The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (65 page)

“Think
about
that
,” he advised her in a fierce murmur. “You’ll be dead — and I’ll
still have Pup.”

The
pain of his grip on her arm meant nothing. But the pain of being so close to
him was more than she could bear. Planting her feet, she wrenched her arm out
of his grasp. Before anyone could react, she pulled back to the wall of the
corridor; separated herself at least that much from his triumph.

At the
same time Sib hurried forward so that he came between them. Regardless of his
fears, he intended to shield Mikka. Perhaps because he’d failed in the
self-appointed duty of guarding Nick earlier, he seemed determined to sacrifice
himself for someone as soon as he could.

Nick
sneered at him harshly, then strode on.

As
Mikka moved to follow, she found herself beside Vector.

He also
put his hand on her arm — a gentle touch which nevertheless slowed her pace
until she was five or six strides behind Nick. Like Nick, he bent toward her so
that he could whisper into her ear.

“He’s
wrong.” Vector spoke so softly that she could barely make out the words. “He’s
missed the point.

“God,
we were
close
.” He must have meant his research team at Intertech. “If
the cops had left us alone for another month — or another week — we would have
gotten it. I cracked the formula so fast because I already knew most of it.”

Bitterly,
Mikka breathed back, “And you think
that’s
the point?”

“Don’t
you see?” Vector tightened his grip for a moment, then remembered to ease it. “It
won’t be a
secret
any longer. As soon as he makes his deal with
Beckmann, it’ll be out of his control. People will
know,
more people
every day. The cops are going to lose their stranglehold on human space. Right
now they have so much power because they’re vital. They’re humankind’s only
defense. But that won’t be true once
this
gets out.”

Vector
smiled like a rebirth. Still whispering, he concluded, “Nick is obsessed with
revenge. He can’t see that he’s already started to cut the ground out from
under his own feet.”

Mikka
understood him. He may even have been right. But she didn’t care. “That doesn’t
help,” she answered. “He’s still got
us
.”

Us and
Morn. Angus and Davies.

Vector sighed;
straightened his back. “There’s nothing we can do about that.” He seemed to
think that she, too, had missed the point. “We’ve been doomed ever since we
joined
Captain’s Fancy
. No one recovers from that kind of mistake.”

Thanks
a bunch, Mikka rasped to herself. You’re a real comfort. But she kept her
bitterness silent. She couldn’t blame Vector for the fact that he didn’t have a
younger brother.

One of
the guards listened to his PCR, then turned and spoke privately to Sven. Sven
nodded and left the group; apparently he’d been sent to other duties.

Accompanied
only by guards, Nick, Sib, Vector, and Mikka reached the entry room where they’d
first met Deaner Beckmann.

The
director of the Lab was already there, along with Chief Retledge and half a
dozen more guards. Their numbers in the small room almost concealed Ciro, who
stood by the entrance to the airlock: they might have forgotten he existed.

Beckmann
paced back and forth between the other men as if he were fuming or feverish;
ruled by hungers he didn’t know how to feed. As soon as he saw Nick, however,
he stopped with a jerk.

“Captain
Succorso.” His voice sounded like the action of a metal cutter. “It’s time for
some answers.”

Almost
in unison the guards dropped their hands to the butts of their impact pistols.
They knew their orders.

Nick
halted as promptly as he could in the light g. Behind him Sib, Vector, and
Mikka did the same.

The
director of the lab didn’t wait for his Security chief to speak. “You come here
asking for help,” he snapped, “and all you offer in return is a vague share of
Dr. Shaheed’s unspecified research. That’s fine — I’m willing to take a risk on
a man of Dr. Shaheed’s reputation. But another ship, a ship we’ve known for
years, tells us that you’re here to cause trouble. And what happens? You haven’t
been here an hour before two of your people
apparently
disobey your
orders. In fact, one of them” — he slapped a gesture toward Ciro — “disappears
completely. And as soon as we find this
Pup
of yours again, the other
ship leaves. If he didn’t look so frightened himself, I would almost think he
scared her away.

“I want
answers, Captain Succorso, and I want them now. What kind of harm are you doing
at my expense?”

He
spoke severely, but Mikka hardly heard him. Her attention was focused on Ciro.
He was barely visible past the shoulders of the guards, but she seemed to see
him as clearly as if they were alone.

He was
too young to hide what he felt. By an act of will he kept his face still; stood
without squirming. Nevertheless his entire body shouted that he was in mortal
terror — that he’d been violated as profoundly as any rape and didn’t know how
to bear it. Mikka knew him too well to be mistaken. His dismay and need were
flagrant to her. Sweat oozed like wax from his skin; his bones might have been
melting.

She
thought she’d imagined the worst, but she saw now that she had no idea just how
bad the worst could be.

She
didn’t listen to Beckmann’s question; didn’t give Nick time to answer. Carried
by a flood of anguish, she began thrusting her way among the guards to reach
her brother.

“
Mikka!
”
Nick barked after her.

Some of
the men shifted out of her way. Others drew their guns. By the time she reached
Ciro, there were at least three pistols levelled at her head.

She
took no notice of them.

What
has he done to you?

Her
arrival only seemed to increase his distress. Chagrin pulled at his features as
if she’d caught him doing something shameful. Unable to contain the frenzy
rising in her — a wildness like a scream, shrill and tearing — she flung her
arms around him, hugged him against her. But he didn’t respond; all his muscles
were rigid with rejection. His fear had consumed him completely, swallowed him
down to a place where she couldn’t reach him.

What
have they
done
to you?

“Mikka!”
Nick shouted again. And Sib croaked like an echo, “Mikka!”

She let
go of her brother; whirled to confront three guns so close that their muzzles
brushed her face.

Chief
Retledge was saying something that might have been, “— pushing your luck,
Vasaczk.”

She
ignored him; ignored the guns and the guards. Instead she aimed her frenzy like
a shaft of rage at Nick.

“I’m
going to take him aboard.” Her voice was almost steady. “I need to talk to him.
And you don’t want us here.”

Can you
hear
me, you bastard? Are you
listening?
You don’t want us here
because if you try to stop me I’m going to take one of these guns and blast
your
face
off. And if I can’t do that, I’m going to tell Retledge what
the
fuck
I think you’re doing.

Nick
appeared to understand her unspoken threat. She might say something which the
Lab would pass along to
Soar
; which would warn Sorus Chatelaine. At once
he said to Retledge, “It’s all right, Chief.” In one cheek small spasms tugged
at the edges of his scars, but he didn’t seem to be aware of it. “We might as
well let them go. The kid needs cat, or he won’t be able to talk to anybody.
And she’s too worried about him to be good for anything else.

“Sib
and Vector will stay here with me,” he reassured the Security chief. “We all
have plenty to discuss.” An involuntary twist of his mouth showed a flash of
teeth. “I won’t even mention leaving until you and Dr. Beckmann are satisfied.”

Past
the guns Mikka saw Chief Retledge glance at the director of the Lab.

Deaner
Beckmann nodded once, decisively.

A
slight easing of tension ran like a sigh through the room. Slowly three guards
withdrew their weapons from Mikka’s face. A fourth stepped past Ciro and began
tapping codes into the keypad of the lock.

Mikka
turned her back on Nick so that he couldn’t see how close she came to
screaming.

“Take
him aboard, Mikka.” He didn’t shout, but his voice slid along her spine like
the tip of a blade. If he shoved on it, it would cut between her vertebrae and
sever the cord. “I’ll deal with his insubordination later. And yours.”

Fine,
she rasped. You do that. I’ll take my chances.

But she
knew that she’d already lost all her chances.

Ciro
still hadn’t moved. Maybe he couldn’t. He stood facing Nick and Sib, Retledge
and Beckmann; his back to the airlock; rigid as the rigor of death. A different
kind of knife had cut the link between his limbs and his mind.

Why did
seeing her make him feel worse?

She put
her hands on his shoulders, turned him forcibly, and pressed him forward as the
door opened. Awkwardly she impelled him into the airlock.

Behind
her the guard keyed the inner door shut again. After a quick series of
automatic safety checks, the outer door irised aside. At once she hauled Ciro
into the blank access passage which led to
Trumpet
.

What
had they done to him? How could they have scared him so badly? He was her
brother, but she’d never seen him afraid like this. Never.

The
light was flat, vaguely inhuman. She didn’t spot any bugeyes or sensors. Maybe
there weren’t any hidden pickups. She didn’t know the codes to open
Trumpet’s
airlock herself: she would have to ask Angus to let her aboard. But anyone who
overheard her would realize that the gap scout hadn’t been left empty. That
might unravel Nick’s schemes; but it would also doom everyone she cared about.

Assuming
that Ciro wasn’t already doomed —

They
reached the ship. Irrationally concerned that he might turn and run, she
trapped him between her and the wall, leaned against him while she snapped open
the cover which protected the exterior control panel, then thumbed the intercom.

“It’s
Mikka.” She hissed the words softly so that she wouldn’t yell or scream. “Let
me in.”

No one
answered. The indicators on the panel showed that the intercom was active, but
no reply came.

She
hammered the ship’s hull with her fist. “I’ve got Ciro with me. We’re in
trouble. Let me in.”

Of
course Angus wasn’t going to answer. Nick had told him,
The Hyland twins are
yours. If that computer in your malicious little head will let you play with
them, go ahead.
He probably couldn’t hear her at all. He was too busy
raping Morn. Or slowly flaying Davies alive —

Helpless
to contain her anguish, she punched the hull again. Her knuckles left a smear
of blood on the metal, but she didn’t feel any pain. She was past recognising
minor hurts.

“Goddamn
you, let me
in
. “

“Mikka,”
Ciro croaked brokenly, “please —”

“Please?”
She jerked around as if she were turning to hit him. “
Please?
”

His
eyes ached at her, raw for lack of moisture. He couldn’t have wept if he’d
wanted to: he had no tears to weep with.

“Kill
me.” His voice strained against a constriction in his throat. “Now. While you
have the chance.”

Lights
winked on the control panel as the airlock began to cycle open.

Mikka
ducked her head. Dismay and rage mounted inside her. Howling through her teeth,
she snatched Ciro off the wall and heaved him inward as
Trumpet’s
outer
seal eased out of the way.

Sailing
in the light g, he crossed the lock, smacked against the inner door, and
rebounded toward the access passage as if he were trying to escape.

She
leaped after him, caught him in the air, drove him back again.

If she
hadn’t been moving so fast, Davies’ blow might have cracked her skull. As it
was, she caused him to mistime his swing. The gun in his fist missed her head.
Instead the butt pounded deep into the muscles of her left shoulder. Instantly
her arm went numb as if she’d received a blast of stun.

“Shit,
Mikka!” he protested softly, urgently. “What the hell are you doing?” Then he
demanded, “Where’s Nick? We thought he was with you. What’s going on?”

Out of
the corner of her eye, Mikka saw Morn at the airlock control panel, entering
commands as fast as she could to close the door.

Davies.
And Morn. But not Angus.

She
didn’t try to understand it. Her left arm was useless; so completely numb that
it might as well have been cut off. She had to release Ciro in order to key
open the inner door and the lift. At once, however, she gripped him again, even
though he hadn’t tried to get away.

“Mikka!”
Davies barked. With the airlock sealed, he no longer needed to keep his voice
down.