Starhunt: A Star Wolf Novel (31 page)

“If you’re really an alpha, Jon, you not only don’t need a pill; you wouldn’t take one if you did. Alphas don’t like surrendering controls to drugs. For what it’s worth, I’m a zeta-class empath—”

“I know that.”

“—and I’m trying to be helpful.”

“I know that too.”

“Jon—” Pan leans toward him and lays a kindly hand on Korie’s arm. “Jon—have you considered the possibility that—how can I phrase this so it’s nonjudgmental?—have you considered that maybe, just maybe, you could be wrong about that bogie? Is it possible that you’ve tight-focused on it to the point that it’s an obsession?”

Korie phrases his reply carefully. “Yes. I’ve considered the possibility.”

“And—?”

“And, I’ve considered the possibility.”

“That doesn’t completely answer the question.”

“It answers the question you asked.”

Pan looks frustrated.

Korie says quietly, “It doesn’t matter
what
I think any more. I no longer have the authority to give any orders. Oh, that’s not an official position, but you know as well as I that everything I say and do is being double-checked with the captain. So I’m not saying anything that would contradict our present course of action. So it doesn’t matter what I feel, does it?”

“It matters to you. It’s important to your own mental well-being.”

Korie nods, then he allows himself a gently chiding smile. “But if I really
am
an alpha, then I shouldn’t have any trouble dealing with my internal psychonomy, should I?”

Pan looks dour. “You always have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Not always,” Korie admits. “But I try.”

“—but it’s not always the answer we want to hear. Jon, if there’s something going on, let me help you.” Panyovsky is suddenly intense.

“I’m sorry, Pan, I really am; I wish I could tell you something that would put you at ease; but there is nothing—absolutely
nothing
—that either you
or I
can do now that would make one bit of difference.”

Pan’s eyes are shaded. He is trying to decipher the subtext of that statement. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Korie—but it’s finished, isn’t it? In fact, you want me to stay clear, totally clear of it, don’t you?”

Korie allows himself a very slight nod of the head. “That would probably be . . . a good idea.”

Pan considers that statement too. “There’s just one more thing, Jon.” He looks directly into Korie’s heart. “Was it necessary for Rogers to be so badly beaten?”

Korie is silent for a very long time. “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

“Probably not. It would probably make me feel—even more uneasy.”

“Then put yourself in my place. If I had—somehow—been responsible for that beating he took—how do you think I would feel about it?”

Pan sips at his drink. “I’m sorry. I withdraw the question. Whatever it was, it must have been
very
necessary.”

The two men sit in silence, sipping quietly at their drinks. After a while, Korie says, “Sometimes, I don’t like myself very much.”

Panyovsky nods. “I can understand that.”

They sit quietly a while longer.

Panyovsky is just pouring them each a refill when Mike sticks his head back in the door. “You want the scuttlebutt now? Or are you still in conference?”

“Come on in. Talk to us. What’s up?”

“Well—” begins Mike, perching himself on a stool. “Everybody wants to know how Rogers is doing. They’re genuinely concerned. It’s amazing how protective of him they are. I told them he was still in recovery, and probably out of danger, I had to tell them that much.”

A flicker of annoyance crosses Panyovsky’s face.
Mike, the gossip.
He sighs. “That’s all right. I just didn’t want the details discussed.”

“Oh no—anyway, captain’s got Wolfe in the brig. For his own protection.”

“Eh?”

“Oh, yeah—Rogers is the crew’s little pet now—uh—there’s a thing he did—” Mike breaks off, looking meaningfully at Korie.

Korie lifts one hand to wave it away. “It’s all right, I know about it.”

“About what?” Panyovsky asks.

“The tap into the console.”

Mike looks surprised. “You knew?”

“Rogers told me.” Korie explains to Panyovsky. “He accessed the set-ups for the drill simulations for the crew.”

“They cheated—?”

Korie shrugs. “I guess so.”

Pan looks speculatively at Korie for a half second, then dismisses the thought and turns back to Mike. “Go on, Mike. What else?”

“Oh, not too much more. I’d say their mood is pretty ugly. They were beginning to like Rogers—so now they’re mad as hell. At everybody. At Wolfe. At the captain. Barak. Even Jonesy got bawled out, I’m not sure why. Funny—it’s the first time in a week I’ve heard language like that without Mr. Korie’s name in the same sentence—uh, sorry, sir. No offense intended, but—well, you know what I mean—”

Korie smiles easily. “It’s all right.”

“Anyway—they’re pretty wrought up. I guess the best way to describe it is that they’re looking for somebody to kill.”

Panyovsky digests that for half a beat, then turns abruptly to look at Korie. Korie is remarkably impassive. Panyovsky stops himself from giving voice to the thought in his head.
Mike, the gossip.
“Uh—yah, Mike, thanks. That’s about what I figured they would feel—uh—” He turns to Korie. “You still want that sleeping pill?”

Korie nods.

“Mike—will you get me a couple Valex? Now, listen Jon, you’ve just had a drink, so do your doctor a favor and don’t take this pill for at least an hour. All right?”

Korie says, “I’m no dummy.”

“You probably haven’t had enough to make a difference, but different systems react differently, and I’d prefer to operate on the safe side.” He takes the capsules from Mike and passes them to Korie. “Let me know if you need anything else, Jon. I’ll be here.” He locks eyes with Korie. There is a moment of understanding. And then the moment is past, and Korie turns away with a mumbled thanks. Panyovsky looks after the departing officer with a troubled gaze.

Korie returns to his cabin and puts the two Valex in the disposal.

Then he lays down on his bunk again, wearing a thoughtful expression.

(Whatever is going to happen next,) he tells himself, (it is very important that I be nowhere near the bridge when it starts.)

He thinks about the status of the three psychonomies he has been juggling—the relationship with the other ship, the group dynamic of the crew of this ship, and his own internal psychonomy. He has done all he can for each of them.

There is nothing more to do.

Except . . . play it out to the end.

After a while, he dozes.

Nature abhors a hero.

—SOLOMON SHORT

Korie is roused by the alarm. His body is out of bed and racing toward the bridge even before his mind is fully awake. The raucous sound of the klaxon scrapes him into awareness.

It’s happening!

The bridge is panic and confusion—Brandt is standing before the Command and Control Seat demanding to know what is going on. Before him, on the big red screen, the wobbly has swollen to enormous proportions. At the astrogation console, Barak is screaming into a mike—“I don’t care what your instruments show—the damn thing just blew up like a—”

And Leen’s voice is a confused blur from a speaker: “—but the monitors are as steady as—”

Korie doesn’t stop for amenities. He crosses to Brandt, pushing him roughly sideways. “Goldberg! Initiate emergency unwarp procedure!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Goldberg snaps back, not even looking up.

Korie doesn’t have time to notice Brandt’s startled expression. “Barak, belay that noise! Jonesy, cross-vector and set up a non-standard evasion pattern. Don’t wait for recalibration after unwarp.”

“Huh—? Uh, yes, sir!”

Korie unclips his hand-mike from his belt. “Radec! We’re under attack. Set up a probability locus and initialize the proximity fuses. Set for automatic activation thirty seconds after release.”

An unfamiliar voice responds, “Huh—?” And, “Who is this?”

“It’s Captain Ahab, asshole! Now load that goddamn harpoon or I’ll nail your fucking hide to the mast!”

Startled looks flash his way—but suddenly the bridge is too busy for reaction—

“Kill that klaxon!” Korie whirls about. (My God! Willis! I completely forgot—) “You—!! Willis! Log this with everything you’ve got. And don’t screw it up!”

“Uh—uh, yes, sir!”

(—and hope for the best!)

“Korie! What are you doing—?”

“Sorry, Captain—there’s no time to explain. Al, if you’re not going to help, then get out of the way! That’s no fucking wobbly!”

The astrogator flinches, then bends to his board.

Korie studies the screen for a full second. Good. Just as he thought. He starts snapping new orders. “Reverse all field polarities on my mark, stand by.”

“Standing by.”

“Minus three—two—one—
mark!”

The ship shudders momentarily—

And Leen is screaming through the communicator, “What the hell is going on up there!”

“Leen—this is Korie, and I’m in command, and you’re going to do exactly as you’re told, or I personally will come down there and separate every single one of your bones from every other one. Prepare for unwarp.”

“Uh—prepare for unwarp.”

He checks the bogie again—it still hasn’t changed course. (Probably—maybe!—we’ve moved faster than they can react!)

Brandt grabs Korie by the shoulder. “Is this another one of your drills—?”

Korie shakes loose, ignoring him. To the mike, “All right—don’t worry about the details—emergency unwarp—
now!”

Another shudder and—

“Answer me, dammit! This is another one of your mind-games, isn’t it—”

“Drop the eggs!” Korie orders. “Three spreads of three.”

The
ka-chunka-chunka-chunk
of three missiles breaking free from the launch bay shudders through the ship. Brandt’s face goes white—

“Two!” Korie cries.
Ka-chunka-chunka-chunk!”

Barak turns to stare. Jonesy too, astonished.

“Get back to your boards! Prepare to rewarp! Leen, have you got that?” He doesn’t wait for Leen’s “Aye, sir.” A quick glance back up to the screen and “Drop three!”

And as soon as he feels the solid
ka-chunka-chunka-chunk
, he calls, “Rewarp,
now!”
He strides forward to the helm and looks at the board over the helmsman’s shoulder. “Cover all sensors. Null polarity on those grids.” To the mike, “Radec, leave one eye open on the stress field! All radiation shields at full power!”

The screens are blank now.

The ship shudders once and a voice calls, “We’re back in warp—”

“Stand by,” Korie says.

And takes a breath. And then another one. And another.

Brandt is staring at him. Barak too. Slowly, other heads turn to look.

“What’s. Going. On. Mr. Korie?” Brandt is absolutely rigid.

Korie lifts up one hand, as if to signal time out. “Just stand by. Watch the screen—”

“There’s nothing there—not even the wobbly—”

“It’s all right. We didn’t have time to recalibrate. Just watch—”

“Counting,” says helmsman. “Fifteen seconds.”

Barak is standing now, “What was that maneuver, Korie?”

“All right,” Korie says. “He was coming in at us—I knew our only chance would be to dogleg just before we unwarp, so he couldn’t accurately fix a probability radius. But he had to be well into his own unwarp procedure already, so we at least could get a
rough
fix on him—”

“Thirty seconds—”

There is a flicker of light on the screen, then a second, then a third. “First three missiles into warp.”

To the mike, “Radec, is our warp coded?”

“Yes, sir—and scrambled. Those missiles won’t come home.”

“Thank you.”

Three more flickers of light appear on the screen, the second spread.

“But there’s no ship—”

“He has to be still unwarped. He would have dropped out just about the same time we did. Either way—”

All the men are staring at Korie now.
What is he talking about?

The last spread of missiles climbs into warp. The missiles have only enough power for a short-range run in warp. But if they’re close enough—

“Our only chance,” says Korie, “was to drop our spread and be climbing back into warp before he could realize what we were doing. He might have been able to see us dogleg and unwarp—but I’m betting that he couldn’t react fast enough to—”

Barak is incredulous. “Is that what this is all about?” You still believe there’s a bogie—!”

“If I’m wrong, Al—we’ve lost nothing—except three spreads of missiles. But if I’m right—I just saved our lives!”

“It was only a wobbly—one of your goddamn Hilsen units probably threw a circuit—”

“We’ll know in a minute—look, the missiles are hunting—”

“That’s not an accurate scan—”

“It’s close enough for me.” Korie drops into the Command and Control Seat, staring intensely at the screen. Barak and Brandt exchange glances—
is the man mad?
Or what—?

“Five minutes—” says Korie. “He’s got to be within five minutes of us. How long have those missiles been out?”

“Two minutes, fifteen seconds.”

“No sweat yet—”

Brandt opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He turns resolutely and stares at the screen. He isn’t sure what to believe any more. Barak wants to say something but—he throws himself back into his seat instead.

“Two minutes, thirty seconds. Still running.”

And then—there’s a new flicker on the screen. “That’s him—he’s climbing back into warp!”

There is a stunned moment, an instant of time frozen, as if sealed in amber, as one by one, the men on the bridge of the starship
Burlingame
turn to stare at the single new point of light on the screen.

“No,” says Barak. It’s just our wobbly come back.” But even he isn’t sure.

From Brandt comes the question, “Did he drop his missiles?”

“Probably,” says Korie. “I don’t think we scared him
that
much that he’d forget.” Then, to the mike, “Stand by to change warp codes. Just let them get a fix on the old ones first.”