This Day All Gods Die (71 page)

was desperately busy:

sweating with strain; concentration stretched to the tearing point. From the communications pickup on Punisher's auxiliary bridge, she commanded nearly a dozen ships positioned for Earth's defense. She ruled UMCPHQ; directed preparations for damage-control and evacuation; supervised Center's efforts to ready the planet for war; chose or rejected information and instructions to be included in UMCPHQ's system-wide downlink. And she did what she could to protect the other stations within Calm Horizons' range. Those platforms with the capacity to adjust their orbits she sent on new trajectories: the rest she covered with her cordon. Her PCR brought in three, four, sometimes five channels at once. She responded as fast as she could key her pickup.

Valor on one. Confirm targ priorities.

Center on two. Nonessential personnel duty assignments?

Two of the pocket cruisers and at least one gunboat seemed incapable of comprehending the coordinates they'd been assigned.

SpaceLab Station on four. What happened to the scan net? We can't alter orbit blind.

Downlink control on one. Planet's screaming for the net.

What explanation shall we give?

At the same time she felt desperately useless.

She'd come all this way: from her meeting with Captain Vertigus, when she'd given him Warden's Bill of Severance, to Punisher's encounters with Free Lunch and Trumpet near the Com-Mine belt; across space toward Massif-5 and battle with Calm Horizons', beyond the VI system to retrieve the gap scout; homeward with Morn and Angus in command. And yet now there was nothing she could do except manage the crisis while Trumpet's people determined the fate of Warden Dios, the UMCP, and humankind.

She needed—

God, she hardly knew what she needed; had no time to think about it.

Center on three. Suggest evacuation of nonessential personnel now.

Min said no. Where the hell were they going to go?

Gunboat Flash Attack on two. What's wrong with our position?

You're off-line to intercept fire on PolyMed Station, she answered. Compensate. Get targ priorities from Center.

She needed to help Warden make restitution. She'd carried out his orders, even when they appalled her: she was as much to blame for the UMCP's crimes—

and for Calm Hori-

zons' presence—

as he was. She would never forgive herself if she didn't do something to save him.

But there was nothing. In every effective sense, Mom had relinquished the cruiser when Dolph and the command module had carried Trumpet away. Yet that gave Min no relief. She'd decided long ago—

was it only hours, or days?—

to let the chil-

dren of Warden's secret desires carry out the roles he'd prepared for them as they saw fit. Her frustration no longer centered on Punisher.

Everything that mattered was in someone else's hands.

Since she couldn't go along with Dolph and Angus, she would have to live without her own forgiveness.

Center on two. Sledgehammer confirms targ priorities.

Give her eight hours and she might be able to use them.

PR uplink from the emergency session on one. Vertigus wants to reintroduce his Bill of Severance. Fane proposes dechartering instead, rechartering with someone else as director.

Damn Cleatus Fane!

Valor on five. Reconfirm targ priorities? You want us to include UMCHO?

Min keyed an acknowledgment. She feared instinctively that Fasner might interfere with the command module and Trumpet.

Warden had put her in this position for a reason. Presumably he wanted her to survive so that she might pick up the pieces of humankind's defense after his efforts to bring down the Dragon had destroyed the UMCP. And presumably he'd picked her instead of someone else because he'd believed or hoped that she would let Morn and Angus make their own choices. She didn't know anyone else who would have done the same.

It wasn't enough for her. She meant to do the job he'd given her; intended to fulfill her oath of service to the absolute limit of her abilities. But it was no consolation—

Earth uplink on four. All major cities report escalating riots. Local police demand support.

We don't have any, Min snapped back. Tell them to concentrate on protecting disaster installations, planetary defenses, lives, in that order. They can worry about property later.

She needed more.

This whole gamble is your idea, Morn had told Angus before Trumpet broke radio contact. If you don't see it through—

She may have shrugged. I'll kill myself.

No, you won't, he'd snorted back. Not anymore. Then he'd warned, But you better jump like hell when the excitement starts. There's going to be a gap where Calm Horizons can take a crack at you. You can bet your ass she'll do it.

I understand, Morn had answered. I think Patrice can handle it.

Min had seen Patrice in action: she knew what he could do.

She envied him the simple exigencies of helm. Demands labored at her as fast as Punisher's dish could bring them in; but nothing she answered would make any difference if Angus and Morn failed. Patrice could at least try to keep the ship alive.

Center on four.

Adventurous on one.

Downlink control on two.

Morn was doing her part. After a few difficulties, most of them procedural, Min had forced a link through Suka Bator communications. Then Morn had persuaded the GCES to hear her. Fane and Igensard had objected. Of course. But Len silenced them. Apparently the President had discovered a back-bone Min didn't know was there.

Past the PCR babble in her ear she listened to Morn's transmission as Morn began to tell her story: the story for which she'd kept herself alive, commandeered Punisher, and come home; the story for which she risked her son on Angus'

good faith. The story of Warden Dios' crimes—

Min told Center to cancel her feed of the PR uplink. Punisher's speakers brought her everything she needed to hear from the emergency session. She would have cringed at the things Morn said if she hadn't known that Koina had already betrayed the same secrets.

Projecting relief and vehemence, Glessen had resumed the targ station when Mikka left. Porson ran scan at a scramble, pulling together input from UMCPHQ and all the other ships. Bydell helped him frantically. Cray worked communications support so that the gabble of channels in Min's ear wouldn't overlap each other.

At the auxiliary command station, Morn slumped over her pickup as if she were about to collapse. Her hair hung in her face. Her elbows propped her on the arm of her g-seat. She'd been through hell—

and not least during the last twenty-four hours. All the strength she had left was focused in her voice.

If we want to affect the outcome of this crisis, we have seventy-one minutes.

Her voice held. Min was certain that the Council—

and

above all Cleatus Fane—

had no idea how close to exhaustion

Morn was.

Center on two. Message from UMCHO. CEO Fasner states that the GCES is about to strip Director Dios of his authority. A new director will be lawfully appointed. You're warned the consequences will be severe if you refuse to obey orders.

Ignore him, Min instructed harshly.

Adventurous on one. We have power-spikes. Matter cannon unstable. Must be a short in some of the old conduit.

We'll trace and reroute as fast as we can. Until then we aren't good for much. Sorry, Director.

Flash Attack on four. We can cover for Adventurous.

Hold your position, Min ordered through her teeth.

Director, we're just sitting here!

So sit. If you want to commit suicide, do it on your own time.

Min fought to remain focused on her PCR, her duty. But she kept slipping away. The sound of Morn's voice tugged at her.

I went with Captain Succorso. The UMCP persuaded Com-Mine Security to let me go.

It was the truth. Min hated hearing it anyway. If she was useless now, how useless had she been when Morn went through the Academy? Or when she'd brought to Morn's home the stiff official condolences and empty honors for Bryony Hyland's death? How had she so completely failed to convince Morn that no UMCPED ensign was expected to suffer hell alone?

She'd failed because the truth was more convincing. If Morn had turned herself over to Com-Mine Security instead of running off with Nick, some other way would have been found to silence her; get rid of her. Holt Fasner would have seen to it.

So that the Preempt Act would pass.

They injected me with mutagens. More than once.

Min winced. She hadn't known that. Often she'd asked herself if this Ensign Hyland was really the woman Warden wanted Morn to be; a woman he could trust. Now she was sure. Morn had been in Angus' hands for weeks—

and Nick's

for months. She'd been sold to the Amnion. They'd injected her with mutagens. And yet she'd retained enough of her essential identity to come here and tell her story.

The ED director wished that she herself could do half as much to repay Warden's trust.

Downlink control on four. There are too many people for the disaster installations. We're doing what we can. Contingencies are ready for your approval.

Flash Attack on three. Tell Calm Horizons your command module has thrust failure. Dispatch us to complete the tow.

We'll get in close, then smash that proton emitter before she can use it.

Center on one. Nonessential personnel are panicking. If we don't evacuate them, they'll go spaceshit.

Useless. Procedural details. All the real work belonged to Koina and Morn, Angus and Davies and Dolph.

Because she was useless, she toyed with Flash Attack's suggestion. Then rejected it. Suka Bator would be saved.

Maybe. But Warden, Angus, and Dolph would die. So would the others.

And Angus' plan might work. If he did what he'd said. If he was telling the truth. If she didn't interfere.

Center on two.

Earth uplink on one.

Out of the confusion she heard Morn say, I've seen his datacore.

Min froze in midsentence. Seen—

? A sensation of elec-

tric distress burned along her nerves. How? She forgot her PCR; forgot Center and her cordon of ships. Why?

As if to answer Min, Morn told President Len and the Council, Davies and I cut out Captain Thermopyle's datacore and let him reprogram it to block his priority-codes.

For an instant Min couldn't breathe. Shock paralyzed her synapses. Cut out—

She hadn't known that, either; hadn't

guessed—

Angus had revealed that the Amnion taught him how to edit datacores. In exchange for Viable Dreams. He'd altered his datacore to block his priority-codes. But no one said Morn had anything to do with it.

And yet he must have had help. That was obvious. Min should have realized it earlier. He couldn't cut open his own back to remove the chip. He might have programmed Trumpet's sickbay to do it for him—

but then hardwired stasis com-

mands would have left him helpless to edit anything.

My God, Morn was a fool. Completely crazy. A man like Angus—

But she was also wonderful. Somehow she'd kept alive the dreams the cops should have served; the ideals they should have lived by. No matter what it cost her.

Suppressing an antimutagen is a crime, she told Fane. So is welding illegals. I'll do anything I can to stop it.

Min couldn't see. She had sudden tears in her eyes and a knot of grief in her throat.

Her PCR continued to demand her attention.

Director Lebwohl on five. I should talk to Koina, Min. He sounded breathless with haste. I've reviewed her uplink. She needs help.

Without transition Min found herself blinking at one of the auxiliary bridge displays—

a scan plot of her cordon of

ships—

as if she'd noticed it for the first time. Punisher was there. Valor. Adventurous. Flash Attack and the others. The command module with Trumpet. Clustered around Calm Horizons. And UMCPHQ.

But because of the positions she'd assigned them they were also poised around UMCHO. She didn't trust the Dragon. That was the real reason she'd shut down the scan net in the first place.

Help?

Had Hashi succeeded?

Koina had explained Warden's secrets to the Council.

With the passion of her personal experience, Morn was covering much of the same ground.

But Hashi—

He could raise the charges against Fasner to an entirely new level. If he hadn't failed. If he knew what he was doing.

And Dolph was on his way toward Calm Horizons. He and Angus and Davies, Mikka and Ciro and Vector, as well as Warden: they might all survive—

if Angus could keep his

promise.

If he couldn't—

if anything got in his way—

they were as

good as dead.

Abruptly Min understood the problem.

Timing.

The divergent pieces of Warden's hope needed to come together in a certain way. So that they would help each other succeed.

And she knew what she could do to help.

Please go on, President Len prompted Morn.

With a swift slash of her burned hand, Min gestured for Morn to stop talking.

Morn raised her head. A bleak question filled her battered gaze.

Director Lebwohl on three. Director Donner, this is urgent. Authorize a channel. I must speak to Director Hannish.

Min ignored him. "We have a deadline," she told Morn softly, intensely. "When I give you the signal, get off that channel. Finish what you're saying and get off."

A frown of strain and coercion had settled into Morn's face: it was becoming permanent. "What deadline?"

"That's my problem. I'll handle it." Trust me. But Morn needed more; deserved more. Quickly Min explained, "If you go on too long, Fane will run out of time. We need to make sure he has room to hang himself."

After a moment Morn nodded. The look she gave Min might have been the same one with which she'd received Min's condolences and honors years ago.

The ED director waited until she heard Morn announce to her pickup, I'm almost done. Then Min attacked the communications board with all her heart's thwarted, iron conviction.