The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (54 page)

“Waiting
is hard enough,” Morn murmured distantly. “You’re wearing me out. Why do you do
that?”

He
stopped himself on the edge of his bunk. Breathing hard — but steadily, as if
he could have gone on for hours — he said, “I don’t like sitting still. I don’t
even like rest. It scares me.”

As her
last dose of cat wore off, some measure of elasticity had returned to her
muscles, especially in her face. Her expression had slowly become more alert,
less exposed. She tried to smile, with limited success. “How did I get a son
like you? I feel just the opposite. I think I could rest” — she shrugged,
grimaced — “practically forever. It’s movement that scares me. I’m afraid of
what happens next.”

Then
she added wryly, “I guess I’m turning into a coward in my old age. Considering
the fact that I’m almost as young as you are, that isn’t easy to do. I’m
probably going to set some kind of record.”

But
Davies was in no mood for jokes. “Considering the fact,” he retorted harshly, “that
you’ve already been through a lifetime of hell, you’ve earned the right to be
afraid. It’s about time some of the rest of us started helping you. But you’re
too far ahead of us. We can’t catch up.” Sib’s attempt to guard Nick had been a
debacle. Neither Mikka nor Davies himself had been able to handle Angus. “For
some reason, you’re always the one who helps us.”

Morn
frowned. “I’m sure you’re right,” she countered. “I distinctly remember
rescuing myself from the Amnion.”

“That
was Angus and Nick,” Davies protested. Mikka and Sib. And
Captain’s Fancy
.
“All I did was stand guard.”

Suddenly
Morn was angry. “
All you did
,” she snapped back, “was stay sane when you
should have gone completely crazy.
All you did
was scare the Bill so
much that he couldn’t just hand you over to Nick or the Amnion.
All you did
was keep Nick from tricking Angus. How many of us would still be alive if you
hadn’t done that? And since then you haven’t done anything except take care of
me.

“
Don’t
tell me you aren’t helping. I can’t stand it — I need you too much.”

Davies
felt a rush of chagrin he couldn’t stifle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that
way. I’m just” — shame and ineffectually affected him like rage — “just lost. I
don’t know who I am, or what I’m doing. You saved me twice when Nick tried to
give me to the Amnion.” Once on Enablement. Once in the ejection pod. “When you
call yourself a coward, it sounds like you’re telling me there’s nothing left I
can count on.”

Morn
took a deep breath, let it out in a long sigh. “I know. I don’t mean to be so
touchy. All this waiting — “ She pushed her hands through her hair, pulling
herself back under control. “It wears on me. It goes on and on, and I don’t
know what I’m still trying to hope for. Sometimes I can feel myself crumbling.”

He knew
that feeling — or one just like it. Gritting his teeth, he clung to the edge of
the bunk so that the restless pressure inside him wouldn’t take over.

He and
Morn went on waiting.

 _

 _

They knew it when
Trumpet
came into her berth. The hull sounds of approach and dock were unmistakable.
First came the steadily more gentle pressure of braking thrust, the slim fire
of attitudinal jets: then the clangour of metal, amplified by constricted
space, as the ship met the berth guides and slid along them: then the slap and
groan of grapples, the final settling. And after that came the insertion of air
hoses and communications lines, power cables and waste pumps — each with its
characteristic hiss or thud or click, its telltale echo.

Gradually
the distant, visceral whine of
Trumpet’s
drives subsided. She was at
rest.

The
apprehension coiling around Davies’ spine pulled itself another notch tighter.
Morn’s fingers clenched and unclenched as she combed them through her hair: she
might have been resisting an impulse to yank strands out by the fistful.

Abruptly
the intercom crackled.

“All
right, assholes,” Nick announced cheerfully. “On the bridge. Right away would
be good. Right now would be better. It’s time for orders.”

Immediately
Morn bobbed up from her bunk as if she couldn’t afford to hesitate; as if she
knew that once she hesitated she would lose her capacity for movement
altogether. But the sight of her stricken gaze and her pallor wrung Davies’
heart. He caught her by the shoulder, turned her in the air to face him.

“I can
tell him you’re still asleep. He’ll have to believe me — he doesn’t know how
much cat I gave you. You can probably stay in here as long as you want.”

I can
protect you that much.

She
shook her head. “That would mean more waiting. I want to do something.
Anything.” A rueful smile shaped her mouth for a moment. “I guess I’m more like
you than I thought.”

He
couldn’t think of a response. His own need for activity left no room for
argument. In any case he wasn’t sure which one of them was protecting the
other.

With
his courage clenched in both hands, he pushed off toward the door.

He felt
a downward drag as he moved — the light g of the asteroid, perhaps marginally
augmented by gravitic fields from some of Deaner Beckmann’s experimental
equipment. By the time he’d reached the door and keyed it open, his boots
touched the deck.

Perfect.
Just enough weight to confuse his zero-g training; not enough to let him move
normally.

Fear
spiked along his pulse as he floated in a flat arc toward the head of the
companionway.

He was
the first to arrive: only Nick and Angus were on the bridge. When he started
down the treads, Nick flashed him a feral grin, full of black scars and
threats; but Angus sat motionless — shoulders hunched, head bowed — as if he’d
fallen asleep at his board.

Then
Morn reached the companionway behind Davies.

Nick’s
grin stretched wider. “You’re sane again,” he observed harshly. “I don’t know
whether to regret that or enjoy it.”

“Enjoy
it.” Morn’s tone was quiet and steady: she spoke from some distant place where
Nick’s malice didn’t reach her. “You can’t hurt me when I’m out of my mind.”

Despite
her plain weakness, her obvious vulnerability, she followed her son downward.

She may
have been trying to defy Nick; but he didn’t react to it. He was on fire with a
strange, personal ecstasy. The passion that heated his gaze and darkened his
scars gave the impression that he’d achieved a state of exaltation in which he,
too, couldn’t be reached.

Something
had happened — something as acute and fatal as
Punisher’s
transmission.

“You
underestimate me,” he retorted. “But at the moment I don’t give a shit. While
you’ve been sleeping your damn brains out, the game has suddenly gotten a whole
lot bigger.”

“Why?”
Davies and Morn asked simultaneously. “What do you mean?” she pursued. “What’s
going on?” he added.

“Good.”
Nick nodded in satisfaction. “I like that. You two are so fucking identical,
you might as well be twins. Maybe if you make a special effort to keep me
happy, I’ll let you entertain Beckmann and his collection of tech bozos by
reading each other’s minds.”

“Fine,”
Mikka said from the head of companionway. “Morn and Davies are in charge of
entertainment. Where does that leave the rest of us?”

She
stood with Sib and Ciro on either side of her as if she needed their support.
Sickbay had patched and bandaged her forehead: no doubt it had given her
transfusions as well, pumped her full of drugs. Nevertheless the damage to her
skull required more time to heal. She looked wan and uncharacteristically
fragile, as if she’d broken more bones than sickbay could treat.

Behind
her Vector moved stiffly, awkwardly: apparently his joints hurt even in this
low g. Bandages made his cut hand thick and imprecise, like the head of a
mallet, but he still had the use of his fingers. If he needed them. He was
probably capable of operating the Lab’s equipment with one hand.

Sib and
Ciro were in better shape physically. Short of neural breakdown, the
after-effects of stun didn’t linger. But Sib’s cheeks were hollow, and his eyes
had sunk in his head; he looked like he was being eaten alive by his fears and
failures. And Ciro appeared to suffer from a kind of emotional nausea. Perhaps
he felt sickened by the fact that he’d let Nick take his stun-prod away from
him.

“It
leaves you with me,” Nick answered. His tone was like a ghoul’s mimicry of his
former ominous casualness. “I’m going to take Vector to meet Beckmann and use
his facilities. You’re coming along.

“Let me
tell you something about that, just in case you’re still groggy enough be
stupid. You’re going to take orders. You will fucking
do
what I fucking
tell
you.”

He hit
keys to clear his board, then unbelted himself from his g-seat and stood up, at
least in part so that everyone else could see the impact pistol clipped at his
waist. At some point during the past several hours, he must have paid a visit
to the weapons locker.

“Never
mind the fact that I’ll shoot you if you don’t. Fucking heroes like you
probably don’t care. No, you’re going to take orders because you can imagine
what I’ll make Angus do to Morn if you don’t.

“Is
that clear enough so far?”

Mikka
and her companions hadn’t moved from the top of the companionway. Her bandages
seemed to twist her frown into an act of brutality. “I take it that means Angus
and Morn aren’t going with us. What about Davies?”

Nick
shook his head. “He’s staying behind, too. To tell you the truth” — his
expression might have looked impish if his scars hadn’t been so dark — “Centre
doesn’t know they’re aboard. I left them off the manifest. As far as Beckmann
and his guards are concerned, there’s only the five of us. Which means Angus
here can give us all the cover we need while we’re off the ship.”

He
turned toward his second. “You listening, asshole?”

Angus’
voice was confined in his chest, caught by conflicting pressures. “I’m
listening.”

He didn’t
lift his head or look around.

“Good,”
Nick rasped. He spoke to Angus as if none of the other people on the bridge
existed. “Listen hard, because I’m not going to put up with any bullshit.

“The
five of us are leaving. We probably won’t be back until Vector gets somewhere
with that drug. Depends on how good he is. Right now he probably thinks he’ll
gain something by being slow. But after he’s considered the situation, he’ll
realise that the longer he takes, the more people are going to get hurt.

“Until
then” — Nick drifted a step or two closer to the second’s station — “you’ll
cover us.” Leaning forward, he demanded, “
Are you listening?
”

Davies
held his breath. Angus must be Nick’s weak point, the place where his plans
could go wrong. If his control over Angus failed while he wasn’t here to
enforce it, he wouldn’t have a ship to return to.

Angus
still didn’t look up. “I’m listening.”

“You
damn well better,” Nick shot back. Saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth
like froth, but he appeared unaware of it. “I’ll tear your heart out — and you
know I can do it.”

Angus
didn’t retort or protest; he hardly seemed to be alive. His nod was like the
shudder of a broken machine.

But
that was enough for Nick.

“Monitor
every communications and scan channel you can tap,” he ordered, “watch for
trouble. If you see or hear anything that sounds like we’ve got problems,
charge the matter cannon and start making threats. This ship has enough power
to gut the whole installation from here. That’s something Beckmann will listen
to. His research is too precious — he won’t risk it.”

To
himself, Davies admitted that Nick was right. Deaner Beckmann had made a
serious mistake when he’d let Nick get this close to him.

Now
Nick turned his baleful grin on Davies and Morn, although he continued speaking
to Angus.

“In the
meantime” — fires laughed in his hot gaze — “the Hyland twins are yours.”

Davies
thought he could feel his heart stop. He heard Sib choke in shock and chagrin,
heard Mikka breathe a low curse; but those sounds meant nothing to him. For an
instant the bridge constricted around him, shrank to darkness. In the void
helpless memories beat about his head like black wings: Angus with the zone
implant control; Angus cocking his fists; Angus erect past the seams of his
shipsuit, charged with violence —

He
jerked a glance at Morn, saw the thin blood drain from her face. She held
herself still, poised, as if she could bear anything; but the sudden pallor of
her cheeks and the white rim of panic around her irises betrayed her fear.

Nick
clapped sarcastic applause. Then he told Angus, “If that computer in your
malicious little head will let you play with them, go ahead. I don’t care.”

Don’t
care, Davies heard. Don’t care.