This Day All Gods Die Part 68

Warden paused. "In that case-" He thought for a moment, then said, "You should probably talk to his mother. She might not tell me where he is. But I'm sure she'll tell you."

Angus didn't try to hide his surprise. He wanted to ask, Fasner has a mother? mother? Still? Isn't he too old? But he had no time for secondary considerations. Instead he countered, "Why would she do Still? Isn't he too old? But he had no time for secondary considerations. Instead he countered, "Why would she do that?" that?"

Grimly, Dios a.s.sured him, "You'll figure it out when you see her."

Before Angus could argue, the director gave him a quick set of directions which made sense to one of his databases.

"All right." Angus set his uncertainty aside. He didn't intend to let it weigh him down. From the locker he selected two impact rifles and a double handful of charge clips. "What do you want me to do if I catch up with him?"

Again Dios looked at him: a stare like a flare of urgency-or a promise of murder.

"I trust you. Just do what comes naturally."

He seemed to think he could have imposed restrictions on Angus, if he'd chosen to do so.

Angus grinned fiercely. "A free hand. I like it."

Shoving the charge clips into his pockets, he slung his rifles over his shoulders and headed for the lift.

"All right," he repeated as the lift sank toward the airlock. "a.s.sume it all works. His mother"-s.h.i.t, his mother?- mother?-"tells me how to find his yacht. I get there in time. What'll you be doing?"

"I'm going after his data." Warden tapped on the keypad to open the inner doors of the lock. "That's his real power. If he's still downloading it to his yacht, I'll cut it off. I want to make sure it can't be used to do any more damage."

"You know his codes?" Angus asked incredulously.

The director shook his head. "I don't have to. Hashi put security locks on most of the main HO computers. I know those those codes. The locks Won't prevent Holt from accessing anything he wants to copy. They only block deletions, changes. But they'll let me find the same files." codes. The locks Won't prevent Holt from accessing anything he wants to copy. They only block deletions, changes. But they'll let me find the same files."

Apparently he'd thought of everything.

He reached up to cycle the outer doors; but Angus caught his arm, stopped him. Effortlessly Angus pulled Warden around to face him. A sense of doubt nagged at him. The man he'd become felt concerns he couldn't forget.

Deliberately he raised the same question Davies had put to him. "What happens after that?"

Dios' single gaze held no compromise; surrendered nothing. "Then all h.e.l.l breaks loose," he p.r.o.nounced harshly. "And Holt is finished."

Another promise. Warden made too many of them. They were starting to scare Angus.

The director had only two or three hours of humanity left. After that his supply of the drug he'd taken from Vestabule would run out. If he didn't find an antidote in Fasner's data, he was finished himself-as truly and completely ruined as the Dragon.

With an effort of will, Angus tried again to reach past Warden's defenses. Although the memory hurt him, he said, "Davies told me Morn would be sorry she didn't get a chance to say good-bye. She probably feels the same way about you."

Warden's glare didn't flicker. "Don't worry about it. I'll send her a flare."

And another. "Oh, stop it," Angus snorted. In disgust he let the director go. "You and G.o.d. You can handle everything. The rest of us don't have to worry about it." worry about it."

Then he found that he couldn't stop himself. A strange fury took fire in his veins, ignited by Dios' rebuff. An allegiance he didn't want and couldn't stifle tilled him with outrage. Abruptly he started shouting.

"But you don't don't handle everything. Morn and I carried you this far on our f.u.c.king handle everything. Morn and I carried you this far on our f.u.c.king backs! backs! Didn't you actually Didn't you actually read read that playback? s.h.i.t, you that playback? s.h.i.t, you know know she has gap-sickness. I told you that she has gap-sickness. I told you that myself! myself! Hard g triggers it. She goes crazy for self destruct. But she saved us in the swarm. I set off the grenade. That was all I could do. Hard g triggers it. She goes crazy for self destruct. But she saved us in the swarm. I set off the grenade. That was all I could do. She She ran helm. ran helm. In the f.u.c.king g of a f.u.c.king black hole! In the f.u.c.king g of a f.u.c.king black hole! She figured out that pain blocks her craziness. So she kept herself sane and saved us by letting g shatter her arm. She figured out that pain blocks her craziness. So she kept herself sane and saved us by letting g shatter her arm.

"Don't tell me not to worry about it," worry about it," he snarled savagely. "You didn't come here to finish Fasner, or s.n.a.t.c.h his data. You came here to get yourself killed. So you won't have to go on trial for your crimes." he snarled savagely. "You didn't come here to finish Fasner, or s.n.a.t.c.h his data. You came here to get yourself killed. So you won't have to go on trial for your crimes."

For a long moment Warden stared back at Angus' indignation. He didn't contradict anything Angus said. Instead his organic eye softened slowly, and some of the resolve which closed his face relaxed. He seemed to respond to accusations when nothing else could touch him.

At last he sighed. "I pa.s.sed sentence on myself a long time ago. I don't see any reason to commute it now." Then his voice sharpened. "But I pa.s.sed sentence on Holt, too. Whatever happens, I want that one carried out."

Through his teeth, he demanded, "Don't just kill him, Angus. Tear his G.o.dd.a.m.n heart out."

Without transition Angus' anger seemed to release him; set him free. Dios had finally shown him something he could understand. Tear his heart out-That wasn't a cop talking: it was a man full of pain who wanted revenge.

A man like Angus himself.

He took a deep breath, let it out with the last of his doubts. "That's better." He gave Dios a bloodthirsty grin. "Now we can go to work."

He didn't make any promises. He'd spent them all on Morn. But he had no intention of disappointing the UMCP director. He unslung one of his guns and growled cheerfully, "Don't just stand there. Open the door." didn't make any promises. He'd spent them all on Morn. But he had no intention of disappointing the UMCP director. He unslung one of his guns and growled cheerfully, "Don't just stand there. Open the door."

In an instant Warden resumed his determination. Holding his rifle ready, he keyed the outer doors of the airlock.

Together Angus Thermopyle and Warden Dios left the ship to topple Holt Fasner's empire.

At first they were lucky. The hub was full of people, all desperately hunting for some craft to take them off station; but none of them were HS guards. There weren't more than five guns in the whole mob. And everyone recognized UMCP Director Warden Dios. Faced With the almost tangible blaze of his authority-and with a pair of charged impact rifles-the crowd gave way; let Angus and Warden through to the lifts.

That was fortunate. So much trapped panic could have overwhelmed the two men. Any number of civilians would have died; but eventually Angus and the director would have fallen.

They were also fortunate that the station's maintenance and support systems still had power. The lifts worked: light and air-processing held steady: most of the status monitors and intercoms remained active. Apparently Min Donner's barrage had crippled the generators which supplied HO's guns, shields, and thrust, but hadn't cut deeply enough to kill the platform.

However, the lift carried Angus and Warden down quickly into the grasp of the station's rotational g. That slowed them: instead of floating, they had to carry their own weight. And when they reached the level where Dios had decided they would separate, they found themselves in a pitched battle as soon as the lift opened. Someone in the hub must have called to warn Home Security.

From the cover of the doors Angus laid down fire with both rifles, strafing a swath across the corridor. When he'd cleared enough s.p.a.ce, Warden tossed out a brace of concussion grenades. At least twenty guards lay dead, dying, or stunned by the time Holt's enemies left the lift. They had to pick their way through the carnage as if they were on a battlefield.

"d.a.m.n," Warden panted. "I hope there isn't much more of this. I don't like killing people."

Angus laughed shortly. "I do." He didn't give a s.h.i.t how many of Fasner's guards he took down.

"Well, don't stop now." Dios glanced at the corridor markers to confirm his location, then headed away at a run, holding his rifle in front of his thick chest like an ED officer, trained for combat.

Angus let him go. From now on the director was on his own. Angus' nerves burned with fear and eagerness; endorphins and zone implant emissions. His instincts fed on the smell of blood, the urgency of death. HS didn't scare him as much as the Amnion did: he knew he was faster, stronger, more accurate. But the guards could still kill him. Guns equalized the contest.

He took an instant to compare Warden's directions, the corridor markers, and his computer's structural schematic of the station. Then he, too, broke into a run, moving with a cyborg's speed to find-the idea still amazed him-Holt Fasner's mother mother.

Clearly HS hadn't had time to coordinate more than one defensive stand. He encountered isolated guards; small knots of terrified civilians; techs still trying to do their jobs. Efficient as a microprocessor, he shot everyone who carried a weapon; left the rest alone. He probably should have tried to kill them all so that they couldn't muster HS behind him. But he'd lost his taste for cold murder. Another change he didn't recognize.

She might not tell me where he is. But I'm sure she'll tell you.

That didn't make any sense.

A sequence of corridors and lifts led him into one of the more heavily shielded sectors of the platform. Markers matched Dios' directions.

Who the h.e.l.l was was this woman? Fasner's real mother? Bulls.h.i.t. He was supposed to be a hundred fifty years old. this woman? Fasner's real mother? Bulls.h.i.t. He was supposed to be a hundred fifty years old.

Fire dogged him in rapid bursts. He ducked and dodged; ran; flung bloodshed past his shoulders with machine precision.

You'll figure it out when you see her.

He ran hard; but despite his speed his zone implants kept his pulse firm, charged his blood with oxygen. Past the acrid reek of impact fire, he began to smell the disinfectants of a sterile med-sector.

Warden's directions fit the markers. That That door. door.

Unguarded. Abandoned. The whole sector echoed with emptiness. If Fasner's mother was there, he didn't care enough about her to take her with him.

Unless he'd already evacuated her- Angus hooked his rifles over his shoulders to free his arms. Trusting the lasers built into his hands, he moved carefully to the door; tested it.

Locked.

The mechanism was more elaborate-more secure-than he expected it to be. n.o.body but a cyborg would ever walk in here here without the right codes and clearances. without the right codes and clearances.

His EM vision read the circuits. A touch of laser surgery released the lock.

As the door slid aside, he sprang at an angle through the entrance, then crouched down against the marginal protection of the wall, making himself a smaller target while he scanned the room.

s.h.i.t! For a heartbeat or two, an emission shout from the far wall nearly blinded him. Voices babbled against each other, dozens of them punctuated by music and sound effects, men and women all talking as if the others weren't there. He searched wildly; saw- -video screens. Jesus, video video screens! Twenty or more, the d.a.m.n wall was full of them. All on: all projecting muted seriousness and urgency into the darkened room. In fact, they gave the only illumination. Someone had switched the room's lights off. screens! Twenty or more, the d.a.m.n wall was full of them. All on: all projecting muted seriousness and urgency into the darkened room. In fact, they gave the only illumination. Someone had switched the room's lights off.

Most of the screens showed newsdogs in full spate, pretending they understood events which had left them behind hours ago. A few channels still carried ordinary programs, however, as if they were too important to be interrupted by the mere threat of war and ma.s.s slaughter. Entertainment carried more weight than the fate of the planet. Angus spotted at least one sweaty romance and two canned sports broadcasts among the newsdogs.

Slowly he rose out of his crouch.None of this made any sense. If Fasner's mother lived here, the room had been designed for a madwoman. of this made any sense. If Fasner's mother lived here, the room had been designed for a madwoman.

A moment pa.s.sed before he realized he could hear one voice which lacked the transmission quality of the video channels. With an effort, he looked away from the screens to finish scanning the room.

At once he saw her. The screens shone full on her mummified face; reflected from her staring eyes. The phosphor glow emphasized her apparent lifelessness: she looked like an effigy of death carved in old flesh. But she wasn't dead. Her eyelids blinked sporadically. At intervals she tried to swallow some of the saliva leaking from the corners of her mouth.

She lived because machines refused to let her die. IVs festooned her arms: some tapped directly into her neck. A device that did her breathing for her enclosed her chest; circulated her blood. Below the equipment her legs protruded along her medical crib like rolls of antique hardcopy.

So swiftly that he hardly noticed what he did, Angus moved to leave the room. But at the door he caught himself; stopped on the edge of fleeing for his life. s.h.i.t, the crib! An autonomic terror had taken hold of him before he could control it. She was in the crib. in the crib. If his computer hadn't helped him, he wouldn't have been able to control it now. If his computer hadn't helped him, he wouldn't have been able to control it now.

There was nothing to be afraid of. He told himself that harshly while panic roared in his ears, throbbed in his temples. She She was in the crib. was in the crib. He He wasn't. He wasn't. He wasn't. wasn't. Morn and Warden had set him free. He didn't need to be scared. Instead of feeling all this terror, he ought to gloat over her, glad to see someone else in that position for a change. Morn and Warden had set him free. He didn't need to be scared. Instead of feeling all this terror, he ought to gloat over her, glad to see someone else in that position for a change.

But she was in the crib. in the crib. His mother had tied his wrists and ankles to the slats. IVs and equipment nailed this woman in place. His mother had twisted his whole life with pain which Holt Fasner's mother understood absolutely. His mother had tied his wrists and ankles to the slats. IVs and equipment nailed this woman in place. His mother had twisted his whole life with pain which Holt Fasner's mother understood absolutely.

He couldn't feel glad: that malicious pleasure was beyond him. His fear ran too deep. At one time he'd been perfectly capable of selling twenty-eight men and women to the Amnion. For all he knew, he might still be able to do it. But he believed that even in his worst and most brutal rages he could never have done that that to another living being. to another living being.

No, he was wrong: he had had done it. Even that last perception of himself was false. Didn't he think of his welding as a kind of crib? And hadn't he forced a zone implant into Morn's head? Imposed his own version of welding on her? Reduced her to a machine?-a done it. Even that last perception of himself was false. Didn't he think of his welding as a kind of crib? And hadn't he forced a zone implant into Morn's head? Imposed his own version of welding on her? Reduced her to a machine?-a thing thing that lived only to satisfy him? that lived only to satisfy him?

Now finally he understood that terrible moment aboard Bright Beauty Bright Beauty when he'd wept over the damage when he'd wept over the damage Starmaster Starmaster had done to his ship-or over the damage he'd done to Morn. Even then he hadn't been sure which caused him the most pain. But he knew now. had done to his ship-or over the damage he'd done to Morn. Even then he hadn't been sure which caused him the most pain. But he knew now.

Murder was a small crime by comparison.

He remained, paralyzed, at the door until he heard the woman mutter insistently, "Is someone there? I thought I was alone." Repeating herself for the second or third or tenth time.

Still awake: still conscious inside her terrible prison.

As if the situation had suddenly become simple, he left the doorway and crossed the room to stand in front of Holt Fasner's mother. She was still conscious; still suffered the torment he'd fled all his life. That changed everything. Violent tremors ran through him like spasms of revulsion; but his zone implants concealed them. Nevertheless they couldn't stifle the grief and rage that congested his face as he looked at her.

"You're not alone," he answered her hoa.r.s.ely. "I'm here."

As far as he could tell, she didn't so much as glance at him. Her eyes flicked past him from side to side, hunting her screens for sanity or death.

"Captain Angus Thermopyle." Her voice was a husky whisper. "Killer. Rapist. Illegal. I recognize you.

"You're in my way."

The sound made his scalp crawl; sent skinworms of distress along his spine.

"I know." He wanted to step aside; wanted to hide his distress in the gloom beyond the screens. Ruled by his computer, his body stayed where it was.

Her toothless gums chewed over his refusal to move for a moment. "In that case," she breathed thinly, "you must want something. What is it?"

The taste of her helplessness sickened him. He bit down hard so that he wouldn't gag on it.

"Tell me where Fasner is."

Her eyes went on searching past him, picking up grains of comprehension from the screens. "What do I get out of it?"

His throat closed. He fought down bile. "What do you want?"

A small gust of mirthless laughter pulled through her. Spit drooled down her chin. "I can't tell you. I've been living this way too long."

Involuntarily Angus matched her strained whisper. "That's all right," he a.s.sured her. "I know what you want."

She might not have heard him. She was silent for a while. Then she remarked obliquely, "Warden is doing better. But it's still not good enough."

Angus had no idea how much she knew; what she understood. She was probably crazy. Yet he believed instinctively that she'd grasped everything.

Pressure mounted in him. Clenching his fists, he retorted, "Will it be 'good enough' if he brings this station down around your ears?"

The woman's eyes showed a hint of moisture. Small bits of light and images from the screens reflected in her gaze.

"Only if he does it in time."

"Then let me help him," Angus urged quickly. "Tell me where Fasner is."

She laughed again. "Promise me first." That may have been as close as she could come to sobbing. "Give me your word of honor. As a gentleman."

He knew why she hesitated; why she feared him. She knew too much about him-and too little.

He moved closer to her, pushed his face at hers. "I'm not a gentleman," gentleman," he rasped grimly. "I don't know what honor is. I don't even know your name. But I wouldn't leave a f.u.c.king he rasped grimly. "I don't know what honor is. I don't even know your name. But I wouldn't leave a f.u.c.king Amnioni Amnioni like this." like this."

That was true now.

"You hate him," he told her. "Because he did this to you. That's what keeps you alive. If you don't help me stop him, he's probably going to live forever."