This Day All Gods Die (38 page)

Five minutes? Only five?

Angus had shown—

"Ensign Hyland," Min demanded severely, "is there anything you would like to say?"

Yes! Morn thought; almost wailed aloud. This isn't what I wanted! The stakes were already too high. I didn't know he was going to do this!

She'd killed most of her family. Now she was about to become the cause of even more death.

But when she looked at Angus, the naked appeal on his face closed her throat. Without transition she felt that she'd been translated back to Mallorys Bar & Sleep. He was saying, I accept. The deal you offered. Her black box in exchange for his life. I'll cover you. He might have been thrusting the control to her zone implant into her hand again: the need which wracked his gaze was the same. I could have killed you. I could have killed you anytime.

Fiercely she forced down her dismay; her weakness. She didn't want another zone implant control—

or anything like it.

But this wasn't Mallorys, or Com-Mine: it was Punisher.

Angus had shown Ciro how to use the singularity grenades.

The grenades were aboard Trumpet, however, and Ciro was here. Whatever Angus had in mind wasn't immediate. She could take the time to think about her choices; try to understand them.

"Helm, I want fifteen minutes." The steadiness of her voice amazed her. She sounded like a woman who still knew what to do. "Nudge braking thrust enough to cover the difference."

Patrice referred the question to Dolph. "Captain?"

"Do it, Sergei," the captain rumbled. "Ensign Hyland is in command. This is her mess. Personally, I'm curious to see how she gets out of it."

Morn nodded. "Thank you, Captain." As soon as Patrice began tapping keys, she felt the viscid drag of Punisher's deceleration tug her against her belts.

Not enough pressure to threaten her—

She didn't wait for the stress to end. Facing Angus again, she demanded grimly, "I need an explanation."

"I need an explanation!" Davies moved through the inertia of braking toward Angus, clutching his handgun as if he meant to use it. His eyes bulged like his father's. "God damn it, Angus, he's hardly older than I am! Isn't there anybody you aren't willing to sacrifice?"

Angus flung a snarl over his shoulder at Davies. "You mean 'sacrifice' the way you 'sacrificed' Sib Mackern? You think sending him out to die just so you could get rid of Nick is better?"

That stopped Davies: he couldn't answer. He lowered his gun until it dangled at his side, useless to him.

Mikka might not have heard Angus and Davies; or Min Donner. She'd begun to shiver as if she were straining at a leash, held back by ropes from breaking out into blows and fury.

"Ciro, " she groaned deep in her throat, "what in God's name has he done to you?"

Abruptly Ciro retorted, "Stop it, Mikka. You aren't the one she gave a mutagen to. I am. You don't have any idea what it's like, knowing you have to kill everybody you care about."

He turned his head to look at Angus. "But he does."

"Sib volunteered," Vector offered quietly. He studied his former second as if he could see the boy dying. "It sounds like Ciro did too." Then he shrugged sadly. "He has as much right as Sib to make his own decisions."

Angus rasped at Davies, "You listening to this, boy?" He jerked a thumb in Vector's direction. "Sib did what he wanted.

So is Ciro. The only difference is, you liked what Sib did."

"I love this," Captain Ubikwe snorted. "You're all as charming as snakes. Exactly what did you do to poor old Sib?

And what's this about a 'mutagen'?"

Trumpet's people ignored him. Min kept her attention focused on Morn and Angus.

Angus still faced Davies. "Well, I don't give a shit what you think. Ciro is working for me now. Instead of kicking him into a corner like a goddamn puppy, I'm giving him something to do."

"Angus"—

Morn raised her voice to make him hear her

—

"that's not good enough!" Did he call this a better answer?

"I'm not interested in how you justify yourself. I want an explanation.''

Angus tore his gaze away from Davies to meet Morn's demand. His whole body was vivid with fury: he looked like he might spring for her throat. But then he seemed to take hold of himself, fight down his vehemence. He may have had some measure of control over his zone implants; may have used them to calm himself. Slowly his passion shifted from anger to supplication.

He didn't speak as if he were begging. Nevertheless Morn saw that he was in the grip of an old terror: the same mortal dread which had ruled his life. Driven by that darkness, he'd offered her her black box in exchange for his own survival.

Stiff with reined brutality, he answered, "I don't believe Min fucking Donner here is as pure as you think, and I don't believe you can protect any of us. Least of all yourself. One way or another, the cops are going to feed us our guts before this is over. That's their job."

The corners of Min's jaw knotted, but she betrayed no other reaction.

"You can probably face that," Angus told Morn. "Hell, you can probably face anything. But I can't. I am not going to let Hashi Lebwohl and his surgical apes get their hands on me again."

He moved toward her until he could close his fists on the edge of the command board. Strain whitened his knuckles. He ignored Min and Dolph and the duty officers; Ciro and Mikka; Vector and Davies: Morn may have been the only person aboard who truly mattered to him.

"I'll back you all the way," he promised. "As far as I can. Until you fail. What you want to do can't work. The cops have all the muscle—

and muscle always wins. But I don't care about that. I owe you. I'll try anything to help you.

"But I've already been welded once. I won't go through it again. When I run out of choices, I'm going to take Trumpet and leave. And I'll take Ciro with me. He's my insurance. If I'm too busy to do it myself, he can launch enough trouble to let us get away."

He bowed his head momentarily, took a deep breath, then looked at her again.

"Morn, trust me." Traces of pleading left his tone raw.

"If you can't do that, trust him." A twitch of his head indicated Ciro. "He's right. None of you understand what Sorus Chatelaine did to him. I can use that."

"Use it?" Mikka wheeled on him, her eyes burning like black suns. "You sonofabitch, use it?"

"Yes!" he retorted. His gaze clung to Morn; but he projected his voice to the entire bridge. "As of now, this whole damn ship has been taken hostage. You are going to follow Morn's orders, and you are going to fucking like it. Otherwise—

"

"Otherwise," Ciro finished for him, "I'll go back to Trumpet and set off a grenade." He made the idea sound simple enough to be sane. "I know how. I know all about it."

And he might be able to do it. If Angus escorted him.

Captain Ubikwe nodded as if he understood; as if Morn and Angus and Ciro had finally reached the point which had changed his attitude toward being deposed from his command.

Before anyone else could react, he cleared his throat loudly enough to catch even Mikka's attention.

"He's protecting us, Min." He faced the ED director formally, with his shoulders square and his chin up, as if he were expecting a reprimand. Embarrassment twisted his mouth: he didn't like defending Angus. Still he went ahead. "Sounds silly, I know. But he did a lot of talking while we were sequestered in Trumpet. Pretty oblique, most of it—

but I got the

impression he's willing to cover our asses as well as his own."

"You spent too much time listening to him, Dolph," Min muttered softly; warning him. "You aren't talking sense anymore."

Dolph cleared his throat again. "It's like this. The threat of a singularity grenade makes us innocent. We haven't been

'derelict in our duty.' We haven't 'given aid and comfort to the enemy.' Nobody can challenge us for letting Ensign Hyland take over—

or for letting her do anything else she wants." His voice took on a subtle ring; a hint of excitement or hope. "The Dragon himself can't challenge us. And he can't fault Director Dios, either. Not when Trumpet is carrying singularity grenades, and a kid who's already lost his mind knows how to use them."

When he stopped, his words seemed to echo off the bulkheads for a moment, as if their potential refused to die away.

Mikka stared dismay at him. For her he might have been speaking in an alien language. Perhaps nothing he said could have penetrated her transfixed distress. But Vector had begun to grin—

a harsh smile, whetted by recognition or remorse.

Davies shook his head slowly, muttering to himself. Captain Ubikwe's explanation didn't match Ciro's coherent lunacy.

Nevertheless Angus bared his teeth as if he defied argument. He hadn't wanted the bridge to know how he'd involved Ciro—

but apparently he liked Dolph's conclusions.

"It won't work." Min's tone cut through the hints of resonance. "Captain Thermopyle is a welded UMCP cyborg.

Holt Fasner knows that, even if the Council doesn't. He'll assume Angus is acting on my orders. Or Warden's. He probably won't believe Angus doesn't answer his priority-codes anymore."

Morn winced inwardly; took a deep breath and held it to steady her racing heart. Holt Fasner knew? The possibilities Captain Ubikwe had raised seemed to vanish as quickly as they'd appeared.

His shoulders slumped. He ducked his head to cover a scowl of disappointment. "In that case," he answered in a growl, "I guess it's up to you. Ensign Hyland has the command station. You've let her sit there all this time." He might have been saying, You let her have my ship. "But you just reminded her she's responsible for the people in her custody.

You used the word 'incriminates.' Are you going to try to stop her now?"

"No," Angus snapped defensively, "she isn't. And you aren't either. I don't give a shit what Holt Fasner thinks. My priority-codes don't work anymore, and I'll kill the first asshole who interferes with Morn.

"You want to try me, be my guest. We don't need you anymore. We'll go back to Trumpet. Put a grenade in one of your thruster tubes and leave. You'll have some real excitement the next time you try to maneuver."

His threat seemed to dominate the bridge; but Min wasn't swayed by it. "Don't lie to yourself, Captain Thermopyle,"

she responded. "You need us. Morn needs us. And she knows it. She wants to go to Earth. We're her safe-conduct. Without us she might as well stay away."

She faced Morn as if she expected Morn to agree with her.

Clenching with tension, Davies waited for her reaction.

Angus had misjudged his leverage. Morn herself had thought it looked stronger than it was.

She felt crowded in by secret desires and conflicting exigencies. Anything she did, any step she took, would satisfy or frustrate purposes she didn't understand. For days she'd had the nascent impression that she and her friends were groping to find their necessary roles in some huge, blind contest between Warden Dios and Holt Fasner; a contest with stakes so high they appalled her. She couldn't begin to guess what form the struggle took—

or what it had to do with her. Still her sense of being enmeshed in a bitter and covert battle grew sharper all the time.

Inadvertently, perhaps, Min had given her confirmation.

The ED director might have ceded Punisher to her for any number of reasons; but fear and uncertainty weren't among them.

One way or another, the UMCP had delivered Morn to Nick. Nick had been allowed to take her off Com-Mine. Yet Angus' programming had compelled him to rescue her.

And later the same transmission which had supplied Nick with Angus' priority-codes had also enabled her and Davies to end Nick's control. Now Angus had blocked those codes altogether.

Could Holt Fasner know that as well? Min believed not.

Could Warden Dios? Angus had said he did.

But when UMCPDA welded Angus, Warden had informed Holt Fasner. Not the GCES.

The time had come for better answers.

Morn couldn't resolve her dilemma by simply taking what the UMCP director did on faith. She had to make her decision by staking everything on the people she knew best.

Angus and Davies. Mikka and Vector. Herself.

From Captain Ubikwe's g-seat she replied to Min and the rest of the bridge.

"That's true," she admitted slowly. "But this whole discussion is beside the point." I'll back you all the way. "I'm in command. And I don't care what you think about it." But I've already been welded once. I won't go through it again. "I've made my decision.

"I'm satisfied with Angus' explanation."

Harsh relief flared in Angus' eyes, and Davies winced; but she didn't pause.

"I command this ship," she insisted, "and I'm going to command her until we do what we're going home for. Ciro will stay here, on the bridge." Away from the grenades.

"We'll all stay here. But I won't consider myself under your authority again until we've done the job we set out to do."

Without flinching she met Min Donner's gaze—

and her

own shame.

For a long moment no one spoke. No one appeared to move. Then Captain Ubikwe shifted his weight. Still scowling, he muttered in a heavy voice, "I don't know about you, Min, but I'm practically dying to find out what that 'job' is."

Slowly Min turned toward him. Her hard eyes and strict mouth revealed nothing: whatever she felt was contained by a smoldering self-discipline. She let him see that she was sure—

of herself; of what she wanted. Then she shifted her gaze back to Morn.

"It still matters what I think," she pronounced. "Don't tell yourself it doesn't. You don't command the UMCP—

or

UMCPHQ. If you want me to let this go, you'll have to convince me." Before Morn could ask, How? she went on, "Tell me what happened to Ciro. Tell me about Nick Succorso and Sib Mackern."

She might have been saying, Tell me what kind of people you've become.

The question surprised Morn. And yet it made perfect sense to her. Like her, the ED director had to take a position based on less than complete information. Morn hadn't revealed what she meant to do. How else could Min make her own decisions?