The Kruton Interface by John Dechancie Page B

spaceworthy?” Wanker wanted to know.
    “In a manner of speaking, sir, yes.”
    “In a manner of speaking?”
    “Sir, she’ll boost to interplanetary speeds easy enough and she’ll hold together. At least I think she will. Shell have no problem going quantum, either, sir, as long as you don’t push her.”
    “What would be our top speed in quantum drive?”
    “Q-Level Two.”
    “Two? But that’s barely a crawl.”  
    “Sir, personally I wouldn’t chance anything higher.”
    Wanker grunted. “Very well.”  
    “Sir, the Repulse is long overdue for a major, major overhaul. In fact, I hate to say this—”
    “Then don’t. I have to skipper this bucket of bolts.”
    “You have my sympathy, sir. By the way, nice use of space lingo, there. ‘I have to skipper this bucket of bolts.’ Nifty.”
    “Stuff it. Wanker out.”
    When the engineer’s face had gone from the screen he said, “I hate that ‘she’ business. ‘She’ll have no problem going quantum if you don’t push her.’ Give me a freaking break.”
     
    * * *
     
    The graving dock crew finished up repairs, such as they were, the next day.
    “Take it out, Mr. Rhodes,” Wanker ordered.
    “Me, sir? Don’t you want the honor of taking the ship out of orbit?”
    Wanker made a rude noise with his lips. “Spare me the honor. Boost the ship out of orbit and make tracks for the Kruton Interface. That is, if Ms. Warner-Whatshername can find the bloody thing.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And under no circumstances is this ship to attain a transluminal velocity over Q-Level Two.”  
    “Yes, sir. Any further orders, sir?”  
    “Yes. Leave me alone.”
    “Sir, are you aware that Dr. Strangefinger and his crew are going to begin their alterations as soon as we get under way?”
    “Yes. I don’t understand it. How are they going to do that with the ship under power?”
    “Well, they say they’ll do most of their crucial work when we power down, once we get to Sector Four.”
    “Still crazy.”
    “Yes, sir. Dr. Strangefinger’s a strange man. But he has the government and most of the brass behind him.’’
    “Sad, but true,” Wanker said. “I’ve been reading about him in Midnight People. What the hell’s Marxism?’’
    “Sir, I don’t know. I do know that Dr. Strangefinger is considered by the intellectuals to be some kind of artist as well as a scientist.”
    “Right,” Wanker confirmed. “Says here he’s a ‘neo-dada existential agit-prop performance artist.’ What the devil is that?”
    “Can’t tell you, sir.”
    “Seems to me they’re just a bunch of artsy-fartsy types who run around dressing up and using personality brainware. ‘Wireheads’ is the street term.”
    “Yup. Heard of them, sir.”
    “But what I can’t understand is this fascination for the twentieth century.”
    “Oh, it’s all the rage, sir. Twentieth-Century Revival is the latest fad in art, literature, science, and that stuff.”
    “How can you have fads in science? I thought science is above that. What the devil could ‘post-ultramod’ physics be about?”
    “Beats the hell out of me, sir.”
    Wanker collapsed the screen window holding the magazine text. “Don’t know why I waste my time reading that rag.”
    “It’s one of the oldest newsfiles in existence, sir. A respected intellectual journal.”
    “Can’t hold a candle to The Enquiring New Yorker. Never mind. I gave you orders, Mr. Rhodes. Carry them out.”
    “Aye-aye, Skipper!”  
    “Skipper of what?”
     
    * * *
     
    Over the next several days things were quiet in the ship. If Dr. Strangefinger’s staff was busy at work making alterations to the ship’s propulsion system, no one noticed them much.
    The crew did notice the strange sounds coming out of Dr. Strangefinger’s tiny cabin. Darvona spent most of her off-duty hours there, but she was enigmatic about it.
    “Oh, we’re just having fun. Ever hear of a ‘happening’?”
    Sven shook his head.
    “Neither did I. It’s