This Day All Gods Die (29 page)

Who benefited from this approach? Only Holt Fasner and the UMC. And yet the question inevitably arose: why did Holt care? He was already richer and more powerful than anyone in the history of the planet. What in God's name drove him to the acquisition of still more wealth and more power?

Warden had come to the conclusion that Holt coveted benefits of another kind altogether. Norna had given him the hint he needed to see Holt's ambitions in a new light.

The UMC CEO had ordered Warden to turn Angus over to Nick Succorso. In exchange for a ship, as well as for his own personal cyborg, Nick was supposed to kill everyone except Davies Hyland. Holt wanted Morn's son.

If the Amnion could force-grow young Davies and imprint him with Morn's mind, what was to prevent them from processing any number of human fetuses and imprinting them all with Holt's mind? What was to prevent the Dragon from effectively living forever?

If he acquired enough wealth and power to offer the Amnion something greater than mere raw materials—

human and

otherwise—

or technological methodologies, he might be able to make a deal with them. Like Satan himself, the Father of Lies, the Amnion kept their bargains.

All Holt needed was a demonstration that the Amnion were indeed capable of imprinting one human mind on other

—

and imprinting it intact. Then he would be able to go ahead.

Warden shuddered at the implications while he listened to the UMC CEO.

Holt hadn't paused. He was saying sarcastically, "The Amnion have committed an act of war, in case you didn't notice. I'm holding you accountable for that—

you and your

goddamn covert operations, trusting Billingate to an illegal like Thermopyle and a known traitor like Taverner.

"Now the votes are going to hold an emergency session.

They'll go crazy. They'll probably think anybody who twitches a finger is a kaze about to explode." Holt laughed—

a

harsh, mirthless sound, like breaking sticks. "I'm holding you accountable for that, too. Thanks to you and your precious Koina Hannish, they're all a-twitter with responsibility.

They'll probably try to do something phenomenally stupid, like declaring war on Amnion space. If Cleat can't soothe them somehow, you've done us more harm than a whole damn flotilla of incursions.

"And what are you doing about it? I ask myself," Holt sneered. "How do you 'do your job'? As far as I can tell, you seem to think the Amnion are going to attack here next. First you recalled every warship in reach, which is sure to make the votes even more panicky, even though a hydrocephalic child could tell you that defensive is long gone by this time. And now you've synchronized your goddamn orbit with Suka Bator."

This was true. With an enormous expenditure of energy, Center had adjusted UMCPHQ's centrifugal rush so that the station maintained a position above the GCES island.

"It's like you think we're already at war," Holt finished mordantly. "And we're losing."

Warden considered shouting his fear at Holt. He considered silencing his pickup and refusing to speak to the Dragon again. Then he responded simply, "It's a precaution. I don't want to be occluded. I don't know what's going to happen." A heartbeat later he remarked, "I notice you've done the same thing."

After a series of power-intensive adjustments, UMC

Home Office now sailed the dark little more than a hundred thousand k away in an orbit which echoed UMCPHQ's.

"Damn right," Holt retorted. "That's because I don't trust you, Ward. If you don't want to be occluded, I sure as hell don't. If you decide it's time for something even more destructive than what you've already done, I intend to react fast."

Warden jerked up his head. Anger drummed in his heart, despite his self-control.

" 'Destructive,' Holt? Would you care to be more specific?"

He meant to preserve humankind, not destroy it. And the UMCP had a valid function: he intended to preserve that also.

But there were other issues as well—

He'd done everything in his power to make sure Holt didn't know about Vector Shaheed's broadcast. If the CEO

didn't get that information directly from UMCPHQ, he wouldn't hear it at all until some UMC flunky on VI picked it up and sent out a drone. Or until he learned it from Cleatus Fane at the emergency session. Still Warden wished for confirmation.

"That video conference," Holt snapped at once. "Trust-ing Taverner. Allowing Hannish to tell the votes you're neutral about a Bill of Severance. Letting kazes roam around at will, for Christ's sake. Panicking the votes now.

"I want to know what you're up to, Ward. What in hell do you think you're doing?"

No mention of antimutagens or formulas. Warden nodded to himself.

"What do you want me to do, Holt?" he countered.

Holt's reply was a snarl in the CO Room speakers. "I want you to answer the question. I'm trying to decide whether to fire your ass."

The UMCP director sighed to cover his ire. He was done acting like Holt's servant; done being the man who did Holt's dirty work. And he ached to let Holt know the truth. He was sick of lies. At the same time he couldn't risk being fired. Not now: not when so many gambles and so much pain had reached the verge of fruition or ruin. He still had to be careful.

"Mostly I'm waiting for news." Like you. "Information I can act on."

He'd already given Holt his rationale for his video conference with the GCES. Long ago he'd explained why he'd chosen Milos Taverner to accompany Angus to Billingate. Now he pointedly declined to comment on—

much less justify—

Koina's response to Captain Vertigus' Bill of Severance.

Instead he continued in a flat voice, "Min has gone after Trumpet. When she's in range, she'll deal with whoever she finds aboard. I already have your orders about that. They'll come home as soon as they can. Then maybe we'll know where we stand."

Holt's silence suggested that he was withholding judgment.

Warden tightened his grip on himself. Now, he thought.

Do it now. Get it over with.

"As far as those kazes are concerned," he added, "DA Director Lebwohl and ED Chief of Security Mandich know who's responsible." His tone belied the threat he wanted Holt to hear. "When they finish preparing their evidence, I'll make a public accusation." To forestall an interruption, he stated,

"But I'm not going to name names until I have proof. The culprit is too highly placed,

"Other than that," he finished as if he hadn't already said too much, "I'm waiting to see what our encroaching Amnion defensive does next.

"Is that what you want, Holt? If it isn't, you'd better say so. In a few more hours it's going to be too damn late for any of us to change anything. The Council will hold its emergency session, and we'll have to live with the results."

For a long moment Holt didn't speak. The communications channel between UMCPHQ and UMCHO brought in ambiguous hints of static; anger; apprehension. The fear gnawing in Warden's guts sharpened at the chance he'd taken.

Nevertheless he sat motionless and waited, gambling that Holt wouldn't make any decisions until he knew how much danger he was in.

Finally the CEO said slowly, "I'll accept the rest for now." He seemed to be restraining fury. "Cleat can handle the votes. But I don't like your approach to those kazes."

"Too bad," Warden retorted roughly. "The UMC is a good source of suspects. So is the GCES—

hell, so are we. I'm

not going to taint our investigation by discussing it with you, or Abrim Len, or anyone else. When the time conies to press charges, I intend to make sure they stick."

"Listen, Ward—

" Holt snapped.

"No, Holt," Warden shot back. "You listen. This conversation is on record. My CO staff can hear both ends. I am not going to taint our investigation by discussing it with you."

Again Holt fell silent. The speakers conveyed a muffled, arrhythmic series of beats, as if Holt were pounding his fists on his desk. Warden was certain that Holt would have lashed out at him in private. Only the potential consequences of being

"on record" restrained the CEO.

Abruptly Holt replied, "I'm going to assume you know what you're doing." That wasn't a concession: it was a threat to match Warden's. "I'll let you get on with it for now.

"But when you finish collecting your evidence," he pronounced fiercely, "you will discuss it with me before you make it public. That's a direct order. Do you understand me?"

Warden sighed. "Of course I do." He'd kept his job.

Unfortunately that relief did nothing to ease his deeper dread.

"I've been taking your orders for years. If I didn't understand them by now, I would deserve to be fired."

"That," Holt snorted, "is what worries me.

"I'm watching you, Ward. I'm watching everything.

Don't make the mistake of thinking you don't need me."

Warden shrugged to himself. "Is that all, Holt? I still have a job to do here."

"Just one more thing." Apparently Holt wasn't done warning him yet. "I have a message for you.

"I talked to my mother recently. She asked me to tell you that it isn't enough."

Warden wasn't prescient: absolutely not. But Norna Fasner might as well have been. With nothing except video broadcasts and Holt's contrived hints to go on, she'd grasped what Warden was doing. And she wanted him to succeed—

"Tell her I know that," he answered brusquely.

Before Holt could reply, Warden silenced his pickup, then ordered his tech to close the communications channel.

Obediently the speakers went dead.

With a shift of his shoulders, he settled against the back of his seat and tried to relax.

Norna was right. Without Trumpet he was finished. Even if Hashi and Chief Mandich found the proof he wanted, Holt wouldn't fall. He could too easily sacrifice an "overzealous"

subordinate and claim innocence for himself. Because he was the boss, he could even take credit for the UMCP's investigation. The only effective way to challenge him was by attacking the UMCP itself; by turning Warden's deliberate complicity against the UMC CEO. And the only available arena for that challenge was the upcoming emergency session of the GCES.

So it became Koina's job. Warden had given her everything she needed—

except proof. Now his fate was in her

hands.

And in Morn Hyland's. If she and Davies had received Angus' priority-codes, they would make Trumpet's decisions.

It isn't enough.

He couldn't relax. His fear ate at him too keenly.

From the bottom of his heart he hoped that Min's loyalty to the UMCP—

and to him—

wouldn't inspire her to get in

Morn's way.

"Director—

" The tech's throat was so tight that she nearly choked.

Her tone caught him; caught the whole CO Room in a clutch of tension. Instantly alert, he wheeled his seat toward her.

"What is it?"

The woman swallowed convulsively. "Ship coming in, sir. Just resumed tard. Too close. Way too close. She's braking hard, but she's practically on top of us."

Warden flashed a look at the scan displays, saw the ship's blip perched on a torch of braking thrust. God, she was less than half a million k out. Numbers scrolled rapidly up the screen as computers calculated her deceleration rate. The figures projected that she would be able to stop outside UMCPHQ's orbit. That was good news—

so far. But by the

time she matched the station's velocity she would be within fifty thousand k.

What the hell did she think she was doing?

"Get me id," he demanded sharply. "Is that Punisher?'

The vector was wrong for Sledgehammer: even if she'd attempted a blink crossing, she would approach on a different trajectory. He didn't expect Valor to arrive so soon. And Adventurous was still occluded: the scan net showed her on the far side of the planet.

"No, sir," the tech forced out. "She isn't broadcasting, no id, nothing," and she should have, any ship this near stations and traffic was insane if she didn't broadcast id. "But that isn't Punisher's emission signature."

Warden started to repeat, Get me id! then bit the words back. His people knew their jobs: they were working feverishly. Outside the CO Room, Center had become an electric rush of activity. Traffic officers shouted into their pickups, urgently hailing the stranger for a response; warning other ships and platforms; signaling Sledgehammer and Adventurous, as well as Earth's cordon of gunboats and pocket cruisers.

Collision alarms sounded in case the incoming ship didn't or couldn't complete her deceleration. Klaxons called Warden's people to defense stations. Techs started charging UMCPHQ's few guns. He didn't need to shout for id, or anything else.

In any case the fear eating at his stomach had already answered the question.

"Director!" the tech announced abruptly, "she isn't one of ours. No signature on record." Therefore she wasn't a registered human ship. Every ship built legally in human space filed a complete energy profile with UMCPHQ. If she didn't, she wouldn't be given permission to dock anywhere. The woman swallowed again, then finished, "The computer says she's a Behemoth-class Amnion defensive."

An Amnion warship. For a moment Warden's heart stumbled to a halt. Here.

She must have been the same one Min had engaged to protect Trumpet. Scan made that clear: the vessel's approach vector was wrong for forbidden space, but right for Massif-5.

This was an act of war with a vengeance. Failing to kill Trumpet had made the Amnioni desperate.

Unfortunately Warden was virtually helpless. UMCPHQ's cannon were still seconds or minutes away from being charged. Even if they'd been ready to fire, however, they stood little chance against a Behemoth-class defensive's shields and sinks. And the defensive was already near enough to strike.

If the Amnioni attacked, he had no real way to fight back.

chine stresses seethed and

yowled inside him like ghouls: his welding haunted him.