-3-

Consherra knew that something was wrong when she saw Velmeran enter the bridge, fully dressed in armor. The Methryn was hunting, laying in wait beside a major lane, and her on-duty personnel had to remain suited and ready for battle. But that did not include Velmeran, since his pack was not due to go out. She slipped out of her seat on the middle bridge and hurried to him, leading him back from the bridge into the outer corridor. She was surprised when he responded to her attentions by holding her close and kissing her. Velmeran turned to her in open affection of his own initiative only when he felt troubled and insecure.

“Trouble?” she asked, reluctant to end this rare moment.

“The worst,” he answered. “Do you recall when I was laying plans for our raid on Vannkarn? I was uncertain that anyone would believe in me.”

“I remember,” Consherra said. “Valthyrra came to your rescue.”

“Well, she might not support me so willingly this time, since what I am going to say is even more outrageous. Sherry, do you believe in me?”

“Of course,” she assured him.

“Then turn down your thermostat and follow me.”

He led her quickly to the upper bridge, where Mayelna and Valthyrra were conferring on some matter. They both looked up immediately, well aware that something was wrong by the purposeful manner of this delegation.

“Is there some problem?” Valthyrra asked.

“Perhaps,” Velmeran said. “A ship will come into scanner range in about five minutes, a freighter of the new Class M type and a very tempting target. Although you will find no indication of a trap, it is a tremendous danger to us. We must let it go or we stand a very good chance of losing ships – perhaps even you.”

“And how do you know this?” Valthyrra asked without a pause.

“Do not ask me how I know,” he snapped, irritated and desperate. “I do not believe in precognition – I cannot. And yet the fact remains. I know that if we capture this ship, it will blow up in our faces. Do you believe me or not?”

Valthyrra did not answer at once. She glanced at Mayelna, but the Commander offered no advice. After a long, uneasy moment she came to some decision, for her camera pod moved in a negative gesture.

“No, I do not,” she said. “I know that I encouraged you to explore your talents. But there will be times when you are wrong, and it seems to me that even you are reluctant to believe this. I cannot afford to indulge your whims and hunches.”

Velmeran looked hurt and betrayed. He had thought that Valthyrra believed in him, even loved him in her way. He was not prepared for her to so quickly judge him a fool and tell him so to his face. But if he was hurt, Consherra was outraged.

“You listen to me, you steel-plated ass!” she declared, approaching the pod menacingly. “His untried and oh-so-inexact talent has already saved you from one incident when your befogged scanners could not tell an independent freighter from a company ship.”

Valthyrra considered that. “You are right. Very well, I will make this concession. If a Class M freighter sails past in the next few minutes, then I will scan it as thoroughly as I possibly can. If I detect nothing wrong, then I will permit you to run guard. That way you can be out there in the middle of things, where you might be able to tell us just what is wrong. And when you can explain a little better, then I will listen.”

“Good enough,” Velmeran agreed. “I think that I can get us out of the trouble that you are determined to get us into. I sent my pack on to the landing bay. I trust that you will have our fighters sent down to the deck.”

“It is so ordered,” Mayelna said softly, glaring at Valthyrra.

Velmeran turned and walked away without a second glance.

Consherra seemed likely to follow. She hurried to the edge of the upper bridge to watch him until he left through the lift corridor. Then she turned to Valthyrra in raw, unrestrained fury.

“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded. “What could have possibly gotten into your circuits for you to turn against him like that, after all that he has done for you?”

“Now you just wait a moment,” Valthyrra returned with equal force. “I cannot for one moment believe that he can see the future. It may be that trying to deal with his frightening new talents has unsettled him. I can only hope that he will recover from these fantasies, but I certainly cannot afford to indulge him.”

“Well, you just suit yourself,” Consherra replied. “I am going to take Velmeran to another ship as soon as I can arrange it.”

“You can do that, and I will be rid of both of you. But I can tell you now that no other ship... Oh, dear!” Valthyrra ended ominously. The others looked at her questioningly, but she offered no explanation. Instead her lenses unfocused as her concentration shifted elsewhere. “Velmeran, are you still near a com?”

“I was just getting off the lift,” he replied. “So, you finally found that Class M freighter. Will you let her go?”

“No. Not unless we find a good reason. I suppose that I will have to learn the hard way.”

“Very well, then. I expected no more.”

“Do you still refuse to believe?” Consherra demanded.

Valthyrra turned her camera pod to look at her. “If Velmeran is going to start making predictions, then he is going to have to prove his accuracy before anyone can trust him completely. Even when it means taking a risk.”

 

Part of the reason that Velmeran found such reluctance to his call to let this one go lay in the fact that Starwolves dreamed of catching Class M freighters. These unique vessels were the freight versions of the big colony and passenger ships. They were rich prizes in themselves, for they carried only the cream of the company trade, as well as bringing a healthy ransom.

Velmeran’s pack was to fly guard for Barman. That, in Velmeran’s estimation, only complicated matters all the more. Barthan was the youngest pack leader except for Velmeran himself, and he was as well the only pack leader on the Methryn who opposed Velmeran’s appointment as Commander-designate. Their enmity, although strong for Kelvessan, was relatively tame by human standards. But it was enough that Barthan would be recklessly eager to prove the younger pilot wrong.

“My scanners detect nothing to cause any concern,” Valthyrra reported as the two packs closed on the unsuspecting freighter. “No bombs. No missiles. Not much in the way of rich cargo, either. Barthan, are you willing to go after this thing?”

“Of course,” Barthan replied. “I am not concerned with false prophets.”

“Just remember that he has not been wrong yet,” Valthyrra reminded him.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Velmeran answered. “They are going to drop out of starflight and abandon ship the moment you show yourself. You will not have a chance to fire a shot.”

Barthan did not answer, since he was already moving in on the freighter’s tail. The ship’s crew must have been aware of the pursuit, but they did nothing to evade. Instead the big ship began to drop speed quickly, falling out of starflight. That was the age-old gesture of surrender, the crew offering the ship intact in exchange for their lives. Barthan honored the request, falling back slightly from his attack position. Taking a ship intact was a rare and welcome occurrence, but this once Barthan regretted it. He disliked having to see Velmeran’s prediction prove true.

“They are giving up without a fight,” he reported. “Have the capture ships move in.”

“No, let it sit!” Velmeran interrupted. “It is going to explode if we try to move it.”

There followed a long, uneasy silence as Valthyrra considered that. The odds were getting uncomfortably high against her now. Velmeran had called it twice in a row on this ship, and it seemed logical to suppose that he really did know what he was talking about. Logic also told her that he could not possibly know. The unavoidable fact that she was ultimately a machine was to her disadvantage in this matter. In the end she could trust only what she could see.

“Velmeran, I am not going to argue with you,” she decided at last. “You have given your warning, and that is the limit of your responsibility. I am bringing it in.”

“Now I know how Cassandra felt,” Velmeran muttered in disgust.

And, like Cassandra, he was ignored to the end. The crew and a fair number of passengers had just escaped in a pair of launches, and now the Methryn’s capture ships approached. Two of the curious machines moved in to either side of the silent drive housing, unfolding their three pairs of handling arms to lock themselves tight against the hull. Velmeran remained close the entire time. Valthyrra might have relieved him of responsibility in this matter, but his own conscience had not. The two capture ships, working in unison, used their own engines to accelerate their burden gently back toward the Methryn.

“Clear out!” Velmeran ordered suddenly. “That ship has a sentient computer system, and it is waking up to carry out its final orders. Get away from it now!”

His warning was no longer necessary, for every Starwolf inside the Methryn and out could sense the main generators of the ship as they powered up. A moment later the freighter fired its engines and began to fight the capture ships for control. In spite of their best efforts to turn it away, the freighter began to accelerate straight toward the Methryn.

“Get clear!” Valthyrra ordered. “Get away from that thing so that I can blast it.”

The two capture ships needed no warning; their crews had begun the task of casting loose the larger ship the moment they realized they could not control it. One of the capture ships leaped clear immediately, but the second had only just released its hold as the freighter came about to orient on the Methryn. Pinned against the freighter, it slipped down the length of her hull, fending off actual collision with its three pairs of handling arms. Suddenly it was brought up short as one of its arms became firmly trapped in the open hatch of a launch bay. The mechanical arm was too tightly pinned to pull free, and too powerfully constructed to rip loose at its joints.

“Methryn, hold your fire!” the pilot of the capture ship called frantically. “I have an arm caught in something. I cannot pull free.”

“Valthyrra, keep your distance from the thing,” Velmeran advised. “Try to get it to chase after you. Buy us time. Capture ship, maneuver around to stretch that trapped arm out to its full length. Retract the others out of the way, and stand ready to run.”

Velmeran darted in beside the massive drive housing of the freighter, orienting on the relatively small shape of the pinned capture ship. As he closed, he sighted on the outstretched arm that pinned the capture ship and fired. Bolts from his fighter’s cannons bit into the hard metal of the arm, blasting through in an explosion of superheated metal. Velmeran knew that he had run out of time; the freighter had cut acceleration, which meant that it was working its generators to a forced overload. The capture ship shot away as the arm snapped and Velmeran circled around to follow. In the next instant the freighter exploded with a force that would have shattered a small planet.

That blast of raw energy expanded outward in a fiery sphere, for an instant assuming the size and brilliance of a star before it began to dissipate rapidly. With nothing left to feed those flames, it was gone in almost the next instant. The freighter itself had been vaporized in that blast, leaving only a scorched capture ship still running under its own power, and the battered shell of a single fighter. It tumbled end over end, its wings and fins ripped away and its hull cracked and broken, so hot that twisted portions of it glowed dull red.

“Velmeran?” Valthyrra called anxiously.

“Is that him?” Mayelna asked softly, watching the image on the main viewscreen. The entire bridge crew waited motionless and silent for the reply they did not expect to come. That explosion had taken a wolf ship and thrown out only a twisted mass of broken metal, with little chance that anything could have remained alive. Valthyrra knew that Consherra was watching her, silently demanding that she do something, but she did not dare look at the girl.

“Yes, that is him,” she answered. “Velmeran, do you hear me?”

“We are going in to get him,” the pilot of the undamaged capture ship said.

“Hurry, then,” Valthyrra replied. “Velmeran, do you hear me? Help is on the way.”

“Will you stop pecking at me, you tin-plated bitch!” Velmeran snapped in return. “I am doing the best I can.”

Valthyrra brought her camera pod around so fast the gears creaked. “Meran? Are you alive?”

“I seem to be,” he replied. “No damage that I am aware of, but I must have taken my limit of G’s.”

Mayelna leaned back in her seat and sighed heavily, while Consherra was already running toward the lift that would take her down to the landing bay. Valthyrra watched her go, then brought her camera pod around to look at the Commander.

“You have been very quiet,” the ship observed.

Mayelna rolled her seat back from her console, then shrugged as she rose. “What can I say? I had no idea how matters would turn out, so I had to allow it to remain between you and him.”

“Do you think that he will forgive me?” Valthyrra asked cautiously.

“Knowing Velmeran as I do, I suspect that he blames only himself in the first place,” Mayelna said, pausing on her way to the lift. “I will probably forgive you in a day or two. Consherra is quite another matter. I suspect that she will remain in an unforgiving mood. And you might do well to court her forgiveness, or you may find that she has the power to take him away from you.”

 

The capture ship brought Velmeran’s fighter directly into the landing bay and deposited it gently on the deck before passing on out the forward door. Those who saw it brought in could hardly believe that Velmeran could have ridden it through the blast unharmed, for the little ship was nearly ripped apart. It began to smoke lazily as it was brought through the containment field into the atmosphere of the bay; Valthyrra had to direct a blast of icy air at it from a pair of blowers for two minutes before it was cool enough to approach. Only the cockpit area remained reasonably sound, and the windshields, although cracked and glazed, were intact.

As soon as they could, Benthoran, the crew chief, and an assistant moved in to open the ship by simply breaking the canopy free and lifting it away. A good deal of smoke poured out and continued to do so until Benthoran blew it out with a heavy dose of carbon dioxide. When Consherra would have rushed in to aid her mate, Dyenlerra was there first to wave her away. The medic helped Velmeran remove his helmet but indicated for him to remain where he was while she opened his chestplate to attach the leads of a portable medical scanner. The machine needed only a moment to decide that he was sound enough to get out under his own power. The interior of the cockpit was burned out and his suit was badly scorched, his last line of defense against that terrible heat.

Consherra tried to take hold of him as soon as he was out, only to find that he was still too hot to touch without the gloves that she had left on the bridge. Dyenlerra waved her away a second time and made Velmeran stand beneath one of the cold-air blowers until the damaged suit was cool enough to remove.

Valthyrra had been hovering nearby in the form of one of her remotes. Now she brought the machine in cautiously. “I am sorry, Meran. I should have believed you. I knew at the time that I should have, but the machine in me could not. This is new to me, and I handled it badly.”

“That is something of an understatement,” Consherra remarked coldly, moving in protectively beside her mate. Dyenlerra, oblivious to all else, was busily checking the joints of Velmeran’s armor to see if the suit beneath, which was exposed only at these points, had been penetrated.

“He warned me. I refused to listen,” Valthyrra admitted, aiming her remarks at Consherra. “I am not infallible, although I have been around long enough to learn from my mistakes. I will not make that mistake again.”

“You may not have a second chance,” Consherra said darkly, taking hold of Velmeran’s left arms as if to assert her claim on him. “Perhaps another ship will have greater respect for his abilities.”

Dyenlerra impatiently slapped her hands away, forcing her to release her hold on Velmeran. “You people can air your grievances later. Just now he is on his way to the medical section for a complete scan.”

She physically turned her bemused patient and led him toward the lift. Consherra followed uncertainly; she was well aware that she would not be allowed inside the medic’s examination room, but she meant to stay as close as possible. Valthyrra remained where she was, watching, and equally aware that she was not welcome.

“Well, I really screwed it up this time,” she said softly. “I have not been in this much trouble since the time Dveyella was going to take him away from me.”

“Maybe not,” Mayelna said as they turned toward the lift, getting out of the way as the bay crew began to remove the wreckage of the fighter. “Velmeran will not want to leave, and I trust him to say so.”

“Why would he not want to leave?” the ship asked bitterly.

“Because you are still the best fighting ship in the wolf fleet, in spite of yourself,” the Commander insisted. “He needs you as much as you need him.”

“I was not exactly helpful when he needed me this time,” the probe’s camera pod sagged, the mechanical equivalent of a dejected sigh. “Just now I feel old and useless.”

Mayelna glanced at her and smiled. “You know better than that. And, if it is any consolation, I will tell you that he makes me feel very old from time to time.”

The medic took Velmeran to a private diagnostic chamber and locked the door, forbidding even Consherra to enter. She cautiously removed him from his scorched armor, sometimes having to force catches that were now reluctant to open, then set her naked and nervous patient on the table and gave him a very thorough examination with her most accurate and sensitive scanners. She was soon satisfied that he was neither burned nor had suffered internally from shock or buffeting. She finished by bringing up a very large and intimidating microscopic scanner and, to Velmeran’s astonishment and profound embarrassment, aimed it at the portion of his anatomy that made him most nervous.

“The monitor in your suit controls says that you took a sustained heat of over twenty degrees above body temperature,” she explained without looking up. “We can take a surprising extreme of temperatures, even heat, for limited periods of time. But you were in that overheated suit for some time, and too much heat for too long can damage the genetic code you carry, perhaps resulting in sterility.”

“Sterility?” he asked cautiously.

“Which, fortunately, you do not have to worry about,” she said as she switched off the machine and pushed it out of the way. “At the very most, you might be unable to have a successful mating for several days.”

“And there might be some danger of genetic defect?” Velmeran inquired.

“No, of course not. Have you ever heard of a Kelvessan with genetic defects? It cannot happen.” She secured the machine in its storage cubby and tossed pants and shirt to her patient. “You recall what happens in cell reproduction? The DNA chain splits in half, and a special molecular machine runs up each half, pulling out amino acids and sticking them in the proper place to form two identical chains. In most natural organisms this little machine occasionally makes mistakes, sticking pieces where they do not belong.

“But our little replicator is smaller than that. It has the ability to check itself. When it finds a mistake, it will either back up and correct it or break the DNA chain to prevent cell division. In our species, an uncorrectable defect results in termination of the pregnancy at the time of conception. After the first few cell divisions, the loss of one or two defective cells at a time has no lasting consequences. Neat trick?”

“I suppose,” Velmeran agreed. “They must have thought of everything when they made us.”

“Perhaps. There are certain failings in character that could have been corrected genetically, but I have no real objection. If they had tried to make us absolutely perfect, we really would have been machines.” She paused and shrugged. “Speaking of conception, Baressa tested out pregnant this morning. She was impressed with your efficiency.”

“Efficiency is one of my strong points,” Velmeran said as casually as he could, although he did not hide his dismay well. In fact, he was fortunate to be sitting down when he heard that. “Who knows?”

“Well, I do, of course. Consherra knows. I am sure that Valthyrra knows, and Mayelna might.”

“That is quite enough. This is supposed to be Baress’s child,” Velmeran reminded her.

Dyenlerra frowned. “I wish that I could understand your objection. Any other male would be delighted to be in your position.”

He shrugged hesitantly. “When... when Consherra first came to me, I made a promise – to her, I think, and certainly to myself – that I would never compare her to Dveyella or do anything to make her think that she is not my first choice.”

“And this is the simplest way to prove it?” the medic asked. “I guess that I can understand that. But have you ever thought that this is a selfish act on your part? Consherra wants you to mate, and it does not worry her. What does worry her is your refusal. She blames herself.”

“Then I have no real choice, do I?” he asked.

“That is for you to decide,” Dyenlerra told him.

 

Consherra herded the entire pack before her, sending them firmly and quickly into the common room that served all their cabins, sparing one hand to pull Velmeran behind her. There were, however, several others besides just the Helm and the nine pack members. Three other pack leaders were there as well: Shayrn, Daeryn, and the redoubtable Baressa. This was clearly a council of war – perhaps even a mutiny. Just yet they were not sure which, and they were waiting for Velmeran to tell them what to do. And, if it seemed that he was still undecided on the matter, Consherra was not.

“Pack your bags!” Consherra told the younger pilots. “We are leaving here as soon as we can if we have to pack a very large dinner and depart in our fighters.”

“Wait a moment,” Baressa said firmly. “Meran, I stand with you in this. But first I want to know just what did happen out there. As I understand it, you warned Valthyrra of a trap and she ignored you?”

Velmeran shrugged helplessly. “I told her that I could predict the future. Naturally, she found that difficult to believe.”

The older pilot looked startled. “Indeed? If I may dare to ask, can you predict the future?”

“He made three predictions in a row, and they all proved true,” Consherra answered for him. “He said that we would find a Class M freighter long before it came into scanner range. He said that her crew would abandon the ship intact, and that it would explode.”

“Explode?” Daeryn asked.

Velmeran shrugged. “Once it was close enough to get a fix on the Methryn, it drove itself straight at her in the hope of getting close enough to blow itself up in her face.”

“With what?” Baressa asked. “A conversion device that large should have scanned.”

Velmeran glanced up at the others for the first time, roused from his own thoughts. “There were three conversion devices of tremendous size. Valthyrra saw them, I am sure, but simply assumed them to be the ship’s generators. Which they were.”

“But generators cannot be made to explode,” Baress protested.

“Any generator is a conversion device that can be made to explode,” Velmeran said. “Class M’s have limited sentience, apparently enough to override their safeties.”

“That is so,” Baressa agreed. “But where does that leave us? You knew what was going to happen, and Valthyrra ignored you. She is still at fault in this matter, since it could have been avoided.”

“I do not know,” Velmeran said uncertainly, once again seemingly unaware of the others as he retreated back within his own thoughts. “It might be tempting to hold Valthyrra to blame, but I cannot. Even I could not believe completely until I had proven myself.”

“That is still no excuse for her to treat her best pack leader like that,” Consherra said hotly. “Any other ship would consider herself very lucky to have Velmeran, and willing to pay him the attention he deserves.”

“It is up to Velmeran,” Baressa said, gently reminding them of who was the real leader of this group. “If he goes, then I will go with him.”

“Me, too!” Shayrn agreed enthusiastically.

“And me,” Daeryn added.

Velmeran glanced up, confused, as if suddenly aware of what was going on.

“Wait a moment!” he protested. “Who said anything about taking half the packs on this ship and going anywhere?”

“You did,” Shayrn insisted.

“I did?”

“Actually, Consherra is the only one I recall having anything to say on the subject,” Baressa said. “What do you have to say?”

“The matter is already resolved, it seems to me,” he said. “My ability to predict has been tested and successfully proven, and I came out the hero because I happened to be right. As I see it, I have won and I have already gotten all from it that I can expect. Whether or not Valthyrra and I will ever again be on close terms is beside the point. I am Commander-designate of this ship, and here I must stay.”

Baressa shrugged. “How can I argue with that? I cannot believe that today’s mistake will be repeated. Just remember that we will always be here when you need us.”

At that signal the others withdrew as quietly as they could, the younger pilots retreating to their cabins while the pack leaders departed. Obviously the matter was not completely resolved; Velmeran now had to make his peace with Consherra before he could mend his affairs with the rest of the ship. And Consherra still had a great deal to say on the subject. Taking Velmeran firmly by the hand, she pulled him inside his own cabin and locked the door behind them.

“Meran, do you really know what you are doing?” she demanded. “I can get you on board another ship, one with greater appreciation for your talents.”

“One that would allow me to command and be meekly subservient to my every order?” he asked, seating himself on the bed as he watched Consherra pace nervously. “I cannot leave now. Valthyrra needs me.”

“Valthyrra needs to have her circuits checked!” She declared explosively. “And so do you, if you hold any false loyalty to that ancient automaton. You had no business going out there and risking your life... “

“Will you slow down and at least try to be reasonable,” Velmeran said with more firmness than he had used with her in a very long time. “I am Velmeran, and this is my decision. Not yours. Not Baressa’s. Valthyrra Methryn might have her faults, but she is still the best fighting ship with the best group of pilots in the wolf fleet. This is what I have to do.”

“Why?” Consherra insisted, only slightly daunted.

“You know well enough. I want to make an end to this war, and my battles will be fought here, with Donalt Trace. He is looking for the Methryn.”

“Well, he can just as easily look for you elsewhere,” Consherra said calmly but firmly. “And I would be just as happy if he did not find you. Why do you think he has to be your special problem?”

She paused, surprised to realize that he was sitting on the edge of his bed, crying silent, calm, lethargic tears of desperation and weariness. She realized then just how selfish her own position on this matter had been. Shamed by her own behavior, she hurried to comfort him.

“Meran, what is it?” she asked with gentle anxiety.

“What do you think it is?” he asked in return. “I am tired of it all. I am tired of having to be responsible for every move this ship makes, of being accountable for every life on board. I am tired of always having to be right and watching out for everyone else’s mistakes. I am just tired of being me, Velmeran the Magnificent. It never gives me any rest.”

“Yes, I suppose you are,” Consherra said as she sat down beside him. “There is never any rest for you. But you took this burden upon yourself.”

“Yes, I know,” he agreed, and sighed in resignation. “I never knew how easy I had it when I was still chafing against my inabilities. And yet, as difficult as it can be, at least my conscience is clear. Ability brings its own responsibility. But I am so tired. And I am afraid.”

“Why?” Consherra asked suddenly, glancing at him suspiciously. “Meran, what is wrong? Is there trouble?”

Velmeran hesitated, then nodded wearily. “Yes, terrible trouble. Sometime within the next two weeks the Methryn is going to have to fight something that we have never seen before, and she is not going to win. I will have to do everything I can to save her.”

“Meran, no!” Consherra cried, knowing that he had no choice. “Why does it always have to be you?”

“Because this is my game,” he answered. “Donalt Trace is looking for me. He is going to use his new toy to rip our carriers apart until I stop him. I have no choice.”

Consherra nodded slowly. “I know, and I will help you all that I can. What can I do?”

“Love me,” he replied simply. “Help me to forget that I am frightened and alone. That is all you can do for now.”

That was a bold request for him, and one which worried him. Always before he had needed love, even longed for it, but he had never asked for what, in his own belief, could only be given freely. But his time was short, and the future he saw frightened him. The Methryn would live, but at the price of a life. And he knew the price. Within the next two weeks he might finally be free of the burden of responsibility, for he would quite likely be dead.