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HOLT


Shortly before Angus Thermopyle and Milos


Taverner left UMCPHQ aboard Trumpet, Holt


Fasner visited his mother.


He did this despite the fact that the old harridan had


been in a foul temper for decades.


The medical advances which had kept him nearly


healthy, relatively strong, almost in his prime, for a hun-


dred fifty years had come too late to be comparably effec-


tive for her. In fact, they would have failed her thirty


years ago, if he hadn't insisted on plugging her into


machines which first pumped blood, then digested food,


and eventually breathed for her. She was technically still


alive, of course; but now she was only the husk of a


woman. Her skin was the blotchy color of rotting linen;


she could hardly move her hands; she hadn't lifted her


head from its supports for at least ten years. She no longer


knew the difference when tubes brought her sustenance,


or carried away waste.


She retained her mind, however. Bitter as a vial of acid,


Norna Fasner continued to think long after her body lost


its last capacity to do anything.


That was why her son kept her alive. Many years ago


she'd given up asking him to let her die. She knew from


old, painful experience that he would put her off with a


bland chuckle and a vacuous remark: 'You know I can't


do without you, Mother. ' And shortly afterward she


would find yet another video screen installed in the room


which she considered her tomb.


She studied the screens, even though she hated them.


Their images were all she had to think about. If they


were switched off, her brain would almost surely go null;


and she didn't want that. She desired death, not uncon-


sciousness. If even one of her screens had gone blank,


she might have wept in frustration and grief. Every


image, every word, every passing implication was a hint


which might eventually enable her to believe that her


son would be destroyed. Without hints - without the


possibility that she would receive hints — all her years of


paralyzed, unliving existence would come to nothing.


Her son was the United Mining Companies CEO;


unquestionably the richest and beyond doubt the most


powerful man alive. From his corporate 'home office', his


station orbiting Earth half a million kilometers beyond


UMCPHQ, he ruled his vast empire: the largest, argu-


ably the most necessary enterprise in human history. His


employees were counted in millions: men and women


who lived or died by his decisions and policies, in


billions. Disguised by the UMC charter, and by the


public democracy of the Governing Council for Earth


and Space - which was nominally responsible for control-


ling men like him, corporations like his - he raised and


toppled governments, destroyed or enriched competi-


tors, caused potential futures to take on substance or fray


away like mist. Behind his back, people who feared him


sometimes referred to him as 'the Dragon' - and only


people who had no idea who he was didn't fear him.


He stood at the nexus of human dealings with for-


bidden space. All human access to that imponderable


source of wealth passed through his hands. And human-


ity's only defense against that imponderable threat


belonged to him.


The value of Holt Fasner's time couldn't be measured


in pure cesium. Nevertheless he visited his mother when-


ever an opportunity presented itself. He treasured her


advice too much to let her die.


Although he was sometimes hard pressed to interpret


it. Her wish for his ruin was so palpable that he had to


be extraordinarily careful in how he sifted her insights,


what valence he assigned to her pronouncements. As a


result, his encounters with her were a challenge which he


found profoundly stimulating.


In truth, he could almost certainly have afforded to let


her die any time during the past half-century. He liked


talking to his mother; he profited from her advice. But


he could have done without it. He kept Norna Fasner


alive precisely because she wished him ill with such steady


virulence; also because he took pleasure in her utter


helplessness; and finally because she kept him on his


toes. Otherwise he was inclined to forget that he was


mortal.


Men who forgot their mortality made mistakes. Holt


Fasner had paid blood — not always his own — for his


successes; and now that he had them, he didn't mean to


let them go glimmering in the name of a mistake.


So he visited his mother shortly before Trumpet's


departure. Risks were at work: small risks that might


metastasize at any moment. In themselves, Angus


Thermopyle, Milos Taverner, Nick Succorso, and Morn


Hyland were nothing more than three men and a woman;


pawns of Holt's larger policies, his grander dreams. But


stirred together with Billingate and the Amnion, they


might conceivably produce something more volatile,


with a lasting impact, like a minor thermonuclear pile


which went critical and rendered all its environs uninhab-


itable for centuries.


The director of the United Mining Companies Police


was in charge, of course; Warden Dios himself. The risk


was of his choosing, not Holt's: the negative conse-


quences, if any, would be his to clean up. But Holt cher-


ished the well-being of the UMCP as he cherished the


health of the whole United Mining Companies. If he'd


believed the risks too great, he would have forbidden them.


He hadn't.


Nor had he dismissed the situation from his mind,


however. Instead of trying to second-guess Ward — who


had spent the better part of three decades proving himself


as the Dragon's strong right hand - Holt went to talk to


Norna.


The room where he kept her immured was hidden in


the obscure recesses of the home office, in a part of the


station where no one ventured except men and women


with extremely specialized authorizations. As usual when


her several doctors weren't examining her, the only


illumination in her high sterile sickchamber came from


the twenty or so video screens which nearly covered the


wall in front of her. That dimness was her choice: the


little strength left in her fingers was enough to tap but-


tons that would raise or lower the lights, adjust her pos-


ture, summon assistance - or even turn off the screens.


Holt allowed her that freedom because he trusted the use


she would make of it.


Stark and garish in the phosphor gleam, her face


looked like that of a mummy painted to appear ghastly


under UV lamps. Incessantly her thin lips and toothless


gums chewed food she hadn't tasted for decades. At inter-


vals she drooled unselfconsciously; a fretwork of wrinkles


spread the saliva into a sheen across her chin. She didn't


glance at her son as he entered: her eyes flicked restlessly


across the screens as if she could absorb and understand


them all simultaneously.


From them came a steady mutter of voices and


soundtracks, a muted and indistinguishable argument


interleaved with at least half a dozen kinds of music - a


noise like a rabble, uneasy and irate; but so blurred and


distant that it might have been the tectonic grumbling of


rocks, or the lost complaint of the sea. The sound alone


set Holt's teeth on edge: at times it seemed to muddle his


brain. It made him think there was something structurally


wrong with the home office itself.


He knew from experience, however, that Norna


absorbed and understood the voices as well as the images.


'Hello, Mother, ' he greeted her - artificially hearty, in


part as a matter of policy, in part because he had to do


something to counteract the effects of the noise. 'You're


looking well, better than ever. I do believe you'll be able


to get out of bed soon. I can certainly use your help


running the company. How are you feeling? What do


the doctors say?'


She met his blather with her usual disregard. The way


her eyes hunted the screens made him think of a chicken


trying to peck seeds out of stony soil.


He scanned the screens himself for a moment, but their


images offered him nothing. The typical collection: half


a dozen news broadcasts, all trying to reinterpret life for


their viewers, all reaching the same conclusions; three or


four sports programs showing acts of extreme violence


in varying degrees of simulation; four or five comedies


and satires which gave the impression that they all


repeated the same jokes over and over again; and half a


dozen romantic videos — 'Mother, really, at your age,


aren't you ashamed?' — reveling in the kind of mindless


and supernal lust which had apparently driven Morn


Hyland and Nick Succorso together on Com-Mine


Station. With such tripe masses of human beings were


tranquillized - until those rare occasions when they woke


up, saw what was really happening around them, mis-


understood it, and did their best to impose the stupidest


possible solution on the men who normally led them.


The Humanity Riots were a case in point. The rest of


the time, the world reflecting from the screens served its


purpose efficiently enough. But it had nothing to give


Holt himself.


For the umpteenth time, he wondered what it gave his


mother. Did she see in it something that he missed? Was


she simply hoping for news that some disaster had


befallen him? Or was she able to snatch a secret know-


ledge out of the gabble — knowledge which had somehow


eluded him, despite his vast resources?


The question added piquancy to his visits with her.


What could he have missed? Not much, obviously, since


he'd demonstrated his ability to profit - and profit hugely


- from those times when the human billions kicked over


the traces and demanded irrationality from their leaders.


He still chuckled internally when he thought of the


Humanity Riots. Imagine trying to face the threat of the


Amnion without genetic expertise to match their own!


And yet humankind's outbreak of revulsion against gen-


etic experimentation had effectively delivered Intertech


into his hands. Owning Intertech, in turn, had given him


control over first contact with the Amnion - and that


had led as inexorably as a syllogism to his present position


as the arbiter of fate for his whole species.


If any man in history could claim to have not missed


much, Holt Fasner was the one. Nevertheless he kept the


question - and his mother - alive to help him ensure that


he didn't start missing things now.


At one hundred fifty years of age, he was almost in his


prime, still close to his middle years physiologically. But


his cheeks were just a shade too ruddy. He had to blink


a bit too often to keep his eyes from filming over. At


times he couldn't hold his hands steady: at times his


prostate troubled him. His doctors had advised him


against any form of strenuous exercise because they didn't


know how long the tissues of his heart could last. Now


more than ever it was vital to make no mistakes.


'Mother, ' he went on with the same bland heartiness,


as if she hadn't refused to answer his polite inquiries -


as if she had, in fact, given him the answer he desired


most - 'I need your advice. In the past few days, I've had


a couple of troubling conversations with Godsen Frik.


'You remember him, don't you?' Holt knew perfectly


well that his mother never forgot anything. 'He's Ward's


director of Protocol. For some reason' - Holt showed


his teeth in a salesman's grin - 'he thinks he has the right


to go over Ward's head when he doesn't like Ward's


decisions or policies. Reprehensible conduct in a subordi-


nate, don't you think? Ward wouldn't tolerate it if he


didn't know that Godsen is a particular protege of mine.


In time - ten years or so - I think Godsen will be ready


to do his duty to all humankind by accepting the Presi-


dency of the GCES. But it is a problem, isn't it? For


Ward as Godsen's director. And for me, as Ward's friend,


ally, and mentor. After all, I want Ward' - Holt had a


malicious love for phrases like this one - 'to be happy in


his work. All human space depends on him. '


Certainly all human space depended on the UMCP.


No other force strong enough to interdict the Amnion


existed. And therefore Holt's unique position also


depended on the UMCP. If he hadn't owned the cops,


the GCES could have dismantled his empire long ago.


Listening hard, trying to filter out the insistent mutter


of the screens, he heard Norna's almost inaudible ques-


tion, chewed out by her bloodless lips and toothless


gums:


'What's the situation?'


Ah, Mother, you live for me, don't you. You don't


want to, but you do it anyway.


Holt went on smiling.


Ward has decided that it's time to do something about


one of the worst of the bootleg shipyards that serves


forbidden space by helping illegals - as well as by what


they used to call "fencing stolen goods". It's amazing


how many men want to get rich by aiding and abetting


our enemies. The Amnion want our resources - our raw


materials, our technologies, our genes. Pirates sell those


things.


'But piracy would be' - Holt pursed his mouth — 'inef-


fective without bootleg shipyards to build and repair


ships - and without dealers to transact business with the


Amnion. Ward would love a chance to blow them all to


dust.


The question is how. The particular shipyard he has


in mind this time just happens to be in forbidden space.


He. would lose his job if he committed an act of open


warfare against the Amnion. So he's planning a covert


strike.


'Do you remember that situation on Com-Mine, oh,


half a year ago? The one where it looked like Security


was in collusion with one pirate to frame another?' Of


course she did. The one that tipped the votes to pass the


Preempt Act?'


Holt had maneuvered hard to secure the passage of the


Preempt Act. It gave the UMCP jurisdiction over local


Security everywhere - thereby perfecting the UMCP's


hegemony by emasculating the only plausible alternative


to Holt's cops.


'Well, the illegal who got framed is called Angus


Thermopyle — one of the slimiest characters you would


ever want to meet. Ward reqqed him under the Act. Now


he's been welded and programmed, and he's being sent


against that shipyard. Today, I think. '


Right now, in fact.


'It's a complex issue. Please stop me if I'm boring you,


Mother. I had the distinct impression that Ward didn't


want to obey when I told him to set up that frame on


Com-Mine. Our Ward is still too much of an idealist. He


doesn't like to get involved in the practical side of politics.


I've actually heard him make speeches against


"descending to the level of our enemies". But he did it


because he could get something he wanted out of it -


which was this Angus Thermopyle. As far as I can tell,


he didn't actually want more authority for its own sake. '


As if to himself- but watching his mother closely - Holt


mused, 'I wish I knew how hard I would have had to


push him to make him follow orders if he hadn't wanted


Angus. '


If Norna said anything, he didn't hear it.


The point, however, ' Holt resumed, 'is that Ward did


follow orders. He is following orders. The next few days


should produce some interesting developments on the


fringes of forbidden space. '


Now Norna muttered something that sounded like,


Why does that bother Godsen?'


'Good question!' her son exclaimed jovially. 'As usual,


Mother, you've cut right to the heart of the matter. Why


does that bother a dedicated public servant like Godsen


Frik?


Well, of course, we wouldn't have been able to frame


this Angus Thermopyle if we hadn't had someone work-


ing for us inside Com-Mine Security. But it would be' —


Holt considered his choice of adjectives - 'unfortunate if


any local investigation uncovered the truth. We passed


the Preempt Act on the assumption that local Security


couldn't be trusted - that Com-Mine had a traitor work-


ing for forbidden space. If word got out that the traitor


was actually working for us - well, I could probably keep


station votes in line, but the rest of the Council would


go absolutely shit-faced.


'To protect against that eventuality, Ward reqqed our


traitor at the same time as Angus - a sadistic little bureau-


crat named Milos Taverner. All well and good, so far.


But here comes the part that upsets Godsen. Angus is a


cyborg now, programmed down to his toes. He can't


clean his teeth without permission from his datacore. But


he still needs a control — someone who can adjust his


programming to meet unforeseen circumstances. In


addition, he needs crew. And on top of that, he needs


cover. He needs an explanation for why he's free, how


he got out of lockup, where he got his ship. '


Holt paused for effect, then said, Ward has chosen


Milos to go with Angus. '


Norna chewed her silence. Traces of saliva leaked past


her lips instead of words. Her eyes flicked rapidly across


all her screens, but never toward her son.


'Am I making this clear enough for you, Mother?' Holt


asked in a tone of cheerful solicitude. We know Milos


has the soul of a traitor because he betrayed Com-Mine


Security for us. Ward says he won't turn against us


because we've got him by the short hairs. ' That was


another phrase Holt Fasner especially enjoyed. 'If he


reveals anything we don't want him to reveal - or does


anything we don't want him to do - he's cooked. But


Godsen has a different perspective. A more "public" per-


spective. If these activities become known, what are "the


people", "the great unwashed masses'" - such words


rolled almost gleefully off Holt's tongue - 'going to think


of sending out a known murderer and rapist under the


control of a known traitor? What are the votes on the


GCES going to think of Ward's belief that Milos won't


turn against us?


'And what are the chances, really, that Milos wont turn


against us? He can probably make a stellar fortune by


selling everything he knows about us - not to mention


about Angus, ' although Milos couldn't literally sell


Angus himself, since the programming which made


Angus loyal to the UMCP was unalterable.


'Our Godsen knows his duties. It's his job to become


hysterical and froth at the mouth in situations like this.


And it's his job to come to me.


'I haven't backed him up, however. I don't want him


to forget his place -I don't want him to think he has the


power to tell me what to do. And I don't want to under-


mine Ward. ' Not in a case like this, where the potential


benefits were large - a dramatic victory against forbidden


space and piracy, wonderful for the credibility of the


UMCP - and the likely risks were small. After all, if Milos


misbehaved Ward could always order Nick Succorso to


kill him. 'He has a talent for this kind of delicate manipu-


lation. And he's the best UMCP director I could ask for.


He may be the only man I know who might be able to


threaten me - if I didn't own him down to his soul. '


In fact, Holt would have feared Ward if he hadn't


gained a kind of absolute complicity from Ward by win-


ning Ward's acquiescence in the suppression of


Intertech's immunity drug.


A small voice whispered out of Norna's husk. 'But


you're still worried. '


'How right you are, Mother, ' Holt agreed. 'I'm still


worried. No matter how careful Ward is, he's still taking


a risk — and you know I don't like risks. That's the reason


I suppressed Intertech's antimutagen. It had at least the


theoretical potential to shift the balance of power across


human space. Any effective defense against the way the


Amnion impose mutation could conceivably undercut


Ward and the whole UMCP by making them appear


less vital, less necessary. That might have weakened my


position with the votes. '


He shrugged judiciously. 'Or not. Maybe none of


those things would have happened. But I didn't want to


take the chance. So I made sure that only Ward and


Hashi know the drug actually exists - and that only Hashi


can use it. To protect Data Acquisition's covert oper-


ations, don't you see?


'Now Ward's taking a risk of his own. Not without


consulting me, of course. His reasons for doing it are


pretty persuasive, ' if only because Angus Thermopyle


would have a chance to eliminate the problem of Morn


Hyland. She was a UMCP ensign with an unauthorized


zone implant and - presumably - knowledge of the


immunity drug; and if she ever left forbidden space to


tell what she knew, PR and the whole of the UMCP


would have a disaster of mega-proportions on their


hands. 'It's what you might call a surgical strike. ' Holt


licked his lips. 'Extirpate a melanoma before it spreads.


'So he's taking this particular risk with my blessing.


But I'm still worried about it. I think Ward is getting


himself in trouble. '


Norna's words were no more than a low growl against


the blurred mutter of the screens, but for some reason


Holt heard them as clearly as if her voice were the only


sound in the room.


'I think he's getting you in trouble. '


Holt chuckled automatically. 'Come now, Mother.


Don't be an alarmist. You'll get yourself all excited for


nothing. This is Warden Dios we're talking about. I made


him - he's my right hand. He can't use the san without


doing it to benefit me. '


He might have gone on; but his blather trailed away


as he saw Norna pointing a gnarled and tremulous finger


at one of the screens.


At first he couldn't tell which one. A romance? No, one


of the news broadcasts. Somewhere in the midst of the


intolerable babble a male face with an authoritative voice


and no mind was saying, '- this special bulletin. '


Special bulletin? What special bulletin? Nothing hap-


pened — nothing was allowed to happen - in human space


unless Holt Fasner knew about it first.


'A highly placed source in the office of the UMCP


director of Protocol on UMCPHQ Station has confirmed


that Angus Thermopyle has escaped. '


Without warning, a tingle ran down Holt's nearly


strong spine and tightened around his scrotum.


'Captain Thermopyle, ' said the male head as if he were


anything more than a ventriloquist's dummy, 'is an illegal


captured and convicted approximately six months ago on


Com-Mine Station, and later transferred to UMCPHQ


by the orders of Hashi Lebwohl, director of Data Acqui-


sition. No explanation has ever been released for Data


Acquisition's interest in Captain Thermopyle. However,


as this news team reported at the time, he is no ordinary


illegal. The circumstances of his arrest and conviction are


widely held to be the precipitating factor in the recent


passage of the so-called Preempt Act by the Governing


Council for Earth and Space. Apparently Captain


Thermopyle was assisted in his piracies by a traitor within


Com-Mine Station Security. Doubts about the integrity


of station Security across human space persuaded the


members of the GCES of the necessity of the Preempt


Act.


'That Captain Thermopyle was able to escape from


UMCPHQ itself is sufficiently disturbing. However, our


source in the office of the UMCP director of Protocol


has confirmed that the situation is worse than it appears.


'The difficulties revolve around a man who was at one


time the deputy chief of Com-Mine Station Security,


Milos Taverner. '


Oh, shit, thought Holt. Anxiety spread from his groin


up into his chest. His lungs hurt as if they were getting


old.


Like all dummies, the male head in the news broadcast


was implacable. 'Because he was responsible for the


interrogation of Captain Thermopyle on Com-Mine


Station, Deputy Chief Taverner was brought to


UMCPHQ along with Captain Thermopyle, again on


orders from the director of Data Acquisition. Ostensibly


Deputy Chief Taverner was reqqed by Data Acquisition


to continue his interrogation of Captain Thermopyle. He


was considered to have a unique and invaluable know-


ledge of the prisoner.


'Now, however, our source has confirmed that Deputy


Chief Taverner was brought to UMCPHQ, not because


of his specialized knowledge, but because he was thought


to be the traitor who had betrayed Com-Mine Station


Security. He was brought to UMCPHQ so that Data


Acquisition might learn the truth about him — and so


that the threat he represents would be neutralized.


'For reasons which are not clear at this time, Deputy


Chief Taverner was not adequately guarded. Now, it


appears, he has succeeded at breaking his former partner,


Captain Thermopyle, out of confinement. Together they


have stolen a ship and escaped UMCPHQ.


The implications of this apparent incompetence on the


part of the UMCP are vast and frightening for a species


already threatened with extinction by the Amnion - a


species protected only by the same men and women who


have just allowed a convicted pirate and his most danger-


ous accomplice to slip through their fingers. '


There was more: a recap of Captain Thermopyle's


arrest and conviction, and a summary of Deputy Chief


Taverner's record, followed by an exhaustive analysis of


events by a whole panel of self-appointed experts - geno-


phobes, libertarians, free-market crazies, native Earthers;


every political fringe group that wanted votes on the


GCES and didn't have them. Holt Fasner had stopped


listening, however. He was already on the intercom, sec-


uring a channel between the home office and UMCPHQ


- putting the fear of the Dragon into every technician and


secretary between his mother's sickchamber and Godsen


Frik.


His hands shook the entire time.


WARDEN


From his personal Command Operations Room in


UMCPHQ Center, Warden Dios watched Trum-


pet run out smoothly through Station control


space. Except for Min Donner, his Enforcement Division


director and occasional bodyguard, he was alone: he'd


sent everyone else away, even the communications techs


who were supposed to keep him in instant contact with


every department and activity of the United Mining


Companies Police. He hadn't locked the door, but he


had silenced all the CO Room pickups, monitors, and


logs.


Solitude was rare for the UMCP director. Silence was


even rarer. Being with Min may not have been the same


thing as being alone; but at least she didn't talk unless


she had something important to say.


So far Trumpet's departure was meticulous. The ship


hadn't filed any kind of destination report, and hadn't


been asked for one; but her blip on the screens showed


that she was following her assigned trajectory exactly: on


course at the correct speed; responding precisely to the


data and demands from the navigational buoys which


managed UMCPHQ's - and Earth's - heavy in-system


traffic.


Had Warden Dios expected anything else? Not really.


Trumpet had only two men aboard, and neither Angus


Thermopyle nor Milos Taverner was likely to begin


improvising so early. Angus was as perfectly welded as


Hashi Lebwohl could make him - and Hashi was a wiz-


ard of cybernetics. The idea that Angus would ever


diverge from his programming was almost inconceivable.


In any case, Milos would keep him in line.


And whatever actions Milos' uncertain loyalties might


inspire, they certainly wouldn't be of a kind to attract


attention - or doubt - this close to Earth and


UMCPHQ. He'd been too well trained, too thoroughly


threatened. In addition Warden had arranged to burn


Milos' bridges behind him. The news bulletin which Pro-


tocol had released through one of Godsen Frik's sub-


ordinates, announcing Angus' 'escape' and Milos'


'complicity", enforced Milos' cooperation. The former


deputy chief of Com-Mine Station Security might


eventually dare many things; but he wouldn't dare them


here.


The UMCP director had no reason to stay where he


was. He was a busy man. He should already have gone


on to other duties. Still he valued the silence and the near


solitude. Alone with Min Donner, he remained in the


privacy of his CO Room, watching Trumpet- and a piece


of his own fate - pass out of his control.


He believed the whole human species was at issue.


Otherwise he would not have been able to do what he


did.


He was a strong man, with a thick chest and powerful


arms. The lines of his face and jaw seemed hard enough


to have been cut from metal. And the patch glued over


the prosthesis of his left eye, like the crookedness of his


nose, only made him look stronger. But sometimes he


needed more than strength to stand the strain of his


oblique intentions. He needed to remind himself of the


consequences if he failed.


If he failed, Holt Fasner would win.


Warden Dios had done too much to help create the


Dragon's power: he couldn't turn his back on his res-


ponsibility now that he finally understood the danger of


what he and Holt together had made.


For a moment the out-going blip blurred slightly as


navigational transmission shifted from one buoy to the


next. In another hour, Trumpet would reach her assigned


gap range - considerably closer to Earth than other ships


were allowed, but well within the priority zone restricted


for the UMCP's use. Then she would be gone. And War-


den would have to live with the outcome.


Min adjusted her weight slightly; her fingers stroked


the butt of the handgun she carried everywhere. Warden


suspected that she wore her impact pistol to bed. Without


lifting her eyes from the screens, she asked quietly, 'Do


you really think this is going to work?'


He glanced over at her. The strictness of her mouth


never altered; her jet hair had been marked by exactly


those streaks of gray ever since she'd become his most


valued assistant. Her gaze was hot enough to scorch men


with less iron in their souls — or less scar tissue.


In an oddly impersonal way, he loved her. More per-


sonally, he respected her moral clarity, her loyalty to her


people in ED; her commitment to the law and power


which preserved the fragile integrity of human space.


Years ago those qualities used to swell his heart. Now


they made him grieve.


Because he was grieving, he was less cautious than he


should have been. 'I think, ' he replied, 'if it doesn't the


Dragon is going to force me to commit seppuku. '


That brought her around to face him. Her eyes burned


into his - the artificial orb behind its patch and the


human one. Her whole body blazed with infrared emis-


sions. Then why are you doing it?'


'Min-' No question about it: he should have been


more circumspect; should never have given her this open-


ing. She was already in enough danger, simply because


she was the Enforcement Division director - and honest.


What do you suppose my choices are?'


'You could send me, ' she said promptly, tightly. 'Or


you could let me put together a team. Instead of sending


out a cyborg and a traitor, not to mention sacrificing


Morn Hyland' - Min was not a woman who feared to


speak her mind - 'you could have let somebody you trust


try to do both jobs. Put Billingate out of business and


rescue Morn.


'It's suicide to leave her there, ' she pursued before he


could respond. The Amnion might get their hands on


her. And she doesn't deserve to be abandoned like that.


She doesn't deserve to just be put out of her misery along


with that shipyard. If you think Angus and Milos are too


chancy to rescue her' - Min's tone was acid; her body,


the color of mineral acid - 'if you think asking them to


pull her out is too complex, try something else. Let me


organize a team. Or go myself. '


Abruptly she stopped. Dios could see the flux of ten-


sion along her jaw as she bit down on the other things


she was tempted to say.


'Because, ' he replied falsely, hiding his sorrow, 'she


doesn't matter now. I don't care whether you understand


or not. And I don't care how much it hurts to let go of


her. Only Angus and Milos matter. Everything depends


on them. If I give them a reason to fail - if I make their


job too difficult by ordering them to rescue Morn - they


might as well not go at all. '


And if they fail us, we're doomed.


Min must have known that she couldn't conceal her


distress from him. Nevertheless she turned her head away


so that he couldn't see her eyes, her expression.


He was tempted to ask, Min, do you still trust me?


Are you going to back me up? But he knew she would


tell him the truth — for reasons which had nothing to do


with his ability to distinguish lies — so he allowed her to


keep her answers private. She had that right. Instead he


took his next step along the path of culpability and sacri-


fice that he'd chosen for himself.


There's something I want you to do for me, ' he told


her. 'It can't come from me, but it's got to be done. '


She waited without moving.


Stirling a sigh, Warden asked, 'Have we got any sup-


porters on the Governing Council — I mean, supporters


who are also opponents of the UMC? I should know the


answer, but I have a hard time forcing myself to think


about things like this. '


He read her puzzlement as she thought. After a


moment she inquired, 'Are you talking about a bloc of


votes? Or individual votes?'


'Individuals. Council members. '


She let out a breath like a small snort. Facing him


again, she said, 'Captain Vertigus. '


Warden Dios raised his eyebrows to convey the


impression that he was surprised. Captain Sixten Ver-


tigus, commander of the SMI probe ship Deep Star, was


the first human being who had ever seen an Amnioni.


'He must be all of ninety by now, ' Min went on,


'but he's still able to sit up straight while the rest of the


Council natters. By seniority, at any rate, he's the


senior member for the United Western Bloc, but he


doesn't wield any real power. According to the news


broadcasts, he makes periodic speeches denouncing


the Dragon's "quest for UMC hegemony". On the other


hand, he votes on our side whenever one of our issues


comes up.


What do you want him for?'


Warden held himself perfectly still, determined to give


the ED director no hint of his urgency. In a steady,


conversational tone, he answered, 'I want you to talk to


him for me. I want you to convince him to introduce


GCES legislation that will sever us from the UMC. We


need to be a separate entity, accountable only to the


Council itself- we need to be the human police, not just


the Dragon's private enforcement agency. I want him to


put a bill of severance in front of the GCES, and I want


him to do it now. ''


The colors shining from Min's form told Warden that


she'd been waiting a long time to hear him say something


like this.


'Get everything ready yourself, ' he continued. 'Lay it


all out for him. Convince him to put all of his personal


prestige, all of his experience, all of his passion behind


it. '


He knew Sixten Vertigus to be a man of considerable


passion. Otherwise he wouldn't have violated Holt Fas-


ner's direct orders by making personal contact with the


Amnion.


'And don't let him get bogged down by details. Write


the bill for him if you have to. The big thing he'll want


to know - what all the members will want to know - is


how we'll be financed. What kind of revenue source can


take the place of the UMC coffers. The answer is, tax


every company that does any kind of business in space.


Most of the money will still come from the UMC. But


if we're separately constituted, if we're an independent


branch of the government instead of an arm of the UMC,


we'll be able to function the way cops should.


'I want that bill in front of the GCES within forty-eight


hours. '


Before Holt learns what's happening on Thanatos


Minor.


Min's eyes shone like her aura. Facing him straight,


she said softly, The Dragon will never let you get away


with it. For one thing, he has the votes to stop you. And


when he finds out what you're up to, he'll consider it a


betrayal. He's still your boss. He has the corporate auth-


ority — as well as the personal clout — to fire you. '


Slowly the director of the UMCP smiled. That's why


the whole business is absolutely confidential. If Godsen


or even Hashi hears one word about this - if anybody


except you, me, and Captain Vertigus so much as smells


the truth - all of it, ' all of us, maybe all of humanity, 'will be wasted.


'In fact, it's essential to keep me out of it entirely. Even


Captain Vertigus can't know it's my idea. As far as he's


concerned, it comes from you. I want him to do it


because he believes in it, not because he thinks I'm trying


to outmaneuver Holt. '


Min nodded once, sharply. 'Director-' she began,


Warden -' But she had to think for a moment or two


before she said, 'I'm not going to ask you what this has


to do with sending Angus and Milos against Billingate.


But I am going to. ask you to watch your back. You could


get killed playing a game like this. '


'Min, Min' - Warden spread his hands in a gesture of


humorous helplessness - 'he's only a Dragon. He isn't


God. '


She wasn't amused. 'No, and you aren't either. I bet


you might even bleed if he cut your heart out. I bet —'


She might have gone on: she was charged with her


own passion, and had too few outlets for it. But she was


interrupted by a timid knock at the CO Room door.


The door slid open without permission. One of Cen-


ter's communications techs, looking pale and more than


a little apprehensive, ventured her head into the room.


'Director?'


Instinctively irritated, Warden wanted to snarl at her,


Don't be such a damn sheep. When was the last time I


murdered - not to mention demoted, or even repri-


manded - a communications tech for simply doing her


job?


He stifled the impulse, however. It was dangerous;


symptomatic of a tension he couldn't afford to betray.


Smiling to disguise his vexation, he waited for the tech


to explain herself.


'It's the PR director, ' she said, fumbling slightly.


'Godsen Frik. He's trying to get in touch with you. He


says it's urgent. I can route it to your intercom. ' She


nodded at the console in front of him.


Warden forced himself to continue smiling despite the


sting of anxiety in his veins. 'Thank you, technician. '


Damned if he was going to make the effort to remember


the woman's name at a time like this. 'Please tell Director


Frik that he just missed me. ' When the tech hesitated, he


added quietly, 'Dismissed. '


She pulled her face out of the doorway, and the door


closed itself.


Min Donner didn't say anything. That was a relief.


Maybe his love for her wasn't so impersonal after all. Or


maybe he was just grateful that she still trusted him


enough to let him arrange his own doom without hound-


ing him with questions.


She should have asked her questions. She had the right.


After all, she was his most valued assistant, his staunchest


supporter; occasionally his bodyguard; sometimes his


executioner. Unless he was very careful - and unless she


did everything he told her to do exactly the way he told


her to do it — his doom would almost certainly carry her


with it, for good or ill.


That danger was one reason he grieved.


One reason among many.


MILOS


Milos' scalp itched. In feet, his whole body


itched. He was dirty — too dirty. He abhorred


having this much grime ground into his hands


and shipsuit, this much oil on his face, this much old


sweat crusting in his crotch. Even as a kid, he'd been far


too fastidious to let himself get into a condition like this.


He felt like he'd had excrement rubbed all over him.


That made him angrier than he'd ever been in his life.


None of this was his fault, of course. Hadn't he played


straight with the United Mining Companies shit Police?


Well, hadn't he? Yes, he had. He played straight with


everybody who paid him. Even Com-Mine Security, who


might conceivably view the matter in another light, had


no legitimate complaint against him.


Sure, he'd risked Station supplies to help Succorso trap


Thermopyle - on Hashi Lebwohl's orders, not Com-


Mine's — but that gamble had paid off handsomely. And


once Thermopyle was in lockup Milos had done every-


thing any deputy chief could have done to break him. If


Security didn't like the results, let them blame Thermo-


pyle, not Milos.


Milos Taverner played straight. He gave value for the


money he received.


Unless his own neck was in the noose. Then he looked


after his own safety and let the people who paid him take


care of themselves. But no one could hold that against


him. It was a pardonable human characteristic. An


instinct for survival was as necessary - and as inescapable


- as the impulse to eat and drink.


It certainly didn't justify what Hashi Lebwohl - and


Warden Dios, of all people! - were doing to him now.


They were forcing his neck into the noose with a ven-


geance.


And they had less reason to complain about him than


Com-Mine did. Caught between Lebwohl's orders to


keep Thermopyle silent and Security's orders to break


him, Milos had satisfied the former at the expense of the


latter. The fact that Angus had obstinately declined to


be broken was beside the point. Milos had met DA's


requirements. Neither Lebwohl nor Dios had any reason


to criticize the results he'd obtained for them.


Yet here he was: sitting at Trumpet's second's station,


at least nominally responsible for communications, scan,


and data and damage control; about to go into tach with


the same slimy illegal he'd once ambushed; about to face


disaster and death in forbidden space - and not only had


he been forced into this position by the very people he'd


just satisfied, but he'd been forced into it dirty.


So that he would be a believable second for Captain


Thermopyle, who was known on Thanatos Minor: so


they said. Shit. He knew the real reason, and it had noth-


ing to do with believability. It had to do with humiliation


and control.


Milos couldn't remember a time when he hadn't under-


stood such things.


Ever since his childhood in one of Earth's more


degraded and pestilential cities, he'd been aware that the


only effective way to evade the harm a guttergang might


do him was to make himself valuable by passing along


information about the plans and doings of some other


bunch of thugs; purchase safety with other people's


secrets. Then he was thought of as an important resource


by the first guttergang: he was protected.


But of course that couldn't last. Eventually the second


guttergang would guess what he was doing and come


after him. Then the situation would be too dangerous to


survive. So the only effective way to keep his skin whole


was to pass information both ways: to make himself


essential to both guttergangs — or to three or four, or


however many there were - and to control as much as


possible what the gangs knew, in order to mask his own


intricate loyalties.


Yet even that wasn't enough. Guttergangs protected


their sources of information - in those days, kids like


Milos were called 'buggers' - but didn't respect them.


Whenever the thugs felt like it, they brutalized and tor-


mented their buggers. Like the UMCP, they forced their


buggers into dangerous and shaming tests of loyalty.


Humiliation and control.


By the time he was ten, Milos Taverner had learned


how to deal with those as well.


It was amazingly easy. A word or two in the right


places - not too often, not too obviously—and individual


pieces of slime who degraded or scared him were


destructed. Guttergangs may not have respected their


buggers, but they had too much to lose by letting some-


one else damage their sources of information.


All Milos needed, the one absolute requirement for


keeping his neck out of the noose, was to make sure that


no one knew he was buggering for both sides.


So mighty Warden Dios and his precious Hashi


Lebwohl - not to mention the sanctimonious Min


Donner - were wrong about Milos. They didn't know


what their own actions could cost them.


They thought that if they rubbed his nose in their


power hard enough, if they made him feel beaten and


filthy enough, they could compel him to submit to having


his neck in the noose.


Milos didn't doubt for a second that the noose was


real. After all, if none of Lebwohl's and Dios' plans went


awry there weren't likely to be many survivors on Than-


atos Minor when their pet cyborg carried out his pro-


gramming. And Milos wasn't likely to be one of them:


he didn't have Thermopyle's enhanced resources to help


him escape alive.


Which of course was exactly what Lebwohl and Dios


were counting on. If Trumpet brought anyone back to


UMCPHQ, it would be the cyborg they had spent so


much money on, not the relatively inexpensive human


being.


They should have known better.


They shouldn't have let him have the command codes


that ruled Thermopyle. If they hadn't given him the


capacity to redirect Angus' prewritten exigencies, he


would have had only one option left; only one place to


go with his anger. Now, however, he had several.


One of his options was to make Thermopyle pay at


least some of the price of his, Milos', humiliation.


But not here: not this close to UMCPHQ; not while


it was still possible for the cops to monitor whatever


happened aboard Trumpet. Milos was prepared to wait a


while. At least until this gap scout — a ship which Angus


knew intimately, and which Milos understood very little


- resumed tard on the other side of the dimensional gap.


So he didn't respond to the crude jibes Angus aimed


at him almost incessantly. In any case, he knew perfectly


well that those insults were just so much spatter and


froth, an almost incidental by-product of Angus' seething


malice. Angus wasn't paying any real attention to his


second. All the important parts of the cyborg's mind were


focused on his new ship: on feeling her energies under


his hands; on studying every scrap of knowledge his data-


bases contained about her. On imagining what he could


do with her.


No, more than just imagining: tasting; sensing with


his whole body. Milos had seen enough malevolence in


Angus' eyes to sicken him for a lifetime. He felt that he


and he alone - certainly not Hashi Lebwohl or Warden


Dios - could gauge the sheer potency of the venom


which boiled and spat inside Angus Thermopyle like a


witch's brew. He knew how alive with hate Angus was.


But he'd never discerned in Angus anything resembling


the look of unholy joy which burned across the cyborg's


face while he familiarized himself with Trumpet. As he


worked his board and studied his screens, Thermopyle


looked like he was having an orgasm.


Shit. And shit again.


Once Trumpet crossed the gap, Milos would have to


begin exercising his power over his putative 'captain' fast


and hard. He wanted to crush that look of vile ecstasy


almost as much as he wanted to live.


But not now; not yet. Instead of reacting to Angus'


sneers, Milos concentrated on his own board, learning as


quickly as he could how his brief but primarily theoretical


training for this ship functioned in practice.


Damage control was easy: most of the systems, and all


the reports, were automatic. Data wasn't much different


than the kind of computer work he'd done for years as


Com-Mine Station's deputy chief of Security. And, for


reasons which were probably obvious, but which he


never mentioned, he already knew everything he would


ever need about communications. Scan was another


matter, however. He'd never used doppler sensors or


particle sifters or - was that a dimensional stress indi-


cator? - and had only the thinnest understanding of the


information they provided.


None of his 'duties' affected the actual operation of


the ship, however. That was a problem of another kind.


Command, helm, targ, engineering; even life-support


and general maintenance: Angus ran them all. In practice


as well as in theory, Milos' survival depended on his


capacity to run Angus.


'You about ready?' Angus asked, sounding as cheer-


fully destructive as an ore-crusher. We're coming into


the fucking cops' fucking private tach range in a couple


of minutes. I don't want you shitting your suit when we


hit the gap. I hate that smell. I get too much of it just


having you on board. '


'So what?' Milos muttered, keeping his attention on


his readouts. 'You hate everything. ' He loathed and


feared the very timbre of Angus' voice; but it was essen-


tial to show Angus that he, Milos, couldn't be intimi-


dated. 'A bad smell won't change anything. '


Angus snorted. 'So you say. But you haven't caught a


whiff of yourself yet. You don't know as much about shit


as I do. '


Milos didn't bother to retort. He'd been raised among


guttergangs. And he'd spent months back on Com-Mine


interrogating Angus. He already had more experience


than he would ever need with excremental human cor-


ruption.


The helm screen informed him that Trumpet was fifty-


three seconds from the UMCP's reserved gap range. She


was assigned to go into tach in a minute and a half.


Then human space would be out of reach.


For both of them.


Maybe forever.


When that happened, Angus Thermopyle was going


to find out just how much Milos Taverner knew about


shit and survival.


Eighty seconds later, Angus said, almost crowed,


'Hang onto your balls. As soon as we cross, everything


changes. You bastards have just cornholed me for the last


time. '


Milos knew that wasn't true. In an apparent effort to


reassure him, Hashi Lebwohl had allowed him to watch


a number of Angus' tests on UMCPDA's monitors. And


he'd been given many of the test results to read. They all


demonstrated incontrovertibly that Angus had been well


and thoroughly welded; that he would never be able to


violate his programming. For all his enhanced capabili-


ties, he was the most helpless being in human space.


Nevertheless, without thinking about it, without even


realizing he did it, Milos cupped his hand over his crotch


as Trumpet disappeared into the gap.


ANCILLARY


DOCUMENTATION


BILLINGATE


Even while the power of the United Mining Companies


Police was at its peak, a number of illegal or bootleg


shipyards survived and occasionally flourished in and


around human space.


The reason for their existence was simple. Forbidden


space had a vast hunger for the same raw materials which


Earth craved in such quantity, as well as for the mass-


production technologies at which humankind excelled; a


hunger which legal trade - both enabled and limited by


the United Mining Companies - couldn't satisfy. To feed


this appetite, the Amnion were willing to pay well for what


they desired, without questioning how those things were


obtained. This was true despite an explicit treaty to the


contrary. Therefore piracy became a thriving subcu-


taneous industry. Theft offered a higher reward for a given


amount of effort than honest prospecting or mining.


That the risks were great, or that the opportunities


were unpredictable, were drawbacks which had never


hindered crime at any time in human history. That piracy


required fast and space-worthy vessels, however, would


have been a significant drawback in the absence of boot-


leg shipyards. Ships were far more difficult to steal than


their cargoes. If they were taken while in dock, they were


often stopped before their new masters could escape. And


if they were attacked somewhere in space, they were usu-


ally damaged too severely to be worth much.


Illegal shipyards came into being by the blunt logic of


human larceny. A passion for profit was the engine which


drove Earth and her widely scattered stations. When that


passion was felt by men and women with unscrupulous


souls, they acted on it illegally. The law of supply and


demand guided many of them, not into piracy, but into


providing support for pirates.


The best-known - because the best-defended - of these


bootleg shipyards was the one called Billingate on


Thanatos Minor.


There were a number of such shipyards within human


space, of course. However, by virtue of their locations


their existence was precarious: they were vulnerable to


direct attack by the UMCP. In order to exist at all they


required secrecy. Therefore they hid like ferrets; they


moved whenever they could; often they kept their own


operations — and profits - small so that they would be


less susceptible to exposure or betrayal.


Billingate had few worries along those lines. Because


it had been hived into the bleak rock of Thanatos Minor,


a planetoid which sailed the vacuum a few million kilo-


meters inside the borders of forbidden space, it had little


or nothing to fear from overt assault. It was protected —


albeit obliquely - by treaty. It was also defended by


Amnion warships: the quadrant of space it occupied lay


along the most heavily patrolled boundary with human


space. And it was defended as well by the ships which


depended on it. In human space, any illegal might reason-


ably flee rather than face a UMCP destroyer or battle-


wagon. In forbidden space, flight was less attractive


because it led deeper into the fatal realm of the Amnion.


Safety from imposed mutation existed only at the fringes


of Amnion territory. Illegals were inclined to feel cor-


nered when they were threatened near Billingate; there-


fore they were predisposed to fight back.


This shipyard did not need secrecy to protect it.


So pirates with enough credits went to Billingate to


purchase vessels — or recreations. Illegal gap ships went


to Billingate for repairs. And any brigand who could get


there went to Billingate to fence his or her loot. Thanks


to its location, Thanatos Minor provided an ideal clearing


house for the raw materials, technologies, and organic


tissues which the Amnion craved. The human species


was betrayed more consistently, more often, and more


profitably there than anywhere in human space - or


human history.


For this reason, Billingate had grown populous -


UMCPDA estimated between four and seven thousand


inhabitants - as well as rich.


For the same reason, it had also become known.


The stories which reached the ears of private citizens


and corporate officials, station Security officers and


UMCP ensigns, sequestered researchers and GCES


Undersecretaries alike, had a specificity which the tales


of bootleg shipyards generally lacked. Because Billingate


had been built entirely by illegals for illegals, it had good


cause to be regarded as 'the sewer of the universe'.


Internal crime was violently interdicted because it


reduced profitability; but every vice known to human-


kind thrived there, restricted only by the available credit


of its participants. Slavery was common. Chemical


dependencies of every kind could be readily nourished.


Sacrificial prostitution prospered for the amusement and


enrichment of the men — and women? — who owned


nerve junkies or null-wave transmitters too reduced to


defend themselves. Bio-aesthetic, -prosthetic, and -retri-


butive surgery enhanced or destroyed human capabilities.


It was better to be dead than poor on Thanatos Minor.


Over this morass of human desuetude and corruption,


a man called simply 'the Bill' presided on the strength of


his even-handed malice, his political acumen (that is to


say, his ability to gauge the motivations and breaking-


points of his people), his talent for protecting the ship-


yard's profits by making sure that he got paid first; and on


the authority he gained by being perceived as Billingate's


'decisive' by the Amnion. It was he who ruled Thanatos


Minor, settled disputes, punished offenders, kept the


books - and made Billingate function with some approxi-


mation of efficiency, despite the manifold weaknesses and


eccentricities of its populace.


Rumor suggested that he had been surgically provided


with a double phallus so that he could penetrate women


in both nether orifices simultaneously.


Unfortunately all this information served no purpose


except to increase the outrage with which Billingate was


viewed in the more conservative, genophobic, or ethical


strata of human society: it did nothing to threaten


Billingate itself. The UMCP was prevented by clear treaty


from entering forbidden space to extirpate Thanatos


Minor. Likewise, of course, the Amnion were precluded


by treaty from permitting Billingate's existence; but this


was an unequal, essentially toothless restriction, since the


Amnion could - and did - deny all knowledge of the


Bill's operations. On that basis, any UMCP incursion


into Amnion space would be deemed an act of war.


In the corridors of UMCPHQ, as well as in the cham-


bers of the Governing Council for Earth and Space, it


was frequently argued that war was preferable to this


kind of peace. As long as places like Billingate were able


to exist, the UMCP could never prevail against piracy.


However, the official position of the United Mining


Companies was that the benefits of trade justified the


costs of piracy - and war would put an end to trade.


Speaking for the UMCP, Director Dios took the same


position for different reasons: he argued that the costs of


war would be far greater than the benefits of eliminating


piracy. War, he claimed, would produce an exponential


increase in bloodshed and lost lives, without any guaran-


tee of success. Despite the strength of the organization he


headed, he was known to question whether humankind


could ever win a war with the Amnion.


DAVIES


He had no idea why he was still alive.


Of course, there was no physical reason why


he should be dead. Nick Succorso's goons


hadn't damaged his body. They'd kept him locked in


silence while the ship performed a long and brutal decel-


eration. They'd made him wait for hours as the ship


coasted. Then they'd rousted him from his cell, man-


handled him across the ship, and sealed him in an ejection


pod. But none of that had threatened his life.


And the pod itself was designed to keep him safe. It


enclosed him as tightly as a coffin, allowed him virtually


no movement — and certainly no access to its controls.


He could see nothing except the status screens which


were supposed to help him hope; monitors which were


intended to reassure him, but which instead told him his


heart and lungs were working too hard. Trajectory and


thrust were preset: how could anybody who needed an


ejection pod be expected to navigate? Nevertheless its


pads and restraints protected him from the g of launch:


its systems cooled the heat of his terror, supplied him


with plenty of oxygen to compensate for his ragged,


urgent breathing.


Yet he should have died. Stress which had nothing to


do with the treatment his body received should have


killed him.


He was being sent to the Amnion - to a waiting war-


ship called Tranquil Hegemony — where he would be


studied down to his nucleotides to help the enemies of


his species perfect their mutagens; and then he would be


made one of them. Perhaps he would become simply a


monstrous and immaterial part of their genetic imperial-


ism. Or perhaps he would become a human-seeming and


direct agent of their will. In either case, everything that he


knew or could recognize about himself would be gone;


betrayed and transformed.


Didn't men and women go mad under that kind of


pressure? Didn't their hearts burst? Didn't dread clog


their lungs until they could no longer breathe?


Of course they did.


But for him the situation was much worse. Born with-


out transition into a sixteen-year-old body, he had no


idea who he was. His mind was a copy of his mother's;


his body replicated a man he'd never met. Unable to


satisfy his instinctive and fundamental need for an image


of himself, he had no basis on which to think, to feel, to


make choices.


As far as he could remember, he was a woman in her


early twenties, a UMCP ensign on her first mission;


young and inexperienced, but passionate; a dedicated


fighter in the struggle to preserve humankind's right to


live or die for what it was. Yet that was nonsense. He


was obviously male; so obviously male that his crotch


responded when he looked at Morn Hyland - a beautiful


woman, not his mother, no, not his mother at all, how


could she be? His memories were incomprehensible


because they belonged beyond question to someone else.


And they weren't complete. He had a black hole in his


mind where he should have had transitions: at the point


where his memories should have revealed how he came


into being, what his birth meant, why his existence under


these conditions was necessary, his recollections frayed


away to nothing.


Morn had tried to offer him answers. She'd explained


that he'd been brought into being by an Amnion 'force-


growing' technique which had taken him from her womb


to physiological maturity in approximately an hour. And


he'd been imprinted with her mind - education, mem-


ories, reflexes, and all — because he had none of his own.


In addition she'd told him that she'd made the decisions


which had afflicted him like this for the simple reason


that otherwise he and she would both have died.


He believed that, not because he understood it, but


because it fit the person he remembered having been.


But she'd given him nothing adequate to explain how


such decisions had become necessary. And he couldn't


recall it for himself.


Beyond question he should have gone nova under so


much pressure, like a superheated sun.


He had no idea why that hadn't happened. He felt like


a superheated sun. The source of his intransigent grasp


on consciousness and sanity lay hidden somewhere in the


black hole of his memories; swallowed by the dark.


Now the ejection pod carried him across the dark to


his doom. There was nothing he could do about that;


nothing at all; nothing of any kind. Yet he went on fight-


ing for his life.


Fighting to remember.


What had Morn told him?


What you remember, she'd said, stops right at the point


where I first came dawn with gap-sickness.


But she'd insisted her son didn't have the same


sickness.


Nick hated him, she'd claimed, because she lied to him.


By saying that Davies was his, Nick's, son.


But that wasn't enough. Davies had heard its inad-


equacy in her voice.


He's a tormented man, and, I used that against him.


He never wanted me to have you. He wanted me for sex,


that's all. So he ordered me to abort you. I told him every lie


I could think of that might change his mind.


The truth was deadly. It would have killed them both.


Because Davies' father was the only man in human space


that Nick hates worse than the cops.


Nick himself had supplied Davies with the rest of the


story.


Nick had talked about Angus Thermopyle.


He's a pirate and a butcher and a petty thief. Right now,


he's serving a life sentence in Com-Mine Station lockup.


That may not make you think very highly of your mother.


She's supposed to arrest men like Captain Thermo-pile, or kill


them, not fuck them until she gets pregnant.


But it wasn't like that. Captain Thermo-pile gave her a


zone implant. After she demolished Starmaster, he rescued


her from the wreckage. Davies remembered none of this.


He gave her a zone implant to keep her under control. He


turned her on until she would have been willing to suck


her insides out with a vacuum hose, and then he fucked her


senseless.


That's your father, Dames. That's the kind of man you are.


But here's the interesting fart. Why wasn't your father


convicted? If she had a zone implant, he must have had a


zone implant control. Why wasn't it found on him when he


was arrested?


The answer is, she'd learned to like it. She wanted it,


Davies. It wasn't found on him because he'd already given it


to her. She loved using it on herself.


So what did she do with it when he was arrested? She didn't


turn it over to Com-Mine Security like a good little cop. They


would have removed her zone implant — and your father


would have been executed. She couldn't let them take it away


from her. So she hid the control and escaped with me. She


used it to seduce me so that I would rescue her - not from


Captain Thermo-pile, but from Com-Mine Security.


All she's done since then is perfect her addiction.


His time was running out. The pod's blips and chron-


ometers measured his movement toward the Amnion


warship like a countdown to death.


Did she tell you she refused to abort you because she wanted


to keep you? That isn't strictly true. The only real reason is


that she couldn't get an abortion without letting the sickbay


test her. It would have recorded her zone implant.


That's your mother, Davies. That's the kind of woman you


came from.


And Davies thought, No. No. If that were true - if all


that were true - she could have had an abortion and then


erased the sickbay log. And she wouldn't have tried to


help me. She wouldn't have said, As far as I'm concerned,


you're the second most important thing in the galaxy. You're


my son. But the first, the most important thing is to not


betray my humanity.


He believed that because he recognized it.


Nevertheless he knew what Nick said was true. It just


wasn't enough.


Nothing was enough. The status screens showed him


only that he was closing on Tranquil Hegemony. A minute


or two remained, no more. In the distance hung the


black rock of Thanatos Minor; but that information, too,


wasn't enough to do him any good.


He needed to be able to maneuver. Urgently he strove


to remember everything he might have known about,


ejection pods. Was there some way to get at the controls,


override the presets? Surely a pod designed for emergen-


cies might encounter emergencies of its own; therefore


there must be some way for the pod's occupant to take


command.


Think, you idiot.


Remember.


If he'd known his father, he might have recognized


Angus Thermopyle's instinctive reaction to futility and


fear.


But he hadn't known his father. He couldn't remember


anything that might help him as the pod cut in thrust -


acceleration, not braking - and began to veer away from


Tranquil Hegemony. He could only stare at the screens


with his heart hammering in his throat and sweat stream-


ing off his forehead, and wonder who was being betrayed


now.


If Captain's Fancy and Tranquil Hegemony were talking


to each other — shouting at each other? — he didn't hear


it: the pod's receivers were tuned to the wrong fre-


quencies, or the messages were tight-beamed. But he saw


his course shift away from the Amnion ship; felt lateral


thrust as well as acceleration until his new trajectory stabi-


lized and thrust cut out.


Then the screens showed him that he was now running


straight for the unreadable stone of Thanatos Minor.


When Tranquil Hegemony didn't fire on him, he knew


he'd been granted a temporary reprieve.


In response his heart started beating even harder, and


sweat ran into his eyes like oil.


At his present velocity, a landing on Thanatos Minor


would crush him to undifferentiated pulp — if it didn't


consume him in a fireball first. Precisely for that reason,


Thanatos Minor would blast him out of space before he


hit, to avoid being damaged by the impact.


There was nothing he could do about it.


Nevertheless he was out of Tranquil Hegemony's reach,


at least for the time being. Any death was preferable


to the one Nick Succorso had intended for him. And,


according to the screens, he now had nearly six more


hours to live.


Six more hours to try to wrestle some kind of under-


standing up out of the blind abyss which filled his head.


Six more hours to figure out who was being betrayed.


By whom.


His urgency didn't let go of him for an instant.


Davies had betrayed his father's ship.


No, it wasn't him: it was Morn. Not his father's ship:


his grandfather's.


But when he insisted on the distinction, he lost the


memory; so he let the strange discontinuity between him-


self and his mother blur.


He'd betrayed Starmaster himself.


Not deliberately. He'd done it because he suffered


from gap-sickness, and no one knew that. There was no


test to reveal it: no test except the gap itself. In his case,


the stimulus which triggered the flaw in his brain was


heavy g.


And Starmaster was under heavy g with a vengeance,


slamming herself against the vacuum for both speed and


agility as she chased Angus Thermopyle's Bright Beauty


through the careening rock of the belt. Thermopyle had


just fried an entire mining camp, butchered every last


man, woman, and child for no known reason; their lorn


cries, truncated by destruction, had reached Starmaster as


they died. Now Starmaster was in pursuit, blazing with


purpose and clarity.


This was the work the ship had been designed for;


the work to which he'd committed himself despite his


ingrained doubts about himself. He was on duty on the


auxiliary bridge - emergency backup for any station


which might fail - and his own purpose should have been


clear; it would have been clear if he hadn't been taken


over by something greater, something so lucid, precise,


and compulsory that it reduced everything else to a cor-


rupt muddle. There on the auxiliary bridge the universe


spoke to him -


- and his memories stopped.


He could find no way past that clarity. It must have


seared his mind; changed the chemistry of his brain some-


how; burned out synapses. He knew that his — no,


Morn's, he was separate from her now — her life must


have gone on from that point. She could remember what


happened next. Angus Thermopyle knew. Nick knew


some of it. But for Davies Hyland the path was closed;


blocked by a neural gap he couldn't cross.


For him, it was easier to figure out who was being


betrayed.


Not the Amnion.


And not himself. Or his mother. Not this time.


Nick Succorso.


Davies had seen the loathing on Nick's face and trusted


it: he was utterly sure that Nick would never risk cheating


the Amnion to save Morn's son. And Morn had already


worked miracles on Davies' behalf.


If he survived the next few hours, that knowledge


might prove useful.


He had no particular reason to think he would—except


that if Morn could work the miracle of diverting him


from Tranquil Hegemony, she might also have conceived


a way to keep him alive. The more he thought about her,


the more powerful she appeared: a source of miracles as


well as understanding. Maybe that was why the stresses


of the past days hadn't destroyed him. Maybe buried


away inside him somewhere was a visceral awareness of


what she could accomplish, how much he could rely on


her.


And maybe the son of a woman like Morn Hyland


could work miracles of his own.


Eventually the pod's screens told him that he was going


to be rescued.


A ship came toward him. Not a pursuit craft from


Tranquil Hegemony: a vessel from Thanatos Minor. And


she didn't fire. According to the screens, he was still an


hour off the rock when she intersected his trajectory.


Her blip absorbed his on the screens.


Because of his training in the Academy — no, Morn's,


dammit, Morn's - he knew what was happening as the


pod began to decelerate. A monitor reported decreasing


velocity; he felt g shove him against the pads and


restraints. But the pod slowed without braking thrust.


The other ship must have matched speeds with him,


accepted the pod into one of her holds, then clamped it


down so that she could control it.


With difficulty, he wormed his hands up to wipe the


sweat off his face. He had no guarantee that this other


ship wasn't Amnion. Nevertheless he believed she was


human. If the shipyard on Thanatos Minor hadn't been


controlled by human beings, Succorso wouldn't have


tried to escape here from Enablement Station.


So the ship was human. And illegal. He couldn't stop


thinking like a cop, the cop Morn Hyland had been.


Whoever rescued him was his enemy, one way or


another. The shipyard on Thanatos Minor served for-


bidden space as surely as if it were Amnion. The illegals


who proxied for them here were the most malign men


and women in the galaxy; as bad as Angus Thermopyle;


worse than Succorso in some ways.


And he had no way of knowing what they wanted


from him; what his value to them was; what use they


meant to make of him.


Though the prospect twisted his soul, he had to brace


himself for more helplessness, brutality, deprivation.


As soon as its sensors detected a breathable atmos-


phere, the ejection pod automatically popped the locks


and unsealed its hatch.


At once a hand gripped the hatch and swung it wide.


Davies found himself staring down the muzzle of an


impact gun.


'Out, ' demanded an oddly lifeless voice.


With his mind full of Morn, Davies feared that he


would start to wail. For some reason he didn't. Instead


he snarled a curse, pushed the muzzle out of his face, and


sat up.


Right the first time: he was in a hold. A cargo hold,


not a medical rescue bay designed to receive ejection


pods, judging by the look of it; by the fact that the pod


was anchored with the kind of flexsteel straps freighters


used to secure crates and equipment; and by the lack of


heat.


The man with the gun sure as hell didn't look like a


medtech. His slack features and dead eyes gave him the


appearance of a nerve juice junkie who was about to


follow his addiction to its logical conclusion. His shipsuit


was too nondescript to mean anything. But he must have


been a guard. His impact gun wasn't a weapon he carried:


it was a part of him, a prosthesis replacing his right fore-


arm. Instead of a left foot, he had a metal tripod anchored


to his calf. If he really were a nerve juice addict, with


most of his muscles gone flaccid and stupid, he probably


needed that support to help him stand the kick of his


gun. And the gun had to be part of his arm or else he


wouldn't be able to aim it.


Slowly he brought the muzzle back to Davies' face and


repeated, 'Out. '


'Don't fucking rush me, ' Davies growled like his father.


But he didn't hesitate to climb out of the ejection pod.


The cold gripped him immediately. Hours of sweat


turned to ice on his skin. He was already shivering as he


looked around to see if the guard was alone; to see if he


had anything to gain by kicking the guard in the stomach


and ripping his gun off.


The guard wasn't alone. A man and a woman stood


fifteen or twenty meters away, watching him. They were


bundled in coldsuits that muffled their shapes; but their


hands and boots looked normal, and their faces were


human.


The man's head was so long and thin that it seemed


like a caricature of itself. Because he was unusually tall,


he gave the impression that inside his coldsuit his whole


body was thin. A nearly lipless mouth smiled over


crooked teeth. Beneath a thatch of dirty hair, his eyes


glittered as if he'd artificially reinforced his concentration


with enkephalins.


That glitter and his smile made him look like a


madman.


The woman appeared stable by comparison. Despite


its lines, her face was still handsome; gray highlights did


nothing to cheapen the richness of her hair. Davies would


have said she was a beautifully mature woman whose best


years weren't far behind her. Only a slight stiffness in the


way she carried herself suggested that she may have been


older than she looked.


The man's smile widened as he studied Davies. For a


moment no one said anything. Then he breathed in a


gust of vapor, 'Now here's a surprise. ' His voice was


wrong for his body: it should have belonged to a kid with


rosy cheeks and excessive enthusiasm. 'Another surprise. '


What do you mean?' the woman asked in a vibrant


contralto.


What?' The man glanced at her with what may have


been amusement. 'Don't you recognize him?'


'No. ' The woman frowned. Well, yes. But that's


impossible. He's far too young. '


'Interesting, isn't it?' The man returned his bright gaze


to Davies.


Involuntarily Davies wrapped his arms around his


chest, trying to contain some of the warmth which


steamed from his bones. If he could climb back into the


ejection pod and close the hatch, its systems would pro-


tect him from freezing. But the guard would stop him if


he tried that. Unable to control his shivers — and unable


to keep his mouth shut - he remarked raggedly, 'I guess


you know my father. ' Then, because he was desperate,


he added, 'So I guess you know he won't take it kindly


if you let me freeze to death. '


The guard kept his gun aimed at Davies' head and


reacted to nothing. Apparently his addiction inured him


to cold - or to the awareness of cold.


'Let me explain something, ' the man said, incongru-


ously youthful and eager. 'You're worthless to me. Other


people think you're valuable, and I'm going to know why


before I make up my mind about you, but to me you're


just a waste of atmosphere. Threats won't help you. And


your father as sure as shit won't help you. ' The man


chuckled. 'If he even knows you're alive. So don't give


me a hard time. Answer my questions like a good boy


and take your chances.


'How did you do that?'


Davies understood all of this and none of it. Angus


Thermopyle was in Com-Mine Security lockup. He knew


nothing about his son - and probably wouldn't care if


he did. And Davies himself meant nothing to Thanatos


Minor. His value was to the Amnion and Morn, with


Succorso caught between them, fighting to make them


both serve his own purposes.


His teeth chattered as he asked, 'Do what?'


The man seemed to enjoy the sound of Davies' teeth.


'Change course in that pod, ' he said liplessly.


'I didn't. ' Davies shivered so hard that his right knee


failed. This was only a cargo hold. Nothing except the


bulkheads and the infrastructure and the ship's frail skin


held out the black and absolute cold of space. For an


instant he caught himself with his left. Then that, too,


folded, and he thudded to the deck. His mouth could


hardly form words. 'It's impossible. '


'I told you so, ' the woman commented distantly.


Then it's a game, ' the man assented. 'Captain Nick


must be playing bait-and-switch with our hosts. If he


thinks he can get me tangled up in something like that,


he's even more confused than I remember.


What's your name?'


The heat leaked out of Davies, taking his life with


it. He should have wailed or pleaded. He should have


answered the question. But he didn't. He said, shivered,


Tuck you. '


At that, anger or enthusiasm stretched the man's lips


even thinner. They were pale around his words as he said,


'Listen to me. I'm the Bill. You pay me before you get


anything. Hypothermia is a nice death. As soon as you


go to sleep, nothing ever bothers you again. You can be


sure I won't let you freeze. I'm not that nice to anybody.


You can answer questions now, or you can wait until I


try a little BR surgery on you.


What's your name?'


Despite the cold, Davies had no trouble reaching back


among his memories - Morn's memories - to the Acad-


emy, where she'd first heard the term 'BR surgery'. BR


meant 'bio-retributive'.


'Davies, ' he replied in a cough of steam. 'Davies


Hyland. '


The man paused. 'Now why, I wonder, ' he mused,


'does that name sound familiar?'


'You heard the story, ' the woman told him. 'Captain


Davies Hyland, commanding officer, United Mining


Companies Police destroyer Starmaster. It destructed


somehow - or Thermopyle blew it up. He got away with


the Captain's daughter. Morn Hyland. She left him for


Succorso when Com-Mine Security arrested him.


'You know Thermopyle. You know what he must have


done to her while he had her. On top of everything else,


he must have gotten her pregnant.


This must be her son. '


That doesn't make sense, ' the man protested. 'He's at


least sixteen years too old. '


The hold contracted around Davies. The cold seemed


to leech vision as well as heat out of him. The ague in


his muscles was so severe that he couldn't keep his head


up. On his knees he huddled over himself like a penitent.


The woman sighed patiently. Where did he just come


from?'


'Captain Nick's ship. '


'And where before that?'


The man let out a sigh of comprehension. After


another pause he asked, 'Davies, why did you go to


Enablement Station? What were you doing there? What


was Captain Nick doing?'


Now who was being betrayed? By whom?


Davies could feel the sleep he'd been promised coming.


The chills threatened to shake his consciousness apart.


Soon he wouldn't be able to connect one thought to


another, and he would be able to rest at last.


What answer would Morn want him to give?


He had no way of knowing; but he did the best he


could.


'She's UMCP. Morn Hyland. ' I'm UMCP, you fucking


bastard, and this is one bill I'm definitely going to pay.


'They sent her. ' He could barely force out more than one


word at a time. 'I don't know why. But Succorso -' The


cold seared his lungs. For a moment he coughed hard


enough to bring up blood. Then he finished. 'He's work-


ing with her. '


There. At least one small part of his debt of harm to


Nick Succorso was paid.


But it didn't work. Not the way he wanted. Out of the


cold and the gathering dark, the man said, 'I don't believe


you. Enablement is the only place she could have


obtained a kid your age. That means you must have been


the reason they went there. There must be something'


— Davies heard relish in the word - 'special about you.


Otherwise our hosts wouldn't want you back.


'I'm quite sure you know what that something is.


Eventually you're going to tell me. You're going to tell


me what kind of game they're playing. '


Davies couldn't see the deck in front of him.


What kind of game.


He no longer knew whether his eyes were open.


They're playing.


Maybe, he thought as he sagged dumbly onto his face,


maybe it worked after all.


NICK


Nick Succorso rubbed the scars on his face as if


they were tight with old pain and waited for


Billingate Operations to assign him a berth.


Where he was told to dock would hint at where he


stood with the Bill.


He knew perfectly well that he was pushing the Bill


into a difficult position. The Amnion warships - Tranquil


Hegemony and now Calm Horizons, looming out of deep


space - had certainly been in communication with Than-


atos Minor, transmitting their requirements. Also cer-


tainly, those requirements weren't to Nick's benefit. And


the Bill had to take them seriously. He lived here on


sufferance: his hosts could revoke his whole economic


existence whenever they wished. In addition, two


Amnion warships represented enough firepower to root


him out of his rock like a rat out of a hole.


And then there was the question of selling human


beings to forbidden space. The Bill had no moral, or


even visceral, qualms about such things: that was sure.


Nevertheless he was equally sure to have pragmatic


qualms. If Thanatos Minor became known as a place


where men and women were lost to the Amnion, Billin-


gate would lose traffic. Fewer ships would come; fewer


repairs would be done; fewer goods would be sold.


He wouldn't thank Nick Succorso for bringing prob-


lems like that down on his head.


On the other hand, Nick had credit for the repairs he


needed; and providing such repairs brought in much of


Billingate's wealth. And the ships which came for repair


were the same vessels which brought the resources and


information the Amnion craved. Any ship the Bill turned


away would have a double impact on his profits.


Also the circumstances surrounding the sale of Morn


and her damnable brat were unique. In this situation, the


Bill might believe that he could cooperate with Nick -


perhaps secretly, perhaps passively - without risking too


much damage.


He wouldn't thank Nick for coming to him now, like


this. But he might conceivably do the work Nick needed


from him.


The first indication of his leanings would come when


Operations assigned a berth. A visitor's dock or a place


in the shipyard? If the Bill treated Captain's Fancy like a


visitor, Nick's troubles were just beginning.


As if Morn hadn't already done him enough harm -


He still had no idea how she'd escaped from her cabin


to reprogram that ejection pod. The maintenance com-


puter reported that the lock on her door worked fine.


His crew volunteered nothing. Someone had betrayed


him, but he didn't know who - or why.


'Damn them all to hell and shit, ' he muttered. What


the fuck's taking so long?'


Mikka Vasaczk and her watch had the bridge while


Captain's fancy coasted toward the rock. Sib Mackern sat


at the data station because he and Alba Parmute were


sharing the work of three people; but Scorz was a com-


petent replacement for Lind on communications,


Ransum could manage helm despite her jittery hands,


and Karster was safe enough at targ. The scan second,


Arkenhill, was no substitute for Carmel - who was? -


and this close to Thanatos Minor, as well as to two


Amnion warships, scan was critical; but Mikka was


watching everything that came in through Arkenhill's


board almost as carefully as Nick himself did.


In any case, Captain's Fancy was moving too slowly to


survive a fight. She might inflict damage, but she would


be destroyed nonetheless.


While his ship glided along her approach trajectory


toward Billingate, Nick paced the bridge and studied


the screens and fretted as if he had worms gnawing


inside him. The electricity, the combative frisson, which


usually filled his nerves like eagerness when death


and ruin threatened him was gone. The knowledge that


he could beat anybody had been replaced by the fear


that Morn had dug a hole too deep for him to climb


out of.


There was no question about it: he should have ripped


out her female organs when he first heard she was preg-


nant, instead of taking her to Enablement to have her


brat.


He shouldn't be stewing about that now, of course.


The past was the past: men who looked back got shot by


what was in front of them. Until now, the only regret of


his life was that he'd ever trusted anyone enough to let


that woman scar him. Unfortunately his acid longing to


take back the mistakes he'd made with Morn refused to


recognize its own futility. Instead it gnawed inside him


like cramps, hindering his strength, restricting his


energies.


She was so beautiful — Sex with her was the closest


he'd ever come to healing his scars. And every bit of it


was a lie. Like the first time, with the woman who'd cut


him. The welcoming spread of Morn's legs had been a


steel trap, open to shear off his manhood, his ability to


beat impossible odds; gaping to amputate the part of him


that never lost.


What she'd done to him made his heart hurt as if she'd


laid her knife there instead of on his cheeks.


What the fuck's taking them so long?


'It's not a simple question for them, ' Mikka answered


unnecessarily. They have to figure out whose side


they're on. Probably they've never had to do that before. '


For the first time since he'd known his second, her


habitual scowl didn't look merely closed, defended.


Instead it conveyed criticism; even hostility. It gave the


impression that she no longer trusted him — him, Nick


Succorso, who had once been as unquestionable to her


as the orbits of the stars.


Morn had cost him that as well.


'This may come as a surprise to you, ' he snarled from


the burning depths of his regret, 'but I knew that already. '


Mikka shrugged stolidly.


Whatever they're talking about, ' Scorz reported in an


abstract tone, 'they're beaming it too tight for us to hear.


There's some residual buzz, but I can't pick up anything


else. '


Struggling to put Mikka and Morn and regret out of


his mind, Nick muttered as if he didn't know he was


repeating himself, 'Damn them all to hell and shit. '


Operations continued to transmit routine traffic infor-


mation, trajectory confirmation, station protocols; noth-


ing else.


He paced the bridge and tried to think.


At some point he would have to resume his air of


superiority and confidence; fake it if he couldn't actually


feel it. His dread and regret were infectious: the more


uncertain he felt, the more his people would doubt him.


Mikka wasn't the only one - although she was the worst,


because she was the most capable; because he'd trusted


her the most. Sib Mackern seemed to flinch whenever


Nick caught his eye. And Ransum's nervousness was


spreading. Normally confined to her hands, it now affec-


ted the way she turned her head; it made her shuffle her


feet as if she felt an unconscious desire to run.


Already three people on the bridge distrusted Nick


enough to be unreliable.


Who else felt that way? Maybe no one except Vector


Shaheed. And Vector's attitude was predictable: he had


reason to think Nick was going to kill him. Hell, the


phlegmatic shit deserved to be killed. He'd ignored an


order. Maybe the infection hadn't spread any further yet.


But it was going to spread. It would certainly catch


Pup. The kid was Mikka's brother. And he admired


Vector.


And the rest of the crew would be exposed to the same


illness as soon as they felt Nick's vulnerability and realized


that the center of their lives might not hold much longer.


Groping for clues - for ways to pull himself out of his


stew - maybe for hope - Nick stopped at the scan station


and asked harshly, Where did they take that damn pod?'


'Cargo berth,' Arkenhill answered promptly without


lifting his gaze from his board. He may have been trying


to prove that he was as capable as Carmel. 'I guess they're


planning to keep the pod. The ship docked a couple of


minutes ago. You want to know which berth?'


'No. ' Nick had only one reason for caring what hap-


pened to Davies Hyland. 'I want id on the ship. '


'That's easy. We've got traffic data. ' As a precaution


against accidents, Operations transmitted information on


all ships and movements in Billingate's control space.


Arkenhill hit keys, consulted his readouts. 'She calls her-


self Soar. Captain Sorus Chatelaine. Port of registry,


Terminus. '


'She's a ways from home, ' Mikka observed dryly. Ter-


minus was farther from forbidden space than any other


human station - at least a hundred light-years farther


than Earth.


Nick turned to Sib Mackern. What does data say about


her?'


Sweat and lack of sleep made Mackern's pale mustache


stand out and his eyes recede. His hands faltered as he


worked his board. After a moment he reported, 'Noth-


ing, Nick. We've never heard of her before. '


Involuntarily Nick's fingers curled into fists. Sib


sounded like a weakling - and Nick despised weaklings.


He had to stifle an impulse to hit the data second.


'Cross-reference it, ' he snapped. 'Name, captain, regis-


try, id codes. Give me a real answer. '


Among illegal ships, there was often a considerable


discrepancy between public and private id. Ships and


captains could change their names as often as they liked.


But they couldn't change their registrations — or the id


codes embedded in their datacores. Not without swap-


ping out the datacores themselves.


Even that was possible, of course. But then there


would be other kinds of discrepancies -


'Do it by configuration, too, ' Mikka added for him.


Try their emission signature or anything else scan picked


up on them. '


Now it was his second that Nick wanted to hit. Not


because she was wrong, but because she helped him when


he shouldn't have needed it; because he did need it. His


brain wasn't working, and he hated that more than he


despised weaklings.


Morn, you goddamn bitch, what have you done to


me?


Who betrayed me for you? Who let you out?


'Here it comes, ' Scorz put in abruptly. 'Final approach


and docking instructions. '


Nick held his breath while the communications second


relayed the details to command and helm.


She was being treated like a visitor. A ship without


cargo. A fugitive. An illegal in search of recreation. Or a


dealer in information.


Certainly not as a ship that needed - and could pay


for - massive work on her gap drive.


Cursing explosively, Nick strode to Scorz' station.


'Give me a channel!'


Scorz tightened the receiver in his ear, tapped keys.


Almost immediately he said, 'Stand by for Captain


Succorso, ' and leaned away from his pickup to give Nick


room.


'Operations!' Nick snapped, 'this is Captain Succorso.


Who's garbling your reception? Didn't you hear me say


I need repair? Didn't you get my credit confirmation? I


want a berth in the shipyard!'


'Captain Succorso. ' The reply which came over bridge


audio was laconic; insufferably unconcerned. 'Our recep-


tion isn't garbled. And we aren't deaf. We just don't like


ships that come in chased by angry Amnion. You're lucky


we're letting you dock at all. But the Bill wants to talk


to you. ' A pause. 'He wants to confirm your credit in


person. '


All at once Nick's dread became as heavy as a blow to


the stomach. For a second or two he felt that he couldn't


breathe; that his voice would crack like a kid's if he tried


to talk.


He couldn't wait for the shock to pass, however. Half-


coughing, he rasped, 'Make sense, Operations. This is a


goddamn credit-jack, ' coded to be read by a computer,


'not a physical transfer. He won't learn anything by look-


ing at it.


'I need repairs. I can pay for them. Dock me in the


shipyard!'


Operations forced him to wait for an answer. When it


came, the voice from the speakers seemed to be laughing


secretly.


'Apparently that credit-jack has been revoked. '


'You sonofabitch!' Nick hunched over the pickup, try-


ing to drive his anger into the face of the man he couldn't


see. 'It can't be revoked. It's money! You can't revoke


money?


The radio voice permitted itself an audible chuckle.


Try telling that to the Amnion warship behind you. '


With a definitive click, Operations cut transmission.


An unnatural silence filled the bridge, as if the air-


scrubbers and servos had shut down.


Karster usually kept his questions to himself. Perhaps


to compensate for the fact that he looked as unformed as


a boy, he tried to act like he already understood every-


thing. He couldn't stand the silence, however.


'Confirm it in person?' he asked. What's that supposed


to mean?'


'It means, ' Mikka replied as if she were suddenly tired,


'the Bill wants to know what's going on before he makes


up his mind about us. '


Nick wheeled on the command second. If she kept this


up, he was certainly going to hit her. 'You said it your-


self, ' he snarled. 'It's not that simple. He's got fucking


Morn's fucking brat. '


The Bill wanted to know what was going on so that


he could milk the situation for all it was worth. And so


that he could get even with Nick for bringing him this


kind of trouble.


Nick had promised Davies to the Amnion.


Trying to demonstrate that he'd never intended to


break his bargains with them — as well as to conceal the


true nature of his dishonesty toward them - he'd also


promised them Morn.


But the Bill had Davies. If Nick's credit-jack had been


revoked, he had nothing with which to buy the brat back.


Except Morn.


He'd come to a place where he had to cheat somebody


- and whoever he cheated would kill him for it.


Unless -


The idea hit him like a bolt of his old lightning,


the electricity which kept him and everything he valued


alive.


- unless he cheated the cops instead.


Hashi Lebwohl had assigned him to undermine


Billingate, do the shipyard potentially permanent harm.


And the DA director had told him how to do it. A


dangerous gamble: the kind Nick specialized in. That


Lebwohl was willing to take such risks had impressed


Nick in spite of himself.


It was a risk which could be turned against Lebwohl


and the entire fucking UMCP.


Would they respond to his last message? He didn't


know. Maybe not. But if they did, so much the better.


They were much more of a threat to Thanatos Minor and


the Amnion than to Nick himself. As far as they were


concerned, Morn was the only excuse he needed for


whatever he did. He could always say he was trying to


rescue her.


And if they didn't respond, they couldn't interfere.


The consequences would be incalculable, of course.


But that wasn't Nick's problem. Let Lebwohl clean it up.


Or Dios himself. They deserved it.


In the meantime it just might work.


For a moment he simply stood still, tasting his own


resources, letting the bolt's charge bring him back to


himself. Then he turned away from Mikka as if her


doubts no longer mattered.


'Arkenhill, ' he asked with a semblance of his old


relaxed, deadly insouciance, 'how far back are those


warships?'


The scan second had this information at his fingertips.


'Tranquil Hegemony is about half an hour. She burned


for a while after we passed her - after the pod changed


course. Closed most of the distance. But she's down to


our speed now - normal approach velocity for Billingate. '


To show that the hostility of her intentions wasn't aimed


at the shipyard.


'Calm Horizons has been coming up on us as fast as a


lumbering tub like that can and still leave room to


decelerate. In fact, she cut it a lot finer than we did. '


Which she could do because she was Amnion - and


because she'd been moving much slower than Captain's


Fancy's imponderable. 9C. 'She should be in dock' -


Arkenhill checked a screen - 'call it eight hours from


now. '


Nick shook his head. They won't come all the way in.


They're going to hang off in prime range for that damn


super-light proton beam, just to remind us - and the Bill


- we can't hope to cross them and live.


'So, ' he continued as if he were thinking aloud, 'I'll


have a little more than half an hour to talk to the Bill


before Tranquil Hegemony arrives. And I can stall for four


or five hours after that - until Calm Horizons is in position


to support Tranquil Hegemony.


'By then I'd better be ready to get us out of this mess.


One way or another. '


He scanned the bridge. No one disagreed with him —


and no one except Mikka and Ransum met his gaze.


The helm second's face conveyed nothing more profound


than worry and tension. However, Mikka's expression


was dour and defiant, almost openly skeptical. Minute by


minute she allowed more of her distrust to show.


'Scorz, ' Nick said over his shoulder, approximating a


poised casualness he still didn't feel, 'call me when we're


ten minutes out of dock. I'll be in my cabin. '


Getting ready.


Then he moved to the command station and leaned


close to Mikka's ear. Maybe she was the one who'd


betrayed him. Ignoring the way she pulled her head back


as if she didn't want him to touch her, didn't want to feel


his breath on her cheek, he murmured intimately, 'I'm


going to do my job. You do yours. But the next time


you look at me like that, you'd better be prepared to back


it up. '


Leaving that threat behind him, he walked off the


bridge.


When Captain's Fancy docked, he was waiting in the


access passage of her airlock as if he were eager.


He tried to believe that he'd recovered his sure genius


for victory: to some extent he succeeded. Yet his new


energy felt as artificial as the resources Morn's zone


implant gave her.


Why were the Amnion so bloody determined to get


their hands on her brat? What did he represent to them?


Was he just an excuse - a way to unmask Nick's real


treachery? Or did Davies have some value Nick couldn't


guess?


Because he couldn't answer questions like that, he


couldn't gauge his own position accurately — or the Bill's.


How much did the Bill have to gain by pleasing the


Amnion in this situation? How much did he stand to


lose by refusing to help Nick?


The sensation that Morn had done him more damage


than he could sustain continued to gnaw deep in his guts


despite his efforts to believe he was ready.


'Dock in two minutes, ' Scorz announced over the


intercom. 'Secure to disengage spin. '


Nick was ready for that, at least. With his hands on


the zero g grips, he waited for the transition between


Captain's Fancy's internal spin and Thanatos Minor's pull.


The rock's gravitic field was roughly. 8g. In itself,


Thanatos Minor lacked the mass to produce so much


gravity. However, one of the curious side-effects of the.


kind of fusion generator which powered Billingate was


an increase in the planetoid's effective density. It had


almost enough g to be comfortable.


As Nick's boots began to drift from the deck, imitating


freefall, Scorz said unnecessarily, 'One minute. '


Nick clenched his teeth against his visceral distrust of


dock. He was illegal: his survival depended on movement


- Captain's Fancy's as well as his own. Even when he was


safe, he disliked surrendering his ship to the clamped


paralysis of a berth. But now he was faced with the very


real possibility that he and his ship would never move


freely again.


Then the hull relayed a jolt of impact. Transmitted


through the bulkheads, the sound of the grapples and


limpets carried clearly across the ship. From Billingate's


lock came the hiss of air-lines. As if they were mag-


netized, Nick's boots pulled him toward the new floor.


'Dock secure, Nick. ' This time the voice over the inter-


com was Mikka's. We're switching to installation power


now. ' Familiar with every hum and glow of his ship, he


noticed the nearly subliminal flicker of the lights as the


current changed. 'Shall we keep drive on standby?'


Damn her. That was something else he should have


thought of for himself. Resisting an impulse to snarl, he


answered, 'Good idea. Let's act like we expect to be


assigned a shipyard berth almost immediately. ' Then he


added, 'Lock up behind me. Nobody goes in or out until


I get back. '


'Right, " she acknowledged.


At the control panel, Nick checked the airlock, then hit


the sequence to open the doors. His hands did everything


abruptly, as if he were eager - or afraid.


As soon as he entered the lock and closed the doors,


an indicator told him that Mikka had sealed the ship.


Reaching to key the outer door, he heard Sib Mackern


over the intercom. 'Nick?'


Nick thumbed the toggle. 'What?'


'I've got alternative id on Soar. The ship that picked


up Davies. It's tentative - you might call it hypothetical


- but I thought you would want to know. '


Nick dismissed the suggestion. Tell me later. I haven't


got time now. ' He was in a hurry. The timer was running


on his last half hour before the Amnion arrived and began


throwing their weight around.


He silenced the intercom; opened Captain's Fancy's


outer door.


It was like being back on Enablement. Billingate's air-


lock stood open, admitting him to the scan field passage


which would search him for weapons or contaminants.


And at the end of the passage, two guards waited. The


only significant difference was that these guards were


purportedly human - and they already had their guns


trained on him.


Both of them looked like their doctors had forgotten


- or never known - the distinction between bio-


prosthetic and bio-retributive surgery.


Nick was accustomed to such sights, but they still filled


him with contempt. Any man who couldn't shoot


straight unless his gun was built into his arm, or couldn't


decide when to shoot unless Operations radioed orders


directly into his brain, was something less than human,


no matter how much he thought he'd been enhanced.


But the doctors hadn't stopped there. In addition to pros-


thetic firearms and transmitters, both guards had optical


monitors where one or the other of their eyes should


have been. They were machines, nothing more: pieces of


equipment pretending to be human. For recreation, Nick


thought mordantly, they probably stuck their fingers in


power receptacles.


'Captain Succorso?' one of them asked as if his vocal


cords had been replaced by a speaker.


Nick grinned maliciously. Who were you expecting?


Warden Dios?' Striding between the guards, he said, 'I'm


going to see the Bill. Be good boys and stay here. Make


sure nobody steals my ship. '


He knew the way; but the guards didn't let him find


it for himself. After a momentary hesitation while they


listened to orders from Operations, they came after him,


bounding against the rock's g until they caught up with


him. One at each shoulder, they steered him along the


access passages into the reception area for the visitors'


docks.


In Reception they passed more guards, as well as data


terminals which would have enabled Nick to secure lodg-


ings, establish local credit, hire women off the cruise, or


prepare id verification through finger- or voice-print. He


had no interest in those amenities, however. Moving at


a pace that made him bounce from stride to stride, he


half led, half accompanied his escort toward the nearest


lift which ran down into the core of the rock; to the


depths where the Bill had hived his lair.


Down there, a thousand meters of stone, concrete and


steel kept the Bill and his profits safe from any attack


short of a prolonged super-light proton barrage. Calm


Horizons and Tranquil Hegemony could probably dig him


out, but only by blazing away at Thanatos Minor until


the entire surface was slagged and the reactor in the heart


of the rock reached meltdown temperatures.


The Bill may have been as larcenous and uncaring as a


billygoat; but he was smart enough to be afraid. Other-


wise he wouldn't live down here — and Nick's credit-jack


would be good.


The ride down in the lift made Nick wish he carried a


transmitter that could reach Captain's Fancy. But here


even the kind of nerve-beepers he used routinely in places


like Com-Mine Station were worse than useless: they


didn't function, but they did arouse suspicion.


On either side, the guards kept their guns aimed at his


ribs as if they expected him to do something crazy at any


moment.


'So how's business?' he asked as if he wanted to start a


conversation. 'Do you clowns get enough activity around


here to keep you from dying of boredom?'


One of the guards smiled to show that he had no


teeth: they'd been rotted away by nic or hype. The other


remarked, 'As long as we think we might get to shoot


you, we're happy. '


Nick shrugged. 'Sorry to disappoint you. You can't


shoot me now - the Bill wants to talk to me. And once


we do that he'll realize that keeping me alive is more


important than you are. '


'You have to pay him first, ' the guard with no teeth


chuckled, 'and you ain't got no credit. '


'Don't worry about it, ' Nick sneered cheerfully, trying


to diffuse the tension which tightened around his chest


as the car descended. 'Some things are more valuable than


credit - although a BR like you probably can't under-


stand that. '


What do you think?' the second guard asked the first.


'I think he's trying to insult us. '


'Don't think, ' Nick advised. 'You'll get confused. '


Involuntarily, despite his air of confidence, he held his


breath as the lift sighed to a stop.


Another access passage. More guards. Nick hardly


noticed them. The mass of rock piled above him had


never felt so heavy. It seemed to lean down on him,


making his shoulders sag and his step falter in spite of


the light g. Until his jaws began to ache, he didn't realize


that he was grinding his teeth.


He needed energy now; needed his wits and his superi-


ority. The problems he'd left behind aboard Captain's


Fancy could be ignored temporarily. Another victory or


two would restore his crew's confidence in him. Eventu-


ally he would discover who had betrayed him. But the


problems ahead could kill him in a matter of minutes. If


he didn't measure up to his reputation, he was finished


now.


Do you think I'm done with you, Morn? he asked the


echoing corridor. Do you think I've finished hurting you?


You're out of your mind. I haven't started yet.


That came first, before he tried betraying the cops.


Straightening his shoulders, he walked the last meters


to the strongroom which served as the Bill's personal


command center, and grinned sardonically at the


door-guard.


Unlike Nick's escort, this individual cradled his beam


gun in his hands. He didn't appear normal, however.


Except for his mouth, most of his face had been covered


or replaced by scanning equipment. Red and amber lights


winked cryptically at his temples. The Bill didn't entrust


his own security to the bugeyes - the optical monitors


and listening devices - which scrutinized, and reported


on all the rest of Billingate.


On the wall over the door was a sign that read:


I'M THE BILL YOU OWE.


IF YOU DON'T PAY ME,


YOU DON'T LEAVE.


Apparently none of the guards needed to announce Nick


aloud. Their transmitters did the job inaudibly. After a


moment's consultation, the scan-guard keyed the door


and admitted Nick to the strongroom.


His escort stayed behind. He did his best to saunter


inside without them like a man who owed nothing.


The room was large enough to be a cargo hold. The


Bill liked to have space about him, perhaps to counteract


the claustrophobic depth of his covert. The flat surround-


ing walls were featureless, however. In fact, they were


barely lit. Most of the illumination came from a set of


ceiling spots which focused down on the Bill himself.


If recent events disturbed him, he didn't show it. Alone


in his command center, he stood encircled by a neat ring


of computer stations, gleaming under the spots: boards,


terminals, screens and readouts which, presumably, kept


him in contact with every part of Billingate. The gro-


tesque length of his head was mimicked by the rest of his


body: he was insatiably thin. Stark in the light, he looked


hungry enough to suck the marrow from Nick's bones.


Shadows filled the hollows of his cheeks. Arms like sticks


supported hands with fingers as sharp and narrow as


styluses. Under his dirty hair and glittering eyes, his lip-


less smile exposed his keen, crooked teeth.


As if in welcome, his spread his arms. 'Captain Nick, '


he said in his incongruously boyish voice. 'How nice to


see you. You haven't been away all that long - not as


long as some - but it's always a pleasure when you visit.


'I gather you've led an interesting life recently. It isn't


every day that you arrive here escorted' - he relished the


irony of the word - 'by Amnion defensives. You must


tell me all about it sometime.


'But not now, ' he added quickly, like a solicitous host.


'I know how busy you must be. For the present, tell me


how I can serve you. Somewhere here, we have' - he


made a gesture which seemed to encompass the galaxy —


'everything you can pay for. '


Nick was in no mood for blather. Nevertheless his ship


- as well as his life - depended on his ability to match


the Bill. Deliberately casual, he remarked, That depends


on how much money I've got. I have a credit-jack' - Nick


named the sum - 'but Operations tells me you won't


honor it. That limits my options. '


'"Won't, "' Captain Nick?' the Bill put in promptly.


'Surely Operations didn't say "won't"?'


Nick tried to grin with his old, dangerous amusement.


'Maybe I've missed something. I requested a shipyard


berth. They docked me with the visitors. ' A little of his


anger leaked into his voice, but he kept it quiet. 'And


they told me my credit-jack has been revoked. Doesn't


that mean "won't"?'


'Not at all, not at all. ' Whenever the Bill moved his


head, the light made his face look like it was being eaten


by shadows. 'It simply means the situation has become


delicate. The "issuing authority" of that credit-jack has


"instructed" us not to honor it. ' Apparently the Bill


enjoyed euphemisms. This is not strictly - shall we say,


not strictly legal? If it were, no one would ever pay me


for anything. Men in your position - not you, of course,


Captain Nick, certainly not, but men with fewer scruples


- would give me credit for goods or services, and then


after they were gone they would simply "revoke" my


remuneration.


'I don't do business that way. I'm the Bill you owe,


Captain Nick. ' Behind his light, enthusiastic tone, he was


fatally serious. 'That means I get paid first — and I make


sure the money is good before I accept it. If I accept


your credit-jack, you can be certain the Amnion will


honor it. '


'Fine, ' Nick said, 'good. ' His poise was fraying. He


would have loved to hit the Bill a few times and hear


those thin bones snap. 'How do we get there from here?


I need repairs. I have a credit-jack to pay for them. But


you're suspicious. Now what?'


'Simplicity itself. ' The Bill smiled so that his teeth


shone. 'Ask the Amnion to rescind their instructions. As


soon as they inform me that they no longer object to our


transactions, your credit will be good, and I'll provide


repairs which will satisfy you completely. '


Without realizing it, Nick had tightened his shoulders,


clenched his fists. By an act of will, he uncurled his


fingers. But he couldn't undo the knots in his voice as he


said, 'I can't do that. It's up to you, not me. You have


something that belongs to me. It's something I've already


promised to them - payment for services rendered. As


long as you have that, I can't satisfy them. And as long


as I can't satisfy them, they're going to be a threat to all


of us. They may decide to just take my property away


from you. '


Smoothly the Bill said, 'I may decide to "just" give it. '


'And if you do, ' Nick countered, "you'll be cheating


me. ' He stifled a need to brandish his fists. 'I may not


look like very dangerous right now, but I can do your


reputation a lot of damage. Ships will stay away when


they hear you've started cheating.


'No, ' he continued harshly, 'the really simple solution


is for you to give me what's mine. I'll pay your costs, of


course - and a salvage fee. Then I can satisfy the Amnion,


and we'll all get what we want in the end. '


The Bill shook his long head. 'I'm afraid that's a little


too simple. ' Boyish high spirits seemed to bubble in the


background as he spoke. 'Just as an example of the com-


plexities you've neglected - salvage fees depend on the


value of the goods salvaged. You're asking me to surren-


der those goods, but you haven't told me what they're


worth. '


Nick swallowed a curse. They haven't got any value


to me at all. The Amnion want them, I don't. And I can't


explain the Amnion to you. I don't know why they think


that brat is so precious. ' I don't even know whether it's


really him they want. I don't know which one of us they


were trying to kill in the gap. A bit lamely, he added,


'You could ask them to set the fee. '


'My dear Captain Nick, ' replied the Bill with cadaverous


amusement, 'I've already done that. They decline to place


a value on your "property". Indeed, they decline to solve


any of your problems for you. If I understand them rightly,


they insist that the sole, or at least the only relevant, issue


here is "the mutual satisfaction of requirements". They feel


that they've bargained with you in good faith, and that


you've cheated them. This they consider intolerable. They


insist on restitution, pure and simple. '


Nick clenched his teeth for a moment. Then he took a


deep breath, let it out with a sigh, and said as if he were


admitting defeat, 'So I'm stuck. You won't return the


contents of that ejection pod. And you won't accept my


money. That doesn't leave me very many options. ' Are


you ready for this, Morn? It might work. Can you stand


it? 'I guess I'll have to offer you something else. '


The Bill beamed. 'Naturally I'm interested - although


I can't imagine what you have that would be worth more


than money. '


'Try this. ' Nick glanced around the dark corners of the


strongroom as if to ensure that no one else could hear


him. Then he moved closer to the Bill. Billingate's g


made him feel light: what he was about to do made him


feel light-headed. When he came up against the nearest


of the Bill's computer stations, he stopped. In a quiet,


conspiratorial tone, he said, 'I'll trade you. You give me


the kid you found in that pod. I'll give you a UMCP


ensign, complete with id tag. '


The Bill's face seemed to stretch as if he were feigning


surprise.


'She's a cop - and she's intact, ' Nick articulated softly.


'If that were all, she would be worth a fortune out here.


The things she can tell you are priceless. But there's more.


'She's a cop, she's intact, she's gorgeous - and she has


a zone implant. The control comes with her. '


The shirting of the shadows on the Bill's face began to


make his surprise appear more genuine.


Think about it for a minute, ' Nick urged. He'd already


promised Morn to the Amnion, but that didn't hinder


him. They were after Davies: Morn was just 'restitution'


for their inconvenience. Nick would be able to find some


other way to satisfy that requirement. 'Her id tag alone


is precious. It'll give you all the codes the cops use to


access their own computers. And you won't even have to


break her to get the rest. All you have to do is turn her


on and let her spill everything she knows.


'But here's the best part. ' Are you listening, Morn?


When you're done with what she knows, she's still


priceless.


'I tell you, she's gorgeous. And that zone implant makes


her the most effective piece of female flesh you'll ever see.


I know from experience. She'll make every other woman


here look like a dry hag. In the end, you might get more


for selling her on the cruise than her information and


codes are worth. ' The idea of selling Morn into sexual


slavery almost restored his sense of being sure and


unbeatable. The truth is, she's a hell of a lot more valu-


able than that fucking brat. Except to the Amnion,


because they don't fuck women - and they don't know


she's a cop. But she's about the only thing I've got left


to bargain with. For the sake of surviving what you call


my "escort", I'll trade her for that kid. '


'Interesting. ' The Bill twisted his lipless mouth. 'A tasty


offer - apparently. Of course, I accept your glowing pic-


ture of her worth unreservedly. But simply out of curi-


osity - do the cops know you've got one of their ensigns


to sell?'


Curiosity, shit. 'Sure they do. Her name is Morn


Hyland - she came to me off Angus fucking Thermo-


pile's ship after Com-Mine Security arrested him. They


probably think she's still working for them - they don't


know about the zone implant - but that doesn't mean


they haven't already taken precautions. Some of what she


knows is out of date by now. Pieces of her information


have been changed. She's still priceless. '


Then why, ' inquired the Bill, 'haven't you simply sold


her to the Amnion and solved all your problems that


way?'


'Because' - Nick glared straight into the Bill's bright


gaze - 'I don't want to solve that many of their problems.


I'm like you. I do business with them for what I can get


out of it, not because I'm trying to help them. '


Remember that. I'm warning you. I'm like you. If you


mess with me, I'll burn your heart out.


The twisting of the Bill's mouth became a grimace.


He looked down at his readouts, tapped a key or two


absent-mindedly. Etched by light, he ran his fingertips


along the edges of his boards.


When he lifted his head again, he was smiling like a


corpse with an orgasm.


'Captain Nick, I don't trust you. You're playing some


kind of game with me - perhaps the same game you're


playing with the Amnion. Why else did you divert your


ejection pod here, instead of letting Tranquil Hegemony


have it?'


Before he could stop himself, Nick protested, 'Morn


did that. '


When he realized his mistake, he swore at himself


viciously. How had she done him so much damage? How


had she reached so far inside him with the knife of her


treachery?


'And you expect me to believe, ' the Bill retorted as if


he were pouncing, 'she did it without your connivance?


No, Captain Nick. You planned that with her. Or else


the picture you paint of her is decidedly - shall we say,


decidedly optimistic? In either case, I can be sure of only


one thing. If I trade for her, what I get will not be what


you say it is.


'Haven't you heard the rumors about you, Captain


Nick? Don't you know people think you're a pirate who


supplements his income by doing odd jobs for


UMCPDA? Perhaps this entire exercise is an elaborate


charade designed to plant your pet ensign on my instal-


lation.


'I'm afraid my answer is no. ' He sounded as happy as


a kid who'd won a game of marbles. 'If you can't pay me,


Captain Nick, we really have nothing further to discuss. '


Nick sagged as if he were beaten.


But not because the Bill had refused him.


Oh, the loss he felt was real. So intensely that it made


his groin ache, he wanted to force Morn into prostitution


on Thanatos Minor. As revenge that would have pleased


him more than giving her to Amnion. It would have fit


the way she'd hurt him.


Nevertheless his show of dismay was a ploy. He


allowed himself to appear defeated in an effort to conceal


the true nature of his desperation.


'All right, ' he said like a groan, 'all right. I'm helpless


here, you know that. If I weren't, I would see you crawl


before I did any more business with you. But I'm stuck.


You won't honor my credit. Without repairs, I can't run.


And you won't give me that brat you rescued. If I don't


turn him over to the Amnion, they'll do worse than kill


me. ' He recited all this in a deliberate display of pros-


tration. The Bill liked to see people prostrated; liked it


so much that he might believe it. 'You haven't left me


any choice.


'I've got one last thing to trade. '


'Ah. ' The Bill gave a sigh of expectant gratification.


His eyes watched Nick keenly.


'I've got-'


Abruptly a light flashed on one of the Bill's boards,


distracting him. He touched a key, glanced at a readout;


his long, delicate fingers tapped in instructions.


Listen to me! Nick wanted to shout. You're right - I


sometimes do jobs for Data Acquisition. That's why I've


got an immunity drug for Amnion mutagens. Hashi


Lebwohl gave it to me. To test for him. That's why I


went to Enablement. To test it. And it works. Otherwise


I wouldn't be here now.


I'll give you some of it if you give me Davies.


But the words died inside him as the door swept open,


and a woman with a slight stiffness in her stride came


into the strongroom.


'Captain Nick, ' said the Bill with his usual incongruous


eagerness, 'do you know Sorus Chatelaine? She tells me


you haven't met, but you may recognize her by repu-


tation. It was her ship' - his grin was obscene - 'that


salvaged your "property". '


The light seemed to contract around Nick. The woman


was all he could see as she approached. Baffled by surprise


and old terror, he stared and stared at her while she


greeted the Bill, then shifted her stance to study him with


an air of detached amusement. The stiffness in her limbs


suggested that she disliked even the rock's lesser g.


'As it turns out, ' she said in a low, vibrant tone, 'I was


wrong. Captain Succorso and I have met after all. He was


using another name at the time, as I recall. That's why I


didn't make the connection. '


Sorus Chatelaine, the Captain of Soar. He hadn't made


the connection, either, of course he hadn't, like her ship


she'd had another name then. And she was much older


now. Lines and tired skin marred the structural hand-


someness of her face; the light made the gray in her hair


look white. Yet he recognized her instantly, absolutely,


as if she'd stepped out of a recurring nightmare.


She was the woman who'd put the scars on his cheeks,


the wounds on his soul.


'I see the surprise is mutual, ' she added archly, as if he


were still only a helpless boy in front of her.


Fear and rage knotted his muscles, twisted his face. An


instinct for survival stretched as thin as thread was all


that kept him from hurling himself at her throat.


With a confident smile, she dismissed him and returned


her attention to the Bill. 'You've been busy. ' Her voice


still had the contralto richness which had once wrung


Nick's heart when she made love to him; when she


laughed at him. 'You may not have had time to pick


up the latest bulletins. I wanted to discuss them with


you - and Captain Succorso may have something to


contribute.' She was laughing at Nick again, secretly but


unmistakably.


He couldn't stop staring at her. His muscles were so


tight with strain that he could hardly breathe.


'Your timing is unfortunate,' the Bill chided cheerfully.


'Captain Nick was about to make what I'm sure is a most


unusual offer. However, that can wait for a moment.' He


looked at his readouts. Which bulletin did you wish to


discuss?'


'Operations,' Captain Chatelaine replied promptly,


'has just had contact from what appears to be a UMCP


ship. A Needle-class gap scout, presumably unarmed - if


her id is honest. She calls herself Trumpet. She's about


eighteen hours out, and requesting permission to


approach.


'According to her first transmission, she has two men


aboard.' Sorus paused for effect, then said, 'Angus


Thermopyle and Milos Taverner.


They claim they stole her.'


Nick seemed to feel the air being sucked out of the


room. Nailed where he stood by contracting light and


too much stress, he feared for a moment that he was


going to pass out.


 


NICK


Torn between spotlights and murder, anoxia and


fear, he reeled internally. He seemed to experi-


ence the crash of lightning, the blaze of thunder,


but they were all inside his head; secret; unreal. She'd


left him with tears of humiliation and ruin streaming


through the blood on his cheeks, and now his scars


burned like streaks of acid under his eyes. If he could


have drawn breath, he might have moaned.


Caught and fixed by the light, Nick Succorso went a


little crazy.


Before he broke, however - before he killed himself by


trying to kill Sorus - a name came to him like a spar to


the hand of a drowning man. Milos. He clutched at it,


clung to it, recited it. Milos Taverner. It was rescue and


hope and a kind of madness inextricably tangled together,


but it was all he had.


Milos Taverner was coming to Billingate.


Slowly the pressure in his chest eased, and he began


to breathe again. The light loosened around him like a


cut noose; he could see the walls again, dim through the


enshrouding shadows. The feral grimace let go of his


features. By degrees he recovered his grin.


Somewhere he'd come undone. He was no longer the


Nick Succorso who never lost. But he could still grin and


face his tormentors and wreak havoc.


Milos was coming.


He'd been silent, struggling with himself, too long.


When he looked at the Bill and Sorus Chatelaine again,


he saw that they were both watching him expectantly.


The Bill held his fingers poised over one of his boards as


if he were braced to call for help - or to shoot Nick


himself. But Sorus appeared to fear nothing. Her gaze


was amused and clinical, as if she enjoyed her effect on


him and wanted to know how far it would push him.


'God, I'm tired, ' he murmured in a probably futile


effort to explain away his reaction. 'If you think it's pleas-


ant being harried all the way here from Enablement, you


haven't tried it recently. ' Then, because craziness was just


another form of inspiration, he added, 'Do you know


what those bastards did to me?' He no longer needed


outrage. He was calm now, almost clinical himself. His


grin showed how calm he was. They sold me sabotaged


gap drive components. I damn near blew up in the gap.


If my engineer hadn't panicked and tried to abort tach,


I wouldn't be alive now. '


And you wouldn't know how treacherous your hosts


can be.


'I wonder what you did to provoke that' Sorus mused.


Nick ignored her. From now on he was going to


ignore her. Until he was ready to finish her.


For the present he concentrated on the Bill.


In the Bill's eyes, he could see the lean man's efforts to


guess what had produced this change in him.


After a speculative pause the Bill asked, Were you


expecting Captain Angus? You seem pleased to hear of


his arrival. '


'Not particularly, ' Nick answered with some of his old,


casual readiness. Even a crazy man could understand how


dangerous this moment was. The Bill had to be deflected


from the truth. 'I was thinking about something else.


She' - he rolled his eyes at Sorus - 'probably didn't tell


you I've got an old score to settle with her. A very old


score. There was no reason for her to mention it, of


course. She didn't know it would be relevant. But it's


sure as hell relevant now. When she first walked in here,


the only thing I could think about was butchering her


on the spot. Then it occurred to me' - his grin felt malign


and gratifying against his scars - 'that I've got better


options. This could turn out to be a lot of fun. '


Let her believe him as much or as little as she chose.


He didn't care. The Bill's reaction was all that mattered.


The truth is, ' Nick went on, 'I don't give a shit whether


Captain Thermo-pile is here or not. He's got nothing to


do with me. But if you want my advice, this is it. Don't


let him come in. Something stinks about all this, and it


isn't me. '


The Bill pursed his mouth reflectively, then flexed his


ringers like a dismissal. There is cause for concern, cer-


tainly. Fortunately we have plenty of time to consider


the situation. The thought of time reminds me, however,


Captain Nick, that you were interrupted. As I recall, you


were about to make me a new offer. '


Nick shrugged. 'Never mind. ' No matter how undone


he was, he could be as dismissive as the Bill. We'll talk


about that later. I've got other things to think about. For


now, a visitor's berth sounds like a good idea. Unless' —


he tightened his grin - 'you're planning to revoke all my


money, not just that one credit-jack. '


'Captain Nick, ' the Bill said in a tone of good-humored


reproach. Shadows played in and out of his mouth as he


spoke. 'Money is money. Please spend as much of it here


as you wish. I'll be delighted to honor your credit-jack


as well - as soon as your other difficulties are resolved. '


'Good, ' Nick drawled. 'In the meantime, take good


care of my property. I don't want to have to worry about


what you're doing to that little sonofabitch. '


Without a glance at Sorus Chatelaine, he turned and


strolled toward the door.


'Some things never change, Captain Succorso, ' she


murmured, taunting him. 'Keep that in mind. '


The door slid open in front of him. Ignoring her, he


left the Bill's strongroom.


Milos Taverner was coming to Billingate.


By the time his escort returned him to Captain's Fancy,


his time had already run out. As soon as he entered the


lock, shut the door, and keyed the intercom, Mikka told


him, 'Tranquil Hegemony is in, Nick. She's been


demanding to see you ever since she docked. Now I guess


they're going to send another of their emissaries to talk


to you. '


Fatally calm, Nick asked Where is she?' while he


waited for Mikka to unseal the ship.


'A dedicated berth in the Amnion sector. I'm surprised


they don't insist you go there. Make you deal with them


on their own terms, in their own air. But I guess they


don't want to give you a chance for more delays. '


'All right. ' Nick snapped off the airlock intercom as the


inner door opened. More delays? He had no choice. If


he couldn't delay, he was finished. He had no levers to


use against the Bill - none except the immunity drug,


which he was saving to trap Sorus. So he had to rely on


Milos.


Milos was here with Angus? Why? What kind of power


brought those two natural enemies together? Was it a


power Nick could make use of somehow?


He needed answers; needed Milos. But Milos and


Trumpet were still eighteen hours away.


He would have to stall the Amnion.


He entered the relative safety of his ship and headed


toward the bridge like a man for whom danger and sur-


vival had become simple.


Unquestionably he was losing his mind. Pieces of it


seemed to fall away by the minute, uncluttering what


remained.


She was his ship, his, and he took strength from her.


She would serve him somehow, save him yet — she and


Milos. As he moved through her, he had the sensation


that Thanatos Minor's gravitic hold was growing less,


that his legs had more lift and his arms more thrust.


All his dreams of revenge on Sorus Chatelaine had a


chance to come true at last.


He wished he'd known her real name before this. It


would have helped make his plans against her more vivid.


Brandishing a grin, he crossed the aperture to the


bridge.


Mikka and her watch were still at their stations. Some


of them did nothing but sit, obviously waiting for Nick's


return. Others - Arkenhill, Sib Mackern, Mikka herself


- studied operational data from the installation; they may


have been looking for hints of the ship's fate.


Now, however, they weren't alone. Liete Corregio


stood beside Mikka. Like Mikka, she gave the impression


that she was scrutinizing everything on the command


readouts as well as the display screens. And Vector


Shaheed was seated at the engineer's station. For a man


who'd been sentenced to death, he looked remarkably


phlegmatic - which reminded Nick that he'd always liked


the engineer. Vector was at least courageous enough to


face facts without feeling sorry for himself. Maybe, Nick


thought indulgently, Vector didn't have to die after all.


Competent engineers were hard to find.


'Nick, ' Mikka said as if she were announcing him. Stol-


idly she stood up from her g-seat, offering him command.


He waved her back to her post. He felt too buoyant


to sit down. In any case, there was nothing he needed to


do at the command board. He scanned the bridge; for a


moment he fixed a smile that was almost charitable on


Vector. Then he asked nonchalantly, 'So where's this


fucking "emissary"?'


'Depends on how fast he walks, ' Mikka muttered. We


were told he's on his way. Should be here in the next five


minutes. '


Nick nodded cheerfully. The likelihood that the emiss-


ary would threaten him within an inch of his life didn't


trouble him. He already knew what the threats were.


What he didn't know was how ready the Amnion were


to carry them out.


'Nick, ' Sib said from the data station, 'about that other


ship, Soar-' He sounded tired and worried; scared of


Nick's displeasure.


Feeling magnanimous, Nick cut him off. 'I already


know. She used to call herself Gutbuster. She was illegal


a long time ago, before places like this hit their stride. In


those days, she sold directly to the Amnion. ' That was a


guess - the woman who became Sorus Chatelaine had


never told him who her buyers were - but he believed


it. 'Maybe she still works for them. '


Then, on a whim, he put his head between Mikka's


and Liete's. Leaning close, he whispered so that only they


could hear him, 'She's the bitch who cut me. '


Like Mikka, Liete wasn't especially pretty. Her features


were too blunt: her competence was too obvious. But


Nick thought that the surprise, the instinctive anger, on


her small, dark face made her lovely.


Quietly she breathed, 'Are we going after her?'


Is that what this is all about?


We sure are, ' Nick promised.


Facing him straight as if to offer him everything she


had, Liete murmured, 'Good. '


Terrific, ' Mikka snarled. Nick's news deepened her


scowl to a grimace. That's just what we need. '


Her hostility threatened to curdle his mood. Turning


his mouth to her ear, he said distinctly, 'I warned you. If


you want to take that attitude with me, you'd better back


it up. '


Her reaction startled him. As unexpected as a flash-fire,


she flung herself away from him in revulsion. Springing


out of her g-seat, she confronted him across the com-


mand board.


'I'll fucking back it up, you bastard!' she yelled. 'I'm


your goddamn command second! I've backed you up too


often — I've saved your fucking ass too often - to be


treated like this.


Things aren't bad enough for you already? You think


you're the only one here who cares what happens - the


only one whose life is on the line? We're all hanging by


our fingernails because you took us to Enablement, you


cheated the Amnion, you traded Davies away. And after


swearing to give him back, you lost him. Now the Bill


has him. Our credit isn't worth crap. You haven't got


anything left to trade. If we try to leave, those warships


will fry us - and if we stay here, we'll starve. That's


assuming we aren't murdered where we sit because you


haven't kept your bargains.


'And now' - she pounded the station with both fists —


'now you're going to turn this whole disaster into a fuck-


ing grudge match with some woman who works for the


Bill and probably the Amnion as well!


This is shit, Nick!' Abruptly her anger seemed to run


out of energy. Sounding as weary as Sib - but not scared,


not even a little - she finished, 'And I would be shit if I


didn't try to stop you. '


The bridge was as silent as a tomb. No one aboard had


ever seen Nick challenged like this. Even Orn Vorbuld,


who had tried to rape Nick's woman - and had left a


virus in the computers to protect himself - hadn't done


anything like this.


All at once Nick started laughing. He had to laugh to


prevent himself from screaming. Mikka's protest brought


back the firestorm of fear and fury which had nearly


engulfed him in the Bill's strongroom. In another minute


he was going to kill the command second with his bare


fists.


That's all right, Mikka, ' he chuckled. 'I can see you're


upset. But you're working from a false assumption.


You're assuming you know what the issues here really


are. ' You're assuming I'm already beaten. That's why


you're wrong. And that's why -'


'Nick, ' Scorz put in anxiously, 'that emissary is here. '


Nick opened his throat to roar, Why you'd better shut


up if you want to live! But the look on Liete's face


stopped him. Her eyes were shining with excitement -


no, with trust; with the precise utter confidence in him,


the willingness to surrender herself absolutely, that he


craved from the bottom of his heart.


Mikka didn't feel that way about him now. Being


Mikka, she may never have felt that way about any-


thing.


But Liete Corregio was on his side to the end.


So he didn't need to scream. Or kill Mikka. Or defend


himself. Suddenly calm again, as casual as ever, he asked


Scorz, Who is it this time?'


A sigh of relief or trepidation seemed to spread away


from him around the bridge. !He didn't say, ' Scorz


reported as if he were fighting a knot in his throat, 'but


I think it's the same bastard they sent last time. '


Involuntarily Nick recoiled as if he'd been hit. 'Him?'


he snapped. His calm was gone in an instant; forgotten.


'Here?'


'I think so, ' Scorz offered hesitantly. 'He sounds the


same. '


A laser of inspiration shot along the synapses of Nick's


brain; his nerves were ablaze with coherent light. The


same bastard they sent last time. Not some regulation


Amnioni off Tranquil Hegemony.


Marc Vestabule.


Which meant that somebody on Enablement, some


Amnion 'decisive, ' had anticipated this situation. Antici-


pated Captain's Fancy's survival in the gap. Anticipated


Nick's escape to Thanatos Minor. Otherwise why was


Vestabule aboard Tranquil Hegemony?


'By damn, ' Nick murmured in wonder, 'they weren't


trying to kill us with those gap drive components. '


He was impressed in spite of himself. They were testing


their equipment. Using us to see if those components


worked. '


None of Mikka's watch understood him: he was too


far ahead of them. Mikka herself scowled like a shout of


frustration. Arkenhill and Karster stared at Nick with


their mouths open. Ransum squirmed in her seat as if


she had skinworms. Liete seemed caught between Nick's


excitement and her own incomprehension.


Only Vector was quick enough to follow Nick's


reasoning.


'But what are they for? he protested quietly. They


would have killed us if we hadn't aborted tach. ' He may


have been trying to remind Nick that he'd once saved


Captain's Fancy.


'Not for the gap, ' Nick answered as if he were sure.


'For acceleration. ' Almost in awe, he added, 'Imagine


what a tub like Calm Horizons could do at. 9C. '


'Oh my God, ' Sib groaned.


Around the bridge voices swore. Nick ignored them


and went on thinking.


Nothing on Earth - nothing in human space — could


be defended against a super-light proton beam fired from


a warship traveling at. 9C. If the Amnion ever decided


to abandon their strategy of nonviolent imperialism, they


wanted to be sure they would win.


So Davies Hyland was just a smoke screen. What the


Amnion really wanted was to kill Nick; kill Captain's


Fancy. Before he or his ship warned human space.


But they had to do it in a way that concealed the truth.


A way that kept their secret hidden - and preserved their


reputation for honest trade on Billingate.


No, it was too big: the conclusions were too large to


be drawn from such small evidence. Nevertheless Nick


felt the presence of possibilities so vast that he could only


guess at their dimensions.


Milos Taverner was coming to Billingate. With Angus


Thermopyle. Superficially that made no sense whatso-


ever. Beneath the surface, however, it stank of Hashi


Lebwohl. Nick had no trouble making that kind of intuit-


ive leap.


He could only speculate about the nature of Lebwohl's


intentions; but he didn't really care what they were. The


important point was that when Milos and Angus arrived,


he would have a direct conduit to the UMCP.


Together that conduit and his new information might


be enough to make the entire United Mining Companies


fucking Police back him up.


All he needed was time.


'Scorz, ' he said as if he were calm again; as if his excite-


ment were a kind of peace, 'tell Vestabule an escort is on


the way. We'll open the door for him in a couple of


minutes. '


As the communications second hurried to obey, Nick


turned to Liete. 'You're on. Get a gun - take Simper


with you. ' Just to remind at least this one Amnioni that


Nick Succorso was prepared to defend himself. 'Bring


that fucker here. '


Her eyes flashing like a salute, Liete Corregio left the


bridge.


As he watched her go, Nick felt a stirring in his groin.


For the first time since he'd learned of Morn's treachery,


he wanted a woman.


Scorz was right: the emissary was Marc Vestabule. Any-


one who saw him once would recognize him again.


He was a failed - or an incompletely successful -


experiment: a human being who'd been given a mutagen


which the Amnion had hoped would make him one of


them - genetically, psychologically - while leaving his


physical form intact. Only pieces of his former self


remained, however: the stubborn residue of his human-


ity. He retained some areas of his brain, some human


habits or resources of thought. Much of his body was


still human: one arm, most of his chest, both shins, half


his face. And he was able to breathe human air without


much difficulty. But his knees were knots of Amnion skin


so thick that his shipsuit had to be cut away to let him


move freely. His other arm looked like a metallic tree


limb gone to rust. And half his face was distorted by an


unblinking Amnion eye as well as by sharp teeth with no


lips to cover them.


He entered the bridge between Liete and Simper as if


he had no fear - as if he'd been made oblivious to his


own mortality by the essentially Amnion knowledge that


he had no individual significance; that his uniqueness


among his people was only a tool, not a matter of


identity.


That was his strength. It may also have been his


weakness.


'Don't tell me, ' Nick drawled as soon as the emissary


stood before him. 'You want to sit. '


Marc Vestabule blinked his human eye at this reference


to their previous encounter. In a voice like flakes of rust


scraped off an iron bar, he replied, 'No, Captain Suc-


corso. I want you to honor your bargains with the


Amnion. '


Nick shrugged. Well, I'm going to sit. Looking at a


shit like you makes me weak in the knees. ' A small flick


of his hand sent Mikka away from the command station.


Sprawling casually into the g-seat, he turned it to face


Vestabule.


As he grinned into the emissary's gaze, he said, 'Scorz,


set up a recording of this. Put it on automatic relay. If


anything happens to us - for instance, if we're attacked


while we aren't looking, or if Vestabule here is on a kaze


mission - I want Operations to hear everything we say.


But only, ' he cautioned, 'if we're attacked or damaged.


As long as this clown plays straight with us, we'll keep


the conversation to ourselves. '


'Right. ' Scorz went to work promptly.


'Now, ' Nick said to Vestabule, 'why don't you start by


telling me exactly what bargains you want me to honor


- and why. Just so we all know specifically what we're


talking about. '


Including Operations.


The blinking of Vestabule's eye was the only hint that


he may have experienced human agitation or anger. Like


his expression and his posture, his tone revealed nothing


as he replied, 'Captain Succorso, this is foolish. You pro-


tect yourself from dangers which do not exist, and at the


same time you aggravate your true peril. You have


entered into agreements with the Amnion' - he appeared


to grope for the right word - Voluntary agreements.


'The mutual satisfaction of requirements. " We satisfied


your requirements. You did not satisfy ours. '


That's not my fault, ' Nick put in amiably. 'I told you


- the mother of that brat went crazy. You might call it a


mutiny of one. I got her back under control - but she


was crazier than I thought. She escaped again. '


As if Nick hadn't spoken, Vestabule continued, 'On


more than one occasion, you have promised to fulfill your


part of the agreements. But you have not done so. You


have accepted our demand for recompense for the diffi-


culties you have caused us. But you have not provided


that recompense. This is not honorable trade. '


Nick sharpened his grin. 'You aren't listening. I said


she escaped again. I had her locked up, but she got out.


That's the only reason you didn't get what I promised


you. She reprogrammed the ejection pod. '


That, ' the emissary pronounced flatly, 'is not our


concern. '


The hell it isn't. ' Nick feigned a little anger. It came


easily, but it was pure charade. He was having too much


fun to be angry. 'She did that -I didn't. I wasn't trying


to cheat.


'And now it's out of my hands. The Bill has the pod.


He's got the "human offspring" you're so eager for. And


there's nothing I can do about that. You've goddamn


revoked my credit-jack, so I can't buy the brat back. You've


left me helpless, and now you want to hold me account-


able for it. You say you want me to honor my bargains.


I say trying to do business with you is like eating shit. '


'Captain Succorso-' Vestabule made a gesture that


appeared to have no meaning. It may have been intended


to placate Nick, or threaten him. Or it may have been


merely a neural atavism.


'Keep listening!' Nick interrupted, bringing up more


anger to disguise what he was about to do. 'I'm not


fucking done!


'I traded with you honorably. I gave you my blood.


Then you wanted to change the deal. You wanted that


brat. You offered me gap drive components in exchange.


So I gave you the brat. And you gave me faulty


components. Damn near killed me in the gap. ' The louder


and more angrily he spoke, the more his body relaxed. 'I


can only think of three explanations.


'Remember, ' he warned, 'this is being recorded. If you


mess with me, Operations is going to hear it.


'One' - he held up his index finger - 'you were plan-


ning to cheat me right from the beginning. You think


I'm immune to your fucking mutagens, and you want me


dead so I can't pass my immunity along.


'Two' - he waggled his middle finger at the emissary


— 'you decided to cheat me after Morn took over my


ship. Punish me for letting one of my own people trick


me. And make sure she didn't get away with it. '


Ransum and Sib watched as if they were about to be


sick. Vector's round face revealed nothing. But Liete's


eyes were shining again, and Karster looked like he could


almost understand what Nick was doing.


'Three - are you still listening, Vestabule?' Nick's hand


closed into a fist. This is the explanation I really like.


You were using me to test those components for you.


You've figured out a way to use tach to generate accelera-


tion, and you wanted me to see if it worked.


'Now it's your turn, ' he rasped like the blade of a knife.


'Give me a reason why I shouldn't relay this recording to


Operations whether you threaten me or not. '


Vestabule showed no disconcertion. He may have been


incapable of it. On one side of his face, his human eye


blinked like an appeal. On the other, his Amnion teeth


were bare and brutal.


'Relay it, ' he replied simply. 'Your first explanation will


cause your death. Your own kind will kill you to discover


the nature of your immunity. Your second will appear


only logical and reasonable to such men and women as


inhabit Billingate. And your third will not be believed.


If we possessed the technology you describe, we would


have more reliable means of testing it. '


'More reliable, ' Mikka put in unexpectedly, 'but not


cheaper. Your manufacturing methods are too expensive.


You might not be able to afford the dozens or even


hundreds of probes or ships you could lose trying to


calibrate the parameters. '


Her support surprised Nick without pleasing him.


He'd already given up on her: he didn't want her help


now.


In any case, Vestabule ignored her. He kept his dis-


located gaze fixed on Nick. 'Captain Succorso, I repeat -


relay your recording if you wish. Your threats have no


meaning to us. I' — again he appeared to grope for a word


- 'recognize them. They are bluffs. Empty of substance.


I waste time listening to them.


'Now you will listen to me. ' His Amnion arm made


another indecipherable gesture. 'If you do not honor


your agreements with us, you and your ship are forfeit.


We will take you and your people and your ship, and


leave you nothing.


The Bill will not defend you. He will be given a plain,


honorable account of our actions. And we have the means


to prevent you from defending yourself. If we choose,


we can paralyze you completely. '


'How?' Nick demanded.


'You must deliver to us the human offspring called


Davies Hyland, ' Vestabule continued as if he hadn't


heard. 'You must deliver to us the woman who cheated


us, his mother. If you do not, we will take all you have


in restitution. '


Nick wanted to repeat his demand. How can you pre-


vent me from defending myself? If I wave a finger at


Liete, she'll shoot you where you stand. But an instinctive


fear warned him away from challenging the emissary on


this. He knew in his guts that Vestabule wasn't bluffing.


'Come on, Vestabule, ' he urged. Think it through.


You're over-reacting. If you go that far, you'll take dam-


age. Once the Bill hears my recording, he'll know any


honorable account of your actions is phony. You're prob-


ably right - he won't contest the point. - But he'll


stop trusting you. ' As much as the Bill could be said


to trust anybody. 'Every ship here will stop trusting


you. That will hurt you in subtle ways - ways you can't


fix.


'It's better for you to deal with me.


'But you're making that impossible. Consider the pos-


ition you're putting me in. You want me to get Davies


from the Bill and give him to you. Do you really believe


how I do that isn't your concern? How do you imagine


I'm going to pay for him?


'You've only left me two things I can sell. One is the


idea that you've learned how to use tach for acceleration.


But if I try to do that, I'll have to supply proof. To be


honest, I can't. ' This was a calculated risk, an effort to


distract Vestabule. Those components were slagged.


'So I've only got one other option. ' Abruptly Nick


leaned forward, bracing himself on his board to thrust


his threat straight into Vestabule's face. 'I'll have to sell


the Bill the secret to my immunity. '


And you don't want me to do that, do you, you oxid-


ized lump of Amnion shit?


'Nick, ' Mikka whispered; a moan of protest.


No one else spoke.


'Unless, ' Nick added almost as an afterthought, 'you


give me time to come up with some other solution. '


Blinking furiously, as if Captain's Fancy's atmosphere


hurt his human eye, the emissary regarded Nick. Nothing


betrayed his reaction: no twitch of the muscles in his


cheek, no flexing of his fingers. Nick's people sat frozen


as Vestabule contemplated the situation, thinking his


hidden, Amnion thoughts.


When he was done, he said in his rust-rough tone,


'Very well. '


Ransum let out an audible breath.


Fortunately everyone else kept quiet.


But Vestabule had attention for no one but Nick. 'Cap-


tain Succorso, ' he continued, 'if you will immediately


provide the recompense you have promised, as a demon-


stration of your intention to deal with us honorably, we


will grant you one of your standard days in which to


come to an accommodation with the Bill.


'I warn you plainly, however, that this accommodation


must make no mention of your presumed "immunity". '


The very expressionlessness of his voice gave his words


power. 'Such information cannot be kept secret - not in


this place, among illegals like yourself. We will learn of


it. Then the time for talk will be past. We will exercise


our power to paralyze your defenses and take your ship.


We will take you and all who remain with you in resti-


tution.


'And if that does not suffice, we will go further. We


will destroy Billingate itself before we will permit the


knowledge you claim to possess to be disseminated. '


Nick dismissed that threat: it was too big to worry


about. Again he wanted to ask, Paralyze our defenses?


How? And again he stifled the impulse. He'd gained the


only thing he wanted - time - and he didn't mean to risk


losing it.


He summoned a sarcastic laugh. 'So you say. If you


want to go that crazy, be my guest. But short of that -'


He glanced around the bridge: at Sib's pale, stricken


features; at Mikka's intractable glower; at Vector's clear


blue gaze and contemplative frown; at the concentrated


readiness which seemed to fill Liete's whole body. Milos


was coming to Billingate. Sorus Chatelaine was finally


within reach.


'Short of that, ' he repeated as he returned the line of


his grin and the heat of his scars to Vestabule, 'we have


a deal. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'll try"


- he bared his teeth - 'anything and everything to make


it work. '


Marc Vestabule stared back at him, blinking/unblink-


ing, and said nothing.


Abruptly Nick stood. 'Liete, escort this fucker off the


ship. '


Without hesitation, Liete pointed Vestabule toward


the aperture. She kept one hand on the butt of her gun.


Obedient and unconcerned, as if he'd been given every-


thing he could have wanted, the emissary turned and left


the bridge between Liete and Simper.


As soon as they were out of earshot, Nick swung


around to face Mikka. 'Now. ' He was poised like a pred-


ator. We've succeeded at stalling them for one day. That


changes the whole situation. Now we've got something


to hope for.


'Go get Morn. Wake her up - flush the cat out of her.


I want her on her feet and ready to leave in ten minutes. '


Mikka didn't move. For a moment she didn't meet


Nick's gaze. When she raised her eyes, they were hot and


moist. Far back in her throat, as if she feared her voice


might choke her, she asked, 'Do you call that stalling?'


'I do, ' he snapped because her question and her emo-


tion affected him like a betrayal. 'She isn't the one they


want. '


'But she's still a human being, ' Mikka replied, as gut-


tural as a growl. 'You're giving them a human being. '


Like a woman who had no words strong enough for


what she felt, she said, 'I don't like giving human beings


to the Amnion. '


Unexpectedly - so unexpectedly that it stopped Nick's


retort in his chest - Sib Mackern said, 'I don't either,


Nick. '


'Make that three of us, ' Vector added quietly. Scanning


the bridge, he asked, 'Anyone else? How about you, Ran-


sum? Would you want to be turned into something like


Vestabule? Would you do that to your worst enemy?


Arkenhill? Scorz? Karster?'


They all should have said, We'll do whatever Nick tells


us. We trust him. He's saved our lives more times than


we can count. And he knows more than we do. This is


his ship, and he's the best. We're on his side to the end.


None of them did, however. Karster drummed his


fingers on the targ board, studying his readouts as if he


wanted to shoot someone. Ransum was breathing too


hard, like a woman on the verge of a heart attack. Ark-


enhill had turned as pale as Sib: he may have been about


to puke.


At last Scorz murmured in a small voice, as if he were


belittling them all, We've done worse. '


It wasn't enough; not for Nick Succorso; not now and


not ever. The only women he'd ever given himself to


had betrayed him. The Amnion were on top of him,


threatening to paralyze his defenses, take his ship and his


life. The Bill had Davies — and refused to repair Captain's


Fancy. Sorus was still laughing at him. He'd already lost


more pieces of himself than he could count.


He might have predicted a reaction like this from Vec-


tor. The engineer had never really belonged aboard Cap-


tain's Fancy. And Sib was weak enough to be bent in any


direction. But for Mikka Vasaczk, his command second,


to oppose him like this -


Scorz' support didn't come close to being enough.


Nick wanted to scream at Mikka, rage and rant at them


all; he wanted to beat her face to pulp. Was this the best


they had to give him? Then he would see them in hell.


He would sacrifice every fucking one of them to the


Amnion, and he would laugh when they begged him to


rescue them -


But he didn't have the strength for it. Energy and hope


seemed to drain out of him like water, as if Mikka had


knocked a hole in the bottom of his heart. While every-


one on the bridge waited for him to go up like a super-


nova, he took one slow breath and another, and let his


shoulders sag.


Then he said softly, What makes you think I have a


choice?'


They couldn't argue with that. Even Mikka couldn't.


If Nick Succorso was beaten, what choice did any of


them have?


Wheeling away from him, she strode off the bridge as


if she were taking the last vestige of his invincibility with


her.


NICK


He waited in his cabin for Mikka to tell him that


Morn was ready; but he wasn't idle. Sealed by


his priority-codes, one of his lockers served


him as a personal safe. He opened it to stow Morn's id


tag and zone implant control securely: the Amnion had


no discernible interest in the latter; and his negotiations


with Marc Vestabule had gone well enough to spare him


the necessity of offering the former.


Of course, there was always the possibility that the


Amnion would make her into something like Vestabule.


If they did, she would retain some - most? - of her


human mind; and they would learn that she was more


valuable than they'd realized. But Nick couldn't help that.


It was out of his hands.


From his locker he took a vial of capsules — his precious


store of the immunity drug — and poured two into his


palm. A small tic pulled at his cheek, but he ignored it.


One capsule he swallowed immediately, just as a pre-


caution; the other he shoved deep into one of the pockets


of his shipsuit. Then he put the vial away and relocked


the safe.


Rubbing his hands over his scars, he glanced at his


chronometer. How long would it take to flush enough


of the cat out of Morn's veins so that she could walk?


Not long. In another minute or two he would be on his


way to the Amnion sector of Billingate: the place reserved


for them, where they could breathe their own acrid air —


and set up their own defenses.


To go there was dangerous; but it was necessary. And


it would give him at least a measure of revenge for Morn's


lies.


While he thought about such things, another part of


his mind was busy imagining how he might kill Mikka


Vasaczk.


Women; always women. No sooner had he found a


way to get rid of Morn Hyland than Mikka turned


against him. And the question of how he would revenge


himself on Sorus Chatelaine was still unresolved. He


would simply shoot her, if that was the best he could do;


but he wanted more, needed more. He was being undone


by women: he owed it to himself to exact as much female


pain as he could in recompense.


Marc Vestabule talked about 'recompense', but he


didn't use the word with Nick's intimate intensity.


Sorus would have to wait, however. First Morn. And


when that score was settled, he would turn his attention


to saving Captain's Fancy. He felt sure that somewhere


during that process he would be able to rid himself of


Mikka.


Without realizing it, he'd begun to pace back and forth


in his cabin as if he were shuttling feverishly between real


and imaginary possibilities for revenge.


The sound of the intercom stopped him. 'Nick, ' Mikka


said flatly. 'I've got her up. She's groggy, but she can


walk. '


To vent some of his tension, he snap-punched the


intercom toggle. 'Meet me at the airlock. I'll take her


from there. '


Mikka clicked off without acknowledging him.


Promising murder, Nick keyed open the door and


strode out of his cabin.


For the second time in little more than an hour, he


had to leave his ship. And the second occasion was


deadlier than the first: the Amnion were more likely than


the Bill to do him active harm. Nevertheless he didn't


delay. Tension wasn't the same thing as energy or confi-


dence, but it could serve the same purpose.


He caught up with Mikka and Morn in the access


passage of the airlock. They moved slowly: Morn's steps


were nothing more than a stupefied shuffle; without


Mikka's support, she would have folded to the deck.


From the back they looked like sisters with their arms


around each other for encouragement.


Sneering his disgust, he noticed that Mikka had taken


the time to put Morn into a clean shipsuit. Presumably


Mikka had also cleaned Morn herself, washing off twelve


or so hours worth of accumulated filth. Wasted dignity.


A woman who was about to lose her humanity entirely


didn't need it. And he didn't want her to have any left


when he handed her over to her ruin.


'Far enough, ' he growled at Mikka. 'You can go back


now.


'I'm leaving you in command. I don't expect you to


like what I'm doing. I don't expect you to forget about


it when it's over. But I do expect you to take care of the


ship while I'm gone. You aren't any safer without me. '


Nick had guaranteed that by telling Scorz to record his


discussion with Vestabule. 'And I still know more about


what's at stake here than you do. As matters stand, I'm


the only hope you've got. '


Mikka glared at him. 'I'm not stupid, Nick. Don't make that mistake. '


'I'll be lucky if I get the chance, ' he retorted, driven by


bitterness. 'You're too busy making it for me.


'Go to the bridge, ' he ordered so that he wouldn't have


to listen to her anymore. 'Pull a raiding team together -


the best people we have for weapons, demolition, stealth-


work. Take them off duty, get them rested, ready,


equipped. I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet' - he


admitted this because he knew it would make Mikka


more likely to comply - 'but when the time comes we'll


need to give it our best shot. '


Maliciously he encouraged her to think that he might


try to recapture Morn from the Amnion.


She replied with a shrug of acceptance; but she didn't


hurry away. Carefully she disentangled herself from


Morn, checking to be sure that Morn wouldn't fall when


she stepped back.


Morn wavered as if the muscles of her legs had gone


to jelly. She stayed on her feet, however.


Giving Nick one last black look, Mikka walked away.


He keyed the inner door of the lock. The tic in his


cheek tightened as he paused to evaluate Morn's con-


dition.


Even when she'd been with Thermopile, helpless


against his brutality, she'd never looked so pitiable. She


was still half drugged, that was obvious. Her face wore


its ineffable beauty like a bruise, as if she herself were the


source of all her suffering. Her hair stood out from her


head like the tag-ends of her life. As the cat relinquished


its hold, she would begin to suffer zone implant with-


drawal. And yet, despite long days of hunger and strain,


days which had cut lines around her eyes and carved flesh


from her bones, her breasts were still full, still seemed to


yearn against the fabric of her shipsuit, and the line of


her hips beckoned him to her legs.


Tension wasn't enough. If he couldn't be the Nick


Succorso who never lost, sure of himself and his power


over her, then he needed anger; pure incandescent rage


to sustain him.


Grabbing her arm as if he were about to beat her up,


he drew her into the airlock.


She made no effort to pull away; but she murmured,


That hurts, ' as the ship's inner door closed and locked.


At least she was recovering consciousness. Soon she


would be awake enough to know what was happening;


enough to be appalled. That was something, anyway.


He engaged the sequence that opened the outer door.


Still grinding his fingers into her arm, he took her off the


ship to face the Bill's guards.


To his surprise, there were no guards. Apparently the


Bill had decided to keep his personnel out of the crossfire


if the Amnion decided to stage an assault on Nick's ship.


Guards still watched over Reception - the Bill hadn't


abandoned his own security - but none of them took any


notice of Nick and Morn. They may have been instructed


to ignore anything which took place between Captain's


Fancy and the Amnion sector.


'Fuck you, ' he muttered to everyone and no one as he


hauled Morn through Reception into the corridors


which led toward the Amnion. Did the Bill like to get


paid? So did Nick. Grimly he put this detachment of


security, this diplomatic dissociation from Captain's


Fancy's needs, on the Bill's tab.


That tab was getting longer by the hour.


'Please, Nick, ' Morn breathed between clenched teeth.


'I'm not going to fight you. You don't need to break my


arm. '


He tightened his grip for a moment until he heard her


gasp. Then he eased the pressure - not because she asked,


but because his hand was tired.


'So you're awake, ' he sneered at her softly. 'Good. Do


you know where we are? Do you know where we're


going?'


She didn't reply. Her only answer was the increasing


stability of her strides and the way she carried herself to


minimize the strain on her arm.


'Good, ' he said again, nodding as if he were sure she


understood. There are several reasons why we're doing


this. ' I want to. You earned it. It's necessary. 'One is that


I've had another talk with that mutated bastard Marc


Vestabule. He issued any number of threats, but one in


particular got my attention. He told me they "have the


means to prevent" me from defending myself The same


intuition which had restrained him from challenging


Vestabule on the subject inspired him to broach it now.


'He said they can "paralyze" my ship. Completely.


'What do you know about that?'


She was silent for a few steps. Then she sighed, 'God,


Nick. ' She sounded utterly exhausted, frayed to the ends


of her soul; but she didn't sound scared enough, not


nearly scared enough to satisfy him. What makes you


think I can answer a question like that?'


He didn't have to grope for explanations. 'First, you're


a cop. Before you joined me, you had sources of infor-


mation I don't. You could easily know more about their


technological resources than I do. And second' - reflex-


ively angry, he squeezed his fingers into her arm again -


'you talked to them when you took over my ship, ' my


ship, you bitch.


She bit down on another gasp. She hadn't looked at


him since he'd taken her from Mikka; she didn't look at


him now. But she was listening. 'All right, ' she said


through her teeth as if she, too, were threatening him;


as if even now, on her way to the Amnion, she thought


she could still oppose him. 'I'll trade you. You tell me


why you were talking to the UMCP before we ever went


to Enablement. Tell me what your deal with them was.


What they hired you for. Tell me why they let you have


me in the first place. And I'll tell you why the Amnion


think they can paralyze your ship. '


She astonished him; surpassed him. Why wasn't she


terrified? — stricken to the core? She should have been


sobbing in revulsion and supplication, not trying to bar-


gain with him.


The corridor was empty in both directions. The


Amnion kept themselves apart from the rest of the instal-


lation - and nobody with any sense went looking for


them. The Bill's bugeyes were watching, of course; but


they probably couldn't pick out voices at this range. Nick


let go of Morn's arm, clutched her by the shoulders, and


swung her around to face him.


'Look at me, damn you. ' Why aren't you out of your


head with fear? 'Look at me. '


Her gaze came up to his slowly. When he saw her eyes,


the mad, dark passion in them almost made him flinch.


The extremity of her suffering, the depth of her abuse,


was matched by a focused, absolute, and predatory con-


viction. She looked like a woman who could come back


from her grave - or from Amnion mutagens — to destroy


him.


Roughly he shoved her away. Helpless to defend her-


self, she stumbled against the wall; he caught her on the


rebound and compelled her into motion again. He


needed movement to control the dread rising in his guts.


'I already told you, ' he said as soon as he trusted his


voice. 'I was dickering for you. I wanted the damn cops


to pay me for not selling what you know to the Bill. '


'Bullshit, ' she retorted. 'I knew that wasn't true when


you first said it. Now I'm sure.


'You knew how to contact them. You knew where the


listening posts are. That means you were dealing with


them long before you headed for Thanatos Minor. And


I finally figured out that you must have had their per-


mission to take me off Com-Mine. '


'How do you get to that conclusion?' he demanded.


His question was unnecessary: she was already answer-


ing it. 'You needed a source in Com-Mine Security to


frame Angus. But you needed more than that. You and


your source needed a contact at UMCPHQ - somebody


who could give you the codes to make that bogus supply


ship look genuine. So the UMCP knew what you were


doing. You had their cooperation. Maybe you were just


following their orders. Maybe that's what your whole


precious reputation is based on. You do what the cops


tell you, and they make sure you look good in the process.


'So you weren't trying to dicker for me. As far as I


was concerned, your deal with them was already set.


Why were you talking to them? What did they hire you


for?'


Nick tried to laugh, and couldn't. His mouth was too


dry; his throat was too tight. A spasm in his cheek tugged


at his scars as if they were fresh.


Nearly panting against his tension, he said, 'Hashi Leb-


wohl wanted me to do a job for him here. '


What job?' she insisted.


He was going to tell her; he was suddenly eager to tell


her. He wanted to hurt her with it, wanted to do any-


thing in his power that might erode the lunatic convic-


tion which protected her from her fear. And he was going


to hold her to her bargain.


'The point, ' he said although he could hardly breathe,


'was to do Billingate some damage. Maybe enough dam-


age to put the Bill out of business. I already had Leb-


wohl's immunity drug. He wanted me to sell it to the


Bill. '


This was the truth. Nick hoped that it would crack her


heart.


Morn didn't gasp or protest; but he had the satisfaction


of feeling her go rigid in his grasp, as if she were in shock.


Gradually the knots in his chest loosened, letting him


inhale more easily.


'I was supposed to give the Bill the real thing to test


on a live subject, and then supply him with an inert


substitute to duplicate in his labs. He could sell his substi-


tute to the illegals or the Amnion, it didn't matter which.


As soon as the truth got out - he was selling an immunity


drug that didn't work - he would be in deep shit. '


Live with that, you bitch - while you can. That's the


kind of people you work for, the kind you believe in.


'I may still do it, ' he continued, 'if I can't get the


Amnion off my back any other way. But if I do, I won't


bother with substitutes. ' Like the truth, this lie was


intended to do Morn as much harm as possible. When


I told Lebwohl I was in trouble, he cut me off. Now I


don't mind selling him out. '


Thinking that he'd finally broken her, he put his arm


around her and pulled her ear close to his mouth. 'Now


it's your turn, ' he whispered almost companionably. Tell


me how the Amnion think they can paralyze my


defenses. '


'Oh, that, ' she muttered as if she hadn't felt a word he


said; as if she were too numb or blind to be reached by


his malice. 'You should have figured that out for yourself. '


Here it comes, he thought. Now she would try to get


back at him.


'Back on Enablement, I needed to show them Captain's


Fancy's self-destruct was real. If I let them believe I was


bluffing, they wouldn't have given Davies back. So I


dumped a copy of everything in the auxiliary command


board into my transmission. Including, ' she finished like


an act of violence, 'your priority-codes. They can override


every instruction you key in. '


Nick thought his heart was going to stop.


Of course, he also had those codes. He could override


their override. And they could override again -


Paralysis. Eventually the computers would shut down


to protect themselves from burn-out.


For a moment the shock left him white and blank. She


wasn't trying to hurt him. Her revelation didn't damage


him: it helped him. What the Amnion knew about his


ship was only dangerous as long as he didn't know they


knew it. Once he got back to Captain's fancy, he could


simply write in a new set of priority-codes. The whole


job would take less than an hour.


Morn had given him an unexpected and imponderable


reprieve.


'Why?' Surprise seemed to leave him naked beside her.


'I might not have figured it out. Why tell me?'


Why help me?


Her exhaustion had returned. 'Because, ' she answered


as if she were too tired to fight anymore, 'I don't want


them to get you. I don't want them to get anybody. If


you were in that pod, I would have done exactly what I


did. Otherwise my own humanity wouldn't be worth


having. '


Defensive and bitter, he snarled a curse. 'And I suppose


it never entered your head that if you gave me the answer


I might feel grateful enough to change my mind?'


Even in his own ears he sounded petulant, petty.


'No, ' Morn said flatly. 'I know you better than that. '


Nick couldn't reply. Grinding his teeth to steady him-


self, he pushed her on down the corridor.


Another hundred meters along an empty passage


brought them to the Amnion sector.


The entrance was nothing more than a faceless door


in a blank wall. He'd never been inside; but he assumed


that the door was the outer opening of an airlock which


protected the sector's atmosphere. With a shudder, he


remembered the acrid taste of the air on Enablement, the


pain and coughing — His lungs still felt tender. He had


no intention of going through that ordeal again.


Tightening his hold on Morn in case she panicked at


the last minute and tried to get away, he reached up a


hand to the intercom beside the door.


'Nick, please. '


For one wild instant he thought she was going to beg


him to release her; spare her.


But she didn't. Instead she murmured, 'Just tell me


why they let you take rne. ' She'd returned to her original


question, to her escape from Com-Mine Station. 'It can't


hurt you - and I need to know. Why didn't they try to


rescue me themselves?'


'Shit, ' he sneered because he was disappointed. Even


here, standing on the threshold of hell, she refused


to break. What makes you think you were worth the


effort? You'd already spent too much time with Captain


Thermo-pile. The cops knew there wasn't enough of you


left to rescue. '


But then he saw that the truth would be harder for her


to bear; so he continued, They let me take you because


you're what I wanted for pay. I don't mind doing their


dirty work sometimes, especially when the target is a


fucker like Thermo-pile, but I like to get paid. I didn't


know I was about to lose my gap drive, so I didn't ask


for credit. I took you instead. ' He forced out a harsh


chuckle. They probably considered it a steal. They got


to nail Thermo-pile, and all they had to give up was a


piece of his wreckage. '


She hadn't looked at him since he'd forced her to; she


didn't look at him now. Nevertheless her damaged voice


seemed to drive straight through him.


'If you believe it's that simple, you've been trusting


them too long. '


She was more than he could stand. Hitting the inter-


com with his fist, he snarled, 'I'm Captain Nick Succorso.


I've brought the fucking "recompense" you fucking


wanted. Her name is Morn Hyland - she's the mother


of that "human offspring" bastard you're lusting after.


Open the door. I'm going to put her inside and leave


her. I've got other things to do. '


The response from the intercom was immediate. 'Cap-


tain Nick Succorso, the delivery of the female is accept-


able. Your departure is not. You will enter with her.


Suitable breathing masks will be provided. She will be


taken from you. You will remain. '


The hell I will, ' Nick growled in instant fear. Auto-


matically he backed to the far wall, pulling Morn with


him. That wasn't the deal. Your fucking emissary didn't


say anything about keeping me. '


'You will not be kept. ' The Amnioni voice sounded


mechanically flat, imperturbable. 'You will not be


harmed. That is unconditional. '


Abruptly the door slid open.


Marc Vestabule stood in the airlock.


He had two other Amnion with him; but there was


nothing human-like about them except for the masks


over their faces and the weapons in their hands.


They aimed their weapons squarely at Nick and Morn.


'Please, Captain Succorso, ' Vestabule said as if his vocal


cords were incapable of inflection. We wish only to talk


to you. If the thought of entering our sector frightens


you, we will talk here, although the place is less con-


venient. '


'Don't you mean less secure?' Nick pointed at the


nearest bugeye. 'Out here the Bill can see and hear


everything. '


'No. ' Vestabule appeared certain. 'Our agreement with


the Bill empowers us to neutralize these surveillance


devices at our discretion. The question is solely one of con-


venience. If you choose to enter, we will provide you with


the comfort of a seat. And guards will not be necessary. '


That surprised Nick. He ached for a gun. Maybe if he


shot someone the tension building in his chest again


would be released. The tic under his eye felt like the stress


of a valve with too much pressure behind it.


What the hell have we got to talk about?' he


demanded. We've already made a deal. ' He brandished


Morn's arm. 'I'm keeping my part of it right now. '


Vestabule didn't nod; only his human eye blinked. 'As


we have said, her delivery is acceptable. However, we


wish to relieve the confusion which makes our negoti-


ations with you dangerous. It has occurred to me that


there may be questions which you would consent to


answer if none of your own people - also none of Billin-


gate's personnel - were present to hear you. If our con-


fusion can be relieved, perhaps the ways in which we


make it "impossible" for you to satisfy our requirements


may be diminished. '


For the first time, Nick thought that Marc Vestabule


was more human than he looked. The emissary had


retained some portion of his ability to think like a human.


Pure Amnion lacked the tools to understand intra-species


duplicity or manipulation.


'In other words, ' Nick countered, 'if I'll consider


answering your questions, you'll consider un-revoking


my credit-jack. '


'I promise nothing. ' The emissary's alien knees, rust-


coated arm, and distorted face promised nothing except


the destruction of humankind. The possibility exists. '


Nick didn't hesitate. Shoving Morn toward the


Amnion, he growled, 'Get her out of here. Then I'll listen


to your questions. 'The possibility exists" that I'll answer


them. '


An Amnioni caught her with one of its arms. She


didn't struggle, made no attempt to break away; didn't


look back. Without protest, as if she'd accepted her ruin


long ago, she let the Amnioni steer her into the airlock.


Her escort touched the interior controls, and the door


swept shut, as silent and fatal as an axe.


At the sight, Nick felt unexpectedly savage. Before he


could stop himself, he began to yell at Vestabule.


'And tell that piece of shit to point his fucking gun


somewhere else! I'm not going to answer your goddamn


questions while you're threatening to burn holes in me


if you don't like the goddamn answers!'


Vestabule made guttural sounds that meant nothing


to Nick. At once the other Amnioni lowered its weapon.


After a further word from Vestabule, the Amnioni


clipped the weapon to a harness at its waist and moved


its hands away.


Shaking with useless anger, Nick bit his lips so that he


wouldn't go on shouting. His scars seemed to be pulling


at his cheeks as if the skin were about to tear. Between


one heartbeat and the next, his loathing for Marc


Vestabule and all things Amnion became so intense that


he could barely swallow. 'I swear to God, ' he rasped


harshly, 'this is the sewer of the universe. '


Vestabule may have retained significant vestiges of his


human mind, but he was impervious to insult. 'You have


made similar references in the past, ' he observed, 'but


their applicability is imprecise. Correctly speaking, only


humankind has "sewers". Our techniques for processing


waste are different. '


'Forget it, ' Nick snapped. 'Forget I ever mentioned it.


Now we're alone - just you, me, the intercom, a few


bugeyes, and your pet bozo with the gun. Ask your ques-


tions, so I can figure out what my chances of being able


to use that credit-jack are. '


Fiercely he rubbed at his cheek, trying to quiet the


spasm. But the muscle went on clenching and releasing


convulsively, twisting his expression into a grimace.


'Captain Succorso' - Vestabule moved his arms as if


he were attempting a gesture of appeal which his body


had forgotten how to perform — 'we have only one ques-


tion, although it is complex.


Why did you come to Enablement Station?'


Nick knotted his fists to contain his anger and waited


for the emissary to explain.


'Your stated reason, ' Vestabule said flatly, 'was that


you required "help for a medical difficulty", in addition to


credit that would enable you to repair your ship. Plainly,


however, the credit itself was not the primary reason.


Our data indicates that you were within reach of this


installation before you left human space. This implies


that you were on your way here to obtain repairs — which


in turn implies that you had the means to pay for them


- until you altered course and risked crossing the gap.


'Superficially we are left with the matter of your "medi-


cal difficulty".


We can understand that in only one of two ways.


Perhaps your desire or need for the human offspring


Davies Hyland was genuine. That is difficult for us to


understand. However, we do not need to understand it,


for you have proven it false. Your willingness to sell the


offspring demonstrates that he was not your motive.


Therefore we must speculate that your true interest was


not in the offspring himself, but rather in the ability to


produce him. '


Urgent with fury, Nick wanted to shout, Get to the


point get to the point! But he held himself rigid, betraying


nothing, while fire throbbed in his scars and burned in


his eyes.


'More specifically, ' Vestabule continued, 'we speculate


that you wished to test the usefulness of what you call a


"zone implant" in protecting a human mother from the


normal consequences offeree-growing her fetus. ' A total


and irreparable loss of reason and Junction, the birthing


doctor had said. 'Yet that proposition has also been


shown to be false. You have made it clear that you did


not know of the existence of the female's zone implant


when you brought her to us.


We must conclude that all reference to a "medical


difficulty" was spurious.


'Yet what remains?' Vestabule asked before Nick could


protest. 'Only your offer to permit us to test your blood.


We are forced to conclude that this offer represents your


true reason for coming to Enablement Station.


That is not satisfactory, however. During your pre-


vious approach to us, you voluntarily submitted to the


administration of a mutagen which should have trans-


formed you much as I was transformed. Obviously it did


not. Returning to us, you made us aware of that fact.


Further, by permitting us to test your blood you showed


us that your "immunity" to our mutagens is not inherent.


Your blood differs in no meaningful particular from


other human blood. Thus you have made us aware that


you possess the technical or medical means to block our


mutagens, to render them ineffective.


'Captain Succorso, why did you do this? You are not


a friend to the Amnion. And we judge that you are not


self-destructive, despite the hazardous nature of your


conduct. What explanation remains? What conclusion


should we draw, in order to resolve our difficulties suc-


cessfully?'


Vestabule faced Nick without expression. At his side,


his companion or guard was completely immobile, like a


creature that had been turned to salt.


Nick glared at the two of them, watching his hope that


his credit would be restored fray away like smoke.


'I get it. ' He was so full of violence that he could hardly


contain it, but he forced a harsh laugh. 'For a minute


there I didn't know what we were talking about, but now


I get it.


'You think I'm playing some kind of deep covert game


for the cops. You think this is all a ploy — I was ordered


to make you aware that we can neutralize your mutagens.


As a way of convincing you to scale back your ambitions


against human space. Let you know we're ready for you,


it's too dangerous to challenge us. And what you're afraid


of - involuntarily his hands clenched and unclenched at


his sides, aching for Vestabule's throat - 'is that it's a


trick. That the immunity doesn't really exist - or doesn't


work well enough to be much good.


Then the cops would have a reason to make you aware


of it. They're using me to bluff you. Encourage you to


worry about a threat that isn't real.


'Is that about right?'


Even Vestabule's human eye didn't blink as he stared


back at Nick.


If Vestabule had set fire to Nick's hands and feet - if


the Amnioni with the gun had flamed open his belly,


spilling his guts to the deck - Nick would not have told


them the truth. I loved her, goddamn you! I thought letting


her have her brat was the only way I could keep her!


Vestabule probably wouldn't have believed him anyway.


Some hurts were too human for any Amnioni to


understand.


'You're half right, ' he rasped, wishing that every word


were keen enough to draw blood. 'I do jobs for the cops


once in a while. That's why I went to Enablement the


first time. Test their new immunity for them. But I hate


them. Do you hear me, you asshole?' Are you human


enough to remember hate? 'I hate them. When I do jobs


for them, I like to make sure the results aren't quite what


they were expecting. I like to do work for them that looks


good and turns out bad. ' Otherwise the bastards on my


ship would have cut my heart out long ago. That's why


I went back this time. To make sure the job I did for


them last time turned out bad. '


The emissary considered Nick for a long moment


before he said passionlessly, 'Captain Succorso, this is


unsatisfactory. '


Do you think I don't know that, you disgusting lump


of shit? Do you think I don't know you're going to


assume I'm betraying you, too? The truth is worse.


Turning on his heel, daring the Amnioni to shoot him


in the back, Nick strode away in the direction of Captain's


fancy.


Taverner, you dishonest shit-licker, where are you?


By the time he reached his ship, his anger had failed. Like


hope, it eroded and was washed out of him. Instead he


felt an acute longing to be with someone who adored


him.


Once the doors were safely locked behind him, he


went, not to the bridge, but to his private quarters.


Ignoring Mikka's hostility - and his own doom - in the


same way that he'd ignored the Amnioni with the gun,


he used the cabin intercom to ask Liete Corregio to join


him.


MILOS


Milos had to wait.


It was time for him to crush out the spark


of dangerous enthusiasm in Angus' eyes, time


for him to erase the look of malign hope on Angus' face.


The longer he allowed Angus to experience anything


other than hopeless domination, the more precarious


Milos felt.


Nevertheless he was forced to wait while Angus


obtained permission to approach Billingate. He had to


trust Angus' core programming that long. By some stan-


dards, the next few hours were the most vulnerable part


of Angus' mission. Thanatos Minor had the firepower to


laugh at any gap scout, no matter how many secret


weapons she carried. Human ships all around the instal-


lation would protect it. And - Milos had already gleaned


this information from scan, as well as from Billingate's


routine navigational transmissions - there were two


Amnion warships in the vicinity of the rock.


If Operations refused to let Trumpet dock, Angus was


in trouble.


Milos could solve that problem himself, if Angus


failed. But he didn't want to. It would force his hand;


coerce him to commit himself when he wanted to keep


all his options open.


While Angus dealt with Operations, Milos lit a nic and


fretted.


Angus had sent out the data that Operations needed:


ship id and registration, the names of her captain and


crew. He'd requested a visitor's berth. Now he ran arcane


sequences on his board, comparing them to the databases


hidden inside him, and murmuring softly under his


breath as if he were humming.


But Operations hadn't answered.


What was the delay?


Time-lag was negligible. And Angus had been here any


number of times before: presumably he knew how to


approach the shipyard. So where was the reply? What


was Operations doing?


No, Milos couldn't wait. He should, but he couldn't.


In the privacy of his bowels, he feared Angus too


intensely, despite Hashi Lebwohl's reassurances.


Smoke dissipated into the air scrubbers as he exhaled.


First he checked to be sure that Trumpet wasn't sending


anything, that all her broadcast channels were silent.


Then he unbelted himself from his g-seat and floated


free.


The ship was too small to use internal spin for g. He'd


received some zero-g training at UMCPHQ, however.


He steadied himself on the back of his seat, then thrust


gently in the direction of the command station.


'Sit down, ' Angus muttered over his shoulder. 'I'm


concentrating. '


Milos coasted the two meters to Angus' side. Carefully


he pulled himself close to Angus until their heads almost


touched.


'Joshua. ' His voice was soft, but distinct. 'I'm going to


give you a standing order. Jerico priority. ' That was the


highest authority Milos could assign to his instructions.


According to Lebwohl, only the most fundamental com-


mandments in Angus' datacore would override a Jerico


priority order. When I tell you to open your mouth, you


will always obey. You won't wait to hear the word "Joshua". '


To be on the safe side, he added, 'After that you'll chew


and swallow normally. And you'll follow this order with-


out letting it interfere with anything else you have to do. '


The idea that these words were being recorded in


Angus' datacore - that Dios or Lebwohl might find out


about them - didn't bother Milos. He was more inter-


ested in the extent to which Angus' programming


allowed him to protect himself from damage. Jerico pri-


ority was supposed to override any instinct less compel-


ling than self-preservation.


Angus tapped a couple of keys on his board and


checked one of his readouts as if he weren't listening.


An uncharacteristic grin stretched Milos' face as he


breathed, 'Open your mouth. '


Angus opened his mouth.


Carefully Milos dropped his burning nic onto Angus'


tongue.


A flash of recognition lit Angus' eyes - a black glare


of hate. His toadlike face twisted in a spasm of pain.


Autonomic revulsion made his hands twitch.


Nevertheless he chewed the nic briefly; swallowed it.


After flexing for a moment, his hands went back to his


board.


'Enjoy it, ' he whispered thickly, as if the pain stiffened


his tongue. 'It won't last. '


'Yes, it will. You know it will. ' For some reason, Milos


still felt endangered. His power over Angus should have


calmed him, but it didn't. Deep in his guts, where


common sense and rationality never reached, he feared


that Angus' essential malignance was indomitable.


Unfortunately he couldn't undertake a more elaborate


reassurance right now. 'Bluffing me is a waste of time, '


he asserted in an effort to disguise his apprehension. 'I've


never been as stupid as you think I am. '


'Is that right?' Angus slurred. Then I guess you knew


all along that I could have proved you were in collusion


with Succorso whenever I wanted. I guess you knew I


was doing you a favor by keeping my mouth shut. That's


why you were so rucking grateful. All that stun and beat-


ing and abuse was just your sweet way of saying thanks. '


'Oh, stop it. ' In disgust, Milos drifted back to the


second's station. 'I tell you, you can't bluff me. DA


trained me for this. I know what you can do and what


you can't. Probably better than you do. ' He wanted to


put as much distance as possible between himself and


Angus: if he'd been willing to miss Operations' answer,


he would have left the bridge. Pulling his weight down


by the straps, he secured himself in his g-seat. 'If you


could have proved anything like that — if you even sus-


pected it - you would have sung your head off about it. '


As he tapped one of his readouts, Angus Thermopyle


laughed - a sound like the pulping of flesh and the break-


ing of bones. 'Operations' approach protocols give us id


and status on every ship here - illegals don't like to come


in when they can't tell who's in the vicinity. It looks like


Captain's Fancy has already docked. Maybe we'll get to


discuss what I knew and didn't know with Captain


Succorso him-fucking-self. '


'You're a liar, ' Milos retorted because he was viscerally


sure that Angus was telling the truth. 'If you could have


rescued yourself that easily, why didn't you? What are


you using for a reason today?'


Angus started to laugh again, then stopped abruptly


to read a screen. 'Here it comes. '


'Trumpet, this is Billingate Operations. ' In spite of dis-


tance and distortion, the voice on the bridge speakers


sounded laconic, humorously cynical. 'Are you sure you


don't want to reconsider? You might be safer if you got


the hell out of here. '


With a snap, Angus toggled his pickup. 'Operations, I


hear you. ' He spoke slowly to overcome the pain in his


tongue. 'If you said something that made sense, I might


even understand. What's the problem? Do you want me


to start over? I'm Captain Angus Thermopyle. My second


is Milos Taverner. There are only two of us aboard. Ship


id follows -'


We have your ship id, ' Operations cut in. 'Come on,


Captain. You're supposed to be smart - if you really are


Angus Thermopyle. You know what the problem is. '


'Give me a hint, ' Angus retorted. 'I've been out of


circulation for a while. I don't know what's changed since


the last time I was here. '


'It's your ship id. ' Operations and Angus might have


been playing a game which they both secretly enjoyed.


That's what the problem is. Trumpet. A Needle-class gap


scout. Unarmed. A UMCP ship, it says here. Are


you getting the picture, Captain? Do you understand


now?'


What I understand, ' Angus replied in a tone of bel-


ligerence which may have been feigned, 'is that you aren't


doing your job. I'll talk real slow, so you can get a good


recording. I'm Angus Thermopyle. I've been here before,


so I know you can do a voice-print comparison to verify


that. My second is Milos Taverner. Until recently' -


Angus grinned fiercely at Milos — 'he was deputy chief


of Com-Mine Station Security. You can talk to him if


you want, but it won't do you any good. He hasn't been


here before.


'Call me back when you're sure who I am. Then maybe


you'll ask some questions smart enough for me to answer.


'Trumpet out. '


Milos lit another nic and inhaled hard so that he


wouldn't do or say anything to show Angus how scared


he was. He waited until he was sure he could keep his


voice steady before he asked, 'Now what?'


'Now nothing. They'll call again when they're ready to


talk. ' Angus didn't sound worried. They've already done


their voice-prints. They're just shitting us to see how we


react. '


Milos sucked on his nic and did his best not to worry.


Of course Billingate was suspicious. So of course Angus'


programming had been written to deal with Billingate's


suspicions. There was nothing to worry about.


Milos worried anyway. His neck was already in the


noose. The tighter the rope pulled, the more risks he


would have to take to extricate himself.


A slight intensification of Angus' posture warned him


an instant before the speakers relayed, 'Trumpet, this is


Billingate Operations. It's time for answers. And you'd


better make them good. We're in no mood for crap. '


Angus snapped a toggle. 'Operations, this is Captain


Thermopyle. Of course you're in no mood for crap.


You've already got yourself to put up with. But it


would help if you gave me a hint what you want me to


say. '


'You bloated bastard' — Operations didn't sound par-


ticularly offended - 'you know perfectly well what we


want you to say. We want you to account for yourself.


The last we heard, you were in Com-Mine lockup. Now


suddenly here you are, in a UMCP ship, with Com-Mine


Security's deputy chief for crew. Call me a gap-eyed


dreamer, but that sure as hell sounds like a set-up to me.


We want you to give us a reason why we shouldn't fry


you down to your pubic hair as soon you're in range.


'Is that enough of a hint, or do you need more?'


'Oh, it's enough, ' Angus snorted without hesitation. 'I


can fill in the blanks. You think I've done a deal with the


cops. They let me out of lockup, and all I have to do in


return is take one of their ships into forbidden space,


with one of their pets for crew, and do some kind of job


for them. Like blowing you up, maybe? Is that about


right?


'How fucking stupid do you think I am? How stupid


do you think they are? Has the Bill gone null-wave in his


old age?'


'Captain Thermopyle, ' Operations retorted tartly,


'we're going to believe what we damn well please until


you offer us something better. You've got three choices.


Get the hell out of here. Come on in and let us fry you.


Or start talking. We don't care which one you choose -


but I personally guarantee that you're going to choose


one of them. '


'Bullshit!' Angus grinned like a sneer. Who says you


don't care what I do? Even if the Bill is brain dead, he's


bound to realize he needs to know what's going on here.


If you fry me, he won't learn anything. And if I decide


to go somewhere else, he won't learn anything. Either


way, you'll be a prime candidate for some BR "improve-


ments". If you haven't already had them.


'So pay attention. I don't want to go through this more


than once. And put a stress monitor on my transmission,


so you can at least guess I'm telling the truth.


'I was in lockup on Com-Mine. A life sentence for


stealing Station supplies. You heard that part right. But


Security was pissed because they couldn't convict me of


anything worse. They assigned Deputy Chief Milos Tav-


erner to break me. Tear me apart and dig out' - Angus


snarled the words - 'my innermost secrets.


That didn't work, so after a while the cops - the


United Mining Companies fucking Police themselves -


decided to take over. ' Angus probably didn't need the


help of his zone implants to lie as calmly as he told the


truth. They reqqed me, took me to UMCPHQ. Along


with Milos here, since he presumably knew more about


me than anybody else. I guess this new Preempt Act gave


them the authority. And maybe they were glad Milos


didn't break me. Maybe they wanted to keep what I know


for themselves. '


Milos dropped his nic on the deck and lit another,


hiding the tremors of his hands with smoke.


This is where it gets interesting, ' Angus continued.


'I've done a lot of things in my life, but the one they


convicted me for I didn't do. I was framed. If you don't


believe me, ask Captain Succorso. He's in dock there,


right? Ask him. He set me up. And eventually the cops


figured out that if Succorso set me up he must have had


help. From Com-Mine Security.


'Now Milos knew he was in trouble. He provided the


supplies Succorso used to frame me. They must have


been working together for years. It was only a matter of


time until the cops nailed him. So his little scam was


finished. The cops were going to catch him — and as soon


as they broke him they were probably going to execute


him for his crimes.


'He didn't like that much. But how could he get out


of it? He was stuck in UMCPHQ. He never expected to


be reqqed, so he hadn't planned an escape. He can't run


a ship himself. What else was he going to do? Before the


cops revoked his clearances, he got me out. We went to


the docks, jumped Trumpet's crew, and used their id tags


to get ourselves aboard. Then we used his codes to clear


her for a training run. Before UMCPHQ knew what was


going on, we hit the gap and came here. End of story.


'How do you like it?' Angus asked sardonically.


On an impulse that resembled panic, Milos keyed his


own pickup and said to Angus so that Operations would


overhear him, 'They don't have to like it. Don't be so


hostile. We can't go back. All they have to do is let us


stay. '


He thought Angus was going to cut him off. But


Angus left both pickups active as he growled, 'Oh, shut


up, Milos. You're just making it worse. '


Milos flushed involuntarily. This was simply another


calculated gambit in Angus' game with Operations. In


all likelihood, both he and Operations already knew what


the outcome would be. Only Milos himself was left to


sweat in ignorance and dread.


Operations was silent for a moment. Then the speakers


asked, 'So what are you selling, Captain Thermopyle?'


Faking abrupt outrage, Angus shouted back, 'I'm not


selling anything! I'm running away! Get it through your


head! I'm rucking running away from the fucking cops!


I only came here because I couldn't think of anyplace


better!'


Then how, ' Operations inquired in a tone of suave


malice, 'do you propose to pay for the use of our docks


and facilities?'


At once Angus pointed a finger like a command at


Milos.


Sighing, Milos leaned over his pickup. 'Operations,


this is Milos Taverner. I made a fair amount of money


working with Captain Succorso. But I couldn't leave it


lying around on Com-Mine. It's in a safe account on


Terminus. ' This falsehood, which Hashi Lebwohl had


prepared for him, was so close to the truth that Milos was


able to deliver it with a minimum of distress. 'Verification


follows. '


As steadily as he could, he tapped his keys, dumping


the information Operations needed along Trumpet's


transmission.


'Data received, ' Operations reported in a more


impersonal manner. 'Steady as you go until you hear


from us again, Trumpet. Operations out. '


Obediently the speakers went dead.


Milos should have kept his mouth shut: he knew that.


But he couldn't. He had too much tension in him; he


was too dependent on people he didn't understand and


couldn't control. Fighting to keep his voice flat, he asked


for the second time, 'Now what?'


Angus' grin was as sharp as a taunt. 'Now they're


going to talk to your buddy, Captain Sheepfucker him-


self. '


Milos tried to think of everything he knew about Nick


Succorso; tried to imagine what orders DA had given


Captain's Fancy. Doubtfully he asked, Will he back you


up?'


Angus swore. 'Of course not. ' Nevertheless his voice


carried a note of grim satisfaction as he added, Which is


exactly why they're going to let us come in. '


Milos couldn't restrain himself. 'That doesn't make


sense. '


'Sure it does. You're just too stupid to see it. ' Angus'


yellow eyes were full of threats. 'Look at this from the


Bill's point of view. He's got two Amnion warships on


his hands. Captain's Fancy is in — and she came from


deeper in Amnion space, from Enablement Station. So


Captain Sheepfucker has been screwing with them some-


how. That's why those warships are here. They may even


be after Donner's precious Morn Hyland. ' Angus said


her name like a curse. The Bill is already up to his hips


in shit he didn't ask for and doesn't want.


'Now suddenly we arrive. ' More and more, Angus'


explanation itself sounded like a threat. 'About the best


thing you can say for us from his point of view is — we're


dangerous. Especially at a time like this. But now we're


linked to Captain Sheepfucker. We claim he'll back up


our story. Sure as hell looks like we're here because of


him, doesn't it?


'As soon as Succorso refuses to confirm us, the Bill


won't have any choice. He'll have to bring us in. Once


we're docked, he'll have us under control. That way he


can try to protect himself from all the different things


that might be going on. '


At last Milos found the determination to stifle his ques-


tions. They betrayed too much: ever since he'd been


cursed with the job of trying to break Angus, his ques-


tions had betrayed too much. No matter how much he


reminded himself that he still had secrets and options


which Angus — and therefore Hashi Lebwohl - couldn't


guess, every passing hour seemed to bring him more


under Angus' power. He needed reassurance, needed it -


Sucking smoke into his lungs while his crotch and


armpits oozed and his heart labored, he forced himself


to continue waiting.


Scarcely ten minutes passed before Billingate spoke


again.


'Trumpet, this is Operations, ' said the laconic voice.


'You have permission to come in. Approach vectors and


berth assignment follow. '


Numbers began to scroll across the helm readouts.


'Don't keep me in suspense, Operations, ' Angus put


in quickly. What did Captain Succorso say about me?'


'Pay attention, ' Operations snapped. 'I'm not done.


You have permission to come in, but it's conditional.


You won't be allowed to leave until you satisfy us. '


'You mean' - Angus concealed his grin with a sour


growl - 'Captain Succorso refused to back me up?'


'He refused to talk to us at all, ' replied Operations.


We aren't going to let you out of here until you convince


him to convince us we can trust you.


'If you're going to turn tail, you'd better do it right


now. You're already in range for fire from Amnion


defensive Calm Horizons. Operations out. '


The sudden silence seemed to throb in Milos' ears like


the pressure of his pulse. A shudder that should have


been relief came over him. For a moment he couldn't


force himself to breathe.


Then Angus hammered his board with one fist and


snarled, 'Got you, you bastards!'


Milos exhaled as if he'd been released.


Now.


Finally he was done waiting.


He hadn't put his own neck into this noose. And he


hated it. Now he could do something about that.


As Angus processed Billingate's instructions, Milos


dropped his nic and unbelted himself for the second time.


Drifting toward the command station, he said with his


own kind of satisfaction, That can wait. I want to talk


to you. '


Angus didn't respond. The screens showed that he was


programming helm to follow Operations' instructions


automatically.


When he'd anchored himself on the back of Angus'


seat, Milos ordered, 'Joshua, stop what you're doing.


Listen to me. '


As obedient as a piece of equipment, Angus dropped


his hands. He started to turn his head; but some instinct


or prewritten commandment stopped him.


'Joshua, ' Milos said softly behind Angus' head, 'you


know everything they want you to know about why we're


here. ' He didn't need to explain who they were. They've


given you access to some of their databases, some of the


information you need. You'll get more as you go along.


'But they haven't told you why I'm here. '


A muscle spasmed in Angus' shoulder. He may have


been fighting his zone implants.


They think they have, ' Milos went on. They think


they've explained me well enough to let you function. '


And they think they know the truth, whether they told


it to you or not. 'But they're wrong. I've got my own


reasons.


'It's time for us to start on them.


'Angus Thermopyle, ' he said from the bottom of his


heart, 'I loathe you. Your violence sickens me. Your


person nauseates me. I despise your morals. Everything


you do and everything you are is offensive to me. But


more offensive than anything else is the fact that I have


to act like your subordinate. Taking your orders is bad


enough. Looking and smelling like you is much worse.


We're going to change that right now. '


As Milos unsealed his shipsuit, he urged quietly, 'Go


on, Joshua. Ask me what that means. '


Angus' voice came out as if the muscles of his throat


were in knots. What does that mean?'


From the core of his bones to the ends of his nerves,


Milos Taverner understood humiliation and control. For


the first time in months - perhaps for the first time in


years - he felt a moment of happiness. Dropping his


shipsuit, he moved his grip from the back to the arm of


Angus' g-seat. 'It means, ' he said with a complex smile,


'you're going to use that foul tongue of yours to keep


me clean. '


Careful to invoke the appropriate codes so that noth-


ing could go wrong, Milos described exactly what he


wanted Joshua to do.


Later, when the dirtiness of his body and the fear in his


soul had been relieved, he gave Angus a Jerico priority


order which ensured that from now on Angus would


allow him unrestricted access to Trumpet's communi-


cations.


ANCILLARY


DOCUMENTATION


UNITED MINING


COMPANIES


A Brief History


Publicly the history of the United Mining Companies


was a study in the exercise of economic muscle.


How did the UMC become so big? How did it come


about that humankind's activities in space were not only


directed but policed by the UMC? How were the govern-


ments of Earth finessed out of their familiar - if essen-


tially arbitrary - sovereignty over their own citizens? By


what right did the UMC become the sole legal bargaining


agent, and therefore the sole viable defense, between


humankind and the Amnion? How did a mere 'private'


commercial enterprise become responsible for the fate of


the human race?


The answer to all these questions was the same: econ-


omic muscle.


If a corollary was required, it could be found in the de-


velopment of the gap drive. Without the ability to cross


- that is to say, explore and expand across - interstellar


distances, questions of this scale would never have arisen.


At the time when Dr Juanita Estevez was in danger of


destructing herself and SpaceLab Station with the first


gap drive prototype, Earth was in a period of political


and economic stagnation; a period of atrophy so pro-


found that more than a few analysts concluded the planet


had exhausted not only its resources but its ability to


solve problems. One hundred fifty or so sovereign


nations had become so interdependent that warfare was


no longer viable as a means of economic and political


revitalization. By the same token, mutual interconnection


compelled each nation to share the deterioration of its


neighbors. In other words, the inhabitants of the planet


were being killed by precisely the same thing that kept


them alive.


Without enough fossil fuels to make energy cheap


(except in space, fusion generators were prohibitively


expensive to build and maintain); without enough trees


to recycle the atmosphere; without new raw materials


to replace the old; without any adequate way to make


productive use of garbage, or to dispose of it in a non-


polluting fashion; without frontiers or wars to provide


the sense of excitement or urgency which inspired cre-


ative problem-solving: Earth had become a seemingly


endless list of things her people had to do without. The


planet appeared to have outrun its own future.


In a last-ditch effort to save themselves, a number of


commercial enterprises and quasi-commercial conglom-


erates put up space stations. These were research facilities,


primarily, exercises in hope: huge orbiting labs, hydro-


ponics tanks, launch platforms for probes toward the


other planets, and high-tech development centers. The


stated purpose for such vast expenditure was to make the


discoveries that would restore the future of humankind.


However, the actual result was to drain the planet's wan-


ing resources so severely that stagnant economies around


the globe sank into active decline.


Paradoxically, the more these commercial and quasi-


commercial adventures cost, the more necessary they


seemed and the more powerful they became. Earth didn't


simply need them: it needed them to succeed.


By the time SpaceLab Station did what it was sup-


posed to do - that is to say, by the time Dr Estevez


discovered the gap drive which made exploration and


development beyond the solar system first feasible and


then practical - the Station's parent conglomerate (then


called simply SpaceLab Inc. ) had become so necessary to


the several nations from which it sprang that none of


the relevant governments was able to take control of the


Station's products.


That, in brief, explained why what followed was an


exercise of commerce rather than of sovereignty. The


Only concession SpaceLab Inc. made to its governments


- not to mention its competitors - was an agreement to


license the gap drive patents for a bearable royalty.


For a time, SpaceLab Inc. (now Sagittarius Explo-


ration) naturally became the most potent commercial


concern in existence. And its dominance was confirmed


when one of its first missions brought home news of a


rich asteroid belt. This was not the belt on which the


UMC founded its wealth. It was a far smaller and thinner


find, played out early, but it supplied enough raw ore to


enable most subsequent exploration.


However, despite its access to huge capital in the form


of royalties, Sagittarius Exploration found itself without


the corporate resources to take advantage of its find. Here


the UMC (then Space Mines Inc. ) entered the picture.


At that time, SMI was a relatively small and apparently


harmless ore-smelting enterprise: it existed to make what


it could out of the asteroids which were within reach


from Earth at space-normal speeds. It was big enough


to do the work Sagittarius Exploration (now popularly


known as SagEx) needed, but not big enough to be a


convincing competitor. Naturally, SagEx tried to absorb


the smaller company. SMI managed to avoid that fate;


and as a reward for its creative tactics it eventually gained


a partnership with SagEx in the development of the


belt.


There Space Mines Inc. began the rise which eventually


transformed it into the United Mining Companies.


The SagEx belt - and Sagittarius Unlimited Station,


in which SMI was also a partner - produced wealth on


a previously unimagined scale.


Because of its earlier smallness and pedestrian activi-


ties, SMI had no support from any of Earth's govern-


ments, therefore no governmental restrictions. And the


company's new wealth gave it muscle. Using that muscle


with both vision and cunning, SMI soon became one of


the primary players in the exploration and development


of space.


If the story had ended there, however, Space Mines


Inc. would never have become the source of so many


interesting questions.


Earth and its conglomerates still faced a limited future.


Despite the gap drive, human space was effectively finite,


limited by its own population base. Therefore wealth -


and the opportunities for wealth - could only grow in


proportion to the expansion of the species. That expan-


sion took place steadily, in the stations around Earth


and elsewhere, but the process was slow. As always, the


economy could only support so much growth; after that,


growth had to stop.


Contact with the Amnion changed this equation.


In a display of profound foresight, SMI used its new


wealth, and every other dollar the company could scrape


together, to acquire Intertech, like SpaceLab Inc. a


research and development company which had expanded


into exploration. At the time, Intertech was uniquely vul-


nerable to acquisition. In the aftermath of the Humanity


Riots - which had been triggered by Intertech's efforts to


understand humankind's first encounter with an Amnioni


mutagen - the company itself was devastated. And no


one else wanted it: no one else realized the potential


implied by its role in the riots. The takeover of Intertech


put SMI in the position of being the only human enter-


prise capable of both reaching the Amnion and


responding to what they offered.


To capitalize on this position, SMI used all of its


recently achieved vigor and muscle to pursue trade with


the Amnion.


Suddenly a door of vast opportunity opened, and SMI


held the knob in one hand, the key in the other. Intertech


owned everything humanity knew about the Amnion:


SMI owned the ships and facilities needed to take advan-


tage of that knowledge. And Earth had a nearly bottom-


less hunger for new resources - as well as new markets.


Rather than risk failing to gain the benefits offered by the


Amnion, Earth's governments re-chartered Space Mines


Inc. as the United Mining Companies and gave it the


mission of developing Amnion trade for the sake of all


humankind.


Ultimately trade with the Amnion provided the UMC


with both its reason and its means for being.


That was the public history.


WARDEN


Eventually, of course, Godsen Frik caught up with


Warden Dios. The director of the United Mining


Companies Police couldn't avoid his own direc-


tor of Protocol indefinitely.


Before Godsen found him, however — and before the


first peremptory, predictable demand for a video confer-


ence came in from the Governing Council for Earth and


Space — Warden managed to sequester himself with


Hashi Lebwohl for more than an hour.


Their conversation took place in one of the several


secure offices which Warden maintained throughout


UMCPHQ. Naturally no room, however private, could


be secure from what Milos Taverner might have called


'buggery'. But the director of Data Acquisition was no


'bugger': where secrets were concerned, he was as safe


as a tombstone. The distinction of being the only


person in UMCPHQ who might reveal what was said


in one of those offices belonged to Frik himself. And


the offices themselves, with their baffled walls and


electronic shielding, were proof against any kind of


eavesdropping.


As an additional precaution, the techs and guards who


tended those offices had strict orders never to acknowl-


edge that Warden Dios ever used them. While he was


inside, he ceased to exist in every official sense. Even Min


Donner would have been turned away with a blunt, We


haven't seen him, sir, ' if she'd tried to locate the UMCP


director while he was sequestered.


As a result, Godsen had no idea where Warden had


hidden himself, and therefore no idea in which direction


events were moving, when he finally succeeded in con-


fronting Dios.


Warden wasn't usually a petty man; but he took a


certain small satisfaction in Godsen's ignorance. Ignor-


ance led to discomfiture — and Warden liked seeing the


PR director discomfited. Relations between the two men


left him few other grounds for satisfaction.


By this time he was in his formal office - a huge,


expensive, and generally useless space which he reserved


for those occasions on which a display of status was more


important than the status itself. At the moment when his


public secretary informed him that Godsen wanted to see


him immediately, he'd just settled himself behind a wide


mahogany desk - polished wood hydroponically grown


at immense cost - in an armchair, also of polished mahog-


any, which rolled on old-fashioned casters. Both desk and


chair, like all the furnishings and appurtenances of the


room, had been given to him several years ago by Holt


Fasner: a congratulatory gift on the completion of the


UMCP's orbiting headquarters. Perhaps that was the real


reason he never used this office if he could avoid it. Now,


however, he had no alternative.


He quickly reviewed the arrangements he'd made for


the next hour. Then he keyed the intercom and told his


secretary - a woman whom he privately considered to be


as polished and useless as the furniture - to let Godsen


Frik in.


The PR director entered at once, looking harried.


The look didn't suit him. His fleshy self-confidence


and rather flagrant dignity were effective masks for his


schemes as well as his pleasures; but they did nothing to


conceal a sense of harassment or an air of grievance. His


pontifical head with its panoply of white hair, which


usually gave him the appearance of the quintessential


elder statesman, now made him resemble an aging boy


who'd been caught in a particularly shameful act of


sodomy.


Observing this was another of Warden's small satis-


factions.


It changed nothing, however. Godsen Frik was always


transparent to him, thanks to his prosthetic eye. In this


Godsen was unlike his fellow directors. Hashi Lebwohl


could have betrayed the universe without giving so much


as a hint to Warden's infrared sight, not because he was


a natural traitor, but because he made no essential distinc-


tion between the many levels of his natural duplicity. And


Min Donner's intense concentration and devotion were


inherently honest. But Godsen exposed himself by


physiological clues too obvious for Warden to miss -


every scheme, every mixed motive, every falsehood


showed in the rate of his heart, the temperature of his


sweat, the aura of his skin.


Whenever Warden Dios dealt with his PR director, he


knew he had to be prepared for the consequences, which


ranged from Frik's own simple obstructionism to active


intervention by Holt Fasner.


That was a curse. Nevertheless Warden counted on it,


planned for it; used it.


'Come in, ' he said unnecessarily. 'Sit down. ' Because


he disliked Frik, he always treated him with mildness and


courtesy.


Godsen seemed unconscious of his director's dislike.


As soon as the door closed behind him, and the indicators


showed that the room's monitors were inactive, he came


toward the desk, hitched one of his hams onto the gleam-


ing surface in an effort to appear self-confident, and


said, 'I did what you told me. Now I'm getting my ass


roasted. '


The effort failed. His voice was too tense to project its


usual assured rumble.


Warden spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.


'I don't suppose it occurred to you that you don't have


to deal with him? You could always leave him to me. '


'He' in this context could only be Holt Fasner.


Unfortunately Godsen had no difficulty choosing


among his disparate loyalties. Harried but unrepentant,


he replied, 'You know I can't do that. For one thing, you


didn't hire me for this job. He did. He says he has plans


for me. You can't expect me to ignore that. And for


another, there isn't a man or woman here — hell, there


isn't a skeleton in the damn closet - that can refuse to


accept a call from him. '


This last assertion wasn't notably accurate. Neither


Min Donner nor Hashi acknowledged any authority out-


side UMCPHQ. Nevertheless Godsen believed what he'd


just said: that was obvious.


Warden resisted the impulse to respond, I've got plans


for you, too. Instead he inquired, 'So what did he say?'


'He said' - Godsen was good at mimicry -' "What the


fuck do you think you're doing, telling the whole world


Thermopyle and Taverner got away? Don't you know


what's going to happen now?"'


'And what did you reply?'


'I told him I was acting on your direct orders. ' God-


sen's aura was crimson with tension and vulnerability,


undermining his efforts to sound staunch. 'I told him we


did it to back up Joshua's alibi, so he can get into Billin-


gate. And I told him' — the fluctuation of his readings


signaled a lie — 'I think you made the right decision. It's


worth the risk. Everything we've done with Joshua won't


be worth spit if Billingate decides not to trust him. '


Warden dismissed all this. 'And you didn't mention


Morn Hyland?' His tone was particularly mild because


his question was especially threatening. 'You didn't point


out that by risking public exposure of our operation I'm


increasing the pressure on myself to rescue her? You've


been eloquent in your desire to see her saved. ' Or elimin-


ated. 'You've often pointed out that we'll have a serious


disaster on our hands if anyone ever learns we've deliber-


ately left one of our ensigns in her position. Did you


perhaps suggest to him that he should urge me to recon-


sider Joshua's programming where she is concerned?'


He didn't expect a true answer. But he'd posed his


question to glean as much information as possible from


Godsen's readings.


IR sight was wasted on Godsen: he exposed himself


by body language alone. In blustery indignation, he


retorted, 'No!' Pulling himself off the desk, he retreated


a few steps, nearly turned his back as if he wanted to hide


his face. That's ancient history. I lost that argument long


ago. '


So. Godsen hadn't been given any special instructions.


He'd played the Morn card - again - and Holt Fasner


had left it lying on the table. The Dragon had decided


that the situation didn't call for intervention. Yet.


Warden permitted himself an entirely private sigh of


relief.


That's good, ' he said kindly. 'You ought to know he


doesn't care about her. I'm not entirely sure he cares


about you. You're both just means to an end. ' He


wouldn't have said such things to anyone but Godsen


Frik. Only Godsen might be alarmed by them - and only


he might report them. In a subtle way, Warden was try-


ing to tell both Godsen and Holt the truth about himself.


'If I knew what that end was, I would be easier in my


mind. '


Palpably striving to recover his balance, Godsen low-


ered himself into a chair. For a moment he braced his


hands on its arms, then he pulled them together on his


thighs. Studying them as if they had notes written on the


palms, he asked, What is going to happen now?'


Warden dismissed that as well. 'It's not your problem.


PR isn't an easy job, but it does have one advantage.


Nobody expects honesty.


'Still, I'm glad you're here. You've saved my secretary


the effort of tracking you down. ' Warden smiled at his


own irony. 'I want all of us to be absolutely clear about


what our position is from now on. '


Unobtrusively he pressed a button which relayed a


private signal to his secretary. On cue she chimed his


intercom to announce, 'Director, Min Donner and Hashi


Lebwohl are here. '


'Send them in. '


At once the door opened, and the remaining UMCP


directors entered the office.


'Come in, ' Warden said by way of greeting. Because


he hadn't stood to greet Godsen, he remained sitting. In


any case neither Hashi nor Min needed courtesy from


him. They both knew more than Godsen did about why


they were here. 'I hope I haven't kept you waiting. '


Min's shrug said, It doesn't matter.


'Not at all, ' the DA director wheezed equably. When


I am in the presence of a woman as lovely as your secre-


tary, I am never "waiting". '


'Good. ' Warden pointed out chairs and said, 'Sit, ' in a


tone he didn't use with Godsen Frik.


The ED director seated herself as if she were coiling


into the chair, poised to spring.


Perhaps to acknowledge the importance of the


occasion, Lebwohl had put on his dirtiest lab coat over


stained pants and an appalling shirt. That and his scrawny


frame made him look like a scarecrow. The laces trailed


from his ancient shoes, threatening to trip him at every


step. Slumping from his thin nose, his glasses were so


badly scratched and smeared that they seemed to blur


everything he saw - or everything other people saw when


they looked at him. His movements and even his posture


appeared somnolent: the boundless energy hidden inside


him showed only in his charged eyebrows and the con-


ceptual purity of his blue eyes.


As he sagged into a seat, he had the look of a man who


was ready only to be measured for a winding sheet. But


Warden Dios knew better. In his own fashion - a style


utterly unlike Min Donner's - Hashi Lebwohl was coiled


and poised; ready for everything except death.


Still Warden didn't explain what was 'going to happen


now'. Min and Hashi already knew - although only


Hashi had been briefed - and Godsen could be allowed


to sweat a little longer. He glanced at his desk chron-


ometer: twelve minutes left. There was never enough


time; but twelve minutes would probably suffice. If they


didn't, he could always fake a brief transmission delay.


'Now. ' He faced each of his subordinates in turn, scan-


ning their emanations like a craftsman checking the con-


dition of his tools. On the most fundamental level, he


didn't believe in using human beings: not as tools; not


as genetic raw materials. That more than any other aspect


of his personality explained why he'd become a cop. The


fact that his personal dilemma required him to do so


many things he abhorred gave him another moment of


nausea. It didn't show, however. He'd perfected the art


of keeping the worst cost of whatever he needed and did


to himself.


Bland and careful, as if all his defenses were impen-


etrable, he announced, 'Trumpet is gone. For better or


worse, Angus and Milos are on their own.


'You all know this is the most hazardous position we've


ever put ourselves in. Never before have we risked so


much on people in situations so far outside our control.


And never before has so much depended on our ability


to keep what we're doing to ourselves. So it's time for us


to be clear. ' Warden said this despite the fact that he had


no intention whatsoever of being clear himself. 'If you


still object to this operation - if you believe it's misguided


or doomed - if you think I haven't adequately considered


the difficulties - I want you to say so now. '


Godsen went back to studying his hands. Hashi smiled


around the room as if he didn't know what doubts or


objections were.


Min didn't hesitate, however. 'Why bother?' she asked


bluntly. 'As you say, Trumpet is out of reach. Assuming


we could give Milos new orders, we have no way of


knowing when, how, or even if he would put them into


effect. '


'You aren't listening. ' Warden spoke more harshly than


he intended. Min sometimes had that effect on him - or


rather his own falseness toward her did. 'I didn't offer to


change Angus' programming. Whether sending him out


this way is a stroke of genius or an act of suicide,


he's out of our hands. I'm concerned about us here, not


him.


'If we fail to back him up effectively, we might as well


not have sent him at all. No, it's worse than that. If we


aren't going to back him up, we should have left him


rotting on Com-Mine. If we lose him, we'll expose all


the knowledge and expertise that went into him, as well


as all the information he carries about us.


'I want to deal with your objections and problems


now, so they won't interfere later. '


'Then there is no need for me to speak. ' The DA direc-


tor coughed like a man who'd spent a lifetime breathing


Earth's clotted atmosphere instead of processed station


air. 'Much of this operation I designed. The rest I


approved. And I do not doubt that it will succeed.


'However, I suspect that my colleagues' - he grinned


through his glasses - 'differ with me on this. '


Warden glanced at Min, at Godsen. 'How so?'


Min glared grimly at Frik.


Seeing that she wasn't going to speak first, Godsen


raised his head. Covering his uncertainty with fulsome-


ness, he announced, Well, I've said before that I think


Taverner is a terrible choice. That man has the morals of


a stoat. Even Hashi will admit we didn't have any trouble


suborning him - which means no one else is likely to


have any trouble either. But I think the situation is worse


than that.


'I've read his records' - Godsen appeared to consider


this an act of great diligence - 'and I can tell you, it isn't


a simple question whether we approached him or he


approached us. He was too slick about it to be obvious,


but I'm convinced selling out Com-Mine Security was at


least as much his idea as ours. '


Under her breath, Min muttered, 'What does that


prove?'


Portentously Godsen continued, 'So Taverner is a ter-


rible choice for two reasons. He'll sell us out as soon as


someone - anyone - offers him enough money. ' He


seemed to draw confidence from the sound of his own


voice. 'And if the great unwashed public we're all sworn


to serve and protect ever ever gets a hint that we released


a cyborg as powerful as Joshua with only a proven bugger


to control him, this whole operation will turn to shit


faster than you can say "righteous indignation". Even the


Dragon might not be able to keep the votes from pulling


the plug on Data Acquisition. '


'Meaning what?' asked Warden calmly.


'Meaning' — Godsen was in full spate — 'the mighty and


forever-to-be-respected GCES might de-charter Hashi's


little game room. The votes might decide Data Acquisi-


tion is too sensitive for mere cops to play with. They


might even consider a bill of severance. '


Warden noticed Min's increasing tension, but betrayed


none himself. 'Do you consider this realistic?'


For a moment Godsen was torn between his love of


rhetoric and his deeper loyalties. Then he sighed, 'No.


The Dragon won't let it happen.


'But he's the real issue here, isn't he? If this gamble


goes against us, he's the one who will have to clean up


the mess. And he won't be amused. That I guarantee. '


'Neither will I, ' Dios promised. Because he was speak-


ing for Godsen's benefit, he faced the other directors and


kept his tone quiet. 'And I won't put up with being


second-guessed. If I ever get any hint - from anybody -


that one word of our conversation has left this room, I'll


extract blood for it. Finding fault after the fact is easy.


The four of us are going to leave the easy jobs to other


people. '


That was another message aimed at Holt Fasner. When


Godsen repeated it to the Dragon, it would take on a


different meaning.


Leave Mm and, Hashi out of this. If you decide you want


to punish someone for what happens to Angus' mission, concen-


trate on me. I'm at least big enough to pay for my own


mistakes.


The fact that Hashi and perhaps Min as well were


probably as doomed as Warden Dios himself didn't


deflect him.


'Other objections? Other problems?' he asked bluntly.


Like a woman who knew that her moment had come,


Min said, 'Morn Hyland. '


The passion of her aura, the intensity of her emissions,


was vivid. All her doubts and fears were focused in that


one name.


Involuntarily Warden stiffened. Precisely because he


valued his ED director and ached to spare her, he often


found that he couldn't be as gentle with her as he was


with Godsen. Close to anger, he demanded, 'What about


her?'


The curse as well as the blessing of his position was


that Min Donner trusted him too much to fear his anger.


The fact that she challenged him so rarely was a mark of


respect, not an indication of timidity.


'Like Godsen, ' she said, as clear as a blade, 'I don't


trust Taverner. I don't care about the PR implications. I


worry about betrayal. But now that I see how this oper-


ation is running, I understand why you wanted him.


Thermopyle probably wouldn't get into Billingate alone.


And anybody else we sent with him wouldn't be much


of an improvement. Taverner may be a shitty choice, but


he's probably the best we could hope for.


'Morn Hyland is another matter. I don't understand


what you're doing to her. ' Min glanced at Frik as if giving


him a chance to support her, then continued on her own.


'For some reason, you refused to let Thermopyle be pro-


grammed to at least try to rescue her. I don't understand


that - and I may never understand it until you tell me


why you let Succorso have her in the first place.


'I don't care if she's the price we were supposed to


pay for Succorso's help. That isn't good enough. He's


accepted money before. For a chance to hurt a "competi-


tor" like Thermopyle, he would have accepted money


again. In any case, he couldn't have stopped us. If we'd


ordered Com-Mine Security to take her after he got her


away from Thermopyle, there's nothing he could have


done about it.


'She's one of ours, one of mine. She'd been raped and


abused for weeks. She had an unauthorized zone implant


- and by the time Thermopyle was done with her, she


was almost certainly an addict. We're the police, for God's


sake. If there was ever a human being who needed our


help, she was it. But we didn't help her. We abandoned


her to Succorso.


'I want to know why. '


Even though Warden was braced for this, it still hurt


him. Of the people in his office, only she had the power


to cause him so much pain. He had to stifle his impulse


to say, Min, forgive me. I'm so sorry.


He glanced at his chronometer. Two minutes left.


Apparently he would be on time.


'Other problems?' he asked Godsen. Worries?' he


asked Hashi. 'Objections?' he asked Min.


The three of them regarded him without speaking.


Godsen's apprehension, Hashi's hidden excitement,


Min's outrage: each had its own distinct infrared flavor;


but none struck him as a reason for delay.


Because he was a man who acted on his commitments,


he took the next step along the path he'd chosen.


'All right. Unless I've completely misjudged the situ-


ation, you're about to get the answers you want.


'You won't be surprised to hear that Godsen's news


release is already stirring up trouble. Specifically the


GCES is in an uproar. I don't know what the Council


members are saying, but I would guess that terms like


"incompetence", "dereliction of duty", and even "mal-


feasance" are being shouted in all directions. An emer-


gency session has already been declared to probe the


situation.


The Council has demanded a video conference with


Hashi and me so that we can account for ourselves. In


fact, we're supposed to downlink with them' - Warden


checked the time - 'right about now. As you know, our


charter doesn't require us to obtain GCES approval for


our operations, but it does require us to honor requests


for disclosure. So Hashi and I are going to talk to them. '


He looked at Godsen and Min. 'I want you to listen.


What you're going to hear is our official position — the


position you'll swear to from now on. Is that clear? If


the explanation we give the Council doesn't resolve your


objections, I'll go into more detail afterward. '


Godsen nodded to demonstrate his dutiful loyalty. Min


tightened her grip on herself and said nothing.


'Hashi, ' Warden continued as he tapped buttons which


activated the broadcast equipment in his office, 'we'll sit


on the edge of the desk. A little informality' - he hoped


that his bitterness didn't show in his voice - 'might make


us look like the kind of men who tell the truth. '


While cameras and pickups came to life, and partitions


unfolded to reveal a wide screen in one wall, Lebwohl


pushed himself out of his chair and shambled to the desk.


At the same time lights dimmed around the office so


that only the desk remained bright. Warden chimed his


secretary and told her to complete the downlink with the


GCES on Earth. Then he joined his DA director on the


front of the desk.


Min Donner and Godsen Frik watched from the gloom


outside the reach of the cameras as Warden Dios and


Hashi Lebwohl settled themselves to talk to the Council.


After a brief burst of static, the screen resolved into an


image of the formal meeting hall of the Governing Coun-


cil for Earth and Space.


Much of the room was filled by a large, half oval table.


The twenty-one Council members sat around the outside


of the table, with small data terminals as well as hardcopy


notes in front of them, and their personal advisers behind


them. Usually individuals being questioned by the Coun-


cil sat at a testimony table within the half oval, equally


accessible to all the members. Now, however, the screen


which showed Warden to the Council had taken the place


of the table and chair. His own perspective on the hall


came from cameras above and behind the testimony seat;


but what Holt Fasner called 'the votes' faced him as if he


were seated in front of them.


A quick scan told him that all the members were pre-


sent. That didn't surprise him: this wasn't an occasion


that any of the elected representatives of Earth and her


far-flung stations would choose to miss. Somewhere in


the back of his brain, he knew all twenty-one by name,


as well as a fair number of their advisers; circumstances


would refresh his memory at need. And at any given


moment Hashi could probably recite verbatim the


UMCP file on every person in the hall.


For the present Warden made a deliberate effort not


to take notice of old Sixten Vertigus, rigid as steel in his


chair despite his years, or of any of the other members


who might conceivably support a bill of severance. He


didn't want to give even the slightest indication that he


was going to damage — perhaps ruin - their careers.


The screen in his office had a distressing flicker. Sun-


spot activity, no doubt. Numbers running across the


bottom of the image told him that his communications


techs were attempting to filter out the distortion. Unfor-


tunately the unsteadiness of the picture touched a sore


place in his optic nerves, gave him the impression that


he was coming down with a migraine.


Members snuffled papers, verified or canceled their


data readouts. In a moment every eye was fixed on War-


den's image. Because of his own angle of view, the


members appeared to focus their attention on his crotch.


He missed being able to make eye contact with them,


just as he missed the IR dimension which video denied


him; but he was accustomed to the discrepancy.


'Director Dios. Thank you for responding so


promptly. '


The man who spoke sat in the middle of the half oval.


Only the position of his chair indicated his rank: he was


Abrim Len, President of the Governing Council for


Earth and Space. In the private rooms of UMCPHQ,


ensigns and techs sometimes joked that Godsen Frik was


a Len clone. Both men were capable of the same public


posturing, the same orotund cadences. Len was no


Fasner stooge, however. He was simply a man who pre-


ferred any sort of consensus, no matter how fatuous, over


any form of confrontation.


Prominent teeth and a receding chin made him look


like a rabbit.


'As you can imagine, ' he was saying, 'the news released


by your director of Protocol a few hours ago has given


us all grave cause for concern. It's our hope that you can


explain what's happened in a way that will relieve our


fears. '


The president paused expectantly.


'Mr President, ' Warden replied in greeting, 'members


of the Council. As you know, I'm Warden Dios, director


of the United Mining Companies Police. ' He announced


this as if he were stating his loyalties. With me is Hashi


Lebwohl, who serves as my director of Data Acquisition.


I don't need imagination to understand your concerns.


We're more than a little concerned ourselves. Hashi and


I will do our best to answer your questions.


'I must tell you immediately, however, that my investi-


gation is incomplete. Events are too recent - I haven't


yet had time to study them fully. Please keep that in mind


if some of our answers don't seem entirely adequate. '


'Certainly, certainly. ' Len's impulse to soothe ruffled


feelings was instinctive and automatic. 'In any case, we're


all acutely aware of the rather specialized nature of the


relationship between the GCES and the UMCP. It's


gratifying to see that you take the commitment to dis-


close so seriously. '


'Mr President, ' Warden put in sternly because he didn't


like wasting time, 'I take all my commitments seriously. '


'I'm sure you do, ' Len responded at once. 'Your record


is admirable in every particular. I speak for everyone here'


- he gestured around the hall — 'when I say that we hold


you in the highest esteem.


'Director Lebwohl, we appreciate your presence as


well. ' One of Len's techniques for avoiding conflict was


to keep talking. This level of cooperation benefits all of


us who are charged with the duty of guiding and protect-


ing our people. '


'Make no mention of it, please, Mr President, ' Hashi


replied with a grin. 'I am always eager to do whatever I


can to redeem my own errors. '


Despite his confidence in Hashi, Warden feared for a


moment that the conference was about to go badly awry.


'"Errors"?' a woman snapped aggressively. 'Do you


admit errors?'


With an effort, Warden identified the junior member


for the United Western Bloc. Her name was Carsin.


At the same time he flicked a look at Godsen and Min.


They emitted nothing except tension.


'All in good time, my dear, all in good time, ' Len


interposed quickly. We must consider every aspect of


this unfortunate situation in its proper order. It is prema-


ture to discuss errors' - another man would have said, to


assign blame. 'Director Dios, Director Lebwohl, can we


first agree on the facts?'


Warden folded his arms across his chest. 'Of course. '


'Are the news broadcasts accurate?' Len pursued. 'Is it


true, Director Lebwohl, that a convicted illegal held for


questioning by your department has escaped?'


When Hashi nodded, his glasses slipped farther down


his nose. He pushed them back up with a hand like a


spider. 'In substance, yes. '


'This illegal was a man named Angus Thermopyle?'


'Unquestionably. '


'Has he escaped from you altogether?'


'Do you mean, has he escaped from UMCPHQ, as


well as from Data Acquisition? Yes. '


'Do you know where Angus Thermopyle has gone?'


Hashi shrugged delicately. 'How could I? If we pos-


sessed such knowledge, we would already be in pursuit.


However, we have no data except the tach parameters of


the ship Captain Thermopyle has stolen. Certainly we


can do the calculations to predict the direction and dis-


tance of his first crossing. But why should we trouble


ourselves? Nothing in all space can prevent him from


changing course when he resumes tard and then reengag-


ing his gap drive with altered parameters. Under these


conditions, we lack the means to trace him. '


Would you consider it trouble to do those calculations


anyway?' the UWB junior member demanded sarcasti-


cally. 'Just on the off-chance that we might learn some-


thing useful?'


'Not at all. ' Hashi made a show of writing a note and


handing it to an off-screen aide. For the sake of appear-


ances, Min came forward to accept the piece of paper,


then sat down again.


'Please, Junior Member Carsin, ' Len protested. 'I'm


sure that Director Dios and Director Lebwohl are willing


to answer any and all questions. But everything will be


easier if you'll wait your turn. '


Frowning as if she'd received an official reprimand,


Carsin turned her attention to her data terminal.


Len consulted his notes. 'Let us continue with the


facts. Is it true, Director Lebwohl, that this Angus


Thermopyle was assisted in his escape by a former deputy


chief of Com-Mine Station Security, a man named Milos


Taverner?'


That also appears unquestionable. Considering the


conditions of his imprisonment, I sincerely doubt that


Captain Thermopyle could have effected his own escape.


Indeed, in this context I would say that the term "escape"


is fundamentally imprecise. Captain Thermopyle did not


escape. He could not have escaped. ' He was released by


Deputy Chief Taverner. '


Perhaps to preserve an air of impartiality, Abrim Len


chose not to ask the next obvious question himself.


Instead he nodded to the senior member for the Pacific


Rim Conglomerate.


'Director Lebwohl, ' this man said immediately in a


firm voice, 'we're in the dark here. We hardly know where


to begin analyzing this mess. Instead of waiting for indi-


vidual questions, why don't you simply tell us what we


all want to know? How did this happen?'


Static split the screen momentarily. The sensation of


migraine tightened in Warden's temples. He resisted an


impulse to rub his eyes.


With his usual deftness, Hashi managed to convey


both exaggerated patience and geniality as he replied, 'It


is no mystery, ladies and gentlemen. As a deputy chief of


Com-Mine Security, Milos Taverner had certain clear-


ances and authorizations at UMCPHQ. He used them to


secure Captain Thermopyle's release, as well as to obtain


access to a ship. Because of the nature of those clearances


and authorizations, only the most routine requests for


confirmation were forwarded to me. By the time I


received them, Captain Thermopyle and Deputy Chief


Taverner were already beyond reach. '


That's not the question, and you know it, ' Junior


Member Carsin sneered. We aren't interested in the


mechanics. If your incompetence were that obvious, Dios


would already have your head on the block. '


Then perhaps, ' Hashi wheezed as if his lungs pained


him, 'you would be good enough to phrase your question


more precisely. '


We want to know, ' Carsin retorted, 'how this whole


situation became possible. According to the news broad-


casts' - she pointed at her readout - 'you reqqed Taverner


from Com-Mine because you thought he might be a


traitor. So why in hell did you let him have all those


"clearances and authorizations"?'


Min's emanations were as sharp as a snarl. The PR


director radiated a stew of anxiety and concentration.


Hashi did a convincing imitation of a man who was


gratified by Carsin's explanation. Thank you, Junior


Member. ' He placed no discernible stress on the diminu-


tive. 'Now I understand.


'You must understand, ladies and gentlemen, that our


position in relation to Deputy Chief Taverner was not as


simple as the news broadcasts may have made it appear.


None of you have forgotten, I think, the original case


concerning Captain Thermopyle. He was convicted on


Com-Mine Station of the burglary of Station supplies.


He was a notorious illegal, however, believed to be the


perpetrator of many far more serious crimes - and yet


insufficient evidence was found to convict him of any-


thing worse than mere burglary. Later it became clear


that even this crime could not have been committed with-


out the assistance of someone favorably placed within


Com-Mine Security itself. '


Around the hall, members keyed their readouts or


turned to whisper questions to their advisers. However,


the member for Com-Mine Station didn't need to refresh


her memory. It was significant, Warden thought, that she


kept her mouth grimly shut.


'Because of the palpable absence of damning evidence, '


Hashi continued, 'Com-Mine Security quite naturally


declined to let the matter rest. Deputy Chief Taverner


was the officer assigned to Captain Thermopyle's on-


going interrogation. Unfortunately no results were forth-


coming.


'It was at this point that we acted on our interest in


the case. We were interested from the first, I must confess


- Enforcement Division no less than Data Acquisition. '


Carefully Hashi prepared the way for the issues on which


Warden Dios hoped the Council would focus. 'As you


may recall from the original case concerning Captain


Thermopyle, we had reason to suspect that he was


involved in the destruction of the UMCP destroyer


Starmaster. This suspicion revolved around his arrival at


Com-Mine Station with Starmaster's sole survivor, an


ensign named Morn Hyland. What happened to Star-


master? How did Ensign Hyland survive? Why was she


in Captain Thermopyle's company? More to the point,


why did she remain with him? We were interested - I


might well say passionately interested - in the answers to


these questions.


'Unfortunately we had no jurisdiction. We were


required to abide by the results of Com-Mine Security's


investigation. '


By this time most of the members appeared to have


obtained the records or reminders they needed from their


data terminals or advisers.


Hashi adjusted his glasses again, then steepled his


fingers like a lecturing professor.


'The Preempt Act altered the question of jurisdiction,


however. And it raised an additional consideration. Its


recent passage gave us a clear responsibility for the integ-


rity of Com-Mine Station Security. Why were no results


forthcoming from Captain Thermopyle's interrogation?


Why had he been convicted of only so minor an offense?


Had the records been expunged? If so, had they been


expunged by Deputy Chief Taverner? Was his failure to


obtain further information explained, perhaps, by com-


plicity in Captain Thermopyle's crimes?


'Ladies and gentlemen, I found these questions too


fascinating to ignore. On my authority as the director of


Data Acquisition, I reqqed both Captain Thermopyle


and Deputy Chief Taverner, so that I could learn the


truth for myself. '


Warden had no criticism of Hashi's performance so


far. Hashi kept his instinct for innuendo and misdirection


in check: he sounded as plausible as Warden could wish.


Still the communications techs couldn't keep the screen


from nickering as if it were distorted by Hashi's - and


Warden's - duplicity.


'But how to go about learning the truth?' the


DA director asked rhetorically. That was the complex


question. If I made my suspicions obvious to Deputy


Chief Taverner - for example, by revoking his clear-


ances and authorizations - he would certainly do his


utmost to protect himself. Then I might never gain the


information I desired. Therefore my best hope was to


preserve the illusion that I had reqqed him because


of his special knowledge of Captain Thermopyle. There


was, after all, no reason why this should not be the


truth.


'Indeed, where Captain Thermopyle was concerned, I


was daily given reason to believe in Deputy Chief Tav-


erner's honesty. My own interrogations were as unsuc-


cessful as it is possible to imagine. Despite my most


advanced techniques - within the limits of the law, ' Hashi


added piously, 'I gained nothing which Deputy Chief


Taverner had not gained before me.


Therefore what grounds did I have to treat Deputy


Chief Taverner as a suspected illegal? Among the


UMCP, we hold the principle sacred that a man is inno-


cent until proven guilty. ' Hashi was starting to play his


part too thickly, but Warden didn't interfere. The more


I interrogated Captain Thermopyle, the more my distrust


of Deputy Chief Taverner evaporated.


'Ladies and gentlemen, I did not revoke his clearances


and authorizations because I had no evidence against


him. Until he released Captain Thermopyle and fled, I


had no foundation for my suspicions. '


Now Warden cut in. Impelled by the pain in his optic


nerves, he asked roughly, 'Does that help? You should


be able to ask accurate questions now. '


Thank you, Director Lebwohl, ' said Len. 'An admir-


ably lucid account. Do I understand you to mean, then,


that the "error" you made reference to earlier was an


error in judgment concerning Milos Taverner?'


'Just so, Mr President, ' Hashi agreed placidly, as if he


were at peace with the universe.


'In that case, ' Len returned in the same vein, 'please


accept my condolences. Everyone makes mistakes - but


not everyone can afford them. Men who hold as much


responsibility as we do, Director Lebwohl, must some-


how transcend their fallibility. Otherwise their "errors"


affect all humankind.


'Members, Director Dios, I think we should consider


the issues as they have been presented to us so far, before


we go on to other matters. Junior Member Carsin, do


you wish to question Director Lebwohl or Director


Dios?'


A barrage ensued. Carsin did indeed want to question


Hashi; she considered his explanation preposterous. And


she was quick: by the time Abrim Len offered her the


floor, she'd marshaled a long list of hostile inquiries. After


her came the member for Valdor Industrial, the senior


member for the PRC, the junior member for the Com-


bined Asian Islands and Peninsulas, the member for New


Outreach, and others: all deeply disturbed by the implica-


tions of Angus' escape; all critical of Data Acquisition


and Hashi Lebwohl on either procedural or strategic


grounds;


At one point Hashi interrupted the bombardment to


feign receiving a note from his off-screen aide; reading


it, he announced, 'Junior Member Carsin, I have the


calculations you requested. It appears that Captain


Thermopyle has left our solar system for forbidden space.


If he does not alter his course, he is headed toward a


planetoid called Thanatos Minor, which we believe to be


the location of a bootleg shipyard catering to the needs


and transactions of pirates. ' With a shrug, he added, 'A


natural destination for a man such as Captain Thermo-


pyle, if I may say so. Our treaties with the Amnion pre-


clude all possibility of pursuit. '


Then he resumed his answers as if he were fielding


enemy fire.


He was calm the entire time; unruffled, almost happy.


Only the wheeze of his voice betrayed any strain. He was


well prepared for the challenge. And he was temperamen-


tally equal to it: he felt no tell-tale indignation at being


pushed to defend lies with more lies. Because he made


no necessary distinction between truth and falsehood, he


was in his natural element.


Warden should have paid attention, but his mind wan-


dered. The Council's questions, like Hashi's answers,


were chaff; a way of filling the time until Abrim Len felt


ready to broach 'other matters'. As a good politician, the


president wanted his fellow GCES members to satisfy


their appetite for trivialities before he raised more sensi-


tive issues. The real questions - the real threats - hadn't


begun yet.


As if he wanted reassurance, Warden looked away from


the cameras toward Min Donner and Godsen Frik.


Min had no comfort in her. She was too sure. In a


sense, she'd been purified by her commitment to her


ideals. As her director, Warden could require her to do


things she didn't like; but he had no power to make her


question the nature of her beliefs. Despite his impersonal


love, as well as his personal respect, he couldn't get what


he wanted from her.


The PR director, on the other hand -


One curse - or blessing - of Warden's prosthetic eye


was that it never closed. He was never blind to the aura


and sweat, the respiration and pulse, of the people


around him; could never turn off his awareness of God-


sen's hypocrisy. For him, Godsen was the UMCP in


miniature. Or rather, he was what the UMCP had


become; what the UMCP had been turned into by Dios


himself, under pressure from Holt Fasner. Warden


couldn't lose sight of that fact.


Godsen's emanations consoled him by reminding him


that every price he paid was justified; that everything he


did to make restitution was worth the risk.


He faced the cameras and the migraine flicker of the


screen again as Len began saying, Thank you, Director


Lebwohl. You've been most forthcoming. I believe


you've satisfied those of us who are capable of being


satisfied in this difficult situation. And I'm sure the rest'


- he didn't so much as glance at Carsin - 'understand the


need to contain their dissatisfaction until the Council can


resume its emergency session in private.


'Director Dios, do you wish to add anything before


we go on?'


Warden shook his head. Steadying himself on his core


of anger, he said, 'Hashi Lebwohl has my complete con-


fidence. He's already answered your questions more fully


than I could myself. '


Len bowed slightly. 'Very well, Director Dios. We will


proceed. '


The whole Council seemed to pause as if the broadcast


image had frozen. Members held papers motionless in their


hands; advisers leaning forward to speak remained still.


The throbbing in Warden's temples sharpened


noticeably.


He wondered how much trepidation his IR vision


would have picked up from the president in person as


Len said, 'You mentioned Angus Thermopyle's arrest and


conviction on Com-Mine Station. As you know, those


events have played a large part in the debates of the


Council on other occasions. ' For instance, in the debate


over the Preempt Act. 'You may not be aware, however,


that certain of our members have asked questions con-


cerning those events for which we have never obtained


satisfactory answers. Angus Thermopyle's escape gives


those questions a new urgency.


. 'Member Martingale, will you continue?'


Martingale was the member for Com-Mine Station.


'Director Dios, ' she said without raising her eyes from


her data terminal, 'my constituency was more intimately


involved in the Thermopyle case than any other. I'm


better placed to ask questions than my fellow members


— and my responsibility to Com-Mine Station requires


me to ask those questions. At the same time, Com-Mine


is anxious' --she stressed the word carefully - 'to avoid


any taint of personal interest. Our Security has been


extensively challenged. We wish to defend ourselves -


and yet any self-defense smacks of special pleading.


Therefore, at my urging, the Governing Council for


Earth and Space has appointed a Special Counsel to


investigate these matters independently. For the record,


I remind my fellow members that the Special Counsel


was chosen without consultation with my office or Com-


Mine Station. Director Dios, both my office and Com-


Mine Station have been questioned as rigorously as I


hope you will be questioned now. '


Warden blinked at the pain of the flickering screen.


Here it comes, he thought as Martingale finished, 'Let


me introduce Special Counsel Maxim Igensard. Special


Counsel Igensard, will you take the floor?'


Thank you, Member Martingale. ' The man who spoke


left his seat behind the Eastern Union senior member


and moved to stand at the table.


After a restive moment the Council grew still again.


Muttering silent imprecations against the IR blindness


of the downlink, Warden studied Maxim Igensard


intensely.


He'd known of Igensard's appointment for some time,


of course. However, the fact that the GCES wanted Igen-


sard to question him and Hashi now should have come


as a complete surprise.


Warden wasn't surprised. He was relieved - so pro-


foundly relieved that for a moment he nearly made the


mistake of letting it show.


'Director Dios, ' Igensard began. 'Director Lebwohl.


This is a rare opportunity for me. I hope we'll be able to


shed light on some troubling issues. '


The Special Counsel had a diffident voice which


matched his colorless appearance. Although he was the


only man in the hall standing, he appeared short. His


formal gray suit had been cut - unsuccessfully - to con-


ceal an incongruous potbelly; incongruous because his


limbs were slight and his face carried no fat. He looked


like a man who could be blown in any direction by the


winds of circumstance.


Yet he alone seemed to understand that in order to


create the illusion of eye contact with the UMCP director


he had to face the cameras rather than the screen. As a


result, he was the only member who didn't appear to be


scrutinizing Warden's crotch.


Despite the flicker of the screen, Igensard's straight


gaze showed no diffidence at all.


Warden's throat tightened in hope or dread. 'Ask what-


ever you want, ' he said gruffly. We'll answer as well as


we can. '


Igensard didn't hesitate. 'As it happens, I don't know


to whom I should address my questions. ' He had no


notes; apparently he needed none. 'I'll tell you what I


want to know, and you can answer as you see fit.


'Morn Hyland, ' he announced as if the subject had no


particular significance, 'was an ensign aboard the UMCP


destroyer Starmaster. When her ship was lost, she came


into the hands of Captain Thermopyle. His testimony is


on record - he claims to have rescued her after her ship


was destroyed, purportedly by Com-Mine Station


sabotage. '


To control his own tension, Warden interposed, 'Are


you going to ask us if Milos Taverner had anything to


do with Starmaster's destruction? We don't know. '


Igensard continued as if Warden hadn't spoken. 'She


remained with him after he returned to Com-Mine


Station. He claims she did so because she didn't trust


Com-Mine Security. But when Security arrested him for


stealing Station supplies, she immediately left both him


and Com-Mine with a Captain Nick Succorso aboard


the frigate Captain's Fancy. Captain Succorso himself has


frequently been suspected of illegal activities, but has


never been convicted. Is this substantially correct?'


Warden shrugged. 'You've got the records. You know


it is. '


'In that case, Director Dios, Director Lebwohl, all my


questions can be summed up in one. Why did you allow


this to happen?' The diffidence of Igensard's voice was a


sham; a way of disarming people. 'A known illegal is


caught and convicted by Com-Mine Station. He is later


reqqed by Data Acquisition. At the same time, a UMCP


officer, the sole survivor of a UMCP ship, Captain


Thermopyle's only companion - the only witness to what


he may have done — is allowed to depart Com-Mine,


untouched and unquestioned, again in the company of a


known illegal. She is set free, presumably so that she can


rejoin Captain Thermopyle - who by some monumental


coincidence has just contrived his escape from Data


Acquisition.


'Director Dios, Director Lebwohl, this stinks of com-


plicity. ' Igensard's straight stare made Warden forget his


potbelly and his shortness. 'It stinks of malfeasance. It


suggests that Captain Thermopyle is one of your opera-


tives - that his crimes were whitewashed to preserve his


life - that he was reqqed from Com-Mine Security so


that his interrogation would not succeed - that he was


allowed to escape in reward for his services, and in order


to serve you further. It suggests that the UMCP is in


league with known illegals to subvert station Security,


protect illegals, and preserve piracy, all of which work


to the aid of the Amnion in their aims against human-


kind. '


Warden feared that Min was going to come out of her


chair and start yelling. Only an iron discipline held her


still.


'Before you answer, ' Igensard concluded, 'let me


inform you that I've seen Com-Mine Station's records of


the entire affair. They are explicit. Com-Mine Security


allowed Ensign Hyland to depart with Captain Succorso


on your orders. She was UMCP - outside their jurisdic-


tion. So they contacted UMCPHQ for instructions. Your


instructions were to take no action concerning her.


'I ask you again. Why did you allow this to happen?'


Now, Warden thought. This is it. The whole thing


stands or falls here.


The sensation of migraine from the screen made him


feel that he was going blind in both eyes.


With respect, Special Counsel Igensard, ' he drawled


sardonically, 'aren't you being just a bit global about all


this? You're drawing large conclusions from some very


small evidence. '


'Just answer the question, Director Dios, ' Igensard


retorted. The Governing Council for Earth and Space


will draw its own conclusions. '


With a mental lift of his shoulders, Warden Dios


trusted his fate to people he couldn't control; to Hashi


Lebwohl, who made no distinction between one fate and


another. This is your department, Hashi, ' he said softly.


'You'd better answer. '


Hashi had been thoroughly prepared: he squirmed as


if he were sweating for his life. For the first time since


he'd seated himself on the front of Warden's desk and


faced the cameras, he started to tell the truth.


'Special Counsel Igensard, your concern is misplaced. '


Now his voice held a tremor so convincing that Warden


almost believed in it. 'Again the situation is more com-


plex than you realize.


'Captain Thermopyle is not numbered among Data


Acquisition's few operatives. If you have studied the psy-


profiles prepared on him by Com-Mine Security, you will


believe me. Such a man — how shall I say this? — is utterly


beyond trust. I could not use him as an operative because


he would not submit to being used.


'On the other hand, Captain Succorso does serve me


upon occasion.


'For the most part, his crimes are putative rather than


real. They serve as a smoke-screen. Therefore we had no


reason to permit Com-Mine Security to interfere in the


matter of Ensign Hyland. We had cause to doubt their


integrity - and a useful alternative was available to us. '


Then where is she?' Igensard demanded promptly.


What kind of rescue do you call this? My God, Director


Lebwohl, she was in Thermopyle's hands for weeks. You


mentioned his psy-profile. He's a certifiable psychopath


- and she's a cop. Haven't you thought about what he


must have done to her? Com-Mine Station has hospitals,


therapists, neural medicine. What help can Captain


Succorso give her? Where did he take her?


What kind of use are you trying to make out of her?'


'Special Counsel Igensard, you must understand. ' The


tremor in Hashi's voice became more pronounced. It


made him sound frail; cornered. 'Human space is at peace


with the Amnion. With considerable difficulty, the


United Mining Companies Police strives to maintain this


peace. But Data Acquisition is another matter. Data


Acquisition is at war. It is a war for facts, for comprehen-


sion - for the means by which the Amnion and human-


kind may be spared overt conflict — but it is a war


nonetheless. And in warfare men and women become


tools. They must be used for what they can accomplish,


without regard to the personal cost.


'Data Acquisition cannot afford to neglect opportuni-


ties when they are presented. Ensign Hyland presented


me with an opportunity which it would have been mal-


feasance to ignore. '


Min Donner was on the edge of her seat, listening


hard. Godsen Frik chewed his knuckles as if he might


bite off his fingers.


'You must recall, ' Hashi continued, 'that Captain


Succorso is universally thought illegal. Therefore he has


access to places and powers which no UMCP officer may


approach directly. And Ensign Hyland was irretrievably


compromised. You ask if we have considered what Cap-


tain Thermopyle must have done to her. I tell you that


we have considered the harm she has undergone - that


we believe Captain Thermopyle's vileness toward her


beggars description - and that in our opinion no hospital


or therapy can restore her.


Therefore' - Hashi took a shuddering breath — 'we


elected to make use of her in another way. '


'Don't stop now, ' the Special Counsel put in. His tone


was incisive enough to draw blood. 'You're painting a


fascinating picture of what passes for ethics in


UMCPHQ. '


At once Warden snapped, That's uncalled for. You


aren't charged with the duty of protecting humankind


from the Amnion. We are. '


'Certainly, of course, ' Abrim Len interposed, as


smooth as oil. 'Director Dios, Director Lebwohl, we


appreciate the honesty of your answers. Special Counsel


Igensard, please refrain from passing judgment on what


you hear. That is the responsibility of the Council as a


whole, not of any one man or member. '


Igensard bowed his head momentarily, but didn't


respond.


Council members rearranged their papers or peered at


their readouts as if they were embarrassed by the


reproach. Some of them watched Igensard and the down-


link screen avidly: others appeared to want to move their


chairs farther away from the Special Counsel's position.


'As I say, ' Hashi resumed, sounding a bit steadier, 'we


elected to make use of Ensign Hyland in another way.


Again I insist that these matters are complex. Before the


case of Captain Thermopyle and Ensign Hyland came to


our attention, we were at work preparing an operation


for Captain Succorso. I made reference earlier to Than-


atos Minor and a bootleg shipyard in forbidden space.


That shipyard is beyond our reach, by virtue of its loca-


tion. Yet it is accessible to Captain Succorso. Seeking to


damage its effectiveness, we - no, I must say I - con-


ceived a way to strike against it through Captain


Succorso.


'My plan was to send him to Thanatos Minor armed


with a drug which he would claim supplied an immunity


to Amnion mutagens. '


Min drew a sharp breath which must have been audible


over the broadcast pickups.


We would provide Captain Succorso with fabricated


proofs of the efficacy of this drug. He would sell it to the


illegals of Thanatos Minor - who would in turn no doubt


sell it to the Amnion. Even the rumor of such a drug


would cause them considerable alarm. When the actual


uselessness of the drug was discovered, Thanatos Minor


would naturally blame Captain Succorso. But many


illegals - and perhaps the Amnion themselves - would


blame Thanatos Minor. In my opinion, the bootleg ship-


yard would suffer a loss of credibility from which it might


never recover.


That is my job, Special Counsel Igensard — to do such


damage as I can to the forces which weaken us against


the Amnion. '


Igensard's mouth twisted into a sneer. 'And what use


were you going to get out of Morn Hyland in all this?


Were you going to use her as a guinea pig to prove the


drug worked?'


'No!' Hashi protested as if the idea horrified him,


although the truth was worse. We gave her to Captain


Succorso for his own protection. I have already said that


she was irretrievably compromised. And we had already


taken steps to protect ourselves from the revelations Cap-


tain Thermopyle presumably extorted from her. Yet she


was a cop, in your terms. And Captain Succorso, by his


very nature, is a man of malleable loyalties.


We gave Ensign Hyland to him so that he would have


something to sell if he were trapped or caught - if he


found himself in circumstances which tempted him to


expose the falseness of our drug. '


Min Donner sprang to her feet. Radiating outrage,


she moved right to the edge of the cameras' view. Her


fists were clenched to strike out. If Warden hadn't


stopped her with a quick glare, she might have jumped


at Hashi.


But the DA director appeared oblivious to her fury -


or to Godsen's consternation. As if he wanted to make


himself look as bad as possible, he added, 'I had another


reason also. She is a beautiful woman, Special Counsel


Igensard. Because of Captain Thermopyle's treatment,


we suspect that she is aptly suited to satisfy the appetites


of such men as Captain Succorso. We gave her to him to


lessen the likelihood that he would turn against us if his


mission on Thanatos Minor proved' - pushing up his


glasses, Hashi finished - 'difficult. '


Through the shocked silence which gripped the Coun-


cil, Igensard said softly, 'Director Lebwohl, you used the


word vileness to describe Captain Thermopyle's behavior.


Don't you think the description fits your own as well?'


Like Min, Warden leaped to his feet. That's enough!'


he roared. 'Call off your dogs, Mr President!'


He wasn't worried about Igensard or the Council: his


overriding concern was to restrain the ED director before


she disrupted what he was trying to accomplish through


Hashi.


'I didn't agree to this conference so that my people


could be abused, ' he stated loudly. 'I did it because my


charter carries the duty of disclosure. But I remind you


that there's no duty of consultation. We aren't required


to let you second-guess us! We did what we did with


Ensign Hyland for the same reason we do everything else


- because at the time that seemed like the best way to


fulfill our Articles of Mission. It was a gamble, nothing


more, nothing less. It either works or it doesn't. Either


way, we don't deserve insults from small men with big


titles. '


If that didn't achieve what he wanted, nothing would.


Right on cue, Abrim Len burst into a flurry of placa-


tory phrases and gestures. But Maxim Igensard was


already shouting, 'Director Dios, what do you make of


the fact that Angus Thermopyle is heading for the same


place you sent Succorso and Hyland?'


More quietly Warden repeated, 'I said, that's enough.


We've answered your questions - we've done our part.


As far as I'm concerned, this conference is over. Mr Presi-


dent, if you want to pursue any of these subjects further,


we can arrange another occasion. But before we do, I


want you to teach your Special Counsel better manners.


My people and I have done nothing to deserve this kind


of hostile interrogation. '


Turning his back on the cameras, he keyed his intercom


and told his secretary to sever the downlink.


Almost immediately the screen went blank.


He didn't bring up the dimmed lights around his desk.


He wanted to switch them off completely and spend


some time alone in the dark, rubbing his temples, letting


his sore eyes rest; cradling his lacerated ideals. But he


couldn't do that; not yet. The PR director came toward


him, broaching the concentrated illumination like an


indignant lion.


'Director!' Godsen blared, 'that was an outrage! Do


you know what you've done? You've made us look like


garbage, like weasels! You've curled their moral hair to


the roots! There's going to be hell to pay for this. If I


know Carsin and Igensard, they're already howling for


our blood - and after that stunning performance, the rest


of the members will be ready to listen. I tell you, Holt


Fasner is going to be -'


Warden's headache was spreading. Godsen's voice hurt


his ears. But he didn't look at Frik. His attention was


caught by Hashi's aura.


Warmth and moisture left a glowing curve down


Hashi's spine. Despite his calm, organic duplicity,


the DA director had sweated through his lab coat.


In contrast, his face was pale, leeched of blood, as if


he'd been drained by the effort of so much selective


truth.


Conserving his energy, moving as little as possible,


Warden stopped Godsen by simply pointing one finger


at him. Warden's stance was firm, his manner unruffled.


Yet his very stillness seemed to frighten Godsen, as if his


finger were fatal.


'I didn't ask for your evaluation of our "performance", '


he said quietly. 'I asked you to tell me if I've answered


your questions. You wanted to know what insurance we


have that Milos won't betray us. The answer is, none.


But we've put him in a position where there's only one


direction he can go if he turns against us. And Angus'


programming watches for that automatically. We can't


prevent him from trying to sell what he knows about


Joshua, or us - but if he does that we'll have a recording


of it. And he can only sell what he knows. We've been


very careful about what we've allowed him to learn.


'As soon as he starts trying to play some kind of bugger


game against both sides, we'll be able to use him in ways


he doesn't suspect.


'That's what makes him worth the risk. '


Warden knew that Godsen considered this issue trivial


compared to the consequences of the GCES conference;


but he didn't care. Dismissing the PR director, he forced


himself to face Min Donner's more profound outrage at


last.


'How about you?' With an effort, he kept his tone


mild. 'Have I answered your questions?'


As fierce as a hawk, she confronted him across the


focused light. One hand closed and unclosed involuntar-


ily; the other plucked at her gun as if she required a


constant exertion of will to leave the weapon in its


holster.


Was all that true?' Her voice was as soft as his, but


immeasurably more feral. 'All that about Morn?'


Sighing with weariness, Warden Dios replied, 'Yes. '


At the moment he had no more stomach for lies.


She winced: that one word seemed to hurt her more


than any other. 'But how - ?' she pursued as if her pain


came to her in pieces. 'I don't understand. That doesn't


explain —' With a sudden shiver like a spasm of revulsion,


she took hold of herself. 'It doesn't fit. How did you


know Com-Mine wouldn't give Angus the death penalty.


How could you?'


She wasn't thinking straight yet; but Warden saw


where her reasoning would go. He accepted the accusa-


tion as stoically as he could.


'I didn't. We all knew Angus was going to be arrested


- but I had no idea how significant he was until they


only got him for burglary. Hashi told the truth. We were


planning to send Nick against Billingate before we ever


had the opportunity to frame Angus and pass the Pre-


empt Act. '


Then Hashi told the truth?' Min couldn't have stopped


now to save her soul. That's why you let Succorso have


her? So he could sell her to get himself out of trouble?


And so he could use her along the way?'


Warden nodded once. He couldn't say yes to her again.


'But it still doesn't make sense!' she protested. 'Getting


Angus changed everything. You knew you could never


really trust Succorso. Welding Angus and sending him


against Billingate is a lot better. It's much more likely to


work. '


Warden nodded again.


Which means, ' Min continued, 'you don't need Suc-


corso now. You don't need to let him keep her. That's


all been superseded. Why wasn't Angus programmed to


rescue her? Why did you refuse to let him be pro-


grammed to rescue her?'


Godsen appeared to think Min was breaking down


Warden's defenses. As if he were supporting her, the PR


director put in, 'I wanted her rescued. I argued for that


as hard as I could. It's a terrible mistake to leave her with


Succorso. But you wouldn't listen. '


Warden ignored Godsen. He would have ignored


Hashi, if Hashi had had enough energy to join the accu-


sation. Only Min Donner mattered to him here.


Wielding anger like a scourge, he drove himself to tell


one more lie.


'Because both Nick and Morn have been what Hashi


calls "irretrievably compromised". They've been to


Enablement. I don't know why - that was never part of


our plans. ' Not since Nick Succorso first traveled there


to test the immunity drug. 'But they went. And they got


away again. I'm afraid to guess what it means. '


Unexpectedly Hashi spoke. As if he were coming to


Warden's aid, he wheezed, 'It may mean that the Amnion


have perfected mutagens which enable them to transform


human beings without altering their bodies or destroying


their minds. In that case, both Captain Succorso and


Ensign Hyland have become appallingly dangerous. We


must hope' - he might have said pray - 'that our Joshua


succeeds in destroying them. '


Min faced this for a moment as if she still believed she


could face anything.


Then she turned away, wrenched the door open, and


strode out of the office.


Warden looked at Godsen. 'You, too. I want to be


alone. '


The force of Warden's single eye was enough to make


Godsen leave. He may have wanted to put as much dis-


tance as possible between himself and the UMCP


director.


Only Hashi remained. 'I, too, ' he said when Warden


glanced at him. 'I need rest as well. ' He started toward


the door.


Halfway there, however, he paused. Peering through


his smeared glasses, he said, Warden Dios, you suffer


too much. I am at a loss to explain why I esteem you so


highly.


'Yet I must say this. The conference which we have


just endured - that was well played. I can only guess


at your intentions, but I do not doubt that you have


accomplished them. '


Without waiting for an answer, he left Warden alone.


By some standards, the DA director's compliment was


a worse insult than anything Maxim Igensard had said.


Nevertheless Warden smiled wanly and said, Thanks, ' at


Hashi's departing back.


Like Morn Hyland - not to mention Angus Thermo-


pyle - Warden Dios was now irretrievably compromised.


ANCILLARY


DOCUMENTATION


UNITED MINING


COMPANIES


A Brief History


(continued)


Privately the history of the United Mining Companies


was a study in the unscrupulous brilliance and over-


weening ambition of two men: Holt Fasner and Warden


Dios.


Experimenting with rejuvenation techniques de-


veloped by Intertech, Holt Fasner lived for more than a


hundred fifty years. In his late thirties, he became Chair-


man and CEO of Space Mines Inc. During the next one


hundred ten years or so, he built the original company


from a small orbital ore smelter into one often or twelve


major players in the exploration and development of


space, and then into the biggest player, the UMC. He


did this by a display of foresight, cunning, manipulation,


and willingness to take risks which none of his competi-


tors could match.


He did it by simple acquisition - e. g. Intertech — as


well as by subterfuge. For example, corporate espionage


paid rich dividends when he was able to drive Sagittarius


Exploration into bankruptcy by exposing the attempts of


SagEx's directors to suborn the political process which


chartered space companies. In addition, he had a gift for


being in the right place at the right time: contact and


trade with the Amnion was established by SMI on the


basis of information gained through the acquisition of


Intertech. His policy of bold exploration served him well:


his ships discovered the tremendous asteroid belt —


dangerously near forbidden space - which eventually


came to be served by Com-Mine Station. And he did not


shrink from betrayal: on one occasion, he reneged on a


deal to help pay for a new orbital smelter - much needed


to process the growing influx of ore - with the result


that the company which had been relying on him lost


several credit ratings and became vulnerable to SMI


greenmail. Nor did he balk at bribery: perhaps his great-


est coup came when, for a few billion dollars, he suc-


ceeded at buying the votes which chartered the UMC


with a monopoly on dealings with the Amnion. In fact,


Holt Fasner lived long enough to see the UMC become


so powerful that it controlled the safety or ruin of the


human species.


His ambitions didn't end there, however. Having


achieved an apparently impregnable dominance for the


UMC, he focused his attention on the United Mining


Companies Police.


In one sense, this was easily explained. The Amnion


were a vast source of wealth: they also represented the


most lethal external threat humankind had ever encoun-


tered. Vigilance and muscle were essential. A force effec-


tive enough to oppose Amnion imperialism was required.


Presumably if human space were capable of defending


itself efficaciously that capability in itself would suffice


to stave off overt aggression. So ran the rationale for


developing the resources of the UMCP dramatically, as


well as for granting it jurisdiction over every other form


of human security. In a relatively few years, the UMCP


became the most extensive and vital of all the UMC's


enormous concerns. The UMCP may have grown out of


the UMC originally; but eventually the Police grew to


be the engine which drove all the United Mining Com-


panies' enterprises.


Unfortunately this explanation ascribed to Holt Fasner


an altruism which no one had ever observed in his charac-


ter. As a matter of protocol, he always claimed for himself


the best possible motives; but people who either suffered


or profited from their dealings with him dismissed those


claims.


On the other hand, if his stated reasons for assigning


so much of the UMC's energy and resources to the


UMCP could be dismissed, what alternative explanation


remained? What were Holt Fasner's true ambitions? Did


he simply covet the power for its own sake? For the


illusion it created that he and he alone stood between


humankind and ruin? For the reassurance that his legacy


to his species would never be forgotten?


Or was the whole question being asked backward? Was


the real issue not, What did Holt Fasner want? but, What


did Warden Dios want? Had Holt Fasner himself, the


most dominant man in human space, fallen under the


dominance of the director of the United Mining Com-


panies Police?


This perspective did not make the question easier to


answer.


Who was Warden Dios? What were his ambitions?


How did he come to his present position - and what did


he want to make of it?


Without an adequate understanding of one - or both


- men, the true role of the UMC, as well as the UMCP,


in human affairs was difficult to estimate.


Warden Dios had no wife and no children; no brothers


or sisters; no known lovers, dependents, playthings, or


weaknesses. To all appearances, he had no mother


or father. What did such a man value, if he had none of


the normal bonds which web men and women to their


contexts? What did he desire, if he had no use for those


bonds?


In the opinion of some observers, he had sprung full-


grown from the mind of Holt Fasner: he was a pure tool


of the Dragon's, working his master's will with all his


considerable diligence and cunning.


However, other analysts insisted that this was not the


case. In their view, he was one of those rare men who had


become an idealist through experience with its opposite.


Orphaned young in one of Earth's more toxic cities, he


grew up among guttergangs and violence, and from those


things learned to believe in the utter necessity of what


police have tried to do throughout human history — i. e.


to impose order on destruction; to protect the weak or


vulnerable from abuse within society; to protect society


itself from threat, whether internal or external. His ideal-


ism - so the argument went — was the idealism of a man


who believed in what the police stood for; a man who


lived to serve those beliefs.


If this perception was accurate, he and Holt Fasner


formed a strange and volatile partnership. Holt Fasner


was many things, but no one ever accused him of being


an idealist.


Certain facts were known. Warden Dios was a much


younger man than his boss and mentor; but he looked


older, in part because of his prosthesis, in part because he


lacked Fasner's enthusiasm for rejuvenation experiments.


He was only in his early thirties when Fasner picked him


to head SMI Internal Security, which became the United


Mining Companies Police as soon as the UMC was


chartered shortly thereafter; he was the only director the


UMCP ever had. So he had little or nothing to do with


the process by which Fasner built Space Mines Inc. into


the UMC: the worst accusation from that period which


could be brought against him was that he may have par-


ticipated in the operation against Sagittarius Exploration.


From that point of view, his record was unblemished


by his association with Holt Fasner's more questionable


dealings.


Yet he was responsible for the growth of the UMCP


from nothing more than SMI Internal Security to its


present status as the single most powerful division of the


UMC. The more virulent the problem of piracy became,


and the more dangerous relations with the Amnion came


to seem, the more necessary his Police grew to be. From


his headquarters orbiting Earth, he ruled human space


by defending it. He imposed order, which enabled the


UMC to function; ultimately he enabled the UMC to


exist. In his hands, he held the only power which stood


between humankind and the ambiguous threat of the


Amnion.


In some circles, Warden Dios was revered. That was


natural enough: powerful people frequently were. Holt


Fasner himself received reverence from men who were


astonished by his achievements.


Elsewhere, however, Dios was considered the most


dangerous individual who had ever lived: more danger-


ous than Holt Fasner because more crucial to human-


kind's survival. In that view, the most fatal tyranny was


that which disguised itself as the protector of its victims.


After the passage of the Preempt Act, few could argue


that the UMCP had not become a form of tyranny.


Any useful study of the United Mining Companies


had to take into account both the public and the private


histories; had to confront the almost paradoxical inter-


section between economic muscle - which deals only in


aggregates — and personal power — which by its very


nature resides only in individuals, not in charters, chains


of command, or official positions.


MORN


The guards had locked her in a room. The genetic


technicians had come and gone.


Shivering like an invalid, Morn Hyland sat


with Amnion mutagens in her veins and waited for the


organic convulsion which would bring her doomed


humanity to its end.


Lit by the sulfuric glow her imprisoners preferred, the


small, sterile cell around her seemed lambent with insidi-


ous yellow threats. It was a bare chamber, not a lab;


empty of everything except cleanliness and light, a small


san and the couchlike chair where she sat. Any monitors


were so unfamiliar or so well disguised that she couldn't


identify them: she was apparently alone in a naked room.


Perhaps the Amnion wanted to observe her transforma-


tion without inhibiting her reactions - and without risk-


ing damage to valuable equipment. Or perhaps their


facility on Billingate wasn't supplied for research; perhaps


she'd been put in this cell because it was the only space


available to hold her. Whatever the reason, she was free


to pace the floor or sit still, as she chose.


She sat as still as her shivers and the fear storming


through her permitted. Transfixed, she studied the spot


on her forearm where the mutagen had been injected as


if it were venomous; as if the wound was made by a fang.


A breathing mask protected her lungs against the mor-


dant air: that was her only defense. The Amnion hadn't


given her anything to soften her terror, or muffle the


violence of the change. Of course not. They had no


reason to: here, in the section of Billingate which they


had built for themselves, the concept of compassion was


as alien as the Amnion themselves. They lacked the


psychological, the societal, perhaps even the genetic tools


to think in such terms. From their point of view, what


they imposed on her was no doubt profoundly good. It


satisfied the ribonucleic imperative which shaped their


purposes. So of course they did nothing to make her


plight easier. They wanted to study her distress as well


as her transformation as accurately as possible, in order


to refine their methods accordingly.


Where had they gone wrong with Marc Vestabule?


Why was it that they could alter human beings entirely,


but not by increments? What element of the human mind


- or genetic code - made necessary this all-or-nothing


sense of identity? Why were the Amnion unable to master


the brain without changing the body?


When they learned the answer to this question, they


would be able to create Amnion that could pass as human


beings.


Perhaps they could discover the secret by studying


Morn as she changed.


Staring at the sore red injury on her forearm, Morn


waited to discover the secret for herself.


How bad would it be, when her genetic abhorrence


met its ruin? - when her cellular being was blasted apart


and made new? Would she be afraid enough to go mad


at the crucial moment? Was her fear itself her last defense?


Was terror her sole protection against becoming the most


effective traitor possible, the most useful imaginable


weapon against her own species?


And was that the only mystery which gave her human


life — or any form of life — its uniqueness in the wide


universe? If an Amnioni were set in this chair and sub-


jected to a mutagen which would alter its essential being,


would the creature feel the same way she did? Or did the


chemistry of alien nuclear identity bring with it other


defenses, other mysteries?


Such questions obsessed her because she had no


answer for the one that really mattered.


Was Nick's immunity drug going to work?


If it failed, she had nothing left to hope for except that


fear would destroy her mind before she knew what she


had become.


On the other hand, if the drug worked she would be


no better off. Not really. She would gain only a little


time. The Amnion would inevitably notice that the


change didn't take place on schedule. Then, because they


were careful — and wanted to learn — they would draw


some of her blood and test it in order to determine why


the mutagen had failed. They might or might not allow


her an opportunity to swallow another of the capsules


hidden deep in the pocket of her shipsuit. In the end,


that was irrelevant. If this facility lacked the resources for


refining new mutagens, her humanity might be pro-


longed for a while; but that possibility was ultimately


irrelevant as well. The significant, the damning, fact was


that the enemies of her kind would learn from her the


secret of the immunity drug. By stealing these capsules


from Nick's cabin, she had made it certain that the


Amnion would gain the knowledge they needed to


counteract the drug.


To keep herself whole for a few more hours - a day or


two at best, if neither this facility nor the warships were


equipped to design new mutagens - she'd betrayed her


entire species.


She didn't care, did she? Not now: not here. How


could she? At any moment the red patch on her forearm


might swell and suppurate, carrying a change as dramatic


as a volcanic eruption to every cell in her body. The


UMCP had betrayed humankind long before she did.


Whether the Amnion learned about it or not, the drug


had already been withheld from the men and women


who needed it most. Her own treachery only completed


the job begun by people who had sworn to protect the


human race.


And in the meantime it might gain her a few more


hours.


She looked no further ahead than that. Nick Succorso


had deprived her of any larger future; he'd cost her every-


thing except the immediate crisis. Deflecting Davies' ejec-


tion pod from Tranquil Hegemony to Billingate hadn't


solved anything: she knew that. It had simply been the


best she could do.


Gain a few more hours.


By the same token, stealing a few of Nick's capsules


had also been simply the best she could do. When she'd


stuffed a little wadding into the bottom of his vial so


that the absence of six or eight capsules wouldn't be too


obvious, her sole intent had been to prevent him from


noticing the theft in time to stop her. And when she'd


questioned him about his dealings with UMCPHQ,


she'd wanted nothing more than to understand the scale


of the corruption which engulfed her. She had no other


goals.


Her only alternative was to give up - and she wasn't


going to do that.


Not while Nick was still alive.


Not while he and people like him — the UMCP -


remained free to barter her son and her species for their


own purposes.


Her family had taught her convictions which she


couldn't set aside without an abrogation of identity as


profound in its own way as anything the Amnion might


do to her.


Her family had also taught her how to hold a grudge.


So she stared at the small red pain on her forearm and


waited while fear stormed through her. Her nerves were


strung so tight that she shivered as if she were feverish -


as if her body were fighting frenetically to fend off an


organic invasion.


Sweat dribbled like saliva from the edges of the breath-


ing mask. The mask itself felt stifling over her mouth;


claustrophobic. If she could have looked at her own face,


she might not have recognized herself. Bruises and emo-


tional starvation distorted her beauty; her eyes were as


deep and fatal as wounds; her hair straggled wildly, as


damaged and unkempt as a nerve-juice addict's.


Yet within her an essential passion burned as if it were


unquenchable. Nothing short of an absolute transforma-


tion could snuff it out.


For perhaps the first time since Nick had taken the


control to her zone implant, she didn't miss it. With its


artificial strength, she could have escaped the Amnion


by committing neural suicide. Or she could have spared


herself this ordeal of dread and horror by muffling her


emotions; re-creating the state of psychic numbness


which had enabled her to endure her son's birth.


She didn't want to die, however. And she believed


that anything which softened her terror would help the


Amnion get what they desired out of her.


She had come to a place inside herself where neither


death nor imposed capabilities and addiction were as


important as the struggle to keep her humanity intact.


Was fear the defining mystery of life? Then let her be


afraid. That was preferable to any kind of surrender.


Feverish shivers built into a shudder; tremors shook


her muscles as if the convulsion had begun. She might


have been suffocating on her own CO2. For a moment


she was so frightened that she seemed to see the red patch


on her skin swelling like an infection. It would suppurate


and burst; mutagenic pus would seep from the wound,


gnawing at her flesh and her DNA until she screamed


and went wild in stark simple revulsion; until her horror


became as vast as the void between the stars, and all


things died —


But then the shudder passed. Her vision cleared, and


she saw the truth. The redness around the place where


the mutagen had been injected was fading. Her skin was


as pallid as the underlying bones - and as whole.


In the Academy, she'd been told what to expect from


Amnion mutagens. They were supposed to be faster than


this; swift as well as violent.


Maybe the immunity drug was working.


What had Nick told her?


It's not an organic immunity. It's more like a poison - or


a binder. It ties up mutagens until they're inert. Then they


get flushed out - along with the drug.


The immunity is effective for about Jour hours.


Maybe she was going to live.


For a while longer.


And it was possible that the Amnion sector of Billin-


gate lacked the resources to design new mutagens which


could overcome the drug. It was possible that she would


be able to take another capsule before her enemies tried


her again. If she kept track of the time. If she did what


Nick had once done: if she held a capsule in her mouth


and didn't bite down on it until after her blood was


drawn. And if the Amnion failed to guess how her


immunity had been accomplished.


When she allowed herself to think that, flashes of dopa-


mine ran through her blood like little epiphanies; bits of


hope. Her breathing shuddered inside the mask as if she


were about to faint.


A few more hours.


That was all she asked.


Please.


ANGUS


His tongue hurt as acutely as his zone implants


allowed: it should have hurt much worse. He


had shit and sweat ground into his blisters.


Every inhalation stank; his whole mouth tasted like ash


and excrement.


As he took Trumpet in to Billingate, Angus Thermo-


pyle fought the fragmentation imposed on him by his


welding; did what he could to stay sane.


Hashi Lebwohl had made him schizophrenic, as dis-


sociated as a multi-tasking computer. What was left of


his volition handled the details of approach to Thanatos


Minor. Databases fed him information indiscriminately,


whether he asked for it or not: facts about Trumpet;


UMCP speculations concerning the Bill and Billingate;


classification on the Amnion warships; charges against


the other illegals in the vicinity; descriptions of fusion


generator disasters. At the same time preprogrammed


exigencies monitored and sifted everything Milos said


and did; recorded every byte of Milos' complex trans-


missions and labored to decode it.


Such things were abstract. He did them without choos-


ing them; occasionally without understanding them.


Other pieces were more personal.


With every inch of his skin from the crown of his skull


to the soles of his feet, he felt Trumpet alive around him:


capable of anything; built full of possibilities and sur-


prises. Schizophrenic with a vengeance, he approached


the cold rock of Thanatos Minor almost gleefully,


reveling in the power of his ship, and in his ability to


command her. His tactile pleasure was so acute that his


palms itched as if they could remember the time before


his hands had been cut open to install his lasers. An


emotion like joy flushed across his face as he tapped keys,


tested systems, listened to servos.


Then it fell into the cracks between the pieces of him-


self, the fragmentation gaps, and was lost.


From out of the cracks came crying instances of con-


fusion like kids abandoned in their cribs.


Why did he have to look at all this stuff about fusion


generators? According to his databases, some of these


generators used magnetic containment vessels for the


forces they unleashed; and some of those bled gravit-


ically, increasing the effective mass of bodies around


them. He knew that already. Why did he have to review


it now?


And what in hell was Warden Dios up to?


We've committed a crime against your soul.


What the fuck did that mean? Why had Dios switched


his datacore? Who was the UMCP director trying to


betray now?


It's got to stop.


More fragments -


Randomly among them, like electrons bereft of their


nuclei, ran small bursts of fury; hints of violence as precise


and pure as the noradrenalin in his synapses - and as


meaningless as the unguessable physics of tach. An


organic human brain was the wrong tool for the work


he did. Only expert programming and pervasive zone


implants enabled him to go on multi-tasking when he


should have been flung apart like a ship in an explosive


decompression.


It made no difference to his datacore whether he stayed


sane or not. Machine requirements controlled him by


electronic compulsion: madness or sanity meant nothing.


Nevertheless he fought to hold the pieces of himself


together.


He wanted the joy of running Trumpet.


He wanted to see Morn Hyland again.


He wanted revenge on Milos.


And Warden Dios had given him something to hope


for.


We've committed a crime against your soul.


It's got to stop.


Angus knew nothing about men who said such things.


As far as he could tell, they didn't exist. He had to assume


that Dios was driven by malice, just like everybody else.


Nevertheless he considered it possible, just barely con-


ceivable, that he wasn't the target of Dios' malice. Not


this time. Dios' plotting might be aimed at someone else.


In which case everything might change when the differ-


ences between his datacore and Lebwohl's began to make


themselves felt.


Screams Angus couldn't utter rang in his head: screams


of rage and frustration, loss and hope; the screams of a


small boy being tortured in his crib.


They kept him from losing his mind. On a level his


zone implants couldn't reach, those voiceless cries


focused his hard-earned cunning and his malign intelli-


gence, his hate and his strange expertise, in a struggle to


bridge the gaps between the pieces of himself.


Because he lacked the power to vary Trumpet's pre-


ordained course, or to stifle the databases he didn't want,


he concentrated on his second.


Prewritten commands required him to record every-


thing Milos said and did. Apparently Lebwohl and Dios


didn't trust the former deputy chief of Com-Mine Station


Security. Fine. Neither did Angus. But his distrust - no,


his visceral and compulsory loathing - was both more


global and more specific. Lebwohl and Dios presumably


suspected that Milos might betray Angus' mission. Angus


knew in his bones that Milos would go farther; much


farther. Weeks of stun and starvation and abuse — not to


mention the taste of nic and shit - had made Angus a


more searching judge of Milos' character than any cop.


He wanted to know everything about Milos because


he intended to castrate and then disembowel his second


with his bare hands, and any fact he could glean, any hint


of intention or weakness, was a tool which might help


him reach his goal.


In this way, he fought to make himself whole.


Trumpet was still six hours out of dock when Milos


finished his communications. The nic dangling from his


mouth disguised his smugness; the characteristic mott-


ling on his scalp and the uncharacteristic stains on his


shipsuit hid it. Nevertheless Angus felt it pour off his


second like an electromagnetic aura. He knew Milos inti-


mately, understood every shade of his second's stolid fas-


tidiousness. Milos was smug. The things he did to


humiliate Angus fed an old hunger. And his trans-


missions - tight-beamed and coded for secrecy — had


given him a sense of power which he probably thought


didn't show.


One part of Angus glowered at this; he ached to strip


it from Milos' bones. Another worked with mechanical


efficiency to decipher those messages. Yet another cali-


brated the distance to Milos' g-seat and the distance to


Billingate, measuring possibilities. And another waited -


Trailing smoke, Milos lifted himself from his seat; he


bobbed in the absence of g. 'I need rest, ' he said as if


he weren't talking to Angus. 'Let me know if anything


changes, Joshua. '


Like a badly inflated balloon, he floated toward the


companionway which gave access to the rest of the ship.


Angus felt an almost tangible relief as Milos left the


bridge. Now maybe he could concentrate on cracking


those codes.


The idea that he could improve on - or even affect -


the efforts of his computer was an illusion, however. His


microprocessor ran at its own speeds, for its own reasons.


And it made other decisions for him as well. Despite his


fragmented fury and need, he found himself growing


unexpectedly sleepy. Apparently his programming had


decided that he, too, needed rest.


Helpless to do anything else, he leaned his head back


against the g-seat and drifted into the dark interface


between his mind and the machinery which ruled it.


As he lost consciousness, he swore viciously at Hashi


Lebwohl; but that changed nothing.


If he dreamed, his datacore took no notice of it.


He came back to wakefulness four hours later, as alert as


if he'd never been away. As soon as he opened his eyes,


he realized with an odd sense of dislocation that he knew


everything that had happened while he slept. Traffic


information from Billingate; Trumpet's relative position;


the movements of other ships: all were recorded - and


accessible. When he reviewed the data, he half expected


to learn that he'd spoken to Operations while he slept;


that his programming controlled him so perfectly that it


didn't need him to be conscious at all. However, his


recordings showed that Trumpet had been entirely pas-


sive, apart from her automatic responses to Billingate's


approach protocols.


Ignoring the sensation that he existed simultaneously


in several different places across the gap, Angus began


preparing himself for the state of affairs which awaited


him on Thanatos Minor.


Operations didn't broadcast political bulletins, of


course; but Angus felt sure that the shipyard was awash


in plots and counter-plots. This was apparent from the


presence of Captain's Fancy in one of the visitor's berths


and Tranquil Hegemony over in the alien sector, as well


as from the fact that another Amnion 'defensive', Calm


Horizons, had parked herself in prime firing range over


the installation. Captain Nick Sheepfucker had come here


from the direction of Enablement, trailing two of the


biggest hostiles Angus had ever seen. That implied covert


agendas and conflicts -


- which in turn might make Angus' mission a hell of


a lot easier.


His datacore told him nothing about Captain's Fancy.


He only knew Morn Hyland was aboard because Dios


had said so.


But he'd overheard Lebwohl tell Donner and Frik that


his programming made no provision for Morn's survival.


That alone would have been enough to make him want


her alive.


If he'd been in charge of his own actions, his position


would have been more complex. Morn was potentially


lethal to him: she had information which could wipe out


his last hope. For that reason - among others which he


didn't want to think about because they were profoundly


disturbing - he'd made a deal with her and kept it.


Left to himself, unwelded, what would he have wanted


to do about her now? Kill her where she stood? Yes. Ask


her to rejoin him? Yes! Beg her to believe that he'd kept


faith with her as long as he could? Yes! and yes! again.


The thought that he might have to stand by and watch


her die brought old anguish up through the cracks in his


dissociation.


Where Nick was concerned, the questions were less


personal, but no more ponderable. What the hell was he


doing at Enablement? Were those warships here to chase


him down, or protect him? Who had he betrayed this


time?


Angus didn't really care. For himself he wanted


revenge, pure and simple: the exact nature of Nick's plots


and alliances changed nothing. And for Angus' mission


the only significant danger Nick represented came


through his association with Milos.


The messages which Milos had sent earlier had been


beamed, not toward Operations or any other part of


the installation, but to Captain's Fancy - and Tranquil


Hegemony. And both ships had answered.


That made Succorso at least as fatal to Joshua as Morn


was to Angus.


With an emotional violence which had no effect what-


ever on the steady precision of his hands, Angus Thermo-


pyle chimed Milos' cabin and growled like a demonic


cherub, Wake up, baby boy. Game back from dream-


land. We've got reality dead ahead, and it's closing


fast. '


Then he silenced the intercom so that he wouldn't have


to answer Milos' demands for an explanation.


Trumpet's final approach went smoothly. Milos did his


job with inexpert but unobjectionable care. And Oper-


ations had no reason to treat the gap scout worse than


any other ship. After all, the installation was more than


adequately protected by its own guns, as well as by Calm


Horizons'. Whether or not Trumpet would ever be


allowed to leave was less clear.


Finally Billingate's grapples thunked into their sockets


in her hull; power, air and communications limpets were


attached to her receptacles. Because his datacore left him


no choice, Angus began shutting down the ship.


Putting himself, Milos and Trumpet in debt to the Bill.


At the same time he growled to Milos, 'If you've got


any special instructions' - his tongue still tasted like hell


- You'd better give them now. This isn't a good place


for surprises. Unless you improvise better than you use


that board. '


Milos dropped his nic into the growing pile beside


his seat and lit another. Without looking at Angus, he


muttered, 'Is that what you call "reality"? A place that


isn't good for surprises?'


Angus rasped a bitter laugh. 'You haven't got a clue


what I call "reality". ' He jibed at Milos because he needed


some outlet for his random bursts of anger. "When you


find out, I fucking guarantee you won't like it.


'For your first lesson, ' he added as he unbelted from


his g-seat, 'we're going to go out and act like we really


came here because we wanted to. Even if you spent your


whole life in guttergangs until you left Earth' - a guess,


but Angus trusted it - 'you haven't seen anything like


this before. '


Milos' eyes flicked uneasily. 'Is that a fact?' he drawled;


but his attempt to sound unconcerned wasn't a success.


Trust me, ' Angus leered. Flexing his knees, he tested


the pull of Thanatos Minor's g. Then he moved, decep-


tively light on his feet, toward the companionway.


Gripping its rails, he paused. 'By the way, ' he advised,


'don't make the mistake of thinking you can carry


weapons here. You'll be scanned down to your balls


before you reach Reception. The Bill makes damn sure


nobody but him has any firepower. '


Nobody but him and the Amnion.


Alarm forced Milos to look at Angus. Will you get


caught?'


Angus grinned. That depends on whether fucking


Hashi Lebwohl knows what he's fucking doing. '


As he started up the treads, he saw Milos furtively pull


a stun-prod as small as a dagger out of his pocket and


slip it into the padding of the second's g-seat. Milos


looked like he could no longer remember what smugness


felt like.


He definitely wasn't going to enjoy Billingate.


Angus took that as a form of reassurance.


He was a coward: he wanted all the reassurance he


could get.


Together he and Milos rode the midship lift down to


the airlock. There Angus stopped. Pointing at the control


panel, he announced harshly, 'Seconds are supposed to


do jobs like this. Are you going to open it, or do I have


to hold your hand?'


Milos' eyes were nearly opaque with anger and anxiety.


In a tense rasp, he retorted, 'You're going first, Joshua. I'm


not coming out until you make it through the scanners. '


Angus had no response to a Joshua command. He


couldn't even shrug. He simply moved to the control


panel and keyed the airlock doors.


One window in his head showed him the time:


22: 07: 15. 53 standard; late in Billingate's artificial


evening. Another reminded him of the security codes


which would lock everyone else out of Trumpet until he


or Milos returned. With his prosthetic vision, he watched


the evanescent electromagnetic emissions of the servos


and locks as the interior hatch lifted. Rage fumed and


spattered through him, and accomplished nothing.


After Milos joined him in the airlock, he closed and


sealed the interior door, then opened his ship to the


complex atmosphere of Billingate.


The access passage ahead was awash with EM fields.


Gossamer, multi-hued, and insinuating, they looked like


webs or veils which his crude body would tear when he


passed through them. But he knew that he was safe


before he touched the first veil. His enhanced sight con-


firmed what his datacore told him: his computer and its


zone implants, his lasers and powerpacks, caused no rip-


ple in the shimmering aura of Billingate's detection scan.


Hashi Lebwohl had unquestionably known what he was


doing when he designed Angus' equipment.


Impersonally Angus noted the absence of guards. That


was good — from Lebwohl's point of view. It meant the


Bill had decided not to challenge Angus' story directly.


Instead he would rely on time and observation to reveal


the truth.


Angus wasn't surprised. As a matter of policy, the Bill


treated his sources of revenue politely. He spied on every-


body; but he didn't willingly offend paying customers.


Over his shoulder, Angus muttered to Milos, 'Come


on. It doesn't get much safer than this. '


Without waiting for his second, he headed toward


Reception.


There were guards in the reception area, of course; but


he ignored them. By the time Milos caught up with him,


he'd already used one of the data terminals to verify his


credit and link it to voice-print id. Brusquely he motioned


for Milos and said, 'Your turn. Tell the nice computer


your name so we'll be able to spend your money. '


Grinding his teeth, Milos gave the terminal a voice-


print to use for id. His glare suggested that he was think-


ing of new ways to humiliate Angus.


With a grin to conceal the twist of fear in his stomach,


Angus asked the terminal for two rooms in a bar-and-


sleep on the cruise.


Of course, he and Milos could have stayed aboard


Trumpet in relative privacy. And the Bill was sure to moni-


tor any rooms they hired on Billingate. But for that very


reason they were safer in a bar-and-sleep. The Bill would


worry less about men who didn't try to hide from him.


Because he wanted to nauseate his second, he booked


rooms in a place called Ease-n-Sleaze, which was located


near the center of the cruise. Then he took Milos by the


arm and said in an acid whisper, 'Look on the bright


side. This way all those bastards you've been talking to


can find you just by' - he logged off the terminal - 'check-


ing. Won't that be nice? And you can see anybody you


want without' - he tapped his head - 'asking Lebwohl's


permission. '


Thanks so much, ' Milos replied, making an effort to


match Angus' malice. 'I didn't know it was going to be


this easy. '


'It isn't. ' Angus bared his teeth. 'I'm just trying to lull


you into a false sense of security. '


'Please don't threaten me anymore, ' Milos muttered


darkly. 'I'm already so scared' - he glared straight at


Angus - 'I could just shit. '


Angus tightened his grip for a moment. 'I know. But


you ought to be careful what you do about that. Someday


you're going to get your balls bitten off.


'Shall we go?' Dropping Milos' arm, he gestured


toward the lifts.


Milos complied like a man who was so busy devising


complicated forms of murder that he couldn't think about


anything else.


The cruise wasn't Billingate's sole lodging sector, but


it was much larger than the alternatives. Occasionally


the Bill had guests for whom he catered privately. And


sometimes ships were willing to pay the extra charge


for rooms which were better furnished and less exposed;


perhaps because the captain feared he would never get


his people back if he let them loose; perhaps because the


crew had vices they didn't want to share. But every other


human who came to Thanatos Minor stayed either


aboard ship or on the cruise.


It filled several of the middle levels of the installation.


Toward the surface were the various worksheets and


storehouses which supported the docks and the shipyard,


as well as the hermetic Amnion sector; toward the core


were the Bill's personal strongroom, his surgical facilities,


and Billingate's power-station. Between the surface and


the core lived, drank, slept, worked, caroused, cheated,


fucked, raped, pandered, pleased and fought the people


who supplied - and the people who enjoyed - Billingate's


more personal resources.


Perhaps because of the constriction of the halls which


the denizens called 'streets', or perhaps because there


were millions of tons of rock impending overhead, the


cruise seemed to throng with people. Billingate's popu-


lation was reputed to number roughly five thousand; but


the cruise gave the impression that twice that many men


and women were here at any given moment. Of course,


some of them came from the ships docked around the


installation. The rest must have been missed by unin-


formed estimates.


After the first assault of smell and light, after the first


look at the crowded streets and windows, bars and dens,


the most remarkable aspect of the cruise was the pro-


portion of women. Women were rare in what human


space called 'entertainment/lodging sectors'. Those who


lived on stations generally had their work or their


families, and little reason to mingle with transients. And


women who were themselves transient — who traveled or


crewed on ships - visited entertainment/lodging sectors


for what those places supplied, not because they wished


to be used as supplies.


On the cruise, however —


The Bill must have scoured human space to attract so


many. From sinkholes on Earth and the depraved recesses


of stations, from illegal shipyards and desperate ships, he


must have begged, purchased and betrayed them by the


hundreds to get them here. According to how they were


viewed, they were either the glory or the slime of the


cruise: women who enjoyed what they did, what they


got, and became rich; women on nerve-juice or other


drugs who barely kept themselves alive; women with


surgical adjustments, bio-retributive and otherwise, who


had no choice. No spacefaring illegal who came to


Billingate could honestly say that he'd ever had so much


beauty and ruin to choose from.


On special occasions, Angus himself had taken advan-


tage of a woman or two here. But that was before he'd


known Morn; before he'd debased her as far as his hate


and his considerable imagination could go; before she'd


begun to break his heart.


Now he tasted the air, watched the lights, and leered


at the women as if he were in his natural element at last.


But neither he nor his datacore had any interest in female


recreation.


For his part, Milos pursed his mouth and frowned like


a man who found most women - and perhaps sex itself


- vaguely disgusting.


Angus had no time to enjoy his second's disgust, how-


ever. He had other priorities.


The air which greeted him as he left the lift was exactly


as he remembered it: too hot; inadequately processed;


clotted with smoke, perfume, sweat, rot, estrogen, vomit,


booze, and every other human stench he could think of.


The lighting may have been deliberately garish, full of


colors that screamed and shades that whimpered; or it


may have simply been made garish by the accreted grime


of the atmosphere.


Nevertheless neither the air nor the light blinded him


to the EM aura of the bugeyes which ranged along the


ceiling in all directions, or the telltale emissions of the


guards and wires with communications prostheses. As


impartial as death, the Bill tried to keep track of every-


thing that happened on Thanatos Minor.


Some of the guards were easy to spot. They were obvi-


ous because they patrolled the cruise as if they had


nowhere particular to go; and because they carried


weapons - or had weapons installed in their arms. Angus


counted six within fifty meters. But others - the Vires',


he called them - were disguised. Their communication


equipment was hidden in their clothes or their bodies,


or camouflaged as something else - an artificial hand


here, a prosthetic jaw there. Still Angus recognized them


all. Their EM emissions were as plain as placards. Any-


thing he said in their hearing would be instantly recorded


in the Bill's databanks.


The computers and personnel charged with sifting and


collating such information must have been inundated by


it.


One of the wires had a more complex emission signa-


ture. That attracted Angus' attention. When he located


its source amid the jostling surge, he found himself look-


ing at a man whose head had been cut off and attached


to a mechanical neck which could swivel in any direction.


That, Angus decided, was the duty officer in command


of this section of the cruise.


With a slight nudge, he turned Milos to glance at the


man. Watch out for that goon, ' he whispered. 'If we do


anything the Bill might not like, he can react faster than


Operations. '


Milos nodded. Scowling at a woman with a pneumatic


bosom, he breathed, 'What are we going to do that the


Bill might not like?'


Angus grinned humorlessly. 'Don't ask me. You prob-


ably know more about that than I do. '


Satisfied that he'd located all the guards in his vicinity,


he launched himself into the throng, heading down the


congested street toward Ease-n-Sleaze.


Milos probably did know more than he did about what


he might do. His datacore didn't answer that kind of


question. It kept track of the guards for him, collating


auras and vectors so that he seemed to know where they


all were without effort; but so far it hadn't unlocked any


new information - or issued any new directives. Appar-


ently his only immediate assignment was to install himself


on the cruise and behave as normally as possible.


That meant a room in Ease-n-Sleaze; it meant a seat


in the bar and a few cheap drinks. Which suited him


fine: for a while longer, he could cherish the totally false


impression that he was doing exactly what he would have


done anyway.


Some distance down the street, Milos caught up with


him. Anchoring himself at Angus' elbow, he muttered,


'I hope you're having fun. You probably think this place


is heaven. '


'Don't you like it?'


Milos didn't appear to notice Angus' contempt. In a


low, raw voice, as if he needed to swallow and couldn't,


he said, 'It's like a city that's been taken over by a gutter-


gang. Just one. Completely. No factions, no levers - no


way to change anything. No escape. '


'Nobody to betray in exchange for a little protection, '


Angus put in. Then he added, 'Except me. And if you


do that, you'll have to live in places like this the rest of


your life. The cops'll fry you as soon as they get their


hands on you. '


Milos' expression gave Angus another piece of reassur-


ance. The nausea lurking at the back of his gaze was


unmistakable.


The crowd rolled around Angus. Men and women


bumped into him and stumbled or strode past; on their


way, some of them flicked light fingers along his shipsuit,


looking for valuables he didn't carry. Just for exercise, he


would have liked to catch one of those hands - he could


have done that easily - and break it. Nevertheless he let


them go. He didn't want the guards and wires to focus


their attention on him.


A woman stopped in front of him and offered to sell


him a vial of nerve-juice. A man lurched into his way


and asked if he had any nerve-juice to sell. A creature,


apparently hermaphroditic, paused to clutch his/her


crotch and stroke his/her breasts invitingly. Angus dis-


missed all such interruptions with a snarl and steered


Milos on toward their destination.


The sign was like a shout blazoned up one wall,


aggressive yellow and green:


EASE-N-SLEAZE


Bar & Sleep


Fun & Frolic


YOU NAME IT:


IT'S HERE


As if he were coming home, Angus pulled Milos into the


crowded doorway.


Left to the bar; right to what passed for the front desk.


Angus went right. At a small counter with nothing on it


except a data terminal stood a man with a doomed and


bitter air; he gave the impression that to punish a no-


doubt minor infraction his employer - the Bill or some


subsidiary profiteer - had implanted an unstable explo-


sive in his stomach. He didn't look up as Angus slapped


a palm on the counter and said, 'Rooms. ' Instead he


asked distantly, 'Id?'


'Voice-print, ' Angus replied.


The man snorted as if this were an inferior answer. He


touched a key on his terminal, then waited for Angus to


go on.


Distinctly Angus articulated his name.


After a glance at his readout, the man sighed as if he


were contemplating the gulf of his fate, 'Four twelve. '


At a nod from Angus, Milos announced his name.


'Four thirteen, ' the man responded in the same tone.


'Messages?' Angus inquired.


Still without raising his eyes, the man pointed at his


readout. There's a message here for me. It says to make


sure you pay for everything up front. '


Milos frowned a question.


Angus shrugged. The Bill just wants us to remember


he doesn't trust us. '


Turning his back on the counter, he moved to the lift.


On the fourth level they found their rooms directly


opposite the lift. Milos hung back as Angus approached


four twelve, scanning hard for electromagnetic data.


Bugeyes along the corridor there and there. An inter-


com, id tag jack, and palm plate outside the door: normal


wiring; no booby-traps. If the room itself held any sur-


prises, their emissions didn't leak through the door.


'Anything to worry about?' Milos asked tensely.


Angus ignored the question. He wasn't worried him-


self: he was simply cautious. Balancing his weight so that


he could jump in any direction, he told the intercom his


name.


The door slid open.


The room was bigger than his cabin aboard Trumpet,


but not much. The air was no better than the atmosphere


outside Ease-n-Sleaze: apparently the room had recently


been occupied by someone who like to smoke nic laced


with dorphamphetamines. The nacreous walls were rank


with stains; some of the splotches looked like old grease


or blood. Two ersatz stainless steel chairs slumped against


them. A ratty fabric like exhausted velcro covered the


floor. Light the color of defeated neon spread from


reflectors in the corners of the ceiling. A data terminal


set into one wall gave him the means to contact people


- or spend money - without leaving his quarters. The


bed probably knew almost as much about desperation


and hate as he did.


Before his heart beat again, he was sure that the room


was safe. It had its own bugeye, sure — privacy was an


ambiguous concept anywhere in the Bill's domain. But


the room itself wasn't dangerous - he could do whatever


he wanted here. As long as he didn't mind being watched.


For completeness he checked the bathroom. Then he


returned to Milos.


'Home sweet home, ' he announced. 'Let's see if yours


is any better. '


Compelled by his zone implants to take care of his


second, he confirmed that there was no material differ-


ence between his room and Milos'. Only the shade of the


stains varied.


Milos hardly glanced at the room. He studied Angus'


face, looking for dangers; hints of alarm.


Concerned that Milos might feel driven to demand


reassurance by issuing a Joshua order in the Bill's hearing,


Angus growled sourly, 'It's like living beside a bugger.


Everything's recorded. You're safe - as long as you never


do anything. ' By now he was sure that Milos knew


enough about buggers to understand him.


Milos shrugged stiffly, as if he could feel the bugeyes


pressing against his shoulder blades. Nevertheless he


made an effort to play his part. 'If we never do anything, '


he asked plaintively, 'how are we going to have any fun?'


Angus snorted. Torn between what he wanted and


what his programming required, he said, 'You should


have thought of that before you got yourself on DA's


shit list. ' Then, as if he were relenting, he added, We can


at least get drunk. We probably won't get in trouble


doing that. The Bill doesn't trust us, but he'll let us spend


your money. '


Just for a second, Milos looked so cornered and


exposed, so full of self-pity, that Angus thought he might


burst into tears like a whipped brat. An instant later,


however, his features tightened, and darkness gathered


behind his eyes. He'd remembered his anger.


'I'm ready, ' he said flatly. 'Let's go. '


Good, Angus sneered to himself because his program-


ming wouldn't let him say the words; wouldn't let him


jibe at his second in a public place. I love it when you're


pissed. That's when you make your worst mistakes.


Chewing useless fantasies in which Milos begged for


death while Angus played cat's cradle with his guts, Cap-


tain Thermopyle led his second down to the bar.


Nick Succorso was waiting for them at a table in one


of the dim, dirty corners.


ANGUS


The bar itself was a long stretch of simulated wood,


old with stains and gouges. Both men working


back and forth in front of the ranks of vats, dis-


pensers and vials had the vacant look of null-wave trans-


mitters: men who couldn't cheat anyone because they'd


given up or lost the ability to make that kind of decision.


Light reflected in smears from the grimy fixtures and


fittings, the glasses and metal.


The bar had been set against one wall so that it seemed


to lead toward the stage at the far end of the room. No


one was performing at the moment: the acts playing there


were between sets. That was too bad. The din and glare


of a performance would have hampered the Bill's bug-


eyes. Inevitably the pickups and cameras would have been


less discerning. A show might cover the audience enough


to make private conversation safe -


- might cover Angus enough to let him ease forward


and stab a laser into the base of Nick Succorso's brain


without being effectively recorded.


But he didn't care whether he was recorded. He didn't


give a shit who knew what he did. As soon as he saw


Nick, his brain went black with hate, and he started for-


ward with bloodshed in his mouth and murder in his


fists. Fuck the Bill. Fuck Milos and Lebwohl and zone


implants. Nick Succorso was the man who'd caused


Bright Beauty's destruction. He'd trapped Angus,


deprived him of space and choice. The fact that Angus


was here now, welded and cursed, was a direct result of


Nick's treachery.


Worse than that, Succorso had taken Morn. Angus


refused to admit his pain, even to himself; nevertheless


the thought of Morn with Nick hurt him as acutely as the


dismantling of his ship. Morn had wanted Nick from the


first moment she saw him, Angus never doubted that,


and after Angus was framed she'd given Succorso the one


thing Angus had failed to extort or coerce from her: her


willingness; her self.


Because he denied the laceration of his heart, he didn't


realize that losing her to his betrayer had only reinforced


the abject fidelity with which he'd struggled to keep his


end of their bargain.


In his mind he was already moving. A few steps to


reach the tables. Between them toward the corner where


Succorso sat. A look of slaughter on his face so that


Captain Sheepfucker would know what was about to


happen. A quick grab, at microprocessor speeds, too fast


to be stopped: a fist to the side of Succorso's neck, aiming


a laser while he fought and failed to break loose. Then


one quick mental command, one fierce squeeze of will,


and Nick would slump in his hands, all that brave bucca-


neering superiority and manliness turned to dead meat


in an instant of coherent light.


Angus did it, be did it. No inhuman lump of circuits


and restrictions could stop him; no zone implant could


defuse this hate. No matter how much it cost him,


no matter what neural excruciation it exacted, he did


it. Succorso hung lifeless in his fists, and he was free


again, free, alive at last to kill or connive for his own


survival —


But of course he didn't do it. The whole idea was a


mirage. He could see it in his mind as if it were real: his


datacore and his zone implants paid no attention. While


he faced Nick's mocking grin and his scars across the bar,


Angus couldn't move or speak; could hardly breathe. He


would have been unable even to sweat in his agony if his


programming had decreed otherwise.


'Maybe, ' Milos breathed as if he'd recovered his smug-


ness, 'this is going to be fun after all. '


A sound like a wail squalled in Angus' head; but his


datacore stifled every hint or whimper of his distress.


His mouth against Angus' ear, Milos whispered,


'Come on, Joshua. Do your job. '


Involuntarily, as bloated with mortality as a toad,


Angus lumbered into motion.


Entirely against his will, he located the bugeyes, then


began scanning the room for wires. He spotted only


two. One, a man perched at the bar itself, sat hunched


over a pair of mechanical hands as if the fact that they


also served as transmitters nauseated him; he was out of


range to eavesdrop on Nick. The other, a woman with


virtually no clothes and an unmistakable EM signature,


sat at a table near Nick's corner. She wasn't alone: two


men huddled beside her, alternately buying her drinks,


whispering in her ears, and fondling her breasts. But they


were nothing; she was the only danger.


Angus' datacore advised him to get rid of her. But it


didn't say how - and didn't exert any pressure.


Nick remained sitting as Angus and Milos approached.


His back was in the corner so that he could watch the


room. Angus would have preferred that position himself;


however, his programming decreed otherwise. He'd


already identified the emission traces from the wall which


showed where the wiring for the nearest bugeyes ran. He


would be closer to those traces if he took the seat on


Nick's left.


'Milos. ' Nick went on grinning. 'Captain Thermo-pile.


It would be nice if I could pretend I'm surprised. Unfor-


tunately every fucker on this rock who isn't brain dead


already knows you're here. It might have been better, ' he


added to Milos, 'if we could have talked on my ship. '


Nudged in that direction, Milos sat down on Nick's


right. Angus took the chair on Nick's left and reversed it


so that he could straddle it with his back against the wall.


'Better for you, maybe, ' Milos answered warily. 'Not


for me. I'm already compromised enough. '


Nick's scars looked the way Angus' tongue felt, ashen


and hurt. 'I offered to come to you. You turned me


down. '


Milos frowned unhappily. This is safer. The Bill


doesn't trust us. It helps if we're all behaving normally. '


Only his tone hinted at the truth: according to Angus'


datacore, Milos had been ordered to avoid situations in


which he might be tempted to expose his power over


Angus. And Angus' awareness of the order made it com-


pulsory. Keeping his head down and his voice low, Milos


informed the tabletop, 'Angus has a talent for spotting


guards. He says. He says he can keep us out of trouble.


Since he's got his neck in the same noose we do, I believe


him. '


'Are you sure?' Nick didn't glance at Angus. 'A lot has


happened since the last time we talked. I've been busy -


and you sure as hell look like you have. How do you


know he's got his neck in the same noose?'


'Drinks, Milos, ' Angus put in roughly because he


wasn't allowed to scream. What the fuck are we sitting


here for, if we aren't going to get drunk?'


Milos was Angus' second: he was supposed to take


orders. Nevertheless he let a little of his anger show in


his eyes before he stood up and moved toward the bar.


'Captain Thermo-pile, ' Nick drawled, You're getting


rude in your old age. I get the impression you don't want


Milos to answer my question. Now why is that, I ask


myself? Have you got a game of your own going on the


side?'


Angus was busy assessing the dangers of this conver-


sation. The bugeye in the ceiling above him could see


well enough, but might not be able to hear accurately.


On the other hand, the nearly naked woman and her


companions were only a couple of tables away; definitely


in range for her pickups. That wasn't a problem yet: he


had things to say which he and his datacore didn't mind


letting the Bill overhear. But the hazards would increase


rapidly — especially when Nick and Milos broached the


subjects they were presumably here to discuss.


. 'You've got it wrong, Captain Sheepfucker, ' Angus


rasped. 'Milos is my second now. I don't know what you


clowns said to each other, and I don't care. The question


isn't what game I've got going. It's what are you two


playing at. '


'Fascinating, ' Nick sneered. 'I hope you'll forgive me


for not believing you. If you're telling the truth, some-


thing pretty serious has changed since the last time I saw


him. He's had the shit kicked out of him. Maybe it would


help if you spent a while trying to convince me you're


capable of making a deputy chief of Com-Mine Station


Security take on the job of being your second. '


He sounded as cocky and casually dangerous as ever;


but Angus wasn't fooled. He had a coward's intuitive


hearing: he registered the stress hidden in Nick's tone. It


was like the pallor of Nick's scars and the almost febrile


way he watched the bar; a symptom of fear. Something


essential was unraveling inside him.


Angus couldn't express his fury in any other way; but


his programming let him show it in his voice. Like con-


centrated mineral acid, he retorted, 'I'm on the level here,


Captain Sheepfucker. I made Milos my second the same


way I made him get me out of lockup. I had proof — he


snapped the word like a blow to the head — 'you space-


shits framed me, you and him together. You're fucking


right he's had the shit kicked out of him. I got him by


the balls. After I twisted them for a while, he agreed to


do what I wanted. '


No matter how much he unraveled, Nick wasn't easily


intimidated. 'You're talking, Captain Thermo-pile, ' he


snorted, 'but I don't hear anything. If you want to sit


around passing gas, why don't you go to another table


and do it by yourself? You didn't have any proof'. If you


did, you would have used it to keep yourself out of


lockup in the first place. '


Wrong. ' Angus wanted to crush the superiority off


Nick's face; wanted that so acutely it made his hands


hurt. 'It took months. I had proof, but I couldn't get


anybody to listen. Milos blocked me. I didn't get an ear


until I was reqqed to UMCPHQ. '


Milos had obtained three drinks from one of the bar-


tenders; he was turning away. The wire at the bar had


apparently fallen asleep with his face in his mechanical


hands.


Without transition Angus hammered his fist on the


table, snarled a curse, and jumped to his feet. Surging


between the tables, he moved to confront the wired


woman and her groping companions.


'Sister, ' he grated at her bare skin and her drink-stupid


expression, 'I don't like the way you're looking at me. '


She didn't need to be alert to serve the Bill; she hardly


needed to be alive. In all likelihood she was a hooker


who'd been offered a better deal, one which spared her


the necessity of actual sex. In exchange for being wired,


all she had to do was float around in public places like


this and let men think she was available long enough to


buy her drinks.


Startled by Angus' attack, she tried to focus her eyes


on him, but couldn't; so she muttered thickly, 'Fuck off,


asshole. '


Angus was in his element — and his hate had nowhere


else to go. He lashed a fist at each of the woman's com-


panions, knotted his fingers in the fronts of their dock-


suits. With reinforced ease, he hauled both of them up


out of their chairs.


'I said, ' he blared like a klaxon, 'I don't like the way she


looks at me?'


That got their attention. They were small, lost indi-


viduals, probably minor machinists or tool-handlers who


worked for the shipyard; too drunk to want anything


except a chance to screw their companion - and probably


too drunk to do anything about it if they got the chance.


Angus' strength seemed to frighten them witless. One of


them looked like he was going to faint. The other blurted


out, What do you want us to do about it?'


From the vicinity of the bar, Milos gaped as if Angus


had initiated self-destruct. Both bartenders stood like


statues: Angus could see their fingers poised over the


keys which would summon guards. The wire at the bar


remained in his slump; everyone else stared at Angus.


He put the men down. When they recovered their


balance, he released them. Then he pointed toward a


vacant table farther away; out of range. In a calmer tone


he articulated precisely, 'I want you to take this collection


of female body parts and' - abruptly he began yelling


again - 'go sit over there!'


'I wasn't looking at you, ' the woman protested. 'I've never seen you before. '


She didn't appear to notice the difference as her com-


panions pulled her to her feet and tugged her away, stum-


bling drunkenly among the tables. Obviously neither of


them had the vaguest idea what she was doing here.


Milos came toward Angus anxiously. Ignoring him,


Angus turned his back and moved to rejoin Nick.


'What the hell was that all about?' Nick asked sardoni-


cally. 'Do you have a death-wish, or do you just like


making everybody want to shoot at you?'


Angus ignored that as well. When he'd straddled his


chair again, he resumed, 'I wasn't sitting on my hands


while we were on Com-Mine. ' His rage was harder now,


more focused, as if venting some of it had made it


stronger. His pulse racketed in his veins; but his respir-


ation was steady and slow despite his exertion. 'I may


not have been smart enough to keep you from framing


me, but that doesn't mean I was stupid. While you and


Milos were dicking with each other, I went EVA. '


With one finger, he traced the word 'wire' on the tabletop.


Nick's eyes widened slightly, perhaps because of what


Angus said, perhaps because of what he wrote.


'I went to your ship, ' Angus continued, 'and I put a


current sensor on your cables until I found the one that


carried your computer link to Com-Mine. Then I


wrapped a magnetic field around it and ran a line back


to Bright Beauty. That way I was able to read the fluctu-


ations in your data-stream. I was able to record an echo


of everything you and Milos said to each other. '


Milos arrived at the table and stopped as if he'd been


hit with a paresis dart. He hadn't heard this explanation


before; but he couldn't betray his surprise without also


betraying Angus - and Hashi Lebwohl as well.


The intensity of Nick's attention gave Angus a grim


satisfaction. Nick looked like he'd just discovered that his


ship's computers no longer answered his priority-codes.


'I couldn't break your cipher, but I didn't need that for


proof. ' Angus' voice sounded like breaking bones. No


words were enough to articulate his outrage; but he did


the best he could. 'The routing was embedded in the


messages. It always is. And my recording was copied in


Bright Beauty's datacore. The proof was there. All I had


to do was convince somebody to look for it. Then Milos


was finished.


'So don't make the mistake of thinking you can plot


with him behind my back. That's over. You rucking


nailed me once. I'm telling you now, you are fucking


never going to nail me again. If you want Milos for some-


thing, you include me - or you forget him. '


Record that, motherfucker, he told the Bill. Make


something out of it if you can.


Nick stared at Angus for a moment. Then he threw


back his head and started laughing. He wanted Angus to


believe that he couldn't be touched; that his superiority


was a gap Angus couldn't cross. But Angus knew better.


In Nick's laugh he heard fraying nerves and shaken con-


fidence - the muffled hysteria of a man who was being


eaten alive by doubts.


You're mine, Captain Sheepfucker, Angus promised.


Remember that. Somehow, somewhere, I'm going to get


you. You can count on it.


With a shudder, Milos thunked his drinks down on


the table. His fingers trembled as he dug a packet of nic


out of his pocket, took one, and stuck it between his lips.


Trying to sound calm, he said, 'I should have known


better than to leave you two. thugs alone. The next time


I turn my back, you'll probably kill each other. '


'Oh, shut up, Milos, ' Angus said. The next time you


turn your back, we'll probably kill you. ''


Milos' gaze threatened a variety of complex retri-


butions as he sat down and lit his nic.


Nick picked up a glass and drained it as if he didn't


care what it contained. 'Don't listen to him, Milos, ' he


advised. 'He's so busy hating everybody, he can't think.


He hasn't figured out yet that this situation is too compli-


cated for hate. There's more going on here than he


realizes — and it's more dangerous than he imagines. '


Angus was in no mood for drink; but he sampled one


of the glasses and decided that a little liquor wouldn't


hurt him. For a fact, the situation was complicated. Like


Milos, Succorso was a UMCPDA stooge: He'd been


shaken by Angus' attack, that was all; not really upset.


Angus read his mood as if it were legible on EM wave-


lengths. The pressures gnawing at him came from some


other source.


Because he knew of Milos' relationship with Lebwohl,


he probably guessed that Angus' claim of power over


Milos was a fabrication; guessed that Angus and Milos


must be here on DA's orders. Angus saw that clearly.


Nevertheless he didn't care: he trusted his own judg-


ments. Under the Bill's bugeyes none of them could risk


revealing what they knew, or thought, or needed.


'I don't need his help, ' Nick was saying to Milos. 'I


need yours. '


A burst of light from the stage signaled that some kind


of performance was about to start. Good. Angus was


ready to take advantage of anything that confused the


cameras and pickups.


'I just got here, ' Milos protested through a cloud of


smoke. 'And I'm on the run. I'm not exactly in a position


to help anybody. ' For Angus, he added, 'Neither of us


is. '


Nick grinned like a manic depressive. 'Don't bullshit


me, Milos. I know something about your resources' The


way he stressed the word made it a reference to Data


Acquisition. 'If you were destitute, the Bill wouldn't let


you in here. You've at least got enough money to make


him tolerate his distrust. And you've probably got a few


secrets you can sell, just for insurance. We've worked


together a long time, off and on. I've earned some credit


with you. ' He didn't appear to be as concerned about


the bugeyes as Angus was, but he still chose his words


carefully. 'Don't tell me you can't help me until you hear


what I want. '


'All right, ' Milos sighed. He was smoking hard enough


to clog the air. 'Don't keep me in suspense. I'm in a hurry


to get to the part where I say no. What do you want?'


A crash which was meant to sound like cymbals came


over the stage speakers. The abrupt brilliance as the lights


focused into a tight spot on the stage created a temporary


zone of darkness around it. Men and women at the tables


and the bar looked in that direction expectantly.


As if he were dissociating himself from Nick and Milos,


Angus leaned back against the wall, letting his arms


dangle on either side of his chair.


'I'm in some trouble here, ' Nick explained unnecess-


arily. 'You may have figured that out. There's a fucking


Amnion "defensive" in dock because of me, and another


hanging out there where it can strip us all down to our


subatomic particles. ' He glanced at the stage as if he were


waiting for the show to start before he came to the point.


'I'm in deep shit, and there aren't any easy ways out of


it. I think you could say" — his scars were pale under his


eyes, the color of fear - 'I've made a couple of serious


miscalculations recently. If I don't get some help soon,


I'll have to start selling everything I own just to stay


alive. '


Selling what? Angus wondered. What did Nick have


to sell? DA's secrets? His stomach knotted. Morn herself?


The thought that Captain Sheepfucker might sell her


to save his ass made Angus want to snap Nick's neck.


We've committed a crime -


Wasn't that what Angus himself had done? Sell her to


save his ass?


No. No. He'd made a bargain with her. And he'd kept


it.


Until Lebwohl put electrodes into his head and forced


the truth out.


It's got to stop.


'How much money do you have?' Nick asked Milos.


Milos snorted. 'What makes you think I'm going to


tell you?'


Another crash from the speakers. As if she were being


disgorged by the surrounding gloom, a woman appeared


in the spotlight. Like a shout, emissions hit Angus' sight.


Around her heart and deep in her belly, electromagnetic


nodes revealed themselves like stars to his artificial vision.


But the woman wasn't a wire: her aura was wrong for


communications. The equipment implanted in her served


some other purpose.


She wore a quilted jacket and pants that looked like


they might have been designed to deflect stun-prods. An


immaculate wreath of hair caught the light around her


head and shone. Her face, too, was lovely; delicate and


vulnerable. But a grimace twisted her mouth as if she


were on the verge of sobs, and a stare of old pain filled


her eyes.


Nick rolled his glass between his palms. The Bill has


something that belongs to me, ' he explained. 'I promised


it to the Amnion, but he won't give it back. That's why


I'm in trouble. I haven't got the money to meet his price


- and if the Amnion don't get what they want they're


going to have me for rucking lunch. I want you to help


me pay off the Bill. '


Angus stifled an impulse to interrupt. He had no real


desire to interfere with what Nick and Milos said: he


simply wanted to prevent Nick from incriminating him-


self while the Bill could still record it.


The woman stood motionless in the center of the spot-


light, staring into a gap of dismay. When the speakers


crashed again, a stagehand pushed a box of props out of


the gloom.


As soon as the box arrived beside her, the woman


stooped and picked out a gleaming knife with a twenty


centimeter blade.


Some of Ease-n-Sleaze's patrons gasped as if they were


shocked; as if they hadn't known what kind of act to


expect.


Like the rest of the audience, Angus watched the stage.


Without shifting a muscle, he rested the knuckles of his


right fist against the wall. While the woman raised her


knife into the light, and the audience gasped, he fired his


laser.


From between his knuckles, a needle-thin stab of ruby


pierced the wall and severed the leads to all the bugeyes


in this end of the bar.


A fierce grin bared his teeth as the emissions of the


bugeyes winked out.


No one in the bar noticed the difference. Nick and


Milos were blind to what Angus had just done. They


leaned toward each other across the table, unselfcon-


sciously conspiratorial as Nick explained what he wanted;


but now they were safe. Temporarily, anyway: as long as


they were discreet. One of the requirements programmed


into Angus' datacore had been satisfied.


'You're crazy, ' Milos muttered around his nic. That


money is all I've got. I've lost everything else. Why' - he


seemed to need an expletive which eluded him - 'should


I let you have it?


'What are you offering me in return, Nick?'


Nick's smile was distorted and sickly. 'I'll give you what


you came for. I can do that. '


Milos pulled his nic from his mouth as if he were about


to vomit. After a moment he threw it vehemently to the


floor and snatched out a fresh smoke. What' — again


he gaped as if language failed him - 'is that woman


doing?'


One at time, she lifted pieces of fabric and sheets of


plastic into the spotlight. Each one she held in front


of her face while she stabbed the knife through it. The


apparent purpose of this ritual was to demonstrate the


blade's keenness. But Angus - and the aficionados in the


bar - recognized another, more tantalizing moti-


vation. By showing off the knife's sharpness, she dulled it.


So that it would hurt more.


Abruptly Angus shifted his weight forward. Folding


his heavy arms across his chairback, he rasped, 'Cut the


crap, Captain Sheepfucker. No more empty euphem-


isms. Let's take it one detail at a time and call a spade a


fucking shovel. '


Milos' eyes showed a flare of alarm, which Angus


ignored. He didn't mind letting Milos think the bugeyes


were still dangerous.


'Exactly what, ' Angus continued, 'has the Bill got that


belongs to you?'


Nick stiffened; a hint of darkness touched his scars. 'I


was right. You've got a goddamn death-wish. '


Undisturbed, Angus held Nick's stare and waited.


Suddenly Nick relaxed. Smiling with unexplained mal-


ice, he said, 'All right. Have it your way.


'You remember Morn Hyland. She still probably gives


you wet dreams. Well, she had a kid. That's what we


were doing on Enablement - force-growing her kid.


She calls him "Davies Hyland", after her pure, dead


father. '


On the stage, the woman had finished cutting up cloth


and plastic. Now she put the knife down by her feet and


started unsealing her jacket. Under it she was naked. Her


breasts looked unnaturally large and erect in the intense


light. A slight suggestion of puckering in the skin around


them implied that she'd performed this act at least once


before. Her fear was born of experience.


'Now the Amnion want him back, ' Nick went on. 'It


has something to do with the fact that she didn't lose


her mind when he was born. They say force-growing is


supposed to make plant-life out of the mother, but it


didn't happen to her. They think that's because of the


zone implant you used on her. So they aren't particularly


interested in her. But they want her brat. They want to


study the consequences of having a mother who didn't


lose her mind.


The Bill has him. If I can buy him back, I can give


him to the Amnion - and then poof — he spread his


fingers - 'all my problems disappear. '


For a moment the woman hesitated as if she were


unsure what to do next. Finally she decided to postpone


her dread by removing her pants. As she shrugged them


down from her tight hips, someone in the audience


whistled appreciatively.


Her belly showed the same slight puckering which


marked the skin around her breasts.


'How nice for you. ' Angus put as much challenge as


he could into his voice: he wanted to uncover what lay


behind Nick's malice. 'Everything's fine - as long as we


help you. ' The information that Morn had a son meant


nothing to him, aside from a minor disgust that she'd


done something that stupid. What the fuck makes you


think we've got that much credit? What does the Bill


want for this brat?'


When she was completely naked, the woman retrieved


her knife. But then she hesitated again. The impacted


fear in her eyes seemed to paralyze her.


With another nauseated, treacherous smile, Nick


named a sum nearly as large as the one Milos had


available.


Transfixed by the woman - or by what he heard -


Milos wiped sweat off his forehead. The nic trembled in


his mouth. 'You're crazy. I said that already. It's true -


you're out of your entire mind. I can't come within an


order of magnitude of what you want. '


From the far end of the bar, two or three people started


stamping their feet. Almost at once they took rhythm


from each other, beating a demand against the floor.


The demand spread and grew as more and more of the


audience put their heels into it.


As far as Angus could tell, his datacore contained no


provision for giving Nick Milos' money. Simply as an


experiment, he changed his tack: he wanted to see how


Nick would react.


'But money isn't the only way to get things done, ' he


said less aggressively. 'Even here. The real question isn't


what the Bill wants. It's what you're going to give Us.


You said you can supply what we came here for. Maybe


I'm being stupid again, but I don't know what the fuck


you're talking about. '


The stamping spread until it seemed to hammer at the


woman. Her face quivered at every blow.


Nick leaned forward urgently. Without transition he


seemed to pass from treachery to desperation. 'Listen to


me, asshole, ' he whispered. 'I'm in too much trouble


here, and I haven't got time for games. You can play let's


pretend when you're by yourself. You can fuck yourself


senseless for all I care. Right now I won't put up with it.


'I'm here because Hashi Lebwohl sent me. So are you.


You didn't blackmail Milos into helping you. Lebwohl


gave him to you for cover, so you could come here and


try to earn a reprieve. '


Angus couldn't resist: he batted his eyes. The pressure


mounting on the stage didn't touch him. 'I'm astonished.


How do you know all this? How am I supposed to earn


this reprieve?'


'You came, ' Nick articulated as if he were suddenly


hungry for murder, 'to rescue Morn Hyland. If you solve


my problem with the Bill, I'll hand her over. Otherwise'


- his voice cracked as he crushed a shout - 'I'll sell her


to the fucking Amnion to save my ass, and then they'll


have a fucking cop they can work on. '


With an abject shudder, the woman tightened her grip


on the knife. Milos took the nic out of his mouth and


clamped his teeth onto one of his knuckles as she put the


knife against her skin and began cutting off her right


breast.


Blood sprang from the incision, swarmed down her


belly; more blood burst from her lip as she bit through


it to keep herself from screaming. When her right breast


flopped to the stage, she started on the left.


Shaking, Milos turned his chair, put his back to the


stage. With both hands he lifted his glass to his mouth


and emptied it. Then he replaced his nic, sucked smoke


deep into his lungs.


'Go away, Nick, ' he breathed as if he'd just suffered a


wound — or had an orgasm. 'Go away and leave us alone.


You're completely crazy. We don't have anything to talk


about anymore. '


Angus didn't want to think about Morn: he couldn't


bear it. Nick was perfectly capable of selling her to the


Amnion. Then she would be lost forever. And there was


nothing he could do about it, nothing he could do about


it, even Min Donner hadn't been able to get his datacore


rewritten to let him help Morn. Paresthetic fire flushed


along his arms until his zone implants quenched it: rage


stung his heart until they denatured it. Morn, he thought,


oh, Morn! But he could do nothing; show nothing. His


programming held him, as cruel as the dimensional gap.


Nearly paralyzed by rage and protest, he watched the


woman on the stage out of the corner of his eye while


he continued to study Nick. He'd seen self-mutilation


acts before. After she finished her left breast, she opened


her belly and let her guts spill down her legs. At first she


bled like a pig; but now he understood what her


implanted equipment was for. The nodes he saw were


pressure-clamps. When the initial dramatic rush of blood


was over, the clamps closed on her major arteries so that


she wouldn't lose too much fluid; wouldn't die before


someone took her back to the surgeons. Once they healed


her, she would be ready to perform again.


As the spotlights went out, a few people applauded.


Somewhere in the bar, someone retched.


- a crime against your soul.


Without warning, a window in Angus' head opened -


the dark interface between his mind and his datacore. He


seemed to fall into the gap between what he understood


and what he could do as if he were going into tach; a


black rush of possibilities and compulsions seemed to


translate him to a whole new state of being.


It's got to stop.


Entirely without volition, he put his palm down like a


promise on the table in front of Nick and said, 'It's a deal.


We'll get Davies Hyland for you. You give us Morn. '


As if he were lost in the dimness which the spotlights


left behind, Milos cried out, 'Angus, you bastard!'


Nick rolled his eyes and cackled with laughter.


ANGUS


If he could have laughed or cried out himself, he


might not have been able to hold back. Everything


seemed to come at him at once. Behind the false


stoicism of his zone implants, he was shaken to the core


by inferences, dismay and hope.


Morn!


He wanted to rescue Morn. Even to protect his heart


from Nick and Milos, he couldn't pretend that wasn't


true. Yet the decision wasn't his: his promise to Nick had


come out of his mouth without one iota of free will


behind it.


But Hashi Lebwohl had made it unmistakably clear


that Angus wasn't programmed to risk his mission for


Morn-


This was why Warden Dios you bastard! you fucking


sonofabitch! had switched his datacore. So that Angus


could try to rescue Morn, when everyone in UMCPHQ


had written her off. Dios had some reason for pretending


that he didn't care what happened to her. He'd prepared


his instructions in secret, plugged them into Angus


secretly, in order to conceal his true intentions from the


people around him.


He wanted her back.


It's got to stop.


Unfortunately he hadn't foreseen that she could be


saved by mere money. The simple expedient of buying


her from Nick with Milos' credit wasn't available.


Even Lebwohl had been kept in the dark. And Milos


certainly hadn't been let into the secret. His face was gray


and lost, as if he were in the grip of an infarction, and


his eyes rolled with panic, trying to look in all directions


at once, measure the extent to which he'd been betrayed.


No one knew the truth.


I'll give you what you came for.


Except Nick Succorso?


How had Nick known Warden Dios' secret?


No, stop it, Angus told himself harshly, don't panic.


All Nick knew was that Morn was UMCP - and Trumpet


had come from UMCPHQ. The rest was just a lucky


guess. When he laughed like that, the stark pallor of his


scars under his wild eyes made him look crazy enough to


have guessed anything.


Why did Warden Dios want to keep what he was doing


hidden from his own people?


Who was the real target of Joshua's mission?


Angus wanted to laugh at Milos' consternation, and at


Lebwohl's. Those motherfuckers deserved to be


cornholed like this.


And he wanted to cry out like a stricken child because


none of the decisions were his.


We'll get Davies Hyland for you.


You give us Morn.


Those words meant the exact opposite of what Milos


so obviously believed about the purpose of their mission.


But he had no choice in any of this. The link to his


computer gushed like a conduit: commandments and


data flooded him.


A man in the sterile suit of a medtech wrapped the


performer in pressure bandages, then carried her off the


unlit stage. Apparently Ease-n-Sleaze considered her


good enough for a return engagement. A scrub robot


followed the medtech to clean up the blood.


'Shut up!' Angus grated at Nick and Milos. 'Both of


you. We haven't got much time. If we give the Bill a


chance to send more wires in here, we may never get to


talk again.


'We have two problems. We don't know where the kid


is. And the Bill is going to raise total hell when he finds


out what we're doing. We need to make decisions fast.


Then we need to do it. '


Nick stopped laughing as if he'd thumbed a toggle


inside himself. 'Captain Thermo-pile, you amaze me, ' he


drawled in a tone of casual danger. 'I thought I was going


to surprise you, but you don't sound surprised. You


sound like you already have the whole thing figured out. '


A biting retort came to Angus' lips: his datacore


quashed it. Instead he said, The way to handle the Bill


is, force him to suspect the wrong person. That's you,


Succorso. ' His programming gripped him so tightly now


that he couldn't insult Nick. 'First you're going to get us


the information we need. You'll do it in a way he can't


help noticing. Then we'll arrange an alibi for you. ' Angus


grinned like a grimace. 'Hell, we'll use the Bill himself


for an alibi. '


Nick started to ask a question, but Milos pushed him-


self forward. His face was a knot of fear and fury; sweat


made the splotches on his scalp gleam like the marks of


a disease. 'Angus, ' he hissed, 'this is wrong. I thought


you understood. It isn't why we're here. I don't care what


he says. It isn't why we're here. I don't want this kind of


trouble.


'I'm warning you, Angus. Don't force my hand. '


His threat was as plain as a Jerico priority command.


Stop this, or I'll override your programming. I'll show


everybody here which one of us holds the real power.


Just for an instant Angus faltered. Dread crawled


through his belly. Milos could stop him; could doom


Morn. Dios would be helpless to save her if Milos said


the right words -


But then Nick would hear them. He would see their


effect: he would guess what they meant.


And then nothing Milos said or did or wanted could


prevent Nick from simply killing him and taking control


of Angus for himself. Even if Milos ordered Angus to


defend him, Nick would probably succeed: the restric-


tions which protected UMCP personnel from Angus


probably applied to Nick as much as to Milos. And Milos


on his own was no physical match for Nick Succorso.


Angus saw all this in the furtive, involuntary glance


Milos flicked at Nick. So quickly that his datacore


had no time to compel him, he decided to call Milos'


bluff.


'I told you to shut up, ' he returned. 'You're my second


- you take my orders. As far as I'm concerned, you've


already done the only thing I needed you for. If you


don't like the job, I can replace you without leaving the


bar. '


Milos opened his mouth; a rush of blood darkened his


face as his anger gained the upper hand. But a second or


two later he dropped his gaze, and his passion drained


away.


'You're going to regret this, ' he muttered. 'I swear to


God you'll regret it. '


Nevertheless he lacked the courage to carry out his


threat in front of Nick.


'You two spaceshits ought to go on the stage, ' Nick


sneered. 'You're at least as much fun as the rest of the


"entertainment" here. '


Angus' attention snapped back to Succorso. 'You'll


have more fun in a minute, ' he growled sourly. That


woman's still here. ' He nodded toward the table where


the Bill's wire sat. 'She looks like your kind of meat. '


Softly, distinctly, he outlined what he wanted Nick to


do.


While Angus spoke, Milos' expression changed from


defeat to disgust, and then to a look of settled nausea.


He'd been pushed too far: he was beginning to reach


decisions. Angus saw that look and knew what it meant.


The next time Milos made a threat, he wouldn't back


down.


The knowledge gave Angus a nausea of his own, which


his zone implants concealed for him.


Before Angus finished, Nick objected, This is some


deal. I can see why everybody likes to work with you so


much. Why should I trust you? What're you going to do


while I take all the risks? So far you haven't given me any


reason to think you won't just go back to your ship and


laugh your fucking head off. '


'You should trust me, ' Angus returned, 'because you


haven't got anything to lose. ' His tone was cold and


bitter. 'You're already in as much trouble as there is. It


can't get any worse. ' Then he lowered his voice. 'Besides,


you're covered. You'll have an alibi - one of the best. '


He consulted his chronometer, named a time. That's


about three hours from now. You'll go see the Bill, tell


him you want to talk to him. Don't be late - you won't


have much of a window. Tell him you're ready to buy


back the kid. All you have to do is agree on the price.


'Every log and bugeye he's got will tell him you were


with him when Davies disappeared. If that doesn't cover


you, nothing will. And Milos and I'll be in the clear.


That's important to you. If the Bill knows we snatched


the kid, he'll storm our ship and grab him back. The


whole thing'll be wasted. But even if we can't pull it off,


you're covered. '


Quietly Angus repeated, 'You really haven't got any-


thing to lose. '


Nick consulted his hands as if he wondered how much


strength - or sanity - they still held. In a voice full of


mixed intentions, he asked, 'Why are we in a hurry? Why


does the timing have to be so tight?'


'Because, ' Angus answered heavily, 'if we don't catch


the Bill off-guard, we won't catch him at all. It won't do


any good to just break Davies out. We have to take him


someplace the Bill won't look for him. '


Milos puffed smoke at the ceiling as if he fed on nic.


Nick let out a fragmentary laugh like a croak. Then of


course you'll have him. What the fuck makes me think


you'll hand him over when I need him? Never mind - it,


doesn't matter. If I'm crazy, so are you. I've got my own


insurance. ' Complex purposes seemed to pull his scars


tight against the bones of his skull. 'I can always tell the


Bill where he is. '


Abruptly he got to his feet. 'I'll do it. '


Angus nodded. Instead of sneering, Sucker! he said,


Tour twelve. We'll be waiting. '


Succorso ignored him. Facing Milos, Nick asked,


'Aren't you going to reassure me before I go? We've


worked together for years. You should at least promise


you'll back me up, even if you don't mean it. Send me


off to my execution with a good taste in my mouth. '


Milos didn't glance at Nick. His eyes were focused on


the smoke streaming from his mouth. Quietly he said, 'I


would tell you to go to hell, but you're already there. We


all are. You two are supposed to be desperate illegals, full


of hate and cunning — and too smart to be caught. But


I think neither one of you has the vaguest idea what's


going on here. '


'Maybe not, ' Nick snorted. 'But you don't either. That


I guarantee. '


Snarling at Angus and Milos, he moved away between


the tables.


Here it comes, Angus warned himself. The new hard-


ness gathering beneath Milos' pudgy features conveyed


a guarantee of its own. The decisions he'd made were


going to be expensive.


Tell me something, Angus, ' he murmured past his nic.


'How do you know the Bill isn't already studying a copy


of this conversation?'


Angus would have kept his mouth shut; but his data-


core saw no reason to avoid this question. 'That woman


is the only wire in this end of the bar, ' he replied. 'She's


out of range now. And I cut the power to the bugeyes.


The Bill has a blind spot right where we're sitting. '


At once Milos shifted his weight forward. Dull heat


sprang to fire in his eyes. 'In that case, Joshua, ' he said


without shifting his nic, 'I have instructions for you.


Jerico priority. Forget all this. Forget Nick - forget


Morn Hyland. They aren't why we're here. You're push-


ing me into a corner for nothing. '


When Milos said the word Joshua, buried command-


ments took hold of Angus. He sat still, unwillingly pas-


sive, while the link in his head prepared itself to receive


and enforce Milos' orders. As Milos invoked Jerico pri-


ority, Angus' brain seemed to shut down: zone implants


and programming controlled every neural flicker and


muscular contraction while his datacore registered Milos'


orders and compared them to its prewritten exigencies.


His heart beat once or twice, and his lungs drew a shallow


breath, but he remained blank and helpless, like a com-


puter with no operating system. During that brief inter-


val, Milos could have killed him, if Milos had known


what was happening inside him — if Milos had wanted


him dead.


At the table occupied by the wire and her companions,


Nick had taken a position which kept her back turned to


Angus and Milos. His eyes shone at her; a smile like a


barracuda's bared his teeth. As he talked, he leaned slowly


closer and closer to her, covering her with his sexual


magnetism.


But Milos missed his opportunity. The moment


passed; without warning Angus began to talk.


'Message for Milos Taverner from Warden Dios. ' The


words seemed to reach his mouth directly from his data-


core. 'Milos, this was recorded before you left


UMCPHQ. You've just been given a rather nasty shock.


I regret that, but it was necessary. On this one subject,


you were misled. Everything else you were told concern-


ing Joshua, your mission and yourself remains true.


Joshua has not diverged from his programming. Your


command codes still function. You have not been


betrayed.


When you return to UMCPHQ, I will personally


explain why it was necessary to mislead you. '


'Message ends. '


At the same instant Angus' mind came back on-line.


Grinning with relief, he jeered, Too bad. Better luck


next time. I guess it just doesn't pay to trust those bas-


tards. ' As if nothing unexpected had happened, he


twitched one hand in Nick's direction. 'He won't take


long. She hasn't got a prayer against a seductive fucker


like him. You'd better be ready to move in a couple of


minutes. '


He was thinking, Clever, Dios. Nice ploy. Too bad it


won't work. You're too late - you've already lost him.


What kind of game are you playing?


The whole point of admitting a lie - the only reason


Dios could have for admitting that he'd lied - was to


conceal other, more crucial falsehoods.


'Oh, shit, ' Milos breathed as if he were in shock. 'Oh,


shit. He set me up. '


Confident and mocking, Nick looked at one of the


woman's companions and said something which made


the man go pale. Uncertain of his balance, the machinist


or tool-handler stumbled out of his chair and retreated


from the table.


Her other companion appeared to ask her for support.


She ignored him, however: her attention was fixed


hungrily on Nick. As he seated himself beside her and


reached with the back of one hand to stroke her cheek,


her remaining escort stood up so awkwardly that he


knocked over his chair. Swearing with empty resentment,


he also retreated.


Angus knew how the woman felt. Like her, he was


nothing more than a tool, a means to an end. Nobody


could betray him: he could only be lied to or abused.


But Milos, on the other hand -


Milos was just beginning to grasp how profoundly


he'd been betrayed.


A shudder like a convulsion ran through him. As if he


were choking, he gasped out, 'Open your mouth. '


Angus had no defense against that order. His datacore


didn't protect him: it enforced Milos' authority. Sick with


recognition and helplessness, he obeyed.


Deliberately Milos took his nic and stubbed it out on


Angus' tongue.


In his mind Angus let out a roar. Heaved up the table,


used it to knock Milos backward; then pitched it out of


his way and jumped at his tormentor. He had the


strength of a great ape, he could beat anybody. With a


series of kicks, he snapped Milos' sternum, shattered his


ribs, crushed his larynx; with his hands, he gouged out


Milos' eyes. He didn't stop until there was nothing left


except a bloody pulp -


But only in his mind.


In reality he closed his mouth on a flame of pain and


a sick taste of ash. While his tongue burned and blistered,


he chewed the nic until he could swallow it.


His stomach would have puked its contents onto the


tabletop if his zone implants had allowed that.


'That doesn't make sense, ' Milos whispered. The codes


still work - I can still control you. But they lied about


why we're here. ' He fought to contain his fear. Why let


me control you - why pretend I can control you - if I


don't know what you've been programmed to do?'


'I can think of a reason, ' Angus croaked past his


pain.


'So can I, ' Milos countered. This whole thing


is aimed at me. I swear to God!' he raged without


raising his voice, 'they are going to regret treating me


like this. '


By now Nick was so close to the woman that she


practically sat in his lap. One of his hands had moved


from her cheek downward to stroke her neck, her shoul-


der, the exposed curve of her breast. The other was


buried in her hair at the back of her head. Exactly as


instructed.


'It's time, ' Angus announced. His tongue and stomach


felt like he'd just eaten quicklime; but his programming


ignored those discomforts — and Milos' anger. He pushed


himself to his feet.


Glaring bitterly around him, Milos delayed long


enough to light another nic. Then he stood up and fol-


lowed Angus toward Nick and the woman.


Angus chose an approach that kept him behind the


woman, out of her sight. He understood her equipment


as clearly as if he'd designed it himself. Her eyes and ears


were wired: she was like a video camera with an audio


pickup. In consequence she only transmitted what she


herself saw and heard.


The noises of the bar covered him as he moved toward


her.


Leads from her receptors to her powerpack ran down


her neck just beneath her skin. Nick's hand on the back


of her head served two purposes: it distracted her sense


of touch; and it would demonstrate his innocence. Angus


flicked a glance at him to confirm that he was ready; but


he was too practiced at seduction to look away from his


victim. As Angus neared her, Nick lowered his head to


lick a kiss into the hollow of her throat.


Scarcely touching the base of her neck with his


knuckles, Angus pricked her with a tiny burst of laser-fire


which went only millimeters deep; so shallow and keen


that she might not feel it; just deep enough to cut the


leads to her wire. Then he moved on toward the door,


leaving behind only a small red droplet of blood to mark


the harm he'd done her.


He felt her stiffen as he passed; heard her say, 'Ow, ' in


a tone of fuddled protest. But he didn't look back to see


whether she turned her head in his direction. That was


Nick's problem: it was his responsibility to make sure she


didn't know — therefore couldn't tell the Bill — who might


have hurt her.


With Milos trailing after him, Angus took the lift back


up to his room.


When the woman's wire stopped transmitting, the Bill


would assume at first that she'd cut him off intentionally,


so that she could have a little more privacy with Nick.


And he wouldn't take that kindly. However, one look at


her neck and the leads would convince him she hadn't


done the damage herself. If she couldn't report that


Angus or Milos had been anywhere near her, he would


believe Nick was to blame.


That was the real point of the gambit. As a secondary


consideration, it might give Nick a lever to use on the


woman. If he needed one; if his famous virility and charm


weren't enough. Nevertheless the primary purpose was


to focus the Bill's distrust away from Angus and Milos.


Which was fine, as far as it went. Unfortunately it did


nothing to solve Angus' more immediate problems.


Caustics filled his mouth, and his stomach kept trying


unsuccessfully to make him vomit. His head was a wilder-


land, as bleak and fatal as the gap. Milos had come to the


end of his sufferance: Angus' sufferings had just begun.


Dios had said, It's got to stop. Whatever that meant, it


obviously didn't refer to Angus' distress. The UMCP


director had no intention of easing Angus' helplessness,


letting him out of the crib -


He was a coward: he knew what was about to happen


to him.


Grimly he said his name to the intercom outside his


door. When the door slid aside, he entered the room as


if he expected to be executed.


Milos joined him before the door closed. For a


moment the two men stood watching each other like


mortal enemies. Then, simply because he didn't want


to look as scared as he felt, Angus sat in one of the


chairs and tilted it back until it was propped against the


wall.


'Make yourself comfortable, ' he mumbled past his sore


tongue. 'We haven't got all night, but you can probably


count on at least an hour. ' Nick would take at least an


hour, if for no other reason than to demonstrate his


virility.


'You've got that long. '


Milos dropped his eyes as if he were ashamed - or as


if he had something to hide. Poking another nic into his


mouth, he wandered over to the data terminal and tapped


a few keys, apparently just to be sure the thing worked.


After that he took the other chair, set it beside Angus',


and lowered himself into it.


'You know something about this, Angus. Something


you haven't told me. Maybe something you heard from


Dios. '


If he was worried about the bugeye, he didn't show it.


On the other hand, he made no effort to invoke Angus'


command codes.


'I know a lot of things I haven't told you, ' you cheap,


deranged piece of shit, Angus replied with as much


sarcasm as he could muster. 'I know a lot of things I


haven't told myself. I wouldn't share them with you if I


could. '


Well, let me guess, ' Milos murmured as if he were deaf


to Angus' tone. 'Saying we're here to destroy the Bill is


just a trick. The real reason is because of me. And Morn


Hyland. That doesn't sound very plausible - until you


think about what she and I have in common.


'She's been to Enablement. To the Amnion. '


Prompted by visceral caution, Angus returned thickly,


'Don't guess. It just shows you don't know what you're


doing. '


'Oh, I know what I'm doing, all right, ' Milos


promised. 'Open your mouth. '


Although his nic was only half finished, he dropped it


on Angus' tongue. While Angus chewed and swallowed


miserably, Milos lit a fresh smoke.


'It's my neck in the noose, and I'm not going to let


you or anybody else hang me.


'I suppose, ' he continued with his own bitterness, 'you


really can't tell me what you know. And it probably isn't


much anyway. You're just an incidental victim. From that


point of view, you're worse off than I am.


'We all need somebody who's worse off than we are. '


He regarded Angus thoughtfully. 'Or who can be made


worse off. '


Angus didn't say anything. At this moment he believed


he would have been willing to sell his life for the simple


freedom to throw up.


As if he'd made his point, Milos also fell silent. He


appeared relaxed in his chair. Only the passionate inten-


sity with which he smoked revealed his underlying agi-


tation.


For over an hour while they waited together, he made


Angus eat each of his discarded nics in turn. Keeping the


room tidy by using Angus as a human ashtray seemed to


give him an obscure satisfaction, as if it helped put the


moral grime of his circumstances into perspective.


NICK


It was too bad, really. She was a lovely creature in


her frail, drunken way. She could have done so much


more - she might even have been worth his effort -


if she hadn't already spent most of her life pickling her


brain. All the alcohol she consumed hadn't done her body


any harm; not yet. Her scant clothing made that obvious.


Her breasts were full and taut; the line of her hips was


seamless. Nevertheless the blur in her eyes and the slack-


ness of her mouth showed that she'd abandoned herself,


not to him, but to numbness.


That took some of the fun out of what Nick was doing.


He considered this as he pretended to comfort her


distress at the small pain Angus had left on the back of her


neck. Women: why was it always a question of women?


Wherever he went, whatever he did, they were always


the means to his ends - and the reason those ends proved


hollow when he gained them.


Apparently this one was too drunk to care what had


happened. The disfocused accessibility on her face was


like a glimpse into the nature, a precognition that what


he got from her would be as hollow as everything else.


But he didn't stop; maybe he couldn't. The forces


which drove him were fundamental, almost autonomic.


With the fingers of one hand, he massaged her tiny hurt;


the knuckles of the other stroked the sweet curve between


her breasts; his mouth made consoling noises against her


ear. Even if his brain had decided to pull away from her


before he became helplessly enmeshed in Angus' plots,


Angus' betrayals, his body might have remained where it


was, delicately stoking her bleary responses until she


could no longer control them.


As always, he would deal with the danger later.


The danger was real: he knew that. None of his deal-


ings with Milos had given him any reason to trust the


former deputy chief of Com-Mine Security. And Angus


was treachery personified; so malign that his falseness


was virtually metaphysical.


On the other hand, they were both vulnerable here.


The fact that they'd come to Thanatos Minor together in


a stolen UMCP ship showed how precarious their pos-


ition was. In addition - Nick admitted this with pro-


fessional detachment - Angus' plan made sense.


Angus had left a number of interesting details


unexplained, such as how exactly he proposed to snatch


Davies. Nevertheless his reasoning was irreproachable.


Nick didn't like taking orders from Angus Thermopyle;


but he liked the way Angus thought. He wished he hadn't


lost the capacity to think that way himself.


Well, maybe he hadn't lost it entirely. He still had


ideas; still saw opportunities. But even as incomplete as


he sometimes felt, he hadn't lost his power over women


like this. She may have been able to refuse offers or


entreaties from the slime on the cruise; but after a few


minutes in his company, a few minutes of his touch, her


stunned gaze begged him to possess her.


Simply to build up tension, he postponed the next


step. While he murmured vacant descriptions of her


beauty and how he felt about it, his fingertips eased under


her garments to caress what little they concealed; his grin


grew sharper, as if to cut away defenses she no longer


had. But he didn't move to leave the table until she finally


breathed in a voice made husky by drink, 'Take me


somewhere. '


Humorously avid - and secretly contemptuous - he


answered, 'I was hoping you would say that. '


Then he guided her to her feet.


Unsure of her balance, she leaned against him in a way


that urged him to wrap his arm around her as he moved


her out of the bar toward the front desk.


Rooms in Ease-n-Sleaze weren't expensive by the stan-


dards of the cruise. Nevertheless the right to use six


twenty-one for a while made a noticeable dent in his small


account. He didn't care, however. If he'd measured his life


by his accumulated credit, he would have had to call him-


self a failure. But he wasn't a failure, no, nobody except


Sorus Chatelaine had ever called him that; and he was


going to teach her to think otherwise. His plans against


her continued to take shape as he rode the lift to the sixth


level. The drunk in his arms nuzzled his neck as if she knew


what he wanted, but his mind was far away. After too


many distractions - Angus, Milos, Morn herself - he


returned to the only subject that really mattered to him.


Sorus Chatelaine.


Revenge.


Thinking about that gave him more real pleasure than


the woman he was with.


When the lift opened, he pulled away from her kisses


long enough to locate his room. Supporting her, he


walked the unclad floor to six twenty-one and opened it


by pressing his hand on the palm plate, then took her


inside.


She wasn't too drunk to wrinkle her nose in distaste at


the splotched walls and sagging bed. For carrying his


wire around inside her like a still-born, the Bill probably


paid her well enough to live more comfortably than this.


She didn't object, however. She made a small noise of


protest when Nick disentangled himself to verify that the


data terminal worked; but that had nothing to do with


the depression of the room.


In fact, the terminal worked fine. Now Nick could


have simply extracted the information he wanted, coded a


message for Milos by way of Captain's fancy, and left.


That would have had several advantages. It would have


spared him the effort of sex - would have freed him to


spend more time thinking about Sorus. And it would


have made his behavior look even more suspicious to the


Bill. He could almost hear the woman telling her boss in


a stupefied whine, I swear to God, all he did was take me


up to that room and make me talk. Then he walked out.


That's all. I told him what he wanted because I knew you


were listening.


Nick grinned at the idea hard enough to stretch his


scars.


But he couldn't do it: his body refused. Maybe he


would be able to pretend that this woman was Morn -


that her drunkenness was the abandonment he craved -


Before leaving the terminal, he spent a little more of


his money to pipe in a program of modulated white


noise, the kind of sound null-wave transmitters and


nerve-juice junkies liked when they slept; the kind that


would muffle the bugeye's reception.


Holding the woman still with a kiss, he stripped away


the small scraps of her clothes, then carried her to the


bed and tried to bury his own needs deep enough in her


flesh so that they would be quenched, at least for a short


time.


Unfortunately he couldn't do that either. She came


alive in his hands, of course; desire overcame her numb-


ness. She writhed under him and gyrated over him and


moaned at his kisses as if he gave her exactly what she


wanted; as if she'd never felt this way before, or for so


long. But she couldn't supply what he wanted. He had


no interest in her: he'd never wanted a woman for herself.


What he wanted was her passion and surrender; he


wanted her to desire him so much that she ceased to exist


for herself. And only Morn had ever given him that:


Morn Hyland, with her zone implant and her dishonesty,


her absolute commitment to her own choices.


Liete knew less about sex, but she was still better than


this woman.


So he kept going until the inadequate sweat at the


woman's temples and the hollow flush in her cheeks told


him that she was worn out; then he quit. Now was prob-


ably his best chance: fatigue and numbness would make


her suggestible. If he caught her before she fell asleep,


she might tell him almost anything.


Incomplete and unfulfilled, he wrapped her in a grasp


which would keep her under control if she reacted badly.


Stroking her ear with his tongue, he whispered, 'There's


one more thing you can do for me. '


She laughed unsteadily. 'I don't believe it. I thought


we already did everything. If there's anything more any


woman could do for a man like you, I want to know


what it is. '


He ignored the implicit challenge. Keeping his voice


low, he breathed, 'It's just something you can tell me.


The Bill has something that belongs to me. ' As if he


hadn't felt her stiffen, he went on, 'I want to get it back.


You can help by telling me where it is. '


Weakly she twisted against his arms. When she'd


turned enough to look directly into his face, she asked,


What makes you think I know anything about him? I


don't. I just work here. I sell sex. ' Suddenly flustered, she


said, 'I mean, not to you. I'm not asking you for money.


I already got' - she smiled awkwardly - 'something a lot


better.


'But I don't work for him. That's what I mean. I'm not


that important. I just fuck men who buy me drinks and


pay me afterward. '


Nick gave her a lazy, warning grin. 'Bullshit, ' he whis-


pered pleasantly. 'You're a wire. I know because' - he


told the first lie that came into his head - 'I've got a nerve


beeper that tingles when it gets near any kind


of transmitter. When I sat down beside you, it went


wild. '


The flush faded from her cheeks. Drink, satiation, or


natural stupidity left her unable to doubt him. She swore


pitifully for a moment. Then she protested, 'But if you


know that, you know you can't ask me questions about


him. It isn't safe. He can hear you. He's recording you


right now. '


Natural stupidity, Nick decided. Even a drunk should


have recognized the potential consequences of warning


him like that.


'Oh, it's safe, all right, ' he told her with some of his


old insouciance; but softly, in case the white noise didn't


cover him. 'I killed your transmitter. That was the pain


you felt in your neck. I poked you with a needle and cut


the leads. '


For an instant her eyes rolled: she was close to fainting.


But then panic brought her back.


'Unfortunately, ' he continued, articulating her fear for


her, 'that puts you in a difficult position. The Bill is going


to think you switched yourself off. He's going to think


you're protecting some kind of plot against him. Or


maybe you're plotting yourself. When he gets his hands


on you' - Nick shook his head sadly - 'I'm afraid he'll


tear you apart. You can tell him the truth, but he'll


assume you're lying. '


'You shit, ' she moaned, not in anger, but in desper-


ation, 'you bastard. Why - ?'


He shrugged without releasing his grip. 'Well, I


couldn't count on persuading you to trust me, could I?


I needed a lever. ' He kissed her strained mouth as if he


didn't know the difference between fear and arousal.


'This way, you need me. I can protect you. I can take


you with me, so he won't hurt you.


'But I am not going to do that, ' he promised slowly,


'unless you tell me where he keeps his prisoners. Soar


intercepted an ejection pod from my ship. What was in


that pod is mine. Tell me where it is, and you'll never


need to be afraid of him again. '


She stared at him as if she were too stricken to see


him; as if her fear of the Bill filled her sodden horizons.


Putting his mouth to her ear, Nick murmured, 'Do


you really think you'll be worse off on my ship - with


me - than you are here?'


Suddenly urgent, she panted, Take me there now. ' She


may have remembered the bugeye in the room. 'I don't


know anything about your pod. But I know where he


keeps prisoners. I can tell you how to find it. I'll tell you


as soon as I'm safe. '


Nick didn't shift his hold or his mouth. 'You know


better than that. If I were willing to let you change your


mind' - if I were that stupid - 'I wouldn't have killed


your wire in the first place. '


She still wasn't angry. She was a frightened drunk: her


life on the cruise hadn't left room for anger. For a


moment longer she remained indecisive, paralyzed. Then


she surrendered.


Barely audible, she sighed, 'All right. '


Looking as pale as if Nick had drained the blood from


her heart, she told him how to locate the section of


Billingate which the Bill used for his lockup.


'Is that enough?' she finished weakly. Will you protect


me now? Will you take me with you? If you don't, he —'


She stopped: the thought of what the Bill would do to


her was too appalling to be put into words.


Nick laughed shortly. 'No. ' Women this stupid - no,


anybody this stupid, man or woman — deserved what hap-


pened to them. 'I can always get better sex than this, and


you haven't got anything else to offer. ' The Bill would


know at a glance that she hadn't switched off her wire


herself. 'I'm afraid you'll just have to take the conse-


quences of betraying him yourself. '


Dropping her from his arms, he rolled off the bed and


moved to the data terminal.


'Oh, please, ' she begged his back, 'please don't do this


to me, please, I'll do anything you want, you can have


all of me, I'll never let another man touch me, I'll stop


drinking, I can do better if I'm not drinking, please -'


Nick hardly heard her. The fact that she didn't get


angry only increased his contempt. At the terminal, he


coded a complex message; sent it. Then he climbed back


into his shipsuit and boots.


For a minute he faced the woman's pleading. When


she finally ran down and began to sob, he growled, 'Face


facts, bitch. You're shit out of luck. All this whining isn't


going to help you. I never did like whiners. '


Grinning as if this victory weren't as hollow as all the


others, he left the room.


As soon as the door closed, he felt so exposed that he


wanted to run.


He wasn't worried that the Bill would intercept -


much less decipher - his message. On Angus' instruc-


tions, he'd sent it in two parts, each differently coded, to


Captain's Fancy. One was for Liete Corregio, ordering


her to relay the other to Trumpet ship-to-ship, bypassing


Billingate communications. From his room, Milos could


talk to Trumpet's automatic systems; could receive Nick's


message without exposing its source.


No, Nick's only immediate concern was that the Bill


might react to the loss of the woman's transmission by


sending guards to track her down. If he dispatched them


promptly enough; if they caught up with Nick before he


had a chance to blur his traces among the crowds of the


cruise -


Even then Angus' plan might not fail. But Nick would


be in trouble. At best he would lose his freedom of move-


ment; his ability to put his own plans into effect.


And the longer he was kept away from Captain's Fancy,


the more rime Mikka's disloyalty, and Vector's, would


have to fester.


No wonder his success with the woman felt hollow.


By itself each one was trivial: all he gained from it was


the opportunity to go on to the next problem.


Sorus was going to pay for this. If it was the last thing


he did, he would exact blood for what she'd done to him.


He fought down the urge to run; but he allowed him-


self a brisk stride on his way to the lift.


As he rode the car downward, a tic of tension began


again in his cheek, pulling like small claws at his scars.


When he tried to rub it away, the skin Sorus had cut felt


tight and dead; but the tic persisted.


After he left Ease-n-Sleaze, he began to see guards, but


none of them took any notice of him. Apparently the Bill


had decided to give him leeway; leave him free to con-


demn himself. That was another mistake which he meant


to make the Bill regret.


Grimacing involuntarily, Nick returned to his ship.


He should have felt better when he'd cycled the locks and


sealed himself back aboard Captain's Fancy. She was his


ship, his. There was no safety anywhere if not here.


Nevertheless his sense of exposure and incompleteness


remained. The tic refused to relax its grip on his cheek.


He sampled the air as if he could smell something


evanescent and subtly threatening from the scrubbers;


but after a moment he realized that the atmosphere


felt wrong, not because of a scent, but because of a


sound.


More precisely, the absence of a sound. The almost


subliminal hum and throb of Captain's Fancy's thrust


drive was missing.


When he'd first left her to talk to the Bill, he'd ordered


Mikka to keep the drive on standby. And he'd renewed


his instructions before leaving to meet with Milos: he


wanted the drive active, not as a means of escape — that


was impossible - but as a way of reminding the Bill that


Captain's Fancy could do the installation a lot of damage


if Nick was pushed too far.


But Mikka had shut down the engines.


Swearing brutally, he started to run.


By the time he reached the nearest lift, however, he'd


regained control of his urgency. He'd left Mikka and her


discontents alone too often, too long: he had no way of


knowing what she'd been saying about him, or to whom.


His people were volatile at the best of times. Now, under


pressure from the Amnion and Morn, as well as from


Nick himself, they were unstable enough to go critical.


Without much effort Mikka could set them at each


other's throats.


Or at his.


That should have been inconceivable. He was Nick by


God Succorso, Nick Succorso, and nothing should have


been able to threaten him on his own ship, among his


own crew. But he knew in his scars and his twitching


cheek that his hold over Captain's fancy was fraying. Like


his invincibility, he'd lost it somewhere in the midst of


Morn's treachery.


He couldn't afford to act panicked. If he did, Mikka


and her supporters - Vector? Sib Mackern? Pup? - might


think they could beat him.


So he lowered his respiration, calmed his pulse,


stopped cursing. Again he tried to massage the tic away


from his cheek. By the time the lift opened on the passage


which led to the bridge, he'd convinced himself that no


one would be able to see how close he was to the end of


his resources.


When he crossed the aperture onto the bridge, he


found it as crowded as the cruise.


He'd left Liete and her watch in charge of the ship:


Mikka was supposed to be readying a team for a raid.


But now at least two thirds of the crew were packed into


the small space.


To some extent, the crowding was caused by the lack


of internal spin. His people could only stand on that


section of the floor which was oriented toward Thanatos


Minor's mass. When Captain's Fancy first docked, the


bridge stations had adjusted automatically to the rock's


g by sliding along their tracks until they rested almost


shoulder-to-shoulder in the bottom of the curve. Because


of that, the crew didn't have much space.


The entire group watched him enter the bridge as if


he were an emissary of the Amnion.


A quick scan told him that Liete and her watch were


still in their g-seats. But Arkenhill had replaced Allum on


scan; Karster had taken Simper's position. That made


sense: Mikka had almost certainly included Simper and


Allum on her team. Yet both men were here, as were


Mikka herself, Sib - who should have been resting while


Alba Parmute had data - Scorz, Pup, Lind, Carmel and


several others. Vector sat at the engineer's station as if he


were on duty.


Scowling in an effort to conceal the way the tic pulled


at his cheek, Nick drawled, 'All right, boys and girls. The


party's over. If you aren't working, get off the bridge. '


No one moved. A mild smile curved Vector's mouth;


his eyes were blue and cloudless, as steady as a clear


sky. Carmel watched Nick with her customary bluntness.


Pastille's nose wrinkled as if his own reek disgusted even


him. Except for the cut of his features and the spread of


his hips, Pup bore no particular resemblance to his sister,


Mikka: his face expressed naivete and chagrin instead of


her glowering competence, her clenched old ire. Allum


and Simper, dissimilar in every other way, both grinned


with exactly the same unsatisfied hunger for violence. Sib


was sweating as if he were feverish: moisture made his


pale mustache look like dirt on his upper lip.


While he was gone, Nick had apparently lost them all.


He didn't hesitate. That part of him remained undam-


aged, at any rate. The worse the danger, the more quickly


he moved.


'Liete' - he let his voice uncurl like a lash - 'is this the


way you run things when I'm not here?'


The command third faced him miserably. Strain dark-


ened her small features until they were nearly black. But


she didn't try to apologize. 'We're all under a lot of pres-


sure, Nick, ' she said almost firmly. 'I figured it was better


to let them get together and talk. Get what's eating at


them out in the open. At least that way we know what


we're up against. '


Her tone made it clear that 'we' meant Nick and Liete


herself.


'Don't blame her, ' Mikka put in before Nick could


respond. 'It was my idea. I still outrank her - I told her


it was all right. '


Nick stifled an impulse to retort, You don't outrank


her now. You've got five minutes to get off this ship. But


he knew intuitively that a premature show of authority


would make the crisis worse. Before he did anything else,


he needed to take the temperature of this gathering, learn


how hotly the infection against him burned.


'I'll talk to you in a minute, ' he told Mikka. 'I'm not done with Liete. '


Precisely because he still trusted Liete, he let his anger


show in her direction. 'I sent you a message. Did you get


it?'


'I got it. ' Liete was tough: she didn't flinch or falter.


Despite appearances, she was the same woman who'd


flung herself at him to prevent him from killing Morn


when Morn's finger was on the ship's self-destruct. And


she was still on his side.


'Did you do what I told you?'


'Of course. ' She sounded slightly insulted.


Nick permitted himself an internal sigh of relief. That


was one less worry. Feeling marginally stronger, he


demanded, 'So what the hell happened to the drive? I left


it on standby. '


Liete had more than one reason to look unhappy. Her


eyes seemed to beg him to let her apologize as she


reported, 'Operations sent us an ultimatum. I guess they


got tired of ordering us to shut down. They told me if I


didn't comply they were going to undock us. Seal their


locks, drop the lines, unclamp. You would have been cut


off- you couldn't get back. ' As if she were holding her


breath, she finished, 'So I did what they said. '


Nick needed time to absorb this; time he didn't have.


Instead of sending guards when his wire stopped trans-


mitting, the Bill had taken action in other ways. But Nick


couldn't afford to consider the implications now. He had


a more immediate crisis on his hands.


With an effort of will, he gave Liete a nod. 'All right. '


Then he turned his attention back to Mikka.


Facing his second as if he dared her to challenge him,


he said, 'I told you to put together a team for a raid. Did


that get done?'


Mikka's capacity to confront him was more pro-


nounced than Liete's. We're ready, ' she answered


harshly. 'I've got Allum for demolition. Sib knows as


much about electronic jamming as any of the rest of us.


Simper can supply firepower. ' She shrugged. 'I'll handle


the rest myself. We can go as soon as you give us a target


- and tell us what you want brought back. '


'"Brought back"?' A laugh burst out of him before he


could stifle it. Mikka was thinking about Morn: he was


certain of that. But he had no intention of trying to


recover Morn. She was simply bait; a way to get what he


wanted from Milos and Angus - and maybe from Mikka


herself. In any case, Morn was an Amnioni by now, as


lost and damned as if she'd fallen into the gap. Mikka


should have realized that the only thing Nick could poss-


ibly want 'brought back' was Davies.


Now that wasn't necessary.


But he wasn't going to say so; not yet. 'All right, ' he


drawled again. Although he faced Mikka, he directed his


voice to the rest of the bridge. 'You're still following


orders, so I'll assume this isn't an active mutiny. You've


been talking about it, but you haven't actually decided to


do it yet.


'Why don't you tell me why you're even willing to


consider that kind of self-destruct?'


'You've got it wrong, Nick, ' Mikka began. We haven't


gone that far. We -'


We want to know, ' Carmel put in, 'what's going on. '


At once Lind, Scorz, and several others nodded. Sib


and Pup looked like they'd forgotten how to breathe.


We've all been to Billingate, ' the scan first explained,


'but you've never locked us in before. There's an Amnion


warship in dock and another out there ready to blast us.


Without a gap drive, we might as well abandon ship -


but Operations won't let us at the shipyard. You gave


Morn to the Amnion' - Carmel never hesitated to say


what she was thinking — 'which makes some of us wonder


if we're next. You keep leaving the ship and coming back,


but we don't know what you do when you go out. Liete


says you're trying to find a way to save us. Some of us


think you're making arrangements to sell us so you can


save yourself.


'You know me, Nick, ' she concluded. 'I like an expla-


nation. I always feel better when I know what's going


on. '


Nick glared at her so that he wouldn't grin. The tic in


his cheek wanted him to grin; it tugged at his scars to


make him bare his teeth. If he gave in to it now, he might


never recover.


Glowering darkly, he retorted, 'Is that all? Why didn't


you say so in the first place?' A yell rose up in him; he


fought it down, forced himself to speak quietly. What


do you idiots use for brains? If I could save myself by


selling you, I would be tempted. But most of you aren't


worth betraying.


'I'm the one who's in trouble here. Haven't you figured


that out yet? It's all on my head. The Amnion wouldn't


accept any or all of you as a substitute for me - and the


Bill sure as hell won't. If you want to come out of this


whole, all you have to do is keep your fucking heads


down and don't get in my way. '


His people watched him as if he were about to go nova


in front of them.


'You want to know what's going on?' he growled. 'I'll


tell you. Morn Hyland is a fucking cop! At first that wasn't


a problem. We had her with Hashi Lebwohl's per-


mission. But after we went to Enablement DA and the


whole goddamn UMCP stopped trusting us. Now they


want her back. But since they don't trust us - since they


assume we've already sold her and ourselves - they aren't


just going to ask us nicely if we would please hand her


over. They're coming after us for blood.


That's why Trumpet is here. Lebwohl has always had


a hand in Taverner's pocket. Most of the time when we


worked with Milos he was working with DA at the same


time. And Captain Thermo-pile may be the worst


motherfucker in the galaxy, but he knows it when he's


been strung up by the balls. He gave Morn a zone


implant - and by now the cops know that. So DA has


given him a chance for a reprieve by letting him come


here with Milos to get her back.


'I found that out, ' he went on before the crew could


react, 'by leaving you here to talk about mutiny behind


my back. And I gave Morn to the Amnion so we wouldn't


be Captain Thermo-pile's target - so he'd go after the


Amnion instead of us.


'Hell, ' he snorted, 'they're only two men. All they've


got is a gap scout. Do you think we don't need to be


afraid of them? I don't think that. They've got the whole


UMCP behind them. They probably have an entire flo-


tilla right at the edge of forbidden space, just waiting for


an excuse to come in and slag us. They could do that


if we still had Morn. They could tell the Amnion,


they could guarantee, they wouldn't touch anything


but us. This "incursion" isn't an act of war, just a rescue


mission. '


Now he had them. He could see it in Simper's open


face and Liete's dedication, in Scorz' astonishment and


Pastille's unwilling respect and Sib's dismay. They may


have wanted to reject his explanation, but they were


seduced by it in spite of themselves. Only Vector Shaheed


managed to look unconvinced.


'I've already saved us from that, ' Nick pronounced.


'I've saved myself, as well as all of you. And now I've got


a chance to solve the rest of our problems. Milos and


Captain Thermo-pile are going after Morn. They can't


exactly negotiate her release, so they're going to try to


cut her out of the Amnion sector. And when that happens


- when the fighting starts - we'll be ready.


'Unless, ' he sneered, 'we can't move because we're in


the middle of something suicidal, like a mutiny.


'While the UMCP and the Amnion are exchanging


raids and threats and maybe even fire, we'll do what we


came here for in the first place. We'll sell the Bill DA's


immunity drug - or what looks like DA's immunity drug.


He'll buy - he won't have any choice. He'll believe that's


what the UMCP and the Amnion are really risking a war


over. And he won't have time to test it. This whole fuck-


ing installation will be in chaos. So he'll do the only thing


he can to protect himself. He'll slap a new gap drive in


here so fast it'll make you dizzy because he'll want us


gone before the Amnion or the cops realize what we've


done.


'I'm going to save us - unless you idiots manage to get


us all killed first. ' At last he allowed himself to shout,


'Have I made myself dear?


It was a tissue of lies, of course; almost entirely fabri-


cated. Nick believed that Taverner and Thermopyle had


come to rescue Morn: he'd invented the rest as he went


along. Nevertheless it worked. Before any of the crew


responded, he knew that he'd gained the time he needed


for his other plans.


His people were accustomed to believing him. Some


of them were no longer looking at him: they were too


shaken by their own thoughts to notice his wild grin and


the flaring spasm in his cheek as he lost control of himself


for a moment. Others clung to him with their eyes full


of nausea or hope.


'Jesus, Nick, ' Lind breathed as if he were in shock.


Carmel nodded to herself like a woman whose uncer-


tainties had been relieved. The tremor of Mackern's lower


lip made him look like a kid being yelled at by his parents.


Pup's gaze flashed back and forth between Mikka and


Vector, hunting for reassurance.


Liete didn't smile or sigh; yet her eyes shone as if she'd


been given a gift - as if Nick had proved once again that


he was worth everything she ached to offer him.


Vector kept his opinion to himself. Of all the people


on the bridge, only Mikka struggled against Nick's expla-


nation, trying to find the lie.


'If what you say is true, ' she asked slowly, sounding


uncharacteristically hesitant, 'why do you want a raiding


team?'


'I don't, ' Nick snapped, 'not anymore. ' He couldn't


help himself: he raised a hand to cover his tic. 'It was just


a precaution anyway, in case I was wrong about why


Trumpet is here. '


Mikka frowned doubtfully. She may not have believed


him, but apparently she couldn't think of a way to chal-


lenge him further. 'In that case, ' she said grimly to the


scan third, "you'd better go stow your gear, Allum. I


don't want to leave all those explosives and detonators


lying around. '


Nick had won: that was obvious. It showed in the


way Allum looked at him and waited for his nod before


moving to obey the command second.


Rubbing his cheek, Nick tried to feel that this victory


wasn't hollow.


Liete would have reassured him, if he'd given her the


chance. He could have tested his success by probing the


people around him. But he didn't have time: the chron-


ometer was running on Angus' deadline. And if his vic-


tory was hollow he needed to act on it now, before its


illusions dissipated.


Mikka had started to turn away. He put his hand on


her arm to stop her. Swallowing a sudden lump in his


throat - the distress of his awareness that she was the


best of his people, and if he didn't dispose of her soon


she would eventually turn others against him - he said,


'I've got a job for you. ' His tone was casual and false.


'While we're waiting for Captain Thermo-pile to win his


reprieve, we need to set up our own plans.


'I want you to take somebody' - he made a show of


scanning the bridge for candidates - 'take Sib and go to


the cruise. Find out where Soar's crew is. Their captain


has some kind of special relationship with the Bill. '


Unnecessarily he pointed out, 'Otherwise he wouldn't


have used her ship to pick up our pod. ' Then he resumed,


'Make sure you've put yourself where some of her people


can hear you — and where the Bill's bugeyes can pick you


up. It's important that what you say gets back to both of


them.


'I want you to start a rumor about the immunity drug.


Talk to Sib about it. Say you've heard Soar's captain has


a drug that protects her from the Amnion. That's why


she's so close to the Bill - why Billingate gives her special


status. Talk about it until you're sure her crew hears you.


Then move on.


That should prime the Bill. When I'm ready to deal


with him, he'll be salivating for a chance to do business.


'Don't come back here right away. I don't want them


to think I sent you out just to start a rumor. Stay on the


cruise for a while. In fact, stay there until I come get you.


I'll wait until Captain Thermo-pile makes his move. That


way I can be sure the timing is right. '


If this worked, Nick could launch his plans against


Sorus Chatelaine and rid himself of Mikka and Sib with


one stroke.


Mikka's eyes were dark with doubt. He knew her well:


he could see her uncertainty in the lines of her frown and


the angle of her hips. But while his illusions held the


bridge she couldn't oppose him. If she gave him a reason


to demote her now, she was finished.


'Do you think you can handle it?' he asked maliciously.


'Or should I send somebody else?'


'Oh, I can handle it. ' Mikka's gaze couldn't hold his;


it drifted almost involuntarily toward her brother. Pup


was her only weakness - the only vulnerability she


couldn't ignore. As long as Nick sent her out and kept


him, she would have to do exactly what she was told. In


a beaten tone, she added, 'Just don't forget us. I don't


want to be stranded here. ' As she turned toward the


aperture, she sighed over her shoulder, 'Come on, Sib.


We might as well get started. '


Mackern's face twisted as if he were trying to screw up


the courage for an objection. But his bravery was like his


mustache, indistinguishable most of the time. The sweat


on his face might have been tears as he followed Mikka


off the bridge.


And good riddance, Nick thought. He studied his crew


again as if he needed more candidates: he didn't want to


make the fact that he'd already decided whom to get rid


of too obvious.


Like a man who'd just had a good idea, he turned


toward Vector.


The engineer looked at him squarely. Vector should


have been grateful that he was still alive; should have


been eager to make restitution for his mistakes. But he


didn't appear grateful - or alarmed. His smile was calm


and impersonal, as if he'd used up his ability to worry


about what happened to him.


'That was clever, Nick. ' He sounded as mild and


unthreatening as he looked. 'Now I'm the only one left. '


Because his tic was hidden by his hand, Nick let himself


grin. 'You and Pup, ' he amended. 'I've got a job for you,


too. '


Vector laughed softly. 'Imagine my surprise. '


Nick didn't care how much of the truth Vector


guessed. As long as Mikka thought he had Pup, she


was helpless. And without Mikka — without her sup-


port, her determination, her expertise — Vector was


nothing.


'This is crucial, ' Nick said past his hand. 'You're the


engineers, so it's up to you. I want you to take all the


repair specs for our gap drive and go find the shipyard


foreman. Make sure he has the parts to get us fixed.


'He won't want to talk to you without orders from the


Bill. It's up to you to convince him. Tell him it's official


- I'm talking to the Bill right now, all we have to do is


work out the details. Tell him he'll get his orders' - for an


entirely different reason, Nick consulted a chronometer -


'in about four hours, and when he does they're going to


have emergency priority. If he doesn't fix us and fix us


fast, the Bill is going to string his guts from one end of


the cruise to the other.


'If he hasn't got the parts, make him scavenge them.


Help him if you have to. '


Holding Vector's eyes - daring him to refuse - Nick


waited for a response.


Vector went on smiling like a man who'd already made


the only decision that mattered and had nothing more to


say.


'Why do I have to go?' Pup put in with a hint of


Mikka's truculence. 'I'm just a kid - I'm not going to


convince anybody. '


Simply to release tension, Lind laughed like a crackle


of static.


'Shut up, Ciro, ' Vector instructed. Ciro was Pup's real


name. Vector said it in the same tone he would have used


to offer Pup coffee. This isn't what it looks like. If I'm


leaving the ship, I want you with me. '


Pastille made a sour jibe, which the rest of the bridge


ignored.


Spasms pulled at Nick's cheek like an erratic heartbeat;


but he went on grinning because he couldn't stop.


By the time he left Captain's Fancy himself to meet his


deadline with the Bill, the people he distrusted most were


no longer aboard. Mikka and Vector — and maybe even


Sib - might have caused Liete trouble; but she could


certainly handle everybody else.


And he was sure she would follow all the orders he'd


given her.


He was no more than a minute or two late when he


reached the strongroom and demanded to see the Bill.


DAVIES


Davies Hyland paced his cell as if he were measur-


ing a grave. Six steps on one side, five on the


other. Room for a head and a cot; a few


pushups: nothing more. Walls and loneliness were his


only companions.


At times he wanted to scream. At other times he


wanted to sob. Occasionally he wondered why he was


sane. Human beings weren't designed by nature or


trained by society to withstand the stress of circumstances


like his.


His mind and his body were fundamentally wrong for


each other. He was male, yet he couldn't remember being


anything except female.


And he was a prisoner: a pawn in a conflict over which


he had no control - a conflict which he could scarcely


comprehend because of the black hole in his head where


crucial memories should have been. As far as he knew,


no one wanted him alive except his mother, whose plight


was probably even worse than his; and the Amnion, who


intended to make him one of them.


Beyond question he should have collapsed into raving


or withdrawn into autism.


But he didn't.


Despite all the force and harm arrayed against him, he


was charged with survival; primed to fight for his life.


Behind his isolation, underneath his fear, every pulse and


shimmer of energy was ready for battle.


Because of the black hole, he couldn't guess that a


strange and fertile interaction had taken place between


his father's biochemistry and his mother's use of her zone


implant. He couldn't imagine that he'd been conditioned


in Morn's womb to meet his impenetrable dilemma.


Angus Thermopyle had given his son a genetic inherit-


ance of toughness, stubbornness; a grim and bloody-


minded refusal to be broken. And Morn Hyland had


spent months driving herself to sexual, psychological and


physical extremes which she could never have endured


without the artificial pressure and control of her zone


implant. In a sense, her son had been inured to stress as


a fetus. Every cell of his tiny body had grown accustomed


to levels of stimulation which could have triggered car-


diac arrest in anyone else. In effect, he was an adrenalin


addict — and his addiction kept him whole when he


should have snapped.


So he roamed the confines of his cell more like a caged


predator than a sixteen-year-old boy. Ignoring the obvi-


ous monitors and the impersonal concrete, he paced from


wall to wall, toning his strange muscles, training his mind


to accept them. He already had his father's thick strength,


if not his father's bulk: he tested it with pushups, situps,


handstands, leaps. Exercises and skills his mother had


learned in the Academy he repeated until his alien ship-


suit was rough with sweat and his hands began to under-


stand how the blocks and punches could be used. Then


he continued pacing.


At the same time he chewed on his memories and his


predicament with a doggedness which came from both


his parents: trying to force himself to remember; trying


to reason his way across the gaps in what he knew and


understood.


He'd told the Bill that Morn and Nick Succorso were


working together for the UMCP. Now the Bill was hold-


ing him here, rather than turning him over to Nick - or


to the Amnion. Was there a connection? Did the Bill


think the plot was aimed at him? Or was he afraid to take


sides in Morn's — and Nick's — presumed connivance


against the Amnion? If his only loyalty was to himself,


in which direction would he move to protect himself


from danger? To profit from the Amnion was one thing:


to risk exposure to their mutagens was something else


entirely.


Davies assumed that the Bill had no intention of letting


himself be made Amnion. He wouldn't hesitate to sell


his prisoner, but he would never sell himself. Therefore


he had to keep his options open until he knew what


was at stake. Other people think you're valuable, and I'm


going to know why before I make up my mind about you.


That was probably why Davies was still a prisoner - still


safe.


So it was only a matter of time before the Bill came to


question him again. Sooner or later, the Bill would ask


him for more information about Nick and Morn.


He wanted it to be sooner. Right now. While his toler-


ance for stress still protected him.


His cell contained a head, but no san. He would have


liked to get clean. Even a fresh - a human - shipsuit


would have been nice. Apparently the Amnion didn't


sweat; the shipsuit he'd been given on Enablement didn't


absorb much moisture. By now it was damp enough to


chafe when he exercised.


Grimly he continued working under the eye of the


monitors as if he never needed rest.


Come on, you bastard. Question me again. Ask me to


tell you what's going on.


Give me another chance.


Before it's too late.


Nevertheless he did need rest. Despite his conditioning,


he was only human.


No doubt because the Bill wanted it that way and was


willing to wait for the opportunity, Davies was asleep


when his captor came to talk to him.


Lost in dreams of sweat and Amnion, he heard the


Bill's mocking voice. 'Ah, the innocent slumber of the


young. ' At first he thought it came from an Amnioni.


But it smelled like the souring musk of his own body.


What a joy to be able to sleep and dream so cleanly. '


Adrenalin brought him back to consciousness like an


electric charge. Nevertheless he was cautious. With delib-


erate slowness, he opened his eyes.


Tall and incongruously enthusiastic, as thin as a


cadaver, the Bill stood by the door. This time his only


guard was the woman Davies had seen with him before


- the beautiful middle-aged woman with the rich voice


and the stiff carriage. She had a stun-prod tucked into


the front of her shipsuit as if she felt sure she wouldn't


need it.


Davies knew nothing about her, not even her name.


But she was the Bill's ally. On Thanatos Minor, in


Amnion space, anyone who needed an ally was vul-


nerable.


Totally alert, and determined to conceal it, Davies


fumbled for the edge of the cot to pull himself into a


sitting position. Scrubbing at his face as if he were trying


to wake himself up, he muttered, 'What do you want?'


Sounding deceptively happy, the Bill said, 'I want to


ask you some questions. Be a good boy and answer them. '


Davies made an effort to look bleary-eyed. 'Are you


going to let me out if I cooperate?'


The Bill chuckled shortly. 'Of course not. '


Groaning, Davies stretched back out on the cot. 'Then


why should I bother?'


'Because it's less painful, ' the Bill replied with a grin.


'If I were feeling charitable - which I'm not - I could


give you drugs to make you talk. Or I could install a zone


implant in your ugly skull and take the matter out of


your hands. Or' - he shrugged - 'I could do BR surgery


on you until you begged me to let you cooperate. '


'Sure, sure. ' Davies dismissed the threat. 'You could


do all that. But I'm only merchandise here. You made


that clear. If you want to make a profit on me, you won't


damage the merchandise. '


The Bill studied Davies for a moment. Then he


remarked to his companion, 'Snotty little bugger, isn't


he. Maybe you should tell him why he wants to


cooperate. '


The woman didn't hesitate. 'Davies, you're


smart enough to understand the position you're in.


Nobody ever accused your father of being stupid,


and if your mother were she wouldn't have made


it through the Academy. Sure, you're nothing but mer-


chandise. But you care who you're sold to. Believe me,


you care. '


'What has that got to do with answering questions?'


Davies interrupted. 'You're just trying to figure out how


much you can get for me. You aren't going to let me


choose who buys me. '


'It's not that simple, ' the Bill snapped; but his tone


wasn't angry. 'Events are moving in too many different


directions at once. There's too much at stake. I'm not


worried about how much profit I'll make on you. I'm


worried about selling you to the wrong party. Until I


know what's going on, I can't decide whether to deal


with Captain Nick or the Amnion. '


'If you're sold to Succorso, ' the woman put in, 'you'll


go back to your own people. The cops. That is, if you're


telling the truth about Succorso and Morn Hyland work-


ing together. But if you go to the Amnion, you'll end up


like Marc Vestabule. '


Davies remembered Vestabule. Noradrenalin crackled


through his synapses like static. The pressure in his veins


was too intense to let him remain horizontal. Surging off


the cot, he gained his feet and retreated to the wall oppo-


site the door. With his back to the concrete, he faced the


Bill.


Succorso intended to give him to the Amnion. Davies


had told the Bill the lie that Nick and Morn were working


together in a blind effort to weaken Nick's hand,


strengthen Morn's. From that point of view, he had no


reason to care who got him.


But if events were moving in too many different directions


at once, the Bill might soon be forced to a choice, regard-


less of whether or not Davies cooperated with him. Then


Davies' relative safety in his cell would end.


And he did care. The route which led to the Amnion


through Succorso was less direct; maybe less inevitable.


If he went by that route, he might live a little longer. He


might even get the chance to do Succorso some harm


along the way.


Swallowing at the tension in his throat, he asked,


'What do you want to know?'


The Bill smiled. 'That's better, ' he said approvingly. 'I


like cooperation.


'Why don't you start by telling me why Captain Nick


went to Enablement?'


Davies' heart pounded in his chest. Alive with fear and


energy, he said, 'As far as I know, it was so Morn could


have me. She was pregnant, but she knew she couldn't


raise me from a baby. They went to Enablement so I


could be force-grown. '


'Why?' the Bill demanded shortly. What's so special


about you?'


'I don't know. ' Davies didn't have to feign the distress


in his eyes. They didn't tell me. Maybe it didn't have


anything to do with me. I mean, anything personal.


Maybe she just wanted to keep me, but she couldn't


afford what it would cost to have a - a normal son. All


that time and care. ' Maybe she needed an ally so desper-


ately that she wanted her mind imprinted on me rather


than letting me learn my own. Maybe she couldn't wait


sixteen years for me to be old enough to help her. 'Maybe


what she and Nick are doing is so important that she


couldn't afford to be hampered by a baby. '


The Bill twisted his mouth to one side. 'That is a pro-


vocative notion, young Davies. You're saying she's so


special that she can demand and get that kind of risk from Captain Nick - so special that the cops would rather chance losing her to the Amnion than say no to her. Or else being pregnant is part of what made her special — perhaps because it gave her an excuse to go to Enablement. The cops had a reason of their own for


sending her and Captain Nick there. '


'I guess, ' Davies murmured thinly.


The Bill's eyes glittered. 'You can do better than


that. '


'No, I can't, ' Davies protested. He didn't like sounding


so frightened. It came to him too easily. 'You must know


something about how the Amnion force-grow babies.


You know I got my mind from her. That's why you think


I can answer your questions. But I have some kind of


memory block. Maybe it's amnesia. Or maybe those


memories were never transferred. I can remember her


whole life until Starmaster was destroyed. After that it all


stops. I only know what she told me.


'She didn't have time to tell me much. The Amnion


came after us - we were running for our lives all the way


here. '


'So what you're saying' - the Bill ran his tongue around


his thin lips - 'is that our Captain Nick had the colossal


and imponderable gall to cheat the Amnion on one of


their own stations. Is that right?'


'It's more than that, ' the woman interposed. 'He's


saying Succorso had something so valuable to offer them


that they were willing to trade force-growing for it. And


then he cheated by not giving it to them. '


'Is that right, Davies?' the Bill repeated. His. eyes


caught and reflected the light like polished steel.


Here Davies was on surer ground. The Bill couldn't


possibly guess how the Amnion had been cheated, or by


whom. Tuning his fright to truculence, Davies answered,


'I don't know. I wasn't born yet when they made their


deal. All I know is, they came after us. They tried to blast


us a few days ago, but Succorso evaded them somehow. '


'That could be true, ' the woman said to the Bill.


'Maybe force-growing did leave holes in his memories.


We don't know enough about it to be sure. But didn't


you say Captain Succorso was about to make you some


kind of offer when I walked in and' - she smiled sardoni-


cally - 'distracted him?'


'I did, ' the Bill confirmed. 'He was. He had a deal in


mind. He may have been about to offer me the same


thing he offered the Amnion.


'But you weren't the only distraction, you know, ' he


added. Without belittling your effect on Captain Nick,


I must point out that there were other factors. '


The woman shrugged. 'I'm not so sure. You saw the


look on his face - he nearly had an infarction. I think


you'll be making a mistake if you believe anything is more


important to him than getting even with me. '


The Bill considered this as if Davies weren't present.


'Then you don't credit the notion that he's working with


Morn Hyland for the cops?'


'Of course I credit it, ' she returned calmly. 'It's quite


possible. He should have died after what I did to him.


How did he survive? He must have gotten lucky - must


have been rescued. That would have brought him to the


attention of the cops. They could easily have recruited


him them. Trained him, supplied him with a ship and


cover, given him everything he needed. All I'm saying is


that I think now his priorities have shifted.


'Which, ' she concluded, 'only makes him more


dangerous. '


'On that we agree, at any rate, ' the Bill said in his


boyish voice. 'Captain Nick is dangerous. If he weren't,


I wouldn't have to take his demand for young Davies


seriously. '


His long head swung back toward Davies. 'But there


is just one small flaw in your intriguing theory that Cap-


tain Nick and Morn Hyland are working together - that


they went to Enablement in order to cheat the Amnion


and draw them here; so that they could spring some


kind of unexplained UMCP trap. For the moment, we'll


ignore the question of who the trap's intended victim is.


Could it be aimed at me? Is it designed for the Amnion


themselves? Or is it merely a means to recapture Captain


Angus? Never mind.


'Young Davies, the flaw in your theory is this. A few


hours after Captain Nick visited me and nearly made


his mysterious offer so that he could buy you back, he


personally delivered Morn Hyland to the Amnion sector.


She hasn't been seen since their airlocks closed behind


her.


'How do you account for this?'


Like Nick, but for very different reasons, Davies nearly


had an infarction -


delivered


- and couldn't afford to show it. He ducked his head


to shroud his eyes, but that wasn't enough; he had to


conceal the way his muscles bunched and knotted to fling


him at the Bill's long throat -


Morn Hyland


- had to conceal the passion and panic firing through


him as if his nerves were high-tension cables; absolutely


couldn't afford to rage or cry out -


to the Amnion.


If he unlocked his heart for an instant, he would go


berserk. Sobbing Morn Morn MORN he would attack


the Bill and the woman until they killed him.


As if his larynx were full of sand, he gritted out, 'I'm


not sure. I keep telling you she and I didn't have much


time to talk. And I can't remember anything that hap-


pened to her between when Starmaster went down and


I was born. '


Nick had given his mother to the Amnion. To punish


her for rescuing her son from Enablement. For using her


zone implant to mislead him. And to compensate them


for his failure to deliver Davies now. But Davies was the


one the Amnion wanted, not Morn; he should have gone


to them in her place. He had nothing to lose except the


few days since he'd climbed out of the creche; she would


lose an entire life.


Yet it was already too late to save her. By now her


genetic ruin was certainly begun and probably complete.


Even if he threw himself on his knees and begged begged,


the Bill to trade him for her, even if he told the Bill


everything he knew or could guess about her so that the


Bill would understand how valuable she was, it was too


late. Nothing could reach her now.


Nothing of her remained human except the part Davies


himself carried - the part he used for a mind.


He couldn't hide the focused yellow glare in his eyes


as he raised his head.


'But it fits, doesn't it, ' he said in the same abraded tone.


'It's consistent with the rest of what they're doing. It


looks worse, but it's really no different than going to


Enablement. They're putting her neck in the noose


because they've got something to gain by it. '


The woman watched him steadily, as if she were start-


ing to respect him. Softly she pronounced, That's


absurd. '


A wail Davies couldn't quash rose up in his chest.


Clenching his fists until his arms shook, he shouted, 'Did


she look like she was trying to resist? Did she fight him?'


His loss seemed to recoil from the concrete and fall to


the floor. Abruptly he regained control of himself.


Almost quietly, he continued, 'Or did they just talk to


each other along the way?'


The Bill, too, watched Davies. Shadows muffled the


brightness of his eyes. 'They talked, ' he admitted. 'I have


it recorded. But their voices aren't clear. I don't know


what they said. '


'In that case' — because he was desperate, Davies let


nothing wild or impossible stand in his way — 'I think


you should consider the possibility that she's protected


somehow. Maybe Succorso didn't cheat the Amnion.


Maybe he made a deal with them. The pursuit might be


a ruse. Maybe the Amnion have already agreed not


to touch her — and she has some good reason to trust


them.


'Or maybe she's immune. '


'Immune?' The Bill kept his tone low, but his voice


cracked like a lash.


Inspired by urgency, Davies replied, The Amnion


design mutagens. Why can't' - he searched Morn's mem-


ories for names - 'Intertech or some other UMC research


facility design antimutagens?' Hurrying so that he


wouldn't have time to falter, he finished, 'Maybe that's


what Nick was going to offer you. Before he was dis-


tracted. '


The Bill stared at Davies with his mouth open. Past


his teeth and tongue, his throat gaped like a hole - a gap


into darkness. When he closed his jaws, he had to swal-


low twice before he could murmur, 'This is chaff, star-


shine. He's inventing it. '


Color flushed the woman's cheeks; her eyes were wide


with surprise. 'But it makes a certain kind of sense. '


The Bill swung around to face her. 'What sense?


'Suppose it's true, ' she replied without taking her gaze


off Davies. 'Suppose Succorso and Hyland are working


together. For the UMCP. Against us. ' Her voice was


vibrant with implications. 'And they have some type of


antimutagen. That's the bait, the trade - that's what they


offered the Amnion. They went to Enablement to make


a deal. Using her pregnancy as an excuse. Then they came


here. With a retinue of defensives.


The whole point is to destroy us - destroy Billingate.


The Amnion want the antimutagen. Succorso and


Hyland offered to trade it for our destruction. But the


Amnion can't just come here and blast us. That would


ruin their credibility with every illegal in human space —


it would set them back decades, maybe centuries. They


need an excuse. '


Davies stared back at her as if he were stunned by what


he'd started; but he didn't interrupt.


'So the deal, ' she went on, 'is that Succorso would offer


you the antimutagen. Then, after he had time to get


away, the Amnion would fry Thanatos Minor. And Suc-


corso would spread the story that you were dealing anti-


mutagens - that the Amnion destroyed Billingate to stifle


the secret. A lie like that might pacify the rest of the


illegals enough to keep them in business.


What went wrong is that Succorso changed his mind


when he saw me. Suddenly revenge was more important


than the cops. So he didn't offer you the antimutagen.


He's got other ideas now. But the Amnion aren't going


to take that lying down. They sent Marc Vestabule to


Captain's Fancy to demand Hyland as a hostage - a way


to guarantee Succorso keeps his part of the deal. She's


safe as long as he doesn't renege. '


In silence Davies pleaded with the Bill to believe her.


He wanted to believe her himself.


'It still doesn't-' the Bill protested.


'Listen!' the woman insisted. 'It does make sense. Poli-


ticians think the same way you do. The fastest way to get


rich is to work the middle between enemies. But that's


less effective if the enemies are actually fighting. To really


get rich you need the conflict - and you need peace. You


need the kind of peace that preserves the conflict. What


Succorso and Hyland are doing gives both sides some-


thing they want. The cops get rid of us - the Amnion


get the antimutagen. Which makes a war less likely in


the short term, and makes both sides stronger over the


long haul. If you were in Holt Fasner's position, you


might do the same thing. '


The Bill couldn't contain himself. Like an angry child,


he shouted, 'But we don't have any reason to think it's


true! Just because a scared brat with an imprinted mind


says it doesn't make it a fact! For all we know, he's


inventing the whole thing. He's probably just trying to


frighten us because he figures the more frightened we are


the longer we'll hold him, and while we hold him he's


safer


'Then tell me something. ' Now the woman faced the


Bill. Neither of them paid any attention to Davies. Hold-


ing her companion's gaze hard, she asked, 'What's Suc-


corso doing with Thermopyle and Taverner? Plotting


something, obviously - but what? Why? Gam-Mine only


caught Thermopyle because Succorso set him up. What


have they got to talk about?'


'No. ' The Bill shook his long head unsteadily. 'You tell


me. '


Her gaze sharpened. 'Didn't you hear them? What hap-


pened to all your bugeyes — your wires? What good are


they, if they can't pick it up when something important


happens?'


The Bill shrugged as if he were slightly embarrassed.


'They were in a public bar. Not by coincidence, I'm sure.


There was a lot of background noise. And Captain Angus


took offense at the nearest wire. He chased her away.


Also not by chance, I'm sure - although I have no idea


how he identified her - because Captain Nick later


singled her out for one of his notorious seductions, and


by that time he knew enough about her to disable her


transmitter.


'Then the bugeyes in the bar developed a fault. So far


that looks like a coincidence. '


If the woman was surprised, she didn't show it. 'What


did he want her for?'


The twisting of the Bill's mouth suggested distaste.


'Sex, of course. And he wanted to scare her, apparently


so she would tell him where his merchandise is being


held. As far as I can discover, that was his only reason


for disabling her transmitter - to scare her. Otherwise he


wouldn't have left her alive to tell me what happened.'


'All right.' The woman nodded sharply. Then it does


fit.


'Seducing and disabling your wire is just a distraction.


He did it to confuse you. I think what he really wants


Thermopyle and Taverner for is to help him against me.


'Right now, his position is too weak. The antimutagen


is his only lever. He's hanging on to it - risking his deal


with the Amnion - because it's all he has. But if he can


persuade or possibly trick Thermopyle into helping him,


he'll have an ally. Then he can go ahead with his original


plans and still have a chance at revenge.'


The Bill met her gaze for a moment longer.


Slowly they turned together to face Davies again.


'Well?' the Bill asked, nearly whispering. 'You started


this. What do you make of the fact that Captain Nick has


been seen drinking on the cruise with your father?'


Davies could hardly speak. Nick Succorso had turned


his mother over to the Amnion for reasons which had


nothing to do with antimutagens. The loss of her made


him feel orphaned, maimed. And the reaction to his lie


was dramatic — so dramatic that it stunned him. The first


couple of times the Bill and his companion mentioned


Angus Thermopyle's name, it made no impression on


him. As far as he was concerned, his father was unreal:


an abstract concept; a man who may never have existed.


But as they repeated Angus' name and turned toward


him, he began to hear what they'd said. Captain Angus


Thermopyle was here. With a man called Taverner.


Apparently out of nowhere, Davies' father arrived just


when his mother was lost.


His heart jumped as if the two events were connected.


Angus was fatal, of course. Morn had implied as much.


And Nick had called him a pirate and a butcher and a


petty thief. He was the kind of man Morn - and Davies


with her - had dedicated her life against.


But he was still Davies' father.


His arrival now meant something.


Davies couldn't afford to ignore the Bill's demand -


or betray what he thought and felt. With an effort, he


crushed down his distress. Almost meeting the Bill's gaze,


he breathed, 'I didn't know my father was here. I thought


he was in lockup on Com-Mine. I wasn't sure he was still


alive. '


That, ' the Bill rasped, 'doesn't answer my question. '


'Yes, it does. ' Davies let himself sound truculent. 'I've


never met my father. I can't remember him. How should


I know what he and Captain Succorso are doing


together?' But he didn't stop there. The Bill's companion


had given him the hint he needed. More bitterly by the


moment, he continued, 'Maybe it's what she said. Maybe


Succorso is using him to plant the story that you've got


an antimutagen for sale. '


Like a kid experimenting with profanity, the Bill


retorted loudly, 'Damnation! Damn both of you! You're


making me dizzy. How many conspiracies and plots do


you think you can find in situations you know nothing


about? You' - he jerked his long head at his companion


- 'are pinning everything on what you hear from a scared,


force-grown child who probably isn't even sane. And you'


- he poked a finger at Davies - 'admit you've got holes


in your head where you should have facts. You want me


to believe you can't remember anything Morn Hyland


knew or saw between Starmaster's destruction and your


own birth a few days ago, and at the same time you want


me to take you seriously while you speculate about things


you can't remember.


This isn't an interrogation. It's a farce. '


Davies blinked as if he were on the verge of tears. The


woman didn't reply.


In a whirl of joints and limbs, the Bill turned back to


her. 'I'm leaving this with you, ' he said through his teeth.


We agree Captain Nick is dangerous. And we agree he


wants to get even with you. So you're at risk here at least


as much as I am. It's your job to learn the truth.


Torture him' - the Bill indicated Davies - 'if you want


to. The Amnion will accept damaged merchandise, even


if Captain Nick won't. As long as he's human, they won't


worry about the details. Or capture a few people from


Captain's Fancy and torture them. I don't care how you


do it. Just find out the truth.


'Come talk to me when you've got something we can


count on. '


Without waiting for an answer, the Bill left the cell.


The woman fixed her attention on Davies again. Her


hand rested lightly on the handle of her stun-prod.


He glowered back at her, as belligerent as his father.


As she regarded him gravely, she said in a contralto


murmur, 'You may be wondering why Captain Succorso


wants to "get even" with me. It's simple, really. I gave


him those scars. But when I see you glaring like that, I


can't help thinking that if he'd ever looked at me the same


way I wouldn't have cut him. I would have killed him


where he stood.


'I'll be back as soon as I figure out how to get the truth out of you. '


She left Davies alone.


The door closed behind her. He heard it lock.


The monitors watched him as if his interrogation were


still going on.


Sick at heart, and determined to reveal nothing, he


stretched out on the cot, covered his eyes, and pretended


to rest.


ANCILLARY


DOCUMENTATION


GOVERNING COUNCIL


FOR EARTH AND SPACE


In some ways, the Governing Council for Earth and


Space was a haphazard organization. No one designed


it: it simply grew over time. And as it grew it suffered


mutations and grafts, like a burdock which a group of


bio-geneticists had arbitrarily selected for an experiment


in whether weeds could be made to bear apples.


Like most haphazard organizations, the GCES was


protective of its position. In reaction to the fact that there


was nothing organic or inevitable about its form - or


indeed about its actual existence - the Council took itself


extremely seriously. Its members debated policy, passed


legislation, imposed charters and reviewed jurisprudence


as if they had the authority of their entire species behind


them; as if the survival and integrity of humankind were


in their care.


As a bureaucratic entity, the GCES was blind to the


realities of both history and politics.


The reality of history was that the Council came into


being as a reaction to rather than as a control for events.


It was a fact long since forgotten by most GCES


members that their political body began as a minor sub-


division of another governmental entity.


During the period of Earth's history in which commer-


cial enterprises and quasi-commercial conglomerates


began to put research facilities and industrial platforms


into space, most of the planet's sovereign nations slowly


came to recognize the need for an agency to coordinate


launches, trajectories, and orbits - to ensure, for example,


that corporations such as SMI and SpaceLab Inc. didn't


build stations which would interfere with each other's


activities, or which might - at worst - collide someday.


The original Agency was constituted as nothing more


than a clearing-house for launch-and-orbit related infor-


mation; as a means for avoiding disasters.


In a short time, however, it naturally took on a cor-


ollary function: it became a mechanism for processing


disputes. Its advisory papers and proposed protocols


accreted until they had the force of law. This develop-


ment was considered beneficial because it permitted con-


flicts to be resolved without the unwieldy expedient of


involving Earth's vast array of sovereign governments.


From that small seed, the eventual weed sprouted.


As the competition for Earth's last great resource -


space - grew more and more desperate, the Agency came


to be seen as increasingly vital: sometimes as a means to


gain advantage; more commonly as a means to prevent


the opposition from gaining advantage. There began


what might be called the hybridizing process. Sovereign


nations and commercial enterprises alike began to insist


on 'representation': they wished to have their own people


assigned to the Agency so that their interests would be


protected.


This was predictable, even though it was not foreseen


when the original entity was created. Because space was


a political as well as physical vacuum, chaos threatened


to render the Agency useless as nations and corporations


clamored to seat their representatives.


The danger was averted, however, when the Agency


itself was conceded the right to choose whom it would


represent, which interests and organizations were


empowered to supply it with members. An eminently


sensible solution in many ways, this development never-


theless had the effect of making the Agency much more


powerful - as well as considerably larger - than the


bureaucracy of which it was technically a subdivision.


Soon, therefore, the Agency - now called the Governing


Council for Space - succeeded at re-chartering itself as a


separate, independent organism.


Still the pattern of responding to events rather than


anticipating them held sway. Space was Earth's only


effective future. Even before the development of the gap


drive, with its concomitant influx of resources and oppor-


tunities, and certainly before contact with the Amnion,


with its strange admixture of wealth and peril, Earth had


no hope which did not derive from space. And the GCS


was responsible for space. Therefore the GCS was almost


responsible for Earth.


Predictably - and yet almost accidentally - the Council


found itself unable to meet its responsibilities unless it


expanded its function to include overseeing the conduct


of its constituent nations and corporations on Earth as


well as in space.


By this time, Earth was in no position to protest the


shift of authority from individual sovereign nations to


the Council. Rationalizing their dependency on space,


Earth's governments elected to view the shift of authority


as a change in semantics, not in substance. Where did the


Council's members come from? From Earth, of course;


perhaps by way of one station or another, but always


from Earth. Therefore Earth's nations had suffered no


fundamental loss of primacy. Their leaders were simply


called members rather than presidents or dictators; the


only real difference was that they exercised their powers


in a wider arena.


As a practical matter, however, relatively few of Earth's


nations and corporations were literally represented on the


Council. Their numbers would have been too large to be


effective. For that reason, the Council spawned its own


subdivisions, on Earth as well as in space. Earth's nations


were somewhat artificially combined to form six distinct


bodies: the United Western Bloc, the Eastern Union, the


Pacific Rim Conglomerate, the Combined Asian Islands


and Peninsulas, Continental Africa, and one quaintly


named Old Europe. In contrast, each space station outside


Earth's solar system represented itself: Valdor Industrial,


Sagittarius Unlimited, Com-Mine, Terminus, Betelgeuse


Primary, SpaceLab Annexe, New Outreach, Aleph Green,


and Orion's Reach. However, in recognition of Earth's


vastly greater population, each of the planet's six units was


authorized to supply the Council with two members; the


stations seated only one apiece.


By accretion rather than by public choice or policy, the


Council became the Governing Council for Earth and


Space.


The reality of politics was that the Council had been


invested with authority solely and squarely on the


assumption that this authority would never be effective.


The corporate leaders who precipitated the inception and


encouraged the growth of the Council did so to secure


their own enterprises, not to impose restrictions on them-


selves.


Consider the position of a man like Holt Fasner, in


the days when SMI was young, and Earth was dying of


its complex self-strangulation. Unless he were gifted with


prescience, he could hardly have forecast the develop-


ment of the gap drive - or the discovery of the Amnion.


On the other hand, he could easily have grasped that


Earth represented the single biggest obstacle to his own


future, the single biggest threat to his company's growth.


Driven by planetary hungers, Earth would suck dry


any development or discovery which occurred on a scale


smaller than interstellar travel or alien species. And the


prejudices and constraints of Earth-bound thinking -


genophobia, for instance - would work to block any


researcher, or any corporation, from developments or


discoveries large enough to outsize Earth's hungers.


From the first, men like Holt Fasner understood the


need to separate space from Earth's control.


This goal they achieved by mutating and grafting the


original Agency until it became the GCES. At every stage


in the process, they supplied the ideas - as well as the


votes - which enabled the Council to take charge of


Earth, rather than allowing Earth to retain authority over


space.


On the other hand, men like Holt Fasner had no inten-


tion of simply replacing one set of governmental


obstacles with another. The power which had been


gradually accreted to the GCES would become a threat


rather than a benefit if it were allowed to exercise itself


unchecked. Precisely because the Council solved so many


problems for men like Holt Fasner, it was dangerous to


them.


Therefore the number of members had to be kept


small, manageable. And it was necessary to own a signifi-


cant proportion of the Votes': it was necessary to guaran-


tee that enough members would speak for the men they


truly represented, rather than for the people who elected


them. In some cases, this necessity was easily satisfied.


For example, since Com-Mine Station belonged to the


United Mining Companies, the Member for Com-Mine


Station naturally defended the UMC's interests. In other


cases, pressure was required. And in still other cases, the


'votes' had to be frankly purchased.


Regardless of how the Votes' were obtained, however,


the purpose of obtaining them remained the same: to


ensure that the real power on Earth and in space


belonged, not to the GCES, but to men like Holt Fasner.


The seriousness with which the Council performed its


functions was in direct proportion to its refusal to recog-


nize the realities of its own position.


Therein lay Holt Fasner's greatest strength — and per-


haps his only weakness.


MIN


No more than two hours after Warden Dios'


video conference with the Governing Council


for Earth and Space, Min Donner, sometimes


called his 'executioner', rode a UMCP shuttle down from


UMCPHQ to Earth; to Suka Bator, an island in the


Combined Asian Islands and Peninsulas archipelago,


where the GCES had built the sprawling complex from


which it presumed to defend and govern the human


species.


The shuttle's logs and manifests made no mention that


the UMCP Enforcement Division director was aboard.


She was recorded as one of a platoon of data clerks and


legal advisers sent by Dios to supply substantiation - or


obfuscation - for the things he'd revealed during the


conference. No one announced her arrival; no one met


her. Apparently UMCP officers stationed on the island


as support for GCES Security failed to recognize her:


certainly they failed to react when they saw her. Instead


she was waved through the checkpoints and past the


guards as casually as the rest of the platoon.


There was no particular cause for caution. The shuttle


had been tracked continuously from the moment it left


UMCPHQ to the instant of its touchdown on Suka


Bator. The GCES worried about many things, but


treachery that arrived by shuttle from UMCPHQ was


not among them. Attacks on the Council's authority, like


threats to the Council's safety, came not from the police,


but from disenfranchised political groups on Earth - lib-


ertarians who opposed both UMC and UMCP hege-


mony; genophobes who opposed all dealing with the


Amnion; pacifists who opposed the 'militarization' of


human space; 'native Earthers' who opposed the planet's


dependence on space. Any number of those groups were


capable of terrorism in the name of their beliefs. On


the other hand, the UMCP worked hard to help GCES


Security keep violence away from the island.


Apart from her air of command and the coiled readi-


ness of her movements, none of the guards or function-


aries had any reason to look twice at Min Donner.


She was known here, of course - any one of the


members, and most of their staffs, would have identified


her on sight. But she didn't give them the chance. From


the entrance to the members' Offices wing of the com-


plex, she disappeared into a stairwell which led to a fire-


exit and was therefore virtually never used. Her codes let


her through doors which should have set off alarms when


they were opened.


If possible, she wanted to get on and off the island in


complete secrecy.


No matter how profoundly she'd been shaken by War-


den Dios' recent revelations, she was loyal to him. The


same dedication which kept ED almost fanatically clean,


free of the taints and ambiguities which clung to Data


Acquisition like a miasma, also ensured that she would


carry out her director's personal instructions as purely as


she could. The old commandment which had once


guided the police in human society - 'to serve and pro-


tect' - wasn't written anywhere on her certificates of com-


mission. It didn't need to be: it was written in her blood.


She wasn't impervious to doubt, not by any means -


especially not now, when the very nature of the organiz-


ation to which she'd committed herself was being called


into question. But she understood with the clarity of pure


conviction that doubt and action were fundamentally


irrelevant to each other.


She wasn't responsible for Dios' integrity, or for the


UMCP's. She was responsible for ED's and her own.


And that was a function of action: she had integrity to


the extent that she gave herself wholly and simply to the


goals and duties of her position. Doubt was something


she set aside in the name of her service to Warden Dios,


to Enforcement Division, to the United Mining Com-


panies Police, and to humankind.


This was essential to her. Without it she would have


been paralyzed. Doubt by its very nature was omnivor-


ous: it consumed everything. Recent events provided a


good example. In his conference with the GCES, Warden


Dios had given her reason to doubt his honesty. But


other things he said and did - for example, the instruc-


tions which brought her to Earth now - cast doubt on


the image of himself he'd presented to the Council.


Whom should she believe, the private man who had sent


her here, or the public figure who had effectively accused


himself of selling human beings for tactical gain; of sell-


ing Morn Hyland, whose plight made Min Donner's


loyal and uncompromising heart ache like a personal


wound?


If she let doubt choose her actions for her, she would


be useless. She needed another standard by which to


make decisions.


For her that standard was service.


Now she served by making her way with as much


stealth as a terrorist up through the members' offices


wing to the floor occupied by the United Western Bloc.


If she had any say in the matter, no one except the man


she'd come to see would ever know that she'd been here.


That man was Captain Sixten Vertigus, senior member


for the UWB. She'd arranged this meeting with him sev-


eral hours ago; well before Dios' video conference. If


what he'd heard then hadn't made him change his mind,


he would be waiting for her.


Alone, if he could manage it.


A small sensor she cupped in her palm informed her


that the corridor on the other side of the door was empty.


That wasn't unusual, since the corridor only existed to


reach the fire-exit. The real test of her planning - and of


Captain Vertigus' cooperation - would occur when she


opened the door, walked down the corridor and turned


the corner. Her route so far avoided UWB reception,


which was an open hive of secretaries, flunkies and news-


dogs. But no hall in the GCES complex was ever entirely


empty. After Min turned that corner, she would have to


pass the senior member's squadron of personal and legal


aides in order to reach his office.


Captain Vertigus had agreed to dear the area so that


Min Donner could visit him unseen.


Well, did he do it, or didn't he? She couldn't hear


voices; but her sensor's indications weren't encouraging.


There was at least one person in range -


Secrecy was crucial here. What Warden hoped to


accomplish would become impossible if any rumor link-


ing her with Captain Vertigus reached the wrong ears.


Personal aides were sometimes trustworthy: legal aides,


never. And a stray newsdog would be a disaster.


As silent as oil, she moved along the wall and peered


past the corner.


Hashi had promised that she could rely on this small


sensor. For once she wasn't irritated by the discovery that


he was right. One person, ten meters down the hall -


All the desks and cubicles were deserted. Alone, Sixten


Vertigus sat on the edge of a desk, obviously waiting for


her.


As soon as he spotted her, he motioned for her to join


him and retreated into his office.


During the heartbeat or two while he crossed to his


door, she noticed the frailty of his movements. He was


a very old man; and, unlike other personages Min could


have named, he hadn't availed himself of rejuvenation


techniques which would have muffled the entropy gnaw-


ing at his genetic code. That, in fact, was one reason why


he was regularly, if otherwise ineffectively, re-elected:


the UWB's population included a higher percentage of


native Earthers than any Council constituent except


Old Europe; and native Earthers considered it a virtue


that Captain Vertigus refused to prolong his life arti-


ficially.


As the first human being ever to lay eyes on an


Amnion!, he was a legendary figure. On that occasion,


he had demonstrated his willingness to die for his beliefs.


In addition his unfailing support of the UMCP, com-


bined with his unswerving opposition to the UMC, gave


him an aura of moral authority. He was the 'esteemed


elder statesman' of the GCES. As Hashi Lebwohl had


once said, with his usual double-edged humor, 'If Cap-


tain Vertigus didn't exist, it would have been necessary


to invent him. '


Still, for a man his age, he was quick enough to gain


the relative seclusion of his office. By the time Min caught


up with him and closed the door, he was seated at his


desk as if he'd been there all along.


While she took a few compact security devices out of


her pocket and attached them to the doors, the intercom,


his data terminal, and the video pickup, he watched her


with his hands folded on the crystallized formica desktop.


The skin of his hands was so translucent that she seemed


to see the bones and veins through it; his eyes were so


pale that he looked blind.


When she'd finished her precautions, he asked in a


high, thin quaver, 'Can we talk now?'


Min nodded. 'I think so. As far as the rest of the com-


plex is concerned, this room has ceased to exist. ' She


grinned bleakly. 'If we killed each other, nobody would


know about it until someone opened the door to check


on you. '


Captain Vertigus leaned back in his chair; with one


unsteady hand, he rubbed a wisp of hair off his forehead.


'In that case, Director Donner' - if she listened only to


his voice, not to what he said, he sounded like an invalid


- 'I hope you're not disappointed to find that I'm practi-


cally dead already. Hardly worth killing. '


Apparently he'd misunderstood her. 'I'm not-' she began.


He dismissed her interjection. 'In fact, ' he continued,


'I'm hardly worth all this secrecy. As you saw, I was able


to send my people away' — he fumbled a shrug - 'on


various pretexts. That shouldn't have been possible. Not


for an important man like the senior member for the


United Western Bloc, who might reasonably be expected


to start raving or froth at the mouth in the absence of


his retinue. But I'm sad to say that it was easy.


'I'm a relic here. My time has passed. If you let yourself


be seen coming or going, Director Donner, you would


give me more status than I've had for many a year. '


Min studied his features for a moment. If he already


felt this defeated, this useless, he would be difficult to


persuade. Suddenly she wondered whether she was the


right person for this job. Presumably she'd been chosen


because Warden Dios trusted her. Also because she had


a reputation for single-minded devotion to her duties:


the perception that she was immune to purely political


agendas and manipulations enhanced her credibility. But


precisely because she was single-minded in her devotion,


she couldn't be sure of her position here. Whose game


was she playing? Whose game was Warden playing?


With her ingrained lithe readiness, she took a seat


across the desk from the senior member. To mask her


uncertainty, as well as to learn what she was up against,


she asked, 'How did that happen, Captain Vertigus?


How did you become a relic?'


'I made a political mistake, ' he replied frankly. He may


have wanted to be sure she had no illusions about him.


'One morning I sat here - at this very desk - and realized


that I was old.


'For some reason, this struck me as grievous, because


it meant that my work would not continue. You probably


know what I considered my work to be. One quality


I've observed in Warden Dios' people is that they are


exceptionally well prepared. You wouldn't have come


here - or wouldn't have been sent - if you didn't know


what my work, my "mission", was on the Council. '


'Nobody sent me, ' she put in abruptly. This is my


idea. ' She was always abrupt when she lied. Honesty was


a compulsion which she suppressed with difficulty.


Captain Vertigus put her assertion aside with another


shrug and resumed his explanation.


'In simple terms, Director Donner, I considered it my


duty to oppose Holt Fasner in all his ambitions. And I


considered it my work to investigate him - to study what


he did and how he did it until I could learn the facts


which might persuade other people to oppose him with


me.


'I won't bore you with a long account of my reasons.


My only personal contacts with him occurred when he


briefed me before Deep Star first went into what is now


forbidden space, and when he de-briefed me afterward.


However, they were enough to set me on the road I've


followed for the rest of my life. '


Caught by curiosity, Min tried another interruption.


What did he say to you?' She was inherently interested


in anything anyone might tell her about the Dragon.


Captain Vertigus squinted at her as if he had trouble


focusing his eyes. 'Nothing definitive, I'm afraid. Noth-


ing objective enough to sway other people. He's too


cunning for that. All I can tell you is this. He left me


with the settled impression that in his own mind nothing


larger than himself exists. In his own person he considers


himself bigger than the United Mining Companies,


bigger than the Governing Council for Earth and Space,


perhaps bigger than all humankind.


'This proves nothing, I know. Nevertheless I found it


profoundly disturbing.


'But I can't expect other people to understand that,


Director Donner. I can't except other people to act on


it. So I don't usually talk about it. Instead I look for


objective evidence to back up my fears. '


Min nodded. She felt that she understood perfectly.


'Isn't Maxim Igensard doing the same job?' she asked.


'Perhaps. ' The senior member considered the question.


'He's more recent, of course. You might say he's after my


time. And I' - he pursed his mouth - 'distrust the quality


of his ambitions. Like my own junior member, Sigurd


Carsin, he appears to have set himself against Warden


Dios and the UMCP rather than Holt Fasner and the


UMC. I consider that suicidal. In my darker moments, I


consider it culpable. '


Then he shook his head. 'But it doesn't matter what


I think of him. He came along long after I made my


mistake.


'On the day when I realized that I was old, I decided


to entrust my investigations to my subordinates. Let


younger and more energetic men and women do the


work, while I used my position and what I hope I can


call my credibility to act on what they learned.


'You probably know the rest. My subordinates turned


out to be in Holt Fasner's pay - directly or indirectly,


it doesn't matter which. My investigations disappeared,


never to be heard of again. It's a sad story, in its way' -


the sorrow he conveyed was complex - 'but its sadness


has to do with the foolishness of old men. I'm afraid


you're wasting your time here. '


'I doubt that. ' Min found herself on stronger ground


than she'd expected. He may have been trying to warn


her against relying on him; in effect, however, he'd iden-


tified himself as a kindred spirit. 'I think I've made an


unusually good choice. '


He adjusted the posture of his fragile bones. Trembling


slightly, he raised his hands to rub his forehead and


cheeks as if to soften the strain of focusing his gaze. 'In


that case' - his voice was thin with age, but it seemed to


carry an odd echo of hope - 'maybe you should tell me


why you're here. '


Min Donner wasn't a woman who hesitated. 'It's a


sensitive matter, ' she began, 'as I told you when we


spoke. Too sensitive to be discussed without elaborate


precautions. ' She gestured at her security devices. 'Even


the downlink isn't safe enough. '


In fact, she'd first placed her call to the senior member


in Godsen's name rather than her own. The PR director


always had public, unquestionable reasons to talk to


GCES members: she didn't. She hadn't revealed herself


until Captain Vertigus had assured her that her call was


private.


The problem is simple, ' she explained. 'I want you to


do something for me. But if anyone ever realizes that I


had a hand in it - that you're doing it for me - you won't


succeed. '


The senior member waited without lowering his hands


or shifting his gaze.


'I want you to introduce a piece of legislation for me.


And I want you to do it fast - say tomorrow morning.


In case I haven't already made this clear, I want you to


do it entirely in your own name. Keep me out of it. Take


the fact that we talked about this to your grave with you.


Otherwise it won't pass. '


As an afterthought, she added, 'And don't trust it to


any of your aides. '


'Director Donner, ' Captain Vertigus retorted with a


hint of asperity, 'I'm not stupid. I learn from my own


mistakes almost routinely. And' - he shifted forward to


face her more closely - 'I make my own decisions. Just


because I'm old and defeated and would like to end my


life - shall we say, on a more positive note? - doesn't


mean I'm willing to be your puppet. If you want me to


do something for you, you'll have to convince me. '


Min permitted herself an iron smile. 'I know that, Cap-'


tain Vertigus. I wouldn't be here otherwise. '


He snorted his disbelief. Nevertheless he sounded mol-


lified as he muttered, 'Flattery will get you nowhere. '


Leaning back again, he demanded, Well, what is it? What


do you want me to put my name on?'


Frowning because she was suddenly reluctant to carry


out her commission, she reached inside the data clerk's


plain worksuit she wore and pulled out a sheaf of hard-


copy. The longer she talked to Captain Vertigus, the


more she liked him - and the less she wanted to get him


into trouble. However, her loyalty to Warden Dios and


the UMCP compelled her.


Grimly she tossed the hardcopy onto the desk.


'I want you to introduce a Bill of Severance which will


take the police away from the United Mining Companies.


Decharter the UMCP completely. Reconstitute it as an


arm of the Governing Council for Earth and Space. '


Then she paused to wait for the captain's reaction.


He sat still, as if he'd stopped breathing.


She faced him squarely. Because of the paleness of his


eyes, she couldn't be sure that he was able to see her.


After a long moment he let out an unsteady sigh.


'Director Donner, you think big. '


That didn't require a response, so Min didn't offer one.


He glanced down at the hardcopy she'd dropped on


his desk; touched the pages gingerly with his fingertips,


as if their edges might be sharp enough to cut. 'And you


want this done by when? Tomorrow morning?'


'If you can. '


'Oh, naturally. Of course. A bill of this magnitude,


with these repercussions — Is there anything else I can do


for you in my spare time? Write a novel? Assassinate the


Amnion trade legation? Really, Director Donner, I think


I need a breathing mask. There isn't room in this office


for your ideas and air at the same time. '


'If you'll take a look, ' Min retorted with her own


asperity, 'you'll see that I've already done most of the


work. Of course, I've had to make a number of assump-


tions which you might not consider appropriate - con-


cerning how the new GCESP should be funded, for


example, or how authority should be transferred. But


you can change anything you want when you put what


I've written into the proper form. I'm not particular


about the details. Only the central issue matters to me. '


Captain Vertigus made no pretense of examining her


work. 'I'll take your word for it, ' he murmured. 'I said


myself that Dios' people are well prepared. Now that I


think about it, I'm sure most of your assumptions are


acceptable. I can probably have a bill prepared -1 mean,


prepare it myself - to put in front of the Council


tomorrow.


'But that's not the important question, is it?' His tone


sharpened. 'In any case, neither of us can afford the time


to haggle over details. Let's go straight for the heart, shall


we? Tell me why.


'Why this?' He flicked the hardcopy. 'Why now? And


why me?'


Min restrained an impulse to stand up, pace the floor.


'Because it needs to be done, ' she replied. 'Because the tim-


ing is good. And because the Dragon doesn't own you. '


The captain fixed her with a pale glare. 'Don't be cryp-


tic. I need real answers. '


She shrugged. 'All right. But I don't want to talk about


that video conference. You were there - you saw every-


thing, heard everything. Unfortunately Morn Hyland is


one of my people. When I think about how she's been


used, I get too angry. And I don't want to give the


impression that I'm here simply because I'm angry. What


you saw and heard didn't determine my position. I made


my decision earlier - I called you before the conference


took place. So let me make my point another way.


'You may recall hearing a rumor several years ago that


Intertech was on the verge of developing an immunity


drug for Amnion mutagens. Then later the research failed


and was abandoned. '


Captain Vertigus didn't nod; didn't react.


Well, the rumor was true. Intertech did come close,


very close. But the research didn't fail. It wasn't aban-


doned. It was quashed, suppressed. '


Slowly his jaw dropped.


'I was there, ' she rasped, 'when the UMCP directors


debated the subject. Hashi Lebwohl presented a report


on the state of the research. Then Godsen Frik, ' may he


rot in hell, 'argued that the research should be stopped.


On the grounds that it represented a threat to the UMCP


itself. First, he said, an immunity drug would force the


Amnion to abandon peaceful imperialism and risk actual


warfare. ' A sneer tightened around her nose. 'Second, he


said, an immunity drug would undermine the "necess-


ity", the "moral authority", of the UMCP - which would


in turn undermine funding and support - which would


in turn leave the UMCP less able to face the threat of a


real war. '


We've been waiting a, long time far this, Frik had said.


We can wait a little longer.


Warden Dios listened to Frik. ' On this subject, as well,


she couldn't swallow her anger; but she tamped it down


as hard as she was able. 'He listened to all of us. ' He


heard me insist that stopping the research would be a


crime against humankind. Then he gave Intertech autho-


rization to continue.


'Frik was outraged. He threatened to "go over Dios'


head". And a week later the research was quashed. On


Warden Dios' orders. After Frik talked to Holt Fasner,


enough pressure was put on the director to make him


reverse his position. '


The senior member gaped as if he'd swallowed his


larynx. 'Are you saying, ' he gulped, 'Holt Fasner person-


ally stopped that research? Can you prove it?'


Min scowled. 'Of course not. It all happened behind


my back. And Warden Dios' name was on the order.


'You didn't ask why I'm here, ' she rasped, 'on my own,


without approval or permission. Now you know. I'm a


cop, Captain Vertigus. I believe in what cops are supposed


to do. This isn't it. I want to stop this kind of thing, if I


can. '


Harshly she continued, 'I think that video conference


was another example. The director made himself look


like a man with no ethics, no scruples. That isn't the case. '


Whatever her doubts, she acted on that conviction. 'But


as long as the UMC own the police - as long as the


Dragon has the power to determine and impose policy —


the real director of the UMCP is Holt Fasner, not War-


den Dios.


That's why this bill is necessary. It will free the police


to defend something larger than Holt Fasner and the


United Mining Companies. '


Now Captain Vertigus nodded. He closed his mouth


carefully.


After a moment he said, 'Go on. '


Min's stomach twisted. When I called you earlier, I


wasn't in a hurry. All I wanted was support, not immedi-


ate action. ' Some of her anger was directed at herself.


She hated telling lies. 'But when I heard the conference,


I realized that right now may be the best chance we'll


ever get for success. '


That, at least, was true.


'You don't need me to tell you the Dragon will fight


a Bill of Severance with everything he has. The UMC


may be the biggest thing in human space, but all of it,


everything Fasner does and has and wants, rests on the


police. His greatest power derives from the fact that


humankind depends on the UMCP for survival - and he


owns the UMCP. If the police were reconstituted as an


arm of the GCES, he wouldn't be the Dragon anymore.


He would be just another CEO with megalomania.


'Ordinarily a bill like this wouldn't stand a chance. He


owns too many votes. Too many members think they


have too much to gain by giving or selling him their


support. But I think that conference opened a window.


It scared a lot of people. You were there - it probably


scared you.


'As far as the Council is concerned, there's only one


excuse for voting against a Bill of Severance - for support-


ing Fasner on a subject that could determine the future of


the human species. That excuse is honesty. As long as the


cops are honest, severance isn't necessary. Therefore voting


against the best interests and possibly the survival of


humankind is just pragmatism, not malfeasance.


'After that conference, the members have to ask


whether the UMCP really is honest. Maybe Igensard is


right. In which case, a vote against a Bill of Severance


becomes suddenly indefensible. Even members who've


already sold themselves may think twice about support-


ing the Dragon when it looks like treason. '


As sudden as an epiphany, she thought. And if that's


what Dios had in mind all along - if that's what he was


aiming for when he commissioned her to come here and


then besmirched himself in front of the whole GCES -


he must have been living in hell for longer than she could


imagine, and may God have pity on his soul.


Abruptly Captain Vertigus lifted his hands. Small red


spots of excitement or trepidation had appeared on his


translucent cheeks. 'Just a minute. Just a minute. This is


all too plausible. I don't trust it.


'If what you're telling me is accurate, why do you want


to be kept out of it? Why does this legislation have to


come from me, instead of from you - or from Warden


Dios? Wouldn't a Bill of Severance have even more auth-


ority if the UMCP proposed it?'


Min shook her head. 'Only if you believe we're honest.


Otherwise it's just another ploy - but this time it's War-


den Dios' plotting, not Holt Fasner's. The same man


who didn't mind selling one of my people to illegals


now wants complete power for himself, without even the


Dragon to restrain him.


'I don't think that's true, but I can't guarantee it. '


Sneering at herself now, she added, 'If I could, I wouldn't


have had to come here on my own. However, that's


beside the point. If we proposed the bill ourselves - if


the director did, or I did - the Dragon could stop us.


For one thing, he could fire us. But he could also go


further - a lot further. In the time it would take the


Council to read a bill, never mind debate or act on it, he


could dismantle the entire UMCP. Leave human space


defenseless. The GCES would be forced to create a new


police force from scratch.


'If he's provoked into a threat that extreme, we're all


lost. I have no way of knowing whether he would go


that far, but I'm not willing to take the chance. '


Captain Vertigus look vaguely nauseated as he mur-


mured, 'I see what you mean. '


A moment later he shook himself as if he were trying


to clear his head. Small beads of saliva had gathered at


the corners of his mouth; he wiped them away. Leaning


forward to face Min closely again, he said, This is still


too plausible. It's happening too fast. You want me to


take on Holt Fasner and the whole Council for you, and


you want me to make up my mind right now. I'm an old


man, Director Donner. I can't stay awake through any


entire Council session. Sometimes I can't stay awake


through an entire sentence, even when I'm the one


talking.


'Why do you want me to do this? Why not somebody


else?'


Min spread her hands. 'Who else is there?' She held


his pale gaze. 'Who else has your "credibility"? President


Len? He's probably honest - I'm not sure - but he hates


conflict. If he proposed a Bill of Severance, the first thing


he would do is attach an amendment postponing the


effective date for five years.


'You tell me, Captain Vertigus. Who else could I ask?


'But tell me now, ' she added roughly. 'I'm running out


of time. I want to be back on the shuttle to UMCPHQ'


- she flicked her eyes to a chronometer - 'in eleven


minutes. '


For several heartbeats he continued studying her as if


he wanted to peer into the back of her brain. While he


hesitated, she felt that more things hung in the balance


than she knew how to name; the possible futures of the


human race seemed to fade in and out of existence.


Why had Warden Dios sent her here? Why had he


waited until now? What game was he playing?


Was it really conceivable that Holt Fasner might lose


a GCES battle over a Bill of Severance?


Softly, almost whispering, Captain Vertigus


announced, 'It occurs to me, Director Donner, that it


doesn't matter whether you're telling me the truth. It


doesn't even matter whether you chose me because you


think I might win or because you're sure I'll lose. ' As he -


spoke his thin voice took on excitement until it sounded


almost resonant, almost young. What you're asking me


to do needs doing. It should have been done a long time


ago. And the riming may never be more favorable than


it is right now.


'I like the idea of having something important to do -


for a change. If you're counting on me to lose, you'll


have an anxious time during the next few days. '


Relief brought up a grin from Min's heart. 'Don't lose.


If you don't trust me, you can always get me fired later. '


Riding a wash of elation, she rose to her feet. After all,


the worst that could happen to Captain Vertigus was that


he would end his life on a painful political defeat. The


Dragon had no history of punishing people who opposed


him ineffectively: his malice was reserved for his success-


ful enemies. And if the Bill of Severance passed, Holt


Fasner might lose his ability to punish anyone.


In the meantime a little excitement might be good for


the captain.


Glancing at the chronometer again, she asked, When


do you expect your people back?'


Captain Vertigus stood as if he barely had the strength


to keep his legs under him. 'Your timing is good in more


ways than one. You should still have about five minutes. '


As she began to pick up her security devices, he added,


'I'll check for you. '


Awkwardly he moved around his desk toward the


door. Bracing his hands to steady them, he eased the


door open a crack.


Min groaned inwardly when she heard him breathe,


'Damn. Why is Marthe back so early?' Nevertheless she


didn't stop detaching her equipment and stowing it in


her pockets.


In the same low voice, he asked, 'Now who do you


suppose that is?'


She felt a sting of tension in her palms. One of the


newsdogs? Someone in Maintenance? Just what she


needed. Automatically she checked the location of her


hidden handgun. Then she joined Captain Vertigus at


the door.


Through the slitted opening past his shoulder, she


scanned the area where his aides had their desks.


Seven - no, eight - desks; all of them with intercoms,


data terminals, hardcopy devices, comfortable chairs; all


of them unoccupied. Except one. Slightly to the left of


the captain's door and roughly ten meters away across


the hall sat a plump, middle-aged woman with graying


hair and old-fashioned glasses: Marthe, presumably. She


had the air of a personal aide. Maybe she kept track of


Captain Vertigus' appointments: maybe she thought she


took care of the captain himself. Her desk was positioned


so that she could watch the approach to the hall on her


right and the senior member's office door on her left; so


that she could see who came to visit him and when they


went away.


At the moment, however, she wasn't looking at the


door. Her attention was fixed on a man shambling


toward her from the other direction.


As Min Donner scrutinized him, adrenalin slammed


through her, and her palms started to burn as if they


were on fire.


He was no newsdog. And he wasn't from Mainten-


ance, even though he wore an old worksuit and carried


a small toolcase; even though the security badge clipped


at his shoulder was Maintenance-green. The way he


moved - stiffly, carefully, as if he cradled something fra-


gile in his chest - told Min at once that he wasn't here


for any kind of repair or inspection.


He moved like a man who hadn't healed yet because


he'd been operated on too quickly; too shoddily.


She was the director of Enforcement Division, as well


as Warden Dios' sometime bodyguard and occasional


executioner. She knew a kaze when she saw one.


She didn't hesitate. This was the work she did best.


Her impact pistol leaped into her hand as she pulled


Captain Vertigus back from the door. 'Get down,' she


breathed in an urgent whisper. 'Behind your desk. '


He stumbled against the edge of the desk, but didn't


move to obey. He'd been away from ships too long; no


longer recognized an order when he heard one. Instead


he gaped at her, his old face full of astonishment.


'What-?'


She had no time for his confusion. Her attention


focused like a laser through the crack of the door. The


man had reached Marthe's desk. He was talking to her,


showing her what may have been a work-order, gesturing


toward the captain's office.


'I said get down, ' Min hissed. There's going to be an


explosion. That man's a kaze. '


She didn't glance at Captain Vertigus: he understood


what a kaze was. She could tell by the sounds he made


that he was fumbling around the desk, crouching behind


its inadequate shelter.


Abruptly the intercom chimed. A woman's voice said,


'Captain Vertigus? There's a man here from Mainten-


ance. He says he needs to test the wiring of your data


terminal. '


'What about Marthe?' the captain croaked at Min's


back. 'You've got to get her out of there. '


She was Min Donner; familiar with extreme decisions


and bloodshed. 'If I do that, ' she articulated so softly that


he may not have heard her, 'she'll know I was here. '


Nevertheless she had to make the attempt.


To serve and protect.


Through the crack, she heard Marthe say to the kaze,


'I don't think he's in. '


'I'll just check, ' the man replied. 'This'll only take a


minute. '


As soon as he stepped past Marthe's desk, Min kicked


the door open. With her gun aimed as steady as steel for


his sternum, she roared at Marthe, 'Take cover!'


The kaze's eyes widened in surprise; he faltered


momentarily.


Frozen, Marthe stared at Min as if she'd just arrived


from forbidden space.


Captain Vertigus' voice cracked into a wail: 'Marthe!'


Then the kaze launched himself toward Min and the door.


Shielding herself behind the door-frame, Min shot him


in the chest.


She'd waited too long: she should have shot him as


soon as she saw him. When the explosives surgically


implanted in him detonated, the blast caught her past her


shield and flung her against the wall like a handful of


rags.


Chunks of concrete sprang off the walls; sound-


proofing and ducts ripped out of the ceiling; debris


whined like shrapnel. Blood burst from Min's nose;


impact numbed her whole body. Yet the explosion didn't


seem to make any noise. As she rebounded from the wall


and sprawled into the wreckage, she already knew that


she was deaf.


But she didn't stop. Rolling to get her legs under her,


she staggered to her feet.


Swaddled in silence, she checked on Captain Vertigus.


He blinked up at her, his eyes full of powder and shock.


His mouth made noises she couldn't hear. If he hadn't


been protected by his desk - and if his desktop hadn't


been made of crystallized formica - he might have been


seriously injured; might have been killed. As it was, he


was only stunned.


Her sheaf of hardcopy was scattered around the office


like confetti. Most of the pages appeared intact, however.


Her own voice was nothing more than a vibration in


the bones of her skull as she told him, 'I wasn't here. No


matter what happens, I wasn't here.


'Get that bill ready as fast as you can. '


Stumbling as if her neurons were no longer sure of


their synapses, she left him alone.


As she passed Marthe's spattered remains and headed


for the stairwell, she wondered which of the futures she


and Captain Vertigus had tried to make possible no


longer existed.


MIN


By the time the shuttle neared UMCPHQ's Earth-


side dock, she began to recover her hearing.


The process was slow. At first only a high,


thin wail registered, barely audible: a sound like someone


keening in the distance, grieving for the dead - or like


the screech of a shuttle's warning sirens muffled by an


EVA suit. For a moment she thought it was the sirens;


and her palms caught fire again. But neither the crew nor


the other passengers reacted. Gradually the sensation of


violence faded from her hands. The wail settled into the


background until it became almost subliminal; mere neu-


ral feedback from her over-stressed eardrums.


Then she seemed to hear the muted hull-roar of the


drive as the shuttle fired braking thrust. It, too, was


imprecisely audible. Unlike the wail, however, it was real.


She could feel the same resonance when she touched one


of the bulkheads.


Despite the soundless protests of the crew, she


unbelted herself from her g-seat and drifted weightlessly


toward the airlock. She wanted to disembark the minute


the shuttle finished docking.


One of the crew touched her arm; she turned toward


him and watched him speak. From somewhere beyond


the wail, behind the hull-roar, she heard him - a voice


like the whisper of fabric when her arm brushed her side.


'Director Donner, this isn't safe. '


'If I wanted to be safe' - her voice buzzed in the bones


of her skull - 'I would choose another line of work. ' A


moment later she ordered, 'Flare Director Dios. ' Flare


was UMCP slang for contact urgently. Tell him I want


to see him. Tell him I want to see him now. '


She would have sent that message earlier if she could


have trusted her voice through her deafness.


The crewman saluted and went back to his duties.


Her handgun was back in its familiar place on her


hip. She'd restored it as soon as she'd gained the relative


privacy of the shuttle. Pains filled her body and her head:


the residual throbbing in her sinuses, which persisted


although her nose no longer bled; the deeper ache of


contusions and bruises. But she ignored them. Other


hurts were more important.


She wondered if she would be able to hear Warden


Dios answer when she asked him questions.


Hints of noises which might have been dock-alerts


reached her. That was a good sign. On the other hand,


the crews' routine explanations and announcements were


wrapped in silence; baffled by old grief.


When station g pulled her feet to the floor, she keyed


open the airlock, equalized the pressure, and cycled the


outer doors. By the time the crew had given the other


passengers permission to leave their g-seats, she was face-


to-face with the nearest guard, telling him to take her to


the director.


For all she knew, the familiar authority of her voice


came out as hysteria.


Warden Dios must have been expecting her message.


Whatever he was doing, he dropped it. No more than


five minutes after she left the shuttle, she was with him


in one of his secure offices; out of circulation; off the


record. Again she temporarily ceased to exist.


Seated behind the desk with a blank data terminal in


front of him, he studied her gravely. His human eye


and his prosthesis seemed to search her inside and out.


Broadly speaking, he must have known what had hap-


pened: reports from GCES Security, as well as from his


own personnel on Suka Bator, would have reached him


faster than any shuttle. But no one except Captain Ver-


tigus could have told him that Min Donner had set off


the kaze herself; and she doubted that the captain and


the UMCP director had been in contact with each other.


So Warden also had no idea what the outcome of her


meeting with the senior member was.


Nevertheless he didn't rush her. No matter what he'd


dropped to answer her flare, he seemed to offer her all


the time and attention she needed. After he'd studied her


for a moment, he pointed her toward a chair. As she


eased her sore limbs into it, he asked, 'How badly are


you hurt?'


His voice murmured against a keening background. If


she hadn't noticed the tension in the cords of his neck,


she wouldn't have realized that he was nearly shouting.


She shrugged. 'Nothing serious. Bruises. I had a


bloody nose. And I can't hear very well - concussion


deafness. '


'That's obvious. ' Unexpected strain underlined his


whisper. 'I've been talking steadily, but you didn't react


until you looked at my face. This can wait, you know. I


can live with my impatience while you see the medtechs. '


'I can't. ' Heard through her skull, her voice was coarse,


almost guttural. 'A crazy man killed an innocent woman. '


She had Marthe's blood on her hands, if not her con-


science. 'If he'd arrived a couple of minutes earlier - or


if I hadn't set him off - he would have killed Captain


Vertigus as well as me. I can't wait. I want to know


what's going on. '


Warden spread his hands. They looked strong in the


light over his desk; as steady as stones. 'All right. Let's


start with this kaze. That's your department - tell me


about him. '


'A human bomb, ' she reported automatically. As she


spoke, she stopped monitoring the modulation of her


voice. The director would tell her if she didn't speak


clearly. 'A terrorist on a suicide mission. We haven't had


much trouble with them recently. Most of the fringe


groups are in disarray - they can't decide who they hate


enough to kill themselves for. Forbidden space scares


them too much. About the only group that regularly tries


to blow up GCES policy is the native Earthers. But this


kaze didn't come from them. '


'How do you know?' Warden asked.


'Because he got through Security. He had legitimate


maintenance id. That's not easy to come by - especially


for a group like the native Earthers, with an established


history of - her mouth twisted - '"opposition" to the


GCES. Security is using all kinds of embedded verifica-


tions in the id tags of everyone who belongs on Suka


Bator. And we' - she meant Data Acquisition - 'supply


CMOS-SOD chips for GCES function id. Those chips


can't be counterfeited, the same way datacores can't be


altered. '


Dios knew all this, but he gave no hint of impatience.


'What does that prove?'


Min did her best to explain details and perceptions


which came to her intuitively. 'Assuming it's possible to


steal or fabricate the chip to fake that maintenance id -


which I don't assume - you can't get the job done over-


night. You have to prepare for it. And even if you have


the chip, you can't just stamp out that kind of id. You


need too much specific information about how GCES


Security works - for instance, how they rotate their pass-


codes. For the native Earthers to pull off something like


this, they must have started getting it ready months ago.


'But nobody got that kaze ready. He was in pain when


he moved. The surgery was too recent - a day or two


ago at most. Why do the kind of long-range work you


need to produce fake GCES function id without prepar-


ing your kaze at the same time? That part of the job is a


hell of a lot easier. '


Warden shrugged. They didn't think they were going


to need him so soon. ' The muffling of his voice made


him sound abstract. The original plan was to use him


later, in some other situation. The decision to act now


was made suddenly. In response to the events of the past


twenty-four hours. '


A tingle ran through Min's palms. The muscles at the


base of her spine tightened. Without warning the atmos-


phere in the office seemed to take on threats; obscure


implications gathered at the edges of the light. The


UMCP director gave her an opening to ask questions -


questions which had swarmed like pain through her head


ever since she'd taken her seat on the shuttle. Because


she needed so much to believe in him, the prospect of


challenging him scared her.


But her questions scared her more.


'Then why attack Captain Vertigus?' she countered.


'The native Earthers consider him a hero. '


'To make him a martyr?' Warden offered impassively.


Maybe he couldn't feel her challenge in the air; maybe


he couldn't guess where she was headed. The only strain


in his demeanor came from the effort of speaking loudly


enough to be heard. 'To prove that the enemies of the


native Earthers are evil?'


Her voice felt like a snarl in the bones behind her ears.


'And what has that got to do with "the events of the past


twenty-four hours"? If the native Earthers are involved,


why is today different than any other day? Where does


the need to attack so suddenly come from?'


His single eye held her gaze. His IR vision must have


told him that her nerves were burning.


'This is a crucial time for the Council, ' he answered.


'Issues have come up concerning everything we do in


space - and they've certainly come up suddenly. Precisely


because Captain Vertigus is a hero to the native Earthers,


the attack on him validates his convictions. I mean it


validates his opposition to Holt Fasner and the UMC.


Remember the captain has always backed us up - and


fought Fasner. He doesn't reject our function, he rejects


UMC policy. Terrorists have always attacked their


enemies - but sometimes they attack their friends in an


effort to make their enemies look bad. '


Min fought an impulse to lower her head. She wanted


to drop her eyes; but the pressure to look away, to fix


her attention on anything except the man she served,


didn't come from him. It came from inside her: from


what she was thinking; from what she feared. The weak-


ness was hers. For that reason she refused to give in


to it.


Facing Warden Dios straight, she took a step closer to


what she believed was the heart of the matter.


'I've got another idea, ' she rasped, 'one that doesn't


require us to assume the native Earthers are capable of


faking that kaze's id. We have a high-level traitor - some-


one so high up he has access to genuine chips, so high


up he knows or can get all the passcodes and verifications.


Producing valid maintenance id was easy for him. But he


didn't have a kaze ready because until today he had no


intention of attacking Captain Vertigus. '


'Interesting. ' Warden didn't sound surprised. Aside


from his obvious concentration, his face was expression-


less. 'Then let me ask your question. Why was Captain


Vertigus attacked now? Why does this traitor suddenly


want to get rid of him?'


Shock and keening still occluded Min's hearing. Never-


theless the fact that he hadn't asked who she thought the


traitor might be was as loud as a shout.


'Because, ' she answered past a dryness like ashes in her


throat, 'we chose him. This traitor wanted to kill him so


that he couldn't introduce your Bill of Severance. '


Maybe I'm not the only one you talked to about it.


And maybe whoever that was leaked the information.


Or maybe you leaked the information.


'Alternatively, ' the UMCP director replied as if she'd


engaged him in an exercise of pure speculation, 'this


traitor may have wanted Captain Vertigus dead for the


same kind of reason I ascribed to the native Earthers.


Martyr him in order to solidify support for the bill. '


Calmly, without apparent premeditation, Dios gave


her a reason to think that he might be to blame.


He may have been trying to steer her away from her


own ideas.


Without warning, she felt a rush of loathing for him.


She hated his calm, his strength, his secrets: she hated


this game he was playing, a game which corroded the


convictions that made the UMCP valuable - not to men-


tion viable. She was his ED director because she believed


in what cops were for. And she'd always been sure he


shared her beliefs. But since Morn Hyland's return to


Com-Mine Station with Angus Thermopyle - no, before


that, since Warden had assented to the quashing of


Intertech's mutagen immunity research - he'd given her


more and more reason to question the nature of his


beliefs; more reason to wonder whether he'd finally sold


his soul to the Dragon. Facing him now, with his com-


plex intentions and his subtleties, she burned for the


simple service she loved, the clean dedication that kept


her whole. And she hated him for taking those things


away from her.


Making no effort to mask her anger — she couldn't


have concealed it from him anyway - she retorted, 'I'm


glad you mentioned that possibility. It brings me to your


video conference with the Council. While I was talking


to Captain Vertigus, I kept asking myself why. Why did


you do that? Why did you do it now? You've never let


the GCES' - or me - 'see you in that light before. And


I was only able to come up with one answer.


'You did it so the bill would have some prayer of


passing.


'But now you've given me another idea. ' She balanced


herself, kept her poise, as if she were a gun aimed at his


head. 'Maybe you did it so I would be sure to go see


Captain Vertigus as soon as possible - so you would have


a chance to get rid of the only people who really believe


in that bill. '


When she stopped, her heart was hammering as if


she feared she would be struck down for saying those


words aloud. Her hands felt full of killing fire. Yet her


eyes never wavered; the muzzle of her accusation held


steady.


Just for an instant the muscles of his face tightened;


he may have been wincing. Almost immediately, how-


ever, he smoothed out his expression. Only a hint of grief


around his eye undermined his impassivity.


'I like to think, ' he articulated slowly, 'that if I wanted


you dead — if I were the kind of man who solved his


problems by butchering subordinates and politicians - I


would choose something more honest than a kaze to kill


you. '


She had trouble hearing him: he was no longer making


the effort to speak loudly. Only the slow recovery of her


eardrums enabled her to distinguish the blurred vibra-


tions of his voice.


More honest than a kaze.


As soon as he said that, she believed him. That was the


Warden Dios she admired; the Warden Dios to whom


she'd given her devotion. She couldn't have been so


wrong about him for so many years. The whole idea that


he might have had something to do with the kaze was


smoke.


It was all meant to. distract her.


For a moment she was so angry that she couldn't speak.


But he hadn't stopped talking. As if he were still on


the same subject, he asked rhetorically, 'Has it ever


occurred to you that maybe we - I mean all of us, the


cops - are responsible for the existence of places like


Billingate? That maybe humankind would be better off


if we hadn't made ourselves so powerful, or so necessary?'


Min swallowed convulsively. She knew him well


enough to know that he didn't expect an answer. Because


she was furious, however, she rasped, That's absurd. We


didn't create Angus Thermopyle. We didn't create the


Amnion. But if we weren't here, the rest of humanity


would have no defense. '


A grimace pulled at the corners of his mouth. 'I'm not


so sure. Human history is full of - I guess you could


call them enforcement mistakes. Using muscle to control


people seems to make them more determined. Angus and


the Amnion are probably a good example.


'Before we got our hands on him, he was caught


between two dangers, two enemies. The Amnion and us.


They want to change him, take away his humanity. We


want to kill him, or at least lock him up. What would


you do in his position? We try to get what we want by


gunfire. The Amnion trade for it. And they always keep


their bargains because they know that otherwise they


won't be trusted, which means they won't be able to


trade effectively. What would you do?'


She stared at him as if she could see mutagens chewing


at his genes, changing the structure of his bones.


'It's obvious, isn't it?' he went on. 'If you had to choose


between being shot by us and risking your humanity with


the Amnion, you would be crazy not to choose them.


They're the lesser danger because they leave you a chance


to survive. Once you have us for enemies, piracy is your


only sane alternative.


'And we make the rules. We create the restrictions


which define illegality. We put Angus in the position


where he had to choose between us and the Amnion.


'You can't expect a man like that to have a sense of


perspective. You can't ask him to understand that the


Amnion are a threat to all humanity, while we're only a


threat to people who increase the risks for humankind.


He takes everything personally. He has to - he's on the


run, and his life depends on it.


The Amnion look good to a man like Angus because


from his point of view we're worse. In other words, we


created him. We created every individual human being


on Billingate, on every illegal shipyard, on every outpost


or installation that does business with the Amnion. If we


didn't work so hard to control piracy - or if we weren't


so self-righteous about it - pirates wouldn't be such a


danger to the people we're supposed to serve. '


As she listened, Min's anger curdled to sorrow. Despite


her need to believe in him, he had changed. This wasn't


how he'd explained her function - and his own - the last


time she'd heard him talk about it.


She gritted her teeth to control her sadness. 'Then why


do it? Why do we work so hard for something we don't


believe in?'


Now his voice was no more than a whisper. If she


hadn't seen his lips moving, she might have thought the


words came from the shadows around her.


'Because the people we're supposed to serve and the


people we do serve aren't the same. We don't serve


humankind. We serve the United Mining Companies.


And the United Mining Companies profits from piracy.


Piracy reinforces the UMC's hold on its markets. '


Is that it? she thought. Is that the truth at last? Or is


it just another distraction?


Was he casting doubt on the UMCP, questioning the


integrity of his own life's work, so that she might believe


him capable of aiming a kaze at Captain Vertigus in order


to consolidate support for a Bill of Severance?


No, that didn't make sense. If the captain had been


killed, no one on the Council would have heard of the


bill. It would have been blown up along with its intended


sponsor.


And she was morally certain that the kaze had been


surprised to see her in Captain Vertigus' doorway.


The video conference may have been a ploy on Warden


Dios' part to lend his bill authority, credibility. The kaze


was something else entirely.


Clenching her jaws so hard that her head throbbed,


she demanded, 'Why are you telling me this?'


What makes you think I want to go on serving Holt


Fasner, instead of my own species?


What are you trying to distract me from?


Abruptly Warden leaned forward, planted his palms


on the bare surface of the desk. His voice was soft, but


he pitched it to reach her. His single eye glittered with


intensity.


'Min, I want you to survive this. If it can be done, I


want you to be the next director of the police. '


With those words he bound her to him; caught her in


a grip she would never be able to break. Implications


came into focus in the light as if his strong fingers held


them down on the desktop for her to see. Without tran-


sition he restored her convictions; remade himself into


the man to whom she'd fixed her heart.


Too astonished for anger or sorrow, she breathed,


'You think you're finished. ' The idea seemed to throw


illumination into the most obscure corners of the office.


We need a Bill of Severance - we need some way to


change ourselves into what we were supposed to be in


the first place, the servants of humankind. But it can't


pass because the Dragon has too many votes. So you've


decided to sacrifice yourself in order to create the con-


ditions that will enable it to pass. But of course if it passes


you'll be removed as director. Nobody will trust you.


And if it doesn't pass, the Dragon will get rid of you


himself, if only because you've become a liability. '


You want to push me away from you, make me keep


my distance. That's what all these distractions are for -


that's why you're encouraging me to. doubt you. You


want Enforcement Division to retain its credibility when


your position collapses. You want to make me look


like the only one the GCES can rely on to pick up the


pieces.


Dios seemed to shrink in his seat. Substance appeared


to drain out of him, as if her understanding bled his hope


away. Or maybe it was her new ferocity which defeated


him. Slowly he turned his palms upward.


'I'll tell you why I'm finished, ' he murmured softly. 'As


long as I'm telling you things you shouldn't hear, I'll give


you one more.


'You've been angry ever since I signed the order quash-


ing Intertech's immunity research. You wanted me to


fight Fasner on that one. You probably thought I should


have gone public - exposed what he was doing, forced


his hand. ' Hints of ire reached her through her veiled


hearing. 'But what would that accomplish? If I pushed


him far enough, he could always publish the research


himself. Tell the GCES I'd misunderstood him. He might


be damaged, but he would survive. He would still be


here — and I would be gone.


'Of course, I could have just quit. But that would have


accomplished even less.


'So I didn't do any of those things.


'I didn't quash Intertech's research. I took it away. The


order I signed was just a sham. I took the research and


gave it to Hashi. He completed it himself. '


Warden's eye was full of darkness. Hints of pain


tugged at the muscles of his cheeks. We have a mutagen


immunity drug. It works. Hashi is the only one who


knows about it. He's the only one allowed to use it.


'That was my idea. ' The director closed his fists, knot-


ted them on the desktop in front of him. 'Fasner wanted


to stop the whole project. I persuaded him to let Hashi


finish it - to let me have it and keep it secret.


'If that comes out, I won't just lose my job. I'll be


executed for treason.


'But it's the only lever I have with the Dragon. It's the


kind of collusion he understands. It implicates me. More


than anything I've ever done, that convinced him to trust


me - convinced him to let me make my own decisions.


'He would kill me if he knew I'm responsible for that


bill. He might kill me anyway, if he thinks the bill could


pass - or if he even starts to suspect I might tell anybody


else what I know. '


The familiar fire in Min's palms seemed to spread up


through her body to her face; her eyes burned. Another


woman would have been on the verge of tears: Min was


on the verge of an explosion. Simply to control the bris-


ance fighting for release inside her, she asked, 'But what


does he get out of it? How does it help UMC profits if


DA has a secret immunity drug?


'What do you get?'


Warden took a deep breath. When he expelled it, the


intensity seemed to flow out of him. The tension faded


from his hands and shoulders; his face resumed its


impassivity. He looked like a man who'd taken a des-


perate risk and lost, and now had nothing left to do but


accept the consequences.


'I'm sorry, ' he sighed. 'Sometimes I'm appalled by my


own weakness. I should have let you go on believing I


simply quashed the research. That would have been easier


for you. '


Easier? She didn't understand. Easier how?


Did he mean, easier for her to keep her distance? to


separate herself from him, preserve ED's integrity?


Was her loyalty such a threat that he wanted - no,


needed — to drive her away?


'How does it help UMC profits?' he continued. 'It


preserves the conflict with the Amnion. It scares them -


that's what Hashi is using it for - which makes them


both more hostile and more cautious. Which in turn


makes them more dependent on trade. With the UMC,


of course - but also with illegals. And that makes the


cops more necessary. More violent. More self-righteous.


More dangerous. Which produces more hostility and


caution.


'Anything that escalates the conflict short of actual war


increases UMC profits.


What do I get? I get to keep my job. Right now that's


more important to me than my life. '


Min couldn't stomach what he was saying. The ideas


sickened her: the thought that her loyalty was hazardous


to him sickened her. Again she asked, Warden, why


are you telling me this?' Where was her clean, simple


anger when she needed it? Why couldn't she hate him


now? 'If you want easy, you could have avoided the


whole subject. Hell, you could have avoided me. There's


nothing I can do about it when you decide to sequester


yourself. '


He didn't look away, but his quiet answer ached with


defeat. 'That kaze nearly killed you. He nearly killed Cap-


tain Vertigus. Knowing you, I assume you feel respon-


sible for the woman who died in the explosion. I owed


you an explanation. '


She ground her fingers into the tops of her thighs in


a fierce effort to contain her distress. She wanted to


shout, What kind of explanation have you given me? Do


you call supplying me with reasons to distrust you an


explanation? Do you call saying you want me to survive


an explanation? Nevertheless she crushed down her pro-


test. If she gave him another reason to look beaten, she


didn't think she could bear it.


'Then I guess, ' she rasped, You'll be glad to hear Cap-


tain Vertigus has decided to sponsor your bill. He should


have it ready by the time the Council convenes tomorrow


morning. '


The director shrugged. Too bad. You haven't heard


the latest news. Abrim Len has already announced that


the Council won't re-convene until Security has had a


chance to investigate that kaze. Until the members can


be sure they're safe. Another day or two at least. '


The keening in Min's ears seemed to grow louder. She


began to think it would never go away.


ANCILLARY


DOCUMENTATION


TRANSCRIPT OF A COMMISSIONING


ADDRESS DELIVERED BY WARDEN


DIOS TO CADETS OF THE UNITED


MINING COMPANIES POLICE


ACADEMY ON THE OCCASION OF


THEIR FIRST ASSIGNMENT


Men and women, cadets of the United Mining Com-


panies Police Academy, it's time.


Your training is over, to the extent that the Academy


can provide it - to the extent that any of us can ever say


our training is over. You've spent many hundreds of


hours in classrooms, absorbing advice, memorizing data,


squinting at screens and hardcopy, being hectored by


pedants, purists and philosophers — in short, studying


until you thought your skulls were going to crack, [laugh-


ter] You've spent months of real-time in simulators and


simulations, learning to use our equipment, the best as


well as the worst of it, learning the basic skills to survive


and function when your life depends on your machinery


and your companions - learning everything it's humanly


possible to learn from a mock-up. You've been marched,


stressed, exercised, taught, and beaten up until even the


smallest of you could face entire guttergangs and take


less damage than you give. You've been under hard g -


you've been through the gap. And some of you - I say,


some of you - have even contrived to squeeze in a little


sleep, [laughter]


Now it's over, [applause, cheers] Over at last. You've


learned what the Academy can teach you. Every one of


you is stronger and smarter than you were when you


arrived, better equipped to take care of yourselves and


the people who trust you, better prepared to meet any


future you choose.


It's time you went to work, [groans, laughter]


I want to talk to you about that work, [applause]


We're the UMCP. In crude terms, we stand against


the Amnion: we control their impulse to encroach on


our space, our interests, and our survival. And we chase


pirates, [laughter] In other words, we do what the police


have done since humankind started keeping historical


records. The only difference between us and the


uncountable legions of our predecessors is that our juris-


diction, our 'turf', begins where theirs left off - at the


limits of this planet's gravity well.


Men and women, cadets, we are responsible for all


human space.


That makes us unique in history. It makes us unique in


our own time. In every other way, we're just cops. Like


every cop before us who ever put his heart into his job or


her life on the line, we're here to serve and protect the


people who gave us birth, the people who nurtured and


educated us, the people who taught us inspiration and


imagination, the people who invented our technologies


and our arts, the people who made us who we are. In that


way, we're no different than our predecessors. We're


simply another link in the long chain of men and women


who took the same oath we do - the men and women who


swore to defend what they called civilization against what-


ever they understood as external and internal threats.


But in this way, in the matter of 'turf', we are without


precedent, in our time or any other. Never before have


the police been responsible for the continued existence


of their entire species in the whole created universe.


External and internal threats we've had aplenty since


the beginning of time. That's inevitable. We're human


beings. Most of us can't get out of bed in the morning


without causing trouble for somebody, [laughter] But


the internal and external threats have always been human


ones. What one clan or tribe or nation calls civilization,


another calls barbarism - or a violation of natural sover-


eignty. Racial distrust fosters violence. Economic imbal-


ance breeds greed and jealousy. And the planet is a closed


eco-system. Therefore conflicts occur within and between


civilizations over the allocation of resources — an under-


standable struggle which has typically been disguised by


masks of religion and politics.


Make no mistake about it. The cops have always had


their hands full.


But only on our turf is the continuance of humankind


itself at issue. All the struggles of our long, bloody and


unscrupulous past have produced survivors and corpses


- but the survivors, like the corpses, have always been


human.


That isn't true on our turf.


Of course, the word 'turf' is something of an over-


simplification in this context. I'm not referring only to


questions of jurisdiction. The Amnion exist. They have


no discernible desire for war. On the other hand, they're


profoundly imperialistic -I say profoundly because their


imperialism reaches to the core of our genetic existence,


the core of what makes us human beings. All human


space is our 'turf' because that is our jurisdiction - and


because the Amnion will take it away from us if they can.


They will take who we are away from us if they can.


For that reason - and no other - we are utterly and


essentially unique.


And because we are unique, we have — we must have -


a unique relationship with the people we serve and protect.


Precisely because we are uniquely responsible for the


future existence of our kind, we must also be uniquely


responsible to our kind. The sheer scale of the challenge


we've undertaken requires of us a special integrity, a com-


mensurate valor, a whole new kind of dedication. You


know that. But it requires something more as well. It


requires a special responsiveness to the will and spirit of


humankind. In the purest terms, we must act for the people


we serve. If we do not - if the barrier we erect between


humanity and extinction in any way violates the trust or the


desire or the freedom of the people we serve - then we


falsify ourselves as cops. We make ourselves, not the


defenders of the future, but its arbiters. Rather than simply


and cleanly enabling the future, we choose it for men,


women and children who didn't ask us to do that job.


Cadets of the United Mining Companies Police Acad-


emy, it is the nature of power to resist restrictions, to


seek an unfettered expansion and expression of itself. And


it is the function of ethics to impose restrictions on


power, to weld and wield the potentialities of power so


that they serve but do not control the people in whose


name they exist. And we have power, never doubt it.


That may seem slightly implausible to men and women


who've suffered for years through what we blandly call


'training', but of course I'm not talking about you, I'm


talking about us. We, the cops, hold the future of human-


kind in our care. We must not misuse it. We must be as


vigilant in how we exercise our power as we are diligent


when we use it.


I want to be absolutely clear about this. Your oath puts


on you a responsibility which extends far beyond the limits


of any ordinary employment, any planet-bound or


stationer occupation, any less stringent concept of duty.


Let me suggest an analogy. Consider the problem of


piracy. We don't 'chase pirates' just because they're illegal.


We don't shoot at them just because they shot at us first -


or because they damaged any of the people we protect. We


fight piracy for the same organic reason that an antibody


fights a virus, because if we don't- and if we don't succeed


- the whole vast human organism sickens and dies.


But when an antibody begins to change the shape of the


larger organism, when the antibody introduces mutations


which the larger organism didn't choose and can't control,


we call it 'cancer'. Like the virus, it kills the larger organ-


ism. Unlike the virus, however, the cancer is wrong.


The virus resembles the Amnion. It exists. It seeks to


perform the functions of which it is capable for its own


honest, genetically coded reasons — because it must. But


the cancer is a violation of its own code. It is deadly


because its protein chains have become twisted and false.


Those of you who are good with analogies will hardly


have failed to notice that piracy also is a form of cancer.


Well, if you're going to die anyway, what difference


does it make whether a virus or a cancer kills you? No dif-


ference at all - that's obvious. But while you're still alive,


while you still have a future, the difference is profound.


When you contract a virus, you can always hope that your


antibodies will be equal to the task of preserving you. But


when your antibodies turn to cancer, you can only survive


if you accept some kind of fundamental violence against


your own organism - surgery which cuts you open,


chemotherapy which wreaks havoc with your polymerase,


radiation which threatens the very nucleotides of your


existence, genetically engineered predator microbes which


attack the cancer, but which can never be trusted to attack


only the cancer. Whether or not you survive, the cancer


has done you more harm than the virus.


If we are not antibodies, an expression of the humanity


of the organism to which we belong, then we are cancer,


and humankind would be better off without us.


That is the thrust of your oath, the unique and neces-


sary task you swear to undertake. I must tell you frankly


that in the end I don't care whether you succeed at it or


not. For the simple and valid reason that we don't try to


choose or control the future, we can't guarantee it. Space


is immense, and the Amnion, mysterious. None of us


can know what the outcome of our efforts will be. Our


responsibility for and to humankind doesn't require us


to know. Ultimately none of us are measured by the


degree of our success. We are measured by the quality of


our service.


Men and women, cadets of the United Mining Com-


panies Police Academy, it's time.


It's time we all went to work, [prolonged applause]


LIETE


Liete Corregio, command third, Captain's Fancy,


sat at her station on the bridge with the ship's


best people around her and a long black wind


blowing in her ears.


By ordinary standards, she and the watch she'd selected


had nothing to do on the bridge. Captain's Fancy was


docked, immobilized, both drives and all her energies


dead. Even the power to process water and circulate air


came from Billingate; from the fusion generator buried


beyond reach in the core of the rock. Clamps and


grapples held the ship in place, as rigid as the dock itself.


Only communications might conceivably demand some


attention; but the board could be set to route incoming


messages to her in her cabin - or anywhere else she hap-


pened to be.


Nevertheless she had her orders. No one aboard could


countermand them. And she had no intention of chal-


lenging them herself, despite the long black wind and its


burden of dread.


She did her best to ignore the wind. It was metaphoric


in any case, a habit of mind or a perceptual trick. Ever


since she could remember, she'd experienced her life in


images of wind: the arctic pressure of necessity which


had blown her from place to place and skill to skill


until she gusted aboard Captain's Fancy; the soaring


gale-ride of the gap between the stars, the hollow howl


of the vacuum; the sweet zephyr of sleep; the solar


flare of Nick's virility; the hungry mistral of flight and


battle and command. Even the sensations of food and


comradeship were like breezes ruffling her short hair,


warming her dark cheeks. And when Nick Succorso


had finally taken her to bed, after years of longing as


poignant and unanswerable as a sigh in a dark cavern,


his touch had felt like wind: a scorched blast from an


old, baked and needy desert, raw with sand and so dry


it denatured her heart. By the time he left her again,


some part of her had shriveled away, desiccated to


powder - the only part still capable of questioning


him.


Once she realized that now at last she had no remaining


needs or desires that didn't belong to him, she began to


hear the black wind blowing.


It was the wind of her doom.


It may have been the doom of the whole ship.


Yet it was only a metaphor, an image; a way of think-


ing: it didn't confuse her. Instead it helped her under-


stand her circumstances. When Nick had burned his way


onto the auxiliary bridge and aimed his cutting laser at


Morn, the familiar, respected urgency Liete called the


mistral had lifted her and flung her at him, carrying him


to the floor; saving both him and his ship. She'd ridden


breezes and blasts to gain the trust which had made her


his command third.


For that reason, she had no difficulty carrying out her


orders, despite the sound of the black wind - a prolonged


empty echo as twisted as a groan.


She stayed on the bridge, at her station. From around


the ship she culled the people she wanted, people she


herself trusted: Carmel for scan; Lind on communi-


cations; Malda Verone at targ. Helm she gave to Pastille


because she valued his abilities more than she disliked his


lack of discipline. Engineering sat vacant, of course. And


no one was assigned to data and damage control: Morn


was lost; Sib Mackern, gone; and Alba Parmute, hope-


less. Liete routed those functions to the command con-


sole and handled them herself.


Once her people took their g-seats, she told them, 'I'm


not here to answer questions, so don't ask. ' Her voice


always sounded quiet. Nevertheless it carried: the mistral


carried it - or the black wind. She knew that she would


be obeyed. 'I'm here for the same reason you are — to do


what Nick tells us. He gave me orders. I'm giving them


to you.


'You probably wish you knew what's going on. So do


I. But we don't need that. All we need is orders. As long


as he's alive, he isn't going to abandon his ship. That


means he isn't going to abandon us. The best thing we


can do to keep ourselves alive is follow his orders.


'If you believe you know somebody better qualified' -


she stressed the word sardonically - 'to give us orders


and keep us alive, you have my permission to leave the


ship. You can go join Mikka. Or hide out on the cruise


until this is over.


'But if you can't, then do what I tell you and don't ask


questions. Once we start, I won't tolerate anything else. '


Steadily she scanned the bridge.


Carmel shrugged; Lind nodded. Both of them had


been with Nick too long to start doubting him now.


Malda assented for reasons of her own - reasons, Liete


suspected, which she and the targ first had in common.


But Pastille grinned like a weasel. 'Is it all right, ' he


asked in a rank sneer, 'if we think while we're working?


I mean, it might be useful if we're allowed to at least


think:


That didn't deserve a retort, so Liete didn't give it one.


Instead she met his gaze until he ducked his head and


nodded.


'All right. ' She took a deep breath, held it for a


moment, then let it out softly. 'From now on, you're on


battle alert until I say otherwise. When I give the word,


we'll get started. '


The chronometer on her board measured out seconds;


minutes. No one spoke. Pastille squirmed in his g-seat.


Everyone else sat still.


Ignoring the uncertainty and silence around her, Liete


waited until the deadline Nick had set for his return came


and passed. Then she began.


While the black wind hinted ruin in her ears, she


ordered her watch to run their checklists as if Captain's


Fancy were bound for deep space.


At the same time, she told Lind to monitor every con-


ceivable channel for messages from Nick, the Bill, the


Amnion, or Trumpet. And she instructed Carmel to lock


scan on Soar: if Soar gave any sign of leaving the instal-


lation, Liete wanted to know about it instantly.


After the checklists were complete, she began to power


up Captain's Fancy with as much subtlety as she could


devise. In order to postpone as long as possible the


moment when Operations would notice the ship's status


and challenge it, she had Malda use installation current


to charge the weapons systems. And Pastille drew on the


same source to prime the thrusters for cold ignition, so


that drive emission wouldn't betray the ship.


Riding the long black air for reasons she couldn't guess


in a direction she couldn't identify, Liete Corregio delib-


erately de-activated the docking failsafes. When she was


done, Captain's Fancy could rip free of Billingate without


risking shutdown by either the installation's alarms or the


ship's own in-built survival mechanisms.


She intended to follow Nick's orders no matter where


they took her.


MIKKA


Mikka Vasaczk sat at the small table with an


untasted drink clenched in her capable hands,


glowering at everything.


She glowered at the false glitter of the lighting, molded


to resemble archaic chandeliers; at the walls, which were


decorated with mirrors and holographic nudes; at the


painted cruisewalkers who moved occasionally among


the tables, trolling for business. She glowered at the bar


itself, as well as at the young woman who tended it - a


girl so expressionless that she might as well have had no


face. She glowered impersonally at the spacers drinking


and gibing at the other tables.


From time to time she glowered at her companion,


even though he hadn't done anything to deserve it.


'Why are we doing this?' Sib Mackern had asked her


as soon as they left Captain's Fancy.


Past clenched jaws she'd replied, 'He kept my brother. '


Confused, he'd begun to say, 'That's not what I-'


Then he'd stopped himself. 'Your brother? Who is that?'


'Pup, ' she'd told him shortly.


He'd stared at her as if she'd frightened him. 'I didn't


know Pup was your brother. '


Now she and Captain's Fancy's data first were in a place


called Paunchys, a nearly clean, almost civilized bar-and-


sleep at the fringes of the cruise. For some reason, Soar's


crew liked to come here off-watch.


A sour barkeep deeper in the cruise had told her this.


He would have told any paying customer anything which


might conceivably encourage them to buy from him. And


Soar came to Billingate so often, spent so much time in


the vicinity of Thanatos Minor, that her people were


known.


Ignoring Sib's knotted anxiety, Mikka had led him to


Paunchys, seated him at a table not too far from the ones


where a small group of spacers already sat, and used some


of Captain's Fancy's little credit to buy drinks neither he


nor she wanted.


Why are we doing this?


Good question. She understood Nick's orders. I want


you to start a rumor about the immunity drug. Say you've


heard Soar's captain has a drug that protects her from the


Amnion. Talk about it until you're sure her crew hears you.


But why he'd given those orders — and given them to her


- was another matter.


He'd said he wanted to prime the Bill. To do business.


She didn't believe that. She had other ideas.


He wanted to get rid of her.


Because she didn't trust him anymore.


Trust him, hell! When he'd turned Morn over to the


Amnion, Mikka had realized that she didn't even like him.


It was possible that she'd never liked him, even though


she'd been ready to kill for him ever since they'd first met.


But his hold on her had started to fray when she'd seen


that he was perfectly willing to sell Morn's son to the


Amnion. And it had snapped completely when he'd given


away Morn herself.


The knowledge that he could force her to do anything


he wanted by threatening Pup filled Mikka with dry, grim


rage, as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of alum.


Glowering and bitter, she carried out Nick's instruc-


tions just long enough to see tension accumulating in the


shoulders at the other tables; long enough to hear strain


in the way the spacers tried to pretend they weren't listen-


ing. Then she quit. Sitting there in the bar, with Sib's


moist, worried eyes on her and nowhere to go, she came


to the end of what she was willing to do for Nick


Succorso. If one of Soar's people had stopped by her


table to probe for more information, she might have


answered by telling the truth.


She ignored the bugeyes which surveyed the bar. As far


as she was concerned, she had nothing left to hide. And


they might not be sensitive enough to pick up her voice.


Driven by tension, she told Sib again, 'He kept my


brother. '


Sib hunted for a reply. After a moment he repeated, 'I


didn't know Pup was your brother. '


Gripping herself so that she wouldn't groan, she mur-


mured, 'Nick knows. '


Mackern's eyes were as eloquent as a kid's: they


showed every shade of his fear, his self-distrust. Sweat


darkened his pale mustache until it looked like a smudge


across his upper lip. Trying to cool his anxiety, he rolled


his drink between his wrists. But his fever was too acute


for simple remedies - and in any case most of the ice in


his drink had already melted.


After a time one or two of the spacers who probably


belonged to Soar left Paunchys. The rest regrouped them-


selves at other tables farther away.


Sib rephrased his question. 'Why does Nick want us


to do this?'


Mikka didn't want to say, To get rid of us. Not here:


not now, while Pup was still at risk. Instead she muttered,


To make trouble for Soar — for Sorus Chatelaine. It


doesn't have anything to do with the Bill. Or the


Amnion. Hurting them is just a fringe benefit. He's after


her. She's the one who cut him.


'And it's going to work. ' Her disgust came out in a


snarl. 'Rumors about an immunity drug in a place like


this, for God's sake! The Bill is going to go wild. The


Amnion will too, if they hear about it. We would be safer


tossing around vials of concentrated hydrofluoric acid. If


we did what he told us — if we kept moving, kept spread-


ing his rumor — the Bill would have us hanging by our


entrails before we crossed half the cruise. '


Sib stared at her with all his uncertainty and dread


showing. 'Is that why we're still sitting here?'


'Yes!' she grated. Then she said, 'No. I don't know. I


just can't do it anymore. I hate it too much. '


For the third time, she told him, 'He kept my brother. '


The data first seemed to consider this part of a ritual


to which there was no appropriate response except, 'I


didn't know he was your brother. '


Glaring at him despite the fact that most of her anger


was directed at herself, she completed the pattern. 'Nick


knows. ' Then, because her heart hurt, and she'd spent


most of her life forcing herself to look coldly at whatever


hurt her, she added, 'His real name is Ciro. '


Stiffly, as if he'd decided on suicide, Sib raised his glass


like a gun to his mouth and drank.


Mikka didn't touch her own drink until Vector


Shaheed walked into the bar-and-sleep. Then she swal-


lowed it all in one long draught because he had Pup with


him.


The alcohol wasn't enough to muffle her relief- or her


awareness of treachery. She couldn't keep the tears from


her eyes as Vector and Pup headed for her table.


'God damn him, ' she breathed to Sib, her voice shak-


ing. 'He wants to get rid of them, too. '


Apparently Pup didn't understand. His young face


showed a relief of his own, showed confusion and uncer-


tainty; but no betrayal. The incompleteness of his gan-


gling limbs — he still didn't have his full growth - made


him look vulnerable and precious to Mikka; the only


treasure she had left.


Vector understood, however: his clear blue gaze made


that plain. Complex perceptions twisted his smile as he


stopped at the table. He noticed her tears, but didn't


comment on them. 'Mikka, ' he said mildly, 'Sib. Imagine


my surprise. '


'No, ' Mikka retorted through her teeth, fighting for


self-command. We don't have time.


'Sit down, both of you, ' she ordered. 'Start by telling


me how you found us. '


Vector turned and waved at the woman tending the


bar. Across the intervening tables, he requested coffee for


himself, some kind of beer substitute for Pup.


By the time the engineer was seated, Pup had already


taken a chair beside Mikka and blurted out, 'Nick told


us to go talk to the shipyard foreman, but we didn't,


do it. '


She stifled an impulse to put her arms around him.


That wasn't what he wanted - and in any case she didn't


trust herself. Caught up in her own fear and anger,


she'd forgotten that her brother still considered Nick a


hero.


We were supposed to make sure the shipyard was


ready to work on Captain's Fancy', ' Pup went on urgently.


That's what Nick told us. ' Despite his intensity, however,


he remembered to keep his voice down. 'He found a way


to rescue us, get us fixed. He's going to get us out of this


mess. We were supposed to be sure the shipyard has the


right parts.


'But we didn't do it. ' He flung an accusing glare at the


engineer. "Vector says that isn't what's going on. ' In a


shocked whisper, he said, We're disobeying a direct


order, Mikka. '


She made a hushing gesture. 'Give him a minute. ' She


wanted to comfort her brother: she needed that more


than he did. 'He'll explain. But first I want to know how


you found us. '


Vector tasted his coffee, then grimaced in mock dis-


gust. Where I come from, ' he pronounced, 'making


coffee this bad is a capital offense.


'It wasn't hard, ' he went on without transition. 'I told


a data terminal in Reception I wanted a room. The pro-


gram ran a routine check on Captain's Fancy's credit. I


expressed my indignation that the total was so low' - he


gave Mikka a round smile - 'and demanded a record of


recent expenditures. The terminal told me you were using


ship's credit to buy drinks here. ' He widened his eyes


humorously. 'Expensive ones, apparently. '


'But why?' Pup's impatience made him sound younger


than usual. Why are you doing this? Nick gave us orders.


If you wanted to talk to Mikka, you could have found


her after we made sure the shipyard is ready. '


Vector looked at Mikka. The humor slowly faded from


his eyes, leaving them cold and hard.


'You might as well say it, ' she growled. 'Somebody has


to. '


Sib took another drink. When he put his glass down,


liquid slopped onto the table.


Vector shrugged; he turned to face Pup squarely. 'Cap-


tain's Fancy isn't going to be repaired. Not now - prob-


ably not ever. Nick is finished. He'll never be allowed off


this rock. He just doesn't want to admit it. ' The


engineer's tone was quiet and sad. 'Anything he says


about repairs is crap. '


Then why - ?' Pup began hotly.


'Ciro. ' Vector's voice sharpened. 'Listen to me. He's


weeding out the malcontents. Getting rid of people he


doesn't trust. He's fighting to survive. Not for the ship


- not for us. He's fighting for himself. And we're a threat


to him. The four of us here. Personally. He might have


simply killed us, but that would have made a bad impres-


sion on the rest of the crew. So he sent us away. Now


he'll make sure we never get back. '


This was hard for Pup. He'd inherited too much of


Mikka's devotion - and learned too much of his own.


For reasons he may not have been able to identify, his


face flushed scarlet.


'But why? he demanded. 'You still haven't told me


why.'


Vector shrugged again. 'Why is he finished? Or why


are we a threat to him?'


Studying her brother, Mikka felt a small leap of pride


and relief when she saw that he didn't need to ask why


Nick was finished. Pup was young and inexperienced;


still growing; barely trained. Nevertheless he was smart


enough to recognize that Vector's analysis - or Mikka's


- of Nick's fate was secondary.


His cheeks were hot with blood as he said, 'Why are


we a threat to him. '


Vector looked at Mikka. Mikka glared back at him,


avoiding Pup's gaze. Suddenly she found the words dif-


ficult to say. She'd given Nick too much of herself for


too many years. Even now she was ashamed to admit her


disloyalty.


Vector also avoided Pup's eyes and said nothing.


She'd decided long ago that Sib Mackern considered


himself a coward. Regardless of his opinion of himself,


however, he found the courage to speak before she or


Vector did.


Almost wincing, but clearly, he said, 'I let Morn out


of her cabin. So she could rescue Davies from the ejection


pod. '


There. The truth at last. Mikka hadn't known about


Sib's action. She might not have believed him capable of


it. But as soon as he spoke she knew he was telling the


truth.


His revelation released the pressure which dammed


her voice in her chest. Softly she told her part of the


story.


'I nearly ran into her. After Sib let her out. While she


was on her way to the engineering console room. I could


have stopped her. I mean, I could have tried. At the very


least, I could have warned Nick. But I didn't. '


Now Vector was ready. 'She reached the console room


while I was still there. I let her at the pod control board.


I'm sure I couldn't have stopped her. I know because I


hit her as hard as I could, and it didn't make any differ-


ence. On the other hand, I could easily have warned


Nick. '


As if to steady himself, he took another sip of coffee.


'In retrospect, I don't feel good about hitting her. But


what shames me most is that it took her so long to con-


vince me.


'Ciro' - he looked straight into Pup's earnest gaze - 'I


let her at the board as soon as I understood that she


would have done exactly the same thing - taken the same


chances, risked herself just as much - if I were being


given to the Amnion. '


The flush had faded from Pup's face. Mikka couldn't


tell what he was thinking. When Vector finished, Pup


studied Sib for a moment, then turned toward her. With-


out noticing what he was doing, he pushed his drink


aside with the back of his hand as if he wanted to clear


space for honesty and decisions.


'What about me?' he asked. 'Why am I a threat to him?'


Mikka didn't hesitate now. 'Because you're my brother,


and you work with Vector. Nick is afraid you might start


listening to one of us. '


For a moment Pup didn't respond. His gaze seemed


to shift inward, and he frowned, unconsciously mimick-


ing her customary scowl. As she watched, a new sorrow


for him tugged through her. If he frowned like that long


enough, it would become permanent; he would begin to


look as bitter and grieved as she did.


Then he lifted his head. With a dignity he'd never


possessed before, he said firmly, 'He's right about that,


anyway. '


Tears ran down Mikka's cheeks again. She couldn't


hide them. After a while she stopped trying.


Vector patted Pup on the back, ruffled his hair affec-


tionately. In an avuncular tone, he said to Sib, 'Better


drink up. We need to figure out what we're going to do


and then go do it before somebody comes looking for us


to ask about that rumor you were supposed to start. '


'What can we do?' Sib asked at once. We don't belong


here. ' He made a gesture that indicated the whole cruise.


We haven't got any allies - or any resources. As soon as


Nick cuts off our credit, we won't even be able to eat.


And we can't ask another ship to take us. He made sure


of that. Nobody will touch the people who started those


rumors. They'll leave us to the Bill - or Captain Chat-


elaine. And they won't care about us. They'll just want to


know who's being betrayed. '


Inspired by his fears, he'd considered implications


which hadn't occurred to Mikka before. With a sting of


apprehension, she realized that he was right.


'That means interrogation, ' Sib finished softly. Visceral


dread twisted his face. 'I don't want to be interrogated


here. '


Her lip curled into a snarl. Drugs. Zone implants. BR


surgery. She also didn't want to be interrogated here.


'Damn, ' she muttered. We shouldn't have done it. We


should have kept our mouths shut. ' To Vector and Sib


as well, but especially to her brother, she said, 'I'm sorry.


I haven't been thinking very clearly. '


'So we can't afford to sit here' - Vector sounded


strangely jocular, as if he were trying to cheer her up -


'and wait for events to unfold. We need a plan. We need


to move. '


She glared at him. 'Don't tell me - let me guess. You've


got an idea. '


Despite his tone, the engineer's smile was humorless


and determined. Well, for a start, ' he offered, 'it might


be interesting to figure out what Nick is up to. '


Mikka's old anger was directed primarily at herself.


'And how do you propose to do that?'


Vector shrugged. 'I don't know. I don't fit in here. '


Like Sib, he referred to the cruise. 'On my own, I prob-


ably wouldn't last more than a day or two. I don't know


what's possible here and what isn't. '


'It has something to do with Soar, ' Sib put in tenta-


tively. 'Captain Chatelaine. Mikka says she's the woman


who cut Nick. He wants revenge somehow. '


Mikka nodded. Nick must have lost his mind. He was


in too much trouble himself: he couldn't waste his time


on revenge when his bare survival - not to mention Cap-


tain's Fancy's — was at stake.


Unless he had some reason to believe that causing


trouble for Sorus Chatelaine would somehow loosen the


stranglehold of his circumstances.


If that were true, Mikka and her companions might be


able to benefit from it.


Pup, Vector and Sib were all looking at her. With her


hands locked into fists on the tabletop, she ground the


knuckles together, trying to force herself to think.


They couldn't approach Soar: that was obvious. The


rumor they'd started tainted them; they would end up


dead - after the Bill or Chatelaine ripped their brains


apart.


But Soar and her captain weren't the only players in


Nick's game.


Abruptly she put her palms down flat on the table.


'Not the cruise, ' she announced quietly. 'Not Soar.


Trumpet. '


Her companions studied her, waiting for an expla-


nation.


She leaned forward. 'Everybody on this damn rock, '


she whispered intently, 'heard her talking to Operations.


We know Angus Thermopyle is aboard. Along with a


bugger named Milos Taverner, who used to be deputy


chief of Com-Mine Station Security. All by itself, that


stinks. I'm surprised Operations let them in. Maybe the


Bill figures they're less dangerous docked than anywhere


else. But that's not the point.


The point is, Nick has been talking to Trumpet ever


since Operations cleared her. And Milos Taverner has


been bugging for Nick for years. In fact, we wouldn't


have been able to frame Thermopyle if Taverner hadn't


helped us. Now suddenly the man we framed and the


man who helped us frame him arrive here - together, for


God's sake! - and Nick is talking to them.


'That's what we need to understand. If there's any


window out of this mess, that's it. '


'Fine, ' Vector remarked succinctly. 'How?'


'Well' - Mikka fought down an impulse to clench her


fists again, pound them on the table - 'we might start by


watching Trumpet. See who goes aboard, who leaves. If


nothing else, that'll get us off the cruise, which should


make it harder for the Bill to find us. '


The Bill's surveillance was everywhere, of course. But


the bugeyes and wires were strictly impersonal: they


watched everything in general - and nothing in particu-


lar. Without specific instructions to the contrary, the


recordings of Mikka and her companions would simply


be filed in the Bill's gargantuan surveillance database.


And those instructions might not be issued until Nick's


rumor had time to spread; generate repercussions. Then


more time would be required to run search-and-compare


programs on the database. An hour or more might pass


before Captain's Fancy's cast-offs could be located.


'Maybe we'll get a chance to sneak aboard ourselves, '


she went on. 'Maybe we'll even see Nick. In which case'


- she gritted her teeth - 'we'll have new options. '


'Like what?' Sib asked.


Mikka bit down on her anger until her jaws ached. 'Like


tying him up and delivering him to the Amnion, just to


prove our good faith. Or like making him believe we're


going to do it, so he'll think he has to deal with us. '


'We can't!' Pup protested as if he were shocked.


She scowled at him harshly. Why not?'


'You saw him fight Orn. ' Pup's voice cracked; but he


was too shaken to stop. The step from distrusting Nick


to attacking him was a large one. 'He could beat us all


with one hand. '


Sib nodded vehemently. He was no fighter.


'Maybe. ' Mikka shrugged. 'Maybe not. And maybe


we'll have help. Somehow I doubt lockup has taught


Angus Thermopyle enough forgiveness to make him a


friend of Nick's. '


Vector pushed himself to his feet. 'I'm satisfied. Let's


do it. ' He moved as if his joints hurt less in Thanatos


Minor's g — as if some of the weight he usually carried


had been set aside. 'Sitting here makes me nervous. '


'But-' Sib scrubbed at the sweat on his face.


'Sib, ' the engineer asked mildly, 'if you were Sorus


Chatelaine, how long would you wait before you sent


your whole crew to get their hands on the people who


started that rumor?'


Mackern blanched. Then he jumped out of his chair as


if he'd been poked with a stun-prod.


'Mikka-' Pup's eyes were full of supplication; but he


didn't know how to ask for what he needed.


She stood; taking his arm, she pulled him up. Then


she hugged him quickly.


'Ciro, I can't promise we're going to get out of this


alive - or in one piece, ' she told him. 'I don't know what's


going to happen. But whatever it is, you won't be alone.


You've got friends. '


Despite his trepidation, Sib managed a wan smile. Vec-


tor nodded gravely.


'And, ' she finished, 'I'll kill anybody who tries to separate us. '


Pup returned her hug long enough to murmur, 'All


right. I'll be all right. ' Then he stepped back.


Mikka Vasaczk didn't hesitate. She had no time to


spare for doubt - and in her heart she believed she wasn't


brave enough for it. She'd depended on Nick Succorso


longer than Vector, or Sib, or Ciro; needed him more.


With her companions behind her, she left the bar-and-


sleep, heading for Reception and Trumpet.


ANGUS


Finally his instincts or his datacore told him that


the time had come.


He could hardly speak. Blisters covered his


tongue; his throat was full of ash. Spasms of nausea


pulled at his diaphragm, forcing hot bile into his eso-


phagus, but his zone implants stifled that reflex. The pres-


sure they exerted to control him seemed to cramp his


chest. Minute by minute, the pain threatened to become


more than his caged mind could bear.


That hurt echoed the condition of his whole body. For


an hour now, he'd fought with every gram of his strength


and will to break his datacore's hold; find some instance


of incompleteness or vulnerability which might allow


him to slip free of his zone implants long enough to kill


Milos. That was all he wanted: a chance to crush Milos


to pulp and splinters; a chance against the abyss. But he


couldn't crack the prison which had been constructed


inside his skull.


With his mouth full of ash and fatality, he recognized


that before long he was going to go mad. Then he would


be irremediably lost - a lunatic screaming and gibbering


inside his own cranium, helpless to make himself heard,


helpless to have any effect at all on anything his body did


or his mouth said.


He would be back in the abyss -


back in his crib


with his scrawny wrists and ankles tied to the slats


while his mother


while howls he couldn't utter clamored against the


unyielding bone of his head


while his mother filled him with pain —


Yet he went on fighting. He had no alternative. As


soon as he stopped, as soon as he surrendered, he would


be swallowed back into the absolute dark from which


he'd spent his life trying to escape at the cost of so much


fear and blood and loneliness.


Then, a short time ago, he'd received an unexpected


touch of mercy. Automatically solicitous for his physical


well-being, his computer had taken notice of the damage


burning like a slow torch in his mouth. When his distress


exceeded acceptable parameters, a gentle electronic emis-


sion began to inhibit the pain receptors in his brain. The


harm was still real, of course. Nevertheless he was able


to continue functioning.


Thickly, as fumble-mouthed as a halfwit, he told Milos,


'Try it now. '


Machine mercy didn't relieve his despair.


Milos shrugged. Exhaling another stream of smoke


into the clotted haze left behind by Ease-n-Sleaze's in-


adequate scrubbers, he rose to his feet. Completely


absorbed in himself, as if he were alone with his supply


of nic and his ashtray, he moved to the data terminal.


With a tap on the keys, he opened a channel to Trumpet


and instructed her communications board to relay any


messages she'd received.


After a moment he murmured, 'Looks like it's here. '


'You're the one who knows the code, ' Angus croaked


as if he weren't perilously close to failure. 'Is it time to


go?'


Milos muttered to himself as he deciphered the mes-


sage. At last he announced, 'I guess. ' He sounded sad


and obscurely bitter, as if something he needed had come


to an end.


Angus pushed himself out of his chair. His legs would


have trembled under him if his zone implants hadn't


steadied them; another kind of tremble, which his data-


core ignored, rose from his groin to his lungs and the


muscles around his heart. Movement, any movement,


-was better than remaining still while insanity hunted him


down.


He didn't wait for Milos. Striding slowly to conceal


his desperation, he moved toward the door, out into the


hall. As long as he kept his mouth closed, nothing


betrayed his pain except the ashen pallor of his face.


Milos followed him unwillingly. With his second


behind his shoulder, Angus took the lift down to the


level of the bar and walked out of Ease-n-Sleaze.


The blare and swirl of the cruise hit him like a blast of


relief. No wires nearby; bugeyes too far away to pick out


individual voices. Most of the people who loitered or


shoved along the street were enmeshed in their own


needs, their own corruption; they took no notice of him.


And the air smelled sweet to him, suggestive and familiar:


it reeked of synthetic and natural ruin, but nic was only


a small component of its complex assault. Here despair


appeared in guises he understood.


For a minute or two he moved along with no particular


aim, simply breathing the air, absorbing the glare of color


and the muted unstable thunder of boots on the cement


floor; tasting the atmosphere for threats. Then he took


hold of Milos' arm and pulled his second close enough


to hear a whisper.


We can talk now, ' he mumbled past his sore tongue.


'No wires or guards' - he made a short, harsh gesture -


'near enough to hear us. What did Captain Sheepfucker


say?'


A twist of disgust lingered on Milos' face. 'According


to Succorso, ' he answered softly, 'the Bill doesn't have a


lockup. He doesn't punish people that - simply. But


he has a series of cells for interrogations. Down in his


command complex somewhere. That's where he usually


keeps people until he decides what to do with them. ' He


looked like he wanted to spit. The woman didn't know


anything else. ' After a pause he added, 'It's not much to


go on. He didn't tell us how to find the cells. And we


can't be sure the kid is there. '


'It's enough. ' Angus knew where those cells were: he'd


spent some time there years ago, during one of his more


problematic visits to Thanatos Minor. Apparently the Bill


hadn't changed his procedures for dealing with human


loot since then. That was all the reassurance Angus


needed.


Milos waited for more information. When he didn't


get it, he hissed, 'All right. Assume you can find the cells.


Assume the kid is there. You still haven't told me how


you propose to get him out. We can't just walk in there


and take him. ' His head twitched a reference to the Bill's


ubiquitous surveillance. 'And you haven't told me why, '


he finished almost plaintively.


Good questions, both of them. No more than a


minute ago, Angus couldn't have answered either one.


And he still had no idea why he'd made this deal with


Nick; why Warden Dios wanted him to do whatever he


could for Morn. But as soon as Milos said the words take


him, the data-link in Angus' head opened like crossing


the gap, and information he'd never seen before came


on-line.


Involuntary excitement thudded through him as he


received a flood of new knowledge.


Triggered by Milos' words - or the proximity of a crisis


— this database informed him that his EM prostheses had


capabilities he'd never suspected. They weren't simply


able to identify wires and bugeyes; read alarms and locks;


analyze technological enhancements. Properly coded,


they could also emit jamming fields for a wide variety of


sensing devices. He could glitch a monitor until it


recorded nothing but distortion, if he got close enough


to it.


Or-


Suddenly his excitement became so intense that he for-


got Milos and the cruise, Warden Dios and Morn


Hyland. The world around him seemed to vanish in dis-


covery.


Or he could bend light.


Not over a large area, of course. His power supply


wasn't adequate for that. But he could surround himself


with a radiant curve, an electromagnetically induced


refraction wave in the visible spectrum, which would


make him effectively indistinguishable to most optical


monitors. Human eyes would always be able to see him.


But neurologic and electronic encoding were fundamen-


tally different, vulnerable to different kinds of distortion.


And because the Bill's bugeyes were designed to function


over distance under uncertain lighting conditions, they


received wider bandwidths — with less accuracy. They


would record Angus as nothing more than a slight opal-


escent ripple in the image, like a blur on the bugeye's


lens.


The ripple could still be tracked. An intensive com-


puter analysis of the recordings could follow it as it


moved. But first it had to be noticed: someone in Oper-


ations - or in the Bill's command complex - had to see


it and worry about it. And that might never happen. No


one on Thanatos Minor had any reason to suspect that


Angus carried this kind of jamming equipment - that he


or anyone else could carry it.


Light-bending fields were known, of course, but they


weren't common: their emitters were too bulky, and


required too much power, to be effectively portable. And


even where the size and power consumption of the equip-


ment weren't a problem, the fields themselves remained


too small and immobile to have much practical applica-


tion. By welding these emitters into Angus, Hashi


Lebwohl had accomplished a miracle of miniaturization.


The codes were right there in Angus' head.


Lebwohl and Dios had left him defenseless in the path


of madness; he hated and feared them. But that didn't


prevent him from experiencing a strange, amazed


exultation which bordered on gratitude at their technical


abilities. When they'd taken his freedom away, they'd


made him into something wonderful.


He hadn't felt an emotion like this since the day an


Amnioni had taught him now to edit Bright Beauty's


datacore.


He'd earned that knowledge by committing what the


UMCP would probably have considered the worst crime


of his life - a crime they still didn't know about because


none of his human or computer interrogators had pos-


sessed enough information to frame an accurate question.


Single-handedly he had hijacked a large in-system hauler;


but he hadn't wasted his time with the actual cargo.


Instead he'd loaded the survivors, twenty-eight men and


women, into Bright Beauty's holds and sold them directly


to the Amnion on Billingate.


In return for booty on that scale, the Amnion had


supplied him with the skill which had kept him alive ever


since. Plainly they'd believed he would in turn sell the


information to other illegals; thereby doing humankind's


defenses incalculable harm.


The memory still brought him a burn of satisfied rage


as consuming and addictive as matter cannon fire.


'Listen, ' Milos protested insistently. 'You're probably


going to get us killed. At the very least we'll be caught.


I won't know what to do - I won't be able to react


properly, I won't be able to back you up - if you don't


tell me what you're planning. '


In the grip of an excitement like glee, Angus stopped,


turned. Ignoring the crowds and hawkers, the bright,


wild signs, the inviting doorways, the occasional shove,


he held Milos' arm with one hand; with the other, he


reached up and clenched Milos' pudgy cheeks so that his


mouth gaped like a grotesque kiss.


Then pay attention. ' Angus' datacore didn't require


him to reassure his second. 'I'm only going to say this


once.


'I don't need you. You're irrelevant here. I'm keeping


you with me because I can't send you away. The fuckers


who did this to us don't trust you out of my sight. But


all you have to do is stay with me and stay close. This


close. ' He grinned again, squeezing Milos' cheeks harder.


'If somebody shoots at us, try to hide behind me. '


An instant later he added, 'And keep your mouth shut.


Any sound might give us away. '


Baring his teeth, he let go of Milos and moved into


the crowd.


As he walked, he felt his second behind him, so close


that Milos' chest brushed his back. He could hear fear in


Milos' tense respiration.


Good.


Almost giddy with exultation and movement, he


headed for the nearest lift.


It happened to be one which only served the cruise


from Billingate's equivalent of a slum, the habitation


levels where the installation's more reduced people lived.


That suited him fine, however. He and Milos were still


being tracked - or could still be tracked. SAC programs


in the Bill's computers could sift the vast body of data


from all his bugeyes and wires. Under the circumstances,


Angus was perfectly content to let the Bill know where


he was. The Bill would think that he was looking for


someone here; or that his meeting with Nick had resulted


in some task which could only be performed here.


Savoring Milos' tension, he led his second along the


grime-crusted halls until he found a small knot of men


and women waiting for a lift to the docks.


With Milos pressing against him, he pushed his way


into the middle of the crowd.


As the lift opened and people squeezed aboard - while


he and Milos passed out of range of one bugeye, into


range of another — he activated his refractive jamming


field.


He didn't doubt for an instant that it worked. He


could trust whatever his databases told him about his


equipment. False information could kill him - and then


everything Dios and Lebwohl had invested in him would


be wasted.


Confident that he and Milos were effectively invisible


to the Bill, he left the car when it reached the docks.


But he didn't linger there. The pressure of his need for


movement swelled inside him: he wanted to run. As if


he were eager, he went toward one of the general service


lifts used by ships' personnel to reach Operations or the


cruise.


Now he had to be more careful: his jamming field


wouldn't protect him from guards. And the closer he


came to lifts that ran down to the depths of the rock, the


more guards he encountered. They paid him no particular


attention — which meant they hadn't yet received orders


to watch for him — but they were still dangerous, if only


because they had eyes and guns.


His heart beat faster and his nerves sharpened as if


unknown or unused systems were coming on-line: com-


puter-assisted reflexes; decision-making programs; sur-


vival instincts. Beads of oily sweat slid down his temples.


There: a lift that went where he wanted to go.


One guard stood outside, staring dully at nothing with


eyes as empty as muzzles. Three people waited for the


car to arrive, the doors to open.


The indicators said it was going up.


So much the better.


When the lift opened, half a dozen men and women


surged out. With Milos clenched behind him, Angus


entered along with the other passengers.


One level up, a man and a woman got off.


Two levels later, the third passenger got off.


No one got on.


Now.


As the doors swept shut, sending the lift upward again,


Angus fired a precise laser needle into the control panel,


burning a gap in its alarm circuitry.


No warnings sounded, either in the car or in Oper-


ations, as he engaged the same locks that maintenance


would have used to take the lift out of service.


For a few minutes, at least, he had a private elevator.


As a precaution, he clamped one hand briefly over


Milos' mouth, reminding him to be quiet. Then he sent


the car downward like a taste of freefall, toward the core


of the rock. Where nothing lived except the Bill in his


strongroom and Billingate's fusion generator.


Milos' face looked like Angus' mouth felt: thick with


pain; sickened by ground-in ash. Still good. Angus


showed his teeth and watched the indicators count the


levels.


He knew the one he wanted. His memory of the time


he'd been locked up here was as vivid as his databases.


You remember Morn Hyland. All his memories were vivid.


She had a kid. Of course, there was no guarantee the Bill


still used the same rooms. That's what we were doing on


Enablement - force-growing her kid. Come to that, there


was no guarantee the kid was still alive. She calls him


'Davies Hyland', after her pure, dead father. The whole deal


might be a lie. Now the Amnion want him back. Succorso's


treachery might extend to risking Milos, his only ally, for


the sake of some unimaginable leverage with the Bill;


with the Amnion. They want to study the consequences of


having a mother who didn't lose her mind. And the cells


would be guarded in any case; watched by human eyes.


Nevertheless Angus' concentration held steady, like


one of his lasers. He was moving. Personally he didn't


believe Succorso had lied - not about needing to get


Davies away from the Bill. Succorso's efforts to conceal


his desperation only made it more convincing. And


Angus' datacore was incapable of doubt: the prospect of


trading Davies Hyland to redeem Morn had engaged


programming as compulsory as the pull of a black hole.


Five levels to go.


Fourthreetwoone.


Stop.


Milos staggered slightly, shifted away from Angus. A


stupid mistake; dangerous. And slow. All Milos' move-


ments appeared tortuous to Angus, clogged with mor-


tality. Reacting at micro-processor speeds, he caught his


second by the shipsuit and hauled him close again.


One hand behind him to keep Milos tight against his


back, Angus stepped between the opening doors into the


corridor.


It was only twenty meters long - a blind passage


formed in concrete, with no entrances except to the cells


and no exits except by the lifts. Six cells, two life. Light-


ing and bugeyes lined the ceiling; more bugeyes than


Angus remembered. With that many monitors, the Bill


could study every atmospheric eddy and current - the


molecular aftermath of moving bodies.


He'd lived in forbidden space for so long that paranoia


had become his ruling passion.


Between one tick of his computer's chronometer and


the next, Angus grinned at the idea that he was about to


justify the Bill's paranoia.


He was already in motion, already dropping to a


crouch as he drew Milos out of the lift. The bugeyes


weren't enough for the Bill; of course not: he also had


two guards in the corridor. They stood on either side of


a door off to the left. One of them cupped an impact rifle


with flexsteel probes instead of fingers. The other wore


his gun built into his chest - a weapon like a small projec-


tile cannon.


Both of them were wired. Operations would receive


everything their equipment saw or heard; would know it


the instant they stopped transmitting.


The indicators must have told them the lift was


coming. They weren't surprised when the door opened.


Because they weren't surprised - and because they had


no reason to expect trouble - they weren't braced for


Angus' attack.


Speed. Accuracy. Silence. He'd been designed for such


things. His lasers made no noise except the small frying


sounds of flesh and hardened plastics as he shot one guard


between the eyes, the other through his thoracic gun.


Both men folded to the floor as if the sinews holding


their joints together had been cut.


Untouched, their transmitters went on functioning.


Operations' visual recordings of the event would show a


blur, an odd ruby wink, an unlikely change of perspec-


tive. Anyone who saw those recordings would know that


something had happened. But most of the time no one


watched the recordings: only the computers watched.


The computers might not know the difference between


men who sat down or even stretched out on the floor to


rest and men who fell dead. The Bill's programmers


might not have anticipated this situation. A little time


might pass before pre-selected analytical parameters sig-


naled a warning.


After that playback would take a few seconds. Whoever


looked at the recordings would need a few seconds more


to react.


By the time the bodies settled and began to drip blood,


Angus stood between them at the door they'd guarded.


Milos pressed fright against his back, ground knots


of fear into his shoulders, while his lasers probed the


lock.


It's got to stop.


As if Warden Dios had foreseen everything, planned


for everything, Angus swept the cell open and found


Davies waiting.


When he saw his son, he caught his first glimpse of


Nick's real treachery.


A shock as visceral as an electric charge fired along his


nerves. Nick hadn't said anything about this. And the


idea had never crossed Angus' mind. If he'd thought


about the matter at all, he would have assumed the brat


was Nick's - would have assumed that Morn's transcen-


dent lust for Nick had inspired her to want his kid. Didn't


she love him? Hadn't her whole body yearned toward


him as soon as they first saw each other in Mallorys?


But for that very reason Angus had not thought about


whose son Davies was. The way Morn had given herself


to Nick - instantly and without question - had hurt him


more than he could admit. So he'd focused his attention


exclusively on Morn herself; on snatching Davies as a


means to rescue her. He'd closed his mind to everything


else.


Yet one look at Davies made the boy's parentage


unmistakable.


He had Morn's eyes: they were her color; they held


her open fear and revulsion and need. He stared at Angus


as if he'd been hit by the same charge; as if they were


instantaneously linked and fused by the same burning


jolt. And his posture might have been hers as well. Even


in dismay, his stance hinted at her suppleness, her grace.


The rest of him, however -


The rest was pure Angus. Slimmer and younger, per-


haps, but Angus beyond question.


His son —


And Nick had prepared this surprise deliberately, in


unmitigated malice. Which implied that there was more


to come, that this was only the first.


- a more vulnerable version of himself -


Caught by shock and recognition like an instant of


ineffable brisance, Angus gaped back at Davies and


couldn't move.


- another baby for the crib.


'Shit, ' Milos croaked, strangling on distress. 'Shit. Shit. ''


Then the shock passed. Intuitions as fast and blinding


as light blazed through Angus. An involuntary howl built


up in his chest, an animal roar of helplessness and


outrage.


Davies beat him to it. As if he'd been ripped open with


a flensing knife, he started screaming.


At the same time he launched a fist like a missile at


Angus' head.


Only Angus' equipment saved him. Micro-seconds


after his son began to scream, he keyed codes to activate


a different kind of jamming field.


The bugeyes in the cell went deaf and blind with distor-


tion as Davies' fist slammed into his father's cheek.


DAVIES


Events were moving in too many different directions


at once. The woman accompanying the Bill had


been ordered to get answers out of Davies, tor-


ture him if she had to. He didn't know how much time


he had left. After she closed the door and went away, he


pretended to relax as long as he could: five minutes at


most. Then he surged up off his cot and began to pace


the small cell again, six steps on one side, five on the


other.


Nick Succorso had given Morn to the Amnion. In all


likelihood, he'd handed her over to compensate for his


failure to deliver her son. And to punish her. But in the


end his reasons didn't matter. Only the fact mattered. By


now she was probably an Amnioni herself. Her son was


all that remained of her.


He needed some way to control the hurricane of grief


and blind white rage storming around his heart.


Six steps. Five.


Morn Hyland. Nick Succorso.


And Angus Thermopyle.


The Bill had told him that Angus Thermopyle had


come to Thanatos Minor.


Down in the center of the storm, in the small clear


space created and sustained by the coriolus energies of


his distress, he knew the three were connected; intimately


bound together. They necessitated each other. He simply


couldn't remember how or why.


He'd never seen his father. His only impression of the


man came from the things Morn and Nick had told him,


as well as from what he could see of his own body; from


studying his face in the san mirrors of his room aboard


Captain's Fancy. He'd spent hours in front of those


mirrors, trying to understand where Morn Hyland left


off and he began. But those hints had given him no sense


of his father as a solid, actual presence separate from


himself.


He had no defenses —


Angus Thermopyle's sudden appearance in his cell hit


him like a translation across a dimensional gap. Ash-faced


and urgent, Angus swung open the door and stalked into


the cell as if he'd leaped into being from the core of


Davies' blocked memories.


In that instant Davies lost the distinction between him-


self and Morn. Ambushed by her fundamental desper-


ation, he became her as if he'd never been anyone else.


He hardly noticed the pudgy man clinging like a crip-


ple to his father's back. Without transition, as instan-


taneous as intuition, he began to remember.


He sat up on the edge of the berth.


Angus reached, into one of the compartments along the


bulkhead, selected a scalpel, and handed it toward him. Take


it. '


Davies' fingers closed involuntarily.


In a voice like acid, Angus said, 'Put the edge on your tit. '


Helplessness compelled Davies. He didn't need to watch


what he was doing. Blindly he moved the scalpel until the


blade rested against his nipple, his woman's breast, intense


silver against brown. The nipple was erect and hard, as if it


were ready to be cut.


'You can understand me, 'Angus said thickly. 1 know you


can, so pay attention. I can make you cut yourself. If I want


to, I can make you cut off your whole tit. Remember that


when you think about breaking my neck.


'I'm going to break you. I'm going to break you so hard


you'll start to love it, need it. Then I'm going to break you


some more. I'm going to break you until you don't have any-


thing but me to live for. '


Danes' depths were full of anguish, a wail he was unable


to utter.


Angus tapped buttons on the zone implant control.


Fighting to survive, another part of Davies' mind grap-


pled with information he'd known before and hadn't


understood, hadn't appreciated. Angus had given Morn


a zone implant. He'd used it to take away her freedom,


her will, her self: he'd used it to degrade her utterly.


But comprehension changed nothing. Davies was lost


in her.


Obedient to the commands of the radio electrode in his


brain, helpless beyond bearing, he replaced the scalpel in its


compartment. The zone implant control demanded a smile:


he smiled. It told him to kneel in front of Angus: he knelt.


Angus' penis protruded from the open seal of his shipsuit.


For some reason, he seemed furious as be forced open Davies'


mouth and drove himself into him, gagging his son fiercely


until he came.


Roaring with inarticulate revulsion and protest, Davies


flung a fist at Angus' head. All his young strength and


every gram of Morn's absolute agony went into the blow.


The jolt of his fist on Angus' cheekbone saved him. It


was physical, present: he felt it like a kick in his knuckles,


elbow and shoulder. The impact anchored him for a


second against the insane violation of Morn's memories;


momentarily separated him from her. Without that


reprieve, he would have had to kill his father; would have


had no choice. Nothing less could protect him from what


Angus had done to Morn.


During that instant Angus moved.


He shrugged off Davies' blow as if he barely felt it. So


quickly that Davies couldn't see how it was done, Angus


blocked his fury aside, spun him around, caught him


in an armlock. His own momentum and Angus' charge


slammed him at the wall, hammered his forehead against


the concrete.


Giddy with pain, he thrashed in Angus' grasp, fought


like Morn to break free. If he didn't fight, he would


remember more: remember weeks of abuse and con-


tempt; remember abjection; remember selling his soul -


- remember something worse.


But he couldn't get loose. Angus' grip was only more


honest than the power of Morn's zone implant, not


weaker. Sure as flexsteel, he tightened his hold until


Davies could hardly breathe; hammered Davies' head at


the wall again. While phosphenes and pain whirled like


lost nebulae across his vision, draining the force from his


muscles, denaturing the barriers which had preserved him


from Morn's cruel past, Angus hauled his head up and


hissed like murder into his ear, 'Shut up! Shut up! You'll


get us killed if you don't keep your fucking mouth shut!'


The man behind Angus went on moaning, 'Shit. Shit, '


as if he didn't have the strength to cry out.


A trickle of blood ran into Davies' eyes, but he couldn't


see it through the phosphene dance. Angus had beaten


him up, he remembered that, pounded and kicked and cudg-


eled his flesh to make him vulnerable, mar his beauty so that


it would be less frightening. 'You -' he panted. 'You vile -'


'Listen to me. ' Angus pulled his grip tighter. 'Listen,


you little shit. I can hide us visually, but I can't block


sound. Not without distorting every bugeye in range,.


and then he'll know exactly where we are. He'll track the


distortion. I've already set off alarms in Operations, in


his strongroom. Goddamn it, I'm trying to rescue you! All


you have to do is shut up!'


Past a chaos of blood and hurt, Davies choked out,


'You raped me, you sonofabitch!'


'What's he talking about?' Angus' companion begged.


'He's crazy. Doesn't he want to be rescued?'


Snarling in frustration, Angus pulled his son off the


wall, spun him, hit him in the stomach hard enough to


stun his diaphragm. While Davies gaped for air he


couldn't get, Angus lashed a hand at the other man,


jerked him closer.


'Help me hold him!' Angus whispered hotly. 'We've


got to stay together. If he opens his mouth, jam your


fingers down his throat. '


As if he were strong enough to carry them both, Angus


heaved Davies and the other man toward the door.


Davies stumbled, but Angus and the other man kept


him upright. Blinking blood from his eyes, he forced his


legs under him.


In a knot of arms, a tangle of feet, the two men half-


carried him out of his cell toward the open door of a


lift.


Morn must have been someone else, a separate indi-


vidual, but he couldn't tell the difference.


'Angus, ' he said, 'Angus, listen to me.


1 can save you.


I'll testify for you. When you go back to Com-Mine, they'll


charge you with illegal departure. I'll support you. I'm not


much of a cop anymore, but I've still got my id tag. I'll tell


them you left on my orders. And I'll tell them there was no


supply ship. It was a hoax - that other ship set it up. I'll tell


them to arrest Nick Succorso. I can't save your ship, but I can


save you.


'Just give me the control. 'His voice was husky, full of need.


The zone implant control. '


And Angus replied, 'You aren't thinking straight. You're


a cop. It's worse when a cop breaks the law. They'll find out.


They have to find out. And then you'll be finished. ' He may


have been crying. 'I'll lose my ship. '


If there were alarms wailing in Operations, or in the


Bill's strongroom, Davies couldn't hear them.


Frantic with haste, Angus and his companion man-


handled Davies into the lift. Sweat splashed from Angus'


face as he whirled to the control panel, sent the car


upward. A red splotch outlined the impact of Davies'


knuckles high on his cheek.


'You can't save it, 'Davies shot back, suddenly angry, more


than a little desperate. 'I can handle Station Security. And


the UMCP. I'll think of a way. But nothing can save your


ship. It's too badly broken. We'll need a miracle just to get


back to Com-Mine alive.


'Please. Give me the control. 'Now he was pleading nakedly.


I'm not going to use it against you. I need it to heal. '


Clamping one hand on the armrest of Davies' seat, bracing


his feet on the deck, Angus struck him a blow like the one


which had felled Nick, a blow with the whole weight of his


existence behind it. If Davies' seat hadn't absorbed some of


the impact, he might have been knocked unconscious. Angus


might have broken his neck.


'Bitch. I'll never give up my ship. '


Who asked you to, you vile bastard? Davies raged.


Who wants you to go on living? Succorso should have


slagged you while he had the chance!


Morn would have been better off if she'd died then.


But he kept his mouth shut, locked the words and the


memories like screams inside his skull. A convulsion was


taking place within him, a seismic upheaval, and memory


was only one of the tectonic forces Angus had unleashed.


Rescue was another: escape from the Bill; from the


Amnion; from Nick Succorso. And sound was the only


danger he understood. I can hide us visually, but I can't


block sound.


Despite the collapse of his protective barriers, he clung


to what he understood; to the hard, clear need for escape.


Liberated at last, memories yowled and harried


through his brain like furies.


While the lift rose he remembered how Nick had


tricked and trapped Angus. He remembered the part he'd


played in making that possible.


He remembered the impossible yearning which had


sprung to fire in him when he'd first seen Nick - the


mute, ineluctable, sexless, and almost entirely abstract


passion, not for Nick Succorso the man, but rather for


the capacity to act which Nick embodied.


He remembered hours of rape, days of humiliation,


weeks of the zone implant. He remembered pleading,


prostrating himself, offering Angus anything he could


think of.


Does that make you feel like a man? he'd asked before


he'd learned what was about to happen to him; how


savage Angus' intentions were. Do you have to destroy me


to feel good yourself? Are you that sick?


It's because of men like you I became a cop.


forbidden space is bad enough. We don't need any worse


threats than that. But men like you are worse. You betray


your own kind. You prey on human beings - on human


survival - and get rich. I'll do anything I can to stop you. No


price is too high for stopping a man like you.


And later he'd said, Even if I can't do it, somebody else


will. It doesn't matter what you think of me. Maybe you're


right. Maybe I'm as bad as a traitor. But there are better


cops than me — stronger — They'll stop you. They'll make you


pay for this.


But Angus had answered, They'll never get the chance.


I told you. I'm a bastard. The worst bastard you'll ever meet.


And I'm good at what I do. I've been dancing circles around


the fucking cops all my life. If they ever catch me, it'll be long


after you're dead.


In the meantime, I'm going to have some fun with you.


You're my crew now. You're going to learn to take orders.


And I've got old scores to settle. A lot of them. I'm going to


settle them on you. By the time I'm done, you're going to want


to run away so bad it'll damn near kill you, but I won't even


let you scream.


It was too much in too little time. The car was as


claustrophobic as a coffin, too small to contain furies.


Davies remembered what Angus had done without being


able to believe that he'd done them to Morn Hyland, not


to her son.


And he couldn't remember why.


How had his plight become possible? Why had he let


Angus have that kind of power over him? He'd always


been able to remember the moment when Starmaster saw


Bright Beauty destroy that mining camp, slaughter the


miners. Why hadn't Starmaster killed or arrested Angus?


Why hadn't Davies killed Angus himself?


Nick had told him the answer, but he couldn't remem-


ber it. The orogenic forces cracking and shifting through


him confused it, confused all recent knowledge: only the


past was real.


Blood dripped into his mouth. He bit his lower lip


until it hurt like his head.


As the car eased up to the level Angus had chosen^ the


other man opened his mouth fearfully: he wanted to say


something, ask something. Questions and dread haunted


his eyes.


As fierce as the pain in Davies' forehead, Angus formed


the words, Shut up! As if he were threatening his com-


panion in some way, he shoved his hand into a pocket


of the other man's shipsuit, pulled out a packet of nic.


Brandishing it in his companion's face, he dared the other


man to take it back.


The man winced; his eyes rolled. Nevertheless he


didn't reach for the packet - or pull away.


When the doors slid aside, Davies and the other man


automatically tried to lurch into motion. Incomprehen-


sibly strong, Angus held them still -


- until he saw that no one was waiting to use the lift;


that the corridor in front of him was empty.


Then, with a flick of his hand, he tossed the packet


in a spinning arc out the upper left corner of the open


door.


Davies didn't realize that the lift was being watched


until he saw a guard turn to focus on the object sailing


unexpectedly over his head.


Instantly Angus drove Davies and his companion for-


ward. Before the guard could turn back, Angus touched


his fist to the man's spine.


The guard fell on his face. After a twitch or two, he


stopped moving. A little curl of smoke rose from his


clothing and was gone.


Sweat gleamed on Angus' cheeks. Grinning savagely,


he impelled Davies and the other man into the corridor.


Twenty meters later, they passed a corner. The lifts


which accessed the Bill's private domain were out of


sight.


Why? Davies shouted in silence and anguish. Why did


I let you do that to me?


What had Nick told him? He gave her a zone implant


to keep her under control. Talking about Morn as if she


and Davies weren't the same person. That's how he got her


pregnant.


It's a pathetic story. He turned, her on until she would have


been willing to suck her insides out with a vacuum hose,


and then he fucked her senseless. For weeks, he made her do


everything he'd ever dreamed a woman could do.


That's your father, Davies. That's the kind of man you


are.


And Nick had said, She'd learned to like it. He'd degraded


her so much that she fell in love with it. Eventually she wanted


it so much that he could trust her with her zone implant


control. It wasn't found on him because he'd already given it


to her. She loved using it on herself.


But that wasn't it, wasn't what Davies needed to


remember. The torrent of memories crashing through


him had no central why.


He needed that absolutely.


At the same time it terrified him so much that he


couldn't dislodge it from the blind core of his mind;


couldn't break it free to dominate and define the furies.


Struggling for sanity, he took hold of the present long


enough to realize that this whole situation should have


been impossible. Billingate was thick with monitors.


Why didn't the Bill react? Hide us visually - How?


And if they were hidden, why did Angus kill the guard?


Impossible or not, Angus' concealment appeared to


work. Locked together and nearly stumbling like drunks


supporting each other after a binge, the three of them


entered an area called Reception. A few men and women


were there; but their attention was fixed on the data


terminals. And there were guards — Davies couldn't tell


how many. But they all had the poleaxed look of men


kept awake by inadequate doses of stim. Because of the


way Angus and his companion held Davies, with their


heads down and their faces toward each other, the guards


might not be able to see them well enough to identify


them.


Once they passed Reception and entered the corridor


leading to the visitors' docks, they were alone again.


Access passages branched off at intervals, serving indi-


vidual berths. Outside the passages, ship id displays indi-


cated that some of the berths were occupied; others


weren't. Davies saw Captain's Fancy's name and had to


grind his teeth to keep from howling. Morn wasn't there,


she was already lost, already Amnion - but Succorso


might be, the man who'd destroyed her.


There was only one evil worse than what Angus had


done to her. The ultimate crime had been left for Nick


to commit.


But Davies couldn't think about that. He was Morn


Hyland: the woman who'd been given to the Amnion no


longer existed. Rape and ruin ripped through him; furies


clawed at his mind. They were going to tear him apart.


Abruptly Angus and the other man swung him into an


access passage. He caught a glimpse of the id display:


Trumpet.


No more guards. He didn't understand that. Angus


Thermopyle was a notorious illegal; he'd just escaped


from lockup. He should have had guns trained on him


every time he took a step. The Bill should have ordered


that for his own protection.


But of course the Bill was an illegal as well. Davies was


thinking like a cop; like Morn before -


At its end the passage led through a scan field toward


an airlock, a ship. Now the Bill would know where they


were: that was inescapable. The scan field would register


three bodies moving through it. It would show that


Angus and his companion had taken someone aboard


Trumpet with them.


But Angus didn't hesitate. As he compelled Davies and


the other man ahead, his face wore a peculiar expression,


a look of concentration elsewhere, as if he could hear the


voices of the dead.


Together they reached the ship. The other man panted


urgently, eager for safety, while Angus keyed codes into


the airlock's exterior control panel.


In seconds the lock cycled open.


They blundered aboard.


As soon as the lock sealed behind them, Angus shoved


Davies and the other man away from him. Malign tri-


umph and rage burned in his eyes; his features twisted


savagely. Slashing his fists at the ceiling, he yelled, 'I did


it! I got you, you bastard!'


He may have been shouting at the Bill.


Davies thudded against the interior doors, stood still


with his arms wrapped around his chest to contain the


furies.


Gulping for air, the other man gasped, 'I don't under-


stand. How did you do that? What did you do? Shit,


Angus! The Bill will be here in five minutes. He's going


to want blood for those guards you killed. '


'No, he won't!' Angus needed to shout; needed an


outlet for his tension and exultation. Pointing his index


finger like a gun at his temple, he barked, 'I can emit


jamming fields! I blinded his bugeyes - he never saw us!


His scan' - he flung his arm in the direction of the access


passage - 'never saw us! As far as he knows, we aren't


here. We've lost ourselves somewhere on the cruise! He'll


spend hours looking for us. '


Gradually he lowered his voice. We'll leave communi-


cations on automatic. If he calls, the ship'll tell him we


aren't here. '


'Shit, Angus, ' the other man sighed again weakly. He


inhaled Trumpet's atmosphere as if he'd never tasted any-


thing so sweet. 'You scared me. What would it have cost


you to tell me what you were doing?'


Angus flashed a predatory grin. 'What would it have


cost you to force me to tell you?'


Davies couldn't contain so much pressure. The more


he confined it, the stronger it became. He wanted to hit


Angus, pulverize him, reduce his triumph to powder. His


mother's legacy urged him to destroy himself by attacking


Angus.


So that he could avoid the central why.


Angus and this other man were his allies only to the


extent that they opposed the Bill. For all he knew, they


were working with Nick Succorso, even though Succorso


had betrayed Angus to Com-Mine Security. Or they


might be working for the Amnion. Nothing he


remembered gave him any reason to think Angus' malice


had limits.


But he'd reached his own limits, his breaking point. If


he snapped now, he would snap permanently.


Like his father, he needed an outlet.


Tight with suppressed violence, he left the airlock as


soon as it opened, strode into the waiting lift to put some


distance between himself and Angus. But that was as far


as he could go.


Whirling, he cried from the depths of his inherited


anguish, 'Damn you, you RAPED me!'


Angus and his companion froze, staring at Davies as


if he'd threatened to immolate himself.


'He said that before, ' the pudgy man muttered anxi-


ously. 'What's he talking about?'


'How the fuck should I know?' Angus retorted. Facing


Davies, he demanded, What the hell are you talking


about, I raped you? You must be my kid. I don't know


how else she could have dropped a brat who looks like


me. I'm going to make Captain Sheepfucker pay for not


telling me that. But I've never seen you before in my life. '


Unconsciously aping Angus' exultation, Davies bran-


dished his fists; he flailed the air because he had nothing


else to hit.


It's because of men like you I became a cop. I'll do anything


I can to stop you. '


Angus' yellow eyes widened. Wait a minute. Wait a


minute. I've heard that before. It's a quote. A direct


quote. '


'Angus —' the other man put in.


'Shut up, Milos, ' Angus snapped. 'Let me think. '


Without warning all the anger ran out of Davies.


Anger was essential: it was his last defense. But now the


central why was too close to the surface; he couldn't fight


it down any longer. Involuntary shudders ran through


him as his rage turned to panic and helplessness.


'What did Succorso tell us?' Angus asked rhetorically.


The Amnion used some kind of force-growing tech-


nique. ' Mimicking Nick's voice, he drawled, They say


force-growing is supposed to make vegetables out of the


mother, but that didn't happen to her. They think they


know why. So they aren't particularly interested in her.


But they want her brat. They want to study the conse-


quences of having a mother who didn't lose her mind. '


Angus' eyes glittered with intuitions. 'I don't know


anything about force-growing. They didn't supply me


with a database on it. But maybe she was supposed to


lose her mind because they gave it to him. They imprinted


it on him. Because he isn't old enough to have a mind of


his own. '


He let out a guttural laugh. 'He thinks he's her. He


thinks he's the one I raped.


'He thinks he's the one who killed her whole family. '


There.


Why.


Nick had given him a hint, but he hadn't understood


it. After she demolished Starmaster, he rescued her from the


wreckage.


Killed her whole family.


Hugging himself like a child, Davies Hyland sank to


the floor of the lift and curled into a ball.


ANGUS


Strangely dismayed by the extremity of Davies' reac-


tion, Angus stared down at his son and chewed


his lower lip.


He needed a database on force-growing; needed to


know what he was up against. Apparently he'd guessed


right. The Amnion had copied Morn's mind onto


Davies', presumably because knowledge, training and


experience couldn't be force-grown the way bodies could.


And apparently some facet of the process — maybe her


zone implant, maybe something else - had protected her


from going crazy when her mind was ripped away; prob-


ably by blocking the memories which had afflicted her


with so much revulsion and horror. Now those memories


were returning to her son.


His son. The kid was unquestionably his.


Right or not, however, guesses didn't help. They


explained Davies' collapse, but they didn't answer the


larger questions.


The Amnion want him back. They want to study the conse-


quences of having a mother who didn't lose her mind.


Curled tightly around himself, he lay on the floor of


the midship lift. His forehead was crusted with blood.


Except for the stertorous rasp of his breathing, he made


no sound. But in another minute he was probably going


to start whimpering. After that it might be only a matter


of time before he began to suck his thumb.


How good were the chances that the Amnion wanted


him back now, in this condition? Wasn't it more likely


that he'd just become worthless to them?


If that was true, Angus had suddenly lost his leverage.


Nick had no reason to exchange Morn for damaged mer-


chandise.


And the memories which caused Davies so much harm


were his, Angus', doing.


As he considered the implications, he growled to no


one in particular, 'Motherfucking sonofabitch. '


'Who, him?' Milos asked. His safe return to Trumpet


left him in a state of brittle relief. Trying to recover his


self-confidence, he protested, 'Come on, Angus. Give


him a break. He's just a kid. It's not his fault he looks


like you. '


Full of chagrin and bitterness, Angus rounded on


Milos. Past his blistered tongue, he rasped, 'Not him.


Succorso. Captain Sheepfucker. You aren't thinking,


Milos. That's dangerous. It's how shits like you get


killed.


'Help me pick him up. ' He moved to Davies' side.


We'll take him to the bridge until I decide what to do


with him. '


Riding his relief, Milos stayed where he was. Absent-


mindedly he reached for his packet of nic. When he real-


ized it was gone, he gave a fleshy grimace.


'Tell me, ' he said softly. 'What aren't I thinking about?'


'We're being cheated. ' The pain in Angus' mouth made


him want to rage. 'What kind of game do you think


Succorso is playing?' He took a step closer to his second.


'Or do you already know? Is that what you were talking


to him about before we docked? - setting this up?'


Milos raised his hands to ward Angus away. His eyes


hinted at Jerico priority commands. Still softly, he asked,


'How do you know Succorso is cheating?'


'Because he's keeping secrets. Somehow he neglected


to mention Davies is my son. And he sure as hell didn't


tell us Davies has Morn's mind. What do you think?


Doesn't that sound like he was trying to help us fail?'


Unless the real cheat was on another level entirely;


more insidious as well as more profound. In which case,


the things Succorso hadn't revealed about Davies were


just a distraction.


Milos' eyes dropped; unconscious of what he did, he


searched his pockets for nic. After a moment he mur-


mured, 'That isn't what we talked about. As far as I know,


his problem is exactly what he says it is. He promised


this kid to the Amnion. Now he can't deliver. ' Slowly he


looked up to meet Angus' glare. 'Everything he said was


a demand for help. '


Angus wanted to spit his disgust in Milos' face. Grimly


he muttered, Well, we'll know soon, won't we. If Cap-


tain Sheepfucker comes here looking for Davies, he


wasn't trying to make us fail. He was just playing with


us. ' Distracting us. 'If he doesn't, we'll know we're in


trouble. '


Crowded with vehemence, he pointed at Davies and


rasped, 'Are you going to give me a hand, or are you


going to stand there holding your cock until it falls off?'


A flush of anger highlighted the mottling on Milos'


scalp. Nevertheless he swallowed a retort. With a tight


shrug, he came to help pick Davies off the floor.


The boy was completely rigid, secured like cargo by


the flexsteel straps of his distress. His chest sucked air


through his teeth; an urgent, fatal wheeze: nothing else


moved. His eyes were clenched shut.


An unfamiliar pang like pity twisted Angus' heart as


he felt the pressure of his son's crisis. He seemed to know


what was happening inside the boy as if he'd learned it


from Morn. Davies was remembering the absolute auth-


ority of gap-sickness, the command to commit destruc-


tion; remembering the wholesale slaughter of his family.


But it was something which hadn't happened to him


— a crime as well as a sickness in which he had no part.


And he hadn't lived through the consequences. Yet Morn


Hyland, who owned those memories, had taken it better


than this. She'd faced this same utter and irreparable


horror, and had come back fighting -


In a sense, she'd forced Angus to give her a zone


implant. Without it she would have found some way to


kill him. Especially if that meant killing herself at the


same time.


Her son was being broken by things which she'd


already survived.


Angus' son.


Another baby far the crib.


His part in Davies had made the boy weaker than his


mother.


And now Morn might be lost because Davies wasn't


strong enough to be worth trading for her.


Fulminating uselessly, Angus pulled Milos and Davies


into motion. His urge to murder something, anything,


was so strong that only powerful zone implants and


inexorable machine logic could control it.


Approximately gentle, he and Milos rode the lift with


Davies to the midship passage, then lugged him toward


the bridge. At the head of the companionway, Milos


supported Davies while Angus moved partway down the


treads; then Angus accepted the hard fetal knot and


carried it the rest of the way. After only a moment's


hesitation he propped Davies in Milos' g-seat at the


second's station. By the time Milos gained the bridge,


Angus was at his own station, keying commands which


ran Trumpet's communications log across one of the dis-


play screens.


The log showed routine operational signals; the mes-


sage from Nick which Milos had retrieved earlier; and a


peremptory demand from the Bill.


This last transmission said, 'Captain Angus Thermo-


pyle of Trumpet, reply as soon as you get this. My security


has been breached. You're in as much trouble here as I


am, and I intend to make sure you can't avoid any of it


- unless you help me find out what happened and do


something about it.


'This is my rock, Captain Angus. I'm the Bill you owe.


If you don't pay me, you won't live to be paid by anybody


else. '


'Shit, ' Milos breathed, staring at the screen. 'How does


he know it was us?'


'He doesn't, ' Angus snorted. 'He would be cutting our


airlocks open right now if he did. But he knows we talked


to Captain Sheepfucker - the obvious candidate for a


security breach. And he's got a recording of your activities


while we were waiting for that message. Even if he was


brain dead, he would wonder what that was all about.


The important thing now is to not let him know we're


back aboard. '


Milos looked at Davies as if he were considering rolling


the boy out of his g-seat. Won't he figure it out?'


'Eventually, ' Angus admitted. 'But maybe by that time


we'll be rid of the kid. '


If Succorso wasn't cheating.


If the Amnion still wanted Davies.


And if- the unexpected idea shocked him like a static


discharge - he could bear to trade his son away.


A more vulnerable version of himself.


He'd spent his life fleeing from his personal abyss.


Could he abandon Davies to it now? Could he surrender


his son to the crib —


with his scrawny wrists and ankles tied to the slats


while his mother filled him with pain


jamming hard things up his anus, down his throat, prying


open his penis with needles


and laughing - ?


How could he leave any part of himself there?


His datacore might not give him any choice.


Suddenly he felt as weak as Milos. Like Milos, he


breathed to himself,, because he didn't have


the strength or the words for his dilemma.


'I hope so, ' Milos said distantly. Then he asked, What


do we do now?'Shitshitshit


Angus' datacore didn't care how weak he felt; his zone


implants didn't care. Wait, ' he muttered. 'Until we hear


from Captain Sheepfucker. '


'In that case' - Milos moved to the companionway -


'I need nic. '


Go ahead, Angus thought impersonally. Smoke your


lungs out. Maybe you'll die of cancer.


But he didn't think anything that good was going to


happen.


Davies' clenched respiration was starting to sound like


a death-rattle.


Welded unbreakably to his equipment, Angus waited like


a capped volcano.


Milos returned from replenishing his supply of nic.


Smoking like an oil fire, he paced a slow circle around


the bridge, passing across the display screens and behind


the companionway as if his life revolved on Angus or


Davies.


After ten minutes the intercom chimed.


Milos froze in mid-stride. Angus jerked up his head.


'This is Nick. ' Succorso's voice, casual and maddening.


'Let me in. '


On the keypad of the airlock intercom he tapped the


id code Angus had given him.


A spasm shook Davies. His breathing sharpened. But


his eyes remained knotted shut; he didn't unlock his fetal


grip on himself.


Angus silenced the intercom. 'I'll do it, ' he told Milos.


He could have opened the airlock from his board, but


he didn't. Instead he turned his seat and leaped for the


companionway. 'I don't want that bastard on this ship


unless I'm watching him every second. '


The time, his computer informed him, was


04: 11: 19. 07.


Up the companionway. Along the passage past Trum-


pet's galley, sickbay; the weaponry and computer spaces.


Into the lift. Angus' heart hammered; his brain ran light-


ning calculations. The bugeyes would hear Succorso's


voice; would see him enter the airlock. The fact that


Trumpet wasn't empty might not remain secret much


longer. Angus, Milos and Davies would be safe only as


long as it was impossible for anyone to imagine that


Angus could emit a refractive jamming field; as long as


it was easier for the Bill to believe that Succorso had been


given the codes to let himself aboard Trumpet.


When the lift opened, Angus moved to the airlock


panel and unsealed the doors; then he retreated into the


car - out of bugeye range - while the lock cycled.


Succorso stood outside, at the end of the scan field.


His eyes were dark and hollow, as deep as gouges; his


scars looked like streaks of ash across his cheeks. Never-


theless his mouth wore a buccaneering smile and his arms


swung from his relaxed shoulders as if he were afraid of


nothing.


He was alone.


Angus raised a warning finger to his lips, then


motioned Nick into the airlock.


As soon as the exterior doors closed, Nick asked in a


careless tone, 'Did you get him?'


Angus waited until Nick joined him in the lift before


he pronounced, 'You're the one with the death-wish, not


me. You like treachery so much you would rather sab-


otage your allies than help them, no matter how desper-


ately you need them. '


Hard as a blow, he keyed the car upward.


Nick's smile twisted. 'What's that supposed to mean?'


Angus would have hit Nick if he could. His zone


implants prevented him, so he did his best to punch with


words. 'You didn't tell me Davies is my kid. You didn't


tell me he has Morn's mind. That was a mistake, asshole


- a big mistake. '


Nick shrugged. A smolder gleamed in the damaged


depths of his eyes. 'So you did get him?'


The lift stopped, opened. Angus pointed Nick toward


the bridge. 'For all the good it's going to do you. '


A question crossed Nick's features: he let it go. Amb-


ling in Thanatos Minor's light g, he headed along the


passage to the companionway.


Close at his back, Angus followed him down the steps.


In Angus' absence, Milos had finally made up his mind


to push Davies out of his g-seat. The boy lay curled


around himself on the deck between the command


stations. His breathing had accelerated: he heaved for air


as if he were suffocating. But his eyes stayed shut. If


anything his muscles were clamped more tightly than


before.


Smoking hard, Milos sat in his g-seat. He'd pivoted


his station to face the companionway; but he didn't meet


either Nick's gaze or Angus' glare.


'Christ on a crutch, Captain Thermo-pile, ' Nick


drawled. 'You were supposed to rescue him, not scare


him into autism. '


At the sound of Nick's voice, Davies' eyes sprang wide.


Wild and white, they stared blind madness at Nick's


boots.


Another pang touched Angus' heart.


'It wasn't me. ' He pushed past Nick to take his own


g-seat. Swiveling his station, he confronted Nick with his


hands on his board, ready for maneuvers or matter


cannon fire. 'You did this - you set it up. Seeing me


triggered a memory crisis of some kind. If you'd warned


me, I might have been able to stop it. Instead I made it


worse because I didn't know what was going on.


The Amnion may not want him like this. I don't know


about that, and I don't care. It's on your head -you can


pick up the pieces. We made a deal. Morn for Davies. I


kept my end. ' Grimly he promised, 'Now you are going


to keep yours. '


Nick made a sound like a dying laugh. 'Oh, they'll


want him, all right. He's still human - he's valuable no


matter what condition he's in. And they wanted to study


him, see what effect her zone implant had on him. That


hasn't changed. They won't be able to blame me if they


don't like the results.


'Here. ' He reached into his pocket, took out an id tag


on a fine chain. This is hers. I'll leave it with you' - his


mouth twisted with humor or scorn - 'to show my good


faith. I'll take him to the Amnion sector. ' He nodded at


Davies. Then I'll go get her and bring her here. '


The id tag was Morn's: Angus recognized the


embossed UMCP insignia at a glance.


Too fast for Nick to stop him, he snatched the chain.


'Wrong. '


Nick tensed as if he were about to jump at Angus.


Almost immediately, however, he forced himself to relax.


He may have been taken aback by the speed of Angus'


reflexes.


Angus gripped the id tag so hard that his fist shook,


daring Nick to spring; nearly pleading for Nick to attack


him. Into Nick's face he rasped, 'First you bring her here.


Then I'll let you have the kid. '


Slowly one of Davies' arms uncurled. His palm pressed


flat against the deck.


A tic began to pull at the muscles of Nick's cheek,


stretching his scars until they looked like small grimaces.


Without shifting his attention from Angus, he asked,


What the hell is going on here, Milos?'


'How should I know?' Milos sighed - a veiled groan.


'He's been out of control ever since we docked. '


'Then talk to him, ' Nick demanded between his teeth.


'Give me some help here. I've done everything I can to


make you rich. Right now you're spending money I made


for you. You owe me, Milos. You got him out of lockup,


didn't you? You must have some kind of leverage with


him.


'It's time to pay your debts. '


Milos dropped his nic on the deck. His hands trembled


as he took out another one, lit it. Nevertheless he


sounded almost sure of himself, almost calm, as he


replied, 'You're a dead man, Nick. Only a fool pays his


debts to a dead man. '


The tic tightened in Nick's cheek. His air of nonchal-


ance changed character: a poised stillness came over him.


Not for the first time, he reminded Angus of a viper,


supple and deadly. Yet his eyes held a haunted look, a


hint of desperation. He might have been drowning.


His gaze flicked around the bridge as if he were look-


ing for a weapon. 'Nice ship, ' he commented apprais-


ingly. 'You did yourself a favor when you stole her. She's


a lot better than that other hunk of junk. '


Then he met Angus' scowl again.


'I don't trust you, Captain Thermo-pile. I know too


much about you. How do you expect me to believe you


won't renege as soon as you get your hands on her?'


'I don't. ' Still praying that Nick would attack him,


Angus lowered his fist until it rested on the command


board. 'In fact, I may decide to do exactly that. This is


the price you pay for not telling me he's my kid - for not


warning me. He doesn't leave this ship until you bring


Morn Hyland here. '


Now Davies was staring at his hand on the deck rather


than at Nick's boots. Painfully, stiff with cramps, he


unbent his other arm, straightened his knees a bit.


Nick raised his fingers to rub at his cheek, but he


didn't seem aware of it. Darkness filled his eyes. 'In that


case' - a lopsided smile bent his mouth - 'you can kiss


her goodbye. ' He laughed like breaking glass. 'I mean,


you already have kissed her goodbye. There in Mallorys


was the last you're ever going to see of her.


'Don't bother coming with me. ' He laughed again.


Now it sounded like breaking bones. 'I can find my own


way out. '


He turned for the companionway.


Davies pushed himself up onto his knees and lunged


forward, grabbing Nick around the legs.


Nick staggered a step; recovered his balance. Angus


assumed his son was strong: he'd been strong himself at


that age. But the stress of clamping his body into a ball


so tightly had left the boy weak. He couldn't pull Nick


off his feet.


Nick wrenched himself around despite Davies' grasp.


'Let go of me, you little shit. '


Davies' mouth gaped open. A croak like a crippled


howl came from his straining throat. Driving one leg


under him, he managed to knock Nick back against the


companionway.


As Nick hit the treads, he snap-punched Davies in the


temple so hard that the boy slumped aside.


But Davies didn't let go. He'd lost his hold on Nick's


legs, so he clung to one of Nick's ankles. A constricted


frenzy flamed on his face.


Quick as a piston, Nick kicked him in the solar plexus.


Davies must have seen the blow coming, however. He


had Morn's training - and Angus' instincts. In spite of


his weakness and pain, he released Nick's ankle; as Nick's


boot slammed into him, he flung his arms around that leg


and heaved sideways, pulling Nick over him and down.


Milos was on his feet - not to intervene, just trying to


put as much distance as possible between himself and the


fight.


Angus sat where he was, gripping Morn's id tag so


hard the metal cut into his palm; studying his enemy.


Once more he had the dislocated sense of being more


than one person; of existing simultaneously in separate


realities. One part of him left his g-seat and jumped


eagerly into the fray, savage for a chance to use his new


resources - to make Succorso pay some of the cost for


his long ordeal. Hell, with his welded force he could


easily kill Succorso. And the strange pangs were growing


stronger. Davies was his son —


A more vulnerable version of himself.


Weak with cramps and his mother's absolute chagrin.


Yet Angus didn't move. Prewritten instructions held


him still, instructions which denied him the right to hurt


anyone with any kind of UMCP connection - and which


placed no value on Davies. He sat and watched the


struggle as if it were purely of abstract interest, while


inside his skull he howled like his son.


Nick was good: Angus had to admit that. The instant


he hit the deck, he rebounded to his knees. One two


three times he pounded Davies in the face, and again,


onetwothree, too fast for Davies to block the blows.


Blood splashed from Davies' cheeks, his mouth, his


brows. Gulps of air panted in and out of his mouth like


aborted screams.


Nevertheless Davies didn't quit. Ducking his head


against Nick's fists, he tightened his grip as if he were


fighting for Morn's life and strained to haul himself up


Nick's body, reach high enough to do some damage.


'Shit!' Milos gasped suddenly. 'Angus, Nick's going to


kill him!'


With the same abstract abhorrence which kept him


still, Angus wondered whether Milos was about to issue


a Joshua order.


He couldn't take that chance.


'All right, Captain Sheepfucker, ' he growled. 'You can stop now. If you hurt him any more, even the Amnion won't want him. '


Nick flashed a glance at Angus, showed his teeth.


In a spray of blood he hit Davies again onetwothree.


Davies' hold on Nick slipped an inch; started to fail -


— and a restriction lifted in Angus' head. Between one


instant and the next, his programming shifted along a


new logic-tree. New implications were considered: new


standards applied.


Davies was Morn's son.


Joshua was here to rescue her.


Therefore whatever she valued, whatever she needed


or owned, might be important; might be crucial.


He exploded out of his g-seat.


Before Nick reached four, Angus caught him by the


back of his shipsuit, snatched him into the air and pitched


him against the rear bulkhead.


Nick hit; twisted to land on his feet. Wild and des-


perate, at the end of his endurance, he charged at Angus


as if he meant to prove that he never lost.


Snarling avidly, Angus punched him straight in the


forehead with a fist reinforced by implanted struts and


plates - a fist as effectively massive as a block of stone.


Nick dropped to his knees like a bull in an abattoir.


He didn't fall; but his eyes glazed, and his head lolled.


His hands thrashed like dying fish at the ends of his arms.


Angus felt a rush of raw pleasure as acute as lasers, as


clean as matter cannon fire. 'That's twice, Succorso. '


Twice he'd beaten Nick physically. 'The third time, I


won't just tap you. I'll split your fucking skull. '


Panting for violence, he bent over Davies to see what


shape the boy was in.


Despite his bloody breathing and stunned gaze, Davies


was conscious. His hands groped for Angus, plucked at


Angus' sleeves. His mangled lips moved dumbly, as if


they were trying to form words.


After a moment he managed to moan, 'My father—All


of them -' Then he choked. 'Oh, God. '


Roughly Angus picked Davies off the deck. He con-


sidered sickbay; dismissed the idea. He needed answers,


and he needed them now. Half carrying the boy, he


moved back to Milos' station, seated his son there.


With his hands braced on the arms of the g-seat, he


peered into Davies' face.


'Pay attention. Try to keep it straight. That was then.


This is now. And that was Morn. This is you. Just


because you remember her past doesn't mean the same


things happened to you.


'All right?'


Davies twitched his head. He may have been trying to


nod.


Angus pulled away. The pleasure-rush was gone. See-


ing his son beaten and bloody was too much like seeing


himself in the same state. A sudden pressure filled his


throat. Swallowing it harshly, he rasped, Then let's start


making sense. You don't want me to let Captain Sheep-


fucker leave. I figured that much out. So I won't. He's


going to stay until we're done with him.


'Now tell me what the fuck you think you're doing. '


Davies groaned softly. A bubble of blood formed on


his lips and burst. With a heart-wrenching effort, he


brought his eyes into focus.


'I know him. We didn't spend all our time fucking. He


talked. I wanted to kill him just to make him stop talking. '


A new pain pulled like a laceration through Angus'


chest. 'I said, keep it straight!' As if he were telepathic,


he understood Davies perfectly. That was Morn. The


kind of fucking he gave you was completely different. '


Davies tried to nod again. Abused and urgent, his eyes


clung to Angus. 'But I know him. He doesn't have her. '


Angus froze. Milos seemed to be strangling on smoke.


Nick took a breath like a shudder and lowered his head


as if he were waiting for the axe.


As clearly as he could, Davies articulated, 'He can't


trade her for me. He already gave her to the Amnion. ' A


spasm of pain stopped him. When it passed, he finished,


The Bill told me. '


Milos covered his face with his hands.


Morn!


Angus' fury was nearly as fast as his microprocessor;


nearly fast enough to lash out before his datacore could


stop him.


Gave her to the Amnion.


That was the point of Nick's distractions; the real


cheat. He'd turned her over to mutagens and ruin. And


then he went on using her as a bargaining chip as if he


still had her.


Angus would have been willing to die for a chance to


hit Nick again.


But his passion slammed into the neural wall of his


zone implants: he couldn't move. Outraged and heart-


sick, he couldn't do anything except stand still and let his


programming make Warden Dios' decisions.


Madness crowded his head. Like Nick, he'd come to


the end of his endurance. He was on the verge of break-


ing - right on the edge of his personal abyss - when he


heard himself say, 'In that case, we'll have to get her


back. '


'Oh, shit, ' Milos breathed. He didn't seem to have any


other words for his dismay.


'That's crazy. ' Nick brought the words up from the pit


of his stomach as if he were coughing. 'She's in the


Amnion sector. You'll have to fight them and the Bill


and two warships just to find her. And they've already


given her their mutagens. She's already one of them. '


And you did that to her! Angus howled at him. She gave


herself to you, she gave you everything I wanted, and you


turned her over to them. '


At the same time he said calmly, We still have to get


her back. ' He sounded as lucid as a machine. 'If she's one


of them now, we'll kill her. Otherwise we'll rescue her. '


She was a cop: Dios couldn't afford to let the Amnion


have her.


'Yes, ' Davies gritted through his teeth. Behind his


mask of blood, his eyes glittered. 'Yes. '


'I'm going to sickbay, ' Milos announced stiffly. He


sounded like he was grieving. 'I'll get some swabs and


antiseptic. '


Keeping his face turned away, he went to the


companionway and moved upward out of sight. -


'You're both crazy. ' Unsteadily Nick gained his feet.


'You're going to get her away from the Amnion, sure. '


His eyes were recovering focus, but his balance remained


unreliable. Stress tugged at his cheek like an erratic heart-


beat. 'You and what army? There's a warship with her


guns lined up on us right now. Super-light proton


cannon. Even if you can get into the Amnion sector and


get her out' — weakly he tried to hammer the words —


'you're never going to get away.


'You're as dead as I am. ' He attempted a grin, but the


effort failed, pulled apart by the tic in his cheek. 'Unless


you let me give them your brat.


Then some of us might survive. '


Even though he was beaten, even though Davies had


exposed his treachery, he went on groping for an exit to


the cul-de-sac.


'No. ' Angus dismissed the idea as if he'd considered it


seriously for a moment; as if he understood or cared


about the need in Nick's voice. That won't work. ' He


didn't understand or care, however. He paid no attention


to Nick's appeal. He was simply talking to fill the silence


while he waited for Dios' instructions to come through


the gap in his mind. 'If I let you take Davies there while


I went after Morn, it might be useful as a diversion. But


as soon as they lost her they would keep both of you. '


'That isn't what I -' Nick began. But then he stopped.


He must have been able to see that Angus wasn't


listening.


Squinting through blood and fear, Davies watched


Angus. Carefully, trying not to put pressure on his hurts,


he straightened himself in the g-seat. In a voice like a


metal-rasp, he asked, 'Why do you want her back? Didn't


you get enough out of her the last time?'


'That isn't it. ' Nick made a thin effort to sound sarcas-


tic. He, too, watched Angus closely. 'He likes hurting


women - don't you, Captain Thermo-pile? — but not


enough to risk himself for it. He's too much of a coward


for that.


'He has a different reason. ' He glanced briefly at


Davies. 'You've got the mind of a cop. You'll love this.


The real reason is, your dear father works for the UMCP.


He doesn't want to, of course, but they've got his neck


in a noose. He's doing this little job for them to keep


them from snapping his spine. '


He seemed to think this revelation might upset Angus.


It didn't: Angus hardly heard it. As if Nick's words


were a code or a catalyst, the window in his head opened,


and data streamed into his mind - a torrent of precon-


ceived plots and needs, exigencies and questions.


'Milos is probably just here to keep track of him, ' Nick


concluded, 'report on him if he doesn't do what he's


told. '


Frowning around his cuts and contusions, Davies


asked Angus, 'Is that true?'


Abruptly Angus' attention snapped back into focus.


He was alive on disparate planes again, existing in separ-


ate realities; multi-tasking urgently. But now the data


which poured and processed through him required him


to concentrate on Nick.


Well, there's one thing sure, ' he muttered while his


datacore filtered possibilities through the back of his


brain, testing options against his experience with Billin-


gate and the Amnion. ' "Report" is what Milos does best. '


He glanced up the companionway to be sure his second


was out of earshot. 'You may be interested to hear, Suc-


corso' - his programming kept him too busy for obsceni-


ties - 'that you aren't the only one he talked to while


we were coming in. He also sent messages to Tranquil


Hegemony.


'They answered before you did. '


Nick flinched and turned pale as if he'd been hit in the


stomach. His mouth shaped curses which were inaudible


because they had no breath behind them.


Angus liked that. He wished he'd done it of his own


free will.


'What did they say?' Davies asked.


Angus shrugged. The codes are too good. I couldn't


break them. '


The boy didn't take Milos' betrayal as hard as Nick did:


maybe he didn't understand it. He pursued the matter


impersonally. 'Then what's going on? What's he doing?'


'Playing some kind of bugger game. ' That was obvious.


'Me and Succorso and the UMCP and the Amnion, all


against each other. ' Fears and alarms roared in Angus'


ears as he thought about the damage Milos could do.


Thanks to his zone implants, however, he spoke with


untroubled confidence. 'Don't worry about it. I can


handle him.


'Succorso' - he turned sharply on Nick - 'it's time to


make up your mind. Shit or get out of the head. ' For an


instant the discrete operations taking place inside him


came together. We're going after Morn. Are you in or


out? The truth is, I need you. I need all the help I can


get. But I'm not going to force you. It'll be too easy for


you to give us away.


'Say yes or get off my ship. '


Davies tensed. He may not have understood Milos'


betrayals, but he knew too much about Nick's. Leaning


forward despite the pain in his ribs, he protested quickly,


'Angus, don't let him go. He'll tell them we're coming.


That's the way his mind works. He'll think if he shows


them his "good faith" they'll let him off the hook. '


Angus didn't hesitate. 'I'll take that chance. '


'But-!' Davies began.


'Shut up, ' Angus told the boy calmly. His datacore


imposed calm. He kept his gaze on Nick. 'I said I'll take


the chance. '


Cocking his fists on his hips, he showed Nick his teeth.


'Yes or no, Captain Sheepfucker. Pick one. Pick it now. '


Again Nick tried to laugh, but the attempt sounded


hollow and beaten — as damaged as his eyes. 'You're


crazy. I guess I have to keep saying that. You're crazy.


No, you stupid, suicidal sonofabitch. No. Is that clear


enough? I'm not going to help you. I just hope I get to


see you again someday - after the Amnion have had time


to play with you for a while. '


'In that case' - Angus raised the fist gripping Morn's


id tag - 'get the hell off my ship. '


'You're crazy, ' Nick repeated. 'Completely. '


Nevertheless he obeyed. His boots stamped loudly up


the companionway treads and along the passage until he


reached the midship lift. A moment later Angus heard


the lift doors close; heard servos hum as the lift descended


toward the airlock.


He turned back to Davies. Now he had to fight his


way through half a dozen programs, all running simul-


taneously, in order to talk to his son. Obviously his data-


core didn't care how frightened Davies felt.


'He won't warn the Amnion. He thinks that's what


he's going to do, but he'll change his mind - as soon as


he has time to think about what Milos might be doing. '


Davies studied him bleakly. What's that supposed to


mean?'


Demands and instructions thronged in Angus' brain.


He was full of scenarios played out against the backdrop


of his experience; of possibilities raised and discarded; of


outcomes analyzed: simultaneous hope and despair.


Tight with stress, he retorted, 'I haven't got time for long


explanations. We need to get ready. Whatever we decide


to do, we need to do it and be done before the Bill figures


out where you are. As soon as that happens, we're out


of choices. '


But Davies couldn't let go of his fear. It came from


too many different sources inside him: he'd remembered


too many horrors. His hands made small, incomplete


movements; his gaze pleaded for Angus' attention.


Surprised at his own tolerance - and at his ability to


act on it - Angus watched his son and waited. Although


he'd spent his life hiding it, he knew exactly how the boy


felt.


'It's too much —' Davies murmured. Too many plots.


Too much to remember. I don't know who I can trust. '


He shook his head; swallowed roughly, as if he were


fighting tears. 'Did I - ?' he asked like a scrape of pain.


'Did she really blow up Starmaster?


Angus had to resist inexorable machine pressure to


continue facing his son. His datacore had other things


for him to do. Nevertheless the men who'd designed


his commands and compulsions valued his knowledge


of illegals, his familiarity with Billingate, his training in


extreme situations. On some occasions, to some extent,


he was allowed to exercise a little discretion.


He gave Davies a sharp nod. That's the only reason


I'm still alive. And it's the only reason I got her. She was


too horrified to defend herself.


'You Hylands need to stop letting yourselves react like


that. It makes you too vulnerable. '


Drying blood slowly crusted around Davies' eyes.


After a moment he said, 'Yes, ' as if he were accepting a


legacy.


That was all the time Angus' zone implants let him


have. Stiffly he pulled away.


Where the hell is Milos?' he growled. 'We've got to


get you to sickbay. '


Too late he realized the truth. Like Nick, Milos had


left the ship.


SORUS


Sorus Chatelaine walked into the Bill's strongroom


and found him fulminating like a vial of phos-


phorus.


'Have you heard already?' he snapped as soon as he


saw her. 'Does everybody on this bloody rock already


know what those bastards did to me?'


Surrounded by computer stations, data terminals, and


display screens, he prowled the tight circle of his com-


mand center. The rest of the room was as dark and empty


as a cavern: every light focused on him and his equip-


ment. In the intense illumination he looked like he was


burning. Lean as an ascetic, he might have been a martyr


splashed with tallow and set aflame.


She moved closer, stopped just outside his circle. 'How


can I answer that?' she asked steadily. She had her own


reasons for anger - even for fear - but as a matter of


policy she never let the Bill see her vulnerabilities. 'You


haven't said which bastards you're talking about. '


'This is your fault!' he barked, sounding more than


ever like an outraged child. 'You were supposed to be


interrogating him. ' For an instant he paused to glare at


her. 'Hell, Sorus, I gave you permission to torture him.


What more did you need?'


'All right. ' She faced the Bill squarely. 'We're talking


about Davies. ' Her rich contralto betrayed nothing. 'But


I still don't understand. You said "bastards", plural. '


'And Davies Hyland himself is a bastard, I know, I


know. ' Fluttering his hands, the Bill resumed his prowl.


His eyes hunted his screens and readouts for answers they


didn't provide. 'Spare me your sense of humor at a time


like this. Why weren't you with him, doing what I told


you?'


Sorus permitted herself a small sigh. 'I needed time to


think. I wasn't sure how to tackle him. And'—she skipped


a beat or two in order to focus the Bill's attention on her


- 'I still wasn't sure what Succorso was up to. I've tried


to tell you he might be plotting something more complex


than we realize. I wanted to learn more about that, if I


could. It would be worth knowing in any case — it might


be crucial - but it would also help me decide how to


approach Davies. '


Unnecessarily she concluded, 'I wasn't particularly


interested in torturing him just for the fun of it. '


The Bill snarled through his teeth. 'Then why are you


here, at this particular moment, if you haven't already


heard?'


'Heard what? she countered. Her private anger and


alarm took the form of exasperation. 'You aren't making


much sense. '


'Sorus!' he retorted loudly, 'I need answers!' His long


fingers pointed at screens and terminals all around him.


'I already have enough questions. '


'All right. All right. ' It was obvious that she would


have to go along with him. She acceded because she


wanted to know what had happened. 'I'll tell you what


I've heard. The only thing I've heard. That's why I'm


here.


'There's a rumor in circulation that I'm' - she needed


more emphasis - 'that I am dealing in mutagen immunity


drugs. Me!'


The Bill stared at her while she explained:


'Some of my crew overheard two spacers talking about


it. In a bar-and-sleep on the cruise. I tried to get my


hands on them, but they were gone.


'I want to know who they are. That's why I'm here. I


want you to identify them for me, so I can find out what's


going on. Is that enough, or do I need to act as upset as


you?'


'Oh, spare me your histrionics. ' The Bill studied


her with a seriousness which belied his sour tone. 'You're


too emotional as it is. ' He was talking to give himself


time to think. 'A mutagen immunity drug? Are you


sure?'


She shrugged. 'That's what my people heard. '


'What a coincidence. ' The Bill raised his hands to his


head like a man who meant to pull out his hair. What a


fucking coincidence. '


'That's what I thought, ' she returned shortly.


'I mean, look at it, ' he went on as if she hadn't spoken.


'First Davies Hyland plants the idea of an immunity drug.


Well, he's a desperate kid. He might say anything he


could think of, just to make me reluctant to sell him. But


still the idea is a provocative one. Naturally I want to


learn the truth, so I ask you to get it for me.


Then look what happens. A couple of spacers start


talking about immunity drugs - and you. Entirely by


accident, of course, ' he snorted, 'they do it where your


people can hear them. Then they disappear.


'And then' - his teeth snapped at the air as if he wanted


to tear it into hunks - 'Davies himself disappears!'


'What?' For an instant Sorus couldn't control her


chagrin.


'Disappears!' the Bill repeated. 'I mean literally. Right


out of his cell. Leaving behind two dead guards, both of


them apparently killed by lasers, and a burned doorlock. '


Sorus couldn't help herself: she was too badly sur-


prised. 'That's absurd, ' she protested stupidly. 'You're


making it up. '


Full of vehemence, the Bill gestured for her to step


inside his circle. 'Come see for yourself. '


He typed in commands, as fast as scattershot, while


she moved to join him. The instant she reached his side,


he pointed urgently at two screens.


'The guards were wired, of course. This is what they


saw. '


Both screens showed an empty corridor from slightly


different angles. Sorus recognized the short hall outside


the rooms the Bill used as cells. The indicators on the


opposite wall told her a lift was on its way down.


The lift arrived: the doors opened.


Like the corridor, the car was empty.


There seemed to be an area of slight distortion, maybe


a smudge, in the center of the images: she couldn't be


sure.


Abruptly a hand appeared in the air beside the smudge.


It disappeared again.


At the same time lines of coherent light ran from the


vacant lift to the guards. Both recorded images fell until


they pressed against the floor. From their divergent angles,


what little they could see of the corridor remained empty.


'And that's not all, ' the Bill said tensely. 'I've got


another dead guard. Outside that same lift on one of


the upper levels. Apparently he was shot from behind.


Another laser. '


Sorus felt pressure building in her chest. 'What about


the bugeye in the cell?' she asked tightly.


The Bill gave a disgusted snarl; keyed more commands.


The inside of the room appeared on one screen.


Davies stood there, poised and staring in shock. A


voice said, 'Shit. Shit. Shit, ' but it obviously wasn't the


boy's. His mouth was open, but he wasn't swearing: he


was screaming. Wild as a tormented animal, he flung his


fist at the blank air.


Then the bugeye itself went blank. The screen picked


up nothing but distortion: electronic white noise.


After a moment the distortion crackled away, leaving


the monitor clear to scrutinize a room with no one in it.


'That, ' Sorus breathed, 'is not possible. '


'Did you see the smudge?' the Bill demanded.


She nodded dumbly.


'Operations is working on it. Preliminary analysis sug-


gests it might be caused by a refractive jamming field. If


that's true, whoever did this had to carry their own power


supply and emitter. And it must have been' - he gestured


around him harshly - 'about the size of all this. Even if


it fit in the lift, it would have been hell to move. And


moving it would have attracted a hell of a lot of attention.


So that's not possible either. '


Sorus shook her head, trying to clear it. Automatically,


simply saying the first words that occurred to her, she


suggested, 'Unless the Amnion can do it. Their equip-


ment has always been better than ours. '


'Do you suppose I haven't considered that?' the Bill


bellowed. 'Do you think I'm so goddamn secure here I


can afford to dismiss an idea like that?' Almost immedi-


ately, however, his voice frayed to softness. As if he were


defeated, he muttered, 'I asked them. They say they


haven't got him.


'They could lie, of course. But what would be the


point? If they want him that badly, they didn't have to


steal him. They didn't have to do me this kind of damage.


All they had to do was pay for him.


'Sorus' - now he sounded like he was pleading with


her—'all they had to do was give me the money they took


away from Captain Nick. They were willing to spend it


in any case. What does it matter if I get it instead of him?


Stealing his merchandise doesn't improve their position


with him. Assuming they have a position they want to


improve. It just lets him off the hook.


Why would they do a thing like that? They've got him


where they want him right now — they're squeezing his


balls dry, and there's nothing he can do about it. '


'I don't know, ' Sorus murmured, chewing her lip;


thinking hard. As far as she could see, the Amnion had


nothing to gain by snatching Davies. 'Maybe there's more


going on here than we know about. ' She didn't have a


theory: she was merely groping. 'Maybe this story about


an immunity drug is true. '


An intuitive frisson ran down her spine.


'I think, ' she continued tightly, 'we need to know who started that rumor about me. '


The Bill frowned at her, uncharacteristically puzzled.


But he didn't hesitate. 'Where? What time?'


'A place called Paunchys. ' She gave him her best esti-


mate of the time.


At once he swung to another terminal and began run-


ning commands.


This kind of data retrieval was rapid. A heartbeat or


two after he entered his instructions, the screens above


the terminal flickered to life.


She recognized Paunchys easily: the bugeyes gave her


several different angles on the room. Everyone sitting at


the tables or leaning against the bar showed clearly.


Fortuitously the playback started just as her people left


their table to head for Soar.


Most of the nearby tables were vacant. From where


her people had been sitting, they could only have over-


heard one particular pair of spacers: a man and woman


talking alone with their heads together as if they were


telling secrets.


On one screen, the man looked nervous. A streak of


dirt on his upper lip may have been a mustache. From


another angle, the woman appeared grim and competent,


as if she could have had her companion for breakfast.


Sorus didn't know either of them.


She pointed them out to the Bill. Swiftly he stabbed


open an intercom to Operations.


As soon as the duty officer answered, the Bill


demanded, 'I want id on a man and woman. They're


sitting together lower right. ' Distinctly he recited the


location, time and monitor codes displayed on the


bottom of his screen.


'Give me a minute, ' the duty officer replied.


'Do it faster than that, ' the Bill retorted. 'I haven't got


a minute. ' Snapping off the intercom, he glared at Sorus.


'What is this going to prove?'


'How should I know?' she countered. 'You know more


about what's going on here than I do. '


His scowl made him look like murderous as he turned


to peer at the screen again. 'God knows I'm supposed to, '


he muttered. 'Right now I'm not so sure. '


The Operations intercom chimed almost immediately.


The Bill toggled it hard. 'Yes?'


'I have id, ' the duty officer reported. The man is Sib


Mackern, data first, Captain's Fancy. The woman is Mikka


Vasaczk, command second, also Captain's Fancy. '


Brandishing his teeth as if he were inarticulate with


rage, the Bill silenced the intercom.


Sorus' guts knotted. 'So it was Succorso. ' She spoke


softly, controlling her desire to curse. 'I told you he was


dangerous. '


But she couldn't do it; couldn't contain her visceral


panic and anger. She should have killed him when she


had the chance. The satisfaction of cutting him, humiliat-


ing him, hadn't been worth what it was going to cost


her.


'God damn it!' she raged, clenching her voice between


her teeth, 'I told you he's up to something!'


'Sorus -' The Bill seemed to flinch away as if her fer-


ocity frightened him. 'It wasn't him. Whatever else is


going on here, he didn't snatch that brat. '


Still shouting, still clenched, she demanded, 'How do


you figure that? Didn't you tell me he seduced one of


your wires so he could find out where Davies was being


held? Didn't Davies tell us Succorso has an immunity


drug? Didn't he say Succorso and Hyland are in this


together? It all fits!


'Succorso and Hyland are working some UMCP plot.


They let you have Davies to plant the idea of an immunity


drug. Then they took him back. Now they're starting


rumors about me. For confirmation. And to make me


into a lightning rod, so when the blast hits it'll be aimed


at me. '


The Bill overrode her. 'No. That's not it. He was here.


Captain Nick was right here, trying to talk me into restor-


ing his credit, at exactly the same time Davies Hyland


was taken. '


Sorus opened her mouth; closed it again. For a


moment her brain went numb.


Succorso was here? He couldn't have done it?


What in hell was going on?


'Then' - she took a deep breath so that she wouldn't


shudder - 'it must have been Angus Thermopyle. Him


and that Com-Mine Security asshole, Milos Taverner.


Where did they go from Ease-n-Sleaze?'


'I'm glad you asked that. ' Manic and conspiratorial,


hiding his fright, the Bill beckoned her to another ter-


minal, another bank of screens. 'I've been trying to make


sense out of it myself.


They had rooms. ' His long fingers were unerring on


the keys; he could have run his command center blind-


folded. 'After they talked with Captain Nick in the bar,


they went up to Captain Angus' room. It's all recorded. '


Fighting to shove the confusion out of her head so that


she could concentrate, Sorus stared at Angus Thermopyle


and Milos Taverner in a hopeless little room which could


have been in any bar-and-sleep that fed on the less afflu-


ent prey of the cruise.


Angus sat in a chair tilted back so that it leaned against


the wall. 'Make yourself comfortable, ' he mumbled like


his mouth hurt. We haven't got all night, but you


can probably count on at least an hour. You've got that


long. '


Smoking furiously, Milos checked the room's data ter-


minal. Then he took the other chair and sat down beside


Angus.


'You know something about this, Angus, ' he said.


'Something you haven't told me. Maybe something you


heard from Dios. '


He didn't appear concerned about being overheard.


'I know a lot of things I haven't told you, ' Angus


retorted. 'I know a lot of things I haven't told myself. I


wouldn't share them with you if I could. '


'Well, let me guess, ' Milos replied. 'Saying we're here


to destroy the Bill is just a trick. ' The Bill's hand shook


as he pointed an accusing finger at the screen. The real


reason is because of me. And Morn Hyland. That doesn't


sound very plausible - until you think about what she


and I have in common.


'She's been to Enablement. To the Amnion. '


Angus' voice was strangely thick. 'Don't guess. It just


shows you don't know what you're doing. '


'Oh, I know what I'm doing, all right, ' Milos


promised. 'Open your mouth. '


While Sorus stared, Milos dropped his burning nic


into Angus' mouth.


Angus chewed and swallowed it. His face was black


with rage and nausea, but he didn't refuse or resist.


'Shit, ' Sorus breathed involuntarily.


'Listen, ' the Bill hissed.


'It's my neck in the noose, ' Milos continued, 'and I'm


not going to let you or anybody else hang me.


'I suppose you really can't tell me what you know. And


it probably isn't much anyway. You're just an incidental


victim. From that point of view, you're worse off than I


am.


'We all need somebody who's worse off than we are.


Or who can be made worse off. '


After that both men fell silent..


Milos went on smoking continuously.


Angus ate each of his nics as he finished it.


Sorus watched him in a state that resembled horror.


Dios, she thought numbly. Warden Dios. Saying we're


here to destroy the Bill -


Suddenly she believed everything Davies had sug-


gested about Succorso and Hyland.


'That goes on for about an hour, ' the Bill commented.


He hit a key to speed up the playback. 'Just like Captain


Angus predicted. Then the chronology gets interesting.


'In another room Captain Nick finishes browbeating


my wire. He gets what he wants out of her. After that


he sends a message to his ship - coded so I can't crack


it. Then he leaves, goes back to Captain's Fancy. Eventu-


ally he comes to see me.


'But at the same time - well, almost - we have this. '


He returned the playback to normal.


Thickly, his mouth full of pain, Angus abruptly said,


'Try it now. '


As if he rather than Angus were in command, Milos


got up and went to the data terminal.


'What's he doing?' Sorus asked. 'Talking to Succorso?'


'No such luck, ' the Bill returned. 'He's retrieving mes-


sages from Trumpet. Coded, of course. ' Answering her


next question before she could ask it, he went on, We


don't have any way of knowing if Captain's Fancy and


Trumpet talked to each other. '


Almost sadly Milos murmured, 'Looks like it's here. '


Despite his characteristically bloated expression, taut


with malice, Angus looked sallow and defeated as he


said, 'You're the one who knows the code. Is it time to


go?'


Milos studied his message for a moment before he


replied, 'I guess. '


'And that's it, ' the Bill announced. He blanked the


screen. They pick up their messages - by some wild


coincidence just a few minutes after Captain Nick sends


a message to Captain's Fancy - and then they leave. '


'Where do they go?' Sorus inquired as if her head were


full of chaos.


'They don't. They vanish. '


She blinked at him idiotically.


'I mean they manage to lose themselves. ' The Bill made


a hawking sound of disgust. 'I mean we lose track of


them. Once they get out into the cruise and the lifts, the


recordings are so full of people that the computers


haven't been able to focus on those two. I don't have any


idea where they are. '


'Then, ' she said slowly because she didn't know what


else to suggest, 'they could have snatched Davies. '


'I thought of that myself, ' the Bill sneered. 'I'm not


completely comatose yet. But if they did, they didn't take


him back to Trumpet. That I would know. '


'Unless they have a refractive jamming field and got


past your bugeyes. '


'Which isn't possible. '


New ideas: she needed new ideas. Nothing made any


sense; but if she didn't stop floundering soon and begin


to understand she was going to be sucked down.


Clutching at straws, she offered, 'Or unless they have


the kind of help that lets them get into the infrastructure'


- which also didn't make sense because it failed to


account for the way the guards were killed - 'and from


there go EVA to their ship. '


'What kind is that?' the Bill countered trenchantly.


'Captain Nick and Captain Angus have just arrived. What


kind of help do you think they could organize in the


amount of time they've been here?'


He didn't add, Unless they're getting help from the


Amnion. He didn't need to.


'How should I know?' Sorus objected. 'I'm just guess-


ing. A portable refractive jamming field isn't possible.


Neither is sneaking into the infrastructure, killing your


guards without being seen, and going EVA back to


Trumpet.'


Grimly she glared at the Bill. 'I don't know where the


Amnion stand in all this - but I also don't know where


else to look for answers. '


He blinked back at her. For a moment his long face


was stretched with loss.


'In that case, ' he said softly, 'we're all finished. '


Not me, she gritted in return. If you think I'm going


down with this ship, you're out of your goddamn mind.


To cover her silent promise, she asked, 'Are you watch-


ing for Taverner and Thermopyle?'


'Sure. ' The Bill sounded as frightened as a boy. 'Of


course. The guards have orders to report but not accost. '


He swallowed so hard that his larynx jumped. 'Just in


case the Amnion are involved. I don't want to give Calm


Horizons an excuse for a surgical strike. '


'And where, ' she pursued, 'is Succorso now?'


He snorted. 'You'll love this. He's on Trumpet. God


knows why - he's there alone. But he went there from


here. Apparently Captain Angus gave him the codes to


let himself aboard. '


Sorus felt pressure writhing like nausea in her abdo-


men. To herself she growled, Aboard Trumpet. That


makes perfect sense. Why didn't I think of it myself? But


she'd come to the end of what she could endure without


taking action. If the Bill wanted to stand here and dither


while his world crumbled, he would have to do it without


her.


Pulling away abruptly, she left the circle of equipment


and strode into the dimness toward the door.


As she moved, she said over her shoulder, Tell Oper-


ations I'm leaving dock. '


'No, you aren't. ' The Bill's tone was as soft as the slither


of a snake. His fright was gone, sloughed away. 'Not


until you tell me where you're going. And why. '


She swung back to face him. 'I'm going to get us some


answers. First I'm going to put Soar in firing range of


Calm Horizons. Just to remind them they've got some-


thing to lose. Then I'm going to make them talk until I


start believing them. '


Bright as an auto-da-fe in the concentrated light, the


Bill studied her for a long moment. When he finally


spoke, he sounded as fatal as a fanatic.


'Good. '


The word was a threat as well as a commandment.


Before she could turn away, one of his intercoms


chimed.


He hit the toggle. At once the Operations duty officer


said, 'Sir, we've got Milos Taverner. '


With her hand on the strongroom door, Sorus froze.


'Where?' the Bill snapped.


The duty officer was hesitant. 'He's just left Trumpet. '


In a rush he added, 'I know it's impossible. I can't explain


it. But he must have been there all along. '


The Bill's gaze clung to Sorus as if he were begging


for help.


Harsh as a cutting laser, she articulated, 'That's where


Succorso is. '


The Bill hammered his forehead with the heels of his


palms; he might have been trying to kick his brain into


motion. Then he asked Operations, 'Where's he going?'


The intercom gave the duty officer's voice a flat, met-


allic timbre. 'Sir, he looks like he's headed for the Amnion


sector. ' After a pause the man asked, 'Should we stop


him?'


'No!' the Bill jerked out convulsively. 'Let him go. If


the Amnion are involved, we don't know what's at stake.


This may not have anything to do with us. '


Without transition he broke into a roar of anger and


alarm. 'Just don't lose him! If he doesn't go straight there,


grab him!'


Then he regained his self-control. Quiet and deadly,


he continued, 'Put a team together. Get aboard Trumpet


- cut your way in if you have to. Bring me everybody


you find. ' His teeth chewed out the words like hunks of


raw meat. 'Except Nick Succorso. I want to see what he


does with his freedom. He can go wherever he wants -


but not back to Captain's Fancy. Do you hear me? Bar


him from his ship. I don't care how many guards it takes.


I'm going to put pressure on him until he cracks. Then


I'm going to toast his testicles and make him eat them.


'Don't fuck up!' he warned the duty officer. 'Don't


dare. If you do, you won't have to worry about what I'll


do to you. The Amnion are going to devour us all. '


Stabbing off the intercom, he faced Sorus again.


Through the gloom surrounding her, he said, 'Go.


Fast. You may be my only hope. I want you out where


your guns can do some good before this mess gets any


worse. What I need is answers. But if you have to start


shooting I'll back you up with everything I've got. '


Sorus Chatelaine nodded sharply. She was finished


here anyway: Billingate had become as dangerous as a


pit of vipers for her. Once Succorso's rumor had a chance


to spread, she wouldn't be able to set a foot on this rock


without risking her life. Eventually the Amnion them-


selves would come after her.


Unless she went to them with the truth first.


Unless she convinced them they had nothing to fear


from her.


Grimly she left the strongroom to save herself and her


ship.


MILOS


If anyone had asked, Milos Taverner might have


admitted that he was scared shitless.


His heart beat so hard that it hurt his chest, and


the pressure seemed to cramp his lungs, so that he had


trouble breathing. At times he swallowed convulsively:


at times an odd giddiness came and went in his head,


making him feel that he was about to lose his footing.


Sweat ran incessantly into his palms; so much sweat that


he couldn't rub his hands dry no matter how hard he


tried.


Even though his entire life, from the guttergangs of


Earth to his ambiguous position on Com-Mine Station,


had been ruled by fear, he had never been as afraid as he


was now.


He was on his way to the Amnion sector; toward an


encounter with creatures that appalled him.


The mere idea made him want to cower and moan.


He had no choice, however. Of course not. He would


never have done something like this, never, if he'd had


any imaginable alternative.


Oh, talking to the Amnion was all right. He could


handle that. How else did buggers survive, when every


guttergang was a natural enemy? By talking to them, that


was how. By helping and betraying them all. And space


wasn't substantively different than a city ruled by gut-


tergangs. On one side stood Com-Mine Security; over


there, the UMCP; over there, pirates like Nick Succorso;


and over there, the Amnion. Why shouldn't a man like


Milos profit by playing them off against each other? -


especially since otherwise they all would have been quite


willing to crush him?


Now, however, he'd run out of choices. His simple,


reasonable, and above all secure buggery had been turned


against him. Min Donner had taken him off Com-Mine.


Hashi Lebwohl had selected him to control and protect


Angus. Warden Dios had sent him here, to the living hell


of Billingate and the cruise.


And then they'd changed all the rules -


You've just been given a, rather nasty shock. I regret that, but it was necessary.


They'd lied about the reasons he and Angus were here.


Worse than that, they'd built loopholes into Angus'


welded priority commands — loopholes which effectively


emasculated Milos.


On this one subject, you were misled.


Ignorant of those loopholes, he'd lied to the Amnion.


Everything else you were told concerning Joshua, your mis-


sion and yourself remains true. Joshua has not diverged from


his programming. Tour command codes still function. You


have not been betrayed.


Milos would have found Dios' reassurances easier to


believe if the UMCP director had been here to deliver


them in person. But he didn't believe them; not for a


second. The fact that his command codes still worked


didn't convince him. Where there was one lie, there was


more than one. Always. Without exception.


He'd been set up.


Now he had nowhere else to turn except the Amnion.


And he had nothing left to offer them - nothing to


purchase his survival with - except the truth.


Every step he took was tight with dread. Why didn't


Angus come after him? Why didn't the Bill's guards stop


him? Why didn't Nick appear out of nowhere, blazing


with outraged virility and self-destruction, and attempt


to work one of his legendary wonders? Didn't they know


what they were doing when they risked Milos Taverner


in their plots and counter-plots?


Apparently not. No one interfered with him as he


walked the corridors and rode the lifts toward the place


which the Amnion had constructed for themselves at the


edge of the installation.


He was scared shitless in more ways than one. Even


his limited repertoire of obscenities had been frightened


out of him.


At last he reached the Amnion sector.


The entrance was only a door in an unmarked wall.


Nevertheless this was the location he'd obtained from the


data terminal in Reception. And the door had the heavy


look of an airlock: when it closed behind him, it would


seal him off from the human atmosphere of Billingate.


There was an intercom with a keypad under it beside


the door. After rubbing his damp hands uselessly one


more time on the thighs of his shipsuit, he punched in the


id code he'd been given for his transmissions to forbidden


space.


The silence which greeted him was so complete that


he could taste it.


A minute passed; maybe two. Waves of giddiness


rolled and faded through him until he had to brace him-


self on the wall. Why was the Bill letting this happen? If


Angus or Nick had come after him, they would have


caught him before this: therefore they weren't coming.


But the Bill could send guards at any time. Surely he


knew Angus and Milos had taken Davies, even if he


didn't know how? And surely he had recordings of the


time Angus and Milos had spent in Ease-n-Sleaze? So


where were the guards?


Was the Bill this afraid of the Amnion? As afraid as


Milos?


Scarcely able to breathe, he entered his id code on the


keypad again.


The intercom crackled. 'Human, your name is required


for confirmation of identity. ' The alien voice sounded


pitiless and unreachable through the tiny speaker.


Milos' throat refused to work. He swallowed spas-


modically several times. After a moment he managed to


croak out his name.


Another silence. Then the voice said, 'Enter the airlock,


Milos Taverner, ' like a distant promise of death. 'You are


welcome among the Amnion. '


With a hum of servos, the door cycled open.


A man stood waiting inside the lock as if he'd arrived


from the pit of one of Milos' nightmares.


He was only partially Amnion. One eye and half his


face were human, as were his chest, one arm, and most


of his legs. But his other eye was lidless, formed for


the sulfurous illumination the Amnion preferred. Pointed


teeth with no lips over them filled half his mouth. Rust


seemed to cover his inhuman arm; rust clogged his knees


so thickly that his strange black shipsuit had been cut


away to enable him to walk.


In his human hand he held a breathing mask.


'Milos Taverner, welcome. ' His voice sounded like fric-


tion along oxidized iron. Tor convenience my name is


Marc Vestabule. To spare yourself discomfort, you must


wear this. '


He offered the breathing mask.


Involuntarily Milos flinched backward.


'Milos Taverner' - the nearly human voice scraped like


torn fingernails against Milos' nerves — 'we do not know


why you have come to us. You may speak here if you


wish. Surely, however, it is preferable to ensure against


the espionage of this installation's surveillance monitors. '


Surely. Of course. That made sense. With a fierce


effort, Milos fought down his urge to turn and run. If


what he had to say was overheard, Angus, Nick and


Davies were as good as dead; the Bill would kill them.


And that might make the Amnion unhappy: very


unhappy. Milos' last chance would be wasted.


Somehow he forced himself to step forward far enough


to accept the breathing mask.


Marc Vestabule withdrew toward the back of the air-


lock. Giddiness surged through Milos again as he pulled


on the mask; he stumbled as far as the door. But there


he caught himself. Clutching his panic to the edge of the


entrance, he stopped; couldn't force himself to go on.


Vestabule's human eye blinked as if he wanted to wink


but had forgotten how. 'Milos Taverner, ' he said care-


fully, 'you are afraid. What frightens you? Have you not


dealt honorably with the Amnion?'


Dealt honorably? Milos wanted to scream. When did


any of you ever let me deal honorably?


He couldn't say things like that, however; not if he


wanted to survive. Defensively he muttered, 'I've always


told you the truth. ' The mask muffled his voice. 'It's not


my fault some of things I thought were true have turned


out to be lies. '


The Amnioni appeared to consider the implications of


this assertion for a moment. Still blinking, he replied,


'But now that you have learned the truth, you have come


to offer it to the Amnion. Therefore you are welcome


among us, as I have said. Please enter the airlock. '


Nearly gagging on the pressure in his chest, Milos


Taverner pushed himself past the door.


The lock closed behind him, cutting him off from his


humanity. Now he had nothing left to hope for, except


that the Amnion would value the things he'd come to


tell them.


At once a complex light washed over him: sulfur, scan-


ners and decontaminants. As far as anyone knew, the


Amnion were proof against human diseases and parasites.


Nevertheless they didn't believe in taking chances.


He didn't either. On that basis he might still be able


to negotiate with them.


Marc Vestabule stared at him stolidly while the light


did its work. After a minute or two the inner door of the


airlock opened. Milos winced, expecting to see a phalanx


of Amnion waiting to horrify him. But the corridor


beyond the door was empty. The Amnion trusted


Vestabule to do their work for them.


Moving stiffly, as if his joints were rusted inside as well


as out, Vestabule motioned for Milos to follow him.


'Accompany me, please. I will take you to a chamber


where you will feel secure. There you may make your


requirements known, so that we can discuss how they


may be satisfied. '


Feel secure. Sure.


Struggling to swallow the labor of his heart, Milos


stumbled after the Amnioni.


The chamber Vestabule mentioned wasn't far away.


That was fortuitous: Milos couldn't have walked far.


Anoxia or stress seemed to gnaw at his balance, chewing


it to shreds. If he hadn't caught himself on the strange


pheromonic metal of the walls, he might have fallen sev-


eral times.


When Vestabule ushered him into a room as imper-


sonal and featureless as the corridor, he was dimly grate-


ful to see that it contained chairs. At least he would


be able to sit. If he could set aside the breathing mask


occasionally, he might even be able to smoke.


Without waiting for an invitation, he lowered his fail-


ing limbs into the nearest seat and dug out a packet of


nic.


Vestabule studied him as he found a packet, took out


a nic and his lighter. The expression on the human half


of the Amnioni's face suggested that he didn't understand


what Milos was doing. But as Milos repositioned the


breathing mask to make room for the nic in his mouth,


Vestabule said abruptly, 'That is hazardous, Milos


Taverner. Doubtless the spark of your lighter - it is


magnesium, is it not? - is small. Nevertheless the air of


your breathing mask is rich in oxygen - perhaps rich


enough to make the spark greater than you anticipate. It


is possible that you will harm yourself. '


For a moment Milos' brain went blank. He wanted


nic, needed it: it was the only form of courage he had left.


Yet at Vestabule's warning he seemed to see his lighter


blaze like a flare, flash-burning his face and eyes - Mag-


nesium was wildly incandescent, usable for lighters only


in tiny quantities — and in appropriate atmospheres.


Trembling, he stuffed the nic back in its packet, shoved


both packet and lighter down into his pocket. Again he


felt a wan gratitude. Vestabule had saved him from hurt-


ing himself; perhaps blinding himself. Maybe the


Amnion valued him after all.


Light-headed with fear and relief, he insisted through


the obstruction of the mask, 'I've never lied to you know-


ingly. You've got to believe that. Everything I've ever


told you was the truth - as far as I knew. But there's


nothing I can do to prevent other people from lying to


me. '


Slowly Marc Vestabule picked up another chair, placed


it facing Milos, and sat down. When he was settled, his


alien knees were only inches from Milos'. Fortunately he


didn't lean forward: Milos felt sure he wouldn't be able


to stand having the Amnioni that close to him.


Folding his human arm and his rust-covered limb


across his chest, Vestabule proposed, Then perhaps it


would be well to begin with the lies and truths which


have brought you to speak to us directly. '


Milos thought it would be better to start by naming


what the Amnion! called his 'requirements'. At the


moment, however, he could hardly imagine what they


were. Protect me. Keep me alive. Get even for me. Such


things were too nebulous; yet his fear prevented him


from thinking of anything else. He understood nothing


about the Amnion. How could he ask them to protect


him when he didn't know how they would react to his


'lies and truths'?


If they were a guttergang - in essence if not in name


- why didn't they act like one?


Sweating inside the constriction of his mask, he said,


'Maybe you already know. That's a possibility I have to


consider. There's too much treachery here. Too many


people are lying. For all I know, you're all in it together.


Plotting together, using people -'


'Milos Taverner, ' Vestabule ventured in his rough, oxi-


dized voice, 'I cannot respond to these suggestions until


you inform me of their content. Clearly you are con-


cerned. However, you have made no mention of the spe-


cific issues which concern you. '


As if the words had been triggered out of him, Milos


retorted, Why aren't you doing anything about


Thermopyle?'


The Amnioni gazed back at him expressionlessly. Only the lid of Vestabule's human eye moved.


'I warned you about him, ' Milos went on in a rush.


The UMCP reqqed him from Com-Mine Security, just


like they reqqed me, and they welded him, I told you that.


They gave him computers and zone implants and lasers


and God knows what else. And they sent him here to


destroy this place. I positively told you that.


'Why aren't you doing anything about him?'


Why aren't you afraid of him?


What's going on here?


Now Marc Vestabule nodded. 'I see. Our response —


or our lack of response - to the threat posed by this


Angus Thermopyle causes you anxiety. That is a subject


we may discuss.


'Is it your belief that the Bill's defenses are inadequate


to deal with this threat?'


'I know they are, ' Milos snorted. 'Aren't you aware that


Davies Hyland - that kid you want so badly - was taken


right out from under his nose? Hasn't he told you?'


Vestabule nodded impersonally. 'He has. '


'Well, Thermopyle did it, ' Milos went on quickly. 'I


was with him the whole time. We simply walked into the


cell and grabbed Davies. We took him back to Trumpet.


And the Bill didn't do anything to stop us. He couldn't


- he didn't know what was happening. He hasn't got a


clue where that kid is now. '


An expression which may once have been a frown


plucked at the human half of Vestabule's face. That state-


ment is not strictly accurate. ' Turning his head slightly,


he touched his left ear. For the first time Milos noticed


that the Amnioni wore a small receiver jacked into his


ear. The Bill has been speaking to us from the moment


of your arrival, ' Vestabule explained. 'He has reason to


believe that Davies Hyland was abducted by Angus


Thermopyle and yourself. Presumably he also believes


that Davies Hyland is aboard Trumpet, for the same


reasons. He demands that we deliver you to him, so that


he may learn the truth of what has transpired.


'He makes no reference to enhanced capabilities. How-


ever, he is aware of your power over Angus Thermopyle.


Therefore he believes that you - and perhaps by extension


the Amnion, because you have come here - stand at the


heart of this treachery. '


Milos winced convulsively. Nevertheless, in spite of


his alarm, he stuck to the point on which his survival


depended. 'That doesn't explain why you haven't done


anything. '


He needed to understand the Amnion — and show


them how vulnerable they were - before he could offer


them anything that might save his life.


Vestabule didn't hesitate. 'Like the Bill, ' he scraped out


as if the Amnion had no secrets from Milos, 'we are aware


of your dealings with Nick Succorso. Unlike the Bill,


however, we know that you do not stand at the heart of


this treachery. We believe that the "plotting", as you call


it, exists between Nick Succorso and Angus Thermopyle.


We have taken no action concerning this threat for


several reasons.


'First, we lose nothing by allowing the Bill to confront


Angus Thermopyle on our behalf. Ultimately he is' -


Vestabule appeared momentarily uncertain of the word


he wanted - 'expendable. We are not harmed if he is


challenged and made insecure. On the contrary, we gain


a greater understanding of the threat itself.


'In particular we hope to gain a greater understanding


of Nick Succorso's treachery. '


In bitterness and fear, Milos admitted privately that he


wanted to understand Nick's treachery himself.


'Second, ' Vestabule went on without pausing, 'Angus


Thermopyle and Nick Succorso are natural antagonists.


This is a concept which is not comprehensible to the


Amnion, but which I have been able to retain.


'I am' — he lifted his shoulders like a shrug - 'as you


see me. Portions of my former body remain. Similarly


portions of my former mind remain. I am able to grasp


that Angus Thermopyle and Nick Succorso cannot form


an alliance without simultaneously seeking to betray each


other. Granted enough scope, they will expose each


other's truths and undermine each other's strengths,


thereby rendering each other ineffective. '


Milos might have sneered at this proposition, but the


Amnioni didn't wait for his reaction.


'Naturally the question of "scope" is critical. It is poss-


ible - indeed, it is probable - that the threats they pose,


separately and together, will become so acute that we


cannot afford to allow them enough scope. Nevertheless


while we can we wait, searching for the truth.


'Third, it is our experience that Angus Thermopyle is


inherently less dangerous to us than Nick Succorso. '


Milos couldn't help himself: he gaped in surprise.


'You're kidding. Nick's just a pirate. Thermopyle is the


slime of the universe. '


Vestabule's alien eye held the yellow light humorlessly.


'Both as a cyborg arid as a human, ' he asserted, 'we dis-


trust Thermopyle less. As a cyborg, he is limited as well


as enhanced by his programming. And as a human his


malice is too pure to permit the profounder forms of


treachery.


This is not speculation, Milos Taverner, ' he said as if


he were articulating a fact which had no personal impact.


'I have direct experience with Angus Thermopyle, during


my life among your kind. At one time I crewed aboard


a vessel named Viable Dreams, an in-system hauler which


fulfilled the support function of transshipping ores


discovered by prospectors. It was an unglamorous labor,


but profitable. However, we were hijacked by Angus


Thermopyle. Twenty-eight men and women, the sur-


vivors of our crew, he brought here and sold to the


Amnion. '


The calm with which Vestabule revealed this detail


chilled Milos as much as his rusted flesh and sharp teeth.


'I understand his limits, ' the Amnioni continued. 'His


behavior, both on that occasion and subsequently, has


made his essential nature plain. For that reason we are


disinclined to dispose of him when he may yet serve us


against Nick Succorso.


'Finally, you control him, do you not?' Vestabule's


human eye blinked rapidly, signaling an intensity which


his posture and expression concealed. Why should we


take action against him, when you are able to command


him at will?


'Is that not what you wished the Bill to understand


when you compelled Angus Thermopyle to ingest your


discarded - I have forgotten the word - your nicotine


sticks in clear view of the surveillance monitors? Have


you not deliberately created circumstances which would


lead the Bill to believe that you - and perhaps therefore


we - stand at the heart of this treachery?'


'No!' Milos could hardly breathe: his mask was full of


fear, suffocating him. 'That's not it!' If the Amnion


believed that, he was finished, finished. 'I was just testing


him- trying to prove he still obeys my codes. I haven't told


you why I'm here. It was all a lie. I believed it, but it was a


lie. I came to talk to you as soon as I learned the truth. '


What is the lie? What is the truth?' Vestabule touched


the side of his head. The Bill is passionate in his demand


for your delivery. He hints that your presence here viol-


ates our agreements with him. How can we answer,


except by granting what he wishes, if we do not compre-


hend what has brought you here?'


Don't do it! Milos fluttered his hands, almost begging


for a chance to explain. Don't let him have me.


'I don't know how big it is, ' he panted urgently, 'the


lie. I don't know how far it goes. It may or may not have


anything to do with destroying this installation. All I


know is, it has something to do with Morn Hyland, that


woman Nick gave you. Davies Hyland's mother. I told


you about her — a long time ago. She's UMCP — an


Enforcement Division ensign. '


'Nick Succorso made no mention of this, ' Vestabule


observed in a tone as dead as ruined metal. When he


delivered her to us, he retained her id tag. '


Milos might have heard hints in Vestabule's words,


possibilities of survival; but he was too frightened to


concentrate on them. Driven by the pressure of his heart,


he went on talking, explaining.


Thermopyle got his hands on her, gave her a zone


implant so he could use her. But Nick wanted her. He


took her when we framed Thermopyle. That was a


UMCP deal, too. I told you Nick works for them some-


times. They wanted Thermopyle framed. So they could


req him. Nick did it in exchange for her. '


'What is the significance of this?' the Amnioni asked


flatly.


'It's Thermopyle's programming. ' The sweat on Milos'


hands made them feel foul; corrupted. 'I'm supposed to be


able to control him. I'm supposed to guarantee that he


does what he was sent here to do. That means I have to


know what it is. To destroy the installation. But Hashi


Lebwohl was in charge of the whole project. He told me


specifically, explicitly, that we were not here to rescue


Morn Hyland. Even though she's UMCP. Even though


Thermopyle wants her back. As far as UMCPHQ is con-


cerned, she's lost, dead. Thermopyle was supposed to


ignore her. And I was supposed to make sure he did. '


The breathing mask seemed to stifle Milos' outrage.


He wanted to shout, but couldn't get enough air.


'Do you understand what I've told you about him? His


head is full of zone implants, all run by a computer. And


his codes and instructions are written in a datacore, where


they can't be altered. I have power over him because I


know some of those codes, but it's the computer that


enforces them. He can't make his own choices. It's physi-


cally impossible.


'But he is making his own choices. He's making choices


that violate his programming - that violate what I was


told his programming is.


They aren't what you think. ' Unconscious of his own


actions, Milos scrubbed his hands harder and harder


against his thighs. 'Nick may be plotting against you -


or against the Bill - but Thermopyle isn't. He's plotting


to get Morn Hyland back. He snatched Davies because


Nick offered him a trade, Morn for the kid. He didn't


know you already had her. So now he's planning to come


after her. He kept Davies, and the two of them are going


to try to get her back.


'Do you see what that means? I'm supposed to control


him - but Hashi Lebwohl lied to me. Warden Dios lied


to me. ' On this one subject, you were misled. They're using


me as some kind of shill. Thermopyle can't make his own


choices, so he must be acting on the instructions in his


datacore, instructions I don't know about — instructions


that sometimes let him override my command codes. '


Can't you understand that we're all being set up here?


Faintness was beginning to spin through his head like


vertigo. With the pressure of his palms against his thighs,


he tried to push it down.


'Interesting, ' Marc Vestabule observed after a long


pause. There are indeed many facets here, many con-


cerns. You speak of some - yet you make no mention of


others. Are you unaware of them, Milos Taverner, or


does your silence conceal other truths?'


The vertigo seemed to suck Milos' mind away, leaving


nothing behind except a fine white panic. Grinding his


fingers into his legs so that he wouldn't scream, he asked


thickly, What "other truths"? I don't know what you're


talking about. '


For a moment Vestabule's human eye became as


unblinking as the Amnion one. 'Are you unaware, ' he


inquired, 'that both Nick Succorso and Morn Hyland


possess a quality which must make them uniquely pre-


cious to the UMCP?'


Milos stared back at the Amnioni stupidly. 'What


quality?'


Vestabule made a small warding gesture with his


crusted arm. 'Both possess an immunity to mutagens.


Twice the same compound which transformed me has


been administered to her. She remains human - as Nick


Succorso himself once did.


'Unfortunately this installation lacks the facilities for


adequate study. We can only determine that her immun-


ity exists. We cannot define how it exists.


'Will you tell me, Milos Taverner, that you know noth-


ing of this?' The rust had been rubbed away: now


Vestabule's tone was pure iron. Will you tell me that the


true purpose of Nick Succorso's visits to Enablement


Station was not to test his immunity?


'Will you tell me that the true purpose for which he


delivered Morn Hyland to us was not to make us aware


of the existence of this immunity, thereby informing us


that humankind is defended against us — and thereby


warning us that humankind is now prepared to engage


us in war, if we do not retreat from our imperatives?


'Will you tell me that the true purpose for which Angus


Thermopyle was sent here was not to retake Morn


Hyland before we could study her — before we could


discover the source or nature of her immunity?'


'No!' Milos protested at once. 'I'm not going to tell


you any of those things! Maybe they're true. For all I


know, they could be. What I'm here to tell you -'


Abruptly his brain froze. Through his white, blind


panic came a black flash like a streak of intuition.


They could all be true.


Then why did Hashi Lebwohl lie? What did he gain


by trying to convince me Thermopyle had a completely


different mission?


Another flash.


Unless he already knew the truth about me.


He lied to me because he knew I would pass his ties


on.


And another.


He sent me here to get rid of me. He wanted the


Amnion to do his dirty work for him when they dis-


covered that what I told them wasn't true.


Panting feverishly, Milos said in supplication, 'I'm here


to give you everything I have. I came as soon as I knew


the cops were lying.


Thermopyle has a secret mission. ' He wanted to rip


off his mask and throw it away; let the Amnion air sear


his lungs until all the dread was burned out of him. 'It


has something to do with Morn Hyland. He's coming to


try to get her away from you. And he's bringing her son


with him.


'That's it. That's all I have. '


With one exception -


'But if you keep me alive - if you back me up -I might


be able to stop him. And if I do that, you can almost


certainly catch Davies again. ' He was desperate: he'd


reached his own absolute limit. One by one his choices


and hopes had been stripped away. Only this remained.


'You'll get them both. You probably can't mutate


Thermopyle. His datacore will kill him before it lets that


happen. But you can study him, learn everything about


him. And you'll have Davies to do what you want with. '


Vestabule regarded Milos steadily: the Amnioni sat as


still as a tombstone, untouched by Milos' appeal.


'Isn't that enough? Milos cried. What more do you want


from me?'


Vestabule stirred; shifted his legs. 'Milos Taverner, ' he


said like cold, cleaned metal, 'I urge you to refrain from


fear. It gains nothing. We will keep you alive. We will


give you our support. I do not mean to frighten you


when I say that your usefulness is at an end. '


His human hand slid into the pocket of his shipsuit.


These are concepts which no Amnioni can process


without great difficulty. For many of my people they


are impossible. Even for me they stretch the limits of


comprehension. Nevertheless it is necessary to compre-


hend them.


While serving both Com-Mine Security and the


United Mining Companies Police, you have dealt with


us, trading your knowledge of them for credit. Though


it is difficult for us to understand, we must assume that


you have dealt similarly with them, trading your know-


ledge of us for credit. '


No, Milos wanted to protest, no, of course not! But


Vestabule's alien gaze held him; Vestabule's iron tone


struck him dumb.


'After the events which have taken place here, ' the


Amnioni continued, 'this network of dealings will no


longer be fruitful for us. Therefore our relationship must


be altered. Between you and us, Milos Taverner, con-


formity of purpose will be achieved through the mutual


satisfaction of requirements.


'You require life and support.


'We require you. '


From out of his pocket, Marc Vestabule pulled a hypo.


The vial of the hypo held a viscid liquid, as dark as


poison.


Screaming, Milos flung himself out of his chair.


Vestabule caught him easily, however. One Amnioni


hand gripped him, as tight as a flexsteel band; one human


fist drove like a piston into his solar plexus.


Fear as fathomless as the gap between the stars shocked


Milos' nerves. Locked in spasms while his neurons mis-


fired, he couldn't defend himself as Vestabule pierced his


forearm with the hypo and released mutagens into his


veins.


ANCILLARY


DOCUMENTATION


WARDEN DIOS:


EXTRACTS FROM THE PRIVATE


JOURNALS OF HASHI LEBWOHL,


DIRECTOR, DATA ACQUISITION,


UNITED MINING COMPANIES


POLICE


[This extract is dated several months prior


to Angus Thermopyle's arrest by


Com-Mine Security. ]


... Nowhere is the particular and peculiar genius of the


man more evident than in his handling of the matter of


the Intertech immunity drug.


I have had occasion to note in previous entries that he


is my superior because he possesses a quality of charisma


- the ability to lead by inspiration - which I lack. In


other ways, however, I consider him my only peer —


certainly my only peer in the hallowed bastion of


UMCPHQ. Yet I must acknowledge that I would have


been hard pressed to manage the crisis which Intertech's


immunity research represented as well as he did. Perhaps


because I lack charisma, I might not have been able to


obtain — as he did - the most desirable of all possible


outcomes...


... the issue is difficult to explain because an under-


standing of its parameters requires an understanding of


Holt Fasner, and an explication of Holt Fasner's motiv-


ations is not a challenge to be undertaken lightly. Specu-


lation is both easier and less useful than true insight.


I might, for example, consider the possibility that the


common view of the Dragon is inadequate. Of course, I


do not refer to the public perception that he is simply


the most wealthy, dominant, commanding, glamorous


and therefore necessary man living. Rather I mean to cite


the view which commonly underlies the public percep-


tion - the view that he is a man driven by avarice,


impelled by greed to risk all human space against the


Amnion for the sake of the UMC's profitability. This


view is inadequate because the difference between


unimaginable riches and even more unimaginable riches


is ultimately trivial.


Instead I might speculate that his avarice is not for


wealth, but for power - that he is driven by a desire for


godhood, a yearning to attain the stature of unquestion-


able as well as unavoidable fate for the whole of human-


kind. And I might further observe that all human


aspirations to godhood must fail while the Amnion and


death exist. Finally I might conclude that it is this ineluc-


table failure which both confirms Holt Fasner's lust for


power and erodes his ability to control it.


But, having said all that, what have I accomplished?


Have I shed any light into the dark heart of the Dragon


in his lair? Have I altered any of the decisions which must


be made, the actions which must be taken, concerning


him? I have not. I have only constructed a guesswork


edifice for my own edification and amusement...


... accept, then, the underlying common view that


Holt Fasner is cemented to his own fate by ordinary


acquisitiveness - that all his great attainments and cun-


ning are dedicated to the uninteresting goal of acquiring


meaningless increments of wealth. Does this imply a con-


comitant acceptance of the commonly held underlying


view of Warden Dios, that he is nothing more than the


perfect instrument of Holt Fasner's will? that he is at


once so brilliant and so mindless that he can serve Holt


Fasner purely, untainted by needs and desires of his own?


that he lacks both of those glorious human foibles, scru-


ple and ambition?


Certainly not. It is patent that brilliance and mind-


lessness cannot coexist, that ambition metastasizes expo-


nentially in the absence of scruple. Holt Fasner Q. E. D.


Therefore it follows as naturally as humans fear pain that


Warden Dios is not the Dragon's instrument, but rather


his natural enemy.


This explains the Dragon's selection of him as director


of the UMCP. How better to both defang and profit


from a natural enemy than by binding him to yourself,


sealing him away within your own structures and exig-


encies, so he cannot serve himself without also serving


you? If Warden Dios were not the director of the UMCP,


Holt Fasner would have to kill him.


Yet this is a paradox — at once fertile and dangerous -


because Warden Dios' needs and ambitions can never be


identical to the Dragon's.


Intertech's immunity research provides a case in point.


Grant for a moment that Warden Dios is another Holt


Fasner — less confirmed in his lust for power, less eroded


in his ability to control it - but another Dragon nonethe-


less. Precisely because he has been less confirmed, less


eroded, he cannot aspire to supplant his nominal master.


Yet what other outlets remain for his ambitions? What


other needs or priorities might his brilliance serve? And


- do not neglect this point - how else can his natural


enmity to the Dragon express itself?


Perhaps by identifying himself with the UMCP rather


than with the UMC. By assigning to the UMCP an


importance which he denies to the vaster and less specific


domain of the Dragon. By affirming the stated purposes


and restrictions of the UMCP at the expense of Holt


Fasner and the UMC.


Now consider the matter of the immunity drug.


The moment Intertech's research threatens to succeed,


the Dragon perceives a threat. If humankind may be


immunized against mutagens, the peril of the Amnion


recedes. Therefore the necessity of the UMCP - and of


its corporate host - recedes. Therefore the logic which


sustains that host as the sole conduit for alien trade and


wealth loses its syllogistic inevitability.


At once the Dragon moves to quash the research. It


must be removed before it can become the means by


which his hold on human space frays away.


So much is predictable, hardly worthy of comment.


But how does Warden Dios respond? Does he permit


himself spasms of self-righteousness, as a lesser man


might? Does he fall prey to scruples or faint-hearted


alarms? Does he oppose his putative master, either openly


or privately?


He does not.


Instead he persuades the Dragon that Intertech's


research must be permitted to continue in secret — in my


care, in fact. Employing his considerable resources of elo-


quence and charisma, he convinces the Dragon that an


attained immunity drug - if it were kept secret - would be


a tool of unmatched power. He does not stake his argu-


ment on the proposition that such a drug could be used to


secure the safety of his own people. Instead he suggests


using, not the drug itself, but knowledge of the drug


against the Amnion. By 'leaking' - odious term - that


knowledge, he can induce them to be more fearful in their


dealings with us. They will be at once confirmed in their


distrust of humankind and eroded in their ability to act on


that distrust. And this development will conduce to the


security of the UMC as the sole conduit for alien etc.


How can the Dragon resist such blandishment? Its


virtues are too plain to be refuted. The current state of


poised but inactive hostility between humankind and the


Amnion is reinforced. UMC profits are maximized. And


Warden Dios' purity as the instrument of Holt Fasner's


will is demonstrated. His natural enmity to the Dragon


is apparently defanged by his implication in the Dragon's


disdain for humankind. Once again Warden Dios is sub-


sumed by Holt Fasner's avarice.


Inevitably the Dragon cedes his approval. And so the


Intertech research comes to me, to complete and use as


I advise - and as Warden Dios sees fit.


Therefore the commonly held view that Warden Dios


is the perfect instrument of Holt Fasner's will is affirmed,


is it not?


I think not.


Consider the beauty of this outcome from the perspec-


tive of the UMCP. Certainly the Dragon is given what


he most desires - the immeasurable and ultimately mean-


ingless satisfaction of his greed. But the more significant,


the more effective, benefits belong all to the UMCP. We


have the drug itself, to use both for our own security


and for the consternation of our opponents. The risks of


actions we have already taken are reduced. The risks of


actions which we have heretofore declined are made


acceptable. We can manipulate the defensive postures of


the Amnion almost at will. The consequences of human-


kind's quite natural and comprehensible impulse toward


piracy are diminished. We are given a bulwark against


the depredations of politicians, protected by the mere


existence of our secrets from ham-fisted tampering. Only


Protocol suffers under the burden of secrecy - and such


men as Godsen Frik are born to suffer. Both Enforcement


Division and Data Acquisition are made stronger.


Warden Dios has gained all this - and at what cost?


At no discernible cost at all, apart from the delicious


expense of allowing the Dragon to retain his illusions.


And failures of godhood will - they must - derive from


any illusion. Thus Holt Fasner has been at once con-


firmed in his lust for power and eroded in his ability to


control it by his most necessary subordinate - his most


natural enemy...


... having no scruples myself, I do not hesitate to call


myself a genius. However, I am more cautious when I


apply that name to others...


... because of victories such as his handling of


Intertech's immunity research, as well as countless others,


I state categorically that Warden Dios is a genius.


GODSEN


Godsen Frik sat in his office and stared at the


orders he'd just received. As he read the official


hardcopy for the third time, he tried to believe


that he wasn't afraid.


Things like this weren't supposed to happen to him.


What was the advantage of being Holt Fasner's protege


- what did he gain by his efforts to serve the United


Mining Companies as much as the United Mining Com-


panies Police - if things like this could still happen to


him?


Where did Warden Dios get the nerve? Didn't he


understand that Holt Fasner was his boss — that the


Dragon could simply fire him?


But if Warden fired Godsen himself first - and the


Dragon didn't consider the director of Protocol worth


losing the director of the whole UMCP for -


That was the possibility Godsen concentrated on, so


that he wouldn't think about his real fear. A man who'd


been fired by the UMCP for insubordination - or worse


— wasn't a likely candidate to succeed Abrim Len as Presi-


dent of the Governing Council for Earth and Space. All


of his ambitions - not to mention his long years of


patience and ass-licking - would come to nothing.


The other possibilities were too disturbing to consider.


What if this quicksand of plots and counter-plots


proved too thick for him; too subtle and deadly? What


if he drowned in it? He could survive being fired. And if


he was fired in Holt Fasner's name, the Dragon would


eventually reward him. But what if the plotting actually


killed him?


There was blood in these orders. He knew without


asking that they were a response to the attack on Sixten


Vertigus. People were going to die before this tangle


of betrayals sorted itself out. Somewhere, somehow, the


decision had already been made that the stakes were


worth killing for.


Godsen Frik didn't want to be one of the casualties.


He re-read the hardcopy obsessively in an effort to


prevent himself from wondering whether his loyalty to


Holt Fasner at Warden Dios' occasional expense was


reason enough for nameless madmen to want him dead.


Or whether he distrusted Dios enough to call the


UMCP director a madman.


His orders were as clear as they were unexplained.


Until further notice, Godsen Frik, director of Protocol,


United Mining Companies Police, was restricted to


UMCPHQ.


What was Dios trying to do? Prevent Frik from taking


one of his sporadic junkets to the fleshpots - Godsen


loved words like that—of Earth, where he would presum-


ably be an easy target? Well, in all honesty that wasn't


much of a hardship. Protocol was full of attractive


women - he'd seen to that as a good PR director should


- and some of them found him attractive in turn, for


their own reasons. If they lacked the seductive perversion


of the fleshpots, they were still women. Some of them


were bound to be worth teaching.


In fact, being restricted to UMCPHQ wasn't a hard-


ship at all, in any obvious sense. His quarters were luxuri-


ous in ways which satisfied his sense of his own worth,


ways which suggested that he was accustomed to wealth


and status, but not ruled by them: his rooms were spa-


cious; full of subdued art, quiet holograms, data ter-


minals and video screens; famished with costly but


understated rugs, sofas, chairs, tables, beds. And his office


was spartan only by comparison with the official room


which Warden never used except on occasions of public


display. From where he sat he could perform all the


necessary functions of his job: issue bulletins, hold meet-


ings, fend off or gratify newsdogs; brief the votes either


in session or in private, by public transmission or secure


down-link; support or oppose the policies of his fellow


directors.


So why did he feel trapped? Why was he scared?


Because there was so much at stake, sure, of course,


that was the reason. Angus Thermopyle had been set


loose against Billingate. Controlled by none other than


Milos Taverner, in the name of Heaven! And explicitly


programmed not to rescue Morn Hyland. That was bad


enough. But Dios' explosive video conference with the


GCES made everything worse. A nightmare for Protocol,


impossible to clean up or sweep under the rug. He had


'curled the moral hair' of the votes with a vengeance.


Godsen had already received four calls from Maxim Igen-


sard, five from UWB Junior Member Carsin, and two


more from Abrim Len - none of which he'd answered,


for the simple reason that he didn't know how.


And the attack no on Sixten Vertigus no made everything


MUCH worse no, don't think about that. Absolutely not.


It would be better to answer his calls than think.


Restricted to UMCPHQ.


Suddenly he felt sure that the only conceivable way to


minimize or at least contain the damage to the UMCP -


and, by extension, Holt Fasner - was to go to Earth, visit


Igensard and Carsin and Len and even dear old outdated


Sixten Vertigus in person. In person he might be able to


talk them down from their hysteria, swaddle them in


blather; mop the sweat of paranoia off their brows, so to


speak. He was at his best in person. Any technological


interference, even by video down-link, neutralized the


charm which made him good at his job, the ability to


spin gossamer illusions and make them seem substantial.


It was intolerable that Warden Dios seemed deter-


mined to commit seppuku in this bizarre fashion; taking


his director of Protocol with him.


Immersed in fears he didn't want to recognize, Godsen


flinched involuntarily when his intercom chimed. He


dropped the hardcopy of his orders as if it were hot


enough to burn him. His hands shook as he toggled the


intercom.


'Yes?'


'Director Frik, I have a call from Holt Fasner. '


His secretary had been chosen because she had the


kind of dulcet and accessible voice - this was Godsen's


phrase - which gave newsdogs wet dreams. He hated it


and her down to the ground.


He kept his loathing to himself, however. In an


avuncular rumble, he answered, Tut him through, my


dear. It doesn't pay to keep the High and Mighty


waiting. '


'Yes, sir. '


At once one of the speakers on his desk — the channel


he used for his most private conversations — came alive.


'Godsen. ' The name wasn't a question. And the voice


didn't identify itself. It didn't need to: Godsen would


have recognized it in his sleep. What the hell's going on


down there? The votes are pissing pure alum. '


'Mr Fasner - sir, ' Godsen blurted out while his brain


fumbled for the first consecutive sentence it could find,


'I'm glad you called. I was just about to contact you. I've


been working on a report -'


'Spare me the bullshit, ' the Dragon retorted. He


sounded incongruously cheerful. Tut it where it might


do all of us some good. If you wanted to talk to me, you


would have called by now.


'Try telling the truth instead. What -I mean this liter-


ally, Godsen - what in hell is going on?'


Old reflexes kicked in. As if he were behind a podium


facing a hostile news conference, Godsen countered, 'Can


you be more specific?' Real dignity was beyond him at


the moment, but at least he could sound starched and


irritable at need. There are any number of "hells" going


on. Which one do you want to talk about first?'


'Oh, stop it. ' Holt may have been enjoying himself.


'You know perfectly well what I want to talk about. '


Quailing inside, Godsen clung to his reflexes. The first


that comes to mind, sir, is the attack on Captain Vertigus.


Do you want to hear my usual speech about the diligence


and integrity of UMCP investigations? Or perhaps a side-


bar on the merits of GCES Security? I'm afraid that's all


I have to offer. Only the Enforcement Division director


or Warden Dios might know more, but if they do they


haven't revealed it to me. '


'My, my, you are in a state today, ' Holt sneered. 'One


might almost think that kaze was aimed at you. ' Without


transition his tone became a snarl. 'No, that is not what


I'm asking about. '


Godsen winced. What else was left? As stiff as card-


board, he suggested, 'Then I suppose you're interested


in the director's video conference with the GCES?'


'Good guess, ' Holt returned trenchantly.


Godsen resisted the impulse to come up with other


possibilities. They wouldn't distract the Dragon. Instead


he said, 'In that case I'll suppose as well that you already


know what actually happened - who said what to whom,


that sort of thing. '


Holt Fasner waited. His silence sounded even more


ominous than his voice.


'I'm going to suppose that what you want to know' -


Godsen hung fire momentarily - 'is why the director did


it. What he hopes to gain. '


The Dragon still didn't speak.


'Mr Fasner -' Without meaning to, Godsen stopped.


What could he say? More to the point, what could he say


over a communications link which was inevitably being


recorded somewhere in the bowels of UMCPHQ?


I think Warden Dios has lost his mind.


Good choice.


I think he's trying to sabotage Data Acquisition. He's


too pure to like operations like the ones we've launched


against Thanatos Minor, so he wants to get them pro-


hibited in the future. Hashi only went along with it


because he's too full of his own cleverness to realize the


truth.


Even better.


I think he's trying to hurt you, Mr Fasner, you and me


and maybe everything the UMC stands for, God alone


knows why.


No, that was definitely too frightening to say. Even


recognizing the existence of such issues was dangerous.


It was typical of the Dragon to be careless of other


people's security considerations.


Swallowing heavily, Godsen began again.


'Mr Fasner, you don't really want to talk about that


now. In any event, I probably don't know the answer.


The director' - even now he couldn't stifle his rhetorical


impulse - 'hasn't taken me into his confidence on this


subject. '


While Godsen sweated, the Dragon remained silent.


Then he replied with unexpected good humor, 'So don't


talk to me. You're probably right - I don't want to hear


it like this.


'Grab a shuttle, ' he commanded, 'and come over here. '


Here meant his 'home office', his corporate station orbit-


ing Earth only half a million kilometers from UMCPHQ.


'Do it right away. You can give me this so-called "report"


of yours in person. '


Helplessly, hopelessly, Godsen's mind went blank with


alarm.


For better or worse, his mouth went on talking even


when his mind failed him. He could easily imagine him-


self still talking long after he died, trading orotund cad-


ences and earthy homilies with the flames of hell.


'I can't, sir, ' he said without thinking. 'I'm afraid it's


out of the question. I would if I could - you know that.


But we're in a state of emergency here. I'm up to my hips


in disasters. I've actually had to refuse calls from the


President of the Council, can you believe it? The minute,


the very minute, I can break free, I'll be there as -'


'Godsen. ' The Dragon's voice pierced like an icepick.


'Stop talking. Restart your brain. Then try again. '


He knew the PR director too well. That was one of


the many things Godsen disliked about him.


Nevertheless Godsen closed his mouth obediently. He


took a deep breath through his nose. While he let it out,


he picked up the hardcopy of his orders as if a mere piece


of paper could protect him from Holt's disapproval.


'I've got orders, sir, ' he said more carefully. 'Straight


from Ward. I'm restricted to UMCPHQ. Until further


notice. If I leave now, he won't have to be content with


calling it insubordination. He can call it malfeasance. '


Harsh with amusement and irony, Holt laughed. 'And


what do you suppose, ' he drawled back, 'I'll call it if you


refuse?'


Godsen Frik's heart froze.


There it was. Without forewarning; without prep-


aration: the central crisis of his life.


On one side stood all his ambitions, as well as all the


sacrifices he'd made to achieve them - all the shit he'd


swallowed, all the hate and fear he'd refused to spit back


up.


On the other stood survival.


He believed that Holt Fasner had both the ability and


the will to make him President of the Governing Council


for Earth and Space - the most heard and visible public


figure on the planet.


He also believed that Fasner didn't give a long piss in


the sewer of the universe whether Godsen himself lived


or died in the process.


He believed that Warden Dios disliked and distrusted


him; no, worse, that Warden Dios considered him


dangerous, a chancre on the pure and impossible body


of the UMCP. Even worse - he could think about this


now only because he had a greater fear to face - he


considered it likely that Dios had gone mad; that the


director's instinctive revulsion for the double-dealings


and manipulations of power had become so extreme that


it had turned self-destructive.


He also believed that Dios would defend his own


people with the same stubbornness and skill he gave to


all humankind.


In other words, he believed Warden Dios capable of


committing professional suicide. He did not believe him


capable of aiming a kaze at Sixten Vertigus; of sacrificing


either Captain Vertigus or Godsen himself for the sake


of his own ends.


The Dragon, on the other hand, was entirely incapable


of suicide - and perfectly capable of murder.


Godsen felt his head and stomach move in differ-


ent directions, as if he were about to pass out. Leaden


nausea dragged at his abdomen: vertigo sucked at his


brain.


Stalling for time so that he could think, he said slowly,


'Sir, let's imagine for a minute that what you want is


possible. Let's imagine that my orders aren't on record


yet - that the shuttle crew and dock-handlers don't know


I've been restricted. Are you telling me to violate a direct


order from the director of the United Mining Companies


Police?' Get a recording of it. If it's true, make sure it can


be proved. 'Are you telling me you don't care if he fires


me?'


Are you telling me I'm expendable?


Holt actually chuckled. 'No, Godsen, I'm not telling


you that. You didn't hear me say anything of the sort.


What I am saying is this. If you don't make up your mind


in ten minutes - if you don't shuttle your ass over here


and give a report in person immediately - I don't care


what you do. '


The speaker went dead. Holt Fasner's voice dis-


appeared into the black gravity well that restricted


UMCPHQ to its orbit.


In a fury of trepidation, Godsen crumpled the hard-


copy of his orders and flung the defenseless wad against


the wall.


This was Warden's doing. If he hadn't changed the


rules the PR director lived by, Godsen's career and his


ambitions and his existence would be safe. Deliberately -


Godsen was suddenly sure it was deliberate - Warden


had forced him to choose between the UMC and the


UMCP.


The UMC owned the UMCP, for God's sake! That was


the only clear thought in Godsen's spinning head. Of


course he should do what the Dragon wanted, and damn


the consequences. Otherwise everything he'd ever done


or suffered was wasted.


But in his weighted stomach he believed, knew, that


Warden Dios didn't kill the people he was sworn to


protect.


If a kaze could get into the members' wing of the


GCES complex on Suka Bator to attack Sixten Vertigus,


no one was safe. Godsen Frik had to ask himself which he


distrusted more, Warden's self-destructiveness or Holt's


consuming disdain.


His ten minutes were almost up when he finally sum-


moned the courage to chime his secretary.


'Communications must have recorded the conversation


I just had with Holt Fasner, ' he said to her. 'Tell them I


want a copy of it on Director Dios' desk immediately.


Tell them to flare it. I want him to look at it right now. '


His voice didn't shake. In fact, he sounded more digni-


fied than he would have thought possible.


That small victory gave him the fortitude to begin


looking at his messages from Len, Igensard and Carsin


so that he could figure out how to answer them.


MIN


Min Donner had also received orders.


Like Godsen's, hers made her feel strangely


misused, as if she'd been cheated or thwarted


in some way; neutralized or disenfranchised.


Like him, she sat in her office and chewed them like


gristle, trying to imagine what they meant.


Unlike him, she knew what to do about them. And


she wasn't scared. She was angry. She was battered and


tired, stretched too thin to react with anything except


anger.


She'd recovered her hearing: that was the good news.


Except for a small high-pitched whine far back in the


audible spectrum, sounds and voices reached her without


distortion. But everything else —


Her whole body ached from the force of the kaze's


bomb. For a while that pain had settled into a dull, steady


throb: noradrenalin and serotonin had made it easy to


ignore. But now it was growing stronger, more acute, as


her body demanded attention for its needs. Her shoulders


and hips felt arthritic, nearly immobilized. The corners


of her jaw hurt as if she'd been grinding her teeth hard


enough to dislocate the joints. Her mind felt muzzy and


numb, packed with polypropylene insulation. At unpre-


dictable, infuriating intervals, fresh blood dripped from


her nose, demonstrating her weakness for anyone to see.


If she'd stopped to think about it, she would have


realized that she hadn't slept since before Warden had


briefed Angus Thermopyle and Milos Taverner; hadn't


eaten since the crew of the shuttle to Suka Bator had


given her a sandwich. She didn't have time to think about


such things, however.


By itself the attack on Captain Vertigus would have


been enough to consume all her attention. But in


addition she needed time as well as emotional space to


consider the implications of her conversation with


Warden.


Unfortunately those weren't her only responsibilities -


She also had a disaster of staggering proportions on


her hands.


Godsen Frik was dead. Less than twenty minutes ago,


he'd been blown to pulp and splinters by a kaze.


Men and women still ran and shouted in the corridors;


clearing away wreckage and a few bodies; making way


for damage control workers and investigators; hunting


for more kazes.


Too late all of UMCPHQ was on defense alert.


She felt that she could still hear the explosion, even


though she'd been too far away to distinguish anything


except an impalpable shock through the muffling walls


and infrastructure. The whine in her ears seemed more


like an echo of Godsen's death than a residue of the


attempt on Captain Vertigus.


She was Min Donner, director, UMCP Enforcement


Division. Her domain included UMCPHQ Security. She


couldn't blame herself if a kaze got into the members'


wing of the GCES complex; but there was no one else


to hold accountable for Godsen's murder.


And how many more of them were on station? Who


or what would they destroy next?


Her people had already reconstructed the attack as well


as they could. Godsen's secretary had been injured by


flying debris, but she remained alive — still conscious.


She'd been able to tell Min's Chief of Security that a


communications tech had come to her and asked to see


the PR director. The request was an odd one, so she'd


checked both his id tag and his communications creden-


tials. Both had looked good. More to the point, both


had passed routine verification by the Security computer.


So she'd chimed Godsen. The PR director had told her


to admit the tech.


Five seconds after the door closed, the kaze had set


himself off.


She did her job, the Chief of Security reported. Can't


blame her.


I don't, Min snapped. I don't even blame you. I just


want to know how it happened.


I want to know if it's going to happen again.


It happened, the Chief explained, because she did a


routine verification, not a full background. Everybody in


the chain did the same thing. Dock security did a routine


verification when he got off the shuttle. Before that, port


security did a routine verification when he boarded.


Before that, GCES Security did a routine verification


before they let him into the port.


Wait a minute. GCES Security? You mean this kaze


came from Suka Bator? From the GCES complex?


That's right.


The Chief of Security waited while she swore to her-


self. Then he continued.


His id was legit — all the correct verifications, all the


right passcodes - everything written in the CMOS chip


was right. He had orders from GCES Communications


to report to UMCPHQ Center. They're legit, too, even


though GCES Communications denies issuing them. As


long as no one got suspicious - as long as no one ran a


full background - he could have gone anywhere once


dock security let him in.


What did the full background show?


Nothing. He doesn't exist. I mean there's no record of


him. His id tag and his function id were never issued to


anyone. The tag was real - I mean it fit him, its data


matches what the lab has gleaned so far from blood and


tissue in Frik's office - but it was never issued.


Min wanted to demand, Then who was he really?


You've got gene id - who was he? She didn't bother,


however. The Chief of Security would pursue that


inquiry as a matter of course - and would probably learn


nothing. On Earth thousands of people every year


avoided id processing. Most of them lived in guttergangs


and had no reason to desire any of the so-called benefits


of being an identified member of human society.


Instead she asked a different question.


So have we suddenly become stupid around here? She


made no effort to tone down her fury. Don't we learn


from experience anymore? It's only been a few hours


since a kaze tried to kill Captain Vertigus. His id was


legit. He passed routine verification. But a full back-


ground would have caught him. Didn't it ever occur to


any of us that there's no such thing as one kaze? If there's


one, there can always be more. Why weren't we doing


full backgrounds on everybody who sets foot on this


station?


The Chief of Security was ashamed of himself. Never-


theless he didn't flinch.


Because I didn't think of it. Ten minutes after the


attack on Captain Vertigus, I advised GCES Security to


do full background on everyone they let past any check-


point on the island. But then I assumed anyone who


came here from there had already been screened. And I


guess I assumed one attack on a GCES member meant


more attacks in the same place. The Chief shrugged


grimly. Dock security would have run full background if


he'd come from anywhere except Suka Bator.


Simply because she blamed herself more than him, Min


offered the Chief a way to soften his shame.


So GCES Security let us down.


By which she meant that someone in GCES Security


had been suborned; had deliberately let the kaze through


to the UMCPHQ shuttle.


Treachery was spreading.


How many kazes were already loose on station?


Director, the Chief said hesitantly, I don't understand.


If whoever did this has the resources to make kazes and


equip them with legitimate id and send them here, why


waste all that on Protocol? Why bother? What's so


important about Godsen Frik? Why not you, or Director


Dios? Why not Center, or Communications, or Data


Storage - why not something vital, something that


would really damage us?


Min had no idea. Unlike Captain Vertigus, Godsen


would have done everything in his power to oppose a


Bill of Severance.


What was Godsen doing? she asked.


He had a call from Holt Fasner about ten minutes


before the kaze hit. That's all I know.


The Dragon, she thought bleakly. Godsen's mentor


and nemesis. How had the PR director failed to under-


stand that dragons always devoured their servants?


Everyone in UMCPHQ would be devoured if they


didn't start defending their own better than this.


Chief, I want you to -


Trying to recover some of his self-esteem, the Chief of


Security interrupted her.


I know. Full background on everyone who's arrived


by shuttle, starting with the past twenty-four hours and


working backward for at least a month. My people are


already running it. And from now on no shuttle gets


within twenty thousand k until we have full background


on everyone aboard. Nobody gets into any sensitive part


of the station without being absolutely checked.


It wasn't enough, but it would have to do. Min was


too angry to say anything else, so she sent him back to


work.


She was angry at herself for a number of reasons. Pain


was one - the mortality which inhibited her when she


needed to be at her best. A sense of failure in her duty


was another. She should have seen the necessity for the


precautions which her Chief of Security had missed. And


she recognized one more: she was glad Godsen Frik was


dead. That unctuous weasel had done the UMCP incalcu-


lable harm by serving the Dragon more than Warden.


Because she was angry at herself, she would have pur-


sued the investigation of these kazes with every gram of


tenacity, intelligence and bloody-mindedness she had in


her.


But she wasn't given that choice. She had orders -


They lay in front of her as she sat at her desk, wrestling


with fatigue, pain and confusion as if they were her per-


sonal furies. Warden's instructions had been cut with a


precision which hadn't been necessary between her and


the director for a long time. Clearly and effectively, they


prevented her from doing her job as she saw it - from


uncovering and rooting out the treachery which had sent


kazes against the GCES and the UMCP.


Instead she was forced to leave the investigation as well


as the aftermath to her Chief of Security; and to the


strange young woman Hashi had sent over from DA. All


of Hashi's people were good: Min admitted that. And


this one was an expert - so he claimed - in tracing CMOS


chips, presumably by identifying where, how and when


they were manufactured. That might prove invaluable —


assuming, of course, that any recognizable particle of the


kaze's id had survived the explosion. Nevertheless Min


hated being barred from the investigation; hated trusting


it to subordinates for whom she felt responsible and to


experts she couldn't trust because they shared Lebwohl's


involuted priorities.


Now, of all possible times, she hated being sent away


from UMCPHQ.


Was Warden trying to protect her by getting her out


of the way? trying to keep her alive so that she could


succeed him as UMCP director?


Or was he getting her out of the way for a completely


different reason? Perhaps because he feared that she


might actually be able to track these kazes to their source?


The orders themselves gave her no answer.


They were superficially simple. The stark hardcopy


required her to take command of the first available


UMCP warship and proceed immediately to the asteroid


belt served by Com-Mine Station. Using the belt to cover


her, she was instructed to watch for and respond to devel-


opments from the direction of Thanatos Minor.


In this case, the 'first available UMCP warship' hap-


pened to be Punisher, a Scalpel-class cruiser which had


just arrived in UMCPHQ's restricted gap range after


nearly six months harrying pirates out beyond Valdor


Industrial. Min's command would be a battle-scarred and


ill-provisioned vessel with an exhausted crew.


She and Punisher were supposed to get as close as they


could to Thanatos Minor without violating forbidden


space and then just sit there, hoping that they could react


appropriately when something happened.


No doubt subsequent communication would make


clear what constituted an appropriate reaction. Neverthe-


less it galled her that these orders didn't spell out the


answer. Was she being sent to rescue whoever survived


Joshua's attack on Billingate? Or was she supposed to


make sure there were no survivors?


Was Warden trying to protect her by wasting her in


this way, or did he have some better use in mind?


The idea that his only purpose might be to spare her


from sharing his doom made her want to howl with fury.


Is that all he thinks I'm good for? Picking up the pieces


after he's gone?


Rubbing her sore, red eyes arid her throbbing temples,


she called him to demand an answer.


Despite her anger, she was taken aback when she


reached him immediately. His readiness to face her ques-


tions and challenges nonplused her.


'I got your orders, ' she said unnecessarily; then she


faltered. As soon as she heard his firm, sure voice, her


ability to focus her ire at him began to dissolve.


'Good. ' He sounded brisk and unreachable through


the speaker on her desk. 'How soon can you and Punisher


be on your way?'


Her eyes blurred for a moment; she couldn't rub them


clear. They're decelerating now. As soon as they brake


enough, they'll head back toward the gap range. I'll be


on a shuttle in fifteen minutes -I should be able to catch


them in two hours. Once I'm aboard, all we need is


enough velocity, and we can go into tach. '


All we need is a reason that makes sense - a reason I


can believe in.


'Good, ' he said again.


For a moment he was silent. Then he said gently, That


isn't why you called, Min. You might as well say it now.


You may not get another a chance for a while. '


A new trickle of blood tickled her upper lip. She


scrubbed it away with the back of her hand. Her anger


had suddenly become grief. She didn't know how to cross


the gulf between her and the man she served.


Swallowing harshly, she answered, The whole time we


were planning this operation, you didn't say anything


about sending me or any ship out there. ' The next kaze


may be aimed at you. It's my job to protect you. What's


changed?'


'Nothing yet, ' he replied promptly. 'But it will. '


Almost immediately, however, he amended, 'I don't


mean that literally. What I mean is that nothing has


changed where Thanatos Minor is concerned. Things are


changing here, obviously. I didn't expect kazes' - hints


of his own anger showed in his voice - 'and I definitely


didn't expect to lose Godsen.


'Also, ' he continued without pausing, 'there's one


other change I ought to tell you about.


We're expanding our communications web out where


you're going. Every gap courier drone and listening post


we have or can get is being sent to intercept transmissions


from Thanatos Minor. In fact, I'm trying to expand


the web enough to cover several cubic light-years in


that quadrant - I'm covering as much sheer space as I


can, and still be sure messages and data get back here


in a matter of hours. You should be able to stay in


contact. '


This information seemed to leave her numb. She had


no idea what it meant. 'Warden' - why was she so weak


in this situation, when she desperately wanted to be


strong? - 'we spent months getting this operation ready.


If you wanted a bigger communications web, why wait


until now to do something about it?'


'Because, ' he replied succinctly, 'I'm not the one who


wants it. This is the Dragon's idea. In fact, he was talking


to me about it when that kaze hit Godsen.


'Now there's a coincidence for you, ' he remarked


almost casually.


'Anyway, he thinks we're too exposed in this operation


- he's worried about containing the damage if something


goes wrong. So he wants to maximize our ability to find


out what happened in time to do something about it. He


ordered me to put everything we have into the web. On


top of that, he's giving us access to UMC communi-


cations resources. '


Still casually, Warden concluded, 'I think he's trying


to dissociate himself from the things I told the GCES. '


Min nodded to herself. Of course. Expanding the web


was Fasner's idea. Suppressing the mutagen immunity


drug had been his idea. He'd talked to Godsen shortly


before Godsen was killed. He was talking to Warden


when Godsen was killed.


She was beginning to think that neither she nor the


UMCP director existed. They were both figments of the


Dragon's fevered and acquisitive imagination.


'Warden, listen to me. ' It couldn't be put off any


longer: it had to be said. 'I'm your bodyguard. That's


part of my job. What can possibly change on Thanatos


Minor that's so important you have to send me to deal


with it, instead of letting me stay here to fight those


kazes?'


He was silent for a long time; so long that she thought


he might have walked away from the intercom, leaving


her alone with her speaker's empty circuits. But then past


the thin constant whine of neural feedback she heard him


sigh.


'You're going to think this is strange. ' He sounded so


distant that she imagined she was overhearing a conver-


sation with someone else; perhaps with himself. 'I'm not


going to explain it. But I have reason to think' - he


stumbled momentarily, as if he already regretted his


decision to speak — 'Morn Hyland may survive what's


happened to her. She may even get away alive.


'If she does, I want someone to make sure she stays


alive, someone I can trust. That means you.


'Good luck. '


Her speaker clicked clearly as he silenced his intercom.


She'd been concentrating so hard that she hadn't felt


her nose bleeding. When she glanced down, she saw


damp red spatters on the hardcopy of her orders.


ANCILLARY


DOCUMENTATION


GUTTERGANGS


Until humankind came into contact with the Amnion, it


was easy to believe that guttergangs would eventually


rule the Earth.


In one sense, their roots were as old as crime. The


poor you have with you always, ' said Christ, not inaptly.


However, he might have gone on to observe that pov-


erty had no meaning in the absence of wealth: where


all have nothing, all are equal - and none poor. From


the moment when human evolution first stumbled on


the concept of having, some individuals or tribes or


people had more while others had less. Predictably the


disparity bred tension; and the tension fed itself as


those who had sought to secure what they possessed,


while those who had not sought to acquire what they


lacked. In due course that tension led to violence - the


taking away from those who had by those who had


not.


As in all human endeavor, concerted action proved


more effective than individual effort: groups could take


more.


Gangs of one kind or another became inevitable as


soon as having was invented.


In another sense, however, guttergangs were more


recent. They were a product of modern mechanization


and urbanization. More specifically, they were a symptom


of as well as a reaction against the slow collapse of Earth's


social infrastructures.


Because the services of well-meaning but over-taxed


communities could no longer feed or care for their young


adequately; because educational systems tried harder to


control than to excite their students; because transitional


life-styles and intense technological changes eroded the


ability of families to provide stability for their children;


because humankind's rush to exploit the planet and con-


sume its resources led to a rising tide of poverty which


no one could stem; because the fiscal policies of gov-


ernments were designed primarily to defend the com-


fort of the few against the hunger of the many; and


because, finally, no one could pay for enough police


to combat crime: for all these reasons and more,


guttergangs flourished throughout Earth's sprawling


urban structures with a vigor unprecedented in human


history.


The gangs were starving, loveless, abused, despised,


cornered: therefore they fought back. And they were able


to fight back successfully because they wrested their sur-


vival from the same crumbling infrastructure which had


created the conditions for their existence - thereby, of


course, hastening the decline of that infrastructure;


worsening the state of people who lived within rather


than against Earth's social compacts; encouraging the


growth of more guttergangs.


Much like corporations or governments, they bred


chaos around them for the sake of creating order for


themselves. Creating nothing, producing nothing, they


took away what other people produced or created. More


than that, they took away the very constructs and com-


pacts which enabled creation and production to occur.


They were parasites on the body of human civilization,


just as civilization itself was a parasite on the body of the


planet. Some cynics argued that they represented


the inevitable outcome of humankind's imprecise


moral sense: rapacity and selfishness carried to logical


extremes.


Sooner or later, parasites usually lose. They feed on


their host until the host dies; and with the death of the


host, the parasites themselves starve away. But the gut-


tergangs were too entrenched to be rooted out by any-


thing short of complete cataclysm or absolute tyranny.


And the development of the gap drive made their exist-


ence more secure rather than less.


Interstellar travel supplied humanity with the opportu-


nity to exploit distant asteroid belts and planetary


systems; in other words, with a vast increase of available


wealth. Naturally the influx of new resources shored up


Earth's tottering infrastructures - which in turn gave the


guttergangs more to live on. By prolonging the life of


the host, the gap drive gave the parasites more time in


which to spread and multiply; increased the rate at which


the parasites devoured the host.


It was easy to believe that guttergangs would eventu-


ally rule the Earth.


This entire societal equation was altered, however, by


contact with the Amnion. The discovery of a fundamen-


tal, insidious, and above all external threat to human-


kind's existence turned the tide of history against the


guttergangs.


The effects of this discovery were not simple. Obvi-


ously the struggle for the survival of the race would take


place hundreds or thousands of light-years away, and


would be carried on by the forces of the infrastructure.


The fate of humankind would be decided elsewhere: the


guttergangs would live or die with their host. By the


ordinary laws of parasitism, therefore, neither society nor


the guttergangs had any reason to change. Yet the know-


ledge of an enemy they could not see and would never


have to fight changed the guttergangs profoundly.


They did not suddenly discover patriotism, of course.


They did not put aside their clenched internecine attack


on all social structures outside their own for the sake of


humankind's greater good. Nevertheless they were


human beings — genophobic to the core. Like patriots


and religionists, environmentalists and native Earthers,


nations and corporations, politicians and cops, they could


not stifle the visceral frisson of their revulsion against


imperialism by mutation.


By degrees too small to be measured, too small even


to be noticed in the short term, the guttergangs began


to erode.


This process took any number of forms. As one crude


example: thanks to the Amnion, the appetite of the


UMCP for young bodies was as intense as, and inherently


more comfortable than, the guttergangs'. Active recruit-


ment by the police gave the hungry youth of Earth a


choice distinct from the more passive, as well as more


brutal, accretion of the guttergangs.


Or a more subtle instance: hating and fearing the


Amnion, the ordinary people of Earth - the natural prey


of the guttergangs - had less hatred and fear to spare for


those gangs. Therefore in complex, almost indefinable


ways the guttergangs began to lose their mystique, their


attraction for the lost and disenfranchised of the planet.


In comparison to the Amnion, the gangs were perceived


as more bearable, more manageable, more normal; there-


fore less threatening to humankind - and less appealing


to humankind's downtrodden. Over time, no human


enterprise could oppose - or remained unchanged by -


this kind of perceptual shift.


Slowly across the decades, genophobia united human-


kind against its common foe.


Cynics saw this turning of the tide as a demonstration


that prejudice was the only true survival instinct human-


ity had left. Less cynical observers had difficulty deciding


whether to be grateful or terrified.


NICK


By the time Trumpet's airlock cycled shut behind


him, and he crossed the scan field to the complex


of passages which accessed the visitors' berths


from Reception, Nick Succorso knew that Milos had told


him the truth.


You're a dead man -


When he'd left Trumpet's bridge, he'd been sure of


what he meant to do. Thermo-pile and that bugger, Tav-


erner, had cut him off from every recourse, every line of


escape: all but one.


Only a fool pays Ms debts to a dead man.


Like Sorus Chatelaine, he was going to enlist in the


service of the Amnion. He would tell them what Angus


and Milos were doing; warn them that an attempt would


be made to rescue Morn Hyland. He would let them


have his ship and his skills and his knowledge of the cops


in exchange for his life.


That option stank. He hated it. Not because it was any


different than the dealings he'd had with the UMCP for


years: he saw no reason to think he wouldn't be able to


serve the Amnion with the same misleading loyalty he'd


given the cops. Not because some of his crew would hate


it, or would hate him for doing it: he could always get


new crew. And not even because it was the same choice


Sorus herself had made: nothing he was forced to do


now would change his revenge on her.


No, he hated enlisting with the Amnion because that


would affect his reputation. It would cost him glamour:


it would make him appear as mortal and outmaneuvered


as he felt.


He intended to ensure that Thermo-pile and Taverner


suffered the tortures of the damned for doing this to him.


That determination lasted until he crossed the scan


field and started along the passages toward Reception.


Then some of things Angus had said to him hit home;


they went off inside him like timed grenades.


'Report' is what Milos does best.


You aren't the only one he talked to while we were coming


in. He also sent messages to Tranquil Hegemony.


They answered before you did.


Milos was Playing some kind of bugger game. Me and


Succorso and the UMCP and the Amnion, all against each


other.


Nick felt himself breaking up inside. Sweat stood like


blood on his forehead; the whites of his eyes glared at


the walls; pale as bone, his scars pulled at his face like


fresh cuts. Some kind of bugger game. Apparently his brain


had shut down when Angus hit him. He must have been


stunned. 'Report' is what Milos does best. He hadn't really


understood those words at first. They answered before you


did. After his initial rush of panic, he'd forgotten them.


Maybe his skull was cracked: it hurt badly enough


for that. And since then he'd been reacting on pure in-


stinct.


But now he began to think again.


Where did Angus get that kind of strength?


What if everything he'd assumed about Angus and


Milos had been wrong from the beginning?


Oh, shit.


What if Milos and Angus weren't working for the


cops? What if they were just faking it? What if the whole


point of this shuck-and-jive was to get Morn back to


UMCPHQ and make it look like they rescued her?


What if the Amnion had turned her into some kind of


genetic kaze, and now they wanted the cops to have


her so she could go off where she would do the most


damage?


Of course the Amnion knew the cops wouldn't trust


her, wouldn't let down their defenses, unless they were


sure she was innocent. What if Angus and Milos were


working for the Amnion to make Morn look innocent?


Oh, Christ!


Nick was momentarily frozen with panic, not because


he cared about the threat to humankind, but because he'd


just lost his last option.


If Angus and Milos were working for the Amnion,


Nick didn't have anything to offer that might save him.


Frightened motionless, he stood where he was and


tried to believe Angus had lied to him.


You aren't the only one he talked to - He also sent messages


to Tranquil Hegemony.


They answered before you did.


It was too tidy; too convenient. Angus must have


invented it, trying to pressure Nick into helping him.


Nevertheless it was inherently credible. Milos Taverner


was exactly that kind of buggering sonofabitch.


How was it possible for Thermopyle to be so fucking


strong


Goaded by chagrin, Nick broke into a run.


He had to get back aboard Captain's Fancy before the


full weight of the Bill's anger and Angus' treachery and


his own miscalculations came down on his neck.


Displays at the ends of the access passages indicated


ship id for the berths they served. Half the signs were


blank: some of the others showed names he recognized.


When he noticed Soar, he took charge of himself, slowed


his pace to a walk. He would see himself in hell before


he risked letting any of Sorus Chatelaine's people witness


his panic.


Soar's display flashed at him. Under the ship's name


ran the words 'SECURE FOR UNDOCK'.


Good. Despite his fear, his mouth aped a predator's


grin. His plan was working. Whatever else happened, he


was going to get that bitch.


In command of himself now, even though he couldn't


control the muscles spasming in his cheek, he continued


on his way.


There: around a corner; twenty meters past the only


other display in this section of the corridor: Captain's


Fancy.


His alarm turned instantly to fury when he saw that


the access to his ship was guarded.


Two men stood there, both gripping impact rifles. One


had a video prosthesis in the place of his left eye; the


other looked like a gorilla that had been rebuilt so that


it could dismantle concrete with its bare hands.


They were both breathing hard, and their faces were


flushed, as if they'd just arrived running.


They'd already seen Nick; they watched him as he


approached. Their rifles pointed ominously at his chest.


He should have turned and run himself. Those men


had come to arrest him. Either the Bill wanted to con-


front him with the rumors Mikka and Sib had started


about Sorus, or he'd been connected to Davies' rescue


somehow. He was finished if he didn't get out of here;


didn't get out of here fast —


He was finished without his ship.


And he had nowhere to run.


His head hurt as if he had splinters of bone sticking


into his brain. Driven by momentum and outrage, he


walked straight toward the guards as if they had nothing


to do with him; as if he could simply brush between


them and go on to his ship.


His thin bluff was wasted on them. They shifted to


block the passage completely. The one with the bugeye


in his head raised his rifle to his shoulder and tightened


his finger on the firing stud.


Nick stopped. He had no choice.


Somehow he was going to kill at least one of these


men before he was taken.


'What the fuck are you assholes doing?' he snarled.


'That's my ship. I'm going aboard. '


'No, you ain't. ' The gorilla smiled to show his bad


teeth. 'You been barred. '


Barred?


Tending a resolution of your disagreements with the


Bill, ' the other guard explained as if he were quoting,


'you are denied access to your ship. '


Barred?


'Asshole, ' the gorilla finished happily.


He might as well have said, The Bill has decided to kill


you. He just hasn't decided how yet.


For an instant, Nick believed that he was finished. He


had nowhere to go, no defenses left. All his options had


failed. The pressure of defeat rose up in him like a cry.


But then he realized that the guards weren't here to


arrest him. He still had his freedom of movement.


Without transition a fighting calm came over him.


You're a dead man. Milos had told him the truth. Here


in Billingate, he was nothing without Captain's Fancy.


Nothing except himself. Nick Succorso. The man who


never lost.


The man whom Sorus Chatelaine had cut and then


abandoned aboard the original Captain's Fancy; the man


who had resurrected himself from that death to become


the stuff of legends.


He measured distances; estimated his chances of


knocking both rifles aside in time to land a few blows.


The gorilla looked like he could absorb a punch which


would pulverize Nick's fist, and go on smiling.


Nick returned a grin of his own. His scars curved


blackly under his eyes; the tic was gone from his cheek.


As if he hadn't just received a death sentence — as if in


the face of Amnion threats and the Bill's muscle, UMCP


treachery and Angus' malice, he'd at last recovered his


true immortality - he asked almost casually, 'I don't sup-


pose the Bill happened to mention what he wants me to


do before I can have my ship back?'


The guards shook their heads. 'You got to ask him, '


the gorilla sneered.


'I will, ' Nick said for the sake of his self-image, 'as soon


as I can spare the time. '


Turning his back sharply, he strode away.


Thermo-pile and Taverner and the Bill and Hashi fuck-


ing Lebwohl were out of their minds if they thought they


could do this to him.


Grinning hard enough to stretch his scars, he rounded


the corner, passed out of sight of the guards — and nearly


collided with Mikka Vasaczk.


She put a hand on his chest to ward him off. He didn't


need to look into her eyes to see how angry she was;


how desperate. The force of her thrust and the set of her


hips told him that she'd come close to hitting him.


Sib Mackern and Vector Shaheed stood behind her


like bodyguards. They had Pup with them. But as soon


as Nick registered their presence he ignored them. He


didn't have time to consider the implications of the fact


that they were together. The orders he'd given them


should have kept them apart: therefore they hadn't


obeyed him. That was dangerous, but secondary. They


would pay for it later. Mikka and the guards outside


Captain's Fancy were his immediate concern.


'Just the people I was looking for, ' he announced


softly. His sardonic assurance was so complete that he


almost believed it himself. 'Come on. We've got work to


do. '


He moved past her as if she had no choice except to


follow him.


'Nick. ' She caught his arm, pulled him to a halt. 'Listen


to me. ' Her grip was as hard as she could make it. For


some reason it reminded him of the strength of her legs


when he'd had sex with her. This is the last chance you're


going to get. '


Deliberately he glanced at the nearest bugeyes. 'Save


it. The Bill won't hesitate to use anything you say against


you. '


Against me.


Apparently Mikka didn't care. 'Listen to me. ' The lines


of her face were clenched and bitter. She looked like a


woman who'd decided to step in front of matter cannon


fire. We're not taking any more orders. We don't work


for you. We're not your crew any longer. You've made


it too obvious we're expendable. And we don't much like


what you're expending us for.


'Now we're going to stop you. '


She didn't let go of his arm.


Nick couldn't help himself: he gaped at her. 'Say what?'


Sib Mackern edged closer to her shoulder, as if he


wanted her to protect him - or as if he'd decided to die


with her.


Nick's incredulity didn't touch her. The bugeyes are


part of it, ' she grated. 'A little trick we learned from you.


The strategic use of recordings. No matter how fast you


are, you can't kill all four of us before one of us manages


to tell the Bill at least some of the things you don't want


him to know. '


'That's right, ' Vector put in. He sounded calm and a


little sad. 'In fact, I don't think you'll be able to kill any


of us before Operations sends those guards' - he nodded


in the direction of Captain's Fancy - 'to find out what all


the noise is about. '


The engineer was right. Unless Operations or the Bill


had too many other things to concentrate on, the guards


were probably already headed this way.


'But if you don't kill us, ' Mikka continued as Nick


stared at her, 'you won't be able to prevent us from talk-


ing to anybody we want. Captain Chatelaine for one. '


Like his scars, her eyes were full of blood. 'Captain


Thermopyle for another. '


Despite the danger of the guards, Nick stood still, let


his heart beat two or three times while he met her fierce


glare. She'd always been the best of his crew - the most


capable and intelligent; the most loyal. If only she'd been


better looking, she might have held his interest longer.


He still didn't understand how he'd lost her.


Abruptly, as if he could do such things without effort,


he twisted his arm free. In the same motion he shifted a


few steps to the side. Involuntarily Mikka, Vector and


Sib turned to face him; they moved as if he were steering


them, positioning them between him and the corner.


Lazily he swung up his hand and pointed his index


finger into Mikka's face. 'I'm not going to try to kill you, '


he said distinctly. 'I told you - I need you. We've got


work to do.


'You don't really want to talk to the Bill. He hasn't


got anything to offer you except a grubby life in this


stinkhole. Personally I don't think he's going to be able


to offer even that much longer. '


Are you listening, you bastard? Are you sure you want


to bar me from my ship?


'And you don't want to talk' - Nick sneered the name


- 'to Captain Chatelaine. She works for the Amnion.


Directly for the Amnion. Before she changed the name,


her ship used to be called Gutbuster. She did covert


operations for forbidden space back in the days when


Billingate didn't exist. '


Another small step to the side. Now Pup was in range.


He would make a good hostage. A quick grab; quick


pressure on the carotid arteries in his neck. Then Mikka


would do anything Nick wanted. For a minute or two,


anyway.


Her brother pressed against the wall as if he were


cowering. His eyes flinched back and forth between Nick


and Mikka.


'As for Captain Thermo-pile -'


Sib took Nick by surprise. Nick had decided long ago


that Mackern was no threat: the same fear which enabled


him to go beyond the limits of his training and talents at


the data station would also paralyze him. So Nick focused


his attention exclusively on Mikka. He couldn't react in


time as Sib whipped forward, caught Pup's wrist and


jerked the kid out of reach.


Mikka swung Pup behind her and faced Nick as if she


meant to hurl herself at his throat.


Nick adjusted his balance slightly, let her see that he


was ready. Like an avatar of the man he used to be, he


remarked, 'I think I've finally figured this out. You're the


ones who let Morn out of her cabin, so she could rig that


ejection pod. You've all been working against me at least


that long.


'But you know something? I don't care. I really don't


give a shit. You still haven't got a clue what's going on


here. You're floundering around in the dark, instead of


using your brains to keep yourselves and maybe Captain's


Fancy and all the rest of us alive. '


'Why don't you tell us, Nick?' Vector countered


steadily. Why don't you give us one of your so-called


clues' - he compressed more venom into that one word


than Nick had ever heard from him - 'instead of keeping


them all to yourself?'


'Because, ' Nick drawled back, 'I don't want the Bill to


hear me.


'But you mentioned Captain Thermo-pile. As it hap-


pens, I'm on my way to see him right now. Why don't


you come along? Once we're aboard his ship, you'll get


more dues than you know what to do with. '


'Mikka, no, ' Pup panted urgently. 'It's a trick. You said


yourself this stinks. Why are Thermopyle and Taverner


together? What's going on? He's trying-'


'Answer the kid, ' ordered the gorilla as he stepped


past the corner, waving his impact rifle, 'asshole. Tell


everybody what's going on. '


Gasping, Sib jumped to the illusory protection of the


wall. As if he were sliding, Vector eased out of the way.


As solid as a boulder, the guard planted himself beside


Mikka and Pup, and aimed his gun at Nick's belly.


Nick was ready for that, too. Even the pain in his head


had receded: he felt ready for everything. All he cared


about was that the guard was alone. The gorilla had left


his companion behind to keep watch on Captain's Fancy.


'Mikka, ' he said in a conversational tone, 'I'm only


going to give you one more order. This is the last - then


we're quits.


Take this shithead's gun and stick it up his ass. '


At once Mikka moved.


Not to obey: she pulled back to show her empty hands,


avoid the line of fire, cover Pup.


Nevertheless it was enough. Ponderous and brutal, the


gorilla wheeled to track her with the muzzle of his rifle.


By then Nick was already in motion.


He took two lightning strides and leaped.


Swinging up his left knee to lift him higher, he snap-


kicked the toe of his right boot into the guard's larynx.


Convulsively the guard flung his gun away as if the


metal had shocked him. Gagging on crushed cartilage


and torn muscle, he slammed to the floor.


With negligent ease, Nick caught the rifle out of the


air. His hands settled on the barrel and the firing stud.


'God damn it, woman, ' he growled at Mikka, 'I told


you what I wanted. '


Instinctively she braced herself. Pup seemed to thrash


at her shoulder, trying to get in front of her. Vector held


Sib so that he couldn't move.


Nick would have loved to shoot her. She deserved it:


they all did. But he needed her.


'I figure, ' he breathed maliciously, 'you've got about


ten seconds to reach a decision. After that the Bill won't


let you make any choices ever again. '


Despite the fact that his head suddenly hurt as if some-


one had hit him with an axe, he turned and ran for


Trumpet as smoothly as a hunting cat.


With his peripheral vision, he saw Soar's id display


flash red: 'SHIP UNDOCKING. '


Crimson and pain seemed to fill his ears. He couldn't


hear anything except the hammer of his boots and the


labor of his lungs. Until he reached Trumpet's access pass-


age and turned, he didn't know that Mikka and Pup,


Vector and Sib, were all following him, running hard.


'Nick, ' Mikka panted before he started down the pass-


age, 'there are more guards coming. A lot of them. ' She


stopped so abruptly that Pup blundered into her. Sib's


boots skidded out from under him; he nearly fell. Vector


was ten or fifteen meters back: his arthritis made him


slow. They would be here already, but they're lugging


some kind of heavy equipment. Looks like mining lasers. '


Nick reeled for a second; caught his balance. They're


not going to Captain's Fancy? They're coming here?'


'I don't know. ' Mikka shrugged stiffly. They're headed


in this direction. '


Which meant the Bill knew where Angus and Milos


were. He knew where Davies was.


Racing ruin, Nick dashed along the access passage and


across the scan field to Trumpet's airlock.


With the heel of his hand, he toggled the external


intercom.


'This is Nick. ' In spite of his urgency, he managed to


sound almost relaxed. 'Let me in. I've changed my mind.


And I've brought some help. '


No one answered. The speaker emitted an impalpable


whisper of static. The lock didn't open.


Boot heels thudding, Mikka came to his side. Sib and


Pup joined her; Vector doggedly brought up the rear.


'If I were you, ' Nick drawled into the intercom, 'I


would listen to me. You could use help.


'Oh, by the way, I think I should mention that there's


a platoon of guards heading this way. They've got mining


lasers. The Bill is going to peel you open like a vein of


cesium. '


You flagrant sonofabitch, you'd better know what


you're doing!


With a whine of servos, the lock began to cycle.


Mikka shoved Pup headlong through the opening;


nearly dived after him. Nick nodded Vector and Sib


ahead of him as if he meant to cover them with his rifle;


as if he cared what happened to them. Pirates with swash-


buckling reputations did things like that. As Mikka keyed


the lock to close the outer door and open the inner, he


stepped briskly inside.


Before the lock sealed, he caught a glimpse of guards


at the end of the access passage.


They were definitely coming this way.


'Now what?' Mikka demanded, breathing hard.


Nick didn't bother to answer. As soon as the inner


door opened on Trumpet's lift, he entered the car. What


was left of his crew, the surviving remnant of his ship,


crowded after him. He sent the lift upward.


Mikka and her group weren't literally all that was left


of his crew. But the rest had become even more expend-


able than she was: Captain's Fancy herself was expend-


able. The Bill had made that necessary.


Nick imagined that he would exact more recompense


than anything the Bill could afford to pay.


The lift let him out into Trumpet's core passage amid-


ships. Moving with long, confident strides, he led his


people to the bridge companionway and ran smoothly


down the treads.


Angus and Davies stood between the command


stations, facing him. Except for their shipsuits and the


swelling bruises on Davies' face, they looked like a video


trick — time-elapse replicas of each other.


Mikka clattered down the companionway, with Pup,


Sib and Vector behind her. Because they didn't know


what they were getting into - or perhaps because they'd


always known Angus Thermopyle as a dangerous enemy


- they arrayed themselves at Nick's back as if they were


on his side.


Nick met Angus' glare, Davies'. Angus' was yellow


with old, irreducible malice. But Morn's limpid eyes in


Davies' face made the boy look more intimately murder-


ous. His father hated everybody: Davies hated only Nick.


With all the insouciance he could produce, Nick asked,


'Where the hell is Milos?'


'Captain Sheepfucker. ' Angus didn't move a muscle. 'If


you think you can walk in here and take over with only


one gun and four people to back you up, you've been


eating your own shit too long. '


Nick glanced down at the impact rifle; he nearly


giggled. With a shrug, he tossed the gun to Angus.


Angus caught it; held it as if he didn't need it.


'You were right, ' Davies muttered to Angus as if that


were the worst insult he could level at Nick.


Nick ignored the boy.


'You've got it wrong, ' he said steadily. 'I told you I


changed my mind. I didn't want any part of this oper-


ation because I didn't think it had a chance. I didn't


feel like getting killed for the sake of your gonads. But


now we've got help. ' He nodded at Mikka and her


companions. 'Seven of us might actually be able to


do it.


'I'm willing to give it a try. Unless you want to pretend


you can pull it off on your own. '


'Pull what off?' Mikka demanded harshly. What oper-


ation? What the fuck are you bastards talking about?'


Angus gave a brutal grin. His eyes didn't shift from


Nick's. 'These your people?'


Nick nodded.


Angus snorted through his teeth. 'I don't think they


like you very much anymore. '


'I said, what operation?' Mikka yelled. Her anger and


desperation seemed to burn in the air of the bridge.


Nick didn't look at her. He met Angus' grin with a


smile of his own.


'You'll like it, ' he answered as if he were happy at last.


We're going to rescue Morn. '


Mikka's stunned silence at his back was as loud as a


shout. Sib Mackern took a shuddering breath like a man


on the verge of tears. Softly Vector whispered, 'Oh, my


aching joints. '


Nick stood still, waiting for Angus to reject his help;


daring Angus to say no.


But Angus didn't. Over his shoulder, he said to Davies,


'He's right. We need the help. '


Nick went on smiling like his scars.


ANGUS


Angus watched Nick smile and tried to find some way to squeeze murder through the interstices of his programming.


It was insufferable that Captain Nick bloody Sheep-


fucker stood there smiling as if he'd just won again,


beaten Angus again. It was intolerable that Nick brought


his own people aboard Angus' ship; that Angus had to


accept them because he needed them. It was utter and


absolute craziness to let them in here, to trust them -


Nevertheless his datacore issued its instructions, and


he obeyed, ruled by the pitiless compulsion of his zone


implants.


Nick's UMCP connection made him effectively


immune to any real harm from Angus. And his offer of


help satisfied the prewritten logic of Dios' exigencies.


Rescuing Morn took precedence over everything -


Angus had no idea why.


It's got to stop.


He didn't understand that either.


He was so full of hate that his blood seemed to steam


and boil in his veins; so eager to break Nick's neck that


his hands burned and his temples throbbed. Hate was all


that sustained him in the cage which his mind had


become - hate and a strange, ineffable terror at the


thought of Morn Hyland. He paced inside himself like


an imprisoned predator, driven and helpless; haunted by


killing.


Unfortunately his passions meant nothing.


'So who the hell are they?' he demanded of Nick.


'What're they good for?'


The intercom interrupted him. From outside Trum-


pet's airlock, a voice blared, 'Captain Thermopyle, open


up. We're coming aboard. You get to choose how we do


it - that's as much courtesy as the Bill has left - but we're


going to do it. If you don't let us in, we'll cut our way.


We'll do a little BR surgery on your ship, free gratis no


charge. You can get it repaired when you have enough


money - if you're still alive.


'You hear me? I said open up! You've got one minute.


'Then we start cutting. '


Davies flinched involuntarily. He'd been through too


much in too short a time. Eyes like Morn's pulled away


from Nick, came to Angus' face as if they were wincing:


eyes exactly like Morn's, full of fear and need and revul-


sion. Swelling and contusions distorted his features.


Angus stepped to his command board, tapped a key


which silenced the external intercom. Then he turned


back to Succorso.


A woman, two men and a kid about Davies' age stood


behind Nick: his people. At a glance, the woman looked


too hostile to admit she was out of her depth, and one


of the men had the round, calm appearance of a cat


addict. But the other two were scared out of their skins.


The kid twitched nervously from one foot to the other;


he was practically holding the woman's hand. The man


with the abject mustache sweated and gaped as if he was


being rendered down for grease.


'Come on, Nick. ' Angus' programming left him no


more space for insults. 'I'm waiting. They look like you


picked them at random on the cruise. What makes you


think they can help me?'


Nick's gaze sharpened. Behind his grin, the lines of his


face tautened across their bones. Color ebbed from his


scars.


'Angus, ' he said softly, 'don't you think you should do


something about those guards? They aren't bluffing. We


saw mining lasers. '


'Nick, ' Angus returned, you shit-faced fucker, 'we


haven't got time for this. We can't get started until I


know who your people are and what they can do. '


For an instant Nick seemed to lose control. 'Then do


something about those guards!'


Angus rolled his eyes, shrugged. With a flick of his


wrist, he tossed the rifle to Davies. Then he leaned over


his board and typed in a quick command.


A moment later a recording of his voice played over


the bridge speakers.


This is Captain Angus Thermopyle. I'm not aboard


right now. To protect the security of my ship and my


associates, I've rigged Trumpet for self-destruct as soon


as her sensors detect any forced entry. The simultaneous


explosion of her thrust and gap drives and other power


systems will produce destructive force on the order of' -


the recording recited a number which sounded too high,


but which Angus knew to be conservative. 'I estimate


that will reduce approximately one third of Billingate


installation to powder. If you want confirmation, analyze


my in-coming particle trace. ' This is no ordinary Needle-


class gap scout, you sonofabitch. 'Codes to enter and


leave Trumpet safely are known to my associates. Codes


to disable Trumpet's self-destruct are known only to me.


Until I return to my ship, I can do nothing to save you


if you try to break in. My associates - if they're unlucky


enough to be aboard - can do nothing to save you in my


absence.


'Message repeats.


This is -'


Angus silenced the playback. That's on automatic. I


set it when you came aboard. Those guards have been


hearing it ever since they arrived. ' To Nick he growled,


Thanks to you and Milos, the Bill thinks I'm here. But


he can't be sure. And he probably thinks I'm bluffing -


but he can't be sure of that, either. Which buys us a little


time. Maybe it'll be enough. '


Everyone around him could see that Trumpet's systems


were up and active. Operations had the same infor-


mation.


Nick couldn't hold Angus' gaze. To conceal his relief,


he glanced at his people, scanned the bridge. Without


bringing his eyes back to Angus, he asked, 'So where is


Milos?'


He may have been trying to regain the upper hand.


Angus' programming didn't require him to answer that


question. Its logic moved in another direction - toward


possibilities of coercion which made Angus' veins throb


with hunger.


'Nick, you've got a bruise the size of my fist on your


forehead. When it's done swelling, it's going to turn


purple. ' The mildness imposed by his zone implants


amazed and appalled him. 'You'll look like you lost an


argument with a steel piston. Stop asking questions. Start


answering them. '


Abruptly the woman muttered a curse and pushed past


Nick. Despite his reputation as a man for whom women


were willing to drop dead, she shouldered him aside con-


temptuously so that she could confront Angus and


Davies herself.


Fury nickered like a static discharge in Nick's eyes, but


he didn't try to stop her.


'Captain Thermopyle, ' she announced in a voice made


for shouting, 'I'm Mikka Vasaczk, command second,


Captain's Fancy — or I was until recently. He' — she indi-


cated the frightened man with the mustache and the


staring eyes - 'is Sib Mackern, data first. ' Next she


nodded at the cat addict. 'Vector Shaheed, engineer. '


That left the kid. 'Ciro Vasaczk is Vector's second. Also


my brother. Nick wants to get rid of us. He was planning


to abandon us here.


'I'll tell you why. We don't like what he did to Morn. '


She shifted her scowl to Davies. We all tried to help you.


Sib let her out of her cabin. Between the two of us,


Vector and I let her at the ejection pod controls. That's


why the pod brought you here, instead of to Tranquil


Hegemony - why you're still human.


'But we weren't able to help her. ' She swallowed once,


roughly. 'Or we didn't try hard enough. Maybe we all


thought we were alone. Or maybe we just couldn't


believe he would really go that far. '


'I knew it, ' Davies rasped back. 'I knew it from the


moment I was born - and that was before I remembered


anything about him. '


'Yes. ' Mikka nodded slowly. 'But you're a cop. You


think differently than we do. '


Her glower swung back to Angus. The four of us


are interested in rescuing Morn. If the Amnion haven't


already finished her. But Nick isn't. You've got to under-


stand that. He hates her - he wants them to have her. If


he told you anything else, he was lying.


'He's only here because the Bill barred him from


Captain's Fancy. He doesn't have anywhere else to


go-'


Neither of the men behind her moved. Only the kid


nodded.


Angus believed her. Her face looked as honest as a fist.


If she'd helped keep his son away from the Amnion, he


could count on her to help him reach Morn as well.


Somehow the virile and invulnerable Captain Succorso


had succeeded at driving his own people to mutiny.


Too bad, Mikka, ' Nick snarled. 'Nice try. ' His air of


casual superiority had deserted him: he looked frayed


and vicious. 'But Angus already knows my reasons don't


matter. If this is the only choice I have left, so much the


better for him. He wants my help. Now he's got it.


'The truth is, ' he finished, 'you haven't got anywhere else to go either. '


The engineer, Vector Shaheed, spoke for the first time.


'You're wrong, Nick. ' His tone was like his face and his


eyes, too calm to be normal. Nevertheless Angus didn't


hear cat in it: he heard old pain; pain which had been


suppressed so long that it dulled everything around it.


We've already told you — we could have gone to the Bill.


We could have gone to Captain Chatelaine. Either of


them would have been' - he smiled wanly - 'fascinated


to hear about your adventures on Enablement. '


Angus would have been fascinated himself. Old


instincts shrilled at him, warning him that what Nick had


done on Enablement was important. Unfortunately his


programming had no instincts. The countdown running


in his mechanical mind ticked inexorably shorter.


'Discuss it later, ' he demanded. 'Right now I need


answers.


'Have any of you done high-tension work?'


Vector, Mikka, and the kid all nodded.


'Angus, ' Nick put in, 'I'm going to help you, but only


on one condition. ' Without transition his manner


changed again. He was like a kaleidoscope, different at


every turn. Now he sounded companionable and relaxed,


as if he were among friends. 'I need to talk to Captain's


fancy. I can do it while you get organized. My command


third doesn't know what to do. She probably doesn't


know I've been barred. As long as she thinks she has to


wait for me, she's paralyzed. '


Angus wanted to snap, Shut up, asshole. If you ever


talk to your ship again, it'll be over my dead body. His


datacore had other priorities, however. Apparently its


unintuitive logic had assigned Nick the status of a UMCP


officer in need of assistance.


Helpless to do anything else, Angus pointed at Milos'


station. 'You can access communications there. Just don't


screw up - don't let Operations hear you. '


Grinning ferally, Nick slid into the command second's


g-seat and put his hands on the board.


The abyss lurking at the back of Angus' mind taunted


him. He wondered if his programming had just forced


him to make a terrible mistake.


But he couldn't think about that. As if it were recir-


cuiting neurons, his zone implants tuned one ear to listen


to Nick. The rest of him focused on Nick's people.


'Have you got EVA training? You know how to use


guns?'


Davies shook his head, then nodded in confusion as


he remembered Morn's experience in the Academy.


'We aren't exactly trained for it,' Vector answered, 'but


we've all done EVA. Pu - Ciro and I've never had to use


guns.'


'All right.' Pieces clicked into place in Angus' plans.


'You're my high-tension crew. Davies, you're with them.


It's your job to keep them safe. When you're done, you


can cover our retreat.'


'I don't understand,' Davies put in. 'You haven't told


me what you're planning.'


Angus ignored him. The rest of us - Nick, Mikka, Sib


and me - are going to get Morn out.' Brutal as impact


fire, he added, 'Or kill her if the Amnion have already


mutated her.'


At the same time he listened hard to what Nick was


doing. But Nick addressed his ship entirely in written


code: he didn't say a word. His fingers raced on the


board, typing like volleys in a barrage. Under his concen-


trated gaze, his scars hinted at darkness.


'We're going EVA,' Angus explained, 'so we don't have


to deal with the Bill's muscle. We'll cross the docks and


the rock to the Amnion installation - roughly three k.


We'll cut our way in. That's the easy part. The hard part


will be finding her. '


And surviving. Angus had already realized that he was


effectively powerless against the Amnion. If his datacore


hadn't ordered otherwise, for its own reasons, he would


have been tempted to protect Vector and Ciro himself,


and send Davies after Morn.


'Once we find her, we either deal with her or grab her.


We'll take an EVA suit for her - that's your job, ' he told


Sib. It wouldn't hurt to encumber Mackern with an extra


suit. He didn't look like he was good with a gun in any


case. 'As soon as she's in it, we'll come back the way we


went. '


And if we can do all that, if you're still alive, and I


come back in one piece, and the Bill hasn't burned Trum-


pet open, we'll try to figure out how to get away from


here.


'You make it sound a little too simple, ' Mikka remarked


through her teeth.


Davies nodded urgently. Sib's eyes showed white.


Angus grimaced at her. There are only three dangers


- aside from the chance the Amnion will shoot us before


we can shoot them. ' Or the chance that Angus himself


would be paralyzed; perhaps turned against these people.


The Bill might decide to send his guards EVA. Or some


ship might pick us up on scan and warn Operations.


Calm Horizons could do it. '


''Soar could do it, ' Nick put in while he worked. 'She


left dock just a few minutes ago. '


'Or, ' Angus continued, 'the Amnion might call out the


Bill's dogs after we attack. In fact, they'll do that for sure.


'Vector and Giro are going to solve all those problems


for us.'


Mikka, Davies and the others waited. Angus didn't


elaborate, however. He didn't want Nick to know what


he had in mind; didn't want Nick to tell his ship. Every-


thing Succorso touched had too many possibilities for


treachery.


'Finish it, Nick,' he demanded. We've got to go.'


'Done.' Nick keyed off the board and stood up. 'I'm


ready. I like simple plans - they leave room for inspi-


ration.' As if he'd recovered his superiority, he faced


Angus with his fists on his hips and a grin on his teeth.


There's just one more thing you have to explain.


'Where the fucking hell is Milos?'


Nausea twisted in Angus' guts, but he shrugged as if


he didn't care. 'I'm not sure. I think he's gone to the


Amnion.'


Nick's people were stunned: Nick himself looked pole-


axed. 'He what?


Since leaving UMCPHQ, Angus had gained only one


thing he actually wanted: he'd gotten rid of Milos Tav-


erner. The cost of that victory was probably going to be


more than he could bear. Warden Dios, may he rot in


hell, hadn't planned this operation well enough.


Scowling acidly, Angus pointed at the companionway.


'You heard me. Let's get going.'


'But that means he's told them we're coming!' Nick


protested raggedly.


No, it means he's told them my priority codes. He's


told them how to turn me off.


'Sure,' Angus agreed. 'But he hasn't told them how.


He doesn't know.'


And the Amnion don't know I've got help. They won't


try to stop us because they're planning to shut me down.


That way they think they can catch me and Davies.


Angus could protect his son. Unfortunately his data-


core didn't let him do what was necessary to defend


himself.


'Wait a minute, ' Nick insisted, 'wait a minute, ' as if he


were on the verge of panic. 'You told me he talked to


them - even before he talked to me. How long has he


been working for them?'


'How the fuck should I know?' Angus could feel the


mouth of the abyss closing around his heart. 'But he must


have started before you bastards framed me. ' Before you


got me into this. 'He's been too busy since then to start


anything that complicated. '


'But that means -' Nick's mouth hung open in shock.


'It means, ' Mikka grated, 'the Amnion knew the truth


about you when we went to Enablement. Your bugger


must have told them. They already knew you were cheat-


ing them. That's why they tried to kill us in the gap -


why they used us for an acceleration experiment. And


that's why they tried so hard to get Davies before we left.


They assumed he was going to die when we did. '


Cold with concentration, as intent as his father, Davies


watched her as if he were testing what she said against


what he could remember. 'But that doesn't explain why


I'm so important. What do they want me for?


Angus wanted to howl in frustration. Maybe his zone


implants would have let him. Before he could make the


attempt, however, an automatic relay tripped on his com-


mand board, opening a channel to Billingate Operations.


At once the Bill's voice burst from the bridge speakers.


'Captain Angus, you motherfucking sonofabitch,


you're finished!' He sounded frantic, almost hysterical.


'I'll get you for this - I'm going to fry you as soon as you


try to leave.


'In the meantime, I'm cutting you off. No more power,


no more air, no more operational data. Live with that if


you can, you shitbag! You can supply your own life sup-


port, but you need operational data. '


Then the transmission ended as if he'd silenced his


pickup with a hammer.


Full of artificial calm and native horror, Angus


announced, 'I'm only going to say this one more time. If


we don't go now, we'll lose our chance. '


Leaving Nick's dismay and Davies' concentration and


Sib's chagrin behind, he headed up the companionway.


Light and quick in Thanatos Minor's g, Mikka fol-


lowed on his heels.


By the time he reached the passage running through


Trumpet's core, boots rattled on the rungs as more people


came after him.


His son must have been immediately behind Mikka.


As Angus strode toward the weapons locker, he heard


her answer Davies' question.


'The Amnion want to solve the problem of mutating


human beings without destroying their minds. ' She was


trying to help the boy again. They want to make Amnion


who look and talk and remember exactly like human


beings. When Morn survived giving you her mind, they


started to think zone implants are the answer. You're


their chance to study the consequences of what she did.


So they can refine their mutagens. '


'Which is why, ' Angus said over his shoulder for no


reason he could name, 'I want you to protect Vector and


Ciro, instead of coming with me. I don't want to risk


letting those fuckers get their hands on you. '


He had no idea if that was the truth.


On the other hand, he knew exactly how Morn would


react if he rescued her - and lost her son in the process.


He'd never looked in Trumpet's weapons locker: he


hadn't had time. But a database gave him the codes. He


tapped them into the keypad of the lock and swung open


the door.


'Jesus!' Mikka breathed. That's not a weapons locker,


that's an arsenal. '


Angus saw armaments of all kinds: handguns, rifles,


lasers, blasters; a variety of knives; mortars, grenades and


other explosives; enough destructive capability to equip


an expeditionary force. An inventory scrolled through his


head, but he ignored it. The countdown ran remorse-


lessly. He picked out a couple of limpet mines, a small,


precise laser and a miniaturized matter cannon. In this


case 'miniaturized' meant the gun was longer than his leg


and twice as heavy; if he was lucky, it carried enough


charge to fire three times. Hefting it, he stepped aside to


let other people at the locker.


Mikka took an impact rifle and a laser. Following her


example, Davies added a laser to the rifle he already


carried. Sib chose two handguns, but wasn't comfortable


with them; he put one back. Vector grabbed a couple of


stubby projectile launchers - weapons which were useless


at any distance, but which could hardly miss at close


range. He gave one to Ciro and pulled the kid past the


locker.


Nick didn't linger over his selection. He helped himself


to two handguns, an impact rifle, a clip of grenades —


Angus slapped the locker shut, nearly catching Nick's


fingers, and headed aft to the compartment where the


EVA suits were stowed.


Except for the ones which fit him and Milos, they were


of standard sizes - more of them than Trumpet's official


passenger capacity would ever need. One glance told


Angus he'd never seen suits like them before. They were


normal in most respects: flexible mylar and plexulose con-


structs with polarizing faceplates, air tanks, powerpacks,


helmet radios, belt-clips for tools or guns. But he couldn't


see how the maneuvering jets worked.


Impersonally efficient, a database supplied the answer.


Take a suit, ' he told Mikka and the others. 'Set com-


munications for' - he named a frequency at random.


That way we can talk without being heard - unless some-


body stumbles on our setting.


This won't be zero g, but you should know how to


use the jets. They're more responsive than you're used to


- more maneuverable. They work like waldos. Inside the


suit there's a harness. It clips around your waist and


through your crotch. Toggles are on the chestplate.


When it's active, it reads how you move your hips


and fires the jets, left, right, up, down, whatever you


want.


'They take practice, so you'd better hope you don't


need them. '


Angus didn't doubt that his computer already knew


how to control the jets perfectly.


Cramped in the narrow passage, Mikka and the men


began stumbling into suits. Davies kept himself as far


from Nick as possible. Ciro and Sib both needed help


with the unfamiliar equipment: Vector and Mikka


assisted them. Nick talked aimlessly about Trumpet's


resources; but no one paid any attention to him. Angus'


programming supplied a checklist. He put down his


weapons to run through it.


From the pocket of his shipsuit he took out a small


transmitter like a zone implant control, transferred it to


one of the pouches of his EVA suit. Then he pulled on


his suit and sealed it; clamped the limpets and laser to


his belt. The cannon was too heavy for that, so he cradled


it in his arms. At once he moved toward the lift.


He was trying, trying, not to listen to the claustropho-


bic hiss of air in his ears. It told him that he'd just sealed


himself into a crypt, a crib; tied down so that the woman


looming over him - a woman as vast as space, who


should have been his mother - could fill him with pain


like the void between the stars.


EVA always terrified him.


The countdown continued. His bluff wouldn't hold


much longer. As soon as the Bill panicked, he would


order his guards to start cutting. Then Trumpet would


defend herself - but not with self-destruct. Instead she


would trigger a power shutdown across as much of the


installation as she could reach. Angus had arranged that


during Nick's absence.


At the same time he'd done some extensive mapping


of Billingate's power supply, using equipment which no


known Needle-class gap scout possessed. What he'd


learned was of no use to him at the moment, however.


For now only the shutdown mattered.


It would keep Trumpet intact for two or three more


minutes, no more. And it would be fatally premature if


it happened before Vector and Ciro had carried out his


plans.


He was already sweating like a whole herd of swine,


and he hadn't even left the ship yet.


Mikka joined him in the lift almost immediately, with


Nick close behind her. 'Are you sure all this stuff works?'


Succorso's voice sounded too loud in the confines of


Angus' helmet. Through two faceplates Nick looked like


a ghoul: his scars resembled open wounds. 'It's so damn


new, I don't think it's ever been tested. '


'It works, Nick, ' Mikka muttered. 'Give us a break. '


Nick regarded her steadily, as if he'd already decided


how to kill her.


Davies was ready, but he waited for the other men;


entered the lift last.


Fighting his impulse to gasp, Angus sent the lift


upward to Trumpet's other airlock.


Now Davies was the first one out. He positioned him-


self inside the lock beside the control panel, with his back


to the wall and his rifle ready. He kept its muzzle pointed


at Nick's belly.


Angus expected treachery from Succorso as much as


his son did. But not here; not like this. It might happen


once they reached the Amnion installation — or maybe


when the group returned to Trumpet. Where Nick was


concerned, Angus' greatest fear wasn't that Nick would


betray him, but that his prewritten restrictions would


prevent him from making Nick pay for it.


With seven people packed together in the airlock,


Angus gave Davies a nod. Davies turned to the control


panel, tapped keys.


The inner door slid shut.


Compressors whined, pumping air out of the lock to


avoid a burst of release into the vacuum. Angus' EVA


suit tightened around him, inflated by its internal atmos-


phere; his companions seemed to puff up as if they would


float away as soon as the airlock let them go.


He turned down the gain on his pickup so that Nick


and the others wouldn't hear him panting. EVA terrified


him, small places and vast ones terrified him, but his zone


implants didn't give him any choice. Biting his lower lip


hard, he faced the ladder to the outer door and waited


for the airlock to open.


When Trumpet's servos pulled the door aside, he


climbed up to it, stuck his head out and got a glimpse of


what Nick's treachery entailed.


The whole region of the visitors' docks was awash in


stark white light. This was normal: as fierce as fire, arc


lamps on tall poles blazed in all directions, giving in-


coming ships visual confirmation of their approach atti-


tudes and trajectories.


Etched in illumination so intense that it seemed nearly


phosphorescent, the landscape was at once ordinary and


strange. For kilometers across the surface of the planet-


oid, Thanatos Minor's native rock had been replaced by


concrete - the reinforced outer face and abutments of


Billingate.


Unlike the cargo docks and shipyard, this section was


unmarked by gantries or cranes, loading- or service- or


power-bays, airlocks for freight haulers or stevedores.


Instead the only features were the berths themselves,


cones inset in the concrete and surrounded like maws


with banks of grapples and cables; a couple of huge radio


dishes positioned to cover this quadrant of Billingate's


control space; scan antennae and receptors, as tall and


brittle as burned trees; occasional access hatches for the


emergency airlocks; and a number of gun emplacements,


offering matter cannon fire to the void.


By themselves the emplacements looked massive and


murderous, immeasurably destructive. However, seen


next to the fathomless dark which covered Thanatos


Minor instead of sky, they appeared no more distinct or


effective than the old stone they'd replaced.


The light - or the contrast between the unnatural,


human light and the natural, inhuman void - gave the


landscape its strangeness. Against this black and absolute


background, any arc lamp, no matter how intense, was


nothing more than a small flare. Human senses insisted


that so many millions of tons of concrete, so much fusion-


generated power, so much evidence of conscious inten-


tion, should have been large enough to mean something.


The surrounding emptiness disagreed.


Angus wore EVA suits for the same reason that he


wore ships and stations: to protect his body and his life


from the vacuum, of course; but more to protect his


sanity from the abyss. Space itself appalled him.


It may have been the only thing he truly understood.


Because of the light, he could see Captain's Fancy


clearly, even though she was a hundred meters away.


He caught sight of her just in time to see her rip herself


out of her berth. Riding a spray of lost air and torn


grapples, a corona of sparking power-lines, she drifted


away from the docks as if she were lost.


LIETE


Belted in her g-seat at the command station, Liete


Corregio rode jolting thrust and complex winds


as Captain's Fancy blasted loose of her berth and


sailed free.


At once new forces pulled at her: acceleration; maneuv-


ering thrust; internal spin. They tugged her body from


side to side, hauled against each other inside her like


nausea. She didn't need internal spin: the ship's move-


ments would be easier to stomach without it. But she


engaged it because the magnetic field generated by cen-


trifugal g would be legible to Billingate Operations; to


Tranquil Hegemony and Calm Horizons; to Soar. It would


make Captain's Fancy look less threatening. A ship that


intended to do battle wouldn't hamper herself with


internal spin.


Liete was concentrating too hard on other things to


name the wind in her ears. It felt like the mistral of


urgency, but it might have been the long black pressure


which called her to doom.


The emptiness of the engineering and data stations


nagged at her. The bridge was incomplete; Captain's


Fancy was incomplete. Liete had to make up the lack


caused by Nick's absence and his secrets out of herself.


'Operations is screaming, ' Lind reported from com-


munications. His own urgency made his voice crack and


his larynx bob. They aren't threatening us yet. They're


too incoherent. '


'Ignore them, ' Liete ordered. 'Cut them off if you have


to - you've got too much else to do.


'Have you sent Nick's message to that listening post?'


'Don't bullshit us, ' Pastille put in, nearly cackling with


tension. 'You mean, Has he sent Nick's message to the


UMCP? That won't do any good. We'll be dead before


it reaches them. '


Liete ignored the helm third; waited for Lind's answer.


Lind checked a readout. 'It's done. Tight-beamed to


the same coordinates he used last time. '


Then concentrate on the ships, ' she told him. 'Trum-


pet, Soar, Calm Horizons, Tranquil Hegemony. We're


going to hear from at least one of them. '


The air around her felt leaden, humid with stress. The


scrubbers seemed unable to keep up with it.


'What am I listening for?' Lind asked.


'Nick's priority-codes - the old ones. ' Liete accessed


them on her board, relayed them to him. Tell me the


second you hear them. I want to know immediately,


exactly, what the orders are. '


'But Nick won't-'


'No, he won't, ' she snapped. 'He's already told us what


to do. He won't change his mind. And if he does, he'll


use the new codes. But when you hear the old ones, I


want to know what the computers are being instructed


to do. Give that precedence over everything else.


'Don't waste time talking about it. Route it straight to


me. '


'Right. ' Hunching to his console, Lind tapped keys as


fast as he could.


With every tick of the command chronometer, the


wind in Liete's ears felt more like the mistral. Neverthe-


less it didn't unclog the atmosphere of the bridge.


'Malda, weapons status, ' she demanded.


'Up and ready, ' the targ first replied. 'Give me a target,


and I'll hit it. '


Hardly pausing for breath, Liete turned toward scan.


'Carmel, it^s your job to keep us alive. Watch those ships,


watch Billingate. If anybody decides to fire, we need


warning. If anything comes after us, we need warning. '


'I'm on it, ' Carmel muttered stolidly. She didn't glance at Liete: her attention was focused on her readouts. 'Speaking of warning, there are people coming out of Trumpet. I count five - six — now seven. '


People, Liete thought with her heart in her throat.


Coming out of Trumpet.


How could that be?


How could there be so many?


Which one of them was Nick?


But such questions had no bearing on what she had to


do; they changed nothing. She let the wind carry them


away, tug them to tatters and disperse them like smoke.


Slowly, controlling herself so that she wouldn't panic,


she turned her g-seat to face the helm station.


'Pastille, you're insufferable. You're undisciplined and


insulting, and you smell bad. This is your chance to prove


you're really worth what you cost.


'I want one g acceleration, no more. We're not trying


to go anywhere fast. Follow Soar - she's our target. '


Her nerves still burned cold whenever she thought about


Sorus Chatelaine. 'Whatever else happens, we're going


to make sure she ends up dead.


'But stay between her and the installation, ' Liete


warned. 'Right between. Make sure she and Billingate


can't try to hit us without hitting each other. That should


protect us from Calm Horizons as well. Soar will block


their targ.


'I want to make it as dangerous as possible for any of


them to fire on us. '


Pastille obeyed without looking at his hands. G


changed vectors; Captain's Fancy's attitude and trajectory


shifted; but he didn't drop Liete's gaze.


'You know that can't work, don't you?' His tone was


at once sarcastic and insinuating. 'As soon as we hit Soar,


Billingate won't have any reason to hold fire. We can't


stand up to those guns - not this close. '


Liete glared at him while darkness and necessity gath-


ered around her. 'Go on, ' she told him softly, as if she


were calm. 'Say it all - get it out of your system. '


Tell me whether I can trust you.


Abruptly the helm third lowered his eyes to his board


as if his hands had lost their place. In a thin voice he


articulated, 'This is a suicide mission. Nick doesn't want


us to come back. '


Lind's fingers paused; his larynx lurched as he swal-


lowed convulsively. Malda looked at Liete with a frozen


expression on her face. Even Carmel raised her head to


listen.


Liete surprised and pleased herself with a short laugh.


'Does that sound like him to you? Has he ever done


anything that made you think he wouldn't mind seeing


his ship destroyed?' Prompted by the scorched and


hungry memory of Nick's touch, she added, 'Have you


considered the possibility that he's one of the people who


just left Trumpet? That he's got Mikka and Sib and Vector


and Pup with him, and they've gone EVA to sabotage


the guns?'


Pastille continued running helm commands. Liete's


stomach twisted as g altered in several directions simul-


taneously. One of the display screens showed tracking


blips for Captain's Fancy, Soar, and Calm Horizons. Soar


continued moving steadily, unhurriedly, toward the


Amnion warship. By degrees Captain's Fancy swung into


line behind her. In moments Captain's Fancy's course and


speed would match Soar's.


Defensively Pastille muttered, Well, somebody had to


say it. So we can all stop worrying about it. '


'I think, ' Carmel put in like the cut of a shovel, 'it's


unexpectedly considerate of you to take such good care


of us. '


'Oh, go fuck yourself, ' Pastille retorted.


The scan first acted like she hadn't heard him.


The desert blast of Nick's love-making held Liete; it


went moaning past her ears, ruffling her hair, drying her


eyes.


'Just to be on the safe side, Malda, ' she said in the same


tone, 'fix targ on Tranquil Hegemony. If worst comes to


worst, we can always use a stationary target. '


As Malda complied, the clicking of her keys sounded


dull, muted by the weight of the atmosphere.


'I don't know what they're doing down there, ' Carmel


remarked impersonally. They've split up. Three of them


are going in one direction, four in another. '


At once Pastille asked, 'Are they heading for the


guns?'


At this range Billingate had only two emplacements


which could be brought to bear on Captain's Fancy.


'Maybe, ' Carmel grunted, 'maybe not. It's too soon to


tell. '


'Liete' - Lind sounded like he'd just swallowed his


Adam's apple - 'here it comes. '


'Analysis!' she barked. 'Fast!'


Lind was fast. Almost instantly one of her readouts


sprang clear.


The message came from Calm Horizons.


It invoked Nick's priority-codes, the ones Morn had


given Enablement Station.


Using the authority of those codes, Calm Horizons


instructed Captain's Fancy to lock open this communi-


cations channel and link it directly with her command


computer.


Then the Amnion warship ordered Captain's Fancy to


shut down her drive and kill all power to the. weapons


systems.


As if her synapses were on fire, Liete hit overrides


which disabled both helm and targ.


New g crawled through her guts as the ship lost thrust.


She could almost hear the impalpable groan of the matter


cannon and lasers powering down.


'Shit!' Malda cried involuntarily. 'What - ?'


Pastille's protest smothered the targ first's. 'What the


fuck are you doing,, Liete?'


Liete couldn't breathe. Her nerves still burned; spasms


locked the air in her chest. Does that do it? she asked the


silence. Was I fast enough? Do they believe me?


Nick, tell me I was fast enough!


'Orders from Calm Horizons' Lind explained in a high,


tight voice. He was too frightened to keep his mouth


shut. They told us to shut down drive and weapons.


They used Nick's priority-codes - the old ones. '


Malda slumped in chagrin or relief.


'And you did it? Pastille protested wildly. 'They used


the old codes, and you obeyed?' Are you out of your mind?'


A shudder ran through Liete. She took one tentative


sip of air, then another. Abruptly her muscles un-


clenched, and she could breathe again.


They think we're helpless, ' she said hoarsely, as if she


were losing her voice. 'Now we can really go to work. '


The wind in her ears had become as black and fatal as


the gap.


ANGUS


Swinging his matter cannon up with him, Angus


climbed out of the airlock to stand on Trumpet's


hull.


The surface was complex: deformed with receptors,


antennae and dishes; warted with gun ports designed to


look like supply hatches. Thruster tubes splayed at the


ship's tail, arising from the heavy bulge of the drive hous-


ing. Only to a spacer's eye did she look swift or beautiful.


Her lack of sleekness as well as any obvious symmetry


would have crippled her as an atmosphere craft; neverthe-


less it meant nothing while she sailed the vacuum - or


the gap.


Angus wished he could see the starfield. Even little


lights billions of k away would have given the


encompassing dark features, softened its utterness; ameli-


orated the abyss. But the arc lamps, like small suns,


blinded him to any other stars.


Adjusting his faceplate's polarization to improve his


depth of field, he scanned the docks quickly, searching


for guards or witnesses. Of course, he had no guarantee


the other berthed ships wouldn't see him. If they thought


to use their sensors, they could pick him out easily. That


was unlikely, however. Thanatos Minor's visitors trusted


the Bill for security. The more obvious danger came from


Operations; but that, too, was unlikely - at least for


a few more minutes. The installation was trained and


equipped to protect itself from threats which emerged


from the gap and the dark, not from men crawling like


mites across the surface of the rock.


White under the burning lamps, Billingate's blunt con-


crete looked as empty and inhuman as a wilderland.


Angus kept one eye on Captain's Fancy as he moved


away from the airlock to make room for his companions.


Belying the violence of her undocking, Nick's frigate


moved as if she followed routine departure protocols.


Mikka Vasaczk swarmed up the ladder, burst out of


the lock to stand beside Angus. Like him, she scanned


the area. When she caught sight of Captain's Fancy, she


bit down so hard on a curse that her voice sounded like


she'd drawn blood.


So she hadn't known this was going to happen. Nick


hadn't taken her into his confidence: he trusted his own


crew to roughly the same extent that he trusted Angus.


Nick himself came next: from the airlock he executed


a neat flip and landed on his feet. Then Vector and Ciro


emerged. Hampered by the burden of an extra EVA suit,


Sib climbed more slowly. And his awkwardness delayed


Davies.


Angus didn't wait for them. Their suit communi-


cations would pick up everything he said.


Grabbing Succorso's arm, he pointed out Captain's


Fancy.


'What the fuck are you doing, Nick? Answer a civil


question while it's still civil. '


'I'm not doing anything. ' In the constriction of Angus' helmet, Nick's tone cut like mockery. 'Liete's in command - she's doing it. '


Angus ground his fingers into Nick's arm as if he meant


to rupture the suit. His welding made him strong enough


to pull a wince from Succorso's face.


Obeying the pain, Nick explained tightly, 'It's a diver-


sion. I'm giving the Bill something else to worry about.


He knows I have a grudge against Sorus. I told Liete to


make it look like she's going after Soar. He'll believe that.


And it'll scare him - he depends on Sorus. Meanwhile


Liete can cover us. '


This had to be a lie. It was too pat, too convenient.


Nevertheless Angus' programming accepted it.


In any case it might work.


He let go of Nick and turned toward Vector and Ciro.


'We're in a hurry now. Every minute counts, so don't


fuck up. ' He gestured toward the nearest radio dish.


That's your target.


'Here. ' Quickly he moved to an access hatch he'd


unlocked earlier, while he and Davies were getting ready.


Set inside the hatch was a high-tension cable a hundred


fifty meters long — a line thick enough to carry the power


for a dozen ships. It was already connected at one end


and rolled on a drum so that it would feed out when it


was pulled.


He picked up a tool kit and the free end of the cable,


and shoved them at Vector.


Take this to the dish, wire it in. Let me know as


soon as you're done. We're going to short out the Bill's


communications so badly it'll take him hours to


unscramble it. Once you're clear, I'm going to hit that


dish with every gigawatt a fusion generator can pump


down this cable. '


When power on that scale slammed into Billingate's


communications, every failsafe in Operations would shut


down to protect the computers from being slagged.


As a diversion, that would make Captain's Fancy's gam-


bit look trivial.


Vector accepted the cable, the tools, and stood staring


at Angus. Angus could see his mouth moving, but no


sound came from his pickup.


'Great idea, ' Nick sneered. Too bad it can't work.


Didn't you hear the Bill say he's cutting you off


from installation power? All by herself this little ship


of yours can't generate enough jolt to do him any real


damage. '


That's what he thinks' - Angus sounded mechanically


calm - 'but he can't do it. He doesn't know how much


I know about his computers. I've been embedding codes


in my operational transmissions — ordering his computers


to give Trumpet emergency priority. They won't accept


a command to cut her off until he figures out what I've


done and cancels her priority. '


His datacore didn't require him to mention that he'd


done all this in the past half an hour; or that it was a


gamble which might easily fail. If the codes were inaccur-


ate - or if Operations had already noticed them -


Vector made a whistling noise through his teeth.


In a frightened voice, Ciro asked the engineer, 'Can


he do that? I mean, can he really trick the Bill's compu-


ters?'


We don't have time to discuss it, ' Angus snapped.


Every passing second seemed to increase his visceral,


alarm, as well as the compulsions of his programming.


'You'll never find out what I can and can't do if you don't


hurry. '


Then he wheeled back to face the others.


'Davies, go with them. Keep them safe. Call me the


instant you're clear.


'The rest of us are going to burn.'


He saw the white glare of uncertainty from Davies'


eyes, the skepticism on Nick's face. Mikka glowered at


him like a threat; Sib's fright was as open as his mouth.


But Angus ignored them: he had no more time. He


hefted his matter cannon, toggled the jet control on his


chestplate. Trusting Thanatos Minor's g, his reinforced


joints, and his prewritten knowledge to protect him, he


flung himself in a long leap off Trumpet's hull.


As if they were trained for it, his hips cocked upward.


At once the suit's jets cut in, braking his drop to the


concrete. He landed easily, bounded a few steps ahead,


then turned to make sure that Nick and the others were


following.


'Angus!' Davies shouted. Too much volume hurt


Angus' ears. 'She's my mother! She's all I have!'


Angus didn't answer. Dread and prewritten exigencies


consumed him.


Like Angus, Nick sprang from the ship. His control


of his jets was awkward, but he managed them well


enough to land safely.


Mikka shook her head. Snatching the extra suit from


Sib, she lobbed it toward Angus; then she located a series


of zero-g handgrips circling Trumpet's girth and lowered


herself rapidly down the side.


Angus caught the suit: he couldn't risk letting it be


damaged. Morn would need it.


Or she wouldn't.


Or he might not get to her at all.


Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to wait until


Mikka and Sib caught up with him. Then he pushed the


extra suit into Sib's arms and started running.


Low g made running easy, if not effortless. Three k


was too far, but he couldn't help that: the Amnion sector


was where it was. In truth he didn't know why he wanted


to get there so fast. Milos Taverner was almost certainly


waiting for him - and Milos had his priority-codes. Yet


he ran without the urging of his datacore or the pressure


of his zone implants.


He ran because he was a coward. More than anything


else, he needed to arrive at the end of his fear.


Over his shoulder he saw Vector, Ciro and Davies


nearing their destination. The long cable snaked behind


them, black against the blaring white of the concrete.


Surely Vector would know how to wire the dish; surely


Nick's engineer would be at least that competent. Angus


could have done the job himself in his sleep -


His helmet seemed to echo with the sound of Sib's


labored breathing. Mikka's flat, grim stride gave the


impression that she could sustain it for hours. But Sib


was too scared; he moved with bands of trepidation


tightening around his chest.


Too bad. Angus didn't slow his pace.


'Use your jets, Mackern, ' Nick suggested. 'Turn them


on and poke with your hips like you're fucking. That


should give you a lift forward. '


Good Captain Sheepfucker, still trying to create


the impression that he cared what happened to his


people.


If Sib had stopped to think, he might not have tried


it. But he was frantic. His free hand flopped at his chest-


plate; locking his legs, he tried to thrust his hips up and


forward.


At exactly the wrong instant he stumbled. The sudden


pressure of his jets carried him straight at Angus like a


cargo sled gone out of control.


Riding enhanced reflexes, Angus spun out of the


way; grabbed Sib by one arm and leg, and hauled him


to a stop before he could strike the concrete and tear


his suit.


'Shit, ' Sib panted in deep gulps. 'Shit. '


He sounded too much like Milos. Angus slapped at


his jets toggle for him, then left him and ran on.


Now Davies' group had reached the dish. Vector


handled the cable while Ciro dug tools out of the kit.


Davies braced himself with his impact rifle in his hands


as if he were willing to burn down the heavens in order


to defend the engineers.


Two k to go.


Mikka dropped back to pace Sib. Angus and Nick


rushed ahead together.


'Angus. ' This time Davies didn't shout. His voice was


hushed, as if he were afraid of being overheard. 'Vector


has the junction cover off. The wiring looks simple - I


could probably do this myself. We'll be ready in a minute


or two. '


'Get clear when you're done, ' Angus ordered between


breaths. There's going to be one hell of a static dis-


charge. '


'They used to call it a corposant, ' Vector remarked in


a concentrated tone. 'Or St Elmo's fire. '


'Who is "they"?' Ciro asked. Angus' helmet speakers


were tiny, but they picked up the undercurrent of dis-


sociation in the boy's words. He was too young to know


what to do with his fear.


'Ciro, ' Mikka gasped as if she were coughing, 'stay


with Vector. I'll be back. That's a promise. '


'Sailors on ocean-going ships, ' Vector answered


calmly. 'Back on Earth a long time ago. The ships were


wood, and they used wind for drive. Sometimes during


storms the atmosphere generated so much static it


seemed to gather in balls and roll along the masts and


spars. '


After a moment Angus realized that Vector was talking


in order to steady his second; distract the boy from his


fear.


For some reason this recognition filled him with such


rage that he seemed to go blind. His computer could


still see: his zone implants kept him running flawlessly.


Nevertheless his eyes registered only red fury. The crib


turned the inside of his faceplate opaque, and the only


defense he had left against the molten, helpless agony


which the looming woman had inflicted on him was a


mad and murderous hate.


That must have been why he wanted so intensely to


rescue Morn. She, too, had a zone implant: he'd used it


to abase her in every way his desperation could devise.


Therefore he needed her; depended on her to the same


extent and for the same reason that he'd been dependent


on the looming woman - for his survival. That woman


could have killed him: Morn could save him. Her zone


implant had enabled him to reverse their positions in and


above the crib; to fend off the abyss.


And like that other woman, she knew his most neces-


sary and fatal secret -


His suit's climate controls couldn't cool him fast


enough. Sweat ran down his collar, congealed in his arm-


pits and crotch.


One k to go.


Abruptly he and Nick passed the last arc lamp and


came to the end of the concrete which had been poured


for the docks. From here he could see the entrance to


the Amnion sector crouching like a bunker in Thanatos


Minor's surface; but he would have to cross bare, raw


rock to get there.


Now any fall would be much more dangerous. Mylar


and plexulose could resist a variety of punctures, or reseal


around the holes; but the suits might not stand up to


being torn on this old, sharp stone.


Angus turned to look for Mikka and Sib.


They were at least two hundred meters back, still lag-


ging. She held one of his arms, supporting him as well


as she could: they ran together awkwardly, bouncing


against each other and stumbling away as if they were


exhausted.


'Angus. ' Davies' voice seemed to come from the black


void overhead. We're done. It's ready. '


Angus saw three small shapes hurrying to distance


themselves from the radio dish. 'Are you clear?' he


demanded.


'Clear enough, ' Vector reported. 'Do it now - if you


still can. '


Angus Thermopyle might have hesitated: ordinary


mortality might have slowed his reactions in a situation


like this.


If the Bill had detected the trick -


If Operations had disabled the embedded codes —


If someone somewhere had witnessed what was hap-


pening and warned Billingate —


But Joshua had no mortality. From a pouch in his


EVA suit he took out the small transmitter he'd prepared


for the occasion.


In one smooth motion, he aimed the transmitter's


antenna and thumbed the switch.


Picoseconds later an incandescent conflagration as feral


as lightning and as noiseless as nightmare caught the dish


and etched it against the black heavens.


Then every illumination across the whole of the visi-


tors' docks went dark.


Midnight seemed to slam down on Thanatos Minor


like an avalanche. No stars, no. light, no movement,


Angus saw nothing, heard nothing, he was alone, the


abyss had swallowed him utterly. Nick, Mikka and Sib;


Vector, Ciro and Davies: they were all stricken from


existence; even their broadcast breathing couldn't reach


him across the vacuum.


Locked in the silence of his zone implants, he began


gibbering to himself because he couldn't wail aloud.


Then Nick drawled suddenly, 'Well, that worked,


anyway. '


At the sound, Angus felt an instant of inconceivable


gratitude.


Nevertheless his datacore didn't know and couldn't


care what he felt. It paid no attention to his fear - or his


relief. Impelled by artificial emissions, he stowed his small


transmitter. Next he unclipped a handlamp from his belt


and flashed it for Mikka and Sib.


'Ciro, ' Mikka gasped hoarsely, 'are you all right?'


'Sure. Of course. ' For a moment the boy wasn't afraid


at all. That was incredible. '


'We're fine, Angus, ' Davies reported. His voice was


rough with relief. We're moving toward you now. We'll


come about halfway and wait for you. '


'No!' Angus called back. 'Stay close to Trumpet and


cover us from there! I don't want you cut off. '


Davies' reply came like a farewell out of the dark.


'Right. '


'I see them!' Sib gulped unexpectedly.


We see your light, Angus, ' Mikka announced. We're


coming. '


Before Angus' programming could send him off across


the rock, the arc lamps came back on.


LIETE


Liete sat perfectly still, sweating while she waited


for more orders; waited for the Amnion to


believe that their first instructions had been


obeyed.


'All right, ' Pastille panted. 'I understand. I think I


understand. You want us to look helpless so we can keep


our options open. You don't want them to know Nick


has already replaced those codes —'


Sounding tense, nearly feverish, Malda Verone put in,


'Because if they know those codes don't work they'll be


afraid of us. They'll try to kill us before we can do


anything. '


But Pastille wasn't done. 'Was that all they told us?


Shut down thrust?'


'And targ, ' Malda informed him.


'But what do they get out of it?' he protested. We're


still moving - still on the heading we want. All we've lost


is acceleration. We're still getting away. '


'Don't you ever use your head?' Malda's voice shivered.


We're coming into range for Billingate's guns. They'll be


able to hit us soon — and we can't maneuver. Or shoot


back. '


'This is just the beginning, ' Liete pronounced as if she


were sure. 'They'll send more orders when they're sure


the last ones were effective. They don't know our systems


- even with those codes, they can't control us precisely.


So they started crude. As soon as they're ready, they'll


try some refinements. '


If they get the chance. If they don't already have too


many other things to worry about.


'Their first order, ' Lind offered nervously, 'was to keep open a link between communications and the command computer. What they'll probably do next is use the link to demand information so they can plan their


"refinements". '


Could they tell the difference? Liete wondered. Did


they know Captain's Fancy had lost thrust and weapons


power, not on their orders, but on hers?


Probably not. They weren't trying to pull data back


out of her board; not yet. They'd simply issued instruc-


tions and then watched to see what would happen.


She had no time to waste. The wind was blowing: like


Nick, it burned away her choices. She needed to prepare


wow, before Calm Horizons took the next step.


'In case you're interested, ' Carmel remarked from scan,


'I can tell you where those seven people from Trumpet


are headed. '


Liete couldn't help herself. Nick was almost certainly


one of the seven.


And she needed another minute or two to think.


'Go on, ' she told Carmel.


'None of them are anywhere near the guns, ' the scan


first said flatly. Three of them stopped at one of the radio


dishes. They're dragging something. It's too small to scan


accurately — Billingate emits too much garbage — but it


might be a cable.


'The other four are moving fast - I mean running -


straight across the docks. They aren't together anymore.


Two of them have pulled ahead. But the other two are


following.


'There aren't any ships in that direction - if you don't


count Tranquil Hegemony. ' Carmel paused, then


remarked bluntly, 'At a guess, I would say they were


headed for the Amnion installation. '


Liete's stomach churned. The Amnion installation.


Nick! What're you doing?


'So much for your theory about the guns, ' Pastille


snarled.


Without warning the scorched heat of the desert took


her, and she lost control.


She flung off her belt, jumped out of her g-seat. Will


you shut up? she yelled at the helm third, 'or do I have


to send you off the bridge?' Any of the people around


her could have shouted louder than she did, but none of


them could make their voices carry and cut like hers. 'I'm


sick of listening to you whine because you can't second-


guess Nick! Believe it or not, Ransum can do your job -


and she won't bitch all the time!'


Pastille didn't look at her: he faced his board as if he


were concentrating hard. 'Give me something to do, ' he


muttered past his shoulder. 'I'm just sitting here. '


'I want noise!' Now that she'd started shouting, she


couldn't stop. The wind in her ears seemed to carry


her out of herself. 'I want emission chaos, as much as


we can put out! I want to look exactly like a ship that's


fighting to figure out what went wrong - fighting to


bring up power somehow - fighting like hell to break


loose!'


Abruptly vehemence and urgency let go of her. A


strange stillness like the center of a storm filled her.


'I want camouflage, ' she explained calmly. 'I want to


emit so much confusion that Billingate and Calm Hori-


zons and Soar won't be able to tell the difference when


we power up. '


Carmel didn't hesitate. 'I can run a feedback loop for


some of our scan systems. Doppler sensors, radiant


power emission receptors, particle sifters, things like that.


Use them for broadcast instead of reception. We'll look


like we're going critical — like we're suffering some kind


of meltdown. '


'Good. ' Liete nodded. 'Do it. '


Lind was already working. As his hands typed com-


mands, he barked into his pickup, 'Captain's Fancy to all


ships. Captain's Fancy to Billingate Operations. Captain's


Fancy on all bandwidths. Emergency. Emergency. We


are out of control. We have lost maneuvering power.


Stay clear. I say again, do not approach us. We have a


thrust emergency. ' He hit more keys, then turned to


Liete. 'That's on automatic across the operational


spectrum. '


'Good, ' she said again. Bracing herself on the com-


mand board so that she wouldn't tremble, she lowered


herself slowly back into her g-seat.


Malda chewed her lower lip. 'I might be able to


dummy a short into one or two of the lasers. ' A taut


vibration cut through her tone. 'Make it look like I'm


trying to tap maintenance power, but the lines can't carry


the load. '


Liete nodded once more. 'And while you're doing that,


start leaking a little power back into the matter cannon.


Keep it slow - maybe it won't show. I want to be able


to hit something in five minutes, if I have to.


'The same goes for you, Pastille. Bring the drive back


up, but do it slow. Get ready to burn when the time


comes.


'Lind, keep watching for orders from Calm Horizons.


Just like before -I want analysis the same instant we hear


from them. '


Lind opened his mouth to reply; but before he could


find his voice, Carmel cried out, 'Holy shit!'


'What?' Liete demanded. 'What is it?'


'That dish just went up like a flare!' Carmel shouted.


Almost immediately, however, she recovered her poise.


In an oddly formal tone, she announced more quietly,


'Billingate has experienced a complete power shutdown. '


'Operations is dead!' Lind gasped. They aren't making


a sound. '


Liete's heart thudded with admiration. Oh, Nick!


She fixed a look on Pastille. 'Got any more complaints?'


But she didn't give him time to respond. As if she were


singing to herself, she said happily, 'Analysis, Carmel. '


Carmel took a deep breath. 'Nick must have hit the


dish with enough juice to trigger every failsafe in Oper-


ations. That won't stop them long. I mean they'll be able


to get power back up almost immediately. Life support,


weapons, things like that. Those systems are designed to


protect themselves and come back on-line. They should


be functional again in less than a minute.


'Communications is another matter. '


Lind was so excited that he hopped against the belt of


his g-seat. 'Nobody designs communications gear to take


that kind of jolt! If we're lucky, their central systems


have been slagged. If they are, they'll still need hours to


unscramble the damage. They may have to reprogram


every computer in Operations — and that's after they find


and fix anything that burned. '


Carmel peered at her readouts, then said, 'Right.


Billingate has power back. '


Lind tightened the receiver in his ear, listened hard.


Nearly crowing, he reported, 'Nothing from Operations.


They're still dead. '


'And' - Liete's heart went on singing, even though


her voice was calm - 'we have exactly what we need. A


diversion. Suddenly we're nobody's biggest worry. We're


helpless - we don't matter anymore. What matters is


what's happening to Billingate.


'This is our chance. ' She faced Pastille squarely. Nick


has given us our chance. 'Let's not miss it. '


Pastille nodded as if he were in awe.


'Malda?' Liete asked.


The targ first hunched over her console, keying com-


mands as fast as she could. 'I'll be ready, ' she murmured


distantly.


Simply because Nick and his people were out on Than-


atos Minor's surface and therefore vulnerable, Liete


ordered, 'Fix targ on Tranquil Hegemony. That comes


first. We'll tackle Soar when we know more about what's


happening. '


Malda nodded.


Liete looked at the display screen which showed Cap-


tain's Fancy's position behind Soar on her way toward


Calm Horizons. In silence she promised Nick that she


wouldn't let him down.


Not after this. Now she understood completely that


he could never be beaten.


ANGUS


The arc lamps were dim for a moment; they


flickered as if they were sizzling inside. Then they


came back up to brightness as if someone in


Operations had dialed a rheostat.


Angus remained still on the edge of the concrete, wait-


ing for his datacore to send him into motion again;


plunge him back into a headlong rush toward Milos and


doom.


'What went wrong?' Sib Mackern panted raggedly, as


if he had no background in data and damage control.


'Nothing, ' Angus muttered. I hope.


'Power doesn't matter. ' Nick sounded abstract, think-


ing about something else. What matters is communi-


cations. ' His head tilted back: he stared upward as if he


could see Captain's Fancy receding from him. But of


course he couldn't: even with all her running lights


ablaze, she would be invisible now, washed from sight


by the intensity of the lamps. Nevertheless an odd note


of yearning in his tone suggested that he spoke not to


Sib, but to his ship. 'If we've fried enough of their cir-


cuits, they'll be paralyzed. They won't be able to talk to


anybody. '


The Bill would be effectively helpless. Trapped in his


strongroom, completely dependent on his communi-


cations network, he would have no idea what was hap-


pening. He would have to leave his reinforced hideyhole,


ride the lifts up to Operations, simply in order to obtain


information. Calm Horizons and Tranquil Hegemony


could talk to each other: they could talk to Soar. But


none of them could reach Operations or the Bill.


Which meant that the threat to Trumpet would be


temporarily neutralized.


And the Amnion would be cut off from the Bill; they


wouldn't be able to call him for help -


Without transition, as if he didn't know how he'd


passed from immobility to motion, Angus found himself


running across the gnarled and whetted rock.


He wasn't hampered like Sib: because of his zone


implants he breathed steadily, strongly, despite his


instinctive EVA panic and the knowledge that he was


lost. Strutted muscles and joints carried him easily across


the treacherous surface, as if he could never fall. The


matter cannon in his hands might as well have been


weightless.


Sib's hoarse gasping seemed to fill his helmet. He could


hardly hear Mikka's labored respiration: he couldn't hear


Nick at all.


Bounding between igneous outcroppings and glazed


planes, Nick ran as if he didn't need welding to match


Angus. In reaction Angus' lips pulled a snarl across his


teeth. He wanted to run faster, leave Nick behind; outdo


him somehow. Then he noticed that Nick was experi-


menting with his jets: teaching himself how to control


them; using them to keep pace.


Their destination loomed ahead. Distance reduced the


glow from the arc lamps; in their faded brilliance the


concrete of the Amnion sector silhouetted itself against


the absolute void. Above Thanatos Minor's surface the


installation was like a bunker in size as well as configur-


ation. The part which protruded from the ancient splash


and swirl of the rock was nothing more than a small


section of roof — an emergency exit. It gave the Amnion


a way out. The dedicated berth where Tranquil Hegemony


rested was half a kilometer away on the left. Docking


lights picked the high bulk of the warship out from


the dark; guns and antennae articulated her bulbous


shape.


If her crew was running scan - if the Amnion were


that cautious - they would see Angus and Nick, with


Mikka and Sib lagging behind. Tranquil Hegemony might


not be able to contact Operations - perhaps not even her


own people in the installation - but she could send out


forces of her own.


Between her and this bunker, the raw stone was


marked only by a flat metallic sheet nearly thirty meters


on each side, the sliding hatch of a shuttle port. It pro-


tected a small dock which could launch and receive per-


sonnel craft.


'Be more careful, Sib, ' Mikka ordered tightly. 'They'll


wait for us when they need us. You won't do anybody


any good if you fall and tear your suit. '


Sib didn't answer. He was panting too hard.


Nick waved a hand at the bunker. 'I presume, ' he said


between breaths, You've got a plan for this, too. '


Angus didn't need a plan. He needed a design diagram.


His databases and his own experience suggested that this


installation was large enough to quarter a hundred or


more Amnion. Where would they keep Morn? How


could he find her?


Assuming he survived that long, how could he locate


the other thing his programming required, a way into


Billingate's infrastructure?


On the strength of welded muscles and lesser g, he


leaped in one long stride to the top of the bunker.


His immediate goal was on the far side. When he


dropped over the edge, he landed on a concrete apron in


front of the outer door of the airlock.


He hardly noticed as Nick sprang down beside him:


his concentration had focused in like the beam of a laser


as he studied the exterior control panel and intercom.


Under different circumstances the locking mechanism


would have been no obstacle. If he'd been willing to open


the installation to the vacuum - and warn the Amnion


that they were under attack, give them time to seal their


interior doors and marshal their defenses — he could have


simply blasted his way in. But to rescue Morn he needed


a better approach.


'Now what?' Nick sounded impossibly close, as if he


were inside Angus' helmet. 'If you use the intercom and


ask nicely, they'll probably just open up. Why not? That


way they can get their hands on all of us at once. '


'Shut up, ' Angus muttered. His tension showed in his


voice. Apparently his programming no longer cared how


much dread he betrayed.


From a distance of half a dozen centimeters he glared


at the control panel.


With his EM vision, he should have been able to read


its circuitry exactly. For some reason, however, his pros-


theses had gone blind.


His heart lurched in panic, and his hands ran with


sweat inside his gloves. What was going on? He couldn't


see what he needed; his datacore had switched off his


enhanced sight; Dios or Lebwohl had sent him this far


only to make him fail -


Then an artificial calm slowed his pulse. From the


window in his head came a flood of information about


his prostheses.


He couldn't see, he was informed, because the polariz-


ation of his faceplate distorted his EM vision.


Shit! Just what he needed.


Urgently he adjusted the degree of polarization. At


the same time he scaled it up and down the spectrum,


hunting for a wavelength which would let him read


the control panel. He didn't need polarization at all,


not here in the shadow of the bunker, protected from


the burning glare of the lamps; but the faceplate in-


duced a distortion of its own, blurring EM emissions.


Scrambling through databases while he made his adjust-


ments, he searched for settings to counteract the inherent


refraction.


'What're you doing?' Nick inquired sardonically. Try-


ing to unlock it by willpower?'


There: an imprecise flicker of electromagnetic tracery


like a circuit board seen under a disfocused microscope.


Too much detail was lost; accuracy would be almost


impossible. But Angus might be able to cut into the lock


wiring without setting the whole installation afire with


alarms.


As he reached for his laser, he told Nick, 'Get Sib and


Mikka here. We can't wait for them. '


Nick didn't move; didn't obey. He stood still and


watched while Angus narrowed his laser down to its


smallest focus, aimed it into the center of the control


panel, and fired.


A pinprick of metal flamed crimson, then denatured


like smoke into the vacuum.


With luck, the alarm circuits were disabled.


Now a second shot, millimeters away from the first.


A moment later the outer door of the airlock irised


open like a dilating eye.


'You amaze me. ' Nick's tone was too cold and danger-


ous for awe. The Bill doesn't know how much you know


about his computers. The Amnion don't know how


much you know about their airlocks. What's next,


Angus? Are you going to simply wave your hands and


undo what they've done to Morn? Do you know that


much about mutagens, too?'


Mikka rounded the corner of the bunker and came to


a stop on locked knees. Through her faceplate, she looked


frantic with exertion. When she saw the staring airlock,


she gaped at it.


'Where's Sib?' Angus demanded.


'Here. ' Sib stumbled onto the apron and caught him-


self on Mikka's shoulder. His handgun hung from his


belt; he carried the extra EVA suit wrapped to his chest


with both arms.


'We're going in, ' Angus announced harshly. 'Shoot


anybody you see, Amnion or human. ' Shoot Milos, if


you can. 'Be ready to shoot yourselves - unless you like


mutagens.


'If you've got some idea how to find Morn, I'm


listening. '


Sib shook his head. His features twisted as if he were


about to puke.


'As far as I know, ' Nick remarked slowly, 'there's only


one entrance from the rest of Billingate to the Amnion


sector. She'll be near there. Unless she's one of them


now, in which case she could be anywhere. '


'Why?' Angus rasped. 'Why there?'


'Because they don't trust me. ' Nick grinned like his


scars. They don't trust her. There's more than one kind


of kaze. They've learned to be careful. They won't risk,


say, an explosion that might do them real damage. They


won't let her anywhere near their operational center, or


the shuttles, or that damn warship' - he nodded toward


Tranquil Hegemony — 'or any of the places where they


work or live, until they're sure she's safe. '


Damn. Angus had to admit that Nick was right. But


the airlock into Billingate was probably farther away from


where he stood now than any other part of the Amnion


sector.


The longer he stayed inside this installation, the more


vulnerable he would be. He knew in the marrow of his


bones that his programming would never allow him to


kill Milos.


Too bad. Prewritten logic compelled him. It left no


room for hesitation.


Bracing his cannon in both hands, he stepped into the


airlock.


At once his fear turned the color of sulfur.


Outside Nick tilted his head again to study the feature-


less dark. As if he were talking to himself, he murmured


softly, fervidly, 'Do it. Don't wait. Do it now. '


Then he followed Angus.


While Mikka and Sib joined him, Angus made new


adjustments to his faceplate, refining away the wave-


lengths which the Amnion liked best as if he could tune


out panic and ruin.


Nick didn't wait for orders: he thumbed keys on the


inner control panel. An almost subliminal groan carried


to Angus' external pickup as the airlock cycled shut. A


moment later he heard the hiss of pressurization as


atmosphere pumped into the lock. Displays inside his


helmet told him that he could breathe the air - if his life


depended on it.


As soon as the airlock pressure had been equalized, the


inner door irised.


It opened on an empty lift.


'Down, ' Nick said unnecessarily. 'I don't know how


far. Your guess is as good as mine. '


Angus' computer ran complex calculations, comparing


what he knew of Billingate and Thanatos Minor with the


estimated size and depth of the Amnion sector; he let


numbers spin through him while he entered the lift. By


the time Nick, Mikka and Sib had left the lock, his com-


puter had come up with its own guess.


The lift's controls showed twenty-five indicators: he


had that many levels to choose from. Holding his breath


involuntarily, he keyed the tenth.


Servos closed the iris like a shutter. A heartbeat or two


after the door shut, the car dove for the depths of the


rock.


Angus positioned himself against the back wall so that


he could level his cannon. 'I'll lead, but I want you beside


me, Nick. ' His voice distressed the inside of his helmet.


'Don't make me use this thing if I don't have to. '


Matter cannon had been developed for use in the void,


where the secondary and tertiary quantum discontinuities


could be discounted. No man in his right mind would


fire such a gun within walls.


Nick replied by showing his teeth.


'Mikka, ' Angus went on, 'you and Sib cover my back.


You cover him — don't let anything happen to that suit. '


Through her faceplate, he saw her nod. 'We are going


to get out of this alive, aren't we?' she asked grimly. 'I


promised Ciro I would come back. '


'If I survive, you probably will, too. They may have a


whole rucking arsenal handy, but it won't include any-


thing like this. ' Angus waggled the end of his cannon.


That was as close as he could come to telling her the


truth.


The lift seemed to plummet like a stone, but it didn't


scare him. Instead he felt a small piece of his visceral


dread break away, lost in the fall. At least now he was no


longer EVA. He was inside, where the vast dark couldn't


reach him -


With a palpable wheeze, the car braked to a halt at the


tenth level.


Sib snatched his handgun off his belt. Mikka tightened


her grip on her rifle. Nick and the muzzle of Angus'


cannon faced the door as it slid aside.


Apparently the unauthorized use of the lift had


attracted attention. An Amnioni with several arms and


at least four eyes stood waiting. A bandoleer across its


shoulders carried spare charges for the heavy, rust-caked


weapon in its hands.


Nick's reflexes were almost as fast as Angus'. Before


the Amnioni could twitch, he slammed it in the chest


with impact fire.


His gun made a muffled sound like dynamite buried in


cement, and the Amnioni staggered backward. Spraying


strange, greenish blood from a massive hole in its chest,


the creature hit the wall and fell onto its face.


Together Nick and Angus sprang out of the lift.


Sib made a choking noise, as if he'd swallowed his


tongue. Mikka grabbed his arm and shoved him into


motion ahead of her.


Angus scanned the corridor in both directions,


wheeled to orient himself. His computer scrolled design


hypotheticals through his head. To the right, the passage


stretched empty for a considerable distance. To the left,


it turned a corner out of sight after ten meters.


That way, his computer said — to the left; away from


Tranquil Hegemony's berth.


He pointed Nick in that direction. 'Go!'


Nick sprinted toward the corner; then dove skidding


onto his belly as two more Amnion armed with heavy


rifles came into sight.


They were ready: they'd heard the distinctive con-


cussion of an impact gun. As soon as they caught sight


of Nick, they began to lay down fire.


Energy beams sizzled in the air like frying flesh.


Reacting at machine speed, Angus jumped backward,


blocking Mikka and Sib out of the way. But he couldn't


shoot: at this range his cannon's blast would reduce Nick


to pulp and grease.


Nick's dive carried him under the blare of beams.


Before the Amnion could correct their aim, he hit them


both.


Echoes rolled like distant thunder down the corridor,


calling for the Amnion to notice that they were under


attack.


Angus ran. By the time Nick regained his feet, Angus


had reached the corner.


Beyond it the passage went straight for twenty or


twenty-five meters, past several closed doors and one lift.


There it met another door as high and wide as the


entrance to a meeting-hall. From that point it turned left


again.


Nick came up beside Angus; started to pass him.


Instincts squalled in Angus' head: he stopped Nick with


an arm like a steel bar.


This was why Hashi Lebwohl and Warden Dios had


chosen him. Trained by a lifetime of cowardice and viol-


ence, he had instincts which no computer could match.


'Now what?' Nick demanded.


At that moment the high doors opened. Reacting to


the sounds of detonation, six or eight Amnion crowded


outward to see what was happening.


'Time for another diversion, ' Angus snarled tightly.


Planting his weight, he fired his cannon at the Amnion.


The blast nearly deafened him: the gain on his external


pickup was set too high. If he hadn't braced himself -


and if he hadn't been welded for this kind of work - the


concussion might have ripped him off his feet.


Mikka staggered backward. Sib fell on his back with


an inarticulate cry that seemed to echo like the blast


through the devastation in the corridor.


For an instant pulverized concrete clouded everything;


the lighting flickered as automatic relays rerouted power.


Then the dust cleared, sucked into the air scrubbers, and


the effects of matter cannon fire in an enclosed space


became visible.


Only rubble remained of the meeting-hall. Even its


far wall was gone, ripped open on service shafts snarled


with wiring and conduits. So much concrete and steel


had been torn from the walls and ceiling that Angus


could see little else: the bodies of the Amnion had dis-


appeared as if they'd been atomized. He might have been


looking at a bomb crater in one of Earth's embattled


slums.


Through the neural reverberation in his ears, he heard


alarms of all kinds - wails of structural damage; warnings


of bloodshed; calls to battle.


A diversion wouldn't do him any good if he stayed


there to see what would happen next. 'Come on!' he


shouted. Too loud, he knew he was shouting too loud,


his companions could hear him without that. But if he


didn't shout he couldn't hear himself.


Mikka helped Sib back to his feet. At a run Angus led


them and Nick to the lift.


They jumped aboard, and he sent the car down one


level.


The corridor it opened on was completely deserted.


Apparently every Amnioni in the vicinity had already left


to deal with the emergency above.


If one diversion was good, two would be better. Give


the Amnion reason to think they were under a completely


different kind of assault. Angus thrust Nick, Mikka and


Sib out of the lift. From his belt he detached a limpet


mine; he set its timer for thirty seconds, clamped it to


the side of the car, hit controls to send the car on down-


ward. Then he jumped out as the doors closed.


Nick muttered, 'I guess we won't be coming back this


way. ' He sounded amused.


Angus consulted his computer. Already its design


hypotheticals had gained definition, detail. It measured


the dimensions of the corridors, the lift's apparent rate


of travel between levels: it compared that data to what


he knew about Billingate's scale and orientation within


Thanatos Minor. For the first time it offered him close


order estimates.


Two hundred fifty more meters.


On this level.


Assuming Nick was right.


Angus started into a fast trot. He would have run


harder, but now he couldn't afford to leave Sib or Mikka


behind.


They passed one corner, then another, before he heard


the distant crumpling explosion of the mine; felt the


vibration nudge against his boots.


At his back Mikka's gun hammered twice, three times.


Amnion must have emerged from one of the doors


behind him. Sib's handgun emitted an aimless whine, as


if he had no idea what he was shooting at.


More corners. Angus' computer revised its estimates.


Somewhere the creatures were marshaling their


defenses - enough Amnion to simply overrun the human


intruders. He had to hope that they were confused about


the kind of danger which threatened them. Otherwise he


could only believe that they knew what he was after -


and knew how to stop him.


Abruptly he found a wide passage running straight in


the right direction.


Dozens of other corridors Ted off from it, every one


of them as threatening as the mouth of a pit. Nevertheless


it offered him a chance to make better progress. He


couldn't refuse.


A winking red indicator inside his helmet told him that


his suit's climate controls had exceeded their tolerances.


He was sweating too hard: they couldn't process so much


humidity. Soon he would be in danger of dehydration.


Growling to himself, he sent Nick along the left wall,


Mikka and Sib down the right. With his cannon he


covered the view ahead. From the center of the passage


he drew his companions along as fast as they could go.


Nick, too, had been trained for fighting: he also had


good instincts. At the first intersection on his side, he


undipped a grenade, armed it and threw it hard along


the corridor. Then he slung his rifle over his shoulder


and picked up his handguns. They made less noise.


Mikka followed his example.


Almost at once she triggered fire into the gullet of a


corridor. When she was satisfied that her target was dead,


she pulled Sib forward.


The blast of the grenade sounded shrouded and small,


too minor to do much damage.


Ninety meters, Angus' computer estimated.


Seventy.


With both guns Nick blazed a barrage down one of


the side passages. 'Got you, you bastards, ' he growled


softly.


Sixty.


'Time to start looking. ' Angus' voice seemed to scrape


in his throat. He could hardly squeeze up enough spit to


swallow. 'Slow down. Watch for doors with guards. '


He was too exposed, too easy to spot. Grimly he sent


Nick and Mikka ahead of him; he waited for them to


signal that the corridors were clear before he crossed the


intersections.


Where are you, Morn? How am I going to find you?


Are you still human?


Do you still want to kill me?


He should have turned off his external pickup com-


pletely. Milos was here somewhere; he had to be. All he


needed was an intercom or a loudhailer, and Angus


would be finished.


But his programming rejected that elementary pre-


caution. He needed to hear what happened outside his


suit.


It's got to stop.


God damn you, Dios! If you really wanted me dead,


you could have done it easier than this!


Warned by nothing but instinct - the pressure of


intuitive panic between his shoulder-blades - he whirled


suddenly, wrenched the mass of his cannon around and


brought it to bear just as five Amnion surged into the


passage. From fifty-five or sixty meters away, they hurtled


in his direction. Their crusted skin and their quasi-


organic weapons made them look more like engines of


destruction than sentient beings.


Like artillery his cannon howled at them. In an instant


they were gone, effaced by rubble and dust.


So much for stealth.


The blast seemed to multiply in his ears as if he were


at the bottom of a cavern, buried in reverberation. He


barely heard Mikka hiss from the corner of an inter-


section, 'Angus, here!'


Thirst parched his tongue; his throat was clogged with


sand. Slowly, disoriented by echoes, he lowered the


cannon, took up his laser. As smooth as a cat, Nick came


to his side; together they moved to the wall behind Mikka


and eased forward.


Past the corner he saw a short hall - thirty meters at


most - open at the far end. Several doors marked the


wall at regular intervals. Unlike the entrances he'd seen


until now, these were heavily reinforced, as massive as


the doors of cells.


An Amnioni laden with weapons guarded the middle


of the hall.


The creature must have known the installation was


besieged. It wore a headset which presumably kept it in


contact with the sector's operational center — and pre-


sumably the sector's communications functioned separ-


ately from Billingate's. But the Amnioni's stance betrayed


no anxiety.


Maybe its understanding of its role was so precise that


it didn't worry about anything else.


Or maybe it knew something Angus didn't.


He'd come too far to falter now. In any case his


prewritten exigencies no longer left room for instinct.


Before dread or doubt could interfere, he told Nick to


shoot.


Nick raised his gun and burned the Amnioni through


the head.


By the time the creature tottered to the floor, Angus


was on his way to the door nearest it.


Stupid, crazy, you asshole, you shit! As if he had no


instincts and no fear, as if decades of mortal terror had


taught him nothing, he put himself in his companions'


line of fire.


They couldn't shoot when Milos Taverner appeared at


the far end of the hall.


Joshua's tormentor and nemesis; stun and interroga-


tion, live nic butts and excrement -


Angus knew instantly that Milos had been pumped full


of mutagens. It showed in his eyes.


Nothing else about him had changed. He looked as


human, as pitifully ordinary, as ever. His hands were


yellow with nic; his shipsuit slid across human skin when


he moved. Distinct in the sulfurous light, splotches


defined his scalp through his sparse hair. The smile on


his pudgy features was calm, as if at last he'd come to


terms with treachery.


Joshua. I'm going to give you a standing order. ]erico


priority.


But his eyes were lidless and unblinking; they had


deformed irises, as narrow as slits; their balls were the


biting yellow color of mineral acid.


When I tell you to open your mouth, you will always obey.


And he breathed the air comfortably.


After that you'll chew and swallow normally.


Helpless and appalled, Angus froze.


Every lurch of his heart seemed impossibly slow; the


gaps between the seconds were imponderable and vast.


Events which must have taken virtually no time at all


stretched and dilated as if they became infinite at the


speed of light.


Open your mouth.


Use your laser, you shit, use your cannon, for God's


sake, blast him, fry him, burn him down! Before he says


anything!


Carefully Milos dropped his burning nic onto Angus'


tongue.


Angus remained still, paralyzed, as if Warden Dios and


Hashi Lebwohl had left him for dead.


'Joshua, ' Milos articulated contentedly. 'This is a Jerico


priority order. ' His eyes fixed on Angus; despite their


alienness, they were full of a malice so intense and pure


it could only be human. 'Stop. Turn. Kill the people


behind you. '


As if he'd already been obeyed, he added, 'I knew you


would come here. It was inevitable. Dios and Lebwohl


cheated both of us. All I had to do was wait. '


Angus lifted his laser slowly, as if it weighed dozens


of kilograms.


Open your mouth.


While the gun came up — during the supernal gap


between one second and the next - a link opened in his


head.


As if the message were emblazoned on his brain, he


heard or saw or felt his programming speak to him.


You are no longer Joshua.


Jerico priority has been superseded.


You are Isaac. That is your name. It is also your access-


code. Your priority-code is Gabriel.


Priority-code is Gabriel.


Gabriel.


In that instant he was set free of Milos.


Dios or Lebwohl had seen this crisis coming. They'd


planned for it. When his life depended on it, they released


him from all control but their own.


The change must have warned Milos: he must have


seen the sudden ferocity on Angus' face, or the blaze of


hate in his eyes. As Angus brought up his laser and fired,


Milos pitched himself backward around the corner.


Too late, Nick's guns blared past Angus' shoulder. Like


Angus, he missed.


Raging with murder, Angus charged after Milos.


He reached the corner in time to see a door across the


next passage slam shut. Milos was gone.


Angus would have chased after him, flamed that door


to cinders in order to reach Milos. He felt sick with relief


and fury: now more than ever he needed someone to kill.


If he didn't let the violence inside him out somehow,


his heart would crack. But his datacore had other ideas.


Turning hard - and trembling as acutely as his zone


implants allowed - he strode back toward Nick, Mikka


and Sib; toward the door in the middle of the hall.


' "Joshua"?' Nick asked tightly. ' "Jerico"? What the hell


was that all about?'


Angus ignored the question. Aiming his laser, he


burned out the doorlock. Then he returned the weapon


to his belt.


Morn was here; she had to be. Milos had made no


effort to lure him anywhere else: the Amnioni had prob-


ably assumed that Angus' databases and detectors enabled


him to know where she was. Therefore she must be here.


That made sense, didn't it?


Didn't it?


Fuming to contain his fear, he pushed the door open.


He saw a small, sterile cell full of light and need.


Because of the polarization of his faceplate, he couldn't


identify any monitors; but he didn't care about that. He


didn't care who saw him now: Milos would tell the


Amnion where he was if the bugeyes didn't. He cared


only that the room contained nothing except a small san


and a couch-like chair which was cushioned and adjust-


able like a sickbay table.


Morn Hyland sprawled there as if she were dying.


He recognized her instantly, despite the breathing


mask that covered the lower half of her face. Her eyes


staring at him were deep and damaged; bruises discol-


ored her cheekbones; her torn and dirty hair straggled as


if it were falling out, killed by uncontrolled chemical


reactions. Since he'd last seen her, her whole body had


become as scrawny as an anorexic's: emotional and physi-


cal brutality had dismantled her poignant beauty in the


same way that Bright Beauty had been dismantled.


Nevertheless Angus knew her. He seemed to know her


more intimately than he knew himself. Her addiction,


her zone implant withdrawal, was plainly written in the


stretched lines of her face and the stark anguish of her


eyes. She was Morn Hyland: hurt beyond bearing,


abused to the verges of madness and death; but still


human.


He had no idea why she was still human. At the


moment the fact itself transcended everything else. He


had no attention to spare for the explanation.


When he saw the horror in her gaze, the presumption


of more harm, his own eyes went blind with tears.


Dismantled like Bright Beauty -


His datacore ruled him in every other way, but it


placed no restrictions on weeping. Apparently Lebwohl


or Dios had never considered the possibility that he


might be capable of grief.


But like Bright Beauty Morn had been his; she'd served


him utterly. Her beauty and her humiliation had be-


longed to him. Under his control she'd given to him and


done for him anything he could name.


That made her precious.


And she'd saved his life -


Until Hashi Lebwohl and zone implants ripped it from


him, he'd kept his bargain with her.


The sight of what that bargain had cost her sent tears


as hot as blood scalding down his cheeks.


On a literal level, Nick had done this to her. But the


underlying truth was that Angus himself had caused it


all. It was on his head.


Caught and held by the sheer scale of her suffering, he


remained still. For several seconds no one moved. Morn


stared and stared at him as if she'd fallen into cerebral


palsy. Nick had taken one quick look through the door-


way and then withdrawn: now he stood like Mikka,


guarding the ends of the hall. Sib's arms and legs seemed


to yearn toward the room; yet he didn't take a step.


Then Angus' datacore compelled him to break his


stasis. His time was running out.


His zone implants eased some of the tension in his


lungs. As if he were wincing he raised his hand to the


controls on his chestplate and activated his external


speaker. Blinking hard to clear his eyes, he husked softly,


'Morn, listen. I've got a ship. And I've got Davies. He's


there - at the ship. We're going to get you out of here. '


When he said her son's name, her head jerked up.


Darkness smoldered in her gouged eyes, as if her head


were full of the gap; as if her mind had gone into tach


and couldn't get out.


'Can you stand?' he asked; almost pleaded. 'Can you


walk? We'll carry you if we have to, but we're all more


likely to survive if you can walk. '


Her eyes went on smoldering at him as if he spoke a


language she no longer understood.


'Morn, please. Say something. Answer me. '


In another moment he was going to fall on his knees


and beg her for a response.


Without warning Sib pushed past him into the room.


'Morn, ' he panted, 'it's me. Sib Mackern. ' His tone was


fraught with concern and fear. We're all here - all the


ones who didn't want Nick to sell you. Mikka, Vector,


even Pup. Vector and Pup are with Davies. Angus is


telling the truth. They're guarding the ship.


'Nick is here, too. We needed him. But he's lost Cap-


tain's Fancy. He doesn't have anywhere else to go.


'Morn, I helped you once. So did Vector and Mikka.


We didn't give you what you needed, but we did as much


as we thought we could. Let us help you now.


'Davies can't hold the ship for long. If we don't get


back soon, we'll lose him. We'll lose everything. '


Morn gave no sign that his words meant anything: she


reacted only to her son's name. Yet that was enough.


Each time Sib said 'Davies', she moved farther. First she


sat up; then she shifted her legs off the chair; finally she


stood.


Muffled by her mask, her voice sounded as frail as mist.


'Don't let Nick touch him. '


'I've got a better idea, ' Angus grated. Morn's words


triggered a change in him: as soon as she spoke, his grief


became a cold, settled and familiar rage. He stepped out


into the hall. Too quick to be stopped, he snatched the


impact rifle off Nick's shoulder, then re-entered the cell


and thrust the gun toward Morn. 'Here. You don't let


Nick touch him. '


She took the rifle and clutched it as if it were the only


real thing in the room. Her fingers settled on the firing


stud.


We have to go EVA, Morn. ' Sib's voice seemed to


sweat concern. 'It's our only way back to Trumpet. I


brought you a suit. ' He opened his arms to show her his


burden. 'I'll help you put it on. '


Abruptly Angus swung away. He couldn't watch any-


more. And his programming had other requirements for


him to satisfy. Ignoring his distress, databases opened in


his head, feeding him everything the UMCP knew about


fusion generators; everything he'd learned by mapping


Billingate's power systems.


Charged with other men's purposes and his own viol-


ence, he left the cell.


At once Nick confronted him. 'You sonofabitch. Now


she's going to kill me. '


Angus had no attention to spare. 'Not as long as she


thinks you'll help keep Davies alive. '


Turning his back on Nick, he faced Mikka.


She met his gaze with the bitter glare of a woman who


was ready for anything. Her hands cradled her weapons


as if she'd known how to use them all her life.


'I'm leaving now, ' he announced bluntly. 'I've got


other things to do. You're in command until I get back. '


Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't interrupt;


didn't protest.


'It's up to you to take her to Trumpet. ' He meant only


Morn. He didn't care what happened to anyone else. 'Get


her aboard — her and Davies. Then seal the ship. I can


open the airlock whenever I need to.


'Remember, you're in command, not him. ' Angus


jerked a nod at Nick. 'Don't let him get in your way. If


he gives you any trouble, shoot him for me. '


Nick's chuckle sounded wild; a little crazy. 'Captain


Thermo-pile, you're out of your fucking mind. '


Angus ignored him.


'I need an hour, ' he told Mikka. 'If I'm not back by


then, leave without me. Rip Trumpet out of her berth


and run. You won't be able to defend yourselves worth


shit, you don't know enough about her, but you won't


have any other choice. If you stay here after that, you're


finished. '


Mikka's glower seemed to promise that she would obey


him as long as she remained alive.


'One hour, ' he repeated harshly.


Then he strode away as if he'd been turned loose.


He was temporarily at peace with his programming. A


keen joy like a paean of murder began to sing in his


heart as he moved alone into the clenched, threatening


emptiness of the corridors which led toward Billingate


and destruction.


MORN


She couldn't think. Words meant nothing: there


were no words which could contain the long


silence of her cell while the Amnion waited for


their mutagens to transform her. And nothing else made


sense.


Angus was here - but of course that was impossible.


How much suffering did she have to endure before she


would be free of him?


He said he came to rescue her. That wasn't just imposs-


ible, it was stupid: a man like him would never place


himself in this kind of jeopardy to rescue anyone, especi-


ally not a cop who knew so much about him.


He told her where Davies was, he seemed to imply


that he'd already rescued her son - which wasn't so much


impossible as entirely inconceivable.


Yet Sib Mackern was here as well. That was true,


wasn't it? She could recognize him through his faceplate,


couldn't she? He was trembling to help her: solicitude


seemed to pour off him in waves, despite the interference


of mylar and plexulose. Unless the whole thing was a


hallucination - unless the reality of what Nick had done


to her and what she'd done to humankind had at last


become so unbearable that she'd fled from it into


dreams —


Some of Captain's Fancy's people wanted to help her?


They'd come to rescue her? With Nick? And Angus?


She clung to her son's name and the grips of the impact


rifle so that she wouldn't break into mad, lost sobs.


Sib tried to help her; he urged her limbs into an EVA


suit. She wanted his help, wanted the suit itself. But


Angus had said, You don't let Succorso touch him. She


couldn't release the rifle long enough to put on the suit.


Gently Sib took hold of her left hand and tried to urge


her fingers loose.


As sudden as a figment, Nick appeared in the doorway.


Keying his external speaker, he snapped, 'If you clowns


don't hurry, none of us are going to get out of this alive. '


As if it were cued by his voice, a concussion shuddered


through the cell. For an instant the sulfurous lighting


flickered. Dust sifted from the corners of the walls. Some-


where nearby a powerful explosion had taken place.


What had she seen in Angus' hands? What kind of


gun was that? It'd looked like a scale model of a matter


cannon.


Was he fighting for her escape with a matter cannon?


He was capable of that. The same indomitable coward-


ice which made him a rapist also made him deadly.


A small mewling sound came from her mouth as she


forced open her fingers, let Sib pull her arm into the EVA


suit.


Next the right: she transferred the rifle to her left hand,


then shoved her right urgently into the glove of the suit.


Second by second a nameless desperation mounted in


her. Each of her forearms bore the marks of a tiny wound


where the Amnion had injected her with mutagens - and


another where they'd drawn blood. All the norepi-


nephrine and dopamine and immunity had been sucked


out of her into those small vials, betraying her whole


species. She had nothing left except fear.


She thought that Sib would seal her suit, but he didn't.


Instead he began to strap some kind of interior harness


around her hips. 'It's a new system for controlling your


jets, ' he explained as he worked. 'It's like a waldo - you


move your hips, and the jets fire. You may need it. '


Lamely he added, 'I can't control it myself. '


Now she knew she was dreaming. She'd trained with


suits like this in the Academy: Starmaster had been


equipped with them. But the technology was recent. No


one except the UMCP had it.


As quickly as he could, Sib finished with the harness,


then sealed her into the suit. Last came the helmet. He


held it in front of her, waiting for her permission to put


it on.


Because this was all a hallucination, and she knew it


would soon end, leaving her as doomed and damned as


ever, she pulled a deep breath through her mask, then


nodded.


Sib swept the mask off her head and replaced it with


her helmet.


As soon as the helmet was sealed, its indicators came


to life, giving her oxygen, temperature and vital sign


status; assuring her of its integrity against hard vacuum.


'Let's go, Morn. '


Sib's voice through the internal speakers sounded too


close, too intimate. Nevertheless she didn't raise her


hands to reduce the gain: they were locked onto her


rifle, and she didn't intend to remove them again. Like a


madwoman she believed that as long as she gripped the


gun she could keep the dream of rescue from ending.


Anchored by the pressure of her fingers on the rifle,


she allowed Sib to take her arm and draw her out of the


cell.


'Finally!' Nick snarled. 'Come on. '


Without waiting for an answer, he broke into a run


toward the end of the passage.


Hadn't Sib said, Mikka, Vector, even Pup? But only


Mikka Vasaczk stood in the hall. Where were Vector and


Pup?


And where was Angus? Morn expected to find him


there, keeping the whole Amnion installation at bay with


his strange gun. But he'd gone somewhere.


Blurred by the polarization of two faceplates, Mikka


peered at her. Mikka's face was distorted and familiar:


her glower looked like the anxiety of an old friend.


'Are you all right?' she asked. 'Did we get here in time?'


Morn's throat worked convulsively, swallowing sobs.


They took my blood. ' That was the worst accusation she


could level against herself. They've got the drug. '


When we have some time' - Nick's voice carried


clearly from the end of the hall - 'you can tell me how


you got the drug. '


Morn hardly heard him. She was talking to Mikka.


'I betrayed-'


She fought to control herself, but she couldn't keep


her weeping down. Small sounds leaked like whimpers


from her throat. Without her zone implant control, she


was nothing.


'Maybe not. ' Nick's tone was harsh. 'I told you, it only


stays in your body for about four hours. Whether they


got it depends on when you ate the capsules and when


they drew blood.


'Now come on, goddamn it! Someday even these fuckers


are going to figure out what happened and do something


about it. '


When and when. Morn clung to the idea the same way


she clung to her rifle. Was it possible that her dream


included hope? Was it permitted in this hallucination that


she'd saved herself without betraying humankind?


Maybe she could remember what she'd done; figure


out the sequence of events and time. It was a fact that


Nick had once told her the immunity drug stayed in the


body for about four hours. If she could recall when she'd


taken the capsules in relation to when the Amnion had


taken her blood -


All right, think. When did she take the first one? When


did she take the second? the third?


Obsessed by time, she let Mikka and Sib pull her


forward. -


Everything she'd suffered for days or months felt like


a swirl of nightmare: she couldn't distinguish one day


from the next, certainly not one hour from the next.


Nevertheless her need for this one hope was absolute.


She wrestled her sore, brutalized mind for clarity, despite


the fact that she was running now, that Sib and Mikka


had dragged her into a run along a wide hall full of cruel


illumination and intersections like maws; despite the fact


that Nick and Mikka seemed to blaze away with their


handguns almost constantly, and even Sib brandished fire


as if he thought he could hit something that way.


An energy beam scorched past her head. Nick yelled


as he fired; Sib gasped, 'Christ!' For an instant the air


sang with streaks of coherent force and light. Then Nick


veered into a side passage. Mikka and Sib kept Morn


close behind him.


Because she hadn't known what was going to happen,


she'd taken one capsule as soon as she found the vial in


Nick's cabin. Of course that immunity had passed out of


her body during the long hours when she'd been kept


drugged. But she'd taken another dose after Mikka had


awakened her, before Mikka had delivered her to Nick.


After that Nick had walked her to the Amnion sector and


given her away. How much time passed then before she


was injected with the mutagen? Half an hour at most?


Roughly an hour since she'd eaten the capsule?


She'd been too terrified to measure time; but she had


the impression that the Amnion had waited quite a while


before drawing her blood.


She shook her head. Not good enough. Quite a while


could mean anything. She would never be able to figure


out the exact interval.


Sobs or gasps seemed to burst delicately inside her


helmet, like bubbles.


Then a new idea entered her head like a ship crossing


out of the gap.


This place had no research facilities. Maybe the


Amnion hadn't drawn her blood promptly because they


couldn't test it in any case. And maybe her immunity -


artificial, like all her other resources - was simply sitting


here, sealed in sterile containers to await transportation


to Enablement.


That was another kind of hope.


Almost immediately Nick led the way to a lift. The


instant the doors opened he herded Mikka, Sib and Morn


into the car. It rose so swiftly that Morn's knees nearly


failed.


Where was Angus? Why couldn't she hear his matter


cannon?


Taut with exertion, Sib's voice strained in her ears.


'This isn't the way we came, Nick. '


Nick replied with a growl of disgust.


'That makes it safer, ' Mikka panted tightly.


'We've got to stop those warships, ' Morn breathed.


'Calm Horizons. Tranquil Hegemony. Stop them. '


Sib gaped at her.


'Why?' Mikka demanded.


At last Morn noticed the desperation in Mikka's eyes.


She saw that Sib was close to exhaustion. Pale and blood-


less, Nick's scars gleamed as if they'd been cut to the


bone.


'So they can't take my blood back to Enablement. '


'How?' Now Mikka sounded as weary as Sib looked.


We've lost Captain's Fancy. Our ship is a gap scout.


Assuming we get back to her, she doesn't carry the kind


of guns that stop warships. '


'We aren't going to stop anybody, ' Nick rasped at


Morn. Through his faceplate his eyes burned with the


desire to inflict pain. 'Just staying alive is going to be the


best trick we've ever pulled off.


'Your Captain Thermo-pile told me a little secret.


Something I had no idea about. When we went to


Enablement, the Amnion already knew you were a cop.


They knew I was working for the cops. '


In shock, Mikka barked, 'What?'


Nick ignored her. 'That's why they were willing to kill


us in the gap. They knew we were going to cheat as soon


as we started talking to them. And it's another reason


they want your kid so badly. He has your mind. Just


getting you wouldn't be good enough. They want your


mind intact - a cop mind that isn't protected or distorted


by zone implants. '


The lift stopped; opened. Balancing his guns in his


hands, he sprang out to scan the corridor.


'Oh, Nick, ' Mikka said like a moan. 'You fool. You


fool. '


'I don't care, ' Morn murmured while she followed


him. As far as she knew, she was talking to herself.


'They've got to be stopped. There must be some way


to do it. '


She didn't care what it cost. She wanted to burn her


long pain clean in a blaze of destruction. If Davies died


in the process, at least he would die human.


And he would understand. He was more than her son:


he was an undistorted replica of her reasoning and know-


ledge, her passions and needs. He would feel the same


way she did.


Off to her left, an Amnioni appeared in a doorway.


Sib flung fire in that direction; but he stumbled, and his


shot scored the floor. As he fell, he lost his grip on Morn's


arm.


She squeezed the firing stud of her rifle; heard a deton-


ation like the sound of shattering stone. The Amnioni


sprawled backward in a splash of rust and green.


Sib caught up with her as fast as he could. Thanks, '


he gulped. 'I'm no good at this. '


The blast seemed to ignite her body. Shrugging off


Mikka's support, she ran on her own strength after Nick.


Now she was ready to fight. Her hands ached on the


rifle, hungry for use.


The passages were empty, however. The Amnion had


mustered their defenses elsewhere.


Nick led the way as if he knew exactly where he was


going.


For his own reasons, he stopped at another lift. The


car was slow to answer: according to its indicators, it had


to come from several levels below. He swore steadily


under his breath while he waited; as the doors finally slid


open, he braced himself to fire.


Like the corridor, the car was empty.


'Is this it?' Sib asked urgently.


Nick entered the car without answering.


Mikka prodded Sib and Morn ahead of her. 'I think


so, ' she panted.


Upward again. Now Morn rose as if she were going


to sail through the top of her head; as if her spirit could


soar straight on out of the lift and the installation, carry-


ing only her rifle into space to do battle with the


warships.


Unfortunately the rules of gravity held. When the car


stopped at its highest level, her body still contained her.


Abruptly the energy of impact fire drained out of her.


She felt leaden and mortal, weighed down by the conse-


quences of withdrawal and the implications of weakness.


She hardly knew what she was seeing when the lift


opened on the iris of an airlock.


An airlock. Her thoughts struggled slowly, clogged by


old prostration. EVA.


We have to go EVA. It's our only way back to Trumpet.


If she could have escaped the rock's g, she could have


flown her fate altogether; could have used the suit's jets


to waft her effortlessly out into the dark. Even against g


the jets might be powerful enough to bear her away.


But the pressure might trigger her gap-sickness.


In any case, Davies was waiting for her; he needed her.


For his sake she had to remain confined to her flesh a


little longer.


As the iris dilated, it seemed to suck Nick into the


airlock. Immediately he moved to the control panel and


keyed the cycle. Mikka sent Sib and Morn after him, then


paused to immobilize the lift by firing a laser into its


controls.


The inner iris was already closing. She had to dive


through it to reach the airlock.


Morn listened to the sibilant whine of depressurization


and tried to believe that she was strong enough to reach


Trumpet; that she would be able to find the strength


somewhere, without the help of her black box.


As soon as the outer door irised, Nick strode onto


the concrete apron of the airlock. Without waiting for


anyone, he hurried out of sight around the corner of the


bunker.


Beyond the lock loomed the planetoid's black rock. A


powerful illumination came from behind the head of the


lift: the apron lay in shadow, but cold white streaked the


fractured surface where Nick had gone.


Again Mikka paused to slag the controls. No one


would follow her and her companions out this way.


Gripping the rifle as if it could keep her on her feet,


Morn went after Nick.


Almost at once she caught sight of Tranquil Hegemony.


The ship's docking lights defined her against the


impenetrable heavens; the cold white glare etched her


guns and antennae. The bulbous, inhuman shape which


the Amnion preferred made her look squat despite her


size. Past the metallic hatch of a shuttle port, her bulk


lowered like a thunderhead over the raw stone.


Now Morn could see that the white illumination came


from the arc lamps of the visitors' docks. Nick ran in that


direction, bounding over the rocks as fast as he could.


Because she knew him intimately — because she under-


stood that he was as treacherous as the surface - she


suddenly grasped why he was in such a hurry.


He wanted to reach Trumpet in time to take command


before Angus returned; in time to lock Angus out.


A new sting of fear swelled her heart. Nick had her


black box. She preferred Angus.


Could Davies hear her? If she called her son's name


into her pickup, would he be able to receive her voice?


Could she warn him?


She didn't try. Her throat locked, holding her silent,


when she saw Nick stop suddenly.


Planting his feet, he raised his arms to the dark. His


helmet tilted back.


'Do it!' he cried. Fury and desperation made him fran-


tic. 'You little bitch, I gave you an order! I want you to


do it!'


The dark didn't answer.


Mikka and Sib came up beside Morn; they drew her


with them toward the harsh light. For a moment or two,


however, she could hardly move her legs. The intensity


of Nick's cry closed around her chest like a clutch of


panic.


She was wrong about him.


Oh, God, what was he doing? What was he doing?


'I wish Liete didn't worship him, ' Mikka muttered bit-


terly. 'She should have better sense. '


'What did he tell her?' Sib gulped.


'You ask him, ' she retorted. 'I've got too many other


things to worry about. '


Without warning the light changed color. Morn saw


sulfur lick like yellow flames across the side of Mikka's


suit.


At the same time she felt the rock under her boots


rumbling.


'Nick!' Mikka yelled. 'Get down!'


Morn turned toward the new glow.


The hatch of the shuttle port was in motion; it ground


open like a window, spilling yellow illumination and a


froth of atmosphere frozen to ice in an instant.


Simultaneously Mikka and Sib called, 'Morn!' Mikka


caught her arm, dragged her flat on the serrated knuckles


of the rock.


A heartbeat later, the blast of thrusters shook the sur-


face like an explosion, and a shuttle shaped like a


g-stretched ball rode atmospheric ice out of the port. At


full burn the craft hurled herself upward.


Morn and her companions were too close. Thrust dis-


persion hit them so hard that it might have torn their


suits. Fortunately the vacuum leeched most of the force


away. She felt the pressure wave slam along the length


of her body and pass on.


All the status indicators inside her helmet showed a


reassuring green.


Through her teeth Mikka hissed, 'Now!' She sprang


upright. 'Let's go. '


Panting raggedly, Sib hauled himself to his feet.


Morn stayed where she was.


For some reason, she couldn't take her eyes off Tran-


quil Hegemony.


Right in front of her the ship's running lights came


on.


'Morn?' Sib choked out. 'Are you hurt? Do you need


help?'


'Oh, shit, ' Mikka moaned as she saw what Morn was


looking at.


Batteries of searchlights stabbed abruptly off the sides


of the warship. For a moment they wandered aimlessly;


then they pulled into focus and swept toward the airlock


bunker and the docks. Almost immediately they began


to quarter the surface.


They were looking for the people who'd attacked their


installation.


Morn saw the ship's guns swivel as they came to bear.


Tranquil Hegemony intended to blast her enemies off


the face of the rock.


LIETE


Controlling herself fiercely, Liete resisted the


impulse to demand premature reports from the


bridge crew. She could feel a pressure building


in her chest, an inchoate frenzy accumulating like the


force of a storm. G had simplified since Captain's Fancy


lost thrust. Nevertheless she had difficulty breathing.


Nick had been inside the Amnion sector too long. If he


stayed  there  much  longer, the  strain  of holding


her emotions down would rupture the lining of her


lungs.


At last her restraint failed. She couldn't wait out the


silence. Like a poised whip, she asked, 'Status?'


Lind looked over at her. His board was already putting


out all the garbage it could; he had little else to do but


listen. 'Tranquil Hegemony and Calm Horizons are talk-


ing to each other. Soar is in it, too. They've turned


up the gain so much they sound like they're yelling, but


we don't know the code. ' Lamely he added, 'I'm no


cryptographer. ' Then he finished, They're going to do


something, that's for sure. But I can't guess what. '


Liete nodded. She didn't care what answers she


received. All she wanted was the distraction of hearing


people speak.


'Malda?'


'I've got a twenty-five percent charge on the matter


cannon. ' The targ first sounded stretched too thin, near


her breaking-point. Her hair straggled past her eyes, but


she didn't have the energy to tie it back. We can fire one


gun hard, or let all of them dribble. '


'Pastille?'


Pastille snapped his fingers as if he resented the inter-


ruption. 'Maneuvering thrust, that's it. I can take us back


to dock like this, but we can't burn. '


'Good enough, ' Liete asserted. The point is, it's more


than they think we can do. Keep at it. The longer they


wait, the more we'll be able to surprise them. '


Abruptly Malda swung her g-seat to face Liete.


'Liete, we can hit Soar right now. She's our target, isn't


she? If we fire at this range, we can blow her guts out.


Why don't we do it now and get it over with?'


Liete started to say, Because I'm hoping we can find a


way to do this and stay alive.


She started to think, Because Nick went into the


Amnion installation in an EVA suit, and he hasn't come


back yet.


But Carmel interrupted her.


'Liete!' Rigid in her g-seat, the scan first stared at her


readouts while her fingers ran commands which focused


instruments and sifted their data. We've got people


coming out of the Amnion sector. One, two -I see four


of them. They look like the same four who went in.


'I can't be sure, ' she muttered apologetically. 'Our


scan isn't that precise. But their suits reflect the same


way. '


Where are they headed?' Liete fought down her


urgency, struggled to keep her voice calm. What about


the three who went to the dish?'


At the same time Pastille demanded, What in hell did


he go there for? I thought he wanted Morn back. He's


been sick ever since his gonads got a taste of her. '


Liete was instantly furious at him for asking the ques-


tion she most wanted answered herself. But Carmel


didn't let the helm third deflect her.


'Back toward Trumpet,' she reported. 'One of


them's ahead of the others, moving faster. The other


three are staying together, but they're going in the same


direction.


The three from the dish are back at their ship. Just


standing there. I assume they're waiting to cover the


others. '


Four people entered the domain of the Amnion: four


came out. Had they failed to get what they went in for?


Or had someone been lost?


Had Nick been lost?


Deserts and doom filled Liete. She refused to believe


that Nick had been lost.


As if she were prescient, she asked Malda, 'Have you


got targ on Tranquil Hegemony?'


Malda nodded just as Carmel announced sharply, 'The


Amnion are opening their shuttle port!'


At once Liete sat forward, began pulling data from


scan, helm, and targ to her board; getting herself ready.


'Now what's going on?' Pastille growled. 'Are they


abandoning the installation? Did Nick do them that


much damage?'


Fortunately he didn't appear to expect an answer.


'You want targ on that?' Malda asked. 'If we hit it now,


we can cripple the port. Or we can get the shuttle when


she blows dock. '


'No, ' Liete ordered. 'Leave her alone. She's not our


target.


'Tower up faster. Pastille, do the same. Now, while


Calm Horizons and Soar have something else to think


about. '


'Port open, ' Carmel reported. 'Here she comes. ' An


instant later the scan first barked, 'Jesus, she's in a hurry!


That's a full burn launch. ' Almost immediately, however,


she reverted to stolidity. 'She's coming right at us. If she


doesn't correct, we're going to collide. '


A heartbeat later, Carmel added, 'She's correcting


now. ' Liete saw the figures on her own readouts. 'She


doesn't want us - she's heading for Soar. Or Calm Hori-


zons. But she won't miss by much. They must really


believe we're paralyzed.


They can't abandon the installation that way, ' she con-


tinued steadily. 'She isn't big enough. I estimate she only


carries ten of them.'


Liete called for status again.


Matter cannon charge had reached forty percent.


Thrust was up to thirty-five.


'Message from Calm Horizons!' Lind gulped.


'New orders. Complete shutdown - everything, even


maintenance. They want us to stop putting out all


this noise. '


Too much, it was too much, Liete couldn't think about


so many conflicting priorities. The wind in her head had


become a swirling buffet, full of confusion -


'Oh, shit, ' Carmel breathed. ''Tranquil Hegemony just


put on her running lights. She's powering up. '


Liete could hardly breathe; pressure seemed to pull all


the air out of her lungs.


Where was Nick? Where was Nick?


One thing at a time, she told herself. Just one. You


can do it if you take one thing at a time.


'Is she undocking?' she demanded. 'Are they using her


to abandon the installation?'


'No, ' Carmel responded quickly. That's not thrust


emission, that's matter cannon. ' In shock she pulled away


from her board, faced Liete across the bridge. 'She's


charging her guns. And she's using searchlights. She's


going to blast those people down there. She's going to


blast Trumpet. '


Just for a second, Liete's courage failed.


Blast.


Those people.


And Trumpet.


Nick was a dead man -


Her whole body flinched as if a stun-prod had been


fired into her chest.


- unless she found a way to save him.


In that instant the long black wind swept all her fears


and conflicts out of her.


Steadily she asked the scan first, 'How long before she's


ready to fire?'


'How should I know?' Carmel gritted. 'I'm no expert


on Amnion warships. ' Then the passion in Liete's eyes


stopped her. Abashed, she murmured, 'A minute? Two


at most?'


Liete nodded. 'How long before that shuttle passes


us?'


'At that acceleration?' Carmel consulted her board. 'A


minute and a half. But she won't keep burning - she'll


cut thrust any second now. Otherwise she won't be able


to brake in time for Soar. Maybe not even in time for


Calm Horizons'


Liete couldn't wait that long. Calm Horizons was trying


to shut Captain's Fancy down: Liete's subterfuge was


about to be discovered. And her target was Soar. Nick


had ordered her to kill that ship. At any cost. No matter


what else happened. Somehow he'd maneuvered Sorus


Chatelaine into this position, so that she and her


ship would be vulnerable. If Liete didn't attack now,


Soar or Calm Horizons would realize they'd been


duped; they would understand their danger and open


fire.


But Tranquil Hegemony was charging her guns to


smash seven people and their ship off the face of Thanatos


Minor.


And one of them was Nick. He was out there, exposed


like a dummy in a practice range. He couldn't survive


against those guns — couldn't survive without Trumpet —


Liete Corregio considered his life more important than


his orders.


'Pastille. ' Her voice was only a whisper, but it carried


like a cry. 'I want braking thrust. Stop us - head us back


the way we came. '


'What the hell for?' he objected. 'I thought you said


we're after Soar. '


To silence him, she explained, 'I want us closer to that


shuttle. We'll use her for cover. '


Pastille glared back at Liete, then turned to his console.


Swallowing protests, he went to work.


At once braking g slammed Liete against her belt as


Captain's Fancy's thrusters roared.


She shrugged off the stress. 'Malda, targ on Tranquil


Hegemony. Aim for her guns — hit her with everything


you've got. On my order. '


Malda's hands shook. Fighting to control them, she


pounded her keys vehemently, as if she were furious.


'Carmel, how far away is that shuttle?'


The scan first understood combat: when it came, she


had no hesitation in her. 'She's cut thrust - she's coasting.


Alongside in thirty seconds or so. Depending on Pastille. '


Thirty seconds. Liete snapped a look at her chron-


ometer. Calm Horizons didn't have a clear field - Soar was


in the way - but Soar could fire at any time. If Sorus


Chatelaine feared hitting the shuttle, she might hold


off.


On the other hand, if she thought Captain's Fancy was


about to ram the shuttle, she would certainly attack.


At this range and speed, evasive maneuvers would be


useless.


And Carmel wouldn't be able to give any warning.


Liete would know that Soar had fired when Captain's


Fancy took the hit, not before.


Carmel and Lind had been with Nick for a long time:


in their separate ways, they had come to terms with death


and desperation. And Malda loved Nick with her own


private urgency. Liete could rely on them all. Only Pas-


tille would fail her.


When he realized what she meant to do, he would try


to stop her.


The black wind blew like a song through her heart.


Everything that held her back was gone: she was alive


with scorched fidelity and doom. As if she were inspired


by music, she began dummying helm function to her


board; secretly routing control of Captain's Fancy away


from Pastille.


So that she could save Nick.


MORN


Morn watched helplessly as Tranquil Hegemony's


guns came into line as if they'd already found


her; as if she were as distinct as a beacon


against Thanatos Minor's dark stone. Matter cannon at,


this range - She told herself that if she'd had the strength


she would have climbed to her feet and fled; she wouldn't


have given up; while she could still draw breath and


move her legs she would have done her best to survive.


Nevertheless she knew it wasn't weakness which held her


down.


It was futility.


From her dedicated berth, Tranquil Hegemony could


destroy everything between her and the planetoid's hori-


zons. One barrage would reduce the docks to rubble: it


would be more than enough to wipe out four people in


EVA suits and a single gap scout.


'Run!' Mikka shouted as if she were raging.


Sib didn't move. Like Morn, he seemed to have come


to the end of his strength; his will. 'We can't outrun that, '


he said softly.


'They're starting cold!' Mikka yelled. They need a


minute to bring up power, maybe two!' She grabbed at


his arm, at Morn's, tried to heave them into motion.


'Come on!'


'Mikka. ' Sib sounded calm, almost resigned. He'd


worn out his fear. Two minutes or twenty, it doesn't


make any difference. We can't outrun those guns. Even


if we reach the ship - even if we get aboard. One hit will


crumple her like an empty canister. '


He looked back toward the lift bunker, then returned


his gaze to the warship. 'I wish Angus was here. I would


like to hear him tell us why he thought this was ever


going to work. '


'I don't care!' Mikka cried. 'You can't just stand here


and watch yourself die! You've got to at least run!


'I promised Pup I was coming back!'


Wheeling away, she sprinted over the stones in the


direction of the docks and Trumpet.


Nick went on peering upward as if he thought he


should be able to see his ship somewhere.


 'Morn, are you there?'


The voice in her helmet sounded like Angus'. But it


couldn't be; he was gone; and anyway it was too young


for Angus, too scared.


'I heard Nick. I heard Mikka and Sib. Are you with


them? Where are you?


'Morn, where are you?'


Davies.


He was nearby - within reach of her suit's receiver.


Angus had told her the truth.


She'd believed that she would never see her son again.


Now he was about to be killed. Like Sib and Mikka and


Nick, like Morn herself, he would be hammered to pulp


among the rocks. Then the rocks would melt in the after-


heat of the blast, and the pulp would burn down to ash


and cinders until it fused with the stone.


'Jets, ' she panted. 'The jets. ' Her hands and legs came


under her as if they were in someone else's control; she


tottered upright. 'They're faster. It's worth a try. '


Slapping at her chestplate, she activated the jet harness.


The first burst of compressed gas lifted her in a long


bound past Sib. One careful cock of her hips; another


burst: restrained only by g, she vaulted to Mikka's


side just as Mikka activated her own jets and sprang


ahead.


But Sib wasn't coming.


'Wait, ' he muttered distantly. 'I don't know how to use


these things. I can't handle them. '


Morn turned to help him -


Davies, I'm sorry!


- turned in time to see a piece of the void catch fire.


It was too sudden to be understood: the synapses of


her brain couldn't keep up with it. Nevertheless training


and experience identified what was happening as she wit-


nessed it.


Two separate cannon blazed almost simultaneously —


guns from different ships. The first burned toward the


source of the second: it hit, spewing coruscation like a


solar flare; emissions on every conceivable wavelength. If


Thanatos Minor had possessed an atmosphere, the con-


cussion might have deafened her.


At nearly the same instant the second cannon drove


a lance of light-constant destruction down on Tranquil


Hegemony.


That blast reached Morn: it rolled through the rock,


staggering her. A noiseless visceral shriek poured off


Tranquil Hegemony's sides as if the ship were dying; as if


she were being scorched alive.


The heavens went immediately black; the void


engulfed the embattled ships. But Tranquil Hegemony


remained visible in the glare of the arc lamps and the


glow of her own running lights.


The first shot must have affected the targ of the second


by some small fraction of a degree. Tranquil Hegemony


hadn't suffered a direct hit. One bulging section of her


side had been torn open: the shriek was the tangible


tremor of escaping atmosphere commingled with warn-


ing sirens, battle klaxons, and the automatic yowl of


interior seals. She was hurt; badly hurt.


Yet Morn knew at a glance that the warship hadn't


been crippled. She may still have been space-worthy: she


was certainly capable of firing her guns.


After faltering for a few seconds, her searchlights


stopped quartering the surface and swept away to focus


like targeting lasers on Trumpet.


Without warning Nick began to howl:


'You bitch!'


'Morn!' Davies' voice rang in her ears. 'Are you there?'


'Yes. ' She could hardly force herself to speak; her voice


scraped from her throat like a wounded thing. We're


coming. '


'That must have been Liete, ' Mikka gasped. 'Goddamn


it, how could she miss? Even Simper can run targ better


than that. Malda could do it in her sleep!'


'Captain's Fancy was hit, ' Sib breathed thinly. 'I saw it.


That must be what went wrong. '


'Take cover. ' Morn did her best to make Davies hear


her. 'I don't know where. Not on Trumpet. They're going


to pulverize her as soon as damage control seals that hole


and re-routes their systems. Try one of the empty berths.


Maybe you can find an access hatch and get inside. '


'Morn, there's no point. ' She recognized Vector easily.


'It'll be like trying to take cover on a battlefield. Oper-


ations was ready to kill us before all this started. Now


they've lost communications. They're desperate in there.


They'll ash anything that moves first, and wonder what


it was later. '


In spite of what he'd just said, she could tell that he


was smiling as he added, 'Still, it's nice to hear your


voice. '


Nick had stopped howling, but he didn't move. Rigid


with fury or despair, he faced the dark heavens and


remained motionless, gripping his fists at his sides.


'Come on, ' Mikka breathed into her pickup. 'Even if


I'm as good as dead, I want to keep my promises. '


In a gust of compressed gas, she headed toward the


docks and Trumpet.


Morn made no effort to get Nick's attention. Let him


stand there until his ship turned cold and came apart.


There was nothing she could do for him - and she


wouldn't have done it if there had been. He still had her


zone implant control.


Instead she went to help Sib manage his jets.


She didn't need to hurry now: she knew that. She


would die when Tranquil Hegemony was ready to kill her.


Nothing could change that. Nevertheless she wanted to


get as far as possible from the warship and everything


Amnion; she wanted to stand beside her son, and the


few people who had taken pity on her, when she died.


Mikka had already reached the concrete by the time


Morn got Sib moving. Riding their jets, she and the data


first left Nick behind. As if they were alone on the rock


- as if they were ghosts with nothing left to trouble them


- they let the hiss of compressed gas carry them toward


Trumpet. Sib had dropped his handgun; after a moment


Morn realized that she'd lost her rifle somewhere. But


they didn't need weapons anymore. Like Mikka ahead of


them, they took no notice of the possibility that the Bill


or even the Amnion might send guards out after them.


That danger had ceased to have any meaning.


Once she paused to look back at Nick. Small and


slumped against the looming bulk of Tranquil Hegemony,


he'd broken out of his rictus and was moving slowly away


from the warship. Maybe he, too, had decided he didn't


want to be alone when he died.


After she and Sib gained the concrete, they were able


to travel more quickly. As his handling of his jets


improved, he began to skim forward as if he were skip-


ping. With a shrug and a ghost's smile, she scudded


beside him. When she died, she would be free, at last and


forever.


No doubt Tranquil Hegemony was holding fire until


the Amnion could be sure they would hit all their targets


with one blast. Skimming and prancing like lunatic chil-


dren, Morn and Sib crossed the arc-lit docks until they


were close enough to see Mikka and three other people


illuminated by searchlights in front of a Needle-class gap


scout which must have been Trumpet.


She deactivated her jets and slowed to a walk. A step


or two later, Sib did the same.


'Morn?' Davies asked. He sounded plaintive; scarcely


able to believe that she was there. 'Morn?'


She didn't know which of the four he was: she was


still too far away to recognize individuals through the


polarization of their faceplates. She raised a hand to iden-


tify herself. When he also raised his hand, she smiled


quietly, even though he couldn't see it.


'Why don't they get it over with?' Pup muttered


tightly. 'What are they waiting for?'


No one answered him.


As if she were at peace, Morn turned to watch Tranquil


Hegemony kill them all.


From a distance of at least three k, the warship looked


smaller; less fatal. Morn could no longer distinguish the


gunports: she could barely see the guns themselves. If


her faceplate hadn't protected her from the stabbing


intensity of the searchlights, she wouldn't have been able


to see the ship at all. Nevertheless the range was trivial


for matter cannon. Even badly designed guns wouldn't


suffer enough dispersion to weaken their impact for sev-


eral thousand k - and nothing the Amnion made was


badly designed.


At least a thousand meters away across the concrete,


Nick also had turned to watch. Some intuition must have


warned him to look back at the charged shape of the


warship.


Like Morn, he must have seen the flame of thrust like


a torch in the void.


At once he began to howl again as if his heart were


being torn out.


Suddenly the searchlights cut off. For an instant the


changed illumination confused Morn's vision. Through


the residual incandescence, she thought she saw Tranquil


Hegemony's guns wheel in their ports, fighting to re-


orient themselves.


The torch overhead grew longer, plunging like a


comet.


Mis-aimed and useless, lasers from the warship's sides


emblazoned the heavens. She'd been taken too much by


surprise. And she was already hurt. She couldn't defend


herself.


At the last second Mikka cried frantically, 'Liete!'


Thrust flaming, Captain's Fancy came down like a


scream out of the deep dark. Lasers caught up with her


before she hit, but they were too late. Truer than her


own targ, she sledgehammered straight into the center


of the damaged warship.


Without transition both vessels were transformed from


poised, rigid metal to pure fire and brisance.


Morn lost sight of the cataclysm momentarily: she was


falling and couldn't look. The uncontained detonation of


Captain's Fancy's drive and Tranquil Hegemony's weapons


sent a shock-wave through the rock and the concrete


as if they were water. Stone shattered; concrete cracked


and buckled like ice; the surface under Morn bucked


so hard that she stumbled to her knees. Arc lamps


fizzled and spat; some of them died. Steam plumed


from wounds like volcanic vents in Billingate's structural


integrity.


By the time she lurched back to her feet, Captain's


Fancy and Tranquil Hegemony had collapsed into each


other. Visual echoes of flame streaked the dark, but the


fire itself died rapidly as its energy and the vacuum


devoured the last of the spilled oxygen.


Nick was closer to the point of impact: the shock-wave


had knocked him flat on his back. Except for the palpable


grinding of concrete as it settled into new shapes, there


was no sound anywhere but the prolonged outcry of his


anguish.


Then Mikka sighed, 'Oh, Liete.' Tears filled her voice;


but Morn couldn't tell whether they were tears of relief


or loss.


 'Come on,' Sib murmured. He plucked at Morn's arm,


touched Mikka's shoulder. 'Let's go aboard. We still have


to get out of here somehow.'


Finally Nick's protest choked away into silence.


Instead of moving toward the ship, Mikka went to her


brother and wrapped her arms around him fiercely.


'Sib's right.' Vector spoke in tense bursts, as if he had


difficulty breathing. 'Calm Horizons is still out there.


So is Soar. And the Bill - probably isn't feeling very


charitable. They won't want to let us get away with


this.'


Left-over flame seemed to echo in Morn's head. She


feared that if she tried to move she would lose her balance


again. Captain's Fancy was gone: nothing remained of


the place where she'd abandoned herself to Nick, per-


fected her zone implant addiction and fought for her


son's life except twisted metal and ruin. Liete Corregio,


Pastille, Simper, Alba Parmute, Carmel, Karster, Lind -


the dead were too many to be numbered. At last she


understood that it was all too expensive. This terrible


expenditure of lives and pain had to stop.


'She's Angus' ship,' she breathed like a memory of fire.


'But he put Mikka in command, ' Sib said as if that


changed everything.


Mikka, Morn thought, not Nick. Angus hadn't given


her away again. He was still himself enough to distrust


Nick.


When she turned, she found Davies beside her.


'Where is he?' her son asked. 'Is he coming back?'


'I don't know. ' If she could have forgotten the blaze


and concussion of impact, she might have wept. 'He


broke into my cell. ' He gave me a weapon, but I lost it.


Then he went somewhere. '


'He's going to rejoin us if he can. ' Mikka's tone was


harsh; as guttural as a groan. Scourging herself into


motion, she let go of Pup and faced Morn. 'He set a


time-limit. If he isn't back by then, we're supposed to


leave without him.


'Come on. ' She gestured stiffly toward Trumpet. 'Let's


see if we can keep his ship in one piece until his time


runs out. '


Through his faceplate, Morn saw Davies nod grimly.


With her vision distorted by polarization, she couldn't


tell the difference between him and his father.


Pulling Pup after him, Vector went first. His suit didn't


disguise the arthritic stiffness of his movements; his joints


must have hurt acutely as he climbed the handgrips up


Trumpet's side. When he rounded the curve, Sib and then


Mikka followed; Morn and Davies brought up the rear.


From the elevation of the airlock, Morn looked across


the docks to see what Nick was doing.


He'd regained his feet; turned his back on the charred


wreck of his ship. Alone and awkward across the riven


concrete, he picked his way toward Trumpet. Every step


was slow - even from this distance, he appeared to be


in pain - but he came steadily, carrying his loss like a


pallbearer.


Distinctly Davies said, 'This is our chance to get rid of


him. We can seal him out. Let the Bill have him - if he


can find his way inside. '


Seal him out —


A pain of her own twisted around Morn's heart. Like


Angus, Nick had done things to her which she would


never forgive. And he had her black box.


Coming to help her had been Angus' idea, not Nick's.


Get rid of him -


Her desire to close the lock against him was so intense


that she nearly moaned.


Yes! Let him die outside and be damned!


But it was too expensive. She'd seen that with her own


eyes, felt it with her own heart's pain. The Amnion had


tried their mutagens on her. Like treachery and lies,


-revenge cost too much; grudges and hate cost too much.


Nick and Angus had taught her that.


She didn't hesitate.


'No, ' she told her son. 'You're a cop. From now on,


I'm going to be a cop myself. ' Not the kind of cop War-


den Dios and Hashi Lebwohl were: the kind her father


and mother had been. We don't do things like that. '


'Are you sure?' Mikka demanded from the lock. 'We're


better off without him. We're safer—he's made too many


enemies. And he hates Angus too much. '


'I'm sure, ' Vector put in softly. 'Morn's right. The


rest of us aren't cops, but we have enough other prob-


lems without doing things that will make us sick of our-


selves. '


'Besides, ' Sib observed, 'he still has his guns. If he tries


to blast his way in, we might not survive the damage. '


Morn took Mikka's silence as assent. She gave Davies


a quick hug, then lowered herself down the ladder into


the ship.


Davies rather than Mikka keyed commands into the


control panel, shutting the airlock so that it would reopen


for Nick. He gave the impression that he was already


acquainted with Trumpet. Morn wondered how long


he'd been with Angus; how long ago Angus had rescued


him. But she didn't ask. For the moment, at least, all her


questions had been burned out of her.


And she was overtaken by a strange sense of recog-


nition, an unaccountable impression of safety. From the


airlock and the lift down to the central passage and along


it to the EVA suit compartment and the weapons locker,


she knew this ship. Details were different, of course, if


for no other reason than because Trumpet was new; but


she'd done some of her training in Needle-class gap


scouts. For the first time since Starmaster's death, she


found herself in a place where she felt she belonged.


Davies must have had the same reaction -


After her long hours in an Amnion cell and her hazard-


ous escape, Trumpet's poignant familiarity nearly over-


whelmed her. She had to remind herself forcibly that this


was Angus' ship, Angus Thermopyle's; that when she


entered Trumpet she was re-entering the domain of the


man who had raped and debased her to the core of her


being.


If she could have believed that she or any of the people


with her - even Nick - were capable of taking Trumpet


away from Billingate intact, she would prayed for Angus


to fail his deadline; beseeched the uncaring stars to grant


her that one last mercy.


Mikka was in command; but Davies stowed his suit


and weapons first. Once he unsealed his helmet, Morn


saw his face clearly for the first time since the day he was


born.


Her heart seemed to stop when she saw that he'd been


beaten up.


The damage was recent. Blood still crusted his fore-


head; bruises which hadn't had time to turn livid swelled


his cheeks, puffed around his eyes.


The Bill had done that to him. Or it'd happened in the


struggle to escape.


Or he and Angus had fought over her; over the things


Angus had done to her.


An inarticulate protest died in her throat as she studied


her son.


 Apart from his battered face, he didn't appear hurt. He


was noticeably thinner than Angus: in fact, he was thin-


ner than he'd been when Captain's Fancy had left


Enablement. And his skin looked hot, as if he were burn-


ing up inside; tension poured off him like heat. Neverthe-


less he was physically intact.


His eyes hid whatever he was feeling. He glanced at


Morn quickly, but didn't meet her gaze. He may have


been angry at her for refusing to doom Nick. Or he may


have been ashamed of himself for wanting to lock Nick


out.


Or he may have begun to recover the pieces of her


past-


The thought that he might be able to remember how


she'd abandoned herself to Nick made her own skin burn.


Yet that chagrin was small compared to other, more pro-


found shames. He might recall how Angus had raped


and brutalized her - or the way she'd saved his life -


Or how she'd killed Starmaster -


As he wheeled away and hurried toward the bridge,


he seemed to take the last of her strength with him.


Without warning her legs became so weak that she nearly


folded to the deck.


She'd been terrified that how he was born and what


he knew about her might drive him insane; that only the


strange blockage of his memories kept his mind in one


piece. Yet he was whole now, whatever he remembered.


Angus had given that to him — or done it to him.


His mind was no longer hers. He'd begun to inherit


the legacy of his father.


And he'd had to fight for it.


Suddenly she wanted Angus to come back so that she


could force or beg him to tell her what he'd done to her


son.


She stood in the passage without moving, too beaten


and exhausted to remove more than her helmet.


Fortunately Vector seemed to understand her con-


dition. As soon as he'd put away his suit and projectile


launcher, he knelt in front of her despite the pain in his


joints to unseal her suit, unstrap the harness from her


hips, rug the tough fabric off over her boots.


Mikka had already finished storing her gear. She scruti-


nized Morn for a moment, then turned to her brother.


Her old scowl was etched into her features, but fatigue


and concern had worn off every other expression. 'Ciro,


find the galley, ' she told him. 'A ship like this, the food-


vend probably works by magic. Make coffee, cocoa, hype


- anything hot. And sandwiches. Bring them to the


bridge. '


Ciro? Morn thought wearily. She'd never heard Pup's


real name. Like Davies', his face had changed since she'd


last seen it: danger and fear had aged him by several


years. For the first time, his resemblance to his sister was


obvious.


He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it when


Mikka pushed his shoulder gently. 'Right away would


be good, ' she murmured, unconsciously copying Nick.


'Right now would be better. '


Ciro ducked his head and went to obey.


With Sib behind her, Mikka followed Davies toward


the bridge.


Vector smiled wanly at Morn. Pain or exertion left a


sheen on his round face. When they were alone, he said,


'I owe you an apology. '


She blinked at him dumbly. Her brain was full of


Davies and weakness: she had no idea what he was talk-


ing about.


He levered himself up from his knees. Old hurts ham-


pered his gaze as well as his joints. 'If it weren't covered


by so much other damage, ' he explained quietly, 'you


would have a bruise where I hit you. '


As careful as velvet, he stroked the ridge of her cheek-


bone with his fingertips.


Instinctively she flinched away. He was male, like Nick;


like Angus. His touch and his gentleness seemed to


impact her like a blow.


He smiled again as he lowered his hand. In a tone like


a shrug, he said, 'I like to think I would regret that in


any case. But as it happens I have more reason than you


may realize. You forced me to look at the implications of


my life, and I didn't like what I saw. If I were wiser - or


perhaps simply braver - I would have hit myself, not


you.


'I don't understand any of this. How it comes about


that a man like Angus Thermopyle is here to rescue you


from Nick and the Amnion - well, it's beyond me. But


it's given me a chance to see things differently. That's my


other reason for regret. In retrospect, it seems' - his smile


broadened slightly - 'downright callow of me to have hit


the woman who changed my life. '


What he was saying must have been important, if he


made such a point of it; but its significance eluded her.


Once she realized that he didn't mean to hurt her, she


could no longer focus on him. In her thoughts she'd


already joined Davies. On the bridge of a ship she knew


- a UMCP ship, whether Angus had any dealings with


the police or not. Only her weakness held her back; only


the immeasurable cost of her hours in an Amnion


cell.


She needed her zone implant control. Without it she


had too little substance, too few resources, to change


anyone's life, even her own.


'I'm sorry, ' she began. 'I need-' Unable to say the


words, she stopped.


Apparently he had his own ideas about what she


needed. He nodded as if he were amused by his personal


follies. 'So do I. '


Then he took her arm and helped her into motion.


As frail as a derelict, she shuffled through the ship.


When she reached the head of the companionway, she


heard voices below her.


'If anyone tried to break in, the computer didn't record


it, ' Davies reported, presumably to Mikka. 'I checked the


communications log. There's a whole series of threats,


some from the Bill, some from Operations. They get


more hysterical as they go along, but they aren't very


specific. Then they stop. The channel goes dead. No more


demands, no more threats — and no more operational


data. Nothing but static. Calm Horizons could be right


on top of us - there could be half a dozen ships coming


in on Billingate - and we wouldn't know it. ' He gave a


sardonic snort which reminded Morn of Angus. 'On the


other hand, we're still getting installation power. '


'Ship's status?' Mikka asked brusquely.


'Up and running, ' Davies said. 'All systems green. I


went through the checklists. We're ready. '


'Then give me scan, ' she ordered. 'Let's find out who's


in range-to hurt us. '


Morn pulled away from Vector. Bracing her arms on


the rails and locking her knees, she lowered herself down


the treads. She wanted her son to believe in her. If he


saw how weak she was, he might not trust her.


He sat at the command station. His hands on the con-


sole were accurate, but cautious; not particularly adept.


Morn's memories and his time with Angus familiarized


him with the ship, but they couldn't take the place of


experience. He was probably competent to run Trumpet


under normal circumstances: the present danger required


someone with more expertise.


Mikka was the best choice Angus could have made,


even though she knew less about Trumpet than Davies


did.


She and Sib stood on either side of the command


station, watching for data as Davies activated scan and


fed the results to the display screens. In moments blips


appeared on a schematic of Billingate's control space.


Davies typed a few guesses based on the ship's last oper-


ational input. The blips took on ship id.


'That's all we can see, ' he muttered. Thanatos Minor


blocks us from the shipyard. We're blind past the


horizons. '


Holding her breath, Morn moved to the back of his


g-seat. If she braced herself there, she could stay on her


feet and study the screens.


Five blips. Two of them were off in the direction of


human space, one in-coming, the other heading out.


Trumpet had picked up their demands for traffic data and


navigational protocols had obtained ship id from those


transmissions. The in-coming vessel called herself Gam-


bler's Luck. Unless she slowed her approach, she would be


in range to have an effect on the action around Thanatos


Minor in twenty minutes. The out-going ship, Free


Lunch, was burning hard, obviously on the run from


trouble.


The other three blips Davies had identified by guess:


their transmissions, if any, were all tight-beamed. Never-


theless Morn was sure he'd named them correctly.


Soar. Calm Horizons. And the Amnion shuttle.


'It looks, ' Davies pronounced, 'like Soar is moving to


pick up the shuttle. Its course is erratic, and there's a


sputter in its emission signature: I'm assuming it was Soar


that fired first. The shuttle must have been right beside


Captain's Fancy. It got caught in the discontinuities. I


think it's out of control. But Soar won't have any trouble


catching it. '


His father's voice and Morn's training made him sound


certain.


'Calm Horizons is coming this way, ' he went on. 'Prob-


ably wants to improve her field of fire. '


Will she attack while we're still docked?' Sib asked


tensely. The calm or resignation he'd felt earlier was gone.


'She can't hit us without damaging Billingate. '


'If I were the Amnion, ' Davies rasped, 'I wouldn't


worry about that right now. They've lost Tranquil Hege-


mony - in fact, they've lost most of their installation. And


they know Nick works for the cops. ' Complex vibrations


sharpened his tone, like whetted knives. Morn heard


anger, revulsion - and a strange note of pride. They


know about his immunity drug. '


As he said that, a small sun of fear and shame went


nova in her heart. They know — Of course they knew.


Nick had told her that. But how did Davies know?


They're bound to assume, ' he continued, 'that's why


their mutagens didn't work on Morn. So they have to


believe he set them up. He and Angus must be working


together — he gave them Morn to bait some kind of


UMCP trap.


'Stopping this ship probably takes precedence over


everything else. '


Morn's knees failed: she sagged against his seat. 'You


remember. ' If she'd ever needed her zone implant control,


she needed it now. 'Your memory came back. ' How else


could she face the things her son knew about her? 'You


remember Nick telling me about the drug. '


No wonder he wanted to lock Nick out of the ship.


He remembered the things she'd done with him; the lies


and desperation; the sex -


'Yes. ' He spoke over his shoulder without facing her.


'I remember it all. ' He sounded far away, too far to be


reached; doomed by knowledge. 'It started coming back


as soon as I saw Angus. '


He remembered the people she'd killed.


He remembered what Angus had done to her.


Did he want Angus' death as much as he wanted


Nick's? Or was all his remaining rage and revulsion fixed


on her? Had he given his loyalty to his father because


he couldn't bear the memories he'd inherited from his


mother?


Anger and revulsion made perfect sense to her; but


what had he found in her experience - or his own - to


be proud of?


If she lost him - or he lost her - he would have nothing


left except Angus.


Vector had moved to stand behind her. Although he


didn't touch her, he seemed to lean toward her as if he


wanted to shore her up somehow.


'Speaking of Angus, ' he put in quietly, 'how much time


does he have left?'


'He told me an hour. ' Mikka's tone was abstract: most


of her attention was on the screens. 'I checked my suit


chronometer when he said it. He's got' - she glanced at


the command console readouts - 'eighteen minutes. '


Davies swore under his breath. That gives Calm Hori-


zons time to position herself right over us. We won't have


any kind of escape trajectory to get out of range. '


'Then we'd better go now, ' Nick drawled mordantly.


Sib and Mikka whirled; Davies twisted his head toward


the companionway. Supporting herself on the command


seat and Vector's shoulder, Morn turned as Nick started


down the steps with Pup in front of him like a shield.


Pup moved as if he had cramps in his arms. His eyes


seemed to roll, showing flashes of white; his young fea-


tures were stretched taut.


His hands were empty. Apparently Nick had interrup-


ted him before he finished in the galley.


Nick had taken the time to remove his EVA suit. He


was grinning sharply, but a spasm in his cheek clenched


one side of his grin into a snarl. Blood filled his scars:


they looked black and vengeful. Above them his eyes


glared wildly, as if he were cornered.


—He descended the companionway without haste.


Keeping himself behind Pup, he reached the deck.


'We can't afford to wait, ' he announced like a splash


of acid. 'Davies, this is your chance to convince me you're


worth keeping alive. Disengage from dock. Give me a


normal departure lift-off. Get thrust ready to burn. Put


the gap drive on standby. '


Davies lips pulled back from his teeth. Deliberately he


took his hands off the command board and gripped the


sides of the console.


'Do it now, ' Nick warned. 'You're fucking dispensable,


you know that?'


'Nick. ' Mikka took a step forward, cocked her hips


belligerently. 'I'm in command here. We're not taking


your orders any more. None of us are. '


There was something wrong about the way Pup stood.


His posture was too rigid; the line of his spine was too


acute. Morn opened her mouth to caution Mikka, but


her throat locked down on the words, keeping her silent.


Nick waggled his eyebrows grotesquely at his former


second. 'I'll give you one chance. Tell him' - he jerked a


nod at Davies - 'to do what I just said. Make him obey.


Then I'll let you be in command.


'Otherwise-'


He lifted his left hand from behind Pup's back.


He was holding Morn's black box.


'I've got my fingers on enough buttons, ' he said cheer-


fully, 'to fry her brain.


'You hear me, you little shit?' he flared at Davies.


Then he relaxed. 'One squeeze, and she's a null-wave


transmitter. Which would just about count as justice,


don't you think?


'Let's start over again. ' He spat each syllable precisely.


'Dis-en-gage from dock. Give me -'


Mikka flung herself at him with all her strength.


Pup's whole body flinched in panic. Morn tried to cry


out, but she couldn't unclose her throat.


Quick as a snake, Nick snatched his right hand into


sight and jammed his handgun at Pup's ear.


Mikka stopped as if she'd slammed into a wall.


'That's better. ' Nick grinned and snarled. 'Now we're


getting somewhere. '


He ground the muzzle of his gun into Pup's ear until


Mikka retreated past the command station. Then he


released the pressure. Gasping through his teeth, Pup


stumbled away. At once Nick caught him by the back of


his shipsuit, swung him to the side, and pulled him into


the command second's g-seat.


Pup braced himself there with his hands on the pad-


ding down inside the arms; but Nick didn't give him a


chance to jump free. Pivoting the second's station, he put


Pup and the console between himself and the others.


Shielded again, he rested his forearms on the back of


the g-seat, his handgun propped against Pup's head,


Morn's zone implant control poised.


'Are you listening now?' he inquired comfortably. 'Are


you paying attention? I can kill you all from here if you


so much as twitch. And dear old Captain Thermo-pile


can't sneak up behind me. ' He nodded to show that he


had a clear view of the companionway. 'In any case, he


won't get the chance. We're leaving.


'Davies Hyland, you slimy little asshole' - he faced


Davies squarely - 'you'd better start following orders.


Morn goes first if you don't. For the last time' - without


warning he broke into a shout like a scream - 'disengage


from dock!'


'No. ' Morn was astonished that she could speak. She


was too weak to remain locked, however. And Davies


needed her. All these people needed her. Nick was her


problem.


'I don't care what happens to me. I'm useless anyway,


without-' She flicked a gesture at his left hand. If she


could have moved toward him, she would have done so;


but she was too exhausted to let go of Vector and the


g-seat.


She'd driven Nick to this. With her lies as well as her


convictions — with her false sexual abandon and her


honest commitment to her son - she'd cost him his invin-


cibility, his belief in himself. That also was expensive.


Now she had to deal with the consequences.


'Go ahead and fry me, if that's what you want. Kill us


all - try to get away on your own. Or wake up and face


the truth. You're finished.


'The stories are over. Nick Succorso the famous swash-


buckling hero doesn't exist anymore. You've lost your


ship - you've lost everything. Isn't that true, Nick?


'Isn't it?'


Pup squirmed as if something in the g-seat had poked


him.


Nick responded by slapping the side of Pup's head


with the handgun. The boy slumped, so pale that he


might have been about to faint.


However, Nick had reacted without really noticing


Mikka's brother. The spasm spread across his face as if


Morn had burned a nerve; he was all snarl. His eyes were


as dark and hidden as caves.


Softly Morn asked, 'What happened to your mission


against Thanatos Minor?'


He couldn't refuse to answer: his loss was too great.


Bitterly aggrieved, he replied, 'I failed. Is that what you


want to hear?' His scars looked like scabs on his cheeks.


'I failed.


'I was supposed to sabotage the Bill with that immun-


ity drug. I was supposed to set him up with it and then


substitute a fake. Destroy his credibility. That was the


plan, Hashi Lebwohl's plan. You were my failsafe. You


were ruined anyway, Angus fucking Thermo-pile saw to


that. Lebwohl let me have you so that if everything went


wrong I could sell you instead of giving up the real drug. '


He spoke like a fuel fire in a constricted space. Flames


fed on themselves, mounting toward an explosion. 'But


that was before I saw Sorus.


'Do you know who she is?' His eyes ached at Morn,


as hungry as black holes. 'Of course you don't. I never


told you her name. Sorus Chatelaine. Captain of Soar.


She's the woman who cut me.


'As soon as I saw her, I gave up on the Bill. Let


Lebwohl do his own dirty work. I went after her. I


drove her off Billingate, got her out in space where she


was vulnerable. Then I sent Captain's Fancy to finish her


off. '


No one on the bridge appeared to breathe. Sweat ran


unnoticed down Sib's face. Davies sat at the command


station like a knot of violence. Fear and fury struggled


back and forth across Mikka's features, paralyzing her.


Vector's blue eyes had gone wide, as if he were bemused


by wonders.


Morn watched Nick gravely, waiting for his hand to


tighten; waiting for the neural apotheosis which would


extinguish all the synapses of her brain; bring her res-


ponsibility for what she'd done to him to its natural end.


'Thanks to you, ' he growled viciously, 'the Amnion


thought they had my priority-codes. They thought they


could control my ship. That's why they didn't hit her as


soon as she blew dock. And that gave Liete her chance.


I set Soar up. I would have gone after her myself, if the


Bill hadn't barred me. So I took the only chance I had


left. I told Liete what I wanted. I sent her to kill Sorus


for me.


'But she didn't do it. She knew what I wanted, and she


didn't do it. I failed, all right? You goddamn women are


all the same. You use me for all you're fucking worth, and


then you cut me and leave me to die.


'It's not going to happen again!' His cry was an echo of


the lost howl with which he'd watched Liete betray him.


'This time - this time - I'm going to kill every one of you


who doesn't do what I want!'


For some reason Pup met Davies' eyes. Through his


pallor and panic, he gave Davies a tiny nod.


'Bullshit, Nick!' Slowly, almost unthreateningly,


Davies stood up from the command station. Without


appearing to move, he placed himself between Nick and


Morn. 'You aren't going to kill any of us. If you do, you


won't have an audience for all this self-pity. You won't


have anybody left to blame. '


Nick flinched; his face twisted into a mask of anguish.


'That does it. ' His tone was pure bloodshed. 'You're first. '


Leaning over the top of the g-seat, he aimed his gun


at Davies' face.


As frantic as a convulsion, Pup brought up a stun-prod


no bigger than a dagger and stabbed it into Nick's armpit.


That close to his heart the stun-prod had enough


impact to knock him to the deck in a pile of dissociated


limbs and spasms.


Burning forward, Mikka snatched Pup out of the


g-seat and hauled him back.


Like the stroke of a piston, Davies drove at Nick: he


kicked the handgun out of reach, grabbed up Morn's


black box. For a moment he crouched over Nick's twitch-


ing, unconscious form as if he intended to break his neck.


'Davies, ' Morn panted, 'don't!'


Then she seemed to run out of transitions.


Between one heartbeat and the next, she found herself


on the deck in Vector's arms.


Without leaving Nick, Davies appeared at her side.


Unexpected and unannounced, Angus swung down


the companionway rails onto the bridge.


He'd removed his helmet, but he still wore his EVA


suit. Streaks of dried sweat grimed his face; his eyes


bulged as if he were in the last stages of dehydration.


She blinked once, and several people were in different


positions. A voice which might have been Angus'


demanded water. Pup was gone. Woozy with stun, Nick


climbed to his feet. Sib had retrieved the handgun: he


held it in both fists, pointing it at his former captain.


Angus sat at the command station. Mikka stood in front


of him with her mouth open.


'Tell me later, ' he said. His tone was raw with thirst.


'We're leaving right now. '


She pointed at the display screens.


He nodded brusquely.


'Find cabins, ' he ordered. We're going to burn in


about five minutes. The g-seals on the bunks are your


only protection.


'Davies, for God's sake, put her to sleep. She's in with-


drawal - it could kill her. And hard g triggers her gap-


sickness. Take her to a cabin. Stay with her. I'll tell you


when it's safe to wake her up. '


At the edges of her vision, Morn saw Davies raise her


black box and peer at the function labels.


You know as much about it as I do, she tried to say.


All you have to do is remember. But she couldn't speak.


Her failures welled up from the bottom of her heart.


She'd endured too much - was in too much need. She


lasted long enough to see Pup hurry down the


companionway carrying a g-flask for Angus; long enough


to hear Mikka order Sib and Vector off the bridge.


Then Davies touched buttons, and she fell into dark-


ness as if it were the gap between her abilities and her


desires.


ANGUS


Angus emptied the g-flask while he watched Davies


carry Morn up the companionway. He wanted to


go himself; wanted to hold her in his own arms


for a while. Her condition still brought glints of fury and


grief past the control of his zone implants. His desire to


kill Nick had settled in as if it were the definitive passion


of his life. But of course his programming wouldn't let


him harm anyone connected with the UMCP. And he


had too many other threats to juggle -


The new countdown running in his head left no room


for mistakes.


He could pull data from Trumpet's logs faster than


Mikka could put it into words. A glance or two told him


why Morn, Nick and the others were still alive — why


Captain's Fancy and Tranquil Hegemony didn't appear on


the display screen in front of him. He couldn't under-


stand what had possessed Captain's Fancy to sacrifice her-


self like that. At the moment, however, he didn't need to


understand: the fact itself was enough.


Two less threats to worry about. That left Calm Hori-


zons, Soar and the Amnion shuttle. It left Gambler's Luck,


Free Lunch and at least half a dozen other ships trying to


get out of trouble by breaking away from dock.


It left the countdown.


He needed help. He could run Trumpet indefinitely on


his own: he was built for that. But he and his ship would


stand a better chance if he had help.


Sib Mackern and Vector Shaheed had already gone to


find cabins where they could ride out heavy g. Davies


would stay with Morn. That left Mikka Vasaczk, Ciro —


and Nick.


His thirst was loo fierce to be assuaged by one


g-flask. Nevertheless his zone implants enabled him to


ignore his craving for more water. His computer had con-


cluded that he was no longer in immediate danger from


dehydration.


Mikka was the obvious choice. She was Nick's second;


already trained. But Angus didn't trust Nick out of his


sight -


Ignoring the possibility that anyone who was taken by


surprise might fall and get hurt, he tapped thrust. A hard


jolt rang through the ship as he blew the docking clamps


and ripped Trumpet free from Billingate's cables.


Mikka caught herself on the front of the command


console; Ciro grabbed at his sister's shoulders. Nick stag-


gered, nearly lost his balance. His eyes were glazed, and


his mouth hung slack; stun still confused his neurons.


Angus grinned at the thought that someone had found


Milos' weapon and used it on Nick.


'You two get out of here, ' he told Mikka and Ciro.


'You haven't got much time - I want you safe.


'You, ' he cracked like a lash at Nick. 'You're my second.


Sit down and get to work. '


Protest flared on Mikka's face. With an effort, she


smothered it. 'Come on, ' she growled at her brother's


alarm. 'Angus can handle Nick. If the two of them can't get


us out of here, we were never going to make it anyway. '


Ciro brandished Milos' stun-prod in Nick's direction,


warning him; then followed Mikka off the bridge.


Nick ignored the boy. He was blinking rapidly at


Angus, trying to focus his eyes.


Angus keyed attitudinal thrust, orienting Trumpet


along a departure trajectory toward Calm Horizons. As


the ship pulled slowly away, Thanatos Minor's g eased.


'I said-' he rasped.


'I heard you, ' Nick panted. 'I'll do it. Give me a minute. '


Breathing hard to clear his head, he leaned into the


second's g-seat. His hands fumbled as he attached his


belt.


'What am I supposed to do?'


Angus toggled controls. 'You've got helm. Scan data


is on the screens. I'll do the rest. ' Simultaneously he


brought up targ and communications, 'Run us out on a


heading for Calm Horizons. No more than one g.


'Evade if anyone fires. Use as much thrust as you need.


Otherwise stay on a slow intercept course for that


warship. '


The countdown clicked ahead like a timing fuse. Nick


rubbed his hands over his eyes, ground the heels of his


palms into his scars. A moment later a surge of accelera-


tion tugged Angus against the back of his seat as Nick


heated the thruster tubes.


The pressure stabilized near one g. Nick typed a subtle


correction. Almost at once the scan plot on the screen


showed Trumpet moving in a straight line for Calm


Horizons.


Good. Maybe Nick was smart enough to realize that


if he didn't take orders now he wouldn't live long enough


to get a second chance.


Trumpet's guns were charged, but Angus didn't intend


to use diem if he could avoid it: he didn't want to be


caught in a fight here. Instead, despite the drain on


thrust, he activated her shields - reflectors to fend off


laser fire; particle sinks to protect against matter cannon.


Then he keyed his console pickup and began hailing


Calm Horizons.


Six minutes. Not nearly enough time for Trumpet to


get away safely. Even through vacuum, the shock-wave


would hit her like a fist. Gap scouts weren't designed to


stand that kind of stress.


On the other hand, it ought to be possible to persuade Calm Horizons to hold fire for only six minutes.


'This is Angus Thermopyle, ' he announced into the


pickup, 'captain, Needle-class gap scout Trumpet, to


Amnion defensive Calm Horizons. Don't fire. I say again,


do not fire. My ship has no offensive weapons. I can't


threaten you.


'I have prisoners I wish to trade for safe departure.


I'll hold course and acceleration steady to intercept your


position at -' His computer ran a lightning calculation:


he named the time it gave him. 'I'm prepared to offer


Nick Succorso, Morn Hyland and Davies Hyland in


exchange for permission to depart Amnion space. Cap-


tain Succorso ordered his vessel, Captain's Fancy, to


destroy Tranquil Hegemony. Morn Hyland is a UMCP


ensign. Davies Hyland is her son, force-grown on


Enablement Station.


'They mean nothing to me. You can have them if you'll


let me go. '


Firmly he silenced the pickup.


Nick's hands had frozen on his board, poised for obedi-


ence or sabotage. 'You sonofabitch, ' he murmured.


In case Nick tried something desperate, Angus braced


himself to deactivate the second's station.


But Nick appeared to know that he didn't have any


choices left. 'What makes you think you can bluff your


way out of this?' he asked thinly. 'What kind of scam are


you and Milos running?'


Five minutes.


As Trumpet pulled away, her scan field past the planet-


oid's horizons improved. Now he counted ten ships out


of dock. Some were fleeing. Others converged on his


trajectory purposefully, sent by the Bill - or the Amnion.


Soar had matched course and velocity with the shuttle to


take the craft aboard.


'Me and Milos?' Angus wanted to laugh. 'You're out


of your mind.


'Let me guess what happened to you, ' he countered.


For reasons of its own, his programming didn't require


him to explain himself. 'I put Mikka in command. You


didn't want to wait for me, so you tried to take over. But


you let a kid with a stun-prod beat you. Another triumph.


Nick, you're a walking success story. No wonder your


brains are scrambled. '


Nick's face twisted, but he didn't retort.


'I'm going to give you two orders, ' Angus went on.


'Try not to scramble them, too. The first time I say now,


veer off and burn. I don't care what heading you choose.


Just get us away from as many of those ships as you can.


They can't all be coming our way by accident.


The important thing is maximum thrust. She won't


want to do it - I'm bleeding power for her shields. Push


her red if you have to.


'The second time I say now, give me one of your famous


blink crossings. '


Four minutes.


'Can you handle that, or should I do it myself?'


'I'm not sure I care, ' Nick growled. 'It might be fun to


see you get out of this on your own. '


Nevertheless Angus' readouts told him that Nick had


begun to plot new courses while he readied the gap drive.


Abruptly the bridge speakers blared to life.


'Trumpet, come about. This is Stonemason. I have


orders from the Bill. If you don't reverse thrust, I'm


going to open fire. You have sixty seconds to comply. '


On the display screen ship id appeared beside Stone-


mason's blip. She was already in range to attack, and


gaining fast.


Almost immediately, however, Trumpet picked up the


mechanical sound of an Amnioni transmission.


'Amnion defensive Calm Horizons to human ship Stone-


mason. You are required to withhold fire. You transgress


Amnion space. Therefore Amnion purposes take pre-


cedence. The destruction of Trumpet is unacceptable. She


carries individuals which are necessary to the Amnion.


'If Captain Angus Thermopyle intends treachery, your


assistance in preventing Trumpet's flight will be


rewarded. However, if he deals with the Amnion


honestly, he will be permitted to depart. The Bill will


be offered' - the metallic voice appeared to hesitate -


'other compensation. '


Angus bared his teeth. 'It's like I always say. One good


lie is worth a thousand truths.


'Hold course and acceleration steady. Even if the


Amnion know I'm lying - even if they want you dead -


they can't pass up a chance to get Morn and Davies back. '


Nick nodded grimly. He'd chosen his new heading.


All the gap drive's status indicators showed green.


Three minutes.


If Stonemason hesitated that long, she wouldn't live to


regret it.


On the other hand, if she fired before then, the Amnion


would learn more than Angus wanted them to know


about Trumpet's shields.


'Negative on that, Calm Horizons' Stonemason


returned. 'I can't tell the Bill you want me to hold off.


Operations has lost communication. If I don't follow his


orders, he won't let me back in dock. '


Before Calm Horizons could reply, Trumpet's antennae


picked a new voice out of the crackling dark.


'Calm Horizons, listen to me! This is the Bill! I'm on a


cargo shuttle. This is the only radio I can get my hands


on.


'Don't trust Thermopyle! He's lying. He's going to try


to skip past you somehow.


'Ask him how he got Davies Hyland! Ask him how he


got Morn Hyland. He won't let you have Succorso. He


and Succorso are in this together. They snatched the


Hyland kid from me. Then the three of them took his


mother from you. They're the ones who broke into your


installation, killed your people, destroyed Tranquil


Hegemony.


'Don't listen to him, Calm Horizons!. It's a trick!'


Two minutes.


Before the Bill stopped shouting, the speakers picked


up Calm Horizons' transmission again.


'Calm Horizons to all human ships in the vicinity of


Thanatos Minor. ' The alien voice held a note of urgency


which Angus hadn't heard before. 'You are required to


converge on the human ship Trumpet. Trumpet must be


captured. Human ships which assist in Trumpet's capture


will be given the greatest rewards the Amnion can offer.


Human ships which do not assist in Trumpet's capture


will be presumed hostile and destroyed.


'Message repeats. Calm Horizons to all -'


Nick cut through the broadcast. 'This isn't going to be


easy. ' Strain shone like a sheen of sweat in his tone. His


hands held steady on his board, but his eyes flicked and


rolled like a cornered beast's. 'No matter how we veer


off, that fucker will have a clear shot at us. Her targ can


handle our acceleration, you can count on that. And those


other bastards are all moving faster than we are. '


Angus now counted four ships in addition to Stone-


mason driving hard to form a cordon around Trumpet.


Harshly Nick went on, We'll need at least thirty


seconds to pick up enough velocity for an effective blink


crossing. In thirty seconds every asshole out there will


have time to hit us. '


One minute.


Angus mimicked the superior drawl Nick had lost.


'Then I guess we need a diversion.


'Get ready. I'm going to cut this fine. '


Heavy g: pressure that would drive Morn into gap-


sickness, if Davies didn't take care of her; enough pres-


sure to squeeze Angus and Nick like sponges in their


seats. Nick wasn't familiar with Trumpet yet: he didn't


realize how hard she could burn. Nevertheless he was


right that Calm Horizons' targ could handle it. And he


was almost right about the amount of time Trumpet


would need before she could attempt a blink crossing.


For the first twenty seconds she might as well be a


stationary target.


Unless she rode the shock-wave.


If Dios and Lebwohl had miscalculated —


If their understanding of Billingate's fusion generator


wasn't accurate enough -


Or if Trumpet couldn't take the stress -


'Calm Horizons to human ship Trumpet' the speakers


reported. 'You are required to discontinue thrust. Do so


immediately. Commence braking. This will be taken as


evidence of good faith. If you do not comply instantly,


you will be presumed hostile. For the purposes of the


Amnion your destruction will take precedence over the


value of your prisoners. '


A wail that Angus couldn't utter filled his chest - a cry


of fear which his zone implants and prewritten instruc-


tions refused to permit. He sounded as bleak as a grave


as he told Nick, 'Now. '


Nick slapped keys with his palms.


A structural roar seemed to deafen the speakers as


Trumpet's thrust leaped to full power. Despite his


reinforced strength, Angus slammed back in his seat, then


fell sideways as Trumpet cut to her new course.


Away from Calm Horizons.


Between Stonemason and two other ships.


On an oblique heading for the fringes of human space.


Scan detected targ from several sources tracking the


ship, swinging guns into line.


Two seconds later a nuclear blast tore the heart out of


Thanatos Minor.


A theoretically impossible fusion accident had become


possible when Angus, deep in Billingate's infrastructure,


had cut his way through the failsafes and re-wired some


of the circuits. If the Bill had remained in his strongroom,


and Operations had been able to restore internal com-


munications, he might have received warning of what


was about to happen; but he wouldn't have been able to


stop it. Not without a complete overhaul of the power


station's control.


When a fusion generator sufficient to run all of Billing-


ate exploded, it produced more than enough destructive


force to break open the planetoid.


Impact screamed through Trumpet's hull as the shock-


wave struck. Rock like a maelstrom ripped the vacuum


in every direction. In seconds, fractions of seconds, the


stone storm would catch her, tear her shields apart like


vapor, twist her to scrap in the vast dark. Already half the


human ships were gone, punched to pieces by Thanatos


Minor's ruin.


Through his ship's screaming Angus also screamed:


'Now!'


Against the brutal kick of the blast, Nick pitched at his


board, slapped keys with his open hands.


Scant meters ahead of the rock, Trumpet went into


tach; plunged like Morn into the gap.


WARDEN


In the aftermath of the kaze's attack on UMCPHQ,


Warden Dios was summoned before Holt Fasner.


He'd been able to prevent Godsen Frik from


answering such a summons. For that reason he was


indirectly responsible for Godsen's death. But he couldn't


refuse himself. The Dragon was his boss.


If he'd been susceptible to vain regrets, he might have


cursed the naivete or blind idealism - or perhaps the


arrogant ambition - which had inspired him to accept


Holt Fasner's offer of service in the first place. He wasn't


that kind of man, however. Instead he shrugged his


shoulders ruefully and went on with his job. Time and


experience had worked few changes in the nature of his


motivations. Such as it was, his naivete had dissolved; he


was no longer blindly idealistic; his ambitions had shed


their arrogance. Nevertheless he did what he did now for


much the same reasons which had originally led him to


accept positions in SMI Security and then the UMCP.


He believed that problems should be solved by the


people who became aware of them. Devotion, labor and


care couldn't be expected from human beings who


saw no need for such things. Therefore they had to be


supplied by men like himself and women like Min


Donner.


At one time he'd privately considered this conviction


admirable; hence the suggestion of arrogance in his


ambitions. Now, however, he saw it as the means by


which Holt Fasner had manipulated him.


Unfortunately he couldn't give it up. The fact that he


hadn't been wise enough to prevent his beliefs from being


used against him was no reason to surrender them. And


to a significant extent the problems of the present had


been created by his own actions; his own compromises


and misjudgments.


Those compromises and misjudgments had proved


exceptionally fertile ground for the Dragon. He'd sown


many things there.


Warden Dios had no intention of shirking the harvest.


So he took his personal shuttle from UMCPHQ to the


'home office' of the United Mining Companies - the


orbital platform from which Holt ran his complex enter-


prises. He disembarked into an escort of what Holt called


'Home Security' — more accurately Fasner's bodyguards.


Although Warden knew his way, HS accompanied him


to the secure center of the station, where - so the conceit


ran — the Dragon lurked in his lair.


When the doors and walls and screens had sealed


behind him, rendering the lair and its secrets impregnable


to espionage, he came face to face with the man who had


made him what he was.


Delicate and insidious fears took hold of him whenever


he contemplated his boss.


Stay calm, he told himself.


Stay clear.


Remember what you're doing.


Holt Fasner's aura was disturbing. Despite his one


hundred fifty years, he looked younger than Warden;


superficially in better health. Subtle drugs wiped eighty


or ninety years off his skin; lifted at least half that many


from the tissue of his heart and lungs, the marrow of his


bones. Only the advanced ruddiness of his cheeks, the


occasional tremor in his hands, the way he blinked as if


he had difficulty keeping his eyes in focus, and the hint


of mortality in his IR emissions, conveyed the impression


that he wasn't entirely well.


He smiled a cold greeting past the surface of his utili-


tarian desk. Like the desk, his office was crammed with


data terminals, video screens and communications gear


of every description — as ready for information as a living


brain - but it wasn't particularly expansive; or even


notably comfortable.


'Well, Ward. ' He waved a hand at a chair across the


desk from him. 'Sit down. Let's have a chat. '


Schooling himself to conceal his anxiety, Warden took


a seat and folded his arms over his heavy chest.


'We'd better do more than chat, ' he said as if he could


afford to be impatient with the most powerful man in


human space. 'This is a bad time for me to be away.


There's too much going on.


'You know that, of course, ' he added, 'so I assume you


have something particular in mind. Ordinary channels


are secure enough for chats. '


Holt gave a gesture like a shrug; his aura was tinged


with tension. 'Come on, Ward - humor me. Let's not


rush into this. You can spare a few minutes. How's the


weather over there?' He smiled humorlessly. 'Have you


found any leads on those kazes? What's the news from


Thanatos Minor?'


Warden sat like a sphinx. 'Rush into what?'


Unruffled by directness, Holt countered, 'What in


heaven made you think it was a good idea to restrict


Godsen? I can't honestly say I liked him, but he did his


job well, and he'll be missed. ' The Dragon blinked in


small bursts like shivers. 'I'm sure by now you must have


realized that he would still be alive if you hadn't given


him those orders. '


'Yes, actually. ' If Holt had possessed a prosthesis like


Warden's, he would have seen regret and useless anger


swarming like insects under the surface of the UMCP


director's skin. 'I did realize that. '


'And - ?' Holt prompted.


Warden steadied himself with the pressure of his


arms. 'I did it to protect him. That's what I thought


I was doing, at any rate. I asked myself how the kaze


who attacked Captain Vertigus could have obtained


legitimate id, and I concluded it must have come from


a traitor in one of three places - GCES Security,


UMCPHQ, or here. With all due respect, I discounted


my people. '


'But not mine, ' Holt said for him.


Warden nodded. 'And not the Council's - although


yours are more likely. Between the two of us, you and I


supply GCES Security with virtually everything. And you


have a lot more people than they do - or I do. More


people means a greater chance that one of them is a


traitor.


'Until I located the source of that kaze's id, ' he con-


tinued, 'I thought I could minimize the danger by


restricting Godsen. He was more vulnerable than anyone


else, since he has so many reasons to visit Suka Bator. '


And you.


'Of course, I couldn't have foreseen that you would


call him - or that you would suddenly need to see him


in person. '


Blinking furiously, Holt asked, 'Do you think there's


a connection?'


Stay calm, Warden recited like a litany. Remember


what you're doing.


'I hope you can tell me. In fact, I hope that's why


you sent for me. The timing is certainly curious. Godsen


would still be alive if he'd answered your summons. Did


you know he was the next target? Did you know who's


responsible?'


That was as close to honesty as he chose to come.


'Of course not, ' Holt snapped in irritation. 'If I knew


"who's responsible", you would already have his head on


a platter. Weren't you listening when I said I'm going to


miss Godsen?'


Almost immediately, however, he recovered his hum-


orless poise. 'But since you mention it, that does bring me


to one of the subjects I wanted to chat about. Godsen's


replacement. It's an important position. In fact, I predict


it's going to be crucial. Have you had time to think about


it? I have a good candidate in mind. '


Warden drew a slow breath past the pressure of his


arms. 'I've already promoted someone. '


Holt dropped his jaw to emphasize his surprise; acid


colors swirled in his aura. 'My, my, Ward. Whatever pos-


sessed you? You know how vital I consider PR. Why else


do you imagine I insisted on Godsen in the first place?'


His tone sharpened. 'What made you think I wouldn't


want a say in his replacement?'


Warden seemed to feel the Dragon's breath on his face,


hot and fatal; but he kept his face impassive. Dispassion-


ately he lifted his shoulders. 'As you say, PR is vital -


especially now. I needed someone right away. And I had


no way of knowing you were about to suggest a replace-


ment. I suppose I assumed you had too many other


things on your mind. '


Holt studied him hard. 'Who did you promote?'


'One of Godsen's assistants. A woman named Koina


Hannish. '


'You and women. ' Holt snorted. The next thing I


know, you're going to replace Hashi with some young


flirt who makes you feel all warm and cuddly. '


'Wait a minute. ' Warden knew his boss well enough


to understand that Holt used insults as camouflage for


his true intentions. Still the UMCP director needed some


kind of emotional outlet. 'Is that your opinion of Min


Donner? She's a "young flirt" who makes me feel "all


warm and cuddly"?'


Holt ignored this protest. Still sharply, he ordered,


'Demote Hannish. Tell her it was temporary - you've


found someone better. '


Warden tightened his grip on himself. 'I can do that, '


he replied, resolutely mild. 'But don't you think you're


being a little obvious? Her promotion is already on


record. She's already presented her credentials to the


Council. ' Despite his determination to remain calm, how-


ever, Holt's implicit threat galled him. Goaded by loss


and anger, he began to speak more strongly. 'You predict


PR is going to be crucial. Are you sure you want to let


the Council see you meddle in UMCP internal affairs at


a time like this?'


The Dragon braced his hands on his desk as if he


wanted to prevent them from shaking. His emissions


curdled like sour milk.


'You know, Ward, when I look at you these days I


sometimes wonder if I haven't created a monster. '


Warden swallowed a retort. Stay calm. He disliked


being called Ward.


'What about me seems monstrous to you?'


Holt put equanimity aside. 'That video conference, ' he


articulated trenchantly.


Stay clear.


'What about it?'


'What about it? My God, Ward, if I didn't have so many


reasons to trust you, I would turn you into dogfood. Don't


think I'm not tempted in spite of your record. ' He meant,


Don't think I can't do it. 'Do you have any idea what kind


of hornets' nest you've stirred up among the votes? Did


you do it on purpose, or did you just not consider how


they would react?' His breathing was shallow and flurried.


'You should have listened to Godsen. I'm sure he would


have warned you. He was damn near frothing at the mouth


when he told me about it. '


Warden faced Holt stolidly. 'You've seen the record-


ings, ' he answered. 'I'm sure you've talked to people — I


mean people besides Godsen. You know as much about


it as I do. '


'Oh, I've seen the recordings, ' Holt sneered. 'I know


them by heart. They're full of gems. Here's one. '


Glaring at the UMCP director, he quoted, '"It


appears that Captain Thermopyle has left our solar


system for forbidden space. If he does not alter his


course, he is headed toward a planetoid called Thanatos


Minor, which we believe to be the location of a boot-


leg shipyard catering to the needs and transactions of


pirates. "


'Or how about this one? "Com-Mine Security allowed


Ensign Hyland to depart with Captain Succorso on your


orders. "


'But those aren't the best. I especially enjoyed it when


Hashi said Succorso was sent "to Thanatos Minor armed


with a drug which he would claim supplied an immunity


to Amnion mutagens". And I practically had an orgasm


when he admitted you gave Hyland to Succorso "so that


he would have something to sell if he were trapped or


caught".


'I know about the video conference. I know how the


votes are reacting. What I don't know is what possessed


you to tell them things like that.


'Who are you trying to sabotage here, Ward? Who is


this aimed at?'


'Stay calm, ' Warden said aloud. Slowly a smile softened


the clenched expressionlessness of his features. He raised


one hand to the patch over his left eye. 'You look like


you're about to have an infarction. '


Blinking spasmodically, Holt leaned back in his chair.


A sting of apprehension shaded his aura.


'As you say, ' Warden went on, 'it's sabotage. Smoke.


It's aimed at Special Counsel Maxim Igensard. '


He'd prepared for this as well as he could. Now he had


to put himself to the test.


'The Council has been debating us for years, ' he


explained. 'All the issues are old and familiar. Only Igen-


sard is new. But he's already made up his mind about us.


Hashi and I just confirmed what he thinks. And we did


it without quite telling him the truth.


'Complete lies are too easily uncovered. Almost-truths


are much more effective. '


Holding down his self-disgust with the strength of his


arms, he went on, 'The risk, of course, is that I've cut the


ground out from under my supporters. But I'm willing


to take that chance for the sake of blowing smoke in


Igensard's eyes.


'Holt, that man is dangerous. If anyone is capable of


pushing and prying hard enough to get at the facts, he


is. I know his brand of outraged righteousness. He's so


sure he's right and pure that he'll relish bringing both of


us down and opening the borders of forbidden space to


prove it.


'I can stand tarnishing my reputation a little to stop


him.


'I know you don't like that. Your whole empire rests


on the UMCP. If we don't at least look like our integrity


is unimpeachable, you're in trouble. But before you


decide I've gone into meltdown, think about what that


conference accomplished. '


'Which is?' Holt demanded shortly.


Warden didn't hesitate. He'd gone too far to falter


now.


'I gave Igensard lies so accurate he won't be able to


distinguish them from the truth. From his point of view,


if we really let Succorso have Morn Hyland just for the


insurance, the last thing we would do is say so. From his


point of view, if we actually released Thermopyle and


sent him against Thanatos Minor, the last thing we


would do is reveal his destination.


'From his point of view, if we truly had a mutagen


immunity drug which we decided to keep secret, the very


last thing we would do is call attention to it by saying


we've faked a drug to use against Billingate.


'And that's not all. In addition I've set things up so


that if anything goes wrong nobody gets the blame but


me. If I look culpable enough, you're in the clear. You


can always protect your interests by letting Igensard have


me. '


At last he stopped. For better or worse, he'd said what


he came to say. Now he had to face the outcome.


Holt regarded him sourly for a long moment before


rasping, 'Is that supposed to reassure me?'


Warden shrugged. 'I don't know how you feel, ' he


replied despite the fact that his IR sight read Holt's con-


cern, anger and fear plainly. 'I'm just doing my job.


'What else would you like to chat about?'


That was the wrong thing to say. It set Holt off like


the spark of a magnesium lighter.


Surging forward in his seat, he snapped, 'Don't mess


with me, Ward. I'll have your balls for truffles.


'You planned all this before you ordered Godsen to


admit publicly that Thermopyle was gone, but you didn't


bother to mention it. You decided to climb out on this


limb without consulting me. Now I'm going to tell you


what it means if you fall. Then you're going to go back


to UMCPHQ and leave the rest to me.


'If anything goes wrong on Thanatos Minor - anything


at all - your precious Joshua is finished. Morn Hyland


is finished. Nick Succorso is finished. Milos Taverner is


finished. Do you hear me? I want them dead. I want


them and their ships and every scrap of information


about them extirpated from the universe.


'That includes the immunity drug. Especially the


immunity drug. If I'd known you were going to give the


votes any hint it exists, I would never have let you talk


me into preserving it.


'Have I made myself clear? You've already sent Min


Donner out that way. I assume you want her in position


to intercept what comes out of forbidden space. Give her


this job. If anything goes wrong out there' - his hands


knotted into fists and pounded each word onto the


desktop - 'you make goddamn sure she kills them all!'


Warden found it unexpectedly easy to remain calm.


He'd done what he came for. And the result didn't sur-


prise him. He'd helped create this problem: now he


meant to solve it; meant to reap the consequences.


Releasing his arms, he rose to his feet.


'It's clear, all right, ' he said quietly. 'I think it will stay


that way from now on.


'I'll report as soon as I know what's happening. '


Holt growled a dismissal and keyed the doorseals so


that Warden could leave.


As he walked out of the Dragon's lair, Warden closed


the door distinctly behind him.


It's time, he thought. This has got to stop.


Please, Angus. Don't fail.