Blood and Fire

by David Gerrold

  “Especially Danny?”

  “He’s always been the strong one. Today is my turn, okay?” He finished connecting the last tube, made some safety checks and looked to Korie. “Okay, ready to start?”

  Korie swallowed once, then nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Berryman turned on the machinery and activated the resonance field. Korie felt an uncomfortable tingling—but it was somewhere distant. Like it was in someone else’s body. He turned his head and saw Berryman holding Easton’s hand. They were whispering together.

  Then, Easton said, “Paul? Take my stinger.”

  “What for? To make more wavicles?” But Berryman’s tone said he knew exactly what for.

  “It’ll make me feel better.”

  Berryman made a face of annoyance, but he bent to the floor and pulled the stinger pistol off of Easton’s dropped starsuit. He held it up for Easton to see. “Okay, happy now?”

  But Easton was already unconscious.

  Berryman tossed the stinger aside and turned his attention to the display panel on the medtable. “Star Wolf? Here comes one.” He stepped around to the head of the gurney to help guide it toward the airlock. The effort was redundant, but he felt better doing it. Just before the table rolled through the hatch, he reached down and touched Easton’s cheek again. “See you on the other side,” he whispered.

  Berryman turned back to Korie. The executive officer was already fading out. He checked the displays on Korie’s gurney. Korie was doing fine too. Another few seconds and they’d be clear. “Star Wolf? Here comes the other one.” The second table rolled after the first. “All right, I’m ready for a taxi, any time—”

  Behind him, the sound of the repulsor field flip-flopped again. Berryman turned to look down the corridor of the keel toward the distant red gloom. A wall of wetness pulsed.

  “Uh-oh,” he said.

  Blood and Fire

  Parsons and Brik returned to the Command Deck, both looking grim. Brik had briefed the captain on what he had seen in the Norway’s records. The captain had listened without comment. When Brik had finished, she nodded politely, then headed grimly back to the Command Deck, just in time to hear Berryman’s unhappy remark.

  Parsons looked to Tor. “What’s happening?”

  Tor said, “The repulsor field on the Norway just went down—”

  Parsons bit her lip. “Who’s still over there?”

  “Korie and Easton just came through,” Tor reported. “Berryman’s the last. They just sent the last gurney across.” She glanced to her display for confirmation. “He just injected himself. Ninety seconds and we can pull him out—”

  As if in confirmation, Berryman’s voice came over the speakers, “Star Wolf—”

  Parsons looked to the forward display. So did the others. As the mission team had disrobed, Korie had hung two of the discarded starsuit helmets on hooks in the Norway’s Cargo Bay and placed the others on equipment racks around the chamber. Now, the view shifted from one camera to the next until HARLIE finally selected the one that gave them the best angle on Berryman.

  “Go ahead, Berryman,” Parsons said. She glanced to Tor and whispered, “Is this going out all over the ship?” Tor nodded.

  “The repulsor field is completely down. The bloodworms are coming through. They’re coming down the corridor. I can see them. They’re flowing like water. Not as fast though. There might be time. I’m getting on the gurney now.”

  Parsons briefly thought about cutting off the signal to the rest of the ship, then decided against it. That might suggest she didn’t think they would get Berryman off the Norway in time. And it would suggest a lack of trust. But ... if Berryman ran out of time, the effect on the crew would be devastating. Especially if everyone witnessed it.

  On the other hand, a terrible truth was preferable to a ghastly rumor. If Berryman died, the details would sweep the ship anyway. And a few overripe imaginations would do far worse damage to morale.

  No, she told herself. Stop thinking that way. We’re going to get him off. And everyone will see it and share the victory. That’ll be good for all of us.

  Throughout the Star Wolf, all nonessential work came to a halt as crewmembers turned to display panels and work-station screens. In the mess room, where Duane and Morwood were drawing the last two pints of blood. In the engine room, where Reynolds, still rubbing his arm, stood with Cappy and MacHeath. In the Med Bay, Bach and Wasabe propped themselves up blearily so they could see. At the Forward Airlock Reception Bay, where Williger worked feverishly on Korie and Easton—periodically, she glanced up to an overhead panel. As did the rest of her team. Only the Quillas worked without pause—all except Quilla Omega, who watched the images from the Norway intently.

  “They’re close enough now—I can hear them.” Berryman twisted on the gurney. “I can’t see them from here. But they’re a lot closer. They’re coming down the corridor. Can you hear them?” There was the sound of the resonance field under his voice—and a crackling sound too, a wet slobbery noise.

  “I’m not using the pain-blocker. I need to stay alert. I can feel the effects of the injection. It’s uncomfortable. But I can handle it. It’s only for a little bit.”

  The display started to glare red in one corner. A moment later, a glistening red ooze began creeping across the deck. HARLIE switched through camera angles again. There weren’t as many as before. The bloodworms were flowing over the discarded helmets, blocking the lenses. HARLIE settled on an image that showed only half the gurney. Berryman’s legs.

  “This is going to be a close one.”

  Berryman’s legs moved as the man twisted around to watch the oncoming tide of worms. The crackling noise was louder now.

  “God, they sound awful. They’re coming toward the gurney. Wait a minute—”

  A mechanical sound. The gurney moved out of frame. Almost immediately, a tide of slithering bodies came flowing after it.

  Berryman’s voice: “That was HARLIE. He moved the gurney as close to the hatch as he could. Maybe we bought a couple extra seconds. Ahh, this stuff hurts—they’re surrounding the gurney—”

  HARLIE cycled through camera angles again. Two angles showed the worms starting to fill the Cargo Bay like blood filling a basin. They lapped against the walls, ebbing and flowing with an uneasy tidal movement.

  “Danny, it looks like I might need your stinger after all.”

  In the Star Wolf ’s Forward Airlock Reception Bay, Easton was already scrambling up from his gurney, trying to reach the hatch behind him. Three Quillas had to grab him and hold him back. He was screaming, making incoherent noises. “Paul—”

  Williger was swearing as the tubes attached to his body kept yanking loose, spurting blood in all directions before their automatic cutoffs kicked in. On the other gurney, Korie watched helplessly, reaching but not able to touch, calling but not being heard. Ordering—but being ignored.

  “Don’t worry, Danny,” shouted Berryman. “I’m going to make it. I promise.” But his words were nearly drowned out by all the slithery noises. There were no camera angles that showed the gurney. Only the worms. “I’m getting real dizzy. That means it’s working. I might pass out soon, but the gurney is still working—and HARLIE is with me. I think they’re trying to climb the wheels of the cart. Star Wolf—better be ready to pull me over fast.”

  And then for a moment, nothing—except the distinctive sound of bloodworms.

  “Oh, damn! They’re on the gurney. Maybe I can—”

  Berryman’s words were covered by the sudden crackle of a stinger—a sharp snapping sound as the air vaporized in the beam. On the screen, an acrid flare of light, followed by a sudden wash of wavicles recoiling backward from the blast.

  Easton screamed. “Paul!! Come on!! Come on now!!”

  And Williger—she was swearing in some unknown language. She was pounding her control display. “No, no, no—goddammit! Look at the readings. He’s still carrying live plasmacytes. As fast as they die, they keep reinfecting.
”

  Easton was trying to get to Williger now, trying to reach her controls. The Quillas were struggling to hold him back and tie him down with restraints. “You bitch! Bring him over now! They’re going to eat him alive!!”

  “There are too many! We can’t pull him through. We can’t get him.”

  And then Berryman’s voice. “Danny, I’m sorry. I thought I had more time—oh, God. Forgive me!”

  And then—another stinger shot. A flare of white. A wash of sparkles. And silence. Only the liquid crackling of bloodworms.

  And Easton. Screaming. “No, Paul! No!”

  On the Command Deck, still leaning on the railing, still staring at the forward display, Parsons finally lowered her eyes. She didn’t want to look at anyone. She didn’t want to say anything. She didn’t want to exist. She wanted everything and everyone to just go away. And leave her alone.

  Tor’s voice. Gently. “Captain?”

  Parsons opened her mouth to speak. Her throat was too dry. She closed her mouth and swallowed. She turned and crossed back to her command chair very much aware of Tor’s eyes on her. She sat down and shaded her eyes with her hand. She felt terribly alone in the center of everything.

  The bridge was full of noise. Ugly wet noise.

  “Shut that damn thing off!” the captain ordered.

  The sound continued for a second longer—and then silence. Blessed silence.

  The Hull

  Captain Parsons lifted her head and gave the order. “Separate from the Norway. Do it now. Who’s on helm?” And then she realized. Hodel. She glanced around the Bridge. “Goldberg, take the helm. You’re acting helm until—until further notice.” As Goldberg moved to Hodel’s former station, she added. “Move us away from the Norway, but stay close enough that we can put a missile in her. If we have to.”

  As Goldberg worked, the image on the forward display shifted. The spars of the Norway were glittering with flickering plasmacytes. Everything glowed red in the crimson light of the bloated star. Parsons flinched at the bloodiness of the view. “Prepare a breakaway course to take us out of here. Put it on a ninety-second readiness hold. Mr. Brik—”

  The big Morthan turned to face her. He was standing in the Ops Deck, half a level lower than the Command Deck, but he was still eye-to-eye with the captain. “Aye?”

  “There are wavicles on the hull of the Norway.”

  “I noticed that myself.”

  “Let’s have a look at the hull of the Star Wolf, shall we? HARLIE?”

  The forward view shifted. The hull camera swiveled to look backward, down the length of the Star Wolf.

  For a moment, there was silence on the Bridge. The hull of the Star Wolf also glittered and sparkled. Just as much as the hull of the Norway. And over everything remained the oppressive orange cast of the red giant sun.

  “Well, that answers that.” Parsons looked to Brik. “As soon as Williger is finished with Korie and Easton, summon her to the wardroom. If Korie is coherent, I’ll want him too. And Commander Tor. And Jarell and Blintze. Have Cookie prepare sandwiches and coffee. I expect this is going to be a long one.” She touched her headset, adjusting it against her close-cropped hair. “Chief Leen?”

  “Captain?”

  “Can you sweep the hull with repulsor fields?”

  “We don’t have a lot of power left, Captain. It’ll take hours to recharge the fuel cells.”

  “We’ve got wavicles on the outer hull. Sooner or later, they’re going to penetrate.”

  “I can do a low-level sweep, but I can’t make any promises how effective it’ll be.”

  “Start it now. Then join me in the wardroom.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Parsons turned back to the forward display and waited. A moment later, a disturbance began rippling through the wavicles on the Star Wolf hull. A series of waves rolled slowly through them, dislodging them from the metal surfaces like dust being shaken from a blanket. The twinkling sparkles swirled away from the starship ... then swirled gently back again. Repulsor fields weren’t going to work. She frowned, grabbed her clipboard and headed toward the wardroom.

  Sitting down at the head of the table, she started making notes:1. Sweep wavicles off hull?

  2. Feed wavicles to singularity?

  3. What happens to wavicles in hyperstate?

  4. Suppressive resonance field?

  5. Wavicle pheromones? Lure them away?

  6. Pass through star’s corona?

  7.

  She didn’t have a seventh thought. She tapped her fingernail against the screen of the clipboard thoughtfully while two Quillas laid out plates of sandwiches and mugs of coffee. Williger entered then and sat down at the captain’s left. Parsons turned the clipboard so the doctor could see what she had written. Williger frowned as she read through the list. Then she picked up a stylus and added:7. Medical possibilities? Can “cure” be applied externally?

  8. Meat tanks as bait?

  9.

  She hesitated for a moment, then wrote something else at the bottom of the page.

  How much time do we have? How much time do we need?

  She handed the clipboard silently back to Parsons. The captain took a sip of her coffee as she looked at what Molly Williger had written, then she nodded. Korie entered and sat down gingerly. He looked weak. The captain passed him the plate of sandwiches and pushed a mug of coffee toward him, without comment. Then she shoved the clipboard in front of him so he could read it.

  Korie helped himself to a sandwich. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed and studied the page in front of him. He reached for his own stylus and added several thoughts of his own. As he did, Brik came in. Looming over the table, Brik had no problem reading the clipboard’s display.

  Chief Leen entered, looked around for a seat, noticed the empty seat next to Korie, hesitated—caught Brik looking at him—then took the seat next to Korie anyway. He peered at the executive officer curiously, as if reassuring himself that Korie was all right, then glanced to the clipboard. Korie passed it to him. Like the others, Leen pursed his lips into a thoughtful frown. He tapped at the second item.

  2. Feed wavicles to singularity?

  Next to it, he wrote:

  How?

  Jarell and Blintze

  Tor came in, followed by Jarell and Blintze. Leen glanced across the table at them, then pushed the clipboard back to Korie, who pushed it back to the captain. She looked at her notes, and at what the others had added. As soon as everybody was settled, she said, “You’re all aware that we have plasmacytes on the hull. How they got out of the Norway is part of the problem. Because they may be able to get into the Star Wolf the same way.” She tapped the clipboard meaningfully. “We don’t have a lot of possibilities to consider, do we? Unfortunately, that doesn’t simplify the problem. Usually, when we enter a situation, we have a much broader range of choices. We have very few options here. And none of them are workable.”

  “We’ve done more than any other ship,” said Tor.

  “Which only means we’re operating way, way out beyond the limits of what everyone else knows,” Parsons replied. She rubbed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “We have resolved one part of the plasmacyte question—can we safely extract human beings from an infected environment? We now know the answer to that is yes. But the larger question—can we do it without infecting the extraction environment?—remains unanswered. It may be that we have no cure at all here, only a method of delaying the inevitable. In a controlled situation, where the wavicles are isolated inside a containment field, then perhaps extraction is feasible and safe. But this latest development only proves the wisdom of FleetComm’s standing order against attempting rescue.” She looked to Blintze and Jarell. “I am assuming that you can provide some useful insights to this problem?”

  The two men glanced at each other. Jarell looked grim. Blintze was more apologetic. “You’ve seen my files. So you know that the normal form of the plasmacyte is the wavicle.
Harmless, attractive. But it’s been changed somehow, so that it can’t sustain itself, and it turns into bloodworm spores. The bloodworm is a specifically-designed mutation, created as a doomsday weapon. We believe the losers turned it loose upon their own world to deny the victors access to the prize they’d fought so hard to win. The planet remains uninhabitable. It was a war that both sides lost.”

  “Commander Brik has briefed me on the material in your logs. We’ve decrypted most of it—”

  Jarell spoke up then, deliberately interrupting. “Fleet Command was particularly concerned about the possibility of bloodworm infection as a military threat.” He glanced meaningfully at Brik. “Does he have to be here, Captain Parsons?”

  Parsons raised an eyebrow. She glanced over to Brik as if seeing him for the first time, then looked back to Jarell. “He’s my chief security Officer. Is there some problem, Mr. Jarell?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Are you suggesting that one of my officers is not trustworthy?”

  “Captain Parsons, no Morthan is trustworthy.”

  “Commander Brik has proven himself in a number of situations. I have the fullest confidence in him.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “Commander Jarell, I respect your rank and your authority—but please do not question the loyalty or the integrity of my officers again. I will consider such remarks a violation of code.”

  Jarell lifted his hands off the table and showed his palms, a gentle push-away gesture. He nodded his concession with an empty smile.

  “Please proceed,” Captain Parsons said coldly.

  Jarell took a breath. “As you wish.” With a sour glance in Brik’s direction, he continued, “Our mandate was to investigate the possible military use of the bloodworms and what defenses might be effective against them. Toward that end, we were directed to develop means of containment, control and neutralization. We accomplished all three of those goals. Our mission has been a success.”