The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (100 page)

Assuming
she didn’t kill
Punisher
first —

Another
proton beam scorched the vacuum past
Punisher’s
flank. A clear miss.
Patrice did his job well. Fine sweat showed on his temples, his upper lip. His
eyes had a glazed cast, almost disfocused, as if he were concentrating too hard
to actually see anything. Still his hands ran his board steadily. Thrust
vectors sawing and heaving through the ship kept
Punisher
alive.

And by
routing his manoeuvres to Glessen as he made them, he enabled targ to hold its
fix on the Amnioni. Despite the constant lurch and stagger of
Punisher’s
movements, she sustained her unremitting assault on her opponent’s particle
sinks.

Obliquely
Min wondered about the state of UMCPDA’s research into the use of dispersion
fields against matter cannon. The physics had looked good in simulation:
prototypes had shown promise. But the equipment hadn’t yet been tested in
combat. Only a month had passed since Min had authorised installing
experimental field projectors on one of ED’s destroyers. And
Punisher’s
name had never been on the list of candidates. She needed too much time in the
shipyards for other work.

Too
bad. A dispersion field might have given her exactly what she needed now. Her
sinks and evasive manoeuvres were adequate against the alien’s matter cannon at
this distance; but the emission chaos caused by an effective dispersion field
would have covered her while she attacked the defensive in other ways.

Hashi
had requisitioned an experimental field projector for
Trumpet
. Maybe the
gap scout would give Min a chance to see whether it was effective.

“Cray,”
Captain Ubikwe rumbled as if he were safe where he sat, “I’m still waiting for
help from Valdor. What do they have to say for themselves? I refuse to think
they’re procrastinating when there’s an alien warship in-system.”

Cray on
communications had been shouting most of the time as she relayed messages back
and forth between Dolph and VI Security; Dolph and the rest of the ship.
However, her loudness sounded like a control reflex rather than alarm or
hysteria: she raised her voice because shouting helped keep her fears at bay.

“Captain,”
she answered, “VI has eight ships burning in this direction. Gunboats, most of
them. One pocket cruiser. But we’re too far off the main shipping lanes. VI
Security doesn’t usually patrol out here. The nearest of those gunboats won’t
be in range to support us for another eleven hours.”

Eleven
hours! Min snorted to herself. She wasn’t surprised. In the ordinary course of
events, sane traffic never went near asteroid swarms. Still the delay vexed
her.

“So of
course,” Cray went on, “there aren’t any merchanters nearby that VI can divert
to back us up. We’re on our own.”

“What
about our replacement?” Dolph asked. “UMCPHQ must have sent somebody to take
over for us when we left.”

The
sarcasm in his voice may have been aimed at Min, but she didn’t take it
personally.

“Aye,
Captain,” Cray answered too loudly; always too loudly. “VI reports that
Vehemence
arrived an hour before we left.”

Vehemence
. Min sneered the name silently. That ship didn’t have what anyone could
call “a glorious record” around Massif5. Nathan Alt had been court-martialled
for his actions as her commander. And his predecessor had been patently
incompetent. But later officers and crews hadn’t fared much better. Some ships
were jinxed — doomed to futility by fates which human will and skill couldn’t
alter.

“They
say,” the communications officer went on, “she’s been charging around like a
juggernaut, trying to be everywhere at once. But at the moment she’s on the far
side of Greater Massif-5.” Occluded by the star. “They can only talk to her if
they use mining platforms and other ships as relays.

“Even
if she knew we need her,” Cray finished, “she would take forty or fifty hours
to get here.”

“Fine,”
Dolph growled. “Perfect. So we’re on our own.

“Sometimes
I think space is just too damn
big
. We’re wasting our time pretending we
can handle it.”

He
sounded almost cheerful.

“So
what we need,” he added in a musing tone, “is to know why that ship” — he
nodded at the defensive’s blip — “thinks this part of the swarm is special.
Ideas, anyone? Porson, are you getting any hints we can use to help us jump to
conclusions?”

What
Punisher
really needed, Min thought, was to break the embedded code of Warden Dios’
message to Angus Thermopyle for Nick Succorso. Obviously the cruiser couldn’t
formulate a useful strategy without knowing where
Trumpet
was. But, more
importantly,
Punisher
couldn’t decide whether the gap scout was worth
dying for without knowing what Warden wanted from Thermopyle, Succorso, and
their ship.

Unfortunately
Punisher’s
off-duty communications people hadn’t yet succeeded in
deciphering the UMCP director’s message.

That
left Min with only one essential question. Did she trust him? Even now, after
he’d given control over Isaac/Angus to Nick Succorso?

Of
course. What choice did she have?

He’d
told her that Morn Hyland was alive.

“I can’t
see much, Captain,” Porson answered tensely, “if you call what I can pick up
through this barrage ‘seeing.’ But there
is
something —”

Min
wheeled her seat, fixing her attention like a hawk’s on the scan officer.

“At
this range,” he explained unnecessarily, “the swarm looks like blank rock.
Magnetic and gravitic pressures produce a lot of electrostatic energy, but that’s
inside the swarm. All we read is an occasional flicker, like heat lightning.

“But I’m
picking up some odd stress indications. If the instruments aren’t confused —
and the computer isn’t” — his uncertainty made him sound apologetic — “there’s
an anomalous kinetic reflection coming off the swarm.

“I don’t
know how to describe it. It’s like an echo of something too big pushing through
the rocks. Something that violates the normal forces of the swarm.”

“It’s
like,” Bydell put in unexpectedly, “a singularity. Like some accident of
physics — or maybe a rogue experiment — has created a black hole in there.”
Abruptly she caught herself. “Captain.” Weakly she added, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Dolph
dismissed her breach of bridge protocol with a flick of his hand. “A kinetic
reflection anomaly,” he breathed. “A singularity. Now what do you suppose that
means?”

Min
couldn’t hold back. Her palms were on fire, and her pulse had begun to pound
out distress in her temples. “Never mind what it means,” she snapped. “Where
is
it? Can you locate it?”

Porson
glanced at Captain Ubikwe. “Not exactly, sir,” he replied as if Dolph had asked
the question. “But that Amnioni has positioned herself right over it.”

Min
gripped the arms of her g-seat, anchored herself against the ship’s evasive
thrust. “In that case, Captain,” she rasped harshly, “I can tell you what we’re
going to do.”

Without
any discernible effort, Dolph swivelled his station through conflicting vectors
and g to face her. “I was afraid you might say something like that, Director,”
he drawled. His tone was laconic: the glare in his eyes hinted at insolence. “When
I suggested I was interested in jumping to conclusions, I was hoping to start
from someplace just a bit more plausible.”

Plausible?
Min wanted to bark at him. You want
plausible?
I haven’t got it. Nothing
about this goddamn situation is
plausible
.

Nevertheless
she restrained herself. She couldn’t take her frustration and anguish out on
him. He didn’t deserve them; Warden Dios did.

Instead
she told him the truth. She’d already swallowed enough lies and misinformation
to sicken her.

“It’s
plausible enough, Captain,” she retorted. “
Trumpet
is a gap scout — and
gap scouts aren’t supposed to be armed. But this is a special case. She has
matter cannon. Impact guns. Plasma torpedoes.” A dispersion field projector. “And
she’s carrying singularity grenades.”

Dolph’s
eyes widened; his jaw dropped involuntarily. Then a look that might have been
fury filled his gaze. “Do you mean to tell me” — he gritted his teeth on the
words — “you gave a rogue illegal and a cyborg a ship armed with
singularity
grenades?
My God, Min, I thought they were
experimental
. I thought
they were too
goddamn
dangerous to use!”

“Everything’s
too dangerous,” she shot back. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re already in a
black hole ourselves.” An impossible mass in an imponderably small space. “Just
because it isn’t physical doesn’t mean it’s not deadly. We passed the event
horizon when we didn’t blast
Trumpet
while we had the chance, off the
Com-Mine belt. Now the only way out is through.”

If she
remembered what she’d read of Deaner Beckmann’s theories — and if he was right
—

“That
echo tells us where
Trumpet
is. Or was.” A black hole big enough to cast
kinetic inconsistencies out this far could easily have consumed the gap scout
and everything around her. In order to survive, she must have already fled the
effects of her grenade. “If she tries to leave the swarm on this side, she’ll
come from there.”

And if
we get there in time, we might be able to cover her.

“Shit,”
Glessen muttered abruptly. “What—?” Without lifting his head from the targ
board, he called, “Captain, I’m losing charge on one of the guns!”

Dolph
didn’t glance away from Min. “Bydell?” The anger in his eyes had been replaced
by chagrin, as if he feared the ED director had lost her mind.

“I’m on
it, Captain,” the data officer croaked, hunting her readouts frantically. “Damage-control
computer indicates a drain on the power line. The insulation is failing. There.”
She pointed at a schematic no one else could see. “Must be heat breakdown. That
line conduits through one of the bulkheads where we were on fire. The leak’s
there.” She gulped. “Captain, it’s getting worse. That section of the bulkhead
is already carrying a measurable charge.”

Facing
Min, his expression hidden from his people, Dolph winced like a snarl.

“Can
you reroute?”

“Aye,
Captain.” A tremor frayed Bydell’s voice. “But if I do, we won’t be able to
maintain a steady current for the other guns. The lines won’t carry that much
load.”

Min saw
a strange struggle on Captain Ubikwe’s heavy face. His own conflicting vectors
— fear for his ship, respect for his director, determination to protect his
command, desire for battle — pulled him in too many directions at once. Opening
his mouth wide, he drew breath as if he were about to howl. His gaze never left
hers.

But he
didn’t howl. Instead he exhaled, chuckling softly to himself. Slowly he lifted
his hands as if he were surrendering. His eyes glittered like cut gemstones.

“Well,
this is fun,” he rumbled. “When I signed on, they promised me adventure and
excitement. I guess this is it.

“You’d
better disable that line before we electrocute somebody, Bydell. Glessen, you
can live without one gun for a while. It’ll make your job easier.”

“Aye,
Captain,” they answered together.

Under
other circumstances, a tech could have repaired the insulation in half an hour.
But now any crewmember who left the protection of g-restraints would be dead in
seconds, pounded to pulp by
Punisher’s
staggering manoeuvres.

“All
right, Director,” Dolph announced. His voiced filled the bridge. “You’ve
convinced me. You say we’re in a black hole. I say we’re up to our ass in
alligators. Either way, we haven’t got anything left to try except prayer.
Maybe that’ll work.

“What
do you want us to do?”

Maybe
prayer
was
the answer. Breathing silent gratitude for Captain Dolph
Ubikwe, Min gave him her orders.

Take an
evasive course toward the site of the kinetic reflection anomaly. Angle to put
Punisher
between the Amnioni’s guns and that part of the swarm. Position the cruiser to
cover
Trumpet’s
escape.

Position
her to die for the strange game Warden Dios played with Angus Thermopyle and
Nick Succorso. And Morn Hyland.

“Got
that, Sergei?” Dolph asked the helm officer.

“Aye,
Captain,” Patrice responded.

“Then
set course and go.

“I hope
you’re in the mood for a challenge,” Dolph added cheerfully. “With this on top
of everything else, you’ll have your hands full.”

Under
his breath Patrice murmured something which might have been, “Piece of cake,
Captain.”

Rotational
thrust. Evasive manoeuvres. Now this. Piece of cake: sure. Min wasn’t entirely
confident that she could have handled the assignment herself.

“Captain,”
Porson whispered suddenly as if he were amazed — or horrified. “It’s been too
long.”