This Day All Gods Die Part 63

The next moment the iris slid wide, releasing one swift expulsion of air into the embattled dark.

At once Angus pushed off from his handgrip; swung into the airlock.

The lock was thick with EM fields, scanning against dangerous intrusions. His equipment jammed them all: he could almost see the sensors' bandwidths lose coherence; break up in confusion. Nevertheless the Amnion might guess that he was here-that some kind of treachery was at work. Their instruments would tell them the outer iris had been opened. Circuit diagnostics would report damage.

There was nothing he could do about that. Now only speed would save him.

But he didn't know how to reseal the airlock. Simply pounding on the control panel might not work. Cutting the circuits again would take time.

Tentatively he touched one key; another; several in combination. Nothing.

He had no way of knowing whether Davies and Vector were still alive. They'd already been in there too long; anything could have happened. If he was right-if Dios had been injected with a mutagen like the one which had ruled Sorus Chatelaine, made Ciro crazy-the UMCP director may have helped Vestabule capture or kill Angus' bait.

Grimly Angus tapped the keys of his suit's receiver; tuned his radio to the same frequency Davies and Vector used.

At once he heard gasping, strain; violent exertion.

s.h.i.t! He was too late. The fight had already started.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed up his cutter, pushed his face close to the internal control panel, begged begged his zone implants for help- his zone implants for help- "Angus, G.o.d d.a.m.n you!" Davies' shout slammed through his helmet like a blow from a mine-hammer. Davies' shout slammed through his helmet like a blow from a mine-hammer. "Get in here!" "Get in here!"

I'm working working on it! Angus retorted in mute savagery. Give me a f.u.c.king on it! Angus retorted in mute savagery. Give me a f.u.c.king minute! minute!

Contract his vision; narrow his eyes against distraction; focus on the impalpable electron filigree of the circuits.

Do it. it.

Before he could get started, a concussion like the punch of a cannon crashed through the ship. Calm Horizons Calm Horizons lurched with impact as if she'd been rammed by a battlewagon. The bulkhead holding the control panel jerked at him; struck him hard in the center of his faceplate. lurched with impact as if she'd been rammed by a battlewagon. The bulkhead holding the control panel jerked at him; struck him hard in the center of his faceplate.

Instantly his faceplate starred into a fretwork of cracks, delicate and fatal; but he didn't see it happen. He was blinded by a scream of randomized proton fire which wailed past the rim of the iris into his prosthesis. His EM sight shrieked on every wavelength it could perceive. Howling white pain ripped along his nerves, tore open his brain, shredded his mind- For an aeon which his computer measured in picoseconds, Angus Thermopyle ceased to exist.

Then his zone implants threw up a wall against the pain, shut down tortured synapses all across his cortex; and he seemed to fall back into his body. Sweating like a pig, shaking feverishly, retching in agony, he became conscious of his EVA suit again; felt echoes of anguish crawl along his skin; saw alerts winking fear at him from his helmet readouts.

For a heartbeat or two, he stared at the web of cracks in his faceplate without understanding what it was.

Or why he wasn't dead.

Well, why wasn't wasn't he dead? Why hadn't his faceplate failed in the vacuum of the open airlock? he dead? Why hadn't his faceplate failed in the vacuum of the open airlock?

And what had happened to the boson fury of the proton cannon's self-destruction? The EM storm of a detonation like that should have lasted longer than this.

Residual pain left him stupid. Two or three more seconds pa.s.sed before he noticed that the outer iris had sealed itself. The explosion must have triggered automatic damage-control responses all around the ship; overridden the airlock circuits.

The door had closed out the storm.

But he should have died anyway. The lock still held vacuum, not air.

Somehow his faceplate had retained a degree of integrity.

How much integrity, he didn't know. He only knew that the plexulose hadn't finished shattering itself, blown outward by the pressure inside his suit.

A distant roar reached him: the scorching blaze of matter cannon, transmitted through the hull until the whole ship seemed to sizzle. The bulkheads shuddered with strain as Calm Horizons' Calm Horizons' thrust came to life in a tremendous howl of power. thrust came to life in a tremendous howl of power.

He couldn't think. There must have been something he was supposed to do, something important-something besides fight against puking. If he let himself vomit now his own spew would smother him in minutes. But he had no idea what was expected of him. His programming seemed to have fallen into stasis, burned to quiescence by the effects of the proton blast.

His stunned confusion lasted until he heard Davies howl, "Come and "Come and get get me, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" me, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!"

Abruptly he forgot his need to vomit. His zone implants force-fed desperation into his veins; fired his heart with enough adrenaline to boil blood. s.h.i.t, Davies! Davies! Vector and Warden Dios. Mikka and the fat man. Vector and Warden Dios. Mikka and the fat man.

And a crack-starred faceplate.

s.h.i.ts.h.i.ts.h.i.t.

He gave up on being careful.

With both his cutters in his hands, he set them to full power; gave them the force of laser pistols. First he raked a pair of red beams through the panel of the inner iris, reduced the command wiring to slag. Then he burned a short-circuit into the leads of the door servo.

Autonomically responsive, the servo swept the iris open.

With a sound like a blow, unequalized air pressure slapped into the lock; caught him hard enough to fling him against the outer seal. But he ignored the impact, the pain; the danger to his suit. Gathering his strength, he recoiled headlong toward the opening ahead of him.

His jets carried him across a cargo hold awash with bitter light, empty of shadows. Gantries stood at various angles, extending their limbs like crusted skeletons with the ruined sinews of cables draped over them. Plumes and splashes of thick Amnion blood decorated the air, drifting lost in zero g. Two alien corpses hung nearby, one nearly beheaded, the other with a plastic spike in one of its eyes.

At the edges of his vision, his prosthesis registered the EM crackle of impact guns. Wheeling his hips in the suit's waldo harness, he spun to scan the hold.

Cracks distorted the view through his faceplate. Inside his helmet, alerts signaled frantically for his attention. With an effort of will and zone implants, he focused past the obstacles to locate Davies and Vector.

At a swift glance, he counted ten figures scattered around the high s.p.a.ce, seven of them Amnion. Three of the ten struggled together in a knot a few meters from one of the bulkheads. The others whipsawed back and forth past each other among the arms and trunks of the gantries, dodging blows and impact fire.

The three were Vestabule, Dios, and-apparently-Vector. Neither Vector nor Dios could match Vestabule's Amnion strength. But Dios had caught Vestabule in a headlock, his powerful arms straining against the back of Vestabule's neck. And Vector held on to Dios, using his suit jets to control both men; keep Vestabule between Dios and the Amnion with guns. Because they were all weightless and floating, Vestabule didn't have the leverage to break Dios' grip.

The remaining six Amnion flung themselves around the gantries in a grim, concerted attempt to trap or kill Davies.

Only four of them held guns; but that should have been more than enough. Davies' jets were all that kept him alive. He could move faster than any of his opponents; change direction in midair; flash between enemies so that they couldn't risk shooting at him.

s.h.i.t, with those odds, Angus gave the kid about five more seconds- Vector and Dios would have to fend for themselves. Angus concentrated on the armed Amnion.

Wrenching himself to a new trajectory, he fired both lasers simultaneously. Guided by computer calculations and zone implants and terror, precise as an infernal machine, he burned one Amnioni through the head; ripped open the chest of another- -and jammed his hips to the side so that he careened away in a mad tumble, slewing insanely through the sudden roar of the impact guns aimed at him.

"Angus!" Davies yelled, so fiercely that he might have torn his vocal cords. "By Davies yelled, so fiercely that he might have torn his vocal cords. "By G.o.d!" G.o.d!"

Impelled by his jets, Davies dove at a cable, caught hold of it and swung; drove his boots like pistons into the face of the nearest Amnioni firing at Angus.

Angus lashed out with another double burst of coherent force. He should have been out of control; disoriented by his cartwheeling flight; spin-drunk; unable to see. But he was a master of zero-g combat: he'd spent decades training for fights that involved hurtling ma.s.s, evasive maneuvers, abrupt attack. And his programming didn't suffer the confusion of sensory input. Both his lasers gutted another Amnioni before the creature could adjust its aim.

Over and over again Davies hammered hisplastic dirk into the throat of thelast armed alien. Thick blood sprayed his faceplate and suit as he pounded his blade at the creature's life. Maybe he couldn't see; didn't know the Amnioni was already dead. Maybe he couldn't see its impact gun drifting past him a meter from his head.

Strangled rage echoed in Angus' helmet.

Angus hauled on his jets, struggled to stabilize his trajectory. Too late he saw the rough trunk of a gantry rush at his head. With a yowl of propulsion and panic, he s.n.a.t.c.hed himself aside.

The trunk struck him a glancing blow as he pa.s.sed. His head snapped backward. For a fraction of a second, his vision turned gray at the edges; melted toward darkness. Then his computer tightened its grip on the neural network of his cortex, jerked him back from unconsciousness.

His sight sprang clear to a glare of damage alerts from his internal indicators. Atmosphere hissed past his cheeks. He found himself staring at a crack that ran through his faceplate from top to bottom. His mouth and lungs tasted the acrid bite of Amnion air.

His suit had lost vacuum integrity. He was stuck aboard Calm Horizons Calm Horizons.

s.h.i.ts.h.i.ts.h.i.tChrist!

"Angus!" Vector's voice croaked in his ears. "Davies is in trouble!"

Cursing savagely, Angus wheeled against his inertia; saw an Amnioni attach itself to Davies from behind and start twisting his head off. Blinded by blood, Davies hadn't seen the creature coming. A rifle floated out of reach in front of him.

Angus had lost track of the last Amnioni-and didn't waste time worrying about it. Risking a precious second, he skidded sideways to improve his angle of fire. Then he slagged Davies' attacker through the center of its misshapen skull.

Davies flopped free of the Amnioni, twitching as if his neck were broken.

Angus' panic struck so swiftly that he couldn't name it. The man he'd become seemed to have no choice: instead of whirling to scan the hold, locate the last creature, make sure Vector and Dios hadn't lost their grip on Vestabule, he flung himself toward his son.

Before he'd covered half the distance, Vector cried out another warning.

Angus ignored him; ignored the danger. In a dumb confusion of alarm and relief, he watched Davies slowly raise one hand, wipe a smear of blood off his faceplate, then reach out for the impact gun drifting near him.

His neck wasn't broken. He couldn't have moved like that with a crushed or severed spinal cord.

Before Angus remembered Vector's warning, an Amnioni with at least twice his ma.s.s slammed into him like the rock-shattering punch of a mine-hammer.

The impact drove the air from his lungs: for an instant it overwhelmed his zone implants. More arms than he could count wrapped themselves around him. Hands he couldn't see grappled for his cutters. One of his lasers was forced out of his fist.

He let it go. Desperately he fought to twist in the Amnioni's grasp so that he could bring his other gun to bear before the creature hit him with a blaze of focused flame.

Even his welded strength was no match for the Amnioni's. He didn't have enough arms to struggle adequately. But struts reinforcing his joints gave him leverage: terror and zone implants augmented his natural muscle. Too late, too slowly, he shifted against the creature's embrace. Give him two more seconds, and he would be able to reach his a.s.sailant's torso with his laser.

He didn't have two seconds. At the edge of his ruined faceplate, he saw the Amnioni aim its laser at the side of his helmet from point-blank range.

Without realizing what he did, he screamed in fury and horror-a howl from the bottom of his soul.

Deafened by his own cry, he didn't hear the bark of the impact rifle as Davies fired.

The gun's force wailed across his prosthesis-a yell of energy as vivid as his terror, but more effective. The neural convulsion as the Amnioni died gripped him tight, then flung him free. Momentarily stunned, he tumbled away.

His helmet speakers reported Davies' voice.

"Angus? Angus! Are you all right?"

Davies sounded concerned. That amazed Angus as much as the fact that he was still alive.

Because he knew how Davies felt, he coughed into his pickup, "Can't you tell? I thought I was still screaming."

He slowed himself with a twitch of one hip; controlled his flight so that he could look around the hold.

"G.o.d, Angus," Davies returned weakly, drained by exertion or relief, "that was close. I didn't think we- What took you so long? Another minute and we were finished."

A moment later he groaned, "Oh, s.h.i.t. Angus, your faceplate- It's cracked." Shock stretched his voice to a whisper. "And we only have one spare suit."

The suit Angus still carried strapped to his back.

Gasping against the harsh cut of the Amnion air, Angus nudged the jet waldo to change directions. The alerts inside his helmet were going crazy: dehydration and hyperthermia; lost atmosphere. With a jerk of one hand, he canceled the status displays, shut down all the suit's systems except air and temperature regulation. The circuits and readouts were useless to him now. If he wanted to survive, he would have to take risks so extreme that they violated every condition the suit's designers had ever imagined.

Or he would have to use the suit he'd brought for Dios; let the b.a.s.t.a.r.d die here.

Fervently he wished that he was still capable of abandoning the UMCP director. Short days ago he could have done it easily; without a qualm. He might have enjoyed it. And he'd been released from the programmed restrictions which kept him from harming UMCP personnel: he should have been able to leave Dios behind. h.e.l.l, he should have been able to kill the motherf.u.c.ker himself. But other inhibitions held him, as compulsory as his datacore.

Inspired by dread, he searched one database after another for alternatives.

"Angus," Vector panted urgently, "we need to get out of here. This ship is moving." New g and the distant yowl of thrust made that obvious. "We still have to deal with Vestabule. And there must be more Amnion on the way."

Angus didn't doubt that. Vestabule had what must have been a PCR jacked into his ear. He made guttural sounds Angus couldn't translate. Calling for help- Beyond the bulkheads, matter cannon fried the dark. If Mikka and the fat man screwed up now- With all his alerts and indicators dead, Angus turned between the gantries; rode his jets back toward Vector, Dios, and Vestabule.

Vestabule had stopped struggling. In fact, Dios had let him go. Davies drifted in front of him, gripping an impact rifle with its muzzle aligned on his chest.

The acc.u.mulating g of thrust pulled them all slowly toward the deck as they confronted each other. They would have fallen already if Calm Horizons Calm Horizons hadn't been handicapped by slow brisance drives. hadn't been handicapped by slow brisance drives.

One of Davies' hands was bare. The sulfurous illumination made his skin seem unnaturally vulnerable-closer to death than the Amnion corpses settling as Calm Horizons Calm Horizons gathered momentum. Other than that, his suit appeared intact. So did Vector's. Angus couldn't tell what condition his companions were in: reflection and polarization hid their faces. gathered momentum. Other than that, his suit appeared intact. So did Vector's. Angus couldn't tell what condition his companions were in: reflection and polarization hid their faces.

But Dios was completely exposed-defenseless without an EVA suit. He looked pale and strained, bleached of strength, like a man with a concussion. A heavy blow had left a swelling lump over his eyepatch. Pain glazed his human eye, m.u.f.fling its penetration, its light of command. Nevertheless he watched Vestabule and Angus without flinching.

Angus was dimly surprised to find that he recognized Vestabule. Over the years he'd had too many victims: he couldn't remember them all. Viable Dreams Viable Dreams alone had carried twenty-seven other men and women. And he hadn't known any of their names. Yet Vestabule's face had stayed in his mind. alone had carried twenty-seven other men and women. And he hadn't known any of their names. Yet Vestabule's face had stayed in his mind.

Marc Vestabule had fought so hard against being turned over to the Amnion that he'd almost killed Angus.

He was silent now. Any help he'd been able to summon was on its way. Angus searched his face for signs of the atavistic terror which had enabled him to retain vestiges of his humanity. But it was gone. Even the frantic signaling of his human eye revealed nothing.

"Angus Thermopyle," he p.r.o.nounced harshly, "you have done great harm."

"I hope so," Angus muttered. Obviously the Amnioni knew whom to blame for his defeat. But no amount of harm to the Amnion would compensate Angus for his ruined faceplate.

As their boots touched the deck, Vector sighed, "s.h.i.t, Angus. You can't go outside like that. You'll be dead before we leave the airlock."

He hesitated for a moment or two, then offered regretfully, "I'll stay. I'm surplus personnel anyway. And this tub won't last much longer. I'll die human. You can use my helmet."

He raised his hands to the seals as if he were determined to sacrifice himself somehow.

"It will not be forgotten," Vestabule stated.

Angus forestalled Vector. "f.u.c.k that." His zone implants helped him master his breathing. He knew all his suit's design parameters, every detail of its construction. "We've got other things to worry about. And we haven't run out of options yet."

The more Calm Horizons Calm Horizons accelerated, the harder it would be for Ubikwe to hold the command module and accelerated, the harder it would be for Ubikwe to hold the command module and Trumpet Trumpet in position. But the defensive needed all the force she could generate for her guns, shields, and sinks. And her thrust was inherently slow. She couldn't acquire velocity quickly. in position. But the defensive needed all the force she could generate for her guns, shields, and sinks. And her thrust was inherently slow. She couldn't acquire velocity quickly.