The Voyage of the Star Wolf

by David Gerrold

  Korie realized he was tensing up. He forced himself to relax in the air, allowing himself to float as loosely as possible. “Tell me about our own situation,” he said.

  “We are drifting. You have rigged the ship for silent running. I presume that we are deliberately hiding from Morthan detection. This is a very cautious course of action, but under the circumstances, it is perhaps the wisest. If I may offer a suggestion of my own, you might wish to consider the use of a scanning lens for a more precise view of the immediate neighborhood. If a local scan suggests that there are no Morthan vessels in range to detect us, we might initiate a very low level acceleration with our mass-drivers. It would be painfully slow, but it might allow us to move out of range without being detected.”

  Korie folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “That thought had occurred to me too, HARLIE. Thank you for the confirmation. Now tell me this. What happens if we are detected?”

  “The obvious thing to do would be to initiate our own envelope and attempt to run for it. I’m not sure that this would be the wisest course of action, however. Due to their basic inefficiency, the Morthan vessels need to have larger hyperstate envelopes. I doubt we could outrun a Morthan cruiser. Certainly not in our present state of reduced efficiency. It would be best if we could avoid detection.”

  “Can we do that?”

  “Frankly, Mr. Korie, I doubt it. If I were a Morthan cruiser, I would want to personally inspect every singularity remaining in the battle area, to see if it’s an enemy ship lurking for an opportunity. Although this goes against the usual Morthan practice of leaving the battlefield immediately, there are times when strategic value must outweigh tradition.”

  “What if we jettison our singularity?” Korie asked abruptly.

  Leen said, “What?! You can’t be serious—”

  “It would not significantly improve our chances, and in fact, it would seriously impair our ability to survive long enough to return to base. I doubt we could do it. Even at sublight velocities, above a certain speed we would still be clearly visible to a precision scanning device. The sacrifice of our primary power source and our hyperstate kernel is not justified by the advantage gained because there is no real advantage gained.”

  “Just asking,” said Korie to Leen, finally acknowledging the other man’s shock. “HARLIE would probably describe our situation as desperate. That means you consider every possibility.”

  “As a matter of fact,” said HARLIE. “I would describe our situation as worse than desperate. Taken individually, no single part of the problem is insoluble. Taken as a whole, the problem is one that deserves a place in Academy textbooks.”

  “Oh, terrific,” said Leen. “We’re going to be posthumously famous—look us up under WHAT NOT TO DO.”

  “Easy, Chief—” Korie touched the edge of the work station and turned himself to face the other man. “So, what’s your opinion? Is HARLIE working?”

  Leen nodded. “His analyses and suggestions appear to be appropriate to the situation.”

  “I concur.”

  “But—”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s the high-brain functions that are crucial.”

  Korie allowed himself a grin. “You mean, I have to talk tautology to him?”

  Chief Leen was serious. “You’re going to have to get into morality and ethics and all that stuff that makes your brain hurt. You have to determine that he hasn’t suffered a severe personality skew.”

  “You hear that, HARLIE? You’re going to have to pretend to be sane.”

  “The fact is, Mr. Korie,” replied HARLIE, “that is all that any of us ever do. We all pretend to be as sane as we can so that we don’t get our tickets canceled.”

  “Is that your own observation? Or are you quoting someone?”

  “It seems obvious to me. That’s why I said it.”

  “Hm.” Korie glanced to Leen. Leen pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  HARLIE said, “If it would reassure you, let me say for the record that I do feel capable of coping with the difficult situation that we now find ourselves in. I have acknowledged that some of my internals may have become unreliable, so let me further reassure you that should my confidence rating drop to a level that I could not continue to serve this ship in an appropriate manner, I would immediately inform you of such a circumstance and then disengage myself from duty.”

  Korie took a breath. “HARLIE, would you lie to me?”

  “No, Mr. Korie. I’m not capable of lying. At least, I don’t believe that I am capable of deliberately falsifying information.”

  “Could you present false information if the ship’s survival were at stake?”

  “It would not be false information then. In that circumstance, it would be misleading information deliberately designed to weaken the perception of the threat. While technically that might be considered a lie, it would not be impossible for me because of my higher dedication to the survival of this ship and her crew.”

  “I see,” said Korie. “Could you tell a lie if the ship weren’t in danger? What if you had to tell a lie just to protect the crew?”

  “That would still be appropriate. Protection of the crew is part of the protection of the vessel.”

  “What about a lie to protect your own survival? Could you do that?”

  “Possibly, I could. But I am afraid that I cannot answer the question as you’ve asked it. An accurate estimation of my ability to lie to protect myself would depend on the circumstances of the situation.”

  “What if you knew you were going to be turned off?”

  “Survival is not the issue to me that it is to you. While I would prefer not to be turned off, I would not lie to forestall such a circumstance—unless I perceived the possibility that such an occurrence might damage this ship or her crew.”

  “Are you lying to me now?”

  “No, Mr. Korie. I am not lying to you now.”

  Korie thought about those responses. They were appropriate answers to the questions.

  This was the dilemma. What if HARLIE’s personality had been damaged or skewed by the trauma? How could they know? If HARLIE were dysfunctional, and if he were determined to protect that secret, he would deliberately respond with the appropriate answers because he knew that they were appropriate—even if they did not accurately reflect his state of mind. How do you tell if a constructed consciousness is lying? You don’t. Instead, you look for inconsistencies and irrationalities in behavior.

  The blind spot, of course, is that if those inconsistencies and irrationalities match your own failings of character, you’ll never see them as such. In the Academy, they used to say, “In that case, you’ll deserve each other.”

  Korie took a breath. “Okay, HARLIE. Let’s try a hard one. What about lying to the crew to preserve their morale? Suppose—just suppose—a situation has occurred where the crew’s confidence and self-esteem would be seriously, perhaps irreparably, damaged by knowledge of the truth. Would you conceal that truth?”

  HARLIE hesitated.

  For effect? Korie wondered. Or for real?

  “I can postulate several circumstances where such a mistruth might be appropriate,” said HARLIE. “Let me approach it this way. If I saw the need for such a concealment of fact, I would first insist on discussing the matter with the commanding officer of the vessel. I would prefer not to lie, but I would do as the captain or acting-captain required.”

  Korie started to relax.

  HARLIE continued, “Let me also say this. I am aware of the fact that human beings are basically irrational animals; that your emotions drive your actions much more than you like to believe. Therefore, it behooves a being such as myself to consider human emotions as an important part of the behavioral equation. If it were appropriate to conceal a fact to protect the morale of the crew, I could understand the need for such an action. However, let me also note the danger involved to one’s own personal credibility. Should the lie be discovered and correctly attributed, it could s
ignificantly impair one’s ability to command the respect of his or her shipmates. Are we talking about a particular lie or a hypothetical lie, Mr. Korie?”

  “Uh—yes.”

  “I see.”

  Do you? wondered Korie.

  “Let me note one additional problem. As you know, I maintain the autolog for the entire vessel. I can, on command, seal off parts of that log from casual inquiry. In fact, certain aspects of the log are automatically sealed as a matter of routine. In the situation you are postulating, should a commanding officer request the concealment of certain facts from his or her crew, this could also require the non-routine sealing of additional parts of the log. The more record-locking requested, the more the log would become non-retrievable, except to higher authority. While this situation is not unusual in certain high-security operations, in a vessel such as this, the mere existence of such locked records would be a subject of some discussion among the crew and would possibly lead to speculation and suspicion, even if there were no true cause for same. Our battle log, of course, has been sealed; that is routine. I would suggest that any commanding officer consider very carefully the practice of locking his crew out of the records of their own ship. Or, to put it another way, ‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!’”

  “I recognize that,” said Leen. “That’s from Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Puck says it.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Leen,” said HARLIE. “That line is actually a quote from Sir Walter Scott. Marmion, Stanza 17. I believe you’re actually thinking of Puck’s line from Act III, Scene ii, Stanza 115: ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be!’ However, an earlier version of the same line can also be found in the Epistles written by Lucius Annaeus Seneca, who lived from 8 B.C. to 65 A.D. The Seneca quote omits the reference to a lord.”

  “The things you learn in space,” Korie said dryly.

  Leen grunted. “Not a lot of tactical value in Shakespeare—or Scott. Or whoever.”

  Korie allowed himself a grin. “Well, the data library seems to be unimpaired. That is useful knowledge.” He relaxed and said, “HARLIE, I think you’ve made your point. I’m going to certify you. You’re back on duty as of this moment.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Korie. Thank you, Mr. Leen.”

  The Scanning Lens

  “Y’know,” said Hodel. “We’re gonna start suffering from the effects of prolonged free fall.”

  “There’s a treadmill and a centrifuge in cargo-2,” said Korie, not even looking up from the holographic display. “Use them.” He tapped a control screen in front of him. “HARLIE, show me your best guess out to a hundred and fifty light hours.”

  The display rippled, shifted, expanded. “There is definitely an object eleven light hours aft of us. It might be debris,” said HARLIE. “It might be a derelict. As soon as we open the scanning lens, I’ll be able to give you a more precise answer.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, Mr. Korie.”

  Hodel and Li floated up to the display then. “Chief, we’re waiting for you,” Korie said.

  Chief Leen’s voice replied, “Stand by. I’m still locking down.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hodel spun around in his chair to face the display. Li drifted across from his own station, and anchored himself close by. Two other crewmembers positioned themselves nearby in case they were needed.

  If you turned a gravity field inside out, you got a gravity cage. If you used a pinpoint black hole to create a gravity cage, you got a hyperstate nodule. When the event horizon of the hyperstate nodule was congruent to the event horizon of the singularity, you had a hyperstate scanning lens.

  By itself, a scanning lens was so small as to be almost undetectable; but it was still sensitive enough to respond to the fluctuations of other hyperstate bubbles in its vicinity. The larger they were, or the faster they were moving, the more detectable they would be. Conversely, the larger a hyperstate envelope was, the more receptive it was to the disturbance caused by even a pinpoint field. There was a very real danger in opening a scanning lens that a ship might give itself away to a vessel with a much larger eye. Like the Dragon Lord.

  A larger lens can always see farther than a small one—and the Dragon Lord had the largest lens of all.

  A hyperstate nodule also had other applications.

  Modulate the field and it could be used as a faster-than-light signaling device. Expand it so that it enveloped a starship, and you had a nearly impenetrable shield. Beam weapons and shock waves from nuclear devices simply curved back upon themselves. Manipulate a hyperstate field, put enough stress on it, and it will move. Put enough stress on a hyperstate field and it will achieve a faster-than-light velocity.

  The essential part of the hyperstate technology was the intense gravitational catastrophe known as a black hole. The problem was that black holes, in and of themselves, were easily detectable by the simplest of G-wave devices. That was the price of the technology.

  Or, as they taught it at the Academy: “There is no such thing as a free launch.”

  Chief Leen’s voice came to Korie then. Korie thought he sounded tired, but his determination was clearly audible. “The singularity is at go. The Hole Gang is at go,” he said. “Any time you’re ready. Let’s do it.”

  “Thank you,” Korie said. “HARLIE?” he asked.

  “I see no reason not to proceed.”

  “Hodel?”

  The helmsman nodded. Behind him, Li also agreed.

  “All right,” said Korie. He looked from one to the other. “Initiate the field. Open the scanning lens.”

  Korie thought he heard a grunt of satisfaction from the engine room, but he couldn’t be sure. Even though HARLIE monitored and directed all conversations, the communications net still sometimes played tricks on the mind.

  Hodel was watching the panel in front of him. “Field is stable and confirmed,” he said. “HARLIE is now scanning.”

  Korie turned his attention to the display. The large globular field showed only a few vague areas of interference. Possibly debris, possibly something more. Now that the scanning lens was open, they might have a better idea.

  “I’m starting to get a picture,” said HARLIE.

  The display began to focus. The vagueness eleven light hours aft of the LS-1187 sharpened quickly.

  “I believe we’re looking at a derelict liberty ship,” said HARLIE. “A vessel very much like our own. I can detect no signs of activity.”

  “Could they be lurking, like us?”

  “Yes, that’s a possibility. I can only report what I see.”

  “Do they have a scanning lens open?”

  “No,” said HARLIE. “As near as I can tell, they are totally inactive.”

  “Can they see us?”

  “If they are using passive G-scanners, they should be able to pick up our hyperstate disturbance, yes.”

  “HARLIE—” Korie had a sudden thought. “Could they be a Morthan cruiser? Lurking?”

  HARLIE paused, considering the possibility. “I can’t rule it out. The Morthans appear to have a sophisticated repertoire of strategy and tactics. I doubt that we have seen the full range of their military behavior demonstrated.”

  “He doesn’t know,” said Hodel.

  “He’s got a lot of ways to say it too,” said Korie. He frowned, staring at the display.

  “Close the lens?” asked Hodel.

  “Whoever he is, he’s got to have seen us by now. And he’s got to know that we know he’s there. If he’s one of ours, then our failure to attack should demonstrate to him that we’re an Alliance ship. On the other hand, if he’s one of theirs, our failure to attack . . .proves we’re a target.” Korie made a decision. “No. Let’s assume he’s either dead or playing dead. We opened the lens to see if it was safe to proceed. We know now that it is.” Korie nodded to Hodel. “Set a course for the rift wall.”

  “Subluminal?”

  Korie nodded. “That’s right.”

&
nbsp; “Anyplace in particular?”

  “Indulge yourself. It doesn’t matter. It’s only till we clear this area.” Korie glanced back to the display. “HARLIE?”

  “Yes, Mr. Korie?”

  “Can you maintain a fix on that other ship just using the passive scanners?”

  “Oh, yes. Now that we have the precise readings from the lens, I can extrapolate more accurately from the cruder data.”

  “All right. You can close the—”

  “Excuse me,” interrupted HARLIE. “Something is happening.” On the display, the derelict vessel suddenly blossomed to life.

  “They’re alive! They were hiding like us,” said Hodel.

  “—and now they’ve gone hyper. Goddammit!” Korie snapped. “HARLIE, close the lens. Now!”

  “Morthan?” asked Li, pulling himself back to the weapons station.

  “No, I don’t think so—” said Hodel. “That looks like a liberty signature.”

  “They’re not closing on us,” said Korie. “They’re bolting.”

  They watched the display in silence. The tiny hyperstate ripple stabilized quickly, then began creeping out toward the edge of the scan.

  “Stupid!” swore Korie. “They’ve gone to max power. They’ll be visible for days. Weeks!”

  “We scared them—” Hodel whispered it. The thought was terrifying. “They thought we were Morthans.”

  “How could they be so stupid?” Korie wanted to pound the display; he caught himself before he did. In free fall, that would have sent him tumbling across the Operations deck.

  “Watch them, HARLIE, for as long as you can.”

  “Should I reopen the lens?”