This Day All Gods Die (60 page)

Abruptly Morn felt a new gulf yawn open at her feet.

Hidden intentions and vast risks pulled at her like the strange forces of the gap. They would kill her, kill everyone, if she didn't start understanding them now.

"Angus—

" Her voice caught. She swallowed fiercely, tried again. "Angus, what's happening to you?" What did Warden do? "What the hell is going on?"

I will use anybody—

With a conspiratorial roll of his eyes, Angus raised a heavy finger to his lips. Whispering intensely, he warned,

"Don't let Dios hear you. Don't let Vestabule know."

Davies jerked up his head; shot a frightened glance at Morn.

Quickly she turned to communications. "Cray?"

Cray took a deep breath; forced herself to consult her board. "We aren't transmitting," she confirmed. "We still have a channel to Calm Horizons through Center. They're standing by. But they can't hear us."

An abyss of incomprehension—

Morn choked down a surge of bile. "All right, Angus.

They can't hear us." Repeating Cray's words seemed to be the best she could do. She took hold of herself; required something better. "Get up. Talk to me."

As suddenly as he'd fallen, Angus uncoiled his limbs and sprang to his feet. Without transition his collapse ended—

or

changed. Wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, he moved toward her. His burst of amusement was over, but he went on grinning as if he'd been let in on one of life's essential secrets.

When he reached her, he leaned over her console and growled cheerfully, "Jesus, Morn! If he can do that, I bet he can do other things, too. I bet he could have made me kill myself.

"Why do you suppose he didn't? Get it over with? Put me out of my misery?"

If the idea frightened him at all, he didn't show it. He faced her with his hands braced like defiance on her board and his chin up, still grinning.

Morn ground her teeth in frustration. "I can't answer that. You still haven't told me what happened."

Glowering, Dolph raised his voice. "Captain Thermopyle, I want to know what's going on."

Min nodded harshly. "This isn't optional, Angus," she put in. "We need to know. If we have to fight now, for God's sake say so. I can coordinate a first strike, hit that defensive with everything we have. We can't save Suka Bator—

or

UMCPHQ—

but every bit of hurt we put on her will reduce the slaughter.

"Stop smirking"—

her voice sharpened to a shout—

"and

tell us what Warden did to you!"

Apparently Warden hadn't explained his game to her. She and Morn had that much in common: they were both guessing.

Min may have had nothing to go on except her faith in him—

and her confidence in her own people.

But her demand didn't touch Angus. He glanced at Dolph; turned a baleful glare on Min. Then he ignored them.

"He did that pretty well," he told Morn. Moment by moment an eerie eagerness grew in him. Yellow excitement shone from his eyes. "Gave us the opening we need." He slapped one palm on the command board. "Now we can get started."

His attitude seemed to take her by the throat. She didn't know how to answer him; had no idea what he was talking about. Started? Her arm in its cast seemed to throb with prescient dread. He knew how to rescue Warden—

Nevertheless she held his gaze. "Damn you," she whispered thinly, "tell me what happened."

Davies came forward a step or two, then stopped as if he couldn't get any closer. Mikka had dropped her hands from the targ board in order to concentrate on Angus and Morn.

Mutely her damaged face asked again, What have you done to my brother?

Vector had braced himself on the back of the command g-seat to take some of the strain off his joints. Frowning, he inquired, "Started on what, Angus?" Mikka's question in different words. "I thought you refused to get involved in this."

Angus paid no attention to Vector; focused exclusively on Morn. Perhaps no one else mattered to him. "Vector's willing," he reminded her. "Davies is willing. That's all we need.

"Here's what you're going to do," he announced while his certainty strangled her. "First you're going to call Dios again. Offer him the same deal as before. He can have Davies and Vector, but not you or me. Tell him"—

Angus grinned

maliciously—

"I'm having convulsions, I must have burned out a circuit or something, fried a few synapses, you can't send me over there because you can't control me, I look like I'm already dying. Tell him whatever you want. He'll accept it.

This is a goddamn negotiation, isn't it? Make him accept it." '

Mom opened her mouth to protest; catch her breath. But Angus overrode her. '

"If he still objects, offer him Trumpet. Even if Vestabule is still human enough to want me for revenge, he can't ignore bait like that. The datacore of a UMCP gap scout ought to be worth a fucking fortune. Not to mention all those singularity grenades, and that dispersion field generator."

She stared at him as if he'd threatened to rape her. The pressure he exerted made her want to puke.

"After that," he went on triumphantly, "you can concentrate on talking to the Council. Donner'll help you. She'll make them listen." He sounded certain. Anticipation danced like flames of madness in his eyes. "Leave the rest to me."

It made no sense. What had changed? What had Warden done to him?

God, she needed to understand!

Fighting for breath, she countered, "The rest of what?"

He didn't explain; might have been too eager to see how completely he confused her. Instead he went on, "Give me Mikka and Ciro. Give me the fat man here." He nodded at Captain Ubikwe. "Give me Trumpet and the command module. Then you can forget about Warden Dios. Forget Fasner.

Forget that fucking Amnioni if you feel like it.

"I'll deal with them," he promised.

As soon as Angus mentioned the command module, Dolph started fuming. "That's enough, Thermopyle," he barked. "You're going too far too fast. This is my ship, God damn it. If you think I trust you enough—

'

"It isn't up to us, Dolph," Min interrupted quietly. Her tone seemed to ache with the force of her restraint. "This is Morn's decision." Whether or not she grasped what was happening had apparently become irrelevant. "That's why she's in command. To make choices like this. Instead of you or me.

She's paid for the right. Hell, so has Angus. And we've already been disqualified. Compromised—

"

"Compromised?" Captain Ubikwe yelled at her.

"How?"

She shrugged. "We take Warden's orders. We're cops—

that's what we do. We obey. And some of those orders come from Holt Fasner."

Although the words seemed to hurt her, she said again,

"This is Morn's decision."

Dolph may have wanted to argue with her, but his own pain stopped him. His dark face closed around the thought that he, too, had been compromised.

Morn held Angus' gaze. "Why am I going to do all that?" she asked him bitterly. "Captain Ubikwe has a good point. Why am I going to trust you that much?"

Even though she'd set him free from his priority-codes, repeatedly staked her life on him, she still didn't know what to believe about him.

Angus let out a burst of grotesque laughter.

"Because I was programmed to keep you alive." Acid mirth left his voice raw. "I wasn't supposed to be. Hashi Lebwohl told everybody my instruction-sets were written to prevent that. You were supposed to die. But at the last minute Dios gave me a new datacore. Right before I left UMCPHQ.

He sent me to Billingate to get you away from Succorso. That may have been the only reason. Blowing up the installation was just an excuse.

"He let Succorso have you in the first place to protect you from Fasner. So Fasner couldn't suppress you. As far as Warden Almighty Dios is concerned, you're more important than God."

Her mouth sagged open. Standing behind Angus, Davies gaped like her twin. He must not have guessed—

it had never

occurred to her—

that Warden might have had a good reason for selling her to Nick.

But Angus wasn't done. Without a pause he raised his face to the ceiling, stretched out his arms. Standing rigid, as if he were remembering a crucifixion, he shouted, "And you're going to trust me because I'm free!"

The sheer intensity of his cry shocked the bridge like a static charge. In an instant it seemed to transport Morn into the heart of the gulf; drop her down the long wall of a chasm. She knew at once that he meant a freedom far greater than any mere relief from the compulsion of his priority-codes.

Free to rape and kill; demean; betray.

While she fell, he whirled toward Min Donner.

"You made a deal." His voice sank to a malign whisper.

"Morn is in command. And you keep telling us how you believe in Warden Dios. You talk about 'restitution.' Show me you mean it.

"Hold up your hand."

Min faced him like the muzzle of a gun. Mounting violence beat in her temples; in the veins of her neck. She must have recognized the threat of Angus' demand. Nevertheless her commitments required her to accept it. Slowly she lifted her right hand, the palm open and outward, as if she meant to take an oath.

"Min," Dolph cautioned her tensely, "I don't like this."

Morn tried to say Angus' name, urge him to stop. But an obstruction in her chest blocked her voice. She continued falling; plunging into the depths of an immeasurable realization.

Because I'm free!

Warden had—

Before anyone could react, Angus aimed one fist at the ED director. A thin streak of crimson fire shot out from between his knuckles. Instantly his laser burned a hole through the center of Min's hand.

Morn gaped at the wound as if she'd struck the bottom of the abyss. Betray—

Angus had turned against them.

Warden had turned him against them?

No, this wasn't the bottom: she had farther to fall.

Across the bridge, shouts of dismay and anger rang off the bulkheads. Too late, Davies hauled Min's pistol out of his pocket; charged at Angus. Frantically he jammed the handgun at the side of Angus' head. "You sonofabitch!" he yelped.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Roaring, Captain Ubikwe hurled his bulk at Angus. Glessen and Sergei Patrice were already halfway to the command station.

Min froze them with a raw shout: "Stay where you are!"

Dolph stumbled to a halt a stride away from Angus. His boots skidding, Patrice stopped. Glessen waved his fists, driven by fury; but Min's authority held him back.

Terrible self-coercion intensified her features. Her cheeks and forehead seemed to burn, set afire by the heat of their underlying bones. Murder and restraint wailed against each other in her eyes.

"Don't you understand?" she rasped at Dolph; at Glessen and Patrice. Her pain echoed as if she were screaming.

"We don't have time for this."

Angus lowered his fist. "Oh, put that thing away," he sneered at Davies. Cruel humor twisted his face. "You're too scared to think. Deciding to let the Amnion have you has turned you stupid. She'll heal. Hell, laser burns are self-cauterizing. She didn't even bleed. And I made a point of not hitting bone."

Involuntarily Davies lowered the gun. He didn't know how to meet Angus' scorn.

Not hitting bone?

Angus was a cyborg: maybe he could be that accurate.

If this wasn't a betrayal, what was it?

Trembling, Min stalked over to the command station; displayed her burned hand in front of Mom. She'd been called Warden Dios' "executioner." Her arm shook with the force of blows she chose not to strike.

Transfixed, Morn stared at the wound. From Min's palm she caught a faint whiff of roasted meat.

Even this hurt, this indignity, the ED director tried to endure in the name of her beliefs.

"Just so you'll know," she snarled like the cut of a drill,

"I also have orders to keep you alive. They're practically the only orders Warden gave me. He sent me aboard this ship to make sure you survive.

"If you decided to surrender yourself to Calm Horizons, I would have to stop you."

For a moment she fixed a killing glare on Angus. She didn't speak: at first she kept her fury to herself. But then her damaged fist flashed out like lightning; struck him high on the cheek. Despite her burned flesh, she hit him so hard his head rocked sideways.

He responded instantly. His return blow reached halfway to her head before she could react—

before Morn even saw

him move—

—

carried that far and stopped. A forearm's length from Min's face, his fist paused, then withdrew. He lowered his arms. A red welt swelled on his cheek.

Grinning like a beast, he remarked, "I guess that's fair."

Deliberately he pushed his hands into the pockets of his shipsuit.

Poised on the balls of her feet, Min studied him as if he confused her. Dark speculation thronged in her gaze. Then she seemed to see something she recognized in him. She nodded once, harshly, and turned away.

"Warden must want you alive for a reason," she told Morn. A stifled clamor frayed her voice. "I sure as hell hope it's a good one."

She might have been shouting, Make up your mind!

Stiffly she went back to the communications station.

Morn opened her mouth and found herself gasping. Her heart jolted as if she'd been struck, not Angus; as if the blow Min delivered and the one he repressed had both been aimed at her.

For a reason—

With a flash of laser fire and an instant of restraint, Angus had made the terms of her dilemma clear. He'd demonstrated his freedom—

and his self-control.

In some way Warden had let him go. She was so precious to Warden that he'd released Angus altogether.

And now Min challenged her to make the choices she'd been given. Trust Warden. Trust what he'd done to Angus. Set aside her fears and her shame; her visceral revulsion.

Or reject—

There: that was the bottom; the final question. Earlier Min had talked about "restitution." She believed Warden wanted to end Holt Fasner's power over human space—