The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (89 page)

A
flicker of gratitude showed in his gaze. He didn’t take the time to articulate
it, however. Wheeling his station, he began, “All right, Patrice —”

“Shit!”
Porson croaked in sudden dismay. At once he murmured tensely, “Sorry, Captain,”
running commands as fast as he could hit the keys. Scan readouts on the screens
jumped and blurred as he changed them. As if he couldn’t help himself, he
groaned again, “Shit.”

Dolph
growled a warning. But he didn’t need to demand an explanation. Min didn’t need
one. Porson had already put the data which shocked him up onto one of the main
displays.

Out of
nowhere ahead of
Punisher
another ship had appeared.

Literally
out of nowhere. Scan identified the characteristic burst of distortion — the
impression that physical laws were being fried — which followed vessels
emerging from the gap.

Counters
along the bottom of the display measured lag. That ship had come out of the gap
practically on top of
Punisher
: less than sixty thousand k away. She
could have opened fire already if she’d known
Punisher
would be there.
And if she hadn’t resumed tard at nearly
.
2C; three times the cruiser’s
velocity.

She
angled toward the main body of the asteroid swarm at a speed which any human
captain would have considered insane.

“Lord
have mercy,” Glessen breathed from targ as he studied the display. “They’re out
of their minds.”

“Id!”
Dolph demanded sharply. “I want id.”

Was the
vessel friendly or hostile?

She was
big
: scan already made that clear.

“She’s
not broadcasting, Captain,” Cray answered. “I don’t hear anything except gap
distortion and emission noise.”

“You’ve
got her signature?” Captain Ubikwe asked scan.

“Aye,
Captain.” Porson pointed: the numbers were already on the display.

Min
recognised them long intuitive seconds before Dolph said, “Bydell, what do you
have on that emission signature?”

Flustered,
Bydell was slow coding an analysis. “Sorry, Captain,” she muttered, repeating
herself like a stuck recording as she entered commands, accessed databases. “Sorry,
Captain.”

Min
couldn’t wait. “Targ, lock onto that ship,” she snapped.

“Matter
cannon, torpedoes, whatever you have ready. Prepare to attack.”

If the
stranger fired,
Punisher
would get no advance notice at all. Light-constant
blasts would reach her as fast as scan. Her only hope of warning depended on
scan’s ability to detect whether the other ship’s guns were charged.

Dolph
flashed a look at her; apparently decided not to question what he saw. “Do it,
Glessen,” he confirmed. “Full alert. Screens and shields on maximum.”

A heavy
finger on his console set
Punisher’s
battle klaxons screaming.

Then he
keyed his intercom. “Margin?” Without waiting for a response, he called, “We’re
going to battle stations. Don’t stop what you’re doing. That fire takes
precedence. I’ll give you fair warning if we have to hit thrust.”

“I hear
you, Captain,” Stoval answered. “We’re doing our best.”

“Locked
on, Captain,” Glessen announced. “We’re out of effective torpedo range. Lasers
probably aren’t powerful enough for a target that big. Matter cannon might take
a piece out of her — if we don’t hit a particle sink. But at the rate she’s
pulling away, we’re losing her. In another twenty seconds, she’ll be out of
reach.”

Out of
reach. Min swore to herself. Right in front of her, an Amnion warship had
arrived out of the gap to commit an act of war. But the UMCP cruiser charged
with defending human space was on fire. In another twenty seconds, the Amnioni
would be safe.

Fiercely
she bit down an impulse to order an assault.
Punisher
was in no
condition to engage an enemy. The cruiser wouldn’t be able to defend herself
against return fire unless she solved other problems first.

“Captain”
— Bydell’s voice shook — “I’ve got tentative id.”

“Let’s
have it,” Dolph rasped.

“According
to the computer,” Bydell replied as if she were feverish, “that ship is a
Behemoth-class Amnion defensive. The biggest warship they make. UMCPDA reports
say she has enough firepower to nova a small sun. And” — the data officer swallowed
convulsively — “she carries super-light proton cannon.”

Glessen
croaked an involuntary curse. Cray turned away to hide her face.

An act
of war. Combative fury scalded Min’s palms. An Amnion warship had come all the
way here from forbidden space to stop
Trumpet
. The Amnion considered the
stakes high enough to justify risks on that scale.

Was
this what Warden wanted? An incursion to shore up his political position by
demonstrating how necessary he and the UMCP were? Was this why he’d chosen
Milos Taverner to go with Angus? — to set this up?

How
would Succorso react when he learned how much trouble he was in?

“Captain
Ubikwe,” she said harshly, “we’ve got to go after that ship.”

He didn’t
look at her. His eyes studied the displays while his hands worked his board. “Is
that an order, Director Donner?” His shoulders clenched as if he were
suppressing a shout. “Are you instructing me to ignore the fact that we’re on
fire?”

“Yes,”
Min snapped, “that’s an order.” Then she added, “No, I’m not instructing you to
ignore the fact that we’re on fire.”

For a
moment Dolph didn’t react. He bowed his head: his bulk seemed to shrink down
into itself as if his courage were leaking away. He looked like a man who’d
been instructed to kill himself.

But he
didn’t comply. Instead he slammed his fist onto the edge of his console,
launched his station around to face her. “
Then what do you expect me to do
about it?
” he roared. “I can’t take on a goddamn
Behemoth-class
Amnion warship if I can’t manoeuvre — and I can’t manoeuvre without killing my
people fighting that fire!”

Min
held his angry glare. Her gaze was as strict as a commandment; absolute and
fatal.

“Captain
Ubikwe,” she articulated through her teeth, “you have enough plexulose plasma
sealant aboard to reinforce the entire inner hull. Pump some of it between the
bulkheads onto the fire. Use it to smother the flames.”

Dolph’s
mouth dropped open: he closed it again. Shadows of outrage darkened his gaze.

“Bydell”
— his voice rasped like a scourge — “how hot is that fire?”

Data consulted
her readouts. “According to the computer, it must be” — she named a
temperature. Then, inspired by her fears, she jumped to the point of Dolph’s
question. “Captain, that’s hot enough to set the sealant on fire.”

“No.”
Min was sure. She had an encyclopaedic knowledge of everything that went into
UMCPED’s ships. “Plexulose plasma doesn’t become flammable at that temperature
until it hardens. The foam won’t burn. If Stoval works fast enough, he can
smother the fire before the sealant hardens.”

“He can’t
get that
close
to it!” Captain Ubikwe protested like a man who wanted to
tear his hair.

Min
faced him without wavering. “Tell him to put his people in EVA suits,” she
retorted. “They’ll be able to work right on top of the blaze — at least for a
couple of minutes.”

Until
the suits’ cooling systems overloaded and shut down.

Dolph’s
mouth twisted as if he were tasting another yell. Gradually, however, the
darkness in his eyes cleared. An emotion that might have been amazement or
respect pulled at the lines of his face.

“You
know,” he breathed, “that might work. It’s crazy, but it might work.”

His
surprise lasted only a moment. Then he slapped open his intercom and started
issuing new orders to Hargin Stoval.

As soon
as the command fourth confirmed that he’d heard, Dolph returned his attention
to the bridge.

“Sergei,”
he instructed sharply, “stop this damn rotation. Hargin has enough to deal
with. Position us so we can track that ship with one of our good sensor banks.
Then give me steady one g acceleration along her heading.”

“Aye,
Captain.” Patrice was already keying in commands.

“That
won’t catch her,” Dolph explained as if he thought Min might question him, “but
it’ll keep us in scan range until she starts braking.

“She
is
going to start braking,” he asserted, addressing his people now rather than
Min. “A Behemoth-class Amnion warship didn’t come all this way just to give us
a thrill. She’s here to hunt for
Trumpet
. That means she’ll have to slow
down.

“Cray,”
he went on without pausing, “tight-beam a flare for VI Security. Full emergency
priority. Tell them they have an Amnion warship on their hands. Give them her
position. Tell them to scramble every ship they have out here.”

“And
tell them to flare UMCPHQ,” Min put in quickly. “Tell them to use the fastest
gap courier drone they have. On my personal authority.”

“Do it,”
Captain Ubikwe confirmed.

“Aye,
Captain.” At once Cray went to work.

Dolph
considered his readouts, then turned back to his intercom.

“Hargin,”
he called, “we’re about to lose rotation. Instead we’ll have one-g thrust
straight ahead. That might make what you’re trying to do a little easier.”
Stoval’s firelighters would be able to stand — and to trust the surface they
stood on. “Brace yourself.”

“I hear
you, Captain,” Stoval answered. His voice had the hollow resonance of an EVA
suit pickup. “We’re rigging the hoses now. We’ll be ready in a minute. Tell
Bydell to start the pumps on my signal. We’ll be frying our suits that close to
the fire. We can’t afford any delays.”

“Got
that, Bydell?” Captain Ubikwe demanded.

Determination
clenched the data officer’s features. Her hands fluttered and flinched on her
board. “Aye, Captain.”

“We’re
standing by, Hargin,” Dolph told his pickup. “Pumps at full pressure. We’ll
give you sealant as fast as the hoses can spray it.”

He
continued issuing orders; but Min had stopped listening. She was watching the
warship’s blip recede in the centre of the main display screen. The Amnioni was
pulling away as if she would never stop.

Min
knew better.

A
Behemoth-class defensive, armed with super-light proton cannon. Hunting
Trumpet
.

An act
of war.

Damaged
by six months of running battles in this system, blind in one sensor bank, her
core off true, and now threatened by a fire hot enough to gut her,
Punisher
was heading for the worst fight of her life.

MORN

M
orn was losing control: she could feel it. The urgency and outrage
which had sustained her were crumbling; falling apart. She was at the mercy of
a withdrawal as poignant as the sick loss which afflicted her when she was
deprived of her zone implant’s support. Her relief that Vector had been able to
help Ciro had left her drained and vulnerable. Now horror seemed to gnaw in her
bones.

Horror
at what Nick had done to the Lab. At the destructive madness which had driven
him to leave the ship so that he could pit himself against
Soar
in an
EVA suit. At Sib’s willingness to accompany him.

At the
fact that what Nick was doing made sense to Davies —

As
far as I can tell, I’m Bryony Hyland’s daughter. The one she used to have —
before you sold your soul for a zone implant.

Oh,
Davies, my son. What’s happening to you?

Did I
teach you this? Did you learn it from me?

Is it
part of me?

Maybe
it was. But if so, it’d died in her when she first came down with gap-sickness
— the culmination and apotheosis of her old grudge against herself.

She
more than anyone else couldn’t afford revenge.

A few
minutes ago Davies had returned from the airlock.

Without
glancing at her or anyone else, he’d seated himself at the second’s station,
secured his belts. His face was closed — as dark with bile as his father’s, but
somehow less readable. He’d put up walls she couldn’t penetrate; swallowed or
buried the near hysteria of his insistence on hunting
Soar
. His hands on
his board were vehement, but steady: he keyed commands with brutal precision.

“You
feel better now?” Angus had asked indifferently.

Davies
hadn’t bothered to reply.

Status
indicators on one of the screens showed that he was running targ diagnostics,
making sure that
Trumpet’s
guns were fully charged, fully functional.

He
couldn’t handle targ as well as Angus. Human desperation or passion were no
match for Angus’ microprocessor reflexes. Nevertheless his attitude toward his
board gave Morn the impression that he was prepared to be as relentless and
bloody as his father.