This Day All Gods Die (51 page)

"You don't have time to hear an explanation, Min," he answered softly. "I don't have time to offer one." He sighed at her doubt. "I'm attempting to carry out Warden's orders."

At least she hadn't asked, Why didn't you take care of it while you were Acting Director? She'd spared him the indignity of having to say, Because I didn't think of it.

"All right," she returned decisively. "Give me a minute.

I'll have to route my authorization through Center to Administration so you can open that file. The system isn't set up for this, but I can invoke disaster priorities."

The speaker went dead as Punisher stopped transmitting.

Hashi bowed his head. That may have been as close as Min Donner could come to giving him what he truly wanted.

For a brief moment he allowed himself to be grateful.

When he looked up, he found Chief Mandich standing across the room from him, just inside the door.

Mandich's fists were cocked on his hips; his jaw jutted like the head of a cudgel. "This better be good, Lebwohl," he snarled. "The last time a man treated me the way you do, they had to put a plate on his skull afterward to keep his brains in."

Hashi couldn't hold back. He loathed being held responsible for other people's faults and furies. "Sadly," he retorted,

"they neglected a plate for you. Without being noticed, your brain must have fallen out on Suka Bator."

Lane hid a grin behind a fringe of unclean hair.

Hashi ignored her. Before Mandich could muster a reply, he demanded in a tone of utter exasperation, "Are you not able to grasp the fact that you are essential? Lane and I cannot discover the evidence we seek without your help.

"A terminal, Chief Mandich," he ordered. "There." His arm rigid and trembling, he pointed at the console he wanted Mandich to use. "I will work here." Two quick strides planted him in front of a terminal near Lane's.

The Chief didn't move. Apparently Hashi had caught his attention: the belligerence in his eyes had turned to uncertainty. Nevertheless he stood where he was.

"Tell me what we're doing," he insisted harshly.

What we're doing. He'd said "we," That was all the opening Hashi needed.

With a few quick keystrokes he logged on to his terminal and began hunting for the file which Min had promised to open for him. As he typed, read the screen, typed again, he asked in a calmer voice, "Lane, what have you learned?"

"One"—

she fired instructions at her keypad—

"more"

—

bit her lip, tried another approach—

"minute." Then she

shouted in triumph, "Ha! Got it."

Abruptly she looked up from her terminal. The vindication in her voice was so intense that it sounded savage.

"Chief Mandich, nobody tampered with Clay Imposs' id tag. They didn't superimpose Alt on it. They made a new one, one for Alt himself, one that gave him all of Imposs' clearances."

The Chief frowned, plainly baffled.

"I traced the SOD-CMOS chip," she went on. "From his id tag. I just finished.

"It was delivered to UMC Home Office three weeks ago in a routine shipment for Home Security. Ten days later"—

she indicated her screen accusatively—

"that chip was as-

signed to the office of the UMC Security Liaison for Anodyne Systems. To be used for testing code designs."

Hashi wanted to applaud; cheer aloud; shout at the ceiling. Hidden by the lab table which held his terminal, his feet danced a brief jig. If Mandich hadn't been there, he might have invoked a blessing on Lane's weary, brilliant head.

The Chief of Security stared his incomprehension across the tables.

" 'Ten days later,' " Hashi echoed eagerly. "Eleven days ago. Yet great Cleatus Fane in full spate informs us that Nathan Alt was fired as Security Liaison several weeks previously.

"How do you imagine he came to possess a chip which can be traced to eleven days ago? If he indeed conspired, with the native Earthers, as our good FEA claims, how did he do so with source code which is both current and correct?"

"But—

" Chief Mandich protested inchoately. He tried to close his mouth; couldn't.

"But it is not proof," Hashi said for him. "There you are correct. For that reason, Lane and I must depend on your help."

The Chief still didn't understand: that was clear. Nevertheless his truculence had vanished. He lifted his hands uncertainly, then took a step or two toward the terminal Hashi had indicated.

"What do you want me to do?"

As if on cue, the file Hashi sought opened on his screen.

Min Donner may have been self-righteous and unyielding: she may even have been obtuse. At that moment, however, he loved her. She'd kept her word.

He addressed Chief Mandich more kindly now. Min had restored his benevolence.

"You described the precautions which defend the security of our code designs for the chips produced by Anodyne Systems. First, Administration codes authorize a link between our terminals and Anodyne Systems' computers. After that, DA codes are required to negotiate the necessary datalink protocols. Then ED Security codes must be supplied to grant the terminal operator access.

"We are three." He waved his arms expansively. "I will take the part of Administration. Lane represents DA. You are ED Security in person."

As if he were entirely sure—

and had all the time he could

need—

he concluded, "Together we will break into the Anodyne Systems computers and extract the information we need."

Lane brandished both fists in a mute cheer.

Chief Mandich didn't respond. Clenched in silence, he reached his terminal.

When he was ready he met Hashi's gaze over the top of his screen. His eyes were as feral as the fire in Hashi's blood.

should try to rescue him."

Now she sat isolated at the command station. Captain Ubikwe and Min Dormer, Davies, Angus, and Vector surrounded her; but she might as well have been alone. Mikka and Ciro were nearby, as well as Punisher's duty officers: they were of no help. With those few words she'd translated herself across a dimensional gap of comprehension, leaving everyone she needed light-years behind.

Davies' instant flare of eagerness separated him from her as much as Vector's bafflement, or Dolph Ubikwe's heavy consternation. The surgical probe of Min's scrutiny, like Angus' livid outrage, isolated her. None of them recognized the utter desperation of her need for a better answer.

For herself. For Warden Dios. For humankind.

Davies agreed with her at once, but for the wrong reasons. She knew him too well; saw the truth flaming in his eyes.

Her past had trapped him: he thought and felt and acted like a cop. His metabolism drove him to extremes. And the prospect of falling into the hands of the Amnion appalled him. He burned to attempt a rescue so that he wouldn't have to confront the other issues raised by Warden Dios' presence aboard Calm Horizons.

Vector had been taken aback. He'd believed he knew why she was here, what she would do. Now he wasn't sure.

The sources of Captain Ubikwe's distress were less clear.

Morn hardly knew him; could only guess at what he felt. He may have been torn between a desire to snatch Warden away from the Amnion and a fear that she was about to doom his ship.

But she couldn't even guess at Director Donner's reaction. Min's calculating penetration mystified her. From the first Morn hadn't understood why Min had allowed her to take command of the ship. Min knew about her gap-sickness; her weakness; her core of shame. Now she was confused by the impersonality of Min's stare. The ED director seemed to see possibilities in her which she herself hardly noticed.

Her role had become too large for her. Like Hashi Lebwohl, with his reluctant revelations and oblique hints, Min apparently thought that Morn had come here to carry out some nameless and essential act of redemption.

So much emotion pouring at her from all sides scared her: she might not have been able to handle it in any case. But there was more. Angus' passion dominated the others. She needed him more than she needed anyone else. Even Min as Acting Director of the UMCP was secondary. Davies himself was secondary—

Angus struck the command board so hard that the metal rang. "I won't do it!' His shout was a stentorian clap of fury.

Davies recoiled in surprise; then sprang back with his own anger. "Angus—

!"

Min placed her hand on his arm, shook her head slightly.

At once he stopped. The unexpected gentleness of her touch seemed to shock him silent.

Apparently she wanted to hear how Morn would reply.

I won't do it!

Morn's place on the bridge had turned into a cruel joke.

She could no more command these people, or this ship, than she could carry out her own suggestion. And yet she understood the necessity of it; grasped it with the clarity of anguish, even though it was out of her hands. Try to rescue him. The man who had caused all this: the only man in human space who stood any chance against the Dragon. Try to—

"You mean it's possible?" she asked Angus softly. "You know how?"

He lashed the air with his fists in frustration. "Of course it's possible!" A paroxysm of rage or terror distorted his face.

"Everything is fucking possible! I won't do it!"

He leaned over the console, forced his dismay at her.

"Christ, Morn! Have you forgotten why we're here? Why you said we're here?" His yellow eyes and sweat-slick skin loomed like accusations. "We're talking about Warden Dios, the goddamn UMCP director! He did this to you." Angus slapped a gesture at her as if her condition were obvious to everyone. "He did it to me. If he wants to pay for some of it now, I'm going to let him!"

Again Davies started to protest: again Min restrained him.

Mikka made a low sound like a moan of weariness or exasperation. Despite his perplexity, Vector shifted closer to Morn as if he wanted to protect her somehow.

She faced Angus squarely. "No, I haven't forgotten why we're here," she said between her teeth. "I didn't ask you to do it. I asked if you knew how."

"Stop that!" He wheeled away from her to make room for the extremity of his outrage. His fists pumped blows in all directions. "Don't lie to me!

"Do you expect me to believe you're going to ask anybody else? Who? Your goddamn son doesn't have the resources, any more than you do. Vector can hardly walk. Mikka might as well be comatose, and Ciro's out of his skull." His anger had become a kind of frantic supplication. "And the fat man here takes his orders from Min Almighty Donner. They don't give a shit what you want. They're just trying to figure out how to use you.

"Have you forgotten about the Preempt Act? Don't you understand why they framed me? Or why they let Nick have you?"

Abruptly Dolph rumbled, "I can't stand any more insults, Min." He didn't appear to be shouting, but his voice filled the bridge like a rockfall. "I know he can kill me with both fists rammed up his ass. I don't care. If he doesn't watch his mouth, I'm going to remove it for him. At the neck."

Without any sign of haste, as if Calm Horizons were a problem she could postpone indefinitely, Min intervened.

"Ensign Hyland, we're getting ahead of ourselves," she put in quietly. "We aren't ready to discuss rescuing anybody.

We don't know what we're up against. And we have more than one crisis to tackle. Let's do this a step at a time, if we can.

"Captain Thermopyle"—

a subtle hardening inflected her

tone—

"I'm asking you nicely. Take it down a couple of notches."

Angus' arms folded a refusal across his chest. He didn't so much as glance at Min: his attention was fixed like a cutting laser on Morn.

Morn's command may have been a joke, but she didn't shirk it. She'd come too far to let her own frailties stop her.

She wasn't Min; couldn't match Min's authority. Like Dolph, however, she hated Angus' insults. In one form or another she'd loathed him ever since he'd retrieved her from Starmaster's wreckage. And yet she'd helped him escape the bondage of his priority-codes. She was dependent on him for everything—

"Listen to me, Angus," she demanded harshly. "You keep telling me to trust you. Now it's my turn.

"I did not ask you to rescue Director Dios. If you don't want to do it, I can't force you—

and I won't try." She made

that promise even though she suspected that she hadn't pushed her strange hold over him anywhere near its breaking point.

"But if you know how, I need to hear it."

He ducked his head as if he were flinching; then jerked his chin up again. The muscles along his jaw bunched like iron. A smear of rage or grief blurred his yellow gaze.

In a small, almost childlike voice, he whispered, "Fuck you, Morn." Then he turned away as if he were abandoning her; stamped across Punisher's deceleration g until he readied a vacant g-seat beside Ciro, and flung himself into it.

With both hands he covered his face as if he couldn't bear to meet Morn's mute stare.

Fuck you, she echoed to herself. That was nothing new.

How often had he already done it? How often had she allowed

—

no, seduced, encouraged—

Nick Succorso to use her?

Bitterly she swung the command station toward Min.

"This is your chance, Director Donner," she pronounced like acid. "If Angus doesn't back me up, I can't hold the bridge."

Captain Ubikwe might have acted on the idea without hesitation; but Min dismissed it with a shrug. "I made a deal with you. I'll stand by it."

Even though she knew who'd killed Starmaster—

With-

out question Min's compromised position aboard the cruiser gave her something she craved; an advantage she couldn't get in any other way.

"But there's something I want to know," she added promptly. "Before I start dealing with Center.

"What does this 'Marc Vestabule' have to do with you?"

Morn opened her mouth to reply, then found she didn't know where to begin. Min's attitude confused her: her own relief got in her way. And she had too many other things to think about.