Starhunt: A Star Wolf Novel (19 page)

“Now, I’m pretty sure that he’s keeping his speed low—so we’ll have to get fairly close to him to see him. With our speed so high, he’ll be able to see us before we see him. We’ll be like a dog thrashing around the bushes—maybe we’ll scare him into making a run for it; in which case, we’ll pick him up again. That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“Yes, sir. But, what I’m concerned about is the effect of our increased speed on the search pattern itself. The way you have this set up, we won’t actually be covering every part of the suspected area; but if I understand this correctly, we will be moving the ship’s detection radius through as wide an area as possible so as to intersect any possible course that the other might be on.”

“That’s right. We’re traveling on the surface of an expanding sphere of possible locations.”

“Well, with the increased speed,” points out Jonesy, “we’ll be hitting some of these areas too soon. Also, there’s the greater chance that he’ll see us in time to veer out of the way.”

“You’re right,” Korie realizes abruptly. “Uh, we’ll have to decrease speed until we can work out an alternate set of patterns for the higher warp factor—”

“I’ve already done that, sir. I had EDNA recompute your patterns for warp factor 130. I hope you don’t mind—”

Korie looks at him, pleasantly surprised. “No, no, of course not. I’m delighted that you’re so far ahead of me. Go ahead, set them up on the boards and implement them.”

“Yes, sir.” Jonesy starts to go.

“And Jonesy—,” Korie adds. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, sir—but I want to make this kill
too
.” And then the assistant astrogator is back to his board.

There must be an easier way to make a living.

—Remark attributed to His

Holiness POPE GREGOR II

The first officer’s cabin is close to the captain’s—at least physically if not mentally. Rogers glances at the man with him, then knocks at the door; timidly at first, then with a resigned, let’s-get-it-over-with attitude.

“Come in,” calls a muffled voice.

Rogers enters, followed by Reynolds, the union representative. The room is dark, Korie is lying on his bunk. “Turn on the light,” he mumbles. As Rogers does so, he winces and puts his hand over his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you, sir—”

“Uh—” Korie yawns and rubs his eyes; notices Reynolds for the first time. “What’s he here for?”

Reynolds and Rogers exchange a glance. Reynolds opens his mouth to speak, but Rogers blurts out, “I asked him to come with me, sir. It’s my right.”

Korie makes a face, stifles another yawn.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, sir—”

“Said about what?”

“What you said in the shower room, sir.”

“Oh that—what about it?” Korie levers himself up on one elbow. “Have you come to tell me about Wolfe?”

Rogers straightens; the brace is stiff across his back. “No, sir.” He hesitates, but when he does speak, his voice is controlled. “Uh, you said that you’d bully the information out of me if you had to.”

“Uh huh . . .” Korie’s tone is guarded. “And—”

“Well, I’ve decided—” Rogers looks to Reynolds again, but the union representative is carefully expressionless. “—I’ve decided that if you want, then that’s the only way you’re going to get anything from me. I mean, I’m not going to change my story.”

“I see. Did you talk this over with Mr. Reynolds before you came to see me?”

“Sir,” puts in Reynolds. “Mr. Rogers only asked me to witness this conversation, nothing more. As far as I know, he’s acting on his own.”

“I
see.
”

“No, sir,” says Rogers. “I don’t think you do.”

“All right,” Korie sighs and pushes himself into a sitting position. He rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Tell me about it.” His tone is bored, almost impatient.

“Well, it’s like this. You told me I have to be responsible for my own actions. And, uh, you’re right; so this is where I have to start being responsible. I have to tell you no.”

Korie exhales. Loudly. “An odd place to start.”

“Don’t you see? Telling you anything wouldn’t be taking on my own responsibilities at all. It’d just be shifting them to someone else.”

The first officer nods slowly.

“If I told you what happened, you’d use it against Wolfe—but I’d be the one who gets blamed for telling you. So this is where I draw the line and accept my responsibility. I have to say no to you. You’ll
have
to bully me, sir.”

“All right, I’ll make a note of it.” Korie suppresses another yawn. “Is that all there is to your reasons?”

“—There is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“Well, uh—we both know what happened. Everybody on the ship knows it. But unless I’m willing to testify, it can’t be proven. And I’m not going to testify. And Wolfe knows it. In fact, the whole crew knows it. Therefore, I’ve got a certain degree of power over Wolfe, right?”

Korie just looks at him. “You’re awfully naive, Rogers.”

“I don’t think so, sir. Their attitude has changed; Wolfe’s attitude has changed. I don’t mean they’re being nice or anything like that, but at least they’re leaving me alone. And that’s an improvement over what it was before.”

Korie scratches his head, rumpling his pale hair even more. He looks over to Reynolds. “Is this true?”

Reynolds’ tone is neutral. “I couldn’t say, sir.”

“You’re really a big help.” Korie mutters. He looks back to Rogers. From this angle, the young man seems unnaturally broad-shouldered. “Well, I hope the bit of backbone you’re showing now is more than just that brace on your back—because that’s coming off pretty soon. Right now, you think you’re standing up to me; I hope you can stand up to the crew when the time comes.”

“I’m—not at war with the crew, sir. I’m supposed to be one of them.”

“Oh, yes; that’s right.” Korie stretches and stands, moves to a nearby chair. “I’ll tell you, Rogers,” he says, lowering himself into it. “I don’t really care anymore whether you tell me anything or not. I don’t need your help to bust Wolfe—it’s all right if you hear this, Reynolds; Wolfe is your responsibility too. He’s going to be back on watch soon enough, and I expect he’ll do something else just as stupid within a few days. So, I don’t really need your help. And I really don’t feel like—bullying you. So, if you want to think you’re one of the crew now, well go ahead and think it.”

“I don’t know if I am or not, sir. But you told me I’d have to make or break on this ship and no other. So I have to do what I think is right.”

Korie waves it off. “All right—look, I don’t care what you do. All I want is that bogie. If you do your job and keep out of my way, I’ll be”—he snorts it—“happy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, get out of here, both of you. I want to go back to sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the door slides shut behind them, Reynolds looks at Rogers “You know something?”

“What?”

“You’re
still
an asshole.”

“Oh, well—” Rogers looks him in the eye. “That’s just
one
opinion.” Then he turns and walks away, leaving the other snorting in contempt and shaking his head.

The trouble with having power is that you have to use it—and once you start using it, it’s very hard to stop.

—STEPHEN-JAMES WATLING,

Forty-sixth President of the United States

Channel B, the all-talk channel:

“What is it? Five days now?”

“Yeah.”

“You think we’ll find the bogie?”

“Naw.”

“Korie does.”

“Well, we all know about Korie, don’t we?”

“Aw, say what you like—I’d still rather have Korie on my side than against me.”

“How can you tell the difference?”

“No, I’m serious—I’d rather have him on this ship than on that bogie.”

“Not me—I wish he was on that bogie right now.”

“No, listen a minute—we stand a little enough chance as it is. One thing you can say about Korie, he’s a killer—”

“Of his own men, yeah. Christ, one more drill and I’ll apply for the straightjacket myself; they won’t have to come and get me.”

“Yeah, but if Korie was on that other ship, he’d be after us so fast—”

“If Korie was on that other ship, Brandt would have turned this one around and taken us home long before this. We wouldn’t have come this far and we wouldn’t be searching this long.”

“It’s not the searching that worries me.”

“Huh?”

“Was anyone paying attention to that last set of drills?”

“No. why? Should we have?”

“I’ll say. Do you know what he was rehearsing? A
Valsalva maneuver
.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s never been done—except in simulations. They can’t find anyone who’s stupid enough to try it for real.”

“Huh? Why?”

“You dump your load
before
you unwarp—”

“Shit!”

“
Now
you’ve got something to worry about! That asshole may want to try it for real!”

“Woops! Speak of the devil. Here we go again—”

Once you give an order on any subject, you are accepting the responsibility for that area of authority. The lesser-ranking individual will usually be glad to relinquish that responsibility to you—thus, once you give an order on any subject, you are committing yourself to give orders in that area from that point on.

Never accept the burden of trivia that lesser-ranking men will want to put on your shoulders. Insist that each perform to the utmost of his abilities; insist that each man take the responsibility for the job he is supposed to fill.

You can’t run the ship yourself; you’ve got to trust these men anyway—why not turn them all the way?

—ROGER BURLINGAME,

The Officer’s Handbook

Of the twenty-six human functions that must be performed to move the
Burlingame
through space, fully twenty-two of them are information-moving functions—a man sits at a console and sees that (a) this piece of information is (b) moved to (c) this place at (d) this specific time. The more important a man is, the more information he has to move; he moves it from one bank of computers to another, or from the computers into the control network, or from the sensors into the computers; always there is a computer either receiving or sending the information.

The man in the Command and Control Seat is the most important man of all, he reviews the information. When the ship is in operation, his function is simple—he has to decide whether to let the information flow continue or whether to interrupt it. If he interrupts it, the
Burlingame
stops.

When the
Burlingame
stops, it is his responsibility to get it moving again. That means examining the information responsible for the stoppage in the first place, deciding what needs to
be done about it, reprogramming and redirecting where necessary, and finally, giving the order to start the information flow again.

The job of the man in the seat is to see that the right information is being handled in the right manner. If it isn’t, then his job is to correct it. Usually, this means sitting long hours in the Command and Control chair, listening to monotonous chatter on the intercom, and watching abstract diagrams on the screens. But this is his responsibility; he can’t slough it off to a lesser man.

The computers hum, the consoles tick and click, the monitors beep. The screens flash with lines and curves, yellow, green and blue. A full-scale battle simulation is indistinguishable from the real thing. The same images appear on the boards, the same patterns of lights and numbers. The same information moves from place to place.

The only difference is that the information is hypothetical. The control network has been disengaged and is being monitored in the auxiliary control deck. The vectors and velocities depicted on the screens of the bridge have no correlation to reality.

If there were a correlation, it wouldn’t be a drill.

Korie has an earphone pressed to the side of his head. Voices—blurred one into another—rattle from the tinny speaker.

“Monitor alpha—nine six three.”

“Got it.”

“PL reading: zero zero two.”

“Zero zero two, right.”

“DTR at delta three zero.”

“Delta three zero. Cycling.”

“D Channel on.”

“D Channel is overing. Let me take it on R.”

“R Channel, right.”

“I need a stability count.”

“Mark seven minutes—”

“Stand by for new polarities.”

“Standing by.”

“Forty-five degrees—180 degrees—120 degrees.”

“Confirming: 45 degrees—180 degrees—120 degrees.”

“Hold for execution.”

“Holding.”

“Interrupt evasion maneuver.”

“Stand by—evasion maneuver disengaged.”

“Execute new polarities.”

“Right.”

A massive framework turns on its gimbals in three directions at once. Two sets of cables slide smoothly along their silicone-greased channels to follow the motion of the generators; the third set—

—fouls on a mounting, hanging up another cable, a lesser one. The thing on the end of it screams as it is jerked from the webbing; a yellow-suited doll—

Instantly, the generators stop their motion. The yellow thing swings—slams into a stanchion. Red lights start flashing on all the boards—

The sound of the scream is enough. Korie hits the red button on his chair arm: all the lights, all the panels, all the boards go red. All the information is stopped. The drill is interrupted.

—But when one flow of data is diverted, another begins; requests for reasons why, followed by hasty answers.

“Status report—what’s the emergency?”

“Something in the engine room—”

“—the ‘monkey crew’. Someone got tangled in the—”

“Sir, this is auxiliary control. Do you want us to shut down?”

“Wait a minute,” snaps Korie. “Bridge, to go normal operation; reengage control network. Report status of ship. Auxiliary control, stand by to be relieved.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Engine room, what’s going on—?”

“We’ve got a man caught in the generator cage—”

“Is he hurt—?”