The Voyage of the Star Wolf (17 page)

“But I can't be captain—?”

“How would it look to promote you now? That's assuming I could find someone to sponsor you. No, you can't be a captain.”

“Well then, ma'am, with all due respect—I cannot continue to serve under these conditions. May I speak candidly?”

“I thought you already were.” The vice-admiral sighed. “Go ahead.”

“I
earned
this command. What my crew accomplished in surviving and bringing back the
LS-1187
is nothing to be ashamed of. The political
situation is irrelevant here. These men and women deserve better than this, and so do I. We did an exemplary job, we brought back intelligence that no one else has ever accomplished. It's
wrong
to punish us. You not only deny us, but you deny the fleet the benefit of a crew that has proven itself under fire.”

“How many kills did you make?”

“That's not the issue.”

“It is now. How many torpedoes did you fire?”

“That's an unfair question.”

“No, it isn't. That's the
only
question anymore.”

Korie met her gaze directly. “You can't believe that.”

“Even if I were to grant the validity of your position—” The vice-admiral chose her words carefully. “Even if it were true that you were still qualified to command a starship, there isn't a starship for you.”

“The
LS-1187
was to become mine when Captain Lowell retired.”

“The point is moot. As soon as we can find a captain who will accept the
LS-1187
, she will be reassigned.”

“In that case, Admiral, I must respectfully insist on the right to resign my commission.”

“Denied.”

“I won't stop trying.”

“And I won't stop denying.”

Korie shut up. He was trapped. He felt more alone than he had ever felt before in his life.

The vice-admiral softened her tone then. She said quietly, “All right, off the record, I agree—it's unfair. But don't use the unfairness of it to be a spoiled child. The Alliance needs you, Commander. I need you to continue as the executive officer of the
LS-1187
.”

“No, ma'am. My crew was expecting me to be their new captain before the disaster. They have been expecting it all the way home. If I were to continue aboard the ship now and not be promoted to captain, my ability to manage this crew would be severely impaired. Plus, if they were to perceive the unfairness of the situation, it would very likely create significant resentment toward any new captain.”

“Then I trust that you will not allow them to perceive the situation as unfair—”

“Ma'am, they're not stupid. They'll figure it out. You've got to know that you're looking at a terrific morale problem aboard that ship. As soon as they begin to realize that the
LS-1187
has been branded a Jonah, they're going to start hurting.”

“That's one of the reasons we need you to stay on. That crew trusts you.”

“No, ma'am. I told that crew they were heroes. I'm not going back there to take it away from them. You're setting this ship up to fail. I've had enough failure for a while, thank you. Find someone else.”

“There isn't anyone else,” the vice-admiral said. “There isn't a qualified executive officer who's willing to transfer to the
LS-1187
. Not with her record.”

“Uh-huh? And what about a captain? If you can't find an executive officer—”

“Commander Korie, that's not your concern.”

“I beg to differ. It most certainly
is
my concern. You're telling me that you can't find anyone else who wants the ship—but you won't give her to me.”

The vice-admiral didn't respond.

“That's true, isn't it?”

“Commander, I've let you be candid and I've been candid with you because I need you to understand the difficulty of the situation—”

“Admiral, whatever you do is going to be a difficult decision. So, choose the one that produces the best results for the war effort. Give the ship a new number or scrap her for parts; but if you're not going to let her be a proud ship, don't send her out to be a shamed ship. Don't do that to her crew. Reassign them. Let them serve on other ships.”

“We can't do that either.”

“I don't understand—”

“I don't know if I can explain it to you. Let's just focus on your situation for the moment. Maybe that'll make it clearer. Personally, I would prefer to accept your resignation. I like it when problems go away by themselves. But I cannot; not without also ordering a court-martial for you, which I will not.
That
would be even more unfair. Neither can I order you back onto that ship if you are so adamantly opposed to it. But I can't put you anywhere else, either. The problem is not just the ship. The problem is you. I doubt that there's a captain in the fleet who will accept you as his executive officer now. You carry the stink of the
LS-1187
with you. And the same is true for the rest of your crew. Keeping them together is the
best
thing I can do for them.”

The words hit Korie hard. He lowered his head and looked at his hands in his lap for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” said the vice-admiral.

“I can't quit. I can't go on. I can't go back.” Korie shook his head and looked up again. “Am I allowed an honorable suicide?”

The vice-admiral allowed herself the tiniest of smiles. “I'm afraid that's
not a viable option, either.” She leaned forward, softening her tone. “Jon, I know this hurts. I know it's very bad news. You have to understand that it isn't personal—”

“It sure feels like it.”

“This is a crisis situation. We're scrambling like crazy to keep the Morthan Solidarity from finding out just how badly they damaged us. They don't know. They think they hit mostly merchant shipping. They don't know that they wiped out most of our heavy cruisers. If they do find that out . . . well, I don't have to tell you what the Morthans have done to the planets they've taken over.

“The only thing I can say to you that I hope will cause you to change your mind is to ask you to consider if the war effort is more important to you than your own personal or career concerns.”

“You already know the answer to that question.” Korie was offended that he even had to say so. “Ma'am, everything you've said just reaffirms the correctness of my choice. I don't have to be a starship officer to serve the war effort. Considering all that you've just told me, I'd probably be a lot more useful somewhere else. I can go back to Shaleen and work on the orbital assembly lines for liberty ships. I was a stardrive engineer, you now. It seems to me we're going to be needing a lot more starships very soon. And I'm a good crew chief. I can do good and I can feel good about what I'm accomplishing. Let me go. It'll solve your problem—and mine. And it'll put me a lot closer to my family. I'll even get to see them once in a while.”

“My God—” The vice-admiral hesitated.
“They didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what—?” Korie's gut was already tightening.

The vice-admiral was clearly distressed. “The
Dragon Lord
hit Shaleen three months ago. She scourged the planet. I'm sorry. There were no survivors. There's nothing left.”

Korie didn't hear the rest.

You cosmic son of a bitch! I trusted you! I didn't know you put a price on your miracles
!

He stumbled to his feet—

There is no God. There is only a malignant practical joker with the morals of a terrorist. I will never trust you again
!

They gave him a month off.

It wasn't enough.

If they had given him a year off, it wouldn't have been enough.

Everything blurred.

Somewhere in the middle of the debriefing and the sedatives and the physical examinations and the library tapes of the smoldering surface of Shaleen and the mandatory therapeutic counseling, Jonathan Thomas Korie broke down and cried.

He went down to recreation, checked into Rage Co., and pounded on the Morthan android with a club for a while—it grinned at him at first. Then it looked uncertain and finally worried. He beat at it over and over and over again until it fell to its knees and began begging for mercy. It wept and cried and shrieked and very convincingly soiled its underwear.

It wasn't enough.

He took the club and continued pounding. He shattered bricks. He broke a lot of glass—he demolished a house. He raged. He shrieked as hard as he could, trying to force his mountain of grief and anger and madness out through the tiny insufficient funnels of his eyes and mouth. His body betrayed him with its inefficiency. The pressure of his frustration only fueled the volcanic insanity of his fury. He swung and smashed and battered at everything he could reach. He fell down a couple of times, picked himself up, bleeding from cuts, and continued swinging—around and around and around until he collapsed in a sodden heap against one wall, sinking slowly to the floor.

It still wasn't enough.

He walked around in circles then, the tears running down his cheeks. He wept in helplessness. He couldn't stop the sobs from choking up his throat like a painful vise. He didn't have the strength to continue and at the same time he couldn't stop. It just went on and on—until he was too weak even to die.

He lay there on the floor of the chamber and sank into numbed horror. The images of the scoured world tortured his mind.

Not like this. Oh, please—make it not so. They couldn't have died in such horror. Not that way. Not alone.

After a while, he got up, feeling empty and weak and even a little bit silly. He felt wobbly and he staggered slightly as he found his way to the shower. It helped a little, but it wasn't enough.

He went back to the room they'd assigned him and tried calling friends. But there weren't a lot of ships at Stardock right now, and of the ones that were, there weren't many officers who wanted to talk to him. After all, he was from the
LS-1187
.

He slept. He slept for eighteen hours straight.

It wasn't enough. He woke up still tired. He looked in the mirror and his face was puffy and his eyes were red and all the parts of his body sagged as if he were melting away.

There was a small package on the desk.

His mail.

He opened the box—and there was a birthday present from his wife. Written on the card was a simple message: “I love you so much.” He slipped the card into the reader, tears already welling in his eyes. He didn't know if he could bear this.

And then they were here in the room with him—
Carol, Timmy and Robby
—laughing and giggling. “Hi, Daddy! Hi!” He could see the warm pink sunlight of Shaleen streaming around them. “We miss you! Come home, please!”

“Give your daddy a hug,” Carol urged the boys, and they ran forward to embrace him. Their arms wrapped around him. He bent low on one knee and wrapped his arms around them too. The holographic image passed invisibly through him.
Dammit! He couldn't feel them at all.

Carol stepped forward then and lifted her chin for an unseen kiss. He couldn't bring himself to kiss her back—he could barely see through the tears that were filling his eyes. “Here's a little promise from me too. When you get back, I'll give you a real homecoming.” She looked directly at him now. “Jon, we're so proud of you, but I miss you so much and so do the boys. We wish you were here with us now.”

“I wish I was too. If I had been—we'd be together now.”

But she couldn't hear him. All he had left of his family was this recorded message and his memories.

It wasn't enough.

Nothing would ever be enough again.

When he came back aboard the
LS-1187
, he was a changed man.

There was a new tightness in his eyes and a dark ferocity in his posture. Even when he relaxed, there was a brooding sense of some inner resolve at work, something still unfocused but very
dangerous
.