The Kruton Interface (12 page)

“Sir, it looks like a weasel to me.”
 

“Mr. Rhodes, come here, please.”
 

Rhodes got up from his console and came to the captain’s.

Wanker tapped the screen. “Doesn’t this look like a camel to you?”

Rhodes studied it. “Sir, that looks like a humped weasel.”

“A what?”

“Humped weasel, sir. It’s a species found on Proxima Centauri Two. Good eating.”

“Nonsense. That’s a camel.”

“Well, sir, it’s backed like a weasel.”

“It isn’t backed like a weasel, it’s backed like a camel.”

Darvona peered over their shoulders. “Looks like a whale to me.”

Wanker rose from his seat, then both he and the first officer took a step back to regard the screen from a fresh perspective.

“The hell it does,” Wanker said.

“Oh, I think it does,” Rhodes said. “If you look at it sideways.”

“Huh? Oh. Well, maybe.”

“In fact, I think it looks very like a whale.”

“You’re both balmy. Anyway, Navigator, where did you say we are again?”

“Well, sir, just about two decimeters to the right of that weasel blob—”

“I thought you said three decimeters?”

“Well, not exactly three. Maybe two, two and a half.”

“The captain’s right, it’s a camel,” Sven said, having gotten up and come to look.

“You see?” Wanker said. I’m not imagining things.”

“Well, it is a bit camel-like, sir,” Rhodes admitted.

“It’s a lot camel-like,” Wanker insisted.

“I still say it’s a whale,” Darvona said.

“Oh, come on,” Sven said. “That’s about as much like a whale as my butt.”

“Having never seen your butt, Ensign,” Darvona said archly, “I couldn’t say.”

Svensen guffawed. “Oh, you mean to say there are some butts you don’t have an intimate acquaintance with?”

Darvona’s eyes flared. “I could say the same for you, you little fruit!” She slapped him.

Sven looked momentarily shocked. Then he became instantly furious. “Slut!” He slapped her back.

It was Darvona’s turn for shock. “Catamite!” Another slap.

“Hussy!” And another.

“Buttboy!” And still another.

“What the devil is this?” the captain wanted to know. “An officer does not strike another officer!”

“He started it,” Darvona said hotly.

“I want both of you—”

“Sir! Excuse me, Captain?”

“This is a disgrace—What, Navigator?”

“Sir, that was an error.”

“What was an error?”

“Our position. We’re not where I said.”

“Where are we?”

“Okay. See those sounding markers in the middle of the screen?”

“What sounding markers?”

“Those little numbers there, the ones that tell you the density of the interstellar medium in that region? We’re right about in there, somewhere.”

“Oh, those numbers. Is that what they are?”

“Yeah, it tells you the density of gas and dust and that stuff.”

“Okay, what about—?” The captain whirled in his seat. “Will you two stop slapping each other?”
 

Hooker!”
Slap!

“Fairy!”
Slap!

“Doxy!”
Slap!

“Faggot!”
Slap!

“Sir, if you’ll just look at the map—”

“Wait just a minute, Navigator!”

Rhodes said, “Lieutenant, please indicate our position by using coordinates.”

“That function is, uh, nonfunctional, sir.”

“The coordinate-plotter is down?”

“Yes, sir. And I can’t get the flashing indicator to work either. But if you’ll just go to the right of those sounding markers—I’m sorry, to the left.”

“Where, where?” the captain wailed. “For God’s sake, where the hell are we?”

“Flit!”

“Whore!”

“Pansy!”

“Harlot!”

“Will you two—? Navigator, for God’s sake, please, will you tell me, without any equivocation whatsoever, what the position of this ship is in relation to the Kruton Interface?”

Warner-Hillary made a vague gesture. “It’s off in that direction.”

“Thank you so much. That is truly a big help.”

“Well, sir, nothing is really working right.”

“We just pulled out of a graving dock after five days of refitting!”

“Sir, the crew was gone during that time, and they didn’t come back. The computer tech people are all enlisted personnel, and they’re responsible for fixing the ship’s computers.”

Wanker raised his arms in resignation. “You’re right of course, Lieutenant, not your fault. But we really have to know where that verboten territory is.”

“Don’t worry, sir, we’re really nowhere near it.”

Wanker looked relieved. “Well, that’s comforting.” He turned around. “What’s happening now?”

Darvona and Sven had stopped exchanging blows and were now embracing, both blubbering apologies.

They’re making up, sir,” Rhodes told him.

“How nice. How lovely. All stop!”

Darvona and Sven separated and stared at the captain.

“Sir, what’s wrong with a little hugging and kissing?” Darvona asked.

“I meant stop the engines, you twit.”

“All electrogravitic thrusters’re shet doon,” Sadowski said.

“I sleep better at night,” Wanker averred, “knowing that the electrogravitic thrusters are shet doon.”

“What do we do now, sir?” Rhodes wanted to know.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We hand over the ship to Dr. Whatshisface and stand back. Mr. Rhodes, you have the conn. I’m going to my cabin to surgically excise my liver with a butter knife. I need a little relaxation.”

“Have a good time, sir,” Darvona said.

“Oh, I will. It’s a rusty butter knife.”

“Captain,” Rhodes put in. “Don’t you think you’re spending a little too much time in your quarters, sir?”

Wanker glowered at him. “Are you questioning the actions of a superior officer?”

“Frankly, yes, sir. We need you here on the bridge.”

“For what? There’s nothing to do. I’m going back to my cabin.”

As Wanker neared the blow tube, he stopped and asked over his shoulder, “Navigator, you’re sure about the Interface being far enough away?”

“Yes, sir. Don’t worry, about it, sir.”

“Good, good.” Wanker stepped up onto the bounce pad. “You’re absolutely sure now?”

“Absolutely sure, sir. Like I said, we’re smack in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing around but vacuum for light-years.”

“Fine.” Wanker reached for the tube controls.

“Except for that black hole.”

Wanker froze. His head moved slightly. “Black hole?”

“Well, there’s a singularity marked on the map.”

Wanker strode to the navigator’s station. “Lieutenant, you said nothing about a black hole.”

“Well, sir, it’s only marked as a first-class singularity on the map. That covers black holes, cosmic string fragments, and dark-matter vortices. I guess it’s never been investigated, sir, so it just got a general classification.”

“Where, Lieutenant, where?”

“Here, sir. That little squiggle.”

That’s a Greek omega. Does that mean a singularity?”

“Greek omega! That’s right, sir. Boy, you’re smart. Yes, sir, that’s the symbol for a singularity.”
 

“How far away?”

“Oh, a light-year. No, maybe half. Wait a minute.” Warner-Hillary punched some buttons and numbers appeared on the screen. “Right, half.”

Wanker straightened up. “At our present speed it might as well be on the other side of the galaxy. You had me worried for a minute.”

Rhodes had come over and was studying the screen. “When they test the drive, we could get a lot closer.”

“We won’t be driving,” Walker said, walking away. “It’s their worry. Actually, I get a wonderfully comforting feeling at the thought of being swallowed up by a singularity. A warm, cozy feeling. Getting all runny inside. Think I’ll go see the doctor again.”

Wanker mounted the blow tube bounce pad again and put a hand on the SUCK control. He hesitated. “You know, I don’t quite fancy going to the infirmary. Think I’ll mosey down to the engine room and see what Strangefinger is up to.” He nodded. “Yup, think I’ll do that. But maybe later. First I have a date with a rusty butter knife.”

“Hope everything comes out all right, sir,” Sven called.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Svensen. I—” Wanker’s smile faded, and he regarded Svensen strangely.

The young ensign’s face was completely bereft of guile.

“Something wrong, Captain Wanker?” Wanker shook his head. He hit SUCK.
 

Svensen’s sly grin bloomed the moment the captain was gone,

CHAPTER 11

The Lord High Judge of Tortfeasors’ Court of the Supreme Judiciary of Kruton crouched in his chambers. Today he had spun a web and was waiting for unsuspecting prey to flit into his lair.

His communication device burbled.

“Chief Operative Shlurff of Intelligence to see you, Your Lordship.”

The Lord High Judge cackled, then said, “Have the chief operative come in.”

The door to His Lordship’s chambers retracted, and in rolled a huge ball of fur and claws and talons and tentacles. (Really, the sight would have been horrific beyond endurance to even the most phlegmatic human being.)

The awful thing that was the chief operative rolled into the web and was immediately ensnared. The arms and tentacles and other appendages flailed wildly.

“What’s this? Help me, help me! I’ll sue, I’ll sue!”

“Oh, you’re no fun today,” the Lord High Judge jeered. “Very well.”

The web collapsed, freeing the chief operative.

The Lord High Judge came out of hiding and flexed his fifteen hairy legs.

“Shall we revert to something innocuous?” the chief operative suggested.

“As you wish,” the Judge assented.

Both beings flowed and transformed. The end result was two creatures that resembled jellyfish with tufts of green hair on top.

“You sent for me?” the chief operative asked.

“Yes. I want a complete report of our covert operation.”

“Which one?”

“The one concerning the humans.”

“There are several.”

“The one targeting the Interface.”

“Oh, yes. That operation is proceeding apace. It will come to fruition shortly.”

“Good. Have you had reports from our agents in the field?”

“We have only one agent involved in that particular operation, and there has been no recent report. The agent is not exactly in a position to file daily updates.”

“One wishes for a little more information.”

“The more information you have, the less your deniability factor.”

“True. But this operation has the potential to yield such a great return that I grow impatient awaiting its outcome.”

“As I indicated, the wait won’t be long.”

“Good, good. Can you give me a definite time frame?”

“You might hear something within one diurnal period.”

“Excellent! You’re right, of course, in limiting what you tell me to what I need to know. I am satisfied.”

“And I’m glad to have pleased you, thus far.”

“Yes, there is a beneficial outcome yet to weigh in the balance. But I am optimistic. You have done well, Shlurff.”

The chief operative quivered with delight.

His Lordship’s communication device blurted.

“Yes?”

“Your take-out order has arrived, Your Lordship.”

“Very good, start shoveling it in. Uh, Chief Operative, would you care to have luncheon with me? I am dining in today.”

The chief operative almost melted. “I would be honored beyond reason!”

The door to the chamber dilated, and in rushed a flood of putrescent matter, the like of which would gag any coprophage in the known universe. The semiliquid mass was mostly purple, with swirls of yellow and green. It stank horribly.

Very soon, both the Lord High Judge and his guest were inundated to their topmost parts.

“Hope you don’t mind trendy food,” the Lord High Judge said. “They say it’s healthier.”

“I love nouvelle cuisine,” the chief operative enthused.

“Well, dig in.”

Both creatures grew a paddle-like excrescence and began to burrow into the floodtide of egregious muck. Very quickly, they disappeared beneath the surface.