The Kruton Interface (6 page)

“Put the call through.”
 

“Aye-aye, sir.”

Still dejected, Wanker sat at the desk and looked at the screen above it, waiting. Presently the screen lit up with the face of his mother, Tess Tosterona-Wanker, herself a retired warrant officer in the Forces. The camera widened the shot to include his father, Frank Wanker, who sat on the sofa by his wife, doing a cross-stitch. David knew the couple were vacationing on a wilderness resort planet named Grenada. Tall purplish trees swayed in the background.

“Hello, Mother,” David said. “Hello, Father. How are things at Camp Grenada?”

“Great,” Tess told him. “Well, kid, how was your first day aboard the new tub?” As always, her hair was clipped short and flattened on top. Recently, though, she had let her mustache flair out into scooter handlebars. (“Strictly nonregulation,” she liked to quip, “but they’re somethin’ to grab besides my ears.”)

“Just reported, Mom. The day’s just begun in this time zone.”

“Hello, David dear,” his father said. “Hope you’re eating right and watching your weight. That space chow tends to be so fattening.”

David patted his soft, nascent potbelly. “I’m watching my weight, Dad, don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry about what you eat, kid,” Tess said, “get exercise. Don’t sit on your butt and brood. Get to the gym regularly and work out. With weights, like I do.” Tess raised her right arm and flexed her impressive biceps.

“Great definition, Mom,” David said.

“Thanks. You were always a pudgy kid. But I tried to bring you up proper.”

“You did, Mom. You did.”

“Betchur sweet ass, kiddo,” Tess said, then upended a beer bottle into her mouth.

Frank asked, “Is your cabin nice aboard… what’s the name of the ship again?”

“Repulse.
Here, I’m panning the camera around the place.”

“Oh, that’s very nice. The bed looks awfully narrow, though. You were always such a bad sleeper, tossing and turning all night. You flopped all over your bed.”

Tess belched, then snickered. “When he wasn’t pissin’ all over it.”

“Aw, Mom, come on!” David’s ears turned a burning magenta.

“Just kiddin’, guy,” Tess said. “Hey, lighten up.”

“Sorry. How’s your vacation been so far?”

“Pretty boring,” Tess said. “Bunch of old farts sitting around playing canasta, complaining about the weather and the food… shee-it. I wanna get out into the bush and shoot me a swamp dragon.”

“They’re pretty dangerous,” David said. “Aren’t they?”

“Naw. Biggest they come is a couple ten meters long, five high. Small game.”

“Geez, that sounds pretty big to me.”

Tess reached off-camera and brought forth a formidable-looking weapon, a short-barreled proton beamer with an immense scope and other flourishes. “Not with one of these babies.”

“Wow. New one, Mom?”

“Picked it up before we left. You get one of those critters in this scope, it’s ancient history. We’re talking pharaohs and pyramids, kid.”

“There’s only one problem, Tess, dear. Swamp dragons are on the endangered alien species list.”

Tess belched again. She crinkled her pug nose. “Yeah. What a bunch of wimps the locals are. But swampies’re fair game if they attack.”

“Those poor things keep to themselves. Wouldn’t hurt a flea unless they feel threatened.”

“How ‘bout if I chuck a couple of beer bottles at ‘em? Huh?” Tess laughed, displaying crooked yellow teeth. “Stir ‘em up a bit. Whaddaya say, kid?”

“That ought to work, Mom. But don’t get yourself in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me, shortie. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, she can, it’s true,” Frank said, laughing.
 

“You said it. Listen, kid, cosmophone rates are eatin’ us alive, here, so… ”
 

“No problem, Mom. Nice to hear from you.”
 

“Stay loose.”
 

“I’ll try.”

“And don’t take no shit from the brass. Unnerstand?”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n. Dad, nice to see you again. Hey, let’s see the cross-stitch.”

Frank held it up. White swans on a lake of baby blue. “I’ve been doing a little knitting lately but it’s too tiring. So I switched to this.”

“Nice, Dad, You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Oh, aside from an occasional migraine … and cramps—”

“Hell, he hasn’t been worth a plugged millicredit since he was pregnant with you,” Tess said. “One complaint after another.”

Frank gave his wife a love tap on the shoulder. “Go on. My saying I had a headache never stopped you, you big brute.” Frank giggled.

Tess turned her head and spat off-screen. “Fuckin’ A.”

Frank shrieked. “She’s incorrigible!”
 

“Uh, I have duties to attend to, folks,” David Wanker said hastily. “Nice talking to you. Call again.”

“Will do,” Tess told him. “We’re proud of you, son.”
 

“Thanks. Bye, Mom. Dad.”
 

“G’bye, dear. Take care!”
 

“Keep a tight asshole, kid.”
 

The screen faded.

“I don’t believe I drew this horrid assignment,” Captain Wanker said to the empty room. He wanted to cry. But crying in the captain’s cabin was strictly forbidden by regulations. Or should be, he thought.

The panel buzzed again.

“Darn it.” He reached. “Wanker here.”

“This is Dr. O’Gandhi. Captain, I am finding many poisons down in the infirmary for you. All will be killing you very quickly indeed. Oh, it is a veritable festival of poisons, faith and beggorah.”

“Belay that order, Doctor. I’m not ready for it yet. Soon, though, soon.”

“I will make you a nice cyanide gimlet, sahib, you are only having to say the word.”

“As much as I am tempted, Doc, I’ll pass. Stand by for further orders. Captain out.”

“Oh, my, yes.”

Wanker shut down the comm panel. “Ye gods.”

He shed his space boots and dress coat and sprawled on the bed. There were a hundred things he should be doing, but he felt like doing none of them. Studying the ship’s schematics, familiarizing himself with the operational routine, calling staff meetings, writing endless memos: all of this and more were necessary to facilitate a change of command.

He wanted only to run and hide. He hated this ship; he had hated it before ever setting eyes on it, and now his loathing and dread had been compounded in the short time since his arrival. What would he feel like months from now?

Years? A shudder went through him.

Wait a minute, he told himself. Wait just a minute.

He sat up and brooded for a moment. Then he got to his feet and began to pace. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a scared kid. It isn’t as if this is your first command. Sure you’ve made mistakes in the past. Big mistakes.’’

He paced and paced.

“Okay,
really
big mistakes. Like the
Hood.
You lost the U.S.S.
Hood.
Okay? Big deal. It wasn’t your fault! Okay, okay, so the way you lost it was a little strange. It was stolen! Yeah, so what? The board of inquiry completely exonerated you! Those damned aliens are known throughout the galaxy for stealing starships. It wasn’t as if you left the keys in it or anything! Right! Completely exonerated. Completely!”

He began pacing in complex patterns.

“Right, okay. Other mistakes? Plenty. Your first command, the light cruiser. Didn’t go exactly as planned, but, hey—nobody’s perfect. Okay, so you scored a direct hit on a friendly flagship in the war games! It was a great shot! If it had been an enemy flagship—”

He fell silent but continued to make trails across the deep-pile carpeting.

Presently he resumed lecturing himself: “Okay, forget all that. You’re an officer in the United Systems Space Forces! You have a tradition to live up to and
goddamn
that comm panel.”

Savagely he yanked a switch on the desk. “What the hell is it?”
 

“Captain?”

“Yes, yes, what do you want?”

“It’s Darvona, sir. Am I… am I disturbing you?”

“No! Uh, no. Sorry. What is it, Ms. Roundheels?”

“All the other captains called me Darvona.”

“Oh, all right. What is it, Darvona?”

“Captain Chang left a recording for you.”

“Chang? Who the hell is he?”

“It’s a woman, sir. She was the last captain of the
Repulse.
Remember?”

“Oh. And you say she left a recording for me?”

“For the next captain.”

“I see. Well, play the message.”

“It’s confidential, sir. You have to authorize playback with your orders.”

“Very well.” Wanker fetched his microdisk. “Okay, it’s in the slot.”

“It’ll be up in a second, sir.”

Wanker sat at the desk. “I have to get control of myself,” he muttered. “Think of it as a challenge. A challenge. That’s the ticket.”

“This is the former captain of the
Repulse
speaking,” said a voice from the screen.

Wanker raised his eyes and saw the face of an attractive Asian woman.

“My name is Naomi Chang, and I have a message for the next captain of this fine military vessel.”

Wanker waited, intrigued and puzzled.

The woman’s face contorted into a tortured mask. “GET OUT! GET OUT! HIDE! WHATEVER YOU DO, DONT TRY TO COMMAND THIS SHIP! IT’S A JINX, A TRAP! IT’LL KILL YOU! THEY’LL DRIVE YOU CRAZY, THEY’RE ALL INSANE! EVERY ONE OF THEM, LUNATICS! IT’S A SHIP FROM HELL! AIEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!”

Wanker lunged for the cut-off switch.

The screen went dark.

“Oh, my God,” David Wanker said in a small voice, his freckled face ashen.

CHAPTER 6

Over the next few days, none of the skeleton crew so much as glimpsed the new captain, who spent the time sequestered away, taking his meals alone and admitting no one to his sanctum.

Scuttlebutt didn’t know what to make of it. Meanwhile, on the planet below, the rest of the crew—mostly enlisted personnel with a few warrant officers—were getting restless. The base’s laundry was overwhelmed, jammed with piles of mud-encrusted uniforms.

Captain Wanker called no executive meetings. He did request numerous computer files: ship’s logs, data bases, procedural flowcharts and such. He also tapped the ship’s computer for a flood of other data. This behavior was unremarkable in itself, but coupled with his becoming a virtual recluse, it caused some speculation.

“It’s our next assignment,’’ Darvona surmised. “He’s already been briefed by Operations. It’s something big, I’ll bet.”

“Fat chance,” Sven said dourly as he looked at some instruments close to Darvona’s console.

Darvona gave him a haughty look. “Well, how do you know it isn’t?”

Sven shrugged. “Dream on. Before you do, though, why don’t you find out who’s sending out that distress call?”

“Huh? What distress call?”

“The one registering on your console.” Sven reached and flipped a switch. A loud beeping sounded. “You had the scanning alert off.”

“Oh, that distress call.” Darvona squinted at the display. “It’s only a third-class call. Nothing really to worry about.”

“What ship is it?”

“It’s a cruiser, the
Anson MacDonald.
Must be having minor mechanical failure. It’s requesting a berth at the graving dock.”

“Either that or it’s coming to take us away on a mystery tour.”

Darvona’s pretty blue eyes went wide. “No kidding, do you think… ?” She thought about it. “Nahhh. Sven, you’re so silly.”

Sven’s eyes rolled as he continued to take readings.

“Hey, here’s another call,” Darvona said. “From Command Central, scrambled. For the captain.”

* * *

David Wanker sat at his work console, exhausted and still stumped after days of research. He had been doing detective work, trying to get to the bottom of the
Repulse’s
jinx, to find out why this ship had so many black marks against it.

It didn’t figure. There was nothing mechanically wrong with the ship, at least not fundamentally wrong. Yes, Sadowski was a terrible engineer, but that didn’t explain everything. Yes, most of the crew were inveterate screw-ups, but that didn’t sufficiently explain the mystery either. The ship’s operational procedures were standard—hell, they came out of manuals. Chain of command was standard …
 
What, then, was the problem?

A beep from the comm panel interrupted his thoughts.

“What?” he growled.

“Oo, Captain, you scared me. What’s the matter?”