"Gidron is BORING! It won't let us play with the E!"
"I won't let you play with the E either."
"It SHOULD!"
"Why don't you do something useful?" I asked. "You don't even know your ABC's, do you?"
"We do."
"Gildron says you don't. Gildron knows his ABC's."
"Gidron is STUPID!"
"Widdard doopid," Gildron growled ominously.
"We are NOT! We know our ABC's! ABCDEFG—SIJK…"
I let it fade, glaring at the controls. We were finished, unless we could fire up this pile of junk and get out of the neighborhood, fast. But there was no way we could understand these controls. It was just lights—a rainbow of lights—every color in the spectrum. I looked over at the adjoining control panels, and the displays on the ceiling, over the plex. The same—every color in the spectrum.
"Tara…"
"Shut down! I'm busy!"
"Say, Tara—have you noticed the colors?"
"I've been staring at them for hours, trooper. What about the colors?"
"Well, they use the same colors—in every control panel."
"There's only so many colors, Beta Three. If you were a little more alert, you'd have noted that they use all the colors of visible light, and go into the ultra violet and infrared spectrum. I checked. So they're using color-coding. So what? Unless we know what it means, we can't do a thing. And you've got to start by understanding those damned holos."
"Maybe it's the same for every procedure."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe the colors are the procedure. Maybe you start at one end of the spectrum and just go from one color to the next, until the procedure is completed. Maybe it's the same, whether you're ordering breakfast or going into stardrive. Just find the right control panel and touch the right series of colors—which is always the same. Like the alphabet—A,B,C—the same every time. Or 1, 2, 3. Look at the patterns—the colors. There's an arrangement. A gradual deepening of color, from top to bottom."
"I noticed. I thought it was like a keyboard. Something to control the holos."
"What if it's an alphabet? Only you always start at 'A' and it never changes? Maybe we can forget the holos. They're always changing. Maybe it's because they're purely decorative."
Tara stared at the control panel, silent.
"Tara?"
"I said shut down. I'm thinking."
###
"Will you please stop doing that?" Tara asked. I was looking out the viewport, lost in dark dreams, honing the edge of my cold knife against the cenite sharpener on the scabbard. I stopped. The edge was razor sharp—I could probably split an atom with it. The cold knife was Legion issue, a single slab of black cenite, brutal and functional, completely devoid of soul. This one had been with me since Planet Hell.
"I was just sharpening it," I said softly. Tara did not respond. She was busy with the tacmod and the controls. She was numbering some of the colored control tabs with a lightpen. I had lost interest in the task. I knew she was smarter than I was—let her do it.
Gildron hummed a strange song. Willard dozed in his arms, exhausted. We were all tired. I pressed the edge of the knife against the heel of my thumb and gently sliced downwards. The skin split and a thin line of blood appeared. I could barely feel it. It was sharp, all right.
I put the knife down. Our three E's were beside me, along with our remaining contac and psybloc grenades. I had checked out all three E's—they were functioning perfectly. What could go wrong? There were no moving parts. Perfect, unholy tools. Just what we needed for our unholy trade.
It was cold. Too cold for humans, this far from home. I could not take my eyes off the viewport. Strange dark stars and an evil, dead world, rolling past below us. No human had ever seen this before. The Omega Spiral—Deadman! It was cold inside the O ship, but it was colder yet in my heart. I had never asked for this—but I certainly deserved it. I had stepped through the Legion gate—what a fool! I deserved everything I got. I should have known—I should have known! We were all going to die in this alien ship, on the far side of the galaxy. We were not going to get home—not ever!
"It's done," Tara said. "They're all marked. I'm certain you're right—and Tess confirms it. There's a lot more to do, but this much is done."
"I'm not right," I said. "I'm wrong. It can't possibly be that simple. If it was, Willard could pilot this ship."
"Yes—what simple beauty! Just follow the colors, and you're there. Why should things be so complicated? This is where science is leading us—to simplicity."
"You're going to blow us all to hell."
"Would you rather stay here?" Tara turned her lovely face to mine, blinking Assidic eyes. I had always been able to float away under her gaze. Even after I lost her, on our home world, Galgos, she had always been with me in the back of my mind.
"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad," I said. I picked up the knife again and resumed honing it. "We'd have ourselves. Plenty of food and water—we could live here forever, in our own world. We even have a kid to raise. And if you get tired of me, there's always Gildron."
She turned back to the controls. "You forget the O probably want their ship back."
I did not respond. She was certainly right. I had gone for a walk into the dark heart of the ship when Tara was working on the controls. I had come back quickly. The place gave me the creeps. I certainly didn't want the bloody ship.
But the Legion did—and anybody else, including the O's, would have to kill me to get it back.
"You're bleeding," Tara observed.
"Sorry." I continued honing the knife. The damned thing was beautiful—like a woman.
"You'd better calm down, Wester."
"I'm calm."
"No you're not—your mind is very tense. Please try to relax. We'll be out of here shortly."
"Out of here…right. Where shall we go?"
"Anyplace on the other side of the galaxy would be an improvement. I can set the nav function for anywhere."
I held up the knife to examine the edge. There was blood on the blade. "I'll tell you exactly where we're going," I said.
A harsh buzzing. A light popped to life on an overhead control panel, flashing on and off. The buzzing continued.
"Now what?" I put the knife down again.
"There's no way of knowing," Tara said calmly.
"Wonderful," I said. "That's just great! We're getting set to do a blind star hop on an alien ship, with no idea what we're doing, and now something else is wrong. That's just terrific!" I stood up. Something snapped past the viewport, outside. I froze.
"Calm down, Wester. Please! I'm starting to worry about you."
I reached for an E and picked it up.
"What are you doing, Wester?"
"There's something out there!"
"What?"
"There's something out there!" I strained to see out the viewport—nothing. Only the stars, and the dead world we were orbiting.
"What do you mean?" Tara watched me warily.
"Something flashed past the viewport, Tara. I'm not imagining it. Something small and dark—and fast."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure!"
"What did it look like?"
"I don't know! It was too fast!"
Gildron was with us now, picking up his E. Willard was awake and not happy about it.
"Tess!" Tara commanded her Persist. "Scan near and far space. What's out there?"
"No life detected. The exterior configuration of the ship has recently changed."
"What? Show us the change." I picked up my tacmod. The changes were highlighted—five little protrusions, scattered randomly on the hull.
"Analysis, Tess."
"First object examined is ninety-seven percent iridium mixed with silver, rhodium, palladium, gold, traces of other metals. Objects are bonded to the ship. Origin unknown. Further information required."
"What does that mean?" I asked.