George Martin - Tuf Voyaging

Lion all but bounded to his feet. “The chip!”

“Indeed,” said Haviland Tuf.

There was a moment of endless suspense after Tuf had lasered the docking request. A thin crack appeared in the middle of the great black dome, and then another, at cross angles to the first. Then a third, a fourth, more and still more. The dome split into a hundred narrow pie-shaped wedges, which receded into the hull of the Ark.

Jefri Lion let go of his breath. “It works,” he said, in a voice full of awe and gratitude.

“I reached that conclusion some time ago,” Tuf said, “when we successfully penetrated the defense sphere without being fired upon. This is merely a confirmation.”

They watched the proceedings on the viewscreen. Beneath the dome appeared a landing deck fully as large as the ports of many a lesser planet. The deck was pockmarked with circular landing pads, several of which were occupied. As they waited, a ring of blue-white light flicked on around one vacant pad.

“Far be it from me to dictate your behavior,” said Haviland Tuf, his eyes on his instruments, his hands in careful, methodical motion. “I would, however, advise that each of you strap in securely. I am extending the landing legs and programming us for a landing on the indicated pad, but I am uncertain how much damage the legs have sustained, uncertain even as to whether all three legs remain in place. Therefore I counsel caution.”

The landing deck yawned blackly beneath them. They began a stately descent into its cavernous depths. The illuminated ring of the landing pad loomed larger and larger on one viewscreen; a second showed the wan blue light of the Cornucopia ’s gravity engines flickering off distant metal walls and the silhouettes of other ships. In a third, they saw the dome reassembling itself, a dozen sharp teeth grinding together once more, as if they had just been swallowed by some vast spacefaring animal.

The impact was surprisingly gentle. They settled into place with a sigh and a whisper and only the smallest of bumps. Haviland Tuf killed their engines, and spent a moment studying the instruments and the scenes on his telescreens. Then he turned to face the others. “We are docked,” he announced, “and the time has come to make our plans.”

Celise Waan was busily unstrapping herself. “I want to get out of here,” she said, “find Nevis and that bitch Rica, and give them both a good piece of my mind.”

“A good piece of your mind might be considered an oxymoron,” said Haviland Tuf. “I think your proposed course of action unwise in the extreme. Our former colleagues must now be considered our rivals. Having just abandoned us to death, they shall undoubtedly be nonplussed to discover us still alive, and might very well take steps to rectify this contradiction.”

“Tuf is right,” Jefri Lion said. He was moving from one screen to another, peering at them with fascination. The ancient seedship had rekindled his spirit and his imagination, and he was bristling with energy. “It’s us against them, Celise. This is war. They’ll kill us if they can, have no doubt of it. We must be similarly ruthless! This is a time for clever tactics.”

“I bow to your martial expertise,” Tuf said. “What strategies do you suggest?”

Jefri Lion tugged on his beard. “Well,” he said, “well, let me think. What’s the situation here? They have Anittas. The man’s half-computer himself. Once he interfaces with the shipboard systems, he should be able to determine how much of the Ark is functional, yes, and perhaps to exercise some control over its functioning, too. That could be dangerous. He might be trying it right now. We know they got aboard first. They may or may not know we’re aboard. We have the advantage of surprise, perhaps!”

“They have the advantage of having all the weaponry,” said Haviland Tuf.

“No problem!” said Jefri Lion. He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “This is a warship, after all. The EEC specialized in biowar, true, but this was a military vessel and I’m sure the crew had personal sidearms, that sort of thing. There’s got to be an armory. All we have to do is find it.”

“Indeed,” said Haviland Tuf.

Lion was rolling now. “Our advantage, well, not to be immodest about it, but our advantage is me. Aside from what Anittas can discover from the computers, they’ll be blundering about in the dark. But I’ve studied the old Federal Empire ships. I know everything about them.” He frowned. “Well, everything that wasn’t lost or classified, anyway. At least I know a few things about the general plans of these seedships. We’ll have to find the armory first, and it should be close. It was standard procedure to store weaponry near the landing deck, for ground parties and such. After we’re armed, we ought to look for—hmmrnm, let me think—well, yes, the cell library, that’s crucial. The seedships had vast cell libraries, cloning material from literally thousands of worlds preserved in a stasis field. We must discover if the cells are still viable! If the stasis field has failed, and the samples have decayed, all we have gained is a very large ship. But if the systems are still operational, the Ark is literally priceless!”

“While I appreciate the importance of the cell library,” Tuf said, “it strikes me that a more immediate priority might be the location of the bridge. Making the perhaps unwarranted but nonetheless attractive assumption that none of the original crew of the Ark is alive after the passage of a millennium, we are then alone on this vessel with our enemies, and whichever party gains control of shipboard functions first will enjoy a rather formidable advantage.”

“A good point, Tuf!” Lion exclaimed. “Well then, let’s get to it.”

“Right,” said Celise Waan. “I want out of this cat trap.”

Haviland Tuf raised a finger. “A moment, please. A problem presents itself. We are three in number, and possess only a single pressure suit among us.”

“We’re inside a ship ,” Celise Waan said in a voice that dripped sarcasm. “What do we need with suits?”

“Perhaps nothing,” Tuf admitted. “It is true, as you imply, that the landing field seems to function as a very large airlock; my instruments indicate that we are now surrounded by an entirely breathable oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, pumped in when the closure of the dome was complete.”

“So what’s the problem, Tuf?”

“No doubt I am being overcautious,” Haviland Tuf said. “I admit to some disquiet, however. This Ark , though perhaps abandoned and derelict, is nonetheless dutiful. Witness the plagues it still regularly visits on Hro B’rana. Witness the efficiency with which it defended itself against our approach. We cannot know, as yet, why this ship was abandoned, nor how the last of the crew met their end, but it seems clear that it was their intent that the Ark live on. Perhaps the external defense sphere was only the first of several lines of automatic defense.”

“An intriguing notion,” said Jefri Lion. “Traps?”

“Of a particular kind. The atmosphere that awaits us may seethe with pestilence, plague, and biogenetic contagion. Dare we risk it? I would be more comfortable in a pressure suit, myself, though each of you is free to decide otherwise.”

Celise Waan looked uncomfortable. “I should get the suit,” she said. “We only have one, and you owe it to me, after the beastly way I’ve been treated.”

“We need not enter into that discussion again, madam,” said Tuf. “We are on a landing deck. Around us, I observe nine other spacecraft of varying design. One is a Hruun fighter, one a Rhiannese merchant; two are of designs unfamiliar to me. And five are plainly shuttlecraft of some sort, identical to each other, larger than my own poor vessel here, undoubtedly part of the Ark ’s own original equipment. It is my experience that spacecraft invariably are equipped with pressure suits. It is my intention, therefore, to don our single remaining suit, exit, and search these neighboring ships until I have found suits for each of you.”