This Day All Gods Die (84 page)

Beyond the port airlock, Davies and Vector faced a huge space like a cavern left behind by a receding flood of brimstone and lava. Maybe the light actually did feed on the walls.

Every span of the bulkheads and equipment seemed to glow with implied heat. Davies guessed that the high chamber was a cargo hold. Structures which resembled trees formed of poured concrete stood as if rooted to every surface: they were probably gantries, positioned for zero g. Cables like vines spread at random angles from their limbs and trunks. Among them the decks and walls were crisscrossed with magnetic rails for transport sleds.

Despite its alienness, the hold eased one of Davies' worries. He'd feared facing Marc Vestabule and Warden Dios in some featureless, constricted room where nothing was possible.

The actual situation was bad enough—

Ten meters beyond the airlock, four Amnion held the floor. Two of them looked like replicas of each other: each with four eyes so that they could see all around them; each with three arms and legs. The other two had been grown to a different design. One had four arms, the other five; and their legs also might as well have been arms. They carried ambiguous pieces of equipment, which they used with separate limbs.

Pouches hung from various shoulders. But all four of them wore the gnarled crust which took the place of clothes for the Amnion. And all four had the lipless mouths, lamprey teeth, and merciless eyes of their kind.

"A reception committee," Vector murmured. "How nice."

Davies ignored him.

He didn't see any guns. None of these Amnion held anything comparable to the weapons he'd seen on Enablement.

That, too, eased a worry.

In front of the four creatures floated two men; or rather one man and a mutated human being. Davies recognized Marc Vestabule. He'd encountered the Amnioni once before; wasn't likely to forget Vestabule's approximation of humanity. The human side of Vestabule's face wore a vestigial look of concern, which his alien features contradicted. He had what must have been a PCR jacked into one of his ears and a pickup fixed to his throat. If he commanded the defensive, he needed such things to stay in contact with the bridge.

His companion was Warden Dios.

Davies had never met the UMCP director; never seen the man before. However, Morn's memories filled the gap as effectively as personal knowledge. In some strange sense, he'd known those strong, square fists and that thick chest longer than he'd been alive. He recognized the patch which covered Warden's left eye socket above the breathing mask: he knew it concealed an IR prosthesis which enabled him—

so they'd said

in the Academy—

to detect lies no matter who told them. And the direct force of Warden's human eye was familiar, as if he'd stood under its scrutiny more than once.

He knew Director Dios couldn't see him, not through the polarized mirror of his faceplate. Nevertheless he seemed to feel Warden's gaze searching him as if the UMCP director wanted to understand what kind of son Morn had brought into the world.

Davies' metabolism burned too hotly for comfort inside an EVA suit. Droplets of sweat broke free of his face, left odd bits of refraction .and distortion on the inner surface of his faceplate. In spite of the power drain, he dialed internal cool-ing as high as it would go; increased the oxygen balance supplied by his tanks. Still his skin felt flushed, as if he were feverish—

or ashamed to face the UMCP director.

In his memories, Warden Dios was a man who demanded the best from everyone around him—

and had the right to de-

mand it because he gave the best himself.

Davies looked around quickly to make sure there were no other Amnion in the hold. At the edge of his faceplate he noticed that the iris of the airlock remained open behind Vector. A kick of adrenaline carried new fear through his veins.

Were the Amnion planning to force their way aboard the command module? Was that what all this equipment was for?—

to

pry open or cut through the module's seals?

If the airlock itself stayed open, Captain Ubikwe might cause Warden's death before Angus could try to rescue any of them.

For a moment neither Vestabule nor Warden Dios spoke: they simply stared at the faceless EVA suits. Then the former human turned to Warden. In a voice like flakes of oxidation, he said, "The way is open, Warden Dios." He indicated the airlock. "Will you depart?"

Depart—

? Davies bit his lip to contain his alarm. Were the Amnion willing to let Warden go? A hostage as valuable as the UMCP director? What kind of deal had he made with them?

What had they done to him?

Warden replied with a snort of derision. Nudging the deck with one foot, he moved a meter closer to Davies and Vector; ahead of the Amnion. As if he understood how they might take Vestabule's offer, he said gruffly, "Don't worry about it. He knows I can't leave. This is just his confused idea of a joke."

Behind him, Vestabule intoned, "The statement was made that you would be permitted to return. I have abided by it."

The Amnioni added a guttural sound to his throat pickup.

At once the hold airlock irised shut.

Warden snorted again. "One of the pleasures of dealing with the Amnion," he rasped, "is the way they keep their promises."

Before Vestabule could respond, the director asked harshly, "Which of you is Davies Hyland?"

Davies raised his right hand as if he were taking an oath.

A clutch of panic gripped his chest, but he forced himself to say, "I am."

Warden stared at him hard, then glanced toward Vector.

"In that case, you must be Dr. Shaheed."

Vector inclined his head. "As you say, Director Dios." A small movement of his hands implied a shrug. "I hope you'll forgive these suits. We aren't particularly eager to start breathing that air."

Warden dismissed Vector's apology with a frown.

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Do not delay, Warden Dios," Vestabule warned. "We must initiate thrust. You will ensure that there is no resistance."

Warden's chin jutted as if he were grinding his teeth.

"I'm not going to waste time thanking you for this," he told Davies and Vector. "You deserve more gratitude than I can express. But I do want to make my position clear.

"Our host has given me the benefit of a delayed-action mutagen. I imagine you're familiar with it. I'm still human because he also gave me a temporary antidote. But when the antidote wears off—

" The corners of his jaw knotted. "That's why I can't leave."

"Director Dios belongs to us," Vestabule stated flatly.

Warden grimaced. Bitter as acid, he drawled, "So please don't torment yourselves thinking there must be something you can do for me. You'll end up as confused as he is."

He may have meant, If you've got something planned, leave me out of it. I can't help you. And there's nothing left of me to save.

Davies' heart dropped. A flash of despair filled his throat with ashes: for a moment he could hardly breathe. Angus was right. A delayed-action—

Like Ciro. Everything Angus

planned, everything Mikka and Ciro and Captain Ubikwe risked had already come undone.

Now there was no reason to do anything except surrender.

But Vector reacted differently. "I'm sorry to hear that, Director Dios," he murmured. "I know the mutagen you're talking about. It shouldn't happen to a dog." Then he added stiffly, "It's too bad 'our host' hasn't offered you a supply of that temporary antidote. I assume he has one."

Warden's eye glinted fiercely. "Oh, he has one, all right.

He's just keeping it to himself."

Vector must have understood how Davies felt. Nevertheless a hint of resistance in his tone caught at Davies' attention.

Apparently he hadn't given up. Instead he was fighting for time. Every word, every sentence, gave Angus a few more seconds.

There was no reason to struggle—

No reason except anger and grief and humanity.

Davies took hold of himself; swallowed roughly. Angus'

inheritance beat in his veins. No matter what happened, Morn's rapist and Warden's victim wouldn't surrender.

And if Davies could get the antidote from Vestabule—

Tension in the human parts of Vestabule's body suggested impatience. "Our departure is imminent," he announced.

"We await the resolution of the political conflict which your Director Donner warns us may turn to combat. She assures us that we will not be threatened in any way. Nevertheless we will retain our line of fire on the site of your Council until we have witnessed the truth. Then we will commence our return to Amnion space."

Davies gulped in surprise. Political conflict? Turn to combat? My God, what had Morn told the Council?

But Vestabule hadn't paused. Inflexibly he commanded,

"You will remove your EVA suits."

The two Amnion carrying equipment and pouches drifted forward.

Grimly Davies put Morn out of his mind.

It was time. Now or never. Time to face his terror.

Ciro would destroy Calm Horizons. Or Angus would. Or Min Donner. One way or another, they'd all promised Davies that he had nothing to lose except his life.

Trembling with more adrenaline and dread than he could contain, he snapped harshly, "I don't think so."

The Amnion stopped. Vestabule's human eye blinked puzzlement or alarm.

Warden's scowl betrayed no reaction.

Davies snatched a breath of clean air, then reached up, opened the seals of his helmet, and lifted it off his head. Deliberately he let the Amnion and Warden Dios see who he was; recognize his father in him. After that he replaced his helmet and sealed it again.

His eyes stung from the touch of Calm Horizons' atmosphere. More sweat spattered the inside of his faceplate; too much moisture for his suit to process all at once.

"I'm Davies Hyland," he told Vestabule. "You know me.

But I know you, too, and I'm offended by everything the Amnion did to you. As long as I prefer the taste of human air, I'm going to stay in this suit."

Vestabule stared at him. "Then we will force you from it."

"No, you won't," Davies countered. He did his best to sound certain. "Dr. Shaheed and I came here to surrender, and that's what we're going to do. You can't force us if we cooperate."

Surprise them, Angus had told him. Confuse them. Keep them off balance.

"Here." Cursing the tremors which shook his arms, he snatched off his left glove, shoved it under his belt, and jammed his sleeve back to expose his forearm. "Shoot me up." With his fingers clenched and his sharp-edged line hidden in his palm, he pointed his fist at the Amnion. "Transform me. Then I'll take the suit off myself. It probably won't fit me anyway."

Warden thrust his hands deep into his pockets like a man who wanted to show everyone that he wasn't doing anything.

Vestabule started to reply; but something distracted him.

A slight cock of his head gave the impression that he was listening to his PCR. He rasped a few alien sounds in response.

A subtle tension eased its grip on his human muscles.

"It appears that your Director Donner has spoken honestly," he reported as if he considered this relevant to Davies'

behavior. "The station identified as UMCHO has opened fire on your center of government."

Davies clenched his teeth to control his reaction. For a moment he couldn't pull his eyes away from the open flare of concern and hope on Warden's face. UMCHO meant Holt Fasner. The man who owned the UMCP was trying to destroy Suka Bator.

The "political conflict" had become "combat" with a vengeance. Somehow Morn's testimony had sent humankind to war against itself.

Warden's expression said as clearly as words that he'd caused this to happen. Directly or indirectly, he was responsible for it. He'd given Morn and Davies a chance to master Angus so that she would be able to come here and tell her story.

"Your ships respond with a concerted attack on that station," Vestabule continued. "Our scan reports that the station's shields are inadequate to withstand such an attack."

Before he could conceal what he felt, Warden's alarm ignited into a look of pure exultation. His fists formed knots of victory in his pockets as Vestabule added, "We estimate that UMCHO will be destroyed before significant harm has been inflicted on our target."

Perhaps because the Amnioni remembered some of his humanity, he kept insisting that he still had hostages. Yet he didn't seem to grasp the significance of Holt Fasner's defeat.

As if Min's forewarning had led him to this conclusion, he told Davies, "Your Director Donner stated that we would not be threatened. She has dealt with us honestly. We will accept your surrender."

Without any discernible instructions or signals, he sent the two Amnion with all the extra arms toward Davies and Vector.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, everything else vanished from Davies' head. The implications of Warden's accomplishment; the danger to Angus and Ciro; Punisher; Suka Bator: everything. His entire being sprang into focus on the moment of his worst nightmare.

As they advanced, each Amnioni unlimbered a pouch from one of its shoulders. Hands opened the pouches: more hands reached inside and brought out hypos.

Lambent with sulfur and brimstone, the fluid in the hypos looked like liquid ruin.

Some of their equipment had begun to wink and murmur like mass detectors. Davies guessed that the devices performed some kind of tissue scan. Perhaps they measured and evaluated the effects of mutagens.

The Amnion may have intended to give Vector the same mutagen they'd forced on Warden. Then they could use his humanity as a lever to help them extract his knowledge. But Davies was sure that they had something different in mind for him.

Hell, the drug meant for him might not be a mutagen at all. It might be—

His heart hammered as he realized the peril.

It might be a nerve-block; an alien version of cat; something to paralyze him so that the Amnion could study him at their leisure.

"I don't think I can do this, Davies," Vector croaked.