Blood and Fire

by David Gerrold

  Silence for a moment, while the mission team as well as the officers still on the Star Wolf considered Korie’s words.

  “The issue isn’t contamination any more,” said Williger. “I think we have to assume the whole ship is contaminated. The real issue is whether or not we can rescue anybody. And until we know the nature of the contamination and how to protect against it—if it is indeed dangerous, which so far we haven’t seen—then it’s premature to worry about rescue. Our first priority here has to be speed—finding out what we’re dealing with.”

  “In other words,” said Korie, “you’re voting for throwing out half the procedure book?”

  “Yes,” said Williger without hesitation. “I am. We tried caution. It didn’t work. Now let’s go for expedience. I vote for cutting the hatch.”

  “Captain?” Korie asked.

  “As I said, Mr. Korie, it has to be your decision.”

  “I understand that. I just want to hear what everyone else thinks. Brik?”

  Brik’s answer was curt. “Cut it.”

  Korie allowed himself a smile. “Couldn’t you have said that in fewer words?”

  “Cut,” said Brik.

  Korie wasn’t sure if Brik had understood that he was joking or if his reply was dead serious. Never mind. He had a consensus. He turned to Easton. “Open it up.”

  Cutting In

  It didn’t take long to cut the hatch open.

  The team stepped back out of the way and Easton used his rifle to slice away the entire hatch frame. The cutting beam dazzled and flared. Their helmet filters blocked the brightest spikes of light and their starsuits reflected the heat, but occasional small flaming drops of polycarbonite impurities went spattering away in all directions and nobody wanted to risk a burn-hole from standing too close.

  The twinkling wavicles danced away from the cutting beam, but there were more of them here suddenly, drawn by the heat and energy of the process and simultaneously repelled by the intensity of it.

  Finally, the hatch and the frame around it fell away with a dull clatter on the deck; it sizzled where it fell and wisps of smoke rose up from the hole in the bulkhead as well as from the ragged and blackened edges of the fallen piece. Smoldering embers sputtered and crackled on all the cut edges.

  “We’re through,” Korie noted dryly. Of course, they would have already seen that on the Bridge of the Star Wolf; they were monitoring everything—but the log required that the onsite personnel acknowledge every step of procedure. It was a requirement—in case a postmortem became necessary.

  Bach unclipped a fire-extinguisher hose from the wall. She pointed the nozzle at the smoldering hatch and released a plume of cold steam. The twinkling wavicles in the path of the industrial mist flickered out abruptly.

  Despite his suit insulation, Korie felt abruptly cold. Bach played the spray all over the hole in the bulkhead several times and then stepped in closer and sprayed the fallen hatch as well. Satisfied, she switched off the stream and stepped back to the bulkhead to secure the hose. As the air cleared, the sparkling wavicles came dancing back brightly.

  Korie nodded to Shibano, directing him through the hole first. He held his rifle before him, tracking from side to side in quick covering movements—very professional. Easton followed, and a moment later signaled back, “It looks clear in here, sir.”

  “I’m coming through,” said Korie, and followed. Bach, Berryman and Hodel came after him. The mission team proceeded aftward with cold military precision, each one stepping into the footsteps of the one ahead, each one covering every access panel, every hatch, every ladder, every step of the way.

  “Any data yet on the wavicles?” Korie asked.

  “HARLIE’s still processing,” Williger said bluntly, cutting off all further discussion. “When we have something, we’ll tell you.”

  She knows, Korie thought. Something was gnawing at the base of his memory, a half-forgotten story about ... something or other. Something red. Something deadly. But, these twinkling lights—they were more like something out of a fairy tale than anything else.

  Korie didn’t answer.

  From here, it was only a few short steps to the access ladder to the Fire Control Bay. Shibano followed Korie and Hodel up through the bay, forward a few steps and up again onto the Operations Deck, the command center of the Norway. The view from his helmet camera filled the forward display on the Bridge of the Star Wolf, where Parsons, Brik, Tor and Williger watched with grim expressions.

  Korie climbed up to the starship’s Ops Deck and immediately turned to look up and behind. The Command Deck was unoccupied. Vacant. Empty. That was possibly the most disturbing thing they could find.

  He turned around slowly, surveying the rest of the Norway’s Bridge. Like the Star Wolf Bridge, it was a narrow chamber, arranged around a lowered center—the Ops Deck. To the rear was the Command Deck, raised up like a mezzanine, directly over the half-submerged Fire Control Bay. The empty captain’s chair sat in the middle of the Command Deck, flanked by two other seats. There were raised workstations along each bulkhead and forward was a wall-sized display. Almost identical—but the fittings were different, and so was the interior color scheme. Captains were allowed some leeway in how they outfitted their ships. Most chose to use their planetary colors. The Norway had muted stripes of red and blue, highlighted with occasional bands of white.

  Shibano edged past Korie, moving toward the Helm station at the forward-most part of the Ops Deck, stopping suddenly in surprise and dismay. “Sir—!”

  Korie stepped forward, so did Hodel—and coming up behind them, Easton, Berryman and Bach. Their various helmet cameras sent back a multiplicity of images—all were horrific.

  Sprawled half out of his seat, half on the floor, as if he’d fallen while trying to get up, was the desiccated body of a man.

  The uniform was ripped and torn. The body was disfigured—mummified. Blackened with dried blood. Frozen in a position of horror—or agony. His skin was stretched and sunken—mostly pale, almost white, but discolored everywhere with darker patches of bluish purple and black. The eyes bulged. The hands clenched. This had not been an easy death.

  “Look,” said Hodel, waving his rifle.

  Everywhere, there were tiny lines in the body—they looked at first like wrinkles, but they weren’t; they were slits in the skin, as if it had been stretched to the point of shredding. The body looked like something horribly alien—and at the same time, frighteningly human.

  Discovery

  Shibano backed away quickly, bumping into Berryman who was stepping in to see. From behind, Berryman put his hands on Shibano’s shoulders and moved the Weapons Control Officer firmly sideways.

  Berryman’s demeanor was strong and professional, as if he’d seen things a thousand times worse than this. He hadn’t, but his curiosity about the circumstances of the man’s death outweighed his personal feelings of revulsion. He was already unclipping a poly-scanner from his toolbelt. He pointed it at the body—and hesitated.

  He looked to Korie, holding up the scanner. “Is this all right?”

  Korie looked from the scanner to the body. “I don’t think he’ll complain. Go ahead.”

  “Wait,” said Berryman. “Let me get pictures first. Star Wolf, are you copying?”

  “Affirmative,” came Williger’s voice—oddly strangled.

  “Poor bastard,” Hodel murmured.

  “Now we know who sent the distress signal,” Bach said.

  “If it was him,” Korie remarked, “then where are all the others? And if it wasn’t him, then why didn’t the others respond to our signal?”

  “Ready to scan,” Berryman said.

  Korie motioned everyone back. He wasn’t sure why. It just felt like the right thing to do. Even Berryman moved back and recalibrated his scanner. He pointed it at the body of the dead crewman and touched the green button.

  For a moment ... nothing happened. Then—

  —the corpse began to jerk. Writhe. Shake. It s
huddered and twitched and wrenched itself momentarily upright, snapping its arms and legs as if suddenly possessed—

  All of them stepped back again, involuntarily, as if the dead man had come back to life and was about to leap for them. Gasps of surprise came from Hodel and Easton.

  Then the body came apart. Fragmenting, breaking into dusty pieces. But not yet falling. Twinkles of light came exploding out of the broken joints, the tattered skin, the myriad breaks in the flesh—all the sparkles came pouring out in all directions, like a miniature nova—

  And then the corpse did collapse—what was left of it crumbled to the deck, shattering into more sparkling dust.

  “My God,” said Bach. “What is it? What happened here?”

  “The wavicles ...?”

  “We don’t know,” Korie said. “Let’s not speculate. What we’ve seen is demonstration enough.” He turned to Berryman. “What kind of readings did you get?”

  Berryman shrugged. “Mostly noise. Mostly garbage.” He pointed to the readout panel on his suit arm. “That thing was mummified. This shows no blood, no liquid of any kind—as if it were all drained out.”

  “Vampires. Space vampires ...” said Hodel ominously.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Berryman snapped at him. “Nobody believes in that crap—”

  “Stay on purpose,” interrupted Korie. He turned to the helmsman. “Mikhail, there are times when you are very funny. This isn’t one of them.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  Turning, Korie noticed that Shibano was still focused on the crumbling remains of the dead man—horrified. Shibano’s culture had some very strong feelings about death. Despite his ferocity at the weapons board, Wasabe had obviously never seen death up close. Now, he was paralyzed. Korie turned him gently away. “Wasabe? Shibano! Go. Download the log—now.”

  Shibano nodded, dumbly. “Aye, sir.” He stepped over to the communications console—and stopped. “Mr. Korie?”

  Korie turned—and saw for the first time that the console was disabled, destroyed; it was almost cut in half. The panels were scorched and charred.

  “Over here, too,” called Hodel. The helm console was similarly disabled. Slashed by fire.

  “All the work stations are out,” said Bach. “Stinger beams.”

  Korie stepped from one console to the next, confirming what he already knew. He stepped up onto starboard deck. All the workstations here were cut to ribbons. Dead and useless. On the opposite side of the Bridge, he could see the same degree of damage.

  The Norway had been deliberately disabled.

  “Mr. Korie?” Captain Parsons’ voice rang in his ear. “Have all the workstations been destroyed? Confirm please.”

  “That is correct,” Korie said. “The Bridge of the Norway has been ...” Korie searched for the right phrase, “... dismantled by the aggressive application of stinger beams. This ship isn’t going anywhere. Someone wanted her to die—” He looked over to see Bach picking up a weapon. She held it high for him to see. She inclined her head toward the corpse, what was left of it. Korie acknowledged her with a nod of his own. “—probably the poor bastard we found at the Astrogation console.”

  Korie lowered his voice. “My guess is that he wanted this ship unable to break orbit, so she’d be destroyed when she passed through the flames of the red star. Probably he didn’t want to risk any other ship being infected. That means, somebody else sent the distress signal. Either after he did this—or before. One motivated the other. There must have been considerable panic aboard this starship.”

  Parsons didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was curiously devoid of feeling. “Get the log of that ship, Korie. Now.”

  “Aye, Captain. We’ll have to pull a direct line. I don’t want to risk transferring the orange box. We’ll dump it into a transmitter.”

  “Do it,” she ordered. “Now.”

  Warning

  Back on the Bridge of the Star Wolf, the mood was grim. Nobody had to say it. No one believed the mission team would return from the Norway. They were watching dead men. Five dead men and one dead woman.

  Unless and until the chief medical officer determined what those wavicles really were, they couldn’t be allowed to return. The Star Wolf couldn’t risk being infected.

  “Captain?” Commander Brik’s voice was low and gruff.

  Parsons stepped to the forward railing of the Command Deck and looked down at Brik’s workstation. “Yes, Mr. Brik?”

  The Morthan security chief pointed at the schematic view of the Norway on his display. Parsons saw what he was indicating and her expression hardened.

  “I think you should take a look at this. These readings are very ... strange.”

  Almost simultaneously, HARLIE said, audible on both vessels, “Mr. Korie—something is moving toward you. Multiple somethings.”

  On the Norway, Easton was studying his scanner. “I’m reading it now too.”

  Beside him, Bach, Wasabe and Hodel drew their stingers.

  Easton looked up from his display and pointed aft and upward. “It’s coming from—”

  Before he could finish the sentence, the hatch on the Command Deck popped open, and a desperate figure came clawing through it, a crewman in torn uniform, gasping and choking, floundering like a drunk, his face blotchy and deformed. He came flying—stumbling forward in a cloud of sparkles; he careened off the captain’s chair, bumped into the forward railing and tumbled headlong over it, thumping heavily to the deck below, releasing an even greater spray of twinkles and lights. They splashed through the air, they skittered across the floor.

  As experienced as they were, the members of the mission team were startled. The security officers took cautious steps backward. Only Berryman approached, his medical training outweighing his instinctive fear. He stepped forward quickly, instinctively bringing his scanner up and focusing it—stopping himself only at the last moment. He tossed the scanner aside and bent to the affected man—he was twisting and moaning across the deck, sending out wave after wave of sparks. His name-badge identified him as OKUDA, M.

  Berryman grabbed Okuda’s wrist, feeling for his pulse. The man’s heart was racing, his pulse-rate was frightening. His skin was twitching as if there were things moving around just beneath the surface. Flashes of color moved over his body as he coughed out his life. “You’re too late! They’re all dead! Everyone is dead! You’ll see! You’re next! You’re next!”

  Korie’s face remained expressionless, but beside him, Bach recoiled; even Shibano flinched.

  What they saw was relayed directly to the Bridge of the Star Wolf. There, the reaction was less restrained. Tor’s hand went to her mouth and an involuntary “Oh, my God!” escaped her lips. Parsons looked ashen. Williger mouthed a word that was inappropriate for the Bridge of a starship. Jonesy closed his eyes involuntarily. Goldberg’s expression tightened—he was clenching his teeth behind pursed lips. Only Brik remained dispassionate. He had seen worse—but he would never say so.

  Parsons took a sideways step and touched Williger’s shoulders gently. “What is it, Molly?”

  Williger shook her head, a silent reply. She didn’t want to say. She didn’t even want to guess. And even if she could guess, it wasn’t something she would say aloud. Not here. Not now. Not where it might be overheard.

  She watched grimly as Berryman began checking Okuda’s vital signs without the benefit of a medical scanner. She could tell he felt at a loss, as he moved his hands from the man’s heart to his neck. Berryman didn’t know what to look for, and he wasn’t sure what he could do in any case. He’d never seen anything like this before. Shaking his head uncertainly, he reached for a sedative-injector.

  “Berryman?” Korie asked.

  Berryman shook his head, a gesture that could have meant anything from “I don’t know” to “He’s dying,” and probably included both. He touched the injector to the man’s neck. A soft hiss sounded. “Here,” he said gently to Okuda. “This will ease the pain.”

>   It didn’t work. Okuda wasn’t eased. Instead, he started twitching and shuddering even more frantically, desperately trying to escape. “Oh, no! It’s happening! Oh, please, no—” He looked desperately to Berryman. Seeing no hope there, he twisted toward Bach and Shibano. “Kill me! Oh, God, please kill me!” He jerked suddenly across the floor as if something was dragging him—from the inside. He pulled himself up, almost standing again, pushed himself off, as if he were continuing on his desperate journey, but before he could get any further, he clutched his belly and screamed—a dark red stain began spreading across his torso. Bright flares of firefly twinkles shot out from his body. “Kill me! Quickly! God damn you!”

  Bach took a step backward, to keep out of his way. Somehow she had detached herself from the horror—long enough to say, “Star Wolf, your mysterious life forms are here. An injured crewman.”

  Brik’s reply was immediate—and disconcerting. “I’m not talking about the crewman. The life forms are still moving toward you.”

  Dead

  Korie looked to Bach. She looked back at him, startled, then looked to her scanner—it was relaying the readings from the Bridge of the Star Wolf.

  This was all the distraction that Okuda needed. He leapt sideways and grabbed the stinger pistol off Hodel’s tool belt. Hodel twisted to stop him, but he was too late, and his turning motion helped Okuda more than it hindered him. He staggered backward, clutching the weapon to his chest and—as they turned in horror—he disintegrated in a multicolored burst of heat and fire.