The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (69 page)

While
Morn still groped to imagine what Centre was waiting for, he punched open a
communications channel.

Vector
didn’t pause. “If you’ll give me that data-jack,” he said to Davies, “I’ll
start feeding it in. I can do that from the auxiliary engineering board. Then
we’ll be able to get out of here” — he glanced at Angus — “no matter what
happens.”

Scowling,
Davies passed the data-jack to Vector. At once he resumed working on Angus’
back, trying to swab away enough blood so that he could see what to do.

“Lab
Centre,” Sib said almost firmly, “this is
Trumpet
. Sorry for the delay.
We’re just about ready.”

Vector
smiled impartially around the bridge. Then he headed for the auxiliary
engineering board.

“All
right,” Davies muttered into Angus’ open back. He picked up a small circuit
clamp, clipped the datacore onto it. “Now maybe I can do this without plugging
it in backward.”

Holding
his breath so that his hands wouldn’t shake, he probed the datacore toward
Angus’ computer.

“
Trumpet
,”
Lab Centre demanded sharply, “who is this? Where’s Captain Succorso?”

Morn
didn’t know the voice.

“Sorry,
again,” Sib responded. “Chief Retledge, this is Sib Mackern. I guess I should
explain. The truth is” — with an effort he managed to make his anxiety sound
like embarrassment — “I’m afraid Captain Succorso and Dr. Shaheed couldn’t wait
to start celebrating. They’re in the galley, already half null — I could probably
get the captain to talk to you, but at the moment I don’t think he cares
whether we ever undock.”

Once he
began, Sib didn’t falter. His approximation of assurance improved steadily. “Mikka
Vasaczk is tending her brother in sickbay. It looks like he has some kind of
health problem we didn’t know about. Suddenly it was too much for him.

“That
just leaves me.

“As
soon as our computers finish reading your data-jack, we’ll be ready to receive
departure protocols.”

“Alone,
Mr. Mackern?” Chief Retledge didn’t try to conceal his incredulity. “You
propose to take
Trumpet
out alone?”

“There,”
Davies breathed through clenched jaws. “It’s in.” He leaned back: unaware of
what he did, he wrapped his arms around himself as if he needed comfort. “Can
you still hear me, Angus? Did I do it right? Can you tell if I did it right?”

Angus
didn’t move; didn’t answer. He squatted on the deck as if he’d surrendered to
execution.

Withdrawal
twisted through Morn’s stomach. She felt herself hyperventilating. She wanted
to tell Sib, Get us out of here. Make them give us permission. But she didn’t
dare; she couldn’t risk being overheard.

“Chief
Retledge,” Sib countered, “this is a gap scout, not an orehauler — or a
warship.” He spoke loudly to cover Davies. “Her manifest only requires a crew
of two. If your data is accurate, I can run this swarm in my sleep.” He paused,
feigning doubt, then added, “Captain Succorso doesn’t care at the moment. But
when he sobers up, he’s going to be more than just furious if I don’t carry out
his orders.”

Nick
seemed to react to the sound of his name. He groaned softly: his shoulders
hunched: he tried to rise. But the effort was too much for him, and he slumped
back to the deck.

Retledge
was silent for a long moment. Then, grudgingly, he snorted, “
Trumpet
, we’re
standing by to initiate undock on your word. We’ll assign departure protocols
when you’re clear. Lab Centre out.”

The
bridge speakers emitted a faint hiss and fell silent.

“Almost
done,” Vector murmured to no one in particular.

Without
warning Angus moved his arms.

Morn
flinched; she couldn’t help herself. Skinworms of fear chewed along her nerves.

His
muscles tensed. His back straightened. Slowly he stood, pulling himself taller.
He might have been a piece of equipment coming back on-line.

“Angus?”
Davies asked uncertainly. “Angus—?”

A low
moan began to leak up out of Angus’ chest like a prayer. Quiet at first, it
built louder as his heart beat and his arms flexed; as tension moved up and
down his spine like a systems check. Morn wanted to implore him, Stop it, stop!
but she couldn’t. He transfixed her. She could only stand and listen as his
moan rose to a roar, as guttural and extreme as the howl of a tortured beast.

Suddenly
he whirled away from the command station, ripping himself free of the board,
slinging a spray of blood and wires around him.

“It
works!” he cried like a shout of rage. “
It works!
”

Morn
took a step toward him. There was no one else to do it. Davies knelt where
Angus had left him, too shocked to move. Sib and Vector might have been
paralysed. Somehow Nick had squirmed his knees under him, but he couldn’t lift
himself any higher. Morn had to face Angus alone.

Her
laser was in her hand; of its own volition, her hand pointed itself at Angus’
head. Panting as if she’d lost the power to breathe, she asked, “How do I know
that? How am I supposed to believe you?”

His
passion wasn’t rage: it was a feral joy, as savage and necessary as murder; as
pure as fury. Bloody from working on his datacore, his hands closed and
unclosed like a torn heart.

“Try
me,” he rasped. “
Try
me.”

Try
him? She wanted to turn and run. No, she wanted to burn him through the head
before he thought to defend himself. Involuntarily her fist tightened. Shame
and fear from the core of her being begged her to press the firing stud.

We’ll
do it. We’ll trust you.

We’re
cops.

Gasping
to force up words, she ordered, “Isaac, this is Gabriel priority. Put your head
down.”

Nick
let out a groan of pain and betrayal. “You bastard.”

Fierce
with exaltation, Angus jutted his chin toward the ceiling.

“I’m
free.” Wild relief congested his voice as if he were sobbing. “I’m
free
.”

“You
bastard.” Heaving on the tape which bound his wrists to his ankles, Nick pulled
himself up onto his feet. Pain glazed his eyes, thickened his tongue. “Motherfucker.”
He hardly had the strength to stand; his bonds didn’t let him move.
Nevertheless he fought to articulate his despair. “Treacherous bloody piece of
shit.”

Morn
ignored him. “That’s not what you told us,” she protested to Angus. Her arm
began to shake: she couldn’t control it. The muzzle of her laser pistol wavered
across the display screens behind his head. “You told us you could mask your
prioritycodes. But you can’t circumvent your core programming. That’s what you
said. How free
are
you?”

Angus’
eyes rolled as if he needed to howl again. Her distrust seemed to torment or
transport him.

Abruptly
his attention caught on Nick. With a snarl, he sprang forward. His left hand
grabbed Nick by the collar of his shipsuit: his momentum and strength carried
Nick backward, slammed him against the bulkhead.

Deliberately
Angus bunched his right fist in front of Nick’s face, aimed his prosthetic
laser into Nick’s eyes.

No!
Morn thought.
Yes.
No!

She’d
killed Nick with a question. How free
are
you? His death was on her
head.

But
Angus didn’t fire. Strain whitened his knuckles, stretched the cords of his
hands taut. His ringers clenched until his hand shook as badly as Morn’s. His
desire to kill Nick filled his face like a scream.

Yet his
laser didn’t fire.

“See?”
Convulsively he flung Nick away from him, whirled to face Morn again. His voice
rose into a shout of grief and protest. “
See?
I can’t
do
it! I
can’t even
hit
him!
My programming won’t let me hurt UMCP personnel!
”

Nick
fell to his knees, toppled onto the deck. His eyes stared past his pale scars.
From somewhere deep inside him, a sound like laughter trickled out of his
mouth.

“Come
on,” Angus pleaded with Morn, “
try
me! Don’t stand there thinking I didn’t
keep my deal with you!”

By
degrees his shout sank to a bitter growl. “I’m free of
him
.” He slapped
the back of his hand in Nick’s direction. “And I’m free of
you
.” He
stabbed one strong finger like a blow at the centre of her chest. “You can’t
use
me the way he did.

“But I’m
not free of the goddamn UMCP. I’m not free of Warden Dios.” His eyes spilled
memories as dark as hers. “I won’t be free of him and Hashi fucking Lebwohl
until they’re dead.

“Give
me a way to prove I keep my deals. The ones I care about. Tell me what you want
me to do.”

Without
apparent transition Davies stood at Angus’ shoulder, holding the open first-aid
kit under one arm. Morn hadn’t seen him move. Her concentration had contracted
until only Angus seemed to exist.

“For a
start,” Davies said acidly, “you might try standing still. If I don’t do
something about your back, you’re going to bleed to death.”

Angus
didn’t agree or object. He waited for Morn to reply.

Davies
glanced at her, then took a tube of tissue plasm out of the kit and began
squeezing the contents into Angus’ wound.

“I think
—” Sib put in hesitantly.

“Don’t.”
Unexpectedly sharp, Vector cut him off. “This is between them. You and I haven’t
earned the right to an opinion.”

Morn
turned away. The tremors which weakened her aim had become more than she could
bear. She needed her black box: without it, she was too frail, too mortal.
Angus had cost her too much. She’d made the decision to let him free; but now
she wasn’t brave enough to face the outcome.

When
she turned, however, her eyes met Nick’s.

In
spite of his cracked head and his bonds, he grinned like a skull. “You stupid
bitch,” he murmured softly. “You thought I was bad.” His tone was raw malice. “This
is going to be worse.”

At the
sight of his twisted features and the sound of his voice, something in her
stiffened — an echo of the resolve which had carried her when she’d decided to
help Angus.

We’ll
trust whoever wrote your core programming. I think it was Warden Dios. I think
he’s trying to find some way to fight Holt Fasner. And if he is, I think we
should help him.

Angus
hadn’t hurt anyone here until Nick took control of him.

She
could have saved herself. But she didn’t.

Holding
Nick’s gaze, she retorted, “Just for the record, Angus didn’t betray you. He
couldn’t. He couldn’t fight his prioritycodes. The people who sent you that
message did it.”

Nick
made another small inarticulate sound; but now it seemed less like laughter.

She put
her laser down: she didn’t need a weapon anymore.

Without
it, her hand stopped shaking, and she was able to face Angus again.

“I want
you at the command station,” she told him. “Sib has to talk to Lab Centre, but
we need you to get us out of here.” So that Davies, Sib, and Vector would hear
her as well, she went on, “We’re going after
Soar
. But we probably can’t
beat her unless you help us. You’re still the captain of this ship.”

Gratitude
and fierce joy bared Angus’ teeth, but he didn’t answer her. Instead he pulled
away from Davies and vaulted into his command g-seat. With his shipsuit still
tucked down around his waist and blood smearing his half-sealed wound, he began
entering the commands which brought
Trumpet
to life.

Nick
was laughing again, but Morn ignored him. Trying to shore up her courage, she
recited a litany of hope.

One man
who’d hurt her was bound; helpless.

The
restrictions in Angus’ datacore still held — and yet he was free to do what
Morn asked of him. Warden Dios had given her that.

Her son
and her friends had survived.

Vector
knew the formula for an antimutagen.

And
Soar
used to be called
Gutbuster
.

Maybe
Davies was right. Maybe it was time for predators.

ANCILLARY

DOCUMENTATION

THE
AMNION

LANGUAGE
AND INTELLIGENCE

In dealing with the Amnion
perhaps more than at any other time in humankind’s history, language was the
only available tool for understanding.

Communication
was necessary for the negotiation of trade agreements, the determination of
frontiers, and the resolution of disputes — what humankind called “diplomacy.”
For that reason, the Amnion had taught themselves to translate as much as they
could of human speech, and had made their own speech accessible for humans to
study. However, humankind knew virtually nothing about what lay behind that
speech: it had no context.