The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (22 page)

From
the communications station she faced Captain Ubikwe.

His
eyes were open now. Summoning new sources of energy from somewhere under his
fat, he’d hauled himself more upright in his g-seat. As soon as Min looked at
him, he said almost cheerfully, “I’m glad you’re here, Director. We’ve already
got two surprises on our hands — and with our luck there’re more on the way.
I
don’t want to make this decision.” He may have been enjoying the sight of
her clenched ire. “What do
you
want to do about them?”

She
didn’t hesitate: she knew her job. “Keep track of that ship in forbidden space.
Let me know if she does anything — shifts course, decelerates, starts
transmitting, anything. Other than that, forget her. We’ll concentrate on Hashi’s
bugger.”

She
used the word “bugger” deliberately. How
dare
the DA director keep
anything as vital as information which came from this part of the belt to
himself?

“Hail
her, Captain,” she instructed grimly. “Announce yourself, tell her to do the
same. Then ask her what the hell she’s doing parked on top of one of our
listening posts.”

Dolph
also didn’t hesitate. His instinct for insubordination didn’t apply in
situations like this. That was one of several reasons why she trusted him. “Cray,
give me a channel,” he ordered promptly. “Porson, I want co-ordinates.”

“Aye,
sir,” they answered.

“Targ,”
he went on, “recharge one of the matter cannon. I know, they’re already
charged. But I want that ship to scan us and
see
we’re getting ready to
hit her.”

The
targ officer responded, “Aye, sir,” and turned to his board.

Dolph
toggled the command station pickup. In his most authoritative bass, he
pronounced, “Unidentified vessel at” — he quoted co-ordinates off one of his
readouts — “this is United Mining Companies Police cruiser
Punisher
,
Captain Dolph Ubikwe commanding. Identify yourself.” A smile settled on his
face as he spoke. “You are in the path of a hostile action. We will consider
you hostile until you respond.”

Three
seconds passed. Six. Min wrapped her impatience around her handgun and waited.

Abruptly
the bridge speakers crackled to life.

“
Punisher
,
this is contract merchanter
Free Lunch
. I’m Captain Darrin Scroyle. Ship
id follows.”

Not
Trumpet
.
Something inside Min slumped at the information: relief or disappointment, she
didn’t know which.

The
data officer didn’t wait for orders: he pounced on the code-string as soon as
it came in. “Got it, sir,” he said quickly. Tapping databases, he reported, “
Free
Lunch
, port of registry Betelgeuse Primary, owner and captain Darrin
Scroyle. Listed for general cargo, long-range hauling. Current contract UMC.
More when you want it.”

He
broke off because the speakers were crackling again.

“What
hostile action?” the voice out of the belt asked. “No, don’t tell me — I don’t
want to know. Just tell me which direction to run, and I’m gone.”

Dolph
swivelled to face the data station. “List every contract that ship’s had since
the day she left the shipyard. Summarise it for me fast.”

“Aye,
sir.” The data officer began typing; and almost immediately names, dates, and
consignment-codes scrolled across one of the screens. “It’s all general cargo,
sir,” he reported. “About half independent contracts, the rest UMC. Usually
between Betelgeuse Primary, Valdor Industrial, and Terminus, but she’s been to
Com-Mine a couple of times. Betelgeuse to Com-Mine is the most recent.”

“In
other words,” Dolph snorted; “she’s innocent, and this is all a coincidence.
Unless” — he glanced at Min — “the director of Data Acquisition in his infinite
wisdom has seen fit to supply that ship with fake id.”

Min
shrugged bitterly. “It happens. Most of what DA does is covert. Director
Lebwohl has to give his operatives cover, whether I like it or not.” Through
her teeth, she added, “There’s no law that says he has to keep me informed.”

She was
thinking, But he has to keep Warden informed.

She
didn’t believe in
Free Lunch’s
innocence for a moment.

Dolph
hit his pickup with a heavy thumb. “Captain Scroyle,” he grated, “don’t
bullshit me. I haven’t got time for it. And I’m not likely to believe you’re
drifting right on top of a UMCP listening post by accident. In any case, the
UMC doesn’t pay ships to drift around this far out in the belt. I’ve got you on
targ, and I’m in no mood to be polite.

“What’re
you doing here?”

Three
seconds there and back; one and a half seconds each way. Captain Scroyle didn’t
take any time at all to consider his answer.

“Captain
Ubikwe,” he replied out of the void, “the last contract you have on record for
us is a consignment from Betelgeuse Primary to Com-Mine Station. We finished
that four days ago. We took some time off to enjoy the profits — then I got a
message by gap courier drone, offering us this job. The records haven’t had
time to reach UMCPHQ from Com-Mine.

“The
message was from Cleatus Fane, First Executive Assistant, United Mining
Companies.” Unnecessarily he added, “He works directly for Holt Fasner.” Both
Min and Dolph, like everyone else aboard
Punisher
, knew Cleatus Fane’s
name and reputation. “He gave me the co-ordinates of this listening post,”
Captain Scroyle went on, “and offered me a contract to use it.

“He
said — let me quote this right — he said he was ‘expecting events in forbidden
space to spill over into the belt during the next few days,’ and he wanted a
witness. Someone to watch and report — and stay the hell out of the way.

“That’s
what we’re doing.”

Min
considered toggling the communications station pickup in order to shout at
Free
Lunch
herself, then rejected the idea. She didn’t want anyone else to know
she was here. And she was sure that Dolph could handle the situation.

In fact
he was in his element: he had the personality as well as the voice for what he
was doing.

“That’s
it?” he cracked at the merchanter like a mine-hammer. “He didn’t tell you what
you’re supposed to watch for, what kind of ‘events’ he’s expecting?” The simple
pleasure of wielding sarcasm and authority seemed to refresh his stores of
energy moment by moment. “Do you usually take on jobs that don’t make sense
without asking any questions?”

Again
Captain Scroyle didn’t need to think before he responded.

“I do
when they pay as well as this one does.”

“Well,
don’t keep me in suspense,” Dolph retorted. “What have you seen? What did you
report?”

This
time the reply arrived more slowly. Three heartbeats, four, five passed before
Captain Scroyle’s voice returned from the speakers.

“Captain
Ubikwe, what’s wrong?” He sounded suddenly grim — and perhaps just a bit unsure
of himself. “You already know the answer. Our scan saw you talking to the post.
What else do you want me to think you were doing, if you weren’t copying the
post log to read our transmissions?”

Now
Dolph let his voice drip acid. “We
can’t
copy the post log. Your codes
deny us access. And they weren’t UMC codes, I’ll tell you
that
out of
the goodness of my heart.

“What’s
going on here, Captain Scroyle? I don’t think you’re being honest with me. This
is a UMCP
cruiser
talking, and I want answers.”

Three
seconds; no more.

“It’s
the truth, Captain Ubikwe, I swear it.” The speakers carried a note of urgency.
“Cleatus Fane gave me those codes. I don’t know what the hell they are — I just
used them. Of course I know this is a UMCP post. I assume Fane wanted me to use
it because the UMC doesn’t have one in a better location. So I also assume any
message we sent him would be routed through UMCPHQ. Don’t you and the UMC do
that kind of thing all the time?
I
don’t know why you can’t access the
post log.”

Dolph
silenced his pickup. “Sure, bozo,” he muttered. “And I’m the Flying Dutchman.
Nobody’s
that
naive.” Then he looked at Min. “What do you want me to do?
I can tell him to copy his report to us — but if you believe what he sends us,
you’ll believe anything. Or I can demand a datacore readout under Emergency
Powers. Then we’ll get the truth — but we won’t be able to charge him with
anything afterward.” Delicately he sneered, “
That’s
against the rules.”

Min
started to say, Get me that readout. The words boiled up in her, hot with
anger. But before she could speak, Porson let out a croak from the scan
station.

“More
traffic, Captain!”

“Shit,”
someone growled; Min didn’t see who it was. She and Dolph snapped around in
unison to face the scan officer.

Without
transition Dolph dropped his harsh manner. Calmly he drawled, “Tell me about
it, Porson.”

“She
just resumed tard” — unsteady on the keys, Porson ran commands, clarifying and
interpreting sensor data — “God, that was close! Captain, she came out of the
gap only 5000k off our stern. Heading the other way, away from forbidden space.
Velocity
.
2C.” His voice cracked. “
Into the belt
, she’s heading
into the belt, she’s going to
hit
—”

Min
left scan to Dolph. Fire ached in her palms as she gripped the edges of the
communications board and pulled her face down to Cray’s, demanded Cray’s
attention. “That ship is transmitting,” she whispered intensely, as if she knew
the truth; as if she were sure. “She’s here to use that listening post.
Catch
it, Cray. Whatever she transmits, catch it! I want that message.”

“She’s
firing!” Porson blurted. “Laser fire, trying to cut that asteroid out of her
way, she’s not going to make it!”

“Keep
track of her,” Dolph ordered, deliberately nonchalant. “When you get a moment,
check on that ship in forbidden space. And watch
Free Lunch
. I don’t
want to let her off the hook.”

“Aye,
sir.”

Compelled
by Min’s intensity, Cray flung her hands at her console, fought to reorient
Punisher’s
dishes. An instant later she looked back up at Min, her face stricken with
chagrin. “Missed it, sir. She must have started flaring right after she resumed
tard.”

Must
have known exactly where the post is.

Must
have known that flaring the post was more important than survival.

“She’s
turning!” Porson cried. “That’s impossible, nobody can take that much g-stress!
They must all be unconscious. Or dead. But she’s clear! Veering out of the
belt.”

“Then
get it from the post log,” Min rasped. “Every ship in the goddamn galaxy can’t
have codes to deny us access.”

“Aye,
sir.” Cray hurried to obey.

A blip
from her board snagged her attention. She gaped at her readouts, typed quickly,
received verification.

“Sir,”
she breathed, “that ship — the one that just passed us — She’s broadcasting a
homing signal. A Class-1 UMCP homing signal, trace-and-follow, emergency
priority. She’s —”

“I
know.” Min felt that her heart had stopped beating. “Needle-class UMCP gap
scout
Trumpet
.” Angus was still alive; his mission was still alive. “Worry
about her later. I want her flare.”

Swallowing
urgency, Cray went back to work.

Five
seconds later she reported, “Got it, sir.” Her eyes were wide with relief.

Abruptly
Porson jerked out, “Captain, the ship in forbidden space just started to burn!
And she’s shifting course. Now on the same heading as that gap scout.”

“
Trumpet
,
“ Dolph remarked in a comforting rumble. “Director Donner knows her. What about
Free Lunch
?”

“Still
drifting, sir. No effort to evade us. And she doesn’t want a fight — she hasn’t
charged her guns.”

Min
ignored everything around her. As if
Trumpet’s
message were all that
mattered, all that existed, she focused on it. With one hand she indicated a
communications readout: the other turned the station so that she could read
over Cray’s shoulder.

Cray
copied
Trumpet’s
transmission to the readout and stared at it with Min.

Min saw
at once that the flare was coded for Warden Dios.

Not
Hashi Lebwohl.

No
matter what Hashi thought he was doing, Angus still reported to Warden.

Grimly
she concentrated on the message. With the ease of long practice, she sorted
through the codes and id, the transmission and routing data, to the body of
Angus’ report.

It
said,
Isaac to Warden Dios, personal and
urgent.

Mission
to Thanatos Minor successful.

Gabriel
priority activated. Milos Taverner has gone over to the Amnion.

Personnel
aboard include survivors from
Captain’s Fancy
:
Morn Hyland, Davies Hyland, Nick Succorso, Mikka Vasaczk, Ciro Vasaczk, Vector
Shaheed.