Dreams of the Stars
Chapter 12

Feeling more like a petulant little kid squabbling over a toy than a spacecraft commander, Boddy insisted, “Get out of my chair, Felter! That’s an order!”

Felter huffed. “Jesus!” Taking his good old time, he lifted his long, sprawled body out of the chair. “Fine. Chill, man, I’m moving. There. There’s your precious chair.”

Settling into the chair, Boddy struggled to maintain his resolve to keep his patience with Felter and recruit him as an ally. He pulled up an external view on his monitor. Unlike the faint starlight, the glow from the improbable universe outside was bright enough to show up on camera; though nowhere near as brilliant or sharply defined as it was when seen from the cupola. On the screen it merely looked like an out-of-focus photograph of something slightly cream-colored surrounded by blackness.

“This is what’s out there,” Boddy said.

“Well, I could see it more clearly if I was in the chair,” Felter said, leaning over Boddy’s shoulder. Boddy disliked having someone lean so close to him, especially Felter, who always smelled of potato chips or something, but there was no point in inviting any more conflict. “What, that’s outside the ship?”

“That’s right. Jameson discovered it this afternoon. He thinks that now that all visible light in the universe has either redshifted or blueshifted beyond our ability to perceive—“ Boddy noticed with irritation that Felter was now playing with his handheld Interlink. Nevertheless, he continued: “—that a new universe, one made entirely of temporal dimensions, has emerged. It was previously hidden from us because its light couldn’t reach our spectrum—“

“Hold on a second,” Felter said, holding up his finger.

Boddy stopped, exasperated. Felter always did this. He would talk incessantly, but then any time Boddy tried to talk, it was “hold on a second” for an Interlink call or something beeping for his attention or God only knew what. Felter tapped the keys on his Interlink for several seconds, paused, tapped some more, paused...this went on a good five minutes. Then he pocketed the device and, chuckling, said, “Sorry about that. Social obligations, you know? So, what was I saying?”

Social obligations?! Boddy wanted to scream. What were you saying?! “I was explaining Jameson’s theory about why we’re seeing visible light. What the hell kind of ‘social obligations’ do you have?”

Felter shrugged. “Oh, me and Jameson and Acker are getting together this evening to play Magic. Just ironing out the details.”

Magic?!

“So that’s an interesting theory,” Felter said, pacing. “It makes sense, when you think about it. You may know this, but light travels in waves, and so as you approach a light source, you experience a higher wavelength, whereas a light source you’re receding from seems to emit a lower wavelength, hence the Doppler Effect. Light which you’re approaching becomes more blue, whereas light you’re receding from becomes more red.”

“Yes, Felter, I know,” Boddy said, though Felter talked right over him as though he hadn’t heard.

“This is the reason why our own visible universe has appeared to become compressed into the starbow,” Felter went on in a professorial tone. “It stands to reason that anything that might exist in the temporal dimension would be similarly hidden from us and become visible as we approach the speed of light.”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“Oh, okay.” Felter laughed. “I’m reading a book about spectroscopy right now; I wasn’t sure if you had read as much about it as I have. So anyway, that makes sense to me. But I’m not sure I can tell you anything more than that. I suggest you talk to Jameson. You probably ought to have him run some tests, check our position relative to any fixed points we can perceive, see what kind of electromagnetic interaction we replace ourselves in when we try to maneuver... .”

As Felter prattled on with his condescending explanations, big words, and meticulously structured sentences—laced, interestingly enough, with an irritating overabundance of “y’know”s—Boddy was amazed that the arrogant pilot wasn’t stunned into humility, or at least some semblance of awe, by this revelation. But then, to do so would be to admit that the universe was bigger than he was, and that would be intolerable. Boddy wondered for a moment if that was why Felter had come on this mission: to achieve infinite mass, and thereby to become as big as the universe that dared try to cow him. Again, the revelation of the existence of this temporal universe reminded Boddy powerfully of the insignificance of such petty human drives.

But Felter had suggested something he hadn’t thought of: breaking down the spectrum. As Felter continued to lecture with all but a stick and a chalkboard, Boddy searched through his database for the program that would run a spectral analysis of the image on screen. To his recollection, he had never used it, and frankly wasn’t sure he knew how. He would never admit that to Felter, however—though the thought occurred to him that Felter might not know how to use it, either, and it would be fun to see him make an idiot of himself.

He loaded the program and applied it to the image on screen. The faint light split into the colors of the rainbow. Boddy knew that dark patches would appear in certain parts of the spectrum to indicate certain elements—he wondered what elements would be traveling just under the speed of light. But to his surprise, dark patches did indeed appear—dizzyingly complex patches. There were not the simple blank spots he remembered from his college astronomy, characterizing hydrogen, helium, carbon, and other light elements. Though he had no hope of deciphering them, he knew these characterized ultra-heavy elements—elements heavier than uranium or plutonium, perhaps heavier than the heaviest elements known to man. But how could that be? And where were the simple elements?—unless their signature was hidden by the complexity of the heavy elements. He really didn’t know. He would have to ask Samuels—provided he could replace a moment when Samuels wasn’t trying to kill him.

“...and so, y’know, that’s about all I can recommend, so what do you think of that?” Felter finally wrapped up his monologue.

“Well, we’ve gotten a little off track,” Boddy said testily. “The new universe that has emerged is very important, but any study of it is threatened by—”

“Hold on a sec.” Felter’s Interlink was beeping.

“Jesus Christ,” Boddy muttered as Felter tapped the little device. Tap tap tap, pause, tap tap tap, pause. “Okay. —Sorry about that. Some results from one of the radio wavelength tests were in. Just had to acknowledge it. Okay, so where were we?”

“I was saying, any study of the new universe is threatened by Jameson and Garr. They’re planning a mutiny.”

Felter waved his hand. “I’ve taken care of that. I told them in no uncertain terms that I was not going to relieve you of command. That would be a blatant violation of the chain of command, and I don’t care to violate that. It’s the rule of law, and we carry it with us into space, no matter where we are, no matter when we are, and no matter if the civilization that wrote that law, y’know, no longer exists. I heard their complaints, I read the document they prepared, and I understand their concerns, but the bottom line is, the contract I signed was as pilot, and the circumstances they described, to my mind, were, y’know, not justified in the invocation of regulation 126.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t give a hoot about your opinion,” Boddy shouted. “Garr is building a little device to zap my DNA, and God only knows what Jameson is planning. To hell with the rule of law. These guys mean business.”

Unruffled, Felter said, “Wel-l-l-l, I’m not really sure I think that’s a very plausible scenario. I mean, I can understand why you’d be a little distrustful, but—“

“I’m not being ‘a little distrustful.’ Reichmann has been spying on Garr for me, and he’s reported this. Samuels has confirmed Jameson’s part in it; he’s admitted to me that he’s a part of the mutiny.”

Felter was silent for a minute, then he sighed. “Well...that really pisses me off. That’s bullshit.”

“Well, the important thing is, I need to know that you’ll back me in dealing with this,” Boddy said.

“Well, yeah, yeah. If they’re not going to follow the rule of law, yeah, we’ve got to bust their goddamn asses.”

Boddy nodded. There was no doubting Felter’s sincerity; Jameson and Garr had committed the ultimate sin: they had defied Felter. And worse, they had done so without his knowledge. And worst of all, Boddy had been his source of information. Yes, this was the ultimate insult, and Felter was more affronted by this than he would be by the thought of teaming up with his old rival Boddy. “Okay,” Boddy said, “we’re kind of in a tight spot here. We don’t have a security force, we don’t have a brig, we don’t have security cameras, and I sure don’t want to be killing members of my crew. On top of that, we’ve got Garr’s cute little machine to worry about; not that I really think he can get it to work, but I don’t like to take chances—”

“Hold on a second.” Felter pulled out his Interlink again. “Oh...kay. Just my alarm telling me it’s time to doublecheck and correct the spin.” He moved to his pilot’s console. “Be right back.”

Can’t it wait five minutes? Is this really an absolutely critical maneuver?

Felter whistled the theme to Disney’s Romeo and Juliet as he peered into his viewer, checked some numbers, tapped some keys, and then said, “Aaaaaall-righty,” and rejoined Boddy at the command desk. “Okay. So. Mutiny.”

“Mutiny,” Boddy said in a bored voice.

“Mutinies suck,” Felter said conversationally. “Well, the best thing to do is to lead by inspiration. This is a crew that wants a commander they can identify with. You need to be one of them. Y’know, you spend so much time in your cabin, you’re always so abrupt with everyone, I mean, don’t take offense, I’m just trying to be helpful, but, y’know, after you wanted to abort the mission, they don’t really feel like you’re on their side. I think you need to be more active in each department. You especially need to show Jameson and Garr that you’re interested and knowledgeable and capable of being the commander. I could tutor you in some of those areas if you like. I could help you brush up on relativity and ship engineering and, y’know, the, y’know, basics of spectroscopy. I could also help you to decipher some of the physical principles of this new universe we’re in.”

What?! You only found out five minutes ago what the hell’s going on! Now you presume you can “tutor” me about it?!

“Once the others see that you’re involved and that you understand what’s going on, they’ll be more inclined to accept you as the commander.”

“It’s too late for all that,” Boddy said. “Jameson and Garr are dead set against me—and against you, too, for refusing to go along with the mutiny. They each want command, and once you and I are out of the way, they’re going to battle each other for it.”

“Hmm,” Felter said, again seeming completely unruffled. “I’m not sure what to tell you to do, then. I’ll have to think about it. It’s kinda cool, though, don’t you think? I mean, yeah, it’s unacceptable and we’ve got to do something to stop it, but it’s like a comic book or something. Y’know, the epic battle at the end of the universe.”

Boddy was on the verge of tearing his hair out. “At the moment, I’m rather more interested in dealing with Jameson and Garr than I am in dramatizing our epic adventure. I think we’re beyond the point of being able to keep the peace on board, but I still don’t want to kill members of my own crew.”

“Well, I don’t think there’s any need for it to come to that,” Felter said, sounding utterly convinced of what he was saying. Boddy wondered if Felter’s ego was so huge that it filtered his comprehension of facts. The possibility that something was going on of which he did not have full knowledge and control was simply beyond his understanding. Either that or he was posturing; most condescending people actually had problems with self-confidence, so that they overcompensated by projecting a false image of superiority to everyone around them. If that was the case, Felter’s image was pretty much perfect. It was unlikely that anyone with a self-image problem could possibly have become an accomplished test pilot, but it was possible. Felter’s persona of Expert In Everything was perhaps convincing enough that he seemed to everyone, including himself, to have the proverbial Right Stuff. “Remember, these guys respond to authority,” Felter went on. “Their duty demands it. All we’ve got to do is display strong and decisive sepulchry.”

Strong and decisive what? Was there even such a word?

“Why don’t we call a meeting of all hands, and I’ll show you how it’s done. Men are like piccolos. One must only know where their valves are.”

“And you blow hot air into them,” Boddy couldn’t resist saying. “I know you’re good at that.”

Felter laughed. “That’s pretty much it.”

As far as Hans Reichmann was concerned, Boddy, Garr, and Jameson now formed three sides of an equilateral triangle. At this phase in the unfolding drama, it was impossible to predict which of them would prevail; and it was certain that whichever one did would vanquish the others. So for all intents and purposes, the Eldorado now had three commanders, and it was too early for him to commit himself to absolute loyalty to any one of them. What was important was to keep the mission going until it reached its climax.

For that reason, he decided to inform Jameson of Garr’s secret weapon.

He found Jameson working by himself in the science lab, frowning over a softscreen and tapping the desktop like an autistic child. Disturbing Jameson in the middle of his work was never a pleasant experience; his mood lately made the situation orders of magnitude more difficult. But perhaps if he could pit Jameson and Garr against each other, the mutiny might cancel itself out. “Excuse me, Jameson? May I speak with you?”

Jameson made no immediate sign that he had heard. Reichmann waited nervously, wondering if he should leave. Then, without moving, still tapping the desktop, Jameson growled, “Yes, what is it?”

Reichmann approached the desk, wondering where Samuels was. “I have some information for you about Garr’s plan to take over.”

Jameson looked up at him sharply. His softscreen, filled with equations, dimmed and flickered out. “Garr is a small-minded idiot,” Jameson said. “We are approaching a mathematical nexus, a solidification of mathematical abstractions. Hypotheses regarding ten- or eleven-dimensional space will become testable. Time itself may become mappable. And all Garr can think of is his own petty pursuit of power.”

Sensing some strange sort of invitation in those commiserating comments, Reichmann felt more comfortable. He sat across from Jameson and said, “Surely Boddy realizes these sings. Is now not the time to rally behind him?”

Jameson turned back to his screen, which once again filled with equations. Reichmann hadn’t seen him touch an icon or flip a switch; he wondered how he had done that. “What will happen will happen now, no matter what Ed Boddy does,” Jameson said. “In all truth, from this time on it scarcely matters who is in command.”

“Well, surely Boddy would be a better choice than Garr.”

Jameson laughed. “Why, Reichmann, talking like a conspirator at last!”

“You just said it yourself—all Garr cares about is his own power. As this mission approaches the critical phase, we need someone in charge who is thinking about the mission, not himself.”

“What is your point?”

Reichmann described Garr’s nanotech weapon which he planned to use to kill Boddy. Jameson listened silently, showing little reaction.

“I knew he was up to something like that,” Jameson finally said. “I didn’t know how he planned on doing it—frankly, this plan sounds to me like a long shot.”

“But it is possible.”

“Of course it’s possible—many things are possible now that used to be pure fantasy.” Jameson waved his hand, and suddenly a woman appeared behind him—a blonde in a white dress, her long, straight hair blowing impossibly despite the still air in the lab. “Do you know who this is?” Jameson asked.

Reichmann brought his startlement under control, remembered that he himself had seen some strange things lately, and said, “An old girlfriend, may I presume?”

“Not so. This is Princess Seryiel from The Midnight of the Sun.”

Reichmann had no idea what Jameson was talking about. “Midnight of the sun?”

“It’s a fantasy immersion that came out when I was a kid. I loved that immie, and I especially loved Seryiel. She was my first teenage crush. I was head-over-heels for her. In fact, the girl I asked to the junior prom was the one who most reminded me of Seryiel. Insane, isn’t it?”

Reichmann looked the girl up and down. She was attractive, yes, unrealistically so. Her proportions were biologically absurd, a simple male fantasy, unendurable in a full gee environment. Of course, on Mars she would survive quite comfortably. “She must be one of those computer models.”

“Yes—not one of the ‘actresses’ that they use in immie after immie in different roles—no, this one was created specifically for The Midnight of the Sun. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Yes, Aldiss,” the girl said in a lilting, musical voice, somehow hypnotizing and alluring, seductive in an innocent, not overtly sexual way. Reichmann was startled to see that Jameson did, after all, have human drives and fantasies.

“I had a great afternoon,” Jameson said with a wide grin. Another wave of his hand, though, washed her away, with scarcely a disturbance in the air. “But a fantasy. No real consciousness.”

Reichmann was still amazed, though—up to now, the hallucinations had hinted at past characters in their lives, at situations familiar, often subconscious, and they came and went with no conscious volition. But in this case, Jameson had actually willed a person into existence, a specific person, a person who, though culled from a prior fantasy, had never existed before. “Are you so sure?” he asked. “Consciousness now plays a vital role in our lives—can you be sure she has no consciousness?”

Jameson’s eyes widened. “She couldn’t—could she?—But enough of this foolishness. If I could create Seryiel, surely Garr can put together the device he describes, a device which has plenty of physical precedent, and could theoretically be built aboard ship. Yes, it is possible. Unlikely, but possible.” He paused, finger touched to his chin as he thought. “Yessss...Garr said he wanted to take command, and that he would make Acker his second. What a disaster that would be. And you’re right, we certainly can’t allow it. Clearly, my action must be more swift.”

“What action is that?”

“Never you mind. Thank you for telling me about it. I will keep your information confidential. Please, now, leave me to think.”

Reichmann obeyed, suddenly not at all sure he had done the right thing in informing Jameson after all. With that thought came a sudden rash of self-loathing. He saw himself as the others saw him—as a fifth wheel. He had no place on this ship. He had designed her, he had conceived her mission, but what did he do but horse around in his lab, bother everyone with his philosophical musings, and generally get in the way? No one here had a use for him. He was here simply because—he wanted to be. He had thought of the others as his tool to get him out here on this mission he had dreamed of, when in reality they were the functioning components of a ship in which his role had long ago concluded. He could not imagine designing the ship, selling its mission to the government, and then staying behind to watch it leave...but perhaps that would have been for the best. Perhaps he had no business here. Perhaps he should have been locked away for raping Nora so long ago.

But no one had found out...no one had found out...She had kept her silence, he had succeeded and she had kept her silence, and now here he was, fled from his own planet, his own time, among people who held him in contempt; and where he was held in contempt by all, he was truly contemptible, because out here, in this place, in this time, at this velocity, what people saw was what was, not the other way around.

Jameson approached this dilemma as he approached all dilemmas: as an equation. A equals the quantity of Jameson minus Boddy plus Boddy times the quantity of Garr minus Boddy plus Boddy over the quantity of Jameson minus Boddy times the quantity of Garr minus Boddy, A equals Boddy. But add Garr...Two Boddy plus Garr? That didn’t make sense...Subtract Boddy from the first quantity of the numerator and A equals Boddy plus Garr...change Garr in the denominator to Jameson and A equals Boddy plus Jameson. But subtract Boddy...A equals Jameson.

In other words, Jameson kills Garr, Boddy kills or arrests Jameson, Boddy remains commander. Garr kills Boddy, Garr kills Jameson, Garr becomes commander. Jameson kills Boddy, Jameson kills or arrests Garr, Jameson is commander.

Therefore, the only acceptable solution was to kill Boddy before Garr could. And that was easy enough; no need for elaborate biological weapons, no need for days of scheming, no need for elaborate conspiracies—just walk into the control center and shoot him. No rapping, no chasing, no elaborate speeches, just shoot the bastard. Yes, it was the only way. Time to put an end to this melodrama once and for all. They were entering a new phase of reality, that was undeniable and unstoppable; he doubted the engines carried the kinetic energy to slow the ship down now, what with the incredible additional mass plus the spin. But the curse of Ed Boddy could be ended, and ended now with swift, decisive action.

It took considerable time for Boddy to impart to Felter the full implications of Garr’s plan. Three times did he have to explain Garr’s machine before Felter seemed even to hear; how, Boddy wondered, could this man ever sit through a flight briefing session? Perhaps it was only because Boddy was speaking that Felter tuned him out. After all, it was Boddy who had replaced Owen James and therefore Boddy whom Felter must prove is incompetent.

And this is my ally?

But finally Felter got it. “So it sounds to me like we need to destroy the machine, if we can replace it.”

“Yeah...problem is, Garr probably has the parts well spread out—and remember, he’s an engineer, so I’m sure he has redundancies in place—“

“Hold on a sec.” Out came the Interlink again. Tap tap tap, pause, tap tap tap, frown, tap tap tap. Then Felter laughed, a single explosive spittle-laced hiccuppy sound the resembled a sneeze. “Would you believe Garr wants to talk to me about command protocol? God, is that guy transparent!”

Hell, you refused to believe me when I told you what was going on.

“Well, I’ll deal with that later,” Felter said. “So, anyway, if we could just locate Garr’s machine and destroy it, he would have to start all over, and that would buy us some time. Before long, we’ll all be pretty busy examining this time world I’ve discovered, then maybe they’ll forget whatever bug is up their asses and we can actually get some work done around here. After all, building a Boddy-zapper is a pretty involved project. If we destroy this one, I can’t imagine Garr will really have the time or the resources to start all over again ...”

Boddy continually searched for a pause in Felter’s monologue to jump in with his own points, but every time he started to make a sound, Felter’s loud, abrasive voice rode over him. Finally, as Felter flirted dangerously with a complete change of subject, Boddy simply interrupted. “Well, the point I was trying to make ...” As he spoke, Felter simply kept talking, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Boddy was speaking. Louder, Boddy said, “I’m sure Garr has redundancies—“

“Excuse me, I’m talking. Can I finish?” Felter snapped. “God, I hate being interrupted. Anyway, I’m sure that the elements in this universe—”

“Felter, I’m sure Garr has redundancies.”

“Yeah, we’ll deal with them,” Felter said, sounding impatient. “Now, what I’m wondering is, if the spectrum breaks down the same here as it does at our native, ah, speed, then the elements as we know them must exist, but they can’t be quite the same. I wonder if they’re made of tachyons—I wonder if we’re starting to see a faster-than-light universe—“

“All that can wait!” Boddy snapped, infusing as much of his command voice as he could—unfortunately, Felter’s larynx simply produced a louder, more booming sound than Boddy’s. Still, it seemed to do the job. Felter looked affronted, but he shut up for a moment. “We’ve got an immediate crisis to deal with,” Boddy said, “and I don’t intend to take any chances with wishful thinking or hazy assumptions.”

“Yeah, I guess any threat to your command is an immediate crisis,” Felter sneered.

For the moment, Boddy decided to ignore the insubordination, though he was replaceing it more and more difficult to accept Samuels’ word that Felter was on his side. As a matter of fact, the irony just hit him that he was following a strategy proposed to him by one of the mutineers. He wondered if he could really trust Felter after all—if perhaps his refusal to relieve Boddy of command was just a fluke. “We need to dismantle Jameson and Garr’s plans, all at once. I believe Reichmann can help us to replace all the components of Garr’s plan. Samuels was quite plain that I can’t count on him, but maybe I can count on you. But we’ve got to work in concert, get a clear and complete picture of every aspect of all their plans, plus any backups they may have, then take it all out in one fell swoop.”

Suddenly Jameson’s voice boomed through the room. “So you’re on to me then.” He came around the bend from the entrance, wielding a welding torch.

Felter laughed. “Well, this is a bit overdramatic, isn’t it?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jameson said. “For once, Jesus Christ, just shut up! This task is difficult enough without having to listen to your incessant flapping tongue.”

Despite the obvious gravity of the situation, Boddy couldn’t help relishing the sight of Felter put in his place. It about Goddamn time somebody said it.

“Now, both of you move against the inner bulkhead,” Jameson said. “No sense damaging any critical equipment or risking a hull breach.”

Boddy rose, hands raised slightly, and bumped against Felter as they inched across the room toward the indicated bulkhead. Jameson’s forehead was dotted with sweat, and his hands were shaking. Boddy wished he could somehow signal that information to Felter so that they could coordinate a way to use Jameson’s nervousness. Hoping to stall for time, Boddy said, “So you’ve made your move.”

“I should think that’s obvious,” Jameson said. “The whole ship is in agreement that you are a liability to our mission. We need to be rid of you, then get on with things.”

“Get on with what things? Battling Garr for command? When does it stop?”

“Enough talk,” Jameson said, and Boddy was astonished to see a tear roll down his cheek. “Just both of you be quiet, and I’ll make this as quick and painless as possible.”

A sound behind him startled him. He spun, his finger squeezing the trigger. A thin, intolerably bright beam of golden light arced across the room and impacted the communications console. Flames flared from the gaping hole that was instantly melted in its alloy center. What happened next was too quick for Boddy to register. There was a flurry of motion—Felter sprang across the room—two bodies tumbled across the floor—he saw Felter’s head impact the base of the command chair—then there was another flare of orange light, another explosion, and then another explosion from a welding torch, but this one coming from the direction of the entrance. Now he saw Jameson, for an instant a blackened, skeletal corpse, before the intense heat cremated him and he collapsed to the floor a pile of smoking ashes.

Yet even after he fell, even after there was no chemical substance to his human form any longer, an unaccountable scream persisted. It resonated from all sides. It reminded Boddy of that nightmare scene when Jameson had chased him through the ship rapping. The sound of Jameson’s own death scream had been brief, yet seemed to linger, echoing, before fading away—replaced by a more plaintive, heart-rending, feminine scream. It seemed to come from Jameson’s ashes, yet it also came from the walls, from the entrance, from inside his own skull. Then it faded away, as though absorbed by soundproof walls, as though a woman were falling, burning, down an infinite, rubber-lined tunnel.

Then it was over.

The control center was a mess. Consoles lay strewn open. Wires, leads, and pipes lay broken and sparking. Overhead sprinklers doused the ashes of Jameson, as well as the sparking, ruined work stations. Felter, still conscious, dabbed his bloody forehead with his shirt.

In the entrance, Reichmann stood, wielding a portable welding torch of his own.

For a long time no one said anything. Boddy stood, frozen, unsure what to say or do. Reichmann stood, wondering if he was about to be rewarded or arrested for murder. Felter seemed unsure whether to collapse into consciousness or laugh. Finally, Boddy asked him, “You all right?”

“Smarts,” Felter said. “I don’t feel dizzy or anything. I don’t think there’s a fracture. My guess is it’s superficial, a blunt force epidermal lesion. Probably need some Neosporin and a steristrip to reduce the risk of infection. Cuts on the face and forehead bleed more profusely than cuts on any other part of the body, you know...”

As Felter continued his medical lecture, Boddy stepped up to Reichmann and took the torch. “Let’s have no more of that for now.”

“I am sorry,” Reichmann said.

“It’s okay—what choice did you have?” He stepped over to the smoldering pile of ashes, marveling at the intensity of the torch’s beam, that a few moments ago this had been a person, a member of his crew, a thinking, feeling human being with a life and needs and dreams, a man who had been trying to do what, in his own mind, was right. “I don’t think any of us really actually liked him, but he was a good shipmate, and despite everything, I’ll miss him.” Reichmann had stepped up behind him.

Felter, having perceived that his audience was no longer listening to him with rapt attention, had crossed his arms and folded in on himself, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying a flash of petulant anger.

“How did you know?” Boddy said to Reichmann.

“It was largely luck. I had just told Jameson something of Garr’s plans, and his reaction was...strange. It is hard to explain, but I had a bad feeling. I was just sort of hovering in the hallway when I saw him come out with the welding torch. I ducked into an alcove and he didn’t see me, but I guessed what he was up to.”

Boddy nodded. “So you grabbed a welding torch from stores and followed him—what, just in case?”

Reichmann nodded. “I suspected the time was coming that we would be shedding blood. I just did not expect that I would be the one to do it.”

“Well...Jameson shot first. I deem it to be self-defense.”

“Thank you—but I think I would have shot anyway.”

The adrenaline was starting to wane, leaving Boddy light-headed and flushed. He began to laugh. “Well—I guess I can’t really blame you for that!”