George Martin - Tuf Voyaging

“What is it?” asked Nevis.

“A communication,” Tuf proclaimed. He leaned forward and touched a much worn button on his lasercom.

The plague star vanished from the screen. In its place appeared a weary-looking face—that of a man of middle years, sitting in a communications room. He had deep lines in his forehead and graven down his cheeks, a full head of thick black hair, and tired blue-gray eyes. He was wearing a uniform out of a history tape, and on his head was a green billed cap emblazoned with a golden theta. “This is Ark ,” he announced. “You have entered our defense sphere. Identify yourself or be fired upon. This is your first warning.”

Haviland Tuf held down his SEND button. “This is the Cornucopia of Excellent Goods at Low Prices ,” he annunciated clearly, “Haviland Tuf commanding. We are harmless unarmed traders out of ShanDellor, Ark. Might we request permission to approach for docking?”

Celise Waan gaped. “It’s manned,” she said. “The crew is still alive!”

“A fascinating development,” Jefri Lion said, tugging at his beard. “Perhaps this is a descendant of the original EEC crew. Or perhaps the chronowarp was employed! To warp the very weave of the fabric of time, to hurry it or hold it still, yes, they could do even that. The chronowarp! Think of it!”

Kaj Nevis made a snarling sound. “A thousand damn years and you tell me they’re still alive? How the hell are we supposed to deal with that?”

The image on the viewscreen flickered briefly. Then the same tired man in the uniform of the Earth Imperials said, “This is Ark. Your ID is improperly coded. You are moving through our defense sphere. Identify yourself or be fired upon. This is your second warning.”

“Sir,” said Haviland Tuf, “I must protest! We are unarmed and unprotected. We mean you no harm. We are peaceful traders, scholars, fellow humans. Our intentions are not hostile, and moreover, we lack any means of doing harm to a ship as formidable as your Ark. Must we be met with belligerence?”

The screen flickered. “This is Ark. You have penetrated our defense sphere. Identify yourself immediately or be destroyed. This is your third and final warning.”

“Recordings,” said Kaj Nevis, with some enthusiasm. “That’s it! No cold storage, no damned stasis field. There’s no one there. Some computer is playing recordings at us.”

“I fear you are correct,” said Haviland Tuf. “The question must be asked: if the computer is programmed to play recorded messages at incoming ships, what else might it be programmed to do?”

Jefri Lion broke in. “The codes!” he said. “I have a whole set of Federal Empire codes and ID sequences on crystal chips in my files! I’ll go get them.”

“An excellent plan,” said Haviland Tuf, “with but a single obvious deficiency, that being the time it will require to locate and utilize these encoded chips. Had we the leisure to accomplish this, I might applaud your suggestion. I fear we do not, alas. The Ark has just fired upon us.”

Haviland Tuf reached forward. “I am taking us into drive,” he announced. But as his long pale fingers brushed the keys, suddenly the Cornucopia shook violently. Celise Waan shrieked and went down; Jefri Lion stumbled into Anittas; even Rica Dawnstar had to grab the back of Tuf’s chair to retain her footing. Then all the lights went out. Haviland Tuf’s voice came out of the dark. “I fear I spoke too soon,” he said, “or perhaps, more accurately, acted too tardily.”

For a long moment, they were lost in silence and darkness and dread, waiting for the second hit that would spell an end to them.

And then the blackness ebbed a little; dim lights appeared on all the consoles around them, as the Cornucopia ’s instrumentation woke to a flickering half-life. “We are not entirely disabled,” Haviland Tuf proclaimed from the command chair where he sat stiffly. His big hands stretched out over the computer keys. “I will get a damage report. Perhaps we shall be able to retreat after all.”

Celise Waan began to make a noise; a high, thin, hysterical wailing that went on and on. She was still sprawled on the deck. Kaj Nevis turned on her. “Shut up, you damned cow!” he snapped, and he kicked her. Her wail turned into blubbering. “We’re dead meat sitting here like this,” Nevis said loudly. “The next shot will blow us to pieces. Damn it, Tuf, move this thing!”

“Our motion is undiminished,” Tuf replied. “The hit we took did not terminate our velocity, yet it did deflect us somewhat from our previous trajectory toward the Ark. Perhaps that is why we are not being fired upon now.” He was studying wan green figures that uncoiled across one of the smaller telescreens. “I fear my ship has suffered some incapacitation. Shifting into drive now would be inadvisable; the stress would undoubtedly rend us to pieces. Our life support systems have also taken damage. The projections indicate that we will run out of oxygen in approximately nine standard hours.”

Kaj Nevis cursed; Celise Waan began to beat her fists on the deck. “I can conserve oxygen by shutting down once more,” Anittas offered. Everyone ignored him.

“We can kill the cats,” Celise Waan suggested.

“Can we move?” Rica Dawnstar asked.

“The maneuvering engines are still operable,” Tuf said, “but without the ability to shunt into stardrive, it will take us approximately two ShanDish years to reach even Hro B’rana. Four of us can take refuge in pressure suits. The viral airpacs will recycle oxygen indefinitely.”

“I refuse to live in a pressure suit for two years,” Celise Waan said forcefully.

“Excellent,” said Tuf. “As I have only four suits, and we are six in number, this will be of help. Your noble self-sacrifice will be long remembered, madam. Before we put this plan into motion, however, I believe we might consider one other option.”

“And what’s that?” Nevis asked.

Tuf swiveled about in his command chair and looked at each of them in the dimness of the darkened control room. “We must hope that Jefri Lion’s crystalline chip does indeed contain the proper approach code, so that we might effect a docking with the Ark , without being made the target of ancient weaponry.”

“The chip!” Lion said. It was hard to see him. In the darkness, his chameleon cloth jacket had turned a deep black. “I’ll go get it!” He went rushing back toward their living quarters.

Mushroom padded quietly across the room, and leapt up into Tuf’s lap. Tuf settled a hand on him, and the big tom began to purr loudly. It was somehow a reassuring sound. Perhaps they would be all right after all.

But Jefri Lion was gone for too long a time.

When they finally heard him return, his footsteps were leaden, defeated.

“Well?” Nevis said. “Where is it?”

“Gone,” Lion said. “I looked everywhere. It’s gone. I could have sworn I had it with me. My files—Kaj, truly, I meant to bring it along. I couldn’t bring everything, of course, but I duplicated most of the important records, the things I thought might prove useful—material on the war, on the EEC, some histories of this sector. My gray case, you know. It had my little computer, and more than thirty crystal chips. I was going over some of them last night, remember, in bed? I was reviewing the material about the seedships, what little we know, and you told me that I was keeping you awake. I had a chip full of old codes, I know I did, and I really meant to bring it along. But it’s not there.” He came closer. They saw he was carrying the hand computer, holding it out almost as an offering. “I went through the box four times, and searched all the chips I had out on my bed, on the table, everywhere. It’s not here. I’m sorry. Unless one of you took it?” Jefri Lion glanced about the room. No one spoke. “I must have left the codes back on ShanDellor,” he said. “We were in such haste to leave, I . . . ”