This Day All Gods Die (24 page)

and hints of sorrow. "Not unless you don't leave us any other choice. We don't want bloodshed. And we don't mean to hurt you. We don't even want to insult you.

"All we want," she said firmly, "is command of this ship."

Porson gave a low gasp of surprise. Glessen swore viciously under his breath. Even stolid Emmett flinched.

Dolph was too angry to keep quiet. "And you expect me to allow that?" he barked at Morn. "What are you, crazy as well as stupid? If you think I'm going to give up my ship just because you're waving a couple of little guns around, you should go check yourself in to sickbay. You've gone too far over the edge to function without medical help."

Min held up her left hand, mutely commanding him to silence. This was between her and Morn—

and Warden Dios,

whose nameless needs hung over them like a shroud.

"What for?" she asked sternly. "What do you propose to do if we let you take command?"

" 'Let'?" Angus sneered. " 'Let' has nothing to do with it. We don't need your goddamn permission."

Snarling deeply, Dolph bit back a retort.

Still Morn kept her attention on Min as if no one else had spoken; no one else mattered.

"For a start"—

her voice was low, but steady—

"we'll go

home. Back to Earth." She shrugged. "After that it depends on who tries to stop us."

Back to Earth. Exactly where Min would have taken them.

All at once she seemed to feel a nagging burden of uncertainty and confusion drop from her shoulders.

Between them Morn and her companions carried the most explosive body of information in human space. Morn could testify that Angus had been framed: that UMCPDA had conspired with Milos Taverner to steal supplies from Com-Mine so that the Preempt Act would pass. Vector Shaheed had analyzed the formula for an antimutagen which the UMCP had kept secret, despite its obvious importance to humankind.

Mikka and Ciro Vasaczk surely knew about Nick's dealings with the Amnion on DA's behalf. They could describe the Amnion near-C acceleration experiments Angus had mentioned—

experiments which might give forbidden space an in-superable advantage if the present uneasy peace turned to war.

In some way Davies Hyland represented the knowledge the Amnion needed to create artificial human beings who would be indistinguishable from real ones. And Angus had changed his datacore: therefore everything Hashi Lebwohl had done with welded cyborgs—

and, by extension, all humankind's reli-

ance on SOD-CMOS chips—

was untrustworthy; founded on a

false premise.

If Morn and her companions returned to Earth and revealed what they knew, every dishonorable action the UMCP

had taken in recent years would be exposed.

The result would be chaos. At the very least the GCES

might dismantle the UMCP. Or pass a Bill of Severance. But the damage would almost certainly go further.

It might go far enough to bring down Holt Fasner.

On the other hand, if Min fought Morn and won—

if she

outplayed or outwaited Trumpet's people, and took them all prisoner—

the harm might be contained. Certainly the Dragon would do everything in his vast power to contain it. The stories Morn and her companions had to tell would be suppressed; lost.

Yet eventually Warden's hand in these events would become known. Angus' datacore would play back every bit of input it had been given. Then Fasner would have no choice but to destroy Warden. It would be all too obvious that Warden had tried to destroy him.

That fact would be significantly less obvious if Morn Hyland was in command when Punisher reached Earth.

Min was unaccustomed to surrender. The concept violated her combative spirit: the word itself seemed to violate her mind. But she had larger responsibilities to consider.

"I guess"—

for a moment her voice stuck bitterly in her throat—

"I guess you didn't believe me when 1 said," swore to you, "I'm not going to suppress Shaheed's broadcast."

Morn's head twitched back as if she were reacting to a flick of pain. "Oh, I believe you, Director Donner. My whole family trusted you." Then the corners of her mouth knotted with self-coercion. "I just don't believe you'll have the final say."

She was right: Min knew that. The Dragon was too strong for her.

"In that case," the ED director announced like acid,

"you win. The ship is yours."

Bydell gaped at her in astonishment. Glessen covered his face with his hands.

From the aperture of the bridge, Davies crowed, "Yes!"

"Min!" Dolph cried out. "You can't—

!"

"I can!" Min wheeled to face the command station; overrode his protest with a shout like a flail. "I am!

"Listen to me, Captain Ubikwe. Listen hard so you don't make any mistakes. As long as Ensign Hyland wants to head home, we'll take her there. And we'll take her orders along the way. We are not going to resist her or sabotage her. We aren't going to cause her any trouble at all."

"Min, please—

" His eyes beseeched her.

"No!" She refused to be swayed. Returning sensation sent needles of fire down her forearm into her stunned hand.

"I won't have any more bloodshed. We've just taken aboard the only six people in human space who've been through more hell than we have. I want all of us to survive the experience, all of us. If that means letting a mere ensign issue instructions for a while, we will do it."

If we destroy Warden and bring down the whole UMCP, that's on my head, not yours.

"These people are not the enemy, Dolph.," She lowered her voice to a cutting edge. "Maybe they're out of line. And maybe they're too dangerous to mess with. We'll sort all that out when we get home. Better yet, we'll let Director Dios sort it out. But for the time being"—

she delivered each word as

distinctly as an incision—

"you will not risk any more of your people.

"Is that understood, Captain Ubikwe? Have I made myself clear?"

"Shit, Min." He slumped as if he were collapsing in on himself. "Of course you've made yourself clear. You know that." With the back of his hand he wiped sweat from his dark forehead. "But I have to say"—

his tone reeked of bile—

"you

sure as hell know how to rub salt in our wounds."

He slammed to his feet, brushed Mikka aside as if she didn't hold a gun. Gesturing at his g-seat, he growled, "The bridge is yours, Ensign Hyland. I'll be in my cabin. Throwing up."

Without waiting to be dismissed, he headed for the aperture.

"Sounds like fun," Angus snorted past his grin. "I'll go with you. Just in case you decide you don't want to be a good boy. Or Director Donner changes her mind."

He handed Min's gun to Davies as he followed Dolph Ubikwe off the bridge.

Min understood, although no one said the words. Dolph had just become a hostage.

He seemed to take all the cruiser's courage with him as he left. His people sagged at their stations. Their faces fell: they hung their heads. Even Glessen lost his truculence.

Bydell made a small sound that might have been a moan of abandonment.

Abruptly Min's anger returned like the flash of a signal flare. She found herself flexing the fingers of her right hand against the burn; flexing them like Angus. She wanted her gun.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be, Ensign Hyland," she warned. "Our people have already been pushed right to the edge. It'll take just about nothing to make them explode. If your cyborg so much as scratches Captain Ubikwe, you'll have a full-scale battle on your hands."

And I will personally execute the lot of you.

"We know that," Mikka muttered. "We know what's at stake."

Holding Min's gun in his fist, Davies left the aperture to approach Morn and the command station. Bitterly he told Min,

"Angus hasn't hurt anyone since you gave Nick his priority-codes. At the moment he's easier to trust than you are."

Min wrapped her fingers around the fire in her palms so that she wouldn't retort.

Once again Morn didn't hesitate. She'd committed herself to this course of action. If she had doubts about it, she kept her uncertainty private.

Deliberately spurning her years in the Academy, as well as her whole family history—

the respect for rank and author-

ity which she'd surely been taught—

she stepped to the com-

mand station and assumed Captain Ubikwe's g-seat. Despite the darkness in her gaze, she seemed sure of what she did. The cast on her arm gave her an odd combination of vulnerability and dignity.

Min watched in confusion, baffled by outrage—

and by a

strange, keen pride that one of her people could rise to a challenge like this.

"Mikka," Morn said quietly, "I want you to supervise helm."

"Right." At once Mikka stalked over to Emmett's station; positioned herself at the arm of his g-seat so that she had a clear view of his console.

"Davies," Morn went on, "you'd better keep an eye on Director Donner. Just to be safe. I want everyone to know she's being held under duress. Like Captain Ubikwe."

She meant that neither Min Donner nor Dolph Ubikwe was responsible for what Trumpet's people did. In an oblique way she was protecting Min, Dolph, and Punisher. Perhaps she was even protecting Warden Dios. To that extent, at least, she understood the implications of her decisions.

Quickly Davies shifted so that he had an open shot on Min without risking either Morn or Mikka. Grimacing like his father's grin, he covered Min with her own weapon. But he kept his distance: apparently he'd seen how quickly she could move.

When Davies was in position, Morn turned her station.

Following her gaze, Min saw Mikka's brother still huddled on the deck. He'd retreated to the bulkhead; pressed his shoulder against it as if he wanted to hide and had forgotten how.

Gently Morn asked, "Ciro, are you all right?"

He didn't reply. After a long moment, however, he jerked a nod.

Sighing, Morn returned her attention to the rest of the bridge.

"Communications, I'm sure you have a copy of Dr.

Shaheed's transmission. Please ready it for general broadcast.

As soon as we reach Earth, we'll start transmitting it again.

"Vector, you might want to be sure she gets it right."

Cray snorted at the suggestion that she might make a mistake. But Vector's response was a grin of relief. "I think I can handle that." At once he stopped blocking the communications board and moved around behind Cray's station to support himself on the back of her g-seat.

Morn continued assuming command.

"Helm, please set course for Earth. The best course you can manage with no more than one g of thrust. I don't want to put any more pressure than necessary on this ship."

"Yes, sir," Emmett responded automatically. Placing his hands on his board, he started to tap keys.

"Engage thrust when you're ready, helm," Morn finished.

Punisher was going home.

Gritting her teeth, Min tried to tell herself that she'd done what Warden wanted.

And that what Warden wanted was right.

herself in her office. The

room wasn't Godsen Frik's once-opulent center of operations, which she'd always disliked, and which had in any case been effectively destroyed by the kaze who'd killed the former PR

director. It was her own far more austere space. For the time being, at least, she'd delegated to her subordinates the massive job of sifting Data Storage for the truth behind Godsen's fulsome obfuscations. And she'd instructed her receptionist to accept no calls, demands, or inquiries unless they came directly from Warden Dios. She'd locked her door, blanked her terminals and readouts, silenced her intercom; dimmed the lights.

Now she sat at her desk and tried to review her life.

This was how she made hard decisions. Whenever she was faced with a difficult choice, she approached it by asking herself who she was, what she wanted, what she believed in.

She'd started doing this a number of years ago when she'd first considered what she wanted to do with her life.

What were her convictions? What could she do about them?

Her answers had led her into "public relations," which she defined as the interface between the people who took action and the people who were affected by those actions. To her way of thinking, this was the most potentially fruitful work she could imagine. The interface determined the nature of the relationship between any public organization and its constituents.

It was the means by which the organization and its constituents communicated with each other. Even a casual study of governmental—

and corporate—

entities showed that their effective-

ness hinged on "public relations."

Later the same answers had inspired her to accept a position in UMCPPR. Nowhere was the interface more crucial than in the dealings between humanity and its defenders.

But the personal and professional dishonesty of the former PR director had forced her to examine her life again.

Could she tolerate his misuse of his position, his distortion of everything which passed through his hands in Holt Fasner's name? And if she couldn't, what did she propose to do instead?

In the end she'd concluded that the work of UMCPPR

was too important to abandon. Here was where she belonged.

Since she couldn't make Godsen honest, she would dedicate herself to cleaning up after him. Among other things, this inspired her to undermine him covertly by, in effect, spying on him for Hashi Lebwohl.

Then, scant days ago, she'd needed another bout of self-examination when Warden Dios had offered her Godsen's job.

Surely this was exactly what she'd been hoping for? A chance to replace Godsen's unctuous lies with the truth? Perhaps not. Warden had permitted Godsen's falsehoods and machinations. He was profoundly responsible for all his former PR director's misdeeds. If he expected her to carry out Godsen's duties in Godsen's fashion, she would have no re-course but to resign.