"You believe that goodlife crap? It'll blast us as we go."
"I don't think so," he said. "There're plenty of precedents. They do have the option of classifying you that way, and they will make a deal if there's something they really want."
"Dorphy," Wade asked, "did you get that message off to Corlano?"
The smaller man nodded.
"Yes."
"Good," Wade stated. "If for no other reason, Corlano is why we are going to wait here. It could take a while for those smaller units it spoke of to get here. Every hour we gain in waiting is another hour for them to bolster their defenses."
"I can see that…" Dorphy began.
"… but there's sure death for us at the end of the waiting," MacFarland continued for him, "and this looks like a genuine way out. I sympathize with Corlano as much as you do, but us dying here is not going to help them. You know the place is not strongly defended. Whether we buy them a little extra time or not, they will still go under."
"You don't really know that," Wade said. "Some seemingly weak worlds have beaten off some very heavy attacks in the past. And even the berserker said it—our few lives are insignificant next to an entire inhabited world."
"Well, I'm talking probabilities, and I didn't come in on this venture to be a martyr. I was willing to take my chances with criminal justice, but not with death."
"How do you feel about it, Dorphy?" Wade asked.
Dorphy licked his lips and looked away.
"I'm with MacFarland," he said softly.
Wade clenched his teeth, then turned to Juna.
"I say we wait," she said.
"That makes two of us," Wade observed.
"She doesn't have a vote," MacFarland stated. "She's just a passenger."
"It's her life, too," Wade answered. "She has a say."'
"She doesn't want to give it that that damned machine!" MacFarland shot back. "She wants to sit here and play with it while everything goes up in flames! What's she got to lose? She's dying anyway, and—" Wade snarled and rose to his feet.
"The discussion is ended," he said. "We stay."
"The vote was a tie—at most."
"I am assuming full command here, and I say that's the way it's going to be."
MacFarland laughed.
"'Full command! This is a lousy smuggling run, not the service you got basted out of, Wade. You can't command any—"
Wade hit him, twice in the stomach and a left cross to the jaw.
MacFarland went down, doubled forward and began gasping. Wade regarded him, considered his size. If he gets up within the next ten seconds this is going to be rough, he decided.
But MacFarland raised a hand only to rub his jaw. He said "Damn!" softly and shook his head. Then, "You didn't have to do that, Wade."
"I thought I did."
MacFarland shrugged and rose to one knee.
"Okay, you've got your command," he said. "I still think you're making a big mistake."
"I'll call you the next time there's something to discuss," Wade told him.
Dorphy reached to help him to his feet, but the larger man shook off his hand.
Wade glanced at Juna. She looked paler than usual, her eyes brighter. She stood before the hatchway to the opened lock as if to defend the passage.
"I'm going to take a shower and lie down," MacFarland said.
"Good."
Juna moved forward as the two men left the room. She took hold of Wade's arm.
"It lied," she said again softly. "Do you understand? It could blast us and probably recover the machine, but it doesn't want to…"
"No," Wade said. "I don't understand."
"It's almost as if it's afraid of the thing."
"Berserkers do not know fear."
"All right. I was anthropomorphizing. It's as if it were under some constraint regarding it. I think we've got something very special here, something that creates an unusual problem for the berserker."
"What could it be?"
"I don't know. But there may be a way to find out, if you can get me enough time. Stall it, for as long as you can."
He nodded slowly and seated himself. His heart was racing.
"You said that about half of its memory was shot…"
"It's a guess, but yes. And I'm going to try to reconstruct it from what's there."
"How?"
She crossed to the computer.
"I'm going to program, this thing for an ultra-highspeed form of Wiener Analysis of what's left in there. It's a powerful non-linear method for dealing with the very high noise levels we're facing. But it's going to have to make some astronomical computations for a system like this. We'll have to patch in the others, maybe even pull some of the cargo. I don't know how long this is going to take, or even if it will really work." She began to sound out of breath. "But we might be able to reconstruct what's missing and restore it. That's why I need all the time you can get me," she finished.
"I'll try," he answered. "You go ahead. And—"
"I know," she said, coughing. "Thanks."
"I'll bring you something to eat while you work."
"In my cabin," she said, "top drawer, bedside table—there are three small bottles of pills. Bring them instead, and some water."
"Right."
He departed. On the way, he stopped in his cabin to fetch a handgun he kept in his dresser, the only weapon aboard the ship. He searched the drawers several times, however, and could not locate it. He cursed softly and then went to Juna's cabin for her medicine.
The berserker maintained its distance and speculated while it waited. It had conceded some information in order to explain the proposed tradeoff. Still, it could do no harm to remind Captain Kelman of the seriousness of his position. It might even produce a faster decision. Accordingly, the hydraulics hummed and surface hatches were opened to extrude additional weapon mounts. Firing pieces were shifted to occupy these, and were targeted upon the small vessel. Most were too heavy to take out the ship without damaging its companion. Their mere display, though, might be sufficiently demoralizing…
Wade watched Juna work. While the hatch could be secured there were several other locations within the ship from which it could be opened remotely. So he had tucked a pry bar behind his belt and kept an eye on the open hatch. It had seemed the most that he could do, short of forcing a confrontation which might go either way.
Periodically, he would throw the voice mode switch and listen to that thing ramble, sometimes in ED language, sometimes in the odd alien tongue which still sounded somehow familiar. He mused upon it. Something was trying to surface. She had been right about it, but—
The intercom buzzed. Dorphy.
"Our hour is up. It wants to talk to you again," he said. "Wade, it's showing more weapons—"
"Switch it in," he replied. He paused, then, "Hello?" he said.
"Captain Kelman, the hour is run," came the now-familiar voice. "Tell me your decision."
"We have not reached one yet," he answered. "We are divided on this matter. We need more time to discuss it farther."
"How much time?"
"I don't know. Several hours at least."
"Very well, I will communicate with you every hour for the next three hours. If you have not reached a decision during that time I will have to reconsider my offer to categorize you as goodlife."
"We are hurrying," Wade said. "I will call you in an hour."
"Wade," Dorphy said at transmission's end, "all those new weapons are pointed right at us. I think it's getting ready to blast us if you don't give it what it' wants."
"I don't think so," Wade said. "Anyhow, we've got some time now."
"For what? A few hours isn't going to change anything."
"I'll tell you. In a few hours," Wade said. "How's MacFarland?"
"He's okay."
"Good." He broke she connection.
"Hell," he said then.
He wanted a drink hot he didn't want to muddy his thinking. He had been cl
ose to something…
He returned to Juna and the console.
"How's it going?" he asked. "Everything's in place and I'm running it now," she said.
"How soon till you know whether it's working?"
"Hard to tell."
He threw the voice mode switch again.
"Qwibbian-qwibbian-kel," it said. "Qwibbian-qwibbian-kel, maks qwibbian."
"I wonder what that could mean?" he said.
"It's a recurring phrase, or word—or whole sentence. A pattern analysis I ran a while back made me think that it might be its name for itself."
"It has a certain lilt to it."
He began humming. Then whistling, and tapping his fingers on the side of the console in accompaniment.
"That's it!" he announced suddenly. "It was the right place but it was the wrong place."
"What?" she asked.
"I have to check, to be sure," he said. "Hold the fort. I'll be back."
He hurried off.
"The right place but the wrong place," emerged from the speaker. "How can that be? Contradiction."
"You're coming together again!" she said.
"I—regain," came the reply, after a time.
"Let us talk while the process goes on," she suggested.
"Yes," it answered, and then it lapsed again into rambling amid bursts of static.
Dr. Juna Bayel crouched in the lavatory cubicle and vomited. Afterwards, she ground the heels of her hands into her eyesockets and tried to breathe deeply, to overcome the dizziness and the shaking. When her stomach had settled sufficiently she took a double dose of her medicine. It was a risk, but she had no real choice. She could not afford one of her spells at this time. A heavy dose might head it off. She clenched her teeth and her fists and waited.
Wade Kelman received the berserker's call at the end of the hour and talked it into another hour's grace. The killing machine was much more belligerent this time.
Dorphy radioed the berserker after he heard the latest transmission and offered to make a deal. The berserker accepted immediately.
The berserker retracted all but the four original gun mounts facing the ship, it did not wish to back down even to this extent, but Dorphy's call had given it an appropriate-seeming reason. Actually, it could not dismiss the possibility that showing the additional weapons might have been responsible for the increased electrical activity it now detected. The directive still cautioned wariness and was now indicating non-provocation as well.
Who hath drawn the circuit for the lion?
"Qwibbian," said the artifact.
Juna sat, pale, before the console. The past hour had added years to her face. There was fresh grime on her coveralls. When Wade entered he halted and stared.
"What's wrong?" he said. "You look—"
"It's okay."
"No, it isn't ! know you're sick. We're going to have to—"
"It's really okay," she said. "It's passing, Let it be. I'll be all right."
He nodded and advanced again, displaying a small recorder in his left hand.
"I've got it," he said then. "Listen to this."
He turned on the recorder. A series of clicks and moans emerged, it ran for about a quarter-minute and stopped.
"Play it again, Wade," she said, and she smiled weakly as she threw the voice mode switch…
He complied.
"Translate," she said when it was over.
"Take the—untranslatable—to the—untranslatable—and transform it upward," came the voice of the artifact through the speaker.
"Thanks," she said, and, "You were right, Wade."
"You know where I found it?" he asked.
"On the Carmpan tapes."
"Yes, but it's not Builder talk."
"I know that."
"And you also know what it is?"
She nodded.
"It is the language spoken by the Builders enemies—the Red Race—against whom the berserkers were unleashed. There is a little segment showing the round red people shouting a slogan or a prayer or something—maybe it's even a Builder propaganda tape. It came from that, didn't it?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
She patted the console.
"Qwib-qwib here is getting back on his mental feet. He's even helping now. He's very good at self-repair, now that the process has been initiated. We've been talking for a while and I'm beginning to understand." She coughed, a deep, racking spasm that brought tears to her eyes. "Would you get me a glass of water?"
"Sure."
He crossed the cabin and fetched it.
"We have made an enormously important find," she said as she sipped it. "It was good that the others kept you from cutting it loose."
MacFarland and Dorphy entered the cabin. MacFarland held Wade's pistol and pointed it at him.
"Cut it loose," he said.
"No," Wade answered.
"Then Dorphy's going to do it while I keep you covered. Suit up, Dorphy, and get a torch."
"You don't know what you're doing," Wade said. "Juna was just telling me that—"
MacFarland fired. The projectile ricocheted about the cabin, finally dropping to the floor in the far corner.
"Mac, you're crazy!" Wade said. "You could just as easily hit yourself if you do that again."
"Don't move! Okay. That was stupid, but now I know better. The next one goes into your shoulder or your leg. I mean it. You understand?"
"Yes, damn it! But we can't just cut that thing loose now. It's almost repaired, and we know where it's from. Juna —"
"I don't care about any of that Two-thirds of it belong to Dorphy and me, and we're jettisoning our share right now. If your third goes along, that's tough. The berserker assures us that's all it wants. It'll let us go then. I believe it."
"Look, Mac. Anything a berserker wants that badly is something we shouldn't give it. I think I can talk it into giving us even more time."
MacFarland shook his head.
Dorphy finished suiting up and took a cutting torch from a rack. As he headed for the open lock, Juna said, "Wait. If you cycle the lock you'll cut the cable. It'll sever the connection to Qwib-qwib's brain."
"I'm sorry, doctor," MacFarland said. "But we're in a hurry."
From the console then came the words: "Our association is about to be terminated?"'
"I'm afraid so," she answered "I am sorry that I could not finish."
"Do not. The process continues. I have assimilated the program and now use it myself. A most useful process."
Dorphy entered the lock.
"I have one question, Juna, before goodbye," it said.
"Yes? What is it?" she asked.
The lock began cycling closed and Dorphy was already raising the torch to burn through the welds.
"My vocabulary is still incomplete. What does 'qwibbian' mean in your language?"
The cycling lock struck the cable and severed it as she spoke, so she did not know whether it heard her say the word "berserker."
Wade and MacFarland both turned suddenly.
"What did you say?" Wade asked.
She repeated it.
"You're not making sense," he said. "First you said that it wasn't. Now—"
"Do you want to talk about words or machines?" she asked.
"Go ahead. You talk. I'll listen."
She sighed and took another drink of water.
"I got the story from Qwib-qwib in pieces," she began. "I had to fill in some gaps with conjectures, but they seemed to follow. Ages ago, the Builders apparently fought a war with the Red Race, who proved tougher than they thought. So they hit them with their ultimate weapon—the self-replicating killing machines we call berserkers."
"That seems the standard story," Wade said.
"The Red Race went under," she continued. "They were totally destroyed—but only after a terrific struggle. In the final days of the war they tried all sorts of things, but by then it was a case of too little too late. They were overwhelmed. They actually even tri
ed something I had always wondered about—something no Earth-descended world would now dare to attempt, with ail the restrictions on research along those lines, with all the paranoia…"
She paused for another sip,
"They built their owe berserkers," she went on Chen, "but not like the originals. They developed a killing machine which would only attack berserkers—an anti-berserker berserker—for the defense of their home planet. But there were too few. They put them all on the line, around their world, and apparently they did a creditable job—they had something involving short jumps into and out of other spaces going for them—but they were vastly outnumbered in that last great mass attack. Ultimately, all of them fell." The ship gave a shudder. They turned toward the lock.
"He's cut if loose, whatever it was," MacFarland stated. "It shouldn't shake the whole ship that way," Wade said.
"It would if it accelerated away the instant it was freed," said Juna.
"But how could it, with all of its control circuits sealed?" Wade asked.
She glanced at the smears on her coveralls.
"I reestablished its circuits when I learned the truth," she told him. "I don't know what percentage of its old efficiency it possesses, but I am certain that it is about to attack the berserker."
The lock cycled open and Dorphy emerged, unfastening his suit as it cycled closed behind him.
'''We've got to get the hell out of here!" MacFarland cried. "This area is about to become a war zone!"
"You care to do the piloting?" Wade asked him.
"Of course not."
"Then give me my gun and get out of my way."
He accepted the weapon and headed for the bridge.
For so long as the screens permitted resolution they watched—the ponderous movements of the giant berserker, the flashes of its energy blasts, the dartings and sudden disappearances and reappearances of its tiny attacker. Later, some time after the images were lost, a fireball sprang into being against the starry black.
"He got it! Qwib-qwib got it!" Dorphy cried.
"And it probably got him, too," MacFarland remarked. "What do you think, Wade?"
"I think," Wade replied, "that I will not have anything to do with either of you ever again."
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