HOLT
Shortly before Angus Thermopyle and Milos
Taverner left UMCPHQ aboard Trumpet, Holt
Fasner visited his mother.
He did this despite the fact that the old harridan had
been in a foul temper for decades.
The medical advances which had kept him nearly
healthy, relatively strong, almost in his prime, for a hun-
dred fifty years had come too late to be comparably effec-
tive for her. In fact, they would have failed her thirty
years ago, if he hadn't insisted on plugging her into
machines which first pumped blood, then digested food,
and eventually breathed for her. She was technically still
alive, of course; but now she was only the husk of a
woman. Her skin was the blotchy color of rotting linen;
she could hardly move her hands; she hadn't lifted her
head from its supports for at least ten years. She no longer
knew the difference when tubes brought her sustenance,
or carried away waste.
She retained her mind, however. Bitter as a vial of acid,
Norna Fasner continued to think long after her body lost
its last capacity to do anything.
That was why her son kept her alive. Many years ago
she'd given up asking him to let her die. She knew from
old, painful experience that he would put her off with a
bland chuckle and a vacuous remark: 'You know I can't
do without you, Mother. ' And shortly afterward she
would find yet another video screen installed in the room
which she considered her tomb.
She studied the screens, even though she hated them.
Their images were all she had to think about. If they
were switched off, her brain would almost surely go null;
and she didn't want that. She desired death, not uncon-
sciousness. If even one of her screens had gone blank,
she might have wept in frustration and grief. Every
image, every word, every passing implication was a hint
which might eventually enable her to believe that her
son would be destroyed. Without hints - without the
possibility that she would receive hints — all her years of
paralyzed, unliving existence would come to nothing.
Her son was the United Mining Companies CEO;
unquestionably the richest and beyond doubt the most
powerful man alive. From his corporate 'home office', his
station orbiting Earth half a million kilometers beyond
UMCPHQ, he ruled his vast empire: the largest, argu-
ably the most necessary enterprise in human history. His
employees were counted in millions: men and women
who lived or died by his decisions and policies, in
billions. Disguised by the UMC charter, and by the
public democracy of the Governing Council for Earth
and Space - which was nominally responsible for control-
ling men like him, corporations like his - he raised and
toppled governments, destroyed or enriched competi-
tors, caused potential futures to take on substance or fray
away like mist. Behind his back, people who feared him
sometimes referred to him as 'the Dragon' - and only
people who had no idea who he was didn't fear him.
He stood at the nexus of human dealings with for-
bidden space. All human access to that imponderable
source of wealth passed through his hands. And human-
ity's only defense against that imponderable threat
belonged to him.
The value of Holt Fasner's time couldn't be measured
in pure cesium. Nevertheless he visited his mother when-
ever an opportunity presented itself. He treasured her
advice too much to let her die.
Although he was sometimes hard pressed to interpret
it. Her wish for his ruin was so palpable that he had to
be extraordinarily careful in how he sifted her insights,
what valence he assigned to her pronouncements. As a
result, his encounters with her were a challenge which he
found profoundly stimulating.
In truth, he could almost certainly have afforded to let
her die any time during the past half-century. He liked
talking to his mother; he profited from her advice. But
he could have done without it. He kept Norna Fasner
alive precisely because she wished him ill with such steady
virulence; also because he took pleasure in her utter
helplessness; and finally because she kept him on his
toes. Otherwise he was inclined to forget that he was
mortal.
Men who forgot their mortality made mistakes. Holt
Fasner had paid blood — not always his own — for his
successes; and now that he had them, he didn't mean to
let them go glimmering in the name of a mistake.
So he visited his mother shortly before Trumpet's
departure. Risks were at work: small risks that might
metastasize at any moment. In themselves, Angus 
Thermopyle, Milos Taverner, Nick Succorso, and Morn
Hyland were nothing more than three men and a woman;
pawns of Holt's larger policies, his grander dreams. But
stirred together with Billingate and the Amnion, they
might conceivably produce something more volatile,
with a lasting impact, like a minor thermonuclear pile
which went critical and rendered all its environs uninhab-
itable for centuries.
The director of the United Mining Companies Police
was in charge, of course; Warden Dios himself. The risk
was of his choosing, not Holt's: the negative conse-
quences, if any, would be his to clean up. But Holt cher-
ished the well-being of the UMCP as he cherished the
health of the whole United Mining Companies. If he'd
believed the risks too great, he would have forbidden them.
He hadn't.
Nor had he dismissed the situation from his mind,
however. Instead of trying to second-guess Ward — who
had spent the better part of three decades proving himself
as the Dragon's strong right hand - Holt went to talk to
Norna.
The room where he kept her immured was hidden in
the obscure recesses of the home office, in a part of the
station where no one ventured except men and women
with extremely specialized authorizations. As usual when
her several doctors weren't examining her, the only
illumination in her high sterile sickchamber came from
the twenty or so video screens which nearly covered the
wall in front of her. That dimness was her choice: the
little strength left in her fingers was enough to tap but-
tons that would raise or lower the lights, adjust her pos-
ture, summon assistance - or even turn off the screens.
Holt allowed her that freedom because he trusted the use
she would make of it.
Stark and garish in the phosphor gleam, her face
looked like that of a mummy painted to appear ghastly
under UV lamps. Incessantly her thin lips and toothless
gums chewed food she hadn't tasted for decades. At inter-
vals she drooled unselfconsciously; a fretwork of wrinkles
spread the saliva into a sheen across her chin. She didn't
glance at her son as he entered: her eyes flicked restlessly
across the screens as if she could absorb and understand
them all simultaneously.
From them came a steady mutter of voices and
soundtracks, a muted and indistinguishable argument
interleaved with at least half a dozen kinds of music - a
noise like a rabble, uneasy and irate; but so blurred and
distant that it might have been the tectonic grumbling of
rocks, or the lost complaint of the sea. The sound alone
set Holt's teeth on edge: at times it seemed to muddle his
brain. It made him think there was something structurally
wrong with the home office itself.
He knew from experience, however, that Norna
absorbed and understood the voices as well as the images.
'Hello, Mother, ' he greeted her - artificially hearty, in
part as a matter of policy, in part because he had to do
something to counteract the effects of the noise. 'You're
looking well, better than ever. I do believe you'll be able
to get out of bed soon. I can certainly use your help
running the company. How are you feeling? What do
the doctors say?'
She met his blather with her usual disregard. The way
her eyes hunted the screens made him think of a chicken
trying to peck seeds out of stony soil.
He scanned the screens himself for a moment, but their
images offered him nothing. The typical collection: half
a dozen news broadcasts, all trying to reinterpret life for
their viewers, all reaching the same conclusions; three or
four sports programs showing acts of extreme violence
in varying degrees of simulation; four or five comedies
and satires which gave the impression that they all
repeated the same jokes over and over again; and half a
dozen romantic videos — 'Mother, really, at your age,
aren't you ashamed?' — reveling in the kind of mindless
and supernal lust which had apparently driven Morn
Hyland and Nick Succorso together on Com-Mine
Station. With such tripe masses of human beings were
tranquillized - until those rare occasions when they woke
up, saw what was really happening around them, mis-
understood it, and did their best to impose the stupidest
possible solution on the men who normally led them.
The Humanity Riots were a case in point. The rest of
the time, the world reflecting from the screens served its
purpose efficiently enough. But it had nothing to give
Holt himself.
For the umpteenth time, he wondered what it gave his
mother. Did she see in it something that he missed? Was
she simply hoping for news that some disaster had
befallen him? Or was she able to snatch a secret know-
ledge out of the gabble — knowledge which had somehow
eluded him, despite his vast resources?
The question added piquancy to his visits with her.
What could he have missed? Not much, obviously, since
he'd demonstrated his ability to profit - and profit hugely
- from those times when the human billions kicked over
the traces and demanded irrationality from their leaders.
He still chuckled internally when he thought of the
Humanity Riots. Imagine trying to face the threat of the
Amnion without genetic expertise to match their own!
And yet humankind's outbreak of revulsion against gen-
etic experimentation had effectively delivered Intertech
into his hands. Owning Intertech, in turn, had given him
control over first contact with the Amnion - and that
had led as inexorably as a syllogism to his present position
as the arbiter of fate for his whole species.
If any man in history could claim to have not missed
much, Holt Fasner was the one. Nevertheless he kept the
question - and his mother - alive to help him ensure that
he didn't start missing things now.
At one hundred fifty years of age, he was almost in his
prime, still close to his middle years physiologically. But
his cheeks were just a shade too ruddy. He had to blink
a bit too often to keep his eyes from filming over. At
times he couldn't hold his hands steady: at times his
prostate troubled him. His doctors had advised him
against any form of strenuous exercise because they didn't
know how long the tissues of his heart could last. Now
more than ever it was vital to make no mistakes.
'Mother, ' he went on with the same bland heartiness,
as if she hadn't refused to answer his polite inquiries -
as if she had, in fact, given him the answer he desired
most - 'I need your advice. In the past few days, I've had
a couple of troubling conversations with Godsen Frik.
'You remember him, don't you?' Holt knew perfectly
well that his mother never forgot anything. 'He's Ward's
director of Protocol. For some reason' - Holt showed
his teeth in a salesman's grin - 'he thinks he has the right
to go over Ward's head when he doesn't like Ward's
decisions or policies. Reprehensible conduct in a subordi-
nate, don't you think? Ward wouldn't tolerate it if he
didn't know that Godsen is a particular protege of mine.
In time - ten years or so - I think Godsen will be ready
to do his duty to all humankind by accepting the Presi-
dency of the GCES. But it is a problem, isn't it? For
Ward as Godsen's director. And for me, as Ward's friend,
ally, and mentor. After all, I want Ward' - Holt had a
malicious love for phrases like this one - 'to be happy in
his work. All human space depends on him. '
Certainly all human space depended on the UMCP.
No other force strong enough to interdict the Amnion
existed. And therefore Holt's unique position also
depended on the UMCP. If he hadn't owned the cops,
the GCES could have dismantled his empire long ago.
Listening hard, trying to filter out the insistent mutter
of the screens, he heard Norna's almost inaudible ques-
tion, chewed out by her bloodless lips and toothless
gums:
'What's the situation?'
Ah, Mother, you live for me, don't you. You don't
want to, but you do it anyway.
Holt went on smiling.
Ward has decided that it's time to do something about
one of the worst of the bootleg shipyards that serves
forbidden space by helping illegals - as well as by what
they used to call "fencing stolen goods". It's amazing
how many men want to get rich by aiding and abetting
our enemies. The Amnion want our resources - our raw
materials, our technologies, our genes. Pirates sell those
things.
'But piracy would be' - Holt pursed his mouth — 'inef-
fective without bootleg shipyards to build and repair
ships - and without dealers to transact business with the
Amnion. Ward would love a chance to blow them all to
dust.
The question is how. The particular shipyard he has
in mind this time just happens to be in forbidden space.
He. would lose his job if he committed an act of open
warfare against the Amnion. So he's planning a covert
strike.
'Do you remember that situation on Com-Mine, oh,
half a year ago? The one where it looked like Security
was in collusion with one pirate to frame another?' Of
course she did. The one that tipped the votes to pass the
Preempt Act?'
Holt had maneuvered hard to secure the passage of the
Preempt Act. It gave the UMCP jurisdiction over local
Security everywhere - thereby perfecting the UMCP's
hegemony by emasculating the only plausible alternative
to Holt's cops.
'Well, the illegal who got framed is called Angus
Thermopyle — one of the slimiest characters you would
ever want to meet. Ward reqqed him under the Act. Now
he's been welded and programmed, and he's being sent
against that shipyard. Today, I think. '
Right now, in fact.
'It's a complex issue. Please stop me if I'm boring you,
Mother. I had the distinct impression that Ward didn't
want to obey when I told him to set up that frame on
Com-Mine. Our Ward is still too much of an idealist. He
doesn't like to get involved in the practical side of politics.
I've actually heard him make speeches against
"descending to the level of our enemies". But he did it
because he could get something he wanted out of it -
which was this Angus Thermopyle. As far as I can tell,
he didn't actually want more authority for its own sake. '
As if to himself- but watching his mother closely - Holt
mused, 'I wish I knew how hard I would have had to
push him to make him follow orders if he hadn't wanted
Angus. '
If Norna said anything, he didn't hear it.
The point, however, ' Holt resumed, 'is that Ward did
follow orders. He is following orders. The next few days
should produce some interesting developments on the
fringes of forbidden space. '
Now Norna muttered something that sounded like,
Why does that bother Godsen?'
'Good question!' her son exclaimed jovially. 'As usual,
Mother, you've cut right to the heart of the matter. Why
does that bother a dedicated public servant like Godsen
Frik?
Well, of course, we wouldn't have been able to frame
this Angus Thermopyle if we hadn't had someone work-
ing for us inside Com-Mine Security. But it would be' —
Holt considered his choice of adjectives - 'unfortunate if
any local investigation uncovered the truth. We passed
the Preempt Act on the assumption that local Security
couldn't be trusted - that Com-Mine had a traitor work-
ing for forbidden space. If word got out that the traitor
was actually working for us - well, I could probably keep
station votes in line, but the rest of the Council would
go absolutely shit-faced.
'To protect against that eventuality, Ward reqqed our
traitor at the same time as Angus - a sadistic little bureau-
crat named Milos Taverner. All well and good, so far.
But here comes the part that upsets Godsen. Angus is a
cyborg now, programmed down to his toes. He can't
clean his teeth without permission from his datacore. But
he still needs a control — someone who can adjust his
programming to meet unforeseen circumstances. In
addition, he needs crew. And on top of that, he needs
cover. He needs an explanation for why he's free, how
he got out of lockup, where he got his ship. '
Holt paused for effect, then said, Ward has chosen
Milos to go with Angus. '
Norna chewed her silence. Traces of saliva leaked past
her lips instead of words. Her eyes flicked rapidly across
all her screens, but never toward her son.
'Am I making this clear enough for you, Mother?' Holt
asked in a tone of cheerful solicitude. We know Milos
has the soul of a traitor because he betrayed Com-Mine
Security for us. Ward says he won't turn against us
because we've got him by the short hairs. ' That was
another phrase Holt Fasner especially enjoyed. 'If he
reveals anything we don't want him to reveal - or does
anything we don't want him to do - he's cooked. But
Godsen has a different perspective. A more "public" per-
spective. If these activities become known, what are "the
people", "the great unwashed masses'" - such words
rolled almost gleefully off Holt's tongue - 'going to think
of sending out a known murderer and rapist under the
control of a known traitor? What are the votes on the
GCES going to think of Ward's belief that Milos won't
turn against us?
'And what are the chances, really, that Milos wont turn
against us? He can probably make a stellar fortune by
selling everything he knows about us - not to mention
about Angus, ' although Milos couldn't literally sell
Angus himself, since the programming which made
Angus loyal to the UMCP was unalterable.
'Our Godsen knows his duties. It's his job to become
hysterical and froth at the mouth in situations like this.
And it's his job to come to me.
'I haven't backed him up, however. I don't want him
to forget his place -I don't want him to think he has the
power to tell me what to do. And I don't want to under-
mine Ward. ' Not in a case like this, where the potential
benefits were large - a dramatic victory against forbidden
space and piracy, wonderful for the credibility of the
UMCP - and the likely risks were small. After all, if Milos
misbehaved Ward could always order Nick Succorso to
kill him. 'He has a talent for this kind of delicate manipu-
lation. And he's the best UMCP director I could ask for.
He may be the only man I know who might be able to
threaten me - if I didn't own him down to his soul. '
In fact, Holt would have feared Ward if he hadn't
gained a kind of absolute complicity from Ward by win-
ning Ward's acquiescence in the suppression of
Intertech's immunity drug.
A small voice whispered out of Norna's husk. 'But
you're still worried. '
'How right you are, Mother, ' Holt agreed. 'I'm still
worried. No matter how careful Ward is, he's still taking
a risk — and you know I don't like risks. That's the reason
I suppressed Intertech's antimutagen. It had at least the
theoretical potential to shift the balance of power across
human space. Any effective defense against the way the
Amnion impose mutation could conceivably undercut
Ward and the whole UMCP by making them appear
less vital, less necessary. That might have weakened my
position with the votes. '
He shrugged judiciously. 'Or not. Maybe none of
those things would have happened. But I didn't want to
take the chance. So I made sure that only Ward and
Hashi know the drug actually exists - and that only Hashi
can use it. To protect Data Acquisition's covert oper-
ations, don't you see?
'Now Ward's taking a risk of his own. Not without
consulting me, of course. His reasons for doing it are
pretty persuasive, ' if only because Angus Thermopyle
would have a chance to eliminate the problem of Morn
Hyland. She was a UMCP ensign with an unauthorized
zone implant and - presumably - knowledge of the
immunity drug; and if she ever left forbidden space to
tell what she knew, PR and the whole of the UMCP
would have a disaster of mega-proportions on their
hands. 'It's what you might call a surgical strike. ' Holt
licked his lips. 'Extirpate a melanoma before it spreads.
'So he's taking this particular risk with my blessing.
But I'm still worried about it. I think Ward is getting
himself in trouble. '
Norna's words were no more than a low growl against
the blurred mutter of the screens, but for some reason
Holt heard them as clearly as if her voice were the only
sound in the room.
'I think he's getting you in trouble. '
Holt chuckled automatically. 'Come now, Mother.
Don't be an alarmist. You'll get yourself all excited for
nothing. This is Warden Dios we're talking about. I made
him - he's my right hand. He can't use the san without
doing it to benefit me. '
He might have gone on; but his blather trailed away
as he saw Norna pointing a gnarled and tremulous finger
at one of the screens.
At first he couldn't tell which one. A romance? No, one
of the news broadcasts. Somewhere in the midst of the
intolerable babble a male face with an authoritative voice
and no mind was saying, '- this special bulletin. '
Special bulletin? What special bulletin? Nothing hap-
pened — nothing was allowed to happen - in human space
unless Holt Fasner knew about it first.
'A highly placed source in the office of the UMCP
director of Protocol on UMCPHQ Station has confirmed
that Angus Thermopyle has escaped. '
Without warning, a tingle ran down Holt's nearly
strong spine and tightened around his scrotum.
'Captain Thermopyle, ' said the male head as if he were
anything more than a ventriloquist's dummy, 'is an illegal
captured and convicted approximately six months ago on
Com-Mine Station, and later transferred to UMCPHQ
by the orders of Hashi Lebwohl, director of Data Acqui-
sition. No explanation has ever been released for Data
Acquisition's interest in Captain Thermopyle. However,
as this news team reported at the time, he is no ordinary
illegal. The circumstances of his arrest and conviction are
widely held to be the precipitating factor in the recent
passage of the so-called Preempt Act by the Governing
Council for Earth and Space. Apparently Captain
Thermopyle was assisted in his piracies by a traitor within
Com-Mine Station Security. Doubts about the integrity
of station Security across human space persuaded the
members of the GCES of the necessity of the Preempt
Act.
'That Captain Thermopyle was able to escape from
UMCPHQ itself is sufficiently disturbing. However, our
source in the office of the UMCP director of Protocol
has confirmed that the situation is worse than it appears.
'The difficulties revolve around a man who was at one
time the deputy chief of Com-Mine Station Security,
Milos Taverner. '
Oh, shit, thought Holt. Anxiety spread from his groin
up into his chest. His lungs hurt as if they were getting
old.
Like all dummies, the male head in the news broadcast
was implacable. 'Because he was responsible for the
interrogation of Captain Thermopyle on Com-Mine
Station, Deputy Chief Taverner was brought to
UMCPHQ along with Captain Thermopyle, again on
orders from the director of Data Acquisition. Ostensibly
Deputy Chief Taverner was reqqed by Data Acquisition
to continue his interrogation of Captain Thermopyle. He
was considered to have a unique and invaluable know-
ledge of the prisoner.
'Now, however, our source has confirmed that Deputy
Chief Taverner was brought to UMCPHQ, not because
of his specialized knowledge, but because he was thought
to be the traitor who had betrayed Com-Mine Station
Security. He was brought to UMCPHQ so that Data
Acquisition might learn the truth about him — and so
that the threat he represents would be neutralized.
'For reasons which are not clear at this time, Deputy
Chief Taverner was not adequately guarded. Now, it
appears, he has succeeded at breaking his former partner,
Captain Thermopyle, out of confinement. Together they
have stolen a ship and escaped UMCPHQ.
The implications of this apparent incompetence on the
part of the UMCP are vast and frightening for a species
already threatened with extinction by the Amnion - a
species protected only by the same men and women who
have just allowed a convicted pirate and his most danger-
ous accomplice to slip through their fingers. '
There was more: a recap of Captain Thermopyle's
arrest and conviction, and a summary of Deputy Chief
Taverner's record, followed by an exhaustive analysis of
events by a whole panel of self-appointed experts - geno-
phobes, libertarians, free-market crazies, native Earthers;
every political fringe group that wanted votes on the
GCES and didn't have them. Holt Fasner had stopped
listening, however. He was already on the intercom, sec-
uring a channel between the home office and UMCPHQ
- putting the fear of the Dragon into every technician and
secretary between his mother's sickchamber and Godsen
Frik.
His hands shook the entire time.
WARDEN
From his personal Command Operations Room in
UMCPHQ Center, Warden Dios watched Trum-
pet run out smoothly through Station control
space. Except for Min Donner, his Enforcement Division
director and occasional bodyguard, he was alone: he'd
sent everyone else away, even the communications techs
who were supposed to keep him in instant contact with
every department and activity of the United Mining
Companies Police. He hadn't locked the door, but he
had silenced all the CO Room pickups, monitors, and
logs.
Solitude was rare for the UMCP director. Silence was
even rarer. Being with Min may not have been the same
thing as being alone; but at least she didn't talk unless
she had something important to say.
So far Trumpet's departure was meticulous. The ship
hadn't filed any kind of destination report, and hadn't
been asked for one; but her blip on the screens showed
that she was following her assigned trajectory exactly: on
course at the correct speed; responding precisely to the
data and demands from the navigational buoys which
managed UMCPHQ's - and Earth's - heavy in-system
traffic.
Had Warden Dios expected anything else? Not really.
Trumpet had only two men aboard, and neither Angus
Thermopyle nor Milos Taverner was likely to begin
improvising so early. Angus was as perfectly welded as
Hashi Lebwohl could make him - and Hashi was a wiz-
ard of cybernetics. The idea that Angus would ever
diverge from his programming was almost inconceivable.
In any case, Milos would keep him in line.
And whatever actions Milos' uncertain loyalties might
inspire, they certainly wouldn't be of a kind to attract
attention - or doubt - this close to Earth and
UMCPHQ. He'd been too well trained, too thoroughly
threatened. In addition Warden had arranged to burn
Milos' bridges behind him. The news bulletin which Pro-
tocol had released through one of Godsen Frik's sub-
ordinates, announcing Angus' 'escape' and Milos'
'complicity", enforced Milos' cooperation. The former
deputy chief of Com-Mine Station Security might
eventually dare many things; but he wouldn't dare them
here.
The UMCP director had no reason to stay where he
was. He was a busy man. He should already have gone
on to other duties. Still he valued the silence and the near
solitude. Alone with Min Donner, he remained in the
privacy of his CO Room, watching Trumpet- and a piece
of his own fate - pass out of his control.
He believed the whole human species was at issue.
Otherwise he would not have been able to do what he
did.
He was a strong man, with a thick chest and powerful
arms. The lines of his face and jaw seemed hard enough
to have been cut from metal. And the patch glued over
the prosthesis of his left eye, like the crookedness of his
nose, only made him look stronger. But sometimes he
needed more than strength to stand the strain of his
oblique intentions. He needed to remind himself of the
consequences if he failed.
If he failed, Holt Fasner would win.
Warden Dios had done too much to help create the
Dragon's power: he couldn't turn his back on his res-
ponsibility now that he finally understood the danger of
what he and Holt together had made.
For a moment the out-going blip blurred slightly as
navigational transmission shifted from one buoy to the
next. In another hour, Trumpet would reach her assigned
gap range - considerably closer to Earth than other ships
were allowed, but well within the priority zone restricted
for the UMCP's use. Then she would be gone. And War-
den would have to live with the outcome.
Min adjusted her weight slightly; her fingers stroked
the butt of the handgun she carried everywhere. Warden
suspected that she wore her impact pistol to bed. Without
lifting her eyes from the screens, she asked quietly, 'Do
you really think this is going to work?'
He glanced over at her. The strictness of her mouth
never altered; her jet hair had been marked by exactly
those streaks of gray ever since she'd become his most
valued assistant. Her gaze was hot enough to scorch men
with less iron in their souls — or less scar tissue.
In an oddly impersonal way, he loved her. More per-
sonally, he respected her moral clarity, her loyalty to her
people in ED; her commitment to the law and power
which preserved the fragile integrity of human space.
Years ago those qualities used to swell his heart. Now
they made him grieve.
Because he was grieving, he was less cautious than he
should have been. 'I think, ' he replied, 'if it doesn't the
Dragon is going to force me to commit seppuku. '
That brought her around to face him. Her eyes burned
into his - the artificial orb behind its patch and the
human one. Her whole body blazed with infrared emis-
sions. Then why are you doing it?'
'Min-' No question about it: he should have been
more circumspect; should never have given her this open-
ing. She was already in enough danger, simply because
she was the Enforcement Division director - and honest.
What do you suppose my choices are?'
'You could send me, ' she said promptly, tightly. 'Or
you could let me put together a team. Instead of sending
out a cyborg and a traitor, not to mention sacrificing
Morn Hyland' - Min was not a woman who feared to
speak her mind - 'you could have let somebody you trust
try to do both jobs. Put Billingate out of business and
rescue Morn.
'It's suicide to leave her there, ' she pursued before he
could respond. The Amnion might get their hands on
her. And she doesn't deserve to be abandoned like that.
She doesn't deserve to just be put out of her misery along
with that shipyard. If you think Angus and Milos are too
chancy to rescue her' - Min's tone was acid; her body,
the color of mineral acid - 'if you think asking them to
pull her out is too complex, try something else. Let me
organize a team. Or go myself. '
Abruptly she stopped. Dios could see the flux of ten-
sion along her jaw as she bit down on the other things
she was tempted to say.
'Because, ' he replied falsely, hiding his sorrow, 'she
doesn't matter now. I don't care whether you understand
or not. And I don't care how much it hurts to let go of
her. Only Angus and Milos matter. Everything depends
on them. If I give them a reason to fail - if I make their
job too difficult by ordering them to rescue Morn - they
might as well not go at all. '
And if they fail us, we're doomed.
Min must have known that she couldn't conceal her
distress from him. Nevertheless she turned her head away
so that he couldn't see her eyes, her expression.
He was tempted to ask, Min, do you still trust me?
Are you going to back me up? But he knew she would
tell him the truth — for reasons which had nothing to do
with his ability to distinguish lies — so he allowed her to
keep her answers private. She had that right. Instead he
took his next step along the path of culpability and sacri-
fice that he'd chosen for himself.
There's something I want you to do for me, ' he told
her. 'It can't come from me, but it's got to be done. '
She waited without moving.
Stirling a sigh, Warden asked, 'Have we got any sup-
porters on the Governing Council — I mean, supporters
who are also opponents of the UMC? I should know the
answer, but I have a hard time forcing myself to think
about things like this. '
He read her puzzlement as she thought. After a
moment she inquired, 'Are you talking about a bloc of
votes? Or individual votes?'
'Individuals. Council members. '
She let out a breath like a small snort. Facing him
again, she said, 'Captain Vertigus. '
Warden Dios raised his eyebrows to convey the
impression that he was surprised. Captain Sixten Ver-
tigus, commander of the SMI probe ship Deep Star, was
the first human being who had ever seen an Amnioni.
'He must be all of ninety by now, ' Min went on,
'but he's still able to sit up straight while the rest of the
Council natters. By seniority, at any rate, he's the
senior member for the United Western Bloc, but he
doesn't wield any real power. According to the news
broadcasts, he makes periodic speeches denouncing
the Dragon's "quest for UMC hegemony". On the other
hand, he votes on our side whenever one of our issues
comes up.
What do you want him for?'
Warden held himself perfectly still, determined to give
the ED director no hint of his urgency. In a steady,
conversational tone, he answered, 'I want you to talk to
him for me. I want you to convince him to introduce
GCES legislation that will sever us from the UMC. We
need to be a separate entity, accountable only to the
Council itself- we need to be the human police, not just
the Dragon's private enforcement agency. I want him to
put a bill of severance in front of the GCES, and I want
him to do it now. ''
The colors shining from Min's form told Warden that
she'd been waiting a long time to hear him say something
like this.
'Get everything ready yourself, ' he continued. 'Lay it
all out for him. Convince him to put all of his personal
prestige, all of his experience, all of his passion behind
it. '
He knew Sixten Vertigus to be a man of considerable
passion. Otherwise he wouldn't have violated Holt Fas-
ner's direct orders by making personal contact with the
Amnion.
'And don't let him get bogged down by details. Write
the bill for him if you have to. The big thing he'll want
to know - what all the members will want to know - is
how we'll be financed. What kind of revenue source can
take the place of the UMC coffers. The answer is, tax
every company that does any kind of business in space.
Most of the money will still come from the UMC. But
if we're separately constituted, if we're an independent
branch of the government instead of an arm of the UMC,
we'll be able to function the way cops should.
'I want that bill in front of the GCES within forty-eight
hours. '
Before Holt learns what's happening on Thanatos
Minor.
Min's eyes shone like her aura. Facing him straight,
she said softly, The Dragon will never let you get away
with it. For one thing, he has the votes to stop you. And
when he finds out what you're up to, he'll consider it a
betrayal. He's still your boss. He has the corporate auth-
ority — as well as the personal clout — to fire you. '
Slowly the director of the UMCP smiled. That's why
the whole business is absolutely confidential. If Godsen
or even Hashi hears one word about this - if anybody
except you, me, and Captain Vertigus so much as smells
the truth - all of it, ' all of us, maybe all of humanity, 'will be wasted.
'In fact, it's essential to keep me out of it entirely. Even
Captain Vertigus can't know it's my idea. As far as he's
concerned, it comes from you. I want him to do it
because he believes in it, not because he thinks I'm trying
to outmaneuver Holt. '
Min nodded once, sharply. 'Director-' she began,
Warden -' But she had to think for a moment or two
before she said, 'I'm not going to ask you what this has
to do with sending Angus and Milos against Billingate.
But I am going to. ask you to watch your back. You could
get killed playing a game like this. '
'Min, Min' - Warden spread his hands in a gesture of
humorous helplessness - 'he's only a Dragon. He isn't
God. '
She wasn't amused. 'No, and you aren't either. I bet
you might even bleed if he cut your heart out. I bet —'
She might have gone on: she was charged with her
own passion, and had too few outlets for it. But she was
interrupted by a timid knock at the CO Room door.
The door slid open without permission. One of Cen-
ter's communications techs, looking pale and more than
a little apprehensive, ventured her head into the room.
'Director?'
Instinctively irritated, Warden wanted to snarl at her,
Don't be such a damn sheep. When was the last time I
murdered - not to mention demoted, or even repri-
manded - a communications tech for simply doing her
job?
He stifled the impulse, however. It was dangerous;
symptomatic of a tension he couldn't afford to betray.
Smiling to disguise his vexation, he waited for the tech
to explain herself.
'It's the PR director, ' she said, fumbling slightly.
'Godsen Frik. He's trying to get in touch with you. He
says it's urgent. I can route it to your intercom. ' She
nodded at the console in front of him.
Warden forced himself to continue smiling despite the
sting of anxiety in his veins. 'Thank you, technician. '
Damned if he was going to make the effort to remember
the woman's name at a time like this. 'Please tell Director
Frik that he just missed me. ' When the tech hesitated, he
added quietly, 'Dismissed. '
She pulled her face out of the doorway, and the door
closed itself.
Min Donner didn't say anything. That was a relief.
Maybe his love for her wasn't so impersonal after all. Or
maybe he was just grateful that she still trusted him
enough to let him arrange his own doom without hound-
ing him with questions.
She should have asked her questions. She had the right.
After all, she was his most valued assistant, his staunchest
supporter; occasionally his bodyguard; sometimes his
executioner. Unless he was very careful - and unless she
did everything he told her to do exactly the way he told
her to do it — his doom would almost certainly carry her
with it, for good or ill.
That danger was one reason he grieved.
One reason among many.
MILOS
Milos' scalp itched. In feet, his whole body
itched. He was dirty — too dirty. He abhorred
having this much grime ground into his hands
and shipsuit, this much oil on his face, this much old
sweat crusting in his crotch. Even as a kid, he'd been far
too fastidious to let himself get into a condition like this.
He felt like he'd had excrement rubbed all over him.
That made him angrier than he'd ever been in his life.
None of this was his fault, of course. Hadn't he played
straight with the United Mining Companies shit Police?
Well, hadn't he? Yes, he had. He played straight with
everybody who paid him. Even Com-Mine Security, who
might conceivably view the matter in another light, had
no legitimate complaint against him.
Sure, he'd risked Station supplies to help Succorso trap
Thermopyle - on Hashi Lebwohl's orders, not Com-
Mine's — but that gamble had paid off handsomely. And
once Thermopyle was in lockup Milos had done every-
thing any deputy chief could have done to break him. If
Security didn't like the results, let them blame Thermo-
pyle, not Milos.
Milos Taverner played straight. He gave value for the
money he received.
Unless his own neck was in the noose. Then he looked
after his own safety and let the people who paid him take
care of themselves. But no one could hold that against
him. It was a pardonable human characteristic. An
instinct for survival was as necessary - and as inescapable
- as the impulse to eat and drink.
It certainly didn't justify what Hashi Lebwohl - and
Warden Dios, of all people! - were doing to him now.
They were forcing his neck into the noose with a ven-
geance.
And they had less reason to complain about him than
Com-Mine did. Caught between Lebwohl's orders to
keep Thermopyle silent and Security's orders to break
him, Milos had satisfied the former at the expense of the
latter. The fact that Angus had obstinately declined to
be broken was beside the point. Milos had met DA's
requirements. Neither Lebwohl nor Dios had any reason
to criticize the results he'd obtained for them.
Yet here he was: sitting at Trumpet's second's station,
at least nominally responsible for communications, scan,
and data and damage control; about to go into tach with
the same slimy illegal he'd once ambushed; about to face
disaster and death in forbidden space - and not only had
he been forced into this position by the very people he'd
just satisfied, but he'd been forced into it dirty.
So that he would be a believable second for Captain
Thermopyle, who was known on Thanatos Minor: so
they said. Shit. He knew the real reason, and it had noth-
ing to do with believability. It had to do with humiliation
and control.
Milos couldn't remember a time when he hadn't under-
stood such things.
Ever since his childhood in one of Earth's more
degraded and pestilential cities, he'd been aware that the
only effective way to evade the harm a guttergang might
do him was to make himself valuable by passing along
information about the plans and doings of some other
bunch of thugs; purchase safety with other people's
secrets. Then he was thought of as an important resource
by the first guttergang: he was protected.
But of course that couldn't last. Eventually the second
guttergang would guess what he was doing and come
after him. Then the situation would be too dangerous to
survive. So the only effective way to keep his skin whole
was to pass information both ways: to make himself
essential to both guttergangs — or to three or four, or
however many there were - and to control as much as
possible what the gangs knew, in order to mask his own
intricate loyalties.
Yet even that wasn't enough. Guttergangs protected
their sources of information - in those days, kids like
Milos were called 'buggers' - but didn't respect them.
Whenever the thugs felt like it, they brutalized and tor-
mented their buggers. Like the UMCP, they forced their
buggers into dangerous and shaming tests of loyalty.
Humiliation and control.
By the time he was ten, Milos Taverner had learned
how to deal with those as well.
It was amazingly easy. A word or two in the right
places - not too often, not too obviously—and individual
pieces of slime who degraded or scared him were
destructed. Guttergangs may not have respected their
buggers, but they had too much to lose by letting some-
one else damage their sources of information.
All Milos needed, the one absolute requirement for
keeping his neck out of the noose, was to make sure that
no one knew he was buggering for both sides.
So mighty Warden Dios and his precious Hashi
Lebwohl - not to mention the sanctimonious Min
Donner - were wrong about Milos. They didn't know
what their own actions could cost them.
They thought that if they rubbed his nose in their
power hard enough, if they made him feel beaten and
filthy enough, they could compel him to submit to having
his neck in the noose.
Milos didn't doubt for a second that the noose was
real. After all, if none of Lebwohl's and Dios' plans went
awry there weren't likely to be many survivors on Than-
atos Minor when their pet cyborg carried out his pro-
gramming. And Milos wasn't likely to be one of them:
he didn't have Thermopyle's enhanced resources to help
him escape alive.
Which of course was exactly what Lebwohl and Dios
were counting on. If Trumpet brought anyone back to
UMCPHQ, it would be the cyborg they had spent so
much money on, not the relatively inexpensive human
being.
They should have known better.
They shouldn't have let him have the command codes
that ruled Thermopyle. If they hadn't given him the
capacity to redirect Angus' prewritten exigencies, he
would have had only one option left; only one place to
go with his anger. Now, however, he had several.
One of his options was to make Thermopyle pay at
least some of the price of his, Milos', humiliation.
But not here: not this close to UMCPHQ; not while
it was still possible for the cops to monitor whatever
happened aboard Trumpet. Milos was prepared to wait a
while. At least until this gap scout — a ship which Angus
knew intimately, and which Milos understood very little
- resumed tard on the other side of the dimensional gap.
So he didn't respond to the crude jibes Angus aimed
at him almost incessantly. In any case, he knew perfectly
well that those insults were just so much spatter and
froth, an almost incidental by-product of Angus' seething
malice. Angus wasn't paying any real attention to his
second. All the important parts of the cyborg's mind were
focused on his new ship: on feeling her energies under
his hands; on studying every scrap of knowledge his data-
bases contained about her. On imagining what he could
do with her.
No, more than just imagining: tasting; sensing with
his whole body. Milos had seen enough malevolence in
Angus' eyes to sicken him for a lifetime. He felt that he
and he alone - certainly not Hashi Lebwohl or Warden
Dios - could gauge the sheer potency of the venom
which boiled and spat inside Angus Thermopyle like a
witch's brew. He knew how alive with hate Angus was.
But he'd never discerned in Angus anything resembling
the look of unholy joy which burned across the cyborg's
face while he familiarized himself with Trumpet. As he
worked his board and studied his screens, Thermopyle
looked like he was having an orgasm.
Shit. And shit again.
Once Trumpet crossed the gap, Milos would have to
begin exercising his power over his putative 'captain' fast
and hard. He wanted to crush that look of vile ecstasy
almost as much as he wanted to live.
But not now; not yet. Instead of reacting to Angus'
sneers, Milos concentrated on his own board, learning as
quickly as he could how his brief but primarily theoretical
training for this ship functioned in practice.
Damage control was easy: most of the systems, and all
the reports, were automatic. Data wasn't much different
than the kind of computer work he'd done for years as
Com-Mine Station's deputy chief of Security. And, for
reasons which were probably obvious, but which he
never mentioned, he already knew everything he would
ever need about communications. Scan was another
matter, however. He'd never used doppler sensors or
particle sifters or - was that a dimensional stress indi-
cator? - and had only the thinnest understanding of the
information they provided.
None of his 'duties' affected the actual operation of
the ship, however. That was a problem of another kind.
Command, helm, targ, engineering; even life-support
and general maintenance: Angus ran them all. In practice
as well as in theory, Milos' survival depended on his
capacity to run Angus.
'You about ready?' Angus asked, sounding as cheer-
fully destructive as an ore-crusher. We're coming into
the fucking cops' fucking private tach range in a couple
of minutes. I don't want you shitting your suit when we
hit the gap. I hate that smell. I get too much of it just
having you on board. '
'So what?' Milos muttered, keeping his attention on
his readouts. 'You hate everything. ' He loathed and
feared the very timbre of Angus' voice; but it was essen-
tial to show Angus that he, Milos, couldn't be intimi-
dated. 'A bad smell won't change anything. '
Angus snorted. 'So you say. But you haven't caught a
whiff of yourself yet. You don't know as much about shit
as I do. '
Milos didn't bother to retort. He'd been raised among
guttergangs. And he'd spent months back on Com-Mine
interrogating Angus. He already had more experience
than he would ever need with excremental human cor-
ruption.
The helm screen informed him that Trumpet was fifty-
three seconds from the UMCP's reserved gap range. She
was assigned to go into tach in a minute and a half.
Then human space would be out of reach.
For both of them.
Maybe forever.
When that happened, Angus Thermopyle was going
to find out just how much Milos Taverner knew about
shit and survival.
Eighty seconds later, Angus said, almost crowed,
'Hang onto your balls. As soon as we cross, everything
changes. You bastards have just cornholed me for the last
time. '
Milos knew that wasn't true. In an apparent effort to
reassure him, Hashi Lebwohl had allowed him to watch
a number of Angus' tests on UMCPDA's monitors. And
he'd been given many of the test results to read. They all
demonstrated incontrovertibly that Angus had been well
and thoroughly welded; that he would never be able to
violate his programming. For all his enhanced capabili-
ties, he was the most helpless being in human space.
Nevertheless, without thinking about it, without even
realizing he did it, Milos cupped his hand over his crotch
as Trumpet disappeared into the gap.
ANCILLARY
DOCUMENTATION
BILLINGATE
Even while the power of the United Mining Companies
Police was at its peak, a number of illegal or bootleg
shipyards survived and occasionally flourished in and
around human space.
The reason for their existence was simple. Forbidden
space had a vast hunger for the same raw materials which
Earth craved in such quantity, as well as for the mass-
production technologies at which humankind excelled; a
hunger which legal trade - both enabled and limited by
the United Mining Companies - couldn't satisfy. To feed
this appetite, the Amnion were willing to pay well for what
they desired, without questioning how those things were
obtained. This was true despite an explicit treaty to the
contrary. Therefore piracy became a thriving subcu-
taneous industry. Theft offered a higher reward for a given
amount of effort than honest prospecting or mining.
That the risks were great, or that the opportunities
were unpredictable, were drawbacks which had never
hindered crime at any time in human history. That piracy
required fast and space-worthy vessels, however, would
have been a significant drawback in the absence of boot-
leg shipyards. Ships were far more difficult to steal than
their cargoes. If they were taken while in dock, they were
often stopped before their new masters could escape. And
if they were attacked somewhere in space, they were usu-
ally damaged too severely to be worth much.
Illegal shipyards came into being by the blunt logic of
human larceny. A passion for profit was the engine which
drove Earth and her widely scattered stations. When that
passion was felt by men and women with unscrupulous
souls, they acted on it illegally. The law of supply and
demand guided many of them, not into piracy, but into
providing support for pirates.
The best-known - because the best-defended - of these
bootleg shipyards was the one called Billingate on
Thanatos Minor.
There were a number of such shipyards within human
space, of course. However, by virtue of their locations
their existence was precarious: they were vulnerable to
direct attack by the UMCP. In order to exist at all they
required secrecy. Therefore they hid like ferrets; they
moved whenever they could; often they kept their own
operations — and profits - small so that they would be
less susceptible to exposure or betrayal.
Billingate had few worries along those lines. Because
it had been hived into the bleak rock of Thanatos Minor,
a planetoid which sailed the vacuum a few million kilo-
meters inside the borders of forbidden space, it had little
or nothing to fear from overt assault. It was protected —
albeit obliquely - by treaty. It was also defended by
Amnion warships: the quadrant of space it occupied lay
along the most heavily patrolled boundary with human
space. And it was defended as well by the ships which
depended on it. In human space, any illegal might reason-
ably flee rather than face a UMCP destroyer or battle-
wagon. In forbidden space, flight was less attractive
because it led deeper into the fatal realm of the Amnion.
Safety from imposed mutation existed only at the fringes
of Amnion territory. Illegals were inclined to feel cor-
nered when they were threatened near Billingate; there-
fore they were predisposed to fight back.
This shipyard did not need secrecy to protect it.
So pirates with enough credits went to Billingate to
purchase vessels — or recreations. Illegal gap ships went
to Billingate for repairs. And any brigand who could get
there went to Billingate to fence his or her loot. Thanks
to its location, Thanatos Minor provided an ideal clearing
house for the raw materials, technologies, and organic
tissues which the Amnion craved. The human species
was betrayed more consistently, more often, and more
profitably there than anywhere in human space - or
human history.
For this reason, Billingate had grown populous -
UMCPDA estimated between four and seven thousand
inhabitants - as well as rich.
For the same reason, it had also become known.
The stories which reached the ears of private citizens
and corporate officials, station Security officers and
UMCP ensigns, sequestered researchers and GCES
Undersecretaries alike, had a specificity which the tales
of bootleg shipyards generally lacked. Because Billingate
had been built entirely by illegals for illegals, it had good
cause to be regarded as 'the sewer of the universe'.
Internal crime was violently interdicted because it
reduced profitability; but every vice known to human-
kind thrived there, restricted only by the available credit
of its participants. Slavery was common. Chemical
dependencies of every kind could be readily nourished.
Sacrificial prostitution prospered for the amusement and
enrichment of the men — and women? — who owned
nerve junkies or null-wave transmitters too reduced to
defend themselves. Bio-aesthetic, -prosthetic, and -retri-
butive surgery enhanced or destroyed human capabilities.
It was better to be dead than poor on Thanatos Minor.
Over this morass of human desuetude and corruption,
a man called simply 'the Bill' presided on the strength of
his even-handed malice, his political acumen (that is to
say, his ability to gauge the motivations and breaking-
points of his people), his talent for protecting the ship-
yard's profits by making sure that he got paid first; and on
the authority he gained by being perceived as Billingate's
'decisive' by the Amnion. It was he who ruled Thanatos
Minor, settled disputes, punished offenders, kept the
books - and made Billingate function with some approxi-
mation of efficiency, despite the manifold weaknesses and
eccentricities of its populace.
Rumor suggested that he had been surgically provided
with a double phallus so that he could penetrate women
in both nether orifices simultaneously.
Unfortunately all this information served no purpose
except to increase the outrage with which Billingate was
viewed in the more conservative, genophobic, or ethical
strata of human society: it did nothing to threaten
Billingate itself. The UMCP was prevented by clear treaty
from entering forbidden space to extirpate Thanatos
Minor. Likewise, of course, the Amnion were precluded
by treaty from permitting Billingate's existence; but this
was an unequal, essentially toothless restriction, since the
Amnion could - and did - deny all knowledge of the
Bill's operations. On that basis, any UMCP incursion
into Amnion space would be deemed an act of war.
In the corridors of UMCPHQ, as well as in the cham-
bers of the Governing Council for Earth and Space, it
was frequently argued that war was preferable to this
kind of peace. As long as places like Billingate were able
to exist, the UMCP could never prevail against piracy.
However, the official position of the United Mining
Companies was that the benefits of trade justified the
costs of piracy - and war would put an end to trade.
Speaking for the UMCP, Director Dios took the same
position for different reasons: he argued that the costs of
war would be far greater than the benefits of eliminating
piracy. War, he claimed, would produce an exponential
increase in bloodshed and lost lives, without any guaran-
tee of success. Despite the strength of the organization he
headed, he was known to question whether humankind
could ever win a war with the Amnion.
DAVIES
He had no idea why he was still alive.
Of course, there was no physical reason why
he should be dead. Nick Succorso's goons
hadn't damaged his body. They'd kept him locked in
silence while the ship performed a long and brutal decel-
eration. They'd made him wait for hours as the ship
coasted. Then they'd rousted him from his cell, man-
handled him across the ship, and sealed him in an ejection
pod. But none of that had threatened his life.
And the pod itself was designed to keep him safe. It
enclosed him as tightly as a coffin, allowed him virtually
no movement — and certainly no access to its controls.
He could see nothing except the status screens which
were supposed to help him hope; monitors which were
intended to reassure him, but which instead told him his
heart and lungs were working too hard. Trajectory and
thrust were preset: how could anybody who needed an
ejection pod be expected to navigate? Nevertheless its
pads and restraints protected him from the g of launch:
its systems cooled the heat of his terror, supplied him
with plenty of oxygen to compensate for his ragged,
urgent breathing.
Yet he should have died. Stress which had nothing to
do with the treatment his body received should have
killed him.
He was being sent to the Amnion - to a waiting war-
ship called Tranquil Hegemony — where he would be
studied down to his nucleotides to help the enemies of
his species perfect their mutagens; and then he would be
made one of them. Perhaps he would become simply a
monstrous and immaterial part of their genetic imperial-
ism. Or perhaps he would become a human-seeming and
direct agent of their will. In either case, everything that he
knew or could recognize about himself would be gone;
betrayed and transformed.
Didn't men and women go mad under that kind of
pressure? Didn't their hearts burst? Didn't dread clog
their lungs until they could no longer breathe?
Of course they did.
But for him the situation was much worse. Born with-
out transition into a sixteen-year-old body, he had no
idea who he was. His mind was a copy of his mother's;
his body replicated a man he'd never met. Unable to
satisfy his instinctive and fundamental need for an image
of himself, he had no basis on which to think, to feel, to
make choices.
As far as he could remember, he was a woman in her
early twenties, a UMCP ensign on her first mission;
young and inexperienced, but passionate; a dedicated
fighter in the struggle to preserve humankind's right to
live or die for what it was. Yet that was nonsense. He
was obviously male; so obviously male that his crotch
responded when he looked at Morn Hyland - a beautiful
woman, not his mother, no, not his mother at all, how
could she be? His memories were incomprehensible
because they belonged beyond question to someone else.
And they weren't complete. He had a black hole in his
mind where he should have had transitions: at the point
where his memories should have revealed how he came
into being, what his birth meant, why his existence under
these conditions was necessary, his recollections frayed
away to nothing.
Morn had tried to offer him answers. She'd explained
that he'd been brought into being by an Amnion 'force-
growing' technique which had taken him from her womb
to physiological maturity in approximately an hour. And
he'd been imprinted with her mind - education, mem-
ories, reflexes, and all — because he had none of his own.
In addition she'd told him that she'd made the decisions
which had afflicted him like this for the simple reason
that otherwise he and she would both have died.
He believed that, not because he understood it, but
because it fit the person he remembered having been.
But she'd given him nothing adequate to explain how
such decisions had become necessary. And he couldn't
recall it for himself.
Beyond question he should have gone nova under so
much pressure, like a superheated sun.
He had no idea why that hadn't happened. He felt like
a superheated sun. The source of his intransigent grasp
on consciousness and sanity lay hidden somewhere in the
black hole of his memories; swallowed by the dark.
Now the ejection pod carried him across the dark to
his doom. There was nothing he could do about that;
nothing at all; nothing of any kind. Yet he went on fight-
ing for his life.
Fighting to remember.
What had Morn told him?
What you remember, she'd said, stops right at the point
where I first came dawn with gap-sickness.
But she'd insisted her son didn't have the same
sickness.
Nick hated him, she'd claimed, because she lied to him.
By saying that Davies was his, Nick's, son.
But that wasn't enough. Davies had heard its inad-
equacy in her voice.
He's a tormented man, and, I used that against him.
He never wanted me to have you. He wanted me for sex,
that's all. So he ordered me to abort you. I told him every lie
I could think of that might change his mind.
The truth was deadly. It would have killed them both.
Because Davies' father was the only man in human space
that Nick hates worse than the cops.
Nick himself had supplied Davies with the rest of the
story.
Nick had talked about Angus Thermopyle.
He's a pirate and a butcher and a petty thief. Right now,
he's serving a life sentence in Com-Mine Station lockup.
That may not make you think very highly of your mother.
She's supposed to arrest men like Captain Thermo-pile, or kill
them, not fuck them until she gets pregnant.
But it wasn't like that. Captain Thermo-pile gave her a
zone implant. After she demolished Starmaster, he rescued
her from the wreckage. Davies remembered none of this.
He gave her a zone implant to keep her under control. He
turned her on until she would have been willing to suck
her insides out with a vacuum hose, and then he fucked her
senseless.
That's your father, Dames. That's the kind of man you are.
But here's the interesting fart. Why wasn't your father
convicted? If she had a zone implant, he must have had a
zone implant control. Why wasn't it found on him when he
was arrested?
The answer is, she'd learned to like it. She wanted it,
Davies. It wasn't found on him because he'd already given it
to her. She loved using it on herself.
So what did she do with it when he was arrested? She didn't
turn it over to Com-Mine Security like a good little cop. They
would have removed her zone implant — and your father
would have been executed. She couldn't let them take it away
from her. So she hid the control and escaped with me. She
used it to seduce me so that I would rescue her - not from
Captain Thermo-pile, but from Com-Mine Security.
All she's done since then is perfect her addiction.
His time was running out. The pod's blips and chron-
ometers measured his movement toward the Amnion
warship like a countdown to death.
Did she tell you she refused to abort you because she wanted
to keep you? That isn't strictly true. The only real reason is
that she couldn't get an abortion without letting the sickbay
test her. It would have recorded her zone implant.
That's your mother, Davies. That's the kind of woman you
came from.
And Davies thought, No. No. If that were true - if all
that were true - she could have had an abortion and then
erased the sickbay log. And she wouldn't have tried to
help me. She wouldn't have said, As far as I'm concerned,
you're the second most important thing in the galaxy. You're
my son. But the first, the most important thing is to not
betray my humanity.
He believed that because he recognized it.
Nevertheless he knew what Nick said was true. It just
wasn't enough.
Nothing was enough. The status screens showed him
only that he was closing on Tranquil Hegemony. A minute
or two remained, no more. In the distance hung the
black rock of Thanatos Minor; but that information, too,
wasn't enough to do him any good.
He needed to be able to maneuver. Urgently he strove
to remember everything he might have known about,
ejection pods. Was there some way to get at the controls,
override the presets? Surely a pod designed for emergen-
cies might encounter emergencies of its own; therefore
there must be some way for the pod's occupant to take
command.
Think, you idiot.
Remember.
If he'd known his father, he might have recognized
Angus Thermopyle's instinctive reaction to futility and
fear.
But he hadn't known his father. He couldn't remember
anything that might help him as the pod cut in thrust -
acceleration, not braking - and began to veer away from
Tranquil Hegemony. He could only stare at the screens
with his heart hammering in his throat and sweat stream-
ing off his forehead, and wonder who was being betrayed
now.
If Captain's Fancy and Tranquil Hegemony were talking
to each other — shouting at each other? — he didn't hear
it: the pod's receivers were tuned to the wrong fre-
quencies, or the messages were tight-beamed. But he saw
his course shift away from the Amnion ship; felt lateral
thrust as well as acceleration until his new trajectory stabi-
lized and thrust cut out.
Then the screens showed him that he was now running
straight for the unreadable stone of Thanatos Minor.
When Tranquil Hegemony didn't fire on him, he knew
he'd been granted a temporary reprieve.
In response his heart started beating even harder, and
sweat ran into his eyes like oil.
At his present velocity, a landing on Thanatos Minor
would crush him to undifferentiated pulp — if it didn't
consume him in a fireball first. Precisely for that reason,
Thanatos Minor would blast him out of space before he
hit, to avoid being damaged by the impact.
There was nothing he could do about it.
Nevertheless he was out of Tranquil Hegemony's reach,
at least for the time being. Any death was preferable
to the one Nick Succorso had intended for him. And,
according to the screens, he now had nearly six more
hours to live.
Six more hours to try to wrestle some kind of under-
standing up out of the blind abyss which filled his head.
Six more hours to figure out who was being betrayed.
By whom.
His urgency didn't let go of him for an instant.
Davies had betrayed his father's ship.
No, it wasn't him: it was Morn. Not his father's ship:
his grandfather's.
But when he insisted on the distinction, he lost the
memory; so he let the strange discontinuity between him-
self and his mother blur.
He'd betrayed Starmaster himself.
Not deliberately. He'd done it because he suffered
from gap-sickness, and no one knew that. There was no
test to reveal it: no test except the gap itself. In his case,
the stimulus which triggered the flaw in his brain was
heavy g.
And Starmaster was under heavy g with a vengeance,
slamming herself against the vacuum for both speed and
agility as she chased Angus Thermopyle's Bright Beauty
through the careening rock of the belt. Thermopyle had
just fried an entire mining camp, butchered every last
man, woman, and child for no known reason; their lorn
cries, truncated by destruction, had reached Starmaster as
they died. Now Starmaster was in pursuit, blazing with
purpose and clarity.
This was the work the ship had been designed for;
the work to which he'd committed himself despite his
ingrained doubts about himself. He was on duty on the
auxiliary bridge - emergency backup for any station
which might fail - and his own purpose should have been
clear; it would have been clear if he hadn't been taken
over by something greater, something so lucid, precise,
and compulsory that it reduced everything else to a cor-
rupt muddle. There on the auxiliary bridge the universe
spoke to him -
- and his memories stopped.
He could find no way past that clarity. It must have
seared his mind; changed the chemistry of his brain some-
how; burned out synapses. He knew that his — no,
Morn's, he was separate from her now — her life must
have gone on from that point. She could remember what
happened next. Angus Thermopyle knew. Nick knew
some of it. But for Davies Hyland the path was closed;
blocked by a neural gap he couldn't cross.
For him, it was easier to figure out who was being
betrayed.
Not the Amnion.
And not himself. Or his mother. Not this time.
Nick Succorso.
Davies had seen the loathing on Nick's face and trusted
it: he was utterly sure that Nick would never risk cheating
the Amnion to save Morn's son. And Morn had already
worked miracles on Davies' behalf.
If he survived the next few hours, that knowledge
might prove useful.
He had no particular reason to think he would—except
that if Morn could work the miracle of diverting him
from Tranquil Hegemony, she might also have conceived
a way to keep him alive. The more he thought about her,
the more powerful she appeared: a source of miracles as
well as understanding. Maybe that was why the stresses
of the past days hadn't destroyed him. Maybe buried
away inside him somewhere was a visceral awareness of
what she could accomplish, how much he could rely on
her.
And maybe the son of a woman like Morn Hyland
could work miracles of his own.
Eventually the pod's screens told him that he was going
to be rescued.
A ship came toward him. Not a pursuit craft from
Tranquil Hegemony: a vessel from Thanatos Minor. And
she didn't fire. According to the screens, he was still an
hour off the rock when she intersected his trajectory.
Her blip absorbed his on the screens.
Because of his training in the Academy — no, Morn's,
dammit, Morn's - he knew what was happening as the
pod began to decelerate. A monitor reported decreasing
velocity; he felt g shove him against the pads and
restraints. But the pod slowed without braking thrust.
The other ship must have matched speeds with him,
accepted the pod into one of her holds, then clamped it
down so that she could control it.
With difficulty, he wormed his hands up to wipe the
sweat off his face. He had no guarantee that this other
ship wasn't Amnion. Nevertheless he believed she was
human. If the shipyard on Thanatos Minor hadn't been
controlled by human beings, Succorso wouldn't have
tried to escape here from Enablement Station.
So the ship was human. And illegal. He couldn't stop
thinking like a cop, the cop Morn Hyland had been.
Whoever rescued him was his enemy, one way or
another. The shipyard on Thanatos Minor served for-
bidden space as surely as if it were Amnion. The illegals
who proxied for them here were the most malign men
and women in the galaxy; as bad as Angus Thermopyle;
worse than Succorso in some ways.
And he had no way of knowing what they wanted
from him; what his value to them was; what use they
meant to make of him.
Though the prospect twisted his soul, he had to brace
himself for more helplessness, brutality, deprivation.
As soon as its sensors detected a breathable atmos-
phere, the ejection pod automatically popped the locks
and unsealed its hatch.
At once a hand gripped the hatch and swung it wide.
Davies found himself staring down the muzzle of an
impact gun.
'Out, ' demanded an oddly lifeless voice.
With his mind full of Morn, Davies feared that he
would start to wail. For some reason he didn't. Instead
he snarled a curse, pushed the muzzle out of his face, and
sat up.
Right the first time: he was in a hold. A cargo hold,
not a medical rescue bay designed to receive ejection
pods, judging by the look of it; by the fact that the pod
was anchored with the kind of flexsteel straps freighters
used to secure crates and equipment; and by the lack of
heat.
The man with the gun sure as hell didn't look like a
medtech. His slack features and dead eyes gave him the
appearance of a nerve juice junkie who was about to
follow his addiction to its logical conclusion. His shipsuit
was too nondescript to mean anything. But he must have
been a guard. His impact gun wasn't a weapon he carried:
it was a part of him, a prosthesis replacing his right fore-
arm. Instead of a left foot, he had a metal tripod anchored
to his calf. If he really were a nerve juice addict, with
most of his muscles gone flaccid and stupid, he probably
needed that support to help him stand the kick of his
gun. And the gun had to be part of his arm or else he
wouldn't be able to aim it.
Slowly he brought the muzzle back to Davies' face and
repeated, 'Out. '
'Don't fucking rush me, ' Davies growled like his father.
But he didn't hesitate to climb out of the ejection pod.
The cold gripped him immediately. Hours of sweat
turned to ice on his skin. He was already shivering as he
looked around to see if the guard was alone; to see if he
had anything to gain by kicking the guard in the stomach
and ripping his gun off.
The guard wasn't alone. A man and a woman stood
fifteen or twenty meters away, watching him. They were
bundled in coldsuits that muffled their shapes; but their
hands and boots looked normal, and their faces were
human.
The man's head was so long and thin that it seemed
like a caricature of itself. Because he was unusually tall,
he gave the impression that inside his coldsuit his whole
body was thin. A nearly lipless mouth smiled over
crooked teeth. Beneath a thatch of dirty hair, his eyes
glittered as if he'd artificially reinforced his concentration
with enkephalins.
That glitter and his smile made him look like a
madman.
The woman appeared stable by comparison. Despite
its lines, her face was still handsome; gray highlights did
nothing to cheapen the richness of her hair. Davies would
have said she was a beautifully mature woman whose best
years weren't far behind her. Only a slight stiffness in the
way she carried herself suggested that she may have been
older than she looked.
The man's smile widened as he studied Davies. For a
moment no one said anything. Then he breathed in a
gust of vapor, 'Now here's a surprise. ' His voice was
wrong for his body: it should have belonged to a kid with
rosy cheeks and excessive enthusiasm. 'Another surprise. '
What do you mean?' the woman asked in a vibrant
contralto.
What?' The man glanced at her with what may have
been amusement. 'Don't you recognize him?'
'No. ' The woman frowned. Well, yes. But that's
impossible. He's far too young. '
'Interesting, isn't it?' The man returned his bright gaze
to Davies.
Involuntarily Davies wrapped his arms around his
chest, trying to contain some of the warmth which
steamed from his bones. If he could climb back into the
ejection pod and close the hatch, its systems would pro-
tect him from freezing. But the guard would stop him if
he tried that. Unable to control his shivers — and unable
to keep his mouth shut - he remarked raggedly, 'I guess
you know my father. ' Then, because he was desperate,
he added, 'So I guess you know he won't take it kindly
if you let me freeze to death. '
The guard kept his gun aimed at Davies' head and
reacted to nothing. Apparently his addiction inured him
to cold - or to the awareness of cold.
'Let me explain something, ' the man said, incongru-
ously youthful and eager. 'You're worthless to me. Other
people think you're valuable, and I'm going to know why
before I make up my mind about you, but to me you're
just a waste of atmosphere. Threats won't help you. And
your father as sure as shit won't help you. ' The man
chuckled. 'If he even knows you're alive. So don't give
me a hard time. Answer my questions like a good boy
and take your chances.
'How did you do that?'
Davies understood all of this and none of it. Angus
Thermopyle was in Com-Mine Security lockup. He knew
nothing about his son - and probably wouldn't care if
he did. And Davies himself meant nothing to Thanatos
Minor. His value was to the Amnion and Morn, with
Succorso caught between them, fighting to make them
both serve his own purposes.
His teeth chattered as he asked, 'Do what?'
The man seemed to enjoy the sound of Davies' teeth.
'Change course in that pod, ' he said liplessly.
'I didn't. ' Davies shivered so hard that his right knee
failed. This was only a cargo hold. Nothing except the
bulkheads and the infrastructure and the ship's frail skin
held out the black and absolute cold of space. For an
instant he caught himself with his left. Then that, too,
folded, and he thudded to the deck. His mouth could
hardly form words. 'It's impossible. '
'I told you so, ' the woman commented distantly.
Then it's a game, ' the man assented. 'Captain Nick
must be playing bait-and-switch with our hosts. If he
thinks he can get me tangled up in something like that,
he's even more confused than I remember.
What's your name?'
The heat leaked out of Davies, taking his life with
it. He should have wailed or pleaded. He should have
answered the question. But he didn't. He said, shivered,
Tuck you. '
At that, anger or enthusiasm stretched the man's lips
even thinner. They were pale around his words as he said,
'Listen to me. I'm the Bill. You pay me before you get
anything. Hypothermia is a nice death. As soon as you
go to sleep, nothing ever bothers you again. You can be
sure I won't let you freeze. I'm not that nice to anybody.
You can answer questions now, or you can wait until I
try a little BR surgery on you.
What's your name?'
Despite the cold, Davies had no trouble reaching back
among his memories - Morn's memories - to the Acad-
emy, where she'd first heard the term 'BR surgery'. BR
meant 'bio-retributive'.
'Davies, ' he replied in a cough of steam. 'Davies
Hyland. '
The man paused. 'Now why, I wonder, ' he mused,
'does that name sound familiar?'
'You heard the story, ' the woman told him. 'Captain
Davies Hyland, commanding officer, United Mining
Companies Police destroyer Starmaster. It destructed
somehow - or Thermopyle blew it up. He got away with
the Captain's daughter. Morn Hyland. She left him for
Succorso when Com-Mine Security arrested him.
'You know Thermopyle. You know what he must have
done to her while he had her. On top of everything else,
he must have gotten her pregnant.
This must be her son. '
That doesn't make sense, ' the man protested. 'He's at 
least sixteen years too old. '
The hold contracted around Davies. The cold seemed
to leech vision as well as heat out of him. The ague in
his muscles was so severe that he couldn't keep his head
up. On his knees he huddled over himself like a penitent.
The woman sighed patiently. Where did he just come
from?'
'Captain Nick's ship. '
'And where before that?'
The man let out a sigh of comprehension. After
another pause he asked, 'Davies, why did you go to
Enablement Station? What were you doing there? What
was Captain Nick doing?'
Now who was being betrayed? By whom?
Davies could feel the sleep he'd been promised coming.
The chills threatened to shake his consciousness apart.
Soon he wouldn't be able to connect one thought to
another, and he would be able to rest at last.
What answer would Morn want him to give?
He had no way of knowing; but he did the best he
could.
'She's UMCP. Morn Hyland. ' I'm UMCP, you fucking
bastard, and this is one bill I'm definitely going to pay.
'They sent her. ' He could barely force out more than one
word at a time. 'I don't know why. But Succorso -' The
cold seared his lungs. For a moment he coughed hard
enough to bring up blood. Then he finished. 'He's work-
ing with her. '
There. At least one small part of his debt of harm to
Nick Succorso was paid.
But it didn't work. Not the way he wanted. Out of the
cold and the gathering dark, the man said, 'I don't believe
you. Enablement is the only place she could have
obtained a kid your age. That means you must have been
the reason they went there. There must be something'
— Davies heard relish in the word - 'special about you.
Otherwise our hosts wouldn't want you back.
'I'm quite sure you know what that something is.
Eventually you're going to tell me. You're going to tell
me what kind of game they're playing. '
Davies couldn't see the deck in front of him.
What kind of game.
He no longer knew whether his eyes were open.
They're playing.
Maybe, he thought as he sagged dumbly onto his face,
maybe it worked after all.
NICK
Nick Succorso rubbed the scars on his face as if
they were tight with old pain and waited for
Billingate Operations to assign him a berth.
Where he was told to dock would hint at where he
stood with the Bill.
He knew perfectly well that he was pushing the Bill
into a difficult position. The Amnion warships - Tranquil
Hegemony and now Calm Horizons, looming out of deep
space - had certainly been in communication with Than-
atos Minor, transmitting their requirements. Also cer-
tainly, those requirements weren't to Nick's benefit. And
the Bill had to take them seriously. He lived here on
sufferance: his hosts could revoke his whole economic
existence whenever they wished. In addition, two
Amnion warships represented enough firepower to root
him out of his rock like a rat out of a hole.
And then there was the question of selling human
beings to forbidden space. The Bill had no moral, or
even visceral, qualms about such things: that was sure.
Nevertheless he was equally sure to have pragmatic
qualms. If Thanatos Minor became known as a place
where men and women were lost to the Amnion, Billin-
gate would lose traffic. Fewer ships would come; fewer
repairs would be done; fewer goods would be sold.
He wouldn't thank Nick Succorso for bringing prob-
lems like that down on his head.
On the other hand, Nick had credit for the repairs he
needed; and providing such repairs brought in much of
Billingate's wealth. And the ships which came for repair
were the same vessels which brought the resources and
information the Amnion craved. Any ship the Bill turned
away would have a double impact on his profits.
Also the circumstances surrounding the sale of Morn
and her damnable brat were unique. In this situation, the
Bill might believe that he could cooperate with Nick -
perhaps secretly, perhaps passively - without risking too
much damage.
He wouldn't thank Nick for coming to him now, like
this. But he might conceivably do the work Nick needed
from him.
The first indication of his leanings would come when
Operations assigned a berth. A visitor's dock or a place
in the shipyard? If the Bill treated Captain's Fancy like a
visitor, Nick's troubles were just beginning.
As if Morn hadn't already done him enough harm -
He still had no idea how she'd escaped from her cabin
to reprogram that ejection pod. The maintenance com-
puter reported that the lock on her door worked fine.
His crew volunteered nothing. Someone had betrayed
him, but he didn't know who - or why.
'Damn them all to hell and shit, ' he muttered. What
the fuck's taking so long?'
Mikka Vasaczk and her watch had the bridge while
Captain's fancy coasted toward the rock. Sib Mackern sat
at the data station because he and Alba Parmute were
sharing the work of three people; but Scorz was a com-
petent replacement for Lind on communications,
Ransum could manage helm despite her jittery hands,
and Karster was safe enough at targ. The scan second,
Arkenhill, was no substitute for Carmel - who was? -
and this close to Thanatos Minor, as well as to two
Amnion warships, scan was critical; but Mikka was
watching everything that came in through Arkenhill's
board almost as carefully as Nick himself did.
In any case, Captain's Fancy was moving too slowly to
survive a fight. She might inflict damage, but she would
be destroyed nonetheless.
While his ship glided along her approach trajectory
toward Billingate, Nick paced the bridge and studied
the screens and fretted as if he had worms gnawing
inside him. The electricity, the combative frisson, which
usually filled his nerves like eagerness when death
and ruin threatened him was gone. The knowledge that
he could beat anybody had been replaced by the fear
that Morn had dug a hole too deep for him to climb
out of.
There was no question about it: he should have ripped
out her female organs when he first heard she was preg-
nant, instead of taking her to Enablement to have her
brat.
He shouldn't be stewing about that now, of course.
The past was the past: men who looked back got shot by
what was in front of them. Until now, the only regret of
his life was that he'd ever trusted anyone enough to let
that woman scar him. Unfortunately his acid longing to
take back the mistakes he'd made with Morn refused to
recognize its own futility. Instead it gnawed inside him
like cramps, hindering his strength, restricting his
energies.
She was so beautiful — Sex with her was the closest
he'd ever come to healing his scars. And every bit of it
was a lie. Like the first time, with the woman who'd cut
him. The welcoming spread of Morn's legs had been a
steel trap, open to shear off his manhood, his ability to
beat impossible odds; gaping to amputate the part of him
that never lost.
What she'd done to him made his heart hurt as if she'd
laid her knife there instead of on his cheeks.
What the fuck's taking them so long?
'It's not a simple question for them, ' Mikka answered
unnecessarily. They have to figure out whose side
they're on. Probably they've never had to do that before. '
For the first time since he'd known his second, her
habitual scowl didn't look merely closed, defended.
Instead it conveyed criticism; even hostility. It gave the
impression that she no longer trusted him — him, Nick
Succorso, who had once been as unquestionable to her
as the orbits of the stars.
Morn had cost him that as well.
'This may come as a surprise to you, ' he snarled from
the burning depths of his regret, 'but I knew that already. '
Mikka shrugged stolidly.
Whatever they're talking about, ' Scorz reported in an
abstract tone, 'they're beaming it too tight for us to hear.
There's some residual buzz, but I can't pick up anything
else. '
Struggling to put Mikka and Morn and regret out of
his mind, Nick muttered as if he didn't know he was
repeating himself, 'Damn them all to hell and shit. '
Operations continued to transmit routine traffic infor-
mation, trajectory confirmation, station protocols; noth-
ing else.
He paced the bridge and tried to think.
At some point he would have to resume his air of
superiority and confidence; fake it if he couldn't actually
feel it. His dread and regret were infectious: the more
uncertain he felt, the more his people would doubt him.
Mikka wasn't the only one - although she was the worst,
because she was the most capable; because he'd trusted
her the most. Sib Mackern seemed to flinch whenever
Nick caught his eye. And Ransum's nervousness was
spreading. Normally confined to her hands, it now affec-
ted the way she turned her head; it made her shuffle her
feet as if she felt an unconscious desire to run.
Already three people on the bridge distrusted Nick
enough to be unreliable.
Who else felt that way? Maybe no one except Vector
Shaheed. And Vector's attitude was predictable: he had
reason to think Nick was going to kill him. Hell, the
phlegmatic shit deserved to be killed. He'd ignored an
order. Maybe the infection hadn't spread any further yet.
But it was going to spread. It would certainly catch
Pup. The kid was Mikka's brother. And he admired
Vector.
And the rest of the crew would be exposed to the same
illness as soon as they felt Nick's vulnerability and realized
that the center of their lives might not hold much longer.
Groping for clues - for ways to pull himself out of his
stew - maybe for hope - Nick stopped at the scan station
and asked harshly, Where did they take that damn pod?'
'Cargo berth,' Arkenhill answered promptly without
lifting his gaze from his board. He may have been trying
to prove that he was as capable as Carmel. 'I guess they're
planning to keep the pod. The ship docked a couple of
minutes ago. You want to know which berth?'
'No. ' Nick had only one reason for caring what hap-
pened to Davies Hyland. 'I want id on the ship. '
'That's easy. We've got traffic data. ' As a precaution
against accidents, Operations transmitted information on
all ships and movements in Billingate's control space.
Arkenhill hit keys, consulted his readouts. 'She calls her-
self Soar. Captain Sorus Chatelaine. Port of registry,
Terminus. '
'She's a ways from home, ' Mikka observed dryly. Ter-
minus was farther from forbidden space than any other
human station - at least a hundred light-years farther
than Earth.
Nick turned to Sib Mackern. What does data say about
her?'
Sweat and lack of sleep made Mackern's pale mustache
stand out and his eyes recede. His hands faltered as he
worked his board. After a moment he reported, 'Noth-
ing, Nick. We've never heard of her before. '
Involuntarily Nick's fingers curled into fists. Sib
sounded like a weakling - and Nick despised weaklings.
He had to stifle an impulse to hit the data second.
'Cross-reference it, ' he snapped. 'Name, captain, regis-
try, id codes. Give me a real answer. '
Among illegal ships, there was often a considerable
discrepancy between public and private id. Ships and
captains could change their names as often as they liked.
But they couldn't change their registrations — or the id
codes embedded in their datacores. Not without swap-
ping out the datacores themselves.
Even that was possible, of course. But then there
would be other kinds of discrepancies -
'Do it by configuration, too, ' Mikka added for him.
Try their emission signature or anything else scan picked
up on them. '
Now it was his second that Nick wanted to hit. Not
because she was wrong, but because she helped him when
he shouldn't have needed it; because he did need it. His
brain wasn't working, and he hated that more than he
despised weaklings.
Morn, you goddamn bitch, what have you done to
me?
Who betrayed me for you? Who let you out?
'Here it comes, ' Scorz put in abruptly. 'Final approach
and docking instructions. '
Nick held his breath while the communications second
relayed the details to command and helm.
She was being treated like a visitor. A ship without
cargo. A fugitive. An illegal in search of recreation. Or a
dealer in information.
Certainly not as a ship that needed - and could pay
for - massive work on her gap drive.
Cursing explosively, Nick strode to Scorz' station.
'Give me a channel!'
Scorz tightened the receiver in his ear, tapped keys.
Almost immediately he said, 'Stand by for Captain
Succorso, ' and leaned away from his pickup to give Nick
room.
'Operations!' Nick snapped, 'this is Captain Succorso.
Who's garbling your reception? Didn't you hear me say
I need repair? Didn't you get my credit confirmation? I
want a berth in the shipyard!'
'Captain Succorso. ' The reply which came over bridge
audio was laconic; insufferably unconcerned. 'Our recep-
tion isn't garbled. And we aren't deaf. We just don't like
ships that come in chased by angry Amnion. You're lucky
we're letting you dock at all. But the Bill wants to talk
to you. ' A pause. 'He wants to confirm your credit in
person. '
All at once Nick's dread became as heavy as a blow to
the stomach. For a second or two he felt that he couldn't
breathe; that his voice would crack like a kid's if he tried
to talk.
He couldn't wait for the shock to pass, however. Half-
coughing, he rasped, 'Make sense, Operations. This is a
goddamn credit-jack, ' coded to be read by a computer,
'not a physical transfer. He won't learn anything by look-
ing at it.
'I need repairs. I can pay for them. Dock me in the
shipyard!'
Operations forced him to wait for an answer. When it
came, the voice from the speakers seemed to be laughing
secretly.
'Apparently that credit-jack has been revoked. '
'You sonofabitch!' Nick hunched over the pickup, try-
ing to drive his anger into the face of the man he couldn't
see. 'It can't be revoked. It's money! You can't revoke
money?
The radio voice permitted itself an audible chuckle.
Try telling that to the Amnion warship behind you. '
With a definitive click, Operations cut transmission.
An unnatural silence filled the bridge, as if the air-
scrubbers and servos had shut down.
Karster usually kept his questions to himself. Perhaps
to compensate for the fact that he looked as unformed as
a boy, he tried to act like he already understood every-
thing. He couldn't stand the silence, however.
'Confirm it in person?' he asked. What's that supposed
to mean?'
'It means, ' Mikka replied as if she were suddenly tired,
'the Bill wants to know what's going on before he makes
up his mind about us. '
Nick wheeled on the command second. If she kept this
up, he was certainly going to hit her. 'You said it your-
self, ' he snarled. 'It's not that simple. He's got fucking
Morn's fucking brat. '
The Bill wanted to know what was going on so that
he could milk the situation for all it was worth. And so
that he could get even with Nick for bringing him this
kind of trouble.
Nick had promised Davies to the Amnion.
Trying to demonstrate that he'd never intended to
break his bargains with them — as well as to conceal the
true nature of his dishonesty toward them - he'd also
promised them Morn.
But the Bill had Davies. If Nick's credit-jack had been
revoked, he had nothing with which to buy the brat back.
Except Morn.
He'd come to a place where he had to cheat somebody
- and whoever he cheated would kill him for it.
Unless -
The idea hit him like a bolt of his old lightning,
the electricity which kept him and everything he valued
alive.
- unless he cheated the cops instead.
Hashi Lebwohl had assigned him to undermine
Billingate, do the shipyard potentially permanent harm.
And the DA director had told him how to do it. A
dangerous gamble: the kind Nick specialized in. That
Lebwohl was willing to take such risks had impressed
Nick in spite of himself.
It was a risk which could be turned against Lebwohl
and the entire fucking UMCP.
Would they respond to his last message? He didn't
know. Maybe not. But if they did, so much the better.
They were much more of a threat to Thanatos Minor and
the Amnion than to Nick himself. As far as they were
concerned, Morn was the only excuse he needed for
whatever he did. He could always say he was trying to
rescue her.
And if they didn't respond, they couldn't interfere.
The consequences would be incalculable, of course.
But that wasn't Nick's problem. Let Lebwohl clean it up.
Or Dios himself. They deserved it.
In the meantime it just might work.
For a moment he simply stood still, tasting his own
resources, letting the bolt's charge bring him back to
himself. Then he turned away from Mikka as if her
doubts no longer mattered.
'Arkenhill, ' he asked with a semblance of his old
relaxed, deadly insouciance, 'how far back are those
warships?'
The scan second had this information at his fingertips.
'Tranquil Hegemony is about half an hour. She burned
for a while after we passed her - after the pod changed
course. Closed most of the distance. But she's down to
our speed now - normal approach velocity for Billingate. '
To show that the hostility of her intentions wasn't aimed
at the shipyard.
'Calm Horizons has been coming up on us as fast as a
lumbering tub like that can and still leave room to
decelerate. In fact, she cut it a lot finer than we did. '
Which she could do because she was Amnion - and
because she'd been moving much slower than Captain's
Fancy's imponderable. 9C. 'She should be in dock' -
Arkenhill checked a screen - 'call it eight hours from
now. '
Nick shook his head. They won't come all the way in.
They're going to hang off in prime range for that damn
super-light proton beam, just to remind us - and the Bill
- we can't hope to cross them and live.
'So, ' he continued as if he were thinking aloud, 'I'll
have a little more than half an hour to talk to the Bill
before Tranquil Hegemony arrives. And I can stall for four
or five hours after that - until Calm Horizons is in position
to support Tranquil Hegemony.
'By then I'd better be ready to get us out of this mess.
One way or another. '
He scanned the bridge. No one disagreed with him —
and no one except Mikka and Ransum met his gaze.
The helm second's face conveyed nothing more profound
than worry and tension. However, Mikka's expression
was dour and defiant, almost openly skeptical. Minute by
minute she allowed more of her distrust to show.
'Scorz, ' Nick said over his shoulder, approximating a
poised casualness he still didn't feel, 'call me when we're
ten minutes out of dock. I'll be in my cabin. '
Getting ready.
Then he moved to the command station and leaned
close to Mikka's ear. Maybe she was the one who'd
betrayed him. Ignoring the way she pulled her head back
as if she didn't want him to touch her, didn't want to feel
his breath on her cheek, he murmured intimately, 'I'm
going to do my job. You do yours. But the next time
you look at me like that, you'd better be prepared to back
it up. '
Leaving that threat behind him, he walked off the
bridge.
When Captain's Fancy docked, he was waiting in the
access passage of her airlock as if he were eager.
He tried to believe that he'd recovered his sure genius
for victory: to some extent he succeeded. Yet his new
energy felt as artificial as the resources Morn's zone
implant gave her.
Why were the Amnion so bloody determined to get
their hands on her brat? What did he represent to them?
Was he just an excuse - a way to unmask Nick's real
treachery? Or did Davies have some value Nick couldn't
guess?
Because he couldn't answer questions like that, he
couldn't gauge his own position accurately — or the Bill's.
How much did the Bill have to gain by pleasing the
Amnion in this situation? How much did he stand to
lose by refusing to help Nick?
The sensation that Morn had done him more damage
than he could sustain continued to gnaw deep in his guts
despite his efforts to believe he was ready.
'Dock in two minutes, ' Scorz announced over the
intercom. 'Secure to disengage spin. '
Nick was ready for that, at least. With his hands on
the zero g grips, he waited for the transition between
Captain's Fancy's internal spin and Thanatos Minor's pull.
The rock's gravitic field was roughly. 8g. In itself,
Thanatos Minor lacked the mass to produce so much
gravity. However, one of the curious side-effects of the.
kind of fusion generator which powered Billingate was
an increase in the planetoid's effective density. It had
almost enough g to be comfortable.
As Nick's boots began to drift from the deck, imitating
freefall, Scorz said unnecessarily, 'One minute. '
Nick clenched his teeth against his visceral distrust of
dock. He was illegal: his survival depended on movement
- Captain's Fancy's as well as his own. Even when he was
safe, he disliked surrendering his ship to the clamped
paralysis of a berth. But now he was faced with the very
real possibility that he and his ship would never move
freely again.
Then the hull relayed a jolt of impact. Transmitted
through the bulkheads, the sound of the grapples and
limpets carried clearly across the ship. From Billingate's
lock came the hiss of air-lines. As if they were mag-
netized, Nick's boots pulled him toward the new floor.
'Dock secure, Nick. ' This time the voice over the inter-
com was Mikka's. We're switching to installation power
now. ' Familiar with every hum and glow of his ship, he
noticed the nearly subliminal flicker of the lights as the
current changed. 'Shall we keep drive on standby?'
Damn her. That was something else he should have
thought of for himself. Resisting an impulse to snarl, he
answered, 'Good idea. Let's act like we expect to be
assigned a shipyard berth almost immediately. ' Then he
added, 'Lock up behind me. Nobody goes in or out until
I get back. '
'Right, " she acknowledged.
At the control panel, Nick checked the airlock, then hit
the sequence to open the doors. His hands did everything
abruptly, as if he were eager - or afraid.
As soon as he entered the lock and closed the doors,
an indicator told him that Mikka had sealed the ship.
Reaching to key the outer door, he heard Sib Mackern
over the intercom. 'Nick?'
Nick thumbed the toggle. 'What?'
'I've got alternative id on Soar. The ship that picked
up Davies. It's tentative - you might call it hypothetical
- but I thought you would want to know. '
Nick dismissed the suggestion. Tell me later. I haven't
got time now. ' He was in a hurry. The timer was running
on his last half hour before the Amnion arrived and began
throwing their weight around.
He silenced the intercom; opened Captain's Fancy's
outer door.
It was like being back on Enablement. Billingate's air-
lock stood open, admitting him to the scan field passage
which would search him for weapons or contaminants.
And at the end of the passage, two guards waited. The
only significant difference was that these guards were
purportedly human - and they already had their guns
trained on him.
Both of them looked like their doctors had forgotten
- or never known - the distinction between bio-
prosthetic and bio-retributive surgery.
Nick was accustomed to such sights, but they still filled
him with contempt. Any man who couldn't shoot
straight unless his gun was built into his arm, or couldn't
decide when to shoot unless Operations radioed orders
directly into his brain, was something less than human,
no matter how much he thought he'd been enhanced.
But the doctors hadn't stopped there. In addition to pros-
thetic firearms and transmitters, both guards had optical
monitors where one or the other of their eyes should
have been. They were machines, nothing more: pieces of
equipment pretending to be human. For recreation, Nick
thought mordantly, they probably stuck their fingers in
power receptacles.
'Captain Succorso?' one of them asked as if his vocal
cords had been replaced by a speaker.
Nick grinned maliciously. Who were you expecting?
Warden Dios?' Striding between the guards, he said, 'I'm
going to see the Bill. Be good boys and stay here. Make
sure nobody steals my ship. '
He knew the way; but the guards didn't let him find
it for himself. After a momentary hesitation while they
listened to orders from Operations, they came after him,
bounding against the rock's g until they caught up with
him. One at each shoulder, they steered him along the
access passages into the reception area for the visitors'
docks.
In Reception they passed more guards, as well as data
terminals which would have enabled Nick to secure lodg-
ings, establish local credit, hire women off the cruise, or
prepare id verification through finger- or voice-print. He
had no interest in those amenities, however. Moving at
a pace that made him bounce from stride to stride, he
half led, half accompanied his escort toward the nearest
lift which ran down into the core of the rock; to the
depths where the Bill had hived his lair.
Down there, a thousand meters of stone, concrete and
steel kept the Bill and his profits safe from any attack
short of a prolonged super-light proton barrage. Calm
Horizons and Tranquil Hegemony could probably dig him
out, but only by blazing away at Thanatos Minor until
the entire surface was slagged and the reactor in the heart
of the rock reached meltdown temperatures.
The Bill may have been as larcenous and uncaring as a
billygoat; but he was smart enough to be afraid. Other-
wise he wouldn't live down here — and Nick's credit-jack
would be good.
The ride down in the lift made Nick wish he carried a
transmitter that could reach Captain's Fancy. But here
even the kind of nerve-beepers he used routinely in places
like Com-Mine Station were worse than useless: they
didn't function, but they did arouse suspicion.
On either side, the guards kept their guns aimed at his
ribs as if they expected him to do something crazy at any
moment.
'So how's business?' he asked as if he wanted to start a
conversation. 'Do you clowns get enough activity around
here to keep you from dying of boredom?'
One of the guards smiled to show that he had no
teeth: they'd been rotted away by nic or hype. The other
remarked, 'As long as we think we might get to shoot
you, we're happy. '
Nick shrugged. 'Sorry to disappoint you. You can't
shoot me now - the Bill wants to talk to me. And once
we do that he'll realize that keeping me alive is more
important than you are. '
'You have to pay him first, ' the guard with no teeth
chuckled, 'and you ain't got no credit. '
'Don't worry about it, ' Nick sneered cheerfully, trying
to diffuse the tension which tightened around his chest
as the car descended. 'Some things are more valuable than
credit - although a BR like you probably can't under-
stand that. '
What do you think?' the second guard asked the first.
'I think he's trying to insult us. '
'Don't think, ' Nick advised. 'You'll get confused. '
Involuntarily, despite his air of confidence, he held his
breath as the lift sighed to a stop.
Another access passage. More guards. Nick hardly
noticed them. The mass of rock piled above him had
never felt so heavy. It seemed to lean down on him,
making his shoulders sag and his step falter in spite of
the light g. Until his jaws began to ache, he didn't realize
that he was grinding his teeth.
He needed energy now; needed his wits and his superi-
ority. The problems he'd left behind aboard Captain's
Fancy could be ignored temporarily. Another victory or
two would restore his crew's confidence in him. Eventu-
ally he would discover who had betrayed him. But the
problems ahead could kill him in a matter of minutes. If
he didn't measure up to his reputation, he was finished
now.
Do you think I'm done with you, Morn? he asked the
echoing corridor. Do you think I've finished hurting you?
You're out of your mind. I haven't started yet.
That came first, before he tried betraying the cops.
Straightening his shoulders, he walked the last meters
to the strongroom which served as the Bill's personal
command center, and grinned sardonically at the
door-guard.
Unlike Nick's escort, this individual cradled his beam
gun in his hands. He didn't appear normal, however.
Except for his mouth, most of his face had been covered
or replaced by scanning equipment. Red and amber lights
winked cryptically at his temples. The Bill didn't entrust
his own security to the bugeyes - the optical monitors
and listening devices - which scrutinized, and reported
on all the rest of Billingate.
On the wall over the door was a sign that read:
I'M THE BILL YOU OWE.
IF YOU DON'T PAY ME,
YOU DON'T LEAVE.
Apparently none of the guards needed to announce Nick
aloud. Their transmitters did the job inaudibly. After a
moment's consultation, the scan-guard keyed the door
and admitted Nick to the strongroom.
His escort stayed behind. He did his best to saunter
inside without them like a man who owed nothing.
The room was large enough to be a cargo hold. The
Bill liked to have space about him, perhaps to counteract
the claustrophobic depth of his covert. The flat surround-
ing walls were featureless, however. In fact, they were
barely lit. Most of the illumination came from a set of
ceiling spots which focused down on the Bill himself.
If recent events disturbed him, he didn't show it. Alone
in his command center, he stood encircled by a neat ring
of computer stations, gleaming under the spots: boards,
terminals, screens and readouts which, presumably, kept
him in contact with every part of Billingate. The gro-
tesque length of his head was mimicked by the rest of his
body: he was insatiably thin. Stark in the light, he looked
hungry enough to suck the marrow from Nick's bones.
Shadows filled the hollows of his cheeks. Arms like sticks
supported hands with fingers as sharp and narrow as
styluses. Under his dirty hair and glittering eyes, his lip-
less smile exposed his keen, crooked teeth.
As if in welcome, his spread his arms. 'Captain Nick, '
he said in his incongruously boyish voice. 'How nice to
see you. You haven't been away all that long - not as
long as some - but it's always a pleasure when you visit.
'I gather you've led an interesting life recently. It isn't
every day that you arrive here escorted' - he relished the
irony of the word - 'by Amnion defensives. You must
tell me all about it sometime.
'But not now, ' he added quickly, like a solicitous host.
'I know how busy you must be. For the present, tell me
how I can serve you. Somewhere here, we have' - he
made a gesture which seemed to encompass the galaxy —
'everything you can pay for. '
Nick was in no mood for blather. Nevertheless his ship
- as well as his life - depended on his ability to match
the Bill. Deliberately casual, he remarked, That depends
on how much money I've got. I have a credit-jack' - Nick
named the sum - 'but Operations tells me you won't
honor it. That limits my options. '
'"Won't, "' Captain Nick?' the Bill put in promptly.
'Surely Operations didn't say "won't"?'
Nick tried to grin with his old, dangerous amusement.
'Maybe I've missed something. I requested a shipyard
berth. They docked me with the visitors. ' A little of his
anger leaked into his voice, but he kept it quiet. 'And
they told me my credit-jack has been revoked. Doesn't
that mean "won't"?'
'Not at all, not at all. ' Whenever the Bill moved his
head, the light made his face look like it was being eaten
by shadows. 'It simply means the situation has become
delicate. The "issuing authority" of that credit-jack has
"instructed" us not to honor it. ' Apparently the Bill
enjoyed euphemisms. This is not strictly - shall we say,
not strictly legal? If it were, no one would ever pay me
for anything. Men in your position - not you, of course,
Captain Nick, certainly not, but men with fewer scruples
- would give me credit for goods or services, and then
after they were gone they would simply "revoke" my
remuneration.
'I don't do business that way. I'm the Bill you owe,
Captain Nick. ' Behind his light, enthusiastic tone, he was
fatally serious. 'That means I get paid first — and I make
sure the money is good before I accept it. If I accept
your credit-jack, you can be certain the Amnion will
honor it. '
'Fine, ' Nick said, 'good. ' His poise was fraying. He
would have loved to hit the Bill a few times and hear
those thin bones snap. 'How do we get there from here?
I need repairs. I have a credit-jack to pay for them. But
you're suspicious. Now what?'
'Simplicity itself. ' The Bill smiled so that his teeth
shone. 'Ask the Amnion to rescind their instructions. As
soon as they inform me that they no longer object to our
transactions, your credit will be good, and I'll provide
repairs which will satisfy you completely. '
Without realizing it, Nick had tightened his shoulders,
clenched his fists. By an act of will, he uncurled his
fingers. But he couldn't undo the knots in his voice as he
said, 'I can't do that. It's up to you, not me. You have
something that belongs to me. It's something I've already
promised to them - payment for services rendered. As
long as you have that, I can't satisfy them. And as long
as I can't satisfy them, they're going to be a threat to all
of us. They may decide to just take my property away
from you. '
Smoothly the Bill said, 'I may decide to "just" give it. '
'And if you do, ' Nick countered, "you'll be cheating
me. ' He stifled a need to brandish his fists. 'I may not
look like very dangerous right now, but I can do your
reputation a lot of damage. Ships will stay away when
they hear you've started cheating.
'No, ' he continued harshly, 'the really simple solution
is for you to give me what's mine. I'll pay your costs, of
course - and a salvage fee. Then I can satisfy the Amnion,
and we'll all get what we want in the end. '
The Bill shook his long head. 'I'm afraid that's a little
too simple. ' Boyish high spirits seemed to bubble in the
background as he spoke. 'Just as an example of the com-
plexities you've neglected - salvage fees depend on the
value of the goods salvaged. You're asking me to surren-
der those goods, but you haven't told me what they're
worth. '
Nick swallowed a curse. They haven't got any value
to me at all. The Amnion want them, I don't. And I can't
explain the Amnion to you. I don't know why they think
that brat is so precious. ' I don't even know whether it's
really him they want. I don't know which one of us they
were trying to kill in the gap. A bit lamely, he added,
'You could ask them to set the fee. '
'My dear Captain Nick, ' replied the Bill with cadaverous
amusement, 'I've already done that. They decline to place
a value on your "property". Indeed, they decline to solve
any of your problems for you. If I understand them rightly,
they insist that the sole, or at least the only relevant, issue
here is "the mutual satisfaction of requirements". They feel
that they've bargained with you in good faith, and that
you've cheated them. This they consider intolerable. They
insist on restitution, pure and simple. '
Nick clenched his teeth for a moment. Then he took a
deep breath, let it out with a sigh, and said as if he were
admitting defeat, 'So I'm stuck. You won't return the
contents of that ejection pod. And you won't accept my
money. That doesn't leave me very many options. ' Are
you ready for this, Morn? It might work. Can you stand
it? 'I guess I'll have to offer you something else. '
The Bill beamed. 'Naturally I'm interested - although
I can't imagine what you have that would be worth more
than money. '
'Try this. ' Nick glanced around the dark corners of the
strongroom as if to ensure that no one else could hear
him. Then he moved closer to the Bill. Billingate's g
made him feel light: what he was about to do made him
feel light-headed. When he came up against the nearest
of the Bill's computer stations, he stopped. In a quiet,
conspiratorial tone, he said, 'I'll trade you. You give me
the kid you found in that pod. I'll give you a UMCP
ensign, complete with id tag. '
The Bill's face seemed to stretch as if he were feigning
surprise.
'She's a cop - and she's intact, ' Nick articulated softly.
'If that were all, she would be worth a fortune out here.
The things she can tell you are priceless. But there's more.
'She's a cop, she's intact, she's gorgeous - and she has
a zone implant. The control comes with her. '
The shirting of the shadows on the Bill's face began to
make his surprise appear more genuine.
Think about it for a minute, ' Nick urged. He'd already
promised Morn to the Amnion, but that didn't hinder
him. They were after Davies: Morn was just 'restitution'
for their inconvenience. Nick would be able to find some
other way to satisfy that requirement. 'Her id tag alone
is precious. It'll give you all the codes the cops use to
access their own computers. And you won't even have to
break her to get the rest. All you have to do is turn her
on and let her spill everything she knows.
'But here's the best part. ' Are you listening, Morn?
When you're done with what she knows, she's still
priceless.
'I tell you, she's gorgeous. And that zone implant makes
her the most effective piece of female flesh you'll ever see.
I know from experience. She'll make every other woman
here look like a dry hag. In the end, you might get more
for selling her on the cruise than her information and
codes are worth. ' The idea of selling Morn into sexual
slavery almost restored his sense of being sure and
unbeatable. The truth is, she's a hell of a lot more valu-
able than that fucking brat. Except to the Amnion,
because they don't fuck women - and they don't know
she's a cop. But she's about the only thing I've got left
to bargain with. For the sake of surviving what you call
my "escort", I'll trade her for that kid. '
'Interesting. ' The Bill twisted his lipless mouth. 'A tasty
offer - apparently. Of course, I accept your glowing pic-
ture of her worth unreservedly. But simply out of curi-
osity - do the cops know you've got one of their ensigns
to sell?'
Curiosity, shit. 'Sure they do. Her name is Morn
Hyland - she came to me off Angus fucking Thermo-
pile's ship after Com-Mine Security arrested him. They
probably think she's still working for them - they don't
know about the zone implant - but that doesn't mean
they haven't already taken precautions. Some of what she
knows is out of date by now. Pieces of her information
have been changed. She's still priceless. '
Then why, ' inquired the Bill, 'haven't you simply sold
her to the Amnion and solved all your problems that
way?'
'Because' - Nick glared straight into the Bill's bright
gaze - 'I don't want to solve that many of their problems.
I'm like you. I do business with them for what I can get
out of it, not because I'm trying to help them. '
Remember that. I'm warning you. I'm like you. If you
mess with me, I'll burn your heart out.
The twisting of the Bill's mouth became a grimace.
He looked down at his readouts, tapped a key or two
absent-mindedly. Etched by light, he ran his fingertips
along the edges of his boards.
When he lifted his head again, he was smiling like a
corpse with an orgasm.
'Captain Nick, I don't trust you. You're playing some
kind of game with me - perhaps the same game you're
playing with the Amnion. Why else did you divert your
ejection pod here, instead of letting Tranquil Hegemony
have it?'
Before he could stop himself, Nick protested, 'Morn
did that. '
When he realized his mistake, he swore at himself
viciously. How had she done him so much damage? How
had she reached so far inside him with the knife of her
treachery?
'And you expect me to believe, ' the Bill retorted as if
he were pouncing, 'she did it without your connivance?
No, Captain Nick. You planned that with her. Or else
the picture you paint of her is decidedly - shall we say,
decidedly optimistic? In either case, I can be sure of only
one thing. If I trade for her, what I get will not be what
you say it is.
'Haven't you heard the rumors about you, Captain
Nick? Don't you know people think you're a pirate who
supplements his income by doing odd jobs for
UMCPDA? Perhaps this entire exercise is an elaborate
charade designed to plant your pet ensign on my instal-
lation.
'I'm afraid my answer is no. ' He sounded as happy as
a kid who'd won a game of marbles. 'If you can't pay me,
Captain Nick, we really have nothing further to discuss. '
Nick sagged as if he were beaten.
But not because the Bill had refused him.
Oh, the loss he felt was real. So intensely that it made
his groin ache, he wanted to force Morn into prostitution
on Thanatos Minor. As revenge that would have pleased
him more than giving her to Amnion. It would have fit
the way she'd hurt him.
Nevertheless his show of dismay was a ploy. He
allowed himself to appear defeated in an effort to conceal
the true nature of his desperation.
'All right, ' he said like a groan, 'all right. I'm helpless
here, you know that. If I weren't, I would see you crawl
before I did any more business with you. But I'm stuck.
You won't honor my credit. Without repairs, I can't run.
And you won't give me that brat you rescued. If I don't
turn him over to the Amnion, they'll do worse than kill
me. ' He recited all this in a deliberate display of pros-
tration. The Bill liked to see people prostrated; liked it
so much that he might believe it. 'You haven't left me
any choice.
'I've got one last thing to trade. '
'Ah. ' The Bill gave a sigh of expectant gratification.
His eyes watched Nick keenly.
'I've got-'
Abruptly a light flashed on one of the Bill's boards,
distracting him. He touched a key, glanced at a readout;
his long, delicate fingers tapped in instructions.
Listen to me! Nick wanted to shout. You're right - I
sometimes do jobs for Data Acquisition. That's why I've
got an immunity drug for Amnion mutagens. Hashi
Lebwohl gave it to me. To test for him. That's why I
went to Enablement. To test it. And it works. Otherwise
I wouldn't be here now.
I'll give you some of it if you give me Davies.
But the words died inside him as the door swept open,
and a woman with a slight stiffness in her stride came
into the strongroom.
'Captain Nick, ' said the Bill with his usual incongruous
eagerness, 'do you know Sorus Chatelaine? She tells me
you haven't met, but you may recognize her by repu-
tation. It was her ship' - his grin was obscene - 'that
salvaged your "property". '
The light seemed to contract around Nick. The woman
was all he could see as she approached. Baffled by surprise
and old terror, he stared and stared at her while she
greeted the Bill, then shifted her stance to study him with
an air of detached amusement. The stiffness in her limbs
suggested that she disliked even the rock's lesser g.
'As it turns out, ' she said in a low, vibrant tone, 'I was
wrong. Captain Succorso and I have met after all. He was
using another name at the time, as I recall. That's why I
didn't make the connection. '
Sorus Chatelaine, the Captain of Soar. He hadn't made
the connection, either, of course he hadn't, like her ship
she'd had another name then. And she was much older
now. Lines and tired skin marred the structural hand-
someness of her face; the light made the gray in her hair
look white. Yet he recognized her instantly, absolutely,
as if she'd stepped out of a recurring nightmare.
She was the woman who'd put the scars on his cheeks,
the wounds on his soul.
'I see the surprise is mutual, ' she added archly, as if he
were still only a helpless boy in front of her.
Fear and rage knotted his muscles, twisted his face. An
instinct for survival stretched as thin as thread was all
that kept him from hurling himself at her throat.
With a confident smile, she dismissed him and returned
her attention to the Bill. 'You've been busy. ' Her voice
still had the contralto richness which had once wrung
Nick's heart when she made love to him; when she
laughed at him. 'You may not have had time to pick
up the latest bulletins. I wanted to discuss them with
you - and Captain Succorso may have something to
contribute.' She was laughing at Nick again, secretly but
unmistakably.
He couldn't stop staring at her. His muscles were so
tight with strain that he could hardly breathe.
'Your timing is unfortunate,' the Bill chided cheerfully.
'Captain Nick was about to make what I'm sure is a most
unusual offer. However, that can wait for a moment.' He
looked at his readouts. Which bulletin did you wish to
discuss?'
'Operations,' Captain Chatelaine replied promptly,
'has just had contact from what appears to be a UMCP
ship. A Needle-class gap scout, presumably unarmed - if
her id is honest. She calls herself Trumpet. She's about
eighteen hours out, and requesting permission to
approach.
'According to her first transmission, she has two men
aboard.' Sorus paused for effect, then said, 'Angus
Thermopyle and Milos Taverner.
They claim they stole her.'
Nick seemed to feel the air being sucked out of the
room. Nailed where he stood by contracting light and
too much stress, he feared for a moment that he was
going to pass out.

NICK
Torn between spotlights and murder, anoxia and
fear, he reeled internally. He seemed to experi-
ence the crash of lightning, the blaze of thunder,
but they were all inside his head; secret; unreal. She'd
left him with tears of humiliation and ruin streaming
through the blood on his cheeks, and now his scars
burned like streaks of acid under his eyes. If he could
have drawn breath, he might have moaned.
Caught and fixed by the light, Nick Succorso went a
little crazy.
Before he broke, however - before he killed himself by
trying to kill Sorus - a name came to him like a spar to
the hand of a drowning man. Milos. He clutched at it,
clung to it, recited it. Milos Taverner. It was rescue and
hope and a kind of madness inextricably tangled together,
but it was all he had.
Milos Taverner was coming to Billingate.
Slowly the pressure in his chest eased, and he began
to breathe again. The light loosened around him like a
cut noose; he could see the walls again, dim through the
enshrouding shadows. The feral grimace let go of his
features. By degrees he recovered his grin.
Somewhere he'd come undone. He was no longer the
Nick Succorso who never lost. But he could still grin and
face his tormentors and wreak havoc.
Milos was coming.
He'd been silent, struggling with himself, too long.
When he looked at the Bill and Sorus Chatelaine again,
he saw that they were both watching him expectantly.
The Bill held his fingers poised over one of his boards as
if he were braced to call for help - or to shoot Nick
himself. But Sorus appeared to fear nothing. Her gaze
was amused and clinical, as if she enjoyed her effect on
him and wanted to know how far it would push him.
'God, I'm tired, ' he murmured in a probably futile
effort to explain away his reaction. 'If you think it's pleas-
ant being harried all the way here from Enablement, you
haven't tried it recently. ' Then, because craziness was just
another form of inspiration, he added, 'Do you know
what those bastards did to me?' He no longer needed
outrage. He was calm now, almost clinical himself. His
grin showed how calm he was. They sold me sabotaged
gap drive components. I damn near blew up in the gap.
If my engineer hadn't panicked and tried to abort tach,
I wouldn't be alive now. '
And you wouldn't know how treacherous your hosts
can be.
'I wonder what you did to provoke that' Sorus mused.
Nick ignored her. From now on he was going to
ignore her. Until he was ready to finish her.
For the present he concentrated on the Bill.
In the Bill's eyes, he could see the lean man's efforts to
guess what had produced this change in him.
After a speculative pause the Bill asked, Were you
expecting Captain Angus? You seem pleased to hear of
his arrival. '
'Not particularly, ' Nick answered with some of his old,
casual readiness. Even a crazy man could understand how
dangerous this moment was. The Bill had to be deflected
from the truth. 'I was thinking about something else.
She' - he rolled his eyes at Sorus - 'probably didn't tell
you I've got an old score to settle with her. A very old
score. There was no reason for her to mention it, of
course. She didn't know it would be relevant. But it's
sure as hell relevant now. When she first walked in here,
the only thing I could think about was butchering her
on the spot. Then it occurred to me' - his grin felt malign
and gratifying against his scars - 'that I've got better
options. This could turn out to be a lot of fun. '
Let her believe him as much or as little as she chose.
He didn't care. The Bill's reaction was all that mattered.
The truth is, ' Nick went on, 'I don't give a shit whether
Captain Thermo-pile is here or not. He's got nothing to
do with me. But if you want my advice, this is it. Don't
let him come in. Something stinks about all this, and it
isn't me. '
The Bill pursed his mouth reflectively, then flexed his
ringers like a dismissal. There is cause for concern, cer-
tainly. Fortunately we have plenty of time to consider
the situation. The thought of time reminds me, however,
Captain Nick, that you were interrupted. As I recall, you
were about to make me a new offer. '
Nick shrugged. 'Never mind. ' No matter how undone
he was, he could be as dismissive as the Bill. We'll talk
about that later. I've got other things to think about. For
now, a visitor's berth sounds like a good idea. Unless' —
he tightened his grin - 'you're planning to revoke all my
money, not just that one credit-jack. '
'Captain Nick, ' the Bill said in a tone of good-humored
reproach. Shadows played in and out of his mouth as he
spoke. 'Money is money. Please spend as much of it here
as you wish. I'll be delighted to honor your credit-jack
as well - as soon as your other difficulties are resolved. '
'Good, ' Nick drawled. 'In the meantime, take good
care of my property. I don't want to have to worry about
what you're doing to that little sonofabitch. '
Without a glance at Sorus Chatelaine, he turned and
strolled toward the door.
'Some things never change, Captain Succorso, ' she
murmured, taunting him. 'Keep that in mind. '
The door slid open in front of him. Ignoring her, he
left the Bill's strongroom.
Milos Taverner was coming to Billingate.
By the time his escort returned him to Captain's Fancy,
his time had already run out. As soon as he entered the
lock, shut the door, and keyed the intercom, Mikka told
him, 'Tranquil Hegemony is in, Nick. She's been
demanding to see you ever since she docked. Now I guess
they're going to send another of their emissaries to talk
to you. '
Fatally calm, Nick asked Where is she?' while he
waited for Mikka to unseal the ship.
'A dedicated berth in the Amnion sector. I'm surprised
they don't insist you go there. Make you deal with them
on their own terms, in their own air. But I guess they
don't want to give you a chance for more delays. '
'All right. ' Nick snapped off the airlock intercom as the
inner door opened. More delays? He had no choice. If
he couldn't delay, he was finished. He had no levers to
use against the Bill - none except the immunity drug,
which he was saving to trap Sorus. So he had to rely on
Milos.
Milos was here with Angus? Why? What kind of power
brought those two natural enemies together? Was it a
power Nick could make use of somehow?
He needed answers; needed Milos. But Milos and
Trumpet were still eighteen hours away.
He would have to stall the Amnion.
He entered the relative safety of his ship and headed
toward the bridge like a man for whom danger and sur-
vival had become simple.
Unquestionably he was losing his mind. Pieces of it
seemed to fall away by the minute, uncluttering what
remained.
She was his ship, his, and he took strength from her.
She would serve him somehow, save him yet — she and
Milos. As he moved through her, he had the sensation
that Thanatos Minor's gravitic hold was growing less,
that his legs had more lift and his arms more thrust.
All his dreams of revenge on Sorus Chatelaine had a
chance to come true at last.
He wished he'd known her real name before this. It
would have helped make his plans against her more vivid.
Brandishing a grin, he crossed the aperture to the
bridge.
Mikka and her watch were still at their stations. Some
of them did nothing but sit, obviously waiting for Nick's
return. Others - Arkenhill, Sib Mackern, Mikka herself
- studied operational data from the installation; they may
have been looking for hints of the ship's fate.
Now, however, they weren't alone. Liete Corregio
stood beside Mikka. Like Mikka, she gave the impression
that she was scrutinizing everything on the command
readouts as well as the display screens. And Vector
Shaheed was seated at the engineer's station. For a man
who'd been sentenced to death, he looked remarkably
phlegmatic - which reminded Nick that he'd always liked
the engineer. Vector was at least courageous enough to
face facts without feeling sorry for himself. Maybe, Nick
thought indulgently, Vector didn't have to die after all.
Competent engineers were hard to find.
'Nick, ' Mikka said as if she were announcing him. Stol-
idly she stood up from her g-seat, offering him command.
He waved her back to her post. He felt too buoyant
to sit down. In any case, there was nothing he needed to
do at the command board. He scanned the bridge; for a
moment he fixed a smile that was almost charitable on
Vector. Then he asked nonchalantly, 'So where's this
fucking "emissary"?'
'Depends on how fast he walks, ' Mikka muttered. We
were told he's on his way. Should be here in the next five
minutes. '
Nick nodded cheerfully. The likelihood that the emiss-
ary would threaten him within an inch of his life didn't
trouble him. He already knew what the threats were.
What he didn't know was how ready the Amnion were
to carry them out.
'Nick, ' Sib said from the data station, 'about that other
ship, Soar-' He sounded tired and worried; scared of
Nick's displeasure.
Feeling magnanimous, Nick cut him off. 'I already
know. She used to call herself Gutbuster. She was illegal
a long time ago, before places like this hit their stride. In
those days, she sold directly to the Amnion. ' That was a
guess - the woman who became Sorus Chatelaine had
never told him who her buyers were - but he believed
it. 'Maybe she still works for them. '
Then, on a whim, he put his head between Mikka's
and Liete's. Leaning close, he whispered so that only they
could hear him, 'She's the bitch who cut me. '
Like Mikka, Liete wasn't especially pretty. Her features
were too blunt: her competence was too obvious. But
Nick thought that the surprise, the instinctive anger, on
her small, dark face made her lovely.
Quietly she breathed, 'Are we going after her?'
Is that what this is all about?
We sure are, ' Nick promised.
Facing him straight as if to offer him everything she
had, Liete murmured, 'Good. '
Terrific, ' Mikka snarled. Nick's news deepened her
scowl to a grimace. That's just what we need. '
Her hostility threatened to curdle his mood. Turning
his mouth to her ear, he said distinctly, 'I warned you. If
you want to take that attitude with me, you'd better back
it up. '
Her reaction startled him. As unexpected as a flash-fire,
she flung herself away from him in revulsion. Springing
out of her g-seat, she confronted him across the com-
mand board.
'I'll fucking back it up, you bastard!' she yelled. 'I'm
your goddamn command second! I've backed you up too
often — I've saved your fucking ass too often - to be
treated like this.
Things aren't bad enough for you already? You think
you're the only one here who cares what happens - the
only one whose life is on the line? We're all hanging by
our fingernails because you took us to Enablement, you
cheated the Amnion, you traded Davies away. And after
swearing to give him back, you lost him. Now the Bill
has him. Our credit isn't worth crap. You haven't got
anything left to trade. If we try to leave, those warships
will fry us - and if we stay here, we'll starve. That's
assuming we aren't murdered where we sit because you
haven't kept your bargains.
'And now' - she pounded the station with both fists —
'now you're going to turn this whole disaster into a fuck-
ing grudge match with some woman who works for the
Bill and probably the Amnion as well!
This is shit, Nick!' Abruptly her anger seemed to run
out of energy. Sounding as weary as Sib - but not scared,
not even a little - she finished, 'And I would be shit if I
didn't try to stop you. '
The bridge was as silent as a tomb. No one aboard had
ever seen Nick challenged like this. Even Orn Vorbuld,
who had tried to rape Nick's woman - and had left a
virus in the computers to protect himself - hadn't done
anything like this.
All at once Nick started laughing. He had to laugh to
prevent himself from screaming. Mikka's protest brought
back the firestorm of fear and fury which had nearly
engulfed him in the Bill's strongroom. In another minute
he was going to kill the command second with his bare
fists.
That's all right, Mikka, ' he chuckled. 'I can see you're
upset. But you're working from a false assumption.
You're assuming you know what the issues here really
are. ' You're assuming I'm already beaten. That's why
you're wrong. And that's why -'
'Nick, ' Scorz put in anxiously, 'that emissary is here. '
Nick opened his throat to roar, Why you'd better shut
up if you want to live! But the look on Liete's face
stopped him. Her eyes were shining with excitement -
no, with trust; with the precise utter confidence in him,
the willingness to surrender herself absolutely, that he
craved from the bottom of his heart.
Mikka didn't feel that way about him now. Being
Mikka, she may never have felt that way about any-
thing.
But Liete Corregio was on his side to the end.
So he didn't need to scream. Or kill Mikka. Or defend
himself. Suddenly calm again, as casual as ever, he asked
Scorz, Who is it this time?'
A sigh of relief or trepidation seemed to spread away
from him around the bridge. !He didn't say, ' Scorz
reported as if he were fighting a knot in his throat, 'but
I think it's the same bastard they sent last time. '
Involuntarily Nick recoiled as if he'd been hit. 'Him?'
he snapped. His calm was gone in an instant; forgotten.
'Here?'
'I think so, ' Scorz offered hesitantly. 'He sounds the
same. '
A laser of inspiration shot along the synapses of Nick's
brain; his nerves were ablaze with coherent light. The
same bastard they sent last time. Not some regulation
Amnioni off Tranquil Hegemony.
Marc Vestabule.
Which meant that somebody on Enablement, some
Amnion 'decisive, ' had anticipated this situation. Antici-
pated Captain's Fancy's survival in the gap. Anticipated
Nick's escape to Thanatos Minor. Otherwise why was
Vestabule aboard Tranquil Hegemony?
'By damn, ' Nick murmured in wonder, 'they weren't
trying to kill us with those gap drive components. '
He was impressed in spite of himself. They were testing
their equipment. Using us to see if those components
worked. '
None of Mikka's watch understood him: he was too
far ahead of them. Mikka herself scowled like a shout of
frustration. Arkenhill and Karster stared at Nick with
their mouths open. Ransum squirmed in her seat as if
she had skinworms. Liete seemed caught between Nick's
excitement and her own incomprehension.
Only Vector was quick enough to follow Nick's
reasoning.
'But what are they for? he protested quietly. They
would have killed us if we hadn't aborted tach. ' He may
have been trying to remind Nick that he'd once saved
Captain's Fancy.
'Not for the gap, ' Nick answered as if he were sure.
'For acceleration. ' Almost in awe, he added, 'Imagine
what a tub like Calm Horizons could do at. 9C. '
'Oh my God, ' Sib groaned.
Around the bridge voices swore. Nick ignored them
and went on thinking.
Nothing on Earth - nothing in human space — could
be defended against a super-light proton beam fired from
a warship traveling at. 9C. If the Amnion ever decided
to abandon their strategy of nonviolent imperialism, they
wanted to be sure they would win.
So Davies Hyland was just a smoke screen. What the
Amnion really wanted was to kill Nick; kill Captain's
Fancy. Before he or his ship warned human space.
But they had to do it in a way that concealed the truth.
A way that kept their secret hidden - and preserved their
reputation for honest trade on Billingate.
No, it was too big: the conclusions were too large to
be drawn from such small evidence. Nevertheless Nick
felt the presence of possibilities so vast that he could only
guess at their dimensions.
Milos Taverner was coming to Billingate. With Angus
Thermopyle. Superficially that made no sense whatso-
ever. Beneath the surface, however, it stank of Hashi
Lebwohl. Nick had no trouble making that kind of intuit-
ive leap.
He could only speculate about the nature of Lebwohl's
intentions; but he didn't really care what they were. The
important point was that when Milos and Angus arrived,
he would have a direct conduit to the UMCP.
Together that conduit and his new information might
be enough to make the entire United Mining Companies
fucking Police back him up.
All he needed was time.
'Scorz, ' he said as if he were calm again; as if his excite-
ment were a kind of peace, 'tell Vestabule an escort is on
the way. We'll open the door for him in a couple of
minutes. '
As the communications second hurried to obey, Nick
turned to Liete. 'You're on. Get a gun - take Simper
with you. ' Just to remind at least this one Amnioni that
Nick Succorso was prepared to defend himself. 'Bring
that fucker here. '
Her eyes flashing like a salute, Liete Corregio left the
bridge.
As he watched her go, Nick felt a stirring in his groin.
For the first time since he'd learned of Morn's treachery,
he wanted a woman.
Scorz was right: the emissary was Marc Vestabule. Any-
one who saw him once would recognize him again.
He was a failed - or an incompletely successful -
experiment: a human being who'd been given a mutagen
which the Amnion had hoped would make him one of
them - genetically, psychologically - while leaving his
physical form intact. Only pieces of his former self
remained, however: the stubborn residue of his human-
ity. He retained some areas of his brain, some human
habits or resources of thought. Much of his body was
still human: one arm, most of his chest, both shins, half
his face. And he was able to breathe human air without
much difficulty. But his knees were knots of Amnion skin
so thick that his shipsuit had to be cut away to let him
move freely. His other arm looked like a metallic tree
limb gone to rust. And half his face was distorted by an
unblinking Amnion eye as well as by sharp teeth with no
lips to cover them.
He entered the bridge between Liete and Simper as if
he had no fear - as if he'd been made oblivious to his
own mortality by the essentially Amnion knowledge that
he had no individual significance; that his uniqueness
among his people was only a tool, not a matter of
identity.
That was his strength. It may also have been his
weakness.
'Don't tell me, ' Nick drawled as soon as the emissary
stood before him. 'You want to sit. '
Marc Vestabule blinked his human eye at this reference
to their previous encounter. In a voice like flakes of rust
scraped off an iron bar, he replied, 'No, Captain Suc-
corso. I want you to honor your bargains with the
Amnion. '
Nick shrugged. Well, I'm going to sit. Looking at a
shit like you makes me weak in the knees. ' A small flick
of his hand sent Mikka away from the command station.
Sprawling casually into the g-seat, he turned it to face
Vestabule.
As he grinned into the emissary's gaze, he said, 'Scorz,
set up a recording of this. Put it on automatic relay. If
anything happens to us - for instance, if we're attacked
while we aren't looking, or if Vestabule here is on a kaze
mission - I want Operations to hear everything we say.
But only, ' he cautioned, 'if we're attacked or damaged.
As long as this clown plays straight with us, we'll keep
the conversation to ourselves. '
'Right. ' Scorz went to work promptly.
'Now, ' Nick said to Vestabule, 'why don't you start by
telling me exactly what bargains you want me to honor
- and why. Just so we all know specifically what we're
talking about. '
Including Operations.
The blinking of Vestabule's eye was the only hint that
he may have experienced human agitation or anger. Like
his expression and his posture, his tone revealed nothing
as he replied, 'Captain Succorso, this is foolish. You pro-
tect yourself from dangers which do not exist, and at the
same time you aggravate your true peril. You have
entered into agreements with the Amnion' - he appeared
to grope for the right word - Voluntary agreements.
'The mutual satisfaction of requirements. " We satisfied
your requirements. You did not satisfy ours. '
That's not my fault, ' Nick put in amiably. 'I told you
- the mother of that brat went crazy. You might call it a
mutiny of one. I got her back under control - but she
was crazier than I thought. She escaped again. '
As if Nick hadn't spoken, Vestabule continued, 'On
more than one occasion, you have promised to fulfill your
part of the agreements. But you have not done so. You
have accepted our demand for recompense for the diffi-
culties you have caused us. But you have not provided
that recompense. This is not honorable trade. '
Nick sharpened his grin. 'You aren't listening. I said
she escaped again. I had her locked up, but she got out.
That's the only reason you didn't get what I promised
you. She reprogrammed the ejection pod. '
That, ' the emissary pronounced flatly, 'is not our
concern. '
The hell it isn't. ' Nick feigned a little anger. It came
easily, but it was pure charade. He was having too much
fun to be angry. 'She did that -I didn't. I wasn't trying
to cheat.
'And now it's out of my hands. The Bill has the pod.
He's got the "human offspring" you're so eager for. And
there's nothing I can do about that. You've goddamn
revoked my credit-jack, so I can't buy the brat back. You've
left me helpless, and now you want to hold me account-
able for it. You say you want me to honor my bargains.
I say trying to do business with you is like eating shit. '
'Captain Succorso-' Vestabule made a gesture that
appeared to have no meaning. It may have been intended
to placate Nick, or threaten him. Or it may have been
merely a neural atavism.
'Keep listening!' Nick interrupted, bringing up more
anger to disguise what he was about to do. 'I'm not
fucking done!
'I traded with you honorably. I gave you my blood.
Then you wanted to change the deal. You wanted that
brat. You offered me gap drive components in exchange.
So I gave you the brat. And you gave me faulty
components. Damn near killed me in the gap. ' The louder
and more angrily he spoke, the more his body relaxed. 'I
can only think of three explanations.
'Remember, ' he warned, 'this is being recorded. If you
mess with me, Operations is going to hear it.
'One' - he held up his index finger - 'you were plan-
ning to cheat me right from the beginning. You think
I'm immune to your fucking mutagens, and you want me
dead so I can't pass my immunity along.
'Two' - he waggled his middle finger at the emissary
— 'you decided to cheat me after Morn took over my
ship. Punish me for letting one of my own people trick
me. And make sure she didn't get away with it. '
Ransum and Sib watched as if they were about to be
sick. Vector's round face revealed nothing. But Liete's
eyes were shining again, and Karster looked like he could
almost understand what Nick was doing.
'Three - are you still listening, Vestabule?' Nick's hand
closed into a fist. This is the explanation I really like.
You were using me to test those components for you.
You've figured out a way to use tach to generate accelera-
tion, and you wanted me to see if it worked.
'Now it's your turn, ' he rasped like the blade of a knife.
'Give me a reason why I shouldn't relay this recording to
Operations whether you threaten me or not. '
Vestabule showed no disconcertion. He may have been
incapable of it. On one side of his face, his human eye
blinked like an appeal. On the other, his Amnion teeth
were bare and brutal.
'Relay it, ' he replied simply. 'Your first explanation will
cause your death. Your own kind will kill you to discover
the nature of your immunity. Your second will appear
only logical and reasonable to such men and women as
inhabit Billingate. And your third will not be believed.
If we possessed the technology you describe, we would
have more reliable means of testing it. '
'More reliable, ' Mikka put in unexpectedly, 'but not
cheaper. Your manufacturing methods are too expensive.
You might not be able to afford the dozens or even
hundreds of probes or ships you could lose trying to
calibrate the parameters. '
Her support surprised Nick without pleasing him.
He'd already given up on her: he didn't want her help
now.
In any case, Vestabule ignored her. He kept his dis-
located gaze fixed on Nick. 'Captain Succorso, I repeat -
relay your recording if you wish. Your threats have no
meaning to us. I' — again he appeared to grope for a word
- 'recognize them. They are bluffs. Empty of substance.
I waste time listening to them.
'Now you will listen to me. ' His Amnion arm made
another indecipherable gesture. 'If you do not honor
your agreements with us, you and your ship are forfeit.
We will take you and your people and your ship, and
leave you nothing.
The Bill will not defend you. He will be given a plain,
honorable account of our actions. And we have the means
to prevent you from defending yourself. If we choose,
we can paralyze you completely. '
'How?' Nick demanded.
'You must deliver to us the human offspring called
Davies Hyland, ' Vestabule continued as if he hadn't
heard. 'You must deliver to us the woman who cheated
us, his mother. If you do not, we will take all you have
in restitution. '
Nick wanted to repeat his demand. How can you pre-
vent me from defending myself? If I wave a finger at
Liete, she'll shoot you where you stand. But an instinctive
fear warned him away from challenging the emissary on
this. He knew in his guts that Vestabule wasn't bluffing.
'Come on, Vestabule, ' he urged. Think it through.
You're over-reacting. If you go that far, you'll take dam-
age. Once the Bill hears my recording, he'll know any
honorable account of your actions is phony. You're prob-
ably right - he won't contest the point. - But he'll
stop trusting you. ' As much as the Bill could be said
to trust anybody. 'Every ship here will stop trusting
you. That will hurt you in subtle ways - ways you can't
fix.
'It's better for you to deal with me.
'But you're making that impossible. Consider the pos-
ition you're putting me in. You want me to get Davies
from the Bill and give him to you. Do you really believe
how I do that isn't your concern? How do you imagine
I'm going to pay for him?
'You've only left me two things I can sell. One is the
idea that you've learned how to use tach for acceleration.
But if I try to do that, I'll have to supply proof. To be
honest, I can't. ' This was a calculated risk, an effort to
distract Vestabule. Those components were slagged.
'So I've only got one other option. ' Abruptly Nick
leaned forward, bracing himself on his board to thrust
his threat straight into Vestabule's face. 'I'll have to sell
the Bill the secret to my immunity. '
And you don't want me to do that, do you, you oxid-
ized lump of Amnion shit?
'Nick, ' Mikka whispered; a moan of protest.
No one else spoke.
'Unless, ' Nick added almost as an afterthought, 'you
give me time to come up with some other solution. '
Blinking furiously, as if Captain's Fancy's atmosphere
hurt his human eye, the emissary regarded Nick. Nothing
betrayed his reaction: no twitch of the muscles in his
cheek, no flexing of his fingers. Nick's people sat frozen
as Vestabule contemplated the situation, thinking his
hidden, Amnion thoughts.
When he was done, he said in his rust-rough tone,
'Very well. '
Ransum let out an audible breath.
Fortunately everyone else kept quiet.
But Vestabule had attention for no one but Nick. 'Cap-
tain Succorso, ' he continued, 'if you will immediately
provide the recompense you have promised, as a demon-
stration of your intention to deal with us honorably, we
will grant you one of your standard days in which to
come to an accommodation with the Bill.
'I warn you plainly, however, that this accommodation
must make no mention of your presumed "immunity". '
The very expressionlessness of his voice gave his words
power. 'Such information cannot be kept secret - not in
this place, among illegals like yourself. We will learn of
it. Then the time for talk will be past. We will exercise
our power to paralyze your defenses and take your ship.
We will take you and all who remain with you in resti-
tution.
'And if that does not suffice, we will go further. We
will destroy Billingate itself before we will permit the
knowledge you claim to possess to be disseminated. '
Nick dismissed that threat: it was too big to worry
about. Again he wanted to ask, Paralyze our defenses?
How? And again he stifled the impulse. He'd gained the
only thing he wanted - time - and he didn't mean to risk
losing it.
He summoned a sarcastic laugh. 'So you say. If you
want to go that crazy, be my guest. But short of that -'
He glanced around the bridge: at Sib's pale, stricken
features; at Mikka's intractable glower; at Vector's clear
blue gaze and contemplative frown; at the concentrated
readiness which seemed to fill Liete's whole body. Milos
was coming to Billingate. Sorus Chatelaine was finally
within reach.
'Short of that, ' he repeated as he returned the line of
his grin and the heat of his scars to Vestabule, 'we have
a deal. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'll try"
- he bared his teeth - 'anything and everything to make
it work. '
Marc Vestabule stared back at him, blinking/unblink-
ing, and said nothing.
Abruptly Nick stood. 'Liete, escort this fucker off the
ship. '
Without hesitation, Liete pointed Vestabule toward
the aperture. She kept one hand on the butt of her gun.
Obedient and unconcerned, as if he'd been given every-
thing he could have wanted, the emissary turned and left
the bridge between Liete and Simper.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Nick swung
around to face Mikka. 'Now. ' He was poised like a pred-
ator. We've succeeded at stalling them for one day. That
changes the whole situation. Now we've got something
to hope for.
'Go get Morn. Wake her up - flush the cat out of her.
I want her on her feet and ready to leave in ten minutes. '
Mikka didn't move. For a moment she didn't meet
Nick's gaze. When she raised her eyes, they were hot and
moist. Far back in her throat, as if she feared her voice
might choke her, she asked, 'Do you call that stalling?'
'I do, ' he snapped because her question and her emo-
tion affected him like a betrayal. 'She isn't the one they
want. '
'But she's still a human being, ' Mikka replied, as gut-
tural as a growl. 'You're giving them a human being. '
Like a woman who had no words strong enough for
what she felt, she said, 'I don't like giving human beings
to the Amnion. '
Unexpectedly - so unexpectedly that it stopped Nick's
retort in his chest - Sib Mackern said, 'I don't either,
Nick. '
'Make that three of us, ' Vector added quietly. Scanning
the bridge, he asked, 'Anyone else? How about you, Ran-
sum? Would you want to be turned into something like
Vestabule? Would you do that to your worst enemy?
Arkenhill? Scorz? Karster?'
They all should have said, We'll do whatever Nick tells
us. We trust him. He's saved our lives more times than
we can count. And he knows more than we do. This is
his ship, and he's the best. We're on his side to the end.
None of them did, however. Karster drummed his
fingers on the targ board, studying his readouts as if he
wanted to shoot someone. Ransum was breathing too
hard, like a woman on the verge of a heart attack. Ark-
enhill had turned as pale as Sib: he may have been about
to puke.
At last Scorz murmured in a small voice, as if he were
belittling them all, We've done worse. '
It wasn't enough; not for Nick Succorso; not now and
not ever. The only women he'd ever given himself to
had betrayed him. The Amnion were on top of him,
threatening to paralyze his defenses, take his ship and his
life. The Bill had Davies — and refused to repair Captain's
Fancy. Sorus was still laughing at him. He'd already lost
more pieces of himself than he could count.
He might have predicted a reaction like this from Vec-
tor. The engineer had never really belonged aboard Cap-
tain's Fancy. And Sib was weak enough to be bent in any
direction. But for Mikka Vasaczk, his command second,
to oppose him like this -
Scorz' support didn't come close to being enough.
Nick wanted to scream at Mikka, rage and rant at them
all; he wanted to beat her face to pulp. Was this the best
they had to give him? Then he would see them in hell.
He would sacrifice every fucking one of them to the
Amnion, and he would laugh when they begged him to
rescue them -
But he didn't have the strength for it. Energy and hope
seemed to drain out of him like water, as if Mikka had
knocked a hole in the bottom of his heart. While every-
one on the bridge waited for him to go up like a super-
nova, he took one slow breath and another, and let his
shoulders sag.
Then he said softly, What makes you think I have a
choice?'
They couldn't argue with that. Even Mikka couldn't.
If Nick Succorso was beaten, what choice did any of
them have?
Wheeling away from him, she strode off the bridge as
if she were taking the last vestige of his invincibility with
her.
NICK
He waited in his cabin for Mikka to tell him that
Morn was ready; but he wasn't idle. Sealed by
his priority-codes, one of his lockers served
him as a personal safe. He opened it to stow Morn's id
tag and zone implant control securely: the Amnion had
no discernible interest in the latter; and his negotiations
with Marc Vestabule had gone well enough to spare him
the necessity of offering the former.
Of course, there was always the possibility that the
Amnion would make her into something like Vestabule.
If they did, she would retain some - most? - of her
human mind; and they would learn that she was more
valuable than they'd realized. But Nick couldn't help that.
It was out of his hands.
From his locker he took a vial of capsules — his precious
store of the immunity drug — and poured two into his
palm. A small tic pulled at his cheek, but he ignored it.
One capsule he swallowed immediately, just as a pre-
caution; the other he shoved deep into one of the pockets
of his shipsuit. Then he put the vial away and relocked
the safe.
Rubbing his hands over his scars, he glanced at his
chronometer. How long would it take to flush enough
of the cat out of Morn's veins so that she could walk?
Not long. In another minute or two he would be on his
way to the Amnion sector of Billingate: the place reserved
for them, where they could breathe their own acrid air —
and set up their own defenses.
To go there was dangerous; but it was necessary. And
it would give him at least a measure of revenge for Morn's
lies.
While he thought about such things, another part of
his mind was busy imagining how he might kill Mikka
Vasaczk.
Women; always women. No sooner had he found a
way to get rid of Morn Hyland than Mikka turned
against him. And the question of how he would revenge
himself on Sorus Chatelaine was still unresolved. He
would simply shoot her, if that was the best he could do;
but he wanted more, needed more. He was being undone
by women: he owed it to himself to exact as much female
pain as he could in recompense.
Marc Vestabule talked about 'recompense', but he
didn't use the word with Nick's intimate intensity.
Sorus would have to wait, however. First Morn. And
when that score was settled, he would turn his attention
to saving Captain's Fancy. He felt sure that somewhere
during that process he would be able to rid himself of
Mikka.
Without realizing it, he'd begun to pace back and forth
in his cabin as if he were shuttling feverishly between real
and imaginary possibilities for revenge.
The sound of the intercom stopped him. 'Nick, ' Mikka
said flatly. 'I've got her up. She's groggy, but she can
walk. '
To vent some of his tension, he snap-punched the
intercom toggle. 'Meet me at the airlock. I'll take her
from there. '
Mikka clicked off without acknowledging him.
Promising murder, Nick keyed open the door and
strode out of his cabin.
For the second time in little more than an hour, he
had to leave his ship. And the second occasion was
deadlier than the first: the Amnion were more likely than
the Bill to do him active harm. Nevertheless he didn't
delay. Tension wasn't the same thing as energy or confi-
dence, but it could serve the same purpose.
He caught up with Mikka and Morn in the access
passage of the airlock. They moved slowly: Morn's steps
were nothing more than a stupefied shuffle; without
Mikka's support, she would have folded to the deck.
From the back they looked like sisters with their arms
around each other for encouragement.
Sneering his disgust, he noticed that Mikka had taken
the time to put Morn into a clean shipsuit. Presumably
Mikka had also cleaned Morn herself, washing off twelve
or so hours worth of accumulated filth. Wasted dignity.
A woman who was about to lose her humanity entirely
didn't need it. And he didn't want her to have any left
when he handed her over to her ruin.
'Far enough, ' he growled at Mikka. 'You can go back
now.
'I'm leaving you in command. I don't expect you to
like what I'm doing. I don't expect you to forget about
it when it's over. But I do expect you to take care of the
ship while I'm gone. You aren't any safer without me. '
Nick had guaranteed that by telling Scorz to record his
discussion with Vestabule. 'And I still know more about
what's at stake here than you do. As matters stand, I'm
the only hope you've got. '
Mikka glared at him. 'I'm not stupid, Nick. Don't make that mistake. '
'I'll be lucky if I get the chance, ' he retorted, driven by
bitterness. 'You're too busy making it for me.
'Go to the bridge, ' he ordered so that he wouldn't have
to listen to her anymore. 'Pull a raiding team together -
the best people we have for weapons, demolition, stealth-
work. Take them off duty, get them rested, ready,
equipped. I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet' - he
admitted this because he knew it would make Mikka
more likely to comply - 'but when the time comes we'll
need to give it our best shot. '
Maliciously he encouraged her to think that he might
try to recapture Morn from the Amnion.
She replied with a shrug of acceptance; but she didn't
hurry away. Carefully she disentangled herself from
Morn, checking to be sure that Morn wouldn't fall when
she stepped back.
Morn wavered as if the muscles of her legs had gone
to jelly. She stayed on her feet, however.
Giving Nick one last black look, Mikka walked away.
He keyed the inner door of the lock. The tic in his
cheek tightened as he paused to evaluate Morn's con-
dition.
Even when she'd been with Thermopile, helpless
against his brutality, she'd never looked so pitiable. She
was still half drugged, that was obvious. Her face wore
its ineffable beauty like a bruise, as if she herself were the
source of all her suffering. Her hair stood out from her
head like the tag-ends of her life. As the cat relinquished
its hold, she would begin to suffer zone implant with-
drawal. And yet, despite long days of hunger and strain,
days which had cut lines around her eyes and carved flesh
from her bones, her breasts were still full, still seemed to
yearn against the fabric of her shipsuit, and the line of
her hips beckoned him to her legs.
Tension wasn't enough. If he couldn't be the Nick
Succorso who never lost, sure of himself and his power
over her, then he needed anger; pure incandescent rage
to sustain him.
Grabbing her arm as if he were about to beat her up,
he drew her into the airlock.
She made no effort to pull away; but she murmured,
That hurts, ' as the ship's inner door closed and locked.
At least she was recovering consciousness. Soon she
would be awake enough to know what was happening;
enough to be appalled. That was something, anyway.
He engaged the sequence that opened the outer door.
Still grinding his fingers into her arm, he took her off the
ship to face the Bill's guards.
To his surprise, there were no guards. Apparently the
Bill had decided to keep his personnel out of the crossfire
if the Amnion decided to stage an assault on Nick's ship.
Guards still watched over Reception - the Bill hadn't
abandoned his own security - but none of them took any
notice of Nick and Morn. They may have been instructed
to ignore anything which took place between Captain's
Fancy and the Amnion sector.
'Fuck you, ' he muttered to everyone and no one as he
hauled Morn through Reception into the corridors
which led toward the Amnion. Did the Bill like to get
paid? So did Nick. Grimly he put this detachment of
security, this diplomatic dissociation from Captain's
Fancy's needs, on the Bill's tab.
That tab was getting longer by the hour.
'Please, Nick, ' Morn breathed between clenched teeth.
'I'm not going to fight you. You don't need to break my
arm. '
He tightened his grip for a moment until he heard her
gasp. Then he eased the pressure - not because she asked,
but because his hand was tired.
'So you're awake, ' he sneered at her softly. 'Good. Do
you know where we are? Do you know where we're
going?'
She didn't reply. Her only answer was the increasing
stability of her strides and the way she carried herself to
minimize the strain on her arm.
'Good, ' he said again, nodding as if he were sure she
understood. There are several reasons why we're doing
this. ' I want to. You earned it. It's necessary. 'One is that
I've had another talk with that mutated bastard Marc
Vestabule. He issued any number of threats, but one in
particular got my attention. He told me they "have the
means to prevent" me from defending myself The same
intuition which had restrained him from challenging
Vestabule on the subject inspired him to broach it now.
'He said they can "paralyze" my ship. Completely.
'What do you know about that?'
She was silent for a few steps. Then she sighed, 'God,
Nick. ' She sounded utterly exhausted, frayed to the ends
of her soul; but she didn't sound scared enough, not
nearly scared enough to satisfy him. What makes you
think I can answer a question like that?'
He didn't have to grope for explanations. 'First, you're
a cop. Before you joined me, you had sources of infor-
mation I don't. You could easily know more about their
technological resources than I do. And second' - reflex-
ively angry, he squeezed his fingers into her arm again -
'you talked to them when you took over my ship, ' my
ship, you bitch.
She bit down on another gasp. She hadn't looked at
him since he'd taken her from Mikka; she didn't look at
him now. But she was listening. 'All right, ' she said
through her teeth as if she, too, were threatening him;
as if even now, on her way to the Amnion, she thought
she could still oppose him. 'I'll trade you. You tell me
why you were talking to the UMCP before we ever went
to Enablement. Tell me what your deal with them was.
What they hired you for. Tell me why they let you have
me in the first place. And I'll tell you why the Amnion
think they can paralyze your ship. '
She astonished him; surpassed him. Why wasn't she
terrified? — stricken to the core? She should have been
sobbing in revulsion and supplication, not trying to bar-
gain with him.
The corridor was empty in both directions. The
Amnion kept themselves apart from the rest of the instal-
lation - and nobody with any sense went looking for
them. The Bill's bugeyes were watching, of course; but
they probably couldn't pick out voices at this range. Nick
let go of Morn's arm, clutched her by the shoulders, and
swung her around to face him.
'Look at me, damn you. ' Why aren't you out of your
head with fear? 'Look at me. '
Her gaze came up to his slowly. When he saw her eyes,
the mad, dark passion in them almost made him flinch.
The extremity of her suffering, the depth of her abuse,
was matched by a focused, absolute, and predatory con-
viction. She looked like a woman who could come back
from her grave - or from Amnion mutagens — to destroy
him.
Roughly he shoved her away. Helpless to defend her-
self, she stumbled against the wall; he caught her on the
rebound and compelled her into motion again. He
needed movement to control the dread rising in his guts.
'I already told you, ' he said as soon as he trusted his
voice. 'I was dickering for you. I wanted the damn cops
to pay me for not selling what you know to the Bill. '
'Bullshit, ' she retorted. 'I knew that wasn't true when
you first said it. Now I'm sure.
'You knew how to contact them. You knew where the
listening posts are. That means you were dealing with
them long before you headed for Thanatos Minor. And
I finally figured out that you must have had their per-
mission to take me off Com-Mine. '
'How do you get to that conclusion?' he demanded.
His question was unnecessary: she was already answer-
ing it. 'You needed a source in Com-Mine Security to
frame Angus. But you needed more than that. You and
your source needed a contact at UMCPHQ - somebody
who could give you the codes to make that bogus supply
ship look genuine. So the UMCP knew what you were
doing. You had their cooperation. Maybe you were just
following their orders. Maybe that's what your whole
precious reputation is based on. You do what the cops
tell you, and they make sure you look good in the process.
'So you weren't trying to dicker for me. As far as I
was concerned, your deal with them was already set.
Why were you talking to them? What did they hire you
for?'
Nick tried to laugh, and couldn't. His mouth was too
dry; his throat was too tight. A spasm in his cheek tugged
at his scars as if they were fresh.
Nearly panting against his tension, he said, 'Hashi Leb-
wohl wanted me to do a job for him here. '
What job?' she insisted.
He was going to tell her; he was suddenly eager to tell
her. He wanted to hurt her with it, wanted to do any-
thing in his power that might erode the lunatic convic-
tion which protected her from her fear. And he was going
to hold her to her bargain.
'The point, ' he said although he could hardly breathe,
'was to do Billingate some damage. Maybe enough dam-
age to put the Bill out of business. I already had Leb-
wohl's immunity drug. He wanted me to sell it to the
Bill. '
This was the truth. Nick hoped that it would crack her
heart.
Morn didn't gasp or protest; but he had the satisfaction
of feeling her go rigid in his grasp, as if she were in shock.
Gradually the knots in his chest loosened, letting him
inhale more easily.
'I was supposed to give the Bill the real thing to test
on a live subject, and then supply him with an inert
substitute to duplicate in his labs. He could sell his substi-
tute to the illegals or the Amnion, it didn't matter which.
As soon as the truth got out - he was selling an immunity
drug that didn't work - he would be in deep shit. '
Live with that, you bitch - while you can. That's the
kind of people you work for, the kind you believe in.
'I may still do it, ' he continued, 'if I can't get the
Amnion off my back any other way. But if I do, I won't
bother with substitutes. ' Like the truth, this lie was
intended to do Morn as much harm as possible. When
I told Lebwohl I was in trouble, he cut me off. Now I
don't mind selling him out. '
Thinking that he'd finally broken her, he put his arm
around her and pulled her ear close to his mouth. 'Now
it's your turn, ' he whispered almost companionably. Tell
me how the Amnion think they can paralyze my
defenses. '
'Oh, that, ' she muttered as if she hadn't felt a word he
said; as if she were too numb or blind to be reached by
his malice. 'You should have figured that out for yourself. '
Here it comes, he thought. Now she would try to get
back at him.
'Back on Enablement, I needed to show them Captain's
Fancy's self-destruct was real. If I let them believe I was
bluffing, they wouldn't have given Davies back. So I
dumped a copy of everything in the auxiliary command
board into my transmission. Including, ' she finished like
an act of violence, 'your priority-codes. They can override
every instruction you key in. '
Nick thought his heart was going to stop.
Of course, he also had those codes. He could override
their override. And they could override again -
Paralysis. Eventually the computers would shut down
to protect themselves from burn-out.
For a moment the shock left him white and blank. She
wasn't trying to hurt him. Her revelation didn't damage
him: it helped him. What the Amnion knew about his
ship was only dangerous as long as he didn't know they
knew it. Once he got back to Captain's fancy, he could
simply write in a new set of priority-codes. The whole
job would take less than an hour.
Morn had given him an unexpected and imponderable
reprieve.
'Why?' Surprise seemed to leave him naked beside her.
'I might not have figured it out. Why tell me?'
Why help me?
Her exhaustion had returned. 'Because, ' she answered
as if she were too tired to fight anymore, 'I don't want
them to get you. I don't want them to get anybody. If
you were in that pod, I would have done exactly what I
did. Otherwise my own humanity wouldn't be worth
having. '
Defensive and bitter, he snarled a curse. 'And I suppose
it never entered your head that if you gave me the answer
I might feel grateful enough to change my mind?'
Even in his own ears he sounded petulant, petty.
'No, ' Morn said flatly. 'I know you better than that. '
Nick couldn't reply. Grinding his teeth to steady him-
self, he pushed her on down the corridor.
Another hundred meters along an empty passage
brought them to the Amnion sector.
The entrance was nothing more than a faceless door
in a blank wall. He'd never been inside; but he assumed
that the door was the outer opening of an airlock which
protected the sector's atmosphere. With a shudder, he
remembered the acrid taste of the air on Enablement, the
pain and coughing — His lungs still felt tender. He had
no intention of going through that ordeal again.
Tightening his hold on Morn in case she panicked at
the last minute and tried to get away, he reached up a
hand to the intercom beside the door.
'Nick, please. '
For one wild instant he thought she was going to beg
him to release her; spare her.
But she didn't. Instead she murmured, 'Just tell me
why they let you take rne. ' She'd returned to her original
question, to her escape from Com-Mine Station. 'It can't
hurt you - and I need to know. Why didn't they try to
rescue me themselves?'
'Shit, ' he sneered because he was disappointed. Even
here, standing on the threshold of hell, she refused
to break. What makes you think you were worth the
effort? You'd already spent too much time with Captain
Thermo-pile. The cops knew there wasn't enough of you
left to rescue. '
But then he saw that the truth would be harder for her
to bear; so he continued, They let me take you because
you're what I wanted for pay. I don't mind doing their
dirty work sometimes, especially when the target is a
fucker like Thermo-pile, but I like to get paid. I didn't
know I was about to lose my gap drive, so I didn't ask
for credit. I took you instead. ' He forced out a harsh
chuckle. They probably considered it a steal. They got
to nail Thermo-pile, and all they had to give up was a
piece of his wreckage. '
She hadn't looked at him since he'd forced her to; she
didn't look at him now. Nevertheless her damaged voice
seemed to drive straight through him.
'If you believe it's that simple, you've been trusting
them too long. '
She was more than he could stand. Hitting the inter-
com with his fist, he snarled, 'I'm Captain Nick Succorso.
I've brought the fucking "recompense" you fucking
wanted. Her name is Morn Hyland - she's the mother
of that "human offspring" bastard you're lusting after.
Open the door. I'm going to put her inside and leave
her. I've got other things to do. '
The response from the intercom was immediate. 'Cap-
tain Nick Succorso, the delivery of the female is accept-
able. Your departure is not. You will enter with her.
Suitable breathing masks will be provided. She will be
taken from you. You will remain. '
The hell I will, ' Nick growled in instant fear. Auto-
matically he backed to the far wall, pulling Morn with
him. That wasn't the deal. Your fucking emissary didn't
say anything about keeping me. '
'You will not be kept. ' The Amnioni voice sounded
mechanically flat, imperturbable. 'You will not be
harmed. That is unconditional. '
Abruptly the door slid open.
Marc Vestabule stood in the airlock.
He had two other Amnion with him; but there was
nothing human-like about them except for the masks
over their faces and the weapons in their hands.
They aimed their weapons squarely at Nick and Morn.
'Please, Captain Succorso, ' Vestabule said as if his vocal
cords were incapable of inflection. We wish only to talk
to you. If the thought of entering our sector frightens
you, we will talk here, although the place is less con-
venient. '
'Don't you mean less secure?' Nick pointed at the
nearest bugeye. 'Out here the Bill can see and hear
everything. '
'No. ' Vestabule appeared certain. 'Our agreement with
the Bill empowers us to neutralize these surveillance
devices at our discretion. The question is solely one of con-
venience. If you choose to enter, we will provide you with
the comfort of a seat. And guards will not be necessary. '
That surprised Nick. He ached for a gun. Maybe if he
shot someone the tension building in his chest again
would be released. The tic under his eye felt like the stress
of a valve with too much pressure behind it.
What the hell have we got to talk about?' he
demanded. We've already made a deal. ' He brandished
Morn's arm. 'I'm keeping my part of it right now. '
Vestabule didn't nod; only his human eye blinked. 'As
we have said, her delivery is acceptable. However, we
wish to relieve the confusion which makes our negoti-
ations with you dangerous. It has occurred to me that
there may be questions which you would consent to
answer if none of your own people - also none of Billin-
gate's personnel - were present to hear you. If our con-
fusion can be relieved, perhaps the ways in which we
make it "impossible" for you to satisfy our requirements
may be diminished. '
For the first time, Nick thought that Marc Vestabule
was more human than he looked. The emissary had
retained some portion of his ability to think like a human.
Pure Amnion lacked the tools to understand intra-species
duplicity or manipulation.
'In other words, ' Nick countered, 'if I'll consider
answering your questions, you'll consider un-revoking
my credit-jack. '
'I promise nothing. ' The emissary's alien knees, rust-
coated arm, and distorted face promised nothing except
the destruction of humankind. The possibility exists. '
Nick didn't hesitate. Shoving Morn toward the
Amnion, he growled, 'Get her out of here. Then I'll listen
to your questions. 'The possibility exists" that I'll answer
them. '
An Amnioni caught her with one of its arms. She
didn't struggle, made no attempt to break away; didn't
look back. Without protest, as if she'd accepted her ruin
long ago, she let the Amnioni steer her into the airlock.
Her escort touched the interior controls, and the door
swept shut, as silent and fatal as an axe.
At the sight, Nick felt unexpectedly savage. Before he
could stop himself, he began to yell at Vestabule.
'And tell that piece of shit to point his fucking gun
somewhere else! I'm not going to answer your goddamn
questions while you're threatening to burn holes in me
if you don't like the goddamn answers!'
Vestabule made guttural sounds that meant nothing
to Nick. At once the other Amnioni lowered its weapon.
After a further word from Vestabule, the Amnioni
clipped the weapon to a harness at its waist and moved
its hands away.
Shaking with useless anger, Nick bit his lips so that he
wouldn't go on shouting. His scars seemed to be pulling
at his cheeks as if the skin were about to tear. Between
one heartbeat and the next, his loathing for Marc
Vestabule and all things Amnion became so intense that
he could barely swallow. 'I swear to God, ' he rasped
harshly, 'this is the sewer of the universe. '
Vestabule may have retained significant vestiges of his
human mind, but he was impervious to insult. 'You have
made similar references in the past, ' he observed, 'but
their applicability is imprecise. Correctly speaking, only
humankind has "sewers". Our techniques for processing
waste are different. '
'Forget it, ' Nick snapped. 'Forget I ever mentioned it.
Now we're alone - just you, me, the intercom, a few
bugeyes, and your pet bozo with the gun. Ask your ques-
tions, so I can figure out what my chances of being able
to use that credit-jack are. '
Fiercely he rubbed at his cheek, trying to quiet the
spasm. But the muscle went on clenching and releasing
convulsively, twisting his expression into a grimace.
'Captain Succorso' - Vestabule moved his arms as if
he were attempting a gesture of appeal which his body
had forgotten how to perform — 'we have only one ques-
tion, although it is complex.
Why did you come to Enablement Station?'
Nick knotted his fists to contain his anger and waited
for the emissary to explain.
'Your stated reason, ' Vestabule said flatly, 'was that
you required "help for a medical difficulty", in addition to
credit that would enable you to repair your ship. Plainly,
however, the credit itself was not the primary reason.
Our data indicates that you were within reach of this
installation before you left human space. This implies
that you were on your way here to obtain repairs — which
in turn implies that you had the means to pay for them
- until you altered course and risked crossing the gap.
'Superficially we are left with the matter of your "medi-
cal difficulty".
We can understand that in only one of two ways.
Perhaps your desire or need for the human offspring
Davies Hyland was genuine. That is difficult for us to
understand. However, we do not need to understand it,
for you have proven it false. Your willingness to sell the
offspring demonstrates that he was not your motive.
Therefore we must speculate that your true interest was
not in the offspring himself, but rather in the ability to
produce him. '
Urgent with fury, Nick wanted to shout, Get to the
point get to the point! But he held himself rigid, betraying
nothing, while fire throbbed in his scars and burned in
his eyes.
'More specifically, ' Vestabule continued, 'we speculate
that you wished to test the usefulness of what you call a
"zone implant" in protecting a human mother from the
normal consequences offeree-growing her fetus. ' A total
and irreparable loss of reason and Junction, the birthing
doctor had said. 'Yet that proposition has also been
shown to be false. You have made it clear that you did
not know of the existence of the female's zone implant
when you brought her to us.
We must conclude that all reference to a "medical
difficulty" was spurious.
'Yet what remains?' Vestabule asked before Nick could
protest. 'Only your offer to permit us to test your blood.
We are forced to conclude that this offer represents your
true reason for coming to Enablement Station.
That is not satisfactory, however. During your pre-
vious approach to us, you voluntarily submitted to the
administration of a mutagen which should have trans-
formed you much as I was transformed. Obviously it did
not. Returning to us, you made us aware of that fact.
Further, by permitting us to test your blood you showed
us that your "immunity" to our mutagens is not inherent.
Your blood differs in no meaningful particular from
other human blood. Thus you have made us aware that
you possess the technical or medical means to block our
mutagens, to render them ineffective.
'Captain Succorso, why did you do this? You are not
a friend to the Amnion. And we judge that you are not
self-destructive, despite the hazardous nature of your
conduct. What explanation remains? What conclusion
should we draw, in order to resolve our difficulties suc-
cessfully?'
Vestabule faced Nick without expression. At his side,
his companion or guard was completely immobile, like a
creature that had been turned to salt.
Nick glared at the two of them, watching his hope that
his credit would be restored fray away like smoke.
'I get it. ' He was so full of violence that he could hardly
contain it, but he forced a harsh laugh. 'For a minute
there I didn't know what we were talking about, but now
I get it.
'You think I'm playing some kind of deep covert game
for the cops. You think this is all a ploy — I was ordered
to make you aware that we can neutralize your mutagens.
As a way of convincing you to scale back your ambitions
against human space. Let you know we're ready for you,
it's too dangerous to challenge us. And what you're afraid
of - involuntarily his hands clenched and unclenched at
his sides, aching for Vestabule's throat - 'is that it's a
trick. That the immunity doesn't really exist - or doesn't
work well enough to be much good.
Then the cops would have a reason to make you aware
of it. They're using me to bluff you. Encourage you to
worry about a threat that isn't real.
'Is that about right?'
Even Vestabule's human eye didn't blink as he stared
back at Nick.
If Vestabule had set fire to Nick's hands and feet - if
the Amnioni with the gun had flamed open his belly,
spilling his guts to the deck - Nick would not have told
them the truth. I loved her, goddamn you! I thought letting
her have her brat was the only way I could keep her!
Vestabule probably wouldn't have believed him anyway.
Some hurts were too human for any Amnioni to
understand.
'You're half right, ' he rasped, wishing that every word
were keen enough to draw blood. 'I do jobs for the cops
once in a while. That's why I went to Enablement the
first time. Test their new immunity for them. But I hate
them. Do you hear me, you asshole?' Are you human
enough to remember hate? 'I hate them. When I do jobs
for them, I like to make sure the results aren't quite what
they were expecting. I like to do work for them that looks
good and turns out bad. ' Otherwise the bastards on my
ship would have cut my heart out long ago. That's why
I went back this time. To make sure the job I did for
them last time turned out bad. '
The emissary considered Nick for a long moment
before he said passionlessly, 'Captain Succorso, this is
unsatisfactory. '
Do you think I don't know that, you disgusting lump
of shit? Do you think I don't know you're going to
assume I'm betraying you, too? The truth is worse.
Turning on his heel, daring the Amnioni to shoot him
in the back, Nick strode away in the direction of Captain's
fancy.
Taverner, you dishonest shit-licker, where are you?
By the time he reached his ship, his anger had failed. Like
hope, it eroded and was washed out of him. Instead he
felt an acute longing to be with someone who adored
him.
Once the doors were safely locked behind him, he
went, not to the bridge, but to his private quarters.
Ignoring Mikka's hostility - and his own doom - in the
same way that he'd ignored the Amnioni with the gun,
he used the cabin intercom to ask Liete Corregio to join
him.
MILOS
Milos had to wait.
It was time for him to crush out the spark
of dangerous enthusiasm in Angus' eyes, time
for him to erase the look of malign hope on Angus' face.
The longer he allowed Angus to experience anything
other than hopeless domination, the more precarious
Milos felt.
Nevertheless he was forced to wait while Angus
obtained permission to approach Billingate. He had to
trust Angus' core programming that long. By some stan-
dards, the next few hours were the most vulnerable part
of Angus' mission. Thanatos Minor had the firepower to
laugh at any gap scout, no matter how many secret
weapons she carried. Human ships all around the instal-
lation would protect it. And - Milos had already gleaned
this information from scan, as well as from Billingate's
routine navigational transmissions - there were two
Amnion warships in the vicinity of the rock.
If Operations refused to let Trumpet dock, Angus was
in trouble.
Milos could solve that problem himself, if Angus
failed. But he didn't want to. It would force his hand;
coerce him to commit himself when he wanted to keep
all his options open.
While Angus dealt with Operations, Milos lit a nic and
fretted.
Angus had sent out the data that Operations needed:
ship id and registration, the names of her captain and
crew. He'd requested a visitor's berth. Now he ran arcane
sequences on his board, comparing them to the databases
hidden inside him, and murmuring softly under his
breath as if he were humming.
But Operations hadn't answered.
What was the delay?
Time-lag was negligible. And Angus had been here any
number of times before: presumably he knew how to
approach the shipyard. So where was the reply? What
was Operations doing?
No, Milos couldn't wait. He should, but he couldn't.
In the privacy of his bowels, he feared Angus too
intensely, despite Hashi Lebwohl's reassurances.
Smoke dissipated into the air scrubbers as he exhaled.
First he checked to be sure that Trumpet wasn't sending
anything, that all her broadcast channels were silent.
Then he unbelted himself from his g-seat and floated
free.
The ship was too small to use internal spin for g. He'd
received some zero-g training at UMCPHQ, however.
He steadied himself on the back of his seat, then thrust
gently in the direction of the command station.
'Sit down, ' Angus muttered over his shoulder. 'I'm
concentrating. '
Milos coasted the two meters to Angus' side. Carefully
he pulled himself close to Angus until their heads almost
touched.
'Joshua. ' His voice was soft, but distinct. 'I'm going to
give you a standing order. Jerico priority. ' That was the
highest authority Milos could assign to his instructions.
According to Lebwohl, only the most fundamental com-
mandments in Angus' datacore would override a Jerico
priority order. When I tell you to open your mouth, you
will always obey. You won't wait to hear the word "Joshua". '
To be on the safe side, he added, 'After that you'll chew
and swallow normally. And you'll follow this order with-
out letting it interfere with anything else you have to do. '
The idea that these words were being recorded in
Angus' datacore - that Dios or Lebwohl might find out
about them - didn't bother Milos. He was more inter-
ested in the extent to which Angus' programming
allowed him to protect himself from damage. Jerico pri-
ority was supposed to override any instinct less compel-
ling than self-preservation.
Angus tapped a couple of keys on his board and
checked one of his readouts as if he weren't listening.
An uncharacteristic grin stretched Milos' face as he
breathed, 'Open your mouth. '
Angus opened his mouth.
Carefully Milos dropped his burning nic onto Angus'
tongue.
A flash of recognition lit Angus' eyes - a black glare
of hate. His toadlike face twisted in a spasm of pain.
Autonomic revulsion made his hands twitch.
Nevertheless he chewed the nic briefly; swallowed it.
After flexing for a moment, his hands went back to his
board.
'Enjoy it, ' he whispered thickly, as if the pain stiffened
his tongue. 'It won't last. '
'Yes, it will. You know it will. ' For some reason, Milos
still felt endangered. His power over Angus should have
calmed him, but it didn't. Deep in his guts, where
common sense and rationality never reached, he feared
that Angus' essential malignance was indomitable.
Unfortunately he couldn't undertake a more elaborate
reassurance right now. 'Bluffing me is a waste of time, '
he asserted in an effort to disguise his apprehension. 'I've
never been as stupid as you think I am. '
'Is that right?' Angus slurred. Then I guess you knew
all along that I could have proved you were in collusion
with Succorso whenever I wanted. I guess you knew I
was doing you a favor by keeping my mouth shut. That's
why you were so rucking grateful. All that stun and beat-
ing and abuse was just your sweet way of saying thanks. '
'Oh, stop it. ' In disgust, Milos drifted back to the
second's station. 'I tell you, you can't bluff me. DA
trained me for this. I know what you can do and what
you can't. Probably better than you do. ' He wanted to
put as much distance as possible between himself and
Angus: if he'd been willing to miss Operations' answer,
he would have left the bridge. Pulling his weight down
by the straps, he secured himself in his g-seat. 'If you
could have proved anything like that — if you even sus-
pected it - you would have sung your head off about it. '
As he tapped one of his readouts, Angus Thermopyle
laughed - a sound like the pulping of flesh and the break-
ing of bones. 'Operations' approach protocols give us id
and status on every ship here - illegals don't like to come
in when they can't tell who's in the vicinity. It looks like
Captain's Fancy has already docked. Maybe we'll get to
discuss what I knew and didn't know with Captain
Succorso him-fucking-self. '
'You're a liar, ' Milos retorted because he was viscerally
sure that Angus was telling the truth. 'If you could have
rescued yourself that easily, why didn't you? What are
you using for a reason today?'
Angus started to laugh again, then stopped abruptly
to read a screen. 'Here it comes. '
'Trumpet, this is Billingate Operations. ' In spite of dis-
tance and distortion, the voice on the bridge speakers
sounded laconic, humorously cynical. 'Are you sure you
don't want to reconsider? You might be safer if you got
the hell out of here. '
With a snap, Angus toggled his pickup. 'Operations, I
hear you. ' He spoke slowly to overcome the pain in his
tongue. 'If you said something that made sense, I might
even understand. What's the problem? Do you want me
to start over? I'm Captain Angus Thermopyle. My second
is Milos Taverner. There are only two of us aboard. Ship
id follows -'
We have your ship id, ' Operations cut in. 'Come on,
Captain. You're supposed to be smart - if you really are
Angus Thermopyle. You know what the problem is. '
'Give me a hint, ' Angus retorted. 'I've been out of
circulation for a while. I don't know what's changed since
the last time I was here. '
'It's your ship id. ' Operations and Angus might have
been playing a game which they both secretly enjoyed.
That's what the problem is. Trumpet. A Needle-class gap
scout. Unarmed. A UMCP ship, it says here. Are
you getting the picture, Captain? Do you understand
now?'
What I understand, ' Angus replied in a tone of bel-
ligerence which may have been feigned, 'is that you aren't
doing your job. I'll talk real slow, so you can get a good
recording. I'm Angus Thermopyle. I've been here before,
so I know you can do a voice-print comparison to verify
that. My second is Milos Taverner. Until recently' -
Angus grinned fiercely at Milos — 'he was deputy chief
of Com-Mine Station Security. You can talk to him if
you want, but it won't do you any good. He hasn't been
here before.
'Call me back when you're sure who I am. Then maybe
you'll ask some questions smart enough for me to answer.
'Trumpet out. '
Milos lit another nic and inhaled hard so that he
wouldn't do or say anything to show Angus how scared
he was. He waited until he was sure he could keep his
voice steady before he asked, 'Now what?'
'Now nothing. They'll call again when they're ready to
talk. ' Angus didn't sound worried. They've already done
their voice-prints. They're just shitting us to see how we
react. '
Milos sucked on his nic and did his best not to worry.
Of course Billingate was suspicious. So of course Angus'
programming had been written to deal with Billingate's
suspicions. There was nothing to worry about.
Milos worried anyway. His neck was already in the
noose. The tighter the rope pulled, the more risks he
would have to take to extricate himself.
A slight intensification of Angus' posture warned him
an instant before the speakers relayed, 'Trumpet, this is
Billingate Operations. It's time for answers. And you'd
better make them good. We're in no mood for crap. '
Angus snapped a toggle. 'Operations, this is Captain
Thermopyle. Of course you're in no mood for crap.
You've already got yourself to put up with. But it
would help if you gave me a hint what you want me to
say. '
'You bloated bastard' — Operations didn't sound par-
ticularly offended - 'you know perfectly well what we
want you to say. We want you to account for yourself.
The last we heard, you were in Com-Mine lockup. Now
suddenly here you are, in a UMCP ship, with Com-Mine
Security's deputy chief for crew. Call me a gap-eyed
dreamer, but that sure as hell sounds like a set-up to me.
We want you to give us a reason why we shouldn't fry
you down to your pubic hair as soon you're in range.
'Is that enough of a hint, or do you need more?'
'Oh, it's enough, ' Angus snorted without hesitation. 'I
can fill in the blanks. You think I've done a deal with the
cops. They let me out of lockup, and all I have to do in
return is take one of their ships into forbidden space,
with one of their pets for crew, and do some kind of job
for them. Like blowing you up, maybe? Is that about
right?
'How fucking stupid do you think I am? How stupid
do you think they are? Has the Bill gone null-wave in his
old age?'
'Captain Thermopyle, ' Operations retorted tartly,
'we're going to believe what we damn well please until
you offer us something better. You've got three choices.
Get the hell out of here. Come on in and let us fry you.
Or start talking. We don't care which one you choose -
but I personally guarantee that you're going to choose
one of them. '
'Bullshit!' Angus grinned like a sneer. Who says you
don't care what I do? Even if the Bill is brain dead, he's
bound to realize he needs to know what's going on here.
If you fry me, he won't learn anything. And if I decide
to go somewhere else, he won't learn anything. Either
way, you'll be a prime candidate for some BR "improve-
ments". If you haven't already had them.
'So pay attention. I don't want to go through this more
than once. And put a stress monitor on my transmission,
so you can at least guess I'm telling the truth.
'I was in lockup on Com-Mine. A life sentence for
stealing Station supplies. You heard that part right. But
Security was pissed because they couldn't convict me of
anything worse. They assigned Deputy Chief Milos Tav-
erner to break me. Tear me apart and dig out' - Angus
snarled the words - 'my innermost secrets.
That didn't work, so after a while the cops - the
United Mining Companies fucking Police themselves -
decided to take over. ' Angus probably didn't need the
help of his zone implants to lie as calmly as he told the
truth. They reqqed me, took me to UMCPHQ. Along
with Milos here, since he presumably knew more about
me than anybody else. I guess this new Preempt Act gave
them the authority. And maybe they were glad Milos
didn't break me. Maybe they wanted to keep what I know
for themselves. '
Milos dropped his nic on the deck and lit another,
hiding the tremors of his hands with smoke.
This is where it gets interesting, ' Angus continued.
'I've done a lot of things in my life, but the one they
convicted me for I didn't do. I was framed. If you don't
believe me, ask Captain Succorso. He's in dock there,
right? Ask him. He set me up. And eventually the cops
figured out that if Succorso set me up he must have had
help. From Com-Mine Security.
'Now Milos knew he was in trouble. He provided the
supplies Succorso used to frame me. They must have
been working together for years. It was only a matter of
time until the cops nailed him. So his little scam was
finished. The cops were going to catch him — and as soon
as they broke him they were probably going to execute
him for his crimes.
'He didn't like that much. But how could he get out
of it? He was stuck in UMCPHQ. He never expected to
be reqqed, so he hadn't planned an escape. He can't run
a ship himself. What else was he going to do? Before the
cops revoked his clearances, he got me out. We went to
the docks, jumped Trumpet's crew, and used their id tags
to get ourselves aboard. Then we used his codes to clear
her for a training run. Before UMCPHQ knew what was
going on, we hit the gap and came here. End of story.
'How do you like it?' Angus asked sardonically.
On an impulse that resembled panic, Milos keyed his
own pickup and said to Angus so that Operations would
overhear him, 'They don't have to like it. Don't be so
hostile. We can't go back. All they have to do is let us
stay. '
He thought Angus was going to cut him off. But
Angus left both pickups active as he growled, 'Oh, shut
up, Milos. You're just making it worse. '
Milos flushed involuntarily. This was simply another
calculated gambit in Angus' game with Operations. In
all likelihood, both he and Operations already knew what
the outcome would be. Only Milos himself was left to
sweat in ignorance and dread.
Operations was silent for a moment. Then the speakers
asked, 'So what are you selling, Captain Thermopyle?'
Faking abrupt outrage, Angus shouted back, 'I'm not
selling anything! I'm running away! Get it through your
head! I'm rucking running away from the fucking cops!
I only came here because I couldn't think of anyplace
better!'
Then how, ' Operations inquired in a tone of suave
malice, 'do you propose to pay for the use of our docks
and facilities?'
At once Angus pointed a finger like a command at
Milos.
Sighing, Milos leaned over his pickup. 'Operations,
this is Milos Taverner. I made a fair amount of money
working with Captain Succorso. But I couldn't leave it
lying around on Com-Mine. It's in a safe account on
Terminus. ' This falsehood, which Hashi Lebwohl had
prepared for him, was so close to the truth that Milos was
able to deliver it with a minimum of distress. 'Verification
follows. '
As steadily as he could, he tapped his keys, dumping
the information Operations needed along Trumpet's
transmission.
'Data received, ' Operations reported in a more
impersonal manner. 'Steady as you go until you hear
from us again, Trumpet. Operations out. '
Obediently the speakers went dead.
Milos should have kept his mouth shut: he knew that.
But he couldn't. He had too much tension in him; he
was too dependent on people he didn't understand and
couldn't control. Fighting to keep his voice flat, he asked
for the second time, 'Now what?'
Angus' grin was as sharp as a taunt. 'Now they're
going to talk to your buddy, Captain Sheepfucker him-
self. '
Milos tried to think of everything he knew about Nick
Succorso; tried to imagine what orders DA had given
Captain's Fancy. Doubtfully he asked, Will he back you
up?'
Angus swore. 'Of course not. ' Nevertheless his voice
carried a note of grim satisfaction as he added, Which is
exactly why they're going to let us come in. '
Milos couldn't restrain himself. 'That doesn't make
sense. '
'Sure it does. You're just too stupid to see it. ' Angus'
yellow eyes were full of threats. 'Look at this from the
Bill's point of view. He's got two Amnion warships on
his hands. Captain's Fancy is in — and she came from
deeper in Amnion space, from Enablement Station. So
Captain Sheepfucker has been screwing with them some-
how. That's why those warships are here. They may even
be after Donner's precious Morn Hyland. ' Angus said
her name like a curse. The Bill is already up to his hips
in shit he didn't ask for and doesn't want.
'Now suddenly we arrive. ' More and more, Angus'
explanation itself sounded like a threat. 'About the best
thing you can say for us from his point of view is — we're
dangerous. Especially at a time like this. But now we're
linked to Captain Sheepfucker. We claim he'll back up
our story. Sure as hell looks like we're here because of
him, doesn't it?
'As soon as Succorso refuses to confirm us, the Bill
won't have any choice. He'll have to bring us in. Once
we're docked, he'll have us under control. That way he
can try to protect himself from all the different things
that might be going on. '
At last Milos found the determination to stifle his ques-
tions. They betrayed too much: ever since he'd been
cursed with the job of trying to break Angus, his ques-
tions had betrayed too much. No matter how much he
reminded himself that he still had secrets and options
which Angus — and therefore Hashi Lebwohl - couldn't
guess, every passing hour seemed to bring him more
under Angus' power. He needed reassurance, needed it -
Sucking smoke into his lungs while his crotch and
armpits oozed and his heart labored, he forced himself
to continue waiting.
Scarcely ten minutes passed before Billingate spoke
again.
'Trumpet, this is Operations, ' said the laconic voice.
'You have permission to come in. Approach vectors and
berth assignment follow. '
Numbers began to scroll across the helm readouts.
'Don't keep me in suspense, Operations, ' Angus put
in quickly. What did Captain Succorso say about me?'
'Pay attention, ' Operations snapped. 'I'm not done.
You have permission to come in, but it's conditional.
You won't be allowed to leave until you satisfy us. '
'You mean' - Angus concealed his grin with a sour
growl - 'Captain Succorso refused to back me up?'
'He refused to talk to us at all, ' replied Operations.
We aren't going to let you out of here until you convince
him to convince us we can trust you.
'If you're going to turn tail, you'd better do it right
now. You're already in range for fire from Amnion
defensive Calm Horizons. Operations out. '
The sudden silence seemed to throb in Milos' ears like
the pressure of his pulse. A shudder that should have
been relief came over him. For a moment he couldn't
force himself to breathe.
Then Angus hammered his board with one fist and
snarled, 'Got you, you bastards!'
Milos exhaled as if he'd been released.
Now.
Finally he was done waiting.
He hadn't put his own neck into this noose. And he
hated it. Now he could do something about that.
As Angus processed Billingate's instructions, Milos
dropped his nic and unbelted himself for the second time.
Drifting toward the command station, he said with his
own kind of satisfaction, That can wait. I want to talk
to you. '
Angus didn't respond. The screens showed that he was
programming helm to follow Operations' instructions
automatically.
When he'd anchored himself on the back of Angus'
seat, Milos ordered, 'Joshua, stop what you're doing.
Listen to me. '
As obedient as a piece of equipment, Angus dropped
his hands. He started to turn his head; but some instinct
or prewritten commandment stopped him.
'Joshua, ' Milos said softly behind Angus' head, 'you
know everything they want you to know about why we're
here. ' He didn't need to explain who they were. They've
given you access to some of their databases, some of the
information you need. You'll get more as you go along.
'But they haven't told you why I'm here. '
A muscle spasmed in Angus' shoulder. He may have
been fighting his zone implants.
They think they have, ' Milos went on. They think
they've explained me well enough to let you function. '
And they think they know the truth, whether they told
it to you or not. 'But they're wrong. I've got my own
reasons.
'It's time for us to start on them.
'Angus Thermopyle, ' he said from the bottom of his
heart, 'I loathe you. Your violence sickens me. Your
person nauseates me. I despise your morals. Everything
you do and everything you are is offensive to me. But
more offensive than anything else is the fact that I have
to act like your subordinate. Taking your orders is bad
enough. Looking and smelling like you is much worse.
We're going to change that right now. '
As Milos unsealed his shipsuit, he urged quietly, 'Go
on, Joshua. Ask me what that means. '
Angus' voice came out as if the muscles of his throat
were in knots. What does that mean?'
From the core of his bones to the ends of his nerves,
Milos Taverner understood humiliation and control. For
the first time in months - perhaps for the first time in
years - he felt a moment of happiness. Dropping his
shipsuit, he moved his grip from the back to the arm of
Angus' g-seat. 'It means, ' he said with a complex smile,
'you're going to use that foul tongue of yours to keep
me clean. '
Careful to invoke the appropriate codes so that noth-
ing could go wrong, Milos described exactly what he
wanted Joshua to do.
Later, when the dirtiness of his body and the fear in his
soul had been relieved, he gave Angus a Jerico priority
order which ensured that from now on Angus would
allow him unrestricted access to Trumpet's communi-
cations.
ANCILLARY
DOCUMENTATION
UNITED MINING
COMPANIES
A Brief History
Publicly the history of the United Mining Companies
was a study in the exercise of economic muscle.
How did the UMC become so big? How did it come
about that humankind's activities in space were not only
directed but policed by the UMC? How were the govern-
ments of Earth finessed out of their familiar - if essen-
tially arbitrary - sovereignty over their own citizens? By
what right did the UMC become the sole legal bargaining
agent, and therefore the sole viable defense, between
humankind and the Amnion? How did a mere 'private'
commercial enterprise become responsible for the fate of
the human race?
The answer to all these questions was the same: econ-
omic muscle.
If a corollary was required, it could be found in the de-
velopment of the gap drive. Without the ability to cross
- that is to say, explore and expand across - interstellar
distances, questions of this scale would never have arisen.
At the time when Dr Juanita Estevez was in danger of
destructing herself and SpaceLab Station with the first
gap drive prototype, Earth was in a period of political
and economic stagnation; a period of atrophy so pro-
found that more than a few analysts concluded the planet
had exhausted not only its resources but its ability to
solve problems. One hundred fifty or so sovereign
nations had become so interdependent that warfare was
no longer viable as a means of economic and political
revitalization. By the same token, mutual interconnection
compelled each nation to share the deterioration of its
neighbors. In other words, the inhabitants of the planet
were being killed by precisely the same thing that kept
them alive.
Without enough fossil fuels to make energy cheap
(except in space, fusion generators were prohibitively
expensive to build and maintain); without enough trees
to recycle the atmosphere; without new raw materials
to replace the old; without any adequate way to make
productive use of garbage, or to dispose of it in a non-
polluting fashion; without frontiers or wars to provide
the sense of excitement or urgency which inspired cre-
ative problem-solving: Earth had become a seemingly
endless list of things her people had to do without. The
planet appeared to have outrun its own future.
In a last-ditch effort to save themselves, a number of
commercial enterprises and quasi-commercial conglom-
erates put up space stations. These were research facilities,
primarily, exercises in hope: huge orbiting labs, hydro-
ponics tanks, launch platforms for probes toward the
other planets, and high-tech development centers. The
stated purpose for such vast expenditure was to make the
discoveries that would restore the future of humankind.
However, the actual result was to drain the planet's wan-
ing resources so severely that stagnant economies around
the globe sank into active decline.
Paradoxically, the more these commercial and quasi-
commercial adventures cost, the more necessary they
seemed and the more powerful they became. Earth didn't
simply need them: it needed them to succeed.
By the time SpaceLab Station did what it was sup-
posed to do - that is to say, by the time Dr Estevez
discovered the gap drive which made exploration and
development beyond the solar system first feasible and
then practical - the Station's parent conglomerate (then
called simply SpaceLab Inc. ) had become so necessary to
the several nations from which it sprang that none of
the relevant governments was able to take control of the
Station's products.
That, in brief, explained why what followed was an
exercise of commerce rather than of sovereignty. The
Only concession SpaceLab Inc. made to its governments
- not to mention its competitors - was an agreement to
license the gap drive patents for a bearable royalty.
For a time, SpaceLab Inc. (now Sagittarius Explo-
ration) naturally became the most potent commercial
concern in existence. And its dominance was confirmed
when one of its first missions brought home news of a
rich asteroid belt. This was not the belt on which the
UMC founded its wealth. It was a far smaller and thinner
find, played out early, but it supplied enough raw ore to
enable most subsequent exploration.
However, despite its access to huge capital in the form
of royalties, Sagittarius Exploration found itself without
the corporate resources to take advantage of its find. Here
the UMC (then Space Mines Inc. ) entered the picture.
At that time, SMI was a relatively small and apparently
harmless ore-smelting enterprise: it existed to make what
it could out of the asteroids which were within reach
from Earth at space-normal speeds. It was big enough
to do the work Sagittarius Exploration (now popularly
known as SagEx) needed, but not big enough to be a
convincing competitor. Naturally, SagEx tried to absorb
the smaller company. SMI managed to avoid that fate;
and as a reward for its creative tactics it eventually gained
a partnership with SagEx in the development of the
belt.
There Space Mines Inc. began the rise which eventually
transformed it into the United Mining Companies.
The SagEx belt - and Sagittarius Unlimited Station,
in which SMI was also a partner - produced wealth on
a previously unimagined scale.
Because of its earlier smallness and pedestrian activi-
ties, SMI had no support from any of Earth's govern-
ments, therefore no governmental restrictions. And the
company's new wealth gave it muscle. Using that muscle
with both vision and cunning, SMI soon became one of
the primary players in the exploration and development
of space.
If the story had ended there, however, Space Mines
Inc. would never have become the source of so many
interesting questions.
Earth and its conglomerates still faced a limited future.
Despite the gap drive, human space was effectively finite,
limited by its own population base. Therefore wealth -
and the opportunities for wealth - could only grow in
proportion to the expansion of the species. That expan-
sion took place steadily, in the stations around Earth
and elsewhere, but the process was slow. As always, the
economy could only support so much growth; after that,
growth had to stop.
Contact with the Amnion changed this equation.
In a display of profound foresight, SMI used its new
wealth, and every other dollar the company could scrape
together, to acquire Intertech, like SpaceLab Inc. a
research and development company which had expanded
into exploration. At the time, Intertech was uniquely vul-
nerable to acquisition. In the aftermath of the Humanity
Riots - which had been triggered by Intertech's efforts to
understand humankind's first encounter with an Amnioni
mutagen - the company itself was devastated. And no
one else wanted it: no one else realized the potential
implied by its role in the riots. The takeover of Intertech
put SMI in the position of being the only human enter-
prise capable of both reaching the Amnion and
responding to what they offered.
To capitalize on this position, SMI used all of its
recently achieved vigor and muscle to pursue trade with
the Amnion.
Suddenly a door of vast opportunity opened, and SMI
held the knob in one hand, the key in the other. Intertech
owned everything humanity knew about the Amnion:
SMI owned the ships and facilities needed to take advan-
tage of that knowledge. And Earth had a nearly bottom-
less hunger for new resources - as well as new markets.
Rather than risk failing to gain the benefits offered by the
Amnion, Earth's governments re-chartered Space Mines
Inc. as the United Mining Companies and gave it the
mission of developing Amnion trade for the sake of all
humankind.
Ultimately trade with the Amnion provided the UMC
with both its reason and its means for being.
That was the public history.
WARDEN
Eventually, of course, Godsen Frik caught up with
Warden Dios. The director of the United Mining
Companies Police couldn't avoid his own direc-
tor of Protocol indefinitely.
Before Godsen found him, however — and before the
first peremptory, predictable demand for a video confer-
ence came in from the Governing Council for Earth and
Space — Warden managed to sequester himself with
Hashi Lebwohl for more than an hour.
Their conversation took place in one of the several
secure offices which Warden maintained throughout
UMCPHQ. Naturally no room, however private, could
be secure from what Milos Taverner might have called
'buggery'. But the director of Data Acquisition was no
'bugger': where secrets were concerned, he was as safe
as a tombstone. The distinction of being the only
person in UMCPHQ who might reveal what was said
in one of those offices belonged to Frik himself. And
the offices themselves, with their baffled walls and
electronic shielding, were proof against any kind of
eavesdropping.
As an additional precaution, the techs and guards who
tended those offices had strict orders never to acknowl-
edge that Warden Dios ever used them. While he was
inside, he ceased to exist in every official sense. Even Min
Donner would have been turned away with a blunt, We
haven't seen him, sir, ' if she'd tried to locate the UMCP
director while he was sequestered.
As a result, Godsen had no idea where Warden had
hidden himself, and therefore no idea in which direction
events were moving, when he finally succeeded in con-
fronting Dios.
Warden wasn't usually a petty man; but he took a
certain small satisfaction in Godsen's ignorance. Ignor-
ance led to discomfiture — and Warden liked seeing the
PR director discomfited. Relations between the two men
left him few other grounds for satisfaction.
By this time he was in his formal office - a huge,
expensive, and generally useless space which he reserved
for those occasions on which a display of status was more
important than the status itself. At the moment when his
public secretary informed him that Godsen wanted to see
him immediately, he'd just settled himself behind a wide
mahogany desk - polished wood hydroponically grown
at immense cost - in an armchair, also of polished mahog-
any, which rolled on old-fashioned casters. Both desk and
chair, like all the furnishings and appurtenances of the
room, had been given to him several years ago by Holt
Fasner: a congratulatory gift on the completion of the
UMCP's orbiting headquarters. Perhaps that was the real
reason he never used this office if he could avoid it. Now,
however, he had no alternative.
He quickly reviewed the arrangements he'd made for
the next hour. Then he keyed the intercom and told his
secretary - a woman whom he privately considered to be
as polished and useless as the furniture - to let Godsen
Frik in.
The PR director entered at once, looking harried.
The look didn't suit him. His fleshy self-confidence
and rather flagrant dignity were effective masks for his
schemes as well as his pleasures; but they did nothing to
conceal a sense of harassment or an air of grievance. His
pontifical head with its panoply of white hair, which
usually gave him the appearance of the quintessential
elder statesman, now made him resemble an aging boy
who'd been caught in a particularly shameful act of
sodomy.
Observing this was another of Warden's small satis-
factions.
It changed nothing, however. Godsen Frik was always
transparent to him, thanks to his prosthetic eye. In this
Godsen was unlike his fellow directors. Hashi Lebwohl
could have betrayed the universe without giving so much
as a hint to Warden's infrared sight, not because he was
a natural traitor, but because he made no essential distinc-
tion between the many levels of his natural duplicity. And
Min Donner's intense concentration and devotion were
inherently honest. But Godsen exposed himself by
physiological clues too obvious for Warden to miss -
every scheme, every mixed motive, every falsehood
showed in the rate of his heart, the temperature of his
sweat, the aura of his skin.
Whenever Warden Dios dealt with his PR director, he
knew he had to be prepared for the consequences, which
ranged from Frik's own simple obstructionism to active
intervention by Holt Fasner.
That was a curse. Nevertheless Warden counted on it,
planned for it; used it.
'Come in, ' he said unnecessarily. 'Sit down. ' Because
he disliked Frik, he always treated him with mildness and
courtesy.
Godsen seemed unconscious of his director's dislike.
As soon as the door closed behind him, and the indicators
showed that the room's monitors were inactive, he came
toward the desk, hitched one of his hams onto the gleam-
ing surface in an effort to appear self-confident, and
said, 'I did what you told me. Now I'm getting my ass
roasted. '
The effort failed. His voice was too tense to project its
usual assured rumble.
Warden spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
'I don't suppose it occurred to you that you don't have
to deal with him? You could always leave him to me. '
'He' in this context could only be Holt Fasner.
Unfortunately Godsen had no difficulty choosing
among his disparate loyalties. Harried but unrepentant,
he replied, 'You know I can't do that. For one thing, you
didn't hire me for this job. He did. He says he has plans
for me. You can't expect me to ignore that. And for
another, there isn't a man or woman here — hell, there
isn't a skeleton in the damn closet - that can refuse to
accept a call from him. '
This last assertion wasn't notably accurate. Neither
Min Donner nor Hashi acknowledged any authority out-
side UMCPHQ. Nevertheless Godsen believed what he'd
just said: that was obvious.
Warden resisted the impulse to respond, I've got plans
for you, too. Instead he inquired, 'So what did he say?'
'He said' - Godsen was good at mimicry -' "What the
fuck do you think you're doing, telling the whole world
Thermopyle and Taverner got away? Don't you know
what's going to happen now?"'
'And what did you reply?'
'I told him I was acting on your direct orders. ' God-
sen's aura was crimson with tension and vulnerability,
undermining his efforts to sound staunch. 'I told him we
did it to back up Joshua's alibi, so he can get into Billin-
gate. And I told him' — the fluctuation of his readings
signaled a lie — 'I think you made the right decision. It's
worth the risk. Everything we've done with Joshua won't
be worth spit if Billingate decides not to trust him. '
Warden dismissed all this. 'And you didn't mention
Morn Hyland?' His tone was particularly mild because
his question was especially threatening. 'You didn't point
out that by risking public exposure of our operation I'm
increasing the pressure on myself to rescue her? You've
been eloquent in your desire to see her saved. ' Or elimin-
ated. 'You've often pointed out that we'll have a serious
disaster on our hands if anyone ever learns we've deliber-
ately left one of our ensigns in her position. Did you
perhaps suggest to him that he should urge me to recon-
sider Joshua's programming where she is concerned?'
He didn't expect a true answer. But he'd posed his
question to glean as much information as possible from
Godsen's readings.
IR sight was wasted on Godsen: he exposed himself
by body language alone. In blustery indignation, he
retorted, 'No!' Pulling himself off the desk, he retreated
a few steps, nearly turned his back as if he wanted to hide
his face. That's ancient history. I lost that argument long
ago. '
So. Godsen hadn't been given any special instructions.
He'd played the Morn card - again - and Holt Fasner
had left it lying on the table. The Dragon had decided
that the situation didn't call for intervention. Yet.
Warden permitted himself an entirely private sigh of
relief.
That's good, ' he said kindly. 'You ought to know he
doesn't care about her. I'm not entirely sure he cares
about you. You're both just means to an end. ' He
wouldn't have said such things to anyone but Godsen
Frik. Only Godsen might be alarmed by them - and only
he might report them. In a subtle way, Warden was try-
ing to tell both Godsen and Holt the truth about himself.
'If I knew what that end was, I would be easier in my
mind. '
Palpably striving to recover his balance, Godsen low-
ered himself into a chair. For a moment he braced his
hands on its arms, then he pulled them together on his
thighs. Studying them as if they had notes written on the
palms, he asked, What is going to happen now?'
Warden dismissed that as well. 'It's not your problem.
PR isn't an easy job, but it does have one advantage.
Nobody expects honesty.
'Still, I'm glad you're here. You've saved my secretary
the effort of tracking you down. ' Warden smiled at his
own irony. 'I want all of us to be absolutely clear about
what our position is from now on. '
Unobtrusively he pressed a button which relayed a
private signal to his secretary. On cue she chimed his
intercom to announce, 'Director, Min Donner and Hashi
Lebwohl are here. '
'Send them in. '
At once the door opened, and the remaining UMCP
directors entered the office.
'Come in, ' Warden said by way of greeting. Because
he hadn't stood to greet Godsen, he remained sitting. In
any case neither Hashi nor Min needed courtesy from
him. They both knew more than Godsen did about why
they were here. 'I hope I haven't kept you waiting. '
Min's shrug said, It doesn't matter.
'Not at all, ' the DA director wheezed equably. When
I am in the presence of a woman as lovely as your secre-
tary, I am never "waiting". '
'Good. ' Warden pointed out chairs and said, 'Sit, ' in a
tone he didn't use with Godsen Frik.
The ED director seated herself as if she were coiling
into the chair, poised to spring.
Perhaps to acknowledge the importance of the
occasion, Lebwohl had put on his dirtiest lab coat over
stained pants and an appalling shirt. That and his scrawny
frame made him look like a scarecrow. The laces trailed
from his ancient shoes, threatening to trip him at every
step. Slumping from his thin nose, his glasses were so
badly scratched and smeared that they seemed to blur
everything he saw - or everything other people saw when
they looked at him. His movements and even his posture
appeared somnolent: the boundless energy hidden inside
him showed only in his charged eyebrows and the con-
ceptual purity of his blue eyes.
As he sagged into a seat, he had the look of a man who
was ready only to be measured for a winding sheet. But
Warden Dios knew better. In his own fashion - a style
utterly unlike Min Donner's - Hashi Lebwohl was coiled
and poised; ready for everything except death.
Still Warden didn't explain what was 'going to happen
now'. Min and Hashi already knew - although only
Hashi had been briefed - and Godsen could be allowed
to sweat a little longer. He glanced at his desk chron-
ometer: twelve minutes left. There was never enough
time; but twelve minutes would probably suffice. If they
didn't, he could always fake a brief transmission delay.
'Now. ' He faced each of his subordinates in turn, scan-
ning their emanations like a craftsman checking the con-
dition of his tools. On the most fundamental level, he
didn't believe in using human beings: not as tools; not
as genetic raw materials. That more than any other aspect
of his personality explained why he'd become a cop. The
fact that his personal dilemma required him to do so
many things he abhorred gave him another moment of
nausea. It didn't show, however. He'd perfected the art
of keeping the worst cost of whatever he needed and did
to himself.
Bland and careful, as if all his defenses were impen-
etrable, he announced, 'Trumpet is gone. For better or
worse, Angus and Milos are on their own.
'You all know this is the most hazardous position we've
ever put ourselves in. Never before have we risked so
much on people in situations so far outside our control.
And never before has so much depended on our ability
to keep what we're doing to ourselves. So it's time for us
to be clear. ' Warden said this despite the fact that he had
no intention whatsoever of being clear himself. 'If you
still object to this operation - if you believe it's misguided
or doomed - if you think I haven't adequately considered
the difficulties - I want you to say so now. '
Godsen went back to studying his hands. Hashi smiled
around the room as if he didn't know what doubts or
objections were.
Min didn't hesitate, however. 'Why bother?' she asked
bluntly. 'As you say, Trumpet is out of reach. Assuming
we could give Milos new orders, we have no way of
knowing when, how, or even if he would put them into
effect. '
'You aren't listening. ' Warden spoke more harshly than
he intended. Min sometimes had that effect on him - or
rather his own falseness toward her did. 'I didn't offer to
change Angus' programming. Whether sending him out
this way is a stroke of genius or an act of suicide,
he's out of our hands. I'm concerned about us here, not
him.
'If we fail to back him up effectively, we might as well
not have sent him at all. No, it's worse than that. If we
aren't going to back him up, we should have left him
rotting on Com-Mine. If we lose him, we'll expose all
the knowledge and expertise that went into him, as well
as all the information he carries about us.
'I want to deal with your objections and problems
now, so they won't interfere later. '
'Then there is no need for me to speak. ' The DA direc-
tor coughed like a man who'd spent a lifetime breathing
Earth's clotted atmosphere instead of processed station
air. 'Much of this operation I designed. The rest I
approved. And I do not doubt that it will succeed.
'However, I suspect that my colleagues' - he grinned
through his glasses - 'differ with me on this. '
Warden glanced at Min, at Godsen. 'How so?'
Min glared grimly at Frik.
Seeing that she wasn't going to speak first, Godsen
raised his head. Covering his uncertainty with fulsome-
ness, he announced, Well, I've said before that I think
Taverner is a terrible choice. That man has the morals of
a stoat. Even Hashi will admit we didn't have any trouble
suborning him - which means no one else is likely to
have any trouble either. But I think the situation is worse
than that.
'I've read his records' - Godsen appeared to consider
this an act of great diligence - 'and I can tell you, it isn't
a simple question whether we approached him or he
approached us. He was too slick about it to be obvious,
but I'm convinced selling out Com-Mine Security was at
least as much his idea as ours. '
Under her breath, Min muttered, 'What does that
prove?'
Portentously Godsen continued, 'So Taverner is a ter-
rible choice for two reasons. He'll sell us out as soon as
someone - anyone - offers him enough money. ' He
seemed to draw confidence from the sound of his own
voice. 'And if the great unwashed public we're all sworn
to serve and protect ever ever gets a hint that we released
a cyborg as powerful as Joshua with only a proven bugger
to control him, this whole operation will turn to shit
faster than you can say "righteous indignation". Even the
Dragon might not be able to keep the votes from pulling
the plug on Data Acquisition. '
'Meaning what?' asked Warden calmly.
'Meaning' — Godsen was in full spate — 'the mighty and
forever-to-be-respected GCES might de-charter Hashi's
little game room. The votes might decide Data Acquisi-
tion is too sensitive for mere cops to play with. They
might even consider a bill of severance. '
Warden noticed Min's increasing tension, but betrayed
none himself. 'Do you consider this realistic?'
For a moment Godsen was torn between his love of
rhetoric and his deeper loyalties. Then he sighed, 'No.
The Dragon won't let it happen.
'But he's the real issue here, isn't he? If this gamble
goes against us, he's the one who will have to clean up
the mess. And he won't be amused. That I guarantee. '
'Neither will I, ' Dios promised. Because he was speak-
ing for Godsen's benefit, he faced the other directors and
kept his tone quiet. 'And I won't put up with being
second-guessed. If I ever get any hint - from anybody -
that one word of our conversation has left this room, I'll
extract blood for it. Finding fault after the fact is easy.
The four of us are going to leave the easy jobs to other
people. '
That was another message aimed at Holt Fasner. When
Godsen repeated it to the Dragon, it would take on a
different meaning.
Leave Mm and, Hashi out of this. If you decide you want
to punish someone for what happens to Angus' mission, concen-
trate on me. I'm at least big enough to pay for my own
mistakes.
The fact that Hashi and perhaps Min as well were
probably as doomed as Warden Dios himself didn't
deflect him.
'Other objections? Other problems?' he asked bluntly.
Like a woman who knew that her moment had come,
Min said, 'Morn Hyland. '
The passion of her aura, the intensity of her emissions,
was vivid. All her doubts and fears were focused in that
one name.
Involuntarily Warden stiffened. Precisely because he
valued his ED director and ached to spare her, he often
found that he couldn't be as gentle with her as he was
with Godsen. Close to anger, he demanded, 'What about
her?'
The curse as well as the blessing of his position was
that Min Donner trusted him too much to fear his anger.
The fact that she challenged him so rarely was a mark of
respect, not an indication of timidity.
'Like Godsen, ' she said, as clear as a blade, 'I don't
trust Taverner. I don't care about the PR implications. I
worry about betrayal. But now that I see how this oper-
ation is running, I understand why you wanted him.
Thermopyle probably wouldn't get into Billingate alone.
And anybody else we sent with him wouldn't be much
of an improvement. Taverner may be a shitty choice, but
he's probably the best we could hope for.
'Morn Hyland is another matter. I don't understand
what you're doing to her. ' Min glanced at Frik as if giving
him a chance to support her, then continued on her own.
'For some reason, you refused to let Thermopyle be pro-
grammed to at least try to rescue her. I don't understand
that - and I may never understand it until you tell me
why you let Succorso have her in the first place.
'I don't care if she's the price we were supposed to
pay for Succorso's help. That isn't good enough. He's
accepted money before. For a chance to hurt a "competi-
tor" like Thermopyle, he would have accepted money
again. In any case, he couldn't have stopped us. If we'd
ordered Com-Mine Security to take her after he got her
away from Thermopyle, there's nothing he could have
done about it.
'She's one of ours, one of mine. She'd been raped and
abused for weeks. She had an unauthorized zone implant
- and by the time Thermopyle was done with her, she
was almost certainly an addict. We're the police, for God's
sake. If there was ever a human being who needed our
help, she was it. But we didn't help her. We abandoned
her to Succorso.
'I want to know why. '
Even though Warden was braced for this, it still hurt
him. Of the people in his office, only she had the power
to cause him so much pain. He had to stifle his impulse
to say, Min, forgive me. I'm so sorry.
He glanced at his chronometer. Two minutes left.
Apparently he would be on time.
'Other problems?' he asked Godsen. Worries?' he
asked Hashi. 'Objections?' he asked Min.
The three of them regarded him without speaking.
Godsen's apprehension, Hashi's hidden excitement,
Min's outrage: each had its own distinct infrared flavor;
but none struck him as a reason for delay.
Because he was a man who acted on his commitments,
he took the next step along the path he'd chosen.
'All right. Unless I've completely misjudged the situ-
ation, you're about to get the answers you want.
'You won't be surprised to hear that Godsen's news
release is already stirring up trouble. Specifically the
GCES is in an uproar. I don't know what the Council
members are saying, but I would guess that terms like
"incompetence", "dereliction of duty", and even "mal-
feasance" are being shouted in all directions. An emer-
gency session has already been declared to probe the
situation.
The Council has demanded a video conference with
Hashi and me so that we can account for ourselves. In
fact, we're supposed to downlink with them' - Warden
checked the time - 'right about now. As you know, our
charter doesn't require us to obtain GCES approval for
our operations, but it does require us to honor requests
for disclosure. So Hashi and I are going to talk to them. '
He looked at Godsen and Min. 'I want you to listen.
What you're going to hear is our official position — the
position you'll swear to from now on. Is that clear? If
the explanation we give the Council doesn't resolve your
objections, I'll go into more detail afterward. '
Godsen nodded to demonstrate his dutiful loyalty. Min
tightened her grip on herself and said nothing.
'Hashi, ' Warden continued as he tapped buttons which
activated the broadcast equipment in his office, 'we'll sit
on the edge of the desk. A little informality' - he hoped
that his bitterness didn't show in his voice - 'might make
us look like the kind of men who tell the truth. '
While cameras and pickups came to life, and partitions
unfolded to reveal a wide screen in one wall, Lebwohl
pushed himself out of his chair and shambled to the desk.
At the same time lights dimmed around the office so
that only the desk remained bright. Warden chimed his
secretary and told her to complete the downlink with the
GCES on Earth. Then he joined his DA director on the
front of the desk.
Min Donner and Godsen Frik watched from the gloom
outside the reach of the cameras as Warden Dios and
Hashi Lebwohl settled themselves to talk to the Council.
After a brief burst of static, the screen resolved into an
image of the formal meeting hall of the Governing Coun-
cil for Earth and Space.
Much of the room was filled by a large, half oval table.
The twenty-one Council members sat around the outside
of the table, with small data terminals as well as hardcopy
notes in front of them, and their personal advisers behind
them. Usually individuals being questioned by the Coun-
cil sat at a testimony table within the half oval, equally
accessible to all the members. Now, however, the screen
which showed Warden to the Council had taken the place
of the table and chair. His own perspective on the hall
came from cameras above and behind the testimony seat;
but what Holt Fasner called 'the votes' faced him as if he
were seated in front of them.
A quick scan told him that all the members were pre-
sent. That didn't surprise him: this wasn't an occasion
that any of the elected representatives of Earth and her
far-flung stations would choose to miss. Somewhere in
the back of his brain, he knew all twenty-one by name,
as well as a fair number of their advisers; circumstances
would refresh his memory at need. And at any given
moment Hashi could probably recite verbatim the
UMCP file on every person in the hall.
For the present Warden made a deliberate effort not
to take notice of old Sixten Vertigus, rigid as steel in his
chair despite his years, or of any of the other members
who might conceivably support a bill of severance. He
didn't want to give even the slightest indication that he
was going to damage — perhaps ruin - their careers.
The screen in his office had a distressing flicker. Sun-
spot activity, no doubt. Numbers running across the
bottom of the image told him that his communications
techs were attempting to filter out the distortion. Unfor-
tunately the unsteadiness of the picture touched a sore
place in his optic nerves, gave him the impression that
he was coming down with a migraine.
Members snuffled papers, verified or canceled their
data readouts. In a moment every eye was fixed on War-
den's image. Because of his own angle of view, the
members appeared to focus their attention on his crotch.
He missed being able to make eye contact with them,
just as he missed the IR dimension which video denied
him; but he was accustomed to the discrepancy.
'Director Dios. Thank you for responding so
promptly. '
The man who spoke sat in the middle of the half oval.
Only the position of his chair indicated his rank: he was
Abrim Len, President of the Governing Council for
Earth and Space. In the private rooms of UMCPHQ,
ensigns and techs sometimes joked that Godsen Frik was
a Len clone. Both men were capable of the same public
posturing, the same orotund cadences. Len was no
Fasner stooge, however. He was simply a man who pre-
ferred any sort of consensus, no matter how fatuous, over
any form of confrontation.
Prominent teeth and a receding chin made him look
like a rabbit.
'As you can imagine, ' he was saying, 'the news released
by your director of Protocol a few hours ago has given
us all grave cause for concern. It's our hope that you can
explain what's happened in a way that will relieve our
fears. '
The president paused expectantly.
'Mr President, ' Warden replied in greeting, 'members
of the Council. As you know, I'm Warden Dios, director
of the United Mining Companies Police. ' He announced
this as if he were stating his loyalties. With me is Hashi
Lebwohl, who serves as my director of Data Acquisition.
I don't need imagination to understand your concerns.
We're more than a little concerned ourselves. Hashi and
I will do our best to answer your questions.
'I must tell you immediately, however, that my investi-
gation is incomplete. Events are too recent - I haven't
yet had time to study them fully. Please keep that in mind
if some of our answers don't seem entirely adequate. '
'Certainly, certainly. ' Len's impulse to soothe ruffled
feelings was instinctive and automatic. 'In any case, we're
all acutely aware of the rather specialized nature of the
relationship between the GCES and the UMCP. It's
gratifying to see that you take the commitment to dis-
close so seriously. '
'Mr President, ' Warden put in sternly because he didn't
like wasting time, 'I take all my commitments seriously. '
'I'm sure you do, ' Len responded at once. 'Your record
is admirable in every particular. I speak for everyone here'
- he gestured around the hall — 'when I say that we hold
you in the highest esteem.
'Director Lebwohl, we appreciate your presence as
well. ' One of Len's techniques for avoiding conflict was
to keep talking. This level of cooperation benefits all of
us who are charged with the duty of guiding and protect-
ing our people. '
'Make no mention of it, please, Mr President, ' Hashi
replied with a grin. 'I am always eager to do whatever I
can to redeem my own errors. '
Despite his confidence in Hashi, Warden feared for a
moment that the conference was about to go badly awry.
'"Errors"?' a woman snapped aggressively. 'Do you
admit errors?'
With an effort, Warden identified the junior member
for the United Western Bloc. Her name was Carsin.
At the same time he flicked a look at Godsen and Min.
They emitted nothing except tension.
'All in good time, my dear, all in good time, ' Len
interposed quickly. We must consider every aspect of
this unfortunate situation in its proper order. It is prema-
ture to discuss errors' - another man would have said, to
assign blame. 'Director Dios, Director Lebwohl, can we
first agree on the facts?'
Warden folded his arms across his chest. 'Of course. '
'Are the news broadcasts accurate?' Len pursued. 'Is it
true, Director Lebwohl, that a convicted illegal held for
questioning by your department has escaped?'
When Hashi nodded, his glasses slipped farther down
his nose. He pushed them back up with a hand like a
spider. 'In substance, yes. '
'This illegal was a man named Angus Thermopyle?'
'Unquestionably. '
'Has he escaped from you altogether?'
'Do you mean, has he escaped from UMCPHQ, as
well as from Data Acquisition? Yes. '
'Do you know where Angus Thermopyle has gone?'
Hashi shrugged delicately. 'How could I? If we pos-
sessed such knowledge, we would already be in pursuit.
However, we have no data except the tach parameters of
the ship Captain Thermopyle has stolen. Certainly we
can do the calculations to predict the direction and dis-
tance of his first crossing. But why should we trouble
ourselves? Nothing in all space can prevent him from
changing course when he resumes tard and then reengag-
ing his gap drive with altered parameters. Under these
conditions, we lack the means to trace him. '
Would you consider it trouble to do those calculations
anyway?' the UWB junior member demanded sarcasti-
cally. 'Just on the off-chance that we might learn some-
thing useful?'
'Not at all. ' Hashi made a show of writing a note and
handing it to an off-screen aide. For the sake of appear-
ances, Min came forward to accept the piece of paper,
then sat down again.
'Please, Junior Member Carsin, ' Len protested. 'I'm
sure that Director Dios and Director Lebwohl are willing
to answer any and all questions. But everything will be
easier if you'll wait your turn. '
Frowning as if she'd received an official reprimand,
Carsin turned her attention to her data terminal.
Len consulted his notes. 'Let us continue with the
facts. Is it true, Director Lebwohl, that this Angus
Thermopyle was assisted in his escape by a former deputy
chief of Com-Mine Station Security, a man named Milos
Taverner?'
That also appears unquestionable. Considering the
conditions of his imprisonment, I sincerely doubt that
Captain Thermopyle could have effected his own escape.
Indeed, in this context I would say that the term "escape"
is fundamentally imprecise. Captain Thermopyle did not
escape. He could not have escaped. ' He was released by
Deputy Chief Taverner. '
Perhaps to preserve an air of impartiality, Abrim Len
chose not to ask the next obvious question himself.
Instead he nodded to the senior member for the Pacific
Rim Conglomerate.
'Director Lebwohl, ' this man said immediately in a
firm voice, 'we're in the dark here. We hardly know where
to begin analyzing this mess. Instead of waiting for indi-
vidual questions, why don't you simply tell us what we
all want to know? How did this happen?'
Static split the screen momentarily. The sensation of
migraine tightened in Warden's temples. He resisted an
impulse to rub his eyes.
With his usual deftness, Hashi managed to convey
both exaggerated patience and geniality as he replied, 'It
is no mystery, ladies and gentlemen. As a deputy chief of
Com-Mine Security, Milos Taverner had certain clear-
ances and authorizations at UMCPHQ. He used them to
secure Captain Thermopyle's release, as well as to obtain
access to a ship. Because of the nature of those clearances
and authorizations, only the most routine requests for
confirmation were forwarded to me. By the time I
received them, Captain Thermopyle and Deputy Chief
Taverner were already beyond reach. '
That's not the question, and you know it, ' Junior
Member Carsin sneered. We aren't interested in the
mechanics. If your incompetence were that obvious, Dios
would already have your head on the block. '
Then perhaps, ' Hashi wheezed as if his lungs pained
him, 'you would be good enough to phrase your question
more precisely. '
We want to know, ' Carsin retorted, 'how this whole
situation became possible. According to the news broad-
casts' - she pointed at her readout - 'you reqqed Taverner
from Com-Mine because you thought he might be a
traitor. So why in hell did you let him have all those
"clearances and authorizations"?'
Min's emanations were as sharp as a snarl. The PR
director radiated a stew of anxiety and concentration.
Hashi did a convincing imitation of a man who was
gratified by Carsin's explanation. Thank you, Junior
Member. ' He placed no discernible stress on the diminu-
tive. 'Now I understand.
'You must understand, ladies and gentlemen, that our
position in relation to Deputy Chief Taverner was not as
simple as the news broadcasts may have made it appear.
None of you have forgotten, I think, the original case
concerning Captain Thermopyle. He was convicted on
Com-Mine Station of the burglary of Station supplies.
He was a notorious illegal, however, believed to be the
perpetrator of many far more serious crimes - and yet
insufficient evidence was found to convict him of any-
thing worse than mere burglary. Later it became clear
that even this crime could not have been committed with-
out the assistance of someone favorably placed within
Com-Mine Security itself. '
Around the hall, members keyed their readouts or
turned to whisper questions to their advisers. However,
the member for Com-Mine Station didn't need to refresh
her memory. It was significant, Warden thought, that she
kept her mouth grimly shut.
'Because of the palpable absence of damning evidence, '
Hashi continued, 'Com-Mine Security quite naturally
declined to let the matter rest. Deputy Chief Taverner
was the officer assigned to Captain Thermopyle's on-
going interrogation. Unfortunately no results were forth-
coming.
'It was at this point that we acted on our interest in
the case. We were interested from the first, I must confess
- Enforcement Division no less than Data Acquisition. '
Carefully Hashi prepared the way for the issues on which
Warden Dios hoped the Council would focus. 'As you
may recall from the original case concerning Captain
Thermopyle, we had reason to suspect that he was
involved in the destruction of the UMCP destroyer
Starmaster. This suspicion revolved around his arrival at
Com-Mine Station with Starmaster's sole survivor, an
ensign named Morn Hyland. What happened to Star-
master? How did Ensign Hyland survive? Why was she
in Captain Thermopyle's company? More to the point,
why did she remain with him? We were interested - I
might well say passionately interested - in the answers to
these questions.
'Unfortunately we had no jurisdiction. We were
required to abide by the results of Com-Mine Security's
investigation. '
By this time most of the members appeared to have
obtained the records or reminders they needed from their
data terminals or advisers.
Hashi adjusted his glasses again, then steepled his
fingers like a lecturing professor.
'The Preempt Act altered the question of jurisdiction,
however. And it raised an additional consideration. Its
recent passage gave us a clear responsibility for the integ-
rity of Com-Mine Station Security. Why were no results
forthcoming from Captain Thermopyle's interrogation?
Why had he been convicted of only so minor an offense?
Had the records been expunged? If so, had they been
expunged by Deputy Chief Taverner? Was his failure to
obtain further information explained, perhaps, by com-
plicity in Captain Thermopyle's crimes?
'Ladies and gentlemen, I found these questions too
fascinating to ignore. On my authority as the director of
Data Acquisition, I reqqed both Captain Thermopyle
and Deputy Chief Taverner, so that I could learn the
truth for myself. '
Warden had no criticism of Hashi's performance so
far. Hashi kept his instinct for innuendo and misdirection
in check: he sounded as plausible as Warden could wish.
Still the communications techs couldn't keep the screen
from nickering as if it were distorted by Hashi's - and
Warden's - duplicity.
'But how to go about learning the truth?' the
DA director asked rhetorically. That was the complex
question. If I made my suspicions obvious to Deputy
Chief Taverner - for example, by revoking his clear-
ances and authorizations - he would certainly do his
utmost to protect himself. Then I might never gain the
information I desired. Therefore my best hope was to
preserve the illusion that I had reqqed him because
of his special knowledge of Captain Thermopyle. There
was, after all, no reason why this should not be the
truth.
'Indeed, where Captain Thermopyle was concerned, I
was daily given reason to believe in Deputy Chief Tav-
erner's honesty. My own interrogations were as unsuc-
cessful as it is possible to imagine. Despite my most
advanced techniques - within the limits of the law, ' Hashi
added piously, 'I gained nothing which Deputy Chief
Taverner had not gained before me.
Therefore what grounds did I have to treat Deputy
Chief Taverner as a suspected illegal? Among the
UMCP, we hold the principle sacred that a man is inno-
cent until proven guilty. ' Hashi was starting to play his
part too thickly, but Warden didn't interfere. The more
I interrogated Captain Thermopyle, the more my distrust
of Deputy Chief Taverner evaporated.
'Ladies and gentlemen, I did not revoke his clearances
and authorizations because I had no evidence against
him. Until he released Captain Thermopyle and fled, I
had no foundation for my suspicions. '
Now Warden cut in. Impelled by the pain in his optic
nerves, he asked roughly, 'Does that help? You should
be able to ask accurate questions now. '
Thank you, Director Lebwohl, ' said Len. 'An admir-
ably lucid account. Do I understand you to mean, then,
that the "error" you made reference to earlier was an
error in judgment concerning Milos Taverner?'
'Just so, Mr President, ' Hashi agreed placidly, as if he
were at peace with the universe.
'In that case, ' Len returned in the same vein, 'please
accept my condolences. Everyone makes mistakes - but
not everyone can afford them. Men who hold as much
responsibility as we do, Director Lebwohl, must some-
how transcend their fallibility. Otherwise their "errors"
affect all humankind.
'Members, Director Dios, I think we should consider
the issues as they have been presented to us so far, before
we go on to other matters. Junior Member Carsin, do
you wish to question Director Lebwohl or Director
Dios?'
A barrage ensued. Carsin did indeed want to question
Hashi; she considered his explanation preposterous. And
she was quick: by the time Abrim Len offered her the
floor, she'd marshaled a long list of hostile inquiries. After
her came the member for Valdor Industrial, the senior
member for the PRC, the junior member for the Com-
bined Asian Islands and Peninsulas, the member for New
Outreach, and others: all deeply disturbed by the implica-
tions of Angus' escape; all critical of Data Acquisition
and Hashi Lebwohl on either procedural or strategic
grounds;
At one point Hashi interrupted the bombardment to
feign receiving a note from his off-screen aide; reading
it, he announced, 'Junior Member Carsin, I have the
calculations you requested. It appears that Captain
Thermopyle has left our solar system for forbidden space.
If he does not alter his course, he is headed toward a
planetoid called Thanatos Minor, which we believe to be
the location of a bootleg shipyard catering to the needs
and transactions of pirates. ' With a shrug, he added, 'A
natural destination for a man such as Captain Thermo-
pyle, if I may say so. Our treaties with the Amnion pre-
clude all possibility of pursuit. '
Then he resumed his answers as if he were fielding
enemy fire.
He was calm the entire time; unruffled, almost happy.
Only the wheeze of his voice betrayed any strain. He was
well prepared for the challenge. And he was temperamen-
tally equal to it: he felt no tell-tale indignation at being
pushed to defend lies with more lies. Because he made
no necessary distinction between truth and falsehood, he
was in his natural element.
Warden should have paid attention, but his mind wan-
dered. The Council's questions, like Hashi's answers,
were chaff; a way of filling the time until Abrim Len felt
ready to broach 'other matters'. As a good politician, the
president wanted his fellow GCES members to satisfy
their appetite for trivialities before he raised more sensi-
tive issues. The real questions - the real threats - hadn't
begun yet.
As if he wanted reassurance, Warden looked away from
the cameras toward Min Donner and Godsen Frik.
Min had no comfort in her. She was too sure. In a
sense, she'd been purified by her commitment to her
ideals. As her director, Warden could require her to do
things she didn't like; but he had no power to make her
question the nature of her beliefs. Despite his impersonal
love, as well as his personal respect, he couldn't get what
he wanted from her.
The PR director, on the other hand -
One curse - or blessing - of Warden's prosthetic eye
was that it never closed. He was never blind to the aura
and sweat, the respiration and pulse, of the people
around him; could never turn off his awareness of God-
sen's hypocrisy. For him, Godsen was the UMCP in
miniature. Or rather, he was what the UMCP had
become; what the UMCP had been turned into by Dios
himself, under pressure from Holt Fasner. Warden
couldn't lose sight of that fact.
Godsen's emanations consoled him by reminding him
that every price he paid was justified; that everything he
did to make restitution was worth the risk.
He faced the cameras and the migraine flicker of the
screen again as Len began saying, Thank you, Director
Lebwohl. You've been most forthcoming. I believe
you've satisfied those of us who are capable of being
satisfied in this difficult situation. And I'm sure the rest'
- he didn't so much as glance at Carsin - 'understand the
need to contain their dissatisfaction until the Council can
resume its emergency session in private.
'Director Dios, do you wish to add anything before
we go on?'
Warden shook his head. Steadying himself on his core
of anger, he said, 'Hashi Lebwohl has my complete con-
fidence. He's already answered your questions more fully
than I could myself. '
Len bowed slightly. 'Very well, Director Dios. We will
proceed. '
The whole Council seemed to pause as if the broadcast
image had frozen. Members held papers motionless in their
hands; advisers leaning forward to speak remained still.
The throbbing in Warden's temples sharpened
noticeably.
He wondered how much trepidation his IR vision
would have picked up from the president in person as
Len said, 'You mentioned Angus Thermopyle's arrest and
conviction on Com-Mine Station. As you know, those
events have played a large part in the debates of the
Council on other occasions. ' For instance, in the debate
over the Preempt Act. 'You may not be aware, however,
that certain of our members have asked questions con-
cerning those events for which we have never obtained
satisfactory answers. Angus Thermopyle's escape gives
those questions a new urgency.
. 'Member Martingale, will you continue?'
Martingale was the member for Com-Mine Station.
'Director Dios, ' she said without raising her eyes from
her data terminal, 'my constituency was more intimately
involved in the Thermopyle case than any other. I'm
better placed to ask questions than my fellow members
— and my responsibility to Com-Mine Station requires
me to ask those questions. At the same time, Com-Mine
is anxious' --she stressed the word carefully - 'to avoid
any taint of personal interest. Our Security has been
extensively challenged. We wish to defend ourselves -
and yet any self-defense smacks of special pleading.
Therefore, at my urging, the Governing Council for
Earth and Space has appointed a Special Counsel to
investigate these matters independently. For the record,
I remind my fellow members that the Special Counsel
was chosen without consultation with my office or Com-
Mine Station. Director Dios, both my office and Com-
Mine Station have been questioned as rigorously as I
hope you will be questioned now. '
Warden blinked at the pain of the flickering screen.
Here it comes, he thought as Martingale finished, 'Let
me introduce Special Counsel Maxim Igensard. Special
Counsel Igensard, will you take the floor?'
Thank you, Member Martingale. ' The man who spoke
left his seat behind the Eastern Union senior member
and moved to stand at the table.
After a restive moment the Council grew still again.
Muttering silent imprecations against the IR blindness
of the downlink, Warden studied Maxim Igensard
intensely.
He'd known of Igensard's appointment for some time,
of course. However, the fact that the GCES wanted Igen-
sard to question him and Hashi now should have come
as a complete surprise.
Warden wasn't surprised. He was relieved - so pro-
foundly relieved that for a moment he nearly made the
mistake of letting it show.
'Director Dios, ' Igensard began. 'Director Lebwohl.
This is a rare opportunity for me. I hope we'll be able to
shed light on some troubling issues. '
The Special Counsel had a diffident voice which
matched his colorless appearance. Although he was the
only man in the hall standing, he appeared short. His
formal gray suit had been cut - unsuccessfully - to con-
ceal an incongruous potbelly; incongruous because his
limbs were slight and his face carried no fat. He looked
like a man who could be blown in any direction by the
winds of circumstance.
Yet he alone seemed to understand that in order to
create the illusion of eye contact with the UMCP director
he had to face the cameras rather than the screen. As a
result, he was the only member who didn't appear to be
scrutinizing Warden's crotch.
Despite the flicker of the screen, Igensard's straight
gaze showed no diffidence at all.
Warden's throat tightened in hope or dread. 'Ask what-
ever you want, ' he said gruffly. We'll answer as well as
we can. '
Igensard didn't hesitate. 'As it happens, I don't know
to whom I should address my questions. ' He had no
notes; apparently he needed none. 'I'll tell you what I
want to know, and you can answer as you see fit.
'Morn Hyland, ' he announced as if the subject had no
particular significance, 'was an ensign aboard the UMCP
destroyer Starmaster. When her ship was lost, she came
into the hands of Captain Thermopyle. His testimony is
on record - he claims to have rescued her after her ship
was destroyed, purportedly by Com-Mine Station
sabotage. '
To control his own tension, Warden interposed, 'Are
you going to ask us if Milos Taverner had anything to
do with Starmaster's destruction? We don't know. '
Igensard continued as if Warden hadn't spoken. 'She
remained with him after he returned to Com-Mine
Station. He claims she did so because she didn't trust
Com-Mine Security. But when Security arrested him for
stealing Station supplies, she immediately left both him
and Com-Mine with a Captain Nick Succorso aboard
the frigate Captain's Fancy. Captain Succorso himself has
frequently been suspected of illegal activities, but has
never been convicted. Is this substantially correct?'
Warden shrugged. 'You've got the records. You know
it is. '
'In that case, Director Dios, Director Lebwohl, all my
questions can be summed up in one. Why did you allow
this to happen?' The diffidence of Igensard's voice was a
sham; a way of disarming people. 'A known illegal is
caught and convicted by Com-Mine Station. He is later
reqqed by Data Acquisition. At the same time, a UMCP
officer, the sole survivor of a UMCP ship, Captain
Thermopyle's only companion - the only witness to what
he may have done — is allowed to depart Com-Mine,
untouched and unquestioned, again in the company of a
known illegal. She is set free, presumably so that she can
rejoin Captain Thermopyle - who by some monumental
coincidence has just contrived his escape from Data
Acquisition.
'Director Dios, Director Lebwohl, this stinks of com-
plicity. ' Igensard's straight stare made Warden forget his
potbelly and his shortness. 'It stinks of malfeasance. It
suggests that Captain Thermopyle is one of your opera-
tives - that his crimes were whitewashed to preserve his
life - that he was reqqed from Com-Mine Security so
that his interrogation would not succeed - that he was
allowed to escape in reward for his services, and in order
to serve you further. It suggests that the UMCP is in
league with known illegals to subvert station Security,
protect illegals, and preserve piracy, all of which work
to the aid of the Amnion in their aims against human-
kind. '
Warden feared that Min was going to come out of her
chair and start yelling. Only an iron discipline held her
still.
'Before you answer, ' Igensard concluded, 'let me
inform you that I've seen Com-Mine Station's records of
the entire affair. They are explicit. Com-Mine Security
allowed Ensign Hyland to depart with Captain Succorso
on your orders. She was UMCP - outside their jurisdic-
tion. So they contacted UMCPHQ for instructions. Your
instructions were to take no action concerning her.
'I ask you again. Why did you allow this to happen?'
Now, Warden thought. This is it. The whole thing
stands or falls here.
The sensation of migraine from the screen made him
feel that he was going blind in both eyes.
With respect, Special Counsel Igensard, ' he drawled
sardonically, 'aren't you being just a bit global about all
this? You're drawing large conclusions from some very
small evidence. '
'Just answer the question, Director Dios, ' Igensard
retorted. The Governing Council for Earth and Space
will draw its own conclusions. '
With a mental lift of his shoulders, Warden Dios
trusted his fate to people he couldn't control; to Hashi
Lebwohl, who made no distinction between one fate and
another. This is your department, Hashi, ' he said softly.
'You'd better answer. '
Hashi had been thoroughly prepared: he squirmed as
if he were sweating for his life. For the first time since
he'd seated himself on the front of Warden's desk and
faced the cameras, he started to tell the truth.
'Special Counsel Igensard, your concern is misplaced. '
Now his voice held a tremor so convincing that Warden
almost believed in it. 'Again the situation is more com-
plex than you realize.
'Captain Thermopyle is not numbered among Data
Acquisition's few operatives. If you have studied the psy-
profiles prepared on him by Com-Mine Security, you will
believe me. Such a man — how shall I say this? — is utterly
beyond trust. I could not use him as an operative because
he would not submit to being used.
'On the other hand, Captain Succorso does serve me
upon occasion.
'For the most part, his crimes are putative rather than
real. They serve as a smoke-screen. Therefore we had no
reason to permit Com-Mine Security to interfere in the
matter of Ensign Hyland. We had cause to doubt their
integrity - and a useful alternative was available to us. '
Then where is she?' Igensard demanded promptly.
What kind of rescue do you call this? My God, Director
Lebwohl, she was in Thermopyle's hands for weeks. You
mentioned his psy-profile. He's a certifiable psychopath
- and she's a cop. Haven't you thought about what he
must have done to her? Com-Mine Station has hospitals,
therapists, neural medicine. What help can Captain
Succorso give her? Where did he take her?
What kind of use are you trying to make out of her?'
'Special Counsel Igensard, you must understand. ' The
tremor in Hashi's voice became more pronounced. It
made him sound frail; cornered. 'Human space is at peace
with the Amnion. With considerable difficulty, the
United Mining Companies Police strives to maintain this
peace. But Data Acquisition is another matter. Data
Acquisition is at war. It is a war for facts, for comprehen-
sion - for the means by which the Amnion and human-
kind may be spared overt conflict — but it is a war
nonetheless. And in warfare men and women become
tools. They must be used for what they can accomplish,
without regard to the personal cost.
'Data Acquisition cannot afford to neglect opportuni-
ties when they are presented. Ensign Hyland presented
me with an opportunity which it would have been mal-
feasance to ignore. '
Min Donner was on the edge of her seat, listening
hard. Godsen Frik chewed his knuckles as if he might
bite off his fingers.
'You must recall, ' Hashi continued, 'that Captain
Succorso is universally thought illegal. Therefore he has
access to places and powers which no UMCP officer may
approach directly. And Ensign Hyland was irretrievably
compromised. You ask if we have considered what Cap-
tain Thermopyle must have done to her. I tell you that
we have considered the harm she has undergone - that
we believe Captain Thermopyle's vileness toward her
beggars description - and that in our opinion no hospital
or therapy can restore her.
Therefore' - Hashi took a shuddering breath — 'we
elected to make use of her in another way. '
'Don't stop now, ' the Special Counsel put in. His tone
was incisive enough to draw blood. 'You're painting a
fascinating picture of what passes for ethics in
UMCPHQ. '
At once Warden snapped, That's uncalled for. You
aren't charged with the duty of protecting humankind
from the Amnion. We are. '
'Certainly, of course, ' Abrim Len interposed, as
smooth as oil. 'Director Dios, Director Lebwohl, we
appreciate the honesty of your answers. Special Counsel
Igensard, please refrain from passing judgment on what
you hear. That is the responsibility of the Council as a
whole, not of any one man or member. '
Igensard bowed his head momentarily, but didn't
respond.
Council members rearranged their papers or peered at
their readouts as if they were embarrassed by the
reproach. Some of them watched Igensard and the down-
link screen avidly: others appeared to want to move their
chairs farther away from the Special Counsel's position.
'As I say, ' Hashi resumed, sounding a bit steadier, 'we
elected to make use of Ensign Hyland in another way.
Again I insist that these matters are complex. Before the
case of Captain Thermopyle and Ensign Hyland came to
our attention, we were at work preparing an operation
for Captain Succorso. I made reference earlier to Than-
atos Minor and a bootleg shipyard in forbidden space.
That shipyard is beyond our reach, by virtue of its loca-
tion. Yet it is accessible to Captain Succorso. Seeking to
damage its effectiveness, we - no, I must say I - con-
ceived a way to strike against it through Captain
Succorso.
'My plan was to send him to Thanatos Minor armed
with a drug which he would claim supplied an immunity
to Amnion mutagens. '
Min drew a sharp breath which must have been audible
over the broadcast pickups.
We would provide Captain Succorso with fabricated
proofs of the efficacy of this drug. He would sell it to the
illegals of Thanatos Minor - who would in turn no doubt
sell it to the Amnion. Even the rumor of such a drug
would cause them considerable alarm. When the actual
uselessness of the drug was discovered, Thanatos Minor
would naturally blame Captain Succorso. But many
illegals - and perhaps the Amnion themselves - would
blame Thanatos Minor. In my opinion, the bootleg ship-
yard would suffer a loss of credibility from which it might
never recover.
That is my job, Special Counsel Igensard — to do such
damage as I can to the forces which weaken us against
the Amnion. '
Igensard's mouth twisted into a sneer. 'And what use
were you going to get out of Morn Hyland in all this?
Were you going to use her as a guinea pig to prove the
drug worked?'
'No!' Hashi protested as if the idea horrified him,
although the truth was worse. We gave her to Captain
Succorso for his own protection. I have already said that
she was irretrievably compromised. And we had already
taken steps to protect ourselves from the revelations Cap-
tain Thermopyle presumably extorted from her. Yet she
was a cop, in your terms. And Captain Succorso, by his
very nature, is a man of malleable loyalties.
We gave Ensign Hyland to him so that he would have
something to sell if he were trapped or caught - if he
found himself in circumstances which tempted him to
expose the falseness of our drug. '
Min Donner sprang to her feet. Radiating outrage,
she moved right to the edge of the cameras' view. Her
fists were clenched to strike out. If Warden hadn't
stopped her with a quick glare, she might have jumped
at Hashi.
But the DA director appeared oblivious to her fury -
or to Godsen's consternation. As if he wanted to make
himself look as bad as possible, he added, 'I had another
reason also. She is a beautiful woman, Special Counsel
Igensard. Because of Captain Thermopyle's treatment,
we suspect that she is aptly suited to satisfy the appetites
of such men as Captain Succorso. We gave her to him to
lessen the likelihood that he would turn against us if his
mission on Thanatos Minor proved' - pushing up his
glasses, Hashi finished - 'difficult. '
Through the shocked silence which gripped the Coun-
cil, Igensard said softly, 'Director Lebwohl, you used the
word vileness to describe Captain Thermopyle's behavior.
Don't you think the description fits your own as well?'
Like Min, Warden leaped to his feet. That's enough!'
he roared. 'Call off your dogs, Mr President!'
He wasn't worried about Igensard or the Council: his
overriding concern was to restrain the ED director before
she disrupted what he was trying to accomplish through
Hashi.
'I didn't agree to this conference so that my people
could be abused, ' he stated loudly. 'I did it because my
charter carries the duty of disclosure. But I remind you
that there's no duty of consultation. We aren't required
to let you second-guess us! We did what we did with
Ensign Hyland for the same reason we do everything else
- because at the time that seemed like the best way to
fulfill our Articles of Mission. It was a gamble, nothing
more, nothing less. It either works or it doesn't. Either
way, we don't deserve insults from small men with big
titles. '
If that didn't achieve what he wanted, nothing would.
Right on cue, Abrim Len burst into a flurry of placa-
tory phrases and gestures. But Maxim Igensard was
already shouting, 'Director Dios, what do you make of
the fact that Angus Thermopyle is heading for the same
place you sent Succorso and Hyland?'
More quietly Warden repeated, 'I said, that's enough.
We've answered your questions - we've done our part.
As far as I'm concerned, this conference is over. Mr Presi-
dent, if you want to pursue any of these subjects further,
we can arrange another occasion. But before we do, I
want you to teach your Special Counsel better manners.
My people and I have done nothing to deserve this kind
of hostile interrogation. '
Turning his back on the cameras, he keyed his intercom
and told his secretary to sever the downlink.
Almost immediately the screen went blank.
He didn't bring up the dimmed lights around his desk.
He wanted to switch them off completely and spend
some time alone in the dark, rubbing his temples, letting
his sore eyes rest; cradling his lacerated ideals. But he
couldn't do that; not yet. The PR director came toward
him, broaching the concentrated illumination like an
indignant lion.
'Director!' Godsen blared, 'that was an outrage! Do
you know what you've done? You've made us look like
garbage, like weasels! You've curled their moral hair to
the roots! There's going to be hell to pay for this. If I
know Carsin and Igensard, they're already howling for
our blood - and after that stunning performance, the rest
of the members will be ready to listen. I tell you, Holt
Fasner is going to be -'
Warden's headache was spreading. Godsen's voice hurt
his ears. But he didn't look at Frik. His attention was
caught by Hashi's aura.
Warmth and moisture left a glowing curve down
Hashi's spine. Despite his calm, organic duplicity,
the DA director had sweated through his lab coat.
In contrast, his face was pale, leeched of blood, as if
he'd been drained by the effort of so much selective
truth.
Conserving his energy, moving as little as possible,
Warden stopped Godsen by simply pointing one finger
at him. Warden's stance was firm, his manner unruffled.
Yet his very stillness seemed to frighten Godsen, as if his
finger were fatal.
'I didn't ask for your evaluation of our "performance", '
he said quietly. 'I asked you to tell me if I've answered
your questions. You wanted to know what insurance we
have that Milos won't betray us. The answer is, none.
But we've put him in a position where there's only one
direction he can go if he turns against us. And Angus'
programming watches for that automatically. We can't
prevent him from trying to sell what he knows about
Joshua, or us - but if he does that we'll have a recording
of it. And he can only sell what he knows. We've been
very careful about what we've allowed him to learn.
'As soon as he starts trying to play some kind of bugger
game against both sides, we'll be able to use him in ways
he doesn't suspect.
'That's what makes him worth the risk. '
Warden knew that Godsen considered this issue trivial
compared to the consequences of the GCES conference;
but he didn't care. Dismissing the PR director, he forced
himself to face Min Donner's more profound outrage at
last.
'How about you?' With an effort, he kept his tone
mild. 'Have I answered your questions?'
As fierce as a hawk, she confronted him across the
focused light. One hand closed and unclosed involuntar-
ily; the other plucked at her gun as if she required a
constant exertion of will to leave the weapon in its
holster.
Was all that true?' Her voice was as soft as his, but
immeasurably more feral. 'All that about Morn?'
Sighing with weariness, Warden Dios replied, 'Yes. '
At the moment he had no more stomach for lies.
She winced: that one word seemed to hurt her more
than any other. 'But how - ?' she pursued as if her pain
came to her in pieces. 'I don't understand. That doesn't
explain —' With a sudden shiver like a spasm of revulsion,
she took hold of herself. 'It doesn't fit. How did you
know Com-Mine wouldn't give Angus the death penalty.
How could you?'
She wasn't thinking straight yet; but Warden saw
where her reasoning would go. He accepted the accusa-
tion as stoically as he could.
'I didn't. We all knew Angus was going to be arrested
- but I had no idea how significant he was until they
only got him for burglary. Hashi told the truth. We were
planning to send Nick against Billingate before we ever
had the opportunity to frame Angus and pass the Pre-
empt Act. '
Then Hashi told the truth?' Min couldn't have stopped
now to save her soul. That's why you let Succorso have
her? So he could sell her to get himself out of trouble?
And so he could use her along the way?'
Warden nodded once. He couldn't say yes to her again.
'But it still doesn't make sense!' she protested. 'Getting
Angus changed everything. You knew you could never
really trust Succorso. Welding Angus and sending him
against Billingate is a lot better. It's much more likely to
work. '
Warden nodded again.
Which means, ' Min continued, 'you don't need Suc-
corso now. You don't need to let him keep her. That's
all been superseded. Why wasn't Angus programmed to
rescue her? Why did you refuse to let him be pro-
grammed to rescue her?'
Godsen appeared to think Min was breaking down
Warden's defenses. As if he were supporting her, the PR
director put in, 'I wanted her rescued. I argued for that
as hard as I could. It's a terrible mistake to leave her with
Succorso. But you wouldn't listen. '
Warden ignored Godsen. He would have ignored
Hashi, if Hashi had had enough energy to join the accu-
sation. Only Min Donner mattered to him here.
Wielding anger like a scourge, he drove himself to tell
one more lie.
'Because both Nick and Morn have been what Hashi
calls "irretrievably compromised". They've been to
Enablement. I don't know why - that was never part of
our plans. ' Not since Nick Succorso first traveled there
to test the immunity drug. 'But they went. And they got
away again. I'm afraid to guess what it means. '
Unexpectedly Hashi spoke. As if he were coming to
Warden's aid, he wheezed, 'It may mean that the Amnion
have perfected mutagens which enable them to transform
human beings without altering their bodies or destroying
their minds. In that case, both Captain Succorso and
Ensign Hyland have become appallingly dangerous. We
must hope' - he might have said pray - 'that our Joshua
succeeds in destroying them. '
Min faced this for a moment as if she still believed she
could face anything.
Then she turned away, wrenched the door open, and
strode out of the office.
Warden looked at Godsen. 'You, too. I want to be
alone. '
The force of Warden's single eye was enough to make
Godsen leave. He may have wanted to put as much dis-
tance as possible between himself and the UMCP
director.
Only Hashi remained. 'I, too, ' he said when Warden
glanced at him. 'I need rest as well. ' He started toward
the door.
Halfway there, however, he paused. Peering through
his smeared glasses, he said, Warden Dios, you suffer
too much. I am at a loss to explain why I esteem you so
highly.
'Yet I must say this. The conference which we have
just endured - that was well played. I can only guess
at your intentions, but I do not doubt that you have
accomplished them. '
Without waiting for an answer, he left Warden alone.
By some standards, the DA director's compliment was
a worse insult than anything Maxim Igensard had said.
Nevertheless Warden smiled wanly and said, Thanks, ' at
Hashi's departing back.
Like Morn Hyland - not to mention Angus Thermo-
pyle - Warden Dios was now irretrievably compromised.
ANCILLARY
DOCUMENTATION
UNITED MINING
COMPANIES
A Brief History
(continued)
Privately the history of the United Mining Companies
was a study in the unscrupulous brilliance and over-
weening ambition of two men: Holt Fasner and Warden
Dios.
Experimenting with rejuvenation techniques de-
veloped by Intertech, Holt Fasner lived for more than a
hundred fifty years. In his late thirties, he became Chair-
man and CEO of Space Mines Inc. During the next one
hundred ten years or so, he built the original company
from a small orbital ore smelter into one often or twelve
major players in the exploration and development of
space, and then into the biggest player, the UMC. He
did this by a display of foresight, cunning, manipulation,
and willingness to take risks which none of his competi-
tors could match.
He did it by simple acquisition - e. g. Intertech — as
well as by subterfuge. For example, corporate espionage
paid rich dividends when he was able to drive Sagittarius
Exploration into bankruptcy by exposing the attempts of
SagEx's directors to suborn the political process which
chartered space companies. In addition, he had a gift for
being in the right place at the right time: contact and
trade with the Amnion was established by SMI on the
basis of information gained through the acquisition of
Intertech. His policy of bold exploration served him well:
his ships discovered the tremendous asteroid belt —
dangerously near forbidden space - which eventually
came to be served by Com-Mine Station. And he did not
shrink from betrayal: on one occasion, he reneged on a
deal to help pay for a new orbital smelter - much needed
to process the growing influx of ore - with the result
that the company which had been relying on him lost
several credit ratings and became vulnerable to SMI
greenmail. Nor did he balk at bribery: perhaps his great-
est coup came when, for a few billion dollars, he suc-
ceeded at buying the votes which chartered the UMC
with a monopoly on dealings with the Amnion. In fact,
Holt Fasner lived long enough to see the UMC become
so powerful that it controlled the safety or ruin of the
human species.
His ambitions didn't end there, however. Having
achieved an apparently impregnable dominance for the
UMC, he focused his attention on the United Mining
Companies Police.
In one sense, this was easily explained. The Amnion
were a vast source of wealth: they also represented the
most lethal external threat humankind had ever encoun-
tered. Vigilance and muscle were essential. A force effec-
tive enough to oppose Amnion imperialism was required.
Presumably if human space were capable of defending
itself efficaciously that capability in itself would suffice
to stave off overt aggression. So ran the rationale for
developing the resources of the UMCP dramatically, as
well as for granting it jurisdiction over every other form
of human security. In a relatively few years, the UMCP
became the most extensive and vital of all the UMC's
enormous concerns. The UMCP may have grown out of
the UMC originally; but eventually the Police grew to
be the engine which drove all the United Mining Com-
panies' enterprises.
Unfortunately this explanation ascribed to Holt Fasner
an altruism which no one had ever observed in his charac-
ter. As a matter of protocol, he always claimed for himself
the best possible motives; but people who either suffered
or profited from their dealings with him dismissed those
claims.
On the other hand, if his stated reasons for assigning
so much of the UMC's energy and resources to the
UMCP could be dismissed, what alternative explanation
remained? What were Holt Fasner's true ambitions? Did
he simply covet the power for its own sake? For the
illusion it created that he and he alone stood between
humankind and ruin? For the reassurance that his legacy
to his species would never be forgotten?
Or was the whole question being asked backward? Was
the real issue not, What did Holt Fasner want? but, What
did Warden Dios want? Had Holt Fasner himself, the
most dominant man in human space, fallen under the
dominance of the director of the United Mining Com-
panies Police?
This perspective did not make the question easier to
answer.
Who was Warden Dios? What were his ambitions?
How did he come to his present position - and what did
he want to make of it?
Without an adequate understanding of one - or both
- men, the true role of the UMC, as well as the UMCP,
in human affairs was difficult to estimate.
Warden Dios had no wife and no children; no brothers
or sisters; no known lovers, dependents, playthings, or
weaknesses. To all appearances, he had no mother
or father. What did such a man value, if he had none of
the normal bonds which web men and women to their
contexts? What did he desire, if he had no use for those
bonds?
In the opinion of some observers, he had sprung full-
grown from the mind of Holt Fasner: he was a pure tool
of the Dragon's, working his master's will with all his
considerable diligence and cunning.
However, other analysts insisted that this was not the
case. In their view, he was one of those rare men who had
become an idealist through experience with its opposite.
Orphaned young in one of Earth's more toxic cities, he
grew up among guttergangs and violence, and from those
things learned to believe in the utter necessity of what
police have tried to do throughout human history — i. e.
to impose order on destruction; to protect the weak or
vulnerable from abuse within society; to protect society
itself from threat, whether internal or external. His ideal-
ism - so the argument went — was the idealism of a man
who believed in what the police stood for; a man who
lived to serve those beliefs.
If this perception was accurate, he and Holt Fasner
formed a strange and volatile partnership. Holt Fasner
was many things, but no one ever accused him of being
an idealist.
Certain facts were known. Warden Dios was a much
younger man than his boss and mentor; but he looked
older, in part because of his prosthesis, in part because he
lacked Fasner's enthusiasm for rejuvenation experiments.
He was only in his early thirties when Fasner picked him
to head SMI Internal Security, which became the United
Mining Companies Police as soon as the UMC was
chartered shortly thereafter; he was the only director the
UMCP ever had. So he had little or nothing to do with
the process by which Fasner built Space Mines Inc. into
the UMC: the worst accusation from that period which
could be brought against him was that he may have par-
ticipated in the operation against Sagittarius Exploration.
From that point of view, his record was unblemished
by his association with Holt Fasner's more questionable
dealings.
Yet he was responsible for the growth of the UMCP
from nothing more than SMI Internal Security to its
present status as the single most powerful division of the
UMC. The more virulent the problem of piracy became,
and the more dangerous relations with the Amnion came
to seem, the more necessary his Police grew to be. From
his headquarters orbiting Earth, he ruled human space
by defending it. He imposed order, which enabled the
UMC to function; ultimately he enabled the UMC to
exist. In his hands, he held the only power which stood
between humankind and the ambiguous threat of the
Amnion.
In some circles, Warden Dios was revered. That was
natural enough: powerful people frequently were. Holt
Fasner himself received reverence from men who were
astonished by his achievements.
Elsewhere, however, Dios was considered the most
dangerous individual who had ever lived: more danger-
ous than Holt Fasner because more crucial to human-
kind's survival. In that view, the most fatal tyranny was
that which disguised itself as the protector of its victims.
After the passage of the Preempt Act, few could argue
that the UMCP had not become a form of tyranny.
Any useful study of the United Mining Companies
had to take into account both the public and the private
histories; had to confront the almost paradoxical inter-
section between economic muscle - which deals only in
aggregates — and personal power — which by its very
nature resides only in individuals, not in charters, chains
of command, or official positions.
MORN
The guards had locked her in a room. The genetic
technicians had come and gone.
Shivering like an invalid, Morn Hyland sat
with Amnion mutagens in her veins and waited for the
organic convulsion which would bring her doomed
humanity to its end.
Lit by the sulfuric glow her imprisoners preferred, the
small, sterile cell around her seemed lambent with insidi-
ous yellow threats. It was a bare chamber, not a lab;
empty of everything except cleanliness and light, a small
san and the couchlike chair where she sat. Any monitors
were so unfamiliar or so well disguised that she couldn't
identify them: she was apparently alone in a naked room.
Perhaps the Amnion wanted to observe her transforma-
tion without inhibiting her reactions - and without risk-
ing damage to valuable equipment. Or perhaps their
facility on Billingate wasn't supplied for research; perhaps
she'd been put in this cell because it was the only space
available to hold her. Whatever the reason, she was free
to pace the floor or sit still, as she chose.
She sat as still as her shivers and the fear storming
through her permitted. Transfixed, she studied the spot
on her forearm where the mutagen had been injected as
if it were venomous; as if the wound was made by a fang.
A breathing mask protected her lungs against the mor-
dant air: that was her only defense. The Amnion hadn't
given her anything to soften her terror, or muffle the
violence of the change. Of course not. They had no
reason to: here, in the section of Billingate which they
had built for themselves, the concept of compassion was
as alien as the Amnion themselves. They lacked the
psychological, the societal, perhaps even the genetic tools
to think in such terms. From their point of view, what
they imposed on her was no doubt profoundly good. It
satisfied the ribonucleic imperative which shaped their
purposes. So of course they did nothing to make her
plight easier. They wanted to study her distress as well
as her transformation as accurately as possible, in order
to refine their methods accordingly.
Where had they gone wrong with Marc Vestabule?
Why was it that they could alter human beings entirely,
but not by increments? What element of the human mind
- or genetic code - made necessary this all-or-nothing
sense of identity? Why were the Amnion unable to master
the brain without changing the body?
When they learned the answer to this question, they
would be able to create Amnion that could pass as human
beings.
Perhaps they could discover the secret by studying
Morn as she changed.
Staring at the sore red injury on her forearm, Morn
waited to discover the secret for herself.
How bad would it be, when her genetic abhorrence
met its ruin? - when her cellular being was blasted apart
and made new? Would she be afraid enough to go mad
at the crucial moment? Was her fear itself her last defense?
Was terror her sole protection against becoming the most
effective traitor possible, the most useful imaginable
weapon against her own species?
And was that the only mystery which gave her human
life — or any form of life — its uniqueness in the wide
universe? If an Amnioni were set in this chair and sub-
jected to a mutagen which would alter its essential being,
would the creature feel the same way she did? Or did the
chemistry of alien nuclear identity bring with it other
defenses, other mysteries?
Such questions obsessed her because she had no
answer for the one that really mattered.
Was Nick's immunity drug going to work?
If it failed, she had nothing left to hope for except that
fear would destroy her mind before she knew what she
had become.
On the other hand, if the drug worked she would be
no better off. Not really. She would gain only a little
time. The Amnion would inevitably notice that the
change didn't take place on schedule. Then, because they
were careful — and wanted to learn — they would draw
some of her blood and test it in order to determine why
the mutagen had failed. They might or might not allow
her an opportunity to swallow another of the capsules
hidden deep in the pocket of her shipsuit. In the end,
that was irrelevant. If this facility lacked the resources for
refining new mutagens, her humanity might be pro-
longed for a while; but that possibility was ultimately
irrelevant as well. The significant, the damning, fact was
that the enemies of her kind would learn from her the
secret of the immunity drug. By stealing these capsules
from Nick's cabin, she had made it certain that the
Amnion would gain the knowledge they needed to
counteract the drug.
To keep herself whole for a few more hours - a day or
two at best, if neither this facility nor the warships were
equipped to design new mutagens - she'd betrayed her
entire species.
She didn't care, did she? Not now: not here. How
could she? At any moment the red patch on her forearm
might swell and suppurate, carrying a change as dramatic
as a volcanic eruption to every cell in her body. The
UMCP had betrayed humankind long before she did.
Whether the Amnion learned about it or not, the drug
had already been withheld from the men and women
who needed it most. Her own treachery only completed
the job begun by people who had sworn to protect the
human race.
And in the meantime it might gain her a few more
hours.
She looked no further ahead than that. Nick Succorso
had deprived her of any larger future; he'd cost her every-
thing except the immediate crisis. Deflecting Davies' ejec-
tion pod from Tranquil Hegemony to Billingate hadn't
solved anything: she knew that. It had simply been the
best she could do.
Gain a few more hours.
By the same token, stealing a few of Nick's capsules
had also been simply the best she could do. When she'd
stuffed a little wadding into the bottom of his vial so
that the absence of six or eight capsules wouldn't be too
obvious, her sole intent had been to prevent him from
noticing the theft in time to stop her. And when she'd
questioned him about his dealings with UMCPHQ,
she'd wanted nothing more than to understand the scale
of the corruption which engulfed her. She had no other
goals.
Her only alternative was to give up - and she wasn't
going to do that.
Not while Nick was still alive.
Not while he and people like him — the UMCP -
remained free to barter her son and her species for their
own purposes.
Her family had taught her convictions which she
couldn't set aside without an abrogation of identity as
profound in its own way as anything the Amnion might
do to her.
Her family had also taught her how to hold a grudge.
So she stared at the small red pain on her forearm and
waited while fear stormed through her. Her nerves were
strung so tight that she shivered as if she were feverish -
as if her body were fighting frenetically to fend off an
organic invasion.
Sweat dribbled like saliva from the edges of the breath-
ing mask. The mask itself felt stifling over her mouth;
claustrophobic. If she could have looked at her own face,
she might not have recognized herself. Bruises and emo-
tional starvation distorted her beauty; her eyes were as
deep and fatal as wounds; her hair straggled wildly, as
damaged and unkempt as a nerve-juice addict's.
Yet within her an essential passion burned as if it were
unquenchable. Nothing short of an absolute transforma-
tion could snuff it out.
For perhaps the first time since Nick had taken the
control to her zone implant, she didn't miss it. With its
artificial strength, she could have escaped the Amnion
by committing neural suicide. Or she could have spared
herself this ordeal of dread and horror by muffling her
emotions; re-creating the state of psychic numbness
which had enabled her to endure her son's birth.
She didn't want to die, however. And she believed
that anything which softened her terror would help the
Amnion get what they desired out of her.
She had come to a place inside herself where neither
death nor imposed capabilities and addiction were as
important as the struggle to keep her humanity intact.
Was fear the defining mystery of life? Then let her be
afraid. That was preferable to any kind of surrender.
Feverish shivers built into a shudder; tremors shook
her muscles as if the convulsion had begun. She might
have been suffocating on her own CO2. For a moment
she was so frightened that she seemed to see the red patch
on her skin swelling like an infection. It would suppurate
and burst; mutagenic pus would seep from the wound,
gnawing at her flesh and her DNA until she screamed
and went wild in stark simple revulsion; until her horror
became as vast as the void between the stars, and all
things died —
But then the shudder passed. Her vision cleared, and
she saw the truth. The redness around the place where
the mutagen had been injected was fading. Her skin was
as pallid as the underlying bones - and as whole.
In the Academy, she'd been told what to expect from
Amnion mutagens. They were supposed to be faster than
this; swift as well as violent.
Maybe the immunity drug was working.
What had Nick told her?
It's not an organic immunity. It's more like a poison - or
a binder. It ties up mutagens until they're inert. Then they
get flushed out - along with the drug.
The immunity is effective for about Jour hours.
Maybe she was going to live.
For a while longer.
And it was possible that the Amnion sector of Billin-
gate lacked the resources to design new mutagens which
could overcome the drug. It was possible that she would
be able to take another capsule before her enemies tried
her again. If she kept track of the time. If she did what
Nick had once done: if she held a capsule in her mouth
and didn't bite down on it until after her blood was
drawn. And if the Amnion failed to guess how her
immunity had been accomplished.
When she allowed herself to think that, flashes of dopa-
mine ran through her blood like little epiphanies; bits of
hope. Her breathing shuddered inside the mask as if she
were about to faint.
A few more hours.
That was all she asked.
Please.
ANGUS
His tongue hurt as acutely as his zone implants
allowed: it should have hurt much worse. He
had shit and sweat ground into his blisters.
Every inhalation stank; his whole mouth tasted like ash
and excrement.
As he took Trumpet in to Billingate, Angus Thermo-
pyle fought the fragmentation imposed on him by his
welding; did what he could to stay sane.
Hashi Lebwohl had made him schizophrenic, as dis-
sociated as a multi-tasking computer. What was left of
his volition handled the details of approach to Thanatos
Minor. Databases fed him information indiscriminately,
whether he asked for it or not: facts about Trumpet;
UMCP speculations concerning the Bill and Billingate;
classification on the Amnion warships; charges against
the other illegals in the vicinity; descriptions of fusion
generator disasters. At the same time preprogrammed
exigencies monitored and sifted everything Milos said
and did; recorded every byte of Milos' complex trans-
missions and labored to decode it.
Such things were abstract. He did them without choos-
ing them; occasionally without understanding them.
Other pieces were more personal.
With every inch of his skin from the crown of his skull
to the soles of his feet, he felt Trumpet alive around him:
capable of anything; built full of possibilities and sur-
prises. Schizophrenic with a vengeance, he approached
the cold rock of Thanatos Minor almost gleefully,
reveling in the power of his ship, and in his ability to
command her. His tactile pleasure was so acute that his
palms itched as if they could remember the time before
his hands had been cut open to install his lasers. An
emotion like joy flushed across his face as he tapped keys,
tested systems, listened to servos.
Then it fell into the cracks between the pieces of him-
self, the fragmentation gaps, and was lost.
From out of the cracks came crying instances of con-
fusion like kids abandoned in their cribs.
Why did he have to look at all this stuff about fusion
generators? According to his databases, some of these
generators used magnetic containment vessels for the
forces they unleashed; and some of those bled gravit-
ically, increasing the effective mass of bodies around
them. He knew that already. Why did he have to review
it now?
And what in hell was Warden Dios up to?
We've committed a crime against your soul.
What the fuck did that mean? Why had Dios switched
his datacore? Who was the UMCP director trying to
betray now?
It's got to stop.
More fragments -
Randomly among them, like electrons bereft of their
nuclei, ran small bursts of fury; hints of violence as precise
and pure as the noradrenalin in his synapses - and as
meaningless as the unguessable physics of tach. An
organic human brain was the wrong tool for the work
he did. Only expert programming and pervasive zone
implants enabled him to go on multi-tasking when he
should have been flung apart like a ship in an explosive
decompression.
It made no difference to his datacore whether he stayed
sane or not. Machine requirements controlled him by
electronic compulsion: madness or sanity meant nothing.
Nevertheless he fought to hold the pieces of himself
together.
He wanted the joy of running Trumpet.
He wanted to see Morn Hyland again.
He wanted revenge on Milos.
And Warden Dios had given him something to hope
for.
We've committed a crime against your soul.
It's got to stop.
Angus knew nothing about men who said such things.
As far as he could tell, they didn't exist. He had to assume
that Dios was driven by malice, just like everybody else.
Nevertheless he considered it possible, just barely con-
ceivable, that he wasn't the target of Dios' malice. Not
this time. Dios' plotting might be aimed at someone else.
In which case everything might change when the differ-
ences between his datacore and Lebwohl's began to make
themselves felt.
Screams Angus couldn't utter rang in his head: screams
of rage and frustration, loss and hope; the screams of a
small boy being tortured in his crib.
They kept him from losing his mind. On a level his
zone implants couldn't reach, those voiceless cries
focused his hard-earned cunning and his malign intelli-
gence, his hate and his strange expertise, in a struggle to
bridge the gaps between the pieces of himself.
Because he lacked the power to vary Trumpet's pre-
ordained course, or to stifle the databases he didn't want,
he concentrated on his second.
Prewritten commands required him to record every-
thing Milos said and did. Apparently Lebwohl and Dios
didn't trust the former deputy chief of Com-Mine Station
Security. Fine. Neither did Angus. But his distrust - no,
his visceral and compulsory loathing - was both more
global and more specific. Lebwohl and Dios presumably
suspected that Milos might betray Angus' mission. Angus
knew in his bones that Milos would go farther; much
farther. Weeks of stun and starvation and abuse — not to
mention the taste of nic and shit - had made Angus a
more searching judge of Milos' character than any cop.
He wanted to know everything about Milos because
he intended to castrate and then disembowel his second
with his bare hands, and any fact he could glean, any hint
of intention or weakness, was a tool which might help
him reach his goal.
In this way, he fought to make himself whole.
Trumpet was still six hours out of dock when Milos
finished his communications. The nic dangling from his
mouth disguised his smugness; the characteristic mott-
ling on his scalp and the uncharacteristic stains on his
shipsuit hid it. Nevertheless Angus felt it pour off his
second like an electromagnetic aura. He knew Milos inti-
mately, understood every shade of his second's stolid fas-
tidiousness. Milos was smug. The things he did to
humiliate Angus fed an old hunger. And his trans-
missions - tight-beamed and coded for secrecy — had
given him a sense of power which he probably thought
didn't show.
One part of Angus glowered at this; he ached to strip
it from Milos' bones. Another worked with mechanical
efficiency to decipher those messages. Yet another cali-
brated the distance to Milos' g-seat and the distance to
Billingate, measuring possibilities. And another waited -
Trailing smoke, Milos lifted himself from his seat; he
bobbed in the absence of g. 'I need rest, ' he said as if
he weren't talking to Angus. 'Let me know if anything
changes, Joshua. '
Like a badly inflated balloon, he floated toward the
companionway which gave access to the rest of the ship.
Angus felt an almost tangible relief as Milos left the
bridge. Now maybe he could concentrate on cracking
those codes.
The idea that he could improve on - or even affect -
the efforts of his computer was an illusion, however. His
microprocessor ran at its own speeds, for its own reasons.
And it made other decisions for him as well. Despite his
fragmented fury and need, he found himself growing
unexpectedly sleepy. Apparently his programming had
decided that he, too, needed rest.
Helpless to do anything else, he leaned his head back
against the g-seat and drifted into the dark interface
between his mind and the machinery which ruled it.
As he lost consciousness, he swore viciously at Hashi
Lebwohl; but that changed nothing.
If he dreamed, his datacore took no notice of it.
He came back to wakefulness four hours later, as alert as
if he'd never been away. As soon as he opened his eyes,
he realized with an odd sense of dislocation that he knew
everything that had happened while he slept. Traffic
information from Billingate; Trumpet's relative position;
the movements of other ships: all were recorded - and
accessible. When he reviewed the data, he half expected
to learn that he'd spoken to Operations while he slept;
that his programming controlled him so perfectly that it
didn't need him to be conscious at all. However, his
recordings showed that Trumpet had been entirely pas-
sive, apart from her automatic responses to Billingate's
approach protocols.
Ignoring the sensation that he existed simultaneously
in several different places across the gap, Angus began
preparing himself for the state of affairs which awaited
him on Thanatos Minor.
Operations didn't broadcast political bulletins, of
course; but Angus felt sure that the shipyard was awash
in plots and counter-plots. This was apparent from the
presence of Captain's Fancy in one of the visitor's berths
and Tranquil Hegemony over in the alien sector, as well
as from the fact that another Amnion 'defensive', Calm
Horizons, had parked herself in prime firing range over
the installation. Captain Nick Sheepfucker had come here
from the direction of Enablement, trailing two of the
biggest hostiles Angus had ever seen. That implied covert
agendas and conflicts -
- which in turn might make Angus' mission a hell of
a lot easier.
His datacore told him nothing about Captain's Fancy.
He only knew Morn Hyland was aboard because Dios
had said so.
But he'd overheard Lebwohl tell Donner and Frik that
his programming made no provision for Morn's survival.
That alone would have been enough to make him want
her alive.
If he'd been in charge of his own actions, his position
would have been more complex. Morn was potentially
lethal to him: she had information which could wipe out
his last hope. For that reason - among others which he
didn't want to think about because they were profoundly
disturbing - he'd made a deal with her and kept it.
Left to himself, unwelded, what would he have wanted
to do about her now? Kill her where she stood? Yes. Ask
her to rejoin him? Yes! Beg her to believe that he'd kept
faith with her as long as he could? Yes! and yes! again.
The thought that he might have to stand by and watch
her die brought old anguish up through the cracks in his
dissociation.
Where Nick was concerned, the questions were less
personal, but no more ponderable. What the hell was he
doing at Enablement? Were those warships here to chase
him down, or protect him? Who had he betrayed this
time?
Angus didn't really care. For himself he wanted
revenge, pure and simple: the exact nature of Nick's plots
and alliances changed nothing. And for Angus' mission
the only significant danger Nick represented came
through his association with Milos.
The messages which Milos had sent earlier had been
beamed, not toward Operations or any other part of
the installation, but to Captain's Fancy - and Tranquil
Hegemony. And both ships had answered.
That made Succorso at least as fatal to Joshua as Morn
was to Angus.
With an emotional violence which had no effect what-
ever on the steady precision of his hands, Angus Thermo-
pyle chimed Milos' cabin and growled like a demonic
cherub, Wake up, baby boy. Game back from dream-
land. We've got reality dead ahead, and it's closing
fast. '
Then he silenced the intercom so that he wouldn't have
to answer Milos' demands for an explanation.
Trumpet's final approach went smoothly. Milos did his
job with inexpert but unobjectionable care. And Oper-
ations had no reason to treat the gap scout worse than
any other ship. After all, the installation was more than
adequately protected by its own guns, as well as by Calm
Horizons'. Whether or not Trumpet would ever be
allowed to leave was less clear.
Finally Billingate's grapples thunked into their sockets
in her hull; power, air and communications limpets were
attached to her receptacles. Because his datacore left him
no choice, Angus began shutting down the ship.
Putting himself, Milos and Trumpet in debt to the Bill.
At the same time he growled to Milos, 'If you've got
any special instructions' - his tongue still tasted like hell
- You'd better give them now. This isn't a good place
for surprises. Unless you improvise better than you use
that board. '
Milos dropped his nic into the growing pile beside
his seat and lit another. Without looking at Angus, he
muttered, 'Is that what you call "reality"? A place that
isn't good for surprises?'
Angus rasped a bitter laugh. 'You haven't got a clue
what I call "reality". ' He jibed at Milos because he needed
some outlet for his random bursts of anger. "When you
find out, I fucking guarantee you won't like it.
'For your first lesson, ' he added as he unbelted from
his g-seat, 'we're going to go out and act like we really
came here because we wanted to. Even if you spent your
whole life in guttergangs until you left Earth' - a guess,
but Angus trusted it - 'you haven't seen anything like
this before. '
Milos' eyes flicked uneasily. 'Is that a fact?' he drawled;
but his attempt to sound unconcerned wasn't a success.
Trust me, ' Angus leered. Flexing his knees, he tested
the pull of Thanatos Minor's g. Then he moved, decep-
tively light on his feet, toward the companionway.
Gripping its rails, he paused. 'By the way, ' he advised,
'don't make the mistake of thinking you can carry
weapons here. You'll be scanned down to your balls
before you reach Reception. The Bill makes damn sure
nobody but him has any firepower. '
Nobody but him and the Amnion.
Alarm forced Milos to look at Angus. Will you get
caught?'
Angus grinned. That depends on whether fucking
Hashi Lebwohl knows what he's fucking doing. '
As he started up the treads, he saw Milos furtively pull
a stun-prod as small as a dagger out of his pocket and
slip it into the padding of the second's g-seat. Milos
looked like he could no longer remember what smugness
felt like.
He definitely wasn't going to enjoy Billingate.
Angus took that as a form of reassurance.
He was a coward: he wanted all the reassurance he
could get.
Together he and Milos rode the midship lift down to
the airlock. There Angus stopped. Pointing at the control
panel, he announced harshly, 'Seconds are supposed to
do jobs like this. Are you going to open it, or do I have
to hold your hand?'
Milos' eyes were nearly opaque with anger and anxiety.
In a tense rasp, he retorted, 'You're going first, Joshua. I'm
not coming out until you make it through the scanners. '
Angus had no response to a Joshua command. He
couldn't even shrug. He simply moved to the control
panel and keyed the airlock doors.
One window in his head showed him the time:
22: 07: 15. 53 standard; late in Billingate's artificial
evening. Another reminded him of the security codes
which would lock everyone else out of Trumpet until he
or Milos returned. With his prosthetic vision, he watched
the evanescent electromagnetic emissions of the servos
and locks as the interior hatch lifted. Rage fumed and
spattered through him, and accomplished nothing.
After Milos joined him in the airlock, he closed and
sealed the interior door, then opened his ship to the
complex atmosphere of Billingate.
The access passage ahead was awash with EM fields.
Gossamer, multi-hued, and insinuating, they looked like
webs or veils which his crude body would tear when he
passed through them. But he knew that he was safe
before he touched the first veil. His enhanced sight con-
firmed what his datacore told him: his computer and its
zone implants, his lasers and powerpacks, caused no rip-
ple in the shimmering aura of Billingate's detection scan.
Hashi Lebwohl had unquestionably known what he was
doing when he designed Angus' equipment.
Impersonally Angus noted the absence of guards. That
was good — from Lebwohl's point of view. It meant the
Bill had decided not to challenge Angus' story directly.
Instead he would rely on time and observation to reveal
the truth.
Angus wasn't surprised. As a matter of policy, the Bill
treated his sources of revenue politely. He spied on every-
body; but he didn't willingly offend paying customers.
Over his shoulder, Angus muttered to Milos, 'Come
on. It doesn't get much safer than this. '
Without waiting for his second, he headed toward
Reception.
There were guards in the reception area, of course; but
he ignored them. By the time Milos caught up with him,
he'd already used one of the data terminals to verify his
credit and link it to voice-print id. Brusquely he motioned
for Milos and said, 'Your turn. Tell the nice computer
your name so we'll be able to spend your money. '
Grinding his teeth, Milos gave the terminal a voice-
print to use for id. His glare suggested that he was think-
ing of new ways to humiliate Angus.
With a grin to conceal the twist of fear in his stomach,
Angus asked the terminal for two rooms in a bar-and-
sleep on the cruise.
Of course, he and Milos could have stayed aboard
Trumpet in relative privacy. And the Bill was sure to moni-
tor any rooms they hired on Billingate. But for that very
reason they were safer in a bar-and-sleep. The Bill would
worry less about men who didn't try to hide from him.
Because he wanted to nauseate his second, he booked
rooms in a place called Ease-n-Sleaze, which was located
near the center of the cruise. Then he took Milos by the
arm and said in an acid whisper, 'Look on the bright
side. This way all those bastards you've been talking to
can find you just by' - he logged off the terminal - 'check-
ing. Won't that be nice? And you can see anybody you
want without' - he tapped his head - 'asking Lebwohl's
permission. '
Thanks so much, ' Milos replied, making an effort to
match Angus' malice. 'I didn't know it was going to be
this easy. '
'It isn't. ' Angus bared his teeth. 'I'm just trying to lull
you into a false sense of security. '
'Please don't threaten me anymore, ' Milos muttered
darkly. 'I'm already so scared' - he glared straight at
Angus - 'I could just shit. '
Angus tightened his grip for a moment. 'I know. But
you ought to be careful what you do about that. Someday
you're going to get your balls bitten off.
'Shall we go?' Dropping Milos' arm, he gestured
toward the lifts.
Milos complied like a man who was so busy devising
complicated forms of murder that he couldn't think about
anything else.
The cruise wasn't Billingate's sole lodging sector, but
it was much larger than the alternatives. Occasionally
the Bill had guests for whom he catered privately. And
sometimes ships were willing to pay the extra charge
for rooms which were better furnished and less exposed;
perhaps because the captain feared he would never get
his people back if he let them loose; perhaps because the
crew had vices they didn't want to share. But every other
human who came to Thanatos Minor stayed either
aboard ship or on the cruise.
It filled several of the middle levels of the installation.
Toward the surface were the various worksheets and
storehouses which supported the docks and the shipyard,
as well as the hermetic Amnion sector; toward the core
were the Bill's personal strongroom, his surgical facilities,
and Billingate's power-station. Between the surface and
the core lived, drank, slept, worked, caroused, cheated,
fucked, raped, pandered, pleased and fought the people
who supplied - and the people who enjoyed - Billingate's
more personal resources.
Perhaps because of the constriction of the halls which
the denizens called 'streets', or perhaps because there
were millions of tons of rock impending overhead, the
cruise seemed to throng with people. Billingate's popu-
lation was reputed to number roughly five thousand; but
the cruise gave the impression that twice that many men
and women were here at any given moment. Of course,
some of them came from the ships docked around the
installation. The rest must have been missed by unin-
formed estimates.
After the first assault of smell and light, after the first
look at the crowded streets and windows, bars and dens,
the most remarkable aspect of the cruise was the pro-
portion of women. Women were rare in what human
space called 'entertainment/lodging sectors'. Those who
lived on stations generally had their work or their
families, and little reason to mingle with transients. And
women who were themselves transient — who traveled or
crewed on ships - visited entertainment/lodging sectors
for what those places supplied, not because they wished
to be used as supplies.
On the cruise, however —
The Bill must have scoured human space to attract so
many. From sinkholes on Earth and the depraved recesses
of stations, from illegal shipyards and desperate ships, he
must have begged, purchased and betrayed them by the
hundreds to get them here. According to how they were
viewed, they were either the glory or the slime of the
cruise: women who enjoyed what they did, what they
got, and became rich; women on nerve-juice or other
drugs who barely kept themselves alive; women with
surgical adjustments, bio-retributive and otherwise, who
had no choice. No spacefaring illegal who came to
Billingate could honestly say that he'd ever had so much
beauty and ruin to choose from.
On special occasions, Angus himself had taken advan-
tage of a woman or two here. But that was before he'd
known Morn; before he'd debased her as far as his hate
and his considerable imagination could go; before she'd
begun to break his heart.
Now he tasted the air, watched the lights, and leered
at the women as if he were in his natural element at last.
But neither he nor his datacore had any interest in female
recreation.
For his part, Milos pursed his mouth and frowned like
a man who found most women - and perhaps sex itself
- vaguely disgusting.
Angus had no time to enjoy his second's disgust, how-
ever. He had other priorities.
The air which greeted him as he left the lift was exactly
as he remembered it: too hot; inadequately processed;
clotted with smoke, perfume, sweat, rot, estrogen, vomit,
booze, and every other human stench he could think of.
The lighting may have been deliberately garish, full of
colors that screamed and shades that whimpered; or it
may have simply been made garish by the accreted grime
of the atmosphere.
Nevertheless neither the air nor the light blinded him
to the EM aura of the bugeyes which ranged along the
ceiling in all directions, or the telltale emissions of the
guards and wires with communications prostheses. As
impartial as death, the Bill tried to keep track of every-
thing that happened on Thanatos Minor.
Some of the guards were easy to spot. They were obvi-
ous because they patrolled the cruise as if they had
nowhere particular to go; and because they carried
weapons - or had weapons installed in their arms. Angus
counted six within fifty meters. But others - the Vires',
he called them - were disguised. Their communication
equipment was hidden in their clothes or their bodies,
or camouflaged as something else - an artificial hand
here, a prosthetic jaw there. Still Angus recognized them
all. Their EM emissions were as plain as placards. Any-
thing he said in their hearing would be instantly recorded
in the Bill's databanks.
The computers and personnel charged with sifting and
collating such information must have been inundated by
it.
One of the wires had a more complex emission signa-
ture. That attracted Angus' attention. When he located
its source amid the jostling surge, he found himself look-
ing at a man whose head had been cut off and attached
to a mechanical neck which could swivel in any direction.
That, Angus decided, was the duty officer in command
of this section of the cruise.
With a slight nudge, he turned Milos to glance at the
man. Watch out for that goon, ' he whispered. 'If we do
anything the Bill might not like, he can react faster than
Operations. '
Milos nodded. Scowling at a woman with a pneumatic
bosom, he breathed, 'What are we going to do that the
Bill might not like?'
Angus grinned humorlessly. 'Don't ask me. You prob-
ably know more about that than I do. '
Satisfied that he'd located all the guards in his vicinity,
he launched himself into the throng, heading down the
congested street toward Ease-n-Sleaze.
Milos probably did know more than he did about what
he might do. His datacore didn't answer that kind of
question. It kept track of the guards for him, collating
auras and vectors so that he seemed to know where they
all were without effort; but so far it hadn't unlocked any
new information - or issued any new directives. Appar-
ently his only immediate assignment was to install himself
on the cruise and behave as normally as possible.
That meant a room in Ease-n-Sleaze; it meant a seat
in the bar and a few cheap drinks. Which suited him
fine: for a while longer, he could cherish the totally false
impression that he was doing exactly what he would have
done anyway.
Some distance down the street, Milos caught up with
him. Anchoring himself at Angus' elbow, he muttered,
'I hope you're having fun. You probably think this place
is heaven. '
'Don't you like it?'
Milos didn't appear to notice Angus' contempt. In a
low, raw voice, as if he needed to swallow and couldn't,
he said, 'It's like a city that's been taken over by a gutter-
gang. Just one. Completely. No factions, no levers - no
way to change anything. No escape. '
'Nobody to betray in exchange for a little protection, '
Angus put in. Then he added, 'Except me. And if you
do that, you'll have to live in places like this the rest of
your life. The cops'll fry you as soon as they get their
hands on you. '
Milos' expression gave Angus another piece of reassur-
ance. The nausea lurking at the back of his gaze was
unmistakable.
The crowd rolled around Angus. Men and women
bumped into him and stumbled or strode past; on their
way, some of them flicked light fingers along his shipsuit,
looking for valuables he didn't carry. Just for exercise, he
would have liked to catch one of those hands - he could
have done that easily - and break it. Nevertheless he let
them go. He didn't want the guards and wires to focus
their attention on him.
A woman stopped in front of him and offered to sell
him a vial of nerve-juice. A man lurched into his way
and asked if he had any nerve-juice to sell. A creature,
apparently hermaphroditic, paused to clutch his/her
crotch and stroke his/her breasts invitingly. Angus dis-
missed all such interruptions with a snarl and steered
Milos on toward their destination.
The sign was like a shout blazoned up one wall,
aggressive yellow and green:
EASE-N-SLEAZE
Bar & Sleep
Fun & Frolic
YOU NAME IT:
IT'S HERE
As if he were coming home, Angus pulled Milos into the
crowded doorway.
Left to the bar; right to what passed for the front desk.
Angus went right. At a small counter with nothing on it
except a data terminal stood a man with a doomed and
bitter air; he gave the impression that to punish a no-
doubt minor infraction his employer - the Bill or some
subsidiary profiteer - had implanted an unstable explo-
sive in his stomach. He didn't look up as Angus slapped
a palm on the counter and said, 'Rooms. ' Instead he
asked distantly, 'Id?'
'Voice-print, ' Angus replied.
The man snorted as if this were an inferior answer. He
touched a key on his terminal, then waited for Angus to
go on.
Distinctly Angus articulated his name.
After a glance at his readout, the man sighed as if he
were contemplating the gulf of his fate, 'Four twelve. '
At a nod from Angus, Milos announced his name.
'Four thirteen, ' the man responded in the same tone.
'Messages?' Angus inquired.
Still without raising his eyes, the man pointed at his
readout. There's a message here for me. It says to make
sure you pay for everything up front. '
Milos frowned a question.
Angus shrugged. The Bill just wants us to remember
he doesn't trust us. '
Turning his back on the counter, he moved to the lift.
On the fourth level they found their rooms directly
opposite the lift. Milos hung back as Angus approached
four twelve, scanning hard for electromagnetic data.
Bugeyes along the corridor there and there. An inter-
com, id tag jack, and palm plate outside the door: normal
wiring; no booby-traps. If the room itself held any sur-
prises, their emissions didn't leak through the door.
'Anything to worry about?' Milos asked tensely.
Angus ignored the question. He wasn't worried him-
self: he was simply cautious. Balancing his weight so that
he could jump in any direction, he told the intercom his
name.
The door slid open.
The room was bigger than his cabin aboard Trumpet,
but not much. The air was no better than the atmosphere
outside Ease-n-Sleaze: apparently the room had recently
been occupied by someone who like to smoke nic laced
with dorphamphetamines. The nacreous walls were rank
with stains; some of the splotches looked like old grease
or blood. Two ersatz stainless steel chairs slumped against
them. A ratty fabric like exhausted velcro covered the
floor. Light the color of defeated neon spread from
reflectors in the corners of the ceiling. A data terminal
set into one wall gave him the means to contact people
- or spend money - without leaving his quarters. The
bed probably knew almost as much about desperation
and hate as he did.
Before his heart beat again, he was sure that the room
was safe. It had its own bugeye, sure — privacy was an
ambiguous concept anywhere in the Bill's domain. But
the room itself wasn't dangerous - he could do whatever
he wanted here. As long as he didn't mind being watched.
For completeness he checked the bathroom. Then he
returned to Milos.
'Home sweet home, ' he announced. 'Let's see if yours
is any better. '
Compelled by his zone implants to take care of his
second, he confirmed that there was no material differ-
ence between his room and Milos'. Only the shade of the
stains varied.
Milos hardly glanced at the room. He studied Angus'
face, looking for dangers; hints of alarm.
Concerned that Milos might feel driven to demand
reassurance by issuing a Joshua order in the Bill's hearing,
Angus growled sourly, 'It's like living beside a bugger.
Everything's recorded. You're safe - as long as you never
do anything. ' By now he was sure that Milos knew
enough about buggers to understand him.
Milos shrugged stiffly, as if he could feel the bugeyes
pressing against his shoulder blades. Nevertheless he
made an effort to play his part. 'If we never do anything, '
he asked plaintively, 'how are we going to have any fun?'
Angus snorted. Torn between what he wanted and
what his programming required, he said, 'You should
have thought of that before you got yourself on DA's
shit list. ' Then, as if he were relenting, he added, We can
at least get drunk. We probably won't get in trouble
doing that. The Bill doesn't trust us, but he'll let us spend
your money. '
Just for a second, Milos looked so cornered and
exposed, so full of self-pity, that Angus thought he might
burst into tears like a whipped brat. An instant later,
however, his features tightened, and darkness gathered
behind his eyes. He'd remembered his anger.
'I'm ready, ' he said flatly. 'Let's go. '
Good, Angus sneered to himself because his program-
ming wouldn't let him say the words; wouldn't let him
jibe at his second in a public place. I love it when you're
pissed. That's when you make your worst mistakes.
Chewing useless fantasies in which Milos begged for
death while Angus played cat's cradle with his guts, Cap-
tain Thermopyle led his second down to the bar.
Nick Succorso was waiting for them at a table in one
of the dim, dirty corners.
ANGUS
The bar itself was a long stretch of simulated wood,
old with stains and gouges. Both men working
back and forth in front of the ranks of vats, dis-
pensers and vials had the vacant look of null-wave trans-
mitters: men who couldn't cheat anyone because they'd
given up or lost the ability to make that kind of decision.
Light reflected in smears from the grimy fixtures and
fittings, the glasses and metal.
The bar had been set against one wall so that it seemed
to lead toward the stage at the far end of the room. No
one was performing at the moment: the acts playing there
were between sets. That was too bad. The din and glare
of a performance would have hampered the Bill's bug-
eyes. Inevitably the pickups and cameras would have been
less discerning. A show might cover the audience enough
to make private conversation safe -
- might cover Angus enough to let him ease forward
and stab a laser into the base of Nick Succorso's brain
without being effectively recorded.
But he didn't care whether he was recorded. He didn't
give a shit who knew what he did. As soon as he saw
Nick, his brain went black with hate, and he started for-
ward with bloodshed in his mouth and murder in his
fists. Fuck the Bill. Fuck Milos and Lebwohl and zone
implants. Nick Succorso was the man who'd caused
Bright Beauty's destruction. He'd trapped Angus,
deprived him of space and choice. The fact that Angus
was here now, welded and cursed, was a direct result of
Nick's treachery.
Worse than that, Succorso had taken Morn. Angus
refused to admit his pain, even to himself; nevertheless
the thought of Morn with Nick hurt him as acutely as the
dismantling of his ship. Morn had wanted Nick from the
first moment she saw him, Angus never doubted that,
and after Angus was framed she'd given Succorso the one
thing Angus had failed to extort or coerce from her: her
willingness; her self.
Because he denied the laceration of his heart, he didn't
realize that losing her to his betrayer had only reinforced
the abject fidelity with which he'd struggled to keep his
end of their bargain.
In his mind he was already moving. A few steps to
reach the tables. Between them toward the corner where
Succorso sat. A look of slaughter on his face so that
Captain Sheepfucker would know what was about to
happen. A quick grab, at microprocessor speeds, too fast
to be stopped: a fist to the side of Succorso's neck, aiming
a laser while he fought and failed to break loose. Then
one quick mental command, one fierce squeeze of will,
and Nick would slump in his hands, all that brave bucca-
neering superiority and manliness turned to dead meat
in an instant of coherent light.
Angus did it, be did it. No inhuman lump of circuits
and restrictions could stop him; no zone implant could
defuse this hate. No matter how much it cost him,
no matter what neural excruciation it exacted, he did
it. Succorso hung lifeless in his fists, and he was free
again, free, alive at last to kill or connive for his own
survival —
But of course he didn't do it. The whole idea was a
mirage. He could see it in his mind as if it were real: his
datacore and his zone implants paid no attention. While
he faced Nick's mocking grin and his scars across the bar,
Angus couldn't move or speak; could hardly breathe. He
would have been unable even to sweat in his agony if his
programming had decreed otherwise.
'Maybe, ' Milos breathed as if he'd recovered his smug-
ness, 'this is going to be fun after all. '
A sound like a wail squalled in Angus' head; but his
datacore stifled every hint or whimper of his distress.
His mouth against Angus' ear, Milos whispered,
'Come on, Joshua. Do your job. '
Involuntarily, as bloated with mortality as a toad,
Angus lumbered into motion.
Entirely against his will, he located the bugeyes, then
began scanning the room for wires. He spotted only
two. One, a man perched at the bar itself, sat hunched
over a pair of mechanical hands as if the fact that they
also served as transmitters nauseated him; he was out of
range to eavesdrop on Nick. The other, a woman with
virtually no clothes and an unmistakable EM signature,
sat at a table near Nick's corner. She wasn't alone: two
men huddled beside her, alternately buying her drinks,
whispering in her ears, and fondling her breasts. But they
were nothing; she was the only danger.
Angus' datacore advised him to get rid of her. But it
didn't say how - and didn't exert any pressure.
Nick remained sitting as Angus and Milos approached.
His back was in the corner so that he could watch the
room. Angus would have preferred that position himself;
however, his programming decreed otherwise. He'd
already identified the emission traces from the wall which
showed where the wiring for the nearest bugeyes ran. He
would be closer to those traces if he took the seat on
Nick's left.
'Milos. ' Nick went on grinning. 'Captain Thermo-pile.
It would be nice if I could pretend I'm surprised. Unfor-
tunately every fucker on this rock who isn't brain dead
already knows you're here. It might have been better, ' he
added to Milos, 'if we could have talked on my ship. '
Nudged in that direction, Milos sat down on Nick's
right. Angus took the chair on Nick's left and reversed it
so that he could straddle it with his back against the wall.
'Better for you, maybe, ' Milos answered warily. 'Not
for me. I'm already compromised enough. '
Nick's scars looked the way Angus' tongue felt, ashen
and hurt. 'I offered to come to you. You turned me
down. '
Milos frowned unhappily. This is safer. The Bill
doesn't trust us. It helps if we're all behaving normally. '
Only his tone hinted at the truth: according to Angus'
datacore, Milos had been ordered to avoid situations in
which he might be tempted to expose his power over
Angus. And Angus' awareness of the order made it com-
pulsory. Keeping his head down and his voice low, Milos
informed the tabletop, 'Angus has a talent for spotting
guards. He says. He says he can keep us out of trouble.
Since he's got his neck in the same noose we do, I believe
him. '
'Are you sure?' Nick didn't glance at Angus. 'A lot has
happened since the last time we talked. I've been busy -
and you sure as hell look like you have. How do you
know he's got his neck in the same noose?'
'Drinks, Milos, ' Angus put in roughly because he
wasn't allowed to scream. What the fuck are we sitting
here for, if we aren't going to get drunk?'
Milos was Angus' second: he was supposed to take
orders. Nevertheless he let a little of his anger show in
his eyes before he stood up and moved toward the bar.
'Captain Thermo-pile, ' Nick drawled, You're getting
rude in your old age. I get the impression you don't want
Milos to answer my question. Now why is that, I ask
myself? Have you got a game of your own going on the
side?'
Angus was busy assessing the dangers of this conver-
sation. The bugeye in the ceiling above him could see
well enough, but might not be able to hear accurately.
On the other hand, the nearly naked woman and her
companions were only a couple of tables away; definitely
in range for her pickups. That wasn't a problem yet: he
had things to say which he and his datacore didn't mind
letting the Bill overhear. But the hazards would increase
rapidly — especially when Nick and Milos broached the
subjects they were presumably here to discuss.
. 'You've got it wrong, Captain Sheepfucker, ' Angus
rasped. 'Milos is my second now. I don't know what you
clowns said to each other, and I don't care. The question
isn't what game I've got going. It's what are you two
playing at. '
'Fascinating, ' Nick sneered. 'I hope you'll forgive me
for not believing you. If you're telling the truth, some-
thing pretty serious has changed since the last time I saw
him. He's had the shit kicked out of him. Maybe it would
help if you spent a while trying to convince me you're
capable of making a deputy chief of Com-Mine Station
Security take on the job of being your second. '
He sounded as cocky and casually dangerous as ever;
but Angus wasn't fooled. He had a coward's intuitive
hearing: he registered the stress hidden in Nick's tone. It
was like the pallor of Nick's scars and the almost febrile
way he watched the bar; a symptom of fear. Something
essential was unraveling inside him.
Angus couldn't express his fury in any other way; but
his programming let him show it in his voice. Like con-
centrated mineral acid, he retorted, 'I'm on the level here,
Captain Sheepfucker. I made Milos my second the same
way I made him get me out of lockup. I had proof — he
snapped the word like a blow to the head — 'you space-
shits framed me, you and him together. You're fucking
right he's had the shit kicked out of him. I got him by
the balls. After I twisted them for a while, he agreed to
do what I wanted. '
No matter how much he unraveled, Nick wasn't easily
intimidated. 'You're talking, Captain Thermo-pile, ' he
snorted, 'but I don't hear anything. If you want to sit
around passing gas, why don't you go to another table
and do it by yourself? You didn't have any proof'. If you
did, you would have used it to keep yourself out of
lockup in the first place. '
Wrong. ' Angus wanted to crush the superiority off
Nick's face; wanted that so acutely it made his hands
hurt. 'It took months. I had proof, but I couldn't get
anybody to listen. Milos blocked me. I didn't get an ear
until I was reqqed to UMCPHQ. '
Milos had obtained three drinks from one of the bar-
tenders; he was turning away. The wire at the bar had
apparently fallen asleep with his face in his mechanical
hands.
Without transition Angus hammered his fist on the
table, snarled a curse, and jumped to his feet. Surging
between the tables, he moved to confront the wired
woman and her groping companions.
'Sister, ' he grated at her bare skin and her drink-stupid
expression, 'I don't like the way you're looking at me. '
She didn't need to be alert to serve the Bill; she hardly
needed to be alive. In all likelihood she was a hooker
who'd been offered a better deal, one which spared her
the necessity of actual sex. In exchange for being wired,
all she had to do was float around in public places like
this and let men think she was available long enough to
buy her drinks.
Startled by Angus' attack, she tried to focus her eyes
on him, but couldn't; so she muttered thickly, 'Fuck off,
asshole. '
Angus was in his element — and his hate had nowhere
else to go. He lashed a fist at each of the woman's com-
panions, knotted his fingers in the fronts of their dock-
suits. With reinforced ease, he hauled both of them up
out of their chairs.
'I said, ' he blared like a klaxon, 'I don't like the way she
looks at me?'
That got their attention. They were small, lost indi-
viduals, probably minor machinists or tool-handlers who
worked for the shipyard; too drunk to want anything
except a chance to screw their companion - and probably
too drunk to do anything about it if they got the chance.
Angus' strength seemed to frighten them witless. One of
them looked like he was going to faint. The other blurted
out, What do you want us to do about it?'
From the vicinity of the bar, Milos gaped as if Angus
had initiated self-destruct. Both bartenders stood like
statues: Angus could see their fingers poised over the
keys which would summon guards. The wire at the bar
remained in his slump; everyone else stared at Angus.
He put the men down. When they recovered their
balance, he released them. Then he pointed toward a
vacant table farther away; out of range. In a calmer tone
he articulated precisely, 'I want you to take this collection
of female body parts and' - abruptly he began yelling
again - 'go sit over there!'
'I wasn't looking at you, ' the woman protested. 'I've never seen you before. '
She didn't appear to notice the difference as her com-
panions pulled her to her feet and tugged her away, stum-
bling drunkenly among the tables. Obviously neither of
them had the vaguest idea what she was doing here.
Milos came toward Angus anxiously. Ignoring him,
Angus turned his back and moved to rejoin Nick.
'What the hell was that all about?' Nick asked sardoni-
cally. 'Do you have a death-wish, or do you just like
making everybody want to shoot at you?'
Angus ignored that as well. When he'd straddled his
chair again, he resumed, 'I wasn't sitting on my hands
while we were on Com-Mine. ' His rage was harder now,
more focused, as if venting some of it had made it
stronger. His pulse racketed in his veins; but his respir-
ation was steady and slow despite his exertion. 'I may
not have been smart enough to keep you from framing
me, but that doesn't mean I was stupid. While you and
Milos were dicking with each other, I went EVA. '
With one finger, he traced the word 'wire' on the tabletop.
Nick's eyes widened slightly, perhaps because of what
Angus said, perhaps because of what he wrote.
'I went to your ship, ' Angus continued, 'and I put a
current sensor on your cables until I found the one that
carried your computer link to Com-Mine. Then I
wrapped a magnetic field around it and ran a line back
to Bright Beauty. That way I was able to read the fluctu-
ations in your data-stream. I was able to record an echo
of everything you and Milos said to each other. '
Milos arrived at the table and stopped as if he'd been
hit with a paresis dart. He hadn't heard this explanation
before; but he couldn't betray his surprise without also
betraying Angus - and Hashi Lebwohl as well.
The intensity of Nick's attention gave Angus a grim
satisfaction. Nick looked like he'd just discovered that his
ship's computers no longer answered his priority-codes.
'I couldn't break your cipher, but I didn't need that for
proof. ' Angus' voice sounded like breaking bones. No
words were enough to articulate his outrage; but he did
the best he could. 'The routing was embedded in the
messages. It always is. And my recording was copied in
Bright Beauty's datacore. The proof was there. All I had
to do was convince somebody to look for it. Then Milos
was finished.
'So don't make the mistake of thinking you can plot
with him behind my back. That's over. You rucking
nailed me once. I'm telling you now, you are fucking
never going to nail me again. If you want Milos for some-
thing, you include me - or you forget him. '
Record that, motherfucker, he told the Bill. Make
something out of it if you can.
Nick stared at Angus for a moment. Then he threw
back his head and started laughing. He wanted Angus to
believe that he couldn't be touched; that his superiority
was a gap Angus couldn't cross. But Angus knew better.
In Nick's laugh he heard fraying nerves and shaken con-
fidence - the muffled hysteria of a man who was being
eaten alive by doubts.
You're mine, Captain Sheepfucker, Angus promised.
Remember that. Somehow, somewhere, I'm going to get
you. You can count on it.
With a shudder, Milos thunked his drinks down on
the table. His fingers trembled as he dug a packet of nic
out of his pocket, took one, and stuck it between his lips.
Trying to sound calm, he said, 'I should have known
better than to leave you two. thugs alone. The next time
I turn my back, you'll probably kill each other. '
'Oh, shut up, Milos, ' Angus said. The next time you
turn your back, we'll probably kill you. ''
Milos' gaze threatened a variety of complex retri-
butions as he sat down and lit his nic.
Nick picked up a glass and drained it as if he didn't
care what it contained. 'Don't listen to him, Milos, ' he
advised. 'He's so busy hating everybody, he can't think.
He hasn't figured out yet that this situation is too compli-
cated for hate. There's more going on here than he
realizes — and it's more dangerous than he imagines. '
Angus was in no mood for drink; but he sampled one
of the glasses and decided that a little liquor wouldn't
hurt him. For a fact, the situation was complicated. Like
Milos, Succorso was a UMCPDA stooge: He'd been
shaken by Angus' attack, that was all; not really upset.
Angus read his mood as if it were legible on EM wave-
lengths. The pressures gnawing at him came from some
other source.
Because he knew of Milos' relationship with Lebwohl,
he probably guessed that Angus' claim of power over
Milos was a fabrication; guessed that Angus and Milos
must be here on DA's orders. Angus saw that clearly.
Nevertheless he didn't care: he trusted his own judg-
ments. Under the Bill's bugeyes none of them could risk
revealing what they knew, or thought, or needed.
'I don't need his help, ' Nick was saying to Milos. 'I
need yours. '
A burst of light from the stage signaled that some kind
of performance was about to start. Good. Angus was
ready to take advantage of anything that confused the
cameras and pickups.
'I just got here, ' Milos protested through a cloud of
smoke. 'And I'm on the run. I'm not exactly in a position
to help anybody. ' For Angus, he added, 'Neither of us
is. '
Nick grinned like a manic depressive. 'Don't bullshit
me, Milos. I know something about your resources' The
way he stressed the word made it a reference to Data
Acquisition. 'If you were destitute, the Bill wouldn't let
you in here. You've at least got enough money to make
him tolerate his distrust. And you've probably got a few
secrets you can sell, just for insurance. We've worked
together a long time, off and on. I've earned some credit
with you. ' He didn't appear to be as concerned about
the bugeyes as Angus was, but he still chose his words
carefully. 'Don't tell me you can't help me until you hear
what I want. '
'All right, ' Milos sighed. He was smoking hard enough
to clog the air. 'Don't keep me in suspense. I'm in a hurry
to get to the part where I say no. What do you want?'
A crash which was meant to sound like cymbals came
over the stage speakers. The abrupt brilliance as the lights
focused into a tight spot on the stage created a temporary
zone of darkness around it. Men and women at the tables
and the bar looked in that direction expectantly.
As if he were dissociating himself from Nick and Milos,
Angus leaned back against the wall, letting his arms
dangle on either side of his chair.
'I'm in some trouble here, ' Nick explained unnecess-
arily. 'You may have figured that out. There's a fucking
Amnion "defensive" in dock because of me, and another
hanging out there where it can strip us all down to our
subatomic particles. ' He glanced at the stage as if he were
waiting for the show to start before he came to the point.
'I'm in deep shit, and there aren't any easy ways out of
it. I think you could say" — his scars were pale under his
eyes, the color of fear - 'I've made a couple of serious
miscalculations recently. If I don't get some help soon,
I'll have to start selling everything I own just to stay
alive. '
Selling what? Angus wondered. What did Nick have
to sell? DA's secrets? His stomach knotted. Morn herself?
The thought that Captain Sheepfucker might sell her
to save his ass made Angus want to snap Nick's neck.
We've committed a crime -
Wasn't that what Angus himself had done? Sell her to
save his ass?
No. No. He'd made a bargain with her. And he'd kept
it.
Until Lebwohl put electrodes into his head and forced
the truth out.
It's got to stop.
'How much money do you have?' Nick asked Milos.
Milos snorted. 'What makes you think I'm going to
tell you?'
Another crash from the speakers. As if she were being
disgorged by the surrounding gloom, a woman appeared
in the spotlight. Like a shout, emissions hit Angus' sight.
Around her heart and deep in her belly, electromagnetic
nodes revealed themselves like stars to his artificial vision.
But the woman wasn't a wire: her aura was wrong for
communications. The equipment implanted in her served
some other purpose.
She wore a quilted jacket and pants that looked like
they might have been designed to deflect stun-prods. An
immaculate wreath of hair caught the light around her
head and shone. Her face, too, was lovely; delicate and
vulnerable. But a grimace twisted her mouth as if she
were on the verge of sobs, and a stare of old pain filled
her eyes.
Nick rolled his glass between his palms. The Bill has
something that belongs to me, ' he explained. 'I promised
it to the Amnion, but he won't give it back. That's why
I'm in trouble. I haven't got the money to meet his price
- and if the Amnion don't get what they want they're
going to have me for rucking lunch. I want you to help
me pay off the Bill. '
Angus stifled an impulse to interrupt. He had no real
desire to interfere with what Nick and Milos said: he
simply wanted to prevent Nick from incriminating him-
self while the Bill could still record it.
The woman stood motionless in the center of the spot-
light, staring into a gap of dismay. When the speakers
crashed again, a stagehand pushed a box of props out of
the gloom.
As soon as the box arrived beside her, the woman
stooped and picked out a gleaming knife with a twenty
centimeter blade.
Some of Ease-n-Sleaze's patrons gasped as if they were
shocked; as if they hadn't known what kind of act to
expect.
Like the rest of the audience, Angus watched the stage.
Without shifting a muscle, he rested the knuckles of his
right fist against the wall. While the woman raised her
knife into the light, and the audience gasped, he fired his
laser.
From between his knuckles, a needle-thin stab of ruby
pierced the wall and severed the leads to all the bugeyes
in this end of the bar.
A fierce grin bared his teeth as the emissions of the
bugeyes winked out.
No one in the bar noticed the difference. Nick and
Milos were blind to what Angus had just done. They
leaned toward each other across the table, unselfcon-
sciously conspiratorial as Nick explained what he wanted;
but now they were safe. Temporarily, anyway: as long as
they were discreet. One of the requirements programmed
into Angus' datacore had been satisfied.
'You're crazy, ' Milos muttered around his nic. That
money is all I've got. I've lost everything else. Why' - he
seemed to need an expletive which eluded him - 'should
I let you have it?
'What are you offering me in return, Nick?'
Nick's smile was distorted and sickly. 'I'll give you what
you came for. I can do that. '
Milos pulled his nic from his mouth as if he were about
to vomit. After a moment he threw it vehemently to the
floor and snatched out a fresh smoke. What' — again
he gaped as if language failed him - 'is that woman
doing?'
One at time, she lifted pieces of fabric and sheets of
plastic into the spotlight. Each one she held in front
of her face while she stabbed the knife through it. The
apparent purpose of this ritual was to demonstrate the
blade's keenness. But Angus - and the aficionados in the
bar - recognized another, more tantalizing moti-
vation. By showing off the knife's sharpness, she dulled it.
So that it would hurt more.
Abruptly Angus shifted his weight forward. Folding
his heavy arms across his chairback, he rasped, 'Cut the
crap, Captain Sheepfucker. No more empty euphem-
isms. Let's take it one detail at a time and call a spade a
fucking shovel. '
Milos' eyes showed a flare of alarm, which Angus
ignored. He didn't mind letting Milos think the bugeyes
were still dangerous.
'Exactly what, ' Angus continued, 'has the Bill got that
belongs to you?'
Nick stiffened; a hint of darkness touched his scars. 'I
was right. You've got a goddamn death-wish. '
Undisturbed, Angus held Nick's stare and waited.
Suddenly Nick relaxed. Smiling with unexplained mal-
ice, he said, 'All right. Have it your way.
'You remember Morn Hyland. She still probably gives
you wet dreams. Well, she had a kid. That's what we
were doing on Enablement - force-growing her kid.
She calls him "Davies Hyland", after her pure, dead
father. '
On the stage, the woman had finished cutting up cloth
and plastic. Now she put the knife down by her feet and
started unsealing her jacket. Under it she was naked. Her
breasts looked unnaturally large and erect in the intense
light. A slight suggestion of puckering in the skin around
them implied that she'd performed this act at least once
before. Her fear was born of experience.
'Now the Amnion want him back, ' Nick went on. 'It
has something to do with the fact that she didn't lose
her mind when he was born. They say force-growing is
supposed to make plant-life out of the mother, but it
didn't happen to her. They think that's because of the
zone implant you used on her. So they aren't particularly
interested in her. But they want her brat. They want to
study the consequences of having a mother who didn't
lose her mind.
The Bill has him. If I can buy him back, I can give
him to the Amnion - and then poof — he spread his
fingers - 'all my problems disappear. '
For a moment the woman hesitated as if she were
unsure what to do next. Finally she decided to postpone
her dread by removing her pants. As she shrugged them
down from her tight hips, someone in the audience
whistled appreciatively.
Her belly showed the same slight puckering which
marked the skin around her breasts.
'How nice for you. ' Angus put as much challenge as
he could into his voice: he wanted to uncover what lay
behind Nick's malice. 'Everything's fine - as long as we
help you. ' The information that Morn had a son meant
nothing to him, aside from a minor disgust that she'd
done something that stupid. What the fuck makes you
think we've got that much credit? What does the Bill
want for this brat?'
When she was completely naked, the woman retrieved
her knife. But then she hesitated again. The impacted
fear in her eyes seemed to paralyze her.
With another nauseated, treacherous smile, Nick
named a sum nearly as large as the one Milos had
available.
Transfixed by the woman - or by what he heard -
Milos wiped sweat off his forehead. The nic trembled in
his mouth. 'You're crazy. I said that already. It's true -
you're out of your entire mind. I can't come within an
order of magnitude of what you want. '
From the far end of the bar, two or three people started
stamping their feet. Almost at once they took rhythm
from each other, beating a demand against the floor.
The demand spread and grew as more and more of the
audience put their heels into it.
As far as Angus could tell, his datacore contained no
provision for giving Nick Milos' money. Simply as an
experiment, he changed his tack: he wanted to see how
Nick would react.
'But money isn't the only way to get things done, ' he
said less aggressively. 'Even here. The real question isn't
what the Bill wants. It's what you're going to give Us.
You said you can supply what we came here for. Maybe
I'm being stupid again, but I don't know what the fuck
you're talking about. '
The stamping spread until it seemed to hammer at the
woman. Her face quivered at every blow.
Nick leaned forward urgently. Without transition he
seemed to pass from treachery to desperation. 'Listen to
me, asshole, ' he whispered. 'I'm in too much trouble
here, and I haven't got time for games. You can play let's
pretend when you're by yourself. You can fuck yourself
senseless for all I care. Right now I won't put up with it.
'I'm here because Hashi Lebwohl sent me. So are you.
You didn't blackmail Milos into helping you. Lebwohl
gave him to you for cover, so you could come here and
try to earn a reprieve. '
Angus couldn't resist: he batted his eyes. The pressure
mounting on the stage didn't touch him. 'I'm astonished.
How do you know all this? How am I supposed to earn
this reprieve?'
'You came, ' Nick articulated as if he were suddenly
hungry for murder, 'to rescue Morn Hyland. If you solve
my problem with the Bill, I'll hand her over. Otherwise'
- his voice cracked as he crushed a shout - 'I'll sell her
to the fucking Amnion to save my ass, and then they'll
have a fucking cop they can work on. '
With an abject shudder, the woman tightened her grip
on the knife. Milos took the nic out of his mouth and
clamped his teeth onto one of his knuckles as she put the
knife against her skin and began cutting off her right
breast.
Blood sprang from the incision, swarmed down her
belly; more blood burst from her lip as she bit through
it to keep herself from screaming. When her right breast
flopped to the stage, she started on the left.
Shaking, Milos turned his chair, put his back to the
stage. With both hands he lifted his glass to his mouth
and emptied it. Then he replaced his nic, sucked smoke
deep into his lungs.
'Go away, Nick, ' he breathed as if he'd just suffered a
wound — or had an orgasm. 'Go away and leave us alone.
You're completely crazy. We don't have anything to talk
about anymore. '
Angus didn't want to think about Morn: he couldn't
bear it. Nick was perfectly capable of selling her to the
Amnion. Then she would be lost forever. And there was
nothing he could do about it, nothing he could do about
it, even Min Donner hadn't been able to get his datacore
rewritten to let him help Morn. Paresthetic fire flushed
along his arms until his zone implants quenched it: rage
stung his heart until they denatured it. Morn, he thought,
oh, Morn! But he could do nothing; show nothing. His
programming held him, as cruel as the dimensional gap.
Nearly paralyzed by rage and protest, he watched the
woman on the stage out of the corner of his eye while
he continued to study Nick. He'd seen self-mutilation
acts before. After she finished her left breast, she opened
her belly and let her guts spill down her legs. At first she
bled like a pig; but now he understood what her
implanted equipment was for. The nodes he saw were
pressure-clamps. When the initial dramatic rush of blood
was over, the clamps closed on her major arteries so that
she wouldn't lose too much fluid; wouldn't die before
someone took her back to the surgeons. Once they healed
her, she would be ready to perform again.
As the spotlights went out, a few people applauded.
Somewhere in the bar, someone retched.
- a crime against your soul.
Without warning, a window in Angus' head opened -
the dark interface between his mind and his datacore. He
seemed to fall into the gap between what he understood
and what he could do as if he were going into tach; a
black rush of possibilities and compulsions seemed to
translate him to a whole new state of being.
It's got to stop.
Entirely without volition, he put his palm down like a
promise on the table in front of Nick and said, 'It's a deal.
We'll get Davies Hyland for you. You give us Morn. '
As if he were lost in the dimness which the spotlights
left behind, Milos cried out, 'Angus, you bastard!'
Nick rolled his eyes and cackled with laughter.
ANGUS
If he could have laughed or cried out himself, he
might not have been able to hold back. Everything
seemed to come at him at once. Behind the false
stoicism of his zone implants, he was shaken to the core
by inferences, dismay and hope.
Morn!
He wanted to rescue Morn. Even to protect his heart
from Nick and Milos, he couldn't pretend that wasn't
true. Yet the decision wasn't his: his promise to Nick had
come out of his mouth without one iota of free will
behind it.
But Hashi Lebwohl had made it unmistakably clear
that Angus wasn't programmed to risk his mission for
Morn-
This was why Warden Dios you bastard! you fucking
sonofabitch! had switched his datacore. So that Angus
could try to rescue Morn, when everyone in UMCPHQ
had written her off. Dios had some reason for pretending
that he didn't care what happened to her. He'd prepared
his instructions in secret, plugged them into Angus
secretly, in order to conceal his true intentions from the
people around him.
He wanted her back.
It's got to stop.
Unfortunately he hadn't foreseen that she could be
saved by mere money. The simple expedient of buying
her from Nick with Milos' credit wasn't available.
Even Lebwohl had been kept in the dark. And Milos
certainly hadn't been let into the secret. His face was gray
and lost, as if he were in the grip of an infarction, and
his eyes rolled with panic, trying to look in all directions
at once, measure the extent to which he'd been betrayed.
No one knew the truth.
I'll give you what you came for.
Except Nick Succorso?
How had Nick known Warden Dios' secret?
No, stop it, Angus told himself harshly, don't panic.
All Nick knew was that Morn was UMCP - and Trumpet
had come from UMCPHQ. The rest was just a lucky
guess. When he laughed like that, the stark pallor of his
scars under his wild eyes made him look crazy enough to
have guessed anything.
Why did Warden Dios want to keep what he was doing
hidden from his own people?
Who was the real target of Joshua's mission?
Angus wanted to laugh at Milos' consternation, and at
Lebwohl's. Those motherfuckers deserved to be
cornholed like this.
And he wanted to cry out like a stricken child because
none of the decisions were his.
We'll get Davies Hyland for you.
You give us Morn.
Those words meant the exact opposite of what Milos
so obviously believed about the purpose of their mission.
But he had no choice in any of this. The link to his
computer gushed like a conduit: commandments and
data flooded him.
A man in the sterile suit of a medtech wrapped the
performer in pressure bandages, then carried her off the
unlit stage. Apparently Ease-n-Sleaze considered her
good enough for a return engagement. A scrub robot
followed the medtech to clean up the blood.
'Shut up!' Angus grated at Nick and Milos. 'Both of
you. We haven't got much time. If we give the Bill a
chance to send more wires in here, we may never get to
talk again.
'We have two problems. We don't know where the kid
is. And the Bill is going to raise total hell when he finds
out what we're doing. We need to make decisions fast.
Then we need to do it. '
Nick stopped laughing as if he'd thumbed a toggle
inside himself. 'Captain Thermo-pile, you amaze me, ' he
drawled in a tone of casual danger. 'I thought I was going
to surprise you, but you don't sound surprised. You
sound like you already have the whole thing figured out. '
A biting retort came to Angus' lips: his datacore
quashed it. Instead he said, The way to handle the Bill
is, force him to suspect the wrong person. That's you,
Succorso. ' His programming gripped him so tightly now
that he couldn't insult Nick. 'First you're going to get us
the information we need. You'll do it in a way he can't
help noticing. Then we'll arrange an alibi for you. ' Angus
grinned like a grimace. 'Hell, we'll use the Bill himself
for an alibi. '
Nick started to ask a question, but Milos pushed him-
self forward. His face was a knot of fear and fury; sweat
made the splotches on his scalp gleam like the marks of
a disease. 'Angus, ' he hissed, 'this is wrong. I thought
you understood. It isn't why we're here. I don't care what
he says. It isn't why we're here. I don't want this kind of
trouble.
'I'm warning you, Angus. Don't force my hand. '
His threat was as plain as a Jerico priority command.
Stop this, or I'll override your programming. I'll show
everybody here which one of us holds the real power.
Just for an instant Angus faltered. Dread crawled
through his belly. Milos could stop him; could doom
Morn. Dios would be helpless to save her if Milos said
the right words -
But then Nick would hear them. He would see their
effect: he would guess what they meant.
And then nothing Milos said or did or wanted could
prevent Nick from simply killing him and taking control
of Angus for himself. Even if Milos ordered Angus to
defend him, Nick would probably succeed: the restric-
tions which protected UMCP personnel from Angus
probably applied to Nick as much as to Milos. And Milos
on his own was no physical match for Nick Succorso.
Angus saw all this in the furtive, involuntary glance
Milos flicked at Nick. So quickly that his datacore
had no time to compel him, he decided to call Milos'
bluff.
'I told you to shut up, ' he returned. 'You're my second
- you take my orders. As far as I'm concerned, you've
already done the only thing I needed you for. If you
don't like the job, I can replace you without leaving the
bar. '
Milos opened his mouth; a rush of blood darkened his
face as his anger gained the upper hand. But a second or
two later he dropped his gaze, and his passion drained
away.
'You're going to regret this, ' he muttered. 'I swear to
God you'll regret it. '
Nevertheless he lacked the courage to carry out his
threat in front of Nick.
'You two spaceshits ought to go on the stage, ' Nick
sneered. 'You're at least as much fun as the rest of the
"entertainment" here. '
Angus' attention snapped back to Succorso. 'You'll
have more fun in a minute, ' he growled sourly. That
woman's still here. ' He nodded toward the table where
the Bill's wire sat. 'She looks like your kind of meat. '
Softly, distinctly, he outlined what he wanted Nick to
do.
While Angus spoke, Milos' expression changed from
defeat to disgust, and then to a look of settled nausea.
He'd been pushed too far: he was beginning to reach
decisions. Angus saw that look and knew what it meant.
The next time Milos made a threat, he wouldn't back
down.
The knowledge gave Angus a nausea of his own, which
his zone implants concealed for him.
Before Angus finished, Nick objected, This is some
deal. I can see why everybody likes to work with you so
much. Why should I trust you? What're you going to do
while I take all the risks? So far you haven't given me any
reason to think you won't just go back to your ship and
laugh your fucking head off. '
'You should trust me, ' Angus returned, 'because you
haven't got anything to lose. ' His tone was cold and
bitter. 'You're already in as much trouble as there is. It
can't get any worse. ' Then he lowered his voice. 'Besides,
you're covered. You'll have an alibi - one of the best. '
He consulted his chronometer, named a time. That's
about three hours from now. You'll go see the Bill, tell
him you want to talk to him. Don't be late - you won't
have much of a window. Tell him you're ready to buy
back the kid. All you have to do is agree on the price.
'Every log and bugeye he's got will tell him you were
with him when Davies disappeared. If that doesn't cover
you, nothing will. And Milos and I'll be in the clear.
That's important to you. If the Bill knows we snatched
the kid, he'll storm our ship and grab him back. The
whole thing'll be wasted. But even if we can't pull it off,
you're covered. '
Quietly Angus repeated, 'You really haven't got any-
thing to lose. '
Nick consulted his hands as if he wondered how much
strength - or sanity - they still held. In a voice full of
mixed intentions, he asked, 'Why are we in a hurry? Why
does the timing have to be so tight?'
'Because, ' Angus answered heavily, 'if we don't catch
the Bill off-guard, we won't catch him at all. It won't do
any good to just break Davies out. We have to take him
someplace the Bill won't look for him. '
Milos puffed smoke at the ceiling as if he fed on nic.
Nick let out a fragmentary laugh like a croak. Then of
course you'll have him. What the fuck makes me think
you'll hand him over when I need him? Never mind - it,
doesn't matter. If I'm crazy, so are you. I've got my own
insurance. ' Complex purposes seemed to pull his scars
tight against the bones of his skull. 'I can always tell the
Bill where he is. '
Abruptly he got to his feet. 'I'll do it. '
Angus nodded. Instead of sneering, Sucker! he said,
Tour twelve. We'll be waiting. '
Succorso ignored him. Facing Milos, Nick asked,
'Aren't you going to reassure me before I go? We've
worked together for years. You should at least promise
you'll back me up, even if you don't mean it. Send me
off to my execution with a good taste in my mouth. '
Milos didn't glance at Nick. His eyes were focused on
the smoke streaming from his mouth. Quietly he said, 'I
would tell you to go to hell, but you're already there. We
all are. You two are supposed to be desperate illegals, full
of hate and cunning — and too smart to be caught. But
I think neither one of you has the vaguest idea what's
going on here. '
'Maybe not, ' Nick snorted. 'But you don't either. That
I guarantee. '
Snarling at Angus and Milos, he moved away between
the tables.
Here it comes, Angus warned himself. The new hard-
ness gathering beneath Milos' pudgy features conveyed
a guarantee of its own. The decisions he'd made were
going to be expensive.
Tell me something, Angus, ' he murmured past his nic.
'How do you know the Bill isn't already studying a copy
of this conversation?'
Angus would have kept his mouth shut; but his data-
core saw no reason to avoid this question. 'That woman
is the only wire in this end of the bar, ' he replied. 'She's
out of range now. And I cut the power to the bugeyes.
The Bill has a blind spot right where we're sitting. '
At once Milos shifted his weight forward. Dull heat
sprang to fire in his eyes. 'In that case, Joshua, ' he said
without shifting his nic, 'I have instructions for you.
Jerico priority. Forget all this. Forget Nick - forget
Morn Hyland. They aren't why we're here. You're push-
ing me into a corner for nothing. '
When Milos said the word Joshua, buried command-
ments took hold of Angus. He sat still, unwillingly pas-
sive, while the link in his head prepared itself to receive
and enforce Milos' orders. As Milos invoked Jerico pri-
ority, Angus' brain seemed to shut down: zone implants
and programming controlled every neural flicker and
muscular contraction while his datacore registered Milos'
orders and compared them to its prewritten exigencies.
His heart beat once or twice, and his lungs drew a shallow
breath, but he remained blank and helpless, like a com-
puter with no operating system. During that brief inter-
val, Milos could have killed him, if Milos had known
what was happening inside him — if Milos had wanted
him dead.
At the table occupied by the wire and her companions,
Nick had taken a position which kept her back turned to
Angus and Milos. His eyes shone at her; a smile like a
barracuda's bared his teeth. As he talked, he leaned slowly
closer and closer to her, covering her with his sexual
magnetism.
But Milos missed his opportunity. The moment
passed; without warning Angus began to talk.
'Message for Milos Taverner from Warden Dios. ' The
words seemed to reach his mouth directly from his data-
core. 'Milos, this was recorded before you left
UMCPHQ. You've just been given a rather nasty shock.
I regret that, but it was necessary. On this one subject,
you were misled. Everything else you were told concern-
ing Joshua, your mission and yourself remains true.
Joshua has not diverged from his programming. Your
command codes still function. You have not been
betrayed.
When you return to UMCPHQ, I will personally
explain why it was necessary to mislead you. '
'Message ends. '
At the same instant Angus' mind came back on-line.
Grinning with relief, he jeered, Too bad. Better luck
next time. I guess it just doesn't pay to trust those bas-
tards. ' As if nothing unexpected had happened, he
twitched one hand in Nick's direction. 'He won't take
long. She hasn't got a prayer against a seductive fucker
like him. You'd better be ready to move in a couple of
minutes. '
He was thinking, Clever, Dios. Nice ploy. Too bad it
won't work. You're too late - you've already lost him.
What kind of game are you playing?
The whole point of admitting a lie - the only reason
Dios could have for admitting that he'd lied - was to
conceal other, more crucial falsehoods.
'Oh, shit, ' Milos breathed as if he were in shock. 'Oh,
shit. He set me up. '
Confident and mocking, Nick looked at one of the
woman's companions and said something which made
the man go pale. Uncertain of his balance, the machinist
or tool-handler stumbled out of his chair and retreated
from the table.
Her other companion appeared to ask her for support.
She ignored him, however: her attention was fixed
hungrily on Nick. As he seated himself beside her and
reached with the back of one hand to stroke her cheek,
her remaining escort stood up so awkwardly that he
knocked over his chair. Swearing with empty resentment,
he also retreated.
Angus knew how the woman felt. Like her, he was
nothing more than a tool, a means to an end. Nobody
could betray him: he could only be lied to or abused.
But Milos, on the other hand -
Milos was just beginning to grasp how profoundly
he'd been betrayed.
A shudder like a convulsion ran through him. As if he
were choking, he gasped out, 'Open your mouth. '
Angus had no defense against that order. His datacore
didn't protect him: it enforced Milos' authority. Sick with
recognition and helplessness, he obeyed.
Deliberately Milos took his nic and stubbed it out on
Angus' tongue.
In his mind Angus let out a roar. Heaved up the table,
used it to knock Milos backward; then pitched it out of
his way and jumped at his tormentor. He had the
strength of a great ape, he could beat anybody. With a
series of kicks, he snapped Milos' sternum, shattered his
ribs, crushed his larynx; with his hands, he gouged out
Milos' eyes. He didn't stop until there was nothing left
except a bloody pulp -
But only in his mind.
In reality he closed his mouth on a flame of pain and
a sick taste of ash. While his tongue burned and blistered,
he chewed the nic until he could swallow it.
His stomach would have puked its contents onto the
tabletop if his zone implants had allowed that.
'That doesn't make sense, ' Milos whispered. The codes
still work - I can still control you. But they lied about
why we're here. ' He fought to contain his fear. Why let
me control you - why pretend I can control you - if I
don't know what you've been programmed to do?'
'I can think of a reason, ' Angus croaked past his
pain.
'So can I, ' Milos countered. This whole thing
is aimed at me. I swear to God!' he raged without
raising his voice, 'they are going to regret treating me
like this. '
By now Nick was so close to the woman that she
practically sat in his lap. One of his hands had moved
from her cheek downward to stroke her neck, her shoul-
der, the exposed curve of her breast. The other was
buried in her hair at the back of her head. Exactly as
instructed.
'It's time, ' Angus announced. His tongue and stomach
felt like he'd just eaten quicklime; but his programming
ignored those discomforts — and Milos' anger. He pushed
himself to his feet.
Glaring bitterly around him, Milos delayed long
enough to light another nic. Then he stood up and fol-
lowed Angus toward Nick and the woman.
Angus chose an approach that kept him behind the
woman, out of her sight. He understood her equipment
as clearly as if he'd designed it himself. Her eyes and ears
were wired: she was like a video camera with an audio
pickup. In consequence she only transmitted what she
herself saw and heard.
The noises of the bar covered him as he moved toward
her.
Leads from her receptors to her powerpack ran down
her neck just beneath her skin. Nick's hand on the back
of her head served two purposes: it distracted her sense
of touch; and it would demonstrate his innocence. Angus
flicked a glance at him to confirm that he was ready; but
he was too practiced at seduction to look away from his
victim. As Angus neared her, Nick lowered his head to
lick a kiss into the hollow of her throat.
Scarcely touching the base of her neck with his
knuckles, Angus pricked her with a tiny burst of laser-fire
which went only millimeters deep; so shallow and keen
that she might not feel it; just deep enough to cut the
leads to her wire. Then he moved on toward the door,
leaving behind only a small red droplet of blood to mark
the harm he'd done her.
He felt her stiffen as he passed; heard her say, 'Ow, ' in
a tone of fuddled protest. But he didn't look back to see
whether she turned her head in his direction. That was
Nick's problem: it was his responsibility to make sure she
didn't know — therefore couldn't tell the Bill — who might
have hurt her.
With Milos trailing after him, Angus took the lift back
up to his room.
When the woman's wire stopped transmitting, the Bill
would assume at first that she'd cut him off intentionally,
so that she could have a little more privacy with Nick.
And he wouldn't take that kindly. However, one look at
her neck and the leads would convince him she hadn't
done the damage herself. If she couldn't report that
Angus or Milos had been anywhere near her, he would
believe Nick was to blame.
That was the real point of the gambit. As a secondary
consideration, it might give Nick a lever to use on the
woman. If he needed one; if his famous virility and charm
weren't enough. Nevertheless the primary purpose was
to focus the Bill's distrust away from Angus and Milos.
Which was fine, as far as it went. Unfortunately it did
nothing to solve Angus' more immediate problems.
Caustics filled his mouth, and his stomach kept trying
unsuccessfully to make him vomit. His head was a wilder-
land, as bleak and fatal as the gap. Milos had come to the
end of his sufferance: Angus' sufferings had just begun.
Dios had said, It's got to stop. Whatever that meant, it
obviously didn't refer to Angus' distress. The UMCP
director had no intention of easing Angus' helplessness,
letting him out of the crib -
He was a coward: he knew what was about to happen
to him.
Grimly he said his name to the intercom outside his
door. When the door slid aside, he entered the room as
if he expected to be executed.
Milos joined him before the door closed. For a
moment the two men stood watching each other like
mortal enemies. Then, simply because he didn't want
to look as scared as he felt, Angus sat in one of the
chairs and tilted it back until it was propped against the
wall.
'Make yourself comfortable, ' he mumbled past his sore
tongue. 'We haven't got all night, but you can probably
count on at least an hour. ' Nick would take at least an
hour, if for no other reason than to demonstrate his
virility.
'You've got that long. '
Milos dropped his eyes as if he were ashamed - or as
if he had something to hide. Poking another nic into his
mouth, he wandered over to the data terminal and tapped
a few keys, apparently just to be sure the thing worked.
After that he took the other chair, set it beside Angus',
and lowered himself into it.
'You know something about this, Angus. Something
you haven't told me. Maybe something you heard from
Dios. '
If he was worried about the bugeye, he didn't show it.
On the other hand, he made no effort to invoke Angus'
command codes.
'I know a lot of things I haven't told you, ' you cheap,
deranged piece of shit, Angus replied with as much
sarcasm as he could muster. 'I know a lot of things I
haven't told myself. I wouldn't share them with you if I
could. '
Well, let me guess, ' Milos murmured as if he were deaf
to Angus' tone. 'Saying we're here to destroy the Bill is
just a trick. The real reason is because of me. And Morn
Hyland. That doesn't sound very plausible - until you
think about what she and I have in common.
'She's been to Enablement. To the Amnion. '
Prompted by visceral caution, Angus returned thickly,
'Don't guess. It just shows you don't know what you're
doing. '
'Oh, I know what I'm doing, all right, ' Milos
promised. 'Open your mouth. '
Although his nic was only half finished, he dropped it
on Angus' tongue. While Angus chewed and swallowed
miserably, Milos lit a fresh smoke.
'It's my neck in the noose, and I'm not going to let
you or anybody else hang me.
'I suppose, ' he continued with his own bitterness, 'you
really can't tell me what you know. And it probably isn't
much anyway. You're just an incidental victim. From that
point of view, you're worse off than I am.
'We all need somebody who's worse off than we are. '
He regarded Angus thoughtfully. 'Or who can be made
worse off. '
Angus didn't say anything. At this moment he believed
he would have been willing to sell his life for the simple
freedom to throw up.
As if he'd made his point, Milos also fell silent. He
appeared relaxed in his chair. Only the passionate inten-
sity with which he smoked revealed his underlying agi-
tation.
For over an hour while they waited together, he made
Angus eat each of his discarded nics in turn. Keeping the
room tidy by using Angus as a human ashtray seemed to
give him an obscure satisfaction, as if it helped put the
moral grime of his circumstances into perspective.
NICK
It was too bad, really. She was a lovely creature in
her frail, drunken way. She could have done so much
more - she might even have been worth his effort -
if she hadn't already spent most of her life pickling her
brain. All the alcohol she consumed hadn't done her body
any harm; not yet. Her scant clothing made that obvious.
Her breasts were full and taut; the line of her hips was
seamless. Nevertheless the blur in her eyes and the slack-
ness of her mouth showed that she'd abandoned herself,
not to him, but to numbness.
That took some of the fun out of what Nick was doing.
He considered this as he pretended to comfort her
distress at the small pain Angus had left on the back of her
neck. Women: why was it always a question of women?
Wherever he went, whatever he did, they were always
the means to his ends - and the reason those ends proved
hollow when he gained them.
Apparently this one was too drunk to care what had
happened. The disfocused accessibility on her face was
like a glimpse into the nature, a precognition that what
he got from her would be as hollow as everything else.
But he didn't stop; maybe he couldn't. The forces
which drove him were fundamental, almost autonomic.
With the fingers of one hand, he massaged her tiny hurt;
the knuckles of the other stroked the sweet curve between
her breasts; his mouth made consoling noises against her
ear. Even if his brain had decided to pull away from her
before he became helplessly enmeshed in Angus' plots,
Angus' betrayals, his body might have remained where it
was, delicately stoking her bleary responses until she
could no longer control them.
As always, he would deal with the danger later.
The danger was real: he knew that. None of his deal-
ings with Milos had given him any reason to trust the
former deputy chief of Com-Mine Security. And Angus
was treachery personified; so malign that his falseness
was virtually metaphysical.
On the other hand, they were both vulnerable here.
The fact that they'd come to Thanatos Minor together in
a stolen UMCP ship showed how precarious their pos-
ition was. In addition - Nick admitted this with pro-
fessional detachment - Angus' plan made sense.
Angus had left a number of interesting details
unexplained, such as how exactly he proposed to snatch
Davies. Nevertheless his reasoning was irreproachable.
Nick didn't like taking orders from Angus Thermopyle;
but he liked the way Angus thought. He wished he hadn't
lost the capacity to think that way himself.
Well, maybe he hadn't lost it entirely. He still had
ideas; still saw opportunities. But even as incomplete as
he sometimes felt, he hadn't lost his power over women
like this. She may have been able to refuse offers or
entreaties from the slime on the cruise; but after a few
minutes in his company, a few minutes of his touch, her
stunned gaze begged him to possess her.
Simply to build up tension, he postponed the next
step. While he murmured vacant descriptions of her
beauty and how he felt about it, his fingertips eased under
her garments to caress what little they concealed; his grin
grew sharper, as if to cut away defenses she no longer
had. But he didn't move to leave the table until she finally
breathed in a voice made husky by drink, 'Take me
somewhere. '
Humorously avid - and secretly contemptuous - he
answered, 'I was hoping you would say that. '
Then he guided her to her feet.
Unsure of her balance, she leaned against him in a way
that urged him to wrap his arm around her as he moved
her out of the bar toward the front desk.
Rooms in Ease-n-Sleaze weren't expensive by the stan-
dards of the cruise. Nevertheless the right to use six
twenty-one for a while made a noticeable dent in his small
account. He didn't care, however. If he'd measured his life
by his accumulated credit, he would have had to call him-
self a failure. But he wasn't a failure, no, nobody except
Sorus Chatelaine had ever called him that; and he was
going to teach her to think otherwise. His plans against
her continued to take shape as he rode the lift to the sixth
level. The drunk in his arms nuzzled his neck as if she knew
what he wanted, but his mind was far away. After too
many distractions - Angus, Milos, Morn herself - he
returned to the only subject that really mattered to him.
Sorus Chatelaine.
Revenge.
Thinking about that gave him more real pleasure than
the woman he was with.
When the lift opened, he pulled away from her kisses
long enough to locate his room. Supporting her, he
walked the unclad floor to six twenty-one and opened it
by pressing his hand on the palm plate, then took her
inside.
She wasn't too drunk to wrinkle her nose in distaste at
the splotched walls and sagging bed. For carrying his
wire around inside her like a still-born, the Bill probably
paid her well enough to live more comfortably than this.
She didn't object, however. She made a small noise of
protest when Nick disentangled himself to verify that the
data terminal worked; but that had nothing to do with
the depression of the room.
In fact, the terminal worked fine. Now Nick could
have simply extracted the information he wanted, coded a
message for Milos by way of Captain's fancy, and left.
That would have had several advantages. It would have
spared him the effort of sex - would have freed him to
spend more time thinking about Sorus. And it would
have made his behavior look even more suspicious to the
Bill. He could almost hear the woman telling her boss in
a stupefied whine, I swear to God, all he did was take me
up to that room and make me talk. Then he walked out.
That's all. I told him what he wanted because I knew you
were listening.
Nick grinned at the idea hard enough to stretch his
scars.
But he couldn't do it: his body refused. Maybe he
would be able to pretend that this woman was Morn -
that her drunkenness was the abandonment he craved -
Before leaving the terminal, he spent a little more of
his money to pipe in a program of modulated white
noise, the kind of sound null-wave transmitters and
nerve-juice junkies liked when they slept; the kind that
would muffle the bugeye's reception.
Holding the woman still with a kiss, he stripped away
the small scraps of her clothes, then carried her to the
bed and tried to bury his own needs deep enough in her
flesh so that they would be quenched, at least for a short
time.
Unfortunately he couldn't do that either. She came
alive in his hands, of course; desire overcame her numb-
ness. She writhed under him and gyrated over him and
moaned at his kisses as if he gave her exactly what she
wanted; as if she'd never felt this way before, or for so
long. But she couldn't supply what he wanted. He had
no interest in her: he'd never wanted a woman for herself.
What he wanted was her passion and surrender; he
wanted her to desire him so much that she ceased to exist
for herself. And only Morn had ever given him that:
Morn Hyland, with her zone implant and her dishonesty,
her absolute commitment to her own choices.
Liete knew less about sex, but she was still better than
this woman.
So he kept going until the inadequate sweat at the
woman's temples and the hollow flush in her cheeks told
him that she was worn out; then he quit. Now was prob-
ably his best chance: fatigue and numbness would make
her suggestible. If he caught her before she fell asleep,
she might tell him almost anything.
Incomplete and unfulfilled, he wrapped her in a grasp
which would keep her under control if she reacted badly.
Stroking her ear with his tongue, he whispered, 'There's
one more thing you can do for me. '
She laughed unsteadily. 'I don't believe it. I thought
we already did everything. If there's anything more any
woman could do for a man like you, I want to know
what it is. '
He ignored the implicit challenge. Keeping his voice
low, he breathed, 'It's just something you can tell me.
The Bill has something that belongs to me. ' As if he
hadn't felt her stiffen, he went on, 'I want to get it back.
You can help by telling me where it is. '
Weakly she twisted against his arms. When she'd
turned enough to look directly into his face, she asked,
What makes you think I know anything about him? I
don't. I just work here. I sell sex. ' Suddenly flustered, she
said, 'I mean, not to you. I'm not asking you for money.
I already got' - she smiled awkwardly - 'something a lot
better.
'But I don't work for him. That's what I mean. I'm not
that important. I just fuck men who buy me drinks and
pay me afterward. '
Nick gave her a lazy, warning grin. 'Bullshit, ' he whis-
pered pleasantly. 'You're a wire. I know because' - he
told the first lie that came into his head - 'I've got a nerve
beeper that tingles when it gets near any kind
of transmitter. When I sat down beside you, it went
wild. '
The flush faded from her cheeks. Drink, satiation, or
natural stupidity left her unable to doubt him. She swore
pitifully for a moment. Then she protested, 'But if you
know that, you know you can't ask me questions about
him. It isn't safe. He can hear you. He's recording you
right now. '
Natural stupidity, Nick decided. Even a drunk should
have recognized the potential consequences of warning
him like that.
'Oh, it's safe, all right, ' he told her with some of his
old insouciance; but softly, in case the white noise didn't
cover him. 'I killed your transmitter. That was the pain
you felt in your neck. I poked you with a needle and cut
the leads. '
For an instant her eyes rolled: she was close to fainting.
But then panic brought her back.
'Unfortunately, ' he continued, articulating her fear for
her, 'that puts you in a difficult position. The Bill is going
to think you switched yourself off. He's going to think
you're protecting some kind of plot against him. Or
maybe you're plotting yourself. When he gets his hands
on you' - Nick shook his head sadly - 'I'm afraid he'll
tear you apart. You can tell him the truth, but he'll
assume you're lying. '
'You shit, ' she moaned, not in anger, but in desper-
ation, 'you bastard. Why - ?'
He shrugged without releasing his grip. 'Well, I
couldn't count on persuading you to trust me, could I?
I needed a lever. ' He kissed her strained mouth as if he
didn't know the difference between fear and arousal.
'This way, you need me. I can protect you. I can take
you with me, so he won't hurt you.
'But I am not going to do that, ' he promised slowly,
'unless you tell me where he keeps his prisoners. Soar
intercepted an ejection pod from my ship. What was in
that pod is mine. Tell me where it is, and you'll never
need to be afraid of him again. '
She stared at him as if she were too stricken to see
him; as if her fear of the Bill filled her sodden horizons.
Putting his mouth to her ear, Nick murmured, 'Do
you really think you'll be worse off on my ship - with
me - than you are here?'
Suddenly urgent, she panted, Take me there now. ' She
may have remembered the bugeye in the room. 'I don't
know anything about your pod. But I know where he
keeps prisoners. I can tell you how to find it. I'll tell you
as soon as I'm safe. '
Nick didn't shift his hold or his mouth. 'You know
better than that. If I were willing to let you change your
mind' - if I were that stupid - 'I wouldn't have killed
your wire in the first place. '
She still wasn't angry. She was a frightened drunk: her
life on the cruise hadn't left room for anger. For a
moment longer she remained indecisive, paralyzed. Then
she surrendered.
Barely audible, she sighed, 'All right. '
Looking as pale as if Nick had drained the blood from
her heart, she told him how to locate the section of
Billingate which the Bill used for his lockup.
'Is that enough?' she finished weakly. Will you protect
me now? Will you take me with you? If you don't, he —'
She stopped: the thought of what the Bill would do to
her was too appalling to be put into words.
Nick laughed shortly. 'No. ' Women this stupid - no,
anybody this stupid, man or woman — deserved what hap-
pened to them. 'I can always get better sex than this, and
you haven't got anything else to offer. ' The Bill would
know at a glance that she hadn't switched off her wire
herself. 'I'm afraid you'll just have to take the conse-
quences of betraying him yourself. '
Dropping her from his arms, he rolled off the bed and
moved to the data terminal.
'Oh, please, ' she begged his back, 'please don't do this
to me, please, I'll do anything you want, you can have
all of me, I'll never let another man touch me, I'll stop
drinking, I can do better if I'm not drinking, please -'
Nick hardly heard her. The fact that she didn't get
angry only increased his contempt. At the terminal, he
coded a complex message; sent it. Then he climbed back
into his shipsuit and boots.
For a minute he faced the woman's pleading. When
she finally ran down and began to sob, he growled, 'Face
facts, bitch. You're shit out of luck. All this whining isn't
going to help you. I never did like whiners. '
Grinning as if this victory weren't as hollow as all the
others, he left the room.
As soon as the door closed, he felt so exposed that he
wanted to run.
He wasn't worried that the Bill would intercept -
much less decipher - his message. On Angus' instruc-
tions, he'd sent it in two parts, each differently coded, to
Captain's Fancy. One was for Liete Corregio, ordering
her to relay the other to Trumpet ship-to-ship, bypassing
Billingate communications. From his room, Milos could
talk to Trumpet's automatic systems; could receive Nick's
message without exposing its source.
No, Nick's only immediate concern was that the Bill
might react to the loss of the woman's transmission by
sending guards to track her down. If he dispatched them
promptly enough; if they caught up with Nick before he
had a chance to blur his traces among the crowds of the
cruise -
Even then Angus' plan might not fail. But Nick would
be in trouble. At best he would lose his freedom of move-
ment; his ability to put his own plans into effect.
And the longer he was kept away from Captain's Fancy,
the more rime Mikka's disloyalty, and Vector's, would
have to fester.
No wonder his success with the woman felt hollow.
By itself each one was trivial: all he gained from it was
the opportunity to go on to the next problem.
Sorus was going to pay for this. If it was the last thing
he did, he would exact blood for what she'd done to him.
He fought down the urge to run; but he allowed him-
self a brisk stride on his way to the lift.
As he rode the car downward, a tic of tension began
again in his cheek, pulling like small claws at his scars.
When he tried to rub it away, the skin Sorus had cut felt
tight and dead; but the tic persisted.
After he left Ease-n-Sleaze, he began to see guards, but
none of them took any notice of him. Apparently the Bill
had decided to give him leeway; leave him free to con-
demn himself. That was another mistake which he meant
to make the Bill regret.
Grimacing involuntarily, Nick returned to his ship.
He should have felt better when he'd cycled the locks and
sealed himself back aboard Captain's Fancy. She was his
ship, his. There was no safety anywhere if not here.
Nevertheless his sense of exposure and incompleteness
remained. The tic refused to relax its grip on his cheek.
He sampled the air as if he could smell something
evanescent and subtly threatening from the scrubbers;
but after a moment he realized that the atmosphere
felt wrong, not because of a scent, but because of a
sound.
More precisely, the absence of a sound. The almost
subliminal hum and throb of Captain's Fancy's thrust
drive was missing.
When he'd first left her to talk to the Bill, he'd ordered
Mikka to keep the drive on standby. And he'd renewed
his instructions before leaving to meet with Milos: he
wanted the drive active, not as a means of escape — that
was impossible - but as a way of reminding the Bill that
Captain's Fancy could do the installation a lot of damage
if Nick was pushed too far.
But Mikka had shut down the engines.
Swearing brutally, he started to run.
By the time he reached the nearest lift, however, he'd
regained control of his urgency. He'd left Mikka and her
discontents alone too often, too long: he had no way of
knowing what she'd been saying about him, or to whom.
His people were volatile at the best of times. Now, under
pressure from the Amnion and Morn, as well as from
Nick himself, they were unstable enough to go critical.
Without much effort Mikka could set them at each
other's throats.
Or at his.
That should have been inconceivable. He was Nick by
God Succorso, Nick Succorso, and nothing should have
been able to threaten him on his own ship, among his
own crew. But he knew in his scars and his twitching
cheek that his hold over Captain's fancy was fraying. Like
his invincibility, he'd lost it somewhere in the midst of
Morn's treachery.
He couldn't afford to act panicked. If he did, Mikka
and her supporters - Vector? Sib Mackern? Pup? - might
think they could beat him.
So he lowered his respiration, calmed his pulse,
stopped cursing. Again he tried to massage the tic away
from his cheek. By the time the lift opened on the passage
which led to the bridge, he'd convinced himself that no
one would be able to see how close he was to the end of
his resources.
When he crossed the aperture onto the bridge, he
found it as crowded as the cruise.
He'd left Liete and her watch in charge of the ship:
Mikka was supposed to be readying a team for a raid.
But now at least two thirds of the crew were packed into
the small space.
To some extent, the crowding was caused by the lack
of internal spin. His people could only stand on that
section of the floor which was oriented toward Thanatos
Minor's mass. When Captain's Fancy first docked, the
bridge stations had adjusted automatically to the rock's
g by sliding along their tracks until they rested almost
shoulder-to-shoulder in the bottom of the curve. Because
of that, the crew didn't have much space.
The entire group watched him enter the bridge as if
he were an emissary of the Amnion.
A quick scan told him that Liete and her watch were
still in their g-seats. But Arkenhill had replaced Allum on
scan; Karster had taken Simper's position. That made
sense: Mikka had almost certainly included Simper and
Allum on her team. Yet both men were here, as were
Mikka herself, Sib - who should have been resting while
Alba Parmute had data - Scorz, Pup, Lind, Carmel and
several others. Vector sat at the engineer's station as if he
were on duty.
Scowling in an effort to conceal the way the tic pulled
at his cheek, Nick drawled, 'All right, boys and girls. The
party's over. If you aren't working, get off the bridge. '
No one moved. A mild smile curved Vector's mouth;
his eyes were blue and cloudless, as steady as a clear
sky. Carmel watched Nick with her customary bluntness.
Pastille's nose wrinkled as if his own reek disgusted even
him. Except for the cut of his features and the spread of
his hips, Pup bore no particular resemblance to his sister,
Mikka: his face expressed naivete and chagrin instead of
her glowering competence, her clenched old ire. Allum
and Simper, dissimilar in every other way, both grinned
with exactly the same unsatisfied hunger for violence. Sib
was sweating as if he were feverish: moisture made his
pale mustache look like dirt on his upper lip.
While he was gone, Nick had apparently lost them all.
He didn't hesitate. That part of him remained undam-
aged, at any rate. The worse the danger, the more quickly
he moved.
'Liete' - he let his voice uncurl like a lash - 'is this the
way you run things when I'm not here?'
The command third faced him miserably. Strain dark-
ened her small features until they were nearly black. But
she didn't try to apologize. 'We're all under a lot of pres-
sure, Nick, ' she said almost firmly. 'I figured it was better
to let them get together and talk. Get what's eating at
them out in the open. At least that way we know what
we're up against. '
Her tone made it clear that 'we' meant Nick and Liete
herself.
'Don't blame her, ' Mikka put in before Nick could
respond. 'It was my idea. I still outrank her - I told her
it was all right. '
Nick stifled an impulse to retort, You don't outrank
her now. You've got five minutes to get off this ship. But
he knew intuitively that a premature show of authority
would make the crisis worse. Before he did anything else,
he needed to take the temperature of this gathering, learn
how hotly the infection against him burned.
'I'll talk to you in a minute, ' he told Mikka. 'I'm not done with Liete. '
Precisely because he still trusted Liete, he let his anger
show in her direction. 'I sent you a message. Did you get
it?'
'I got it. ' Liete was tough: she didn't flinch or falter.
Despite appearances, she was the same woman who'd
flung herself at him to prevent him from killing Morn
when Morn's finger was on the ship's self-destruct. And
she was still on his side.
'Did you do what I told you?'
'Of course. ' She sounded slightly insulted.
Nick permitted himself an internal sigh of relief. That
was one less worry. Feeling marginally stronger, he
demanded, 'So what the hell happened to the drive? I left
it on standby. '
Liete had more than one reason to look unhappy. Her
eyes seemed to beg him to let her apologize as she
reported, 'Operations sent us an ultimatum. I guess they
got tired of ordering us to shut down. They told me if I
didn't comply they were going to undock us. Seal their
locks, drop the lines, unclamp. You would have been cut
off- you couldn't get back. ' As if she were holding her
breath, she finished, 'So I did what they said. '
Nick needed time to absorb this; time he didn't have.
Instead of sending guards when his wire stopped trans-
mitting, the Bill had taken action in other ways. But Nick
couldn't afford to consider the implications now. He had
a more immediate crisis on his hands.
With an effort of will, he gave Liete a nod. 'All right. '
Then he turned his attention back to Mikka.
Facing his second as if he dared her to challenge him,
he said, 'I told you to put together a team for a raid. Did
that get done?'
Mikka's capacity to confront him was more pro-
nounced than Liete's. We're ready, ' she answered
harshly. 'I've got Allum for demolition. Sib knows as
much about electronic jamming as any of the rest of us.
Simper can supply firepower. ' She shrugged. 'I'll handle
the rest myself. We can go as soon as you give us a target
- and tell us what you want brought back. '
'"Brought back"?' A laugh burst out of him before he
could stifle it. Mikka was thinking about Morn: he was
certain of that. But he had no intention of trying to
recover Morn. She was simply bait; a way to get what he
wanted from Milos and Angus - and maybe from Mikka
herself. In any case, Morn was an Amnioni by now, as
lost and damned as if she'd fallen into the gap. Mikka
should have realized that the only thing Nick could poss-
ibly want 'brought back' was Davies.
Now that wasn't necessary.
But he wasn't going to say so; not yet. 'All right, ' he
drawled again. Although he faced Mikka, he directed his
voice to the rest of the bridge. 'You're still following
orders, so I'll assume this isn't an active mutiny. You've
been talking about it, but you haven't actually decided to
do it yet.
'Why don't you tell me why you're even willing to
consider that kind of self-destruct?'
'You've got it wrong, Nick, ' Mikka began. We haven't
gone that far. We -'
We want to know, ' Carmel put in, 'what's going on. '
At once Lind, Scorz, and several others nodded. Sib
and Pup looked like they'd forgotten how to breathe.
We've all been to Billingate, ' the scan first explained,
'but you've never locked us in before. There's an Amnion
warship in dock and another out there ready to blast us.
Without a gap drive, we might as well abandon ship -
but Operations won't let us at the shipyard. You gave
Morn to the Amnion' - Carmel never hesitated to say
what she was thinking — 'which makes some of us wonder
if we're next. You keep leaving the ship and coming back,
but we don't know what you do when you go out. Liete
says you're trying to find a way to save us. Some of us
think you're making arrangements to sell us so you can
save yourself.
'You know me, Nick, ' she concluded. 'I like an expla-
nation. I always feel better when I know what's going
on. '
Nick glared at her so that he wouldn't grin. The tic in
his cheek wanted him to grin; it tugged at his scars to
make him bare his teeth. If he gave in to it now, he might
never recover.
Glowering darkly, he retorted, 'Is that all? Why didn't
you say so in the first place?' A yell rose up in him; he
fought it down, forced himself to speak quietly. What
do you idiots use for brains? If I could save myself by
selling you, I would be tempted. But most of you aren't
worth betraying.
'I'm the one who's in trouble here. Haven't you figured
that out yet? It's all on my head. The Amnion wouldn't
accept any or all of you as a substitute for me - and the
Bill sure as hell won't. If you want to come out of this
whole, all you have to do is keep your fucking heads
down and don't get in my way. '
His people watched him as if he were about to go nova
in front of them.
'You want to know what's going on?' he growled. 'I'll
tell you. Morn Hyland is a fucking cop! At first that wasn't
a problem. We had her with Hashi Lebwohl's per-
mission. But after we went to Enablement DA and the
whole goddamn UMCP stopped trusting us. Now they
want her back. But since they don't trust us - since they
assume we've already sold her and ourselves - they aren't
just going to ask us nicely if we would please hand her
over. They're coming after us for blood.
That's why Trumpet is here. Lebwohl has always had
a hand in Taverner's pocket. Most of the time when we
worked with Milos he was working with DA at the same
time. And Captain Thermo-pile may be the worst
motherfucker in the galaxy, but he knows it when he's
been strung up by the balls. He gave Morn a zone
implant - and by now the cops know that. So DA has
given him a chance for a reprieve by letting him come
here with Milos to get her back.
'I found that out, ' he went on before the crew could
react, 'by leaving you here to talk about mutiny behind
my back. And I gave Morn to the Amnion so we wouldn't
be Captain Thermo-pile's target - so he'd go after the
Amnion instead of us.
'Hell, ' he snorted, 'they're only two men. All they've
got is a gap scout. Do you think we don't need to be
afraid of them? I don't think that. They've got the whole
UMCP behind them. They probably have an entire flo-
tilla right at the edge of forbidden space, just waiting for
an excuse to come in and slag us. They could do that
if we still had Morn. They could tell the Amnion,
they could guarantee, they wouldn't touch anything
but us. This "incursion" isn't an act of war, just a rescue
mission. '
Now he had them. He could see it in Simper's open
face and Liete's dedication, in Scorz' astonishment and
Pastille's unwilling respect and Sib's dismay. They may
have wanted to reject his explanation, but they were
seduced by it in spite of themselves. Only Vector Shaheed
managed to look unconvinced.
'I've already saved us from that, ' Nick pronounced.
'I've saved myself, as well as all of you. And now I've got
a chance to solve the rest of our problems. Milos and
Captain Thermo-pile are going after Morn. They can't
exactly negotiate her release, so they're going to try to
cut her out of the Amnion sector. And when that happens
- when the fighting starts - we'll be ready.
'Unless, ' he sneered, 'we can't move because we're in
the middle of something suicidal, like a mutiny.
'While the UMCP and the Amnion are exchanging
raids and threats and maybe even fire, we'll do what we
came here for in the first place. We'll sell the Bill DA's
immunity drug - or what looks like DA's immunity drug.
He'll buy - he won't have any choice. He'll believe that's
what the UMCP and the Amnion are really risking a war
over. And he won't have time to test it. This whole fuck-
ing installation will be in chaos. So he'll do the only thing
he can to protect himself. He'll slap a new gap drive in
here so fast it'll make you dizzy because he'll want us
gone before the Amnion or the cops realize what we've
done.
'I'm going to save us - unless you idiots manage to get
us all killed first. ' At last he allowed himself to shout,
'Have I made myself dear?
It was a tissue of lies, of course; almost entirely fabri-
cated. Nick believed that Taverner and Thermopyle had
come to rescue Morn: he'd invented the rest as he went
along. Nevertheless it worked. Before any of the crew
responded, he knew that he'd gained the time he needed
for his other plans.
His people were accustomed to believing him. Some
of them were no longer looking at him: they were too
shaken by their own thoughts to notice his wild grin and
the flaring spasm in his cheek as he lost control of himself
for a moment. Others clung to him with their eyes full
of nausea or hope.
'Jesus, Nick, ' Lind breathed as if he were in shock.
Carmel nodded to herself like a woman whose uncer-
tainties had been relieved. The tremor of Mackern's lower
lip made him look like a kid being yelled at by his parents.
Pup's gaze flashed back and forth between Mikka and
Vector, hunting for reassurance.
Liete didn't smile or sigh; yet her eyes shone as if she'd
been given a gift - as if Nick had proved once again that
he was worth everything she ached to offer him.
Vector kept his opinion to himself. Of all the people
on the bridge, only Mikka struggled against Nick's expla-
nation, trying to find the lie.
'If what you say is true, ' she asked slowly, sounding
uncharacteristically hesitant, 'why do you want a raiding
team?'
'I don't, ' Nick snapped, 'not anymore. ' He couldn't
help himself: he raised a hand to cover his tic. 'It was just
a precaution anyway, in case I was wrong about why
Trumpet is here. '
Mikka frowned doubtfully. She may not have believed
him, but apparently she couldn't think of a way to chal-
lenge him further. 'In that case, ' she said grimly to the
scan third, "you'd better go stow your gear, Allum. I
don't want to leave all those explosives and detonators
lying around. '
Nick had won: that was obvious. It showed in the
way Allum looked at him and waited for his nod before
moving to obey the command second.
Rubbing his cheek, Nick tried to feel that this victory
wasn't hollow.
Liete would have reassured him, if he'd given her the
chance. He could have tested his success by probing the
people around him. But he didn't have time: the chron-
ometer was running on Angus' deadline. And if his vic-
tory was hollow he needed to act on it now, before its
illusions dissipated.
Mikka had started to turn away. He put his hand on
her arm to stop her. Swallowing a sudden lump in his
throat - the distress of his awareness that she was the
best of his people, and if he didn't dispose of her soon
she would eventually turn others against him - he said,
'I've got a job for you. ' His tone was casual and false.
'While we're waiting for Captain Thermo-pile to win his
reprieve, we need to set up our own plans.
'I want you to take somebody' - he made a show of
scanning the bridge for candidates - 'take Sib and go to
the cruise. Find out where Soar's crew is. Their captain
has some kind of special relationship with the Bill. '
Unnecessarily he pointed out, 'Otherwise he wouldn't
have used her ship to pick up our pod. ' Then he resumed,
'Make sure you've put yourself where some of her people
can hear you — and where the Bill's bugeyes can pick you
up. It's important that what you say gets back to both of
them.
'I want you to start a rumor about the immunity drug.
Talk to Sib about it. Say you've heard Soar's captain has
a drug that protects her from the Amnion. That's why
she's so close to the Bill - why Billingate gives her special
status. Talk about it until you're sure her crew hears you.
Then move on.
That should prime the Bill. When I'm ready to deal
with him, he'll be salivating for a chance to do business.
'Don't come back here right away. I don't want them
to think I sent you out just to start a rumor. Stay on the
cruise for a while. In fact, stay there until I come get you.
I'll wait until Captain Thermo-pile makes his move. That
way I can be sure the timing is right. '
If this worked, Nick could launch his plans against
Sorus Chatelaine and rid himself of Mikka and Sib with
one stroke.
Mikka's eyes were dark with doubt. He knew her well:
he could see her uncertainty in the lines of her frown and
the angle of her hips. But while his illusions held the
bridge she couldn't oppose him. If she gave him a reason
to demote her now, she was finished.
'Do you think you can handle it?' he asked maliciously.
'Or should I send somebody else?'
'Oh, I can handle it. ' Mikka's gaze couldn't hold his;
it drifted almost involuntarily toward her brother. Pup
was her only weakness - the only vulnerability she
couldn't ignore. As long as Nick sent her out and kept
him, she would have to do exactly what she was told. In
a beaten tone, she added, 'Just don't forget us. I don't
want to be stranded here. ' As she turned toward the
aperture, she sighed over her shoulder, 'Come on, Sib.
We might as well get started. '
Mackern's face twisted as if he were trying to screw up
the courage for an objection. But his bravery was like his
mustache, indistinguishable most of the time. The sweat
on his face might have been tears as he followed Mikka
off the bridge.
And good riddance, Nick thought. He studied his crew
again as if he needed more candidates: he didn't want to
make the fact that he'd already decided whom to get rid
of too obvious.
Like a man who'd just had a good idea, he turned
toward Vector.
The engineer looked at him squarely. Vector should
have been grateful that he was still alive; should have
been eager to make restitution for his mistakes. But he
didn't appear grateful - or alarmed. His smile was calm
and impersonal, as if he'd used up his ability to worry
about what happened to him.
'That was clever, Nick. ' He sounded as mild and
unthreatening as he looked. 'Now I'm the only one left. '
Because his tic was hidden by his hand, Nick let himself
grin. 'You and Pup, ' he amended. 'I've got a job for you,
too. '
Vector laughed softly. 'Imagine my surprise. '
Nick didn't care how much of the truth Vector
guessed. As long as Mikka thought he had Pup, she
was helpless. And without Mikka — without her sup-
port, her determination, her expertise — Vector was
nothing.
'This is crucial, ' Nick said past his hand. 'You're the
engineers, so it's up to you. I want you to take all the
repair specs for our gap drive and go find the shipyard
foreman. Make sure he has the parts to get us fixed.
'He won't want to talk to you without orders from the
Bill. It's up to you to convince him. Tell him it's official
- I'm talking to the Bill right now, all we have to do is
work out the details. Tell him he'll get his orders' - for an
entirely different reason, Nick consulted a chronometer -
'in about four hours, and when he does they're going to
have emergency priority. If he doesn't fix us and fix us
fast, the Bill is going to string his guts from one end of
the cruise to the other.
'If he hasn't got the parts, make him scavenge them.
Help him if you have to. '
Holding Vector's eyes - daring him to refuse - Nick
waited for a response.
Vector went on smiling like a man who'd already made
the only decision that mattered and had nothing more to
say.
'Why do I have to go?' Pup put in with a hint of
Mikka's truculence. 'I'm just a kid - I'm not going to
convince anybody. '
Simply to release tension, Lind laughed like a crackle
of static.
'Shut up, Ciro, ' Vector instructed. Ciro was Pup's real
name. Vector said it in the same tone he would have used
to offer Pup coffee. This isn't what it looks like. If I'm
leaving the ship, I want you with me. '
Pastille made a sour jibe, which the rest of the bridge
ignored.
Spasms pulled at Nick's cheek like an erratic heartbeat;
but he went on grinning because he couldn't stop.
By the time he left Captain's Fancy himself to meet his
deadline with the Bill, the people he distrusted most were
no longer aboard. Mikka and Vector — and maybe even
Sib - might have caused Liete trouble; but she could
certainly handle everybody else.
And he was sure she would follow all the orders he'd
given her.
He was no more than a minute or two late when he
reached the strongroom and demanded to see the Bill.
DAVIES
Davies Hyland paced his cell as if he were measur-
ing a grave. Six steps on one side, five on the
other. Room for a head and a cot; a few
pushups: nothing more. Walls and loneliness were his
only companions.
At times he wanted to scream. At other times he
wanted to sob. Occasionally he wondered why he was
sane. Human beings weren't designed by nature or
trained by society to withstand the stress of circumstances
like his.
His mind and his body were fundamentally wrong for
each other. He was male, yet he couldn't remember being
anything except female.
And he was a prisoner: a pawn in a conflict over which
he had no control - a conflict which he could scarcely
comprehend because of the black hole in his head where
crucial memories should have been. As far as he knew,
no one wanted him alive except his mother, whose plight
was probably even worse than his; and the Amnion, who
intended to make him one of them.
Beyond question he should have collapsed into raving
or withdrawn into autism.
But he didn't.
Despite all the force and harm arrayed against him, he
was charged with survival; primed to fight for his life.
Behind his isolation, underneath his fear, every pulse and
shimmer of energy was ready for battle.
Because of the black hole, he couldn't guess that a
strange and fertile interaction had taken place between
his father's biochemistry and his mother's use of her zone
implant. He couldn't imagine that he'd been conditioned
in Morn's womb to meet his impenetrable dilemma.
Angus Thermopyle had given his son a genetic inherit-
ance of toughness, stubbornness; a grim and bloody-
minded refusal to be broken. And Morn Hyland had
spent months driving herself to sexual, psychological and
physical extremes which she could never have endured
without the artificial pressure and control of her zone
implant. In a sense, her son had been inured to stress as
a fetus. Every cell of his tiny body had grown accustomed
to levels of stimulation which could have triggered car-
diac arrest in anyone else. In effect, he was an adrenalin
addict — and his addiction kept him whole when he
should have snapped.
So he roamed the confines of his cell more like a caged
predator than a sixteen-year-old boy. Ignoring the obvi-
ous monitors and the impersonal concrete, he paced from
wall to wall, toning his strange muscles, training his mind
to accept them. He already had his father's thick strength,
if not his father's bulk: he tested it with pushups, situps,
handstands, leaps. Exercises and skills his mother had
learned in the Academy he repeated until his alien ship-
suit was rough with sweat and his hands began to under-
stand how the blocks and punches could be used. Then
he continued pacing.
At the same time he chewed on his memories and his
predicament with a doggedness which came from both
his parents: trying to force himself to remember; trying
to reason his way across the gaps in what he knew and
understood.
He'd told the Bill that Morn and Nick Succorso were
working together for the UMCP. Now the Bill was hold-
ing him here, rather than turning him over to Nick - or
to the Amnion. Was there a connection? Did the Bill
think the plot was aimed at him? Or was he afraid to take
sides in Morn's — and Nick's — presumed connivance
against the Amnion? If his only loyalty was to himself,
in which direction would he move to protect himself
from danger? To profit from the Amnion was one thing:
to risk exposure to their mutagens was something else
entirely.
Davies assumed that the Bill had no intention of letting
himself be made Amnion. He wouldn't hesitate to sell
his prisoner, but he would never sell himself. Therefore
he had to keep his options open until he knew what
was at stake. Other people think you're valuable, and I'm
going to know why before I make up my mind about you.
That was probably why Davies was still a prisoner - still
safe.
So it was only a matter of time before the Bill came to
question him again. Sooner or later, the Bill would ask
him for more information about Nick and Morn.
He wanted it to be sooner. Right now. While his toler-
ance for stress still protected him.
His cell contained a head, but no san. He would have
liked to get clean. Even a fresh - a human - shipsuit
would have been nice. Apparently the Amnion didn't
sweat; the shipsuit he'd been given on Enablement didn't
absorb much moisture. By now it was damp enough to
chafe when he exercised.
Grimly he continued working under the eye of the
monitors as if he never needed rest.
Come on, you bastard. Question me again. Ask me to
tell you what's going on.
Give me another chance.
Before it's too late.
Nevertheless he did need rest. Despite his conditioning,
he was only human.
No doubt because the Bill wanted it that way and was
willing to wait for the opportunity, Davies was asleep
when his captor came to talk to him.
Lost in dreams of sweat and Amnion, he heard the
Bill's mocking voice. 'Ah, the innocent slumber of the
young. ' At first he thought it came from an Amnioni.
But it smelled like the souring musk of his own body.
What a joy to be able to sleep and dream so cleanly. '
Adrenalin brought him back to consciousness like an
electric charge. Nevertheless he was cautious. With delib-
erate slowness, he opened his eyes.
Tall and incongruously enthusiastic, as thin as a
cadaver, the Bill stood by the door. This time his only
guard was the woman Davies had seen with him before
- the beautiful middle-aged woman with the rich voice
and the stiff carriage. She had a stun-prod tucked into
the front of her shipsuit as if she felt sure she wouldn't
need it.
Davies knew nothing about her, not even her name.
But she was the Bill's ally. On Thanatos Minor, in
Amnion space, anyone who needed an ally was vul-
nerable.
Totally alert, and determined to conceal it, Davies
fumbled for the edge of the cot to pull himself into a
sitting position. Scrubbing at his face as if he were trying
to wake himself up, he muttered, 'What do you want?'
Sounding deceptively happy, the Bill said, 'I want to
ask you some questions. Be a good boy and answer them. '
Davies made an effort to look bleary-eyed. 'Are you
going to let me out if I cooperate?'
The Bill chuckled shortly. 'Of course not. '
Groaning, Davies stretched back out on the cot. 'Then
why should I bother?'
'Because it's less painful, ' the Bill replied with a grin.
'If I were feeling charitable - which I'm not - I could
give you drugs to make you talk. Or I could install a zone
implant in your ugly skull and take the matter out of
your hands. Or' - he shrugged - 'I could do BR surgery
on you until you begged me to let you cooperate. '
'Sure, sure. ' Davies dismissed the threat. 'You could
do all that. But I'm only merchandise here. You made
that clear. If you want to make a profit on me, you won't
damage the merchandise. '
The Bill studied Davies for a moment. Then he
remarked to his companion, 'Snotty little bugger, isn't
he. Maybe you should tell him why he wants to
cooperate. '
The woman didn't hesitate. 'Davies, you're
smart enough to understand the position you're in.
Nobody ever accused your father of being stupid,
and if your mother were she wouldn't have made
it through the Academy. Sure, you're nothing but mer-
chandise. But you care who you're sold to. Believe me,
you care. '
'What has that got to do with answering questions?'
Davies interrupted. 'You're just trying to figure out how
much you can get for me. You aren't going to let me
choose who buys me. '
'It's not that simple, ' the Bill snapped; but his tone
wasn't angry. 'Events are moving in too many different
directions at once. There's too much at stake. I'm not
worried about how much profit I'll make on you. I'm
worried about selling you to the wrong party. Until I
know what's going on, I can't decide whether to deal
with Captain Nick or the Amnion. '
'If you're sold to Succorso, ' the woman put in, 'you'll
go back to your own people. The cops. That is, if you're
telling the truth about Succorso and Morn Hyland work-
ing together. But if you go to the Amnion, you'll end up
like Marc Vestabule. '
Davies remembered Vestabule. Noradrenalin crackled
through his synapses like static. The pressure in his veins
was too intense to let him remain horizontal. Surging off
the cot, he gained his feet and retreated to the wall oppo-
site the door. With his back to the concrete, he faced the
Bill.
Succorso intended to give him to the Amnion. Davies
had told the Bill the lie that Nick and Morn were working
together in a blind effort to weaken Nick's hand,
strengthen Morn's. From that point of view, he had no
reason to care who got him.
But if events were moving in too many different directions
at once, the Bill might soon be forced to a choice, regard-
less of whether or not Davies cooperated with him. Then
Davies' relative safety in his cell would end.
And he did care. The route which led to the Amnion
through Succorso was less direct; maybe less inevitable.
If he went by that route, he might live a little longer. He
might even get the chance to do Succorso some harm
along the way.
Swallowing at the tension in his throat, he asked,
'What do you want to know?'
The Bill smiled. 'That's better, ' he said approvingly. 'I
like cooperation.
'Why don't you start by telling me why Captain Nick
went to Enablement?'
Davies' heart pounded in his chest. Alive with fear and
energy, he said, 'As far as I know, it was so Morn could
have me. She was pregnant, but she knew she couldn't
raise me from a baby. They went to Enablement so I
could be force-grown. '
'Why?' the Bill demanded shortly. What's so special
about you?'
'I don't know. ' Davies didn't have to feign the distress
in his eyes. They didn't tell me. Maybe it didn't have
anything to do with me. I mean, anything personal.
Maybe she just wanted to keep me, but she couldn't
afford what it would cost to have a - a normal son. All
that time and care. ' Maybe she needed an ally so desper-
ately that she wanted her mind imprinted on me rather
than letting me learn my own. Maybe she couldn't wait
sixteen years for me to be old enough to help her. 'Maybe
what she and Nick are doing is so important that she
couldn't afford to be hampered by a baby. '
The Bill twisted his mouth to one side. 'That is a pro-
vocative notion, young Davies. You're saying she's so
special that she can demand and get that kind of risk from Captain Nick - so special that the cops would rather chance losing her to the Amnion than say no to her. Or else being pregnant is part of what made her special — perhaps because it gave her an excuse to go to Enablement. The cops had a reason of their own for
sending her and Captain Nick there. '
'I guess, ' Davies murmured thinly.
The Bill's eyes glittered. 'You can do better than
that. '
'No, I can't, ' Davies protested. He didn't like sounding
so frightened. It came to him too easily. 'You must know
something about how the Amnion force-grow babies.
You know I got my mind from her. That's why you think
I can answer your questions. But I have some kind of
memory block. Maybe it's amnesia. Or maybe those
memories were never transferred. I can remember her
whole life until Starmaster was destroyed. After that it all
stops. I only know what she told me.
'She didn't have time to tell me much. The Amnion
came after us - we were running for our lives all the way
here. '
'So what you're saying' - the Bill ran his tongue around
his thin lips - 'is that our Captain Nick had the colossal
and imponderable gall to cheat the Amnion on one of
their own stations. Is that right?'
'It's more than that, ' the woman interposed. 'He's
saying Succorso had something so valuable to offer them
that they were willing to trade force-growing for it. And
then he cheated by not giving it to them. '
'Is that right, Davies?' the Bill repeated. His. eyes
caught and reflected the light like polished steel.
Here Davies was on surer ground. The Bill couldn't
possibly guess how the Amnion had been cheated, or by
whom. Tuning his fright to truculence, Davies answered,
'I don't know. I wasn't born yet when they made their
deal. All I know is, they came after us. They tried to blast
us a few days ago, but Succorso evaded them somehow. '
'That could be true, ' the woman said to the Bill.
'Maybe force-growing did leave holes in his memories.
We don't know enough about it to be sure. But didn't
you say Captain Succorso was about to make you some
kind of offer when I walked in and' - she smiled sardoni-
cally - 'distracted him?'
'I did, ' the Bill confirmed. 'He was. He had a deal in
mind. He may have been about to offer me the same
thing he offered the Amnion.
'But you weren't the only distraction, you know, ' he
added. Without belittling your effect on Captain Nick,
I must point out that there were other factors. '
The woman shrugged. 'I'm not so sure. You saw the
look on his face - he nearly had an infarction. I think
you'll be making a mistake if you believe anything is more
important to him than getting even with me. '
The Bill considered this as if Davies weren't present.
'Then you don't credit the notion that he's working with
Morn Hyland for the cops?'
'Of course I credit it, ' she returned calmly. 'It's quite
possible. He should have died after what I did to him.
How did he survive? He must have gotten lucky - must
have been rescued. That would have brought him to the
attention of the cops. They could easily have recruited
him them. Trained him, supplied him with a ship and
cover, given him everything he needed. All I'm saying is
that I think now his priorities have shifted.
'Which, ' she concluded, 'only makes him more
dangerous. '
'On that we agree, at any rate, ' the Bill said in his
boyish voice. 'Captain Nick is dangerous. If he weren't,
I wouldn't have to take his demand for young Davies
seriously. '
His long head swung back toward Davies. 'But there
is just one small flaw in your intriguing theory that Cap-
tain Nick and Morn Hyland are working together - that
they went to Enablement in order to cheat the Amnion
and draw them here; so that they could spring some
kind of unexplained UMCP trap. For the moment, we'll
ignore the question of who the trap's intended victim is.
Could it be aimed at me? Is it designed for the Amnion
themselves? Or is it merely a means to recapture Captain
Angus? Never mind.
'Young Davies, the flaw in your theory is this. A few
hours after Captain Nick visited me and nearly made
his mysterious offer so that he could buy you back, he
personally delivered Morn Hyland to the Amnion sector.
She hasn't been seen since their airlocks closed behind
her.
'How do you account for this?'
Like Nick, but for very different reasons, Davies nearly
had an infarction -
delivered
- and couldn't afford to show it. He ducked his head
to shroud his eyes, but that wasn't enough; he had to
conceal the way his muscles bunched and knotted to fling
him at the Bill's long throat -
Morn Hyland
- had to conceal the passion and panic firing through
him as if his nerves were high-tension cables; absolutely
couldn't afford to rage or cry out -
to the Amnion.
If he unlocked his heart for an instant, he would go
berserk. Sobbing Morn Morn MORN he would attack
the Bill and the woman until they killed him.
As if his larynx were full of sand, he gritted out, 'I'm
not sure. I keep telling you she and I didn't have much
time to talk. And I can't remember anything that hap-
pened to her between when Starmaster went down and
I was born. '
Nick had given his mother to the Amnion. To punish
her for rescuing her son from Enablement. For using her
zone implant to mislead him. And to compensate them
for his failure to deliver Davies now. But Davies was the
one the Amnion wanted, not Morn; he should have gone
to them in her place. He had nothing to lose except the
few days since he'd climbed out of the creche; she would
lose an entire life.
Yet it was already too late to save her. By now her
genetic ruin was certainly begun and probably complete.
Even if he threw himself on his knees and begged begged,
the Bill to trade him for her, even if he told the Bill
everything he knew or could guess about her so that the
Bill would understand how valuable she was, it was too
late. Nothing could reach her now.
Nothing of her remained human except the part Davies
himself carried - the part he used for a mind.
He couldn't hide the focused yellow glare in his eyes
as he raised his head.
'But it fits, doesn't it, ' he said in the same abraded tone.
'It's consistent with the rest of what they're doing. It
looks worse, but it's really no different than going to
Enablement. They're putting her neck in the noose
because they've got something to gain by it. '
The woman watched him steadily, as if she were start-
ing to respect him. Softly she pronounced, That's
absurd. '
A wail Davies couldn't quash rose up in his chest.
Clenching his fists until his arms shook, he shouted, 'Did
she look like she was trying to resist? Did she fight him?'
His loss seemed to recoil from the concrete and fall to
the floor. Abruptly he regained control of himself.
Almost quietly, he continued, 'Or did they just talk to
each other along the way?'
The Bill, too, watched Davies. Shadows muffled the
brightness of his eyes. 'They talked, ' he admitted. 'I have
it recorded. But their voices aren't clear. I don't know
what they said. '
'In that case' — because he was desperate, Davies let
nothing wild or impossible stand in his way — 'I think
you should consider the possibility that she's protected
somehow. Maybe Succorso didn't cheat the Amnion.
Maybe he made a deal with them. The pursuit might be
a ruse. Maybe the Amnion have already agreed not
to touch her — and she has some good reason to trust
them.
'Or maybe she's immune. '
'Immune?' The Bill kept his tone low, but his voice
cracked like a lash.
Inspired by urgency, Davies replied, The Amnion
design mutagens. Why can't' - he searched Morn's mem-
ories for names - 'Intertech or some other UMC research
facility design antimutagens?' Hurrying so that he
wouldn't have time to falter, he finished, 'Maybe that's
what Nick was going to offer you. Before he was dis-
tracted. '
The Bill stared at Davies with his mouth open. Past
his teeth and tongue, his throat gaped like a hole - a gap
into darkness. When he closed his jaws, he had to swal-
low twice before he could murmur, 'This is chaff, star-
shine. He's inventing it. '
Color flushed the woman's cheeks; her eyes were wide
with surprise. 'But it makes a certain kind of sense. '
The Bill swung around to face her. 'What sense?
'Suppose it's true, ' she replied without taking her gaze
off Davies. 'Suppose Succorso and Hyland are working
together. For the UMCP. Against us. ' Her voice was
vibrant with implications. 'And they have some type of
antimutagen. That's the bait, the trade - that's what they
offered the Amnion. They went to Enablement to make
a deal. Using her pregnancy as an excuse. Then they came
here. With a retinue of defensives.
The whole point is to destroy us - destroy Billingate.
The Amnion want the antimutagen. Succorso and
Hyland offered to trade it for our destruction. But the
Amnion can't just come here and blast us. That would
ruin their credibility with every illegal in human space —
it would set them back decades, maybe centuries. They
need an excuse. '
Davies stared back at her as if he were stunned by what
he'd started; but he didn't interrupt.
'So the deal, ' she went on, 'is that Succorso would offer
you the antimutagen. Then, after he had time to get
away, the Amnion would fry Thanatos Minor. And Suc-
corso would spread the story that you were dealing anti-
mutagens - that the Amnion destroyed Billingate to stifle
the secret. A lie like that might pacify the rest of the
illegals enough to keep them in business.
What went wrong is that Succorso changed his mind
when he saw me. Suddenly revenge was more important
than the cops. So he didn't offer you the antimutagen.
He's got other ideas now. But the Amnion aren't going
to take that lying down. They sent Marc Vestabule to
Captain's Fancy to demand Hyland as a hostage - a way
to guarantee Succorso keeps his part of the deal. She's
safe as long as he doesn't renege. '
In silence Davies pleaded with the Bill to believe her.
He wanted to believe her himself.
'It still doesn't-' the Bill protested.
'Listen!' the woman insisted. 'It does make sense. Poli-
ticians think the same way you do. The fastest way to get
rich is to work the middle between enemies. But that's
less effective if the enemies are actually fighting. To really
get rich you need the conflict - and you need peace. You
need the kind of peace that preserves the conflict. What
Succorso and Hyland are doing gives both sides some-
thing they want. The cops get rid of us - the Amnion
get the antimutagen. Which makes a war less likely in
the short term, and makes both sides stronger over the
long haul. If you were in Holt Fasner's position, you
might do the same thing. '
The Bill couldn't contain himself. Like an angry child,
he shouted, 'But we don't have any reason to think it's
true! Just because a scared brat with an imprinted mind
says it doesn't make it a fact! For all we know, he's
inventing the whole thing. He's probably just trying to
frighten us because he figures the more frightened we are
the longer we'll hold him, and while we hold him he's
safer
'Then tell me something. ' Now the woman faced the
Bill. Neither of them paid any attention to Davies. Hold-
ing her companion's gaze hard, she asked, 'What's Suc-
corso doing with Thermopyle and Taverner? Plotting
something, obviously - but what? Why? Gam-Mine only
caught Thermopyle because Succorso set him up. What
have they got to talk about?'
'No. ' The Bill shook his long head unsteadily. 'You tell
me. '
Her gaze sharpened. 'Didn't you hear them? What hap-
pened to all your bugeyes — your wires? What good are
they, if they can't pick it up when something important
happens?'
The Bill shrugged as if he were slightly embarrassed.
'They were in a public bar. Not by coincidence, I'm sure.
There was a lot of background noise. And Captain Angus
took offense at the nearest wire. He chased her away.
Also not by chance, I'm sure - although I have no idea
how he identified her - because Captain Nick later
singled her out for one of his notorious seductions, and
by that time he knew enough about her to disable her
transmitter.
'Then the bugeyes in the bar developed a fault. So far
that looks like a coincidence. '
If the woman was surprised, she didn't show it. 'What
did he want her for?'
The twisting of the Bill's mouth suggested distaste.
'Sex, of course. And he wanted to scare her, apparently
so she would tell him where his merchandise is being
held. As far as I can discover, that was his only reason
for disabling her transmitter - to scare her. Otherwise he
wouldn't have left her alive to tell me what happened.'
'All right.' The woman nodded sharply. Then it does
fit.
'Seducing and disabling your wire is just a distraction.
He did it to confuse you. I think what he really wants
Thermopyle and Taverner for is to help him against me.
'Right now, his position is too weak. The antimutagen
is his only lever. He's hanging on to it - risking his deal
with the Amnion - because it's all he has. But if he can
persuade or possibly trick Thermopyle into helping him,
he'll have an ally. Then he can go ahead with his original
plans and still have a chance at revenge.'
The Bill met her gaze for a moment longer.
Slowly they turned together to face Davies again.
'Well?' the Bill asked, nearly whispering. 'You started
this. What do you make of the fact that Captain Nick has
been seen drinking on the cruise with your father?'
Davies could hardly speak. Nick Succorso had turned
his mother over to the Amnion for reasons which had
nothing to do with antimutagens. The loss of her made
him feel orphaned, maimed. And the reaction to his lie
was dramatic — so dramatic that it stunned him. The first
couple of times the Bill and his companion mentioned
Angus Thermopyle's name, it made no impression on
him. As far as he was concerned, his father was unreal:
an abstract concept; a man who may never have existed.
But as they repeated Angus' name and turned toward
him, he began to hear what they'd said. Captain Angus
Thermopyle was here. With a man called Taverner.
Apparently out of nowhere, Davies' father arrived just
when his mother was lost.
His heart jumped as if the two events were connected.
Angus was fatal, of course. Morn had implied as much.
And Nick had called him a pirate and a butcher and a
petty thief. He was the kind of man Morn - and Davies
with her - had dedicated her life against.
But he was still Davies' father.
His arrival now meant something.
Davies couldn't afford to ignore the Bill's demand -
or betray what he thought and felt. With an effort, he
crushed down his distress. Almost meeting the Bill's gaze,
he breathed, 'I didn't know my father was here. I thought
he was in lockup on Com-Mine. I wasn't sure he was still
alive. '
That, ' the Bill rasped, 'doesn't answer my question. '
'Yes, it does. ' Davies let himself sound truculent. 'I've
never met my father. I can't remember him. How should
I know what he and Captain Succorso are doing
together?' But he didn't stop there. The Bill's companion
had given him the hint he needed. More bitterly by the
moment, he continued, 'Maybe it's what she said. Maybe
Succorso is using him to plant the story that you've got
an antimutagen for sale. '
Like a kid experimenting with profanity, the Bill
retorted loudly, 'Damnation! Damn both of you! You're
making me dizzy. How many conspiracies and plots do
you think you can find in situations you know nothing
about? You' - he jerked his long head at his companion
- 'are pinning everything on what you hear from a scared,
force-grown child who probably isn't even sane. And you'
- he poked a finger at Davies - 'admit you've got holes
in your head where you should have facts. You want me
to believe you can't remember anything Morn Hyland
knew or saw between Starmaster's destruction and your
own birth a few days ago, and at the same time you want
me to take you seriously while you speculate about things
you can't remember.
This isn't an interrogation. It's a farce. '
Davies blinked as if he were on the verge of tears. The
woman didn't reply.
In a whirl of joints and limbs, the Bill turned back to
her. 'I'm leaving this with you, ' he said through his teeth.
We agree Captain Nick is dangerous. And we agree he
wants to get even with you. So you're at risk here at least
as much as I am. It's your job to learn the truth.
Torture him' - the Bill indicated Davies - 'if you want
to. The Amnion will accept damaged merchandise, even
if Captain Nick won't. As long as he's human, they won't
worry about the details. Or capture a few people from
Captain's Fancy and torture them. I don't care how you
do it. Just find out the truth.
'Come talk to me when you've got something we can
count on. '
Without waiting for an answer, the Bill left the cell.
The woman fixed her attention on Davies again. Her
hand rested lightly on the handle of her stun-prod.
He glowered back at her, as belligerent as his father.
As she regarded him gravely, she said in a contralto
murmur, 'You may be wondering why Captain Succorso
wants to "get even" with me. It's simple, really. I gave
him those scars. But when I see you glaring like that, I
can't help thinking that if he'd ever looked at me the same
way I wouldn't have cut him. I would have killed him
where he stood.
'I'll be back as soon as I figure out how to get the truth out of you. '
She left Davies alone.
The door closed behind her. He heard it lock.
The monitors watched him as if his interrogation were
still going on.
Sick at heart, and determined to reveal nothing, he
stretched out on the cot, covered his eyes, and pretended
to rest.
ANCILLARY
DOCUMENTATION
GOVERNING COUNCIL
FOR EARTH AND SPACE
In some ways, the Governing Council for Earth and
Space was a haphazard organization. No one designed
it: it simply grew over time. And as it grew it suffered
mutations and grafts, like a burdock which a group of
bio-geneticists had arbitrarily selected for an experiment
in whether weeds could be made to bear apples.
Like most haphazard organizations, the GCES was
protective of its position. In reaction to the fact that there
was nothing organic or inevitable about its form - or
indeed about its actual existence - the Council took itself
extremely seriously. Its members debated policy, passed
legislation, imposed charters and reviewed jurisprudence
as if they had the authority of their entire species behind
them; as if the survival and integrity of humankind were
in their care.
As a bureaucratic entity, the GCES was blind to the
realities of both history and politics.
The reality of history was that the Council came into
being as a reaction to rather than as a control for events.
It was a fact long since forgotten by most GCES
members that their political body began as a minor sub-
division of another governmental entity.
During the period of Earth's history in which commer-
cial enterprises and quasi-commercial conglomerates
began to put research facilities and industrial platforms
into space, most of the planet's sovereign nations slowly
came to recognize the need for an agency to coordinate
launches, trajectories, and orbits - to ensure, for example,
that corporations such as SMI and SpaceLab Inc. didn't
build stations which would interfere with each other's
activities, or which might - at worst - collide someday.
The original Agency was constituted as nothing more
than a clearing-house for launch-and-orbit related infor-
mation; as a means for avoiding disasters.
In a short time, however, it naturally took on a cor-
ollary function: it became a mechanism for processing
disputes. Its advisory papers and proposed protocols
accreted until they had the force of law. This develop-
ment was considered beneficial because it permitted con-
flicts to be resolved without the unwieldy expedient of
involving Earth's vast array of sovereign governments.
From that small seed, the eventual weed sprouted.
As the competition for Earth's last great resource -
space - grew more and more desperate, the Agency came
to be seen as increasingly vital: sometimes as a means to
gain advantage; more commonly as a means to prevent
the opposition from gaining advantage. There began
what might be called the hybridizing process. Sovereign
nations and commercial enterprises alike began to insist
on 'representation': they wished to have their own people
assigned to the Agency so that their interests would be
protected.
This was predictable, even though it was not foreseen
when the original entity was created. Because space was
a political as well as physical vacuum, chaos threatened
to render the Agency useless as nations and corporations
clamored to seat their representatives.
The danger was averted, however, when the Agency
itself was conceded the right to choose whom it would
represent, which interests and organizations were
empowered to supply it with members. An eminently
sensible solution in many ways, this development never-
theless had the effect of making the Agency much more
powerful - as well as considerably larger - than the
bureaucracy of which it was technically a subdivision.
Soon, therefore, the Agency - now called the Governing
Council for Space - succeeded at re-chartering itself as a
separate, independent organism.
Still the pattern of responding to events rather than
anticipating them held sway. Space was Earth's only
effective future. Even before the development of the gap
drive, with its concomitant influx of resources and oppor-
tunities, and certainly before contact with the Amnion,
with its strange admixture of wealth and peril, Earth had
no hope which did not derive from space. And the GCS
was responsible for space. Therefore the GCS was almost
responsible for Earth.
Predictably - and yet almost accidentally - the Council
found itself unable to meet its responsibilities unless it
expanded its function to include overseeing the conduct
of its constituent nations and corporations on Earth as
well as in space.
By this time, Earth was in no position to protest the
shift of authority from individual sovereign nations to
the Council. Rationalizing their dependency on space,
Earth's governments elected to view the shift of authority
as a change in semantics, not in substance. Where did the
Council's members come from? From Earth, of course;
perhaps by way of one station or another, but always
from Earth. Therefore Earth's nations had suffered no
fundamental loss of primacy. Their leaders were simply
called members rather than presidents or dictators; the
only real difference was that they exercised their powers
in a wider arena.
As a practical matter, however, relatively few of Earth's
nations and corporations were literally represented on the
Council. Their numbers would have been too large to be
effective. For that reason, the Council spawned its own
subdivisions, on Earth as well as in space. Earth's nations
were somewhat artificially combined to form six distinct
bodies: the United Western Bloc, the Eastern Union, the
Pacific Rim Conglomerate, the Combined Asian Islands
and Peninsulas, Continental Africa, and one quaintly
named Old Europe. In contrast, each space station outside
Earth's solar system represented itself: Valdor Industrial,
Sagittarius Unlimited, Com-Mine, Terminus, Betelgeuse
Primary, SpaceLab Annexe, New Outreach, Aleph Green,
and Orion's Reach. However, in recognition of Earth's
vastly greater population, each of the planet's six units was
authorized to supply the Council with two members; the
stations seated only one apiece.
By accretion rather than by public choice or policy, the
Council became the Governing Council for Earth and
Space.
The reality of politics was that the Council had been
invested with authority solely and squarely on the
assumption that this authority would never be effective.
The corporate leaders who precipitated the inception and
encouraged the growth of the Council did so to secure
their own enterprises, not to impose restrictions on them-
selves.
Consider the position of a man like Holt Fasner, in
the days when SMI was young, and Earth was dying of
its complex self-strangulation. Unless he were gifted with
prescience, he could hardly have forecast the develop-
ment of the gap drive - or the discovery of the Amnion.
On the other hand, he could easily have grasped that
Earth represented the single biggest obstacle to his own
future, the single biggest threat to his company's growth.
Driven by planetary hungers, Earth would suck dry
any development or discovery which occurred on a scale
smaller than interstellar travel or alien species. And the
prejudices and constraints of Earth-bound thinking -
genophobia, for instance - would work to block any
researcher, or any corporation, from developments or
discoveries large enough to outsize Earth's hungers.
From the first, men like Holt Fasner understood the
need to separate space from Earth's control.
This goal they achieved by mutating and grafting the
original Agency until it became the GCES. At every stage
in the process, they supplied the ideas - as well as the
votes - which enabled the Council to take charge of
Earth, rather than allowing Earth to retain authority over
space.
On the other hand, men like Holt Fasner had no inten-
tion of simply replacing one set of governmental
obstacles with another. The power which had been
gradually accreted to the GCES would become a threat
rather than a benefit if it were allowed to exercise itself
unchecked. Precisely because the Council solved so many
problems for men like Holt Fasner, it was dangerous to
them.
Therefore the number of members had to be kept
small, manageable. And it was necessary to own a signifi-
cant proportion of the Votes': it was necessary to guaran-
tee that enough members would speak for the men they
truly represented, rather than for the people who elected
them. In some cases, this necessity was easily satisfied.
For example, since Com-Mine Station belonged to the
United Mining Companies, the Member for Com-Mine
Station naturally defended the UMC's interests. In other
cases, pressure was required. And in still other cases, the
'votes' had to be frankly purchased.
Regardless of how the Votes' were obtained, however,
the purpose of obtaining them remained the same: to
ensure that the real power on Earth and in space
belonged, not to the GCES, but to men like Holt Fasner.
The seriousness with which the Council performed its
functions was in direct proportion to its refusal to recog-
nize the realities of its own position.
Therein lay Holt Fasner's greatest strength — and per-
haps his only weakness.
MIN
No more than two hours after Warden Dios'
video conference with the Governing Council
for Earth and Space, Min Donner, sometimes
called his 'executioner', rode a UMCP shuttle down from
UMCPHQ to Earth; to Suka Bator, an island in the
Combined Asian Islands and Peninsulas archipelago,
where the GCES had built the sprawling complex from
which it presumed to defend and govern the human
species.
The shuttle's logs and manifests made no mention that
the UMCP Enforcement Division director was aboard.
She was recorded as one of a platoon of data clerks and
legal advisers sent by Dios to supply substantiation - or
obfuscation - for the things he'd revealed during the
conference. No one announced her arrival; no one met
her. Apparently UMCP officers stationed on the island
as support for GCES Security failed to recognize her:
certainly they failed to react when they saw her. Instead
she was waved through the checkpoints and past the
guards as casually as the rest of the platoon.
There was no particular cause for caution. The shuttle
had been tracked continuously from the moment it left
UMCPHQ to the instant of its touchdown on Suka
Bator. The GCES worried about many things, but
treachery that arrived by shuttle from UMCPHQ was
not among them. Attacks on the Council's authority, like
threats to the Council's safety, came not from the police,
but from disenfranchised political groups on Earth - lib-
ertarians who opposed both UMC and UMCP hege-
mony; genophobes who opposed all dealing with the
Amnion; pacifists who opposed the 'militarization' of
human space; 'native Earthers' who opposed the planet's
dependence on space. Any number of those groups were
capable of terrorism in the name of their beliefs. On
the other hand, the UMCP worked hard to help GCES
Security keep violence away from the island.
Apart from her air of command and the coiled readi-
ness of her movements, none of the guards or function-
aries had any reason to look twice at Min Donner.
She was known here, of course - any one of the
members, and most of their staffs, would have identified
her on sight. But she didn't give them the chance. From
the entrance to the members' Offices wing of the com-
plex, she disappeared into a stairwell which led to a fire-
exit and was therefore virtually never used. Her codes let
her through doors which should have set off alarms when
they were opened.
If possible, she wanted to get on and off the island in
complete secrecy.
No matter how profoundly she'd been shaken by War-
den Dios' recent revelations, she was loyal to him. The
same dedication which kept ED almost fanatically clean,
free of the taints and ambiguities which clung to Data
Acquisition like a miasma, also ensured that she would
carry out her director's personal instructions as purely as
she could. The old commandment which had once
guided the police in human society - 'to serve and pro-
tect' - wasn't written anywhere on her certificates of com-
mission. It didn't need to be: it was written in her blood.
She wasn't impervious to doubt, not by any means -
especially not now, when the very nature of the organiz-
ation to which she'd committed herself was being called
into question. But she understood with the clarity of pure
conviction that doubt and action were fundamentally
irrelevant to each other.
She wasn't responsible for Dios' integrity, or for the
UMCP's. She was responsible for ED's and her own.
And that was a function of action: she had integrity to
the extent that she gave herself wholly and simply to the
goals and duties of her position. Doubt was something
she set aside in the name of her service to Warden Dios,
to Enforcement Division, to the United Mining Com-
panies Police, and to humankind.
This was essential to her. Without it she would have
been paralyzed. Doubt by its very nature was omnivor-
ous: it consumed everything. Recent events provided a
good example. In his conference with the GCES, Warden
Dios had given her reason to doubt his honesty. But
other things he said and did - for example, the instruc-
tions which brought her to Earth now - cast doubt on
the image of himself he'd presented to the Council.
Whom should she believe, the private man who had sent
her here, or the public figure who had effectively accused
himself of selling human beings for tactical gain; of sell-
ing Morn Hyland, whose plight made Min Donner's
loyal and uncompromising heart ache like a personal
wound?
If she let doubt choose her actions for her, she would
be useless. She needed another standard by which to
make decisions.
For her that standard was service.
Now she served by making her way with as much
stealth as a terrorist up through the members' offices
wing to the floor occupied by the United Western Bloc.
If she had any say in the matter, no one except the man
she'd come to see would ever know that she'd been here.
That man was Captain Sixten Vertigus, senior member
for the UWB. She'd arranged this meeting with him sev-
eral hours ago; well before Dios' video conference. If
what he'd heard then hadn't made him change his mind,
he would be waiting for her.
Alone, if he could manage it.
A small sensor she cupped in her palm informed her
that the corridor on the other side of the door was empty.
That wasn't unusual, since the corridor only existed to
reach the fire-exit. The real test of her planning - and of
Captain Vertigus' cooperation - would occur when she
opened the door, walked down the corridor and turned
the corner. Her route so far avoided UWB reception,
which was an open hive of secretaries, flunkies and news-
dogs. But no hall in the GCES complex was ever entirely
empty. After Min turned that corner, she would have to
pass the senior member's squadron of personal and legal
aides in order to reach his office.
Captain Vertigus had agreed to dear the area so that
Min Donner could visit him unseen.
Well, did he do it, or didn't he? She couldn't hear
voices; but her sensor's indications weren't encouraging.
There was at least one person in range -
Secrecy was crucial here. What Warden hoped to
accomplish would become impossible if any rumor link-
ing her with Captain Vertigus reached the wrong ears.
Personal aides were sometimes trustworthy: legal aides,
never. And a stray newsdog would be a disaster.
As silent as oil, she moved along the wall and peered
past the corner.
Hashi had promised that she could rely on this small
sensor. For once she wasn't irritated by the discovery that
he was right. One person, ten meters down the hall -
All the desks and cubicles were deserted. Alone, Sixten
Vertigus sat on the edge of a desk, obviously waiting for
her.
As soon as he spotted her, he motioned for her to join
him and retreated into his office.
During the heartbeat or two while he crossed to his
door, she noticed the frailty of his movements. He was
a very old man; and, unlike other personages Min could
have named, he hadn't availed himself of rejuvenation
techniques which would have muffled the entropy gnaw-
ing at his genetic code. That, in fact, was one reason why
he was regularly, if otherwise ineffectively, re-elected:
the UWB's population included a higher percentage of
native Earthers than any Council constituent except
Old Europe; and native Earthers considered it a virtue
that Captain Vertigus refused to prolong his life arti-
ficially.
As the first human being ever to lay eyes on an
Amnion!, he was a legendary figure. On that occasion,
he had demonstrated his willingness to die for his beliefs.
In addition his unfailing support of the UMCP, com-
bined with his unswerving opposition to the UMC, gave
him an aura of moral authority. He was the 'esteemed
elder statesman' of the GCES. As Hashi Lebwohl had
once said, with his usual double-edged humor, 'If Cap-
tain Vertigus didn't exist, it would have been necessary
to invent him. '
Still, for a man his age, he was quick enough to gain
the relative seclusion of his office. By the time Min caught
up with him and closed the door, he was seated at his
desk as if he'd been there all along.
While she took a few compact security devices out of
her pocket and attached them to the doors, the intercom,
his data terminal, and the video pickup, he watched her
with his hands folded on the crystallized formica desktop.
The skin of his hands was so translucent that she seemed
to see the bones and veins through it; his eyes were so
pale that he looked blind.
When she'd finished her precautions, he asked in a
high, thin quaver, 'Can we talk now?'
Min nodded. 'I think so. As far as the rest of the com-
plex is concerned, this room has ceased to exist. ' She
grinned bleakly. 'If we killed each other, nobody would
know about it until someone opened the door to check
on you. '
Captain Vertigus leaned back in his chair; with one
unsteady hand, he rubbed a wisp of hair off his forehead.
'In that case, Director Donner' - if she listened only to
his voice, not to what he said, he sounded like an invalid
- 'I hope you're not disappointed to find that I'm practi-
cally dead already. Hardly worth killing. '
Apparently he'd misunderstood her. 'I'm not-' she began.
He dismissed her interjection. 'In fact, ' he continued,
'I'm hardly worth all this secrecy. As you saw, I was able
to send my people away' — he fumbled a shrug - 'on
various pretexts. That shouldn't have been possible. Not
for an important man like the senior member for the
United Western Bloc, who might reasonably be expected
to start raving or froth at the mouth in the absence of
his retinue. But I'm sad to say that it was easy.
'I'm a relic here. My time has passed. If you let yourself
be seen coming or going, Director Donner, you would
give me more status than I've had for many a year. '
Min studied his features for a moment. If he already
felt this defeated, this useless, he would be difficult to
persuade. Suddenly she wondered whether she was the
right person for this job. Presumably she'd been chosen
because Warden Dios trusted her. Also because she had
a reputation for single-minded devotion to her duties:
the perception that she was immune to purely political
agendas and manipulations enhanced her credibility. But
precisely because she was single-minded in her devotion,
she couldn't be sure of her position here. Whose game
was she playing? Whose game was Warden playing?
With her ingrained lithe readiness, she took a seat
across the desk from the senior member. To mask her
uncertainty, as well as to learn what she was up against,
she asked, 'How did that happen, Captain Vertigus?
How did you become a relic?'
'I made a political mistake, ' he replied frankly. He may
have wanted to be sure she had no illusions about him.
'One morning I sat here - at this very desk - and realized
that I was old.
'For some reason, this struck me as grievous, because
it meant that my work would not continue. You probably
know what I considered my work to be. One quality
I've observed in Warden Dios' people is that they are
exceptionally well prepared. You wouldn't have come
here - or wouldn't have been sent - if you didn't know
what my work, my "mission", was on the Council. '
'Nobody sent me, ' she put in abruptly. This is my
idea. ' She was always abrupt when she lied. Honesty was
a compulsion which she suppressed with difficulty.
Captain Vertigus put her assertion aside with another
shrug and resumed his explanation.
'In simple terms, Director Donner, I considered it my
duty to oppose Holt Fasner in all his ambitions. And I
considered it my work to investigate him - to study what
he did and how he did it until I could learn the facts
which might persuade other people to oppose him with
me.
'I won't bore you with a long account of my reasons.
My only personal contacts with him occurred when he
briefed me before Deep Star first went into what is now
forbidden space, and when he de-briefed me afterward.
However, they were enough to set me on the road I've
followed for the rest of my life. '
Caught by curiosity, Min tried another interruption.
What did he say to you?' She was inherently interested
in anything anyone might tell her about the Dragon.
Captain Vertigus squinted at her as if he had trouble
focusing his eyes. 'Nothing definitive, I'm afraid. Noth-
ing objective enough to sway other people. He's too
cunning for that. All I can tell you is this. He left me
with the settled impression that in his own mind nothing
larger than himself exists. In his own person he considers
himself bigger than the United Mining Companies,
bigger than the Governing Council for Earth and Space,
perhaps bigger than all humankind.
'This proves nothing, I know. Nevertheless I found it
profoundly disturbing.
'But I can't expect other people to understand that,
Director Donner. I can't except other people to act on
it. So I don't usually talk about it. Instead I look for
objective evidence to back up my fears. '
Min nodded. She felt that she understood perfectly.
'Isn't Maxim Igensard doing the same job?' she asked.
'Perhaps. ' The senior member considered the question.
'He's more recent, of course. You might say he's after my
time. And I' - he pursed his mouth - 'distrust the quality
of his ambitions. Like my own junior member, Sigurd
Carsin, he appears to have set himself against Warden
Dios and the UMCP rather than Holt Fasner and the
UMC. I consider that suicidal. In my darker moments, I
consider it culpable. '
Then he shook his head. 'But it doesn't matter what
I think of him. He came along long after I made my
mistake.
'On the day when I realized that I was old, I decided
to entrust my investigations to my subordinates. Let
younger and more energetic men and women do the
work, while I used my position and what I hope I can
call my credibility to act on what they learned.
'You probably know the rest. My subordinates turned
out to be in Holt Fasner's pay - directly or indirectly,
it doesn't matter which. My investigations disappeared,
never to be heard of again. It's a sad story, in its way' -
the sorrow he conveyed was complex - 'but its sadness
has to do with the foolishness of old men. I'm afraid
you're wasting your time here. '
'I doubt that. ' Min found herself on stronger ground
than she'd expected. He may have been trying to warn
her against relying on him; in effect, however, he'd iden-
tified himself as a kindred spirit. 'I think I've made an
unusually good choice. '
He adjusted the posture of his fragile bones. Trembling
slightly, he raised his hands to rub his forehead and
cheeks as if to soften the strain of focusing his gaze. 'In
that case' - his voice was thin with age, but it seemed to
carry an odd echo of hope - 'maybe you should tell me
why you're here. '
Min Donner wasn't a woman who hesitated. 'It's a
sensitive matter, ' she began, 'as I told you when we
spoke. Too sensitive to be discussed without elaborate
precautions. ' She gestured at her security devices. 'Even
the downlink isn't safe enough. '
In fact, she'd first placed her call to the senior member
in Godsen's name rather than her own. The PR director
always had public, unquestionable reasons to talk to
GCES members: she didn't. She hadn't revealed herself
until Captain Vertigus had assured her that her call was
private.
The problem is simple, ' she explained. 'I want you to
do something for me. But if anyone ever realizes that I
had a hand in it - that you're doing it for me - you won't
succeed. '
The senior member waited without lowering his hands
or shifting his gaze.
'I want you to introduce a piece of legislation for me.
And I want you to do it fast - say tomorrow morning.
In case I haven't already made this clear, I want you to
do it entirely in your own name. Keep me out of it. Take
the fact that we talked about this to your grave with you.
Otherwise it won't pass. '
As an afterthought, she added, 'And don't trust it to
any of your aides. '
'Director Donner, ' Captain Vertigus retorted with a
hint of asperity, 'I'm not stupid. I learn from my own
mistakes almost routinely. And' - he shifted forward to
face her more closely - 'I make my own decisions. Just
because I'm old and defeated and would like to end my
life - shall we say, on a more positive note? - doesn't
mean I'm willing to be your puppet. If you want me to
do something for you, you'll have to convince me. '
Min permitted herself an iron smile. 'I know that, Cap-'
tain Vertigus. I wouldn't be here otherwise. '
He snorted his disbelief. Nevertheless he sounded mol-
lified as he muttered, 'Flattery will get you nowhere. '
Leaning back again, he demanded, Well, what is it? What
do you want me to put my name on?'
Frowning because she was suddenly reluctant to carry
out her commission, she reached inside the data clerk's
plain worksuit she wore and pulled out a sheaf of hard-
copy. The longer she talked to Captain Vertigus, the
more she liked him - and the less she wanted to get him
into trouble. However, her loyalty to Warden Dios and
the UMCP compelled her.
Grimly she tossed the hardcopy onto the desk.
'I want you to introduce a Bill of Severance which will
take the police away from the United Mining Companies.
Decharter the UMCP completely. Reconstitute it as an
arm of the Governing Council for Earth and Space. '
Then she paused to wait for the captain's reaction.
He sat still, as if he'd stopped breathing.
She faced him squarely. Because of the paleness of his
eyes, she couldn't be sure that he was able to see her.
After a long moment he let out an unsteady sigh.
'Director Donner, you think big. '
That didn't require a response, so Min didn't offer one.
He glanced down at the hardcopy she'd dropped on
his desk; touched the pages gingerly with his fingertips,
as if their edges might be sharp enough to cut. 'And you
want this done by when? Tomorrow morning?'
'If you can. '
'Oh, naturally. Of course. A bill of this magnitude,
with these repercussions — Is there anything else I can do
for you in my spare time? Write a novel? Assassinate the
Amnion trade legation? Really, Director Donner, I think
I need a breathing mask. There isn't room in this office
for your ideas and air at the same time. '
'If you'll take a look, ' Min retorted with her own
asperity, 'you'll see that I've already done most of the
work. Of course, I've had to make a number of assump-
tions which you might not consider appropriate - con-
cerning how the new GCESP should be funded, for
example, or how authority should be transferred. But
you can change anything you want when you put what
I've written into the proper form. I'm not particular
about the details. Only the central issue matters to me. '
Captain Vertigus made no pretense of examining her
work. 'I'll take your word for it, ' he murmured. 'I said
myself that Dios' people are well prepared. Now that I
think about it, I'm sure most of your assumptions are
acceptable. I can probably have a bill prepared -1 mean,
prepare it myself - to put in front of the Council
tomorrow.
'But that's not the important question, is it?' His tone
sharpened. 'In any case, neither of us can afford the time
to haggle over details. Let's go straight for the heart, shall
we? Tell me why.
'Why this?' He flicked the hardcopy. 'Why now? And
why me?'
Min restrained an impulse to stand up, pace the floor.
'Because it needs to be done, ' she replied. 'Because the tim-
ing is good. And because the Dragon doesn't own you. '
The captain fixed her with a pale glare. 'Don't be cryp-
tic. I need real answers. '
She shrugged. 'All right. But I don't want to talk about
that video conference. You were there - you saw every-
thing, heard everything. Unfortunately Morn Hyland is
one of my people. When I think about how she's been
used, I get too angry. And I don't want to give the
impression that I'm here simply because I'm angry. What
you saw and heard didn't determine my position. I made
my decision earlier - I called you before the conference
took place. So let me make my point another way.
'You may recall hearing a rumor several years ago that
Intertech was on the verge of developing an immunity
drug for Amnion mutagens. Then later the research failed
and was abandoned. '
Captain Vertigus didn't nod; didn't react.
Well, the rumor was true. Intertech did come close,
very close. But the research didn't fail. It wasn't aban-
doned. It was quashed, suppressed. '
Slowly his jaw dropped.
'I was there, ' she rasped, 'when the UMCP directors
debated the subject. Hashi Lebwohl presented a report
on the state of the research. Then Godsen Frik, ' may he
rot in hell, 'argued that the research should be stopped.
On the grounds that it represented a threat to the UMCP
itself. First, he said, an immunity drug would force the
Amnion to abandon peaceful imperialism and risk actual
warfare. ' A sneer tightened around her nose. 'Second, he
said, an immunity drug would undermine the "necess-
ity", the "moral authority", of the UMCP - which would
in turn undermine funding and support - which would
in turn leave the UMCP less able to face the threat of a
real war. '
We've been waiting a, long time far this, Frik had said.
We can wait a little longer.
Warden Dios listened to Frik. ' On this subject, as well,
she couldn't swallow her anger; but she tamped it down
as hard as she was able. 'He listened to all of us. ' He
heard me insist that stopping the research would be a
crime against humankind. Then he gave Intertech autho-
rization to continue.
'Frik was outraged. He threatened to "go over Dios'
head". And a week later the research was quashed. On
Warden Dios' orders. After Frik talked to Holt Fasner,
enough pressure was put on the director to make him
reverse his position. '
The senior member gaped as if he'd swallowed his
larynx. 'Are you saying, ' he gulped, 'Holt Fasner person-
ally stopped that research? Can you prove it?'
Min scowled. 'Of course not. It all happened behind
my back. And Warden Dios' name was on the order.
'You didn't ask why I'm here, ' she rasped, 'on my own,
without approval or permission. Now you know. I'm a
cop, Captain Vertigus. I believe in what cops are supposed
to do. This isn't it. I want to stop this kind of thing, if I
can. '
Harshly she continued, 'I think that video conference
was another example. The director made himself look
like a man with no ethics, no scruples. That isn't the case. '
Whatever her doubts, she acted on that conviction. 'But
as long as the UMC own the police - as long as the
Dragon has the power to determine and impose policy —
the real director of the UMCP is Holt Fasner, not War-
den Dios.
That's why this bill is necessary. It will free the police
to defend something larger than Holt Fasner and the
United Mining Companies. '
Now Captain Vertigus nodded. He closed his mouth
carefully.
After a moment he said, 'Go on. '
Min's stomach twisted. When I called you earlier, I
wasn't in a hurry. All I wanted was support, not immedi-
ate action. ' Some of her anger was directed at herself.
She hated telling lies. 'But when I heard the conference,
I realized that right now may be the best chance we'll
ever get for success. '
That, at least, was true.
'You don't need me to tell you the Dragon will fight
a Bill of Severance with everything he has. The UMC
may be the biggest thing in human space, but all of it,
everything Fasner does and has and wants, rests on the
police. His greatest power derives from the fact that
humankind depends on the UMCP for survival - and he
owns the UMCP. If the police were reconstituted as an
arm of the GCES, he wouldn't be the Dragon anymore.
He would be just another CEO with megalomania.
'Ordinarily a bill like this wouldn't stand a chance. He
owns too many votes. Too many members think they
have too much to gain by giving or selling him their
support. But I think that conference opened a window.
It scared a lot of people. You were there - it probably
scared you.
'As far as the Council is concerned, there's only one
excuse for voting against a Bill of Severance - for support-
ing Fasner on a subject that could determine the future of
the human species. That excuse is honesty. As long as the
cops are honest, severance isn't necessary. Therefore voting
against the best interests and possibly the survival of
humankind is just pragmatism, not malfeasance.
'After that conference, the members have to ask
whether the UMCP really is honest. Maybe Igensard is
right. In which case, a vote against a Bill of Severance
becomes suddenly indefensible. Even members who've
already sold themselves may think twice about support-
ing the Dragon when it looks like treason. '
As sudden as an epiphany, she thought. And if that's
what Dios had in mind all along - if that's what he was
aiming for when he commissioned her to come here and
then besmirched himself in front of the whole GCES -
he must have been living in hell for longer than she could
imagine, and may God have pity on his soul.
Abruptly Captain Vertigus lifted his hands. Small red
spots of excitement or trepidation had appeared on his
translucent cheeks. 'Just a minute. Just a minute. This is
all too plausible. I don't trust it.
'If what you're telling me is accurate, why do you want
to be kept out of it? Why does this legislation have to
come from me, instead of from you - or from Warden
Dios? Wouldn't a Bill of Severance have even more auth-
ority if the UMCP proposed it?'
Min shook her head. 'Only if you believe we're honest.
Otherwise it's just another ploy - but this time it's War-
den Dios' plotting, not Holt Fasner's. The same man
who didn't mind selling one of my people to illegals
now wants complete power for himself, without even the
Dragon to restrain him.
'I don't think that's true, but I can't guarantee it. '
Sneering at herself now, she added, 'If I could, I wouldn't
have had to come here on my own. However, that's
beside the point. If we proposed the bill ourselves - if
the director did, or I did - the Dragon could stop us.
For one thing, he could fire us. But he could also go
further - a lot further. In the time it would take the
Council to read a bill, never mind debate or act on it, he
could dismantle the entire UMCP. Leave human space
defenseless. The GCES would be forced to create a new
police force from scratch.
'If he's provoked into a threat that extreme, we're all
lost. I have no way of knowing whether he would go
that far, but I'm not willing to take the chance. '
Captain Vertigus look vaguely nauseated as he mur-
mured, 'I see what you mean. '
A moment later he shook himself as if he were trying
to clear his head. Small beads of saliva had gathered at
the corners of his mouth; he wiped them away. Leaning
forward to face Min closely again, he said, This is still
too plausible. It's happening too fast. You want me to
take on Holt Fasner and the whole Council for you, and
you want me to make up my mind right now. I'm an old
man, Director Donner. I can't stay awake through any
entire Council session. Sometimes I can't stay awake
through an entire sentence, even when I'm the one
talking.
'Why do you want me to do this? Why not somebody
else?'
Min spread her hands. 'Who else is there?' She held
his pale gaze. 'Who else has your "credibility"? President
Len? He's probably honest - I'm not sure - but he hates
conflict. If he proposed a Bill of Severance, the first thing
he would do is attach an amendment postponing the
effective date for five years.
'You tell me, Captain Vertigus. Who else could I ask?
'But tell me now, ' she added roughly. 'I'm running out
of time. I want to be back on the shuttle to UMCPHQ'
- she flicked her eyes to a chronometer - 'in eleven
minutes. '
For several heartbeats he continued studying her as if
he wanted to peer into the back of her brain. While he
hesitated, she felt that more things hung in the balance
than she knew how to name; the possible futures of the
human race seemed to fade in and out of existence.
Why had Warden Dios sent her here? Why had he
waited until now? What game was he playing?
Was it really conceivable that Holt Fasner might lose
a GCES battle over a Bill of Severance?
Softly, almost whispering, Captain Vertigus
announced, 'It occurs to me, Director Donner, that it
doesn't matter whether you're telling me the truth. It
doesn't even matter whether you chose me because you
think I might win or because you're sure I'll lose. ' As he -
spoke his thin voice took on excitement until it sounded
almost resonant, almost young. What you're asking me
to do needs doing. It should have been done a long time
ago. And the riming may never be more favorable than
it is right now.
'I like the idea of having something important to do -
for a change. If you're counting on me to lose, you'll
have an anxious time during the next few days. '
Relief brought up a grin from Min's heart. 'Don't lose.
If you don't trust me, you can always get me fired later. '
Riding a wash of elation, she rose to her feet. After all,
the worst that could happen to Captain Vertigus was that
he would end his life on a painful political defeat. The
Dragon had no history of punishing people who opposed
him ineffectively: his malice was reserved for his success-
ful enemies. And if the Bill of Severance passed, Holt
Fasner might lose his ability to punish anyone.
In the meantime a little excitement might be good for
the captain.
Glancing at the chronometer again, she asked, When
do you expect your people back?'
Captain Vertigus stood as if he barely had the strength
to keep his legs under him. 'Your timing is good in more
ways than one. You should still have about five minutes. '
As she began to pick up her security devices, he added,
'I'll check for you. '
Awkwardly he moved around his desk toward the
door. Bracing his hands to steady them, he eased the
door open a crack.
Min groaned inwardly when she heard him breathe,
'Damn. Why is Marthe back so early?' Nevertheless she
didn't stop detaching her equipment and stowing it in
her pockets.
In the same low voice, he asked, 'Now who do you
suppose that is?'
She felt a sting of tension in her palms. One of the
newsdogs? Someone in Maintenance? Just what she
needed. Automatically she checked the location of her
hidden handgun. Then she joined Captain Vertigus at
the door.
Through the slitted opening past his shoulder, she
scanned the area where his aides had their desks.
Seven - no, eight - desks; all of them with intercoms,
data terminals, hardcopy devices, comfortable chairs; all
of them unoccupied. Except one. Slightly to the left of
the captain's door and roughly ten meters away across
the hall sat a plump, middle-aged woman with graying
hair and old-fashioned glasses: Marthe, presumably. She
had the air of a personal aide. Maybe she kept track of
Captain Vertigus' appointments: maybe she thought she
took care of the captain himself. Her desk was positioned
so that she could watch the approach to the hall on her
right and the senior member's office door on her left; so
that she could see who came to visit him and when they
went away.
At the moment, however, she wasn't looking at the
door. Her attention was fixed on a man shambling
toward her from the other direction.
As Min Donner scrutinized him, adrenalin slammed
through her, and her palms started to burn as if they
were on fire.
He was no newsdog. And he wasn't from Mainten-
ance, even though he wore an old worksuit and carried
a small toolcase; even though the security badge clipped
at his shoulder was Maintenance-green. The way he
moved - stiffly, carefully, as if he cradled something fra-
gile in his chest - told Min at once that he wasn't here
for any kind of repair or inspection.
He moved like a man who hadn't healed yet because
he'd been operated on too quickly; too shoddily.
She was the director of Enforcement Division, as well
as Warden Dios' sometime bodyguard and occasional
executioner. She knew a kaze when she saw one.
She didn't hesitate. This was the work she did best.
Her impact pistol leaped into her hand as she pulled
Captain Vertigus back from the door. 'Get down,' she
breathed in an urgent whisper. 'Behind your desk. '
He stumbled against the edge of the desk, but didn't
move to obey. He'd been away from ships too long; no
longer recognized an order when he heard one. Instead
he gaped at her, his old face full of astonishment.
'What-?'
She had no time for his confusion. Her attention
focused like a laser through the crack of the door. The
man had reached Marthe's desk. He was talking to her,
showing her what may have been a work-order, gesturing
toward the captain's office.
'I said get down, ' Min hissed. There's going to be an
explosion. That man's a kaze. '
She didn't glance at Captain Vertigus: he understood
what a kaze was. She could tell by the sounds he made
that he was fumbling around the desk, crouching behind
its inadequate shelter.
Abruptly the intercom chimed. A woman's voice said,
'Captain Vertigus? There's a man here from Mainten-
ance. He says he needs to test the wiring of your data
terminal. '
'What about Marthe?' the captain croaked at Min's
back. 'You've got to get her out of there. '
She was Min Donner; familiar with extreme decisions
and bloodshed. 'If I do that, ' she articulated so softly that
he may not have heard her, 'she'll know I was here. '
Nevertheless she had to make the attempt.
To serve and protect.
Through the crack, she heard Marthe say to the kaze,
'I don't think he's in. '
'I'll just check, ' the man replied. 'This'll only take a
minute. '
As soon as he stepped past Marthe's desk, Min kicked
the door open. With her gun aimed as steady as steel for
his sternum, she roared at Marthe, 'Take cover!'
The kaze's eyes widened in surprise; he faltered
momentarily.
Frozen, Marthe stared at Min as if she'd just arrived
from forbidden space.
Captain Vertigus' voice cracked into a wail: 'Marthe!'
Then the kaze launched himself toward Min and the door.
Shielding herself behind the door-frame, Min shot him
in the chest.
She'd waited too long: she should have shot him as
soon as she saw him. When the explosives surgically
implanted in him detonated, the blast caught her past her
shield and flung her against the wall like a handful of
rags.
Chunks of concrete sprang off the walls; sound-
proofing and ducts ripped out of the ceiling; debris
whined like shrapnel. Blood burst from Min's nose;
impact numbed her whole body. Yet the explosion didn't
seem to make any noise. As she rebounded from the wall
and sprawled into the wreckage, she already knew that
she was deaf.
But she didn't stop. Rolling to get her legs under her,
she staggered to her feet.
Swaddled in silence, she checked on Captain Vertigus.
He blinked up at her, his eyes full of powder and shock.
His mouth made noises she couldn't hear. If he hadn't
been protected by his desk - and if his desktop hadn't
been made of crystallized formica - he might have been
seriously injured; might have been killed. As it was, he
was only stunned.
Her sheaf of hardcopy was scattered around the office
like confetti. Most of the pages appeared intact, however.
Her own voice was nothing more than a vibration in
the bones of her skull as she told him, 'I wasn't here. No
matter what happens, I wasn't here.
'Get that bill ready as fast as you can. '
Stumbling as if her neurons were no longer sure of
their synapses, she left him alone.
As she passed Marthe's spattered remains and headed
for the stairwell, she wondered which of the futures she
and Captain Vertigus had tried to make possible no
longer existed.
MIN
By the time the shuttle neared UMCPHQ's Earth-
side dock, she began to recover her hearing.
The process was slow. At first only a high,
thin wail registered, barely audible: a sound like someone
keening in the distance, grieving for the dead - or like
the screech of a shuttle's warning sirens muffled by an
EVA suit. For a moment she thought it was the sirens;
and her palms caught fire again. But neither the crew nor
the other passengers reacted. Gradually the sensation of
violence faded from her hands. The wail settled into the
background until it became almost subliminal; mere neu-
ral feedback from her over-stressed eardrums.
Then she seemed to hear the muted hull-roar of the
drive as the shuttle fired braking thrust. It, too, was
imprecisely audible. Unlike the wail, however, it was real.
She could feel the same resonance when she touched one
of the bulkheads.
Despite  the  soundless  protests  of the  crew, she
unbelted herself from her g-seat and drifted weightlessly
toward the airlock. She wanted to disembark the minute
the shuttle finished docking.
One of the crew touched her arm; she turned toward
him and watched him speak. From somewhere beyond
the wail, behind the hull-roar, she heard him - a voice
like the whisper of fabric when her arm brushed her side.
'Director Donner, this isn't safe. '
'If I wanted to be safe' - her voice buzzed in the bones
of her skull - 'I would choose another line of work. ' A
moment later she ordered, 'Flare Director Dios. ' Flare
was UMCP slang for contact urgently. Tell him I want
to see him. Tell him I want to see him now. '
She would have sent that message earlier if she could
have trusted her voice through her deafness.
The crewman saluted and went back to his duties.
Her handgun was back in its familiar place on her
hip. She'd restored it as soon as she'd gained the relative
privacy of the shuttle. Pains filled her body and her head:
the residual throbbing in her sinuses, which persisted
although her nose no longer bled; the deeper ache of
contusions and bruises. But she ignored them. Other
hurts were more important.
She wondered if she would be able to hear Warden
Dios answer when she asked him questions.
Hints of noises which might have been dock-alerts
reached her. That was a good sign. On the other hand,
the crews' routine explanations and announcements were
wrapped in silence; baffled by old grief.
When station g pulled her feet to the floor, she keyed
open the airlock, equalized the pressure, and cycled the
outer doors. By the time the crew had given the other
passengers permission to leave their g-seats, she was face-
to-face with the nearest guard, telling him to take her to
the director.
For all she knew, the familiar authority of her voice
came out as hysteria.
Warden Dios must have been expecting her message.
Whatever he was doing, he dropped it. No more than
five minutes after she left the shuttle, she was with him
in one of his secure offices; out of circulation; off the
record. Again she temporarily ceased to exist.
Seated behind the desk with a blank data terminal in
front of him, he studied her gravely. His human eye
and his prosthesis seemed to search her inside and out.
Broadly speaking, he must have known what had hap-
pened: reports from GCES Security, as well as from his
own personnel on Suka Bator, would have reached him
faster than any shuttle. But no one except Captain Ver-
tigus could have told him that Min Donner had set off
the kaze herself; and she doubted that the captain and
the UMCP director had been in contact with each other.
So Warden also had no idea what the outcome of her
meeting with the senior member was.
Nevertheless he didn't rush her. No matter what he'd
dropped to answer her flare, he seemed to offer her all
the time and attention she needed. After he'd studied her
for a moment, he pointed her toward a chair. As she
eased her sore limbs into it, he asked, 'How badly are
you hurt?'
His voice murmured against a keening background. If
she hadn't noticed the tension in the cords of his neck,
she wouldn't have realized that he was nearly shouting.
She shrugged. 'Nothing serious. Bruises. I had a
bloody nose. And I can't hear very well - concussion
deafness. '
'That's obvious. ' Unexpected strain underlined his
whisper. 'I've been talking steadily, but you didn't react
until you looked at my face. This can wait, you know. I
can live with my impatience while you see the medtechs. '
'I can't. ' Heard through her skull, her voice was coarse,
almost guttural. 'A crazy man killed an innocent woman. '
She had Marthe's blood on her hands, if not her con-
science. 'If he'd arrived a couple of minutes earlier - or
if I hadn't set him off - he would have killed Captain
Vertigus as well as me. I can't wait. I want to know
what's going on. '
Warden spread his hands. They looked strong in the
light over his desk; as steady as stones. 'All right. Let's
start with this kaze. That's your department - tell me
about him. '
'A human bomb, ' she reported automatically. As she
spoke, she stopped monitoring the modulation of her
voice. The director would tell her if she didn't speak
clearly. 'A terrorist on a suicide mission. We haven't had
much trouble with them recently. Most of the fringe
groups are in disarray - they can't decide who they hate
enough to kill themselves for. Forbidden space scares
them too much. About the only group that regularly tries
to blow up GCES policy is the native Earthers. But this
kaze didn't come from them. '
'How do you know?' Warden asked.
'Because he got through Security. He had legitimate
maintenance id. That's not easy to come by - especially
for a group like the native Earthers, with an established
history of - her mouth twisted - '"opposition" to the
GCES. Security is using all kinds of embedded verifica-
tions in the id tags of everyone who belongs on Suka
Bator. And we' - she meant Data Acquisition - 'supply
CMOS-SOD chips for GCES function id. Those chips
can't be counterfeited, the same way datacores can't be
altered. '
Dios knew all this, but he gave no hint of impatience.
'What does that prove?'
Min did her best to explain details and perceptions
which came to her intuitively. 'Assuming it's possible to
steal or fabricate the chip to fake that maintenance id -
which I don't assume - you can't get the job done over-
night. You have to prepare for it. And even if you have
the chip, you can't just stamp out that kind of id. You
need too much specific information about how GCES
Security works - for instance, how they rotate their pass-
codes. For the native Earthers to pull off something like
this, they must have started getting it ready months ago.
'But nobody got that kaze ready. He was in pain when
he moved. The surgery was too recent - a day or two
ago at most. Why do the kind of long-range work you
need to produce fake GCES function id without prepar-
ing your kaze at the same time? That part of the job is a
hell of a lot easier. '
Warden shrugged. They didn't think they were going
to need him so soon. ' The muffling of his voice made
him sound abstract. The original plan was to use him
later, in some other situation. The decision to act now
was made suddenly. In response to the events of the past
twenty-four hours. '
A tingle ran through Min's palms. The muscles at the
base of her spine tightened. Without warning the atmos-
phere in the office seemed to take on threats; obscure
implications gathered at the edges of the light. The
UMCP director gave her an opening to ask questions -
questions which had swarmed like pain through her head
ever since she'd taken her seat on the shuttle. Because
she needed so much to believe in him, the prospect of
challenging him scared her.
But her questions scared her more.
'Then why attack Captain Vertigus?' she countered.
'The native Earthers consider him a hero. '
'To make him a martyr?' Warden offered impassively.
Maybe he couldn't feel her challenge in the air; maybe
he couldn't guess where she was headed. The only strain
in his demeanor came from the effort of speaking loudly
enough to be heard. 'To prove that the enemies of the
native Earthers are evil?'
Her voice felt like a snarl in the bones behind her ears.
'And what has that got to do with "the events of the past
twenty-four hours"? If the native Earthers are involved,
why is today different than any other day? Where does
the need to attack so suddenly come from?'
His single eye held her gaze. His IR vision must have
told him that her nerves were burning.
'This is a crucial time for the Council, ' he answered.
'Issues have come up concerning everything we do in
space - and they've certainly come up suddenly. Precisely
because Captain Vertigus is a hero to the native Earthers,
the attack on him validates his convictions. I mean it
validates his opposition to Holt Fasner and the UMC.
Remember the captain has always backed us up - and
fought Fasner. He doesn't reject our function, he rejects
UMC policy. Terrorists have always attacked their
enemies - but sometimes they attack their friends in an
effort to make their enemies look bad. '
Min fought an impulse to lower her head. She wanted
to drop her eyes; but the pressure to look away, to fix
her attention on anything except the man she served,
didn't come from him. It came from inside her: from
what she was thinking; from what she feared. The weak-
ness was hers. For that reason she refused to give in
to it.
Facing Warden Dios straight, she took a step closer to
what she believed was the heart of the matter.
'I've got another idea, ' she rasped, 'one that doesn't
require us to assume the native Earthers are capable of
faking that kaze's id. We have a high-level traitor - some-
one so high up he has access to genuine chips, so high
up he knows or can get all the passcodes and verifications.
Producing valid maintenance id was easy for him. But he
didn't have a kaze ready because until today he had no
intention of attacking Captain Vertigus. '
'Interesting. ' Warden didn't sound surprised. Aside
from his obvious concentration, his face was expression-
less. 'Then let me ask your question. Why was Captain
Vertigus attacked now? Why does this traitor suddenly
want to get rid of him?'
Shock and keening still occluded Min's hearing. Never-
theless the fact that he hadn't asked who she thought the
traitor might be was as loud as a shout.
'Because, ' she answered past a dryness like ashes in her
throat, 'we chose him. This traitor wanted to kill him so
that he couldn't introduce your Bill of Severance. '
Maybe I'm not the only one you talked to about it.
And maybe whoever that was leaked the information.
Or maybe you leaked the information.
'Alternatively, ' the UMCP director replied as if she'd
engaged him in an exercise of pure speculation, 'this
traitor may have wanted Captain Vertigus dead for the
same kind of reason I ascribed to the native Earthers.
Martyr him in order to solidify support for the bill. '
Calmly, without apparent premeditation, Dios gave
her a reason to think that he might be to blame.
He may have been trying to steer her away from her
own ideas.
Without warning, she felt a rush of loathing for him.
She hated his calm, his strength, his secrets: she hated
this game he was playing, a game which corroded the
convictions that made the UMCP valuable - not to men-
tion viable. She was his ED director because she believed
in what cops were for. And she'd always been sure he
shared her beliefs. But since Morn Hyland's return to
Com-Mine Station with Angus Thermopyle - no, before
that, since Warden had assented to the quashing of
Intertech's mutagen immunity research - he'd given her
more and more reason to question the nature of his
beliefs; more reason to wonder whether he'd finally sold
his soul to the Dragon. Facing him now, with his com-
plex intentions and his subtleties, she burned for the
simple service she loved, the clean dedication that kept
her whole. And she hated him for taking those things
away from her.
Making no effort to mask her anger — she couldn't
have concealed it from him anyway - she retorted, 'I'm
glad you mentioned that possibility. It brings me to your
video conference with the Council. While I was talking
to Captain Vertigus, I kept asking myself why. Why did
you do that? Why did you do it now? You've never let
the GCES' - or me - 'see you in that light before. And
I was only able to come up with one answer.
'You did it so the bill would have some prayer of
passing.
'But now you've given me another idea. ' She balanced
herself, kept her poise, as if she were a gun aimed at his
head. 'Maybe you did it so I would be sure to go see
Captain Vertigus as soon as possible - so you would have
a chance to get rid of the only people who really believe
in that bill. '
When she stopped, her heart was hammering as if
she feared she would be struck down for saying those
words aloud. Her hands felt full of killing fire. Yet her
eyes never wavered; the muzzle of her accusation held
steady.
Just for an instant the muscles of his face tightened;
he may have been wincing. Almost immediately, how-
ever, he smoothed out his expression. Only a hint of grief
around his eye undermined his impassivity.
'I like to think, ' he articulated slowly, 'that if I wanted
you dead — if I were the kind of man who solved his
problems by butchering subordinates and politicians - I
would choose something more honest than a kaze to kill
you. '
She had trouble hearing him: he was no longer making
the effort to speak loudly. Only the slow recovery of her
eardrums enabled her to distinguish the blurred vibra-
tions of his voice.
More honest than a kaze.
As soon as he said that, she believed him. That was the
Warden Dios she admired; the Warden Dios to whom
she'd given her devotion. She couldn't have been so
wrong about him for so many years. The whole idea that
he might have had something to do with the kaze was
smoke.
It was all meant to. distract her.
For a moment she was so angry that she couldn't speak.
But he hadn't stopped talking. As if he were still on
the same subject, he asked rhetorically, 'Has it ever
occurred to you that maybe we - I mean all of us, the
cops - are responsible for the existence of places like
Billingate? That maybe humankind would be better off
if we hadn't made ourselves so powerful, or so necessary?'
Min swallowed convulsively. She knew him well
enough to know that he didn't expect an answer. Because
she was furious, however, she rasped, That's absurd. We
didn't create Angus Thermopyle. We didn't create the
Amnion. But if we weren't here, the rest of humanity
would have no defense. '
A grimace pulled at the corners of his mouth. 'I'm not
so sure. Human history is full of - I guess you could
call them enforcement mistakes. Using muscle to control
people seems to make them more determined. Angus and
the Amnion are probably a good example.
'Before we got our hands on him, he was caught
between two dangers, two enemies. The Amnion and us.
They want to change him, take away his humanity. We
want to kill him, or at least lock him up. What would
you do in his position? We try to get what we want by
gunfire. The Amnion trade for it. And they always keep
their bargains because they know that otherwise they
won't be trusted, which means they won't be able to
trade effectively. What would you do?'
She stared at him as if she could see mutagens chewing
at his genes, changing the structure of his bones.
'It's obvious, isn't it?' he went on. 'If you had to choose
between being shot by us and risking your humanity with
the Amnion, you would be crazy not to choose them.
They're the lesser danger because they leave you a chance
to survive. Once you have us for enemies, piracy is your
only sane alternative.
'And we make the rules. We create the restrictions
which define illegality. We put Angus in the position
where he had to choose between us and the Amnion.
'You can't expect a man like that to have a sense of
perspective. You can't ask him to understand that the
Amnion are a threat to all humanity, while we're only a
threat to people who increase the risks for humankind.
He takes everything personally. He has to - he's on the
run, and his life depends on it.
The Amnion look good to a man like Angus because
from his point of view we're worse. In other words, we
created him. We created every individual human being
on Billingate, on every illegal shipyard, on every outpost
or installation that does business with the Amnion. If we
didn't work so hard to control piracy - or if we weren't
so self-righteous about it - pirates wouldn't be such a
danger to the people we're supposed to serve. '
As she listened, Min's anger curdled to sorrow. Despite
her need to believe in him, he had changed. This wasn't
how he'd explained her function - and his own - the last
time she'd heard him talk about it.
She gritted her teeth to control her sadness. 'Then why
do it? Why do we work so hard for something we don't
believe in?'
Now his voice was no more than a whisper. If she
hadn't seen his lips moving, she might have thought the
words came from the shadows around her.
'Because the people we're supposed to serve and the
people we do serve aren't the same. We don't serve
humankind. We serve the United Mining Companies.
And the United Mining Companies profits from piracy.
Piracy reinforces the UMC's hold on its markets. '
Is that it? she thought. Is that the truth at last? Or is
it just another distraction?
Was he casting doubt on the UMCP, questioning the
integrity of his own life's work, so that she might believe
him capable of aiming a kaze at Captain Vertigus in order
to consolidate support for a Bill of Severance?
No, that didn't make sense. If the captain had been
killed, no one on the Council would have heard of the
bill. It would have been blown up along with its intended
sponsor.
And she was morally certain that the kaze had been
surprised to see her in Captain Vertigus' doorway.
The video conference may have been a ploy on Warden
Dios' part to lend his bill authority, credibility. The kaze
was something else entirely.
Clenching her jaws so hard that her head throbbed,
she demanded, 'Why are you telling me this?'
What makes you think I want to go on serving Holt
Fasner, instead of my own species?
What are you trying to distract me from?
Abruptly Warden leaned forward, planted his palms
on the bare surface of the desk. His voice was soft, but
he pitched it to reach her. His single eye glittered with
intensity.
'Min, I want you to survive this. If it can be done, I
want you to be the next director of the police. '
With those words he bound her to him; caught her in
a grip she would never be able to break. Implications
came into focus in the light as if his strong fingers held
them down on the desktop for her to see. Without tran-
sition he restored her convictions; remade himself into
the man to whom she'd fixed her heart.
Too astonished for anger or sorrow, she breathed,
'You think you're finished. ' The idea seemed to throw
illumination into the most obscure corners of the office.
We need a Bill of Severance - we need some way to
change ourselves into what we were supposed to be in
the first place, the servants of humankind. But it can't
pass because the Dragon has too many votes. So you've
decided to sacrifice yourself in order to create the con-
ditions that will enable it to pass. But of course if it passes
you'll be removed as director. Nobody will trust you.
And if it doesn't pass, the Dragon will get rid of you
himself, if only because you've become a liability. '
You want to push me away from you, make me keep
my distance. That's what all these distractions are for -
that's why you're encouraging me to. doubt you. You
want Enforcement Division to retain its credibility when
your position collapses. You want to make me look
like the only one the GCES can rely on to pick up the
pieces.
Dios seemed to shrink in his seat. Substance appeared
to drain out of him, as if her understanding bled his hope
away. Or maybe it was her new ferocity which defeated
him. Slowly he turned his palms upward.
'I'll tell you why I'm finished, ' he murmured softly. 'As
long as I'm telling you things you shouldn't hear, I'll give
you one more.
'You've been angry ever since I signed the order quash-
ing Intertech's immunity research. You wanted me to
fight Fasner on that one. You probably thought I should
have gone public - exposed what he was doing, forced
his hand. ' Hints of ire reached her through her veiled
hearing. 'But what would that accomplish? If I pushed
him far enough, he could always publish the research
himself. Tell the GCES I'd misunderstood him. He might
be damaged, but he would survive. He would still be
here — and I would be gone.
'Of course, I could have just quit. But that would have
accomplished even less.
'So I didn't do any of those things.
'I didn't quash Intertech's research. I took it away. The
order I signed was just a sham. I took the research and
gave it to Hashi. He completed it himself. '
Warden's eye was full of darkness. Hints of pain
tugged at the muscles of his cheeks. We have a mutagen
immunity drug. It works. Hashi is the only one who
knows about it. He's the only one allowed to use it.
'That was my idea. ' The director closed his fists, knot-
ted them on the desktop in front of him. 'Fasner wanted
to stop the whole project. I persuaded him to let Hashi
finish it - to let me have it and keep it secret.
'If that comes out, I won't just lose my job. I'll be
executed for treason.
'But it's the only lever I have with the Dragon. It's the
kind of collusion he understands. It implicates me. More
than anything I've ever done, that convinced him to trust
me - convinced him to let me make my own decisions.
'He would kill me if he knew I'm responsible for that
bill. He might kill me anyway, if he thinks the bill could
pass - or if he even starts to suspect I might tell anybody
else what I know. '
The familiar fire in Min's palms seemed to spread up
through her body to her face; her eyes burned. Another
woman would have been on the verge of tears: Min was
on the verge of an explosion. Simply to control the bris-
ance fighting for release inside her, she asked, 'But what
does he get out of it? How does it help UMC profits if
DA has a secret immunity drug?
'What do you get?'
Warden took a deep breath. When he expelled it, the
intensity seemed to flow out of him. The tension faded
from his hands and shoulders; his face resumed its
impassivity. He looked like a man who'd taken a des-
perate risk and lost, and now had nothing left to do but
accept the consequences.
'I'm sorry, ' he sighed. 'Sometimes I'm appalled by my
own weakness. I should have let you go on believing I
simply quashed the research. That would have been easier
for you. '
Easier? She didn't understand. Easier how?
Did he mean, easier for her to keep her distance? to
separate herself from him, preserve ED's integrity?
Was her loyalty such a threat that he wanted - no,
needed — to drive her away?
'How does it help UMC profits?' he continued. 'It
preserves the conflict with the Amnion. It scares them -
that's what Hashi is using it for - which makes them
both more hostile and more cautious. Which in turn
makes them more dependent on trade. With the UMC,
of course - but also with illegals. And that makes the
cops more necessary. More violent. More self-righteous.
More dangerous. Which produces more hostility and
caution.
'Anything that escalates the conflict short of actual war
increases UMC profits.
What do I get? I get to keep my job. Right now that's
more important to me than my life. '
Min couldn't stomach what he was saying. The ideas
sickened her: the thought that her loyalty was hazardous
to him sickened her. Again she asked, Warden, why
are you telling me this?' Where was her clean, simple
anger when she needed it? Why couldn't she hate him
now? 'If you want easy, you could have avoided the
whole subject. Hell, you could have avoided me. There's
nothing I can do about it when you decide to sequester
yourself. '
He didn't look away, but his quiet answer ached with
defeat. 'That kaze nearly killed you. He nearly killed Cap-
tain Vertigus. Knowing you, I assume you feel respon-
sible for the woman who died in the explosion. I owed
you an explanation. '
She ground her fingers into the tops of her thighs in
a fierce effort to contain her distress. She wanted to
shout, What kind of explanation have you given me? Do
you call supplying me with reasons to distrust you an
explanation? Do you call saying you want me to survive
an explanation? Nevertheless she crushed down her pro-
test. If she gave him another reason to look beaten, she
didn't think she could bear it.
'Then I guess, ' she rasped, You'll be glad to hear Cap-
tain Vertigus has decided to sponsor your bill. He should
have it ready by the time the Council convenes tomorrow
morning. '
The director shrugged. Too bad. You haven't heard
the latest news. Abrim Len has already announced that
the Council won't re-convene until Security has had a
chance to investigate that kaze. Until the members can
be sure they're safe. Another day or two at least. '
The keening in Min's ears seemed to grow louder. She
began to think it would never go away.
ANCILLARY
DOCUMENTATION
TRANSCRIPT OF A COMMISSIONING
ADDRESS DELIVERED BY WARDEN
DIOS TO CADETS OF THE UNITED
MINING COMPANIES POLICE
ACADEMY ON THE OCCASION OF
THEIR FIRST ASSIGNMENT
Men and women, cadets of the United Mining Com-
panies Police Academy, it's time.
Your training is over, to the extent that the Academy
can provide it - to the extent that any of us can ever say
our training is over. You've spent many hundreds of
hours in classrooms, absorbing advice, memorizing data,
squinting at screens and hardcopy, being hectored by
pedants, purists and philosophers — in short, studying
until you thought your skulls were going to crack, [laugh-
ter] You've spent months of real-time in simulators and
simulations, learning to use our equipment, the best as
well as the worst of it, learning the basic skills to survive
and function when your life depends on your machinery
and your companions - learning everything it's humanly
possible to learn from a mock-up. You've been marched,
stressed, exercised, taught, and beaten up until even the
smallest of you could face entire guttergangs and take
less damage than you give. You've been under hard g -
you've been through the gap. And some of you - I say,
some of you - have even contrived to squeeze in a little
sleep, [laughter]
Now it's over, [applause, cheers] Over at last. You've
learned what the Academy can teach you. Every one of
you is stronger and smarter than you were when you
arrived, better equipped to take care of yourselves and
the people who trust you, better prepared to meet any
future you choose.
It's time you went to work, [groans, laughter]
I want to talk to you about that work, [applause]
We're the UMCP. In crude terms, we stand against
the Amnion: we control their impulse to encroach on
our space, our interests, and our survival. And we chase
pirates, [laughter] In other words, we do what the police
have done since humankind started keeping historical
records. The only difference between us and the
uncountable legions of our predecessors is that our juris-
diction, our 'turf', begins where theirs left off - at the
limits of this planet's gravity well.
Men and women, cadets, we are responsible for all
human space.
That makes us unique in history. It makes us unique in
our own time. In every other way, we're just cops. Like
every cop before us who ever put his heart into his job or
her life on the line, we're here to serve and protect the
people who gave us birth, the people who nurtured and
educated us, the people who taught us inspiration and
imagination, the people who invented our technologies
and our arts, the people who made us who we are. In that
way, we're no different than our predecessors. We're
simply another link in the long chain of men and women
who took the same oath we do - the men and women who
swore to defend what they called civilization against what-
ever they understood as external and internal threats.
But in this way, in the matter of 'turf', we are without
precedent, in our time or any other. Never before have
the police been responsible for the continued existence
of their entire species in the whole created universe.
External and internal threats we've had aplenty since
the beginning of time. That's inevitable. We're human
beings. Most of us can't get out of bed in the morning
without causing trouble for somebody, [laughter] But
the internal and external threats have always been human
ones. What one clan or tribe or nation calls civilization,
another calls barbarism - or a violation of natural sover-
eignty. Racial distrust fosters violence. Economic imbal-
ance breeds greed and jealousy. And the planet is a closed
eco-system. Therefore conflicts occur within and between
civilizations over the allocation of resources — an under-
standable struggle which has typically been disguised by
masks of religion and politics.
Make no mistake about it. The cops have always had
their hands full.
But only on our turf is the continuance of humankind
itself at issue. All the struggles of our long, bloody and
unscrupulous past have produced survivors and corpses
- but the survivors, like the corpses, have always been
human.
That isn't true on our turf.
Of course, the word 'turf' is something of an over-
simplification in this context. I'm not referring only to
questions of jurisdiction. The Amnion exist. They have
no discernible desire for war. On the other hand, they're
profoundly imperialistic -I say profoundly because their
imperialism reaches to the core of our genetic existence,
the core of what makes us human beings. All human
space is our 'turf' because that is our jurisdiction - and
because the Amnion will take it away from us if they can.
They will take who we are away from us if they can.
For that reason - and no other - we are utterly and
essentially unique.
And because we are unique, we have — we must have -
a unique relationship with the people we serve and protect.
Precisely because we are uniquely responsible for the
future existence of our kind, we must also be uniquely
responsible to our kind. The sheer scale of the challenge
we've undertaken requires of us a special integrity, a com-
mensurate valor, a whole new kind of dedication. You
know that. But it requires something more as well. It
requires a special responsiveness to the will and spirit of
humankind. In the purest terms, we must act for the people
we serve. If we do not - if the barrier we erect between
humanity and extinction in any way violates the trust or the
desire or the freedom of the people we serve - then we
falsify ourselves as cops. We make ourselves, not the
defenders of the future, but its arbiters. Rather than simply
and cleanly enabling the future, we choose it for men,
women and children who didn't ask us to do that job.
Cadets of the United Mining Companies Police Acad-
emy, it is the nature of power to resist restrictions, to
seek an unfettered expansion and expression of itself. And
it is the function of ethics to impose restrictions on
power, to weld and wield the potentialities of power so
that they serve but do not control the people in whose
name they exist. And we have power, never doubt it.
That may seem slightly implausible to men and women
who've suffered for years through what we blandly call
'training', but of course I'm not talking about you, I'm
talking about us. We, the cops, hold the future of human-
kind in our care. We must not misuse it. We must be as
vigilant in how we exercise our power as we are diligent
when we use it.
I want to be absolutely clear about this. Your oath puts
on you a responsibility which extends far beyond the limits
of any ordinary employment, any planet-bound or
stationer occupation, any less stringent concept of duty.
Let me suggest an analogy. Consider the problem of
piracy. We don't 'chase pirates' just because they're illegal.
We don't shoot at them just because they shot at us first -
or because they damaged any of the people we protect. We
fight piracy for the same organic reason that an antibody
fights a virus, because if we don't- and if we don't succeed
- the whole vast human organism sickens and dies.
But when an antibody begins to change the shape of the
larger organism, when the antibody introduces mutations
which the larger organism didn't choose and can't control,
we call it 'cancer'. Like the virus, it kills the larger organ-
ism. Unlike the virus, however, the cancer is wrong.
The virus resembles the Amnion. It exists. It seeks to
perform the functions of which it is capable for its own
honest, genetically coded reasons — because it must. But
the cancer is a violation of its own code. It is deadly
because its protein chains have become twisted and false.
Those of you who are good with analogies will hardly
have failed to notice that piracy also is a form of cancer.
Well, if you're going to die anyway, what difference
does it make whether a virus or a cancer kills you? No dif-
ference at all - that's obvious. But while you're still alive,
while you still have a future, the difference is profound.
When you contract a virus, you can always hope that your
antibodies will be equal to the task of preserving you. But
when your antibodies turn to cancer, you can only survive
if you accept some kind of fundamental violence against
your own organism - surgery which cuts you open,
chemotherapy which wreaks havoc with your polymerase,
radiation which threatens the very nucleotides of your
existence, genetically engineered predator microbes which
attack the cancer, but which can never be trusted to attack
only the cancer. Whether or not you survive, the cancer
has done you more harm than the virus.
If we are not antibodies, an expression of the humanity
of the organism to which we belong, then we are cancer,
and humankind would be better off without us.
That is the thrust of your oath, the unique and neces-
sary task you swear to undertake. I must tell you frankly
that in the end I don't care whether you succeed at it or
not. For the simple and valid reason that we don't try to
choose or control the future, we can't guarantee it. Space
is immense, and the Amnion, mysterious. None of us
can know what the outcome of our efforts will be. Our
responsibility for and to humankind doesn't require us
to know. Ultimately none of us are measured by the
degree of our success. We are measured by the quality of
our service.
Men and women, cadets of the United Mining Com-
panies Police Academy, it's time.
It's time we all went to work, [prolonged applause]
LIETE
Liete Corregio, command third, Captain's Fancy,
sat at her station on the bridge with the ship's
best people around her and a long black wind
blowing in her ears.
By ordinary standards, she and the watch she'd selected
had nothing to do on the bridge. Captain's Fancy was
docked, immobilized, both drives and all her energies
dead. Even the power to process water and circulate air
came from Billingate; from the fusion generator buried
beyond reach in the core of the rock. Clamps and
grapples held the ship in place, as rigid as the dock itself.
Only communications might conceivably demand some
attention; but the board could be set to route incoming
messages to her in her cabin - or anywhere else she hap-
pened to be.
Nevertheless she had her orders. No one aboard could
countermand them. And she had no intention of chal-
lenging them herself, despite the long black wind and its
burden of dread.
She did her best to ignore the wind. It was metaphoric
in any case, a habit of mind or a perceptual trick. Ever
since she could remember, she'd experienced her life in
images of wind: the arctic pressure of necessity which
had blown her from place to place and skill to skill
until she gusted aboard Captain's Fancy; the soaring
gale-ride of the gap between the stars, the hollow howl
of the vacuum; the sweet zephyr of sleep; the solar
flare of Nick's virility; the hungry mistral of flight and
battle and command. Even the sensations of food and
comradeship were like breezes ruffling her short hair,
warming her dark cheeks. And when Nick Succorso
had finally taken her to bed, after years of longing as
poignant and unanswerable as a sigh in a dark cavern,
his touch had felt like wind: a scorched blast from an
old, baked and needy desert, raw with sand and so dry
it denatured her heart. By the time he left her again,
some part of her had shriveled away, desiccated to
powder - the only part still capable of questioning
him.
Once she realized that now at last she had no remaining
needs or desires that didn't belong to him, she began to
hear the black wind blowing.
It was the wind of her doom.
It may have been the doom of the whole ship.
Yet it was only a metaphor, an image; a way of think-
ing: it didn't confuse her. Instead it helped her under-
stand her circumstances. When Nick had burned his way
onto the auxiliary bridge and aimed his cutting laser at
Morn, the familiar, respected urgency Liete called the
mistral had lifted her and flung her at him, carrying him
to the floor; saving both him and his ship. She'd ridden
breezes and blasts to gain the trust which had made her
his command third.
For that reason, she had no difficulty carrying out her
orders, despite the sound of the black wind - a prolonged
empty echo as twisted as a groan.
She stayed on the bridge, at her station. From around
the ship she culled the people she wanted, people she
herself trusted: Carmel for scan; Lind on communi-
cations; Malda Verone at targ. Helm she gave to Pastille
because she valued his abilities more than she disliked his
lack of discipline. Engineering sat vacant, of course. And
no one was assigned to data and damage control: Morn
was lost; Sib Mackern, gone; and Alba Parmute, hope-
less. Liete routed those functions to the command con-
sole and handled them herself.
Once her people took their g-seats, she told them, 'I'm
not here to answer questions, so don't ask. ' Her voice
always sounded quiet. Nevertheless it carried: the mistral
carried it - or the black wind. She knew that she would
be obeyed. 'I'm here for the same reason you are — to do
what Nick tells us. He gave me orders. I'm giving them
to you.
'You probably wish you knew what's going on. So do
I. But we don't need that. All we need is orders. As long
as he's alive, he isn't going to abandon his ship. That
means he isn't going to abandon us. The best thing we
can do to keep ourselves alive is follow his orders.
'If you believe you know somebody better qualified' -
she stressed the word sardonically - 'to give us orders
and keep us alive, you have my permission to leave the
ship. You can go join Mikka. Or hide out on the cruise
until this is over.
'But if you can't, then do what I tell you and don't ask
questions. Once we start, I won't tolerate anything else. '
Steadily she scanned the bridge.
Carmel shrugged; Lind nodded. Both of them had
been with Nick too long to start doubting him now.
Malda assented for reasons of her own - reasons, Liete
suspected, which she and the targ first had in common.
But Pastille grinned like a weasel. 'Is it all right, ' he
asked in a rank sneer, 'if we think while we're working?
I mean, it might be useful if we're allowed to at least
think:
That didn't deserve a retort, so Liete didn't give it one.
Instead she met his gaze until he ducked his head and
nodded.
'All right. ' She took a deep breath, held it for a
moment, then let it out softly. 'From now on, you're on
battle alert until I say otherwise. When I give the word,
we'll get started. '
The chronometer on her board measured out seconds;
minutes. No one spoke. Pastille squirmed in his g-seat.
Everyone else sat still.
Ignoring the uncertainty and silence around her, Liete
waited until the deadline Nick had set for his return came
and passed. Then she began.
While the black wind hinted ruin in her ears, she
ordered her watch to run their checklists as if Captain's
Fancy were bound for deep space.
At the same time, she told Lind to monitor every con-
ceivable channel for messages from Nick, the Bill, the
Amnion, or Trumpet. And she instructed Carmel to lock
scan on Soar: if Soar gave any sign of leaving the instal-
lation, Liete wanted to know about it instantly.
After the checklists were complete, she began to power
up Captain's Fancy with as much subtlety as she could
devise. In order to postpone as long as possible the
moment when Operations would notice the ship's status
and challenge it, she had Malda use installation current
to charge the weapons systems. And Pastille drew on the
same source to prime the thrusters for cold ignition, so
that drive emission wouldn't betray the ship.
Riding the long black air for reasons she couldn't guess
in a direction she couldn't identify, Liete Corregio delib-
erately de-activated the docking failsafes. When she was
done, Captain's Fancy could rip free of Billingate without
risking shutdown by either the installation's alarms or the
ship's own in-built survival mechanisms.
She intended to follow Nick's orders no matter where
they took her.
MIKKA
Mikka Vasaczk sat at the small table with an
untasted drink clenched in her capable hands,
glowering at everything.
She glowered at the false glitter of the lighting, molded
to resemble archaic chandeliers; at the walls, which were
decorated with mirrors and holographic nudes; at the
painted cruisewalkers who moved occasionally among
the tables, trolling for business. She glowered at the bar
itself, as well as at the young woman who tended it - a
girl so expressionless that she might as well have had no
face. She glowered impersonally at the spacers drinking
and gibing at the other tables.
From time to time she glowered at her companion,
even though he hadn't done anything to deserve it.
'Why are we doing this?' Sib Mackern had asked her
as soon as they left Captain's Fancy.
Past clenched jaws she'd replied, 'He kept my brother. '
Confused, he'd begun to say, 'That's not what I-'
Then he'd stopped himself. 'Your brother? Who is that?'
'Pup, ' she'd told him shortly.
He'd stared at her as if she'd frightened him. 'I didn't
know Pup was your brother. '
Now she and Captain's Fancy's data first were in a place
called Paunchys, a nearly clean, almost civilized bar-and-
sleep at the fringes of the cruise. For some reason, Soar's
crew liked to come here off-watch.
A sour barkeep deeper in the cruise had told her this.
He would have told any paying customer anything which
might conceivably encourage them to buy from him. And
Soar came to Billingate so often, spent so much time in
the vicinity of Thanatos Minor, that her people were
known.
Ignoring Sib's knotted anxiety, Mikka had led him to
Paunchys, seated him at a table not too far from the ones
where a small group of spacers already sat, and used some
of Captain's Fancy's little credit to buy drinks neither he
nor she wanted.
Why are we doing this?
Good question. She understood Nick's orders. I want
you to start a rumor about the immunity drug. Say you've
heard Soar's captain has a drug that protects her from the
Amnion. Talk about it until you're sure her crew hears you.
But why he'd given those orders — and given them to her
- was another matter.
He'd said he wanted to prime the Bill. To do business.
She didn't believe that. She had other ideas.
He wanted to get rid of her.
Because she didn't trust him anymore.
Trust him, hell! When he'd turned Morn over to the
Amnion, Mikka had realized that she didn't even like him.
It was possible that she'd never liked him, even though
she'd been ready to kill for him ever since they'd first met.
But his hold on her had started to fray when she'd seen
that he was perfectly willing to sell Morn's son to the
Amnion. And it had snapped completely when he'd given
away Morn herself.
The knowledge that he could force her to do anything
he wanted by threatening Pup filled Mikka with dry, grim
rage, as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of alum.
Glowering and bitter, she carried out Nick's instruc-
tions just long enough to see tension accumulating in the
shoulders at the other tables; long enough to hear strain
in the way the spacers tried to pretend they weren't listen-
ing. Then she quit. Sitting there in the bar, with Sib's
moist, worried eyes on her and nowhere to go, she came
to the end of what she was willing to do for Nick
Succorso. If one of Soar's people had stopped by her
table to probe for more information, she might have
answered by telling the truth.
She ignored the bugeyes which surveyed the bar. As far
as she was concerned, she had nothing left to hide. And
they might not be sensitive enough to pick up her voice.
Driven by tension, she told Sib again, 'He kept my
brother. '
Sib hunted for a reply. After a moment he repeated, 'I
didn't know Pup was your brother. '
Gripping herself so that she wouldn't groan, she mur-
mured, 'Nick knows. '
Mackern's eyes were as eloquent as a kid's: they
showed every shade of his fear, his self-distrust. Sweat
darkened his pale mustache until it looked like a smudge
across his upper lip. Trying to cool his anxiety, he rolled
his drink between his wrists. But his fever was too acute
for simple remedies - and in any case most of the ice in
his drink had already melted.
After a time one or two of the spacers who probably
belonged to Soar left Paunchys. The rest regrouped them-
selves at other tables farther away.
Sib rephrased his question. 'Why does Nick want us
to do this?'
Mikka didn't want to say, To get rid of us. Not here:
not now, while Pup was still at risk. Instead she muttered,
To make trouble for Soar — for Sorus Chatelaine. It
doesn't have anything to do with the Bill. Or the
Amnion. Hurting them is just a fringe benefit. He's after
her. She's the one who cut him.
'And it's going to work. ' Her disgust came out in a
snarl. 'Rumors about an immunity drug in a place like
this, for God's sake! The Bill is going to go wild. The
Amnion will too, if they hear about it. We would be safer
tossing around vials of concentrated hydrofluoric acid. If
we did what he told us — if we kept moving, kept spread-
ing his rumor — the Bill would have us hanging by our
entrails before we crossed half the cruise. '
Sib stared at her with all his uncertainty and dread
showing. 'Is that why we're still sitting here?'
'Yes!' she grated. Then she said, 'No. I don't know. I
just can't do it anymore. I hate it too much. '
For the third time, she told him, 'He kept my brother. '
The data first seemed to consider this part of a ritual
to which there was no appropriate response except, 'I
didn't know he was your brother. '
Glaring at him despite the fact that most of her anger
was directed at herself, she completed the pattern. 'Nick
knows. ' Then, because her heart hurt, and she'd spent
most of her life forcing herself to look coldly at whatever
hurt her, she added, 'His real name is Ciro. '
Stiffly, as if he'd decided on suicide, Sib raised his glass
like a gun to his mouth and drank.
Mikka didn't touch her own drink until Vector
Shaheed walked into the bar-and-sleep. Then she swal-
lowed it all in one long draught because he had Pup with
him.
The alcohol wasn't enough to muffle her relief- or her
awareness of treachery. She couldn't keep the tears from
her eyes as Vector and Pup headed for her table.
'God damn him, ' she breathed to Sib, her voice shak-
ing. 'He wants to get rid of them, too. '
Apparently Pup didn't understand. His young face
showed a relief of his own, showed confusion and uncer-
tainty; but no betrayal. The incompleteness of his gan-
gling limbs — he still didn't have his full growth - made
him look vulnerable and precious to Mikka; the only
treasure she had left.
Vector understood, however: his clear blue gaze made
that plain. Complex perceptions twisted his smile as he
stopped at the table. He noticed her tears, but didn't
comment on them. 'Mikka, ' he said mildly, 'Sib. Imagine
my surprise. '
'No, ' Mikka retorted through her teeth, fighting for
self-command. We don't have time.
'Sit down, both of you, ' she ordered. 'Start by telling
me how you found us. '
Vector turned and waved at the woman tending the
bar. Across the intervening tables, he requested coffee for
himself, some kind of beer substitute for Pup.
By the time the engineer was seated, Pup had already
taken a chair beside Mikka and blurted out, 'Nick told
us to go talk to the shipyard foreman, but we didn't,
do it. '
She stifled an impulse to put her arms around him.
That wasn't what he wanted - and in any case she didn't
trust herself. Caught up in her own fear and anger,
she'd forgotten that her brother still considered Nick a
hero.
We were supposed to make sure the shipyard was
ready to work on Captain's Fancy', ' Pup went on urgently.
That's what Nick told us. ' Despite his intensity, however,
he remembered to keep his voice down. 'He found a way
to rescue us, get us fixed. He's going to get us out of this
mess. We were supposed to be sure the shipyard has the
right parts.
'But we didn't do it. ' He flung an accusing glare at the
engineer. "Vector says that isn't what's going on. ' In a
shocked whisper, he said, We're disobeying a direct
order, Mikka. '
She made a hushing gesture. 'Give him a minute. ' She
wanted to comfort her brother: she needed that more
than he did. 'He'll explain. But first I want to know how
you found us. '
Vector tasted his coffee, then grimaced in mock dis-
gust. Where I come from, ' he pronounced, 'making
coffee this bad is a capital offense.
'It wasn't hard, ' he went on without transition. 'I told
a data terminal in Reception I wanted a room. The pro-
gram ran a routine check on Captain's Fancy's credit. I
expressed my indignation that the total was so low' - he
gave Mikka a round smile - 'and demanded a record of
recent expenditures. The terminal told me you were using
ship's credit to buy drinks here. ' He widened his eyes
humorously. 'Expensive ones, apparently. '
'But why?' Pup's impatience made him sound younger
than usual. Why are you doing this? Nick gave us orders.
If you wanted to talk to Mikka, you could have found
her after we made sure the shipyard is ready. '
Vector looked at Mikka. The humor slowly faded from
his eyes, leaving them cold and hard.
'You might as well say it, ' she growled. 'Somebody has
to. '
Sib took another drink. When he put his glass down,
liquid slopped onto the table.
Vector shrugged; he turned to face Pup squarely. 'Cap-
tain's Fancy isn't going to be repaired. Not now - prob-
ably not ever. Nick is finished. He'll never be allowed off
this rock. He just doesn't want to admit it. ' The
engineer's tone was quiet and sad. 'Anything he says
about repairs is crap. '
Then why - ?' Pup began hotly.
'Ciro. ' Vector's voice sharpened. 'Listen to me. He's
weeding out the malcontents. Getting rid of people he
doesn't trust. He's fighting to survive. Not for the ship
- not for us. He's fighting for himself. And we're a threat
to him. The four of us here. Personally. He might have
simply killed us, but that would have made a bad impres-
sion on the rest of the crew. So he sent us away. Now
he'll make sure we never get back. '
This was hard for Pup. He'd inherited too much of
Mikka's devotion - and learned too much of his own.
For reasons he may not have been able to identify, his
face flushed scarlet.
'But why? he demanded. 'You still haven't told me
why.'
Vector shrugged again. 'Why is he finished? Or why
are we a threat to him?'
Studying her brother, Mikka felt a small leap of pride
and relief when she saw that he didn't need to ask why
Nick was finished. Pup was young and inexperienced;
still growing; barely trained. Nevertheless he was smart
enough to recognize that Vector's analysis - or Mikka's
- of Nick's fate was secondary.
His cheeks were hot with blood as he said, 'Why are
we a threat to him. '
Vector looked at Mikka. Mikka glared back at him,
avoiding Pup's gaze. Suddenly she found the words dif-
ficult to say. She'd given Nick too much of herself for
too many years. Even now she was ashamed to admit her
disloyalty.
Vector also avoided Pup's eyes and said nothing.
She'd decided long ago that Sib Mackern considered
himself a coward. Regardless of his opinion of himself,
however, he found the courage to speak before she or
Vector did.
Almost wincing, but clearly, he said, 'I let Morn out
of her cabin. So she could rescue Davies from the ejection
pod. '
There. The truth at last. Mikka hadn't known about
Sib's action. She might not have believed him capable of
it. But as soon as he spoke she knew he was telling the
truth.
His revelation released the pressure which dammed
her voice in her chest. Softly she told her part of the
story.
'I nearly ran into her. After Sib let her out. While she
was on her way to the engineering console room. I could
have stopped her. I mean, I could have tried. At the very
least, I could have warned Nick. But I didn't. '
Now Vector was ready. 'She reached the console room
while I was still there. I let her at the pod control board.
I'm sure I couldn't have stopped her. I know because I
hit her as hard as I could, and it didn't make any differ-
ence. On the other hand, I could easily have warned
Nick. '
As if to steady himself, he took another sip of coffee.
'In retrospect, I don't feel good about hitting her. But
what shames me most is that it took her so long to con-
vince me.
'Ciro' - he looked straight into Pup's earnest gaze - 'I
let her at the board as soon as I understood that she
would have done exactly the same thing - taken the same
chances, risked herself just as much - if I were being
given to the Amnion. '
The flush had faded from Pup's face. Mikka couldn't
tell what he was thinking. When Vector finished, Pup
studied Sib for a moment, then turned toward her. With-
out noticing what he was doing, he pushed his drink
aside with the back of his hand as if he wanted to clear
space for honesty and decisions.
'What about me?' he asked. 'Why am I a threat to him?'
Mikka didn't hesitate now. 'Because you're my brother,
and you work with Vector. Nick is afraid you might start
listening to one of us. '
For a moment Pup didn't respond. His gaze seemed
to shift inward, and he frowned, unconsciously mimick-
ing her customary scowl. As she watched, a new sorrow
for him tugged through her. If he frowned like that long
enough, it would become permanent; he would begin to
look as bitter and grieved as she did.
Then he lifted his head. With a dignity he'd never
possessed before, he said firmly, 'He's right about that,
anyway. '
Tears ran down Mikka's cheeks again. She couldn't
hide them. After a while she stopped trying.
Vector patted Pup on the back, ruffled his hair affec-
tionately. In an avuncular tone, he said to Sib, 'Better
drink up. We need to figure out what we're going to do
and then go do it before somebody comes looking for us
to ask about that rumor you were supposed to start. '
'What can we do?' Sib asked at once. We don't belong
here. ' He made a gesture that indicated the whole cruise.
We haven't got any allies - or any resources. As soon as
Nick cuts off our credit, we won't even be able to eat.
And we can't ask another ship to take us. He made sure
of that. Nobody will touch the people who started those
rumors. They'll leave us to the Bill - or Captain Chat-
elaine. And they won't care about us. They'll just want to
know who's being betrayed. '
Inspired by his fears, he'd considered implications
which hadn't occurred to Mikka before. With a sting of
apprehension, she realized that he was right.
'That means interrogation, ' Sib finished softly. Visceral
dread twisted his face. 'I don't want to be interrogated
here. '
Her lip curled into a snarl. Drugs. Zone implants. BR
surgery. She also didn't want to be interrogated here.
'Damn, ' she muttered. We shouldn't have done it. We
should have kept our mouths shut. ' To Vector and Sib
as well, but especially to her brother, she said, 'I'm sorry.
I haven't been thinking very clearly. '
'So we can't afford to sit here' - Vector sounded
strangely jocular, as if he were trying to cheer her up -
'and wait for events to unfold. We need a plan. We need
to move. '
She glared at him. 'Don't tell me - let me guess. You've
got an idea. '
Despite his tone, the engineer's smile was humorless
and determined. Well, for a start, ' he offered, 'it might
be interesting to figure out what Nick is up to. '
Mikka's old anger was directed primarily at herself.
'And how do you propose to do that?'
Vector shrugged. 'I don't know. I don't fit in here. '
Like Sib, he referred to the cruise. 'On my own, I prob-
ably wouldn't last more than a day or two. I don't know
what's possible here and what isn't. '
'It has something to do with Soar, ' Sib put in tenta-
tively. 'Captain Chatelaine. Mikka says she's the woman
who cut Nick. He wants revenge somehow. '
Mikka nodded. Nick must have lost his mind. He was
in too much trouble himself: he couldn't waste his time
on revenge when his bare survival - not to mention Cap-
tain's Fancy's — was at stake.
Unless he had some reason to believe that causing
trouble for Sorus Chatelaine would somehow loosen the
stranglehold of his circumstances.
If that were true, Mikka and her companions might be
able to benefit from it.
Pup, Vector and Sib were all looking at her. With her
hands locked into fists on the tabletop, she ground the
knuckles together, trying to force herself to think.
They couldn't approach Soar: that was obvious. The
rumor they'd started tainted them; they would end up
dead - after the Bill or Chatelaine ripped their brains
apart.
But Soar and her captain weren't the only players in
Nick's game.
Abruptly she put her palms down flat on the table.
'Not the cruise, ' she announced quietly. 'Not Soar.
Trumpet. '
Her companions studied her, waiting for an expla-
nation.
She leaned forward. 'Everybody on this damn rock, '
she whispered intently, 'heard her talking to Operations.
We know Angus Thermopyle is aboard. Along with a
bugger named Milos Taverner, who used to be deputy
chief of Com-Mine Station Security. All by itself, that
stinks. I'm surprised Operations let them in. Maybe the
Bill figures they're less dangerous docked than anywhere
else. But that's not the point.
The point is, Nick has been talking to Trumpet ever
since Operations cleared her. And Milos Taverner has
been bugging for Nick for years. In fact, we wouldn't
have been able to frame Thermopyle if Taverner hadn't
helped us. Now suddenly the man we framed and the
man who helped us frame him arrive here - together, for
God's sake! - and Nick is talking to them.
'That's what we need to understand. If there's any
window out of this mess, that's it. '
'Fine, ' Vector remarked succinctly. 'How?'
'Well' - Mikka fought down an impulse to clench her
fists again, pound them on the table - 'we might start by
watching Trumpet. See who goes aboard, who leaves. If
nothing else, that'll get us off the cruise, which should
make it harder for the Bill to find us. '
The Bill's surveillance was everywhere, of course. But
the bugeyes and wires were strictly impersonal: they
watched everything in general - and nothing in particu-
lar. Without specific instructions to the contrary, the
recordings of Mikka and her companions would simply
be filed in the Bill's gargantuan surveillance database.
And those instructions might not be issued until Nick's
rumor had time to spread; generate repercussions. Then
more time would be required to run search-and-compare
programs on the database. An hour or more might pass
before Captain's Fancy's cast-offs could be located.
'Maybe we'll get a chance to sneak aboard ourselves, '
she went on. 'Maybe we'll even see Nick. In which case'
- she gritted her teeth - 'we'll have new options. '
'Like what?' Sib asked.
Mikka bit down on her anger until her jaws ached. 'Like
tying him up and delivering him to the Amnion, just to
prove our good faith. Or like making him believe we're
going to do it, so he'll think he has to deal with us. '
'We can't!' Pup protested as if he were shocked.
She scowled at him harshly. Why not?'
'You saw him fight Orn. ' Pup's voice cracked; but he
was too shaken to stop. The step from distrusting Nick
to attacking him was a large one. 'He could beat us all
with one hand. '
Sib nodded vehemently. He was no fighter.
'Maybe. ' Mikka shrugged. 'Maybe not. And maybe
we'll have help. Somehow I doubt lockup has taught
Angus Thermopyle enough forgiveness to make him a
friend of Nick's. '
Vector pushed himself to his feet. 'I'm satisfied. Let's
do it. ' He moved as if his joints hurt less in Thanatos
Minor's g — as if some of the weight he usually carried
had been set aside. 'Sitting here makes me nervous. '
'But-' Sib scrubbed at the sweat on his face.
'Sib, ' the engineer asked mildly, 'if you were Sorus
Chatelaine, how long would you wait before you sent
your whole crew to get their hands on the people who
started that rumor?'
Mackern blanched. Then he jumped out of his chair as
if he'd been poked with a stun-prod.
'Mikka-' Pup's eyes were full of supplication; but he
didn't know how to ask for what he needed.
She stood; taking his arm, she pulled him up. Then
she hugged him quickly.
'Ciro, I can't promise we're going to get out of this
alive - or in one piece, ' she told him. 'I don't know what's
going to happen. But whatever it is, you won't be alone.
You've got friends. '
Despite his trepidation, Sib managed a wan smile. Vec-
tor nodded gravely.
'And, ' she finished, 'I'll kill anybody who tries to separate us. '
Pup returned her hug long enough to murmur, 'All
right. I'll be all right. ' Then he stepped back.
Mikka Vasaczk didn't hesitate. She had no time to
spare for doubt - and in her heart she believed she wasn't
brave enough for it. She'd depended on Nick Succorso
longer than Vector, or Sib, or Ciro; needed him more.
With her companions behind her, she left the bar-and-
sleep, heading for Reception and Trumpet.
ANGUS
Finally his instincts or his datacore told him that
the time had come.
He could hardly speak. Blisters covered his
tongue; his throat was full of ash. Spasms of nausea
pulled at his diaphragm, forcing hot bile into his eso-
phagus, but his zone implants stifled that reflex. The pres-
sure they exerted to control him seemed to cramp his
chest. Minute by minute, the pain threatened to become
more than his caged mind could bear.
That hurt echoed the condition of his whole body. For
an hour now, he'd fought with every gram of his strength
and will to break his datacore's hold; find some instance
of incompleteness or vulnerability which might allow
him to slip free of his zone implants long enough to kill
Milos. That was all he wanted: a chance to crush Milos
to pulp and splinters; a chance against the abyss. But he
couldn't crack the prison which had been constructed
inside his skull.
With his mouth full of ash and fatality, he recognized
that before long he was going to go mad. Then he would
be irremediably lost - a lunatic screaming and gibbering
inside his own cranium, helpless to make himself heard,
helpless to have any effect at all on anything his body did
or his mouth said.
He would be back in the abyss -
back in his crib
with his scrawny wrists and ankles tied to the slats
while his mother
while howls he couldn't utter clamored against the
unyielding bone of his head
while his mother filled him with pain —
Yet he went on fighting. He had no alternative. As
soon as he stopped, as soon as he surrendered, he would
be swallowed back into the absolute dark from which
he'd spent his life trying to escape at the cost of so much
fear and blood and loneliness.
Then, a short time ago, he'd received an unexpected
touch of mercy. Automatically solicitous for his physical
well-being, his computer had taken notice of the damage
burning like a slow torch in his mouth. When his distress
exceeded acceptable parameters, a gentle electronic emis-
sion began to inhibit the pain receptors in his brain. The
harm was still real, of course. Nevertheless he was able
to continue functioning.
Thickly, as fumble-mouthed as a halfwit, he told Milos,
'Try it now. '
Machine mercy didn't relieve his despair.
Milos shrugged. Exhaling another stream of smoke
into the clotted haze left behind by Ease-n-Sleaze's in-
adequate scrubbers, he rose to his feet. Completely
absorbed in himself, as if he were alone with his supply
of nic and his ashtray, he moved to the data terminal.
With a tap on the keys, he opened a channel to Trumpet
and instructed her communications board to relay any
messages she'd received.
After a moment he murmured, 'Looks like it's here. '
'You're the one who knows the code, ' Angus croaked
as if he weren't perilously close to failure. 'Is it time to
go?'
Milos muttered to himself as he deciphered the mes-
sage. At last he announced, 'I guess. ' He sounded sad
and obscurely bitter, as if something he needed had come
to an end.
Angus pushed himself out of his chair. His legs would
have trembled under him if his zone implants hadn't
steadied them; another kind of tremble, which his data-
core ignored, rose from his groin to his lungs and the
muscles around his heart. Movement, any movement,
-was better than remaining still while insanity hunted him
down.
He didn't wait for Milos. Striding slowly to conceal
his desperation, he moved toward the door, out into the
hall. As long as he kept his mouth closed, nothing
betrayed his pain except the ashen pallor of his face.
Milos followed him unwillingly. With his second
behind his shoulder, Angus took the lift down to the
level of the bar and walked out of Ease-n-Sleaze.
The blare and swirl of the cruise hit him like a blast of
relief. No wires nearby; bugeyes too far away to pick out
individual voices. Most of the people who loitered or
shoved along the street were enmeshed in their own
needs, their own corruption; they took no notice of him.
And the air smelled sweet to him, suggestive and familiar:
it reeked of synthetic and natural ruin, but nic was only
a small component of its complex assault. Here despair
appeared in guises he understood.
For a minute or two he moved along with no particular
aim, simply breathing the air, absorbing the glare of color
and the muted unstable thunder of boots on the cement
floor; tasting the atmosphere for threats. Then he took
hold of Milos' arm and pulled his second close enough
to hear a whisper.
We can talk now, ' he mumbled past his sore tongue.
'No wires or guards' - he made a short, harsh gesture -
'near enough to hear us. What did Captain Sheepfucker
say?'
A twist of disgust lingered on Milos' face. 'According
to Succorso, ' he answered softly, 'the Bill doesn't have a
lockup. He doesn't punish people that - simply. But
he has a series of cells for interrogations. Down in his
command complex somewhere. That's where he usually
keeps people until he decides what to do with them. ' He
looked like he wanted to spit. The woman didn't know
anything else. ' After a pause he added, 'It's not much to
go on. He didn't tell us how to find the cells. And we
can't be sure the kid is there. '
'It's enough. ' Angus knew where those cells were: he'd
spent some time there years ago, during one of his more
problematic visits to Thanatos Minor. Apparently the Bill
hadn't changed his procedures for dealing with human
loot since then. That was all the reassurance Angus
needed.
Milos waited for more information. When he didn't
get it, he hissed, 'All right. Assume you can find the cells.
Assume the kid is there. You still haven't told me how
you propose to get him out. We can't just walk in there
and take him. ' His head twitched a reference to the Bill's
ubiquitous surveillance. 'And you haven't told me why, '
he finished almost plaintively.
Good questions, both of them. No more than a
minute ago, Angus couldn't have answered either one.
And he still had no idea why he'd made this deal with
Nick; why Warden Dios wanted him to do whatever he
could for Morn. But as soon as Milos said the words take
him, the data-link in Angus' head opened like crossing
the gap, and information he'd never seen before came
on-line.
Involuntary excitement thudded through him as he
received a flood of new knowledge.
Triggered by Milos' words - or the proximity of a crisis
— this database informed him that his EM prostheses had
capabilities he'd never suspected. They weren't simply
able to identify wires and bugeyes; read alarms and locks;
analyze technological enhancements. Properly coded,
they could also emit jamming fields for a wide variety of
sensing devices. He could glitch a monitor until it
recorded nothing but distortion, if he got close enough
to it.
Or-
Suddenly his excitement became so intense that he for-
got Milos and the cruise, Warden Dios and Morn
Hyland. The world around him seemed to vanish in dis-
covery.
Or he could bend light.
Not over a large area, of course. His power supply
wasn't adequate for that. But he could surround himself
with a radiant curve, an electromagnetically induced
refraction wave in the visible spectrum, which would
make him effectively indistinguishable to most optical
monitors. Human eyes would always be able to see him.
But neurologic and electronic encoding were fundamen-
tally different, vulnerable to different kinds of distortion.
And because the Bill's bugeyes were designed to function
over distance under uncertain lighting conditions, they
received wider bandwidths — with less accuracy. They
would record Angus as nothing more than a slight opal-
escent ripple in the image, like a blur on the bugeye's
lens.
The ripple could still be tracked. An intensive com-
puter analysis of the recordings could follow it as it
moved. But first it had to be noticed: someone in Oper-
ations - or in the Bill's command complex - had to see
it and worry about it. And that might never happen. No
one on Thanatos Minor had any reason to suspect that
Angus carried this kind of jamming equipment - that he
or anyone else could carry it.
Light-bending fields were known, of course, but they
weren't common: their emitters were too bulky, and
required too much power, to be effectively portable. And
even where the size and power consumption of the equip-
ment weren't a problem, the fields themselves remained
too small and immobile to have much practical applica-
tion. By welding these emitters into Angus, Hashi
Lebwohl had accomplished a miracle of miniaturization.
The codes were right there in Angus' head.
Lebwohl and Dios had left him defenseless in the path
of madness; he hated and feared them. But that didn't
prevent him from experiencing a strange, amazed
exultation which bordered on gratitude at their technical
abilities. When they'd taken his freedom away, they'd
made him into something wonderful.
He hadn't felt an emotion like this since the day an
Amnioni had taught him now to edit Bright Beauty's
datacore.
He'd earned that knowledge by committing what the
UMCP would probably have considered the worst crime
of his life - a crime they still didn't know about because
none of his human or computer interrogators had pos-
sessed enough information to frame an accurate question.
Single-handedly he had hijacked a large in-system hauler;
but he hadn't wasted his time with the actual cargo.
Instead he'd loaded the survivors, twenty-eight men and
women, into Bright Beauty's holds and sold them directly
to the Amnion on Billingate.
In return for booty on that scale, the Amnion had
supplied him with the skill which had kept him alive ever
since. Plainly they'd believed he would in turn sell the
information to other illegals; thereby doing humankind's
defenses incalculable harm.
The memory still brought him a burn of satisfied rage
as consuming and addictive as matter cannon fire.
'Listen, ' Milos protested insistently. 'You're probably
going to get us killed. At the very least we'll be caught.
I won't know what to do - I won't be able to react
properly, I won't be able to back you up - if you don't
tell me what you're planning. '
In the grip of an excitement like glee, Angus stopped,
turned. Ignoring the crowds and hawkers, the bright,
wild signs, the inviting doorways, the occasional shove,
he held Milos' arm with one hand; with the other, he
reached up and clenched Milos' pudgy cheeks so that his
mouth gaped like a grotesque kiss.
Then pay attention. ' Angus' datacore didn't require
him to reassure his second. 'I'm only going to say this
once.
'I don't need you. You're irrelevant here. I'm keeping
you with me because I can't send you away. The fuckers
who did this to us don't trust you out of my sight. But
all you have to do is stay with me and stay close. This
close. ' He grinned again, squeezing Milos' cheeks harder.
'If somebody shoots at us, try to hide behind me. '
An instant later he added, 'And keep your mouth shut.
Any sound might give us away. '
Baring his teeth, he let go of Milos and moved into
the crowd.
As he walked, he felt his second behind him, so close
that Milos' chest brushed his back. He could hear fear in
Milos' tense respiration.
Good.
Almost giddy with exultation and movement, he
headed for the nearest lift.
It happened to be one which only served the cruise
from Billingate's equivalent of a slum, the habitation
levels where the installation's more reduced people lived.
That suited him fine, however. He and Milos were still
being tracked - or could still be tracked. SAC programs
in the Bill's computers could sift the vast body of data
from all his bugeyes and wires. Under the circumstances,
Angus was perfectly content to let the Bill know where
he was. The Bill would think that he was looking for
someone here; or that his meeting with Nick had resulted
in some task which could only be performed here.
Savoring Milos' tension, he led his second along the
grime-crusted halls until he found a small knot of men
and women waiting for a lift to the docks.
With Milos pressing against him, he pushed his way
into the middle of the crowd.
As the lift opened and people squeezed aboard - while
he and Milos passed out of range of one bugeye, into
range of another — he activated his refractive jamming
field.
He didn't doubt for an instant that it worked. He
could trust whatever his databases told him about his
equipment. False information could kill him - and then
everything Dios and Lebwohl had invested in him would
be wasted.
Confident that he and Milos were effectively invisible
to the Bill, he left the car when it reached the docks.
But he didn't linger there. The pressure of his need for
movement swelled inside him: he wanted to run. As if
he were eager, he went toward one of the general service
lifts used by ships' personnel to reach Operations or the
cruise.
Now he had to be more careful: his jamming field
wouldn't protect him from guards. And the closer he
came to lifts that ran down to the depths of the rock, the
more guards he encountered. They paid him no particular
attention — which meant they hadn't yet received orders
to watch for him — but they were still dangerous, if only
because they had eyes and guns.
His heart beat faster and his nerves sharpened as if
unknown or unused systems were coming on-line: com-
puter-assisted reflexes; decision-making programs; sur-
vival instincts. Beads of oily sweat slid down his temples.
There: a lift that went where he wanted to go.
One guard stood outside, staring dully at nothing with
eyes as empty as muzzles. Three people waited for the
car to arrive, the doors to open.
The indicators said it was going up.
So much the better.
When the lift opened, half a dozen men and women
surged out. With Milos clenched behind him, Angus
entered along with the other passengers.
One level up, a man and a woman got off.
Two levels later, the third passenger got off.
No one got on.
Now.
As the doors swept shut, sending the lift upward again,
Angus fired a precise laser needle into the control panel,
burning a gap in its alarm circuitry.
No warnings sounded, either in the car or in Oper-
ations, as he engaged the same locks that maintenance
would have used to take the lift out of service.
For a few minutes, at least, he had a private elevator.
As a precaution, he clamped one hand briefly over
Milos' mouth, reminding him to be quiet. Then he sent
the car downward like a taste of freefall, toward the core
of the rock. Where nothing lived except the Bill in his
strongroom and Billingate's fusion generator.
Milos' face looked like Angus' mouth felt: thick with
pain; sickened by ground-in ash. Still good. Angus
showed his teeth and watched the indicators count the
levels.
He knew the one he wanted. His memory of the time
he'd been locked up here was as vivid as his databases.
You remember Morn Hyland. All his memories were vivid.
She had a kid. Of course, there was no guarantee the Bill
still used the same rooms. That's what we were doing on
Enablement - force-growing her kid. Come to that, there
was no guarantee the kid was still alive. She calls him
'Davies Hyland', after her pure, dead father. The whole deal
might be a lie. Now the Amnion want him back. Succorso's
treachery might extend to risking Milos, his only ally, for
the sake of some unimaginable leverage with the Bill;
with the Amnion. They want to study the consequences of
having a mother who didn't lose her mind. And the cells
would be guarded in any case; watched by human eyes.
Nevertheless Angus' concentration held steady, like
one of his lasers. He was moving. Personally he didn't
believe Succorso had lied - not about needing to get
Davies away from the Bill. Succorso's efforts to conceal
his desperation only made it more convincing. And
Angus' datacore was incapable of doubt: the prospect of
trading Davies Hyland to redeem Morn had engaged
programming as compulsory as the pull of a black hole.
Five levels to go.
Fourthreetwoone.
Stop.
Milos staggered slightly, shifted away from Angus. A
stupid mistake; dangerous. And slow. All Milos' move-
ments appeared tortuous to Angus, clogged with mor-
tality. Reacting at micro-processor speeds, he caught his
second by the shipsuit and hauled him close again.
One hand behind him to keep Milos tight against his
back, Angus stepped between the opening doors into the
corridor.
It was only twenty meters long - a blind passage
formed in concrete, with no entrances except to the cells
and no exits except by the lifts. Six cells, two life. Light-
ing and bugeyes lined the ceiling; more bugeyes than
Angus remembered. With that many monitors, the Bill
could study every atmospheric eddy and current - the
molecular aftermath of moving bodies.
He'd lived in forbidden space for so long that paranoia
had become his ruling passion.
Between one tick of his computer's chronometer and
the next, Angus grinned at the idea that he was about to
justify the Bill's paranoia.
He was already in motion, already dropping to a
crouch as he drew Milos out of the lift. The bugeyes
weren't enough for the Bill; of course not: he also had
two guards in the corridor. They stood on either side of
a door off to the left. One of them cupped an impact rifle
with flexsteel probes instead of fingers. The other wore
his gun built into his chest - a weapon like a small projec-
tile cannon.
Both of them were wired. Operations would receive
everything their equipment saw or heard; would know it
the instant they stopped transmitting.
The indicators must have told them the lift was
coming. They weren't surprised when the door opened.
Because they weren't surprised - and because they had
no reason to expect trouble - they weren't braced for
Angus' attack.
Speed. Accuracy. Silence. He'd been designed for such
things. His lasers made no noise except the small frying
sounds of flesh and hardened plastics as he shot one guard
between the eyes, the other through his thoracic gun.
Both men folded to the floor as if the sinews holding
their joints together had been cut.
Untouched, their transmitters went on functioning.
Operations' visual recordings of the event would show a
blur, an odd ruby wink, an unlikely change of perspec-
tive. Anyone who saw those recordings would know that
something had happened. But most of the time no one
watched the recordings: only the computers watched.
The computers might not know the difference between
men who sat down or even stretched out on the floor to
rest and men who fell dead. The Bill's programmers
might not have anticipated this situation. A little time
might pass before pre-selected analytical parameters sig-
naled a warning.
After that playback would take a few seconds. Whoever
looked at the recordings would need a few seconds more
to react.
By the time the bodies settled and began to drip blood,
Angus stood between them at the door they'd guarded.
Milos pressed fright against his back, ground knots
of fear into his shoulders, while his lasers probed the
lock.
It's got to stop.
As if Warden Dios had foreseen everything, planned
for everything, Angus swept the cell open and found
Davies waiting.
When he saw his son, he caught his first glimpse of
Nick's real treachery.
A shock as visceral as an electric charge fired along his
nerves. Nick hadn't said anything about this. And the
idea had never crossed Angus' mind. If he'd thought
about the matter at all, he would have assumed the brat
was Nick's - would have assumed that Morn's transcen-
dent lust for Nick had inspired her to want his kid. Didn't
she love him? Hadn't her whole body yearned toward
him as soon as they first saw each other in Mallorys?
But for that very reason Angus had not thought about
whose son Davies was. The way Morn had given herself
to Nick - instantly and without question - had hurt him
more than he could admit. So he'd focused his attention
exclusively on Morn herself; on snatching Davies as a
means to rescue her. He'd closed his mind to everything
else.
Yet one look at Davies made the boy's parentage
unmistakable.
He had Morn's eyes: they were her color; they held
her open fear and revulsion and need. He stared at Angus
as if he'd been hit by the same charge; as if they were
instantaneously linked and fused by the same burning
jolt. And his posture might have been hers as well. Even
in dismay, his stance hinted at her suppleness, her grace.
The rest of him, however -
The rest was pure Angus. Slimmer and younger, per-
haps, but Angus beyond question.
His son —
And Nick had prepared this surprise deliberately, in
unmitigated malice. Which implied that there was more
to come, that this was only the first.
- a more vulnerable version of himself -
Caught by shock and recognition like an instant of
ineffable brisance, Angus gaped back at Davies and
couldn't move.
- another baby for the crib.
'Shit, ' Milos croaked, strangling on distress. 'Shit. Shit. ''
Then the shock passed. Intuitions as fast and blinding
as light blazed through Angus. An involuntary howl built
up in his chest, an animal roar of helplessness and
outrage.
Davies beat him to it. As if he'd been ripped open with
a flensing knife, he started screaming.
At the same time he launched a fist like a missile at
Angus' head.
Only Angus' equipment saved him. Micro-seconds
after his son began to scream, he keyed codes to activate
a different kind of jamming field.
The bugeyes in the cell went deaf and blind with distor-
tion as Davies' fist slammed into his father's cheek.
DAVIES
Events were moving in too many different directions
at once. The woman accompanying the Bill had
been ordered to get answers out of Davies, tor-
ture him if she had to. He didn't know how much time
he had left. After she closed the door and went away, he
pretended to relax as long as he could: five minutes at
most. Then he surged up off his cot and began to pace
the small cell again, six steps on one side, five on the
other.
Nick Succorso had given Morn to the Amnion. In all
likelihood, he'd handed her over to compensate for his
failure to deliver her son. And to punish her. But in the
end his reasons didn't matter. Only the fact mattered. By
now she was probably an Amnioni herself. Her son was
all that remained of her.
He needed some way to control the hurricane of grief
and blind white rage storming around his heart.
Six steps. Five.
Morn Hyland. Nick Succorso.
And Angus Thermopyle.
The Bill had told him that Angus Thermopyle had
come to Thanatos Minor.
Down in the center of the storm, in the small clear
space created and sustained by the coriolus energies of
his distress, he knew the three were connected; intimately
bound together. They necessitated each other. He simply
couldn't remember how or why.
He'd never seen his father. His only impression of the
man came from the things Morn and Nick had told him,
as well as from what he could see of his own body; from
studying his face in the san mirrors of his room aboard
Captain's Fancy. He'd spent hours in front of those
mirrors, trying to understand where Morn Hyland left
off and he began. But those hints had given him no sense
of his father as a solid, actual presence separate from
himself.
He had no defenses —
Angus Thermopyle's sudden appearance in his cell hit
him like a translation across a dimensional gap. Ash-faced
and urgent, Angus swung open the door and stalked into
the cell as if he'd leaped into being from the core of
Davies' blocked memories.
In that instant Davies lost the distinction between him-
self and Morn. Ambushed by her fundamental desper-
ation, he became her as if he'd never been anyone else.
He hardly noticed the pudgy man clinging like a crip-
ple to his father's back. Without transition, as instan-
taneous as intuition, he began to remember.
He sat up on the edge of the berth.
Angus reached, into one of the compartments along the
bulkhead, selected a scalpel, and handed it toward him. Take
it. '
Davies' fingers closed involuntarily.
In a voice like acid, Angus said, 'Put the edge on your tit. '
Helplessness compelled Davies. He didn't need to watch
what he was doing. Blindly he moved the scalpel until the
blade rested against his nipple, his woman's breast, intense
silver against brown. The nipple was erect and hard, as if it
were ready to be cut.
'You can understand me, 'Angus said thickly. 1 know you
can, so pay attention. I can make you cut yourself. If I want
to, I can make you cut off your whole tit. Remember that
when you think about breaking my neck.
'I'm going to break you. I'm going to break you so hard
you'll start to love it, need it. Then I'm going to break you
some more. I'm going to break you until you don't have any-
thing but me to live for. '
Danes' depths were full of anguish, a wail he was unable
to utter.
Angus tapped buttons on the zone implant control.
Fighting to survive, another part of Davies' mind grap-
pled with information he'd known before and hadn't
understood, hadn't appreciated. Angus had given Morn
a zone implant. He'd used it to take away her freedom,
her will, her self: he'd used it to degrade her utterly.
But comprehension changed nothing. Davies was lost
in her.
Obedient to the commands of the radio electrode in his
brain, helpless beyond bearing, he replaced the scalpel in its
compartment. The zone implant control demanded a smile:
he smiled. It told him to kneel in front of Angus: he knelt.
Angus' penis protruded from the open seal of his shipsuit.
For some reason, he seemed furious as be forced open Davies'
mouth and drove himself into him, gagging his son fiercely
until he came.
Roaring with inarticulate revulsion and protest, Davies
flung a fist at Angus' head. All his young strength and
every gram of Morn's absolute agony went into the blow.
The jolt of his fist on Angus' cheekbone saved him. It
was physical, present: he felt it like a kick in his knuckles,
elbow and shoulder. The impact anchored him for a
second against the insane violation of Morn's memories;
momentarily separated him from her. Without that
reprieve, he would have had to kill his father; would have
had no choice. Nothing less could protect him from what
Angus had done to Morn.
During that instant Angus moved.
He shrugged off Davies' blow as if he barely felt it. So
quickly that Davies couldn't see how it was done, Angus
blocked his fury aside, spun him around, caught him
in an armlock. His own momentum and Angus' charge
slammed him at the wall, hammered his forehead against
the concrete.
Giddy with pain, he thrashed in Angus' grasp, fought
like Morn to break free. If he didn't fight, he would
remember more: remember weeks of abuse and con-
tempt; remember abjection; remember selling his soul -
- remember something worse.
But he couldn't get loose. Angus' grip was only more
honest than the power of Morn's zone implant, not
weaker. Sure as flexsteel, he tightened his hold until
Davies could hardly breathe; hammered Davies' head at
the wall again. While phosphenes and pain whirled like
lost nebulae across his vision, draining the force from his
muscles, denaturing the barriers which had preserved him
from Morn's cruel past, Angus hauled his head up and
hissed like murder into his ear, 'Shut up! Shut up! You'll
get us killed if you don't keep your fucking mouth shut!'
The man behind Angus went on moaning, 'Shit. Shit, '
as if he didn't have the strength to cry out.
A trickle of blood ran into Davies' eyes, but he couldn't
see it through the phosphene dance. Angus had beaten
him up, he remembered that, pounded and kicked and cudg-
eled his flesh to make him vulnerable, mar his beauty so that
it would be less frightening. 'You -' he panted. 'You vile -'
'Listen to me. ' Angus pulled his grip tighter. 'Listen,
you little shit. I can hide us visually, but I can't block
sound. Not without distorting every bugeye in range,.
and then he'll know exactly where we are. He'll track the
distortion. I've already set off alarms in Operations, in
his strongroom. Goddamn it, I'm trying to rescue you! All
you have to do is shut up!'
Past a chaos of blood and hurt, Davies choked out,
'You raped me, you sonofabitch!'
'What's he talking about?' Angus' companion begged.
'He's crazy. Doesn't he want to be rescued?'
Snarling in frustration, Angus pulled his son off the
wall, spun him, hit him in the stomach hard enough to
stun his diaphragm. While Davies gaped for air he
couldn't get, Angus lashed a hand at the other man,
jerked him closer.
'Help me hold him!' Angus whispered hotly. 'We've
got to stay together. If he opens his mouth, jam your
fingers down his throat. '
As if he were strong enough to carry them both, Angus
heaved Davies and the other man toward the door.
Davies stumbled, but Angus and the other man kept
him upright. Blinking blood from his eyes, he forced his
legs under him.
In a knot of arms, a tangle of feet, the two men half-
carried him out of his cell toward the open door of a
lift.
Morn must have been someone else, a separate indi-
vidual, but he couldn't tell the difference.
'Angus, ' he said, 'Angus, listen to me.
1 can save you.
I'll testify for you. When you go back to Com-Mine, they'll
charge you with illegal departure. I'll support you. I'm not
much of a cop anymore, but I've still got my id tag. I'll tell
them you left on my orders. And I'll tell them there was no
supply ship. It was a hoax - that other ship set it up. I'll tell
them to arrest Nick Succorso. I can't save your ship, but I can
save you.
'Just give me the control. 'His voice was husky, full of need.
The zone implant control. '
And Angus replied, 'You aren't thinking straight. You're
a cop. It's worse when a cop breaks the law. They'll find out.
They have to find out. And then you'll be finished. ' He may
have been crying. 'I'll lose my ship. '
If there were alarms wailing in Operations, or in the
Bill's strongroom, Davies couldn't hear them.
Frantic with haste, Angus and his companion man-
handled Davies into the lift. Sweat splashed from Angus'
face as he whirled to the control panel, sent the car
upward. A red splotch outlined the impact of Davies'
knuckles high on his cheek.
'You can't save it, 'Davies shot back, suddenly angry, more
than a little desperate. 'I can handle Station Security. And
the UMCP. I'll think of a way. But nothing can save your
ship. It's too badly broken. We'll need a miracle just to get
back to Com-Mine alive.
'Please. Give me the control. 'Now he was pleading nakedly.
I'm not going to use it against you. I need it to heal. '
Clamping one hand on the armrest of Davies' seat, bracing
his feet on the deck, Angus struck him a blow like the one
which had felled Nick, a blow with the whole weight of his
existence behind it. If Davies' seat hadn't absorbed some of
the impact, he might have been knocked unconscious. Angus
might have broken his neck.
'Bitch. I'll never give up my ship. '
Who asked you to, you vile bastard? Davies raged.
Who wants you to go on living? Succorso should have
slagged you while he had the chance!
Morn would have been better off if she'd died then.
But he kept his mouth shut, locked the words and the
memories like screams inside his skull. A convulsion was
taking place within him, a seismic upheaval, and memory
was only one of the tectonic forces Angus had unleashed.
Rescue was another: escape from the Bill; from the
Amnion; from Nick Succorso. And sound was the only
danger he understood. I can hide us visually, but I can't
block sound.
Despite the collapse of his protective barriers, he clung
to what he understood; to the hard, clear need for escape.
Liberated at last, memories yowled and harried
through his brain like furies.
While the lift rose he remembered how Nick had
tricked and trapped Angus. He remembered the part he'd
played in making that possible.
He remembered the impossible yearning which had
sprung to fire in him when he'd first seen Nick - the
mute, ineluctable, sexless, and almost entirely abstract
passion, not for Nick Succorso the man, but rather for
the capacity to act which Nick embodied.
He remembered hours of rape, days of humiliation,
weeks of the zone implant. He remembered pleading,
prostrating himself, offering Angus anything he could
think of.
Does that make you feel like a man? he'd asked before
he'd learned what was about to happen to him; how
savage Angus' intentions were. Do you have to destroy me
to feel good yourself? Are you that sick?
It's because of men like you I became a cop.
forbidden space is bad enough. We don't need any worse
threats than that. But men like you are worse. You betray
your own kind. You prey on human beings - on human
survival - and get rich. I'll do anything I can to stop you. No
price is too high for stopping a man like you.
And later he'd said, Even if I can't do it, somebody else
will. It doesn't matter what you think of me. Maybe you're
right. Maybe I'm as bad as a traitor. But there are better
cops than me — stronger — They'll stop you. They'll make you
pay for this.
But Angus had answered, They'll never get the chance.
I told you. I'm a bastard. The worst bastard you'll ever meet.
And I'm good at what I do. I've been dancing circles around
the fucking cops all my life. If they ever catch me, it'll be long
after you're dead.
In the meantime, I'm going to have some fun with you.
You're my crew now. You're going to learn to take orders.
And I've got old scores to settle. A lot of them. I'm going to
settle them on you. By the time I'm done, you're going to want
to run away so bad it'll damn near kill you, but I won't even
let you scream.
It was too much in too little time. The car was as
claustrophobic as a coffin, too small to contain furies.
Davies remembered what Angus had done without being
able to believe that he'd done them to Morn Hyland, not
to her son.
And he couldn't remember why.
How had his plight become possible? Why had he let
Angus have that kind of power over him? He'd always
been able to remember the moment when Starmaster saw
Bright Beauty destroy that mining camp, slaughter the
miners. Why hadn't Starmaster killed or arrested Angus?
Why hadn't Davies killed Angus himself?
Nick had told him the answer, but he couldn't remem-
ber it. The orogenic forces cracking and shifting through
him confused it, confused all recent knowledge: only the
past was real.
Blood dripped into his mouth. He bit his lower lip
until it hurt like his head.
As the car eased up to the level Angus had chosen^ the
other man opened his mouth fearfully: he wanted to say
something, ask something. Questions and dread haunted
his eyes.
As fierce as the pain in Davies' forehead, Angus formed
the words, Shut up! As if he were threatening his com-
panion in some way, he shoved his hand into a pocket
of the other man's shipsuit, pulled out a packet of nic.
Brandishing it in his companion's face, he dared the other
man to take it back.
The man winced; his eyes rolled. Nevertheless he
didn't reach for the packet - or pull away.
When the doors slid aside, Davies and the other man
automatically tried to lurch into motion. Incomprehen-
sibly strong, Angus held them still -
- until he saw that no one was waiting to use the lift;
that the corridor in front of him was empty.
Then, with a flick of his hand, he tossed the packet
in a spinning arc out the upper left corner of the open
door.
Davies didn't realize that the lift was being watched
until he saw a guard turn to focus on the object sailing
unexpectedly over his head.
Instantly Angus drove Davies and his companion for-
ward. Before the guard could turn back, Angus touched
his fist to the man's spine.
The guard fell on his face. After a twitch or two, he
stopped moving. A little curl of smoke rose from his
clothing and was gone.
Sweat gleamed on Angus' cheeks. Grinning savagely,
he impelled Davies and the other man into the corridor.
Twenty meters later, they passed a corner. The lifts
which accessed the Bill's private domain were out of
sight.
Why? Davies shouted in silence and anguish. Why did
I let you do that to me?
What had Nick told him? He gave her a zone implant
to keep her under control. Talking about Morn as if she
and Davies weren't the same person. That's how he got her
pregnant.
It's a pathetic story. He turned, her on until she would have
been willing to suck her insides out with a vacuum hose,
and then he fucked her senseless. For weeks, he made her do
everything he'd ever dreamed a woman could do.
That's your father, Davies. That's the kind of man you
are.
And Nick had said, She'd learned to like it. He'd degraded
her so much that she fell in love with it. Eventually she wanted
it so much that he could trust her with her zone implant
control. It wasn't found on him because he'd already given it
to her. She loved using it on herself.
But that wasn't it, wasn't what Davies needed to
remember. The torrent of memories crashing through
him had no central why.
He needed that absolutely.
At the same time it terrified him so much that he
couldn't dislodge it from the blind core of his mind;
couldn't break it free to dominate and define the furies.
Struggling for sanity, he took hold of the present long
enough to realize that this whole situation should have
been impossible. Billingate was thick with monitors.
Why didn't the Bill react? Hide us visually - How?
And if they were hidden, why did Angus kill the guard?
Impossible or not, Angus' concealment appeared to
work. Locked together and nearly stumbling like drunks
supporting each other after a binge, the three of them
entered an area called Reception. A few men and women
were there; but their attention was fixed on the data
terminals. And there were guards — Davies couldn't tell
how many. But they all had the poleaxed look of men
kept awake by inadequate doses of stim. Because of the
way Angus and his companion held Davies, with their
heads down and their faces toward each other, the guards
might not be able to see them well enough to identify
them.
Once they passed Reception and entered the corridor
leading to the visitors' docks, they were alone again.
Access passages branched off at intervals, serving indi-
vidual berths. Outside the passages, ship id displays indi-
cated that some of the berths were occupied; others
weren't. Davies saw Captain's Fancy's name and had to
grind his teeth to keep from howling. Morn wasn't there,
she was already lost, already Amnion - but Succorso
might be, the man who'd destroyed her.
There was only one evil worse than what Angus had
done to her. The ultimate crime had been left for Nick
to commit.
But Davies couldn't think about that. He was Morn
Hyland: the woman who'd been given to the Amnion no
longer existed. Rape and ruin ripped through him; furies
clawed at his mind. They were going to tear him apart.
Abruptly Angus and the other man swung him into an
access passage. He caught a glimpse of the id display:
Trumpet.
No more guards. He didn't understand that. Angus
Thermopyle was a notorious illegal; he'd just escaped
from lockup. He should have had guns trained on him
every time he took a step. The Bill should have ordered
that for his own protection.
But of course the Bill was an illegal as well. Davies was
thinking like a cop; like Morn before -
At its end the passage led through a scan field toward
an airlock, a ship. Now the Bill would know where they
were: that was inescapable. The scan field would register
three bodies moving through it. It would show that
Angus and his companion had taken someone aboard
Trumpet with them.
But Angus didn't hesitate. As he compelled Davies and
the other man ahead, his face wore a peculiar expression,
a look of concentration elsewhere, as if he could hear the
voices of the dead.
Together they reached the ship. The other man panted
urgently, eager for safety, while Angus keyed codes into
the airlock's exterior control panel.
In seconds the lock cycled open.
They blundered aboard.
As soon as the lock sealed behind them, Angus shoved
Davies and the other man away from him. Malign tri-
umph and rage burned in his eyes; his features twisted
savagely. Slashing his fists at the ceiling, he yelled, 'I did
it! I got you, you bastard!'
He may have been shouting at the Bill.
Davies thudded against the interior doors, stood still
with his arms wrapped around his chest to contain the
furies.
Gulping for air, the other man gasped, 'I don't under-
stand. How did you do that? What did you do? Shit,
Angus! The Bill will be here in five minutes. He's going
to want blood for those guards you killed. '
'No, he won't!' Angus needed to shout; needed an
outlet for his tension and exultation. Pointing his index
finger like a gun at his temple, he barked, 'I can emit
jamming fields! I blinded his bugeyes - he never saw us!
His scan' - he flung his arm in the direction of the access
passage - 'never saw us! As far as he knows, we aren't
here. We've lost ourselves somewhere on the cruise! He'll
spend hours looking for us. '
Gradually he lowered his voice. We'll leave communi-
cations on automatic. If he calls, the ship'll tell him we
aren't here. '
'Shit, Angus, ' the other man sighed again weakly. He
inhaled Trumpet's atmosphere as if he'd never tasted any-
thing so sweet. 'You scared me. What would it have cost
you to tell me what you were doing?'
Angus flashed a predatory grin. 'What would it have
cost you to force me to tell you?'
Davies couldn't contain so much pressure. The more
he confined it, the stronger it became. He wanted to hit
Angus, pulverize him, reduce his triumph to powder. His
mother's legacy urged him to destroy himself by attacking
Angus.
So that he could avoid the central why.
Angus and this other man were his allies only to the
extent that they opposed the Bill. For all he knew, they
were working with Nick Succorso, even though Succorso
had betrayed Angus to Com-Mine Security. Or they
might be working for the Amnion. Nothing he
remembered gave him any reason to think Angus' malice
had limits.
But he'd reached his own limits, his breaking point. If
he snapped now, he would snap permanently.
Like his father, he needed an outlet.
Tight with suppressed violence, he left the airlock as
soon as it opened, strode into the waiting lift to put some
distance between himself and Angus. But that was as far
as he could go.
Whirling, he cried from the depths of his inherited
anguish, 'Damn you, you RAPED me!'
Angus and his companion froze, staring at Davies as
if he'd threatened to immolate himself.
'He said that before, ' the pudgy man muttered anxi-
ously. 'What's he talking about?'
'How the fuck should I know?' Angus retorted. Facing
Davies, he demanded, What the hell are you talking
about, I raped you? You must be my kid. I don't know
how else she could have dropped a brat who looks like
me. I'm going to make Captain Sheepfucker pay for not
telling me that. But I've never seen you before in my life. '
Unconsciously aping Angus' exultation, Davies bran-
dished his fists; he flailed the air because he had nothing
else to hit.
It's because of men like you I became a cop. I'll do anything
I can to stop you. '
Angus' yellow eyes widened. Wait a minute. Wait a
minute. I've heard that before. It's a quote. A direct
quote. '
'Angus —' the other man put in.
'Shut up, Milos, ' Angus snapped. 'Let me think. '
Without warning all the anger ran out of Davies.
Anger was essential: it was his last defense. But now the
central why was too close to the surface; he couldn't fight
it down any longer. Involuntary shudders ran through
him as his rage turned to panic and helplessness.
'What did Succorso tell us?' Angus asked rhetorically.
The Amnion used some kind of force-growing tech-
nique. ' Mimicking Nick's voice, he drawled, They say
force-growing is supposed to make vegetables out of the
mother, but that didn't happen to her. They think they
know why. So they aren't particularly interested in her.
But they want her brat. They want to study the conse-
quences of having a mother who didn't lose her mind. '
Angus' eyes glittered with intuitions. 'I don't know
anything about force-growing. They didn't supply me
with a database on it. But maybe she was supposed to
lose her mind because they gave it to him. They imprinted
it on him. Because he isn't old enough to have a mind of
his own. '
He let out a guttural laugh. 'He thinks he's her. He
thinks he's the one I raped.
'He thinks he's the one who killed her whole family. '
There.
Why.
Nick had given him a hint, but he hadn't understood
it. After she demolished Starmaster, he rescued her from the
wreckage.
Killed her whole family.
Hugging himself like a child, Davies Hyland sank to
the floor of the lift and curled into a ball.
ANGUS
Strangely dismayed by the extremity of Davies' reac-
tion, Angus stared down at his son and chewed
his lower lip.
He needed a database on force-growing; needed to
know what he was up against. Apparently he'd guessed
right. The Amnion had copied Morn's mind onto
Davies', presumably because knowledge, training and
experience couldn't be force-grown the way bodies could.
And apparently some facet of the process — maybe her
zone implant, maybe something else - had protected her
from going crazy when her mind was ripped away; prob-
ably by blocking the memories which had afflicted her
with so much revulsion and horror. Now those memories
were returning to her son.
His son. The kid was unquestionably his.
Right or not, however, guesses didn't help. They
explained Davies' collapse, but they didn't answer the
larger questions.
The Amnion want him back. They want to study the conse-
quences of having a mother who didn't lose her mind.
Curled tightly around himself, he lay on the floor of
the midship lift. His forehead was crusted with blood.
Except for the stertorous rasp of his breathing, he made
no sound. But in another minute he was probably going
to start whimpering. After that it might be only a matter
of time before he began to suck his thumb.
How good were the chances that the Amnion wanted
him back now, in this condition? Wasn't it more likely
that he'd just become worthless to them?
If that was true, Angus had suddenly lost his leverage.
Nick had no reason to exchange Morn for damaged mer-
chandise.
And the memories which caused Davies so much harm
were his, Angus', doing.
As he considered the implications, he growled to no
one in particular, 'Motherfucking sonofabitch. '
'Who, him?' Milos asked. His safe return to Trumpet
left him in a state of brittle relief. Trying to recover his
self-confidence, he protested, 'Come on, Angus. Give
him a break. He's just a kid. It's not his fault he looks
like you. '
Full of chagrin and bitterness, Angus rounded on
Milos. Past his blistered tongue, he rasped, 'Not him.
Succorso. Captain Sheepfucker. You aren't thinking,
Milos. That's dangerous. It's how shits like you get
killed.
'Help me pick him up. ' He moved to Davies' side.
We'll take him to the bridge until I decide what to do
with him. '
Riding his relief, Milos stayed where he was. Absent-
mindedly he reached for his packet of nic. When he real-
ized it was gone, he gave a fleshy grimace.
'Tell me, ' he said softly. 'What aren't I thinking about?'
'We're being cheated. ' The pain in Angus' mouth made
him want to rage. 'What kind of game do you think
Succorso is playing?' He took a step closer to his second.
'Or do you already know? Is that what you were talking
to him about before we docked? - setting this up?'
Milos raised his hands to ward Angus away. His eyes
hinted at Jerico priority commands. Still softly, he asked,
'How do you know Succorso is cheating?'
'Because he's keeping secrets. Somehow he neglected
to mention Davies is my son. And he sure as hell didn't
tell us Davies has Morn's mind. What do you think?
Doesn't that sound like he was trying to help us fail?'
Unless the real cheat was on another level entirely;
more insidious as well as more profound. In which case,
the things Succorso hadn't revealed about Davies were
just a distraction.
Milos' eyes dropped; unconscious of what he did, he
searched his pockets for nic. After a moment he mur-
mured, 'That isn't what we talked about. As far as I know,
his problem is exactly what he says it is. He promised
this kid to the Amnion. Now he can't deliver. ' Slowly he
looked up to meet Angus' glare. 'Everything he said was
a demand for help. '
Angus wanted to spit his disgust in Milos' face. Grimly
he muttered, Well, we'll know soon, won't we. If Cap-
tain Sheepfucker comes here looking for Davies, he
wasn't trying to make us fail. He was just playing with
us. ' Distracting us. 'If he doesn't, we'll know we're in
trouble. '
Crowded with vehemence, he pointed at Davies and
rasped, 'Are you going to give me a hand, or are you
going to stand there holding your cock until it falls off?'
A flush of anger highlighted the mottling on Milos'
scalp. Nevertheless he swallowed a retort. With a tight
shrug, he came to help pick Davies off the floor.
The boy was completely rigid, secured like cargo by
the flexsteel straps of his distress. His chest sucked air
through his teeth; an urgent, fatal wheeze: nothing else
moved. His eyes were clenched shut.
An unfamiliar pang like pity twisted Angus' heart as
he felt the pressure of his son's crisis. He seemed to know
what was happening inside the boy as if he'd learned it
from Morn. Davies was remembering the absolute auth-
ority of gap-sickness, the command to commit destruc-
tion; remembering the wholesale slaughter of his family.
But it was something which hadn't happened to him
— a crime as well as a sickness in which he had no part.
And he hadn't lived through the consequences. Yet Morn
Hyland, who owned those memories, had taken it better
than this. She'd faced this same utter and irreparable
horror, and had come back fighting -
In a sense, she'd forced Angus to give her a zone
implant. Without it she would have found some way to
kill him. Especially if that meant killing herself at the
same time.
Her son was being broken by things which she'd
already survived.
Angus' son.
Another baby far the crib.
His part in Davies had made the boy weaker than his
mother.
And now Morn might be lost because Davies wasn't
strong enough to be worth trading for her.
Fulminating uselessly, Angus pulled Milos and Davies
into motion. His urge to murder something, anything,
was so strong that only powerful zone implants and
inexorable machine logic could control it.
Approximately gentle, he and Milos rode the lift with
Davies to the midship passage, then lugged him toward
the bridge. At the head of the companionway, Milos
supported Davies while Angus moved partway down the
treads; then Angus accepted the hard fetal knot and
carried it the rest of the way. After only a moment's
hesitation he propped Davies in Milos' g-seat at the
second's station. By the time Milos gained the bridge,
Angus was at his own station, keying commands which
ran Trumpet's communications log across one of the dis-
play screens.
The log showed routine operational signals; the mes-
sage from Nick which Milos had retrieved earlier; and a
peremptory demand from the Bill.
This last transmission said, 'Captain Angus Thermo-
pyle of Trumpet, reply as soon as you get this. My security
has been breached. You're in as much trouble here as I
am, and I intend to make sure you can't avoid any of it
- unless you help me find out what happened and do
something about it.
'This is my rock, Captain Angus. I'm the Bill you owe.
If you don't pay me, you won't live to be paid by anybody
else. '
'Shit, ' Milos breathed, staring at the screen. 'How does
he know it was us?'
'He doesn't, ' Angus snorted. 'He would be cutting our
airlocks open right now if he did. But he knows we talked
to Captain Sheepfucker - the obvious candidate for a
security breach. And he's got a recording of your activities
while we were waiting for that message. Even if he was
brain dead, he would wonder what that was all about.
The important thing now is to not let him know we're
back aboard. '
Milos looked at Davies as if he were considering rolling
the boy out of his g-seat. Won't he figure it out?'
'Eventually, ' Angus admitted. 'But maybe by that time
we'll be rid of the kid. '
If Succorso wasn't cheating.
If the Amnion still wanted Davies.
And if- the unexpected idea shocked him like a static
discharge - he could bear to trade his son away.
A more vulnerable version of himself.
He'd spent his life fleeing from his personal abyss.
Could he abandon Davies to it now? Could he surrender
his son to the crib —
with his scrawny wrists and ankles tied to the slats
while his mother filled him with pain
jamming hard things up his anus, down his throat, prying
open his penis with needles
and laughing - ?
How could he leave any part of himself there?
His datacore might not give him any choice.
Suddenly he felt as weak as Milos. Like Milos, he
breathed to himself,, because he didn't have
the strength or the words for his dilemma.
'I hope so, ' Milos said distantly. Then he asked, What
do we do now?'Shitshitshit
Angus' datacore didn't care how weak he felt; his zone
implants didn't care. Wait, ' he muttered. 'Until we hear
from Captain Sheepfucker. '
'In that case' - Milos moved to the companionway -
'I need nic. '
Go ahead, Angus thought impersonally. Smoke your
lungs out. Maybe you'll die of cancer.
But he didn't think anything that good was going to
happen.
Davies' clenched respiration was starting to sound like
a death-rattle.
Welded unbreakably to his equipment, Angus waited like
a capped volcano.
Milos returned from replenishing his supply of nic.
Smoking like an oil fire, he paced a slow circle around
the bridge, passing across the display screens and behind
the companionway as if his life revolved on Angus or
Davies.
After ten minutes the intercom chimed.
Milos froze in mid-stride. Angus jerked up his head.
'This is Nick. ' Succorso's voice, casual and maddening.
'Let me in. '
On the keypad of the airlock intercom he tapped the
id code Angus had given him.
A spasm shook Davies. His breathing sharpened. But
his eyes remained knotted shut; he didn't unlock his fetal
grip on himself.
Angus silenced the intercom. 'I'll do it, ' he told Milos.
He could have opened the airlock from his board, but
he didn't. Instead he turned his seat and leaped for the
companionway. 'I don't want that bastard on this ship
unless I'm watching him every second. '
The time, his computer informed him, was
04: 11: 19. 07.
Up the companionway. Along the passage past Trum-
pet's galley, sickbay; the weaponry and computer spaces.
Into the lift. Angus' heart hammered; his brain ran light-
ning calculations. The bugeyes would hear Succorso's
voice; would see him enter the airlock. The fact that
Trumpet wasn't empty might not remain secret much
longer. Angus, Milos and Davies would be safe only as
long as it was impossible for anyone to imagine that
Angus could emit a refractive jamming field; as long as
it was easier for the Bill to believe that Succorso had been
given the codes to let himself aboard Trumpet.
When the lift opened, Angus moved to the airlock
panel and unsealed the doors; then he retreated into the
car - out of bugeye range - while the lock cycled.
Succorso stood outside, at the end of the scan field.
His eyes were dark and hollow, as deep as gouges; his
scars looked like streaks of ash across his cheeks. Never-
theless his mouth wore a buccaneering smile and his arms
swung from his relaxed shoulders as if he were afraid of
nothing.
He was alone.
Angus raised a warning finger to his lips, then
motioned Nick into the airlock.
As soon as the exterior doors closed, Nick asked in a
careless tone, 'Did you get him?'
Angus waited until Nick joined him in the lift before
he pronounced, 'You're the one with the death-wish, not
me. You like treachery so much you would rather sab-
otage your allies than help them, no matter how desper-
ately you need them. '
Hard as a blow, he keyed the car upward.
Nick's smile twisted. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
Angus would have hit Nick if he could. His zone
implants prevented him, so he did his best to punch with
words. 'You didn't tell me Davies is my kid. You didn't
tell me he has Morn's mind. That was a mistake, asshole
- a big mistake. '
Nick shrugged. A smolder gleamed in the damaged
depths of his eyes. 'So you did get him?'
The lift stopped, opened. Angus pointed Nick toward
the bridge. 'For all the good it's going to do you. '
A question crossed Nick's features: he let it go. Amb-
ling in Thanatos Minor's light g, he headed along the
passage to the companionway.
Close at his back, Angus followed him down the steps.
In Angus' absence, Milos had finally made up his mind
to push Davies out of his g-seat. The boy lay curled
around himself on the deck between the command
stations. His breathing had accelerated: he heaved for air
as if he were suffocating. But his eyes stayed shut. If
anything his muscles were clamped more tightly than
before.
Smoking hard, Milos sat in his g-seat. He'd pivoted
his station to face the companionway; but he didn't meet
either Nick's gaze or Angus' glare.
'Christ on a crutch, Captain Thermo-pile, ' Nick
drawled. 'You were supposed to rescue him, not scare
him into autism. '
At the sound of Nick's voice, Davies' eyes sprang wide.
Wild and white, they stared blind madness at Nick's
boots.
Another pang touched Angus' heart.
'It wasn't me. ' He pushed past Nick to take his own
g-seat. Swiveling his station, he confronted Nick with his
hands on his board, ready for maneuvers or matter
cannon fire. 'You did this - you set it up. Seeing me
triggered a memory crisis of some kind. If you'd warned
me, I might have been able to stop it. Instead I made it
worse because I didn't know what was going on.
The Amnion may not want him like this. I don't know
about that, and I don't care. It's on your head -you can
pick up the pieces. We made a deal. Morn for Davies. I
kept my end. ' Grimly he promised, 'Now you are going
to keep yours. '
Nick made a sound like a dying laugh. 'Oh, they'll
want him, all right. He's still human - he's valuable no
matter what condition he's in. And they wanted to study
him, see what effect her zone implant had on him. That
hasn't changed. They won't be able to blame me if they
don't like the results.
'Here. ' He reached into his pocket, took out an id tag
on a fine chain. This is hers. I'll leave it with you' - his
mouth twisted with humor or scorn - 'to show my good
faith. I'll take him to the Amnion sector. ' He nodded at
Davies. Then I'll go get her and bring her here. '
The id tag was Morn's: Angus recognized the
embossed UMCP insignia at a glance.
Too fast for Nick to stop him, he snatched the chain.
'Wrong. '
Nick tensed as if he were about to jump at Angus.
Almost immediately, however, he forced himself to relax.
He may have been taken aback by the speed of Angus'
reflexes.
Angus gripped the id tag so hard that his fist shook,
daring Nick to spring; nearly pleading for Nick to attack
him. Into Nick's face he rasped, 'First you bring her here.
Then I'll let you have the kid. '
Slowly one of Davies' arms uncurled. His palm pressed
flat against the deck.
A tic began to pull at the muscles of Nick's cheek,
stretching his scars until they looked like small grimaces.
Without shifting his attention from Angus, he asked,
What the hell is going on here, Milos?'
'How should I know?' Milos sighed - a veiled groan.
'He's been out of control ever since we docked. '
'Then talk to him, ' Nick demanded between his teeth.
'Give me some help here. I've done everything I can to
make you rich. Right now you're spending money I made
for you. You owe me, Milos. You got him out of lockup,
didn't you? You must have some kind of leverage with
him.
'It's time to pay your debts. '
Milos dropped his nic on the deck. His hands trembled
as he took out another one, lit it. Nevertheless he
sounded almost sure of himself, almost calm, as he
replied, 'You're a dead man, Nick. Only a fool pays his
debts to a dead man. '
The tic tightened in Nick's cheek. His air of nonchal-
ance changed character: a poised stillness came over him.
Not for the first time, he reminded Angus of a viper,
supple and deadly. Yet his eyes held a haunted look, a
hint of desperation. He might have been drowning.
His gaze flicked around the bridge as if he were look-
ing for a weapon. 'Nice ship, ' he commented apprais-
ingly. 'You did yourself a favor when you stole her. She's
a lot better than that other hunk of junk. '
Then he met Angus' scowl again.
'I don't trust you, Captain Thermo-pile. I know too
much about you. How do you expect me to believe you
won't renege as soon as you get your hands on her?'
'I don't. ' Still praying that Nick would attack him,
Angus lowered his fist until it rested on the command
board. 'In fact, I may decide to do exactly that. This is
the price you pay for not telling me he's my kid - for not
warning me. He doesn't leave this ship until you bring
Morn Hyland here. '
Now Davies was staring at his hand on the deck rather
than at Nick's boots. Painfully, stiff with cramps, he
unbent his other arm, straightened his knees a bit.
Nick raised his fingers to rub at his cheek, but he
didn't seem aware of it. Darkness filled his eyes. 'In that
case' - a lopsided smile bent his mouth - 'you can kiss
her goodbye. ' He laughed like breaking glass. 'I mean,
you already have kissed her goodbye. There in Mallorys
was the last you're ever going to see of her.
'Don't bother coming with me. ' He laughed again.
Now it sounded like breaking bones. 'I can find my own
way out. '
He turned for the companionway.
Davies pushed himself up onto his knees and lunged
forward, grabbing Nick around the legs.
Nick staggered a step; recovered his balance. Angus
assumed his son was strong: he'd been strong himself at
that age. But the stress of clamping his body into a ball
so tightly had left the boy weak. He couldn't pull Nick
off his feet.
Nick wrenched himself around despite Davies' grasp.
'Let go of me, you little shit. '
Davies' mouth gaped open. A croak like a crippled
howl came from his straining throat. Driving one leg
under him, he managed to knock Nick back against the
companionway.
As Nick hit the treads, he snap-punched Davies in the
temple so hard that the boy slumped aside.
But Davies didn't let go. He'd lost his hold on Nick's
legs, so he clung to one of Nick's ankles. A constricted
frenzy flamed on his face.
Quick as a piston, Nick kicked him in the solar plexus.
Davies must have seen the blow coming, however. He
had Morn's training - and Angus' instincts. In spite of
his weakness and pain, he released Nick's ankle; as Nick's
boot slammed into him, he flung his arms around that leg
and heaved sideways, pulling Nick over him and down.
Milos was on his feet - not to intervene, just trying to
put as much distance as possible between himself and the
fight.
Angus sat where he was, gripping Morn's id tag so
hard the metal cut into his palm; studying his enemy.
Once more he had the dislocated sense of being more
than one person; of existing simultaneously in separate
realities. One part of him left his g-seat and jumped
eagerly into the fray, savage for a chance to use his new
resources - to make Succorso pay some of the cost for
his long ordeal. Hell, with his welded force he could
easily kill Succorso. And the strange pangs were growing
stronger. Davies was his son —
A more vulnerable version of himself.
Weak with cramps and his mother's absolute chagrin.
Yet Angus didn't move. Prewritten instructions held
him still, instructions which denied him the right to hurt
anyone with any kind of UMCP connection - and which
placed no value on Davies. He sat and watched the
struggle as if it were purely of abstract interest, while
inside his skull he howled like his son.
Nick was good: Angus had to admit that. The instant
he hit the deck, he rebounded to his knees. One two
three times he pounded Davies in the face, and again,
onetwothree, too fast for Davies to block the blows.
Blood splashed from Davies' cheeks, his mouth, his
brows. Gulps of air panted in and out of his mouth like
aborted screams.
Nevertheless Davies didn't quit. Ducking his head
against Nick's fists, he tightened his grip as if he were
fighting for Morn's life and strained to haul himself up
Nick's body, reach high enough to do some damage.
'Shit!' Milos gasped suddenly. 'Angus, Nick's going to
kill him!'
With the same abstract abhorrence which kept him
still, Angus wondered whether Milos was about to issue
a Joshua order.
He couldn't take that chance.
'All right, Captain Sheepfucker, ' he growled. 'You can stop now. If you hurt him any more, even the Amnion won't want him. '
Nick flashed a glance at Angus, showed his teeth.
In a spray of blood he hit Davies again onetwothree.
Davies' hold on Nick slipped an inch; started to fail -
— and a restriction lifted in Angus' head. Between one
instant and the next, his programming shifted along a
new logic-tree. New implications were considered: new
standards applied.
Davies was Morn's son.
Joshua was here to rescue her.
Therefore whatever she valued, whatever she needed
or owned, might be important; might be crucial.
He exploded out of his g-seat.
Before Nick reached four, Angus caught him by the
back of his shipsuit, snatched him into the air and pitched
him against the rear bulkhead.
Nick hit; twisted to land on his feet. Wild and des-
perate, at the end of his endurance, he charged at Angus
as if he meant to prove that he never lost.
Snarling avidly, Angus punched him straight in the
forehead with a fist reinforced by implanted struts and
plates - a fist as effectively massive as a block of stone.
Nick dropped to his knees like a bull in an abattoir.
He didn't fall; but his eyes glazed, and his head lolled.
His hands thrashed like dying fish at the ends of his arms.
Angus felt a rush of raw pleasure as acute as lasers, as
clean as matter cannon fire. 'That's twice, Succorso. '
Twice he'd beaten Nick physically. 'The third time, I
won't just tap you. I'll split your fucking skull. '
Panting for violence, he bent over Davies to see what
shape the boy was in.
Despite his bloody breathing and stunned gaze, Davies
was conscious. His hands groped for Angus, plucked at
Angus' sleeves. His mangled lips moved dumbly, as if
they were trying to form words.
After a moment he managed to moan, 'My father—All
of them -' Then he choked. 'Oh, God. '
Roughly Angus picked Davies off the deck. He con-
sidered sickbay; dismissed the idea. He needed answers,
and he needed them now. Half carrying the boy, he
moved back to Milos' station, seated his son there.
With his hands braced on the arms of the g-seat, he
peered into Davies' face.
'Pay attention. Try to keep it straight. That was then.
This is now. And that was Morn. This is you. Just
because you remember her past doesn't mean the same
things happened to you.
'All right?'
Davies twitched his head. He may have been trying to
nod.
Angus pulled away. The pleasure-rush was gone. See-
ing his son beaten and bloody was too much like seeing
himself in the same state. A sudden pressure filled his
throat. Swallowing it harshly, he rasped, Then let's start
making sense. You don't want me to let Captain Sheep-
fucker leave. I figured that much out. So I won't. He's
going to stay until we're done with him.
'Now tell me what the fuck you think you're doing. '
Davies groaned softly. A bubble of blood formed on
his lips and burst. With a heart-wrenching effort, he
brought his eyes into focus.
'I know him. We didn't spend all our time fucking. He
talked. I wanted to kill him just to make him stop talking. '
A new pain pulled like a laceration through Angus'
chest. 'I said, keep it straight!' As if he were telepathic,
he understood Davies perfectly. That was Morn. The
kind of fucking he gave you was completely different. '
Davies tried to nod again. Abused and urgent, his eyes
clung to Angus. 'But I know him. He doesn't have her. '
Angus froze. Milos seemed to be strangling on smoke.
Nick took a breath like a shudder and lowered his head
as if he were waiting for the axe.
As clearly as he could, Davies articulated, 'He can't
trade her for me. He already gave her to the Amnion. ' A
spasm of pain stopped him. When it passed, he finished,
The Bill told me. '
Milos covered his face with his hands.
Morn!
Angus' fury was nearly as fast as his microprocessor;
nearly fast enough to lash out before his datacore could
stop him.
Gave her to the Amnion.
That was the point of Nick's distractions; the real
cheat. He'd turned her over to mutagens and ruin. And
then he went on using her as a bargaining chip as if he
still had her.
Angus would have been willing to die for a chance to
hit Nick again.
But his passion slammed into the neural wall of his
zone implants: he couldn't move. Outraged and heart-
sick, he couldn't do anything except stand still and let his
programming make Warden Dios' decisions.
Madness crowded his head. Like Nick, he'd come to
the end of his endurance. He was on the verge of break-
ing - right on the edge of his personal abyss - when he
heard himself say, 'In that case, we'll have to get her
back. '
'Oh, shit, ' Milos breathed. He didn't seem to have any
other words for his dismay.
'That's crazy. ' Nick brought the words up from the pit
of his stomach as if he were coughing. 'She's in the
Amnion sector. You'll have to fight them and the Bill
and two warships just to find her. And they've already
given her their mutagens. She's already one of them. '
And you did that to her! Angus howled at him. She gave
herself to you, she gave you everything I wanted, and you
turned her over to them. '
At the same time he said calmly, We still have to get
her back. ' He sounded as lucid as a machine. 'If she's one
of them now, we'll kill her. Otherwise we'll rescue her. '
She was a cop: Dios couldn't afford to let the Amnion
have her.
'Yes, ' Davies gritted through his teeth. Behind his
mask of blood, his eyes glittered. 'Yes. '
'I'm going to sickbay, ' Milos announced stiffly. He
sounded like he was grieving. 'I'll get some swabs and
antiseptic. '
Keeping his face turned away, he went to the
companionway and moved upward out of sight. -
'You're both crazy. ' Unsteadily Nick gained his feet.
'You're going to get her away from the Amnion, sure. '
His eyes were recovering focus, but his balance remained
unreliable. Stress tugged at his cheek like an erratic heart-
beat. 'You and what army? There's a warship with her
guns lined up on us right now. Super-light proton
cannon. Even if you can get into the Amnion sector and
get her out' — weakly he tried to hammer the words —
'you're never going to get away.
'You're as dead as I am. ' He attempted a grin, but the
effort failed, pulled apart by the tic in his cheek. 'Unless
you let me give them your brat.
Then some of us might survive. '
Even though he was beaten, even though Davies had
exposed his treachery, he went on groping for an exit to
the cul-de-sac.
'No. ' Angus dismissed the idea as if he'd considered it
seriously for a moment; as if he understood or cared
about the need in Nick's voice. That won't work. ' He
didn't understand or care, however. He paid no attention
to Nick's appeal. He was simply talking to fill the silence
while he waited for Dios' instructions to come through
the gap in his mind. 'If I let you take Davies there while
I went after Morn, it might be useful as a diversion. But
as soon as they lost her they would keep both of you. '
'That isn't what I -' Nick began. But then he stopped.
He must have been able to see that Angus wasn't
listening.
Squinting through blood and fear, Davies watched
Angus. Carefully, trying not to put pressure on his hurts,
he straightened himself in the g-seat. In a voice like a
metal-rasp, he asked, 'Why do you want her back? Didn't
you get enough out of her the last time?'
'That isn't it. ' Nick made a thin effort to sound sarcas-
tic. He, too, watched Angus closely. 'He likes hurting
women - don't you, Captain Thermo-pile? — but not
enough to risk himself for it. He's too much of a coward
for that.
'He has a different reason. ' He glanced briefly at
Davies. 'You've got the mind of a cop. You'll love this.
The real reason is, your dear father works for the UMCP.
He doesn't want to, of course, but they've got his neck
in a noose. He's doing this little job for them to keep
them from snapping his spine. '
He seemed to think this revelation might upset Angus.
It didn't: Angus hardly heard it. As if Nick's words
were a code or a catalyst, the window in his head opened,
and data streamed into his mind - a torrent of precon-
ceived plots and needs, exigencies and questions.
'Milos is probably just here to keep track of him, ' Nick
concluded, 'report on him if he doesn't do what he's
told. '
Frowning around his cuts and contusions, Davies
asked Angus, 'Is that true?'
Abruptly Angus' attention snapped back into focus.
He was alive on disparate planes again, existing in separ-
ate realities; multi-tasking urgently. But now the data
which poured and processed through him required him
to concentrate on Nick.
Well, there's one thing sure, ' he muttered while his
datacore filtered possibilities through the back of his
brain, testing options against his experience with Billin-
gate and the Amnion. ' "Report" is what Milos does best. '
He glanced up the companionway to be sure his second
was out of earshot. 'You may be interested to hear, Suc-
corso' - his programming kept him too busy for obsceni-
ties - 'that you aren't the only one he talked to while
we were coming in. He also sent messages to Tranquil
Hegemony.
'They answered before you did. '
Nick flinched and turned pale as if he'd been hit in the
stomach. His mouth shaped curses which were inaudible
because they had no breath behind them.
Angus liked that. He wished he'd done it of his own
free will.
'What did they say?' Davies asked.
Angus shrugged. The codes are too good. I couldn't
break them. '
The boy didn't take Milos' betrayal as hard as Nick did:
maybe he didn't understand it. He pursued the matter
impersonally. 'Then what's going on? What's he doing?'
'Playing some kind of bugger game. ' That was obvious.
'Me and Succorso and the UMCP and the Amnion, all
against each other. ' Fears and alarms roared in Angus'
ears as he thought about the damage Milos could do.
Thanks to his zone implants, however, he spoke with
untroubled confidence. 'Don't worry about it. I can
handle him.
'Succorso' - he turned sharply on Nick - 'it's time to
make up your mind. Shit or get out of the head. ' For an
instant the discrete operations taking place inside him
came together. We're going after Morn. Are you in or
out? The truth is, I need you. I need all the help I can
get. But I'm not going to force you. It'll be too easy for
you to give us away.
'Say yes or get off my ship. '
Davies tensed. He may not have understood Milos'
betrayals, but he knew too much about Nick's. Leaning
forward despite the pain in his ribs, he protested quickly,
'Angus, don't let him go. He'll tell them we're coming.
That's the way his mind works. He'll think if he shows
them his "good faith" they'll let him off the hook. '
Angus didn't hesitate. 'I'll take that chance. '
'But-!' Davies began.
'Shut up, ' Angus told the boy calmly. His datacore
imposed calm. He kept his gaze on Nick. 'I said I'll take
the chance. '
Cocking his fists on his hips, he showed Nick his teeth.
'Yes or no, Captain Sheepfucker. Pick one. Pick it now. '
Again Nick tried to laugh, but the attempt sounded
hollow and beaten — as damaged as his eyes. 'You're
crazy. I guess I have to keep saying that. You're crazy.
No, you stupid, suicidal sonofabitch. No. Is that clear
enough? I'm not going to help you. I just hope I get to
see you again someday - after the Amnion have had time
to play with you for a while. '
'In that case' - Angus raised the fist gripping Morn's
id tag - 'get the hell off my ship. '
'You're crazy, ' Nick repeated. 'Completely. '
Nevertheless he obeyed. His boots stamped loudly up
the companionway treads and along the passage until he
reached the midship lift. A moment later Angus heard
the lift doors close; heard servos hum as the lift descended
toward the airlock.
He turned back to Davies. Now he had to fight his
way through half a dozen programs, all running simul-
taneously, in order to talk to his son. Obviously his data-
core didn't care how frightened Davies felt.
'He won't warn the Amnion. He thinks that's what
he's going to do, but he'll change his mind - as soon as
he has time to think about what Milos might be doing. '
Davies studied him bleakly. What's that supposed to
mean?'
Demands and instructions thronged in Angus' brain.
He was full of scenarios played out against the backdrop
of his experience; of possibilities raised and discarded; of
outcomes analyzed: simultaneous hope and despair.
Tight with stress, he retorted, 'I haven't got time for long
explanations. We need to get ready. Whatever we decide
to do, we need to do it and be done before the Bill figures
out where you are. As soon as that happens, we're out
of choices. '
But Davies couldn't let go of his fear. It came from
too many different sources inside him: he'd remembered
too many horrors. His hands made small, incomplete
movements; his gaze pleaded for Angus' attention.
Surprised at his own tolerance - and at his ability to
act on it - Angus watched his son and waited. Although
he'd spent his life hiding it, he knew exactly how the boy
felt.
'It's too much —' Davies murmured. Too many plots.
Too much to remember. I don't know who I can trust. '
He shook his head; swallowed roughly, as if he were
fighting tears. 'Did I - ?' he asked like a scrape of pain.
'Did she really blow up Starmaster?
Angus had to resist inexorable machine pressure to
continue facing his son. His datacore had other things
for him to do. Nevertheless the men who'd designed
his commands and compulsions valued his knowledge
of illegals, his familiarity with Billingate, his training in
extreme situations. On some occasions, to some extent,
he was allowed to exercise a little discretion.
He gave Davies a sharp nod. That's the only reason
I'm still alive. And it's the only reason I got her. She was
too horrified to defend herself.
'You Hylands need to stop letting yourselves react like
that. It makes you too vulnerable. '
Drying blood slowly crusted around Davies' eyes.
After a moment he said, 'Yes, ' as if he were accepting a
legacy.
That was all the time Angus' zone implants let him
have. Stiffly he pulled away.
Where the hell is Milos?' he growled. 'We've got to
get you to sickbay. '
Too late he realized the truth. Like Nick, Milos had
left the ship.
SORUS
Sorus Chatelaine walked into the Bill's strongroom
and found him fulminating like a vial of phos-
phorus.
'Have you heard already?' he snapped as soon as he
saw her. 'Does everybody on this bloody rock already
know what those bastards did to me?'
Surrounded by computer stations, data terminals, and
display screens, he prowled the tight circle of his com-
mand center. The rest of the room was as dark and empty
as a cavern: every light focused on him and his equip-
ment. In the intense illumination he looked like he was
burning. Lean as an ascetic, he might have been a martyr
splashed with tallow and set aflame.
She moved closer, stopped just outside his circle. 'How
can I answer that?' she asked steadily. She had her own
reasons for anger - even for fear - but as a matter of
policy she never let the Bill see her vulnerabilities. 'You
haven't said which bastards you're talking about. '
'This is your fault!' he barked, sounding more than
ever like an outraged child. 'You were supposed to be
interrogating him. ' For an instant he paused to glare at
her. 'Hell, Sorus, I gave you permission to torture him.
What more did you need?'
'All right. ' She faced the Bill squarely. 'We're talking
about Davies. ' Her rich contralto betrayed nothing. 'But
I still don't understand. You said "bastards", plural. '
'And Davies Hyland himself is a bastard, I know, I
know. ' Fluttering his hands, the Bill resumed his prowl.
His eyes hunted his screens and readouts for answers they
didn't provide. 'Spare me your sense of humor at a time
like this. Why weren't you with him, doing what I told
you?'
Sorus permitted herself a small sigh. 'I needed time to
think. I wasn't sure how to tackle him. And'—she skipped
a beat or two in order to focus the Bill's attention on her
- 'I still wasn't sure what Succorso was up to. I've tried
to tell you he might be plotting something more complex
than we realize. I wanted to learn more about that, if I
could. It would be worth knowing in any case — it might
be crucial - but it would also help me decide how to
approach Davies. '
Unnecessarily she concluded, 'I wasn't particularly
interested in torturing him just for the fun of it. '
The Bill snarled through his teeth. 'Then why are you
here, at this particular moment, if you haven't already
heard?'
'Heard what? she countered. Her private anger and
alarm took the form of exasperation. 'You aren't making
much sense. '
'Sorus!' he retorted loudly, 'I need answers!' His long
fingers pointed at screens and terminals all around him.
'I already have enough questions. '
'All right. All right. ' It was obvious that she would
have to go along with him. She acceded because she
wanted to know what had happened. 'I'll tell you what
I've heard. The only thing I've heard. That's why I'm
here.
'There's a rumor in circulation that I'm' - she needed
more emphasis - 'that I am dealing in mutagen immunity
drugs. Me!'
The Bill stared at her while she explained:
'Some of my crew overheard two spacers talking about
it. In a bar-and-sleep on the cruise. I tried to get my
hands on them, but they were gone.
'I want to know who they are. That's why I'm here. I
want you to identify them for me, so I can find out what's
going on. Is that enough, or do I need to act as upset as
you?'
'Oh, spare me your histrionics. ' The Bill studied
her with a seriousness which belied his sour tone. 'You're
too emotional as it is. ' He was talking to give himself
time to think. 'A mutagen immunity drug? Are you
sure?'
She shrugged. 'That's what my people heard. '
'What a coincidence. ' The Bill raised his hands to his
head like a man who meant to pull out his hair. What a
fucking coincidence. '
'That's what I thought, ' she returned shortly.
'I mean, look at it, ' he went on as if she hadn't spoken.
'First Davies Hyland plants the idea of an immunity drug.
Well, he's a desperate kid. He might say anything he
could think of, just to make me reluctant to sell him. But
still the idea is a provocative one. Naturally I want to
learn the truth, so I ask you to get it for me.
Then look what happens. A couple of spacers start
talking about immunity drugs - and you. Entirely by
accident, of course, ' he snorted, 'they do it where your
people can hear them. Then they disappear.
'And then' - his teeth snapped at the air as if he wanted
to tear it into hunks - 'Davies himself disappears!'
'What?' For an instant Sorus couldn't control her
chagrin.
'Disappears!' the Bill repeated. 'I mean literally. Right
out of his cell. Leaving behind two dead guards, both of
them apparently killed by lasers, and a burned doorlock. '
Sorus couldn't help herself: she was too badly sur-
prised. 'That's absurd, ' she protested stupidly. 'You're
making it up. '
Full of vehemence, the Bill gestured for her to step
inside his circle. 'Come see for yourself. '
He typed in commands, as fast as scattershot, while
she moved to join him. The instant she reached his side,
he pointed urgently at two screens.
'The guards were wired, of course. This is what they
saw. '
Both screens showed an empty corridor from slightly
different angles. Sorus recognized the short hall outside
the rooms the Bill used as cells. The indicators on the
opposite wall told her a lift was on its way down.
The lift arrived: the doors opened.
Like the corridor, the car was empty.
There seemed to be an area of slight distortion, maybe
a smudge, in the center of the images: she couldn't be
sure.
Abruptly a hand appeared in the air beside the smudge.
It disappeared again.
At the same time lines of coherent light ran from the
vacant lift to the guards. Both recorded images fell until
they pressed against the floor. From their divergent angles,
what little they could see of the corridor remained empty.
'And that's not all, ' the Bill said tensely. 'I've got
another dead guard. Outside that same lift on one of
the upper levels. Apparently he was shot from behind.
Another laser. '
Sorus felt pressure building in her chest. 'What about
the bugeye in the cell?' she asked tightly.
The Bill gave a disgusted snarl; keyed more commands.
The inside of the room appeared on one screen.
Davies stood there, poised and staring in shock. A
voice said, 'Shit. Shit. Shit, ' but it obviously wasn't the
boy's. His mouth was open, but he wasn't swearing: he
was screaming. Wild as a tormented animal, he flung his
fist at the blank air.
Then the bugeye itself went blank. The screen picked
up nothing but distortion: electronic white noise.
After a moment the distortion crackled away, leaving
the monitor clear to scrutinize a room with no one in it.
'That, ' Sorus breathed, 'is not possible. '
'Did you see the smudge?' the Bill demanded.
She nodded dumbly.
'Operations is working on it. Preliminary analysis sug-
gests it might be caused by a refractive jamming field. If
that's true, whoever did this had to carry their own power
supply and emitter. And it must have been' - he gestured
around him harshly - 'about the size of all this. Even if
it fit in the lift, it would have been hell to move. And
moving it would have attracted a hell of a lot of attention.
So that's not possible either. '
Sorus shook her head, trying to clear it. Automatically,
simply saying the first words that occurred to her, she
suggested, 'Unless the Amnion can do it. Their equip-
ment has always been better than ours. '
'Do you suppose I haven't considered that?' the Bill
bellowed. 'Do you think I'm so goddamn secure here I
can afford to dismiss an idea like that?' Almost immedi-
ately, however, his voice frayed to softness. As if he were
defeated, he muttered, 'I asked them. They say they
haven't got him.
'They could lie, of course. But what would be the
point? If they want him that badly, they didn't have to
steal him. They didn't have to do me this kind of damage.
All they had to do was pay for him.
'Sorus' - now he sounded like he was pleading with
her—'all they had to do was give me the money they took
away from Captain Nick. They were willing to spend it
in any case. What does it matter if I get it instead of him?
Stealing his merchandise doesn't improve their position
with him. Assuming they have a position they want to
improve. It just lets him off the hook.
Why would they do a thing like that? They've got him
where they want him right now — they're squeezing his
balls dry, and there's nothing he can do about it. '
'I don't know, ' Sorus murmured, chewing her lip;
thinking hard. As far as she could see, the Amnion had
nothing to gain by snatching Davies. 'Maybe there's more
going on here than we know about. ' She didn't have a
theory: she was merely groping. 'Maybe this story about
an immunity drug is true. '
An intuitive frisson ran down her spine.
'I think, ' she continued tightly, 'we need to know who started that rumor about me. '
The Bill frowned at her, uncharacteristically puzzled.
But he didn't hesitate. 'Where? What time?'
'A place called Paunchys. ' She gave him her best esti-
mate of the time.
At once he swung to another terminal and began run-
ning commands.
This kind of data retrieval was rapid. A heartbeat or
two after he entered his instructions, the screens above
the terminal flickered to life.
She recognized Paunchys easily: the bugeyes gave her
several different angles on the room. Everyone sitting at
the tables or leaning against the bar showed clearly.
Fortuitously the playback started just as her people left
their table to head for Soar.
Most of the nearby tables were vacant. From where
her people had been sitting, they could only have over-
heard one particular pair of spacers: a man and woman
talking alone with their heads together as if they were
telling secrets.
On one screen, the man looked nervous. A streak of
dirt on his upper lip may have been a mustache. From
another angle, the woman appeared grim and competent,
as if she could have had her companion for breakfast.
Sorus didn't know either of them.
She pointed them out to the Bill. Swiftly he stabbed
open an intercom to Operations.
As soon as the duty officer answered, the Bill
demanded, 'I want id on a man and woman. They're
sitting together lower right. ' Distinctly he recited the
location, time and monitor codes displayed on the
bottom of his screen.
'Give me a minute, ' the duty officer replied.
'Do it faster than that, ' the Bill retorted. 'I haven't got
a minute. ' Snapping off the intercom, he glared at Sorus.
'What is this going to prove?'
'How should I know?' she countered. 'You know more
about what's going on here than I do. '
His scowl made him look like murderous as he turned
to peer at the screen again. 'God knows I'm supposed to, '
he muttered. 'Right now I'm not so sure. '
The Operations intercom chimed almost immediately.
The Bill toggled it hard. 'Yes?'
'I have id, ' the duty officer reported. The man is Sib
Mackern, data first, Captain's Fancy. The woman is Mikka
Vasaczk, command second, also Captain's Fancy. '
Brandishing his teeth as if he were inarticulate with
rage, the Bill silenced the intercom.
Sorus' guts knotted. 'So it was Succorso. ' She spoke
softly, controlling her desire to curse. 'I told you he was
dangerous. '
But she couldn't do it; couldn't contain her visceral
panic and anger. She should have killed him when she
had the chance. The satisfaction of cutting him, humiliat-
ing him, hadn't been worth what it was going to cost
her.
'God damn it!' she raged, clenching her voice between
her teeth, 'I told you he's up to something!'
'Sorus -' The Bill seemed to flinch away as if her fer-
ocity frightened him. 'It wasn't him. Whatever else is
going on here, he didn't snatch that brat. '
Still shouting, still clenched, she demanded, 'How do
you figure that? Didn't you tell me he seduced one of
your wires so he could find out where Davies was being
held? Didn't Davies tell us Succorso has an immunity
drug? Didn't he say Succorso and Hyland are in this
together? It all fits!
'Succorso and Hyland are working some UMCP plot.
They let you have Davies to plant the idea of an immunity
drug. Then they took him back. Now they're starting
rumors about me. For confirmation. And to make me
into a lightning rod, so when the blast hits it'll be aimed
at me. '
The Bill overrode her. 'No. That's not it. He was here.
Captain Nick was right here, trying to talk me into restor-
ing his credit, at exactly the same time Davies Hyland
was taken. '
Sorus opened her mouth; closed it again. For a
moment her brain went numb.
Succorso was here? He couldn't have done it?
What in hell was going on?
'Then' - she took a deep breath so that she wouldn't
shudder - 'it must have been Angus Thermopyle. Him
and that Com-Mine Security asshole, Milos Taverner.
Where did they go from Ease-n-Sleaze?'
'I'm glad you asked that. ' Manic and conspiratorial,
hiding his fright, the Bill beckoned her to another ter-
minal, another bank of screens. 'I've been trying to make
sense out of it myself.
They had rooms. ' His long fingers were unerring on
the keys; he could have run his command center blind-
folded. 'After they talked with Captain Nick in the bar,
they went up to Captain Angus' room. It's all recorded. '
Fighting to shove the confusion out of her head so that
she could concentrate, Sorus stared at Angus Thermopyle
and Milos Taverner in a hopeless little room which could
have been in any bar-and-sleep that fed on the less afflu-
ent prey of the cruise.
Angus sat in a chair tilted back so that it leaned against
the wall. 'Make yourself comfortable, ' he mumbled like
his mouth hurt. We haven't got all night, but you
can probably count on at least an hour. You've got that
long. '
Smoking furiously, Milos checked the room's data ter-
minal. Then he took the other chair and sat down beside
Angus.
'You know something about this, Angus, ' he said.
'Something you haven't told me. Maybe something you
heard from Dios. '
He didn't appear concerned about being overheard.
'I know a lot of things I haven't told you, ' Angus
retorted. 'I know a lot of things I haven't told myself. I
wouldn't share them with you if I could. '
'Well, let me guess, ' Milos replied. 'Saying we're here
to destroy the Bill is just a trick. ' The Bill's hand shook
as he pointed an accusing finger at the screen. The real
reason is because of me. And Morn Hyland. That doesn't
sound very plausible - until you think about what she
and I have in common.
'She's been to Enablement. To the Amnion. '
Angus' voice was strangely thick. 'Don't guess. It just
shows you don't know what you're doing. '
'Oh, I know what I'm doing, all right, ' Milos
promised. 'Open your mouth. '
While Sorus stared, Milos dropped his burning nic
into Angus' mouth.
Angus chewed and swallowed it. His face was black
with rage and nausea, but he didn't refuse or resist.
'Shit, ' Sorus breathed involuntarily.
'Listen, ' the Bill hissed.
'It's my neck in the noose, ' Milos continued, 'and I'm
not going to let you or anybody else hang me.
'I suppose you really can't tell me what you know. And
it probably isn't much anyway. You're just an incidental
victim. From that point of view, you're worse off than I
am.
'We all need somebody who's worse off than we are.
Or who can be made worse off. '
After that both men fell silent..
Milos went on smoking continuously.
Angus ate each of his nics as he finished it.
Sorus watched him in a state that resembled horror.
Dios, she thought numbly. Warden Dios. Saying we're
here to destroy the Bill -
Suddenly she believed everything Davies had sug-
gested about Succorso and Hyland.
'That goes on for about an hour, ' the Bill commented.
He hit a key to speed up the playback. 'Just like Captain
Angus predicted. Then the chronology gets interesting.
'In another room Captain Nick finishes browbeating
my wire. He gets what he wants out of her. After that
he sends a message to his ship - coded so I can't crack
it. Then he leaves, goes back to Captain's Fancy. Eventu-
ally he comes to see me.
'But at the same time - well, almost - we have this. '
He returned the playback to normal.
Thickly, his mouth full of pain, Angus abruptly said,
'Try it now. '
As if he rather than Angus were in command, Milos
got up and went to the data terminal.
'What's he doing?' Sorus asked. 'Talking to Succorso?'
'No such luck, ' the Bill returned. 'He's retrieving mes-
sages from Trumpet. Coded, of course. ' Answering her
next question before she could ask it, he went on, We
don't have any way of knowing if Captain's Fancy and
Trumpet talked to each other. '
Almost sadly Milos murmured, 'Looks like it's here. '
Despite his characteristically bloated expression, taut
with malice, Angus looked sallow and defeated as he
said, 'You're the one who knows the code. Is it time to
go?'
Milos studied his message for a moment before he
replied, 'I guess. '
'And that's it, ' the Bill announced. He blanked the
screen. They pick up their messages - by some wild
coincidence just a few minutes after Captain Nick sends
a message to Captain's Fancy - and then they leave. '
'Where do they go?' Sorus inquired as if her head were
full of chaos.
'They don't. They vanish. '
She blinked at him idiotically.
'I mean they manage to lose themselves. ' The Bill made
a hawking sound of disgust. 'I mean we lose track of
them. Once they get out into the cruise and the lifts, the
recordings are so full of people that the computers
haven't been able to focus on those two. I don't have any
idea where they are. '
'Then, ' she said slowly because she didn't know what
else to suggest, 'they could have snatched Davies. '
'I thought of that myself, ' the Bill sneered. 'I'm not
completely comatose yet. But if they did, they didn't take
him back to Trumpet. That I would know. '
'Unless they have a refractive jamming field and got
past your bugeyes. '
'Which isn't possible. '
New ideas: she needed new ideas. Nothing made any
sense; but if she didn't stop floundering soon and begin
to understand she was going to be sucked down.
Clutching at straws, she offered, 'Or unless they have
the kind of help that lets them get into the infrastructure'
- which also didn't make sense because it failed to
account for the way the guards were killed - 'and from
there go EVA to their ship. '
'What kind is that?' the Bill countered trenchantly.
'Captain Nick and Captain Angus have just arrived. What
kind of help do you think they could organize in the
amount of time they've been here?'
He didn't add, Unless they're getting help from the
Amnion. He didn't need to.
'How should I know?' Sorus objected. 'I'm just guess-
ing. A portable refractive jamming field isn't possible.
Neither is sneaking into the infrastructure, killing your
guards without being seen, and going EVA back to
Trumpet.'
Grimly she glared at the Bill. 'I don't know where the
Amnion stand in all this - but I also don't know where
else to look for answers. '
He blinked back at her. For a moment his long face
was stretched with loss.
'In that case, ' he said softly, 'we're all finished. '
Not me, she gritted in return. If you think I'm going
down with this ship, you're out of your goddamn mind.
To cover her silent promise, she asked, 'Are you watch-
ing for Taverner and Thermopyle?'
'Sure. ' The Bill sounded as frightened as a boy. 'Of
course. The guards have orders to report but not accost. '
He swallowed so hard that his larynx jumped. 'Just in
case the Amnion are involved. I don't want to give Calm
Horizons an excuse for a surgical strike. '
'And where, ' she pursued, 'is Succorso now?'
He snorted. 'You'll love this. He's on Trumpet. God
knows why - he's there alone. But he went there from
here. Apparently Captain Angus gave him the codes to
let himself aboard. '
Sorus felt pressure writhing like nausea in her abdo-
men. To herself she growled, Aboard Trumpet. That
makes perfect sense. Why didn't I think of it myself? But
she'd come to the end of what she could endure without
taking action. If the Bill wanted to stand here and dither
while his world crumbled, he would have to do it without
her.
Pulling away abruptly, she left the circle of equipment
and strode into the dimness toward the door.
As she moved, she said over her shoulder, Tell Oper-
ations I'm leaving dock. '
'No, you aren't. ' The Bill's tone was as soft as the slither
of a snake. His fright was gone, sloughed away. 'Not
until you tell me where you're going. And why. '
She swung back to face him. 'I'm going to get us some
answers. First I'm going to put Soar in firing range of
Calm Horizons. Just to remind them they've got some-
thing to lose. Then I'm going to make them talk until I
start believing them. '
Bright as an auto-da-fe in the concentrated light, the
Bill studied her for a long moment. When he finally
spoke, he sounded as fatal as a fanatic.
'Good. '
The word was a threat as well as a commandment.
Before she could turn away, one of his intercoms
chimed.
He hit the toggle. At once the Operations duty officer
said, 'Sir, we've got Milos Taverner. '
With her hand on the strongroom door, Sorus froze.
'Where?' the Bill snapped.
The duty officer was hesitant. 'He's just left Trumpet. '
In a rush he added, 'I know it's impossible. I can't explain
it. But he must have been there all along. '
The Bill's gaze clung to Sorus as if he were begging
for help.
Harsh as a cutting laser, she articulated, 'That's where
Succorso is. '
The Bill hammered his forehead with the heels of his
palms; he might have been trying to kick his brain into
motion. Then he asked Operations, 'Where's he going?'
The intercom gave the duty officer's voice a flat, met-
allic timbre. 'Sir, he looks like he's headed for the Amnion
sector. ' After a pause the man asked, 'Should we stop
him?'
'No!' the Bill jerked out convulsively. 'Let him go. If
the Amnion are involved, we don't know what's at stake.
This may not have anything to do with us. '
Without transition he broke into a roar of anger and
alarm. 'Just don't lose him! If he doesn't go straight there,
grab him!'
Then he regained his self-control. Quiet and deadly,
he continued, 'Put a team together. Get aboard Trumpet
- cut your way in if you have to. Bring me everybody
you find. ' His teeth chewed out the words like hunks of
raw meat. 'Except Nick Succorso. I want to see what he
does with his freedom. He can go wherever he wants -
but not back to Captain's Fancy. Do you hear me? Bar
him from his ship. I don't care how many guards it takes.
I'm going to put pressure on him until he cracks. Then
I'm going to toast his testicles and make him eat them.
'Don't fuck up!' he warned the duty officer. 'Don't
dare. If you do, you won't have to worry about what I'll
do to you. The Amnion are going to devour us all. '
Stabbing off the intercom, he faced Sorus again.
Through the gloom surrounding her, he said, 'Go.
Fast. You may be my only hope. I want you out where
your guns can do some good before this mess gets any
worse. What I need is answers. But if you have to start
shooting I'll back you up with everything I've got. '
Sorus Chatelaine nodded sharply. She was finished
here anyway: Billingate had become as dangerous as a
pit of vipers for her. Once Succorso's rumor had a chance
to spread, she wouldn't be able to set a foot on this rock
without risking her life. Eventually the Amnion them-
selves would come after her.
Unless she went to them with the truth first.
Unless she convinced them they had nothing to fear
from her.
Grimly she left the strongroom to save herself and her
ship.
MILOS
If anyone had asked, Milos Taverner might have
admitted that he was scared shitless.
His heart beat so hard that it hurt his chest, and
the pressure seemed to cramp his lungs, so that he had
trouble breathing. At times he swallowed convulsively:
at times an odd giddiness came and went in his head,
making him feel that he was about to lose his footing.
Sweat ran incessantly into his palms; so much sweat that
he couldn't rub his hands dry no matter how hard he
tried.
Even though his entire life, from the guttergangs of
Earth to his ambiguous position on Com-Mine Station,
had been ruled by fear, he had never been as afraid as he
was now.
He was on his way to the Amnion sector; toward an
encounter with creatures that appalled him.
The mere idea made him want to cower and moan.
He had no choice, however. Of course not. He would
never have done something like this, never, if he'd had
any imaginable alternative.
Oh, talking to the Amnion was all right. He could
handle that. How else did buggers survive, when every
guttergang was a natural enemy? By talking to them, that
was how. By helping and betraying them all. And space
wasn't substantively different than a city ruled by gut-
tergangs. On one side stood Com-Mine Security; over
there, the UMCP; over there, pirates like Nick Succorso;
and over there, the Amnion. Why shouldn't a man like
Milos profit by playing them off against each other? -
especially since otherwise they all would have been quite
willing to crush him?
Now, however, he'd run out of choices. His simple,
reasonable, and above all secure buggery had been turned
against him. Min Donner had taken him off Com-Mine.
Hashi Lebwohl had selected him to control and protect
Angus. Warden Dios had sent him here, to the living hell
of Billingate and the cruise.
And then they'd changed all the rules -
You've just been given a, rather nasty shock. I regret that, but it was necessary.
They'd lied about the reasons he and Angus were here.
Worse than that, they'd built loopholes into Angus'
welded priority commands — loopholes which effectively
emasculated Milos.
On this one subject, you were misled.
Ignorant of those loopholes, he'd lied to the Amnion.
Everything else you were told concerning Joshua, your mis-
sion and yourself remains true. Joshua has not diverged from
his programming. Tour command codes still function. You
have not been betrayed.
Milos would have found Dios' reassurances easier to
believe if the UMCP director had been here to deliver
them in person. But he didn't believe them; not for a
second. The fact that his command codes still worked
didn't convince him. Where there was one lie, there was
more than one. Always. Without exception.
He'd been set up.
Now he had nowhere else to turn except the Amnion.
And he had nothing left to offer them - nothing to
purchase his survival with - except the truth.
Every step he took was tight with dread. Why didn't
Angus come after him? Why didn't the Bill's guards stop
him? Why didn't Nick appear out of nowhere, blazing
with outraged virility and self-destruction, and attempt
to work one of his legendary wonders? Didn't they know
what they were doing when they risked Milos Taverner
in their plots and counter-plots?
Apparently not. No one interfered with him as he
walked the corridors and rode the lifts toward the place
which the Amnion had constructed for themselves at the
edge of the installation.
He was scared shitless in more ways than one. Even
his limited repertoire of obscenities had been frightened
out of him.
At last he reached the Amnion sector.
The entrance was only a door in an unmarked wall.
Nevertheless this was the location he'd obtained from the
data terminal in Reception. And the door had the heavy
look of an airlock: when it closed behind him, it would
seal him off from the human atmosphere of Billingate.
There was an intercom with a keypad under it beside
the door. After rubbing his damp hands uselessly one
more time on the thighs of his shipsuit, he punched in the
id code he'd been given for his transmissions to forbidden
space.
The silence which greeted him was so complete that
he could taste it.
A minute passed; maybe two. Waves of giddiness
rolled and faded through him until he had to brace him-
self on the wall. Why was the Bill letting this happen? If
Angus or Nick had come after him, they would have
caught him before this: therefore they weren't coming.
But the Bill could send guards at any time. Surely he
knew Angus and Milos had taken Davies, even if he
didn't know how? And surely he had recordings of the
time Angus and Milos had spent in Ease-n-Sleaze? So
where were the guards?
Was the Bill this afraid of the Amnion? As afraid as
Milos?
Scarcely able to breathe, he entered his id code on the
keypad again.
The intercom crackled. 'Human, your name is required
for confirmation of identity. ' The alien voice sounded
pitiless and unreachable through the tiny speaker.
Milos' throat refused to work. He swallowed spas-
modically several times. After a moment he managed to
croak out his name.
Another silence. Then the voice said, 'Enter the airlock,
Milos Taverner, ' like a distant promise of death. 'You are
welcome among the Amnion. '
With a hum of servos, the door cycled open.
A man stood waiting inside the lock as if he'd arrived
from the pit of one of Milos' nightmares.
He was only partially Amnion. One eye and half his
face were human, as were his chest, one arm, and most
of his legs. But his other eye was lidless, formed for
the sulfurous illumination the Amnion preferred. Pointed
teeth with no lips over them filled half his mouth. Rust
seemed to cover his inhuman arm; rust clogged his knees
so thickly that his strange black shipsuit had been cut
away to enable him to walk.
In his human hand he held a breathing mask.
'Milos Taverner, welcome. ' His voice sounded like fric-
tion along oxidized iron. Tor convenience my name is
Marc Vestabule. To spare yourself discomfort, you must
wear this. '
He offered the breathing mask.
Involuntarily Milos flinched backward.
'Milos Taverner' - the nearly human voice scraped like
torn fingernails against Milos' nerves — 'we do not know
why you have come to us. You may speak here if you
wish. Surely, however, it is preferable to ensure against
the espionage of this installation's surveillance monitors. '
Surely. Of course. That made sense. With a fierce
effort, Milos fought down his urge to turn and run. If
what he had to say was overheard, Angus, Nick and
Davies were as good as dead; the Bill would kill them.
And that might make the Amnion unhappy: very
unhappy. Milos' last chance would be wasted.
Somehow he forced himself to step forward far enough
to accept the breathing mask.
Marc Vestabule withdrew toward the back of the air-
lock. Giddiness surged through Milos again as he pulled
on the mask; he stumbled as far as the door. But there
he caught himself. Clutching his panic to the edge of the
entrance, he stopped; couldn't force himself to go on.
Vestabule's human eye blinked as if he wanted to wink
but had forgotten how. 'Milos Taverner, ' he said care-
fully, 'you are afraid. What frightens you? Have you not
dealt honorably with the Amnion?'
Dealt honorably? Milos wanted to scream. When did
any of you ever let me deal honorably?
He couldn't say things like that, however; not if he
wanted to survive. Defensively he muttered, 'I've always
told you the truth. ' The mask muffled his voice. 'It's not
my fault some of things I thought were true have turned
out to be lies. '
The Amnioni appeared to consider the implications of
this assertion for a moment. Still blinking, he replied,
'But now that you have learned the truth, you have come
to offer it to the Amnion. Therefore you are welcome
among us, as I have said. Please enter the airlock. '
Nearly gagging on the pressure in his chest, Milos
Taverner pushed himself past the door.
The lock closed behind him, cutting him off from his
humanity. Now he had nothing left to hope for, except
that the Amnion would value the things he'd come to
tell them. 	
At once a complex light washed over him: sulfur, scan-
ners and decontaminants. As far as anyone knew, the
Amnion were proof against human diseases and parasites.
Nevertheless they didn't believe in taking chances.
He didn't either. On that basis he might still be able
to negotiate with them.
Marc Vestabule stared at him stolidly while the light
did its work. After a minute or two the inner door of the
airlock opened. Milos winced, expecting to see a phalanx
of Amnion waiting to horrify him. But the corridor
beyond the door was empty. The Amnion trusted
Vestabule to do their work for them.
Moving stiffly, as if his joints were rusted inside as well
as out, Vestabule motioned for Milos to follow him.
'Accompany me, please. I will take you to a chamber
where you will feel secure. There you may make your
requirements known, so that we can discuss how they
may be satisfied. '
Feel secure. Sure.
Struggling to swallow the labor of his heart, Milos
stumbled after the Amnioni.
The chamber Vestabule mentioned wasn't far away.
That was fortuitous: Milos couldn't have walked far.
Anoxia or stress seemed to gnaw at his balance, chewing
it to shreds. If he hadn't caught himself on the strange
pheromonic metal of the walls, he might have fallen sev-
eral times.
When Vestabule ushered him into a room as imper-
sonal and featureless as the corridor, he was dimly grate-
ful to see that it contained chairs. At least he would
be able to sit. If he could set aside the breathing mask
occasionally, he might even be able to smoke.
Without waiting for an invitation, he lowered his fail-
ing limbs into the nearest seat and dug out a packet of
nic.
Vestabule studied him as he found a packet, took out
a nic and his lighter. The expression on the human half
of the Amnioni's face suggested that he didn't understand
what Milos was doing. But as Milos repositioned the
breathing mask to make room for the nic in his mouth,
Vestabule said abruptly, 'That is hazardous, Milos
Taverner. Doubtless the spark of your lighter - it is
magnesium, is it not? - is small. Nevertheless the air of
your breathing mask is rich in oxygen - perhaps rich
enough to make the spark greater than you anticipate. It
is possible that you will harm yourself. '
For a moment Milos' brain went blank. He wanted
nic, needed it: it was the only form of courage he had left.
Yet at Vestabule's warning he seemed to see his lighter
blaze like a flare, flash-burning his face and eyes - Mag-
nesium was wildly incandescent, usable for lighters only
in tiny quantities — and in appropriate atmospheres.
Trembling, he stuffed the nic back in its packet, shoved
both packet and lighter down into his pocket. Again he
felt a wan gratitude. Vestabule had saved him from hurt-
ing himself; perhaps blinding himself. Maybe the
Amnion valued him after all.
Light-headed with fear and relief, he insisted through
the obstruction of the mask, 'I've never lied to you know-
ingly. You've got to believe that. Everything I've ever
told you was the truth - as far as I knew. But there's
nothing I can do to prevent other people from lying to
me. '
Slowly Marc Vestabule picked up another chair, placed
it facing Milos, and sat down. When he was settled, his
alien knees were only inches from Milos'. Fortunately he
didn't lean forward: Milos felt sure he wouldn't be able
to stand having the Amnioni that close to him.
Folding his human arm and his rust-covered limb
across his chest, Vestabule proposed, Then perhaps it
would be well to begin with the lies and truths which
have brought you to speak to us directly. '
Milos thought it would be better to start by naming
what the Amnion! called his 'requirements'. At the
moment, however, he could hardly imagine what they
were. Protect me. Keep me alive. Get even for me. Such
things were too nebulous; yet his fear prevented him
from thinking of anything else. He understood nothing
about the Amnion. How could he ask them to protect
him when he didn't know how they would react to his
'lies and truths'?
If they were a guttergang - in essence if not in name
- why didn't they act like one?
Sweating inside the constriction of his mask, he said,
'Maybe you already know. That's a possibility I have to
consider. There's too much treachery here. Too many
people are lying. For all I know, you're all in it together.
Plotting together, using people -'
'Milos Taverner, ' Vestabule ventured in his rough, oxi-
dized voice, 'I cannot respond to these suggestions until
you inform me of their content. Clearly you are con-
cerned. However, you have made no mention of the spe-
cific issues which concern you. '
As if the words had been triggered out of him, Milos
retorted, Why aren't you doing anything about
Thermopyle?'
The Amnioni gazed back at him expressionlessly. Only the lid of Vestabule's human eye moved.
'I warned you about him, ' Milos went on in a rush.
The UMCP reqqed him from Com-Mine Security, just
like they reqqed me, and they welded him, I told you that.
They gave him computers and zone implants and lasers
and God knows what else. And they sent him here to
destroy this place. I positively told you that.
'Why aren't you doing anything about him?'
Why aren't you afraid of him?
What's going on here?
Now Marc Vestabule nodded. 'I see. Our response —
or our lack of response - to the threat posed by this
Angus Thermopyle causes you anxiety. That is a subject
we may discuss.
'Is it your belief that the Bill's defenses are inadequate
to deal with this threat?'
'I know they are, ' Milos snorted. 'Aren't you aware that
Davies Hyland - that kid you want so badly - was taken
right out from under his nose? Hasn't he told you?'
Vestabule nodded impersonally. 'He has. '
'Well, Thermopyle did it, ' Milos went on quickly. 'I
was with him the whole time. We simply walked into the
cell and grabbed Davies. We took him back to Trumpet.
And the Bill didn't do anything to stop us. He couldn't
- he didn't know what was happening. He hasn't got a
clue where that kid is now. '
An expression which may once have been a frown
plucked at the human half of Vestabule's face. That state-
ment is not strictly accurate. ' Turning his head slightly,
he touched his left ear. For the first time Milos noticed
that the Amnioni wore a small receiver jacked into his
ear. The Bill has been speaking to us from the moment
of your arrival, ' Vestabule explained. 'He has reason to
believe that Davies Hyland was abducted by Angus
Thermopyle and yourself. Presumably he also believes
that Davies Hyland is aboard Trumpet, for the same
reasons. He demands that we deliver you to him, so that
he may learn the truth of what has transpired.
'He makes no reference to enhanced capabilities. How-
ever, he is aware of your power over Angus Thermopyle.
Therefore he believes that you - and perhaps by extension
the Amnion, because you have come here - stand at the
heart of this treachery. '
Milos winced convulsively. Nevertheless, in spite of
his alarm, he stuck to the point on which his survival
depended. 'That doesn't explain why you haven't done
anything. '
He needed to understand the Amnion — and show
them how vulnerable they were - before he could offer
them anything that might save his life.
Vestabule didn't hesitate. 'Like the Bill, ' he scraped out
as if the Amnion had no secrets from Milos, 'we are aware
of your dealings with Nick Succorso. Unlike the Bill,
however, we know that you do not stand at the heart of
this treachery. We believe that the "plotting", as you call
it, exists between Nick Succorso and Angus Thermopyle.
We have taken no action concerning this threat for
several reasons.
'First, we lose nothing by allowing the Bill to confront
Angus Thermopyle on our behalf. Ultimately he is' -
Vestabule appeared momentarily uncertain of the word
he wanted - 'expendable. We are not harmed if he is
challenged and made insecure. On the contrary, we gain
a greater understanding of the threat itself.
'In particular we hope to gain a greater understanding
of Nick Succorso's treachery. '
In bitterness and fear, Milos admitted privately that he
wanted to understand Nick's treachery himself.
'Second, ' Vestabule went on without pausing, 'Angus
Thermopyle and Nick Succorso are natural antagonists.
This is a concept which is not comprehensible to the
Amnion, but which I have been able to retain.
'I am' — he lifted his shoulders like a shrug - 'as you
see me. Portions of my former body remain. Similarly
portions of my former mind remain. I am able to grasp
that Angus Thermopyle and Nick Succorso cannot form
an alliance without simultaneously seeking to betray each
other. Granted enough scope, they will expose each
other's truths and undermine each other's strengths,
thereby rendering each other ineffective. '
Milos might have sneered at this proposition, but the
Amnioni didn't wait for his reaction.
'Naturally the question of "scope" is critical. It is poss-
ible - indeed, it is probable - that the threats they pose,
separately and together, will become so acute that we
cannot afford to allow them enough scope. Nevertheless
while we can we wait, searching for the truth.
'Third, it is our experience that Angus Thermopyle is
inherently less dangerous to us than Nick Succorso. '
Milos couldn't help himself: he gaped in surprise.
'You're kidding. Nick's just a pirate. Thermopyle is the
slime of the universe. '
Vestabule's alien eye held the yellow light humorlessly.
'Both as a cyborg arid as a human, ' he asserted, 'we dis-
trust Thermopyle less. As a cyborg, he is limited as well
as enhanced by his programming. And as a human his
malice is too pure to permit the profounder forms of
treachery.
This is not speculation, Milos Taverner, ' he said as if
he were articulating a fact which had no personal impact.
'I have direct experience with Angus Thermopyle, during
my life among your kind. At one time I crewed aboard
a vessel named Viable Dreams, an in-system hauler which
fulfilled the support function of transshipping ores
discovered by prospectors. It was an unglamorous labor,
but profitable. However, we were hijacked by Angus
Thermopyle. Twenty-eight men and women, the sur-
vivors of our crew, he brought here and sold to the
Amnion. '
The calm with which Vestabule revealed this detail
chilled Milos as much as his rusted flesh and sharp teeth.
'I understand his limits, ' the Amnioni continued. 'His
behavior, both on that occasion and subsequently, has
made his essential nature plain. For that reason we are
disinclined to dispose of him when he may yet serve us
against Nick Succorso.
'Finally, you control him, do you not?' Vestabule's
human eye blinked rapidly, signaling an intensity which
his posture and expression concealed. Why should we
take action against him, when you are able to command
him at will?
'Is that not what you wished the Bill to understand
when you compelled Angus Thermopyle to ingest your
discarded - I have forgotten the word - your nicotine
sticks in clear view of the surveillance monitors? Have
you not deliberately created circumstances which would
lead the Bill to believe that you - and perhaps therefore
we - stand at the heart of this treachery?'
'No!' Milos could hardly breathe: his mask was full of
fear, suffocating him. 'That's not it!' If the Amnion
believed that, he was finished, finished. 'I was just testing
him- trying to prove he still obeys my codes. I haven't told
you why I'm here. It was all a lie. I believed it, but it was a
lie. I came to talk to you as soon as I learned the truth. '
What is the lie? What is the truth?' Vestabule touched
the side of his head. The Bill is passionate in his demand
for your delivery. He hints that your presence here viol-
ates our agreements with him. How can we answer,
except by granting what he wishes, if we do not compre-
hend what has brought you here?'
Don't do it! Milos fluttered his hands, almost begging
for a chance to explain. Don't let him have me.
'I don't know how big it is, ' he panted urgently, 'the
lie. I don't know how far it goes. It may or may not have
anything to do with destroying this installation. All I
know is, it has something to do with Morn Hyland, that
woman Nick gave you. Davies Hyland's mother. I told
you about her — a long time ago. She's UMCP — an
Enforcement Division ensign. '
'Nick Succorso made no mention of this, ' Vestabule
observed in a tone as dead as ruined metal. When he
delivered her to us, he retained her id tag. '
Milos might have heard hints in Vestabule's words,
possibilities of survival; but he was too frightened to
concentrate on them. Driven by the pressure of his heart,
he went on talking, explaining.
Thermopyle got his hands on her, gave her a zone
implant so he could use her. But Nick wanted her. He
took her when we framed Thermopyle. That was a
UMCP deal, too. I told you Nick works for them some-
times. They wanted Thermopyle framed. So they could
req him. Nick did it in exchange for her. '
'What is the significance of this?' the Amnioni asked
flatly.
'It's Thermopyle's programming. ' The sweat on Milos'
hands made them feel foul; corrupted. 'I'm supposed to be
able to control him. I'm supposed to guarantee that he
does what he was sent here to do. That means I have to
know what it is. To destroy the installation. But Hashi
Lebwohl was in charge of the whole project. He told me
specifically, explicitly, that we were not here to rescue
Morn Hyland. Even though she's UMCP. Even though
Thermopyle wants her back. As far as UMCPHQ is con-
cerned, she's lost, dead. Thermopyle was supposed to
ignore her. And I was supposed to make sure he did. '
The breathing mask seemed to stifle Milos' outrage.
He wanted to shout, but couldn't get enough air.
'Do you understand what I've told you about him? His
head is full of zone implants, all run by a computer. And
his codes and instructions are written in a datacore, where
they can't be altered. I have power over him because I
know some of those codes, but it's the computer that
enforces them. He can't make his own choices. It's physi-
cally impossible.
'But he is making his own choices. He's making choices
that violate his programming - that violate what I was
told his programming is.
They aren't what you think. ' Unconscious of his own
actions, Milos scrubbed his hands harder and harder
against his thighs. 'Nick may be plotting against you -
or against the Bill - but Thermopyle isn't. He's plotting
to get Morn Hyland back. He snatched Davies because
Nick offered him a trade, Morn for the kid. He didn't
know you already had her. So now he's planning to come
after her. He kept Davies, and the two of them are going
to try to get her back.
'Do you see what that means? I'm supposed to control
him - but Hashi Lebwohl lied to me. Warden Dios lied
to me. ' On this one subject, you were misled. They're using
me as some kind of shill. Thermopyle can't make his own
choices, so he must be acting on the instructions in his
datacore, instructions I don't know about — instructions
that sometimes let him override my command codes. '
Can't you understand that we're all being set up here?
Faintness was beginning to spin through his head like
vertigo. With the pressure of his palms against his thighs,
he tried to push it down.
'Interesting, ' Marc Vestabule observed after a long
pause. There are indeed many facets here, many con-
cerns. You speak of some - yet you make no mention of
others. Are you unaware of them, Milos Taverner, or
does your silence conceal other truths?'
The vertigo seemed to suck Milos' mind away, leaving
nothing behind except a fine white panic. Grinding his
fingers into his legs so that he wouldn't scream, he asked
thickly, What "other truths"? I don't know what you're
talking about. '
For a moment Vestabule's human eye became as
unblinking as the Amnion one. 'Are you unaware, ' he
inquired, 'that both Nick Succorso and Morn Hyland
possess a quality which must make them uniquely pre-
cious to the UMCP?'
Milos stared back at the Amnioni stupidly. 'What
quality?'
Vestabule made a small warding gesture with his
crusted arm. 'Both possess an immunity to mutagens.
Twice the same compound which transformed me has
been administered to her. She remains human - as Nick
Succorso himself once did.
'Unfortunately this installation lacks the facilities for
adequate study. We can only determine that her immun-
ity exists. We cannot define how it exists.
'Will you tell me, Milos Taverner, that you know noth-
ing of this?' The rust had been rubbed away: now
Vestabule's tone was pure iron. Will you tell me that the
true purpose of Nick Succorso's visits to Enablement
Station was not to test his immunity?
'Will you tell me that the true purpose for which he
delivered Morn Hyland to us was not to make us aware
of the existence of this immunity, thereby informing us
that humankind is defended against us — and thereby
warning us that humankind is now prepared to engage
us in war, if we do not retreat from our imperatives?
'Will you tell me that the true purpose for which Angus
Thermopyle was sent here was not to retake Morn
Hyland before we could study her — before we could
discover the source or nature of her immunity?'
'No!' Milos protested at once. 'I'm not going to tell
you any of those things! Maybe they're true. For all I
know, they could be. What I'm here to tell you -'
Abruptly his brain froze. Through his white, blind
panic came a black flash like a streak of intuition.
They could all be true.
Then why did Hashi Lebwohl lie? What did he gain
by trying to convince me Thermopyle had a completely
different mission?
Another flash.
Unless he already knew the truth about me.
He lied to me because he knew I would pass his ties
on.
And another.
He sent me here to get rid of me. He wanted the
Amnion to do his dirty work for him when they dis-
covered that what I told them wasn't true.
Panting feverishly, Milos said in supplication, 'I'm here
to give you everything I have. I came as soon as I knew
the cops were lying.
Thermopyle has a secret mission. ' He wanted to rip
off his mask and throw it away; let the Amnion air sear
his lungs until all the dread was burned out of him. 'It
has something to do with Morn Hyland. He's coming to
try to get her away from you. And he's bringing her son
with him.
'That's it. That's all I have. '
With one exception -
'But if you keep me alive - if you back me up -I might
be able to stop him. And if I do that, you can almost
certainly catch Davies again. ' He was desperate: he'd
reached his own absolute limit. One by one his choices
and hopes had been stripped away. Only this remained.
'You'll get them both. You probably can't mutate
Thermopyle. His datacore will kill him before it lets that
happen. But you can study him, learn everything about
him. And you'll have Davies to do what you want with. '
Vestabule regarded Milos steadily: the Amnioni sat as
still as a tombstone, untouched by Milos' appeal.
'Isn't that enough? Milos cried. What more do you want
from me?'
Vestabule stirred; shifted his legs. 'Milos Taverner, ' he
said like cold, cleaned metal, 'I urge you to refrain from
fear. It gains nothing. We will keep you alive. We will
give you our support. I do not mean to frighten you
when I say that your usefulness is at an end. '
His human hand slid into the pocket of his shipsuit.
These are concepts which no Amnioni can process
without great difficulty. For many of my people they
are impossible. Even for me they stretch the limits of
comprehension. Nevertheless it is necessary to compre-
hend them.
While serving both Com-Mine Security and the
United Mining Companies Police, you have dealt with
us, trading your knowledge of them for credit. Though
it is difficult for us to understand, we must assume that
you have dealt similarly with them, trading your know-
ledge of us for credit. '
No, Milos wanted to protest, no, of course not! But
Vestabule's alien gaze held him; Vestabule's iron tone
struck him dumb.
'After the events which have taken place here, ' the
Amnioni continued, 'this network of dealings will no
longer be fruitful for us. Therefore our relationship must
be altered. Between you and us, Milos Taverner, con-
formity of purpose will be achieved through the mutual
satisfaction of requirements.
'You require life and support.
'We require you. '
From out of his pocket, Marc Vestabule pulled a hypo.
The vial of the hypo held a viscid liquid, as dark as
poison.
Screaming, Milos flung himself out of his chair.
Vestabule caught him easily, however. One Amnioni
hand gripped him, as tight as a flexsteel band; one human
fist drove like a piston into his solar plexus.
Fear as fathomless as the gap between the stars shocked
Milos' nerves. Locked in spasms while his neurons mis-
fired, he couldn't defend himself as Vestabule pierced his
forearm with the hypo and released mutagens into his
veins.
ANCILLARY
DOCUMENTATION
WARDEN DIOS:
EXTRACTS FROM THE PRIVATE
JOURNALS OF HASHI LEBWOHL,
DIRECTOR, DATA ACQUISITION,
UNITED MINING COMPANIES
POLICE
[This extract is dated several months prior
to Angus Thermopyle's arrest by
Com-Mine Security. ]
... Nowhere is the particular and peculiar genius of the
man more evident than in his handling of the matter of
the Intertech immunity drug.
I have had occasion to note in previous entries that he
is my superior because he possesses a quality of charisma
- the ability to lead by inspiration - which I lack. In
other ways, however, I consider him my only peer —
certainly my only peer in the hallowed bastion of
UMCPHQ. Yet I must acknowledge that I would have
been hard pressed to manage the crisis which Intertech's
immunity research represented as well as he did. Perhaps
because I lack charisma, I might not have been able to
obtain — as he did - the most desirable of all possible
outcomes...
... the issue is difficult to explain because an under-
standing of its parameters requires an understanding of
Holt Fasner, and an explication of Holt Fasner's motiv-
ations is not a challenge to be undertaken lightly. Specu-
lation is both easier and less useful than true insight.
I might, for example, consider the possibility that the
common view of the Dragon is inadequate. Of course, I
do not refer to the public perception that he is simply
the most wealthy, dominant, commanding, glamorous
and therefore necessary man living. Rather I mean to cite
the view which commonly underlies the public percep-
tion - the view that he is a man driven by avarice,
impelled by greed to risk all human space against the
Amnion for the sake of the UMC's profitability. This
view is inadequate because the difference between
unimaginable riches and even more unimaginable riches
is ultimately trivial.
Instead I might speculate that his avarice is not for
wealth, but for power - that he is driven by a desire for
godhood, a yearning to attain the stature of unquestion-
able as well as unavoidable fate for the whole of human-
kind. And I might further observe that all human
aspirations to godhood must fail while the Amnion and
death exist. Finally I might conclude that it is this ineluc-
table failure which both confirms Holt Fasner's lust for
power and erodes his ability to control it.
But, having said all that, what have I accomplished?
Have I shed any light into the dark heart of the Dragon
in his lair? Have I altered any of the decisions which must
be made, the actions which must be taken, concerning
him? I have not. I have only constructed a guesswork
edifice for my own edification and amusement...
... accept, then, the underlying common view that
Holt Fasner is cemented to his own fate by ordinary
acquisitiveness - that all his great attainments and cun-
ning are dedicated to the uninteresting goal of acquiring
meaningless increments of wealth. Does this imply a con-
comitant acceptance of the commonly held underlying
view of Warden Dios, that he is nothing more than the
perfect instrument of Holt Fasner's will? that he is at
once so brilliant and so mindless that he can serve Holt
Fasner purely, untainted by needs and desires of his own?
that he lacks both of those glorious human foibles, scru-
ple and ambition?
Certainly not. It is patent that brilliance and mind-
lessness cannot coexist, that ambition metastasizes expo-
nentially in the absence of scruple. Holt Fasner Q. E. D.
Therefore it follows as naturally as humans fear pain that
Warden Dios is not the Dragon's instrument, but rather
his natural enemy.
This explains the Dragon's selection of him as director
of the UMCP. How better to both defang and profit
from a natural enemy than by binding him to yourself,
sealing him away within your own structures and exig-
encies, so he cannot serve himself without also serving
you? If Warden Dios were not the director of the UMCP,
Holt Fasner would have to kill him.
Yet this is a paradox — at once fertile and dangerous -
because Warden Dios' needs and ambitions can never be
identical to the Dragon's.
Intertech's immunity research provides a case in point.
Grant for a moment that Warden Dios is another Holt
Fasner — less confirmed in his lust for power, less eroded
in his ability to control it - but another Dragon nonethe-
less. Precisely because he has been less confirmed, less
eroded, he cannot aspire to supplant his nominal master.
Yet what other outlets remain for his ambitions? What
other needs or priorities might his brilliance serve? And
- do not neglect this point - how else can his natural
enmity to the Dragon express itself?
Perhaps by identifying himself with the UMCP rather
than with the UMC. By assigning to the UMCP an
importance which he denies to the vaster and less specific
domain of the Dragon. By affirming the stated purposes
and restrictions of the UMCP at the expense of Holt
Fasner and the UMC.
Now consider the matter of the immunity drug.
The moment Intertech's research threatens to succeed,
the Dragon perceives a threat. If humankind may be
immunized against mutagens, the peril of the Amnion
recedes. Therefore the necessity of the UMCP - and of
its corporate host - recedes. Therefore the logic which
sustains that host as the sole conduit for alien trade and
wealth loses its syllogistic inevitability.
At once the Dragon moves to quash the research. It
must be removed before it can become the means by
which his hold on human space frays away.
So much is predictable, hardly worthy of comment.
But how does Warden Dios respond? Does he permit
himself spasms of self-righteousness, as a lesser man
might? Does he fall prey to scruples or faint-hearted
alarms? Does he oppose his putative master, either openly
or privately?
He does not.
Instead he persuades the Dragon that Intertech's
research must be permitted to continue in secret — in my
care, in fact. Employing his considerable resources of elo-
quence and charisma, he convinces the Dragon that an
attained immunity drug - if it were kept secret - would be
a tool of unmatched power. He does not stake his argu-
ment on the proposition that such a drug could be used to
secure the safety of his own people. Instead he suggests
using, not the drug itself, but knowledge of the drug
against the Amnion. By 'leaking' - odious term - that
knowledge, he can induce them to be more fearful in their
dealings with us. They will be at once confirmed in their
distrust of humankind and eroded in their ability to act on
that distrust. And this development will conduce to the
security of the UMC as the sole conduit for alien etc.
How can the Dragon resist such blandishment? Its
virtues are too plain to be refuted. The current state of
poised but inactive hostility between humankind and the
Amnion is reinforced. UMC profits are maximized. And
Warden Dios' purity as the instrument of Holt Fasner's
will is demonstrated. His natural enmity to the Dragon
is apparently defanged by his implication in the Dragon's
disdain for humankind. Once again Warden Dios is sub-
sumed by Holt Fasner's avarice.
Inevitably the Dragon cedes his approval. And so the
Intertech research comes to me, to complete and use as
I advise - and as Warden Dios sees fit.
Therefore the commonly held view that Warden Dios
is the perfect instrument of Holt Fasner's will is affirmed,
is it not?
I think not.
Consider the beauty of this outcome from the perspec-
tive of the UMCP. Certainly the Dragon is given what
he most desires - the immeasurable and ultimately mean-
ingless satisfaction of his greed. But the more significant,
the more effective, benefits belong all to the UMCP. We
have the drug itself, to use both for our own security
and for the consternation of our opponents. The risks of
actions we have already taken are reduced. The risks of
actions which we have heretofore declined are made
acceptable. We can manipulate the defensive postures of
the Amnion almost at will. The consequences of human-
kind's quite natural and comprehensible impulse toward
piracy are diminished. We are given a bulwark against
the depredations of politicians, protected by the mere
existence of our secrets from ham-fisted tampering. Only
Protocol suffers under the burden of secrecy - and such
men as Godsen Frik are born to suffer. Both Enforcement
Division and Data Acquisition are made stronger.
Warden Dios has gained all this - and at what cost?
At no discernible cost at all, apart from the delicious
expense of allowing the Dragon to retain his illusions.
And failures of godhood will - they must - derive from
any illusion. Thus Holt Fasner has been at once con-
firmed in his lust for power and eroded in his ability to
control it by his most necessary subordinate - his most
natural enemy...
... having no scruples myself, I do not hesitate to call
myself a genius. However, I am more cautious when I
apply that name to others...
... because of victories such as his handling of
Intertech's immunity research, as well as countless others,
I state categorically that Warden Dios is a genius.
GODSEN
Godsen Frik sat in his office and stared at the
orders he'd just received. As he read the official
hardcopy for the third time, he tried to believe
that he wasn't afraid.
Things like this weren't supposed to happen to him.
What was the advantage of being Holt Fasner's protege
- what did he gain by his efforts to serve the United
Mining Companies as much as the United Mining Com-
panies Police - if things like this could still happen to
him?
Where did Warden Dios get the nerve? Didn't he
understand that Holt Fasner was his boss — that the
Dragon could simply fire him?
But if Warden fired Godsen himself first - and the
Dragon didn't consider the director of Protocol worth
losing the director of the whole UMCP for -
That was the possibility Godsen concentrated on, so
that he wouldn't think about his real fear. A man who'd
been fired by the UMCP for insubordination - or worse
— wasn't a likely candidate to succeed Abrim Len as Presi-
dent of the Governing Council for Earth and Space. All
of his ambitions - not to mention his long years of
patience and ass-licking - would come to nothing.
The other possibilities were too disturbing to consider.
What if this quicksand of plots and counter-plots
proved too thick for him; too subtle and deadly? What
if he drowned in it? He could survive being fired. And if
he was fired in Holt Fasner's name, the Dragon would
eventually reward him. But what if the plotting actually
killed him?
There was blood in these orders. He knew without
asking that they were a response to the attack on Sixten
Vertigus. People were going to die before this tangle
of betrayals sorted itself out. Somewhere, somehow, the
decision had already been made that the stakes were
worth killing for.
Godsen Frik didn't want to be one of the casualties.
He re-read the hardcopy obsessively in an effort to
prevent himself from wondering whether his loyalty to
Holt Fasner at Warden Dios' occasional expense was
reason enough for nameless madmen to want him dead.
Or whether he distrusted Dios enough to call the
UMCP director a madman.
His orders were as clear as they were unexplained.
Until further notice, Godsen Frik, director of Protocol,
United Mining Companies Police, was restricted to
UMCPHQ.
What was Dios trying to do? Prevent Frik from taking
one of his sporadic junkets to the fleshpots - Godsen
loved words like that—of Earth, where he would presum-
ably be an easy target? Well, in all honesty that wasn't
much of a hardship. Protocol was full of attractive
women - he'd seen to that as a good PR director should
- and some of them found him attractive in turn, for
their own reasons. If they lacked the seductive perversion
of the fleshpots, they were still women. Some of them
were bound to be worth teaching.
In fact, being restricted to UMCPHQ wasn't a hard-
ship at all, in any obvious sense. His quarters were luxuri-
ous in ways which satisfied his sense of his own worth,
ways which suggested that he was accustomed to wealth
and status, but not ruled by them: his rooms were spa-
cious; full of subdued art, quiet holograms, data ter-
minals and video screens; famished with costly but
understated rugs, sofas, chairs, tables, beds. And his office
was spartan only by comparison with the official room
which Warden never used except on occasions of public
display. From where he sat he could perform all the
necessary functions of his job: issue bulletins, hold meet-
ings, fend off or gratify newsdogs; brief the votes either
in session or in private, by public transmission or secure
down-link; support or oppose the policies of his fellow
directors.
So why did he feel trapped? Why was he scared?
Because there was so much at stake, sure, of course,
that was the reason. Angus Thermopyle had been set
loose against Billingate. Controlled by none other than
Milos Taverner, in the name of Heaven! And explicitly
programmed not to rescue Morn Hyland. That was bad
enough. But Dios' explosive video conference with the
GCES made everything worse. A nightmare for Protocol,
impossible to clean up or sweep under the rug. He had
'curled the moral hair' of the votes with a vengeance.
Godsen had already received four calls from Maxim Igen-
sard, five from UWB Junior Member Carsin, and two
more from Abrim Len - none of which he'd answered,
for the simple reason that he didn't know how.
And the attack no on Sixten Vertigus no made everything
MUCH worse no, don't think about that. Absolutely not.
It would be better to answer his calls than think.
Restricted to UMCPHQ.
Suddenly he felt sure that the only conceivable way to
minimize or at least contain the damage to the UMCP -
and, by extension, Holt Fasner - was to go to Earth, visit
Igensard and Carsin and Len and even dear old outdated
Sixten Vertigus in person. In person he might be able to
talk them down from their hysteria, swaddle them in
blather; mop the sweat of paranoia off their brows, so to
speak. He was at his best in person. Any technological
interference, even by video down-link, neutralized the
charm which made him good at his job, the ability to
spin gossamer illusions and make them seem substantial.
It was intolerable that Warden Dios seemed deter-
mined to commit seppuku in this bizarre fashion; taking
his director of Protocol with him.
Immersed in fears he didn't want to recognize, Godsen
flinched involuntarily when his intercom chimed. He
dropped the hardcopy of his orders as if it were hot
enough to burn him. His hands shook as he toggled the
intercom.
'Yes?'
'Director Frik, I have a call from Holt Fasner. '
His secretary had been chosen because she had the
kind of dulcet and accessible voice - this was Godsen's
phrase - which gave newsdogs wet dreams. He hated it
and her down to the ground.
He kept his loathing to himself, however. In an
avuncular rumble, he answered, Tut him through, my
dear. It doesn't pay to keep the High and Mighty
waiting. '
'Yes, sir. '
At once one of the speakers on his desk — the channel
he used for his most private conversations — came alive.
'Godsen. ' The name wasn't a question. And the voice
didn't identify itself. It didn't need to: Godsen would
have recognized it in his sleep. What the hell's going on
down there? The votes are pissing pure alum. '
'Mr Fasner - sir, ' Godsen blurted out while his brain
fumbled for the first consecutive sentence it could find,
'I'm glad you called. I was just about to contact you. I've
been working on a report -'
'Spare me the bullshit, ' the Dragon retorted. He
sounded incongruously cheerful. Tut it where it might
do all of us some good. If you wanted to talk to me, you
would have called by now.
'Try telling the truth instead. What -I mean this liter-
ally, Godsen - what in hell is going on?'
Old reflexes kicked in. As if he were behind a podium
facing a hostile news conference, Godsen countered, 'Can
you be more specific?' Real dignity was beyond him at
the moment, but at least he could sound starched and
irritable at need. There are any number of "hells" going
on. Which one do you want to talk about first?'
'Oh, stop it. ' Holt may have been enjoying himself.
'You know perfectly well what I want to talk about. '
Quailing inside, Godsen clung to his reflexes. The first
that comes to mind, sir, is the attack on Captain Vertigus.
Do you want to hear my usual speech about the diligence
and integrity of UMCP investigations? Or perhaps a side-
bar on the merits of GCES Security? I'm afraid that's all
I have to offer. Only the Enforcement Division director
or Warden Dios might know more, but if they do they
haven't revealed it to me. '
'My, my, you are in a state today, ' Holt sneered. 'One
might almost think that kaze was aimed at you. ' Without
transition his tone became a snarl. 'No, that is not what
I'm asking about. '
Godsen winced. What else was left? As stiff as card-
board, he suggested, 'Then I suppose you're interested
in the director's video conference with the GCES?'
'Good guess, ' Holt returned trenchantly.
Godsen resisted the impulse to come up with other
possibilities. They wouldn't distract the Dragon. Instead
he said, 'In that case I'll suppose as well that you already
know what actually happened - who said what to whom,
that sort of thing. '
Holt Fasner waited. His silence sounded even more
ominous than his voice.
'I'm going to suppose that what you want to know' -
Godsen hung fire momentarily - 'is why the director did
it. What he hopes to gain. '
The Dragon still didn't speak.
'Mr Fasner -' Without meaning to, Godsen stopped.
What could he say? More to the point, what could he say
over a communications link which was inevitably being
recorded somewhere in the bowels of UMCPHQ?
I think Warden Dios has lost his mind.
Good choice.
I think he's trying to sabotage Data Acquisition. He's
too pure to like operations like the ones we've launched
against Thanatos Minor, so he wants to get them pro-
hibited in the future. Hashi only went along with it
because he's too full of his own cleverness to realize the
truth.
Even better.
I think he's trying to hurt you, Mr Fasner, you and me
and maybe everything the UMC stands for, God alone
knows why.
No, that was definitely too frightening to say. Even
recognizing the existence of such issues was dangerous.
It was typical of the Dragon to be careless of other
people's security considerations.
Swallowing heavily, Godsen began again.
'Mr Fasner, you don't really want to talk about that
now. In any event, I probably don't know the answer.
The director' - even now he couldn't stifle his rhetorical
impulse - 'hasn't taken me into his confidence on this
subject. '
While Godsen sweated, the Dragon remained silent.
Then he replied with unexpected good humor, 'So don't
talk to me. You're probably right - I don't want to hear
it like this.
'Grab a shuttle, ' he commanded, 'and come over here. '
Here meant his 'home office', his corporate station orbit-
ing Earth only half a million kilometers from UMCPHQ.
'Do it right away. You can give me this so-called "report"
of yours in person. '
Helplessly, hopelessly, Godsen's mind went blank with
alarm.
For better or worse, his mouth went on talking even
when his mind failed him. He could easily imagine him-
self still talking long after he died, trading orotund cad-
ences and earthy homilies with the flames of hell.
'I can't, sir, ' he said without thinking. 'I'm afraid it's
out of the question. I would if I could - you know that.
But we're in a state of emergency here. I'm up to my hips
in disasters. I've actually had to refuse calls from the
President of the Council, can you believe it? The minute,
the very minute, I can break free, I'll be there as -'
'Godsen. ' The Dragon's voice pierced like an icepick.
'Stop talking. Restart your brain. Then try again. '
He knew the PR director too well. That was one of
the many things Godsen disliked about him.
Nevertheless Godsen closed his mouth obediently. He
took a deep breath through his nose. While he let it out,
he picked up the hardcopy of his orders as if a mere piece
of paper could protect him from Holt's disapproval.
'I've got orders, sir, ' he said more carefully. 'Straight
from Ward. I'm restricted to UMCPHQ. Until further
notice. If I leave now, he won't have to be content with
calling it insubordination. He can call it malfeasance. '
Harsh with amusement and irony, Holt laughed. 'And
what do you suppose, ' he drawled back, 'I'll call it if you
refuse?'
Godsen Frik's heart froze.
There it was. Without forewarning; without prep-
aration: the central crisis of his life.
On one side stood all his ambitions, as well as all the
sacrifices he'd made to achieve them - all the shit he'd
swallowed, all the hate and fear he'd refused to spit back
up.
On the other stood survival.
He believed that Holt Fasner had both the ability and
the will to make him President of the Governing Council
for Earth and Space - the most heard and visible public
figure on the planet.
He also believed that Fasner didn't give a long piss in
the sewer of the universe whether Godsen himself lived
or died in the process.
He believed that Warden Dios disliked and distrusted
him; no, worse, that Warden Dios considered him
dangerous, a chancre on the pure and impossible body
of the UMCP. Even worse - he could think about this
now only because he had a greater fear to face - he
considered it likely that Dios had gone mad; that the
director's instinctive revulsion for the double-dealings
and manipulations of power had become so extreme that
it had turned self-destructive.
He also believed that Dios would defend his own
people with the same stubbornness and skill he gave to
all humankind.
In other words, he believed Warden Dios capable of
committing professional suicide. He did not believe him
capable of aiming a kaze at Sixten Vertigus; of sacrificing
either Captain Vertigus or Godsen himself for the sake
of his own ends.
The Dragon, on the other hand, was entirely incapable
of suicide - and perfectly capable of murder.
Godsen felt his head and stomach move in differ-
ent directions, as if he were about to pass out. Leaden
nausea dragged at his abdomen: vertigo sucked at his
brain.
Stalling for time so that he could think, he said slowly,
'Sir, let's imagine for a minute that what you want is
possible. Let's imagine that my orders aren't on record
yet - that the shuttle crew and dock-handlers don't know
I've been restricted. Are you telling me to violate a direct
order from the director of the United Mining Companies
Police?' Get a recording of it. If it's true, make sure it can
be proved. 'Are you telling me you don't care if he fires
me?'
Are you telling me I'm expendable?
Holt actually chuckled. 'No, Godsen, I'm not telling
you that. You didn't hear me say anything of the sort.
What I am saying is this. If you don't make up your mind
in ten minutes - if you don't shuttle your ass over here
and give a report in person immediately - I don't care
what you do. '
The speaker went dead. Holt Fasner's voice dis-
appeared into the black gravity well that restricted
UMCPHQ to its orbit.
In a fury of trepidation, Godsen crumpled the hard-
copy of his orders and flung the defenseless wad against
the wall.
This was Warden's doing. If he hadn't changed the
rules the PR director lived by, Godsen's career and his
ambitions and his existence would be safe. Deliberately -
Godsen was suddenly sure it was deliberate - Warden
had forced him to choose between the UMC and the
UMCP.
The UMC owned the UMCP, for God's sake! That was
the only clear thought in Godsen's spinning head. Of
course he should do what the Dragon wanted, and damn
the consequences. Otherwise everything he'd ever done
or suffered was wasted.
But in his weighted stomach he believed, knew, that
Warden Dios didn't kill the people he was sworn to
protect.
If a kaze could get into the members' wing of the
GCES complex on Suka Bator to attack Sixten Vertigus,
no one was safe. Godsen Frik had to ask himself which he
distrusted more, Warden's self-destructiveness or Holt's
consuming disdain.
His ten minutes were almost up when he finally sum-
moned the courage to chime his secretary.
'Communications must have recorded the conversation
I just had with Holt Fasner, ' he said to her. 'Tell them I
want a copy of it on Director Dios' desk immediately.
Tell them to flare it. I want him to look at it right now. '
His voice didn't shake. In fact, he sounded more digni-
fied than he would have thought possible.
That small victory gave him the fortitude to begin
looking at his messages from Len, Igensard and Carsin
so that he could figure out how to answer them.
MIN
Min Donner had also received orders.
Like Godsen's, hers made her feel strangely
misused, as if she'd been cheated or thwarted
in some way; neutralized or disenfranchised.
Like him, she sat in her office and chewed them like
gristle, trying to imagine what they meant.
Unlike him, she knew what to do about them. And
she wasn't scared. She was angry. She was battered and
tired, stretched too thin to react with anything except
anger.
She'd recovered her hearing: that was the good news.
Except for a small high-pitched whine far back in the
audible spectrum, sounds and voices reached her without
distortion. But everything else —
Her whole body ached from the force of the kaze's
bomb. For a while that pain had settled into a dull, steady
throb: noradrenalin and serotonin had made it easy to
ignore. But now it was growing stronger, more acute, as
her body demanded attention for its needs. Her shoulders
and hips felt arthritic, nearly immobilized. The corners
of her jaw hurt as if she'd been grinding her teeth hard
enough to dislocate the joints. Her mind felt muzzy and
numb, packed with polypropylene insulation. At unpre-
dictable, infuriating intervals, fresh blood dripped from
her nose, demonstrating her weakness for anyone to see.
If she'd stopped to think about it, she would have
realized that she hadn't slept since before Warden had
briefed Angus Thermopyle and Milos Taverner; hadn't
eaten since the crew of the shuttle to Suka Bator had
given her a sandwich. She didn't have time to think about
such things, however.
By itself the attack on Captain Vertigus would have
been enough to consume all her attention. But in
addition she needed time as well as emotional space to
consider the implications of her conversation with
Warden.
Unfortunately those weren't her only responsibilities -
She also had a disaster of staggering proportions on
her hands.
Godsen Frik was dead. Less than twenty minutes ago,
he'd been blown to pulp and splinters by a kaze.
Men and women still ran and shouted in the corridors;
clearing away wreckage and a few bodies; making way
for damage control workers and investigators; hunting
for more kazes.
Too late all of UMCPHQ was on defense alert.
She felt that she could still hear the explosion, even
though she'd been too far away to distinguish anything
except an impalpable shock through the muffling walls
and infrastructure. The whine in her ears seemed more
like an echo of Godsen's death than a residue of the
attempt on Captain Vertigus.
She was Min Donner, director, UMCP Enforcement
Division. Her domain included UMCPHQ Security. She
couldn't blame herself if a kaze got into the members'
wing of the GCES complex; but there was no one else
to hold accountable for Godsen's murder.
And how many more of them were on station? Who
or what would they destroy next?
Her people had already reconstructed the attack as well
as they could. Godsen's secretary had been injured by
flying debris, but she remained alive — still conscious.
She'd been able to tell Min's Chief of Security that a
communications tech had come to her and asked to see
the PR director. The request was an odd one, so she'd
checked both his id tag and his communications creden-
tials. Both had looked good. More to the point, both
had passed routine verification by the Security computer.
So she'd chimed Godsen. The PR director had told her
to admit the tech.
Five seconds after the door closed, the kaze had set
himself off.
She did her job, the Chief of Security reported. Can't
blame her.
I don't, Min snapped. I don't even blame you. I just
want to know how it happened.
I want to know if it's going to happen again.
It happened, the Chief explained, because she did a
routine verification, not a full background. Everybody in
the chain did the same thing. Dock security did a routine
verification when he got off the shuttle. Before that, port
security did a routine verification when he boarded.
Before that, GCES Security did a routine verification
before they let him into the port.
Wait a minute. GCES Security? You mean this kaze
came from Suka Bator? From the GCES complex?
That's right.
The Chief of Security waited while she swore to her-
self. Then he continued.
His id was legit — all the correct verifications, all the
right passcodes - everything written in the CMOS chip
was right. He had orders from GCES Communications
to report to UMCPHQ Center. They're legit, too, even
though GCES Communications denies issuing them. As
long as no one got suspicious - as long as no one ran a
full background - he could have gone anywhere once
dock security let him in.
What did the full background show?
Nothing. He doesn't exist. I mean there's no record of
him. His id tag and his function id were never issued to
anyone. The tag was real - I mean it fit him, its data
matches what the lab has gleaned so far from blood and
tissue in Frik's office - but it was never issued.
Min wanted to demand, Then who was he really?
You've got gene id - who was he? She didn't bother,
however. The Chief of Security would pursue that
inquiry as a matter of course - and would probably learn
nothing. On Earth thousands of people every year
avoided id processing. Most of them lived in guttergangs
and had no reason to desire any of the so-called benefits
of being an identified member of human society.
Instead she asked a different question.
So have we suddenly become stupid around here? She
made no effort to tone down her fury. Don't we learn
from experience anymore? It's only been a few hours
since a kaze tried to kill Captain Vertigus. His id was
legit. He passed routine verification. But a full back-
ground would have caught him. Didn't it ever occur to
any of us that there's no such thing as one kaze? If there's
one, there can always be more. Why weren't we doing
full backgrounds on everybody who sets foot on this
station?
The Chief of Security was ashamed of himself. Never-
theless he didn't flinch.
Because I didn't think of it. Ten minutes after the
attack on Captain Vertigus, I advised GCES Security to
do full background on everyone they let past any check-
point on the island. But then I assumed anyone who
came here from there had already been screened. And I
guess I assumed one attack on a GCES member meant
more attacks in the same place. The Chief shrugged
grimly. Dock security would have run full background if
he'd come from anywhere except Suka Bator.
Simply because she blamed herself more than him, Min
offered the Chief a way to soften his shame.
So GCES Security let us down.
By which she meant that someone in GCES Security
had been suborned; had deliberately let the kaze through
to the UMCPHQ shuttle.
Treachery was spreading.
How many kazes were already loose on station?
Director, the Chief said hesitantly, I don't understand.
If whoever did this has the resources to make kazes and
equip them with legitimate id and send them here, why
waste all that on Protocol? Why bother? What's so
important about Godsen Frik? Why not you, or Director
Dios? Why not Center, or Communications, or Data
Storage - why not something vital, something that
would really damage us?
Min had no idea. Unlike Captain Vertigus, Godsen
would have done everything in his power to oppose a
Bill of Severance.
What was Godsen doing? she asked.
He had a call from Holt Fasner about ten minutes
before the kaze hit. That's all I know.
The Dragon, she thought bleakly. Godsen's mentor
and nemesis. How had the PR director failed to under-
stand that dragons always devoured their servants?
Everyone in UMCPHQ would be devoured if they
didn't start defending their own better than this.
Chief, I want you to -
Trying to recover some of his self-esteem, the Chief of
Security interrupted her.
I know. Full background on everyone who's arrived
by shuttle, starting with the past twenty-four hours and
working backward for at least a month. My people are
already running it. And from now on no shuttle gets
within twenty thousand k until we have full background
on everyone aboard. Nobody gets into any sensitive part
of the station without being absolutely checked.
It wasn't enough, but it would have to do. Min was
too angry to say anything else, so she sent him back to
work.
She was angry at herself for a number of reasons. Pain
was one - the mortality which inhibited her when she
needed to be at her best. A sense of failure in her duty
was another. She should have seen the necessity for the
precautions which her Chief of Security had missed. And
she recognized one more: she was glad Godsen Frik was
dead. That unctuous weasel had done the UMCP incalcu-
lable harm by serving the Dragon more than Warden.
Because she was angry at herself, she would have pur-
sued the investigation of these kazes with every gram of
tenacity, intelligence and bloody-mindedness she had in
her.
But she wasn't given that choice. She had orders -
They lay in front of her as she sat at her desk, wrestling
with fatigue, pain and confusion as if they were her per-
sonal furies. Warden's instructions had been cut with a
precision which hadn't been necessary between her and
the director for a long time. Clearly and effectively, they
prevented her from doing her job as she saw it - from
uncovering and rooting out the treachery which had sent
kazes against the GCES and the UMCP.
Instead she was forced to leave the investigation as well
as the aftermath to her Chief of Security; and to the
strange young woman Hashi had sent over from DA. All
of Hashi's people were good: Min admitted that. And
this one was an expert - so he claimed - in tracing CMOS
chips, presumably by identifying where, how and when
they were manufactured. That might prove invaluable —
assuming, of course, that any recognizable particle of the
kaze's id had survived the explosion. Nevertheless Min
hated being barred from the investigation; hated trusting
it to subordinates for whom she felt responsible and to
experts she couldn't trust because they shared Lebwohl's
involuted priorities.
Now, of all possible times, she hated being sent away
from UMCPHQ.
Was Warden trying to protect her by getting her out
of the way? trying to keep her alive so that she could
succeed him as UMCP director?
Or was he getting her out of the way for a completely
different reason? Perhaps because he feared that she
might actually be able to track these kazes to their source?
The orders themselves gave her no answer.
They were superficially simple. The stark hardcopy
required her to take command of the first available
UMCP warship and proceed immediately to the asteroid
belt served by Com-Mine Station. Using the belt to cover
her, she was instructed to watch for and respond to devel-
opments from the direction of Thanatos Minor.
In this case, the 'first available UMCP warship' hap-
pened to be Punisher, a Scalpel-class cruiser which had
just arrived in UMCPHQ's restricted gap range after
nearly six months harrying pirates out beyond Valdor
Industrial. Min's command would be a battle-scarred and
ill-provisioned vessel with an exhausted crew.
She and Punisher were supposed to get as close as they
could to Thanatos Minor without violating forbidden
space and then just sit there, hoping that they could react
appropriately when something happened.
No doubt subsequent communication would make
clear what constituted an appropriate reaction. Neverthe-
less it galled her that these orders didn't spell out the
answer. Was she being sent to rescue whoever survived
Joshua's attack on Billingate? Or was she supposed to
make sure there were no survivors?
Was Warden trying to protect her by wasting her in
this way, or did he have some better use in mind?
The idea that his only purpose might be to spare her
from sharing his doom made her want to howl with fury.
Is that all he thinks I'm good for? Picking up the pieces
after he's gone?
Rubbing her sore, red eyes arid her throbbing temples,
she called him to demand an answer.
Despite her anger, she was taken aback when she
reached him immediately. His readiness to face her ques-
tions and challenges nonplused her.
'I got your orders, ' she said unnecessarily; then she
faltered. As soon as she heard his firm, sure voice, her
ability to focus her ire at him began to dissolve.
'Good. ' He sounded brisk and unreachable through
the speaker on her desk. 'How soon can you and Punisher
be on your way?'
Her eyes blurred for a moment; she couldn't rub them
clear. They're decelerating now. As soon as they brake
enough, they'll head back toward the gap range. I'll be
on a shuttle in fifteen minutes -I should be able to catch
them in two hours. Once I'm aboard, all we need is
enough velocity, and we can go into tach. '
All we need is a reason that makes sense - a reason I
can believe in.
'Good, ' he said again.
For a moment he was silent. Then he said gently, That
isn't why you called, Min. You might as well say it now.
You may not get another a chance for a while. '
A new trickle of blood tickled her upper lip. She
scrubbed it away with the back of her hand. Her anger
had suddenly become grief. She didn't know how to cross
the gulf between her and the man she served.
Swallowing harshly, she answered, The whole time we
were planning this operation, you didn't say anything
about sending me or any ship out there. ' The next kaze
may be aimed at you. It's my job to protect you. What's
changed?'
'Nothing yet, ' he replied promptly. 'But it will. '
Almost immediately, however, he amended, 'I don't
mean that literally. What I mean is that nothing has
changed where Thanatos Minor is concerned. Things are
changing here, obviously. I didn't expect kazes' - hints
of his own anger showed in his voice - 'and I definitely
didn't expect to lose Godsen.
'Also, ' he continued without pausing, 'there's one
other change I ought to tell you about.
We're expanding our communications web out where
you're going. Every gap courier drone and listening post
we have or can get is being sent to intercept transmissions
from Thanatos Minor. In fact, I'm trying to expand
the web enough to cover several cubic light-years in
that quadrant - I'm covering as much sheer space as I
can, and still be sure messages and data get back here
in a matter of hours. You should be able to stay in
contact. '
This information seemed to leave her numb. She had
no idea what it meant. 'Warden' - why was she so weak
in this situation, when she desperately wanted to be
strong? - 'we spent months getting this operation ready.
If you wanted a bigger communications web, why wait
until now to do something about it?'
'Because, ' he replied succinctly, 'I'm not the one who
wants it. This is the Dragon's idea. In fact, he was talking
to me about it when that kaze hit Godsen.
'Now there's a coincidence for you, ' he remarked
almost casually.
'Anyway, he thinks we're too exposed in this operation
- he's worried about containing the damage if something
goes wrong. So he wants to maximize our ability to find
out what happened in time to do something about it. He
ordered me to put everything we have into the web. On
top of that, he's giving us access to UMC communi-
cations resources. '
Still casually, Warden concluded, 'I think he's trying
to dissociate himself from the things I told the GCES. '
Min nodded to herself. Of course. Expanding the web
was Fasner's idea. Suppressing the mutagen immunity
drug had been his idea. He'd talked to Godsen shortly
before Godsen was killed. He was talking to Warden
when Godsen was killed.
She was beginning to think that neither she nor the
UMCP director existed. They were both figments of the
Dragon's fevered and acquisitive imagination.
'Warden, listen to me. ' It couldn't be put off any
longer: it had to be said. 'I'm your bodyguard. That's
part of my job. What can possibly change on Thanatos
Minor that's so important you have to send me to deal
with it, instead of letting me stay here to fight those
kazes?'
He was silent for a long time; so long that she thought
he might have walked away from the intercom, leaving
her alone with her speaker's empty circuits. But then past
the thin constant whine of neural feedback she heard him
sigh.
'You're going to think this is strange. ' He sounded so
distant that she imagined she was overhearing a conver-
sation with someone else; perhaps with himself. 'I'm not
going to explain it. But I have reason to think' - he
stumbled momentarily, as if he already regretted his
decision to speak — 'Morn Hyland may survive what's
happened to her. She may even get away alive.
'If she does, I want someone to make sure she stays
alive, someone I can trust. That means you.
'Good luck. '
Her speaker clicked clearly as he silenced his intercom.
She'd been concentrating so hard that she hadn't felt
her nose bleeding. When she glanced down, she saw
damp red spatters on the hardcopy of her orders.
ANCILLARY
DOCUMENTATION
GUTTERGANGS
Until humankind came into contact with the Amnion, it
was easy to believe that guttergangs would eventually
rule the Earth.
In one sense, their roots were as old as crime. The
poor you have with you always, ' said Christ, not inaptly.
However, he might have gone on to observe that pov-
erty had no meaning in the absence of wealth: where
all have nothing, all are equal - and none poor. From
the moment when human evolution first stumbled on
the concept of having, some individuals or tribes or
people had more while others had less. Predictably the
disparity bred tension; and the tension fed itself as
those who had sought to secure what they possessed,
while those who had not sought to acquire what they
lacked. In due course that tension led to violence - the
taking away from those who had by those who had
not.
As in all human endeavor, concerted action proved
more effective than individual effort: groups could take
more.
Gangs of one kind or another became inevitable as
soon as having was invented.
In another sense, however, guttergangs were more
recent. They were a product of modern mechanization
and urbanization. More specifically, they were a symptom
of as well as a reaction against the slow collapse of Earth's
social infrastructures.
Because the services of well-meaning but over-taxed
communities could no longer feed or care for their young
adequately; because educational systems tried harder to
control than to excite their students; because transitional
life-styles and intense technological changes eroded the
ability of families to provide stability for their children;
because humankind's rush to exploit the planet and con-
sume its resources led to a rising tide of poverty which
no one could stem; because the fiscal policies of gov-
ernments were designed primarily to defend the com-
fort of the few against the hunger of the many; and
because, finally, no one could pay for enough police
to combat crime: for all these reasons and more,
guttergangs flourished throughout Earth's sprawling
urban structures with a vigor unprecedented in human
history.
The gangs were starving, loveless, abused, despised,
cornered: therefore they fought back. And they were able
to fight back successfully because they wrested their sur-
vival from the same crumbling infrastructure which had
created the conditions for their existence - thereby, of
course, hastening the decline of that infrastructure;
worsening the state of people who lived within rather
than against Earth's social compacts; encouraging the
growth of more guttergangs.
Much like corporations or governments, they bred
chaos around them for the sake of creating order for
themselves. Creating nothing, producing nothing, they
took away what other people produced or created. More
than that, they took away the very constructs and com-
pacts which enabled creation and production to occur.
They were parasites on the body of human civilization,
just as civilization itself was a parasite on the body of the
planet. Some cynics argued that they represented
the inevitable outcome of humankind's imprecise
moral sense: rapacity and selfishness carried to logical
extremes.
Sooner or later, parasites usually lose. They feed on
their host until the host dies; and with the death of the
host, the parasites themselves starve away. But the gut-
tergangs were too entrenched to be rooted out by any-
thing short of complete cataclysm or absolute tyranny.
And the development of the gap drive made their exist-
ence more secure rather than less.
Interstellar travel supplied humanity with the opportu-
nity to exploit distant asteroid belts and planetary
systems; in other words, with a vast increase of available
wealth. Naturally the influx of new resources shored up
Earth's tottering infrastructures - which in turn gave the
guttergangs more to live on. By prolonging the life of
the host, the gap drive gave the parasites more time in
which to spread and multiply; increased the rate at which
the parasites devoured the host.
It was easy to believe that guttergangs would eventu-
ally rule the Earth.
This entire societal equation was altered, however, by
contact with the Amnion. The discovery of a fundamen-
tal, insidious, and above all external threat to human-
kind's existence turned the tide of history against the
guttergangs.
The effects of this discovery were not simple. Obvi-
ously the struggle for the survival of the race would take
place hundreds or thousands of light-years away, and
would be carried on by the forces of the infrastructure.
The fate of humankind would be decided elsewhere: the
guttergangs would live or die with their host. By the
ordinary laws of parasitism, therefore, neither society nor
the guttergangs had any reason to change. Yet the know-
ledge of an enemy they could not see and would never
have to fight changed the guttergangs profoundly.
They did not suddenly discover patriotism, of course.
They did not put aside their clenched internecine attack
on all social structures outside their own for the sake of
humankind's greater good. Nevertheless they were
human beings — genophobic to the core. Like patriots
and religionists, environmentalists and native Earthers,
nations and corporations, politicians and cops, they could
not stifle the visceral frisson of their revulsion against
imperialism by mutation.
By degrees too small to be measured, too small even
to be noticed in the short term, the guttergangs began
to erode.
This process took any number of forms. As one crude
example: thanks to the Amnion, the appetite of the
UMCP for young bodies was as intense as, and inherently
more comfortable than, the guttergangs'. Active recruit-
ment by the police gave the hungry youth of Earth a
choice distinct from the more passive, as well as more
brutal, accretion of the guttergangs.
Or a more subtle instance: hating and fearing the
Amnion, the ordinary people of Earth - the natural prey
of the guttergangs - had less hatred and fear to spare for
those gangs. Therefore in complex, almost indefinable
ways the guttergangs began to lose their mystique, their
attraction for the lost and disenfranchised of the planet.
In comparison to the Amnion, the gangs were perceived
as more bearable, more manageable, more normal; there-
fore less threatening to humankind - and less appealing
to humankind's downtrodden. Over time, no human
enterprise could oppose - or remained unchanged by -
this kind of perceptual shift.
Slowly across the decades, genophobia united human-
kind against its common foe.
Cynics saw this turning of the tide as a demonstration
that prejudice was the only true survival instinct human-
ity had left. Less cynical observers had difficulty deciding
whether to be grateful or terrified.
NICK
By the time Trumpet's airlock cycled shut behind
him, and he crossed the scan field to the complex
of passages which accessed the visitors' berths
from Reception, Nick Succorso knew that Milos had told
him the truth.
You're a dead man -
When he'd left Trumpet's bridge, he'd been sure of
what he meant to do. Thermo-pile and that bugger, Tav-
erner, had cut him off from every recourse, every line of
escape: all but one.
Only a fool pays Ms debts to a dead man.
Like Sorus Chatelaine, he was going to enlist in the
service of the Amnion. He would tell them what Angus
and Milos were doing; warn them that an attempt would
be made to rescue Morn Hyland. He would let them
have his ship and his skills and his knowledge of the cops
in exchange for his life.
That option stank. He hated it. Not because it was any
different than the dealings he'd had with the UMCP for
years: he saw no reason to think he wouldn't be able to
serve the Amnion with the same misleading loyalty he'd
given the cops. Not because some of his crew would hate
it, or would hate him for doing it: he could always get
new crew. And not even because it was the same choice
Sorus herself had made: nothing he was forced to do
now would change his revenge on her.
No, he hated enlisting with the Amnion because that
would affect his reputation. It would cost him glamour:
it would make him appear as mortal and outmaneuvered
as he felt.
He intended to ensure that Thermo-pile and Taverner
suffered the tortures of the damned for doing this to him.
That determination lasted until he crossed the scan
field and started along the passages toward Reception.
Then some of things Angus had said to him hit home;
they went off inside him like timed grenades.
'Report' is what Milos does best.
You aren't the only one he talked to while we were coming
in. He also sent messages to Tranquil Hegemony.
They answered before you did.
Milos was Playing some kind of bugger game. Me and
Succorso and the UMCP and the Amnion, all against each
other.
Nick felt himself breaking up inside. Sweat stood like
blood on his forehead; the whites of his eyes glared at
the walls; pale as bone, his scars pulled at his face like
fresh cuts. Some kind of bugger game. Apparently his brain
had shut down when Angus hit him. He must have been
stunned. 'Report' is what Milos does best. He hadn't really
understood those words at first. They answered before you
did. After his initial rush of panic, he'd forgotten them.
Maybe his skull was cracked: it hurt badly enough
for that. And since then he'd been reacting on pure in-
stinct.
But now he began to think again.
Where did Angus get that kind of strength?
What if everything he'd assumed about Angus and
Milos had been wrong from the beginning?
Oh, shit.
What if Milos and Angus weren't working for the
cops? What if they were just faking it? What if the whole
point of this shuck-and-jive was to get Morn back to
UMCPHQ and make it look like they rescued her?
What if the Amnion had turned her into some kind of
genetic kaze, and now they wanted the cops to have
her so she could go off where she would do the most
damage?
Of course the Amnion knew the cops wouldn't trust
her, wouldn't let down their defenses, unless they were
sure she was innocent. What if Angus and Milos were
working for the Amnion to make Morn look innocent?
Oh, Christ!
Nick was momentarily frozen with panic, not because
he cared about the threat to humankind, but because he'd
just lost his last option.
If Angus and Milos were working for the Amnion,
Nick didn't have anything to offer that might save him.
Frightened motionless, he stood where he was and
tried to believe Angus had lied to him.
You aren't the only one he talked to - He also sent messages
to Tranquil Hegemony.
They answered before you did.
It was too tidy; too convenient. Angus must have
invented it, trying to pressure Nick into helping him.
Nevertheless it was inherently credible. Milos Taverner
was exactly that kind of buggering sonofabitch.
How was it possible for Thermopyle to be so fucking
strong
Goaded by chagrin, Nick broke into a run.
He had to get back aboard Captain's Fancy before the
full weight of the Bill's anger and Angus' treachery and
his own miscalculations came down on his neck.
Displays at the ends of the access passages indicated
ship id for the berths they served. Half the signs were
blank: some of the others showed names he recognized.
When he noticed Soar, he took charge of himself, slowed
his pace to a walk. He would see himself in hell before
he risked letting any of Sorus Chatelaine's people witness
his panic.
Soar's display flashed at him. Under the ship's name
ran the words 'SECURE FOR UNDOCK'.
Good. Despite his fear, his mouth aped a predator's
grin. His plan was working. Whatever else happened, he
was going to get that bitch.
In command of himself now, even though he couldn't
control the muscles spasming in his cheek, he continued
on his way.
There: around a corner; twenty meters past the only
other display in this section of the corridor: Captain's
Fancy.
His alarm turned instantly to fury when he saw that
the access to his ship was guarded.
Two men stood there, both gripping impact rifles. One
had a video prosthesis in the place of his left eye; the
other looked like a gorilla that had been rebuilt so that
it could dismantle concrete with its bare hands.
They were both breathing hard, and their faces were
flushed, as if they'd just arrived running.
They'd already seen Nick; they watched him as he
approached. Their rifles pointed ominously at his chest.
He should have turned and run himself. Those men
had come to arrest him. Either the Bill wanted to con-
front him with the rumors Mikka and Sib had started
about Sorus, or he'd been connected to Davies' rescue
somehow. He was finished if he didn't get out of here;
didn't get out of here fast —
He was finished without his ship.
And he had nowhere to run.
His head hurt as if he had splinters of bone sticking
into his brain. Driven by momentum and outrage, he
walked straight toward the guards as if they had nothing
to do with him; as if he could simply brush between
them and go on to his ship.
His thin bluff was wasted on them. They shifted to
block the passage completely. The one with the bugeye
in his head raised his rifle to his shoulder and tightened
his finger on the firing stud.
Nick stopped. He had no choice.
Somehow he was going to kill at least one of these
men before he was taken.
'What the fuck are you assholes doing?' he snarled.
'That's my ship. I'm going aboard. '
'No, you ain't. ' The gorilla smiled to show his bad
teeth. 'You been barred. '
Barred?
Tending a resolution of your disagreements with the
Bill, ' the other guard explained as if he were quoting,
'you are denied access to your ship. '
Barred?
'Asshole, ' the gorilla finished happily.
He might as well have said, The Bill has decided to kill
you. He just hasn't decided how yet.
For an instant, Nick believed that he was finished. He
had nowhere to go, no defenses left. All his options had
failed. The pressure of defeat rose up in him like a cry.
But then he realized that the guards weren't here to
arrest him. He still had his freedom of movement.
Without transition a fighting calm came over him.
You're a dead man. Milos had told him the truth. Here
in Billingate, he was nothing without Captain's Fancy.
Nothing except himself. Nick Succorso. The man who
never lost.
The man whom Sorus Chatelaine had cut and then
abandoned aboard the original Captain's Fancy; the man
who had resurrected himself from that death to become
the stuff of legends.
He measured distances; estimated his chances of
knocking both rifles aside in time to land a few blows.
The gorilla looked like he could absorb a punch which
would pulverize Nick's fist, and go on smiling.
Nick returned a grin of his own. His scars curved
blackly under his eyes; the tic was gone from his cheek.
As if he hadn't just received a death sentence — as if in
the face of Amnion threats and the Bill's muscle, UMCP
treachery and Angus' malice, he'd at last recovered his
true immortality - he asked almost casually, 'I don't sup-
pose the Bill happened to mention what he wants me to
do before I can have my ship back?'
The guards shook their heads. 'You got to ask him, '
the gorilla sneered.
'I will, ' Nick said for the sake of his self-image, 'as soon
as I can spare the time. '
Turning his back sharply, he strode away.
Thermo-pile and Taverner and the Bill and Hashi fuck-
ing Lebwohl were out of their minds if they thought they
could do this to him.
Grinning hard enough to stretch his scars, he rounded
the corner, passed out of sight of the guards — and nearly
collided with Mikka Vasaczk.
She put a hand on his chest to ward him off. He didn't
need to look into her eyes to see how angry she was;
how desperate. The force of her thrust and the set of her
hips told him that she'd come close to hitting him.
Sib Mackern and Vector Shaheed stood behind her
like bodyguards. They had Pup with them. But as soon
as Nick registered their presence he ignored them. He
didn't have time to consider the implications of the fact
that they were together. The orders he'd given them
should have kept them apart: therefore they hadn't
obeyed him. That was dangerous, but secondary. They
would pay for it later. Mikka and the guards outside
Captain's Fancy were his immediate concern.
'Just the people I was looking for, ' he announced
softly. His sardonic assurance was so complete that he
almost believed it himself. 'Come on. We've got work to
do. '
He moved past her as if she had no choice except to
follow him.
'Nick. ' She caught his arm, pulled him to a halt. 'Listen
to me. ' Her grip was as hard as she could make it. For
some reason it reminded him of the strength of her legs
when he'd had sex with her. This is the last chance you're
going to get. '
Deliberately he glanced at the nearest bugeyes. 'Save
it. The Bill won't hesitate to use anything you say against
you. '
Against me.
Apparently Mikka didn't care. 'Listen to me. ' The lines
of her face were clenched and bitter. She looked like a
woman who'd decided to step in front of matter cannon
fire. We're not taking any more orders. We don't work
for you. We're not your crew any longer. You've made
it too obvious we're expendable. And we don't much like
what you're expending us for.
'Now we're going to stop you. '
She didn't let go of his arm.
Nick couldn't help himself: he gaped at her. 'Say what?'
Sib Mackern edged closer to her shoulder, as if he
wanted her to protect him - or as if he'd decided to die
with her.
Nick's incredulity didn't touch her. The bugeyes are
part of it, ' she grated. 'A little trick we learned from you.
The strategic use of recordings. No matter how fast you
are, you can't kill all four of us before one of us manages
to tell the Bill at least some of the things you don't want
him to know. '
'That's right, ' Vector put in. He sounded calm and a
little sad. 'In fact, I don't think you'll be able to kill any
of us before Operations sends those guards' - he nodded
in the direction of Captain's Fancy - 'to find out what all
the noise is about. '
The engineer was right. Unless Operations or the Bill
had too many other things to concentrate on, the guards
were probably already headed this way.
'But if you don't kill us, ' Mikka continued as Nick
stared at her, 'you won't be able to prevent us from talk-
ing to anybody we want. Captain Chatelaine for one. '
Like his scars, her eyes were full of blood. 'Captain
Thermopyle for another. '
Despite the danger of the guards, Nick stood still, let
his heart beat two or three times while he met her fierce
glare. She'd always been the best of his crew - the most
capable and intelligent; the most loyal. If only she'd been
better looking, she might have held his interest longer.
He still didn't understand how he'd lost her.
Abruptly, as if he could do such things without effort,
he twisted his arm free. In the same motion he shifted a
few steps to the side. Involuntarily Mikka, Vector and
Sib turned to face him; they moved as if he were steering
them, positioning them between him and the corner.
Lazily he swung up his hand and pointed his index
finger into Mikka's face. 'I'm not going to try to kill you, '
he said distinctly. 'I told you - I need you. We've got
work to do.
'You don't really want to talk to the Bill. He hasn't
got anything to offer you except a grubby life in this
stinkhole. Personally I don't think he's going to be able
to offer even that much longer. '
Are you listening, you bastard? Are you sure you want
to bar me from my ship?
'And you don't want to talk' - Nick sneered the name
- 'to Captain Chatelaine. She works for the Amnion.
Directly for the Amnion. Before she changed the name,
her ship used to be called Gutbuster. She did covert
operations for forbidden space back in the days when
Billingate didn't exist. '
Another small step to the side. Now Pup was in range.
He would make a good hostage. A quick grab; quick
pressure on the carotid arteries in his neck. Then Mikka
would do anything Nick wanted. For a minute or two,
anyway.
Her brother pressed against the wall as if he were
cowering. His eyes flinched back and forth between Nick
and Mikka.
'As for Captain Thermo-pile -'
Sib took Nick by surprise. Nick had decided long ago
that Mackern was no threat: the same fear which enabled
him to go beyond the limits of his training and talents at
the data station would also paralyze him. So Nick focused
his attention exclusively on Mikka. He couldn't react in
time as Sib whipped forward, caught Pup's wrist and
jerked the kid out of reach.
Mikka swung Pup behind her and faced Nick as if she
meant to hurl herself at his throat.
Nick adjusted his balance slightly, let her see that he
was ready. Like an avatar of the man he used to be, he
remarked, 'I think I've finally figured this out. You're the
ones who let Morn out of her cabin, so she could rig that
ejection pod. You've all been working against me at least
that long.
'But you know something? I don't care. I really don't
give a shit. You still haven't got a clue what's going on
here. You're floundering around in the dark, instead of
using your brains to keep yourselves and maybe Captain's
Fancy and all the rest of us alive. '
'Why don't you tell us, Nick?' Vector countered
steadily. Why don't you give us one of your so-called
clues' - he compressed more venom into that one word
than Nick had ever heard from him - 'instead of keeping
them all to yourself?'
'Because, ' Nick drawled back, 'I don't want the Bill to
hear me.
'But you mentioned Captain Thermo-pile. As it hap-
pens, I'm on my way to see him right now. Why don't
you come along? Once we're aboard his ship, you'll get
more dues than you know what to do with. '
'Mikka, no, ' Pup panted urgently. 'It's a trick. You said
yourself this stinks. Why are Thermopyle and Taverner
together? What's going on? He's trying-'
'Answer the kid, ' ordered the gorilla as he stepped
past the corner, waving his impact rifle, 'asshole. Tell
everybody what's going on. '
Gasping, Sib jumped to the illusory protection of the
wall. As if he were sliding, Vector eased out of the way.
As solid as a boulder, the guard planted himself beside
Mikka and Pup, and aimed his gun at Nick's belly.
Nick was ready for that, too. Even the pain in his head
had receded: he felt ready for everything. All he cared
about was that the guard was alone. The gorilla had left
his companion behind to keep watch on Captain's Fancy.
'Mikka, ' he said in a conversational tone, 'I'm only
going to give you one more order. This is the last - then
we're quits.
Take this shithead's gun and stick it up his ass. '
At once Mikka moved.
Not to obey: she pulled back to show her empty hands,
avoid the line of fire, cover Pup.
Nevertheless it was enough. Ponderous and brutal, the
gorilla wheeled to track her with the muzzle of his rifle.
By then Nick was already in motion.
He took two lightning strides and leaped.
Swinging up his left knee to lift him higher, he snap-
kicked the toe of his right boot into the guard's larynx.
Convulsively the guard flung his gun away as if the
metal had shocked him. Gagging on crushed cartilage
and torn muscle, he slammed to the floor.
With negligent ease, Nick caught the rifle out of the
air. His hands settled on the barrel and the firing stud.
'God damn it, woman, ' he growled at Mikka, 'I told
you what I wanted. '
Instinctively she braced herself. Pup seemed to thrash
at her shoulder, trying to get in front of her. Vector held
Sib so that he couldn't move.
Nick would have loved to shoot her. She deserved it:
they all did. But he needed her.
'I figure, ' he breathed maliciously, 'you've got about
ten seconds to reach a decision. After that the Bill won't
let you make any choices ever again. '
Despite the fact that his head suddenly hurt as if some-
one had hit him with an axe, he turned and ran for
Trumpet as smoothly as a hunting cat.
With his peripheral vision, he saw Soar's id display
flash red: 'SHIP UNDOCKING. '
Crimson and pain seemed to fill his ears. He couldn't
hear anything except the hammer of his boots and the
labor of his lungs. Until he reached Trumpet's access pass-
age and turned, he didn't know that Mikka and Pup,
Vector and Sib, were all following him, running hard.
'Nick, ' Mikka panted before he started down the pass-
age, 'there are more guards coming. A lot of them. ' She
stopped so abruptly that Pup blundered into her. Sib's
boots skidded out from under him; he nearly fell. Vector
was ten or fifteen meters back: his arthritis made him
slow. They would be here already, but they're lugging
some kind of heavy equipment. Looks like mining lasers. '
Nick reeled for a second; caught his balance. They're
not going to Captain's Fancy? They're coming here?'
'I don't know. ' Mikka shrugged stiffly. They're headed
in this direction. '
Which meant the Bill knew where Angus and Milos
were. He knew where Davies was.
Racing ruin, Nick dashed along the access passage and
across the scan field to Trumpet's airlock.
With the heel of his hand, he toggled the external
intercom.
'This is Nick. ' In spite of his urgency, he managed to
sound almost relaxed. 'Let me in. I've changed my mind.
And I've brought some help. '
No one answered. The speaker emitted an impalpable
whisper of static. The lock didn't open.
Boot heels thudding, Mikka came to his side. Sib and
Pup joined her; Vector doggedly brought up the rear.
'If I were you, ' Nick drawled into the intercom, 'I
would listen to me. You could use help.
'Oh, by the way, I think I should mention that there's
a platoon of guards heading this way. They've got mining
lasers. The Bill is going to peel you open like a vein of
cesium. '
You flagrant sonofabitch, you'd better know what
you're doing!
With a whine of servos, the lock began to cycle.
Mikka shoved Pup headlong through the opening;
nearly dived after him. Nick nodded Vector and Sib
ahead of him as if he meant to cover them with his rifle;
as if he cared what happened to them. Pirates with swash-
buckling reputations did things like that. As Mikka keyed
the lock to close the outer door and open the inner, he
stepped briskly inside.
Before the lock sealed, he caught a glimpse of guards
at the end of the access passage.
They were definitely coming this way.
'Now what?' Mikka demanded, breathing hard.
Nick didn't bother to answer. As soon as the inner
door opened on Trumpet's lift, he entered the car. What
was left of his crew, the surviving remnant of his ship,
crowded after him. He sent the lift upward.
Mikka and her group weren't literally all that was left
of his crew. But the rest had become even more expend-
able than she was: Captain's Fancy herself was expend-
able. The Bill had made that necessary.
Nick imagined that he would exact more recompense
than anything the Bill could afford to pay.
The lift let him out into Trumpet's core passage amid-
ships. Moving with long, confident strides, he led his
people to the bridge companionway and ran smoothly
down the treads.
Angus and Davies stood between the command
stations, facing him. Except for their shipsuits and the
swelling bruises on Davies' face, they looked like a video
trick — time-elapse replicas of each other.
Mikka clattered down the companionway, with Pup,
Sib and Vector behind her. Because they didn't know
what they were getting into - or perhaps because they'd
always known Angus Thermopyle as a dangerous enemy
- they arrayed themselves at Nick's back as if they were
on his side.
Nick met Angus' glare, Davies'. Angus' was yellow
with old, irreducible malice. But Morn's limpid eyes in
Davies' face made the boy look more intimately murder-
ous. His father hated everybody: Davies hated only Nick.
With all the insouciance he could produce, Nick asked,
'Where the hell is Milos?'
'Captain Sheepfucker. ' Angus didn't move a muscle. 'If
you think you can walk in here and take over with only
one gun and four people to back you up, you've been
eating your own shit too long. '
Nick glanced down at the impact rifle; he nearly
giggled. With a shrug, he tossed the gun to Angus.
Angus caught it; held it as if he didn't need it.
'You were right, ' Davies muttered to Angus as if that
were the worst insult he could level at Nick.
Nick ignored the boy.
'You've got it wrong, ' he said steadily. 'I told you I
changed my mind. I didn't want any part of this oper-
ation because I didn't think it had a chance. I didn't
feel like getting killed for the sake of your gonads. But
now we've got help. ' He nodded at Mikka and her
companions. 'Seven of us might actually be able to
do it.
'I'm willing to give it a try. Unless you want to pretend
you can pull it off on your own. '
'Pull what off?' Mikka demanded harshly. What oper-
ation? What the fuck are you bastards talking about?'
Angus gave a brutal grin. His eyes didn't shift from
Nick's. 'These your people?'
Nick nodded.
Angus snorted through his teeth. 'I don't think they
like you very much anymore. '
'I said, what operation?' Mikka yelled. Her anger and
desperation seemed to burn in the air of the bridge.
Nick didn't look at her. He met Angus' grin with a
smile of his own.
'You'll like it, ' he answered as if he were happy at last.
We're going to rescue Morn. '
Mikka's stunned silence at his back was as loud as a
shout. Sib Mackern took a shuddering breath like a man
on the verge of tears. Softly Vector whispered, 'Oh, my
aching joints. '
Nick stood still, waiting for Angus to reject his help;
daring Angus to say no.
But Angus didn't. Over his shoulder, he said to Davies,
'He's right. We need the help. '
Nick went on smiling like his scars.
ANGUS
Angus watched Nick smile and tried to find some way to squeeze murder through the interstices of his programming.
It was insufferable that Captain Nick bloody Sheep-
fucker stood there smiling as if he'd just won again,
beaten Angus again. It was intolerable that Nick brought
his own people aboard Angus' ship; that Angus had to
accept them because he needed them. It was utter and
absolute craziness to let them in here, to trust them -
Nevertheless his datacore issued its instructions, and
he obeyed, ruled by the pitiless compulsion of his zone
implants.
Nick's UMCP connection made him effectively
immune to any real harm from Angus. And his offer of
help satisfied the prewritten logic of Dios' exigencies.
Rescuing Morn took precedence over everything -
Angus had no idea why.
It's got to stop.
He didn't understand that either.
He was so full of hate that his blood seemed to steam
and boil in his veins; so eager to break Nick's neck that
his hands burned and his temples throbbed. Hate was all
that sustained him in the cage which his mind had
become - hate and a strange, ineffable terror at the
thought of Morn Hyland. He paced inside himself like
an imprisoned predator, driven and helpless; haunted by
killing.
Unfortunately his passions meant nothing.
'So who the hell are they?' he demanded of Nick.
'What're they good for?'
The intercom interrupted him. From outside Trum-
pet's airlock, a voice blared, 'Captain Thermopyle, open
up. We're coming aboard. You get to choose how we do
it - that's as much courtesy as the Bill has left - but we're
going to do it. If you don't let us in, we'll cut our way.
We'll do a little BR surgery on your ship, free gratis no
charge. You can get it repaired when you have enough
money - if you're still alive.
'You hear me? I said open up! You've got one minute.
'Then we start cutting. '
Davies flinched involuntarily. He'd been through too
much in too short a time. Eyes like Morn's pulled away
from Nick, came to Angus' face as if they were wincing:
eyes exactly like Morn's, full of fear and need and revul-
sion. Swelling and contusions distorted his features.
Angus stepped to his command board, tapped a key
which silenced the external intercom. Then he turned
back to Succorso.
A woman, two men and a kid about Davies' age stood
behind Nick: his people. At a glance, the woman looked
too hostile to admit she was out of her depth, and one
of the men had the round, calm appearance of a cat
addict. But the other two were scared out of their skins.
The kid twitched nervously from one foot to the other;
he was practically holding the woman's hand. The man
with the abject mustache sweated and gaped as if he was
being rendered down for grease.
'Come on, Nick. ' Angus' programming left him no
more space for insults. 'I'm waiting. They look like you
picked them at random on the cruise. What makes you
think they can help me?'
Nick's gaze sharpened. Behind his grin, the lines of his
face tautened across their bones. Color ebbed from his
scars.
'Angus, ' he said softly, 'don't you think you should do
something about those guards? They aren't bluffing. We
saw mining lasers. '
'Nick, ' Angus returned, you shit-faced fucker, 'we
haven't got time for this. We can't get started until I
know who your people are and what they can do. '
For an instant Nick seemed to lose control. 'Then do
something about those guards!'
Angus rolled his eyes, shrugged. With a flick of his
wrist, he tossed the rifle to Davies. Then he leaned over
his board and typed in a quick command.
A moment later a recording of his voice played over
the bridge speakers.
This is Captain Angus Thermopyle. I'm not aboard
right now. To protect the security of my ship and my
associates, I've rigged Trumpet for self-destruct as soon
as her sensors detect any forced entry. The simultaneous
explosion of her thrust and gap drives and other power
systems will produce destructive force on the order of' -
the recording recited a number which sounded too high,
but which Angus knew to be conservative. 'I estimate
that will reduce approximately one third of Billingate
installation to powder. If you want confirmation, analyze
my in-coming particle trace. ' This is no ordinary Needle-
class gap scout, you sonofabitch. 'Codes to enter and
leave Trumpet safely are known to my associates. Codes
to disable Trumpet's self-destruct are known only to me.
Until I return to my ship, I can do nothing to save you
if you try to break in. My associates - if they're unlucky
enough to be aboard - can do nothing to save you in my
absence.
'Message repeats.
This is -'
Angus silenced the playback. That's on automatic. I
set it when you came aboard. Those guards have been
hearing it ever since they arrived. ' To Nick he growled,
Thanks to you and Milos, the Bill thinks I'm here. But
he can't be sure. And he probably thinks I'm bluffing -
but he can't be sure of that, either. Which buys us a little
time. Maybe it'll be enough. '
Everyone around him could see that Trumpet's systems
were up and active. Operations had the same infor-
mation.
Nick couldn't hold Angus' gaze. To conceal his relief,
he glanced at his people, scanned the bridge. Without
bringing his eyes back to Angus, he asked, 'So where is
Milos?'
He may have been trying to regain the upper hand.
Angus' programming didn't require him to answer that
question. Its logic moved in another direction - toward
possibilities of coercion which made Angus' veins throb
with hunger.
'Nick, you've got a bruise the size of my fist on your
forehead. When it's done swelling, it's going to turn
purple. ' The mildness imposed by his zone implants
amazed and appalled him. 'You'll look like you lost an
argument with a steel piston. Stop asking questions. Start
answering them. '
Abruptly the woman muttered a curse and pushed past
Nick. Despite his reputation as a man for whom women
were willing to drop dead, she shouldered him aside con-
temptuously so that she could confront Angus and
Davies herself.
Fury nickered like a static discharge in Nick's eyes, but
he didn't try to stop her.
'Captain Thermopyle, ' she announced in a voice made
for shouting, 'I'm Mikka Vasaczk, command second,
Captain's Fancy — or I was until recently. He' — she indi-
cated the frightened man with the mustache and the
staring eyes - 'is Sib Mackern, data first. ' Next she
nodded at the cat addict. 'Vector Shaheed, engineer. '
That left the kid. 'Ciro Vasaczk is Vector's second. Also
my brother. Nick wants to get rid of us. He was planning
to abandon us here.
'I'll tell you why. We don't like what he did to Morn. '
She shifted her scowl to Davies. We all tried to help you.
Sib let her out of her cabin. Between the two of us,
Vector and I let her at the ejection pod controls. That's
why the pod brought you here, instead of to Tranquil
Hegemony - why you're still human.
'But we weren't able to help her. ' She swallowed once,
roughly. 'Or we didn't try hard enough. Maybe we all
thought we were alone. Or maybe we just couldn't
believe he would really go that far. '
'I knew it, ' Davies rasped back. 'I knew it from the
moment I was born - and that was before I remembered
anything about him. '
'Yes. ' Mikka nodded slowly. 'But you're a cop. You
think differently than we do. '
Her glower swung back to Angus. The four of us
are interested in rescuing Morn. If the Amnion haven't
already finished her. But Nick isn't. You've got to under-
stand that. He hates her - he wants them to have her. If
he told you anything else, he was lying.
'He's only here because the Bill barred him from
Captain's Fancy. He doesn't have anywhere else to
go-'
Neither of the men behind her moved. Only the kid
nodded.
Angus believed her. Her face looked as honest as a fist.
If she'd helped keep his son away from the Amnion, he
could count on her to help him reach Morn as well.
Somehow the virile and invulnerable Captain Succorso
had succeeded at driving his own people to mutiny.
Too bad, Mikka, ' Nick snarled. 'Nice try. ' His air of
casual superiority had deserted him: he looked frayed
and vicious. 'But Angus already knows my reasons don't
matter. If this is the only choice I have left, so much the
better for him. He wants my help. Now he's got it.
'The truth is, ' he finished, 'you haven't got anywhere else to go either. '
The engineer, Vector Shaheed, spoke for the first time.
'You're wrong, Nick. ' His tone was like his face and his
eyes, too calm to be normal. Nevertheless Angus didn't
hear cat in it: he heard old pain; pain which had been
suppressed so long that it dulled everything around it.
We've already told you — we could have gone to the Bill.
We could have gone to Captain Chatelaine. Either of
them would have been' - he smiled wanly - 'fascinated
to hear about your adventures on Enablement. '
Angus would have been fascinated himself. Old
instincts shrilled at him, warning him that what Nick had
done on Enablement was important. Unfortunately his
programming had no instincts. The countdown running
in his mechanical mind ticked inexorably shorter.
'Discuss it later, ' he demanded. 'Right now I need
answers.
'Have any of you done high-tension work?'
Vector, Mikka, and the kid all nodded.
'Angus, ' Nick put in, 'I'm going to help you, but only
on one condition. ' Without transition his manner
changed again. He was like a kaleidoscope, different at
every turn. Now he sounded companionable and relaxed,
as if he were among friends. 'I need to talk to Captain's
fancy. I can do it while you get organized. My command
third doesn't know what to do. She probably doesn't
know I've been barred. As long as she thinks she has to
wait for me, she's paralyzed. '
Angus wanted to snap, Shut up, asshole. If you ever
talk to your ship again, it'll be over my dead body. His
datacore had other priorities, however. Apparently its
unintuitive logic had assigned Nick the status of a UMCP
officer in need of assistance.
Helpless to do anything else, Angus pointed at Milos'
station. 'You can access communications there. Just don't
screw up - don't let Operations hear you. '
Grinning ferally, Nick slid into the command second's
g-seat and put his hands on the board.
The abyss lurking at the back of Angus' mind taunted
him. He wondered if his programming had just forced
him to make a terrible mistake.
But he couldn't think about that. As if it were recir-
cuiting neurons, his zone implants tuned one ear to listen
to Nick. The rest of him focused on Nick's people.
'Have you got EVA training? You know how to use
guns?'
Davies shook his head, then nodded in confusion as
he remembered Morn's experience in the Academy.
'We aren't exactly trained for it,' Vector answered, 'but
we've all done EVA. Pu - Ciro and I've never had to use
guns.'
'All right.' Pieces clicked into place in Angus' plans.
'You're my high-tension crew. Davies, you're with them.
It's your job to keep them safe. When you're done, you
can cover our retreat.'
'I don't understand,' Davies put in. 'You haven't told
me what you're planning.'
Angus ignored him. The rest of us - Nick, Mikka, Sib
and me - are going to get Morn out.' Brutal as impact
fire, he added, 'Or kill her if the Amnion have already
mutated her.'
At the same time he listened hard to what Nick was
doing. But Nick addressed his ship entirely in written
code: he didn't say a word. His fingers raced on the
board, typing like volleys in a barrage. Under his concen-
trated gaze, his scars hinted at darkness.
'We're going EVA,' Angus explained, 'so we don't have
to deal with the Bill's muscle. We'll cross the docks and
the rock to the Amnion installation - roughly three k.
We'll cut our way in. That's the easy part. The hard part
will be finding her. '
And surviving. Angus had already realized that he was
effectively powerless against the Amnion. If his datacore
hadn't ordered otherwise, for its own reasons, he would
have been tempted to protect Vector and Ciro himself,
and send Davies after Morn.
'Once we find her, we either deal with her or grab her.
We'll take an EVA suit for her - that's your job, ' he told
Sib. It wouldn't hurt to encumber Mackern with an extra
suit. He didn't look like he was good with a gun in any
case. 'As soon as she's in it, we'll come back the way we
went. '
And if we can do all that, if you're still alive, and I
come back in one piece, and the Bill hasn't burned Trum-
pet open, we'll try to figure out how to get away from
here.
'You make it sound a little too simple, ' Mikka remarked
through her teeth.
Davies nodded urgently. Sib's eyes showed white.
Angus grimaced at her. There are only three dangers
- aside from the chance the Amnion will shoot us before
we can shoot them. ' Or the chance that Angus himself
would be paralyzed; perhaps turned against these people.
The Bill might decide to send his guards EVA. Or some
ship might pick us up on scan and warn Operations.
Calm Horizons could do it. '
''Soar could do it, ' Nick put in while he worked. 'She
left dock just a few minutes ago. '
'Or, ' Angus continued, 'the Amnion might call out the
Bill's dogs after we attack. In fact, they'll do that for sure.
'Vector and Giro are going to solve all those problems
for us.'
Mikka, Davies and the others waited. Angus didn't
elaborate, however. He didn't want Nick to know what
he had in mind; didn't want Nick to tell his ship. Every-
thing Succorso touched had too many possibilities for
treachery.
'Finish it, Nick,' he demanded. We've got to go.'
'Done.' Nick keyed off the board and stood up. 'I'm
ready. I like simple plans - they leave room for inspi-
ration.' As if he'd recovered his superiority, he faced
Angus with his fists on his hips and a grin on his teeth.
There's just one more thing you have to explain.
'Where the fucking hell is Milos?'
Nausea twisted in Angus' guts, but he shrugged as if
he didn't care. 'I'm not sure. I think he's gone to the
Amnion.'
Nick's people were stunned: Nick himself looked pole-
axed. 'He what?
Since leaving UMCPHQ, Angus had gained only one
thing he actually wanted: he'd gotten rid of Milos Tav-
erner. The cost of that victory was probably going to be
more than he could bear. Warden Dios, may he rot in
hell, hadn't planned this operation well enough.
Scowling acidly, Angus pointed at the companionway.
'You heard me. Let's get going.'
'But that means he's told them we're coming!' Nick
protested raggedly.
No, it means he's told them my priority codes. He's
told them how to turn me off.
'Sure,' Angus agreed. 'But he hasn't told them how.
He doesn't know.'
And the Amnion don't know I've got help. They won't
try to stop us because they're planning to shut me down.
That way they think they can catch me and Davies.
Angus could protect his son. Unfortunately his data-
core didn't let him do what was necessary to defend
himself.
'Wait a minute, ' Nick insisted, 'wait a minute, ' as if he
were on the verge of panic. 'You told me he talked to
them - even before he talked to me. How long has he
been working for them?'
'How the fuck should I know?' Angus could feel the
mouth of the abyss closing around his heart. 'But he must
have started before you bastards framed me. ' Before you
got me into this. 'He's been too busy since then to start
anything that complicated. '
'But that means -' Nick's mouth hung open in shock.
'It means, ' Mikka grated, 'the Amnion knew the truth
about you when we went to Enablement. Your bugger
must have told them. They already knew you were cheat-
ing them. That's why they tried to kill us in the gap -
why they used us for an acceleration experiment. And
that's why they tried so hard to get Davies before we left.
They assumed he was going to die when we did. '
Cold with concentration, as intent as his father, Davies
watched her as if he were testing what she said against
what he could remember. 'But that doesn't explain why
I'm so important. What do they want me for?
Angus wanted to howl in frustration. Maybe his zone
implants would have let him. Before he could make the
attempt, however, an automatic relay tripped on his com-
mand board, opening a channel to Billingate Operations.
At once the Bill's voice burst from the bridge speakers.
'Captain Angus, you motherfucking sonofabitch,
you're finished!' He sounded frantic, almost hysterical.
'I'll get you for this - I'm going to fry you as soon as you
try to leave.
'In the meantime, I'm cutting you off. No more power,
no more air, no more operational data. Live with that if
you can, you shitbag! You can supply your own life sup-
port, but you need operational data. '
Then the transmission ended as if he'd silenced his
pickup with a hammer.
Full of artificial calm and native horror, Angus
announced, 'I'm only going to say this one more time. If
we don't go now, we'll lose our chance. '
Leaving Nick's dismay and Davies' concentration and
Sib's chagrin behind, he headed up the companionway.
Light and quick in Thanatos Minor's g, Mikka fol-
lowed on his heels.
By the time he reached the passage running through
Trumpet's core, boots rattled on the rungs as more people
came after him.
His son must have been immediately behind Mikka.
As Angus strode toward the weapons locker, he heard
her answer Davies' question.
'The Amnion want to solve the problem of mutating
human beings without destroying their minds. ' She was
trying to help the boy again. They want to make Amnion
who look and talk and remember exactly like human
beings. When Morn survived giving you her mind, they
started to think zone implants are the answer. You're
their chance to study the consequences of what she did.
So they can refine their mutagens. '
'Which is why, ' Angus said over his shoulder for no
reason he could name, 'I want you to protect Vector and
Ciro, instead of coming with me. I don't want to risk
letting those fuckers get their hands on you. '
He had no idea if that was the truth.
On the other hand, he knew exactly how Morn would
react if he rescued her - and lost her son in the process.
He'd never looked in Trumpet's weapons locker: he
hadn't had time. But a database gave him the codes. He
tapped them into the keypad of the lock and swung open
the door.
'Jesus!' Mikka breathed. That's not a weapons locker,
that's an arsenal. '
Angus saw armaments of all kinds: handguns, rifles,
lasers, blasters; a variety of knives; mortars, grenades and
other explosives; enough destructive capability to equip
an expeditionary force. An inventory scrolled through his
head, but he ignored it. The countdown ran remorse-
lessly. He picked out a couple of limpet mines, a small,
precise laser and a miniaturized matter cannon. In this
case 'miniaturized' meant the gun was longer than his leg
and twice as heavy; if he was lucky, it carried enough
charge to fire three times. Hefting it, he stepped aside to
let other people at the locker.
Mikka took an impact rifle and a laser. Following her
example, Davies added a laser to the rifle he already
carried. Sib chose two handguns, but wasn't comfortable
with them; he put one back. Vector grabbed a couple of
stubby projectile launchers - weapons which were useless
at any distance, but which could hardly miss at close
range. He gave one to Ciro and pulled the kid past the
locker.
Nick didn't linger over his selection. He helped himself
to two handguns, an impact rifle, a clip of grenades —
Angus slapped the locker shut, nearly catching Nick's
fingers, and headed aft to the compartment where the
EVA suits were stowed.
Except for the ones which fit him and Milos, they were
of standard sizes - more of them than Trumpet's official
passenger capacity would ever need. One glance told
Angus he'd never seen suits like them before. They were
normal in most respects: flexible mylar and plexulose con-
structs with polarizing faceplates, air tanks, powerpacks,
helmet radios, belt-clips for tools or guns. But he couldn't
see how the maneuvering jets worked.
Impersonally efficient, a database supplied the answer.
Take a suit, ' he told Mikka and the others. 'Set com-
munications for' - he named a frequency at random.
That way we can talk without being heard - unless some-
body stumbles on our setting.
This won't be zero g, but you should know how to
use the jets. They're more responsive than you're used to
- more maneuverable. They work like waldos. Inside the
suit there's a harness. It clips around your waist and
through your crotch. Toggles are on the chestplate.
When it's active, it reads how you move your hips
and fires the jets, left, right, up, down, whatever you
want.
'They take practice, so you'd better hope you don't
need them. '
Angus didn't doubt that his computer already knew
how to control the jets perfectly.
Cramped in the narrow passage, Mikka and the men
began stumbling into suits. Davies kept himself as far
from Nick as possible. Ciro and Sib both needed help
with the unfamiliar equipment: Vector and Mikka
assisted them. Nick talked aimlessly about Trumpet's
resources; but no one paid any attention to him. Angus'
programming supplied a checklist. He put down his
weapons to run through it.
From the pocket of his shipsuit he took out a small
transmitter like a zone implant control, transferred it to
one of the pouches of his EVA suit. Then he pulled on
his suit and sealed it; clamped the limpets and laser to
his belt. The cannon was too heavy for that, so he cradled
it in his arms. At once he moved toward the lift.
He was trying, trying, not to listen to the claustropho-
bic hiss of air in his ears. It told him that he'd just sealed
himself into a crypt, a crib; tied down so that the woman
looming over him - a woman as vast as space, who
should have been his mother - could fill him with pain
like the void between the stars.
EVA always terrified him.
The countdown continued. His bluff wouldn't hold
much longer. As soon as the Bill panicked, he would
order his guards to start cutting. Then Trumpet would
defend herself - but not with self-destruct. Instead she
would trigger a power shutdown across as much of the
installation as she could reach. Angus had arranged that
during Nick's absence.
At the same time he'd done some extensive mapping
of Billingate's power supply, using equipment which no
known Needle-class gap scout possessed. What he'd
learned was of no use to him at the moment, however.
For now only the shutdown mattered.
It would keep Trumpet intact for two or three more
minutes, no more. And it would be fatally premature if
it happened before Vector and Ciro had carried out his
plans.
He was already sweating like a whole herd of swine,
and he hadn't even left the ship yet.
Mikka joined him in the lift almost immediately, with
Nick close behind her. 'Are you sure all this stuff works?'
Succorso's voice sounded too loud in the confines of
Angus' helmet. Through two faceplates Nick looked like
a ghoul: his scars resembled open wounds. 'It's so damn
new, I don't think it's ever been tested. '
'It works, Nick, ' Mikka muttered. 'Give us a break. '
Nick regarded her steadily, as if he'd already decided
how to kill her.
Davies was ready, but he waited for the other men;
entered the lift last.
Fighting his impulse to gasp, Angus sent the lift
upward to Trumpet's other airlock.
Now Davies was the first one out. He positioned him-
self inside the lock beside the control panel, with his back
to the wall and his rifle ready. He kept its muzzle pointed
at Nick's belly.
Angus expected treachery from Succorso as much as
his son did. But not here; not like this. It might happen
once they reached the Amnion installation — or maybe
when the group returned to Trumpet. Where Nick was
concerned, Angus' greatest fear wasn't that Nick would
betray him, but that his prewritten restrictions would
prevent him from making Nick pay for it.
With seven people packed together in the airlock,
Angus gave Davies a nod. Davies turned to the control
panel, tapped keys.
The inner door slid shut.
Compressors whined, pumping air out of the lock to
avoid a burst of release into the vacuum. Angus' EVA
suit tightened around him, inflated by its internal atmos-
phere; his companions seemed to puff up as if they would
float away as soon as the airlock let them go.
He turned down the gain on his pickup so that Nick
and the others wouldn't hear him panting. EVA terrified
him, small places and vast ones terrified him, but his zone
implants didn't give him any choice. Biting his lower lip
hard, he faced the ladder to the outer door and waited
for the airlock to open.
When Trumpet's servos pulled the door aside, he
climbed up to it, stuck his head out and got a glimpse of
what Nick's treachery entailed.
The whole region of the visitors' docks was awash in
stark white light. This was normal: as fierce as fire, arc
lamps on tall poles blazed in all directions, giving in-
coming ships visual confirmation of their approach atti-
tudes and trajectories.
Etched in illumination so intense that it seemed nearly
phosphorescent, the landscape was at once ordinary and
strange. For kilometers across the surface of the planet-
oid, Thanatos Minor's native rock had been replaced by
concrete - the reinforced outer face and abutments of
Billingate.
Unlike the cargo docks and shipyard, this section was
unmarked by gantries or cranes, loading- or service- or
power-bays, airlocks for freight haulers or stevedores.
Instead the only features were the berths themselves,
cones inset in the concrete and surrounded like maws
with banks of grapples and cables; a couple of huge radio
dishes positioned to cover this quadrant of Billingate's
control space; scan antennae and receptors, as tall and
brittle as burned trees; occasional access hatches for the
emergency airlocks; and a number of gun emplacements,
offering matter cannon fire to the void.
By themselves the emplacements looked massive and
murderous, immeasurably destructive. However, seen
next to the fathomless dark which covered Thanatos
Minor instead of sky, they appeared no more distinct or
effective than the old stone they'd replaced.
The light - or the contrast between the unnatural,
human light and the natural, inhuman void - gave the
landscape its strangeness. Against this black and absolute
background, any arc lamp, no matter how intense, was
nothing more than a small flare. Human senses insisted
that so many millions of tons of concrete, so much fusion-
generated power, so much evidence of conscious inten-
tion, should have been large enough to mean something.
The surrounding emptiness disagreed.
Angus wore EVA suits for the same reason that he
wore ships and stations: to protect his body and his life
from the vacuum, of course; but more to protect his
sanity from the abyss. Space itself appalled him.
It may have been the only thing he truly understood.
Because of the light, he could see Captain's Fancy
clearly, even though she was a hundred meters away.
He caught sight of her just in time to see her rip herself
out of her berth. Riding a spray of lost air and torn
grapples, a corona of sparking power-lines, she drifted
away from the docks as if she were lost.
LIETE
Belted in her g-seat at the command station, Liete
Corregio rode jolting thrust and complex winds
as Captain's Fancy blasted loose of her berth and
sailed free.
At once new forces pulled at her: acceleration; maneuv-
ering thrust; internal spin. They tugged her body from
side to side, hauled against each other inside her like
nausea. She didn't need internal spin: the ship's move-
ments would be easier to stomach without it. But she
engaged it because the magnetic field generated by cen-
trifugal g would be legible to Billingate Operations; to
Tranquil Hegemony and Calm Horizons; to Soar. It would
make Captain's Fancy look less threatening. A ship that
intended to do battle wouldn't hamper herself with
internal spin.
Liete was concentrating too hard on other things to
name the wind in her ears. It felt like the mistral of
urgency, but it might have been the long black pressure
which called her to doom.
The emptiness of the engineering and data stations
nagged at her. The bridge was incomplete; Captain's
Fancy was incomplete. Liete had to make up the lack
caused by Nick's absence and his secrets out of herself.
'Operations is screaming, ' Lind reported from com-
munications. His own urgency made his voice crack and
his larynx bob. They aren't threatening us yet. They're
too incoherent. '
'Ignore them, ' Liete ordered. 'Cut them off if you have
to - you've got too much else to do.
'Have you sent Nick's message to that listening post?'
'Don't bullshit us, ' Pastille put in, nearly cackling with
tension. 'You mean, Has he sent Nick's message to the
UMCP? That won't do any good. We'll be dead before
it reaches them. '
Liete ignored the helm third; waited for Lind's answer.
Lind checked a readout. 'It's done. Tight-beamed to
the same coordinates he used last time. '
Then concentrate on the ships, ' she told him. 'Trum-
pet, Soar, Calm Horizons, Tranquil Hegemony. We're
going to hear from at least one of them. '
The air around her felt leaden, humid with stress. The
scrubbers seemed unable to keep up with it.
'What am I listening for?' Lind asked.
'Nick's priority-codes - the old ones. ' Liete accessed
them on her board, relayed them to him. Tell me the
second you hear them. I want to know immediately,
exactly, what the orders are. '
'But Nick won't-'
'No, he won't, ' she snapped. 'He's already told us what
to do. He won't change his mind. And if he does, he'll
use the new codes. But when you hear the old ones, I
want to know what the computers are being instructed
to do. Give that precedence over everything else.
'Don't waste time talking about it. Route it straight to
me. '
'Right. ' Hunching to his console, Lind tapped keys as
fast as he could.
With every tick of the command chronometer, the
wind in Liete's ears felt more like the mistral. Neverthe-
less it didn't unclog the atmosphere of the bridge.
'Malda, weapons status, ' she demanded.
'Up and ready, ' the targ first replied. 'Give me a target,
and I'll hit it. '
Hardly pausing for breath, Liete turned toward scan.
'Carmel, it^s your job to keep us alive. Watch those ships,
watch Billingate. If anybody decides to fire, we need
warning. If anything comes after us, we need warning. '
'I'm on it, ' Carmel muttered stolidly. She didn't glance at Liete: her attention was focused on her readouts. 'Speaking of warning, there are people coming out of Trumpet. I count five - six — now seven. '
People, Liete thought with her heart in her throat.
Coming out of Trumpet.
How could that be?
How could there be so many?
Which one of them was Nick?
But such questions had no bearing on what she had to
do; they changed nothing. She let the wind carry them
away, tug them to tatters and disperse them like smoke.
Slowly, controlling herself so that she wouldn't panic,
she turned her g-seat to face the helm station.
'Pastille, you're insufferable. You're undisciplined and
insulting, and you smell bad. This is your chance to prove
you're really worth what you cost.
'I want one g acceleration, no more. We're not trying
to go anywhere fast. Follow Soar - she's our target. '
Her nerves still burned cold whenever she thought about
Sorus Chatelaine. 'Whatever else happens, we're going
to make sure she ends up dead.
'But stay between her and the installation, ' Liete
warned. 'Right between. Make sure she and Billingate
can't try to hit us without hitting each other. That should
protect us from Calm Horizons as well. Soar will block
their targ.
'I want to make it as dangerous as possible for any of
them to fire on us. '
Pastille obeyed without looking at his hands. G
changed vectors; Captain's Fancy's attitude and trajectory
shifted; but he didn't drop Liete's gaze.
'You know that can't work, don't you?' His tone was
at once sarcastic and insinuating. 'As soon as we hit Soar,
Billingate won't have any reason to hold fire. We can't
stand up to those guns - not this close. '
Liete glared at him while darkness and necessity gath-
ered around her. 'Go on, ' she told him softly, as if she
were calm. 'Say it all - get it out of your system. '
Tell me whether I can trust you.
Abruptly the helm third lowered his eyes to his board
as if his hands had lost their place. In a thin voice he
articulated, 'This is a suicide mission. Nick doesn't want
us to come back. '
Lind's fingers paused; his larynx lurched as he swal-
lowed convulsively. Malda looked at Liete with a frozen
expression on her face. Even Carmel raised her head to
listen.
Liete surprised and pleased herself with a short laugh.
'Does that sound like him to you? Has he ever done
anything that made you think he wouldn't mind seeing
his ship destroyed?' Prompted by the scorched and
hungry memory of Nick's touch, she added, 'Have you
considered the possibility that he's one of the people who
just left Trumpet? That he's got Mikka and Sib and Vector
and Pup with him, and they've gone EVA to sabotage
the guns?'
Pastille continued running helm commands. Liete's
stomach twisted as g altered in several directions simul-
taneously. One of the display screens showed tracking
blips for Captain's Fancy, Soar, and Calm Horizons. Soar
continued moving steadily, unhurriedly, toward the
Amnion warship. By degrees Captain's Fancy swung into
line behind her. In moments Captain's Fancy's course and
speed would match Soar's.
Defensively Pastille muttered, Well, somebody had to
say it. So we can all stop worrying about it. '
'I think, ' Carmel put in like the cut of a shovel, 'it's
unexpectedly considerate of you to take such good care
of us. '
'Oh, go fuck yourself, ' Pastille retorted.
The scan first acted like she hadn't heard him.
The desert blast of Nick's love-making held Liete; it
went moaning past her ears, ruffling her hair, drying her
eyes.
'Just to be on the safe side, Malda, ' she said in the same
tone, 'fix targ on Tranquil Hegemony. If worst comes to
worst, we can always use a stationary target. '
As Malda complied, the clicking of her keys sounded
dull, muted by the weight of the atmosphere.
'I don't know what they're doing down there, ' Carmel
remarked impersonally. They've split up. Three of them
are going in one direction, four in another. '
At once Pastille asked, 'Are they heading for the
guns?'
At this range Billingate had only two emplacements
which could be brought to bear on Captain's Fancy.
'Maybe, ' Carmel grunted, 'maybe not. It's too soon to
tell. '
'Liete' - Lind sounded like he'd just swallowed his
Adam's apple - 'here it comes. '
'Analysis!' she barked. 'Fast!'
Lind was fast. Almost instantly one of her readouts
sprang clear.
The message came from Calm Horizons.
It invoked Nick's priority-codes, the ones Morn had
given Enablement Station.
Using the authority of those codes, Calm Horizons
instructed Captain's Fancy to lock open this communi-
cations channel and link it directly with her command
computer.
Then the Amnion warship ordered Captain's Fancy to
shut down her drive and kill all power to the. weapons
systems.
As if her synapses were on fire, Liete hit overrides
which disabled both helm and targ.
New g crawled through her guts as the ship lost thrust.
She could almost hear the impalpable groan of the matter
cannon and lasers powering down.
'Shit!' Malda cried involuntarily. 'What - ?'
Pastille's protest smothered the targ first's. 'What the
fuck are you doing,, Liete?'
Liete couldn't breathe. Her nerves still burned; spasms
locked the air in her chest. Does that do it? she asked the
silence. Was I fast enough? Do they believe me?
Nick, tell me I was fast enough!
'Orders from Calm Horizons' Lind explained in a high,
tight voice. He was too frightened to keep his mouth
shut. They told us to shut down drive and weapons.
They used Nick's priority-codes - the old ones. '
Malda slumped in chagrin or relief.
'And you did it? Pastille protested wildly. 'They used
the old codes, and you obeyed?' Are you out of your mind?'
A shudder ran through Liete. She took one tentative
sip of air, then another. Abruptly her muscles un-
clenched, and she could breathe again.
They think we're helpless, ' she said hoarsely, as if she
were losing her voice. 'Now we can really go to work. '
The wind in her ears had become as black and fatal as
the gap.
ANGUS
Swinging his matter cannon up with him, Angus
climbed out of the airlock to stand on Trumpet's
hull.
The surface was complex: deformed with receptors,
antennae and dishes; warted with gun ports designed to
look like supply hatches. Thruster tubes splayed at the
ship's tail, arising from the heavy bulge of the drive hous-
ing. Only to a spacer's eye did she look swift or beautiful.
Her lack of sleekness as well as any obvious symmetry
would have crippled her as an atmosphere craft; neverthe-
less it meant nothing while she sailed the vacuum - or
the gap.
Angus wished he could see the starfield. Even little
lights billions of k away would have given the
encompassing dark features, softened its utterness; ameli-
orated the abyss. But the arc lamps, like small suns,
blinded him to any other stars.
Adjusting his faceplate's polarization to improve his
depth of field, he scanned the docks quickly, searching
for guards or witnesses. Of course, he had no guarantee
the other berthed ships wouldn't see him. If they thought
to use their sensors, they could pick him out easily. That
was unlikely, however. Thanatos Minor's visitors trusted
the Bill for security. The more obvious danger came from
Operations; but that, too, was unlikely - at least for
a few more minutes. The installation was trained and
equipped to protect itself from threats which emerged
from the gap and the dark, not from men crawling like
mites across the surface of the rock.
White under the burning lamps, Billingate's blunt con-
crete looked as empty and inhuman as a wilderland.
Angus kept one eye on Captain's Fancy as he moved
away from the airlock to make room for his companions.
Belying the violence of her undocking, Nick's frigate
moved as if she followed routine departure protocols.
Mikka Vasaczk swarmed up the ladder, burst out of
the lock to stand beside Angus. Like him, she scanned
the area. When she caught sight of Captain's Fancy, she
bit down so hard on a curse that her voice sounded like
she'd drawn blood.
So she hadn't known this was going to happen. Nick
hadn't taken her into his confidence: he trusted his own
crew to roughly the same extent that he trusted Angus.
Nick himself came next: from the airlock he executed
a neat flip and landed on his feet. Then Vector and Ciro
emerged. Hampered by the burden of an extra EVA suit,
Sib climbed more slowly. And his awkwardness delayed
Davies.
Angus didn't wait for them. Their suit communi-
cations would pick up everything he said.
Grabbing Succorso's arm, he pointed out Captain's
Fancy.
'What the fuck are you doing, Nick? Answer a civil
question while it's still civil. '
'I'm not doing anything. ' In the constriction of Angus' helmet, Nick's tone cut like mockery. 'Liete's in command - she's doing it. '
Angus ground his fingers into Nick's arm as if he meant
to rupture the suit. His welding made him strong enough
to pull a wince from Succorso's face.
Obeying the pain, Nick explained tightly, 'It's a diver-
sion. I'm giving the Bill something else to worry about.
He knows I have a grudge against Sorus. I told Liete to
make it look like she's going after Soar. He'll believe that.
And it'll scare him - he depends on Sorus. Meanwhile
Liete can cover us. '
This had to be a lie. It was too pat, too convenient.
Nevertheless Angus' programming accepted it.
In any case it might work.
He let go of Nick and turned toward Vector and Ciro.
'We're in a hurry now. Every minute counts, so don't
fuck up. ' He gestured toward the nearest radio dish.
That's your target.
'Here. ' Quickly he moved to an access hatch he'd
unlocked earlier, while he and Davies were getting ready.
Set inside the hatch was a high-tension cable a hundred
fifty meters long — a line thick enough to carry the power
for a dozen ships. It was already connected at one end
and rolled on a drum so that it would feed out when it
was pulled.
He picked up a tool kit and the free end of the cable,
and shoved them at Vector.
Take this to the dish, wire it in. Let me know as
soon as you're done. We're going to short out the Bill's
communications so badly it'll take him hours to
unscramble it. Once you're clear, I'm going to hit that
dish with every gigawatt a fusion generator can pump
down this cable. '
When power on that scale slammed into Billingate's
communications, every failsafe in Operations would shut
down to protect the computers from being slagged.
As a diversion, that would make Captain's Fancy's gam-
bit look trivial.
Vector accepted the cable, the tools, and stood staring
at Angus. Angus could see his mouth moving, but no
sound came from his pickup.
'Great idea, ' Nick sneered. Too bad it can't work.
Didn't you hear the Bill say he's cutting you off
from installation power? All by herself this little ship
of yours can't generate enough jolt to do him any real
damage. '
That's what he thinks' - Angus sounded mechanically
calm - 'but he can't do it. He doesn't know how much
I know about his computers. I've been embedding codes
in my operational transmissions — ordering his computers
to give Trumpet emergency priority. They won't accept
a command to cut her off until he figures out what I've
done and cancels her priority. '
His datacore didn't require him to mention that he'd
done all this in the past half an hour; or that it was a
gamble which might easily fail. If the codes were inaccur-
ate - or if Operations had already noticed them -
Vector made a whistling noise through his teeth.
In a frightened voice, Ciro asked the engineer, 'Can
he do that? I mean, can he really trick the Bill's compu-
ters?'
We don't have time to discuss it, ' Angus snapped.
Every passing second seemed to increase his visceral,
alarm, as well as the compulsions of his programming.
'You'll never find out what I can and can't do if you don't
hurry. '
Then he wheeled back to face the others.
'Davies, go with them. Keep them safe. Call me the
instant you're clear.
'The rest of us are going to burn.'
He saw the white glare of uncertainty from Davies'
eyes, the skepticism on Nick's face. Mikka glowered at
him like a threat; Sib's fright was as open as his mouth.
But Angus ignored them: he had no more time. He
hefted his matter cannon, toggled the jet control on his
chestplate. Trusting Thanatos Minor's g, his reinforced
joints, and his prewritten knowledge to protect him, he
flung himself in a long leap off Trumpet's hull.
As if they were trained for it, his hips cocked upward.
At once the suit's jets cut in, braking his drop to the
concrete. He landed easily, bounded a few steps ahead,
then turned to make sure that Nick and the others were
following.
'Angus!' Davies shouted. Too much volume hurt
Angus' ears. 'She's my mother! She's all I have!'
Angus didn't answer. Dread and prewritten exigencies
consumed him.
Like Angus, Nick sprang from the ship. His control
of his jets was awkward, but he managed them well
enough to land safely.
Mikka shook her head. Snatching the extra suit from
Sib, she lobbed it toward Angus; then she located a series
of zero-g handgrips circling Trumpet's girth and lowered
herself rapidly down the side.
Angus caught the suit: he couldn't risk letting it be
damaged. Morn would need it.
Or she wouldn't.
Or he might not get to her at all.
Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to wait until
Mikka and Sib caught up with him. Then he pushed the
extra suit into Sib's arms and started running.
Low g made running easy, if not effortless. Three k
was too far, but he couldn't help that: the Amnion sector
was where it was. In truth he didn't know why he wanted
to get there so fast. Milos Taverner was almost certainly
waiting for him - and Milos had his priority-codes. Yet
he ran without the urging of his datacore or the pressure
of his zone implants.
He ran because he was a coward. More than anything
else, he needed to arrive at the end of his fear.
Over his shoulder he saw Vector, Ciro and Davies
nearing their destination. The long cable snaked behind
them, black against the blaring white of the concrete.
Surely Vector would know how to wire the dish; surely
Nick's engineer would be at least that competent. Angus
could have done the job himself in his sleep -
His helmet seemed to echo with the sound of Sib's
labored breathing. Mikka's flat, grim stride gave the
impression that she could sustain it for hours. But Sib
was too scared; he moved with bands of trepidation
tightening around his chest.
Too bad. Angus didn't slow his pace.
'Use your jets, Mackern, ' Nick suggested. 'Turn them
on and poke with your hips like you're fucking. That
should give you a lift forward. '
Good Captain Sheepfucker, still trying to create
the impression that he cared what happened to his
people.
If Sib had stopped to think, he might not have tried
it. But he was frantic. His free hand flopped at his chest-
plate; locking his legs, he tried to thrust his hips up and
forward.
At exactly the wrong instant he stumbled. The sudden
pressure of his jets carried him straight at Angus like a
cargo sled gone out of control.
Riding enhanced reflexes, Angus spun out of the
way; grabbed Sib by one arm and leg, and hauled him
to a stop before he could strike the concrete and tear
his suit.
'Shit, ' Sib panted in deep gulps. 'Shit. '
He sounded too much like Milos. Angus slapped at
his jets toggle for him, then left him and ran on.
Now Davies' group had reached the dish. Vector
handled the cable while Ciro dug tools out of the kit.
Davies braced himself with his impact rifle in his hands
as if he were willing to burn down the heavens in order
to defend the engineers.
Two k to go.
Mikka dropped back to pace Sib. Angus and Nick
rushed ahead together.
'Angus. ' This time Davies didn't shout. His voice was
hushed, as if he were afraid of being overheard. 'Vector
has the junction cover off. The wiring looks simple - I
could probably do this myself. We'll be ready in a minute
or two. '
'Get clear when you're done, ' Angus ordered between
breaths. There's going to be one hell of a static dis-
charge. '
'They used to call it a corposant, ' Vector remarked in
a concentrated tone. 'Or St Elmo's fire. '
'Who is "they"?' Ciro asked. Angus' helmet speakers
were tiny, but they picked up the undercurrent of dis-
sociation in the boy's words. He was too young to know
what to do with his fear.
'Ciro, ' Mikka gasped as if she were coughing, 'stay
with Vector. I'll be back. That's a promise. '
'Sailors on ocean-going ships, ' Vector answered
calmly. 'Back on Earth a long time ago. The ships were
wood, and they used wind for drive. Sometimes during
storms the atmosphere generated so much static it
seemed to gather in balls and roll along the masts and
spars. '
After a moment Angus realized that Vector was talking
in order to steady his second; distract the boy from his
fear.
For some reason this recognition filled him with such
rage that he seemed to go blind. His computer could
still see: his zone implants kept him running flawlessly.
Nevertheless his eyes registered only red fury. The crib
turned the inside of his faceplate opaque, and the only
defense he had left against the molten, helpless agony
which the looming woman had inflicted on him was a
mad and murderous hate.
That must have been why he wanted so intensely to
rescue Morn. She, too, had a zone implant: he'd used it
to abase her in every way his desperation could devise.
Therefore he needed her; depended on her to the same
extent and for the same reason that he'd been dependent
on the looming woman - for his survival. That woman
could have killed him: Morn could save him. Her zone
implant had enabled him to reverse their positions in and
above the crib; to fend off the abyss.
And like that other woman, she knew his most neces-
sary and fatal secret -
His suit's climate controls couldn't cool him fast
enough. Sweat ran down his collar, congealed in his arm-
pits and crotch.
One k to go.
Abruptly he and Nick passed the last arc lamp and
came to the end of the concrete which had been poured
for the docks. From here he could see the entrance to
the Amnion sector crouching like a bunker in Thanatos
Minor's surface; but he would have to cross bare, raw
rock to get there.
Now any fall would be much more dangerous. Mylar
and plexulose could resist a variety of punctures, or reseal
around the holes; but the suits might not stand up to
being torn on this old, sharp stone.
Angus turned to look for Mikka and Sib.
They were at least two hundred meters back, still lag-
ging. She held one of his arms, supporting him as well
as she could: they ran together awkwardly, bouncing
against each other and stumbling away as if they were
exhausted.
'Angus. ' Davies' voice seemed to come from the black
void overhead. We're done. It's ready. '
Angus saw three small shapes hurrying to distance
themselves from the radio dish. 'Are you clear?' he
demanded.
'Clear enough, ' Vector reported. 'Do it now - if you
still can. '
Angus Thermopyle might have hesitated: ordinary
mortality might have slowed his reactions in a situation
like this.
If the Bill had detected the trick -
If Operations had disabled the embedded codes —
If someone somewhere had witnessed what was hap-
pening and warned Billingate —
But Joshua had no mortality. From a pouch in his
EVA suit he took out the small transmitter he'd prepared
for the occasion.
In one smooth motion, he aimed the transmitter's
antenna and thumbed the switch.
Picoseconds later an incandescent conflagration as feral
as lightning and as noiseless as nightmare caught the dish
and etched it against the black heavens.
Then every illumination across the whole of the visi-
tors' docks went dark.
Midnight seemed to slam down on Thanatos Minor
like an avalanche. No stars, no. light, no movement,
Angus saw nothing, heard nothing, he was alone, the
abyss had swallowed him utterly. Nick, Mikka and Sib;
Vector, Ciro and Davies: they were all stricken from
existence; even their broadcast breathing couldn't reach
him across the vacuum.
Locked in the silence of his zone implants, he began
gibbering to himself because he couldn't wail aloud.
Then Nick drawled suddenly, 'Well, that worked,
anyway. '
At the sound, Angus felt an instant of inconceivable
gratitude.
Nevertheless his datacore didn't know and couldn't
care what he felt. It paid no attention to his fear - or his
relief. Impelled by artificial emissions, he stowed his small
transmitter. Next he unclipped a handlamp from his belt
and flashed it for Mikka and Sib.
'Ciro, ' Mikka gasped hoarsely, 'are you all right?'
'Sure. Of course. ' For a moment the boy wasn't afraid
at all. That was incredible. '
'We're fine, Angus, ' Davies reported. His voice was
rough with relief. We're moving toward you now. We'll
come about halfway and wait for you. '
'No!' Angus called back. 'Stay close to Trumpet and
cover us from there! I don't want you cut off. '
Davies' reply came like a farewell out of the dark.
'Right. '
'I see them!' Sib gulped unexpectedly.
We see your light, Angus, ' Mikka announced. We're
coming. '
Before Angus' programming could send him off across
the rock, the arc lamps came back on.
LIETE
Liete sat perfectly still, sweating while she waited
for more orders; waited for the Amnion to
believe that their first instructions had been
obeyed.
'All right, ' Pastille panted. 'I understand. I think I
understand. You want us to look helpless so we can keep
our options open. You don't want them to know Nick
has already replaced those codes —'
Sounding tense, nearly feverish, Malda Verone put in,
'Because if they know those codes don't work they'll be
afraid of us. They'll try to kill us before we can do
anything. '
But Pastille wasn't done. 'Was that all they told us?
Shut down thrust?'
'And targ, ' Malda informed him.
'But what do they get out of it?' he protested. We're
still moving - still on the heading we want. All we've lost
is acceleration. We're still getting away. '
'Don't you ever use your head?' Malda's voice shivered.
We're coming into range for Billingate's guns. They'll be
able to hit us soon — and we can't maneuver. Or shoot
back. '
'This is just the beginning, ' Liete pronounced as if she
were sure. 'They'll send more orders when they're sure
the last ones were effective. They don't know our systems
- even with those codes, they can't control us precisely.
So they started crude. As soon as they're ready, they'll
try some refinements. '
If they get the chance. If they don't already have too
many other things to worry about.
'Their first order, ' Lind offered nervously, 'was to keep open a link between communications and the command computer. What they'll probably do next is use the link to demand information so they can plan their
"refinements". '
Could they tell the difference? Liete wondered. Did
they know Captain's Fancy had lost thrust and weapons
power, not on their orders, but on hers?
Probably not. They weren't trying to pull data back
out of her board; not yet. They'd simply issued instruc-
tions and then watched to see what would happen.
She had no time to waste. The wind was blowing: like
Nick, it burned away her choices. She needed to prepare
wow, before Calm Horizons took the next step.
'In case you're interested, ' Carmel remarked from scan,
'I can tell you where those seven people from Trumpet
are headed. '
Liete couldn't help herself. Nick was almost certainly
one of the seven.
And she needed another minute or two to think.
'Go on, ' she told Carmel.
'None of them are anywhere near the guns, ' the scan
first said flatly. Three of them stopped at one of the radio
dishes. They're dragging something. It's too small to scan
accurately — Billingate emits too much garbage — but it
might be a cable.
'The other four are moving fast - I mean running -
straight across the docks. They aren't together anymore.
Two of them have pulled ahead. But the other two are
following.
'There aren't any ships in that direction - if you don't
count Tranquil Hegemony. ' Carmel paused, then
remarked bluntly, 'At a guess, I would say they were
headed for the Amnion installation. '
Liete's stomach churned. The Amnion installation.
Nick! What're you doing?
'So much for your theory about the guns, ' Pastille
snarled.
Without warning the scorched heat of the desert took
her, and she lost control.
She flung off her belt, jumped out of her g-seat. Will
you shut up? she yelled at the helm third, 'or do I have
to send you off the bridge?' Any of the people around
her could have shouted louder than she did, but none of
them could make their voices carry and cut like hers. 'I'm
sick of listening to you whine because you can't second-
guess Nick! Believe it or not, Ransum can do your job -
and she won't bitch all the time!'
Pastille didn't look at her: he faced his board as if he
were concentrating hard. 'Give me something to do, ' he
muttered past his shoulder. 'I'm just sitting here. '
'I want noise!' Now that she'd started shouting, she
couldn't stop. The wind in her ears seemed to carry
her out of herself. 'I want emission chaos, as much as
we can put out! I want to look exactly like a ship that's
fighting to figure out what went wrong - fighting to
bring up power somehow - fighting like hell to break
loose!'
Abruptly vehemence and urgency let go of her. A
strange stillness like the center of a storm filled her.
'I want camouflage, ' she explained calmly. 'I want to
emit so much confusion that Billingate and Calm Hori-
zons and Soar won't be able to tell the difference when
we power up. '
Carmel didn't hesitate. 'I can run a feedback loop for
some of our scan systems. Doppler sensors, radiant
power emission receptors, particle sifters, things like that.
Use them for broadcast instead of reception. We'll look
like we're going critical — like we're suffering some kind
of meltdown. '
'Good. ' Liete nodded. 'Do it. '
Lind was already working. As his hands typed com-
mands, he barked into his pickup, 'Captain's Fancy to all
ships. Captain's Fancy to Billingate Operations. Captain's
Fancy on all bandwidths. Emergency. Emergency. We
are out of control. We have lost maneuvering power.
Stay clear. I say again, do not approach us. We have a
thrust emergency. ' He hit more keys, then turned to
Liete. 'That's on automatic across the operational
spectrum. '
'Good, ' she said again. Bracing herself on the com-
mand board so that she wouldn't tremble, she lowered
herself slowly back into her g-seat.
Malda chewed her lower lip. 'I might be able to
dummy a short into one or two of the lasers. ' A taut
vibration cut through her tone. 'Make it look like I'm
trying to tap maintenance power, but the lines can't carry
the load. '
Liete nodded once more. 'And while you're doing that,
start leaking a little power back into the matter cannon.
Keep it slow - maybe it won't show. I want to be able
to hit something in five minutes, if I have to.
'The same goes for you, Pastille. Bring the drive back
up, but do it slow. Get ready to burn when the time
comes.
'Lind, keep watching for orders from Calm Horizons.
Just like before -I want analysis the same instant we hear
from them. '
Lind opened his mouth to reply; but before he could
find his voice, Carmel cried out, 'Holy shit!'
'What?' Liete demanded. 'What is it?'
'That dish just went up like a flare!' Carmel shouted.
Almost immediately, however, she recovered her poise.
In an oddly formal tone, she announced more quietly,
'Billingate has experienced a complete power shutdown. '
'Operations is dead!' Lind gasped. They aren't making
a sound. '
Liete's heart thudded with admiration. Oh, Nick!
She fixed a look on Pastille. 'Got any more complaints?'
But she didn't give him time to respond. As if she were
singing to herself, she said happily, 'Analysis, Carmel. '
Carmel took a deep breath. 'Nick must have hit the
dish with enough juice to trigger every failsafe in Oper-
ations. That won't stop them long. I mean they'll be able
to get power back up almost immediately. Life support,
weapons, things like that. Those systems are designed to
protect themselves and come back on-line. They should
be functional again in less than a minute.
'Communications is another matter. '
Lind was so excited that he hopped against the belt of
his g-seat. 'Nobody designs communications gear to take
that kind of jolt! If we're lucky, their central systems
have been slagged. If they are, they'll still need hours to
unscramble the damage. They may have to reprogram
every computer in Operations — and that's after they find
and fix anything that burned. '
Carmel peered at her readouts, then said, 'Right.
Billingate has power back. '
Lind tightened the receiver in his ear, listened hard.
Nearly crowing, he reported, 'Nothing from Operations.
They're still dead. '
'And' - Liete's heart went on singing, even though
her voice was calm - 'we have exactly what we need. A
diversion. Suddenly we're nobody's biggest worry. We're
helpless - we don't matter anymore. What matters is
what's happening to Billingate.
'This is our chance. ' She faced Pastille squarely. Nick
has given us our chance. 'Let's not miss it. '
Pastille nodded as if he were in awe.
'Malda?' Liete asked.
The targ first hunched over her console, keying com-
mands as fast as she could. 'I'll be ready, ' she murmured
distantly.
Simply because Nick and his people were out on Than-
atos Minor's surface and therefore vulnerable, Liete
ordered, 'Fix targ on Tranquil Hegemony. That comes
first. We'll tackle Soar when we know more about what's
happening. '
Malda nodded.
Liete looked at the display screen which showed Cap-
tain's Fancy's position behind Soar on her way toward
Calm Horizons. In silence she promised Nick that she
wouldn't let him down.
Not after this. Now she understood completely that
he could never be beaten.
ANGUS
The arc lamps were dim for a moment; they
flickered as if they were sizzling inside. Then they
came back up to brightness as if someone in
Operations had dialed a rheostat.
Angus remained still on the edge of the concrete, wait-
ing for his datacore to send him into motion again;
plunge him back into a headlong rush toward Milos and
doom.
'What went wrong?' Sib Mackern panted raggedly, as
if he had no background in data and damage control.
'Nothing, ' Angus muttered. I hope.
'Power doesn't matter. ' Nick sounded abstract, think-
ing about something else. What matters is communi-
cations. ' His head tilted back: he stared upward as if he
could see Captain's Fancy receding from him. But of
course he couldn't: even with all her running lights
ablaze, she would be invisible now, washed from sight
by the intensity of the lamps. Nevertheless an odd note
of yearning in his tone suggested that he spoke not to
Sib, but to his ship. 'If we've fried enough of their cir-
cuits, they'll be paralyzed. They won't be able to talk to
anybody. '
The Bill would be effectively helpless. Trapped in his
strongroom, completely dependent on his communi-
cations network, he would have no idea what was hap-
pening. He would have to leave his reinforced hideyhole,
ride the lifts up to Operations, simply in order to obtain
information. Calm Horizons and Tranquil Hegemony
could talk to each other: they could talk to Soar. But
none of them could reach Operations or the Bill.
Which meant that the threat to Trumpet would be
temporarily neutralized.
And the Amnion would be cut off from the Bill; they
wouldn't be able to call him for help -
Without transition, as if he didn't know how he'd
passed from immobility to motion, Angus found himself
running across the gnarled and whetted rock.
He wasn't hampered like Sib: because of his zone
implants he breathed steadily, strongly, despite his
instinctive EVA panic and the knowledge that he was
lost. Strutted muscles and joints carried him easily across
the treacherous surface, as if he could never fall. The
matter cannon in his hands might as well have been
weightless.
Sib's hoarse gasping seemed to fill his helmet. He could
hardly hear Mikka's labored respiration: he couldn't hear
Nick at all.
Bounding between igneous outcroppings and glazed
planes, Nick ran as if he didn't need welding to match
Angus. In reaction Angus' lips pulled a snarl across his
teeth. He wanted to run faster, leave Nick behind; outdo
him somehow. Then he noticed that Nick was experi-
menting with his jets: teaching himself how to control
them; using them to keep pace.
Their destination loomed ahead. Distance reduced the
glow from the arc lamps; in their faded brilliance the
concrete of the Amnion sector silhouetted itself against
the absolute void. Above Thanatos Minor's surface the
installation was like a bunker in size as well as configur-
ation. The part which protruded from the ancient splash
and swirl of the rock was nothing more than a small
section of roof — an emergency exit. It gave the Amnion
a way out. The dedicated berth where Tranquil Hegemony
rested was half a kilometer away on the left. Docking
lights picked the high bulk of the warship out from
the dark; guns and antennae articulated her bulbous
shape.
If her crew was running scan - if the Amnion were
that cautious - they would see Angus and Nick, with
Mikka and Sib lagging behind. Tranquil Hegemony might
not be able to contact Operations - perhaps not even her
own people in the installation - but she could send out
forces of her own.
Between her and this bunker, the raw stone was
marked only by a flat metallic sheet nearly thirty meters
on each side, the sliding hatch of a shuttle port. It pro-
tected a small dock which could launch and receive per-
sonnel craft.
'Be more careful, Sib, ' Mikka ordered tightly. 'They'll
wait for us when they need us. You won't do anybody
any good if you fall and tear your suit. '
Sib didn't answer. He was panting too hard.
Nick waved a hand at the bunker. 'I presume, ' he said
between breaths, You've got a plan for this, too. '
Angus didn't need a plan. He needed a design diagram.
His databases and his own experience suggested that this
installation was large enough to quarter a hundred or
more Amnion. Where would they keep Morn? How
could he find her?
Assuming he survived that long, how could he locate
the other thing his programming required, a way into
Billingate's infrastructure?
On the strength of welded muscles and lesser g, he
leaped in one long stride to the top of the bunker.
His immediate goal was on the far side. When he
dropped over the edge, he landed on a concrete apron in
front of the outer door of the airlock.
He hardly noticed as Nick sprang down beside him:
his concentration had focused in like the beam of a laser
as he studied the exterior control panel and intercom.
Under different circumstances the locking mechanism
would have been no obstacle. If he'd been willing to open
the installation to the vacuum - and warn the Amnion
that they were under attack, give them time to seal their
interior doors and marshal their defenses — he could have
simply blasted his way in. But to rescue Morn he needed
a better approach.
'Now what?' Nick sounded impossibly close, as if he
were inside Angus' helmet. 'If you use the intercom and
ask nicely, they'll probably just open up. Why not? That
way they can get their hands on all of us at once. '
'Shut up, ' Angus muttered. His tension showed in his
voice. Apparently his programming no longer cared how
much dread he betrayed.
From a distance of half a dozen centimeters he glared
at the control panel.
With his EM vision, he should have been able to read
its circuitry exactly. For some reason, however, his pros-
theses had gone blind.
His heart lurched in panic, and his hands ran with
sweat inside his gloves. What was going on? He couldn't
see what he needed; his datacore had switched off his
enhanced sight; Dios or Lebwohl had sent him this far
only to make him fail -
Then an artificial calm slowed his pulse. From the
window in his head came a flood of information about
his prostheses.
He couldn't see, he was informed, because the polariz-
ation of his faceplate distorted his EM vision.
Shit! Just what he needed.
Urgently he adjusted the degree of polarization. At
the same time he scaled it up and down the spectrum,
hunting for a wavelength which would let him read
the control panel. He didn't need polarization at all,
not here in the shadow of the bunker, protected from
the burning glare of the lamps; but the faceplate in-
duced a distortion of its own, blurring EM emissions.
Scrambling through databases while he made his adjust-
ments, he searched for settings to counteract the inherent
refraction.
'What're you doing?' Nick inquired sardonically. Try-
ing to unlock it by willpower?'
There: an imprecise flicker of electromagnetic tracery
like a circuit board seen under a disfocused microscope.
Too much detail was lost; accuracy would be almost
impossible. But Angus might be able to cut into the lock
wiring without setting the whole installation afire with
alarms.
As he reached for his laser, he told Nick, 'Get Sib and
Mikka here. We can't wait for them. '
Nick didn't move; didn't obey. He stood still and
watched while Angus narrowed his laser down to its
smallest focus, aimed it into the center of the control
panel, and fired.
A pinprick of metal flamed crimson, then denatured
like smoke into the vacuum.
With luck, the alarm circuits were disabled.
Now a second shot, millimeters away from the first.
A moment later the outer door of the airlock irised
open like a dilating eye.
'You amaze me. ' Nick's tone was too cold and danger-
ous for awe. The Bill doesn't know how much you know
about his computers. The Amnion don't know how
much you know about their airlocks. What's next,
Angus? Are you going to simply wave your hands and
undo what they've done to Morn? Do you know that
much about mutagens, too?'
Mikka rounded the corner of the bunker and came to
a stop on locked knees. Through her faceplate, she looked
frantic with exertion. When she saw the staring airlock,
she gaped at it.
'Where's Sib?' Angus demanded.
'Here. ' Sib stumbled onto the apron and caught him-
self on Mikka's shoulder. His handgun hung from his
belt; he carried the extra EVA suit wrapped to his chest
with both arms.
'We're going in, ' Angus announced harshly. 'Shoot
anybody you see, Amnion or human. ' Shoot Milos, if
you can. 'Be ready to shoot yourselves - unless you like
mutagens.
'If you've got some idea how to find Morn, I'm
listening. '
Sib shook his head. His features twisted as if he were
about to puke.
'As far as I know, ' Nick remarked slowly, 'there's only
one entrance from the rest of Billingate to the Amnion
sector. She'll be near there. Unless she's one of them
now, in which case she could be anywhere. '
'Why?' Angus rasped. 'Why there?'
'Because they don't trust me. ' Nick grinned like his
scars. They don't trust her. There's more than one kind
of kaze. They've learned to be careful. They won't risk,
say, an explosion that might do them real damage. They
won't let her anywhere near their operational center, or
the shuttles, or that damn warship' - he nodded toward
Tranquil Hegemony — 'or any of the places where they
work or live, until they're sure she's safe. '
Damn. Angus had to admit that Nick was right. But
the airlock into Billingate was probably farther away from
where he stood now than any other part of the Amnion
sector.
The longer he stayed inside this installation, the more
vulnerable he would be. He knew in the marrow of his
bones that his programming would never allow him to
kill Milos.
Too bad. Prewritten logic compelled him. It left no
room for hesitation.
Bracing his cannon in both hands, he stepped into the
airlock.
At once his fear turned the color of sulfur.
Outside Nick tilted his head again to study the feature-
less dark. As if he were talking to himself, he murmured
softly, fervidly, 'Do it. Don't wait. Do it now. '
Then he followed Angus.
While Mikka and Sib joined him, Angus made new
adjustments to his faceplate, refining away the wave-
lengths which the Amnion liked best as if he could tune
out panic and ruin.
Nick didn't wait for orders: he thumbed keys on the
inner control panel. An almost subliminal groan carried
to Angus' external pickup as the airlock cycled shut. A
moment later he heard the hiss of pressurization as
atmosphere pumped into the lock. Displays inside his
helmet told him that he could breathe the air - if his life
depended on it.
As soon as the airlock pressure had been equalized, the
inner door irised.
It opened on an empty lift.
'Down, ' Nick said unnecessarily. 'I don't know how
far. Your guess is as good as mine. '
Angus' computer ran complex calculations, comparing
what he knew of Billingate and Thanatos Minor with the
estimated size and depth of the Amnion sector; he let
numbers spin through him while he entered the lift. By
the time Nick, Mikka and Sib had left the lock, his com-
puter had come up with its own guess.
The lift's controls showed twenty-five indicators: he
had that many levels to choose from. Holding his breath
involuntarily, he keyed the tenth.
Servos closed the iris like a shutter. A heartbeat or two
after the door shut, the car dove for the depths of the
rock.
Angus positioned himself against the back wall so that
he could level his cannon. 'I'll lead, but I want you beside
me, Nick. ' His voice distressed the inside of his helmet.
'Don't make me use this thing if I don't have to. '
Matter cannon had been developed for use in the void,
where the secondary and tertiary quantum discontinuities
could be discounted. No man in his right mind would
fire such a gun within walls.
Nick replied by showing his teeth.
'Mikka, ' Angus went on, 'you and Sib cover my back.
You cover him — don't let anything happen to that suit. '
Through her faceplate, he saw her nod. 'We are going
to get out of this alive, aren't we?' she asked grimly. 'I
promised Ciro I would come back. '
'If I survive, you probably will, too. They may have a
whole rucking arsenal handy, but it won't include any-
thing like this. ' Angus waggled the end of his cannon.
That was as close as he could come to telling her the
truth.
The lift seemed to plummet like a stone, but it didn't
scare him. Instead he felt a small piece of his visceral
dread break away, lost in the fall. At least now he was no
longer EVA. He was inside, where the vast dark couldn't
reach him -
With a palpable wheeze, the car braked to a halt at the
tenth level.
Sib snatched his handgun off his belt. Mikka tightened
her grip on her rifle. Nick and the muzzle of Angus'
cannon faced the door as it slid aside.
Apparently the unauthorized use of the lift had
attracted attention. An Amnioni with several arms and
at least four eyes stood waiting. A bandoleer across its
shoulders carried spare charges for the heavy, rust-caked
weapon in its hands.
Nick's reflexes were almost as fast as Angus'. Before
the Amnioni could twitch, he slammed it in the chest
with impact fire.
His gun made a muffled sound like dynamite buried in
cement, and the Amnioni staggered backward. Spraying
strange, greenish blood from a massive hole in its chest,
the creature hit the wall and fell onto its face.
Together Nick and Angus sprang out of the lift.
Sib made a choking noise, as if he'd swallowed his
tongue. Mikka grabbed his arm and shoved him into
motion ahead of her.
Angus scanned the corridor in both directions,
wheeled to orient himself. His computer scrolled design
hypotheticals through his head. To the right, the passage
stretched empty for a considerable distance. To the left,
it turned a corner out of sight after ten meters.
That way, his computer said — to the left; away from
Tranquil Hegemony's berth.
He pointed Nick in that direction. 'Go!'
Nick sprinted toward the corner; then dove skidding
onto his belly as two more Amnion armed with heavy
rifles came into sight.
They were ready: they'd heard the distinctive con-
cussion of an impact gun. As soon as they caught sight
of Nick, they began to lay down fire.
Energy beams sizzled in the air like frying flesh.
Reacting at machine speed, Angus jumped backward,
blocking Mikka and Sib out of the way. But he couldn't
shoot: at this range his cannon's blast would reduce Nick
to pulp and grease.
Nick's dive carried him under the blare of beams.
Before the Amnion could correct their aim, he hit them
both.
Echoes rolled like distant thunder down the corridor,
calling for the Amnion to notice that they were under
attack.
Angus ran. By the time Nick regained his feet, Angus
had reached the corner.
Beyond it the passage went straight for twenty or
twenty-five meters, past several closed doors and one lift.
There it met another door as high and wide as the
entrance to a meeting-hall. From that point it turned left
again.
Nick came up beside Angus; started to pass him.
Instincts squalled in Angus' head: he stopped Nick with
an arm like a steel bar.
This was why Hashi Lebwohl and Warden Dios had
chosen him. Trained by a lifetime of cowardice and viol-
ence, he had instincts which no computer could match.
'Now what?' Nick demanded.
At that moment the high doors opened. Reacting to
the sounds of detonation, six or eight Amnion crowded
outward to see what was happening.
'Time for another diversion, ' Angus snarled tightly.
Planting his weight, he fired his cannon at the Amnion.
The blast nearly deafened him: the gain on his external
pickup was set too high. If he hadn't braced himself -
and if he hadn't been welded for this kind of work - the
concussion might have ripped him off his feet.
Mikka staggered backward. Sib fell on his back with
an inarticulate cry that seemed to echo like the blast
through the devastation in the corridor.
For an instant pulverized concrete clouded everything;
the lighting flickered as automatic relays rerouted power.
Then the dust cleared, sucked into the air scrubbers, and
the effects of matter cannon fire in an enclosed space
became visible.
Only rubble remained of the meeting-hall. Even its
far wall was gone, ripped open on service shafts snarled
with wiring and conduits. So much concrete and steel
had been torn from the walls and ceiling that Angus
could see little else: the bodies of the Amnion had dis-
appeared as if they'd been atomized. He might have been
looking at a bomb crater in one of Earth's embattled
slums.
Through the neural reverberation in his ears, he heard
alarms of all kinds - wails of structural damage; warnings
of bloodshed; calls to battle.
A diversion wouldn't do him any good if he stayed
there to see what would happen next. 'Come on!' he
shouted. Too loud, he knew he was shouting too loud,
his companions could hear him without that. But if he
didn't shout he couldn't hear himself.
Mikka helped Sib back to his feet. At a run Angus led
them and Nick to the lift.
They jumped aboard, and he sent the car down one
level.
The corridor it opened on was completely deserted.
Apparently every Amnioni in the vicinity had already left
to deal with the emergency above.
If one diversion was good, two would be better. Give
the Amnion reason to think they were under a completely
different kind of assault. Angus thrust Nick, Mikka and
Sib out of the lift. From his belt he detached a limpet
mine; he set its timer for thirty seconds, clamped it to
the side of the car, hit controls to send the car on down-
ward. Then he jumped out as the doors closed.
Nick muttered, 'I guess we won't be coming back this
way. ' He sounded amused.
Angus consulted his computer. Already its design
hypotheticals had gained definition, detail. It measured
the dimensions of the corridors, the lift's apparent rate
of travel between levels: it compared that data to what
he knew about Billingate's scale and orientation within
Thanatos Minor. For the first time it offered him close
order estimates.
Two hundred fifty more meters.
On this level.
Assuming Nick was right.
Angus started into a fast trot. He would have run
harder, but now he couldn't afford to leave Sib or Mikka
behind.
They passed one corner, then another, before he heard
the distant crumpling explosion of the mine; felt the
vibration nudge against his boots.
At his back Mikka's gun hammered twice, three times.
Amnion must have emerged from one of the doors
behind him. Sib's handgun emitted an aimless whine, as
if he had no idea what he was shooting at.
More corners. Angus' computer revised its estimates.
Somewhere the creatures were marshaling their
defenses - enough Amnion to simply overrun the human
intruders. He had to hope that they were confused about
the kind of danger which threatened them. Otherwise he
could only believe that they knew what he was after -
and knew how to stop him.
Abruptly he found a wide passage running straight in
the right direction.
Dozens of other corridors Ted off from it, every one
of them as threatening as the mouth of a pit. Nevertheless
it offered him a chance to make better progress. He
couldn't refuse.
A winking red indicator inside his helmet told him that
his suit's climate controls had exceeded their tolerances.
He was sweating too hard: they couldn't process so much
humidity. Soon he would be in danger of dehydration.
Growling to himself, he sent Nick along the left wall,
Mikka and Sib down the right. With his cannon he
covered the view ahead. From the center of the passage
he drew his companions along as fast as they could go.
Nick, too, had been trained for fighting: he also had
good instincts. At the first intersection on his side, he
undipped a grenade, armed it and threw it hard along
the corridor. Then he slung his rifle over his shoulder
and picked up his handguns. They made less noise.
Mikka followed his example.
Almost at once she triggered fire into the gullet of a
corridor. When she was satisfied that her target was dead,
she pulled Sib forward.
The blast of the grenade sounded shrouded and small,
too minor to do much damage.
Ninety meters, Angus' computer estimated.
Seventy.
With both guns Nick blazed a barrage down one of
the side passages. 'Got you, you bastards, ' he growled
softly.
Sixty.
'Time to start looking. ' Angus' voice seemed to scrape
in his throat. He could hardly squeeze up enough spit to
swallow. 'Slow down. Watch for doors with guards. '
He was too exposed, too easy to spot. Grimly he sent
Nick and Mikka ahead of him; he waited for them to
signal that the corridors were clear before he crossed the
intersections.
Where are you, Morn? How am I going to find you?
Are you still human?
Do you still want to kill me?
He should have turned off his external pickup com-
pletely. Milos was here somewhere; he had to be. All he
needed was an intercom or a loudhailer, and Angus
would be finished.
But his programming rejected that elementary pre-
caution. He needed to hear what happened outside his
suit.
It's got to stop.
God damn you, Dios! If you really wanted me dead,
you could have done it easier than this!
Warned by nothing but instinct - the pressure of
intuitive panic between his shoulder-blades - he whirled
suddenly, wrenched the mass of his cannon around and
brought it to bear just as five Amnion surged into the
passage. From fifty-five or sixty meters away, they hurtled
in his direction. Their crusted skin and their quasi-
organic weapons made them look more like engines of
destruction than sentient beings.
Like artillery his cannon howled at them. In an instant
they were gone, effaced by rubble and dust.
So much for stealth.
The blast seemed to multiply in his ears as if he were
at the bottom of a cavern, buried in reverberation. He
barely heard Mikka hiss from the corner of an inter-
section, 'Angus, here!'
Thirst parched his tongue; his throat was clogged with
sand. Slowly, disoriented by echoes, he lowered the
cannon, took up his laser. As smooth as a cat, Nick came
to his side; together they moved to the wall behind Mikka
and eased forward.
Past the corner he saw a short hall - thirty meters at
most - open at the far end. Several doors marked the
wall at regular intervals. Unlike the entrances he'd seen
until now, these were heavily reinforced, as massive as
the doors of cells.
An Amnioni laden with weapons guarded the middle
of the hall.
The creature must have known the installation was
besieged. It wore a headset which presumably kept it in
contact with the sector's operational center — and pre-
sumably the sector's communications functioned separ-
ately from Billingate's. But the Amnioni's stance betrayed
no anxiety.
Maybe its understanding of its role was so precise that
it didn't worry about anything else.
Or maybe it knew something Angus didn't.
He'd come too far to falter now. In any case his
prewritten exigencies no longer left room for instinct.
Before dread or doubt could interfere, he told Nick to
shoot.
Nick raised his gun and burned the Amnioni through
the head.
By the time the creature tottered to the floor, Angus
was on his way to the door nearest it.
Stupid, crazy, you asshole, you shit! As if he had no
instincts and no fear, as if decades of mortal terror had
taught him nothing, he put himself in his companions'
line of fire.
They couldn't shoot when Milos Taverner appeared at
the far end of the hall.
Joshua's tormentor and nemesis; stun and interroga-
tion, live nic butts and excrement -
Angus knew instantly that Milos had been pumped full
of mutagens. It showed in his eyes.
Nothing else about him had changed. He looked as
human, as pitifully ordinary, as ever. His hands were
yellow with nic; his shipsuit slid across human skin when
he moved. Distinct in the sulfurous light, splotches
defined his scalp through his sparse hair. The smile on
his pudgy features was calm, as if at last he'd come to
terms with treachery.
Joshua. I'm going to give you a standing order. ]erico
priority.
But his eyes were lidless and unblinking; they had
deformed irises, as narrow as slits; their balls were the
biting yellow color of mineral acid.
When I tell you to open your mouth, you will always obey.
And he breathed the air comfortably.
After that you'll chew and swallow normally.
Helpless and appalled, Angus froze.
Every lurch of his heart seemed impossibly slow; the
gaps between the seconds were imponderable and vast.
Events which must have taken virtually no time at all
stretched and dilated as if they became infinite at the
speed of light.
Open your mouth.
Use your laser, you shit, use your cannon, for God's
sake, blast him, fry him, burn him down! Before he says
anything!
Carefully Milos dropped his burning nic onto Angus'
tongue.
Angus remained still, paralyzed, as if Warden Dios and
Hashi Lebwohl had left him for dead.
'Joshua, ' Milos articulated contentedly. 'This is a Jerico
priority order. ' His eyes fixed on Angus; despite their
alienness, they were full of a malice so intense and pure
it could only be human. 'Stop. Turn. Kill the people
behind you. '
As if he'd already been obeyed, he added, 'I knew you
would come here. It was inevitable. Dios and Lebwohl
cheated both of us. All I had to do was wait. '
Angus lifted his laser slowly, as if it weighed dozens
of kilograms.
Open your mouth.
While the gun came up — during the supernal gap
between one second and the next - a link opened in his
head.
As if the message were emblazoned on his brain, he
heard or saw or felt his programming speak to him.
You are no longer Joshua.
Jerico priority has been superseded.
You are Isaac. That is your name. It is also your access-
code. Your priority-code is Gabriel.
Priority-code is Gabriel.
Gabriel.
In that instant he was set free of Milos.
Dios or Lebwohl had seen this crisis coming. They'd
planned for it. When his life depended on it, they released
him from all control but their own.
The change must have warned Milos: he must have
seen the sudden ferocity on Angus' face, or the blaze of
hate in his eyes. As Angus brought up his laser and fired,
Milos pitched himself backward around the corner.
Too late, Nick's guns blared past Angus' shoulder. Like
Angus, he missed.
Raging with murder, Angus charged after Milos.
He reached the corner in time to see a door across the
next passage slam shut. Milos was gone.
Angus would have chased after him, flamed that door
to cinders in order to reach Milos. He felt sick with relief
and fury: now more than ever he needed someone to kill.
If he didn't let the violence inside him out somehow,
his heart would crack. But his datacore had other ideas.
Turning hard - and trembling as acutely as his zone
implants allowed - he strode back toward Nick, Mikka
and Sib; toward the door in the middle of the hall.
' "Joshua"?' Nick asked tightly. ' "Jerico"? What the hell
was that all about?'
Angus ignored the question. Aiming his laser, he
burned out the doorlock. Then he returned the weapon
to his belt.
Morn was here; she had to be. Milos had made no
effort to lure him anywhere else: the Amnioni had prob-
ably assumed that Angus' databases and detectors enabled
him to know where she was. Therefore she must be here.
That made sense, didn't it?
Didn't it?
Fuming to contain his fear, he pushed the door open.
He saw a small, sterile cell full of light and need.
Because of the polarization of his faceplate, he couldn't
identify any monitors; but he didn't care about that. He
didn't care who saw him now: Milos would tell the
Amnion where he was if the bugeyes didn't. He cared
only that the room contained nothing except a small san
and a couch-like chair which was cushioned and adjust-
able like a sickbay table.
Morn Hyland sprawled there as if she were dying.
He recognized her instantly, despite the breathing
mask that covered the lower half of her face. Her eyes
staring at him were deep and damaged; bruises discol-
ored her cheekbones; her torn and dirty hair straggled as
if it were falling out, killed by uncontrolled chemical
reactions. Since he'd last seen her, her whole body had
become as scrawny as an anorexic's: emotional and physi-
cal brutality had dismantled her poignant beauty in the
same way that Bright Beauty had been dismantled.
Nevertheless Angus knew her. He seemed to know her
more intimately than he knew himself. Her addiction,
her zone implant withdrawal, was plainly written in the
stretched lines of her face and the stark anguish of her
eyes. She was Morn Hyland: hurt beyond bearing,
abused to the verges of madness and death; but still
human.
He had no idea why she was still human. At the
moment the fact itself transcended everything else. He
had no attention to spare for the explanation.
When he saw the horror in her gaze, the presumption
of more harm, his own eyes went blind with tears.
Dismantled like Bright Beauty -
His datacore ruled him in every other way, but it
placed no restrictions on weeping. Apparently Lebwohl
or Dios had never considered the possibility that he
might be capable of grief.
But like Bright Beauty Morn had been his; she'd served
him utterly. Her beauty and her humiliation had be-
longed to him. Under his control she'd given to him and
done for him anything he could name.
That made her precious.
And she'd saved his life -
Until Hashi Lebwohl and zone implants ripped it from
him, he'd kept his bargain with her.
The sight of what that bargain had cost her sent tears
as hot as blood scalding down his cheeks.
On a literal level, Nick had done this to her. But the
underlying truth was that Angus himself had caused it
all. It was on his head.
Caught and held by the sheer scale of her suffering, he
remained still. For several seconds no one moved. Morn
stared and stared at him as if she'd fallen into cerebral
palsy. Nick had taken one quick look through the door-
way and then withdrawn: now he stood like Mikka,
guarding the ends of the hall. Sib's arms and legs seemed
to yearn toward the room; yet he didn't take a step.
Then Angus' datacore compelled him to break his
stasis. His time was running out.
His zone implants eased some of the tension in his
lungs. As if he were wincing he raised his hand to the
controls on his chestplate and activated his external
speaker. Blinking hard to clear his eyes, he husked softly,
'Morn, listen. I've got a ship. And I've got Davies. He's
there - at the ship. We're going to get you out of here. '
When he said her son's name, her head jerked up.
Darkness smoldered in her gouged eyes, as if her head
were full of the gap; as if her mind had gone into tach
and couldn't get out.
'Can you stand?' he asked; almost pleaded. 'Can you
walk? We'll carry you if we have to, but we're all more
likely to survive if you can walk. '
Her eyes went on smoldering at him as if he spoke a
language she no longer understood.
'Morn, please. Say something. Answer me. '
In another moment he was going to fall on his knees
and beg her for a response.
Without warning Sib pushed past him into the room.
'Morn, ' he panted, 'it's me. Sib Mackern. ' His tone was
fraught with concern and fear. We're all here - all the
ones who didn't want Nick to sell you. Mikka, Vector,
even Pup. Vector and Pup are with Davies. Angus is
telling the truth. They're guarding the ship.
'Nick is here, too. We needed him. But he's lost Cap-
tain's Fancy. He doesn't have anywhere else to go.
'Morn, I helped you once. So did Vector and Mikka.
We didn't give you what you needed, but we did as much
as we thought we could. Let us help you now.
'Davies can't hold the ship for long. If we don't get
back soon, we'll lose him. We'll lose everything. '
Morn gave no sign that his words meant anything: she
reacted only to her son's name. Yet that was enough.
Each time Sib said 'Davies', she moved farther. First she
sat up; then she shifted her legs off the chair; finally she
stood.
Muffled by her mask, her voice sounded as frail as mist.
'Don't let Nick touch him. '
'I've got a better idea, ' Angus grated. Morn's words
triggered a change in him: as soon as she spoke, his grief
became a cold, settled and familiar rage. He stepped out
into the hall. Too quick to be stopped, he snatched the
impact rifle off Nick's shoulder, then re-entered the cell
and thrust the gun toward Morn. 'Here. You don't let
Nick touch him. '
She took the rifle and clutched it as if it were the only
real thing in the room. Her fingers settled on the firing
stud.
We have to go EVA, Morn. ' Sib's voice seemed to
sweat concern. 'It's our only way back to Trumpet. I
brought you a suit. ' He opened his arms to show her his
burden. 'I'll help you put it on. '
Abruptly Angus swung away. He couldn't watch any-
more. And his programming had other requirements for
him to satisfy. Ignoring his distress, databases opened in
his head, feeding him everything the UMCP knew about
fusion generators; everything he'd learned by mapping
Billingate's power systems.
Charged with other men's purposes and his own viol-
ence, he left the cell.
At once Nick confronted him. 'You sonofabitch. Now
she's going to kill me. '
Angus had no attention to spare. 'Not as long as she
thinks you'll help keep Davies alive. '
Turning his back on Nick, he faced Mikka.
She met his gaze with the bitter glare of a woman who
was ready for anything. Her hands cradled her weapons
as if she'd known how to use them all her life.
'I'm leaving now, ' he announced bluntly. 'I've got
other things to do. You're in command until I get back. '
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't interrupt;
didn't protest.
'It's up to you to take her to Trumpet. ' He meant only
Morn. He didn't care what happened to anyone else. 'Get
her aboard — her and Davies. Then seal the ship. I can
open the airlock whenever I need to.
'Remember, you're in command, not him. ' Angus
jerked a nod at Nick. 'Don't let him get in your way. If
he gives you any trouble, shoot him for me. '
Nick's chuckle sounded wild; a little crazy. 'Captain
Thermo-pile, you're out of your fucking mind. '
Angus ignored him.
'I need an hour, ' he told Mikka. 'If I'm not back by
then, leave without me. Rip Trumpet out of her berth
and run. You won't be able to defend yourselves worth
shit, you don't know enough about her, but you won't
have any other choice. If you stay here after that, you're
finished. '
Mikka's glower seemed to promise that she would obey
him as long as she remained alive.
'One hour, ' he repeated harshly.
Then he strode away as if he'd been turned loose.
He was temporarily at peace with his programming. A
keen joy like a paean of murder began to sing in his
heart as he moved alone into the clenched, threatening
emptiness of the corridors which led toward Billingate
and destruction.
MORN
She couldn't think. Words meant nothing: there
were no words which could contain the long
silence of her cell while the Amnion waited for
their mutagens to transform her. And nothing else made
sense.
Angus was here - but of course that was impossible.
How much suffering did she have to endure before she
would be free of him?
He said he came to rescue her. That wasn't just imposs-
ible, it was stupid: a man like him would never place
himself in this kind of jeopardy to rescue anyone, especi-
ally not a cop who knew so much about him.
He told her where Davies was, he seemed to imply
that he'd already rescued her son - which wasn't so much
impossible as entirely inconceivable.
Yet Sib Mackern was here as well. That was true,
wasn't it? She could recognize him through his faceplate,
couldn't she? He was trembling to help her: solicitude
seemed to pour off him in waves, despite the interference
of mylar and plexulose. Unless the whole thing was a
hallucination - unless the reality of what Nick had done
to her and what she'd done to humankind had at last
become so unbearable that she'd fled from it into
dreams —
Some of Captain's Fancy's people wanted to help her?
They'd come to rescue her? With Nick? And Angus?
She clung to her son's name and the grips of the impact
rifle so that she wouldn't break into mad, lost sobs.
Sib tried to help her; he urged her limbs into an EVA
suit. She wanted his help, wanted the suit itself. But
Angus had said, You don't let Succorso touch him. She
couldn't release the rifle long enough to put on the suit.
Gently Sib took hold of her left hand and tried to urge
her fingers loose.
As sudden as a figment, Nick appeared in the doorway.
Keying his external speaker, he snapped, 'If you clowns
don't hurry, none of us are going to get out of this alive. '
As if it were cued by his voice, a concussion shuddered
through the cell. For an instant the sulfurous lighting
flickered. Dust sifted from the corners of the walls. Some-
where nearby a powerful explosion had taken place.
What had she seen in Angus' hands? What kind of
gun was that? It'd looked like a scale model of a matter
cannon.
Was he fighting for her escape with a matter cannon?
He was capable of that. The same indomitable coward-
ice which made him a rapist also made him deadly.
A small mewling sound came from her mouth as she
forced open her fingers, let Sib pull her arm into the EVA
suit.
Next the right: she transferred the rifle to her left hand,
then shoved her right urgently into the glove of the suit.
Second by second a nameless desperation mounted in
her. Each of her forearms bore the marks of a tiny wound
where the Amnion had injected her with mutagens - and
another where they'd drawn blood. All the norepi-
nephrine and dopamine and immunity had been sucked
out of her into those small vials, betraying her whole
species. She had nothing left except fear.
She thought that Sib would seal her suit, but he didn't.
Instead he began to strap some kind of interior harness
around her hips. 'It's a new system for controlling your
jets, ' he explained as he worked. 'It's like a waldo - you
move your hips, and the jets fire. You may need it. '
Lamely he added, 'I can't control it myself. '
Now she knew she was dreaming. She'd trained with
suits like this in the Academy: Starmaster had been
equipped with them. But the technology was recent. No
one except the UMCP had it.
As quickly as he could, Sib finished with the harness,
then sealed her into the suit. Last came the helmet. He
held it in front of her, waiting for her permission to put
it on.
Because this was all a hallucination, and she knew it
would soon end, leaving her as doomed and damned as
ever, she pulled a deep breath through her mask, then
nodded.
Sib swept the mask off her head and replaced it with
her helmet.
As soon as the helmet was sealed, its indicators came
to life, giving her oxygen, temperature and vital sign
status; assuring her of its integrity against hard vacuum.
'Let's go, Morn. '
Sib's voice through the internal speakers sounded too
close, too intimate. Nevertheless she didn't raise her
hands to reduce the gain: they were locked onto her
rifle, and she didn't intend to remove them again. Like a
madwoman she believed that as long as she gripped the
gun she could keep the dream of rescue from ending.
Anchored by the pressure of her fingers on the rifle,
she allowed Sib to take her arm and draw her out of the
cell.
'Finally!' Nick snarled. 'Come on. '
Without waiting for an answer, he broke into a run
toward the end of the passage.
Hadn't Sib said, Mikka, Vector, even Pup? But only
Mikka Vasaczk stood in the hall. Where were Vector and
Pup?
And where was Angus? Morn expected to find him
there, keeping the whole Amnion installation at bay with
his strange gun. But he'd gone somewhere.
Blurred by the polarization of two faceplates, Mikka
peered at her. Mikka's face was distorted and familiar:
her glower looked like the anxiety of an old friend.
'Are you all right?' she asked. 'Did we get here in time?'
Morn's throat worked convulsively, swallowing sobs.
They took my blood. ' That was the worst accusation she
could level against herself. They've got the drug. '
When we have some time' - Nick's voice carried
clearly from the end of the hall - 'you can tell me how
you got the drug. '
Morn hardly heard him. She was talking to Mikka.
'I betrayed-'
She fought to control herself, but she couldn't keep
her weeping down. Small sounds leaked like whimpers
from her throat. Without her zone implant control, she
was nothing.
'Maybe not. ' Nick's tone was harsh. 'I told you, it only
stays in your body for about four hours. Whether they
got it depends on when you ate the capsules and when
they drew blood.
'Now come on, goddamn it! Someday even these fuckers
are going to figure out what happened and do something
about it. '
When and when. Morn clung to the idea the same way
she clung to her rifle. Was it possible that her dream
included hope? Was it permitted in this hallucination that
she'd saved herself without betraying humankind?
Maybe she could remember what she'd done; figure
out the sequence of events and time. It was a fact that
Nick had once told her the immunity drug stayed in the
body for about four hours. If she could recall when she'd
taken the capsules in relation to when the Amnion had
taken her blood -
All right, think. When did she take the first one? When
did she take the second? the third?
Obsessed by time, she let Mikka and Sib pull her
forward. -
Everything she'd suffered for days or months felt like
a swirl of nightmare: she couldn't distinguish one day
from the next, certainly not one hour from the next.
Nevertheless her need for this one hope was absolute.
She wrestled her sore, brutalized mind for clarity, despite
the fact that she was running now, that Sib and Mikka
had dragged her into a run along a wide hall full of cruel
illumination and intersections like maws; despite the fact
that Nick and Mikka seemed to blaze away with their
handguns almost constantly, and even Sib brandished fire
as if he thought he could hit something that way.
An energy beam scorched past her head. Nick yelled
as he fired; Sib gasped, 'Christ!' For an instant the air
sang with streaks of coherent force and light. Then Nick
veered into a side passage. Mikka and Sib kept Morn
close behind him.
Because she hadn't known what was going to happen,
she'd taken one capsule as soon as she found the vial in
Nick's cabin. Of course that immunity had passed out of
her body during the long hours when she'd been kept
drugged. But she'd taken another dose after Mikka had
awakened her, before Mikka had delivered her to Nick.
After that Nick had walked her to the Amnion sector and
given her away. How much time passed then before she
was injected with the mutagen? Half an hour at most?
Roughly an hour since she'd eaten the capsule?
She'd been too terrified to measure time; but she had
the impression that the Amnion had waited quite a while
before drawing her blood.
She shook her head. Not good enough. Quite a while
could mean anything. She would never be able to figure
out the exact interval.
Sobs or gasps seemed to burst delicately inside her
helmet, like bubbles.
Then a new idea entered her head like a ship crossing
out of the gap.
This place had no research facilities. Maybe the
Amnion hadn't drawn her blood promptly because they
couldn't test it in any case. And maybe her immunity -
artificial, like all her other resources - was simply sitting
here, sealed in sterile containers to await transportation
to Enablement.
That was another kind of hope.
Almost immediately Nick led the way to a lift. The
instant the doors opened he herded Mikka, Sib and Morn
into the car. It rose so swiftly that Morn's knees nearly
failed.
Where was Angus? Why couldn't she hear his matter
cannon?
Taut with exertion, Sib's voice strained in her ears.
'This isn't the way we came, Nick. '
Nick replied with a growl of disgust.
'That makes it safer, ' Mikka panted tightly.
'We've got to stop those warships, ' Morn breathed.
'Calm Horizons. Tranquil Hegemony. Stop them. '
Sib gaped at her.
'Why?' Mikka demanded.
At last Morn noticed the desperation in Mikka's eyes.
She saw that Sib was close to exhaustion. Pale and blood-
less, Nick's scars gleamed as if they'd been cut to the
bone.
'So they can't take my blood back to Enablement. '
'How?' Now Mikka sounded as weary as Sib looked.
We've lost Captain's Fancy. Our ship is a gap scout.
Assuming we get back to her, she doesn't carry the kind
of guns that stop warships. '
'We aren't going to stop anybody, ' Nick rasped at
Morn. Through his faceplate his eyes burned with the
desire to inflict pain. 'Just staying alive is going to be the
best trick we've ever pulled off.
'Your Captain Thermo-pile told me a little secret.
Something I had no idea about. When we went to
Enablement, the Amnion already knew you were a cop.
They knew I was working for the cops. '
In shock, Mikka barked, 'What?'
Nick ignored her. 'That's why they were willing to kill
us in the gap. They knew we were going to cheat as soon
as we started talking to them. And it's another reason
they want your kid so badly. He has your mind. Just
getting you wouldn't be good enough. They want your
mind intact - a cop mind that isn't protected or distorted
by zone implants. '
The lift stopped; opened. Balancing his guns in his
hands, he sprang out to scan the corridor.
'Oh, Nick, ' Mikka said like a moan. 'You fool. You
fool. '
'I don't care, ' Morn murmured while she followed
him. As far as she knew, she was talking to herself.
'They've got to be stopped. There must be some way
to do it. '
She didn't care what it cost. She wanted to burn her
long pain clean in a blaze of destruction. If Davies died
in the process, at least he would die human.
And he would understand. He was more than her son:
he was an undistorted replica of her reasoning and know-
ledge, her passions and needs. He would feel the same
way she did.
Off to her left, an Amnioni appeared in a doorway.
Sib flung fire in that direction; but he stumbled, and his
shot scored the floor. As he fell, he lost his grip on Morn's
arm.
She squeezed the firing stud of her rifle; heard a deton-
ation like the sound of shattering stone. The Amnioni
sprawled backward in a splash of rust and green.
Sib caught up with her as fast as he could. Thanks, '
he gulped. 'I'm no good at this. '
The blast seemed to ignite her body. Shrugging off
Mikka's support, she ran on her own strength after Nick.
Now she was ready to fight. Her hands ached on the
rifle, hungry for use.
The passages were empty, however. The Amnion had
mustered their defenses elsewhere.
Nick led the way as if he knew exactly where he was
going.
For his own reasons, he stopped at another lift. The
car was slow to answer: according to its indicators, it had
to come from several levels below. He swore steadily
under his breath while he waited; as the doors finally slid
open, he braced himself to fire.
Like the corridor, the car was empty.
'Is this it?' Sib asked urgently.
Nick entered the car without answering.
Mikka prodded Sib and Morn ahead of her. 'I think
so, ' she panted.
Upward again. Now Morn rose as if she were going
to sail through the top of her head; as if her spirit could
soar straight on out of the lift and the installation, carry-
ing only her rifle into space to do battle with the
warships.
Unfortunately the rules of gravity held. When the car
stopped at its highest level, her body still contained her.
Abruptly the energy of impact fire drained out of her.
She felt leaden and mortal, weighed down by the conse-
quences of withdrawal and the implications of weakness.
She hardly knew what she was seeing when the lift
opened on the iris of an airlock.
An airlock. Her thoughts struggled slowly, clogged by
old prostration. EVA.
We have to go EVA. It's our only way back to Trumpet.
If she could have escaped the rock's g, she could have
flown her fate altogether; could have used the suit's jets
to waft her effortlessly out into the dark. Even against g
the jets might be powerful enough to bear her away.
But the pressure might trigger her gap-sickness.
In any case, Davies was waiting for her; he needed her.
For his sake she had to remain confined to her flesh a
little longer.
As the iris dilated, it seemed to suck Nick into the
airlock. Immediately he moved to the control panel and
keyed the cycle. Mikka sent Sib and Morn after him, then
paused to immobilize the lift by firing a laser into its
controls.
The inner iris was already closing. She had to dive
through it to reach the airlock.
Morn listened to the sibilant whine of depressurization
and tried to believe that she was strong enough to reach
Trumpet; that she would be able to find the strength
somewhere, without the help of her black box.
As soon as the outer door irised, Nick strode onto
the concrete apron of the airlock. Without waiting for
anyone, he hurried out of sight around the corner of the
bunker.
Beyond the lock loomed the planetoid's black rock. A
powerful illumination came from behind the head of the
lift: the apron lay in shadow, but cold white streaked the
fractured surface where Nick had gone.
Again Mikka paused to slag the controls. No one
would follow her and her companions out this way.
Gripping the rifle as if it could keep her on her feet,
Morn went after Nick.
Almost at once she caught sight of Tranquil Hegemony.
The ship's docking lights defined her against the
impenetrable heavens; the cold white glare etched her
guns and antennae. The bulbous, inhuman shape which
the Amnion preferred made her look squat despite her
size. Past the metallic hatch of a shuttle port, her bulk
lowered like a thunderhead over the raw stone.
Now Morn could see that the white illumination came
from the arc lamps of the visitors' docks. Nick ran in that
direction, bounding over the rocks as fast as he could.
Because she knew him intimately — because she under-
stood that he was as treacherous as the surface - she
suddenly grasped why he was in such a hurry.
He wanted to reach Trumpet in time to take command
before Angus returned; in time to lock Angus out.
A new sting of fear swelled her heart. Nick had her
black box. She preferred Angus.
Could Davies hear her? If she called her son's name
into her pickup, would he be able to receive her voice?
Could she warn him?
She didn't try. Her throat locked, holding her silent,
when she saw Nick stop suddenly.
Planting his feet, he raised his arms to the dark. His
helmet tilted back.
'Do it!' he cried. Fury and desperation made him fran-
tic. 'You little bitch, I gave you an order! I want you to
do it!'
The dark didn't answer.
Mikka and Sib came up beside Morn; they drew her
with them toward the harsh light. For a moment or two,
however, she could hardly move her legs. The intensity
of Nick's cry closed around her chest like a clutch of
panic.
She was wrong about him.
Oh, God, what was he doing? What was he doing?
'I wish Liete didn't worship him, ' Mikka muttered bit-
terly. 'She should have better sense. '
'What did he tell her?' Sib gulped.
'You ask him, ' she retorted. 'I've got too many other
things to worry about. '
Without warning the light changed color. Morn saw
sulfur lick like yellow flames across the side of Mikka's
suit.
At the same time she felt the rock under her boots
rumbling.
'Nick!' Mikka yelled. 'Get down!'
Morn turned toward the new glow.
The hatch of the shuttle port was in motion; it ground
open like a window, spilling yellow illumination and a
froth of atmosphere frozen to ice in an instant.
Simultaneously Mikka and Sib called, 'Morn!' Mikka
caught her arm, dragged her flat on the serrated knuckles
of the rock.
A heartbeat later, the blast of thrusters shook the sur-
face like an explosion, and a shuttle shaped like a
g-stretched ball rode atmospheric ice out of the port. At
full burn the craft hurled herself upward.
Morn and her companions were too close. Thrust dis-
persion hit them so hard that it might have torn their
suits. Fortunately the vacuum leeched most of the force
away. She felt the pressure wave slam along the length
of her body and pass on.
All the status indicators inside her helmet showed a
reassuring green.
Through her teeth Mikka hissed, 'Now!' She sprang
upright. 'Let's go. '
Panting raggedly, Sib hauled himself to his feet.
Morn stayed where she was.
For some reason, she couldn't take her eyes off Tran-
quil Hegemony.
Right in front of her the ship's running lights came
on.
'Morn?' Sib choked out. 'Are you hurt? Do you need
help?'
'Oh, shit, ' Mikka moaned as she saw what Morn was
looking at.
Batteries of searchlights stabbed abruptly off the sides
of the warship. For a moment they wandered aimlessly;
then they pulled into focus and swept toward the airlock
bunker and the docks. Almost immediately they began
to quarter the surface.
They were looking for the people who'd attacked their
installation.
Morn saw the ship's guns swivel as they came to bear.
Tranquil Hegemony intended to blast her enemies off
the face of the rock.
LIETE
Controlling herself fiercely, Liete resisted the
impulse to demand premature reports from the
bridge crew. She could feel a pressure building
in her chest, an inchoate frenzy accumulating like the
force of a storm. G had simplified since Captain's Fancy
lost thrust. Nevertheless she had difficulty breathing.
Nick had been inside the Amnion sector too long. If he
stayed   there   much   longer, the   strain   of holding
her emotions down would rupture the lining of her
lungs.
At last her restraint failed. She couldn't wait out the
silence. Like a poised whip, she asked, 'Status?'
Lind looked over at her. His board was already putting
out all the garbage it could; he had little else to do but
listen. 'Tranquil Hegemony and Calm Horizons are talk-
ing to each other. Soar is in it, too. They've turned
up the gain so much they sound like they're yelling, but
we don't know the code. ' Lamely he added, 'I'm no
cryptographer. ' Then he finished, They're going to do
something, that's for sure. But I can't guess what. '
Liete nodded. She didn't care what answers she
received. All she wanted was the distraction of hearing
people speak.
'Malda?'
'I've got a twenty-five percent charge on the matter
cannon. ' The targ first sounded stretched too thin, near
her breaking-point. Her hair straggled past her eyes, but
she didn't have the energy to tie it back. We can fire one
gun hard, or let all of them dribble. '
'Pastille?'
Pastille snapped his fingers as if he resented the inter-
ruption. 'Maneuvering thrust, that's it. I can take us back
to dock like this, but we can't burn. '
'Good enough, ' Liete asserted. The point is, it's more
than they think we can do. Keep at it. The longer they
wait, the more we'll be able to surprise them. '
Abruptly Malda swung her g-seat to face Liete.
'Liete, we can hit Soar right now. She's our target, isn't
she? If we fire at this range, we can blow her guts out.
Why don't we do it now and get it over with?'
Liete started to say, Because I'm hoping we can find a
way to do this and stay alive.
She started to think, Because Nick went into the
Amnion installation in an EVA suit, and he hasn't come
back yet.
But Carmel interrupted her.
'Liete!' Rigid in her g-seat, the scan first stared at her
readouts while her fingers ran commands which focused
instruments and sifted their data. We've got people
coming out of the Amnion sector. One, two -I see four
of them. They look like the same four who went in.
'I can't be sure, ' she muttered apologetically. 'Our
scan isn't that precise. But their suits reflect the same
way. '
Where are they headed?' Liete fought down her
urgency, struggled to keep her voice calm. What about
the three who went to the dish?'
At the same time Pastille demanded, What in hell did
he go there for? I thought he wanted Morn back. He's
been sick ever since his gonads got a taste of her. '
Liete was instantly furious at him for asking the ques-
tion she most wanted answered herself. But Carmel
didn't let the helm third deflect her.
'Back toward Trumpet,' she reported. 'One of
them's ahead of the others, moving faster. The other
three are staying together, but they're going in the same
direction.
The three from the dish are back at their ship. Just
standing there. I assume they're waiting to cover the
others. '
Four people entered the domain of the Amnion: four
came out. Had they failed to get what they went in for?
Or had someone been lost?
Had Nick been lost?
Deserts and doom filled Liete. She refused to believe
that Nick had been lost.
As if she were prescient, she asked Malda, 'Have you
got targ on Tranquil Hegemony?'
Malda nodded just as Carmel announced sharply, 'The
Amnion are opening their shuttle port!'
At once Liete sat forward, began pulling data from
scan, helm, and targ to her board; getting herself ready.
'Now what's going on?' Pastille growled. 'Are they
abandoning the installation? Did Nick do them that
much damage?'
Fortunately he didn't appear to expect an answer.
'You want targ on that?' Malda asked. 'If we hit it now,
we can cripple the port. Or we can get the shuttle when
she blows dock. '
'No, ' Liete ordered. 'Leave her alone. She's not our
target.
'Tower up faster. Pastille, do the same. Now, while
Calm Horizons and Soar have something else to think
about. '
'Port open, ' Carmel reported. 'Here she comes. ' An
instant later the scan first barked, 'Jesus, she's in a hurry!
That's a full burn launch. ' Almost immediately, however,
she reverted to stolidity. 'She's coming right at us. If she
doesn't correct, we're going to collide. '
A heartbeat later, Carmel added, 'She's correcting
now. ' Liete saw the figures on her own readouts. 'She
doesn't want us - she's heading for Soar. Or Calm Hori-
zons. But she won't miss by much. They must really
believe we're paralyzed.
They can't abandon the installation that way, ' she con-
tinued steadily. 'She isn't big enough. I estimate she only
carries ten of them.'
Liete called for status again.
Matter cannon charge had reached forty percent.
Thrust was up to thirty-five.
'Message from Calm Horizons!' Lind gulped.
'New orders. Complete shutdown - everything, even
maintenance. They want us to stop putting out all
this noise. '
Too much, it was too much, Liete couldn't think about
so many conflicting priorities. The wind in her head had
become a swirling buffet, full of confusion -
'Oh, shit, ' Carmel breathed. ''Tranquil Hegemony just
put on her running lights. She's powering up. '
Liete could hardly breathe; pressure seemed to pull all
the air out of her lungs.
Where was Nick? Where was Nick?
One thing at a time, she told herself. Just one. You
can do it if you take one thing at a time.
'Is she undocking?' she demanded. 'Are they using her
to abandon the installation?'
'No, ' Carmel responded quickly. That's not thrust
emission, that's matter cannon. ' In shock she pulled away
from her board, faced Liete across the bridge. 'She's
charging her guns. And she's using searchlights. She's
going to blast those people down there. She's going to
blast Trumpet. '
Just for a second, Liete's courage failed.
Blast.
Those people.
And Trumpet.
Nick was a dead man -
Her whole body flinched as if a stun-prod had been
fired into her chest.
- unless she found a way to save him.
In that instant the long black wind swept all her fears
and conflicts out of her.
Steadily she asked the scan first, 'How long before she's
ready to fire?'
'How should I know?' Carmel gritted. 'I'm no expert
on Amnion warships. ' Then the passion in Liete's eyes
stopped her. Abashed, she murmured, 'A minute? Two
at most?'
Liete nodded. 'How long before that shuttle passes
us?'
'At that acceleration?' Carmel consulted her board. 'A
minute and a half. But she won't keep burning - she'll
cut thrust any second now. Otherwise she won't be able
to brake in time for Soar. Maybe not even in time for
Calm Horizons'
Liete couldn't wait that long. Calm Horizons was trying
to shut Captain's Fancy down: Liete's subterfuge was
about to be discovered. And her target was Soar. Nick
had ordered her to kill that ship. At any cost. No matter
what else happened. Somehow he'd maneuvered Sorus
Chatelaine into this position, so that she and her
ship would be vulnerable. If Liete didn't attack now,
Soar or Calm Horizons would realize they'd been
duped; they would understand their danger and open
fire.
But Tranquil Hegemony was charging her guns to
smash seven people and their ship off the face of Thanatos
Minor.
And one of them was Nick. He was out there, exposed
like a dummy in a practice range. He couldn't survive
against those guns — couldn't survive without Trumpet —
Liete Corregio considered his life more important than
his orders.
'Pastille. ' Her voice was only a whisper, but it carried
like a cry. 'I want braking thrust. Stop us - head us back
the way we came. '
'What the hell for?' he objected. 'I thought you said
we're after Soar. '
To silence him, she explained, 'I want us closer to that
shuttle. We'll use her for cover. '
Pastille glared back at Liete, then turned to his console.
Swallowing protests, he went to work.
At once braking g slammed Liete against her belt as
Captain's Fancy's thrusters roared.
She shrugged off the stress. 'Malda, targ on Tranquil
Hegemony. Aim for her guns — hit her with everything
you've got. On my order. '
Malda's hands shook. Fighting to control them, she
pounded her keys vehemently, as if she were furious.
'Carmel, how far away is that shuttle?'
The scan first understood combat: when it came, she
had no hesitation in her. 'She's cut thrust - she's coasting.
Alongside in thirty seconds or so. Depending on Pastille. '
Thirty seconds. Liete snapped a look at her chron-
ometer. Calm Horizons didn't have a clear field - Soar was
in the way - but Soar could fire at any time. If Sorus
Chatelaine feared hitting the shuttle, she might hold
off.
On the other hand, if she thought Captain's Fancy was
about to ram the shuttle, she would certainly attack.
At this range and speed, evasive maneuvers would be
useless.
And Carmel wouldn't be able to give any warning.
Liete would know that Soar had fired when Captain's
Fancy took the hit, not before.
Carmel and Lind had been with Nick for a long time:
in their separate ways, they had come to terms with death
and desperation. And Malda loved Nick with her own
private urgency. Liete could rely on them all. Only Pas-
tille would fail her.
When he realized what she meant to do, he would try
to stop her.
The black wind blew like a song through her heart.
Everything that held her back was gone: she was alive
with scorched fidelity and doom. As if she were inspired
by music, she began dummying helm function to her
board; secretly routing control of Captain's Fancy away
from Pastille.
So that she could save Nick.
MORN
Morn watched helplessly as Tranquil Hegemony's
guns came into line as if they'd already found
her; as if she were as distinct as a beacon
against Thanatos Minor's dark stone. Matter cannon at,
this range - She told herself that if she'd had the strength
she would have climbed to her feet and fled; she wouldn't
have given up; while she could still draw breath and
move her legs she would have done her best to survive.
Nevertheless she knew it wasn't weakness which held her
down.
It was futility.
From her dedicated berth, Tranquil Hegemony could
destroy everything between her and the planetoid's hori-
zons. One barrage would reduce the docks to rubble: it
would be more than enough to wipe out four people in
EVA suits and a single gap scout.
'Run!' Mikka shouted as if she were raging.
Sib didn't move. Like Morn, he seemed to have come
to the end of his strength; his will. 'We can't outrun that, '
he said softly.
'They're starting cold!' Mikka yelled. They need a
minute to bring up power, maybe two!' She grabbed at
his arm, at Morn's, tried to heave them into motion.
'Come on!'
'Mikka. ' Sib sounded calm, almost resigned. He'd
worn out his fear. Two minutes or twenty, it doesn't
make any difference. We can't outrun those guns. Even
if we reach the ship - even if we get aboard. One hit will
crumple her like an empty canister. '
He looked back toward the lift bunker, then returned
his gaze to the warship. 'I wish Angus was here. I would
like to hear him tell us why he thought this was ever
going to work. '
'I don't care!' Mikka cried. 'You can't just stand here
and watch yourself die! You've got to at least run!
'I promised Pup I was coming back!'
Wheeling away, she sprinted over the stones in the
direction of the docks and Trumpet.
Nick went on peering upward as if he thought he
should be able to see his ship somewhere.
  'Morn, are you there?'
The voice in her helmet sounded like Angus'. But it
couldn't be; he was gone; and anyway it was too young
for Angus, too scared.
'I heard Nick. I heard Mikka and Sib. Are you with
them? Where are you?
'Morn, where are you?'
Davies.
He was nearby - within reach of her suit's receiver.
Angus had told her the truth.
She'd believed that she would never see her son again.
Now he was about to be killed. Like Sib and Mikka and
Nick, like Morn herself, he would be hammered to pulp
among the rocks. Then the rocks would melt in the after-
heat of the blast, and the pulp would burn down to ash
and cinders until it fused with the stone.
'Jets, ' she panted. 'The jets. ' Her hands and legs came
under her as if they were in someone else's control; she
tottered upright. 'They're faster. It's worth a try. '
Slapping at her chestplate, she activated the jet harness.
The first burst of compressed gas lifted her in a long
bound past Sib. One careful cock of her hips; another
burst: restrained only by g, she vaulted to Mikka's
side just as Mikka activated her own jets and sprang
ahead.
But Sib wasn't coming.
'Wait, ' he muttered distantly. 'I don't know how to use
these things. I can't handle them. '
Morn turned to help him -
Davies, I'm sorry!
- turned in time to see a piece of the void catch fire.
It was too sudden to be understood: the synapses of
her brain couldn't keep up with it. Nevertheless training
and experience identified what was happening as she wit-
nessed it.
Two separate cannon blazed almost simultaneously —
guns from different ships. The first burned toward the
source of the second: it hit, spewing coruscation like a
solar flare; emissions on every conceivable wavelength. If
Thanatos Minor had possessed an atmosphere, the con-
cussion might have deafened her.
At nearly the same instant the second cannon drove
a lance of light-constant destruction down on Tranquil
Hegemony.
That blast reached Morn: it rolled through the rock,
staggering her. A noiseless visceral shriek poured off
Tranquil Hegemony's sides as if the ship were dying; as if
she were being scorched alive.
The heavens went immediately black; the void
engulfed the embattled ships. But Tranquil Hegemony
remained visible in the glare of the arc lamps and the
glow of her own running lights.
The first shot must have affected the targ of the second
by some small fraction of a degree. Tranquil Hegemony
hadn't suffered a direct hit. One bulging section of her
side had been torn open: the shriek was the tangible
tremor of escaping atmosphere commingled with warn-
ing sirens, battle klaxons, and the automatic yowl of
interior seals. She was hurt; badly hurt.
Yet Morn knew at a glance that the warship hadn't
been crippled. She may still have been space-worthy: she
was certainly capable of firing her guns.
After faltering for a few seconds, her searchlights
stopped quartering the surface and swept away to focus
like targeting lasers on Trumpet.
Without warning Nick began to howl:
'You bitch!'
'Morn!' Davies' voice rang in her ears. 'Are you there?'
'Yes. ' She could hardly force herself to speak; her voice
scraped from her throat like a wounded thing. We're
coming. '
'That must have been Liete, ' Mikka gasped. 'Goddamn
it, how could she miss? Even Simper can run targ better
than that. Malda could do it in her sleep!'
'Captain's Fancy was hit, ' Sib breathed thinly. 'I saw it.
That must be what went wrong. '
'Take cover. ' Morn did her best to make Davies hear
her. 'I don't know where. Not on Trumpet. They're going
to pulverize her as soon as damage control seals that hole
and re-routes their systems. Try one of the empty berths.
Maybe you can find an access hatch and get inside. '
'Morn, there's no point. ' She recognized Vector easily.
'It'll be like trying to take cover on a battlefield. Oper-
ations was ready to kill us before all this started. Now
they've lost communications. They're desperate in there.
They'll ash anything that moves first, and wonder what
it was later. '
In spite of what he'd just said, she could tell that he
was smiling as he added, 'Still, it's nice to hear your
voice. '
Nick had stopped howling, but he didn't move. Rigid
with fury or despair, he faced the dark heavens and
remained motionless, gripping his fists at his sides.
'Come on, ' Mikka breathed into her pickup. 'Even if
I'm as good as dead, I want to keep my promises. '
In a gust of compressed gas, she headed toward the
docks and Trumpet.
Morn made no effort to get Nick's attention. Let him
stand there until his ship turned cold and came apart.
There was nothing she could do for him - and she
wouldn't have done it if there had been. He still had her
zone implant control.
Instead she went to help Sib manage his jets.
She didn't need to hurry now: she knew that. She
would die when Tranquil Hegemony was ready to kill her.
Nothing could change that. Nevertheless she wanted to
get as far as possible from the warship and everything
Amnion; she wanted to stand beside her son, and the
few people who had taken pity on her, when she died.
Mikka had already reached the concrete by the time
Morn got Sib moving. Riding their jets, she and the data
first left Nick behind. As if they were alone on the rock
- as if they were ghosts with nothing left to trouble them
- they let the hiss of compressed gas carry them toward
Trumpet. Sib had dropped his handgun; after a moment
Morn realized that she'd lost her rifle somewhere. But
they didn't need weapons anymore. Like Mikka ahead of
them, they took no notice of the possibility that the Bill
or even the Amnion might send guards out after them.
That danger had ceased to have any meaning.
Once she paused to look back at Nick. Small and
slumped against the looming bulk of Tranquil Hegemony,
he'd broken out of his rictus and was moving slowly away
from the warship. Maybe he, too, had decided he didn't
want to be alone when he died.
After she and Sib gained the concrete, they were able
to travel more quickly. As his handling of his jets
improved, he began to skim forward as if he were skip-
ping. With a shrug and a ghost's smile, she scudded
beside him. When she died, she would be free, at last and
forever.
No doubt Tranquil Hegemony was holding fire until
the Amnion could be sure they would hit all their targets
with one blast. Skimming and prancing like lunatic chil-
dren, Morn and Sib crossed the arc-lit docks until they
were close enough to see Mikka and three other people
illuminated by searchlights in front of a Needle-class gap
scout which must have been Trumpet.
She deactivated her jets and slowed to a walk. A step
or two later, Sib did the same.
'Morn?' Davies asked. He sounded plaintive; scarcely
able to believe that she was there. 'Morn?'
She didn't know which of the four he was: she was
still too far away to recognize individuals through the
polarization of their faceplates. She raised a hand to iden-
tify herself. When he also raised his hand, she smiled
quietly, even though he couldn't see it.
'Why don't they get it over with?' Pup muttered
tightly. 'What are they waiting for?'
No one answered him.
As if she were at peace, Morn turned to watch Tranquil
Hegemony kill them all.
From a distance of at least three k, the warship looked
smaller; less fatal. Morn could no longer distinguish the
gunports: she could barely see the guns themselves. If
her faceplate hadn't protected her from the stabbing
intensity of the searchlights, she wouldn't have been able
to see the ship at all. Nevertheless the range was trivial
for matter cannon. Even badly designed guns wouldn't
suffer enough dispersion to weaken their impact for sev-
eral thousand k - and nothing the Amnion made was
badly designed.
At least a thousand meters away across the concrete,
Nick also had turned to watch. Some intuition must have
warned him to look back at the charged shape of the
warship.
Like Morn, he must have seen the flame of thrust like
a torch in the void.
At once he began to howl again as if his heart were
being torn out.
Suddenly the searchlights cut off. For an instant the
changed illumination confused Morn's vision. Through
the residual incandescence, she thought she saw Tranquil
Hegemony's guns wheel in their ports, fighting to re-
orient themselves.
The torch overhead grew longer, plunging like a
comet.
Mis-aimed and useless, lasers from the warship's sides
emblazoned the heavens. She'd been taken too much by
surprise. And she was already hurt. She couldn't defend
herself.
At the last second Mikka cried frantically, 'Liete!'
Thrust flaming, Captain's Fancy came down like a
scream out of the deep dark. Lasers caught up with her
before she hit, but they were too late. Truer than her
own targ, she sledgehammered straight into the center
of the damaged warship.
Without transition both vessels were transformed from
poised, rigid metal to pure fire and brisance.
Morn lost sight of the cataclysm momentarily: she was
falling and couldn't look. The uncontained detonation of
Captain's Fancy's drive and Tranquil Hegemony's weapons
sent a shock-wave through the rock and the concrete
as if they were water. Stone shattered; concrete cracked
and buckled like ice; the surface under Morn bucked
so hard that she stumbled to her knees. Arc lamps
fizzled and spat; some of them died. Steam plumed
from wounds like volcanic vents in Billingate's structural
integrity.
By the time she lurched back to her feet, Captain's
Fancy and Tranquil Hegemony had collapsed into each
other. Visual echoes of flame streaked the dark, but the
fire itself died rapidly as its energy and the vacuum
devoured the last of the spilled oxygen.
Nick was closer to the point of impact: the shock-wave
had knocked him flat on his back. Except for the palpable
grinding of concrete as it settled into new shapes, there
was no sound anywhere but the prolonged outcry of his
anguish.
Then Mikka sighed, 'Oh, Liete.' Tears filled her voice;
but Morn couldn't tell whether they were tears of relief
or loss.
 'Come on,' Sib murmured. He plucked at Morn's arm,
touched Mikka's shoulder. 'Let's go aboard. We still have
to get out of here somehow.'
Finally Nick's protest choked away into silence.
Instead of moving toward the ship, Mikka went to her
brother and wrapped her arms around him fiercely.
'Sib's right.' Vector spoke in tense bursts, as if he had
difficulty breathing. 'Calm Horizons is still out there.
So is Soar. And the Bill - probably isn't feeling very
charitable. They won't want to let us get away with
this.'
Left-over flame seemed to echo in Morn's head. She
feared that if she tried to move she would lose her balance
again. Captain's Fancy was gone: nothing remained of
the place where she'd abandoned herself to Nick, per-
fected her zone implant addiction and fought for her
son's life except twisted metal and ruin. Liete Corregio,
Pastille, Simper, Alba Parmute, Carmel, Karster, Lind -
the dead were too many to be numbered. At last she
understood that it was all too expensive. This terrible
expenditure of lives and pain had to stop.
'She's Angus' ship,' she breathed like a memory of fire.
'But he put Mikka in command, ' Sib said as if that
changed everything.
Mikka, Morn thought, not Nick. Angus hadn't given
her away again. He was still himself enough to distrust
Nick.
When she turned, she found Davies beside her.
'Where is he?' her son asked. 'Is he coming back?'
'I don't know. ' If she could have forgotten the blaze
and concussion of impact, she might have wept. 'He
broke into my cell. ' He gave me a weapon, but I lost it.
Then he went somewhere. '
'He's going to rejoin us if he can. ' Mikka's tone was
harsh; as guttural as a groan. Scourging herself into
motion, she let go of Pup and faced Morn. 'He set a
time-limit. If he isn't back by then, we're supposed to
leave without him.
'Come on. ' She gestured stiffly toward Trumpet. 'Let's
see if we can keep his ship in one piece until his time
runs out. '
Through his faceplate, Morn saw Davies nod grimly.
With her vision distorted by polarization, she couldn't
tell the difference between him and his father.
Pulling Pup after him, Vector went first. His suit didn't
disguise the arthritic stiffness of his movements; his joints
must have hurt acutely as he climbed the handgrips up
Trumpet's side. When he rounded the curve, Sib and then
Mikka followed; Morn and Davies brought up the rear.
From the elevation of the airlock, Morn looked across
the docks to see what Nick was doing.
He'd regained his feet; turned his back on the charred
wreck of his ship. Alone and awkward across the riven
concrete, he picked his way toward Trumpet. Every step
was slow - even from this distance, he appeared to be
in pain - but he came steadily, carrying his loss like a
pallbearer.
Distinctly Davies said, 'This is our chance to get rid of
him. We can seal him out. Let the Bill have him - if he
can find his way inside. '
Seal him out —
A pain of her own twisted around Morn's heart. Like
Angus, Nick had done things to her which she would
never forgive. And he had her black box.
Coming to help her had been Angus' idea, not Nick's.
Get rid of him -
Her desire to close the lock against him was so intense
that she nearly moaned.
Yes! Let him die outside and be damned!
But it was too expensive. She'd seen that with her own
eyes, felt it with her own heart's pain. The Amnion had
tried their mutagens on her. Like treachery and lies,
-revenge cost too much; grudges and hate cost too much.
Nick and Angus had taught her that.
She didn't hesitate.
'No, ' she told her son. 'You're a cop. From now on,
I'm going to be a cop myself. ' Not the kind of cop War-
den Dios and Hashi Lebwohl were: the kind her father
and mother had been. We don't do things like that. '
'Are you sure?' Mikka demanded from the lock. 'We're
better off without him. We're safer—he's made too many
enemies. And he hates Angus too much. '
'I'm sure, ' Vector put in softly. 'Morn's right. The
rest of us aren't cops, but we have enough other prob-
lems without doing things that will make us sick of our-
selves. '
'Besides, ' Sib observed, 'he still has his guns. If he tries
to blast his way in, we might not survive the damage. '
Morn took Mikka's silence as assent. She gave Davies
a quick hug, then lowered herself down the ladder into
the ship.
Davies rather than Mikka keyed commands into the
control panel, shutting the airlock so that it would reopen
for Nick. He gave the impression that he was already
acquainted with Trumpet. Morn wondered how long
he'd been with Angus; how long ago Angus had rescued
him. But she didn't ask. For the moment, at least, all her
questions had been burned out of her.
And she was overtaken by a strange sense of recog-
nition, an unaccountable impression of safety. From the
airlock and the lift down to the central passage and along
it to the EVA suit compartment and the weapons locker,
she knew this ship. Details were different, of course, if
for no other reason than because Trumpet was new; but
she'd done some of her training in Needle-class gap
scouts. For the first time since Starmaster's death, she
found herself in a place where she felt she belonged.
Davies must have had the same reaction -
After her long hours in an Amnion cell and her hazard-
ous escape, Trumpet's poignant familiarity nearly over-
whelmed her. She had to remind herself forcibly that this
was Angus' ship, Angus Thermopyle's; that when she
entered Trumpet she was re-entering the domain of the
man who had raped and debased her to the core of her
being.
If she could have believed that she or any of the people
with her - even Nick - were capable of taking Trumpet
away from Billingate intact, she would prayed for Angus
to fail his deadline; beseeched the uncaring stars to grant
her that one last mercy.
Mikka was in command; but Davies stowed his suit
and weapons first. Once he unsealed his helmet, Morn
saw his face clearly for the first time since the day he was
born.
Her heart seemed to stop when she saw that he'd been
beaten up.
The damage was recent. Blood still crusted his fore-
head; bruises which hadn't had time to turn livid swelled
his cheeks, puffed around his eyes.
The Bill had done that to him. Or it'd happened in the
struggle to escape.
Or he and Angus had fought over her; over the things
Angus had done to her.
An inarticulate protest died in her throat as she studied
her son.
 Apart from his battered face, he didn't appear hurt. He
was noticeably thinner than Angus: in fact, he was thin-
ner than he'd been when Captain's Fancy had left
Enablement. And his skin looked hot, as if he were burn-
ing up inside; tension poured off him like heat. Neverthe-
less he was physically intact.
His eyes hid whatever he was feeling. He glanced at
Morn quickly, but didn't meet her gaze. He may have
been angry at her for refusing to doom Nick. Or he may
have been ashamed of himself for wanting to lock Nick
out.
Or he may have begun to recover the pieces of her
past-
The thought that he might be able to remember how
she'd abandoned herself to Nick made her own skin burn.
Yet that chagrin was small compared to other, more pro-
found shames. He might recall how Angus had raped
and brutalized her - or the way she'd saved his life -
Or how she'd killed Starmaster -
As he wheeled away and hurried toward the bridge,
he seemed to take the last of her strength with him.
Without warning her legs became so weak that she nearly
folded to the deck.
She'd been terrified that how he was born and what
he knew about her might drive him insane; that only the
strange blockage of his memories kept his mind in one
piece. Yet he was whole now, whatever he remembered.
Angus had given that to him — or done it to him.
His mind was no longer hers. He'd begun to inherit
the legacy of his father.
And he'd had to fight for it.
Suddenly she wanted Angus to come back so that she
could force or beg him to tell her what he'd done to her
son.
She stood in the passage without moving, too beaten
and exhausted to remove more than her helmet.
Fortunately Vector seemed to understand her con-
dition. As soon as he'd put away his suit and projectile
launcher, he knelt in front of her despite the pain in his
joints to unseal her suit, unstrap the harness from her
hips, rug the tough fabric off over her boots.
Mikka had already finished storing her gear. She scruti-
nized Morn for a moment, then turned to her brother.
Her old scowl was etched into her features, but fatigue
and concern had worn off every other expression. 'Ciro,
find the galley, ' she told him. 'A ship like this, the food-
vend probably works by magic. Make coffee, cocoa, hype
- anything hot. And sandwiches. Bring them to the
bridge. '
Ciro? Morn thought wearily. She'd never heard Pup's
real name. Like Davies', his face had changed since she'd
last seen it: danger and fear had aged him by several
years. For the first time, his resemblance to his sister was
obvious.
He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it when
Mikka pushed his shoulder gently. 'Right away would
be good, ' she murmured, unconsciously copying Nick.
'Right now would be better. '
Ciro ducked his head and went to obey.
With Sib behind her, Mikka followed Davies toward
the bridge.
Vector smiled wanly at Morn. Pain or exertion left a
sheen on his round face. When they were alone, he said,
'I owe you an apology. '
She blinked at him dumbly. Her brain was full of
Davies and weakness: she had no idea what he was talk-
ing about.
He levered himself up from his knees. Old hurts ham-
pered his gaze as well as his joints. 'If it weren't covered
by so much other damage, ' he explained quietly, 'you
would have a bruise where I hit you. '
As careful as velvet, he stroked the ridge of her cheek-
bone with his fingertips.
Instinctively she flinched away. He was male, like Nick;
like Angus. His touch and his gentleness seemed to
impact her like a blow.
He smiled again as he lowered his hand. In a tone like
a shrug, he said, 'I like to think I would regret that in
any case. But as it happens I have more reason than you
may realize. You forced me to look at the implications of
my life, and I didn't like what I saw. If I were wiser - or
perhaps simply braver - I would have hit myself, not
you.
'I don't understand any of this. How it comes about
that a man like Angus Thermopyle is here to rescue you
from Nick and the Amnion - well, it's beyond me. But
it's given me a chance to see things differently. That's my
other reason for regret. In retrospect, it seems' - his smile
broadened slightly - 'downright callow of me to have hit
the woman who changed my life. '
What he was saying must have been important, if he
made such a point of it; but its significance eluded her.
Once she realized that he didn't mean to hurt her, she
could no longer focus on him. In her thoughts she'd
already joined Davies. On the bridge of a ship she knew
- a UMCP ship, whether Angus had any dealings with
the police or not. Only her weakness held her back; only
the immeasurable cost of her hours in an Amnion
cell.
She needed her zone implant control. Without it she
had too little substance, too few resources, to change
anyone's life, even her own.
'I'm sorry, ' she began. 'I need-' Unable to say the
words, she stopped.
Apparently he had his own ideas about what she
needed. He nodded as if he were amused by his personal
follies. 'So do I. '
Then he took her arm and helped her into motion.
As frail as a derelict, she shuffled through the ship.
When she reached the head of the companionway, she
heard voices below her.
'If anyone tried to break in, the computer didn't record
it, ' Davies reported, presumably to Mikka. 'I checked the
communications log. There's a whole series of threats,
some from the Bill, some from Operations. They get
more hysterical as they go along, but they aren't very
specific. Then they stop. The channel goes dead. No more
demands, no more threats — and no more operational
data. Nothing but static. Calm Horizons could be right
on top of us - there could be half a dozen ships coming
in on Billingate - and we wouldn't know it. ' He gave a
sardonic snort which reminded Morn of Angus. 'On the
other hand, we're still getting installation power. '
'Ship's status?' Mikka asked brusquely.
'Up and running, ' Davies said. 'All systems green. I
went through the checklists. We're ready. '
'Then give me scan, ' she ordered. 'Let's find out who's
in range-to hurt us. '
Morn pulled away from Vector. Bracing her arms on
the rails and locking her knees, she lowered herself down
the treads. She wanted her son to believe in her. If he
saw how weak she was, he might not trust her.
He sat at the command station. His hands on the con-
sole were accurate, but cautious; not particularly adept.
Morn's memories and his time with Angus familiarized
him with the ship, but they couldn't take the place of
experience. He was probably competent to run Trumpet
under normal circumstances: the present danger required
someone with more expertise.
Mikka was the best choice Angus could have made,
even though she knew less about Trumpet than Davies
did.
She and Sib stood on either side of the command
station, watching for data as Davies activated scan and
fed the results to the display screens. In moments blips
appeared on a schematic of Billingate's control space.
Davies typed a few guesses based on the ship's last oper-
ational input. The blips took on ship id.
'That's all we can see, ' he muttered. Thanatos Minor
blocks us from the shipyard. We're blind past the
horizons. '
Holding her breath, Morn moved to the back of his
g-seat. If she braced herself there, she could stay on her
feet and study the screens.
Five blips. Two of them were off in the direction of
human space, one in-coming, the other heading out.
Trumpet had picked up their demands for traffic data and
navigational protocols had obtained ship id from those
transmissions. The in-coming vessel called herself Gam-
bler's Luck. Unless she slowed her approach, she would be
in range to have an effect on the action around Thanatos
Minor in twenty minutes. The out-going ship, Free
Lunch, was burning hard, obviously on the run from
trouble.
The other three blips Davies had identified by guess:
their transmissions, if any, were all tight-beamed. Never-
theless Morn was sure he'd named them correctly.
Soar. Calm Horizons. And the Amnion shuttle.
'It looks, ' Davies pronounced, 'like Soar is moving to
pick up the shuttle. Its course is erratic, and there's a
sputter in its emission signature: I'm assuming it was Soar
that fired first. The shuttle must have been right beside
Captain's Fancy. It got caught in the discontinuities. I
think it's out of control. But Soar won't have any trouble
catching it. '
His father's voice and Morn's training made him sound
certain.
'Calm Horizons is coming this way, ' he went on. 'Prob-
ably wants to improve her field of fire. '
Will she attack while we're still docked?' Sib asked
tensely. The calm or resignation he'd felt earlier was gone.
'She can't hit us without damaging Billingate. '
'If I were the Amnion, ' Davies rasped, 'I wouldn't
worry about that right now. They've lost Tranquil Hege-
mony - in fact, they've lost most of their installation. And
they know Nick works for the cops. ' Complex vibrations
sharpened his tone, like whetted knives. Morn heard
anger, revulsion - and a strange note of pride. They
know about his immunity drug. '
As he said that, a small sun of fear and shame went
nova in her heart. They know — Of course they knew.
Nick had told her that. But how did Davies know?
They're bound to assume, ' he continued, 'that's why
their mutagens didn't work on Morn. So they have to
believe he set them up. He and Angus must be working
together — he gave them Morn to bait some kind of
UMCP trap.
'Stopping this ship probably takes precedence over
everything else. '
Morn's knees failed: she sagged against his seat. 'You
remember. ' If she'd ever needed her zone implant control,
she needed it now. 'Your memory came back. ' How else
could she face the things her son knew about her? 'You
remember Nick telling me about the drug. '
No wonder he wanted to lock Nick out of the ship.
He remembered the things she'd done with him; the lies
and desperation; the sex -
'Yes. ' He spoke over his shoulder without facing her.
'I remember it all. ' He sounded far away, too far to be
reached; doomed by knowledge. 'It started coming back
as soon as I saw Angus. '
He remembered the people she'd killed.
He remembered what Angus had done to her.
Did he want Angus' death as much as he wanted
Nick's? Or was all his remaining rage and revulsion fixed
on her? Had he given his loyalty to his father because
he couldn't bear the memories he'd inherited from his
mother?
Anger and revulsion made perfect sense to her; but
what had he found in her experience - or his own - to
be proud of?
If she lost him - or he lost her - he would have nothing
left except Angus.
Vector had moved to stand behind her. Although he
didn't touch her, he seemed to lean toward her as if he
wanted to shore her up somehow.
'Speaking of Angus, ' he put in quietly, 'how much time
does he have left?'
'He told me an hour. ' Mikka's tone was abstract: most
of her attention was on the screens. 'I checked my suit
chronometer when he said it. He's got' - she glanced at
the command console readouts - 'eighteen minutes. '
Davies swore under his breath. That gives Calm Hori-
zons time to position herself right over us. We won't have
any kind of escape trajectory to get out of range. '
'Then we'd better go now, ' Nick drawled mordantly.
Sib and Mikka whirled; Davies twisted his head toward
the companionway. Supporting herself on the command
seat and Vector's shoulder, Morn turned as Nick started
down the steps with Pup in front of him like a shield.
Pup moved as if he had cramps in his arms. His eyes
seemed to roll, showing flashes of white; his young fea-
tures were stretched taut.
His hands were empty. Apparently Nick had interrup-
ted him before he finished in the galley.
Nick had taken the time to remove his EVA suit. He
was grinning sharply, but a spasm in his cheek clenched
one side of his grin into a snarl. Blood filled his scars:
they looked black and vengeful. Above them his eyes
glared wildly, as if he were cornered.
—He descended the companionway without haste.
Keeping himself behind Pup, he reached the deck.
'We can't afford to wait, ' he announced like a splash
of acid. 'Davies, this is your chance to convince me you're
worth keeping alive. Disengage from dock. Give me a
normal departure lift-off. Get thrust ready to burn. Put
the gap drive on standby. '
Davies lips pulled back from his teeth. Deliberately he
took his hands off the command board and gripped the
sides of the console.
'Do it now, ' Nick warned. 'You're fucking dispensable,
you know that?'
'Nick. ' Mikka took a step forward, cocked her hips
belligerently. 'I'm in command here. We're not taking
your orders any more. None of us are. '
There was something wrong about the way Pup stood.
His posture was too rigid; the line of his spine was too
acute. Morn opened her mouth to caution Mikka, but
her throat locked down on the words, keeping her silent.
Nick waggled his eyebrows grotesquely at his former
second. 'I'll give you one chance. Tell him' - he jerked a
nod at Davies - 'to do what I just said. Make him obey.
Then I'll let you be in command.
'Otherwise-'
He lifted his left hand from behind Pup's back.
He was holding Morn's black box.
'I've got my fingers on enough buttons, ' he said cheer-
fully, 'to fry her brain.
'You hear me, you little shit?' he flared at Davies.
Then he relaxed. 'One squeeze, and she's a null-wave
transmitter. Which would just about count as justice,
don't you think?
'Let's start over again. ' He spat each syllable precisely.
'Dis-en-gage from dock. Give me -'
Mikka flung herself at him with all her strength.
Pup's whole body flinched in panic. Morn tried to cry
out, but she couldn't unclose her throat.
Quick as a snake, Nick snatched his right hand into
sight and jammed his handgun at Pup's ear.
Mikka stopped as if she'd slammed into a wall.
'That's better. ' Nick grinned and snarled. 'Now we're
getting somewhere. '
He ground the muzzle of his gun into Pup's ear until
Mikka retreated past the command station. Then he
released the pressure. Gasping through his teeth, Pup
stumbled away. At once Nick caught him by the back of
his shipsuit, swung him to the side, and pulled him into
the command second's g-seat.
Pup braced himself there with his hands on the pad-
ding down inside the arms; but Nick didn't give him a
chance to jump free. Pivoting the second's station, he put
Pup and the console between himself and the others.
Shielded again, he rested his forearms on the back of
the g-seat, his handgun propped against Pup's head,
Morn's zone implant control poised.
'Are you listening now?' he inquired comfortably. 'Are
you paying attention? I can kill you all from here if you
so much as twitch. And dear old Captain Thermo-pile
can't sneak up behind me. ' He nodded to show that he
had a clear view of the companionway. 'In any case, he
won't get the chance. We're leaving.
'Davies Hyland, you slimy little asshole' - he faced
Davies squarely - 'you'd better start following orders.
Morn goes first if you don't. For the last time' - without
warning he broke into a shout like a scream - 'disengage
from dock!'
'No. ' Morn was astonished that she could speak. She
was too weak to remain locked, however. And Davies
needed her. All these people needed her. Nick was her
problem.
'I don't care what happens to me. I'm useless anyway,
without-' She flicked a gesture at his left hand. If she
could have moved toward him, she would have done so;
but she was too exhausted to let go of Vector and the
g-seat.
She'd driven Nick to this. With her lies as well as her
convictions — with her false sexual abandon and her
honest commitment to her son - she'd cost him his invin-
cibility, his belief in himself. That also was expensive.
Now she had to deal with the consequences.
'Go ahead and fry me, if that's what you want. Kill us
all - try to get away on your own. Or wake up and face
the truth. You're finished.
'The stories are over. Nick Succorso the famous swash-
buckling hero doesn't exist anymore. You've lost your
ship - you've lost everything. Isn't that true, Nick?
'Isn't it?'
Pup squirmed as if something in the g-seat had poked
him.
Nick responded by slapping the side of Pup's head
with the handgun. The boy slumped, so pale that he
might have been about to faint.
However, Nick had reacted without really noticing
Mikka's brother. The spasm spread across his face as if
Morn had burned a nerve; he was all snarl. His eyes were
as dark and hidden as caves.
Softly Morn asked, 'What happened to your mission
against Thanatos Minor?'
He couldn't refuse to answer: his loss was too great.
Bitterly aggrieved, he replied, 'I failed. Is that what you
want to hear?' His scars looked like scabs on his cheeks.
'I failed.
'I was supposed to sabotage the Bill with that immun-
ity drug. I was supposed to set him up with it and then
substitute a fake. Destroy his credibility. That was the
plan, Hashi Lebwohl's plan. You were my failsafe. You
were ruined anyway, Angus fucking Thermo-pile saw to
that. Lebwohl let me have you so that if everything went
wrong I could sell you instead of giving up the real drug. '
He spoke like a fuel fire in a constricted space. Flames
fed on themselves, mounting toward an explosion. 'But
that was before I saw Sorus.
'Do you know who she is?' His eyes ached at Morn,
as hungry as black holes. 'Of course you don't. I never
told you her name. Sorus Chatelaine. Captain of Soar.
She's the woman who cut me.
'As soon as I saw her, I gave up on the Bill. Let
Lebwohl do his own dirty work. I went after her. I
drove her off Billingate, got her out in space where she
was vulnerable. Then I sent Captain's Fancy to finish her
off. '
No one on the bridge appeared to breathe. Sweat ran
unnoticed down Sib's face. Davies sat at the command
station like a knot of violence. Fear and fury struggled
back and forth across Mikka's features, paralyzing her.
Vector's blue eyes had gone wide, as if he were bemused
by wonders.
Morn watched Nick gravely, waiting for his hand to
tighten; waiting for the neural apotheosis which would
extinguish all the synapses of her brain; bring her res-
ponsibility for what she'd done to him to its natural end.
'Thanks to you, ' he growled viciously, 'the Amnion
thought they had my priority-codes. They thought they
could control my ship. That's why they didn't hit her as
soon as she blew dock. And that gave Liete her chance.
I set Soar up. I would have gone after her myself, if the
Bill hadn't barred me. So I took the only chance I had
left. I told Liete what I wanted. I sent her to kill Sorus
for me.
'But she didn't do it. She knew what I wanted, and she
didn't do it. I failed, all right? You goddamn women are
all the same. You use me for all you're fucking worth, and
then you cut me and leave me to die.
'It's not going to happen again!' His cry was an echo of
the lost howl with which he'd watched Liete betray him.
'This time - this time - I'm going to kill every one of you
who doesn't do what I want!'
For some reason Pup met Davies' eyes. Through his
pallor and panic, he gave Davies a tiny nod.
'Bullshit, Nick!' Slowly, almost unthreateningly,
Davies stood up from the command station. Without
appearing to move, he placed himself between Nick and
Morn. 'You aren't going to kill any of us. If you do, you
won't have an audience for all this self-pity. You won't
have anybody left to blame. '
Nick flinched; his face twisted into a mask of anguish.
'That does it. ' His tone was pure bloodshed. 'You're first. '
Leaning over the top of the g-seat, he aimed his gun
at Davies' face.
As frantic as a convulsion, Pup brought up a stun-prod
no bigger than a dagger and stabbed it into Nick's armpit.
That close to his heart the stun-prod had enough
impact to knock him to the deck in a pile of dissociated
limbs and spasms.
Burning forward, Mikka snatched Pup out of the
g-seat and hauled him back.
Like the stroke of a piston, Davies drove at Nick: he
kicked the handgun out of reach, grabbed up Morn's
black box. For a moment he crouched over Nick's twitch-
ing, unconscious form as if he intended to break his neck.
'Davies, ' Morn panted, 'don't!'
Then she seemed to run out of transitions.
Between one heartbeat and the next, she found herself
on the deck in Vector's arms.
Without leaving Nick, Davies appeared at her side.
Unexpected and unannounced, Angus swung down
the companionway rails onto the bridge.
He'd removed his helmet, but he still wore his EVA
suit. Streaks of dried sweat grimed his face; his eyes
bulged as if he were in the last stages of dehydration.
She blinked once, and several people were in different
positions. A voice which might have been Angus'
demanded water. Pup was gone. Woozy with stun, Nick
climbed to his feet. Sib had retrieved the handgun: he
held it in both fists, pointing it at his former captain.
Angus sat at the command station. Mikka stood in front
of him with her mouth open.
'Tell me later, ' he said. His tone was raw with thirst.
'We're leaving right now. '
She pointed at the display screens.
He nodded brusquely.
'Find cabins, ' he ordered. We're going to burn in
about five minutes. The g-seals on the bunks are your
only protection.
'Davies, for God's sake, put her to sleep. She's in with-
drawal - it could kill her. And hard g triggers her gap-
sickness. Take her to a cabin. Stay with her. I'll tell you
when it's safe to wake her up. '
At the edges of her vision, Morn saw Davies raise her
black box and peer at the function labels.
You know as much about it as I do, she tried to say.
All you have to do is remember. But she couldn't speak.
Her failures welled up from the bottom of her heart.
She'd endured too much - was in too much need. She
lasted long enough to see Pup hurry down the
companionway carrying a g-flask for Angus; long enough
to hear Mikka order Sib and Vector off the bridge.
Then Davies touched buttons, and she fell into dark-
ness as if it were the gap between her abilities and her
desires.
ANGUS
Angus emptied the g-flask while he watched Davies
carry Morn up the companionway. He wanted to
go himself; wanted to hold her in his own arms
for a while. Her condition still brought glints of fury and
grief past the control of his zone implants. His desire to
kill Nick had settled in as if it were the definitive passion
of his life. But of course his programming wouldn't let
him harm anyone connected with the UMCP. And he
had too many other threats to juggle -
The new countdown running in his head left no room
for mistakes.
He could pull data from Trumpet's logs faster than
Mikka could put it into words. A glance or two told him
why Morn, Nick and the others were still alive — why
Captain's Fancy and Tranquil Hegemony didn't appear on
the display screen in front of him. He couldn't under-
stand what had possessed Captain's Fancy to sacrifice her-
self like that. At the moment, however, he didn't need to
understand: the fact itself was enough.
Two less threats to worry about. That left Calm Hori-
zons, Soar and the Amnion shuttle. It left Gambler's Luck,
Free Lunch and at least half a dozen other ships trying to
get out of trouble by breaking away from dock.
It left the countdown.
He needed help. He could run Trumpet indefinitely on
his own: he was built for that. But he and his ship would
stand a better chance if he had help.
Sib Mackern and Vector Shaheed had already gone to
find cabins where they could ride out heavy g. Davies
would stay with Morn. That left Mikka Vasaczk, Ciro —
and Nick.
His thirst was loo fierce to be assuaged by one
g-flask. Nevertheless his zone implants enabled him to
ignore his craving for more water. His computer had con-
cluded that he was no longer in immediate danger from
dehydration.
Mikka was the obvious choice. She was Nick's second;
already trained. But Angus didn't trust Nick out of his
sight -
Ignoring the possibility that anyone who was taken by
surprise might fall and get hurt, he tapped thrust. A hard
jolt rang through the ship as he blew the docking clamps
and ripped Trumpet free from Billingate's cables.
Mikka caught herself on the front of the command
console; Ciro grabbed at his sister's shoulders. Nick stag-
gered, nearly lost his balance. His eyes were glazed, and
his mouth hung slack; stun still confused his neurons.
Angus grinned at the thought that someone had found
Milos' weapon and used it on Nick.
'You two get out of here, ' he told Mikka and Ciro.
'You haven't got much time - I want you safe.
'You, ' he cracked like a lash at Nick. 'You're my second.
Sit down and get to work. '
Protest flared on Mikka's face. With an effort, she
smothered it. 'Come on, ' she growled at her brother's
alarm. 'Angus can handle Nick. If the two of them can't get
us out of here, we were never going to make it anyway. '
Ciro brandished Milos' stun-prod in Nick's direction,
warning him; then followed Mikka off the bridge.
Nick ignored the boy. He was blinking rapidly at
Angus, trying to focus his eyes.
Angus keyed attitudinal thrust, orienting Trumpet
along a departure trajectory toward Calm Horizons. As
the ship pulled slowly away, Thanatos Minor's g eased.
'I said-' he rasped.
'I heard you, ' Nick panted. 'I'll do it. Give me a minute. '
Breathing hard to clear his head, he leaned into the
second's g-seat. His hands fumbled as he attached his
belt.
'What am I supposed to do?'
Angus toggled controls. 'You've got helm. Scan data
is on the screens. I'll do the rest. ' Simultaneously he
brought up targ and communications, 'Run us out on a
heading for Calm Horizons. No more than one g.
'Evade if anyone fires. Use as much thrust as you need.
Otherwise stay on a slow intercept course for that
warship. '
The countdown clicked ahead like a timing fuse. Nick
rubbed his hands over his eyes, ground the heels of his
palms into his scars. A moment later a surge of accelera-
tion tugged Angus against the back of his seat as Nick
heated the thruster tubes.
The pressure stabilized near one g. Nick typed a subtle
correction. Almost at once the scan plot on the screen
showed Trumpet moving in a straight line for Calm
Horizons.
Good. Maybe Nick was smart enough to realize that
if he didn't take orders now he wouldn't live long enough
to get a second chance.
Trumpet's guns were charged, but Angus didn't intend
to use diem if he could avoid it: he didn't want to be
caught in a fight here. Instead, despite the drain on
thrust, he activated her shields - reflectors to fend off
laser fire; particle sinks to protect against matter cannon.
Then he keyed his console pickup and began hailing
Calm Horizons.
Six minutes. Not nearly enough time for Trumpet to
get away safely. Even through vacuum, the shock-wave
would hit her like a fist. Gap scouts weren't designed to
stand that kind of stress.
On the other hand, it ought to be possible to persuade Calm Horizons to hold fire for only six minutes.
'This is Angus Thermopyle, ' he announced into the
pickup, 'captain, Needle-class gap scout Trumpet, to
Amnion defensive Calm Horizons. Don't fire. I say again,
do not fire. My ship has no offensive weapons. I can't
threaten you.
'I have prisoners I wish to trade for safe departure.
I'll hold course and acceleration steady to intercept your
position at -' His computer ran a lightning calculation:
he named the time it gave him. 'I'm prepared to offer
Nick Succorso, Morn Hyland and Davies Hyland in
exchange for permission to depart Amnion space. Cap-
tain Succorso ordered his vessel, Captain's Fancy, to
destroy Tranquil Hegemony. Morn Hyland is a UMCP
ensign. Davies Hyland is her son, force-grown on
Enablement Station.
'They mean nothing to me. You can have them if you'll
let me go. '
Firmly he silenced the pickup.
Nick's hands had frozen on his board, poised for obedi-
ence or sabotage. 'You sonofabitch, ' he murmured.
In case Nick tried something desperate, Angus braced
himself to deactivate the second's station.
But Nick appeared to know that he didn't have any
choices left. 'What makes you think you can bluff your
way out of this?' he asked thinly. 'What kind of scam are
you and Milos running?'
Five minutes.
As Trumpet pulled away, her scan field past the planet-
oid's horizons improved. Now he counted ten ships out
of dock. Some were fleeing. Others converged on his
trajectory purposefully, sent by the Bill - or the Amnion.
Soar had matched course and velocity with the shuttle to
take the craft aboard.
'Me and Milos?' Angus wanted to laugh. 'You're out
of your mind.
'Let me guess what happened to you, ' he countered.
For reasons of its own, his programming didn't require
him to explain himself. 'I put Mikka in command. You
didn't want to wait for me, so you tried to take over. But
you let a kid with a stun-prod beat you. Another triumph.
Nick, you're a walking success story. No wonder your
brains are scrambled. '
Nick's face twisted, but he didn't retort.
'I'm going to give you two orders, ' Angus went on.
'Try not to scramble them, too. The first time I say now,
veer off and burn. I don't care what heading you choose.
Just get us away from as many of those ships as you can.
They can't all be coming our way by accident.
The important thing is maximum thrust. She won't
want to do it - I'm bleeding power for her shields. Push
her red if you have to.
'The second time I say now, give me one of your famous
blink crossings. '
Four minutes.
'Can you handle that, or should I do it myself?'
'I'm not sure I care, ' Nick growled. 'It might be fun to
see you get out of this on your own. '
Nevertheless Angus' readouts told him that Nick had
begun to plot new courses while he readied the gap drive.
Abruptly the bridge speakers blared to life.
'Trumpet, come about. This is Stonemason. I have
orders from the Bill. If you don't reverse thrust, I'm
going to open fire. You have sixty seconds to comply. '
On the display screen ship id appeared beside Stone-
mason's blip. She was already in range to attack, and
gaining fast.
Almost immediately, however, Trumpet picked up the
mechanical sound of an Amnioni transmission.
'Amnion defensive Calm Horizons to human ship Stone-
mason. You are required to withhold fire. You transgress
Amnion space. Therefore Amnion purposes take pre-
cedence. The destruction of Trumpet is unacceptable. She
carries individuals which are necessary to the Amnion.
'If Captain Angus Thermopyle intends treachery, your
assistance in preventing Trumpet's flight will be
rewarded. However, if he deals with the Amnion
honestly, he will be permitted to depart. The Bill will
be offered' - the metallic voice appeared to hesitate -
'other compensation. '
Angus bared his teeth. 'It's like I always say. One good
lie is worth a thousand truths.
'Hold course and acceleration steady. Even if the
Amnion know I'm lying - even if they want you dead -
they can't pass up a chance to get Morn and Davies back. '
Nick nodded grimly. He'd chosen his new heading.
All the gap drive's status indicators showed green.
Three minutes.
If Stonemason hesitated that long, she wouldn't live to
regret it.
On the other hand, if she fired before then, the Amnion
would learn more than Angus wanted them to know
about Trumpet's shields.
'Negative on that, Calm Horizons' Stonemason
returned. 'I can't tell the Bill you want me to hold off.
Operations has lost communication. If I don't follow his
orders, he won't let me back in dock. '
Before Calm Horizons could reply, Trumpet's antennae
picked a new voice out of the crackling dark.
'Calm Horizons, listen to me! This is the Bill! I'm on a
cargo shuttle. This is the only radio I can get my hands
on.
'Don't trust Thermopyle! He's lying. He's going to try
to skip past you somehow.
'Ask him how he got Davies Hyland! Ask him how he
got Morn Hyland. He won't let you have Succorso. He
and Succorso are in this together. They snatched the
Hyland kid from me. Then the three of them took his
mother from you. They're the ones who broke into your
installation, killed your people, destroyed Tranquil
Hegemony.
'Don't listen to him, Calm Horizons!. It's a trick!'
Two minutes.
Before the Bill stopped shouting, the speakers picked
up Calm Horizons' transmission again.
'Calm Horizons to all human ships in the vicinity of
Thanatos Minor. ' The alien voice held a note of urgency
which Angus hadn't heard before. 'You are required to
converge on the human ship Trumpet. Trumpet must be
captured. Human ships which assist in Trumpet's capture
will be given the greatest rewards the Amnion can offer.
Human ships which do not assist in Trumpet's capture
will be presumed hostile and destroyed.
'Message repeats. Calm Horizons to all -'
Nick cut through the broadcast. 'This isn't going to be
easy. ' Strain shone like a sheen of sweat in his tone. His
hands held steady on his board, but his eyes flicked and
rolled like a cornered beast's. 'No matter how we veer
off, that fucker will have a clear shot at us. Her targ can
handle our acceleration, you can count on that. And those
other bastards are all moving faster than we are. '
Angus now counted four ships in addition to Stone-
mason driving hard to form a cordon around Trumpet.
Harshly Nick went on, We'll need at least thirty
seconds to pick up enough velocity for an effective blink
crossing. In thirty seconds every asshole out there will
have time to hit us. '
One minute.
Angus mimicked the superior drawl Nick had lost.
'Then I guess we need a diversion.
'Get ready. I'm going to cut this fine. '
Heavy g: pressure that would drive Morn into gap-
sickness, if Davies didn't take care of her; enough pres-
sure to squeeze Angus and Nick like sponges in their
seats. Nick wasn't familiar with Trumpet yet: he didn't
realize how hard she could burn. Nevertheless he was
right that Calm Horizons' targ could handle it. And he
was almost right about the amount of time Trumpet
would need before she could attempt a blink crossing.
For the first twenty seconds she might as well be a
stationary target.
Unless she rode the shock-wave.
If Dios and Lebwohl had miscalculated —
If their understanding of Billingate's fusion generator
wasn't accurate enough -
Or if Trumpet couldn't take the stress -
'Calm Horizons to human ship Trumpet' the speakers
reported. 'You are required to discontinue thrust. Do so
immediately. Commence braking. This will be taken as
evidence of good faith. If you do not comply instantly,
you will be presumed hostile. For the purposes of the
Amnion your destruction will take precedence over the
value of your prisoners. '
A wail that Angus couldn't utter filled his chest - a cry
of fear which his zone implants and prewritten instruc-
tions refused to permit. He sounded as bleak as a grave
as he told Nick, 'Now. '
Nick slapped keys with his palms.
A structural roar seemed to deafen the speakers as
Trumpet's thrust leaped to full power. Despite his
reinforced strength, Angus slammed back in his seat, then
fell sideways as Trumpet cut to her new course.
Away from Calm Horizons.
Between Stonemason and two other ships.
On an oblique heading for the fringes of human space.
Scan detected targ from several sources tracking the
ship, swinging guns into line.
Two seconds later a nuclear blast tore the heart out of
Thanatos Minor.
A theoretically impossible fusion accident had become
possible when Angus, deep in Billingate's infrastructure,
had cut his way through the failsafes and re-wired some
of the circuits. If the Bill had remained in his strongroom,
and Operations had been able to restore internal com-
munications, he might have received warning of what
was about to happen; but he wouldn't have been able to
stop it. Not without a complete overhaul of the power
station's control.
When a fusion generator sufficient to run all of Billing-
ate exploded, it produced more than enough destructive
force to break open the planetoid.
Impact screamed through Trumpet's hull as the shock-
wave struck. Rock like a maelstrom ripped the vacuum
in every direction. In seconds, fractions of seconds, the
stone storm would catch her, tear her shields apart like
vapor, twist her to scrap in the vast dark. Already half the
human ships were gone, punched to pieces by Thanatos
Minor's ruin.
Through his ship's screaming Angus also screamed:
'Now!'
Against the brutal kick of the blast, Nick pitched at his
board, slapped keys with his open hands.
Scant meters ahead of the rock, Trumpet went into
tach; plunged like Morn into the gap.
WARDEN
In the aftermath of the kaze's attack on UMCPHQ,
Warden Dios was summoned before Holt Fasner.
He'd been able to prevent Godsen Frik from
answering such a summons. For that reason he was
indirectly responsible for Godsen's death. But he couldn't
refuse himself. The Dragon was his boss.
If he'd been susceptible to vain regrets, he might have
cursed the naivete or blind idealism - or perhaps the
arrogant ambition - which had inspired him to accept
Holt Fasner's offer of service in the first place. He wasn't
that kind of man, however. Instead he shrugged his
shoulders ruefully and went on with his job. Time and
experience had worked few changes in the nature of his
motivations. Such as it was, his naivete had dissolved; he
was no longer blindly idealistic; his ambitions had shed
their arrogance. Nevertheless he did what he did now for
much the same reasons which had originally led him to
accept positions in SMI Security and then the UMCP.
He believed that problems should be solved by the
people who became aware of them. Devotion, labor and
care couldn't be expected from human beings who
saw no need for such things. Therefore they had to be
supplied by men like himself and women like Min
Donner.
At one time he'd privately considered this conviction
admirable; hence the suggestion of arrogance in his
ambitions. Now, however, he saw it as the means by
which Holt Fasner had manipulated him.
Unfortunately he couldn't give it up. The fact that he
hadn't been wise enough to prevent his beliefs from being
used against him was no reason to surrender them. And
to a significant extent the problems of the present had
been created by his own actions; his own compromises
and misjudgments.
Those compromises and misjudgments had proved
exceptionally fertile ground for the Dragon. He'd sown
many things there.
Warden Dios had no intention of shirking the harvest.
So he took his personal shuttle from UMCPHQ to the
'home office' of the United Mining Companies - the
orbital platform from which Holt ran his complex enter-
prises. He disembarked into an escort of what Holt called
'Home Security' — more accurately Fasner's bodyguards.
Although Warden knew his way, HS accompanied him
to the secure center of the station, where - so the conceit
ran — the Dragon lurked in his lair.
When the doors and walls and screens had sealed
behind him, rendering the lair and its secrets impregnable
to espionage, he came face to face with the man who had
made him what he was.
Delicate and insidious fears took hold of him whenever
he contemplated his boss.
Stay calm, he told himself.
Stay clear.
Remember what you're doing.
Holt Fasner's aura was disturbing. Despite his one
hundred fifty years, he looked younger than Warden;
superficially in better health. Subtle drugs wiped eighty
or ninety years off his skin; lifted at least half that many
from the tissue of his heart and lungs, the marrow of his
bones. Only the advanced ruddiness of his cheeks, the
occasional tremor in his hands, the way he blinked as if
he had difficulty keeping his eyes in focus, and the hint
of mortality in his IR emissions, conveyed the impression
that he wasn't entirely well.
He smiled a cold greeting past the surface of his utili-
tarian desk. Like the desk, his office was crammed with
data terminals, video screens and communications gear
of every description — as ready for information as a living
brain - but it wasn't particularly expansive; or even
notably comfortable.
'Well, Ward. ' He waved a hand at a chair across the
desk from him. 'Sit down. Let's have a chat. '
Schooling himself to conceal his anxiety, Warden took
a seat and folded his arms over his heavy chest.
'We'd better do more than chat, ' he said as if he could
afford to be impatient with the most powerful man in
human space. 'This is a bad time for me to be away.
There's too much going on.
'You know that, of course, ' he added, 'so I assume you
have something particular in mind. Ordinary channels
are secure enough for chats. '
Holt gave a gesture like a shrug; his aura was tinged
with tension. 'Come on, Ward - humor me. Let's not
rush into this. You can spare a few minutes. How's the
weather over there?' He smiled humorlessly. 'Have you
found any leads on those kazes? What's the news from
Thanatos Minor?'
Warden sat like a sphinx. 'Rush into what?'
Unruffled by directness, Holt countered, 'What in
heaven made you think it was a good idea to restrict
Godsen? I can't honestly say I liked him, but he did his
job well, and he'll be missed. ' The Dragon blinked in
small bursts like shivers. 'I'm sure by now you must have
realized that he would still be alive if you hadn't given
him those orders. '
'Yes, actually. ' If Holt had possessed a prosthesis like
Warden's, he would have seen regret and useless anger
swarming like insects under the surface of the UMCP
director's skin. 'I did realize that. '
'And - ?' Holt prompted.
Warden steadied himself with the pressure of his
arms. 'I did it to protect him. That's what I thought
I was doing, at any rate. I asked myself how the kaze
who attacked Captain Vertigus could have obtained
legitimate id, and I concluded it must have come from
a traitor in one of three places - GCES Security,
UMCPHQ, or here. With all due respect, I discounted
my people. '
'But not mine, ' Holt said for him.
Warden nodded. 'And not the Council's - although
yours are more likely. Between the two of us, you and I
supply GCES Security with virtually everything. And you
have a lot more people than they do - or I do. More
people means a greater chance that one of them is a
traitor.
'Until I located the source of that kaze's id, ' he con-
tinued, 'I thought I could minimize the danger by
restricting Godsen. He was more vulnerable than anyone
else, since he has so many reasons to visit Suka Bator. '
And you.
'Of course, I couldn't have foreseen that you would
call him - or that you would suddenly need to see him
in person. '
Blinking furiously, Holt asked, 'Do you think there's
a connection?'
Stay calm, Warden recited like a litany. Remember
what you're doing.
'I hope you can tell me. In fact, I hope that's why
you sent for me. The timing is certainly curious. Godsen
would still be alive if he'd answered your summons. Did
you know he was the next target? Did you know who's
responsible?'
That was as close to honesty as he chose to come.
'Of course not, ' Holt snapped in irritation. 'If I knew
"who's responsible", you would already have his head on
a platter. Weren't you listening when I said I'm going to
miss Godsen?'
Almost immediately, however, he recovered his hum-
orless poise. 'But since you mention it, that does bring me
to one of the subjects I wanted to chat about. Godsen's
replacement. It's an important position. In fact, I predict
it's going to be crucial. Have you had time to think about
it? I have a good candidate in mind. '
Warden drew a slow breath past the pressure of his
arms. 'I've already promoted someone. '
Holt dropped his jaw to emphasize his surprise; acid
colors swirled in his aura. 'My, my, Ward. Whatever pos-
sessed you? You know how vital I consider PR. Why else
do you imagine I insisted on Godsen in the first place?'
His tone sharpened. 'What made you think I wouldn't
want a say in his replacement?'
Warden seemed to feel the Dragon's breath on his face,
hot and fatal; but he kept his face impassive. Dispassion-
ately he lifted his shoulders. 'As you say, PR is vital -
especially now. I needed someone right away. And I had
no way of knowing you were about to suggest a replace-
ment. I suppose I assumed you had too many other
things on your mind. '
Holt studied him hard. 'Who did you promote?'
'One of Godsen's assistants. A woman named Koina
Hannish. '
'You and women. ' Holt snorted. The next thing I
know, you're going to replace Hashi with some young
flirt who makes you feel all warm and cuddly. '
'Wait a minute. ' Warden knew his boss well enough
to understand that Holt used insults as camouflage for
his true intentions. Still the UMCP director needed some
kind of emotional outlet. 'Is that your opinion of Min
Donner? She's a "young flirt" who makes me feel "all
warm and cuddly"?'
Holt ignored this protest. Still sharply, he ordered,
'Demote Hannish. Tell her it was temporary - you've
found someone better. '
Warden tightened his grip on himself. 'I can do that, '
he replied, resolutely mild. 'But don't you think you're
being a little obvious? Her promotion is already on
record. She's already presented her credentials to the
Council. ' Despite his determination to remain calm, how-
ever, Holt's implicit threat galled him. Goaded by loss
and anger, he began to speak more strongly. 'You predict
PR is going to be crucial. Are you sure you want to let
the Council see you meddle in UMCP internal affairs at
a time like this?'
The Dragon braced his hands on his desk as if he
wanted to prevent them from shaking. His emissions
curdled like sour milk.
'You know, Ward, when I look at you these days I
sometimes wonder if I haven't created a monster. '
Warden swallowed a retort. Stay calm. He disliked
being called Ward.
'What about me seems monstrous to you?'
Holt put equanimity aside. 'That video conference, ' he
articulated trenchantly.
Stay clear.
'What about it?'
'What about it? My God, Ward, if I didn't have so many
reasons to trust you, I would turn you into dogfood. Don't
think I'm not tempted in spite of your record. ' He meant,
Don't think I can't do it. 'Do you have any idea what kind
of hornets' nest you've stirred up among the votes? Did
you do it on purpose, or did you just not consider how
they would react?' His breathing was shallow and flurried.
'You should have listened to Godsen. I'm sure he would
have warned you. He was damn near frothing at the mouth
when he told me about it. '
Warden faced Holt stolidly. 'You've seen the record-
ings, ' he answered. 'I'm sure you've talked to people — I
mean people besides Godsen. You know as much about
it as I do. '
'Oh, I've seen the recordings, ' Holt sneered. 'I know
them by heart. They're full of gems. Here's one. '
Glaring at the UMCP director, he quoted, '"It
appears that Captain Thermopyle has left our solar
system for forbidden space. If he does not alter his
course, he is headed toward a planetoid called Thanatos
Minor, which we believe to be the location of a boot-
leg shipyard catering to the needs and transactions of
pirates. "
'Or how about this one? "Com-Mine Security allowed
Ensign Hyland to depart with Captain Succorso on your
orders. "
'But those aren't the best. I especially enjoyed it when
Hashi said Succorso was sent "to Thanatos Minor armed
with a drug which he would claim supplied an immunity
to Amnion mutagens". And I practically had an orgasm
when he admitted you gave Hyland to Succorso "so that
he would have something to sell if he were trapped or
caught".
'I know about the video conference. I know how the
votes are reacting. What I don't know is what possessed
you to tell them things like that.
'Who are you trying to sabotage here, Ward? Who is
this aimed at?'
'Stay calm, ' Warden said aloud. Slowly a smile softened
the clenched expressionlessness of his features. He raised
one hand to the patch over his left eye. 'You look like
you're about to have an infarction. '
Blinking spasmodically, Holt leaned back in his chair.
A sting of apprehension shaded his aura.
'As you say, ' Warden went on, 'it's sabotage. Smoke.
It's aimed at Special Counsel Maxim Igensard. '
He'd prepared for this as well as he could. Now he had
to put himself to the test.
'The Council has been debating us for years, ' he
explained. 'All the issues are old and familiar. Only Igen-
sard is new. But he's already made up his mind about us.
Hashi and I just confirmed what he thinks. And we did
it without quite telling him the truth.
'Complete lies are too easily uncovered. Almost-truths
are much more effective. '
Holding down his self-disgust with the strength of his
arms, he went on, 'The risk, of course, is that I've cut the
ground out from under my supporters. But I'm willing
to take that chance for the sake of blowing smoke in
Igensard's eyes.
'Holt, that man is dangerous. If anyone is capable of
pushing and prying hard enough to get at the facts, he
is. I know his brand of outraged righteousness. He's so
sure he's right and pure that he'll relish bringing both of
us down and opening the borders of forbidden space to
prove it.
'I can stand tarnishing my reputation a little to stop
him.
'I know you don't like that. Your whole empire rests
on the UMCP. If we don't at least look like our integrity
is unimpeachable, you're in trouble. But before you
decide I've gone into meltdown, think about what that
conference accomplished. '
'Which is?' Holt demanded shortly.
Warden didn't hesitate. He'd gone too far to falter
now.
'I gave Igensard lies so accurate he won't be able to
distinguish them from the truth. From his point of view,
if we really let Succorso have Morn Hyland just for the
insurance, the last thing we would do is say so. From his
point of view, if we actually released Thermopyle and
sent him against Thanatos Minor, the last thing we
would do is reveal his destination.
'From his point of view, if we truly had a mutagen
immunity drug which we decided to keep secret, the very
last thing we would do is call attention to it by saying
we've faked a drug to use against Billingate.
'And that's not all. In addition I've set things up so
that if anything goes wrong nobody gets the blame but
me. If I look culpable enough, you're in the clear. You
can always protect your interests by letting Igensard have
me. '
At last he stopped. For better or worse, he'd said what
he came to say. Now he had to face the outcome.
Holt regarded him sourly for a long moment before
rasping, 'Is that supposed to reassure me?'
Warden shrugged. 'I don't know how you feel, ' he
replied despite the fact that his IR sight read Holt's con-
cern, anger and fear plainly. 'I'm just doing my job.
'What else would you like to chat about?'
That was the wrong thing to say. It set Holt off like
the spark of a magnesium lighter.
Surging forward in his seat, he snapped, 'Don't mess
with me, Ward. I'll have your balls for truffles.
'You planned all this before you ordered Godsen to
admit publicly that Thermopyle was gone, but you didn't
bother to mention it. You decided to climb out on this
limb without consulting me. Now I'm going to tell you
what it means if you fall. Then you're going to go back
to UMCPHQ and leave the rest to me.
'If anything goes wrong on Thanatos Minor - anything
at all - your precious Joshua is finished. Morn Hyland
is finished. Nick Succorso is finished. Milos Taverner is
finished. Do you hear me? I want them dead. I want
them and their ships and every scrap of information
about them extirpated from the universe.
'That includes the immunity drug. Especially the
immunity drug. If I'd known you were going to give the
votes any hint it exists, I would never have let you talk
me into preserving it.
'Have I made myself clear? You've already sent Min
Donner out that way. I assume you want her in position
to intercept what comes out of forbidden space. Give her
this job. If anything goes wrong out there' - his hands
knotted into fists and pounded each word onto the
desktop - 'you make goddamn sure she kills them all!'
Warden found it unexpectedly easy to remain calm.
He'd done what he came for. And the result didn't sur-
prise him. He'd helped create this problem: now he
meant to solve it; meant to reap the consequences.
Releasing his arms, he rose to his feet.
'It's clear, all right, ' he said quietly. 'I think it will stay
that way from now on.
'I'll report as soon as I know what's happening. '
Holt growled a dismissal and keyed the doorseals so
that Warden could leave.
As he walked out of the Dragon's lair, Warden closed
the door distinctly behind him.
It's time, he thought. This has got to stop.
Please, Angus. Don't fail.