“Excuse me,” Ludendorff called.

  The first mate stopped and turned around.

  Ludendorff liked the freckles sprinkled around her nose and her pouty lower lip. It would be perfect for kissing, for nibbling. That would likely surprise her indeed, how playful and passionate he could be at the same time.

  “Sir,” she said. “It’s just a little further. You can rest when—”

  “Rest?” Ludendorff asked, interrupting her. “Do you think I’m tired?” He slapped his chest. “I’m fitter than any man on this ship. Here,” he said, approaching closer. “Feel that.” He flexed his right biceps.

  The first mate stepped back with confusion on her face.

  “Now, now, you’ll be surprised,” Ludendorff said, stepping closer yet as he continued to flex his right arm.

  Gingerly, the first mate reached out and pressed an index finger against the cloth around his flexed biceps. She looked up sharply into his eyes.

  “Bigger and more solid than you expected, eh?” asked Ludendorff.

  She nodded.

  “I’m a Methuselah Man. I’ve lived several lifetimes and yet have maintained the vigor of youth. It’s surprising the things I can do.” He said that as he suggestively arched an eyebrow.

  She frowned at him.

  “I’m the whole package, my dear: brains, balls, muscles, experience—you’d be surprised the experiences one could achieve with me.”

  “Did you just say balls?” Andros asked in amazement from behind.

  The first mate giggled at that.

  Instead of turning in anger toward Andros, Ludendorff realized this was a perfect opportunity. He had the girl laughing already. Yes. She was becoming more interested in him by the moment.

  “I meant a willingness to do, to engage with zest,” Ludendorff said, staring at the first mate as he spoke.

  She actually blushed.

  This is going to work, Ludendorff realized. He moved to her, patting her on the shoulder. “Where’s your skipper? Before we have a drink later, I need to save her life.”

  “A drink?” the first mate asked, sounding bemused.

  Ludendorff winked at her. “It will be my treat. But come now, show me Commander Noonan. I’m here to save her life as quickly as possible. I don’t know if anyone has told you, but Fusion warships are on the way. Before I face them, I need to get your commander back on her feet.”

  “Oh,” the first mate said. “This way, sir.”

  “Call me professor, please.”

  “Professor,” she said. “If you’ll follow me.”

  ***

  Ludendorff stood beside the med cot where Valerie lay. The lieutenant commander had the same type of cerebrater that Maddox had once worn on and in his forehead. This was a confounded mess.

  “That doesn’t look good,” Andros said.

  “Hush,” Ludendorff said. “Don’t make them nervous.”

  The “them” was the First Mate, Vicky Trenwithe, and the chief medical officer, a lean woman called Nurse Practitioner Laura Stansky.

  “Nothing’s worked to revive her,” Nurse Stansky said.

  “Of course not,” Ludendorff said. “The cerebrater has rendered the commander unconscious. Any attempt at its removal brought awful results.”

  “A heart attack,” Stansky said.

  “As should have been expected,” Ludendorff said.

  “Can you really save her?” Vicky asked.

  Ludendorff looked up with a suave smile. “For you, my dear, I shall attempt it.”

  “How can you, Professor?” Andros asked.

  “An excellent question,” Ludendorff said in an important tone. “Luckily, I have built a device for just such a situation as this.”

  He opened a black bag and took out a small motherboard, one holding a hot wire that he’d welded with a sonic device. The motherboard had a tiny screen on it, some dials and odd feathery protrusions connected to a micro-generator.

  He held this board over Valerie’s forehead and began to adjust the dials. The generator whirred into life. The device beeped, beeped again and then made a dull warning tone.

  Valerie groaned, shifting in her sleep.

  “What are you doing to her?” Nurse Stansky demanded.

  “Hush,” Ludendorff said. “This is delicate work. I can’t do it if you shout and rail at me.”

  “You’re killing her,” Stansky said, as Valerie moaned dreadfully, arching upward.

  Ludendorff looked up. “The commander is as good as dead if she remains in this condition. My way, she has a chance at life.”

  “Or she might come out of it naturally,” Stansky suggested.

  “That is highly unlikely,” Ludendorff said. “The cerebrater—” He pointed at the device partly melded into her forehead. “How would that come out naturally?”

  “I don’t know,” Stansky admitted. “No one knows.”

  “Wrong,” Ludendorff said, “as I have an idea. Are you going let me try it?”

  “And if it kills her?” Stansky asked.

  Ludendorff studied the nurse practitioner, noting her stubborn cast and that she leaned forward on the balls of her feet as if ready to fight him. It might be better to persuade her than simply force her to concede to his superior credentials.

  “I didn’t want to say this,” Ludendorff said urgently, “but the lieutenant commander will die soon anyway, as four Fusion battlewagons are on their way here. Once they arrive, the Kit Carson will have to use its star-drive jump if the rest of the crew is to survive.”

  “Moving the scout like that will probably kill her,” Stansky said, “as it will break the connection with the satellite. That will cause the…”

  “Cerebrater,” Ludendorff said.

  Stansky nodded. “It will cause the cerebrater to detonate.”

  “You’ve just made my point for me,” Ludendorff said.

  Stansky shook her head. “I-I don’t know what to say. I can’t give you my permission, as your way won’t work either. Oh, this is dreadful.”

  “Then I’m relieving you of the responsibility,” Ludendorff said gruffly. “I’m now doing this on my authority.” He turned back to Valerie, resuming operations with his specially made motherboard.

  -41-

  Several light-years away from the Kit Carson and Victory, Grutch the Morag moaned in agony as he soaked deep in the slimy mud of his special bath chamber.

  He’d taken severe damage from the holoimage’s attack and was even now shifting the inner-burned fleshy mass to the outer surface and the mud there, using the cooling substance to soothe and heal the intense damage to his gelatinous elements.

  If he hadn’t teleported away when he had, the diabolical assault might have slain him. The outrage of it all caused Grutch to seethe with thoughts of vengeance and retribution. He would capture the holoimage and discover means of causing it pain and more pain. He would also torment Captain Maddox, who must have commissioned the hideous assault upon him. He could tear several limbs from Maddox before handing him over for the tellurium bars. His sponsors might not approve, but that was too bad.

  Grutch had his pride, his honor and dignity to consider. He was a superior being. Galyan and Maddox were lesser, inferior and of substandard worth. He increased their limited worth simply by interacting with them. Morags—

  “I will destroy you, Galyan. I will find what you love most, Maddox, and take it from you. You will rue the day tampering with me like this.”

  Grutch would have sobbed if that were the Morag way. Instead, he plotted vengeance and worked to cool his agony. Up until now, he’d been playing with these stupid beings. Now, he would move with cunning and great intelligence. He would insure his ultimate success in each part of the endeavor.

  Thus, from deep in the mud, tentacles appeared and pulled levers, injecting the mud bath with healing particles and salts.

  Grutch knew relief from the burns, and he accelerated the rotation of his gelatinous mass so more of his bulk could sustain the healing power of the curative ingredients and salts.

  How dare Galyan enter his craft? It implied equality with him.

  As the burns dissipated and as his incredibly restorative powers brought Grutch back to normal strength, he inflated himself, bobbing to the top of the mud bath. He drew himself onto the metal landing, depressing a switch so hot winds blew over him.

  Mud slid off his mass, plopping back into the slime pool. And his gelatinous bulk took on a healthier pinkish-gray tone.

  He rolled into his control chamber, tentacles appearing and eyestalks growing. With cautious trepidation, he used passive sensors to study his new surroundings.

  Ah. This was interesting. He saw a small satellite drifting innocuously toward his stealth ship. It was the same sort of satellite that had arrived at Victory and tele-merged the cerebrater onto and into the captain’s forehead.

  Grutch became curious. Did the satellite drift to him by chance, or was this a deliberate thing? If deliberate, the satellite must sense his stealth ship. That should have been impossible.

  Grutch began to run tests on the drifting satellite. In seconds, he discovered it did not drift as such, but moved with a subtle and hard-to-detect drive. That meant its heading was deliberate. The satellite sensed his craft and—

  I think it senses me.

  The next few minutes proved stunning and revealing to Grutch.

  The satellite drifted to the stealth ship, used barely detectable sensors to scan Grutch’s vessel and then applied a ray directly at him. Incredibly, a cerebrater teleported onto his gelatinous mass and attempted to render him unconscious and fill him with pre-recorded dreams.

  For Grutch, this did not prove to be a problem. He shifted his mass, and used a tentacle to pluck the cerebrater from him.

  Other tentacles, guided by the sight of different eyestalks, ran sensor evaluations on the cerebrater as the outside satellite powered it and—Grutch detected a pulse message beamed from the satellite to the cerebrater.

  With consummate skill, Grutch analyzed the contents, direction and implications of the pulse message. He also sensed some of the dream memories from the cerebrater: this one of a battlewagon commander from New Trotsky.

  Given the prerecorded memories, the satellite, the technology, the cunning, the teleportation power, Grutch began an analysis. What kind of creatures could do all this, and why would they bother? Grutch, along with all Morags, had a central tenet: all beings did a thing for a self-gratifying reason. What kind of alien life would seed the nebula with these satellites? What would the alien life form gain from doing this?

  I will find out soon, and I will incorporate that into my greater purpose.

  -42-

  Captain Maddox strode along the corridors of Victory as he debated tactical ideas with himself.

  They’d followed the radiation trail. A star system was nearby, possibly four or five more light-years from their present location. It would appear that the battlewagons headed along the radiation trail to the nearby star system. Could it be Remus?

  Maddox shook his head. He didn’t know. The Fusion battlewagons had dropped out of their special FTL nebula drive to confront them earlier. It seemed reasonable to think they would do so again. This time, however, the battlewagons might come in hot, with their laser emitters ready to fire.

  What about Grutch?

  “No,” Maddox said. “Grutch is out of it for a time, I think.”

  Maddox hoped he was correct about that. This was a strange nebula and they were far from home, far from any help. Four battlewagons with collapsium armor might defeat them, as the gases here were too thick for proper shield-usage.

  Maddox pivoted. He knew what he needed to do. Leaving here would be best. But he couldn’t do that while the satellite in front of the Kit Carson kept it immobile or Valerie Noonan would die.

  The tactical solution struck him as obvious. Implementing it would be the key now, getting everything ready before the Fusion battlewagons arrived.

  ***

  Professor Ludendorff continued to work with a prone and unconscious Valerie Noonan.

  Andros and the Kit Carson’s first mate had departed, leaving for Victory. From what Ludendorff knew, everyone from the scout had left except for Nurse Practitioner Stansky.

  “I cannot leave my patient,” Stansky had said. She now sat in a corner, watching the proceedings with a wary eye.

  Ludendorff used the sleeve of his left arm to wipe perspiration from his forehead. This was proving trickier than he’d expected. The cerebrater was a dammed vile instrument, ready to scramble Noonan’s brains. How had Maddox ever gotten this thing off himself anyway?

  Don’t worry about that, Ludendorff told himself. Save the woman.

  He adjusted the dials, lessening the power and trying this from a different angle, as it were. He eased the cerebrater’s memory filter, blocking its emitters, stopping it from sending any more signals into Valerie’s mind. Ah, good, that was working. Now, if he could reroute the power signatures—yes!

  Ludendorff wiped his forehead again and licked his lips, tasking salt. It was too bad the pretty first mate wasn’t here to see his excellence. Saving lives usually made the girls hot for the lifesaver.

  Ludendorff grinned.

  “Is it working?” Stansky asked.

  “Eh?” asked Ludendorff.

  “You’re grinning. That means it must be working, right?”

  “Leave me alone, will you? I’m concentrating.”

  Stansky gave him a worried glance, but she shut the heck up.

  Ludendorff blew sweat off his lips, scowled thunderously and attempted a new idea. He merged the power and angle of the—

  On the med-cot, Valerie began to twitch, and the cerebrater started making loud ticking noises.

  “Damnit,” Ludendorff shouted. “Get out of here. The thing is going to explode.”

  “Get it off her,” Stansky shouted, as she stood.

  “It’s not that easy. Her flesh—her flesh!” roared Ludendorff with sudden understanding. “Why didn’t I see it sooner? Do you have any plasti-flesh available?”

  “In the other room,” Stansky said.

  “Hurry,” Ludendorff snapped. “Get it.”

  Stansky raced out of the room.

  Ludendorff leaned low to a moaning and unconscious Valerie. “This might hurt, my dear. But it could also save your life. Wish me luck.”

  Stansky raced back into the room with a tubular instrument.

  “Is it charged?” Ludendorff shouted.

  “Fully charged,” Stansky shouted.

  “Do exactly as I tell you.”

  Stansky nodded emphatically as she came around the med cot on the other side.

  Ludendorff explained low under his breath as he continued to adjust his special board. The cerebrater ticked louder.

  “Apply,” Ludendorff said. He aimed the board at Valerie’s head and reached out with his right hand, grasping the cerebrater. He began to pull, drawing the thing from the patient’s forehead.

  At the same time, Nurse Practitioner Stansky put the end of the tubular instrument against Valerie’s forehead. She pressed a button, and plasti-flesh oozed from the device’s nozzle, filling the vacated forehead space of the lifting cerebrater.

  It was a crude job, and it might well leave a permanent scar on Valerie’s forehead. They needed a skilled surgeon for this, but they didn’t have one.

  Ludendorff pulled harder, using his left hand to turn a dial on the board. He saw a wire slip out of the lieutenant commander’s brain and into the cerebrater. Whoever had made this instrument was a bastard of the first order.

  More plasti-flesh oozed into the growing cavity on the forehead.

  “Fiendish, the cerebrater is a fiendish device,” Ludendorff snarled. He could feel the cerebrater ticking. It might detonate at any second and take his precious right hand with it. He hated this, hated it will all this heart.

  “Now!” Ludendorff roared. He pulled the cerebrater free of the forehead and hurled it underhanded.

  It detonated against a bulkhead.

  Ludendorff threw himself in front of a prone Valerie, shielding her, and he grunted as a piece of metallic shrapnel stabbed into his back. He crumpled onto his knees.

  Stansky used the rest of the plasti-flesh in the tubular instrument, applying it to Valerie’s forehead.

  At the same moment, a klaxon began to ring throughout the Kit Carson.

  “Professor,” Galyan said, appearing in the room. “You must hurry. Keith has come in the fold-fighter to pick you up.”

  “I’m hit, you fool,” Ludendorff said.

  Galyan drifted around. “Yes. I see. Can you stand?”

  “I’m probably permanently crippled,” Ludendorff complained.

  “What’s happening?” a dazed Valerie asked from on the cot.

  “Get her to the fold-fighter,” Galyan told Stansky. “I’ll deal with the professor.”

  Stansky glanced at the kneeling Ludendorff. Then, she helped Valerie off the cot and to her feet. Together, the two women staggered out of the chamber and down the corridor.

  “Professor,” Galyan said. “You must stand on your own strength. The Fusion battlewagons have dropped out of nebula-drive FTL. They are targeting the Kit Carson.”

  “No good deed goes unpunished,” Ludendorff muttered.

  “Wrong, Professor. Get angry and follow me. You can do it.”

  Ludendorff groaned in pain as he attempted to stand. It wasn’t working. So, he grabbed hold of the medical cot and by main strength hauled himself to his feet, panting from the exertion.

  “Excellent work, sir,” Galyan said. “I believe you can walk. You must hurry to the airlock and join Keith before the Fusion lasers destroy the Kit Carson.”

  “What a horrible way to end my valiant and superbly meaningful life,” Ludendorff complained.

  “Captain Maddox could do this if he were injured as you are,” Galyan said.