Blood and Fire (27 page)

“I believe we're beyond that,” Parsons said to Jarell. “Far beyond. And we definitely have a need to know. Go on, Mr. Blintze.”

“Yes,” Blintze finally admitted. “We were looking for a way to control the bloodworms—so we could use them as a weapon.”

Parsons exchanged a glance with Korie. What they had both suspected was now acknowledged.

“Captain,” Jarell spoke candidly, like a confidante—he hadn't noticed the exchange of looks between the captain and her exec. “Can you imagine what would happen if the Morthan Solidarity were to spread bloodworms throughout Allied space?”

Korie, sipping at his coffee, answered quietly, “The destruction of all carbon-based life forms on a catastrophic scale.” His voice was flat.

“Precisely,” said Jarell. He glanced sideways at Brik, then back to Parsons. He leaned ominously forward. “The Morthans are vipers. They cannot be trusted. They do not follow the New Geneva Conventions. They have already demonstrated their willingness to use weapons of mass destruction.”

Parsons raised an eyebrow, meaningfully. She noted Korie's grim expression, then turned back to Jarell. “Go on,” she prompted.

“They attacked Taalamar with a sustained barrage of extinction-level asteroids. You were there, you saw what happened, you know—they destroyed an entire civilization. Millions of men, women and children—that's the kind of regard they have for us. The bloodworms ... well, that's FleetComm's response.”

“According to your own log, your research was already funded and in preparation long before the attack on Taalamar. Even before the mauling at Marathon.”

Jarell acknowledged it with a nod. “Yes, but only as a precautionary measure. Just in case our worst nightmares came true. And we should be grateful for such foresight, because now we have a weapon we can use to strike back.”

“And what circumstances, Commander Jarell, do you think would make such use necessary?” Korie wasn't looking at Jarell, he was looking down into his coffee mug. He swirled it gently, as if he were watching a thought circling there.

“Shaleen and Taalamar. Isn't that enough, Commander? Or maybe you don't care that they scourged Shaleen? And you know what they did to Taalamar.”

“I care,” said Korie, not willing to mention that his wife and children had been on Shaleen. Maybe they had escaped, maybe to Taalamar. But maybe not. HARLIE had exchanged messages with every starship they'd ever encountered. He'd never found any evidence that his family had even gotten off the planet. Maybe the records didn't exist, maybe they'd been lost, maybe there was no hope at all. And maybe ...

“Well,” said Jarell, as if it was obvious. “If that doesn't justify the use of mega-weapons, then what does?” He glanced around the table, meeting the eyes of every officer there. His gaze lingered on Brik for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“You don't know the Morthans,” Jarell explained. “Not really. Not even you, Mr. Brik—your fathers fled the world of Citadel when you were a child. You don't know what it's like to live under a Morthan authority. You don't know what the Morthans are really like. None of you. But I do, I've been there. I've seen them swaggering through the streets of Dogtown, laughing and killing, taking what they want—slaves, food, weapons, wealth. I've seen what they do to the worlds they conquer. We've been watching the Morthan Solidarity for a thousand years. We've sent in agents. Hundreds of thousands of agents—most get caught, but the things we've seen, I can't begin to tell you what we know. I am telling you that there is no limit to the Morthan treachery. The plasmacytes are a weapon. And if we don't use them, the Morthans
will
.”

Brik rumbled, a sound so low that it was felt rather than heard. “No Morthan would ever use such a weapon,” he said. “It would be cowardly. Only a human would.”

Parsons gave Brik a sharp look. So did Korie. They were getting close to the punch line here. She turned back to Jarell and Blintze, concern strong on her face. She chose her next words carefully. “And that was the real goal of your work here, wasn't it?”

Jarell's answer was intense. “Captain Parsons, we were caught unprepared at Marathon and we've been on the run ever since. All of human space lies open to the Morthan advance if we don't find a way to stop them now. I don't have to tell you,
the most expensive armada in the galaxy
is the one that's second best
. The whole point of this mission is to make sure that the plasmacyte weapon was ready at hand, for just this circumstance.
And use it, if necessary
. You—your ship—you were intended to be the delivery vessel. It's in a set of sealed orders we have for you—for whatever ship that served as our tender. It's in our orders to commandeer your starship, if necessary, to deliver the weapons packages to Morthan space. So you're as much a part of this as we are.”

Parsons was silent for a very long moment. She placed her hands flat on the table before her and studied the space between them. After a bit, she looked across to Williger, to Korie and finally up to Brik. “Commander Brik. Please escort Mr. Jarell and Dr. Blintze to their quarters—and see that they stay there.”

Brik rumbled an assent. “Come with me,
gentlemen
.” Although his voice was as flat as ever, the last word—
gentlemen—
had a deadly tone to it.

As the hatch slid shut behind them, Parsons looked to Korie and Williger and Tor and Leen. “Well,” she said. “Does anyone have any more good ideas?”

Korie was swirling his coffee mug again—thinking of Lowell, thinking of Marathon, thinking of Shaleen and Taalamar. Thinking of Carol. Thinking too loudly.

“What?” demanded Parsons.

“I told you not to attempt a rescue. I told you not to try.”

“It's a little late for recriminations.”

“It's never too late,” said Korie. “The
Wolf
is still being punished for accidentally leading the Morthan fleet to the Silk Road Convoy. Why else would we have been given this duty? Delivery of plasmacyte bombs?”

“Yes, well ...” Parsons cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Let's see if we can address our current problem first, Mr. Korie. How do we detox this ship—and what do we do about the
Norway
? Dr. Williger, I'm concerned about what will happen when the
Norway
intersects the plume of flame from the star. What happens to the plasmacytes?”

Dr. Williger pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I've been brooding about that myself. Theoretically... it's possible that the energy of the star will trigger a feeding frenzy, and then a breeding frenzy in the corona.”

“The
Norway
could turn the whole star into plasmacytes?” asked Tor, worriedly.

“The corona,” said Williger.

“Well—maybe,” said Leen. He'd been quiet during the entire meeting. “Remember, the
Norway
has an industrial power core, so her singularity
is larger than usual. We've got a low-mass pinpoint. You drop that into a star or a planet, it takes forever to eat its way out. The event horizon is so small, it can only nibble a few molecules at a time. At that rate, it would take billennia for the hole to get big enough to be a threat to the star. But the
Norway
—her core is a lot bigger. Here, wait—” He held up a small black ball bearing to illustrate his point. “Think about it. A marble-size black hole falls all the way to the center. The star gets pulled toward it at the same time. The hole doesn't stop when it gets to the center—neither does the star. They've both got too much mass, too much velocity, so they fling themselves around and around their common center, circling in vast ellipses—wobbling toward equilibrium. But while the star lurches around, the marble is circling and eating. The sheer pressure of the star's mass forces tons of gas into the singularity every second. The singularity grows at the rate of an asteroid per day. And its rate of growth accelerates correspondingly. Oh yes, the
Norway
's core could dismantle a star. The more she ate, the bigger she'd get—the bigger she gets, the more she can eat. The last few hours would be spectacular—”

“So ... the star would collapse?” asked Williger. “And all the plasmacytes would go into the singularity?”

“If only it were that tidy,” said Leen. “It's not. Remember, the black hole and the star's center of gravity are orbiting each other. The star will be wobbling like a bag of pudding. If it gets unstable enough and small enough—and it will—the discrepancy of pressure at the center ... well, it's likely to explode. Not quite a nova, but enough. If there are plasmacytes in the star's corona, the force of the explosion will send them hurtling outward. The blue dwarf will likely be infected and its corona will become the next breeding ground. Meanwhile, there will be a shock wave of plasmacytes heading outward in all directions. Wherever they get captured by a star's gravitational field, they could infect. It would take billennia, but if it's possible, it's inevitable.”

“Thank you, Chief Leen,” said Captain Parsons unhappily. Her expression went sour as she asked the others at the table, “Does anyone else have any more good news? No? So here's our situation—we have plasmacytes on our outer hull. So does the
Norway
. We can't destroy the
Norway
and we can't leave her here. If we destroy her, we leave a cloud of plasmacytes circling the star. If we don't destroy her, she goes into the star anyway.” She put her head in her hands for a moment, pushing her hair back, while she considered her next decision. “All right. Commander Tor, reacquire the
Norway
. Let's break orbit and pull both ships out of here. That's the first order of business. HARLIE? Can we do that?”

“Yes, Captain, but the timing will be critical.”

“Let's snap to it then. Tor, go! Chief, you'll need to run the plasma torches from a cold start—don't be afraid to burn them out if you have to. HARLIE, can we slave the
Norway
's engines? Do it. Korie, are you feeling well enough to monitor this? Good. Buy us some time.”

Even before Korie was out of his chair, Parsons was turning to Williger. “Now, something you said about carriers ...”

Finally, Quilla Omega turned to Brian Armstrong and said, “Brian, you are only in the way. Let the Quillas finish cleaning up. We can coordinate our separate efforts easier if we don't have to work around you.”

Armstrong sort of nodded agreement, but he felt resentful. “I just want to be helpful—” he started to say.

“The biggest help you can give us is to get out of the way,” said Quilla Upsilon.

Armstrong sighed. Loudly. And headed aft to see how Easton was doing. The security man had been so anguished at his partner's death that Dr. Williger had finally sedated him, but she hadn't put him completely to sleep and his muted sobs had continued even as he was wheeled back through the keel into the Med Bay.

Although the death of Mikhail Hodel had been felt more profoundly throughout the
Star Wolf
, it was Berryman's death that hurt Armstrong the most. Hodel was an officer and he hadn't known him as well as he had known Berryman. He'd wanted to become a medical orderly, so he'd taken to hanging out with Berryman—and Easton—hoping to be assigned ancillary medical duties. That, of course, had brought him to the attention of Dr. Williger, who had been annoyed by his eagerness and doubly annoyed that she really didn't have much for him to do. Crew health was monitored by implants and preventive care was exhaustive, so the Chief Medical Officer's chores were generally psychological in nature—until emergencies occurred. Then there were never enough hands.

Armstrong wasn't sure what he could do now. He just knew he had to do something. He'd lost another friend. But Easton had lost—what? Armstrong wasn't sure. He'd never really asked what it meant to be bonded. And now that Berryman was gone, he was sorry he hadn't asked, because now he didn't know what to say to Easton. What must Easton be feeling, having witnessed his partner's death?

Brian Armstrong was beefy and good-natured and at a loss. He hesitated in front of the door to Med Bay, shook his head and headed away, then turned and came back to it—started to enter, then stopped and pulled back again, biting his lip and frowning in frustration. What to do? What to do?

Finally, he pushed into Med Bay, stepped past Quilla Delta and peeked into the recovery room, where Easton lay sprawled face down on a medbed, seemingly asleep. Armstrong went over to the fallen security man. He stood over the bed, staring down at him, wondering if he should disturb him or not.

But just as he turned to go, Easton said, “What is it? What do you want, Armstrong?”