Blood and Fire

by David Gerrold

  “What I’m doing now... it’s not redemption at all. You were right, Captain Parsons. I’m taking the coward’s way out. I suppose I should apologize, but the scientist in me wants to believe that the cure will work ... and this at least lets us complete the experiment. And maybe someday, someone will say that this much at least was a contribution to science. Or humanity. Or knowledge. Or something. I don’t know. Shit. I don’t know what to say. I wasted my life and I’m sorry. And I hope someday, somehow, someone will forgive me. Say a prayer for me, maybe. Catholics believe in redemption, Captain, don’t they? I don’t. I never did. But here I am at the last minute, begging ... just in case.”

  He got up and started walking around the Bridge again. “There’s something going on with the wavicles. Something beautiful. I don’t know if you can see it, but I’m seeing shades of colors here I’ve never seen before. Very delicate. Like sparkles off a diffraction grating, only brighter. If I close my eyes, I can still see them, brighter than ever. I don’t think we perceive the wavicles through light. I think they directly stimulate the retinal cells as they pass through us. Just a guess. Someone else will have to figure that part out.”

  He climbed back up onto the Command Deck and peered at the scanner. “I’m starting to get telltales. That’s good. It means I can set the stinger to self-destruct anytime. I’m setting it now. I’m not in any pain. Not really. It’s like when your leg falls asleep, only it’s my whole body that tingles.

  “Can you see this?” he asked, not expecting an answer. He waved his arms around, leaving swirls of sparkles flickering in the air. “They’re clustering around me, aren’t they?”

  The pinpoint sparkles were no longer swirling about the man. Now they were drifting toward him, accelerating as they approached, arrowing inward, sleeting through him like arrows of light. He lifted his arms to the ceiling, standing in the center of his own aurora borealis. He radiated like a saint. The air around him crackled and glowed. Blintze stopped talking. He turned slowly, savoring his moment of transformation.

  He was enveloped in light now, almost disappearing into the center of a sphere of brightness—both gauzy and crystalline. The sparkles turned and twisted around him, dancing in the air like fairy-dust motes. Blintze was barely visible within the pinpoint fireworks, his face rapturous.

  And then the stinger discharged itself—

  —and the lights blazed outward in a marvelous explosion of color and amazement. If light could be said to have emotion, this light was joyous. It swirled around the Bridge of the Norway in a fiery dance of awakening, self-awareness, discovery, redemption and epiphany. It swirled through the ship, climbing, diving, dipping, twirling and singing —

  Realization

  On the Bridge of the Star Wolf, Korie reacted first. He switched the main display to show an exterior view of the Norway. This was taken from high on one of the Star Wolf’s spars. Both ships were still outlined with wavicles, but now the sparkles were agitated, trembling in anticipation—and then, abruptly, it was as if the Norway was leaking light from a thousand places.

  “The stinger blast must have punctured her hull,” said Parsons.

  Curls of light, swept up and out of the starship—like smoke with a purpose, like something alive. “My God,” said Tor. “What is it?”

  Brik knew, but he wouldn’t speak it. He did something uncharacteristic for a Morthan. He sat down. He put one hand over his mouth, a Morthan sign of ... awe. Amazement and recognition filled his eyes. But nobody noticed; they were staring forward.

  It was Korie who dared speak it. “I think ... I think it’s a sparkle-dancer.”

  He glanced around the Bridge, as if daring anyone to disagree—but every face was rapturous in the reflected light of the display. At the communications console, Green was listening to his headset. Suddenly he said, “It’s singing to us!” He put the radio noise of the sparkle-dancer on the speakers. At first it sounded like a roar of static, then it sounded like the ocean, and then ... it sounded like something else: something joyous and grateful and alive!

  The sparkle-dancer flowed out of the Norway, wrapping itself around the ship, curious and delighted—as if dancing, exploring, even making love. Wherever the sparkle-dancer touched, it gathered all the wavicles into itself. It swept the hulls of both ships clean. It flowed from the Norway onto the Star Wolf. Tendrils of light tickled the starship like a harpist striking chords.

  When it had finished exploring the hulls of both vessels, when it had finished collecting every errant particle of itself, the sparkle-dancer flowed off the Star Wolf and reformed itself on the port side of the ship. For the first time, the crew saw it as it existed naturally in space—a veil of luminescence, shimmering and coruscating with all the colors of the rainbow. Its wings flickered and sparkled with myriad tiny pinpoints as its component wavicles winked in and out of existence—tiny energy mites whirling and dancing. The sparkle-dancer was a colony of rapturous butterflies of light.

  “They’ll never believe us,” said Korie.

  “Who cares?” laughed Parsons.

  The sparkle-dancer curled one last time around the Star Wolf, almost as if hugging the vessel farewell—and then it whirled off again, flashing a dazzling bouquet of colors. It twirled alone for a moment longer, almost wistfully, as if it were waving goodbye, and then it vanished into the star-studded darkness.

  For the longest moment, no one spoke.

  And then Parsons whispered, “I believe we are the luckiest human beings alive.” There were tears of joy and delight in her eyes.

  The Stars

  Captain Parsons stepped back up to the Command Deck and sat down in her chair. For the last time. She ran her hands along the arm rests, savoring the sensation of ownership. For a while, the Bridge crew worked in silence. No one wanted to break the mood. But finally, Captain Parsons turned to her executive officer. “Mr. Korie, has Chief Leen finished misaligning the bivalve spline?”

  “Funny thing, he just completed it, Captain.”

  “Isn’t that convenient,” Parsons said, deadpan. “Now hear this. Stand down from Condition Yellow. All departments, initiate immediate prehyperstate maintenance. I want us ready to go as soon as we’re clear.”

  Then she added, “I want to commend all of you for the quality of your service during these past few very difficult days. Crew of the Star Wolf, it has been a genuine privilege to serve with you. Your professional performance, your selfless dedication and your untiring courage are truly inspiring. I am proud of you—very proud.” She paused a moment, wondering if there was anything else to add, decided that there was not and concluded with an oddly permanent sounding, “That is all.”

  Captain Parsons glanced over to her executive officer, who was looking at her curiously. She patted the arms of her chair—for the last time—and rose. “Mr. Korie, may I see you in the wardroom please?” She picked up her clipboard and led the way.

  Korie followed her aft, into the corridor called “Broadway,” past the Communications Bay and into the Officers’ Mess. As he entered, he saw that Captain Parsons was unpinning the stars from her uniform. “Here,” she said, offering them to Korie.

  “Captain—?”

  “My penance. For my sins. Which have been considerable. I’m removing myself from active command, pending further inquiry. I’m giving you a field promotion. I have the authority to do this, you know.”

  “Captain, I don’t—” Korie looked at her, flustered—and yet, at the same time, his mind was racing through a forest of reasons, explanations, possibilities and hopes “—understand,” he finished lamely.

  “Yes, you do,” Parsons said, taking his hand and dropping her stars into them. “Think about it. I have. And I know you have too. Board of Inquiry. Court-martial ...” Her expression was sad but knowing. “You know the arguments. Violation of general orders. Bold initiative doesn’t excuse. Put the ship and the crew at risk. Important strategic breakthrough. But an unfortunate precedent to set. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Must as
sert chain of command. Can’t allow dereliction of principle. Have to maintain authority. However, Fleet Command will acknowledge good intentions. Here’s a distinguished service medal. But of course, you’ll never command a starship again. Right?”

  “Uh—” Korie nodded his agreement. “Right.”

  “So, I’m going to present them with a fait accompli. I’m taking myself out of the food chain. They can still do the inquiry and the court-martial, if they want to—but I don’t think they’ll want to open that can of bloodworms. Because it leads to questions they won’t want to ask and they certainly won’t like having to answer. And definitely not in public. Like who sent Jarell out here in the first place?”

  “They’ll never let this get public,” Korie said, thinking forward about the inevitable consequences. “They can’t. Jarell’s agenda—it’s too dangerous. He’s not the only one who thinks that way. This is a cancerous idea—it’ll take root among extremists and spread from there. And if enough people get scared enough about the war, they’ll start demanding implementation. I think you’re right. Fleet Command has to bury this—the whole thing. Maybe even the cure as well.”

  “Mmm.” Parsons nodded thoughtfully. “We’ve been heroes, Jon. All of us. Inventive. Courageous. And most of all, wise. What we did here is the stuff of military legend. And no one will ever know.” She smiled sadly. “But the lack of acknowledgment doesn’t diminish what we did. It doesn’t invalidate our heroism in any way.” Her eyes shone brightly now. “You know what we did out here, the crew knows—and Fleet Command will know. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll find a way to honor the ship in exchange for your convenient silence—maybe give you some sweetheart duty somewhere and a fistful of medals and bounties. Maybe even the bloodworm bounty—but without public credit. You can live with that, can’t you? It’ll probably be part of the deal.”

  Korie shook his head. “This ship is never going to get credit, Captain—not for anything but the mauling at Marathon. And as long as we have that reputation, they can’t give us any duty or reward that will make people ask questions.”

  “Take the money anyway. It’s a big pot, and it’ll pay for a lot of solace. I’ve already filed the application for the bounty. I expect you’ll get it, and I expect them to trade my silence for my retirement. The bounty for the ship will be part of it. It’s a fair bargain, Korie. Your stars will be part of the deal, I’ll make sure of it.”

  “No, it isn’t a fair bargain,” Korie said, finally handing the stars back. “You’re a good captain. The fleet needs you. It’s going to be a long war—”

  “And I’ve done my part in it. I’ve helped us keep one little piece of our soul and one little piece of our integrity. Here, take these stars. Honor me by wearing them.” She offered them again.

  Korie shook his head. “Captain, I’d be proud to wear your stars. Only—”

  “Only what?” Parsons frowned.

  “Only ... I don’t deserve them.”

  The captain’s reaction was short and to the point. “Bullshit.”

  Korie held his ground. “Captain Parsons. I can’t begin to tell you how much I want those stars. But I can’t put them on. No—hear me out. Do you remember in the wardroom, when Jarell was telling us what kind of a threat the Morthans represented? I was agreeing with him. And when he said, let’s go scourge the Morthans, I wanted to do it too! It would have been justice for all the folks at Shaleen and Taalamar. And I wanted to do it.”

  “So did I,” said Parsons quietly.

  Korie looked up sharply.

  “I want a weapon to use against the Morthans, just as deeply as you, Korie. And I wanted to strike back at them just as much as you. And probably so does every other person on this starship. I could have given the order. We could have gone. You might have questioned it. I know Williger certainly would have. But we’d have gone. And we’d have devastated as many Morthan worlds as we could until their ships caught us and destroyed us—but not all of them. We could never hit every Morthan planet. And that’s the flaw in this plan. We’d be leaving survivors, whole worlds of Morthan warriors who would know exactly what we had done—and the dishonor of the deed. If we were fast enough and smart enough, we might even have made it home. And we would have been heroes. For the moment. But it would have been only an illusory triumph. You know as well as I what would have happened after that, Jon, don’t you?”

  Korie nodded.

  Parsons said it anyway. “The bloodworms would have come back to us—on Morthan suicide ships. And this time, the Morthans would have no strategic reason to hold back. Their ships would penetrate to the heart of the Alliance and they’d infest every world they could get to. We wouldn’t be heroes. We’d be villains—the ones who let the firestorm out of the bottle. So as much as I wanted to do it—strategically, I knew why I shouldn’t.”

  “I had those same thoughts,” Korie admitted.

  “Of course,” said Parsons. “Your ability to consider consequences is what makes you so formidable.”

  “But I also kept thinking how satisfying it would be to strike back.”

  “So did I,” Parsons agreed. “You might make mistakes, Korie, but you don’t make stupid ones. At least, I haven’t seen any evidence of it. If you had been captain here, what would you have done?”

  Korie considered it. “As much as I wanted revenge, as much as I want to destroy the Morthan Solidarity, as good as it would have felt ... I don’t think I would have let my emotions overwhelm my wisdom. There was something terribly wrong there, something wrong with the whole mission—with the thinking behind it. It was based on hate. I couldn’t let Jarell do this out of hate. And there was no other reason to do it. None at all. So it was wrong.”

  “That’s what qualifies you, Korie. Your ability to keep your self out of the process.”

  “But, Captain—I didn’t keep my self out of the process. I wasn’t thinking about the Fleet, and I wasn’t thinking about my orders, and I wasn’t thinking about my oath or my responsibilities. I only thought about what would be best for the war, as if I were the only one fighting it. And more than once, Admiral O’Hara told me that’s a large part of what’s keeping me from my promotion—that I keep trying to fight this war by myself. She’s right. I did it again here. That’s the way my mind works. So if you give me those stars, and if I accept them, and if Fleet Command lets me keep them, then what? What if next time I’m not so wise? What if next time I follow my heart instead of my wisdom?”

  Parsons sighed. “You want to know the truth, Jon? There are no guarantees. None of the great captains are ever as good as they want to be. So they keep trying to do better. That’s what makes them great. They don’t settle for being ordinary. Neither do you. When the next time comes, you’ll remember this time. And that’ll be enough to make the difference.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Korie said, with a hint of doubt as well as sadness.

  “You want to know the truth about human beings?” she asked abruptly. She stepped in close. “Most of us don’t have very much integrity. We pretend we do, but we’re always negotiating little loopholes for ourselves, little excuses to be less than we are. And that’s true of everybody, all of us. The only difference between ordinary and extraordinary is not accepting that as normal. That’s the heart of brightness. We defend our little specks of integrity with enormous ferocity because we know how little there really is. That’s what makes you extraordinary, Jon Korie.” She took his hand and placed her stars in the center of his palm.

  Korie heard the words as if Parsons was inscribing them into his soul. He nodded in thoughtful acceptance, staring down at the insignia. They felt strangely heavy in his hand. She was right. Of course, she was. When he looked up again, his expression was wry as well as rueful. He held up the stars. “You know, of course, that the admiral isn’t going to let me keep these.”

  The Captain

  “Captain Korie.” Parsons’ tone had an edge to it sharp enough to slice diamond. “This ship has come
a long way since the mauling at Marathon. Just about every officer in the fleet knows what she’s been through, knows how you’ve held her together, knows how you’ve earned your stars five times over. Do you know that there are captains who will not accept command of this vessel—?”

  “Sure. It’s been that way since—”

  “In the past, yes—they didn’t want command of a disgraced ship. But now, there are officers who won’t accept command of the Star Wolf because she’s rightfully your ship. They’ve told the admiral as much—that it would be inappropriate for them to serve over you, because you’ve demonstrated better qualifications than a lot of men and women who already have their stars.”

  Korie was embarrassed. He looked down at his shoes. He swallowed hard and looked up at Parsons again. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, then, you’re the only one. Hell, Korie, I told O’Hara that myself—that I couldn’t take this ship with you still as exec. It was embarrassing. She gave me hell for it. She offered me a choice—this ship or a demotion. So this is my way of handing it back to her.”

  “You’re using me to embarrass the admiral, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely.” Parsons grinned. “You’re not a political animal, Korie; you don’t get it. When this ship comes back with you in command, it’ll be my way of sending a message to Fleet Command that I’m impudent—that I won’t roll over easily. So put on the damn stars and take command of your ship. I’d order you to do it, but I can’t. I’ve resigned. Effective with taking them off. Right now this ship has no captain. Unless you put those stars on. So what are you going to do?”