This Day All Gods Die (37 page)

When he returned he belted himself into a vacant g-seat and went effortlessly to sleep.

Min herself took an occasional nap. Like Davies and Mikka, Morn stayed awake.

That may have been easier for her than it was for her companions. She'd had far more sleep. But she couldn't have rested in any case. Inside its cast her arm itched acutely, nagging her with memories of gap-sickness and pain. And as she skipped the light-years toward Earth, the confidence she projected to protect herself frayed; slowly went to tatters in the stellar winds of the void. Alarm and chagrin took over her fretted heart. An insidious sense of wrongness corroded her intentions—

and she had no difficulty identifying its sources.

One was the dismaying fact that Punisher had let Calm Horizons live.

The Amnioni's survival was bad enough; dangerous enough. Samples of Morn's tainted blood remained safe aboard her. She'd heard Vector's broadcast, receiving his formula. But the threats didn't end there.

Earlier Calm Horizons had allowed Trumpet to escape: the warship had chosen to defend herself rather than kill her target, even though the apparent logic of the situation indicated that Trumpet's death was essential. The Amnioni's decision might be explained by the argument that she couldn't be certain of destroying her target, and therefore couldn't risk being destroyed herself. However, Morn could think of other explanations—

At first she'd believed that the Amnion had decided to live so that they could return to forbidden space with their knowledge of Vector's immunity drug. But by now she'd had time to imagine other terrors. Was it possible that the Amnion could attack or neutralize Trumpet in other ways? Did they have other ships like Soar—

human ships in human space,

waiting to ambush the gap scout? Had they made covert agreements with Holt Fasner to undermine humankind's future for the sake of his profits?

Entirely apart from the reasons she'd given Min, Morn maintained internal spin precisely because it slowed Punisher's progress. She wanted to reach Earth later than her enemies might expect. That way she could hope to catch them already deployed and visible, rather than lurking out of sight behind her. Spring the ambush before she stepped into it.

Unfortunately other stresses wore at her as well.

She hadn't told Min Donner anything like the whole truth about what she was doing, or why. She hadn't discussed her fear of Holt Fasner's—

and therefore the UMCP's—

reaction to

her intentions. And she'd made no mention of what could happen to her if Punisher risked hard g, either now or later.

Nevertheless as time dragged on she believed more and more that Min had already penetrated her secrets.

Despite the obvious inadequacy of Morn's explanations, the ED director didn't press her. As closed as stone, Min accepted Morn's command of the bridge in silence, speaking only when Morn asked something of her, or when she thought the cruiser's people needed attention. To that extent, at least, she appeared to consider herself nothing more than a surrogate for Captain Ubikwe. Yet something in the nature of her unre-sponsiveness conveyed the impression that she knew about Morn's gap-sickness.

Initially that confused Morn. Then, however, she remembered the weeks Angus had spent in UMCPDA's hands, being welded. Min probably knew everything that Angus had ever known about Morn, or done to her, or desired from her, up to the time when Nick Succorso had snatched her away from Com-Mine.

Min knew about Morn's zone implant—

Morn had grown accustomed to Angus' knowledge; to Mikka's, Davies', Vector's. Familiarity inured her to it. But the thought that the ED director also knew filled her with shame; as aggrieved and unanswerable as the burning in her damaged arm. Min Donner was the moral authority on which the entire Hyland family had built its beliefs and commitments.

And Morn had killed most of that family with her own hands. In some sense she'd killed herself: the Morn Hyland who'd served UMCPED no longer existed. Only Davies remained to uphold the allegiance of the Hylands.

As the journey dragged its length across the stars, Morn found it increasingly difficult to face Min without breaking down into explanations or appeals which might cost her more than she could afford.

Min Donner might be as honest as steel: the UMCP was not. Behind her stood men like Hashi Lebwohl and Warden Dios; men with ambiguous intentions, harsh desires. And behind them loomed the Dragon in his malice. Regardless of her personal integrity, Min bore a kind of borrowed corruption.

Borrowed or imposed—

Morn kept as much of her own truth to herself as she could.

From time to time—

again at Min's insistence—

Pun-

isher's bosun brought food to the bridge. This was not for the duty officers, who could visit the galley when they were relieved, but for Morn, the others, and herself. Morn ate what she could. Vector roused himself to eat, but seemed more interested in coffee. Mikka gulped sandwiches where she stood.

When Min had taken as much as she wanted, Davies devoured the rest.

Nothing else passed the hours except the studied litany of reports from helm and scan: descriptions of navigational errors and open space; announcements of course corrections or tach.

No other vessels left blips or particle trails across the cruiser's course. Communications heard nothing. Whatever Calm Horizons intended, she'd apparently lost her strange ability to track Trumpet's movements.

By slow increments the distance to Earth diminished.

Angus brought Captain Ubikwe and Ciro back to the bridge shortly after helm announced that Punisher would soon be ready for the last gap crossing to Earth.

By then the rotation of watches had returned most of the officers Morn had first seen to the bridge: a woman named Cray on communications; Porson at scan; a shy, awkward young woman to the data station; a truculent, square-fisted man on targ. Only the helm officer was different: instead of Emmett a man called Patrice guided the ship.

Captain Ubikwe saluted his people gruffly as he arrived.

Ignoring Morn, he faced Min. "Is my ship all right, Director Donner?" he asked in a tired rumble.

Min's gaze had a sardonic cast as she referred the question to Morn.

The sound of voices roused Vector from a final nap. He looked up, straightened himself in his g-seat; smiled a question at Ciro, but didn't speak.

Davies' face showed relief. He may have been reassured by Angus' return. Or he may have been glad to see that Angus hadn't hurt Captain Ubikwe.

Morn was troubled by the sensation that her features had gone numb. She rubbed her cheeks with her good hand, trying to bring them back to life. She would reach Earth soon, after all this time; after so much death and pain. As the weariness of her long vigil accumulated, it seemed to feed her shame. Soon she would be so tired that only her inadequacies remained.

"We haven't done anything to risk her, Captain," she answered. "You know that." He could interpret the gentle interaction of Punisher's spin and thrust as well as anyone.

"Your people have been cooperative, for which I'm grateful.

Director Donner insisted, so we've rotated the watches pretty regularly. There hasn't been any trouble." Distantly she added, "No sign of any other ships."

That was about to change, of course. Morn hoped to resume tard as close to UMCPHQ as possible, in the UMCP's dedicated gap range if helm could manage it. As soon as the cruiser entered Earth's solar system, the traffic squall of navigational buoys would reach her, and the scan would fill up with blips.

Punisher would have to be much more careful.

Captain Ubikwe grunted an acknowledgment. Something in his tone—

or his manner—

tugged at Morn's attention.

He seemed tired to the bone: Angus must have kept him busy almost continuously. But behind his fatigue lay an adjustment of some kind; an amelioration. He looked like he'd been reconciled to the plight of his ship.

Angus must have told him something—

Morn turned to Angus; but he didn't meet her gaze. Instead he studied the display screens, absorbing everything he could about the ship's position and status. He, too, had changed—

but it was a change she recognized. He emanated ferocity as if his zone implants' emission had risen to an entirely new level.

He was getting ready to fight for his life.

"Are you all right, Dolph?" Min asked quietly.

The captain shrugged his heavy shoulders; glanced at Angus like a man who didn't know how much he was allowed to say. Angus didn't react, however. After a moment Captain Ubikwe sighed.

"Just tired. I haven't done that much crawling around in small spaces since the Academy. But I guess we're finished."

"Finished with what, Captain?" Morn asked. Angus hadn't told her why he wanted both Dolph Ubikwe and Ciro aboard Trumpet.

Dolph shrugged again. "We fixed the drives. Both of them. Sort of. They test green. Readouts sure as hell look stable. But I wouldn't want to pin my life on that gap drive."

"You won't have to," Angus muttered.

Captain Ubikwe plowed on, unheeding. "We couldn't calibrate the hysteresis transducer. Not without activating the drive. So Captain Thermopyle did it by guesswork. I don't care if he carries the specs for the entire created universe around in his head. You can't calibrate the transducer without activating the drive. That gap field could disassemble the whole ship and leave it drifting in tach like so much dust."

"Captain Thermopyle," Min drawled, "I don't suppose you'll consider telling us why you think you need Trumpet's drives?"

Morn also wanted an answer; but Davies distracted her by gesturing for her attention. When she turned to see what he wanted her to notice, she found herself peering hard at Ciro.

More than either Angus or Captain Ubikwe, he'd become different. He wore a look of hooded concentration; of focus he meant to conceal. Somehow the guilt and horror tormenting him had eased. Or they'd taken root—

grown to a kind of

clenched, inarguable hysteria. He met no one's eyes; hardly raised his head. But from under his lowered brows, his gaze glinted with intention.

Mikka hadn't seen him yet. She stood rigid at her post beside Patrice, her back to her brother.

Mikka, Morn wanted to say. Mikka, look. What's happened to him? What did Angus do to him? But Angus stopped her by replying to Director Donner.

"Sure." Abruptly he turned from the screens. A grin bared his yellow teeth. "I'll tell you. Your precious Hashi Lebwohl programmed me to think about things like survival.

Keeping people alive. Morn doesn't do that, so it's up to me.

Trumpet gives us a way off this ship. If we need it."

Morn studied him in wonder and alarm. Was that really what he was doing—

compensating for her weaknesses, her

blind spots; her instinct for self-destruct—

?

When I'm in trouble, she'd once said to Davies, the only thing I can think of is to hurt myself. I need a better answer.

Was Angus trying to help her find one?

But at once Dolph put in heavily, "That's not the whole story. Maybe it's true as far as it goes. But he has a pretty extreme notion of 'survival' and 'keeping people alive.' We had a real shouting match about it. He showed this poor kid—

"

Angus whirled on Captain Ubikwe. "Stop right there, fat man!" he barked. "I warned you. This doesn't have anything to do with you." He raised his fists. "It's not too late for a little BR surgery."

Rolling his eyes provocatively, Dolph closed his mouth.

But Ciro spoke before Angus could prevent him. "He showed me how to use the singularity grenades." He might have been staking a claim; announcing who he had become.

"Arm them. Launch them. Detonate them. Suck everything into a black hole." He smiled—

a grin as thin as a cut. "Like

Free Lunch. And Nick."

Showed me—

That shocked the bridge—

which may have been Captain

Ubikwe's purpose. Involuntarily the duty officers stopped what they were doing and stared. The woman at the data station had gone pale. The man on targ chewed curses under his breath.

—

how to use—

"Ciro!"

Crying her brother's name, Mikka flung herself around to face him. Vector flinched in consternation.

—

the singularity grenades.

For an instant Morn feared her heart would fail. Acid mortality burned inside her cast. With one stroke, Angus had taken away her control of the situation; transformed it into a confrontation charged with blood and coercion. He'd turned Ciro into a pawn in a struggle she hadn't foreseen and couldn't imagine.

Suck everything into a black hole.

And she'd let him do it. Despite all the pain and abase-ment he'd inflicted on her, she'd trusted him. Trusted his impulse to stand by his commitments to her; trusted his gratitude at being freed from his priority-codes.

Trusted his core programming—

and the men who'd de-

signed it.

Like Free Lunch. And Nick.

"Christ, Angus!" Davies shouted hotly. Heedless of his assignments, he dropped his watch on Min to face his father.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Don't you suppose he has enough problems already?"

Min didn't need to be guarded. She'd made it plain hours ago that she accepted Morn's command. In some way the actions of Trumpet's people suited the ED director. Nevertheless she didn't take Ciro's revelation calmly.

"Ensign Hyland!" she snapped like the crack of a whip.

"You told me these people were under arrest. That makes you responsible for them. But a man in your custody has just given highly classified and dangerous information to a known illegal who also happens to be a kid hardly old enough to know his own mind.

"This is on the record, Ensign. If you thought you could protect these people by posing as the arresting officer, you're wrong now. Their conduct incriminates you as well as them."

Abruptly Patrice remembered his duties. He looked down at his readouts. "Captain," he announced to Dolph, "in five minutes we'll reach our tach window on UMCPHQ's gap range. If we miss it, we'll have to decelerate to compensate."