Berserker Blue Death Read online

  Soon after the Festival of Dedication, Domingo concluded his business on Shubra, selling off the last of his property rights for a satisfactory price. Part of the money and credit he obtained went to purchase munitions and more message couriers for the Sirian Pearl. The captain kept part of it for future needs. This time he meant to pay large crew bonuses.

  When he saw Polly again the next day, she announced that she was not going to go with him this time. She was dropping off the crew.

  He looked at her, she thought, as if she were someone he had met yesterday for the first time. He said: “All right. You’re probably better off that way.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The little machine that killed my lovely daughter was not the same one that mangled me. Almost certainly it was not even of exactly the same type.

  The machine that killed her came from a different berserker—Old Blue. What destroyed her was a lander, an extension of Leviathan.

  My encounter, my crippling, was almost accidental. Almost. But her killing was not. It was the arm, the fist of Leviathan that reached out for her and came after her and crushed her beautiful life to nothingness.

  Leviathan…

  Niles Domingo stood alone with his thoughts under the white Shubran sky. He was standing at the foot of a low cliff that was now almost an overhanging cliff because so much of its side had fallen in, filling in a cave.

  That cave that no longer existed was the spot where his daughter Maymyo had died. At least the captain thought that this sterile, blasted area, flecked with ice and snow, was the same spot where he had seen the charred flesh fragments and the shredded wedding garments, the horrors that still seemed to have nothing to do with her.

  No connection with her. But the horrors had appeared and had taken over the world, and she was gone.

  In a few months the captain’s old homeworld had progressed a long way from being a blasted ruin. Out here away from the central settled area, the marks of the attack were still everywhere to be seen. But the renewal of the atmosphere was almost completed, and here, too, people were back. Hundreds of people, mostly contract workers, were living in a temporary underground settlement. They were hard at work using the hundred varieties of machines that they had brought with them. They were decontaminating the surface and the caves and rebuilding the underground ship harbor. New and more powerful defenses had already been installed.

  The artificial gravity had been restored on Shubra months ago, and the wind that had shrieked over Maymyo’s freshly murdered body had long since fallen; but there was the cliff. There were the same low hills (Domingo thought they were the same) rimming the theatrically near western horizon. And there, to the east, was a long, declining, half-familiar slope of clear land. Once there had been talk among the citizens of Shubra of creating an outdoor park along that incline. But the long slope was being terraced now by construction machinery, and even the hills to the west had had their profiles altered. In almost every direction, people working with large machines could be seen getting still more defensive emplacements ready. Gouges and scars in the cliff and at its foot showed the efforts that had been made to fill in the cratered remnant of Maymyo’s old cave.

  Domingo’s gaze dropped again to the ground at his feet. His daughter’s remains, along with those of her dead comrades, had been cremated months ago. Looking at the scraped and frozen dirt where Maymyo had been destroyed brought him no closer to her or to any of his vanished life. A metal shape still stood between, and he turned away.

  The movement was quick and easy. His new leg was already working beautifully. Its cybernetics, which were naturally of human design and manufacture, were melding nicely into his nervous system. Like a fleshy organ, the new leg drew its power from the chemistry of his blood. Already the replacement was in some ways superior to his own original limb, stronger and untiring. When the leg was not covered by clothing, its appearance was stark and gray, hard and lifeless. He had observed that to some people the sight of it was shocking. An ordinary artificial limb would have had a much more nearly natural look, but it would still have been less than perfect. There were some ways, mostly sensory, in which any replacement would be inferior to the original. This leg that the doctors had given him was good enough for his purposes, and Domingo had his own reasons for preferring it. He was continually aware of the permanent difference between his new leg and his old—gleefully aware. It gave the captain a distinct pleasure to walk on an enemy’s bone. There was of course nothing really left of the berserker technology except the structural metal, and that metal had been hollowed out and lengthened, padded and reformed into the same shape as his natural left leg.

  As he was walking back toward his parked groundcar, Domingo saw another similar vehicle approaching from the north, the direction of the new temporary spaceport. The oncoming groundcar stopped beside his own, and a familiar broad-shouldered figure got out of it. Recognizing Iskander Baza, Domingo waved and walked a little faster. He was able to run now, if he tried, though the gait was still awkward and uncomfortable for him, and at the moment he didn’t make the effort.

  Baza, strolling to meet him, raised a casual hand. “Hi, Cap. You’re looking good.” In the middle distance, a hundred meters away, the digging machines went on scraping and groaning and grumbling.

  The captain had to speak loudly to be heard. “You, too. What news?” He hadn’t seen Baza in several months.

  The other shrugged. “Nothing, really. I was hoping that you had some.”

  Domingo looked around at the eternal mottled whiteness of the sky. “About berserkers, next to nothing. On the medical situation, a little.”

  “Good news, I hope. Or is that too much to hope for?”

  “Good enough.” Domingo went on to explain that he had just received some encouraging words, via the regular message courier, from the doctors at Base Four Twenty-five. The results of the most recent medical tests were in, and they were pleased to tell him that he was now officially discharged, fit for any kind of physical activity he cared to try.

  Domingo did not add that the doctors’ message had also strongly recommended that he return to the base for psychological counseling on a regular basis, and that in fact an initial appointment had already been set up for him. The medics were planning to do his final plastic surgery, removing his neck scar, on the same visit. But the captain had no intention of keeping the appointment.

  “That’s good news.” Baza always appeared to be uncomfortable when he had to say something optimistic or favorable about anything. He looked around, but made no comment on the significance of the site where he had found Domingo, if indeed he recognized and understood it. “Where’s Polly?”

  “She went back to Yirrkala.” The parting scene with her had been quiet but thoroughly unpleasant for Domingo in several ways, and he had no wish to dwell on it.

  “Oh. Just visiting there, or—?”

  “She’s off the crew now.”

  “Oh.” Iskander looked quizzical, but it was not his habit to ask directly for explanations if the captain did not volunteer them. “And Gujar? He said he was going to look you up.”

  “He did. Back on Yirrkala. He’s around here somewhere now, I suppose, supervising some of the digging. But he’s off the crew, too.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go over to the harbor and see if any armaments have come in.”

  In the hours and days that followed, looking around on Shubra for people he knew were capable in a spacecraft and who had the nerve he wanted, Domingo could find no one available and ready who matched his requirements except Iskander Baza. Poinsot was here but was absorbed in the rebuilding effort; Domingo hadn’t even tried to get him back on the crew. There was no one else left of his own former company: Wilma was dead, her husband had gone away somewhere, Gujar and Polly quit. Anyway, as the captain told Baza—without telling him he was included in the evaluation—his old crew had been far from perfect.

  The old Shubrans who remained here now were,
like the newcomers, people determined to rebuild the colony; the restless as well as the discouraged among the survivors had already moved on to somewhere else.

  People who were interested chiefly in rebuilding were not the ones Domingo wanted. He craved a full crew of six for the Pearl. but he wanted them to be the best space-combat people he could possibly get.

  “It looks like we’ll have to do our recruiting somewhere else, Ike.”

  “I think you’re right, Cap… maybe there’s one other possibility we could try first, before we go looking far afield.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Spence Benkovic. I’ve seen him work a ship, he’s really good. Someone was telling me he’s still up on his moon colony.”

  Domingo and Baza had turned in their rented ground vehicles and were walking the short distance back to the port, about to depart on the first leg of their recruiting journey to other worlds, when they heard their names being called behind them. Simeon Chakuchin had appeared back there, trotting to catch up and hailing them again.

  They stopped and waited for him. “Where’ve you been?” Iskander asked, when Simeon had caught up.

  The big young man only glanced at Iskander, then spoke to Domingo: “I just landed on Shubra an hour ago. I hear you’re looking for crew, Niles. I want to sign on again.” Simeon’s face was thinner and at the same time puffier than when Domingo had seen him last, some months ago. Something had happened to him since then.

  Domingo paused and thought before he answered. “You know what my plans are. It’s not a trade voyage, and not harvesting. I’m going on a hunt, and I’ll keep at it until it’s finished. Until I see Leviathan’s guts spread out somewhere in space, in the Milk or out of it.”

  “I know.” Chakuchin had been nodding his agreement all along through Domingo’s speech. “That’s fine with me. I don’t fit in anywhere any more, Niles, Ike. Since Wilma…”

  Domingo was looking at him carefully. “You want to get back at the damned machines that killed her.”

  “I… yes.”

  Domingo looked at the younger man still more closely, into his eyes and at the puffy pallor of his face. “You’re a good man, Simeon, once you make up your mind to be. But you’ve been on some kind of drug.”

  The other shook his head. “Not any more. After she died I had a real hard time for a while. But I’m off it now.” Chakuchin blinked.

  “Drugs won’t go with me. Not on my crew. Leviathan will be all the drug we need. Got that?”

  “Leviathan?”

  “Old Blue. The damned berserker.”

  “Of course, I… Leviathan.” The younger man repeated the word once more—thoughtfully, as if he were tasting it.

  As if, thought Baza, watching with amusement,he were trying his first dose .

  Chakuchin formally signed on the crew and was paid the first installment of his bonus. Then the three of them boarded the Pearl and lifted on the short hop up to the moon, intending to drop in on Benkovic’s little settlement.

  The moon was an angular body, shaped more like a badly made brick than like a ball. It was naturally a lot smaller even than Shubra. If the satellite had ever been given a name of its own, the local people had never got into the habit of using it. “The moon” was good enough, as Shubra possessed only the one satellite that was big enough to be noticeable at all.

  The loss and restoration of artificial gravity on Shubra had not affected the satellite as drastically as some people had expected; artificial gravity varied more sharply than natural gravity with distance, and the change at the distance of the moon had been relatively small. The satellite was very nearly back in its old orbit now.

  “I’ve lived on Shubra a good many years, and I’ve never been up here before,” Domingo murmured as the Pearl approached the only obvious, dedicated landing place visible on the dark, angular chunk of rock. At the site below there were three transparent landing domes, two of them closed and already holding ships, the third dome open and apparently ready to receive visitors. A few small buildings nearby were connected to the dome complex by tunnels or tubes.

  “I haven’t been here before, either,” Simeon murmured.

  “I was once,” said Baza. “Some time ago.” He did not elaborate further.

  Domingo had not bothered to radio ahead. As they drew closer to the moon’s single small facility, they got a better look at the two ships that it already housed. One was the armed miniature speedbug that Spence called a battler—that was the craft he had been out in, scouting, on the day of Leviathan’s assault. The other hangared ship was a slower, larger harvester, the kind of vessel generally used to reap shoals of microbial life from nebular clouds. The harvester looked new, as it no doubt was. Whatever ships had been berthed here during the attack must have been destroyed.

  “Looks like somebody ought to be home. There are enough vehicles parked.”

  When Chakuchin transmitted a radio query, the equivalent of a polite knock at the door, the unoccupied dome flashed a signal of welcome for their ship, an automatic response.

  The Pearl dipped closer. The port and the nearby house both looked new, as in fact did all the constructions here. No doubt they were new. Simeon could remember hearing that the berserker had left no more standing here on the moon than on the world below.

  The dome port enclosed the visitors’ ship, and then for their convenience created within itself, around their ship, a smaller bubble of force more easily refilled with air. Then the machinery signaled the three visitors that it was safe for them to get out of their craft.

  They did so, and stood there on the floor of the dome looking about them uncertainly. There was no sign as yet of any human welcome. The hangar dome was sparsely furnished, a bare-bones kind of installation.

  Then Simeon heard Iskander clear his throat and turned to look. A door had opened in the forcefield bubble, a door to one of the passageways, one that must connect with the small house nearby. A young woman had emerged from the open doorway to greet the three visitors. She was of average height, tending just a little to overweight. In the hot scented breeze blowing out of the tube passage, she stood there completely naked except for hothouse flowers of scarlet and purple twined in the glossy black hair that grew on her head and in three places on her body.

  Simeon shuffled his feet in vague embarrassment, and looked at his companions; clothing was expected in almost every social situation. Iskander was grinning appreciatively at the apparition in the doorway, while Domingo also inspected her but looked somewhat worried.

  Meanwhile the girl was smiling vaguely back at the three men, but really it was almost as if she did not see them. She said nothing. The visiting men exchanged a second round of looks among themselves. For some time before the disaster, word had gone around on Shubra about the unconventional lifestyle that obtained at Benkovic’s establishment. Some people had joked about a harem on the moon. Spence had even made overtures once to Maymyo, the mayor’s daughter, suggestions that she come and spend a few days at his satellite colony, but she’d cut him off short.

  The young woman continued to look rather vacantly at her three visitors. Or she might be gazing just over their heads. Drugs again? Domingo was already wondering. He thought the air blowing out from the house was perfumed, but maybe it was only flowers. His vague misgivings about Benkovic, whom he had met only in passing, were rapidly increasing; but according to all the testimony, there was no question that the man was good with a ship.

  Their hostess, not in the least embarrassed by her lack of clothing, broke the silence at last to announce in a childish voice: “Spence isn’t here right now.” It was as if she had finally been able to overcome some inertia that had held her silent. “He’s over on the other side.”

  The captain spoke up, businesslike and impatient. “Do you suppose he’s coming back soon? Or would it be better if we hopped over there and looked for him?” The other side of the moon—assuming that was what she meant—might be all often kilometers away. “
I’m Niles Domingo. This is Iskander Baza. And Simeon Chakuchin.”

  The young woman did not acknowledge the introductions or offer her own name in return. Her attitude did not appear to be one of deliberate rudeness any more than her nakedness seemed intended to arouse or shock. Rather it was as if she were not really interacting with the men at all. When she spoke again she might have been talking to herself. “I guess maybe he’ll be back shortly.”

  “Has he guessed that we’re here, d’you suppose?” Iskander asked.

  “I’ll give him a call,” the young woman said, with the air of one struck by a sudden, brilliant thought. She turned slowly away, then walked quickly back into the passage. Her flowers, no longer fresh, swung droopily as she turned. Her figure under ordinary circumstances would not have drawn much attention.

  She had left the door open behind her. The three men exchanged looks yet once more. Then, with Domingo leading, they followed their reluctant hostess through the tube and into the house.

  In contrast to the landing dome, the dwelling had been profusely and wildly decorated. There were flowers, live and cut, everywhere. Shelves and walls held drawings framed and unframed, along with what Simeon supposed ought to be called found objects. But the place was none too clean. A housework robot stood propped at an angle in one corner of the room, the drivers on two corners of its base unable to reach the dusty floor. No one had expended the moment’s effort necessary to set the machine upright.

  The three visitors overtook their hostess in the first large room they came to amid heaps of garish pillows, more flowers and food containers, most of which were used and empty. Some of the furniture was reasonably conventional, and some of that was broken.

  The dark-haired woman looked at them uncomfortably, murmured something that might have been “Wait here,” and disappeared again through another doorway. Simeon supposed the odds were even as to whether she intended to come back or whether she was going to communicate with Spence.