Chaos And Order_ The Gap Into Madness Part 59

MORN.

Morn was losing control: she could feel it. The urgency and outrage which had sustained her were crumbling; falling apart. She was at the mercy of a withdrawal as poignant as the sick loss which afflicted her when she was deprived of her zone implant's support. Her relief that Vector had been able to help Ciro had left her drained and vulnerable. Now horror seemed to gnaw in her bones.

Horror at what Nick had done to the Lab. At the destructive madness which had driven him to leave the s.h.i.+p so that he could pit himself against Soar Soar in an EVA suit. At Sib's willingness to accompany him. in an EVA suit. At Sib's willingness to accompany him.

At the fact that what Nick was doing made sense to Davies- As far as I can tell, I'm Bryony Hyland's daughter. The one she used to have-before you sold your soul for a zone implant.

Oh, Davies, my son. What's happening to you?

Did I teach you this? Did you learn it from me?

Is it part of me?

Maybe it was. But if so, it'd died in her when she first came down with gap-sickness-the culmination and apotheosis of her old grudge against herself.

She more than anyone else couldn't afford revenge.

A few minutes ago Davies had returned from the airlock. Without glancing at her or anyone else, he'd seated himself at the second's station, secured his belts. His face was closed-as dark with bile as his father's, but somehow less readable. He'd put up walls she couldn't penetrate; swallowed or buried the near hysteria of his insistence on hunting Soar. Soar. His hands on his board were vehement, but steady: he keyed commands with brutal precision. His hands on his board were vehement, but steady: he keyed commands with brutal precision.

"You feel better now?" Angus had asked indifferently.

Davies hadn't bothered to reply.

Status indicators on one of the screens showed that he was running targ diagnostics, making sure that Trumpet's Trumpet's guns were fully charged, fully functional. guns were fully charged, fully functional.

He couldn't handle targ as well as Angus. Human desperation or pa.s.sion were no match for Angus' microprocessor reflexes. Nevertheless his att.i.tude toward his board gave Morn the impression that he was prepared to be as relentless and b.l.o.o.d.y as his father.

Just a little while ago-an hour or two at most-she'd made decisions and stood by them. But now she could hardly hold up her head. She'd learned to desire revenge on Gutbuster Gutbuster at the same time and in the same way that she'd learned to be ashamed of herself. As a child, her secret disloyalty to her parents' calling had undermined her self-esteem; left her feeling culpable for her mother's death. And since then that flaw at the core of her convictions had eroded everything she did. at the same time and in the same way that she'd learned to be ashamed of herself. As a child, her secret disloyalty to her parents' calling had undermined her self-esteem; left her feeling culpable for her mother's death. And since then that flaw at the core of her convictions had eroded everything she did.

Now her shame came back to her in a new way.

As far as I can tell, I'm Bryony Hyland's daughter.

She couldn't see any way out of it. After everything she'd done and endured, the logic of her illness still held her.

And she was useless. She couldn't help Vector work. Nor could she take either of the command stations. There was combat ahead-urgent maneuvers and hard g. As soon as Trumpet Trumpet faced action, Morn would have to return to her cabin, dope herself senseless with cat, and lie pa.s.sive in her g-sheath while other people determined whether the s.h.i.+p would live or die. faced action, Morn would have to return to her cabin, dope herself senseless with cat, and lie pa.s.sive in her g-sheath while other people determined whether the s.h.i.+p would live or die.

As useless as Nick in his bonds- The thought made her feel like weeping again. If she couldn't comprehend Nick, she understood all too well the pressure which had impelled Sib to go with him.

As for the rest- /I understand him him, Davies had protested. I understand him bet ter than understand him bet ter than you you do! I remember what do! I remember what you you remember. And I'm remember. And I'm male. male. Whatever that means. I know what he'll do! Whatever that means. I know what he'll do!

He needs this too much.

Morn was familiar with absolute commitments. She had her own, which had carried her to extremes she would have found unimaginable scant weeks ago. Nevertheless her heart refused to accommodate the sheer scale of Nick's ahunger to repay Sorus Chatelaine.

How much time did she have left?-how long before she was forced to return to her cabin and hide herself in drugs?

Do you really think it's preferable preferable to keep him tied up here like a piece of meat? to keep him tied up here like a piece of meat?

At the moment she felt it would be preferable to put the muzzle of an impact pistol in her mouth and squeeze the firing stud.

"That's it," Angus muttered abruptly. "We've lost their transmission. Sib and Captain Sheepf.u.c.ker are out of range. If Succorso wants to kill him, he can do it anytime now."

Morn looked at him. He seemed to squat like a toad over his console; his face and movements burned with concentration. He still hadn't troubled to pull up his s.h.i.+psuit. She could see his-bloated chest too well: remembered it too well-the black triangle of hair covering his heart like a target; his pale skin stained with sweat. Yet he was changed in some way, subtly different from the butcher and rapist she knew. And different as well from the clenched, bitter machine who'd rescued her on Thanatos Minor. Something essential had been set loose in him when she'd allowed him to edit his datacore. His concentration was as hard as his old malice and brutality; but it had new implications.

She searched for ways to test him; to discover what the changes in him meant. Facing him with the screens behind her, she asked unsteadily, "Are we really going to go back for Sib?"

Have we sent him out to die just so you can get rid of Nick?

Angus paused with his fingers on the helm keys. Slowly he lifted his yellow eyes to meet her gaze. She saw shadows of hunger in them; hints of grief behind his certainty and focus. Before Trumpet Trumpet left forbidden s.p.a.ce, she'd asked him, left forbidden s.p.a.ce, she'd asked him, What do you want? What do you want? And he'd answered, I And he'd answered, I want you. want you. But when she'd told him, I But when she'd told him, I would rather make myself into a lump of dead meat would rather make myself into a lump of dead meat, his reaction had surprised her.

He'd seemed almost relieved. As if her revulsion spared him a vulnerability he couldn't afford.

She understood now that he'd always wanted his freedom more than he'd ever wanted her. To the extent that she could trust him here, it was because she'd released him from the coercion of his priority-codes.

At the auxiliary engineering console, Vector c.o.c.ked his head, obviously listening for Angus' reply. Davies gave no sign that he'd heard her question.

Angus studied her for a moment. Then he shrugged. "If we get the chance. Why not? He got rid of Succorso for me. That counts for something. And if he's that crazy, he might be useful again."

His gaze held hers as if he never blinked.

"You don't care about anything else?" she pursued. "Sib himself doesn't matter to you?"

"I'll tell you what I care about." Angus clenched one fist and started tapping it softly on the edge of his console. However, the rest of him showed no emotion. He had zone implants to keep him steady. "I care about why you didn't want to let Captain Sheepf.u.c.ker go."

Morn frowned. What was he getting at?

"You broke my heart," he said gruffly. "You know that? You always wanted him. You wanted him the first minute you saw him, that time in Mallorys." As he spoke, his voice became more guttural: it sounded like the exhaust of a combustion engine. "I would have killed to have you look at me that way. h.e.l.l, I would have killed everybody on the whole d.a.m.n station." His mouth twisted. "I would have stopped hurting you if you'd ever looked at me that way."

As sudden as a cry, he demanded, "Is that what's going on now? Are you f.u.c.king falling apart right in front of me because you think you're never going to see him again?"

He shocked her. Too quickly to stop herself, she caught fire; the needy tinder of her spirit burst into flames of protest. He'd hurt her too much for too long, far too long, she'd believed he was destroying her. Pain as hot as a smelter seemed to roar and devour through her.

"Wanted him?" she yelled into his bloated face and yellow eyes. "You think I him?" she yelled into his bloated face and yellow eyes. "You think I wanted wanted him? Do you think I'm him? Do you think I'm crazy? crazy? I never I never wanted wanted him. Wanting to him. Wanting to die die would have been easier!" would have been easier!"

Her shout jerked Vector around in his seat, made even Davies look up at her. But she ignored them.

"All I wanted" wanted" she flung at Angus, hurling words like knives to tear at him, "all I she flung at Angus, hurling words like knives to tear at him, "all I ever ever wanted was somebody to help me wanted was somebody to help me get away from you!" get away from you!"

Abruptly she stumbled silent. Again he shocked her. Instead of drawing back or looking away-or answering with his own anger-he watched her with a grin dawning on his face as if she'd filled him with sunrise.

"Is that true?" he asked in amazement. "Do you mean it?"

Bitter as acid, she finished, "I was sick of men. Anything male revolted me. But Nick was the only one I saw who looked like he might have a chance."

Angus went on grinning. Slowly he began to chuckle like a maladjusted turbine.

"s.h.i.+t, Morn. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have spent so much time wis.h.i.+ng he was dead."

He was too much for her. Revulsion crackled and swirled inside her, as fresh as when he'd first degraded her; as fresh as fire. She wanted to flay his skin from his bones-draw blood for all the damage he'd done her.

"Of course." She strove to make her voice as harmful as his. "Of course course, you sonofab.i.t.c.h. You You don't care what happens to Sib. don't care what happens to Sib. You You don't care what Nick was like. don't care what Nick was like. You You don't care who he hurt, or how he did it, or what it cost. All don't care who he hurt, or how he did it, or what it cost. All you you care about is that I didn't care about is that I didn't want want him more than I wanted you." him more than I wanted you."

Angus shook his head. By degrees his strange mirth subsided; the sunrise faded from his expression. Her attack must have reached him. "Maybe that's true," he admitted. The admission seemed to pain him, however. Her attack restored his familiar anger. "And maybe it doesn't matter.

"I'm a machine," he rasped with his accustomed harshness. "A G.o.dd.a.m.n machine. That's all. Warden Dios tells me what to do, and I do it. Sometimes he pulls the strings. Sometimes I get to make my own choices. Sometimes I can't even tell the difference. What the f.u.c.k do you expect expect me to care about?" me to care about?"

"You aren't being fair," Davies put in unexpectedly. Despite his youth, he sounded as stern as her father delivering a reprimand. "He got you away from the Amnion. Since then he's been on your side. As much as Nick let him. We would all be dead without him. What more do you want?"

Carried by conflagration, she wheeled on her son. He was too much like Angus, too male and belligerent: he hadn't earned the right to reproach her.

"'Bryony Hyland's daughter,' "she quoted trenchantly. "'The one she used to have' before I sold my soul-the pure one." The one who hated Nick and Soar Soar so much he was willing to let Sib die for it. "I want you to care about what you're doing. I want you to care about what it costs." so much he was willing to let Sib die for it. "I want you to care about what you're doing. I want you to care about what it costs."

Davies met her squarely. He didn't shout or argue; didn't so much as raise his voice. "You don't know anything about what it costs me."

She couldn't stop: she was too angry. "I'll tell you what I don't know. I don't know why you feel so sorry for yourself. And I don't want to know. It doesn't interest me. I gave you life, whether you want it or not. I've kept you alive ever since." Angus had only rescued Davies in order to trade him for her. "If you aren't willing to talk about what's eating you, at least stop sneering at me."

That stung him. Abruptly furious, he faced her with a look like black hate. Straining against his belts, he cried, "I killed my father! I killed my whole family! The universe spoke to me, and I did what it said! I did it with my own hands. And it wasn't even me! it wasn't even me! I don't I don't exist. exist. I'm just a shadow of you!" I'm just a shadow of you!"

Then his voice dropped to a low snarl. "I need to be the kind of cop you should have been. And you don't," he repeated, "know anything about what it costs me."

As effectively as a splash of foam, he doused the flames, in her, quenched her desire to draw blood. He was right: she couldn't begin to guess what his life cost him. And she had no idea what Has.h.i.+ Lebwohl and UMCPDA had done to Angus; no idea how much he suffered for it. They didn't deserve her indignation.

But without it she had nothing left except shame.

"You're right." She couldn't meet his eyes, or Angus'. "I'm sorry. It's withdrawal-I don't know how to handle it."

"You know," Vector offered quietly, "we might be able to find a dosage of cat that protects you without leaving you unconscious. If we t.i.trate it right."

Morn didn't respond. She meant withdrawal from the artificial stimulation of her zone implant. But she also meant withdrawal from the ability to transcend her limitations, rise above her flaws. And for that loss there was no drug to help her.

Angus ran the swarm as smoothly as he could. With the chart Beckmann had supplied, Lab Center's earlier operational input, and Trumpet's Trumpet's penetrating sensors, he found ways through the throng of rock that didn't require sudden course changes, emergency evasions. The gap scout slid from side to side on relatively gentle thrust, dodging out of the depths of the swarm. penetrating sensors, he found ways through the throng of rock that didn't require sudden course changes, emergency evasions. The gap scout slid from side to side on relatively gentle thrust, dodging out of the depths of the swarm.

G pulled Morn in every conceivable direction. Her feet drifted off the deck; her body arced slowly this way and that. But the pressure didn't threaten her. With one hand on a zero-g grip she was able to control her movement enough to avoid bruising herself against the bulkhead.

Angus should have sent her off the bridge to protect her; or to protect Trumpet Trumpet from what she might do if her gap-sickness took her. Instead he took care of her in other ways. Under the circ.u.mstances, she could afford to wait awhile. from what she might do if her gap-sickness took her. Instead he took care of her in other ways. Under the circ.u.mstances, she could afford to wait awhile.

She clung to the bridge the same way she clung to her handgrip, using her presence at the center of decisions and action to help her manage the stresses pulling at her heart.

At the second's station, Davies worked obsessively, verifying and refining his mastery of the gap scout's targ.

Clinging, Morn studied the data he routed to one of the displays, and was dumbfounded by the power and complexity of Trumpet's Trumpet's weaponry. The s.h.i.+p was a gap scout: according to her public specifications, she was totally unarmed. In any case, she should have been too small to carry heavy guns. But the UMCP's researchers must have achieved miracles of miniaturization. The weapons weaponry. The s.h.i.+p was a gap scout: according to her public specifications, she was totally unarmed. In any case, she should have been too small to carry heavy guns. But the UMCP's researchers must have achieved miracles of miniaturization. The weapons Trumpet Trumpet shouldn't have had could deliver more destruction at greater distances than Morn would ever have guessed. shouldn't have had could deliver more destruction at greater distances than Morn would ever have guessed.

Trumpet wasn't equipped with lasers. They were problematic in any case; vulnerable to EM distortion as well as to the jolts and line fluctuations of the s.h.i.+ps powering them. In battle it was difficult for human technologies to maintain coherence. But the gap scout had enough other armaments to make the absence of lasers seem trivial. wasn't equipped with lasers. They were problematic in any case; vulnerable to EM distortion as well as to the jolts and line fluctuations of the s.h.i.+ps powering them. In battle it was difficult for human technologies to maintain coherence. But the gap scout had enough other armaments to make the absence of lasers seem trivial.

She had impact guns for close combat; matter cannon for strikes at greater range; plasma torpedoes; static mines. And-amazingly-she also carried singularity grenades; devices at once so dangerous and so difficult to use that Morn's instructors in the Academy had dismissed their value in actual combat. Theoretically, under the right conditions, they detonated to form black holes-tiny instances of ma.s.s so dense that their gravitic fields could suck down anything within their event horizons. Practically, however, the right conditions were nearly impossible to obtain. The grenade only produced a black hole if it detonated in the presence of enough other power-for instance, if the grenade went off inside an active thruster tube. Without external energies to feed it, the singularity was so tiny that it consumed itself and winked away before it could do any damage.

The fact that Has.h.i.+ Lebwohl-or Warden Dios-had seen fit to supply Trumpet Trumpet with singularity grenades made Morn s.h.i.+ver so hard the muscles in her abdomen cramped. with singularity grenades made Morn s.h.i.+ver so hard the muscles in her abdomen cramped.

They had expected the gap scout to fight for her life. Probably alone-and probably against ma.s.sive odds.

What other expectations did they have for her?

"Done," Vector announced suddenly. Satisfaction and eagerness sharpened his voice. "I'm copying it to your board," he told Angus. "You can start transmitting whenever you want.

"a.s.suming we get the chance," he added while he relayed his results. "Which I certainly hope we will. All this talk about fighting Soar Soar and not being ashamed of ourselves"-he glanced pointedly at Davies, who ignored him-"is fine as far as it goes, but this message is a more effective weapon than any gun." and not being ashamed of ourselves"-he glanced pointedly at Davies, who ignored him-"is fine as far as it goes, but this message is a more effective weapon than any gun."

Morn nodded dully. He was right: his information about UMCPDA's mutagen immunity drug was the most important thing Trumpet Trumpet carried. In the end transmitting his message mattered more than whether or not the s.h.i.+p survived; whether Angus could be trusted, or Sib died; whether Morn or Davies lost their souls. carried. In the end transmitting his message mattered more than whether or not the s.h.i.+p survived; whether Angus could be trusted, or Sib died; whether Morn or Davies lost their souls.

The minute that data reached anyone who could understand it and disseminate it, the entire complex of plots and imperialism which humankind and the Amnion played out against each other would be transformed.

Warden Dios might come down. The entire UMCP might topple. Holt Fasner himself could be threatened. And the Amnion would suffer a blow which might force them to end this war now, by attack or retreat, while they still had the chance.

Whatever else happened, whatever it cost, Trumpet Trumpet needed to transmit Vector's message. needed to transmit Vector's message.

"Got it," Angus answered when the data transfer was complete. "We're set to broadcast as soon as we get out of this swarm. We'll spray it in all directions like a distress call. Eventually every receiver in the system will pick it up." He bared his teeth. "That way whoever wants to stop us will know they've already lost.

"Now get off the bridge."

Vector frowned as if Angus had insulted him.

"Where you're sitting isn't exactly a combat station," Angus explained. "You'll be dead meat as soon as we hit hard g. Probably wreck the console, too. Go web yourself into your bunk."

"Ah," Vector sighed in comprehension. "Of course." He nodded. Projecting an air of pain, as if a flare-up of arthritis had settled in his joints while he worked, he undipped his zero-g belt, drifted off his seat.

Instead of moving for the companionway, however, he floated toward Angus' station. When he reached it, he caught the arm of the g-seat. Facing the displays instead of Angus, he remarked wearily, "I didn't think I would ever say this, but I miss the days when I could stay on the bridge. If I'm going to die out here, I want to see it coming-G.o.d knows why. Maybe I hope I'll have time to seek absolution at the last minute." He smiled crookedly. "I wouldn't want to risk repenting prematurely.

"Will you tell us what's happening?" He was looking at Morn, but his question must have been meant for Angus. "Mikka probably wants to know. I certainly do."

"If I have time," Angus retorted impatiently. "Just go."

Vector sighed again; shrugged. "Right."

From Angus' g-seat he launched himself stiffly toward the companionway. In a moment he'd climbed the rails and moved into the mids.h.i.+p pa.s.sage out of sight.

Seeing him go like that, alone and unapplauded, touched Morn with sadness. He'd accomplished so much, and received so little for it. No matter what crimes he might have helped Nick commit, he didn't need absolution; not as far as she was concerned. He'd already done something better than repent.

"He could have stayed," she murmured. "It wouldn't have hurt us to give him a little companions.h.i.+p."

"No, he couldn't," Angus growled, concentrating on his board and the screens. "You should go, too. This isn't safe."

His tone sc.r.a.ped a sore place in her, a raw nerve of panic. Urgency flushed her skin. He'd seen something, felt something- "What is it?"

"I'm getting a scan echo." Angus' hands spidered over his board, scuttling to sharpen images and data. "If it isn't a ghost, there's another s.h.i.+p out here."

Davies gripped the edges of his console. "Is it Soar? Soar? Has she caught up with us this fast?" Has she caught up with us this fast?"