The Kruton Interface

CHAPTER 10

Lt. Diane Warner-Hillary announced, “Captain, we have entered Galactic Sector Four.”

“Begin deceleration to subluminal velocity,” the captain ordered. “Continue on present course.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n,” said Lt. Commander Angus Sadowski.

The electrogravitic field that surrounded the star-ship Repulse changed polarity. The ship still occupied a bubble in the continuum — an area outside of space and time but not very far from either, in which conventional physical laws could be bent but not broken. But now that bubble was contracting. When the ship dropped below the speed of light, the Repulse popped back into normal space and became a conventional physical object again, subject to the usual laws governing its ilk, as opposed to a set of quantum probabilities, which it had been reduced to inside the bubble.

The ship underwent tremendous deceleration in a short time. A partial dispensation from Newtonian physics (as opposed to Einsteinian) was in effect as long as the electrogravitic field still existed. Had this not been so, the ship’s occupants would have been squashed to jelly against the forward bulkheads.

The star cruiser’s speed dropped dramatically. Slower and slower it went, until the Repulse was barely moving at all — a mere hundred kilometers per second. Practically at a dead stop, the ship drifted in a vastness that was more empty than most regions of interstellar space. Here floated a molecule of gas, there a mote of dust. The Repulse had not much else for a neighbor, except for a faintly luminescent nebula and an even fainter ring of glowing gas. The latter hung two points off starboard at a distance of about half a light-year.

At last, word came that the captain would come out of his cabin and go to the bridge. Mr. Rhodes and Darvona stood by the hatch, as if in wait of some miraculous coming-out, a white figure in a shroud, perhaps.

The hatch rolled up and Wanker stepped out.

He saw the two standing there.

“What the devil do you want?”

“Nice to see you again, sir!” Mr. Rhodes said. “Just want to accompany you to the bridge.”

“Oh?” Wanker grumbled something unintelligible. He looked around. “What’s Strangefinger been up to?”

“Not a lot, sir, while we’ve been under power. But they’ll begin in earnest now.”

“Crazy business, doing this out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Security reasons, sir. The doctor said they couldn’t trust the graving dock crew.”

“I wouldn’t trust Strangefinger any farther than I could spit.”

Wanker smoothed his rumpled fatigue uniform, which he’d slept in a few nights. Red stubble grew in tufts on his cheek. He hadn’t bathed in quite a while.

“You look fine, sir,” Darvona told him, as if reading his doubts.

“Maybe I’d better step into the fogger,” Wanker said. “Get freshened up.”

“Captain, you’re okay,” Mr. Rhodes said, afraid that Wanker would never come out again if he ducked back in. “Please, let’s go to the bridge.”

“Well, all right.”

Reluctantly, the captain followed them to the nearest access tube.

The captain seated himself at the captain’s console, an extremely complex display of instruments that he had yet to study. He felt guilty about that. Above it hung a huge thing like an oversize helmet — the cyberhelmet, or communications sensorium. It was a virtual reality device that put him in intimate contact with the ship, its environs, its instruments, and with certain key crew members. Used mostly during combat, it was also a tricky thing to master.

He pushed a button and the helmet lowered. He poked his head inside it.

It was dark inside. Was the thing on? It was supposed to be on all the time. Then he noticed a legend in his peripheral vision: TEMPORARILY INOPERATIVE. Well, so much for the cyberhelmet. He pushed the thing off his head.

“Navigator! What is our exact position?”

Warner-Hillary answered, “We’re about ten trillion kilometers from the edge of the Kruton Interface… give or take, you know, a couple billion kilometers. Sort of. I mean, we’re kind of like in the middle of nowhere.”

Wanker regarded the navigator in silence for a moment. Then he said patronizingly, “Thanks for that travelogue, Lieutenant. Can you be a bit more specific?”

“Well, sir, we’re kind of like… here.” Warner-Hillary touched a finger to her screen. “I’ll punch it up on your monitor, sir.”

“I have it.”

“Okay, sir, you see that fuzzy blob there toward the top of the screen?”

Wanker studied bis screen. “Fuzzy blob toward the top of the screen … you mean the one that’s ring-shaped?”

“Ring-shaped?”

“All right, what about it?”

“Okay, we’re about three decimeters to the right of it, and a little bit down.”

Three decimeters …? But that’s off my screen.”

“Huh? It’s on my screen, sir… Wait a minute. You’ve got the wrong blob. It’s on the other side. The one that looks like a weasel.”

“Weasel? Oh, you mean this one? That’s no weasel. You mean the camel.”

“Sir, it doesn’t look like a camel to me. Looks like a weasel.”

“Ridiculous. It looks like a camel. See the humps?”

“What bumps, sir?”

“Humps. Those little things there. Little humps.”

Warner-Hillary inclined her head. “I can’t see any little humps.”

“There are two of them, like a camel.”

“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,