This Day All Gods Die (58 page)

Despite his pose of sarcasm and belligerence, he'd nearly fallen to his knees in drooling, idiot panic when Dios had told him, I'm considering it. He knew what Dios "considered,"

and it wasn't his promises to Angus; or to Morn.

Angus had spent a lifetime fearing and fighting cops: he'd learned how Dios' mind worked. He was intimately familiar with Hashi Lebwohl's designs. And he understood failsafes.

He didn't believe for a second that his priority-codes were the only hold Dios and Lebwohl had on him. When Dios had spoken to him, he'd feared he was about to find out what other forms of coercion the UMCP director could invoke.

But he hadn't been coerced. Dios was still considering it.

He wanted to see how Trumpet's people would answer Marc Vestabule before he took the final step in Angus' welded dehu-manization.

So Vector Shaheed, the Savior of Humankind, was willing to let the Amnion have him: that was fine. So Davies had finally talked himself into surrender: that was fine, too. Angus didn't really care. Even Morn's decision not to go meant nothing to him—

except that it spared him the maddening humiliation of being forced by his computer to keep her aboard Punisher against her will; of having his own volition overridden by Warden Dios' chiseled commandment to preserve her life.

None of those things altered his essential plight.

Morn had set him free from his priority-codes. And now she needed his help; needed him to resubmit himself to compulsion and the crib by rescuing Warden Dios. She didn't know it, but that might be the only way to keep her son human.

Her open distress at Davies' decision touched Angus oddly, in places he didn't recognize. That he cared about. He hated seeing her in pain. But he couldn't afford to let her move him.

He refused. God damn fucking right he refused. Unfortunately it accomplished nothing. Dios was still considering. As soon as he made up his mind, Angus would be driven to obey.

He mocked the people around him because he had no other outlet for his bitterness.

When Davies sank to the deck in emotional exhaustion, Angus told Morn, "Don't try to talk him out of it." Fervently he hoped that Davies' surrender would be enough; that Dios would let him, Angus, off the hook. "Call Calm Horizons and tell your precious director he can have most of what he wants.

Do it before your kid suffers another moral spasm and changes his mind."

Davies was his son. Nevertheless Angus did his utter best to believe that he didn't give a shit what happened to the boy.

And in fact it may have been true that he didn't care at all whether the Amnion used Davies to help them doom humankind. But it was also true that he saw himself in his son.

Davies had been tied into yet another version of the crib; shackled to the slats by "millions of lives" and Dios' dark authority. Like Angus, he was dependent on those who tortured him.

More than once Angus had killed people who reminded him of his own helplessness. At least once he'd nearly killed Morn for the same reason.

The look she turned on him might have withered his heart, if he hadn't already been so full of desolation. Her eyes were mute wails of loss. Lines as strict as the exigencies of his programming marked her face. Despite everything the cops had done to her—

and everything she'd suffered for Davies—

she still thought it was her duty to save lives. No matter what that cost her.

Another crib.

"Do you think it's enough?" she countered as if she meant something else entirely. The stress in her voice implied outrage, loathing; desperation. "You've already refused. I'm going to refuse. Will the Amnion accept a deal like that?"

"Well, hell, they should," he replied out of the wilder-ness. "He's all they really want. The rest of us are just smoke." He snorted. " 'Compensation for an act of war' is a load of crap. They're trying to hide the truth. Even Vector doesn't count. Davies is the whole point of this exercise."

"It can't hurt to try, Morn," Min put in quietly. "If we don't give them what they want—

or at least keep the negotia-

tion open—

they might not leave us enough time for anything else."

Angus was sure he knew what the ED director meant: enough time for Morn to do what she'd come here for in the first place. He hated all cops—

but in some strange way he was

starting to trust Min Donner. He believed that if Morn satisfied Calm Horizons Min would do her best to satisfy Morn.

The idea made him want to kill her. She was a cop; Enforcement Division in person: she had no right to be honest.

Slowly Morn turned away from him as if she couldn't bear the sight any longer. Her gaze seemed to rake welts across his soul as it shifted toward Min. For a long moment the two women faced each other as if they were trying to bridge a gulf. Then Morn said in a constricted tone, "Communications, give me a channel to Director Dios."

Cray didn't hesitate. Murmuring, "Right away," she typed commands to reestablish Punisher's connection through UMCPHQ Center to Calm Horizons.

While Cray worked, Min glanced at Captain Ubikwe. "If I remember right, Dolph," she remarked, "we don't have a shuttle."

"That's true," he confirmed. "We'll have to use the command module." A conflicted nausea darkened his eyes.

He looked sick at the idea of surrendering Davies and Vector

—

and at the consequences of not surrendering them. "Unless Captain Thermopyle volunteers to run Trumpet over there."

But he didn't wait for Angus to reject the suggestion.

"Bydell," he ordered, "tell the ship to secure for detachment.

Inform the auxiliary bridge I want them ready to take over in fifteen minutes. I'll assign crew for the module as soon as we have a deal with Calm Horizons."

"Aye, Captain." Quickly Bydell activated her pickup and began sending Punisher's people to their tasks.

Cray raised her head. "Ensign Hyland," she announced in a bleak voice, "I have a channel to Director Dios."

A new clench of anxiety gripped the bridge. Patrice and Porson straightened themselves at their stations. Like a woman who had no part to play in what followed, Min adjusted her throat pickup and resumed exchanging orders and information with Center. She may have sold her soul to Warden Dios, but she kept her word to Morn.

Morn acknowledged communications with a stiff nod.

She thumbed her command pickup; and Cray put Calm Horizons ' transmission on the bridge speakers.

"Morn," Dios said at once. Static like the sound of crumpling hardcopy covered his voice. Nevertheless his increasing urgency was palpable. "Have you reached a decision yet? I can't wait much longer. This ship is running out of patience."

Davies raised his head, instinctively responsive to the UMCP director. Morn's features had tightened to stone. Vector sighed quietly to himself.

None of them understood what was about to happen.

"Director Dios," Morn answered. Her own voice held steady, despite the cost of losing her son. "I realize you're in a difficult position. We're doing the best we can."

At once Dios retorted, "I don't want excuses, Morn. I want action." Somehow he'd turned up a rheostat; dialed the intensity of his tone to a new level. "I want to get this defensive out of here with as much of the planet intact as possible."

Angus trembled at the force Warden conveyed. The UMCP director had a gift for command; for making people want to obey him—

trust him. Angus himself had almost be-

lieved it when Dios told him, It's got to stop.

Shaking with tension—

inside his shipsuit, where no one

could see it—

he began to pace the bridge as Davies had done earlier; push his mortality across the cruiser's deceleration g.

He needed movement. Hell, he needed to run. Get out of here and never look back. Ignite Trumpet's drives cold. Hide behind Punisher while he put as much distance as possible between himself and Calm Horizons. Then burn for the gap—

As soon as Morn answered, Warden would have all the information he needed to make his own decisions. He would know the situation; would be done considering it.

And Angus would be lost.

Yet he didn't try to escape. Regardless of the terror which had ruled his life, he remained on Punisher's bridge, pacing.

Morn gave no sign that she knew he was taking a stand.

She didn't realize what was about to happen. She cared too much about Davies and Dios, about millions of lives and police corruption, to recognize the danger.

"Then I won't drag this out," she told Dios and Calm Horizons. Her tone was cold and distant; desperately compelled. "Davies and Vector have agreed to give themselves up.

Punisher will detach her command module to transport them.

"But Angus has refused." She swallowed fiercely to clear her throat. "And so do I."

In response a hollow quiet filled the speakers. Warden must have covered his pickup with his hand—

presumably so

he could talk to Vestabule. Thrust emission inflected the silence while everyone on Punisher's bridge waited.

Sounds that might have been prayers filled Angus' head; but he hardly knew what he was praying for.

Then Warden said, "That's not good enough, Morn."

Pressure congested his voice. "The Amnion don't consider it acceptable."

Morn closed her fists in front of her; tightened them until her forearms quivered.

"Too bad," she replied sharply. "I am in command here.

And while I'm in command, nobody will be forced to do something like this. Angus says no. That's his decision. And I say no. That's mine.

"The Amnion have already had their turn with me," she explained without relenting. "And I still have work to do."

She may have meant to remind him of what was at stake on Suka Bator.

"Tell that warship to kill us now or take what we offer."

She sounded as uncompromising as a knife. "They don't have any other alternatives."

The speakers reported another covered silence: more discussion or conflict Punisher couldn't hear. Angus paced the deck as if each heavy tread were an act of protest. Davies made a tired effort to get to his feet; then changed his mind and subsided. Vector's mouth moved, although he didn't make a sound: he may have been counting the seconds under his breath.

After two or three heartbeats, Captain Ubikwe rumbled softly, "Ensign Hyland, I wish you would let Glessen back on targ. If that Amnioni fires, I want someone fighting for us who isn't just about comatose with exhaustion."

Morn ignored him. Mikka didn't so much as turn her head.

"Stand by," Min told Center. Her tone was almost gentle. "I think it's now or never. If Calm Horizons doesn't start to shoot in the next ten minutes, we may actually survive."

"Morn," Warden said abruptly from the speakers, "the Amnion accept your refusal. As you say, they've already had their turn with you. They acknowledge that."

Fucking right, Angus growled to himself. The sight of Morn's suffering when he'd rescued her from the Amnion sector of Billingate still haunted him.

"But they insist on Angus," Warden continued, as harsh as welding. "He did more damage than they can tolerate. If he doesn't give himself up, we don't have a deal."

Angus faltered in his pacing; turned a gaze full of involuntary dismay toward the command station. Min swore viciously, then resumed talking to Center. Davies looked back and forth between Angus and Morn as if he no longer understood them.

Morn kept her attention fixed on her pickup. Davies had agreed to go over to Calm Horizons. Nothing else could reach her. For the second time she said, "Too bad." Without turning her head, she raised her voice to reach everyone on the bridge.

"Mikka, prepare to fire. On my order."

Angus stopped moving altogether. Across the bridge he stared at Morn. She was risking war, wholesale butchery—

She'd transcended him again; raised her resolve and her self to heights he couldn't match. The things he and Nick and Warden Dios had done to her had made her greater than all of them.

Croaking a curse, Dolph slapped at his belts, surged out of his g-seat. In a rush he moved to the targ station. "For God's sake, woman," he hissed at Mikka, "let somebody who isn't half-asleep do this job!"

Mikka faced him with a glare like a fist. Her hands on the matter cannon keys had become as steady as servos.

At the same time Warden warned quickly, "Morn, don't do anything stupid. There has to be a way around this."

Morn's jaws clenched. "Make it good," she told the pickup. "I don't sell human beings."

What had she said earlier?—

when she'd decided to help

Angus edit his datacore? We're cops. We don't use people.

Now she showed again that she meant what she said.

Shouts rose against the restraint of Angus' zone implants.

He wanted to roar at the speakers, You hear that, Dios?

There's at least one member of the goddamn UMCP who means what she says!

For a moment Warden paused. Morn had shamed him; or he needed to listen to Vestabule. When he spoke again, his voice seemed to freeze the blood in Angus' veins.

"Speaking of selling, is Angus still there? Will you let me talk to him?"

Angus meant to yell, No! before Morn could reply. Don't let him do this to me! But the cry stuck in his throat. She blocked it by looking at him. As far as she knew, there was nothing to fear. Her gaze said as clearly as words, I'm willing to start a war to protect your freedom. What're you willing to do?

And he wanted to match her. That may have been the only thing he'd ever truly wanted.

"Oh, hell," he muttered. His zone implants enabled him to maintain the pretense of steadiness. "If it'll make him feel better, I'll let him argue with me."

At once she turned away. "Go ahead, Director Dios," she said in a tight voice. "Angus can hear you."

Now Warden didn't delay. "Angus," he said through the static, "I'm with an Amnioni called Marc Vestabule. In effect, he's the captain here. He's been 'invested with decisiveness.'

But he used to be human.