This Day All Gods Die (81 page)

"I'm glad I don't have to do this alone. Somehow being the savior of humankind hasn't turned out quite the way I imagined." He smiled ruefully at his own foolishness. "This may sound strange, but I think it might be easier if we just gave up."

Davies looked at his companion sharply. "Is that what you want to do?" If Vector decided to die, Davies was effectively finished. He couldn't tackle Calm Horizons alone.

Vector avoided Davies' gaze. "I suppose there's something attractive about an heroic surrender," he mused. "Mar-tyr ourselves to save Suka Bator, UMCPHQ, and half the planet. We would be legends in our own time. Or in our own minds, anyway," he added sardonically.

"But thrashing and clawing to stay alive, floundering around in a fight we can't really hope to win while we pray for God or Angus to arrange some improbable stay of execution—

which isn't likely to happen even with the best will in the world because the whole scenario is so damn precarious, and it could all go wrong in half a dozen different ways at once—

"

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well, it's not exactly dignified, is it? We're never going to achieve the status of legends if we can't end with a little dignity."

Scowling, Davies repeated, "Is that what you want to do?

End with dignity?" The idea that Vector might abandon him

—

and Director Dios—

gnawed at his heart. "Turn Amnion

without a struggle?"

Vector spread his hands. "Hell, Davies, that's what I've always done. I can't remember the last time I resisted something." He snorted in deprecation. "I mean, besides gravity."

Then he explained, "When the cops shut down my research at Intertech, I could have put up a fight. If I'd gone public fast enough, made myself conspicuous enough—

or just been

clever enough—

I might have survived long enough to tell my story. I might even have made a difference."

Morn's example seemed to weigh on him. More than anyone except Davies, and perhaps Angus, he appreciated the cost of what she chose to do.

He shrugged. "But even if I'd decided I didn't want to die exposing a secret like that," he went on, "I could have put up a little resistance in other ways. I knew what Orn Vorbuld was like. I could have refused to turn illegal with him. And I certainly didn't have to join Nick when he did."

With an air of effort and chagrin, he met Davies' gaze.

"It does seem that surrender is what I do best."

Davies shook his head. Anger and fear clanged against each other in his chest. He wanted to protest, So you're just going to let it happen? We're all depending on you. Don't you think even one of us is worth a little indignity?

Do you think I want to turn Amnion?

But the distress in Vector's gaze stopped him. It was too personal. Vector had volunteered first, before Davies found the courage: he'd been prepared to face this doom alone. He deserved a better reply.

Kicking himself mentally, Davies tried to imagine what Morn would say; tried to find her inside himself. After a moment he ventured, "That doesn't make sense, Vector. Letting someone steal your research isn't the same as surrendering yourself to save millions of lives. You can't compare them."

"I suppose you're right." Vector's eyes drifted away again. His mild tone hinted at regret. "But it does make restitution."

"In this case," Davies countered more harshly than he intended, "so does staying alive. And it's better than dying."

As far as he was concerned, anything was better than the oblique death of mutation.

A short time ago he and Vector had taken the last of Nick's mutagen immunity capsules. Even if everything went wrong, they had roughly four hours of humanity left. But now that seemed more like a curse than a blessing. Five extra minutes might give Angus time to reach them: four more hours would supply nothing except absolute horror.

Maybe Vector feared those four hours more than he dreaded an undignified struggle.

"Do you really think we can trust Angus?" he asked carefully, as if he didn't want to give offense. "He's your father. Maybe you've inherited something that helps you understand him. I certainly don't.

"Why does a man like that change his mind? What does he get out of acting like a hero, when until now the only thing he's ever fought for is a chance to go on breathing?

"What if the only reason he's here—

the only reason

we're all doing this—

is so he can snatch Trumpet and try to

escape?''

"No." Davies did his best to sound certain despite his mounting alarm. "When he makes a commitment to Morn, he keeps it. I don't understand that any better than you do, but I'm sure it's true."

He trusted his father for another reason as well. He had no choice. If he didn't, he would lose his grip on himself and start to scream. But that wouldn't comfort Vector.

Vector shrugged; said nothing. The trouble in his eyes deepened.

A moment later the airlock intercom chimed. When Davies toggled the speaker, Captain Ubikwe announced, "Six minutes to dock, boys and girls." He seemed to like living this close to disaster. He sounded almost indecently relaxed. "I'll make this as gentle as I can, but you might want to hold on to something.

"Angus and Ciro are still in position," he reported. "I suggested Angus could leave now, get a head start. But he pointed out the Amnion might spot his jet emissions. He's probably right. He knows more about those jamming fields than I do."

Yet the longer Angus waited the longer Davies and Vector would have to resist Marc Vestabule's fate.

"What if he doesn't go at all?" Vector asked the intercom.

"Dr. Shaheed," Captain Ubikwe replied cheerfully, "you have a suspicious mind. If that happens, I don't think Mikka will like it any more than I will." A deep chuckle rattled the speaker. Ciro's life was at stake as much as anyone's. "In fact, we've already talked about it. She doesn't intend to let him back aboard unless he does his job. Instead she's going to charge her guns and try to take out that proton emitter before it fires.

"I guess we aren't exactly brimming with trust ourselves," he admitted. His tone suggested a fierce grin.

Sweat licked frustration down the small of Davies' back.

His suit was full of itches he couldn't scratch.

"Any news from Morn?" he asked. Stupid question: the command module and Punisher had broken off contact with each other as soon as the module secured Trumpet. Angus hadn't wanted to give the Amnion any cause for alarm. Still Davies couldn't stifle his desire for some kind of news.

Moment by moment he felt that he was losing the battle against terror. He needed an anchor—

and Morn was the only

one he'd ever had.

Captain Ubikwe appeared to understand. Without hesitation he answered, "Scan tells me Punisher spent a while using the dish aimed at Suka Bator. But they stopped transmitting ten or fifteen minutes ago. So I assume Morn finished giving her testimony, and now the Council has to debate it."

"Thanks." Davies silenced the intercom quickly to disguise the fact that Captain Ubikwe's reply wasn't enough. He needed something more solid to hang on to.

He needed to believe in himself. At the moment his only real conviction was that the Amnion would use him to destroy humankind.

Vector faced him again. Regret pulled at the corners of the older man's mouth.

"I'm sorry, Davies. I guess I shouldn't have asked you about Angus. There's nothing we can do about him anyway."

He paused awkwardly, then tightened his jaw and forced himself to say, "I'll tell you what I'm really worried about."

A defensive clench lifted his shoulders. "The truth is, I'm not much good in a fight." His strained gaze admitted that he meant no good. "I'm afraid I'm going to let you down. You'll hold up your end, but you'll fail because of me. And I'm not sure I can live with that." He grimaced. "As long as I'm still human, anyway."

Claustrophobia and confusion brought up bile into Davies' mouth. His throat worked, but he couldn't swallow the taste. He no longer felt like yelling at Vector. Now he wanted to burst into tears.

"In that case," he offered thickly, "maybe you'd better stay behind. I'll tell them I killed you. So they won't get your knowledge. That'll break the deal, but it won't be Morn's fault. They can't blame her. And they don't have time for more negotiations. As long as they have me, they probably won't open fire." On Thanatos Minor he'd protected himself from the Amnion with lies. "If I can confuse them enough, they may still give Angus enough time."

Vector studied him closely for a moment, then sighed.

"Ah, well." Slowly the former engineer turned away. "I don't think I could live with that, either."

While Davies fought to recover some semblance of courage or control, the intercom chimed again. He rapped the toggle with his knuckles; but then he couldn't find his voice to respond.

Captain Ubikwe sounded strangely eager. "Two minutes to dock." He must have thought he was having fun. "Angus is away. Right on target, by God—

and moving fast. Ciro won't

start until we hit the seals, but we're committed now.

"Let's make this work."

Angus is away. That was an anchor of sorts—

the best

Davies could hope for, since he had so little reason to trust himself. Right on target. Angus intended to keep his word. If his son could do the same—

When neither Davies nor Vector said anything, Captain Ubikwe went on, "I told Angus you'll give him an extra minute or two, if you can. If you're willing to take that kind of chance."

Vector glanced at Davies, then faced the intercom himself. "I don't think so, Captain." The resignation in his voice might as well have been despair. "We might upset Vestabule.

Then a whole lot of people won't live to regret it."

"I understand," Captain Ubikwe answered more quietly.

"Secure for dock impact. Then kill a couple of them for me."

Vector took hold of a handgrip; but Davies ignored the danger of a jolt. Instead he spent the last of his concentration checking his weapons.

He'd coiled his sharp monofilament line into his left palm inside his glove. His plastic dirk rested in his belt pouch. That was all he had to defend himself with. Angus had promised him they would pass Calm Horizons' sensors.

Davies feared that the Amnion would knock him unconscious before he could even begin to put up a fight. Then he would be lost: ten minutes or four hours of mutagen immunity wouldn't make any difference. Nevertheless he faced the outer door of the airlock as if he couldn't wait to bring his lifetime of confusion and distress to an end.

crazy as he thought. He was

still sane enough to understand Angus' plans—

and to fear for

their success. As the command module carried Trumpet across the last twenty meters to the docking port marked by incandescence in Calm Horizons' side, he stayed where he was; clung to his rifle; and tried to weigh the dangers against each other.

He should already have started to work himself: that was what Angus had told him. Don't wait around. Open the hatch.

Get that damn thing in position as fast as you can. Otherwise you'll be in trouble.

At a certain point—

after Davies and Vector boarded the

defensive—

Captain Ubikwe would fire thrust to break free of the docking seals. Unless Ciro had manhandled his doom past the module and away across the defensive's hull by that time, the sudden force might do him real harm. He could easily break a limb, or damage his suit, unless he was anchored and braced. Worse, he might lose control of the grenade. If it bounced off the module's hull, or Trumpet's, and out of reach, everything would be ruined. Even using the full power of his suit jets, he might fail to retrieve the grenade in time. It had too much mass to be managed quickly. Then Davies and Vector, Angus and Warden Dios, Captain Ubikwe and Mikka—

they would all die for nothing.

There was another factor as well, although Ciro had already decided to ignore it. For Mikka's sake, Angus had instructed him to position the grenade as fast as you can so that he, Ciro, could return to the command module before it moved out of reach. But he foresaw at least two problems. He didn't trust his aim: he would miss unless he fired at close range.

And he feared setting the grenade too near the docking port—

too near the module and Trumpet.

Still he should have moved by now. That was the plan.

Nevertheless he lay flat against the gap scout's metal skin while Captain Ubikwe guided the module meter by meter into the maw of the docking port. Calm Horizons lowered in front of him like a wall of sky, her darkness slashed with spotlights; and Ciro clung where he was as if her sheer size paralyzed him.

Angus' orders seemed to make sense, but they had one fatal flaw. He'd admitted as much, if not in so many words.

You'll be exposed as soon as I leave. That was the danger.

Ciro was small enough to be missed: even Trumpet dwarfed him. And he'd made his profile even smaller by lying down.

But spotlights searched every meter of the gap scout and the command module constantly. At least half a dozen video pickups studied the approaching vessels. He was certain that some watching eye would spot him as soon as he rose into motion.

And then—

Ah, then: disaster. The Amnion would realize that they were threatened. They might not guess the nature of the threat, but they would recognize its reality. And they would make the same decision human beings would make in the same crisis: they would open fire.

One super-light proton cannon burst might be enough to raze Suka Bator. Two would certainly do the job. And when UMCPHQ, Punisher, and the rest of the ships returned Calm Horizons' matter cannon barrage, Trumpet and the module would be pounded to powder almost instantaneously.

Ciro may have been crazy; but he knew this danger was greater than the one he'd been told to avoid.

Defying Angus' explicit instructions, he lay like a blister on Trumpet's hull and waited for Angus to carry out the first part of his mission.