of your sensory capabilities, Tars Northern. A tireless and kind and virile—”

  “Manipulator!” Chivon interrupted loudly. “That’s the word. Captain Tars Northern definitely knew his way around machinery, software or hardware. He knew so much more about the Starbow than I could have ever dreamed of knowing … and he learned it so quickly. Dr. Mish would say something that … that was like an alien nonsense language, and Tars had but to ask a few questions and he could assimilate it. Even,” she said, pouring more brandy, “even when he was drinking.” She looked at the amber liquid in the glass. “He was manipulating me when he promised that we were a team, always, as long as there was a Starbow to copilot.”

  “But surely that agreement terminated with the somewhat spectacular cessation of the project, when he began seeing what was happening to the other Al ships. And you were so involved at the time with your work with the Friends, your political connections through Zarpfrin, the project administrator. When Northern made his decision, is it not true that you were on the other side of Earth?”

  “I never thought he would betray the Federation. Why was I so blind, Andrew, why did I not take precautions? Zarpfrin specifically requested such, and his wisdom fell upon deaf ears. Why?”

  “Because,” said the holo-projection in a soft voice, “you were in love then with Tars Northern, as you are now.”

  “No!” Chivon shrieked. She hurled the glass at the specter, spilling liquid over the carpet. The glass went through the holo-projection and bounced off the seat’s padding. Her face contorted. “No!” And then she caught herself. She straightened and looked at Andrew. “Such a word is not used by CompComps, Andrew. At least not in such a context. And if you see vestiges of such an illusory and decadent emotion in your fleshly charge, is it not your duty to bring to bear the proper deconditioning procedures?”

  “Proper initial analysis is always necessary, Friend Lasster,” replied Andrew in an even voice.

  “You say that very glibly, Andrew. Too glibly. I think that we should talk further, or perhaps I should have your memory scanned for faults. Now let me ask you Andrew, my trusted CompComp”—she said the words through clenched teeth—“how do you know that word?”

  Before Andrew could answer, the communicator in Chivon Lasster’s apartment chimed. Chivon flicked it on. The vu-screen revealed the image of Overfriend Zarpfrin.

  “I want you back at headquarters, immediately,” he told her. “We have a very interesting development with this Laura Shemzak business. The Ezekiel was attacked by a group of Star Hounds. Agent Shemzak infiltrated the Star Hound vessel. However, a pirate was taken captive. She’s being transported to Earth. We need to plan our methods of interrogation … and you need a full debriefing.”

  “On my way,” Lasster said.

  Star Hounds! she thought. Why, that could mean that—

  She ran for the door, forgetting to turn off the communicator, forgetting to turn off her computer. The projection of the CompComp that Chivon Lasster called Andrew watched her leave.

  “I know the word, Friend Chivon Lasster,” he said solemnly, standing up. “I know the word, because I know you.”

  He turned off his extension, and the ghostly holograph instantly disappeared.

  Chapter Twelve

  Navigator Dansen Jitt had calculated a two-day run to Shortchild. After an examination by Dr. Michael Mish, Laura was granted limited run of the starship’s facilities. When she was not assigned to blip-ship duty, Laura often had sophisticated weaponry fitted inside her, useful when on assignment in the field. Thankfully, the weapons had been removed in preparation for her attachment to the XI Mark Nine; God knew what the Star Hounds would have done if they’d discovered that kind of stuff hidden inside her.

  When she’d asked how limited her wanderings would be, Captain Northern had been curt but specific. “Anywhere you can go without an indentipad.” Indentipads, it seemed, were implanted in the palms of the crew, especially coded to give access to certain areas of the ship. This aroused Laura’s curiosity no end. Why would sections be restricted? Laura rapidly discovered that, besides many rooms in the main body of the Starbow, she also could not enter the radii that extended to the peculiar pods surrounding the craft.

  Since the crew people obliged her questions only at the meals she shared with them, and then only begrudgingly, Laura grew rapidly bored and decided that she would occupy her spare time by finding a way to enter a prohibited area.

  The area she chose turned out to be the quarters of Shontill, and she finally gained entry during one of its sleep cycles. Had anyone explained to Laura what Shontill was like during a sleep cycle, she might have been more than satisfied with her ennui.

  In her days working for the Federated Empire, Laura Shemzak had encountered her share of intelligent alien life, to say nothing of the bizarrely unintelligent. Life in the Milky Way galaxy, it seemed, was every bit as plentiful and richly varied as early human visionaries had dreamed it would be, even before the first man set foot upon the moon. Almost every star system had life on one of its primaries, carbon—or silicon-based, unicellular or exoskeletoned or the practically limitless varieties of possibility.

  Laura had seen the Eyebats of Rigel III, danced to the music of Beta Centauri’s Drumbeasts, and shared the Carbon Dioxide Sacrament with the MindLungs from Betelgeuse IV. But she had never before encountered the likes of the alien that the crew of the Starbow called Shontill.

  Opening the door was child’s play. Laura had selected the door—situated in the port quarter, out of the way of the crew and their industrious robots—because it felt different. She scanned it, went back to her cabin, assumed a lotus position, and tranced out her detail analysis. She then peeled back the skin from her forearm and adjusted her blip-ship communication ports. When she returned to the door, she flipped back her finger tabs, jacked in, and issuing the code that unlocked the door.

  It hissed open.

  Laura quietly stepped in.

  The first thing that hit her was the smell: a trace of sulfur in a rich broth of oxygen and other gases. Though the mix was obviously not harmful to human beings, it was definitely not Earth standard.

  The room was dimly lit by lamps scattered about beneath vines and foliage. After her spartan cabin and the bare hallways, Laura felt as though she had stepped into the hydroponics section … but she knew that these were like no plants normally grown for food and gas exchange on a starship. The red-purplish leaves stirred with her passage, as though cringing away from her. Something rustled in the darkness above her head.

  A sense of wrongness raised goose bumps on her skin. The room had an oval portal opening onto other rooms with different-colored lights, like a tunnel through a gas floral womb. The scents of many flowers wafted in the air.

  In the next room the walls glowed with a faint phosphorescence, like some sea cave. One side of the room was occupied by a large tank. Bubbles drifted up languidly. Seaweed-like fronds rooted in a murky mud drifted over a large form floating in the liquid.

  Curiosity drew her closer.

  The form stretched out two meters horizontally. It had a roughly humanoid shape, though definite features could not be discerned because of a mucous cocoon that surrounded it. Fascinated, Laura looked closer into the tank. Was that a head? she wondered. Just what was Captain Tars Northern keeping in here, anyway?

  Suddenly Laura Shemzak found herself staring eye to something like an eye. Despite her training, she froze, hypnotized. A long tentacle erupted from the liquid and curled around Laura’s midsection, lifting her off the deck. As she fruitlessly struggled, the thing p
ushed itself up, and its head reared over the edge of the tank. Razor-sharp fangs glimmered in the soft light.

  “Erughrhghhhgh,” came a gurgling noise that sounded like a combination of anger and hunger.

  Laura, to her extreme shame, realized that she was screaming.

  The tentacle shook her, squeezing the breath from her.

  “Who … are … you?” the thing asked in a froggy voice, bringing Laura closer to its face, which looked like something from the ooze of an alien sea. Its features were shifting, rearranging into something almost human.

  It was Laura’s turn to emit nonsense sounds. She felt as though her eyes were about to pop from their sockets.

  “Perhaps if you released your grip a tad, Shontill,” someone said from the shadows, “she might be able to answer you.”

  A light snapped on.

  Instantly filmy green nictitating eyelids dropped over the alien’s eyes.

  “Well, go ahead, Shontill,” said Captain Tars Northern, “Eat her if you want, but your digestive tract, heavy-duty as it may be, is going to have some problem getting around some of the junk the Federation stuck inside her!”

  “You … are … fortunate,” the alien said. Its tentacle dragged Laura closer, and its foul breath washed over her. “I … awake … famished.” In contempt, it tossed her head over heels toward Tars Northern. Northern nimbly stepped out of the way, allowing Laura to land, sprawling, in a bunch of plants.

  “Are you all right?” Tars Northern asked, helping her out.

  Laura was not all right. She was terrified, trained reactions overwhelmed by her unexpected encounter with the giant alien. She grabbed Northern and clung to him, gasping for air. He was strong and warm, and he did not push her away. He patted her back softly, stroked her fine short hair, comforting her.

  Abruptly she realized what she was doing.

  She pushed him away. “Get your stinking hands off me!” she shrieked, still not in control of her breathing. She backed to the wall, staring suspiciously at both Northern and the newly awakened alien.

  “I suspect, Shontill, that the inorganic parts of her aren’t the only tough bits,” said Tars Northern in a maddeningly casual way. “As long as you are up, Dr. Mish wants to speak to you.”

  The alien had … changed. Standing outside the tank, its tentacles more closely resembled arms and legs now, its face had a nose and a mouth, and the eyes looked more human. Still it was big and ugly and golem-like. Still it was a monster.

  “This … human female … belongs to your brood hive?” Shontill asked bluntly. “I thought … Captain Northern … that you preferred … meatier specimens … with more intelligence.”

  “Hey! Listen, muck face,” Laura cried, at last. “I don’t belong to this guy, and I want to tell you that if I had a blaster you’d be eel bait now! I’ve caught prettier things fishing in swamps!”

  “Captain Northern,” said Shontill, with a steady bass throb, “should this … bothersome human female … prove unsatisfactory … to your needs … biological or otherwise … and you wish … of her to dispose … may I have … the exquisite pleasure … of rendering her … manure for my … horticultural projects?”

  “If you think your plants can take it, Shontill. Now be a sport. Your sleep cycle was almost over, and Dr. Mish does want to speak with you.”

  With a grunt and an evil glare toward Laura, the alien lumbered off, tracking a slimy liquid behind it.

  “Tsk, tsk,” said Northern. “Poor Shontill is a bother to our cleanup crew after his sleep cycles.” He turned and faced Laura. “Now, as to you—”

  “You were watching me,” she said. “Watching me all the time!”

  “Well, of course! Do you expect us to leave you, a Feddy agent, loose without some kind of precautionary surveillance? And now that you’ve proved your untrustworthiness, you will be confined, under guard, to your cabin until we reach our destination tomorrow.”

  She fixed him with barely controlled fury. “Wait a moment. If you were watching me … you knew what was in store for me inside this room. You knew I might have been—”

  “You weren’t, were you?” Captain Northern grinned. “Besides, Shontill’s troll image is such an act. Inside, he’s a pussycat.” Northern laughed. “A hungry pussycat sometimes, true, and as vicious as alien pussycats come, but all in all a pussycat.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like …. What planet does he come from?”

  “Someplace far away, dear girl, and since you have shown yourself to be totally unreliable, why should I, clearly a remarkably canny individual, trust you with one of the biggest secrets of the Starbow? Hmmm?”

  “It was … you who watched me,” Laura said, calmer now, considering. “Surely a captain of a large starship has more important things to do.”

  “You know, you are perfectly correct,” said Captain Tars Northern, striding up to her, hands at his sides. “But then, leisure time is so important to one’s sanity, is it not?”

  He snapped his fingers. Three robots walked in and surrounded Laura Shemzak.

  “Take her to her quarters and make sure she does not leave,” he ordered. “Oh, and, Laura, can I give you a very important bit of advice?”

  “What?” she asked sullenly.

  “You might think about growing your hair a little longer. You’d look a little more presentable that way.”

  On her way Out, Laura Shemzak used a word that Tars Northern was surprised to learn she knew.

  It made him laugh, but only after a long pause.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cal Shemzak stood somewhere in a maze.

  “All in all,” he said, sitting down to rest, “I think I’d rather be in New Philadelphia.”

  The maze did not respond. Nor did the Jaxdron he knew were listening.

  He lifted his head from between his knees.

  “That’s a goddamned joke, guys! I read it in some twentieth-century book. Can I hear some applause for my efforts? Would you at least acknowledge my existence?”

  Cal Shemzak realized he was screaming at the top of his lungs. His throat hurt from all this senseless screaming at the aliens. He decided he should stop for a while. “I’ve been in this stupid maze for hours now. Do I get fed, or is food what I’m supposed to find? Is that the game, guys?”

  He’d woken up inside this crisscrossed, twisting affair of corridors after what had felt like a long sleep. Time was immaterial here … even more so than usual, Cal thought, chuckling to himself at the odd interplay of reality and concept.

  A bright red arrow had pulsed before him. He had followed it because he’d nothing better to do. At certain intersections of halls in this maze were games of various complexities. The deal was, Cal Shemzak soon realized, that if you figured Out how to play the game and then you won the game, a door would open. Whether or not these doors led anywhere special was yet to be seen; Cal had mastered the games and taken the passages, and still he was lost in the maze.

  “You jerks won’t even feed me, huh?” he muttered crossly. “I work my butt and my brain off for you, and you don’t take the time even to dish out some of that awful nutrient slop you’ve been giving me.”

  That’s what the Jaxdron who’d visited him in his cell had been doing: delivering his dinner.

  A roil of protoplasm, a shake of pseudopod, a lowering of slop dish, and then the thing was gone.

  Or anyway, Cal Shemzak assumed that the deliverer of the food (which tasted like gravy-covered oatmeal) was a Jaxdron. Ugly fellow. The problem with that assumption was that it might not be true. The Jaxdron might have hired help.

  “I gotta tell you guys, this is the worst diet I’ve ever been on!” He picked himself up and trudged onward.

  Around the next section, on the wall next to the outline of a closed door, was a screen with symbols on it. Two sets of parallel lines, intersec
ting: X’s and O’s.

  “My God, I just don’t believe it,” said Cal Shemzak. “You guys want me to play tic-tac-toe. You want a genius in quantum mechanics to duke it out with a child’s game. Well, just stuff it, okay? I’m not going to.”

  Around the next bend was a table and a chair. Upon the table was a bowl of food with a spoon sticking out.

  “You guys have got a sense of humor,” Cal Shemzak said, sitting down to his dinner. “A weird one, maybe, but a definite sense of humor.”

  For some reason, the nutrient slop tasted great.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Milky Way galaxy is a magnificent spiral. A hypothetical viewer placed light-years above its elliptical plane would note trails of trillions of stars, sparkling arms swirling out from the incandescent hub. Throughout this spectacular firework of the universe, which moves in a counterclockwise fashion, lie nebulae and clusters, sparks shedding off the arms, and the whole is suffused with a glow of spectral softness.

  The Second Earth Empire, a.k.a. the Federated Empire, a.k.a. the Federation, occupied a very small section of space in comparison to the Milky Way galaxy. Nonetheless, it held dominion over a thousand occupied worlds. The Free Worlds comprised perhaps three hundred planets; the number changed constantly, because of their relationship to the Federation and the encroaching Jaxdron. Most of these worlds lay far from the core of Federation space, thus making the best use of distance, much as the American colonies did in revolting against Great Britain.