Shibano leaned back in his chair, twisted slightly as if he were turning, and then leaned forward again as he steered the robot back to the aft airlock of the Norway.
The Hatch
“Okay ...” said Shibano. “We’re here. Isaac is waiting at the Norway’s aft Airlock Reception Bay.”
“Hold it there,” said Korie, pulling off his VR helmet. He looked across to Parsons. “Captain?”
She stepped over to his position. She bent her head close to his and spoke in a low tone. “What is it, Mr. Korie? Problem?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have an itch?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“Can we bring the robot aboard?”
Korie hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Parsons straightened. She nodded aftward. “Talk to me.”
Korie followed her into the forward keel. She leaned back against one side of the passage, he leaned back against the opposite side. It was a common way for two individuals to chat aboard the starship—it still left room for a third person to pass between them. “Okay, what’s going on?” asked Parsons.
“I don’t know. I mean it,” said Korie. “For the first time, I honestly don’t know.” He tried to gesture with his hands, describing an empty space between them. “See—always before, I knew. I had certainty about things. I could speak with authority. I knew the logic. I knew the way the machines worked, the way the intelligence engines thought, even sometimes the way the Morthans were setting their traps. I could see it—as clearly as if it were a blueprint projected on a display. But now, all of a sudden, I can’t. It’s like I’ve gone blind.”
“Dr. Williger says that you’ll be feeling aftereffects of the process for a few days—”
“No,” said Korie, a little too quickly. “This isn’t that. This is something I was starting to feel before then ...”
Parsons waited without speaking. She studied Korie but gave little indication of what she was thinking.
Korie looked down at his shoes. He dropped his hands to his sides. He sagged, shrinking within himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. A croak. “It’s Hodel. And Berryman. Their deaths. It was my fault. Everything that went wrong on this mission—it was my fault.”
He glanced up to Parsons, hoping for a cue—hoping for absolution; but the captain held her silence. Korie’s gaze dropped to the deck again.
“You asked me where we should dock with the Norway. I said the nose. That was wrong. Once we were aboard, it was immediately obvious that I’d guessed wrong. I should have brought the team back. I didn’t. I miscalculated the effect of the scanners on the plasmacytes. I got the team infected. I didn’t realize the danger of the bloodworms—and Hodel died. And in the Cargo Bay, I should have gone last, but I didn’t—and Berryman died. I screwed up, Captain.”
Parsons waited a moment, to be sure that he had finished. Then she said, “And now you’re waiting for me to tell you that no, you didn’t screw up, because I’m the captain, I take responsibility, I authorized you to board, and I stand behind you, right? You used your best judgment and all that?” Parsons shook her head. “Well, don’t hold your breath, because I’m not going to give that speech. Yes, you did screw up. Did you learn anything from the experience?”
“I used my best judgment and it wasn’t good enough.”
“That’s right. Anything else?”
“I’ve been arrogant and overconfident in my ability to outthink a situation.”
“Yep, that’s true too. Anything else?”
“I’m a jerk. I haven’t been listening to what people are telling me. I’m too full of myself.”
“Nope. That’s not true. Spare me the self-pity. I don’t have time for it. Now, tell me—why can’t we bring the robot aboard?”
“Because ...” said Korie, slowly and intensely. “I screwed up! My judgment can’t be trusted anymore!”
“Ahh,” said Parsons, as if a great secret had been revealed. “Is that all?”
“Excuse me?” Korie blinked.
“Self-doubt. You screwed up. Someone died. So now you’re doubting all the rest of your decisions. You’re right on schedule. Next?”
Korie glared at her for a long moment, but her expression was implacable. She returned his anger with a questioning stare. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Korie admitted. “Damn you.”
“I’m not stupid, Mr. Korie. Do you think you’re the first officer under my command who ever screwed up on a mission?”
“I’m not supposed to screw up—” Korie said.
“Oh, spare me that. You’re only human, aren’t you? You’re not a Morthan. Humans make mistakes. Lots of mistakes. But a mistake isn’t failure—unless you use it as an excuse to quit.”
Korie allowed himself a rueful half-smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. More than once.”
“Believe it. It’s true. Now forget your itch for a minute,” Parsons said. “Can you think of any reason why we shouldn’t bring Isaac back aboard?”
“We’ve taken every precaution I can think of,” Korie admitted. “If there’s any reason why we shouldn’t bring him back, I can’t think of it—that’s why I don’t want you to bring him back. I say again, my judgment can’t be trusted anymore.”
“Your judgment is fine. It’s your confidence that’s taken a beating. You’re terrified of making another mistake.”
“This one—yes! If I’m wrong, we lose the ship.”
“We’re already in danger of losing the ship—” Parsons stopped in mid-sentence to let Quilla Gamma pass between them. When the small blue woman was down the corridor and safely out of earshot, she resumed. “So just answer the question. Is there any reason you can think of why we shouldn’t bring the robot back aboard?”
“Captain—do you really want to trust my judgment again?”
“Commander, I don’t trust your judgment at all. I trust mine. But I want your honest opinion.” Her eyes were grim. “And then I’ll make my decision.”
Korie hesitated. He met her glance and nodded his acquiescence. “I’m afraid that LENNIE planted time bombs we haven’t thought of. I’m terrified we’ve missed something. Logically, I know we’re safe from that. Everything he could have reached has been disconnected. And there’s no way he could have gotten to the manual systems. After we killed the imps, HARLIE and I and Chief Leen installed an old-fashioned hands-on system. It’s completely independent from HARLIE. We tested it and he couldn’t read a single byte of its operation. Or so he said. I never doubted him at the time. Allegedly, it’s clean. And this is exactly the kind of situation it was installed for. So if I have to go by sheer logic alone, I’d have to say it’s safe to bring the robot back. Except that HARLIE knew the system was in place. And if he was going crazy, as crazy as a LENNIE, he would have known that if we found out, we’d pull his plug, and if we did that, then we’d have to go to the manual system. So if there were any way to get into it, he would have found it. He knew he couldn’t get into our auxiliary autonomics—that was the whole point—but did he also leave a back door so he could? I don’t know. I would have. So now, we have to depend on whether or not we trust HARLIE.”
“Do you?”
“I did ... I don’t know if I still do.”
“If you were captain of the Star Wolf, Commander Korie, what would you order?”
Korie nodded thoughtfully. “If I were captain, I’d have to trust my own preparations. I’d bite the bullet and bring the robot back. But if I were captain, I don’t think I’d be having this crisis of confidence—”
“Oh, horse exhaust! You’d still be having it. You’d just be having it in private. And I wouldn’t be here to hold your hand.” Parsons turned and headed forward again. Korie glanced after her quizzically, then followed.
The Cure
Parsons returned to the Forward Airlock Reception Bay with a grim expression. “Shibano?”
Wasabe looked up expectan
tly. Both he and Williger had taken off their VR helmets to confer quietly.
“Are you ready to bring the robot back aboard?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Parsons glanced over at Korie. Her eyes were narrow. Then she turned back to Shibano. “Okay, bring it back. Keep the repulsors on high. Keep the internal suppressor fields on, even after it’s in our airlock. We’ll triple-scan it before we pop the last hatch.” She glanced over at Korie again, this time with an expression of grim finality.
Shibano put his VR helmet back on. So did Williger. Captain Parsons watched over their shoulders as Shibano popped the Norway’s inner hatch and moved the robot forward through it. She studied the displays on his console, nodded to herself—satisfied—then turned back to Korie. “Any questions?”
“No, Captain.”
She leaned sideways and spoke in lowered tones. “For what it’s worth, I have the utmost confidence in your judgment, Mr. Korie. Never forget that.”
“Thank you, Captain. I apologize for my ... earlier doubts.”
“Don’t. You were right to have those doubts. If you didn’t have them, you wouldn’t be valuable. Hell, you wouldn’t be human. If you didn’t have those doubts, then I’d have to have them. So thanks for carrying the burden. And thank you for your honesty.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Don’t get sticky, Korie.” But she smiled, as if sharing a private joke with herself, and turned forward again, just as Williger pulled off her helmet and dropped it on the floor beside her. Quilla Gamma moved to pick it up.
“Okay, it’s clean,” the doctor reported. “We can bring it in. On your order, Captain.”
Parsons glanced sideways to Korie. She raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Mr. Korie?” she invited.
Korie nodded. “Bring it in, Shibano,” he said. And crossed his fingers behind his back.
The inner hatch of the airlock popped open and Isaac trundled through. The hatch whooshed shut behind the machine with a soft thump of air. The robot rolled to a halt, four of its six arms holding a rack of small blue tubes above its “head.”
Williger levered herself out of her seat and crossed to the robot, stopping several paces away to run a scanner up and down in the air before her. Having established background levels, she approached the machine slowly, still continuing to scan. “No traces,” she said, folding the instrument away and reattaching it to her belt. She and Quilla Gamma both stepped over to the robot then and began to unclip the rack of biosamples.
When they were done, Williger handed the tray to the Quilla and said, “Take this to Med Bay. Be extremely careful.” The Quilla nodded and exited.
“All right,” said Williger, facing Parsons. “The easy part of the problem is solved—” She pushed past the captain and headed aft, shaking her head and muttering to herself. “When this is over, I’m going to have a lot more to say. None of it pleasant.”
Parsons glanced forward. “Good job, Mr. Shibano. Take a ten-minute shower and a two-hour power nap. I’ll want you back on duty at 1400 hours.”
“Aye, Captain.” Shibano followed Williger aft.
Parsons looked to Korie. “Any questions?”
Korie smiled. “No, Captain. No questions. Thank you for an instructive experience.”
“We’re not done yet,” she said, pointing aft. “Wardroom. Let’s get some chow. We have some other things to settle.”
Quillas
Armstrong found Quilla Omega in the farm. The tall blue man was pushing a harvest cart along the rows of plants, gathering vegetables for the evening salad—tomatoes, corn, winged beans, celery, scallions, cucumbers, carrots, purple cabbage, chtorr-berries and several different kinds of lettuce.
Omega stopped what he was doing and looked up as Armstrong approached. “Yes, Brian?” he said.
“I came to apologize.”
“No apologies are necessary.”
“Not for you, maybe, but for me. I learned something today.”
“Yes?”
“I learned why there are Quillas aboard a starship. I never thought about it before. I always just took it for granted that you were here as servants and ... and ... and you know. Sex partners. I didn’t think of you as fully human. Like the rest of us, I mean. I didn’t understand. Even when you tried to tell me, I didn’t hear it.
“But ... a little while ago, I sat with Easton. He’s taking Berryman’s death very hard. He cries. He rages. He’s so angry, it’s scary—except he doesn’t know who to be angry at. So then he cries again. And I don’t know what to do. I kept saying to him, ‘Let me get a Quilla. They’re better at this. They know what to do. I don’t know what to say.’ But he’d grab my arm and say, ‘No, Brian—I don’t want a Quilla. I want someone I can talk to. I tried to tell him I’m not a good talker, but he said he didn’t care. He said, ‘That’s okay, you’re a good listener.’” Armstrong shrugged and half-smiled in rueful acknowledgment of his own embarrassment at the situation. “Anyway, that’s when I realized that I was doing your job—the Quilla job. Listening. Being there for someone. And that’s when I realized why you’re all here. To help us stay human by being mommy or daddy or big brother or big sister or best friend ... or lover. Whatever’s needed. You’re caregivers, aren’t you?”
Quilla Omega smiled warmly. “Not many people figure that out by themselves, Brian. You’re very good.” He added, “We’re glad you could be there for Daniel. He’s going to be hurting for a very long time.”
“That’s the other thing,” Armstrong said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I felt ... I felt good doing it. Being there for him, I mean. Like I was finally doing something real.”
“You were,” agreed Omega. “Being there for other people is the highest form of service.”
Armstrong nodded as he considered that thought. Having experienced it himself, he could see the truth of the statement. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course.”
“Is that what it’s like to be a Quilla? I mean, being there for people all the time?”
Omega didn’t answer immediately—for an instant, it was as if he were somewhere else—but when he replied, he was speaking with the voices of all the Quillas in the cluster. “Being a Quilla,” he began, “is not what you think it is. Some people think it’s a religion, but it’s not. There’s no belief involved. Some people think it’s a discipline, but it’s not that either. Yes, there is discipline, but not the kind you think of when you hear the word discipline. Some people think it’s an escape, but it isn’t. It most definitely is not an escape.
“Being a Quilla,” said Omega, “is a commitment to others. So much so, that you give up your own ego, your own goals, your own identity. You give up your own thing-ness, so you can be a part of a larger domain. The highest state of being, Brian, is service to others. There is nothing higher. Do you know the old saying, ‘You can be either a guest in life or a host?’ Guests come to the party and leave a mess behind. Hosts give the party and clean up afterward—but hosts are also the source of the party too. Quillas are the hosts for other humans. It’s a way of being. It’s a total commitment to the well-being of others. The job of the Quilla cluster is to make sure that the essential needs of everyone aboard the ship are taken care of, no matter what. This conversation, for instance, is part of what you need.”
“I get it,” said Armstrong, suddenly grinning. “I really do.” And then, as if to demonstrate just how fully he did understand the changes that were occurring in himself, he began to help Quilla Omega with the salad harvest. He moved down the row, carefully checking the ripeness meters before selecting each item. After a moment, he stopped and asked, “How do I get to be a host instead of just another guest?”
“Are you asking how you can become a Quilla?” Omega’s blue look was suddenly penetrating.
Under such scrutiny, Armstrong felt naked—as if Omega were looking into the deepest part of his soul. He lowered his gaze in embarrassment, then raised it up again to m
eet Omega’s eyes directly.
Discovery
Williger caught up with Parsons and Korie in the wardroom, where they were catching a quick meal. She was swearing like a LENNIE with hemorrhoids.
She stormed in—interrupting their conversation as well as their lunch—and slammed an empty biotube down on the wardroom table, hard enough to rattle the dishes. Korie grabbed for his coffee mug to keep it from toppling. The biotube was unbreakable, but Williger had brought it down with enough force to deform it. Neither Korie nor Parsons had ever seen one bent out of shape before, and they both stared with astonishment.
“Empty! Dammit! Empty! The whole rack!” Williger shouted. “We put the ship at risk for nothing! For a decoy! There’s nothing there! There never was! The damn things are all nice and neatly labeled—and they’re so empty there’s not even vacuum in them! I’m going to yank that bastard’s testicles out through his left nostril!”
“Which bastard?” Korie inquired around a mouthful of sandwich. “Blintze or Jarell?”
“Yes!” snapped Williger. She hurled herself into a seat, nearly slamming it backward against the bulkhead. She glowered across the table at Parsons and Korie, her face red, her eyes burning, smoke pouring from her ears.
“Want some coffee?” said Parsons, pushing a mug toward her.
“Yes!” snapped Williger. She poured herself a cup with gestures so brusque Parsons was afraid she was going to spill the hot liquid all over herself—or throw it. But the doctor just took a drink, sat back down in her chair, took a second drink, draining the mug, slammed it back down on the table and resumed her glowering. “I’m going to kill something. Or somebody,” she said. “All that time. Wasted! We could have been synthesizing our own recombinants. We’ve lost—what? Half a day? A full day? Somebody lied to me! And I don’t like it!”
Blood and Fire Page 21