The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (66 page)

“Mikka,
we’re sorry,” Morn said more quietly. “We didn’t mean to attack you.” Like
Davies, she had a gun — a laser pistol, charged and ready. “We thought Nick was
with you — we thought he might be trying to take us by surprise.”

Servos
swept the lift doors out of Mikka’s way. She pushed Ciro inside, entered the
lift after him, then turned.

“Vector’s
done,” she told Morn and Davies as clearly as she could. “He and Nick are
dickering with Beckmann now. Nick kept Sib with them. They should be coming
soon.” Desperation leaked past the edges of her self-control. “Ciro and I need
to talk, so
leave us alone
.”

Davies
seemed deaf to the complex stresses in her tone. “What’s going on?” he demanded
again. “What happened out there?”

Strange
stains marked the front of his alien shipsuit. They looked like blood.

“Where’s
Angus?” Mikka countered harshly. “What’s going on in here?”

Morn
put her hand on Davies’ arm like a warning.

His
mouth closed sharply.

Snarling
under her breath, Mikka shut the lift and sent it upward. She barely heard
Davies shout after her, “Stay off the bridge! Angus doesn’t want to be
bothered!”

Doesn’t
want to be bothered? What was going on? Morn and Davies had guns. They were
trying to ambush Nick in the airlock. And Angus didn’t want to be
bothered?

Later:
she would worry about all that later. If she could still bear it. When the lift
opened, she pulled Ciro out.

The
central passage was empty: the whole ship sounded empty. For the first time
since she’d joined
Trumpet
, the door at the head of the companionway was
shut. But she didn’t pause to analyse the situation. If anything happened now
to delay her, she might begin to tear her hair; might beat her skull on the
bulkheads. In four strides she reached the cabin she and Ciro shared. The door
responded at the touch of a command.

She
thrust her brother inside so hard that he staggered; nearly fell.

While
he caught his balance and slowly, fearfully, came around to face her, she
closed the door; locked it. If she could have dropped an iron bar across it to
keep it shut, she would have done so. A glance at the intercom confirmed that
the pickup wasn’t active.

Lungs
heaving for air, she confronted Ciro across the small cabin. “Now.” Her breath
scraped in her throat. “You’re going to tell me what happened.

“Whatever
it is, we’ll face it together.”

He
stared back at her, dry-eyed, as if she’d offered to reach into his chest and
rip out his heart.

MORN

M
orn could feel withdrawal beginning to burn in her nerves like a
slow fuse lit by Mikka’s frantic passage through the airlock. Until now she’d
been too busy — and too scared — to take notice of her own condition; too full
of adrenaline to want or need the artificial stimulation of her zone implant.

Angus
wasn’t ready. In fact, at the moment he was virtually helpless. Even Ciro,
despite his obvious fright, could have killed the cyborg now.

Angus’
struggle to free himself dismayed Morn. He was the victim of his zone implants:
she knew what that was like. His helplessness touched sore places in her heart
which she didn’t want to examine.

At the
same time, she didn’t want him to succeed. She’d made the decision to let him
try. Now it horrified her.

Yet
without him she was lost. Her life — and her son’s — depended on him. And her
ability to endure the things which had happened to her, as well as the things
she’d done, depended on her determination to make decisions the way a cop
should.

Because
Angus was vulnerable, she and Davies were here in the airlock, waiting for
Nick. Until he completed his self-transformation, he couldn’t defend himself;
certainly couldn’t protect anyone else. Morn and Davies had to beat Nick
themselves.

Just
shoot him, Davies had suggested. They had guns. Angus had opened the weapons
locker before they began his operation.

But
Morn had refused.

Why
not? Davies had pursued. If he’s dead, he can’t hurt us. And he can’t mess with
Angus. We won’t have to stake
everything
on this weird idea that Angus
can edit his datacore.

Because
we’re cops, Morn had answered. We don’t do things like that.

And we
might need him. We might need him to talk us out of here, in case Lab Centre
refuses to deal with anyone else.

And —
the mere idea appalled her — we might need his help if Angus goes out of
control. If his changes backfire. Or if he taps his core programming to somehow
cancel his restriction against harming UMCP personnel.

Besides,
we can’t be sure we won’t hit Vector or one of the others.

Nick
would be here soon: Mikka had said as much.
Vector’s done.
The
geneticist had succeeded at analysing UMCPDA’s mutagen immunity drug: he knew
the formula.
He and Nick are dickering with Beckmann now.
And Beckmann
would want a share of that secret, if only for the wealth it represented. Under
the circumstances, “dickering” wouldn’t take long. Nick would get everything he
asked for and be ready to leave in a matter of minutes.

What
had happened to Mikka? What had happened to Ciro?

Their
distress brought back another nagging question: why had
Soar
left? Morn
had assumed that Sorus Chatelaine was taking her ship out into the asteroid
swarm to prepare an ambush. But Mikka’s actions, and Ciro’s face, suggested
other possibilities.

Nick
had committed some new atrocity.

Or he
himself had been betrayed. Beckmann had turned against him — perhaps because
Soar
had set him up.

Morn
had no intention of telling anyone, not even Mikka, how exposed Angus was until
she knew what had happened in Deaner Beckmann’s domain.

I need
time, Angus had insisted. You’ve got to keep Nick away from me until I’m done
and one of you plugs the datacore back into my computer. After that I can
defend myself, even if I’m still wired to the ship.

But I
can’t rush it. It’s complicated anyway, but the really hard part is getting
around the stasis commands. They’re hardwired. That’s how Hashi fucking Lebwohl’s
techs used to handle me. They could pop my datacore in and out whenever they
wanted because the stasis commands aren’t on that chip. They kick in
automatically if my programming doesn’t countermand them.

So you
can’t just cut me open, pull my datacore, and hand it to me. I won’t be able to
work on it.

The
solution he’d devised was elaborate as well as uncertain. It had involved
opening his back to expose his computer and then running a complex series of
leads between it and
Trumpet’s
command circuits — in effect using the
ship’s datacore to override his hardwired instruction-set so that his own
datacore could be removed without sending him into paralysis.

Will
that work? Morn had asked.

Who the
hell knows? Angus had answered. But what’s it going to hurt? Even if you end up
frying what’s left of my brains, you won’t be any worse off than you are right
now. At least you’ll have a better chance against Captain Sheepfucker. And
maybe I’ll get to stop screaming inside where nobody hears me.

So Morn
and Davies had agreed. As far as she was concerned, they’d had no choice. And
once he’d been persuaded to take the risk of freeing Angus, he’d become eager
to act on it.

She’d
left the cutting and wiring to him — but not because he was eager. She hadn’t
wanted to get that close to Angus. Hadn’t wanted his blood on her hands. While
Davies stained himself red in the task of reaching Angus’ computer, peeling
skin and muscle aside to lay bare his equipment, and then attaching leads
exactly as Angus instructed, she’d helped by wiring those same leads into the
command board.

At the
same time she’d watched scan and communications, studying the Lab as well as
the surrounding swarm for data or warnings. When she’d seen
Soar
undock,
she’d spent a while on targ, tracking the other ship with
Trumpet’s
guns
until she was sure that Sorus Chatelaine didn’t mean to attack the gap scout
while
Soar
was still within reach of the Lab’s matter cannon.

In that
way Morn had kept herself busy; distracted. Otherwise her apprehension and the
smell of Angus’ blood might have made her weep.

The job
had been long and arduous. But at last Angus had said, All right, we’re ready.
As far as I can tell, everything tests out. Go ahead — pull the chip.

Now or
never. Kill me or save me.

When
Davies unplugged the datacore from its socket between Angus’ shoulder blades,
Angus had rolled his eyes, grimaced like a convulsion, muttered a curse. Then
both he and his son had begun to laugh like demented schoolboys; crazy with
relief.

Maybe
the three of them had a chance after all. Maybe by the time Vector finished his
research Angus would be whole again, able to use his lasers and databases and
other resources; and freed from the compulsion of his priority-codes.

But
Mikka had keyed the ship’s exterior intercom too soon. And there’d been no
advance notice from Lab Centre. Angus wasn’t ready — he was still sweating over
his datacore. While it was unplugged none of his equipment functioned. In fact,
he couldn’t even move around: he was effectively trapped by the wiring which
connected him to the command circuits.

A
sitting target.

Snatching
up their guns, Morn and Davies had run for the airlock.

On
their way off the bridge, they’d closed the bulkhead door at the head of the
companionway. That wouldn’t protect him unless he remembered to lock it,
however. Morn feared that he was concentrating too hard to think about things
like that.

But it
was out of her hands. In a rush she and Davies had taken their places in the
airlock on either side of the doors; braced themselves for Nick.

Club
him, she’d hissed to her son. If you can knock him out, our problems are
solved. Even if he’s just dazed, we can handle him. And if you miss — Stiff
with dread, she’d shrugged. I’ll have to try.

Davies
had nodded bitterly. He still ached to kill Nick.

But
when Morn unsealed the doors, Mikka came through the airlock like a flare of
panic, thrusting Ciro ahead of her as if he were too frightened to make himself
move.

Vector’s
done. He and Nick are dickering with Beckmann now. They should be coming soon.

“What’s
going on?” Davies demanded. “What happened out there?”

“Where’s
Angus?” Mikka countered. “What’s going on in here?”

Then
she and Ciro were gone, riding the lift upward.

“Jesus,”
Davies breathed in shock. “What’s wrong with them? I thought this place was
just a lab, not some House of Horrors like Billingate.”

Morn
felt the raw touch of withdrawal crawling along her nerves. She didn’t know the
answer. Somehow Mikka’s fear, and Ciro’s, pushed her to the verge of another
attack. She’d been deprived of her zone implant’s emissions too long — Only
hours of cat had postponed the onset of her mad hunger for clarity. Now it was
overdue.

The
same questions ran her in circles.

What
had happened to Mikka and Ciro? What had they
done?

Davies
tightened his grip on his impact pistol. His body gave off tension like static.
“You ought to go back to the bridge,” he told Morn. “One of us should be there
to plug in that datacore as soon as Angus is ready. And if I can’t deal with
Nick, you’ll still have a chance.”

To
explain his concern, he added, “We don’t know what’s wrong with Mikka and Ciro.
They could turn Angus off just by tugging on one of those leads.”

“I
know,” Morn sighed. A familiar acid licked small streaks of pain along her
limbs, through her joints. The back of her head throbbed. “But if I’m going to
trust Angus, I’m certainly going to trust Mikka. No matter what’s happened, she
doesn’t want Nick to run this ship.” Again she shrugged. “And I can’t leave
you,” she admitted thinly. “I’ll lose my mind if I have to wait up there with
him alone.”

Davies
growled, but didn’t try to dissuade her. “Then we’ll have to do better than we
did with Mikka. You go first this time. Step in front of him, point your gun at
his face — whatever it takes to distract him. All I need is two seconds to key
the door and then hit him.”

She
nodded dumbly. Fear or withdrawal dried her mouth, desiccating what was left of
her courage.

But she
didn’t have time to be afraid. Before starting his operation, Angus had opened
ship-wide channels for
Trumpet’s
internal communications. Now the
airlock intercom chimed, and almost at once Nick’s voice crackled across the
silence.

“Open
up.” He sounded ebullient, nearly manic with eagerness. “I’m back. Whatever you’re
doing” — he must have been talking to Angus, although the Lab’s personnel would
have thought he addressed Mikka — “stop it. Get the ship ready. It’s time to
leave.” He coughed a laugh. “Time to go have some fun.”