This Day All Gods Die (42 page)

Try me, he dared the Amnioni. Just try me. Don't you know I would sell my soul—

if I still had one—

for a clean

death?

By degrees Vestabule settled back into his seat. His expression was blank: whatever he felt didn't reach his face—

or

his features couldn't convey it. But after a moment his human eye closed. It stayed shut. He fixed his alien gaze on Warden as if he wanted to see Warden in purely Amnion terms.

Still slowly, ponderously, he directed the hypo at his own forearm; pressed it there until the hypo was empty. He raised his hand to show Warden that the mutagen—

and the threat—

was gone. Then he opened his fingers and let the hypo's inertia carry it away. The vial of pills he returned to his pocket.

His human eye remained closed as he began speaking into his pickup.

The words sounded so harsh and uncomfortable to Warden that his throat hurt in sympathy. Yet they came naturally to Vestabule. The stilted searching which characterized his human speech was absent.

When he was done, he looked at Warden again with both eyes. Despite its inflexibility, his voice carried an impression of pressure—

a new threat, at once more insidious and more lethal than any mutagen.

"Warden Dios, you have caused an impasse. My alternatives have been restricted. Therefore I have ordered Calm Horizons to commence combat. In two minutes our super-light proton cannon will destroy your location of government. Then it will be turned on your station. At the same time our matter cannon will attack your approaching ships.

"Punisher we will not harm. That vessel is nearer than any other, but has been damaged. We can withstand its fire."

Warden lifted his eyebrows at this. "Don't forget Holt Fasner's station," he suggested hopefully. "It's in range, too."

"Still you do not understand," Vestabule retorted. "Holt Fasner has made it plain that he desires to bargain with us. He will be allowed to live, his station intact. Perhaps when your government is gone he will be able to satisfy our requirements.

"If he fails us—

" Once more the Amnioni attempted a shrug. "Then we will turn our fire on Punisher."

Apparently he'd remembered enough of his former humanity to call Warden's bluff. Warden was trapped. The choice he had to make couldn't be avoided any longer.

Once Calm Horizons opened fire, no human ship would obey an order to stop fighting, no matter what Holt threatened or promised. The defensive would die sooner or later. But Warden knew beyond question that Marc Vestabule and every Amnioni aboard was willing to die; at least as willing as he was himself.

It was time to decide.

Sacrifice Morn and Davies, Vector and Angus. Save millions of lives. And give the. Amnion a chance to discover how to mutate men and women so that they retained enough humanity to be undetectable.

Or condemn millions of men and women to death. Prevent the Amnion from acquiring terrible knowledge. And let Holt Fasner have his way with humankind's future.

At last the UMCP director found that he knew his answer.

Why had he put Morn and Angus through so much anguish—

why had he bothered—

if he didn't mean to trust them?

He cleared his throat. His voice was raw with anger.

"All right. I'll do it. Don't start shooting. I'll satisfy your goddamn 'requirements.' If I can."

As he capitulated, he couldn't tell whether what he felt was despair or hope.

bridge of the cruiser. Cray

shouted warnings she received from UMCPHQ's traffic buoys: Punisher was too close to the station, moving too fast. His voice cracking under the strain, Porson echoed confirmation.

His hands raced to sort data from his sensors and Earth's scan net. The man on targ cursed savagely. Patrice programmed helm like scattershot. The data officer, Bydell, made a thin keening noise in her throat as she scrambled to identify the scan blips.

Davies swore, too—

a high, clenched sound, tight with

surprise and terror. Ciro didn't react; but Mikka groaned as if something in her chest had snapped. Pale and aghast, Vector stared mutely at the displays. In an instant Angus shifted positions; moved to the side of Morn's console so that he could see the screens and still keep an eye on her. Min strained at her belts, her gaze as keen as a hawk's; eager to strike.

Through the tumult Captain Ubikwe's deep tones cut clearly. "Deceleration, Sergei. Burn it on my order. Prepare for evasive action." He seemed unnaturally calm; impervious to surprise and danger. "Charge your cannon, Glessen," he told targ. "Ready torpedoes. Stand by to open fire.

"Sound battle stations, Bydell. Deceleration alerts, proximity warnings—

hell, sound them all."

"Aye, Captain."

At once the lorn wail of klaxons echoed across the clamor.

"Status on that bastard, Porson?" Dolph continued.

"I'm still reading, Captain!" Porson called back. "Scan isn't clear yet. Too much gap static." Then he croaked urgently, "She has us on targ!"

"Do it now, Sergei," Captain Ubikwe instructed helm.

"Put everything we can spare into it."

Without transition the muffled thunder of thrust mounted to a roar as if Punisher had fallen into a smelter. The ship began to shudder. If she were still under internal spin, she would have torn herself apart.

Hard g; gravitic violence: the essence of reality.

Calm Horizons had reached Earth ahead of them. Because Morn had insisted on making the journey gently—

Fearing what might happen, she'd made exactly the wrong decision. She and her friends might have been safe if they'd beaten the Amnion vessel to Earth.

She was supposed to be in command: of herself as well as the cruiser. Yet she was paralyzed. Punisher's gap drive had translated her from normal space into the domain of nightmare. Calm Horizons was here! Of course. What was the worst thing the defensive could possibly have done after failing to kill Trumpet? What else but this?—

a gambit so extreme

and lethal that Morn had never considered it.

She'd failed before she ever had a chance to begin.

And braking thrust shoved her into her g-seat with brutal force. Involuntarily her lips pulled away from her teeth. Her eyes seemed to bulge in their sockets. She could hardly breathe: shuddering thunder filled her chest, clogged her throat. Her arm had shed too much of its pain to protect her.

Cruel and compelling, g drove her out of herself into the place where all things became clear.

Clear as vision. Clear as the voice of the universe, of existence itself. Articulate and irrefutable beyond any possible resistance. She heard the voice, understood the vision; received its necessity like a sacrament.

Self-destruct.

Oh, yes.

She had the means. The universe had provided them for her: clarity provided them. The command board lay in front of her, willing and transsubstantial; as compulsory as a sacrifice.

Luminescent certainty marked the keys she should touch, the sequence of obedience. Every question had come to an end.

When she reached out her hands, she would be whole; her life made clean at last.

The universe told her what to do—

and gave her the

strength to do it. She stretched her arms for the keys.

Before she could touch them, Angus hit her so hard that she thought he'd broken her skull—

"Report, Porson," Captain Ubikwe demanded through the roar. His battle-calm overrode the pressure of hard g. "I can't see the damn screens like this."

Valiantly Porson squeezed an answer past the mass in his throat. "Calm Horizons is orbital. Right on top of UMCPHQ.

God, she must be within 50,000 k. Coasting. They're both geosynchronous over Suka Bator.' He faltered, then somehow found a way to raise his voice. "Captain, Calm Horizons has a clear line of fire on Suka Bator! Her proton cannon is already aligned.'

—

but she didn't lose consciousness. Not quite. Instead the blow lifted her across the personal gap between clarity and pain. Shards of agony like bone splinters nailed her mind to the hard matter of her skull. She forgot the siren call of the universe. She'd been crucified: clarity and coercion couldn't reach her.

Around her, shouts and orders swirled like panic. Davies may have cried her name; may have sworn at Angus: she couldn't be sure. If Angus retorted, she didn't hear it. The pain in her head had become exquisite grief. She was certain of nothing except that she'd lost her last chance to be whole.

There were no better answers: self-destruct was all she understood. And Angus had bereft her of it.

"Ready, Glessen?" Dolph asked.

"Damn right, Captain!" Glessen retorted.

Inaccuracy in the gap had brought Punisher too close to UMCPHQ: close enough to aim all her strength at the Amnioni.

"Ease deceleration, Sergei," Captain Ubikwe commanded. "I need to see. Evasive action on my order. Make her dance. We're in no condition to let ourselves get tagged."

At once some of the cruel g lifted. Morn could breathe again, thin sips of air like constricted gasping.

"Wait a minute, Dolph!" Min barked promptly. "Look around! Who's firing? How much Support have we got?"

He may not have heard her. "All right, Glessen," he growled. "Let's see if we can do some damage—

"

"Captain!" Cray yelled from communications. Fear and g pitched her cry to a shriek. "Hold fire!"

Hold—

?

"Wait a minute, Glessen," Dolph snapped quickly.

"Orders from Center!" Cray went on. "They're shouting at us. Absolute priority. Don't fire!"

"Have they lost their minds?" the captain demanded.

"There's a Behemoth-class defensive parked right on top of them, and they want us to hold fire?"

"Absolute priority," Cray repeated.

"No one's shooting, Captain," Porson announced frantically. "Not UMCPHQ. Not Calm Horizons. We have ships in range. More on the way. They haven't fired."

With an effort, he fought down frenzy. "I see Adventurous" he continued, "but she isn't close enough yet. And Valor is here. Looks like she resumed tard ten minutes ahead of us. But she's a lot farther out." Out where Punisher should have been. "Too far to attack yet."

Morn's pain bled slowly into the lighter g. Angus must not have hit her as hard as she thought. She couldn't speak; could hardly think. But she could listen.

Vestigial clarity flickered at the edges of her mind like heat lightning. The situation made sense in distant bursts.

Calm Horizons had committed an egregious act of war—

and

no one fired at her. Of course not. The big warship hadn't come on a suicide mission against UMCPHQ and the GCES.

She'd come to stop Trumpet. Capture the gap scout if possible; kill her otherwise.

UMCPHQ and the GCES were hostages—

Grimly Morn began to fight the aftereffects of gap-sickness. Once Captain Ubikwe and Min understood the stakes, they might sacrifice Morn and her friends. To save UMCPHQ

and the Council. If Warden Dios ordered it—

"Orders from Center," Dolph snorted. "Whose orders?

My God, are we surrendering? Who wants us to hold fire?"

"The order is from Hashi Lebwohl," Cray answered. She couldn't muffle her shock. "Acting Director, UMCP."

In response Min snarled like a predator. "Hashi's in command? How in hell did that happen? What happened to Warden?

"Communications," she demanded, "get me a direct channel to Acting Director Lebwohl. Absolute priority. I can play that game as well as he can. I want to talk to him."

"Do it, Cray," Dolph said. But his confirmation wasn't necessary: Cray was already at work.

The Amnioni's targ continued to sizzle on Punisher's sensors. Nevertheless Calm Horizons' guns stayed silent.

Captain Ubikwe squinted at the screens. "Ease deceleration," he instructed helm again. "We don't have a lot of room.

But we can turn.

"Give me a new course. I want to intercept that warship's line of fire on Suka Bator. Coordinate braking so we match orbits and stay there. If we can't do anything else, we'll at least be an obstacle."

G dwindled once more as Patrice obeyed. Stress vectors shifted. Morn's pain settled into a basal throbbing she could almost bear. Her limbs and head remained heavier than they should have been, but they felt comparatively light. And the hull-roar of thrust continued to decline: she lost weight as if she were evaporating. Soon she might be able to raise her head.

Her arm had begun to itch and ache again.

"Morn," Davies called across the bridge, "are you all right?" He sounded desperate with worry and fear. He must have known why Angus had struck her.

Angus bent over her. "Say something, Morn," he muttered as if he was afraid of her. "Don't make me hit you again."

She put her hand on his arm, drew him closer. "You promised to back me up," she whispered like a sigh. Davies deserved a response; but she didn't have the energy to spare for anyone else. "I'm trusting you."

Holding his arm for support, she pulled herself forward so that she could reach the command board.

She feared Hashi Lebwohl more than Warden Dios. Far more.

At last g shrank enough to permit cautious movement.

Captain Ubikwe began to unclip his belts. "While we're waiting, Cray," he rumbled, "get me Center." His tension seemed to increase as the threat of immediate combat receded. "It's about time somebody told us what the hell's going on."

"Right away, Captain," Cray answered.

Heaving against too much weight, Dolph stood up from his g-seat. Clearly he meant to assume the command station.

"Stop him," Morn murmured to Angus.

For a moment she feared that she'd spoken too softly, weakly, to be heard. But then, without haste, he stepped away from her and aimed his armed fist at the captain's head.

"That's far enough, fat man." He grinned a warning. His eyes were yellow and carious, like unclean fangs. "In case you've forgotten, you aren't in command. You don't speak for this ship."