The Voyage of the Star Wolf (40 page)

“Right. So much for freedom and service—” said Korie to no one in particular.

Cinnabar ignored him. “You had your moment. It's over. Your battle is hopeless because history is on our side. You are food.”

Annoyed, Korie swiveled around in his chair to look up at Cinnabar. “You spend a lot of time talking to your sandwich—” He narrowed his eyes. “Just who are you trying to convince?”

The Morthan simply laughed. “I love your arrogance. It's almost charming. It's almost Morthan—” He sank down in the captain's chair with an air of absolute authority.

Korie and Brik looked at each other.

Cinnabar caught the look and frowned in puzzlement. He peered curiously at Korie. “You're thinking of trying something, aren't you?”

“Moi?”

“You can't lie to a Morthan, remember? I can see your heartbeat. I can see your blood flowing. I can see the electrical activity of your nervous system. I can see your Kirlian aura. I can smell the changes in your perspiration. I can smell your fear. I can almost hear your thoughts.” Cinnabar half-raised himself out of the chair as he studied Korie. “Your heartbeat is elevated. Your adrenaline is flowing. Your brain is ticking with nervous excitement. You are thinking of trying something, aren't you?” He sank back into the chair again. “Well, go ahead. Try it.”

Korie looked to Brik. “Do you want to do it?” He asked it almost casually.

Brik shrugged. “No, I think you should do it. You're in command.”

“No, I really think the honor should be yours—” Korie said. “I mean, he did insult you pretty badly.”

“Was that an insult? I hardly noticed.”

“I don't care which one of you does it! Do it!”
Cinnabar roared in crimson rage.

Korie and Brik nodded to each other. Korie spoke. “HARLIE.
Now.
”

It happened even faster than Cinnabar could react. The chair seemed to explode around him. The cushions, the base—it came apart in a fury. Lightning-fast the hidden cables sprang out, writhing like shining metallic worms, and then just as quickly, they flexed and wrapped themselves around and around the helpless Morthan so tightly he couldn't move. The metal tentacles held him fast within the shattered framework of the captain's chair.

The silence creaked.

Brik looked at Cinnabar's glaring eyes. The assassin's mouth and muzzle were muffled by the restraints, but his eyes burned with the fires of Hell. Brik looked to Korie. “We're going to have to kill him, you know.”

“Do we have to?” said Korie. “I was hoping to keep him as a pet.”

“Uh-uh. They're too hard to feed—”

“Mm. Good point.”

Korie crossed the Ops deck to stand in front of Cinnabar. The Morthan assassin was so tightly wound up in the remains of the captain's chair that he looked like a metal mummy. His angry red eyes
smoldered
.

Korie stared into those eyes for a long moment. “Who's arrogant now?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Now let
me
tell
you
something about evolution. It's full of dead ends. Like the dodo. Creatures that went as far as they could go and then . . . couldn't go any farther. Maybe you and your kind are just another evolutionary dead end.”

“I don't think he's going to answer you,” said Brik. “He appears to be tied up at the moment.”

“Mr. Brik? Was that a joke?”

Brik just grinned.

Korie turned back to the captive assassin. “You're only half right. Humanity
isn't
perfect—yet. We're still working on it. But we do have a track record at least a hundred times longer than yours. We've proven that we can survive for a hundred thousand years. Have you? You are the genetically designed and technologically augmented descendants of humanity—but that doesn't automatically make you our replacements. You could just as easily be a mistake. What you've forgotten is that for the last hundred thousand years, at least,
we
have fairly earned our reputation as the meanest sons-of-bitches in this part of the galaxy. And we're not giving up our legend easily. You might be louder than us, you're certainly uglier—but you and your so-called ‘master race' have a long way to go. It's going to take something a lot more convincing than you before the human race packs up its tents.”

“That is one angry Morthan,” said Brik, thoughtfully.

“That is a
humiliated
Morthan,” corrected Korie. And then, abruptly, he remembered he was on the Bridge of a starship and his crew was staring at him. “All right, let's get a med team up here, pronto. And activate the backup systems. And—” He noticed Brik's expression and asked, “What's the matter?” even as he was turning to see—

Cinnabar was struggling with the cables. They were straining and stretching as if he was swelling up within them. They flexed and creaked alarmingly. Cinnabar was glowing with an unholy light. Something terrible was happening inside his cage of wire. Something went suddenly
sproing
!—and then another cable snapped with the same alarming sound—and then all of the cables were bursting at once, flying and ricocheting in all directions—

The Morthan assassin stood up. He was free.

Hodel had just enough time to say, “Uh-oh—”

The monster seized the railing on the Bridge and broke it apart with his bare hands. He leapt down to the Ops deck, grabbed Korie, lifted him high, and flung him angrily at the forward viewer. Korie hit with a bone-jarring
thunk
and bounced off to the floor. His felt the impact go all the way up his spine and wondered for the briefest of instants if he were going to be paralyzed. His head was ringing like an ancient temple gong. He tried to sit up—

Brik and Cinnabar were facing each other in the center of the Ops
deck. Brik shifted his balance, lowering his center of gravity; he brought his arms up in a defensive posture.

Cinnabar straightened and shook his head, grinning. Instead, he pointed an outstretched hand and lightning leapt from his fingers, flinging Brik backward against the shattered weaponry console, paralyzed.

The Morthan whirled to look at Hodel, the only human crewmember left standing. Cinnabar gave him a withering stare and Hodel stepped backward, out of the assassin's way.

Cinnabar crossed to the astrogation console and stood before it, studying it for a long moment. “Do I have to do everything myself?” he said angrily. He reached out and tapped a command on the keyboard.

The console went dead. It blacked out completely.

Cinnabar snorted and smacked it.
Hard
.

The console exploded around him.

Raw electricity flooded through the floor plates, through the console surface, and from the hidden projectors in the ceiling of the Ops deck. It was a fountain of crackling light. Sparks and steam and smoke exploded out of Cinnabar's body. He staggered backward—tried to escape, but the next wave of the assault hit him then. Energy beams leapt out from the floor and the walls, pinning him where he stood. Laser fire and electric flames enveloped him. A heavy mesh net dropped from the ceiling, wrapping him up in its conductive coils. It glowed whitely. Green lightning flickered across its surface; the net grabbed the monster tighter and tighter—until he screamed and roared and flared in agony. The wash of light and heat was overpowering, blinding, scorching. The screams of the monster disappeared in the roaring flames.

The CO
₂
jets fired then and the noise and flames and heat began to subside.

Squinting, Korie unshaded his eyes and peered at the reddened mass on his Ops deck. It was still glowing, but he could see that it was shriveling into ash. It stood for only a moment longer, and then . . . oh, so gently, it crumpled. It toppled and fell, collapsing to the floor like so much brittle debris.

Thank God
, thought Korie. And for once, he didn't retract it.

Except for the crackling mass in its center, the Ops deck was silent.

Hodel pulled his headset down around his ears. “We need a fire-crew on the Ops deck.”

Korie was climbing painfully to his feet. He had to hold on to the back of a chair to remain standing. Brik limped over to him and supported him by the other arm.

“He didn't kill you?” Korie looked surprised.

“He'd have had no one to play with.”

The first of the medical teams came rushing onto the Bridge. Armstrong, Stolchak, and Bach, followed by two tall Quillas. Korie pointed them toward Williger and Jonesy and Goldberg. “Take care of the others first.”

He nodded toward the rear of the deck and Brik helped him toward one of the few remaining chairs on the Ops deck. Korie sank into it gratefully.

“Status report?”

“Working,” said HARLIE quietly. “Most of the damage appears to have been limited to the Operations deck. Control has been transferred to the backup systems.”

“Thank you, HARLIE—” Korie said painfully. “You can disable the rest of the traps now.” He looked to Brik. “You were right. He was still alive.”

“It's very hard to kill a Morthan,” Brik said. “If you don't have a body, he's still alive.” Brik studied Korie for a moment. “You did good too. He never suspected. Are you sure you aren't part Morthan?”

Korie looked up at Brik with a quizzical expression, then assumed that the comment had actually been intended as a joke.

“I didn't know you could do that,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Tell jokes.”

Brik looked at him blankly. “That wasn't a joke.”

“Right. Never mind.” Korie straightened in his seat and glanced across the Bridge to see how the others were doing.

Jonesy was in great pain, but he was bearing it well. He was lying with his head in Tor's lap. She was hurt too, but not as badly.

“Easy, Jonesy—hang on—”

Stolchak was checking Jonesy with a hand-scanner. Then she touched his arm with a pressure-injector. It whooshed. “It'll ease the pain,” she said.

Jonesy turned his head to Tor and managed a grin. “Don't worry. I'm not going to die.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. His voice was starting to fade. “I know it was you who reversed the rings. I'm glad you did. I like taking showers with you.” And then he passed out.

Stolchak grinned at Tor. “Sorry. No strenuous exercise till the bones knit.”

Tor flushed with embarrassment, but still managed to ask, “Mine or his?”

“Yes.”

The lights on the Ops deck went out then—but only for a moment. Then they came back up brighter as the emergency systems took over. Chief Leen's voice came over the loudspeaker. “Mr. Korie, the auxiliary Bridge is green. We'll take over control here.”

“Thank you,” replied Korie. “I'll be there in a minute.” He levered himself to his feet, gasping as he did. “I think I cracked a rib—” He turned forward and suddenly, he was crisp and efficient again. “All right, Hodel, let's clean this mess up! We're still in Morthan space. And they're going to come looking for us soon.” He supported himself on the chair. “Chief? How soon can we get underway?”

“We're running security checks, and as soon as we clear, I can have us in hyperstate. Estimate thirty minutes.”

“You've got five.” Still holding his side, he admitted, “Jeezis, that hurts.” He glanced upward. “HARLIE. You did good. Real good.”

“Thank you, Mr. Korie. I have never had to sit on a system alert before.”

“It wouldn't have worked without you, HARLIE.”

“Yes, I know. Suppressing all those alarms— It felt—quite odd. Almost like . . . lying.”

“Yes, well, don't make it a habit.”

“No, sir. I found it a very unpleasant experience.”

Korie crossed to Williger; she was the worst hurt. Armstrong and one of the tall Quillas were just putting her on a stretcher. She was growling at them both.

“Only my pride is hurt,” she said. “Let me up—! People are hurt.”