Tin Woodman (16 page)

“Galactic Command will be lucky to know
anything,”
returned Ston bitterly. “I’d rather be in their hands, safe in our home sector of space, than rushing toward infinity and uncertainty out here. I’ll let
them
be the judge of our actions. Not you, not Darsen.”

“Just talking with you, I know you’re not mad, Maurtan. You don’t sound like someone who would trigger a device that would destroy hundreds of human lives, and endanger hundreds more.” He turned his head slightly, nodded. Smoothly, two security officers stepped out of the doorway, drew up to his side. Both wore laser holsters. Both also had their hands raised in a manner similar to Tamner’s, Mora had not heard them descend, had not even sensed their presence until now. And they were too far away to take an empathic reading on their intent.

“Just consider these two part of my diplomatic envoy, Maurtan,” continued Tamner, attempting his version of a friendly smile. “No need for alarm whatsoever.”

“Why don’t you just bring down
all
your men, Tamner,” replied Ston. “A thousand officers couldn’t stop me from releasing this switch if I decide to. According to my reckoning, the captain has over ten minutes to respond, personally, to my demands. I intend to let him have the benefit of every single minute.”

Tamner frowned. “We don’t intend to play games with you, Maurtan. I assure you that the captain has entrusted me entirely with this matter. I think it would be of benefit to both of us to discuss the situation like reasonable human beings.”

“Very well,” Ston replied. “But I suggest that you not make any unnecessary movements toward your weapons. We
are
armed.”

“Ah yes. You and Mora. Where did you get the weapons, I wonder? Did you turn yourself invisible, sneak past the armory guards? I doubt it—I doubt if you’ve weapons of significance at all. And, Mora—why are you doing this? Trying to get back at us? Surely you realize that we’ve gone too far to turn back now. We’re committed. However you feel about us, whatever you think we’ve done to you, surely you can’t take it out on the whole ship. Because that’s what you’re—”

He was interrupted by the sudden blaring of the room’s general address speaker.

Mora instantly recognized the voice.

It was Norlan’s.

“All ship’s personnel, alert.”

Even as he spoke into the microphone that curled around on its metal stalk, rearing like a spitting cobra before him, Norlan glanced down at his control panel for another check. It was vital that his voice reach every section of the ship, issue from every available speaker. Fifteen minutes had passed since Tamner had rushed off the bridge. In that time, Captain Darsen had turned all of his attention back to preparing the ship for entrance through the spatial anomaly before them—the rift. And Coffer had given the signal . . .

Good. All the appropriate switches were on.

“All crew members, take emergency measures. Passengers, secure yourselves in turbulence harnesses and gravity couches.”

And the strange black spot in the view screens before them, the sphere of pure darkness that contrasted so with the generous scatter of stars in this sector, grew as they neared it. Norlan knew that if they got too close, the
Pegasus
would be hard-pressed to outpower the thing’s tremendous gravitational pull and escape from being drawn through it into the unknown. Who knew what would happen then? Perhaps they would be tom apart by the tremendous forces this strange hole in space seemed to own. And if they
did
survive the passage—where would they be? And would they be able to return?

He had been so desperate, he was about to take action before he had any specific orders from the captain for the ship-wide address he had expected, informing the crew of their present circumstances. From his occasional glances to Coffer, he could see that she was growing nervous as well. Her eyes, when they connected with his, seemed to say, “When? When?”

But finally, upon his suggestion, Captain Darsen had allowed that it would be necessary to take safety precautions, should the entrance through the rift be turbulent He ordered him to notify the rest of the crew and passengers.

“Possible gravitational fluctuations and confusion. Repeat, please take emergency measures.”

He took a breath and prayed that it was not too late.

And that the plan would work.

“Compliments of the captain.”

“. . . of the captain.”

The final words dropped like a mild pronouncement of doom from the speaker perched almost directly over the top of his station. His head jerked up from the flashing readings on his fusion ramjet monitor. He had been expecting those words, indeed ardently praying for their arrival. His job in Engineering supplied him with full knowledge of the position and destination of the
Pegasus.
If the mutiny were held off much longer, it well might be useless.

Nevertheless, when the words finally came on the tail of the announcement of the emergency, they startled Ensign Dinni Rosher. The weight of guilt settled fully on his shoulders as he realized the totality of the implications of his intended actions. His years of training at the academy suddenly drew rein on his rebel mind, and brought him up short. No, he
couldn’t.
A violent overthrow of the authority that governed his life, on such flimsy notice? How did he know that he wasn’t the only one that strange woman had contacted? How did he know that he wouldn’t be immediately overpowered, the sole mutineer? Overpowered, stashed away to rot until court-martial—maybe even
killed
in the scuffle!

Quivering slightly, he let his eyes roam over his fellows seated at their positions in the room, over the pair of security men by the doors. And he saw his own fear and trepidation mirrored in the eyes of Lieutenant Markle. In the expression of Ensign Mitters. And in at least two others of the ten officers stationed there. They seemed as hesitant as he—it was almost as if they were experiencing the same emotions. Undergoing the same doubts.

As he leaned back in his chair, astonished, he felt the hard plastic and metal of the stunner taped to the small of his back press against his spine: a sharp jolt of pain reminded him of his role. It was as though that knife of sensation punctured the dam of doubt. His former feelings, his resolve, flooded back in full measure. And once again the Talent, Mora, seemed to touch his mind.
It’s the right thing to do,
she seemed to say.
And it must be done immediately.

He pulled the seal release on the side of his jumpsuit, reached in, tore the stunner off his back. It hurt. But the sting cleared his senses even more. Yes, it must be done now, and with no hesitation, or it would all be lost.

Gripping the pistol, he rose up from the chair, took two steps forward. He leveled the stunner at the closest security officer, a stout, sleepy-eyed man, and fired. The weapon throbbed; energy coursed out, enveloped the man, who shuddered and dropped. His fellow officer was obviously equipped with years of training, for his weapon was instantly being grappled from his holster. But too late. Rosher swung the stunner, fired, and the other security officer crumpled to the floor with a grunt of disbelief.

Rosher strode to the door mechanism, punched in the proper lock sequence as Mora had instructed him. He picked up the unconscious officers’ weapons, then looked around at the others.

Several merely stared at him, surprise and horror clear in their aspects. These he would have to watch.

“Stop the engines!” he ordered, waving his stunner. “And be prepared to engage them again on my orders.”

But the four he had noticed before had already commenced that operation.

“Compliments of the captain.”

So.

Then Mora Elbrun had told the truth. A flicker of good feeling trembled at the edges of Secondary Programmer Avedon Avedic’s mind. She had liked the former shiplady, indeed felt an affinity with the woman. It was interesting. Mora seemed to be successful in doing something that the service had never been able actually to do: get its members together on something, of their own free will. Of course, the running of the starships would be impossible if the crew members did not co-operate. But co-operation under the tyranny of rules and orders was an entirely different affair from the sort of co-operation that Mora seemed to be linking together. This was a distinct action
against
orders, rules, and laws. In the eventual interest of the service, true—if indeed this matter of Captain Darsen’s insanity was the case; if he had spirited off the
Pegasus
on this wild, break-neck course to the center of the galaxy. The thought appealed to the dark, comely woman. In fact it pleased her all to hell.

To strike back at ‘Them’—with their own instruments, the devices they had trained her to operate . . .

There wasn’t the slightest hesitation on her part. Joyfully, she leaned over the keyboard, her long black hair wisping down along the sides of her Mediterranean features. She punched in the codes she had devised—the key that would allow her entrance into the computer’s navigational systems. It had taken her a long time to figure out how to do that—longer certainly than the notice from Mora Elbrun had given her. But fortunately she had puzzled out the complex systems of the ship’s computer months before. There wasn’t much else of comparable interest for a computer freak on this ship.

Feverishly, she typed. And, as she always knew they would, the ghostly, ephemeral figures that swept over the read-out screen were responding with the proper sequences.

She had never really wanted to enlist in the service at first. All she had wanted was to get her hands on computer circuitry—it was her life. With computers, there were endless possibilities—riddles to unravel, puzzles to doodle over endless rapturous hours—and in the end new and better machines. Back on Earth, her enthusiasm had been boundless. She had zipped through her technical and theoretical training, had met all the myriad requirements for any of the topflight research institutes. Indeed her qualifications had been so great that she expected to be able easily to vault over the little setbacks of her political affiliations. So what if she’d lent her voice to the collective outcry against her government? Surely that would not hurt her. It was supposed to be a free nation.

But all of the computer corporations had turned her down with apologetic mumbles, suggesting that she might try her luck on a colony. But she had no desire to journey to some backwater world—for one thing, their machines were just too primitive. It would be like playing with blocks.

And then the service had come to her. “How would you like to work on a truly sophisticated and eminently practical computer system?” they had cooed, “building up the benefits of service life. See the stars. Be important.”

She had said no, at first. But her love for computers was great. Immersing herself in math and electronics and an the corollary aspects of computer science that were predictable and yet exciting was so much better than her wretched personal relationships. Computers she could handle. She could love them, and they her—in their own way. It wasn’t so with people.

But she had not been getting much of a chance to work on applied computer science theory here. She had to make do with this limited and closed-minded little nothing of a functional starship computer. And so she had learned every centimeter of its components by volunteering for maintenance work from time to time. It was now her baby.

Now it awoke to her touch.

NAVIGATIONAL GRID 0110 IN OPERATION.

Superb.

Suddenly, she was aware of the sounds of violence about her in the low-ceilinged, light-sprinkled room. She had to work fast.

MAINTAIN STAND-BY FOR SPECIFIC ORDERS she tapped into the keyboard.

Making sure her earphone was working properly, clear for orders from the mutiny’s contingent on the bridge, she breathed deeply.

A man staggered out from behind a block of machinery. A security officer. He groped for a hold on the block’s console. His hand slipped. He tumbled to the floor, his eyes filming over.

Following him, a stunner clutched in hand, came Primary Programmer Lieutenant Birt Mikal. His stark, serious brown eyes found hers.

She smiled at him and laughed, indicating her computer screen. “I just need orders from downstairs.”

He smiled back. “Good. Conspiracies are no fun on your own, are they?”

FIFTEEN

“Compliments of the captain.”

Hidden behind the shadowy abutment, Mora could not contain a small sigh of relief as Norlan’s final phrase receded to a dim echo in the rear of the storage room. The trigger phrase had been issued. The mutiny had begun.

She shot Ston a look, pulsed him a wave of emotion that said,
It is done.

But the expression on Ston’s face returned the truth: No, it wasn’t finished at all. It had only begun.

Mora craned her neck back a bit to get a better look at the three security officers. A frown etched deep in his features, the middle man, Tamner, seemed very uneasy. Not at all the former cool, diplomatic emissary he had arrived as.

“You see,” he said, shifting from foot to foot, peering into the dimness, “Your threat is too late, anyway. Whether you know it or not, we’re headed into a rift of space—following the alien. There’s nothing you can do now.” He mouthed the words with a finality that lacked conviction. Eying his subordinates hesitantly, he whispered something. He shook his head, worried, and grabbed up his belt communicator. “Security channel. Security channel,” he spoke into the disc. “Is everything all right? Do you read me?”

Instantly Mora knew—
felt
—that Tamner suspected. If he managed to reach a member of Security who was witnessing a segment of the mutiny then he would immediately order his detachment up the lift. Something had to be done. The man obviously had no real worry now about the bomb threat—perhaps he never had. He had come down here personally to kill them, be rid of her and Ston once and for all, armed with valid provocation. But now Mora could tell from his eyes and in the vague waves of feeling emanating from him that Jin Tamner was corning to the realization that he’d been had.

Something had to be done to stop him, or at least detain him.

She raised her weapon, reluctantly but without pause for consideration, she fired. A stream of energy singed through the air, struck the communicator full on. There was a flash of explosion. Tamner was hurled back against a bulkhead like a rag doll. His associates toppled aside, sprawling onto the metal floor.

She turned to Ston. He gave her one second of steady, meaningful gaze, then brought up his remote control device.

And released the switch.

“Compliments of the captain.”

Gary Norlan pressed off the intercom switches. He directed his gaze to Coffer, still behind her control board, tensely ready. Coffer peered up directly to where Bisc O’Hari stood sentry by the other security officer.

She nodded at him.

The others of the bridge crew were too busy to notice what was happening. Except the captain.

“Mr. Norlan,” he said, stepping down from his command desk dais, still keeping part of his attention on the awesome sights before them in the fiat screens and the vu-tank. “That was quite good. But you didn’t need to mention me.” Then as Darsen focused his full attention on Norlan, the captain’s face revealed a sudden foreboding premonition. Norlan, expressionless, met his eyes defiantly.

Perplexity plain on his face, Darsen scanned the bridge. Only four of the operational officers were carrying on as before. The others were speedily punching new orders into their control boards. “What’s going on here?” he growled. Darsen spun on his heel to summon Security. Immediately there was a harsh buzzing sound, then a crackling whisper. One of the security officers slumped to the deck. His own weapon had not been drawn.

Bisc O’Hari, holding up his stunner, turned to face the captain. “I suggest you follow Commander Coffer’s orders now, Darsen.” He let his stern gaze include the entire bridge crew, “I suggest that
all
of you do as Norlan says.” His upheld weapon waved a bit, underlining the authority of his words.

Mouth open in frank disbelief, Captain Darsen stood still.

“Cease propulsion toward rift,” said Coffer immediately. “Be prepared for a complete turnabout, on my orders.” She jumped up and moved over toward Norlan’s communication board to contact the computer room, the engine room, and the other centers of the mutiny for supporting action. O’Hari, she noticed peripherally, was already busy jamming access to the lift entrance. Good. The bridge was all hers now. Surprisingly swiftly at that. If Tamner had been there—

A hand clutched her arm before she could make it behind the communications console. The captain, face in a rictus of hate and fury, trembled before her. He raised a fist to smash into her but the blow was thwarted by Norlan, who grabbed Darsen’s arm. Darsen hurled him away and jumped up to the communications board, attempting to scream his commands into the microphone: “This is Captain Darsen. There is a mutiny occurring on the bridge. There—”

Quickly, O’Hari swung about and blasted. Darsen fell, bending the microphone stalk, more like some ugly discarded manikin than the captain of a huge starship. He pounded onto the floor, unconscious.

“Thanks,” said Coffer, trying to rub the pain out of her arm as she moved to the communications console.

The rebel security officer, striding over to be sure of Darsen’s harmlessness, grunted. He looked down at the captain with contempt. Vaguely, Coffer wondered what went on in the man’s mind; what had goaded him into throwing off years of training to toss his lot in with a bunch of mutineers. She dismissed the thought, merely thankful for the man’s invaluable aid. She turned her attention to the rest of the crew. “All right. I’m sure most of you Mora Elbrun contacted and enlisted in our cause. But in any case, all of you must comply. Any deviation from this will be dealt with swiftly by Mr. O’Hari.”

The look of blank surprise in some of the faces melted into agreement. Their eyes seemed to flash relief even as they attended to obeying Coffer’s orders. The others had long since begun.

Satisfied, Coffer turned back to the controls and proceeded to contact Engineering.

The bomb exploded.

It was not a loud explosion, nor was it violent. It was not intended to be. It was meant only to cause confusion. Ston had left the closet door sufficiently ajar so that at the impact of the bomb it would burst open. It did. Voluminous clouds of black and gray poured freely from the closet and, like a sudden fog, began to stream their opacity over everything.

Before the smoke covered them, Mora saw the security officers struggling to their feet, brandishing their weapons. Before long the crowd of the other security officers would flow down the stairs, into the fray. All to the good. She could see Ston’s intention; while a good portion of Security was busy searching for them down here, the mutiny could continue apace above.

A flash of light streaked illumination through the cloudbound base of the stairway: the beam from a laser pistol.

“Okay, Mora,” Ston called in a low voice. “Split up. Keep them guessing. The smoke should drift this way. Use the mask I gave you.” He immediately turned, ran down the aisle.

Mora looked up and decided on her course. Slipping her gun into a pocket, she gripped the siding of the shelves and began to pull herself up among the stored equipment. The top attained, some five meters above the floor, she positioned herself, pulled out her gun, and looked down. The smoke was billowing out swiftly, mushrooming up. She could smell it. She put on the filter mask Ston had given her should this eventuality occur. The sounds of the security officers emerging from the doorway, coughing, came to her. She debated firing down into their midst, decided against it. She had no real desire to harm anyone, and the track of her laser would be sure to pinpoint her location. No. Best to hide, to fire only in defense. It was better to stall that confrontation as long as possible, thus lengthening the time the officers were oblivious to the situation topside.

Already the smoke was spreading, thinning itself out throughout the room, becoming more translucent. It simmered up to her, covering her legs. It was being drawn through the air ducts.

She made sure her filter mask was properly adjusted over her mouth and nose, crouched down low, watching carefully. The clamor and confusion from below drifted up in greater volume as more security men descended. As the smoke lessened, she could see their vague figures searching the aisles like vengeful ghosts. There were enough of them now, and they were close enough, that she began to feel their emotional presences: hate, laced with fear and a sense of duty. She tried to block it all out, but was not entirely successful.

Their emotions quickly smothered the small empathic contact she had with Ston. This triggered a response, and suddenly she remembered.

The dream.

The dream she had dreamed over and over, in the Henderson. The strange battle. It flooded back into her memory, every gloomy detail of it, dragging its ominous sensations with it as starkly and vividly as she’d experienced them in slumber. But her somnambulent vision carried new meaning. Now, it made sense.

The moment she recalled her fear for Ston, it was as though someone had punched her in the stomach, Her fear for him drove all else from her mind. A feeling of terrible dread enveloped her. She forgot any regard for her own safety.

Standing up, she tried to reach out with her Talent and touch him. To warn . . .
be careful,
she pulsed, translating the literal meaning into their underlying emotional meaning. But she felt no response, no touch of his answer.

Hastily, she picked her way down to the opposite end of the shelving top, over a scatter of boxes. With little regard for the possibility of a fall, she let herself down the edge, stepped onto the next level. Recklessly, she lowered herself down the next two levels into the thicker haze and jumped the rest of the way, landing off balance, thumping to the floor. The gun in her pocket popped out, skittered away. She scrambled over, lifted it up. Rising, she peered into the smoke searching for Ston.

There remained the tumultuous clamor of pounding feet all around. Dimly, she could see shapes running in the near distance.

Suddenly, far down the other side of the room, the smoke became veined with lines of energy. The light lances flickered like straightened bolts of lightning. Screams, yells cried out from the same direction.

They had found Ston.

Instantly, she raced down the aisle toward them.

And then the beams of light ceased. The noise quieted.

And the pain hit her.

She woke to a terrible sense of loss, of grief, of something beyond the scope of her understanding. And she woke to rough, unsympathetic hands jostling her up from where she had fallen, paralyzed, as Ston had died.

Looking up she saw the security men who were dragging her across the floor. Her first reaction was to struggle. But, reaching for the necessary energy, she found herself drained of resources. Her empathic death had left her listless.

Ston,
she thought.
Ston.

Abruptly, the men stopped. She looked about and saw that the other security officers crowded around as well. Craning her neck with difficulty, she realized that they stood by the slumped form of Jin Tamner. Hovering over Tamner were two men, administering first aid.

“Is he conscious? a security guard asked.

“Just barely,” muttered one of the men attending to their fallen commander, “His hands are shreds. The explosion shrapneled hell out of his torso. I’ve sent a message for MedSec emergency, but something strange seems to be happening up there.”

Tamner spasrned. Mora could see the streams of glistening red, the streaks of charred uniform and flesh from the flash of Mora’s laser. Looking down, she was surprised that she felt no more hate for Jin Tamner, nor satisfaction with what she had done. She felt no emotion at all.

Tamner’s half-closed bedimmed eyes brightened a bit; intelligence looked up through bars of pain. Those bloodshot orbs swung round, surveying the men and woman who looked down at him, He tried to speak. The officers giving first aid admonished him to stop. Instead, Tamner tried harder, and began creating almost coherent sentences.

“. . . damn it . . . get up to the bridge . . . there’s something going on . . . don’t . . . don’t stay down here.” He tried to sit up. “That’s why they shot the communicator . . . didn’t want us to find out. This . . . this must have been a distracting tactic.” He gulped in a swallow of air. “Mutiny, God damn it. May be a mutiny.” Exhausted, he fell back limply into the arms of his attendants. The others looked at one another, bemused.

“We’d better check,” said one, and all except for the two guarding Mora rushed up the stairway.

No matter,
thought Mora.
Too late now, anyway.

As if she cared.

She looked down at Tamner and realized that he was close to death. Slightly, she opened to him. His eyes fluttered open, fixed on her fuzzily. He smelled of charred flesh. The eyes registered pure and simple hate—but not necessarily focused directly on Mora, No, she realized with a detached curiosity, looking down on the man with her eyes and her Talent as well. No—it was a generalized, unspecific hate. Puzzled, she reached down deeper.

She had never before considered Jin Tamner a subject—merely an object of her hate. His surface attitude was always contemptible. He had brought her only the worst sort of mental anguish in her dealings with him. She had always associated him with the extremes of pain brought on her by the hate of the Normals.

But nothing mattered now, She pushed past that veil of hate in Tamner’s mind, delved deeper than she’d ever been before as she stood there with the security men holding her upright, waiting for orders on what to do with her.

Tamner’s eyes opened wide, “No,” he said, “don’t.”

Vocally she soothed, “You’re dying. I only wish to comfort.”

“Let me die alone, then,” he said. “Take—” Weak and confused, he couldn’t finish the command.

The men holding her started to pull her toward the stairs. “No,” she said. “Please—I won’t do anything.”

Suddenly the intercom announced: “Security alert. Security alert! All—” and was cut off.

“Get out of here,” said Tamner. “Both of you.” He had roused again. “I
told
you it was a mutiny. They’ll need every man. I’ll be okay.”