Free Starhunt: A Star Wolf Novel by David Gerrold Page B

himself.”
    “Then, if we do have to court-martial him,” says Korie, “we’ll have two incidents instead of one. . . .”
    “I hope not,” says Brandt. “Let’s wait and see. . . .” Abruptly he looks up, seems to notice Korie again. “You’d do better to concentrate on your—uh, master plan —to have the ship ready for battle. After all, that bogie is our main concern.”
    Korie straightens. “Yes, sir, but this would be a useful part of the psychonomic gestalt.”
    Brandt waves away the objection. He changes the subject. Psychonomy discomfits him. He is a captain of the old school. “Those battle drills you were running—how long has it been since you’ve held one?”
    “Too long.”
    “Hmmm,” Brandt says. “All right, I suppose you might begin a new series of them.” He sighs. “I suppose this is as good a time as any—in fact, I can’t think of a more appropriate one. Go ahead, Mr. Korie. Amuse yourself.”
    “Yes, sir. Any suggestions on what kind or how many?”
    Brandt shakes his head. “No. Use your own discretion. I trust you.”
    “Yes, sir.” He turns to go.
    “Oh, and Korie—”
    “Sir?”
    “Remember what I told you before about overdoing it. Don’t push them too hard.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “All right, you can go.”
    For a long time, Korie stands in the corridor outside the captain’s cabin, exploring a crevice in his mouth with his tongue, and the possible course of action as well.
    There is nothing he can do about Wolfe at the moment. However, there will undoubtedly be opportunities in the future to take care of the matter. (Wolfe is too big a fool to disappoint me. All I have to do is wait.) It’s only a matter of time—
    Abruptly, he makes a decision. He turns on his heel and heads aft. Through the galley, bright, deserted, smelling of cleanser and coffee. Through the lounge, not as bright, its plastic furniture folded into the walls, leaving only an empty, carpeted room. Through the auxiliary control decks, dark and silent.
    He comes to a ladder suspended in a no-gravity tube and downs it hand over hand. He’d rather go through the torpedo storage decks than the crew’s quarters. Dull plastoid casings line the walls, cylinders secure in narrow racks. His steps are loud on the plastic deck.
    The engine room is large and filled with the stasis engines. Korie finds himself on a sudden catwalk halfway up one wall. Nylon webs are stung throughout the room and across the generators; the webs are for easy access to the machines, but nobody is on them now. The stasis generators are six cone-shaped monsters set in a spherical framework; each cone points inward to the center and to another cone pointing back at it from the opposite side. Each pair of cones is mounted at right angles to the others. The north and south poles of the framework and every ninety degrees of its equator are marked by generator mountings. Great cables are strung from them.
    This first spherical framework is itself set within a second. It is mounted on gimbals and can rotate into any desired position in relation to the rest of the ship. The direction of the warp field is independent of the direction of the rest of the ship. The whole unit nearly fills the engine room.
    Korie glances back and forth. There are men on the other side of the room, but he can’t see them past the blue haze of the generators, nor hear them over the hum. Helowers himself down another ladder, finds a bored-looking technician at a monitor console. “Where’s Leen?” he demands.
    “Gymnasium,” grunts the other. “He’s filling it.”
    Korie continues his journey aft. He gives wide berth to the stasis frames and leaves the engine room through the rear.
    Now he is in “goblin country,” the dark, dirty aft part of the ship. There is another section of crew’s quarters here, but it is on the next deck up; he will not have to pass through it. This deck contains the access and maintenance equipment for the two