A Talent for War

XXIV.

"I NEED A few minutes here. How much time do we have?"

"About a half hour. You can’t make it back by then anyway. But I don’t see what difference it makes. Only thing he can do is wave as he goes by. It’s going to take him several days to get turned around and come back."

"Okay." I was more interested in the shelf just then. "Keep him on the scopes."

I had no extra boots, and the sun was heating up the rock. I pulled on a pair of socks, and advanced on the dome.

It was discolored by weather, streaked in some places, faded in others. Falling rock had creased it, and earth movements had pulled it askew.

Christopher Sim’s tomb.

The shelf was so very like the one on Ilyanda, where he had suffered a death of another kind. It was not a very elegant end, on this granite slab, under the white star of the ship that had carried him safely through so much.

The door was designed to function, if need be, as an airlock. It was closed, but not sealed, and I was able to lift the latch, and pull it open. Inside, the sun filtered through four windows and a skylight to illuminate living quarters that appeared surprisingly comfortable, in contrast to the sterility of the dome’s exterior. There were two padded chairs of starship design anchored to the floor, several tables, a desk, a computer, a stand-up lamp. One of the tables was inlaid for chess. But there was no sign of the pieces.

I wondered whether Tarien had come on this long flight out from Abonai, whether there had been a last desperate clash, perhaps in this room, between the brothers! Had Tarien pleaded with him to continue the struggle? It would have been a terrible dilemma; men had so few symbols, and the hour was so desperate.

They could not permit him to sit out the battle (as Achilles had done). In the end, just before Rigel, Tarien must have felt he had no choice but to seize his brother and dismiss the crew with some contrived story. (Or perhaps an angry Christopher Sim had done that himself, before confronting Tarien.) Then the conspirators had invented the legend of the Seven, concocted the destruction of Corsarius, and, when the engagement was over, they’d brought him and his ship here.

I stood in the doorway and wondered how many years that tiny space had been his home.

He would have understood, I thought. And if, in some way, he could have learned that he’d been wrong, that Rimway had come, and Toxicon, and even Earth, he might have been consoled.

There was nothing on the computer. I thought that strange; I’d expected a final message, perhaps to his wife, perhaps to the people he had defended. But the memory banks were empty. And in time I felt the walls begin to close, and I fled the place, out onto the shelf that had defined the limits of his existence.

Chilled, I walked the perimeter, skirting the slabs at the north end, striding in the shadow of the wall, and returning along the edge of the precipice. I tried to imagine myself (as I had on the island a couple of nights before) marooned in that place, alone on that world, a thousand light years from anyone with whom I could speak. The ocean must have seemed very tempting.

Overhead, Corsarius flew. He could have seen it moving among the stars, hurtling across the skies like an errant moon every few hours.

And then I saw the inscription. He had cut a single line of letters into the rock wall, just above eye level, at one end of the shelf. They were driven deep into the limestone, hard-edged characters whose fury was clear enough (I thought), though I could not understand the language in which they’d been written:

"Chase?"

She was slow to answer. "I’m watching."

"Can we get a translation?"

"Trying. I’m not sure how to enter a visual into the computer. Give me a minute."

Greek. Sim had remained a classicist to the end.

My heart hammered against my ribs, as I contemplated what his final days, or years, must have been. How long had he endured this shelf, beneath the ecliptic of the endlessly circling link with home?

It would have been a reflexive choice, when the Tenandrome flashed its news to Fishbowl and Rimway, to keep it quiet. I could imagine the hurried meetings of high-ranking officials, already burdened with a disintegrating government. Why not? What good could come of such a revelation? And the men on the Tenandrome, themselves shaken by what they’d seen, had readily agreed.

"Alex. The computer thinks it’s classical Greek."

"Good. What else?"

"That’s it. It says there are only a few languages in its library, and all of those are modern."

"The last word," I said, "looks like Demosthenes."

"The orator?"

"I don’t know. Maybe. But I can’t imagine why he’d go to the trouble to carve the name of a dead Greek on a wall. In these circumstances."

"Makes no sense," said Chase. "He had a computer available in the dome. Why didn’t he use that? He could have written whatever he wanted. Why go to all the trouble to carve it in rock?"

"The medium’s the message, as someone once said. Maybe an electronic surface wouldn’t express his feelings appropriately."

"I have a link with the computer on Corsarius. There are only two references to Demosthenes. One is the old Greek, and the other was a contemporary wrestler."

"What’s it say about him? The Greek, I mean."

"384-322 B.C. Old Style. Greatest of the Hellenic orators. Said to have been born with a speech impediment which he overcame by placing pebbles in his mouth and speaking against the sea. His orations persuaded the Athenians to make war against Macedonia. The best known were the three Philippics and three Olynthiacs. All dating from around 350 B.C., give or take a few years. The Macedonians won despite Demonsthenes' efforts, and he was driven into exile. Later, he died by his own hand."

"There’s a connection," I said.

"Yes. Tarien was an orator too. Maybe it’s a reference to him."

"I wouldn’t be surprised," I said. I’d noticed another inscription on the rock, at its base, in letters of a different sort: Hugh Scott, 3131. Cut with a smaller laser.

"That’s Universal time," said Chase. "It equates to either 1410 or 1411, Rimway." She sighed. "At the end, Sim might have forgiven his brother. Maybe he even realized he was right."

"Considering the circumstances, that would take a lot of forgiving." My feet hurt. The socks weren’t all that much protection, and I had to keep moving to prevent being burned. "Where’s our visitor?"

"Still coming. Still accelerating. They’re really piling it on." The air was still. "Alex?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think she found him? In time, I mean?"

"Leisha?" I’d been thinking about little else since I’d set down. Tanner had hunted for years. Candles’s lost pilot. And Sim.

Who walks behind the stars.

On far Belmincour.

"She didn’t have the resources of the Machesney Institute. My God, she must have been out here all that time, taking pictures and running them through computers, trying to recreate that constellation."

"What do you think?"

"I don’t know. But I suspect that’s that question that haunts Hugh Scott."

I’d resisted the temptation to cut my name in the rock alongside Scott’s, and wandered back toward the capsule. I was climbing into the cockpit when Chase’s voice took on a note of urgency. "Alex," she said, "I hate to break in with bad news, but there’s another one! And it’s big!"

"Another what?"

"A mute ship. Battle cruiser, I think. I should have seen it before, but I was watching the little one, and not paying much attention to the scan."

"Where?"

"About ten hours out. Also on an approach vector. It’s coming fast, but braking hard. Must be raising hell with the crew. Anyhow, it should be able to slow down enough to get into orbit. I think you’d better get back here so we can clear out."

"No," I said. I was sweating. "Chase, get out of the Centaur."

"You’re crazy."

"Please," I said. "There’s no time to argue. How far away is the destroyer?"

"About five minutes."

"That’s how much time you have to get aboard the Corsarius. If you don’t make it by then, you’re not going to make it at all."

"You’ve got the capsule."

"That’s why we shouldn’t be standing around talking. Move. Get over there any way you can, but get there!"

I saw the flash high in the western sky: a brief needle of light.

"Chase?"

"I’m okay. But you were right. The bastards just blew the Centaur to hell."

I tried to pick the destroyer up with the capsule’s scopes, but it was already out of range. Chase, who had a picture of it on Corsarius’s monitor, hadn’t figured out yet how to relay it down to me. It didn’t matter anyway. "I’m on my way," I said. "See you in a couple of hours. You might want to invest the time learning how to run Sim’s bridge. Can you get a message off to Saraglia?"

"I’ve already done that. But if they ever receive it, I’ll be amazed. This thing isn’t equipped for that kind of long-range transmission. Alex, I think we’re stuck here."

"We’ll manage," I said. "They’ve got to have a stardrive." I lifted off the shelf, and locked onto the numbers that Chase transmitted.

In the soft cool womb of the cockpit, over the late afternoon of the world, I thought about Sim and Scott. And it was Scott’s melancholy fate that caught at me.

Maybe because Christopher Sim was too remote.

Maybe because I knew Scott’s obsession would become my own.

I rendezvoused with Corsarius several hours later. By then I knew that Chase had been able to get the magnetics working. We’d be able to move, at least. The capsule wasn’t designed to fit in the warship’s bay, so I secured it to the hull outside one of the hatches. I wasn’t quite ready to cast it adrift, until I had a better idea how things stood.

Chase opened the hatch for me. "Okay," I said, as soon as I had my helmet off, "let’s get out of here."

She looked unhappy as we headed back toward the bridge. "We can’t outrun them, Alex."

"This is the Corsarius," I said.

"It’s also two hundred years old. But that’s not the problem. Listen: we’ve been through all this. We don’t have a stardrive. The computers are behaving as if we do, but we don’t—"

"We have to assume it’s there. If not, nothing else will make much difference."

"Okay. But even if we’ve got Armstrongs hidden back there somewhere, we need time to get a sufficient charge to make the jump—"

"How much time?"

"That’s what’s strange. The readout should be precise on that. But the computer says between twenty-five and thirty-two hours."

"I don’t think this is a time to worry about details."

"I suppose. Anyhow, I started to power-up as soon as I came on board."

"When will the mutes be here?"

"In about six hours."

"Then let’s get moving."

"They’ll catch us long before we can make the jump. Even if we assume the most optimistic numbers." She’d got the internal systems working. Each of the hatches opened as we approached, and closed behind us. "I thought it best to keep the individual compartments sealed, until we’re reasonably sure of internal integrity."

"Yeah," I said. "Good idea. How come we can’t outrun them? I thought this thing was supposed to be fast."

"It probably is. But they’re already at a high velocity; we’ll be moving out from a start-up."

I tried to visualize the situation. It sounded like Sim’s problem at Hrinwhar. Enemy ships bearing down, and no real chance to accelerate away. What had he done? "How long before we can vector out on a head-on course?" I asked.

"You mean go out to meet them?"

"In a manner of speaking."

She frowned. "Why make it easy for them?"

"Chase," I said. "What happens if we run right past them? How long does it take them to get turned around?"

"Hell." Her face brightened. "They’d never catch us. Of course, they’ll probably shoot a big hole in us as we go by."

"I don’t think so," I said. "They’re going to a lot of trouble for this ship. The whole point of the attack on the Centaur was to try to prevent our getting aboard Corsarius. I can’t believe they’ll risk destroying it."

"They might if they think we’re going to get away with it."

"Then we’ll have to take our chances. You have a better idea?"

"No," she said, sitting down in the pilot’s seat. "You’ll be happy to hear the magnetics test out. We’ll have full-thrust linear anyhow. If necessary, we can ride them home. Only take about fifty centuries."

"Let’s see the mute," I said.

There was a large, wraparound display set over the viewports. It darkened to the color of the night sky, and the alien appeared. I’d never seen anything like it before, and I wasn’t at first certain that it was a vessel at all: at least, whether it was capable of carrying a crew. It appeared to be a cluster or approximately twenty hyperboloids of varying sizes and design, slowly orbiting each other in a manner that suggested they were not physically connected. There was only a stylized resemblance to the alien vessels of the Resistance era. For purposes of comparison, a silhouette of the Corsarius appeared in the lower right corner. We were scarcely larger than the smallest of the alien’s components.

"Are we sure it’s a mute?"

Chase shook her head. "Damned if I know. Only thing I’m certain of is that it’s not ours. The destroyer was certainly a mute." She pushed back from the pilot’s console, and swung to face me. "You really want to try running past that thing?"

"Yes," I said. "I don’t think we have any other option."

"Okay," Chase said, loading instructions into the computers. "We’ll start to leave orbit in about fifty minutes. How close do you want to go?"

I thought about it. "I’d like to stay out of firing range. Any idea what that might be?"

"None."

"Okay, let’s try for a minimum of ten thousand kilometers. That should make for a tough shot, at least. And still give them a long turn."

"Okay," she said. "Locked in. By the way, this thing’s really building up an operational power reserve. We’ve got enough juice to run a big interstellar. And it’s still climbing. I suspect, if it comes to a fight, we’ve got a substantial kick ourselves."

"It’s not going to blow up, is it?" I was thinking of the Regal.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Minutes later, the engines of the Corsarius took hold. Chase looked up at me from the navigator’s console. "Historic moment, Alex. You want to execute?"

"No," I said. "Go ahead."

She smiled, and pressed the keys. I felt the ship move.

"Once we leave orbit," I said, "give us everything we’ve got. Full throttle."

"Alex," she said, "the Corsarius can accelerate a lot faster than you and I can. We’ll move pretty quickly, but it’ll be well below what this ship can do."

The alien was getting bigger. It had begun to pulse with a soft blue-green glow, reminiscent of Christmas lights.

"Operational power levels are still building," Chase said. "I’ve never seen anything like it. This son of a bitch might actually have enough of a punch to knock that monster over. If we have to."

"I’d rather outrun it," I said.

We lifted out of orbit within the hour, and, with our prow turned toward the enemy—for that was certainly how we both thought about the other ship—we accelerated. Almost immediately, Chase reported that the other vessel had begun to change course. "To get closer," she said.

"Veer off. Try to keep that ten-thousand-kilometer range at closest approach."

"I’ll do what I can." She looked grim. "But I wish to hell one or the other of us knew what we’re doing."

Chase was right: the pressure of constant acceleration wore us down. She looked exhausted after an hour, and I became acutely conscious of my heartbeat. We increased oxygen content, and that helped for a while.

Meantime the distance between the two ships narrowed. "Coming fast," Chase said.

"They won’t shoot. The only reason they’re here is to salvage the Corsarius."

But I wasn’t really all that confident, and Chase knew it. So we waited, while the computers counted down the time.

The alien’s components seemed to be moving within themselves: whirling lights and orbiting topological shapes. It looked ghostly, insubstantial. "Closest point of approach," said Chase. "Mark."

The computer announced in a burgundy female voice: "They are tracking us for laser fire."

"Hang on, Chase."

"Goddam it, Alex, we forgot something—"

She was interrupted by a blast. The ship lurched violently: metal tore, and something exploded. Klaxons howled and warning lights blinked on. Chase unleashed a series of expletives. "The magnets," she said. "They just wiped us out, first punch." She looked gloomily at me, and at the image of the alien as it reached maximum size, and began to diminish. Red lights across the status boards were switching to purple. "The ship’s sealing itself, but we’ve got problems." She shut the alarms down.

"What happened?" I asked. The pressure of acceleration had eased. Considerably.

"That’s not my doing," she explained. "They cut a hole in our propulsion system. And unless you’re an expert at repairing magnetic drive units, we’re going to be down to a slow walk."

"Well, we’ll keep moving at our current velocity, right?"

"Actually, we’ll do a little better than that. But that isn’t very good, when the other guy keeps accelerating. What will happen now is that they’ll continue on, loop around the planet and come get us. Pretty much at their leisure. And what really irritates me is that it needn’t have happened!"

"Why? What do you mean?"

"The problem is neither of us knows anything about combat. We’ve got a shield. But we never activated it!"

"Son of a bitch."

"Now you know why Gabe was bringing John Khyber along. The old naval systems expert. He damned well wouldn’t have overlooked anything so obvious!" Her eyes filled with tears. All we’d been through, and it was the first time I’d seen her so discouraged.

"What about the stardrive? Any damage to that?"

She took a deep breath and flicked switches. "Stardrive ignition is still no less than twenty-three hours away. But I’m damned if I can imagine what’s going to ignite. Son of a bitch, we had plenty of time. You know what we had up? Standard navigational meteor screens! We’re lucky we didn’t get nuked. Dumb!"

"No point worrying about that now. How much time do we have before they catch us?"

Chase tapped the computer. "About fourteen hours." She slumped in her seat. "I think," she said, "it’s time to run up a white flag."

She was right. The giant vessel swung round the world that had been Sim’s prison, and hurtled after us.

We went into the after section and looked at the magnetics. Three of the series were fused. "It’s a wonder we’ve got any acceleration at all," Chase said. "But it’s not going to be enough to make a difference."

We used our remaining time as prudently as we could. First thing we did was get an explanation from the computer on the ship’s system of shields. I would have liked to run a test, but I decided it might be a better idea not to let the mutes see it. Maybe they assumed it was no longer operational. After all, what other explanation could there be for not using it in a situation which so clearly called for defenses? Then, having assured ourselves, perhaps too late, that we would not stand completely naked to the bastards, we started to look to our firepower.

While we watched them come, we studied schematics, and talked to computers. We learned details about a bewildering tangle of weapons systems, which were operated from four different consoles. And I began to understand why the frigates required an eight-man crew. "We couldn’t hope to fire more than one or two of these damned things," complained Chase. "If we had more people, people who knew what they were doing, and everything worked, I think even now we could put up a decent fight."

"Computer," I said, "can the mute detect our power build-up?"

"Unknown."

"Can we read power levels on board their ship?"

"Negative. We can detect external radiation only, and I can draw inferences from mass and maneuvering characteristics. But they would be estimates whose only real use would be to provide absolute minimum values."

"Then they can’t read ours?"

"Unknown. We lack data on their technology."

"Alex, what are you getting at?"

"I’m not sure. But I’d prefer they think we’re helpless."

"What’s the difference?" asked Chase. "Their screens are up. They’re assuming we’re dangerous."

"Computer, what can you tell us about enemy capabilities?"

"Corsarius was struck by an enhanced laser of extremely narrow concentration. The energy required to produce the effect we witnessed, at their extreme range, implies power which exceeds ours by a multiple of at least six point five. Analysis of ECM and physical structure suggests the generation of a quasi-magnetic energy field for defensive, and perhaps offensive, purposes. Probably an amplified version of our own shields. We would be wise to assume considerable difficulty in penetrating defensive systems.

"Propulsion appears to be standard. Armstrong symmetries are detectable in radiation pattern, as is a magnetic track of the type one would expect for a linear drive system—"

And so on.

For several hours, we continued to widen our lead over the mutes. But they were accelerating at a much higher rate than we were. And eventually, Chase informed me quietly that they had exceeded our speed, and were now beginning to close.

Its blue-green lights grew brighter on the screens. And, as it drew near, it began to slow down, presumably to match our course and speed.

We were both chilled by the precision of the long-range laser shot which had destroyed the engines, and neither of us held any illusions about the outcome should we be forced to fight.

Nevertheless, we concentrated on our own weapons. We had nukes and accelerated particle beams and proton rams, and half a dozen other devices I’d never heard of. The most promising (which is to say the easiest to aim and fire) seemed to be a weapon that Chase referred to as the scattershot: a wide-band energy beam consisting of gantner photons, hot electrons, and a kind of "particle soup." Its effect, according to the computers, was to destabilize matter at short range. "But you have to get in close," the computer warned. "And you have to knock out the defensive systems first. It won’t give you any penetration at all of the shields."

"How do we do that?" asked Chase.

The computer replied with a complex strategy requiring quick maneuvering and operators at three of the weapons consoles.

"One console," I said. "We can only man one. Or two if we dispense with the pilot."

"Why don’t we just give them the ship?" said Chase. I could see fear in her eyes, and I doubt that I was doing a good job hiding my own emotions. "That’s what they want, and it’s our best chance to get away from here with our heads."

"I don’t think," I said, "that we should surrender the Corsarius. Under any conditions. Anyhow, you saw what they did to the Centaur. I don’t think we have any choice but to fight. Or run, if we can."

"It’s suicide," she said.

I couldn’t argue with that. Still, we had a hell of a ship. And they wanted it very badly. That might give us an advantage of sorts. "Computer, if the alien’s shield was down, what would be the logical target for the scattershot?"

"I would recommend," it said, "either the bridge or the power plant. I will inform you if I am able to locate them."

Chase looked out the viewport at the mute, whose shadow now filled the sky. "We might as well throw rocks," she said.

We shut down what was left of our magnetics, and coasted now at a constant speed. The alien settled into a parallel orbit, about a kilometer to starboard. Chase watched them a while, and then shook her head hopelessly. "They can’t see the capsule," she said. "How about if we put a timer on one of the nukes, blow the ship to hell, and get out? We might still be able to make it back to the planet."

"You’d spend the rest of your life there if you did," I said.

"First things first." She hunched her shoulders, and turned back to the screen. "I wonder what they’re waiting for."

"My guess is they’re trying to figure a way to get us out of here without damaging the ship. Maybe they’re waiting for the destroyer to come back. Where is it, by the way?"

"Still headed out of town. I’d say another standard day and a half before they can even turn around. Anyway, what would they need a destroyer for?"

She looked through a viewport at the giant ship floating off our beam.

"Their shields are still up?"

"Yes. This would be a good time for an idea." Her face clouded. "I just had an uncomfortable thought. Can they read our minds from there?"

"I don’t think so. They have to be reasonably close. A few meters, judging by my experience with them. And by the way, if they do get inside your head, you’ll know it."

"Unpleasant sons of bitches, aren’t they?" She tapped the keyboard. "Energy levels have finally stopped rising. I think we’re about as combat ready as we’re going to get. If any of this stuff still works."

"Assume everything’s fine. That’s what we’ll need to survive, so assume it. If there’s a problem somewhere, knowing about it in advance won’t help us any."

"So what do we do now?"

"Wait," I said. "Keep the scattershot primed. If we get a chance to use it, we’re going to shoot, and run like hell."

"Limp like hell," she corrected.

"Benedict."

The sound spilled out of the ship’s commsystem. "It’s coming from the mute," said Chase.

"Don’t acknowledge," I said.

"Alex." The voice was warm, understanding, reasonable. And familiar. "Alex, are you all right? I’ve been worried about life support over there. Is there anything we can do?"

It was S’Kalian. Defender of the peace. Idealist. Friend. "I’m sorry about the loss of the Centaur. The destroyer was only supposed to prevent anyone’s boarding the artifact."

"Stay on the trigger," I told Chase.

"What do I aim at?"

"Pick your target," I said.

"Preferably toward the center," said the computer. "Without specific knowledge, the most probable location of the power plant would be a centralized position within the configuration."

S’Kalian again: "Alex?"

Chase nodded. "Locked in. Now’s your chance to ask him to take down the screens."

"Alex, you can hear me. We have an opportunity to settle this peacefully. There need be no bloodshed."

I opened a channel. His image appeared on one of the auxiliary monitors. He looked solicitous, compassionate. "You can’t have the Corsarius, S’Kalian."

"We already have it. Fortunately for both our people, we have it."

"Why?" I asked. "Why is it so valuable to you?"

"Surely by now you have guessed, Alex." His tone dropped an octave. "Sim’s secrets will be safe with us. We are not an aggressive species. Your people have nothing to fear."

"That’s easy to say."

"We don’t have your bloody history, Alex. War is not a normal condition of life among us. We do not kill our own kind, nor would we have killed yours if it could have been avoided. We still live today with the memory of that terrible war."

"That was two hundred years ago!"

"And there," he said, sadly, "lies the difference between us. For the Ashiyyur, yesterday’s tragedy remains painfully fresh. It is not merely history."

"Yes," I said. "We’ve seen how violence upsets you."

"I’m sorry about the attack on the Centaur. But we wished very much to avoid the situation which has now arisen. However, we cannot permit the Corsarius to be returned to its creators. The sad truth of all this is that we may yet be forced to take your lives."

"What do you want?"

"Only the ship. Turn it over to us. I’m prepared to provide safe passage home for you, and to compensate you generously for the loss of the artifact."

I looked at him, trying to read sincerity into those too-thoroughly composed features. "What’s involved in the surrender? How do you propose to do it?"

"It’s not a surrender, Alex," he said smoothly. "It’s an act of courage under difficult circumstances. But we would simply send over a boarding party. As for you, all we ask is that you signify your consent by leaving the vessel. Both of you, that is." He nodded, expressing content that we were moving toward a prudent course. "Yes, simply leave the vessel. Come here to us. You have my solemn guarantee that you will be well treated."

"And released?"

He hesitated. It was brief, a moment’s reluctance. "Of course." He smiled encouragingly. Somehow, during the conversation we’d had at Kostyev House, the fact that his lips never moved had been less disconcerting, perhaps because I could see the communication device by which he spoke, or maybe because the circumstances had changed so drastically. Whatever it was, the dialogue was thoroughly unnerving, and carried with it a sense of direct mental contact. I wondered whether I had underestimated him, whether he was in fact reaching across the void and penetrating my mind. "Are you prepared to leave?"

"We’re thinking about it." Chase stared at the overhead.

"Very good. We will watch for you. In deference to your feelings, we will make no effort to board the ship until you have arrived safely here.

"By the way, Alex, I know this is difficult for you. But the day will come when our two species will stand united in fast friendship. And I suspect you will be remembered for your contribution to that happy moment."

"Why is it so important?" I asked. "Why do you want the ship?"

"It is a symbol of the evil time. I think, in all honesty, that it could not have been found at a worse period. We are again close to war, your people and mine. This vessel with all the memories it will stir, could well be the catalyst for a tidal wave of hostility. We cannot, in conscience, allow that to happen."

Who’s he kidding? Chase asked with her eyes.

"This is not an easy decision for us," I said.

"I understand."

"Please give us a moment to think about it."

"Of course."

"Do it!" Chase said, as soon as his image had faded. "It’s a way out. And they’d have nothing to gain by killing us."

"The sons of bitches would kill us, Chase. They aren’t going to turn us loose."

"You’re crazy," she said. "We’ve got to trust them. What other choice do we have? I don’t want to give my life for a derelict. You know as well as I do that if they can’t have this thing, they’ll just blow it up and us with it. And any notions we have of fighting that goddam monster are just so much fantasy. I mean, this antique wouldn’t have a chance against that son of a bitch, even if it had a full crew and Sim himself sitting in that chair."

"That’s not what you were saying a few minutes ago."

"A few minutes ago I didn’t think we had a choice."

My mouth had gone dry, but I tried to sound calm. "I don’t agree, Chase. They want this ship, and as long as we stay in it, I think we’re safe. They can’t board, and they won’t destroy it."

"Why not? If all they want is to keep us from getting back home with it, they can blow us up any time they please."

"Then why haven’t they already done so?"

"Maybe because they don’t want to kill anyone if they don’t have to."

"You believe that?"

"Damn it, Alex, I don’t know."

"Okay," I was out of the command seat now, rattling around the bridge, trying to think. "If you’re right, then why did they attack the Centaur? They had no compunctions about our lives. They wanted to keep us from getting on board because then they’d have to talk us out."

"Maybe you’re right," she said angrily. "I just don’t know. But I don’t want to get killed over it."

"Then we stay right where we are. How much time before the Armstrongs activate?"

"There are no Armstrongs," she said, desperately.

"Come on, Chase," I said. "How much time before whatever we’ve got activates? Before we can jump into hyper?"

There were tears in her eyes. "About a half day. You think you can stall them that long?"

"I think it’s our best chance." I took her by the shoulders, and hung on to her. "You with me?"

She looked at me a long time. "You’re going to get us both killed," she said.

"I regret that you feel compelled to pursue a course that can only result in bloodshed." S’Kalian did indeed appear upset. "Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you?"

"The hell with you," I said. "You’re going to have to blow up your artifact. So go ahead and do it!" I broke the link.

"You were persuasive," Chase said, glumly. "I hope he doesn’t take you up on it."

The mute drifted closer. The slow oscillation of its component parts accelerated. "Best analysis," said the computer, "suggests everything we can see is part of an energy deployment system."

Chase swore softly. "Where’s the operational center? Where are they vulnerable?"

"At present, insufficient information is available to draw conclusions."

"Your guess is as good as his," I said.

"I think it’s time to put up the shields."

"No," I said.

"Why not?"

"We don’t gain anything by it. We can’t run, and we can’t fight. The shields would only delay the inevitable. Let’s try to keep a surprise available." Something had been bothering me about my conversation with S’Kalian, and I suddenly realized what it was. "Why were they being so nice to us?" I said.

"What do you mean?"

"Why did they want to wait for us to go over there before they dispatched a boarding party?"

Chase shook her head. "I still think maybe they’re telling the truth."

"No," I said. "I’ll tell you what it is: they don’t trust us. We’re bushwhackers in their eyes, and they want us where they can keep an eye on us. That means they think we can do them some damage. How?"

Chase’s eyes closed briefly, and then she nodded. "I can give you a good guess. Their boarding party: they have to lower their screens to pass them through. For a few seconds, they’d be vulnerable."

I felt a simultaneous rush of elation and fear. "They don’t trust us," I repeated. And I found myself thinking about Sim’s chessboard. "Maybe we can turn it to our advantage."

"Go ahead," Chase said. "I’m open for ideas."

"I need you to go back and get two of the pressure suits. Put them inside the capsule, and inflate them. Try to make them look like us. And rig the capsule so we can operate it from here."

"Why? What good will that do?"

"I’m not sure how much time we have, Chase. Just do it. Okay? Let me know when it’s ready, and then get back here."

"All right," she said, getting up, and extending her hand. "And by the way, if I don’t see you again, it’s been a hell of a ride, Alex."

There was a catch beneath the flippancy, but she left quickly. In the general silence of the ship, I could follow her progress back through the hatches.

"Movement," said the computer. "Something’s happening."

The ovoid dance of the alien vessel changed its pattern, and its colors deepened. It glowed fiercely in the eternal dark, its tiny lights swirling. Luminous insects in the mouth of a cannon. It went on for several minutes.

"Psychology," I told the computer. "They’re playing mind games with us."

"I’m not sure what that means. But I detect a familiar metal shape within the configuration. Plasma missile launcher, probably. Eight tubes. This type weapon is intended for use against a relatively stationary target. High velocity projectile designed to penetrate thick armor, and burn out interior. Analysis indicates that only one of the tubes contains a weapon."

Hell. "What," I asked, barely able to speak, suddenly aware that I didn’t know how to put the shield up if I wanted to, "will be the effect on Corsarius?"

"How much energy to defensive screens?"

"None."

"Total destruction."

I thought about calling Chase, to warn her, to get her back. But I let it go. What the hell.

I could hear her banging around in the after section. A red lamp lit up on the status board. Outside hatch open.

"They’ve locked on," said the computer.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited.

"Missile away."

In that final moment, what I thought about was that we had not fired a single shot in our own defense.

The thing blasted through our metal skin and set off a windstorm below decks. The klaxons let go again, and all the rest of the ship’s systems that warn of immediate and serious danger. But we were still alive!

"What the hell’s going on up there?" demanded Chase, with the mild echo that indicated she was inside a pressure suit.

"They just fired on us. You okay?"

"Yeah. You think maybe it’s time now to put up the shield?" She sounded shaky.

"Are you finished yet?"

"Almost. But maybe we ought to evict the dummies, and you and me get in there and clear out."

"Get back here quick," I said. "Computer, damage report. How come we’re still on the premises?"

"The missile did not detonate. I don’t know why, unless it was an empty shell. Impossible to be certain, since it passed completely through the ship."

"Where’d it hit?"

"The compartment directly below the bridge. We will require repairs on both bulkheads as soon as you can get a damage control crew down there. In the meantime, I’ve sealed the area off."

S’Kalian’s voice again: "Alex: there is still time." He held out his arms in a gesture of appeal.

"You are a son of a bitch," I said quietly.

"I admire your restraint, under the circumstances. Please understand: we can punch holes in your vessel, and I believe we can do it without damaging critical systems. Now, what further demonstration do you need of my concern for your welfare? Get out of there, while you can. Your death, and that of your, uh, woman, will accomplish nothing."

Chase opened the rear hatch and came in. "Ready to go," she whispered.

The computer broke the link with the enemy ship. "Captain," it said, "another missile has been loaded."

"If you’ve got an idea," said Chase, "this is the time."

"Computer, get the mute back."

S’Kalian’s image reappeared. "I hope you have made the wise decision," he said.

"I don’t think you’re going to like it much." I paused for effect, and tried to look moderately demented. "I’m going to arm one of the nukes and I’m going to sit here and blow the Corsarius to hell."

"I don’t believe you."

"Believe what you want."

"I’ve seen your psyche, Alex. In a sense, I’ve been you. You don’t believe strongly enough in anything to commit such an act. Your will to survive is very strong—"

I shut him off. "That’s it," I told the computer. "I don’t want to receive any more transmissions from the other ship. Nothing. Refuse everything."

"It’s useless," said Chase. "What are you trying to do? They don’t believe you. They’ll be looking for a trick." Her eyes widened. "Hey, you weren’t by any chance serious, were you? I have no interest whatever in going up in a fireball."

"No. Of course not. And they won’t believe it either. That’s what I’m counting on. Stay by the scattershot. In six minutes, we’re going to send the capsule for a ride. Shortly after that their shield should come down. You’ll get green lights on the status board. Then pull the trigger. Aim into the center somewhere, and fire everything we’ve got." I began counting off the time.

"What if the shields don’t come down?"

"Then we’ll have to think of something else."

"I’m happy to know we have a plan."

"Are you ready to launch the capsule?"

"Yes," she said. We waited. The minutes ticked off.

"I want it moving away from the alien. It should be on a course back toward the planet."

She frowned, understood, and smiled. "They won’t buy it," she said. "We’re too far away from the planet now. They’ll know we couldn’t make it."

"Do it," I said. "Now."

She pressed a stud on the console. "Capsule away."

"They won’t know," I said. "They probably don’t know a damned thing about its capabilities. And if they do know, they’ll assume we don’t. The only thing they’re going to be thinking about is the two of us trying to cut and run. And the nuke that’s ticking away in here. Tricky humans."

She put the capsule on one of the monitors, and we waited. It looked good: two people in pressure suits, one bent over the controls. "You look drunk," Chase said.

"It’s okay. It’s good enough to fool them."

She agreed. "And I wish I were on it."

"No, you don’t. We’re going to come through this okay. Try to maneuver it in the shadow of the ship. We want it to look as though we’re trying to keep out of sight. But make sure they can see it."

"Right," she said uncertainly.

"Enemy missile is locked on the bridge," said the computer.

"I hope this thing has enough of a charge to take them out." She looked doubtful.

"Be ready," I said. "We’re only going to get a couple of seconds. As soon as the green lamps go out—"

"Captain," said the computer, "the enemy ship is signaling again."

"Don’t respond. Tell me when it stops."

"They should be able to see the capsule now, Alex."

"Okay. Any time now. It’ll happen quick."

"Captain, the signal from the mute has broken off."

"Alex, are you sure this is going to work?"

"Of course not."

We watched the consoles, the green lamps, waiting.

"Activity in one of the ovoids," said the computer. We got several simultaneous views on the screens, in close. A portal had opened, and the silver prow of a launch vehicle was visible. It looked armored.

"Here we go," I said. "It’s the bomb disposal unit."

Chase heaved a sigh of relief. "They’ve got guts."

The lamps flickered and died. "Their shields are down."

Chase pulled the trigger.

We bucked and rolled, and a deep-throated roar shook the bulkheads.

I stabbed at a row of keys, and our own shield activated.

Blinding light spilled through the ports; the screens blanked out. Chase was pitched out of her chair, but held the firing stud down. Course correction jets fired.

Something hammered us. The ship shook, and the lights dipped.

"Proton burst," announced the computer. "Shields holding." One of the monitors came back and we were looking again at the mute ship: its lights flared and swirled in a frenzy. Patches of darkness appeared among them and expanded. The oscillations abruptly collapsed and broke apart. A few fireballs erupted and died in showers of sparks. When it was over, there remained only a blackened network of spheres and tubing.

Chase shut off the scattershot. "I think we’re depleted," she said. The silver launch and its assault team had spurted past us and was still going, hoping (I assumed) not to be noticed in the general melee.

Another blast hit us. "A second proton burst," said the computer. "This one was well off target. No damage."

"Computer, arm a nuke."

"Alex, this is our chance to run." Something else blew up out there. Whether it was the warship disintegrating, or continuing to fire on us, I couldn’t tell.

"In a minute."

"Armed and ready to fire, Captain."

"Alex, what are you doing? It’s over. Let’s get out of here."

"The sons of bitches tried to kill us, Chase. I’m going to finish them while we can."

I listened to the sounds of the bridge: the reassuring throb of power in the bulkheads, the cadences of the data processing systems, the soft murmur of the intership commlink. Chase’s breathing.

"There’s no need," she said.

I locked in the target angle.

She stared at me. "I liked the earlier Tanner," she said. "The one who offered her arm to a mute."

Electrical fires raged throughout the stricken ship.

"Captain, it has begun to move away."

"Let them go," urged Chase. "Let’s try to do things right this time."

I sat with my finger on the presspad.

"They’ll know you could have killed them, and didn’t. They’ll always know that."

"Yeah," I said. "For all the good it’ll do anybody."

We watched them limp off into the dark.