The Voyage of the Star Wolf (41 page)

“I'm sorry, Doctor,” said the Quilla in a deep voice. “Not until we've run a full scan.” Armstrong looked up, startled.

Korie touched her arm. “Doctor—make me happy. Cooperate.”

Williger muttered something untranslatable.
Ah, yes,
Korie remembered.
Doctors curse in Latin.
He bent low and whispered into her ear. “If you don't go quietly, I'll have Hodel mix a love philter for you.”

“I'll take a six-pack,” said Williger. “Something must have worked. We're still alive. Hell, I'll try anything.” To her stretcher-bearers, she rasped, “All right, let's go—”

Armstrong was staring across the stretcher at the Quilla. He hadn't realized that there were
male
Quillas. Oops. He was staring at the Quilla with a queasy realization growing in him. The Quilla looked up, noticed Armstrong's interest—and
winked
. Armstrong went pale. He averted his eyes and picked up his end of the stretcher a little too quickly. He backed nervously out of the Ops deck, followed by the stretcher and Quilla Lambda.

Korie turned to inspect the rest of the damage to the Bridge and Ops deck. It looked like a war zone. Hodel was struggling to right his broken console.

“I think you can relax, Mike. The jinx is broken.”

Hodel grinned and gave Korie a big thumbs-up.

And the console exploded one more time in a dazzling shower of sparks. Hodel jumped back, cursing.

He glared at Korie. “Don't ever
ever
say that again.”

Captain Hardesty was lying on a medical table.

The scanners and probes hovered over him like electronic flamingos. He was alive, but just barely. He was being sustained by a forest of pumps and compressors, a network of tubes and wires and monitors. One machine breathed for him, another pumped his blood, a third cleansed the poisons from his veins. Micromachines crept through his bloodstream, looking for alien proteins. Microstasis beams poked and prodded and manipulated his flesh.

He looked like a zombie.

His skin was a cadaverous gray-green. His organic eye was a ghastly yellow shade. His flesh was mottled and bruised. Had he been dead and decomposing for a week, he could not have looked worse.

“How are you feeling?” Korie asked. It was a stupid question, but what else could he say?

Hardesty opened his eyes and looked to the foot of the bed. The executive officer was standing there.

The captain tried to take a breath, realized again, for the umpteenth time that he couldn't, and instead just floated. He said, “Being dead . . . is not my idea of a good time.”

“I'm sorry, sir, that we . . . uh, had to lock down the
Burke
.”

“I'd have court-martialed you if you hadn't. You did right.” He added, “I hope to repay the favor someday.”

“Yes, sir.” Korie allowed himself a smile.

“You did a good job,” Hardesty acknowledged. “I'm sorry we lost the
Burke
.”

Korie shrugged. “There'll be other ships. I don't have to apologize for my priorities.”

“Hmp. Well said. Maybe you'll be a captain yet. . . . All right. Get the hell out of here. Take us home.”

“Yes, sir.” Korie said it proudly. He took a step back, straightened, and gave his captain a crisp salute; then he turned on his heel and exited.

Hyperstate.

Irrational space.

Faster-Than-Light.

Superluminal.

Nightmare time.

Korie entered the Bridge through the starboard passage. He paused at the broken railing and looked out over the makeshift repairs to the Ops deck. Portable terminals had temporarily replaced the regular consoles. A projection unit stood in for the forward viewer.

Nevertheless, it was
home
.

Tor stepped up beside him. He glanced over at her.

She looked tired. She brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “In five minutes, we'll be in signaling range.”

“Good.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why didn't you tell us it was all a set of concentric traps?”

“I trust my face. I didn't know if I could trust yours.”

“Pardon?”

“You don't play poker?”

“I play poker,” Tor said. “But this was your deal.”

“This was a very high-stakes game, Commander. If you had known what cards you were holding, you might not have acted naturally. The fewer people who knew, the better.”

“I see,” she said, thoughtfully. “So, you lied to us . . .”

“Yes, I did—” Korie fell silent. He was remembering something that Captain Lowell had said to him. He was remembering a promise he'd made—and broken. And broken and broken and broken.
Is this the secret of leadership? Knowing when to lie
? The thought troubled him. He wasn't sure the questions were answerable. “Are you asking for an apology?”

Tor thought about it. “No. In your place, I guess I'd have done the same.”

Korie shook his head. “I wonder . . . it starts with lying, doesn't it?”

“What does?”

“The process of selling your soul. Nobody sells it all at once. We give it away a piece at a time, until one day—”

“What are you talking about?” Tor asked.

Korie turned to look at her. “We lost thirteen good crewmembers. Some of those kids were awfully young. They trusted me.” He took a long deep breath. “You were right about me. I wanted a ship of my own so badly that I never stopped to think about the cost of it. I wanted revenge so badly I could taste the blood. Now that I know the cost of each, I wonder if I'm the kind of man who can carry the pain. Some of the decisions you have to make aren't . . . very easy.”

Tor's voice was filled with compassion. “You did the right thing. And you'd do it again—”

Korie lowered his face, pretended to study the console in front of him, trying to cover his emotions. He knew she was right. He didn't like it, but it was true. He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes again. “Yes,” he admitted finally. “But that doesn't make it any easier. It makes it harder. It means you have to be
worthy
of the trust.”

“If it means anything . . . this crew is very proud of you. And so am I. You gave this ship her pride again.”

“No, I didn't. Hardesty did. He gave us the discipline. I just used what he built. Does the crew know that?”

Tor nodded. “I think they do.” She laid a hand on his. “I want you to know something. From me. You did good. Someday, you're going to be a very good captain. I'd be proud to serve on any ship you command.”

Korie didn't know how to answer that. The compliment felt so good it almost hurt. “Well . . .” he shrugged, visibly embarrassed. “Maybe someday. Thanks for the thought.” And then, looking up quickly, he changed the subject. “Did the crew choose a name yet?”

“Yes. They took a vote. The winning name got a hundred and fifty-two.”

Korie frowned. “Commander Tor—correct me if I'm wrong, but there are only eighty-four people aboard this boat.”

She shrugged. “So they stuffed the ballot box. It was unanimous anyway.”

“Will Hardesty like it?”

“I think so.” She turned forward. “Mr. Hodel. Send a signal. The
Star Wolf
is coming home.”

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.”

“Carol,” he said. “I got the bastard. I got him. I did.”

He knew she couldn't hear him, but it was all right. It still helped to talk to her. And now, he'd gotten revenge and—he stood there, alone in his cabin, alone with his painful memories, and realized that—

Revenge wasn't enough.

It was just a hollow burning core.

It wasn't a substitute; it couldn't ever be.

But—it was still better than nothing.

The captain of the
Burke
hadn't known everything about his mission. In particular, he hadn't known about the bombs aboard his ship: six of them; each one with its own brain and sensory taps; each one totally independent of the others; each one totally independent of the starship's Systems Analysis network; each one totally shielded and completely undetectable.