A trumpet note sounded through Lenin. “Ship’s company, at ease,” the Chief Boatswain ordered quietly.
“Eternal rest grant them, O Lord,” Hardy intoned.
“And let light perpetual shine upon them,” Alexis answered. Every verse and response was familiar to anyone who had been in the Navy long enough to be part of Lenin’s crew.
“I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord. Whosoever believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.”
The service went on, with the spacers responding from their duty stations, a low murmur through the ship.
“I heard a voice from Heaven saying unto me, Write. From henceforth blessed are the dead who die in the Lord: even so saith the Spirit; for they rest from their labors.”
Rest, Rod thought. There’s that, anyway, rest for the kids. He shivered. I’ve seen plenty of ships lost, and plenty of men under my command have bought it a hundred parsecs from home. Why is this one getting to me? He took a deep breath but the tightness in his chest remained unchanged.
Lights dimmed throughout Lenin, and the recorded voices of the Imperial Navy choir chanted a hymn in which the crewmen joined. “Day of wrath, and doom impending, David’s words with Sybil’s blending: Heavens and worlds in ashes ending…”
Sybil? Rod thought. God, that must be ancient. The hymn went on and on, ending in a burst of male voices.
Do I believe any of this? Rod wondered. Hardy does, look at his face. And Kelley, ready to launch his comrades out the torpedo tubes. Why can’t I believe as they do? But I do, don’t I? I always thought I did, there’s got to be some purpose in this universe. Look at Bury. This isn’t even his religion, but it’s getting to him. Wonder what he’s thinking?
Horace Bury stared intently at the torpedo tubes. Four bodies and a head! The head of a Marine the Brownies had used for a Trojan horse. Bury had seen it only once, spinning through space in a cloud of fog and shattered glass and kicking, thrashing, dying Brownies. He remembered a square jaw, a wide, slack mouth, glittering dead eyes. Allah be merciful to them, and may His legions descend on the Mote…
Sally’s taking it better than I am, Rod thought, and she’s a civilian. We both liked those boys… Why don’t I worry about the others? Five Marines killed getting the civilians out. It wouldn’t be so bad if the middies had been killed in action. I expected losses when I sent the rescue party in with the cutter. I wasn’t sure the kids would ever get out of Mac at all. But they did, they were safe!
“Unto Almighty God we commend the souls of our brothers departed, and we commit their bodies to the deeps of space; in sure and certain hope of the resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the worlds, the seas shall yield their dead, and the deeps give forth their burdens…”
Kelley pressed the keys and there was a soft whoosh, another—three, four, five. Only four bodies and a head recovered out of twenty-seven dead and missing.
“Ship’s Company, atten-shut!”
“Shoot!”
And what will the Moties make of that? Rod wondered. Three broadsides fired off into space at nothing—except the third, which would vaporize the bodies launched a moment ago. The Admiral had insisted, and no one had argued.
Contralto trumpet notes died away as Lenin’s trumpeter and MacArthur’s ended taps in duet. The ship was still for a moment.
“Ship’s company, dismissed!”
The officers moved silently away from the torpedo room. Lights brightened in the corridors and men hurried back to their action stations or their crowded rest areas. Navy routine continues, Rod thought. Funeral services are part of the Book too. There is a regulation for everything: birth aboard ship, registration of; burial, with or without bodies; and one for captains who lose their ships. The Book demands a court-martial for that one.
“Rod. Wait a minute, Rod. Please.”
He stopped at Sally’s call. They stood in the corridor while the other officers and crew split around them. Rod wanted to join them, to get back to the solitude of his cabin where no one would ask him what happened aboard MacArthur. Yet here was Sally, and something way inside wanted to talk to her, or just be close to her—
“Rod, Dr. Horvath says the Moties have sent ambassadors to meet us at the Crazy Eddie point, but Admiral Kutuzov won’t let them aboard! Is that right?”
Damn! he thought. Moties again, Moties— “It’s right.” He turned away.
“Rod, wait! We’ve got to do something! Rod, where are you going?” She stared at his back as he walked rapidly away. Now what did I do? she wondered.
Blaine’s door was closed but the telltale showed that it wasn’t locked. Kevin Renner hesitated, then knocked. Nothing happened. He waited a moment, then knocked again.
“Come in.”
Renner opened the door. It seemed strange to walk directly into Blaine’s cabin: no Marine sentry on duty, none of the mysterious aura of command that surrounds a captain. “Hi, Captain. Mind if I join you?”
“No. Can I get you anything?” Blaine clearly didn’t care one way or another. He didn’t look at Renner, and Kevin wondered what would happen if he took the polite offer seriously. He could ask for a drink…
No. Not time to push. Not just yet. Renner took a seat and looked around.
Blaine’s cabin was big. It would have been a tower room if Lenin had been designed with a tower. There were only four men and one woman who rated cabins to themselves, and Blaine wasn’t using the precious room; he looked to have been sitting in that chair for hours, probably ever since the funeral services. Certainly he hadn’t changed. He’d had to borrow one of Mikhailov’s dress uniforms and it didn’t fit at all.
They sat silently, with Blaine staring into some internal space-time that excluded his visitor.
“I’ve been going over Buckman’s work,” Renner said at random. He had to start somewhere, and it probably shouldn’t be with Moties.
“Oh? How goes it?” Blaine asked politely.
“Way over my head. He says he can prove there’s a protostar forming in the Coal Sack. In a thousand years it’ll be shining by its own light. Well, he can’t prove it to me, because I don’t have the math.”
“Um.”
“How are you making out?” Renner showed no indication of leaving. “Enjoying your vacation from duties?”
Blaine finally lifted haunted eyes. “Kevin, why did the kids try to do a reentry?”
“God’s eyes, Captain, that’s plain silly. They wouldn’t have tried anything of the kind.” Jesus, he’s not even thinking straight. This is going to be tougher than I thought.
“Then you tell me what happened.”
Renner looked puzzled, but obviously Blaine meant it. “Captain, the ship was lousy with Brownies—everywhere nobody was looking. They must have got to the lifeboat storage area pretty early. If you were a Motie, how would you redesign an escape craft?”
“Superbly.” Blaine actually smiled. “Even a dead man couldn’t pass up a straight line like that.”
“You had me wondering.” Renner grinned, then turned serious. “No, what I mean is, they’d redesign for every new situation. In deep space the boat would decelerate and scream for rescue. Near a gas giant it would orbit. Always automatic, mind, because the passengers could be hurt or unconscious. Near a habitable world the boat would reenter.”