The Kruton Interface by John Dechancie Page A

worry, about it, sir.”
    “Good, good.” Wanker stepped up onto the bounce pad. “You’re absolutely sure now?”
    “Absolutely sure, sir. Like I said, we’re smack in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing around but vacuum for light-years.”
    “Fine.” Wanker reached for the tube controls.
    “Except for that black hole.”
    Wanker froze. His head moved slightly. “Black hole?”
    “Well, there’s a singularity marked on the map.”
    Wanker strode to the navigator’s station. “Lieutenant, you said nothing about a black hole.”
    “Well, sir, it’s only marked as a first-class singularity on the map. That covers black holes, cosmic string fragments, and dark-matter vortices. I guess it’s never been investigated, sir, so it just got a general classification.”
    “Where, Lieutenant, where?”
    “Here, sir. That little squiggle.”
    That’s a Greek omega. Does that mean a singularity?”
    “Greek omega! That’s right, sir. Boy, you’re smart. Yes, sir, that’s the symbol for a singularity.”  
    “How far away?”
    “Oh, a light-year. No, maybe half. Wait a minute.” Warner-Hillary punched some buttons and numbers appeared on the screen. “Right, half.”
    Wanker straightened up. “At our present speed it might as well be on the other side of the galaxy. You had me worried for a minute.”
    Rhodes had come over and was studying the screen. “When they test the drive, we could get a lot closer.”
    “We won’t be driving,” Walker said, walking away. “It’s their worry. Actually, I get a wonderfully comforting feeling at the thought of being swallowed up by a singularity. A warm, cozy feeling. Getting all runny inside. Think I’ll go see the doctor again.”
    Wanker mounted the blow tube bounce pad again and put a hand on the SUCK control. He hesitated. “You know, I don’t quite fancy going to the infirmary. Think I’ll mosey down to the engine room and see what Strangefinger is up to.” He nodded. “Yup, think I’ll do that. But maybe later. First I have a date with a rusty butter knife.”
    “Hope everything comes out all right, sir,” Sven called.
    “Well, thank you, Mr. Svensen. I—” Wanker’s smile faded, and he regarded Svensen strangely.
    The young ensign’s face was completely bereft of guile.
    “Something wrong, Captain Wanker?” Wanker shook his head. He hit SUCK.  
    Svensen’s sly grin bloomed the moment the captain was gone,
     
     

 
     
    CHAPTER 11
     
     
    The Lord High Judge of Tortfeasors’ Court of the Supreme Judiciary of Kruton crouched in his chambers. Today he had spun a web and was waiting for unsuspecting prey to flit into his lair.
    His communication device burbled.
    “Chief Operative Shlurff of Intelligence to see you, Your Lordship.”
    The Lord High Judge cackled, then said, “Have the chief operative come in.”
    The door to His Lordship’s chambers retracted, and in rolled a huge ball of fur and claws and talons and tentacles. (Really, the sight would have been horrific beyond endurance to even the most phlegmatic human being.)
    The awful thing that was the chief operative rolled into the web and was immediately ensnared. The arms and tentacles and other appendages flailed wildly.
    “What’s this? Help me, help me! I’ll sue, I’ll sue!”
    “Oh, you’re no fun today,” the Lord High Judge jeered. “Very well.”
    The web collapsed, freeing the chief operative.
    The Lord High Judge came out of hiding and flexed his fifteen hairy legs.
    “Shall we revert to something innocuous?” the chief operative suggested.
    “As you wish,” the Judge assented.
    Both beings flowed and transformed. The end result was two creatures that resembled jellyfish with tufts of green hair on top.
    “You sent for me?” the chief operative asked.
    “Yes. I want a complete report of our covert operation.”
    “Which one?”
    “The one concerning the humans.”
    “There are several.”
    “The one targeting the Interface.”
    “Oh, yes. That