Nightflyers and Other Stories. Джордж Р. Р. Мартин

Perhaps more terrible than you think. I have yet to discover the extent of damage to my ship.”

      “We should not keep you if you have duties to perform,” Melantha said. “All of us are shocked, and it is difficult to talk now. Investigate the condition of your ship, and we’ll continue our discussion at a more opportune time. Agreed?”

      “Yes,” said Royd.

      Melantha turned off the communicator. Now, in theory, the device was dead; Royd could neither see nor hear them.

      “Do you believe him?” Christopheris snapped.

      “I don’t know,” Melantha Jhirl said, “but I do know that the other cargo holds can all be flushed just as hold three was. I’m moving my sleepweb into a cabin. I suggest that those of you who are living in hold two do the same.”

      “Clever,” Lindran said, with a sharp nod of her head. “We can crowd in. It won’t be comfortable, but I doubt that I’d sleep the sleep of angels in the holds after this.”

      “We should also get our suits out of storage in four,” Dannel suggested. “Keep them close at hand. Just in case.”

      “If you wish,” Melantha said. “It’s possible that all the locks might pop open simultaneously. Royd can’t fault us for taking precautions.” She flashed a grim smile. “After today we’ve earned the right to act irrationally.”

      “This is no time for your damned jokes, Melantha,” Christopheris said. He was still red-faced, and his tone was full of fear and anger. “Three people are dead, Agatha is perhaps deranged or catatonic, the rest of us are endangered—”

      “Yes. And we still have no idea what is happening,” Melantha pointed out.

      “Royd Eris is killing us!” Christopheris shrieked. “I don’t know who or what he is and I don’t know if that story he gave us is true and I don’t care. Maybe he’s a Hrangan Mind or the avenging angel of the volcryn or the second coming of Jesus Christ. What the hell difference does it make? He’s killing us!” He looked at each of them in turn. “Any one of us could be next,” he added. “Any one of us. Unless … we’ve got to make plans, do something, put a stop to this once and for all.”

      “You realize,” Melantha said gently, “that we cannot actually know whether the good captain has turned off his sensory inputs down here. He could be watching and listening to us right now. He isn’t, of course. He said he wouldn’t and I believe him. But we have only his word on that. Now, Rojan, you don’t appear to trust Royd. If that’s so, you can hardly put any faith in his promises. It follows therefore that from your own point of view it might not be wise to say the things that you’re saying.” She smiled slyly. “Do you understand the implications of what I’m saying?”

      Christopheris opened his mouth and closed it again, looking very like a tall, ugly fish. He said nothing, but his eyes moved furtively, and his flush deepened.

      Lindran smiled thinly. “I think he’s got it,” she said.

      “The computer is gone, then,” Karoly d’Branin said suddenly in a low voice.

      Melantha looked at him. “I’m afraid so, Karoly.”

      D’Branin ran his fingers through his hair, as if half aware of how untidy he looked. “The volcryn,” he muttered. “How will we work without the computer?” He nodded to himself. “I have a small unit in my cabin, a wrist model, perhaps it will suffice. It must suffice, it must. I will get the figures from Royd, learn where we have dropped out. Excuse me, my friends. Pardon, I must go.” He wandered away in a distracted haze, talking to himself.

      “He hasn’t heard a word we’ve said,” Dannel said, incredulous.

      “Think how distraught he’d be if all of us were dead,” added Lindran. “Then he’d have no one to help him look for volcryn.”

      “Let him go,” Melantha said. “He is as hurt as any of us, maybe more so. He wears it differently. His obsessions are his defense.”

      “Ah. And what is our defense?”

      “Patience, maybe,” said Melantha Jhirl. “All of the dead were trying to breach Royd’s secret when they died. We haven’t tried. Here we are discussing their deaths.”

      “You don’t find that suspicious?” asked Lindran.

      “Very,” Melantha said. “I even have a method of testing my suspicions. One of us can make yet another attempt to find out whether our captain told us the truth. If he or she dies, we’ll know.” She shrugged. “Forgive me, however, if I’m not the one who tries. But don’t let me stop you if you have the urge. I’ll note the results with interest. Until then, I’m going to move out of the cargo hold and get some sleep.” She turned and strode off, leaving the others to stare at each other.

      “Arrogant bitch,” Dannel observed almost conversationally after Melantha had left.

      “Do you really think he can hear us?” Christopheris whispered to the two linguists.

      “Every pithy word,” Lindran said. She smiled at his discomfiture. “Come, Dannel, let’s get to a safe area and back to bed.”

      He nodded.

      “But,” said Christopheris, “we have to do something. Make plans. Defenses.”

      Lindran gave him a final withering look, and pulled Dannel off behind her down the corridor.

      “Melantha? Karoly?”

      She woke quickly, alert at the mere whisper of her name, fully awake almost at once, and sat up in the narrow single bed. Squeezed in beside her, Karoly d’Branin groaned and rolled over, yawning.

      “Royd?” she asked. “Is it morning?”

      “We are drifting in interstellar space three light years from the nearest star, Melantha,” replied the soft voice from the walls. “In such a context, the term morning has no meaning. But, yes, it is morning.”

      Melantha laughed. “Drifting, you said? How bad is the damage?”

      “Serious, but not dangerous. Hold three is a complete ruin, hanging from my ship like half of a broken egg, but the damage was confined. The drives themselves are intact, and the Nightflyer’s computers did not seem to suffer from your system’s destruction. I feared they might. I have heard of phenomena like electronic death traumas.”

      D’Branin said, “Eh? Royd?”

      Melantha stroked him affectionately. “I’ll tell you later, Karoly,” he said. “Go back to sleep. Royd, you sound serious. Is there more?”

      “I am worried about our return flight, Melantha,” Royd said. “When I take the Nightflyer back into drive, the flux will be playing directly on portions of the ship that were never engineered to withstand it. Our configurations are askew now; I can show you the mathematics of it, but the question of the flux forces is the vital one. The airseal across the access to hold three is a particular concern. I’ve run some simulations, and I don’t know if it can take the stress. If it bursts, my whole ship will split apart in the middle. My engines will go shunting off by themselves, and the rest – Even if the life support sphere remains intact, we will all soon be dead.”

      “I see. Is there anything we can do?”

      “Yes. The exposed areas would be easy enough to reinforce. The outer hull is armored to withstand the warping forces, of course. We could mount it in place, a crude shield, but according to my projections it would suffice. If we do it correctly, it will help correct our configurations as well. Large portions of the hull were torn loose when the locks opened, but they are still out there, most within a kilometer or two, and could be used.”

      At some point Karoly d’Branin had finally come awake.

      “My team has four vacuum sleds,” he said. “We can retrieve those pieces for you, my friend.”

      “Fine, Karoly, but that is