STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS (25 page)

Captain Northern immediately assumed command with the ease of a man donning a suit tailored specifically to him.

“How long till safe entry of Underspace?” he asked Thur, who had stepped over by the sensor station.

“About five minutes, sir,” the First Mate replied.

Dr. Mish, in his usual post by the sensors, looked up, quite agitated. “I think we are safe at this distance and with the shields—”

“And you want to hang around to record the portal sealing,” Captain Northern finished for him, annoyed. “Dammit, man, it’s your ass I’m watching out for here!”

Dr. Mish grinned. “And shouldn’t I be the one to decide the state of the armor about that ass?”

“In this kind of situation, I wonder. You’re entirely too obsessed with this goddamn Omega Space, Mish! I saw it, felt it, and it’s immensely powerful.”

“We’ve got detailed sensor recordings, Doctor,” Laura offered, wanting to get far away from that place herself.

Mish shook his head. “Insufficient. Sensors show the reactions inside that ship, at the portal, are near critical. At the moment a slow implosion effect, somehow triggered by you, is pulling the entirety of the vessel inside the portal bit by bit. Hence the crackup more than obvious in the screen. Presumably without sufficient stasis devices, the rent in normal space will simply seal up. During that time, if we observe the spectrum fluctuations, record the energy emanations et al, we might learn a great deal not only about the portal, but about Omega Space itself.”

“But Doctor, at the threat of our lives?”

“I assure you, dear boy, we shall be at the point where at the least sign of danger we can instantly sink into Underspace. Besides, I should warn you, because of the nature of these energies, I suspect we are no safer in the Underspace dimension than in more normal planes.”

“Well then,” Captain Northern said, his tension fading somewhat. “If that’s the way it is—”

Dansen Jitt looked up from his plotting controls. “Course all set for resumption, sir, and might I add that if you’d like my opinion—”

“Thank you Mr. Jitt, but no thank you,” replied the Captain. Since he had spoken to Dr. Mish, Laura noted that his spirits and aplomb seemed to climb back to their normal cocky level. It was almost as though he depended upon Mish, and the
Starbow
, for buttressing his personality. “We symbiotes shall honor our host’s wishes,” he said, saluting the doctor. “Presumably for the interests of all.”

Laura was too tired to object. Besides, she had no particular instinctive impulses one way or the other. However, she was only too glad to take Northern’s suggestion of strapping herself into a grav-couch to prepare for any possible disturbances. The rest of the crew did so as well—except for Shontill, who would not fit but agreed to be tied to a strong railing support. His wide, moist eyes never left the vu-tank image of his race’s derelict portal craft. What strange alien thoughts flitted through that brain of his? Laura wondered. What emotions … ? To have the hope of contacting one’s lost brethren again after so many drifting, lonely years placed tantalizingly in reach, then snatched away ….

Still, the alien watched all the proceedings of the next few minutes stoically, green eyes unblinking, brown crest running calm and unruffled from squat skull to tail.

It did not take long for the promised implosion to reach its end. Laura and the crewmembers watched as the gigantic Frin’ral ship crumpled in upon itself, exuding a panoply of bright phantasmagoric energies like degenerating halos. When the ship was entirely gone, only a large oval distortion, a wavery bit of somethingness against the starfield, was left—and then that, too, winked out.

“Got that, Dr. Mish?” asked Captain Northern.

“Yes, though it’s going to take a while to analyze,” returned the white-haired extension of the starship.

“Good. Gentlepeople, please prepare for resumption of Underspace course for Snar’shill, Dominus Cluster,” said Captain Northern, who then turned to Shontill. “Well, Shontill, good fellow, sorry it did not work out the way you wanted … but you’re still alive, and we’ve got some new and valuable data.”

“I regret … the loss … of your lieutenant,” the alien replied, unbuckling himself. “It should have been I who … fell into … the portal.”

“And gotten killed?” Laura said, bouncing out of her chair. “Sorry about Bey and all that, but you’ve got to survive to get what you want.”

“There’s no proof that Bey died, Laura,” Northern replied, scratching his nose solemnly. “And as far as I’m concerned, this steps up considerably my commitment to getting the facts on this Omega Space. Bey was a good crewmember and I’d like to take that statement out of past tense, if I possibly can.”

“I don’t understand, Northern,” said Laura. “You weren’t so hot on going back for another crewmember when I first met you.”

“You refer to Kat Mizel, I presume,” said Northern, grinning. “An entirely different situation, I assure you. Now, in the meantime, we have an opportunity to deal with your little problem, Laura.”

“You mean those implants,” Laura murmured.

“Yes, and because of the delay it will not be necessary for Mish to use his Genghis Khan model for the operation, You can do it yourself, can’t you, Mish?”

“Certainly.”

“First thing in the morning, then, Laura, after you’ve gotten a bit of rest. We’ve not had an exactly uneventful day. Besides, that way the doctor can prepare for the operation, right, Doctor?”

“And it will be a great pleasure, my dear, to be of service.”

Laura looked around at the assembled bridge crew. She couldn’t get over the amount of interest and caring reflected in their eyes. It was difficult to accept that the people around you cared a lot; she certainly wasn’t used to it after working for as cold an employer as the Federation, and dealing with the vile, ambitious people the system produced to maintain the starways. She even caught a flash of sympathy, if not empathy, in Silver Zenyo’s usually catty eyes.

The emotion this aroused was difficult to deal with. Laura laughed it off. “Well, this won’t be the first time someone’s been mucking around in my interior.”

Before now, it didn’t seem she had the equipment to feel anything about getting all manner of stuff planted inside of her. Now, though, it felt … funny.

She patted Shontill on a shoulder. “Sorry about all this. I think I know how you feel.”

Shontill looked at her with what could have been interpreted as a bemused expression.

“You want somebody to walk you back to your place?” Laura asked. “I’m headed to my own cabin, and it’s right on the way, I think.”

Shontill looked over to Captain Northern, who simply nodded and said, “Go ahead, Shontill. You’ve got to realize that you really aren’t alone, you great beast. You’re with us, aren’t you?”

Laura imagined that it must have made a very odd picture, her diminutive self leading away a seven-foot alien. Even as they walked, Laura felt bad that she had wanted to leave him behind, unconscious.

What was happening to her? she wondered. Where once she had been tight and linear, now she was getting kind of unstuck and loose.

The thought of the unconscious alien made her say, “Oh, Shontill, we never checked to see about wounds.”

“I thank you … for your practicality … Laura Shemzak,” returned the alien. “But I am … as you may recall … highly metamorphic and regenerative.”

“I wish,” said Laura, “that was true with me.”

She also wished she could deal with some aspects of her life she could never divulge, not even to these people who had become her friends.

A
ll her life she’d been surrounded by machines. At first the idea of actually being riddled with them was not at all threatening. After all, cyborg implantations were quite normal on Earth and its associated planets. There were thousands of doctors specializing in that kind of adaptive interface surgery.

But Laura had never before been actually operated on by a machine behind the machines. She had mentioned this to Dr. Mish and he had simply pooh-poohed the notion. He was as well equipped as anyone to do the job, he pointed out, and if something went wrong …. Well, he had plenty of ocular prosthetics to replace her eyes with!

For some reason that didn’t comfort Laura much. Even though she had a lot of high-tech paraphernalia buried in her, for all intents and purposes she was quite human, and she meant to keep it that way.

For Dr. Mish the difference between flesh and metaplast was minuscule; he found dealing surgically with Laura a fairly simple task once he studied details of her scanned holographic anatomy. Her bioengineering doctors had sewn her back up in such a way that servicing her devices was child’s play. Indeed, Laura had accessibility to many of them herself—and her blip-ship was equipped and programmed to perform the occasional fine tuning necessary. Her skull implants, however, needed outside expert service, even though they had the equivalent of a sealed doorway, easily unlatched by the proper surgical procedure.

Laura chose to remain conscious during the proceedings. Her head had to be shaved and she regretted this silently because Tars Northern had not found her appealing in short hair. It was a factor she instantly dismissed, railing at herself for thinking such silly thoughts.

About an hour into the operation, Laura almost regretted that she asked to remain awake. Sleep would have relieved the boredom. Dr. Mish was too involved with his work to provide small talk, and it was truly a drag to simply sit there in a sterile field with your head hanging open. Still, she wanted to remain awake. She certainly didn’t want Dr. Mish to go exploring in places she preferred to keep secret. He hadn’t noticed the drug dispenser the first time because he hadn’t been looking for it. Though it was placed far away from her head, she didn’t want him to find it now.

“Now, Laura,” Dr. Mish said, “you may lose your sight for just a few moments, but there’s no way around that. It’s quite a tiny device, but there are all kinds of wires leading hither and thither and I may cut a few of the wrong ones.”

“Swell,” said Laura. She felt like a lab rat who knew too much. On the wall were all manner of readout screens and blinking lights. Nearby was a replica of her head: a holograph rendering her flesh-and-bone parts transparent, so as to show the intricate array of the cyborg mechanisms. “I don’t suppose you have any music you can play,” she said. “This is getting dull.”

“Oh, you should have said something earlier,” replied the doctor. Light contemporary classical music filtered from speakers somewhere, like tinkling gushes of waterfalls.

“You haven’t got any clangor, huh?” said Laura, slightly disappointed.

“Clangor?” Dr. Mish stood back, blinking his eyes, cyborg surgery tools before him like praying mantis legs.

“New music, guy! I load up on the stuff every time I can, though I haven’t explored the XT-9’s music archive yet.”

“No. I do have some ancient roll and rock which might please your ears.”

“No. This stuff sounds about the same to me,” she said, settling back and trying to relax.

“Laura,” said Dr. Mish. “This small device, here. Have you got any idea of its purpose?”

Laura shifted her eyes to the holograph. Dr. Mish had outlined the object in a red light.

“Extra memory? I got them tucked away all over. Quantum storage. Talk about angels on the head of a pin!”

“Ah yes,” he said, studying its signals closer. “I should have realized. Mind if I check it for content? This could store additional elements of the program that interfered with your natural motor functions and made you shoot your brother’s clone.”

“You can do that?” Laura said skeptically.

“Oh yes, I can tap these bytes and make a copy in my own storage area, then put it up on a screen. If it’s the kind of program I think it is, then we can erase it. If it’s something else that’s harmless, we can just leave it be.”

Laura found it impossible to shrug, but she tried. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Dr. Mish brought down a hanging bit of apparatus, slipped it into her head, and connected it to the item in question. A touch of a button, a hum of energy, and the screen began to jiggle and dance with numbers and figures.

“My goodness,” said Dr. Mish, taken aback. “Quite a slew of stuff!”

“Told you about the memory storage,” she said as database items occasionally froze on the screen, giving her an opportunity to scrutinize some of the material. “Wait a moment. That’s strange-looking stuff. Lees get a closer look at it, Mish!”

“First things first, Laura,” said Dr. Mish. “Let’s get this implant off.”

Mish bent over, lights reflecting bizarrely from his machines, and worked for some moments. Laura felt a pressure on the back of her left eye, then it was gone.

“I can still see!” she announced, a little bit relieved.

“A very simple job, actually. They must have put this in hurriedly.”

“Yes they did, as a matter of fact.”

“Funny, it seems to be complete, with its own central processing array tapping into your energy nodes … and its own programming,” said Dr. Mish, after a detailed analysis scan of the device. “A program in your auxiliary memory would be redundant, and perhaps even intrusive. Let me get you back together here and we’ll see what we’ve tapped out of it. I’m surprised you don’t have personal access.”

“Maybe with the blip, Doctor, but frankly there’s stuff in me that even I don’t know how it works!”

“Hmm,” said Dr. Mish. “Could be involved with piloting your ship, you think?” His thin and delicate hands made quick work of placing things back in order inside her skull.

“Haven’t the faintest, but I’m damned curious!” Laura returned impatiently.

As quickly as he could, Dr. Mish resealed her bald head.

“Now we can either slap on some growth encouragement or get you some kind of wig.”

“Wigs are out,” Laura said. “Try that other stuff … seems to do wonders for the captain’s beard.”

During the operation she had attempted to pump the doctor for information on Tars Northern, to no avail. Mish pleaded the necessity for concentration and had thus avoided telling anything he knew.

There was no mistaking it—Dr. Mish had to know it all. There was definitely some kind of bond between the two of them that could not be penetrated by mere outsider inquiries.

But then that was part of the game, Laura thought: find out just what was really going on in this odd starship filled with efficient pi-mercs who claimed to be rebels but had no army to back them up. A motley bunch of galactic warriors!

Still, she knew there were ways to find things out other than asking.

After getting a sprinkle and rub of the hair-growth encourager, Laura turned her attention to the strange data that had been stored inside her.

“I’m working up translations,” said Dr. Mish. “It seems to be in a number of languages and codes, but nothing impenetrable. Hmm, let’s see.”

He diddled with controls, glancing up occasionally at the screen.

“I don’t remember being fed any of this,” Laura said, bemused. “Doesn’t look like blip-ship stuff. Looks like raw data from some kind of coordinating computer to me.”

Dr. Mish seemed a little more aware of just what this material seemed to be. A very human look of total astonishment crossed his face.

“Oh, my,” he said, blinking at a section of readout. “Oh, dear me.” He turned to Laura. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, no longer the mild-spoken scientist but a very agitated and excited person. “This … this could change everything!”

Laura looked at the indecipherable data streaming in front of her, then turned back to Mish. “Huh?” she said.