This Day All Gods Die Part 9

"If that happens before Angus wakes up," he explained with as much force as he could muster, "or before he can fix the drives, we're out of choices. We'll be at the mercy of whoever takes us."

The UMCP was corrupt. Vector's mutagen immunity drug proved that. Whether or not Min Donner-and therefore Punisher Punisher-was honest, she had to obey orders: orders which could easily come from the same source as the corruption. Holt Fasner. Possibly Hashi Lebwohl. More likely Warden Dios himself.

"They might still want to suppress what we know. No matter who they are, we'll be p.a.w.ns in somebody else's game. And we can't run or fight. We don't have any realistic defense except self-destruct. But if we kill ourselves, Vector's formula dies with us."

He sagged as another surge of exhaustion broke through his thin ire. "Out here," he finished as if he were giving up hope, "n.o.body's going to hear that broadcast anyway."

Morn's sore gaze held his glare without flinching until he looked away. She may have been battered and abused to the core; but at least she'd had a little rest. He couldn't match her.

"I understand," she said quietly. "I guess I've been afraid all along that this would happen.

"So in the end it comes down to whether Punisher Punisher managed to kill managed to kill Calm Horizons." Calm Horizons."

Davies couldn't help himself: he gaped at her as if her obsession with the Amnion warship were making her alien.

Yet she must have been human enough to realize that he couldn't grasp what she meant. She smiled at him ruefully, touched his forehead as if she wanted to smooth away his incomprehension. Then she began to explain.

"Someone somewhere in the VI system is going to hear our transmission. We can't know if they'll care. Or if they'll believe us. Or if they'll try to do anything about it. At least they'll hear it. We've accomplished that much, even if we can't do more.

"But if Calm Horizons Calm Horizons is still alive-" is still alive-"

Painful memories darkened Morn's eyes. Frowning at the hurt, she said more bitterly, "They heard the broadcast, too. They have the formula. On top of that"-dismay at the recollection twisted her expression like a touch of nausea-"I'm pretty sure they have samples.

"When I was their prisoner-back on Billingate-they tried to mutate me. But I didn't change. I was full of Nick's immunity drug. So they took some of my blood."

Now Davies caught a glimpse of what she was getting at. He'd forgotten about her time in the Amnion sector of Billingate. She'd lived through horrors which for him were only nightmares; endured an experience which would have destroyed him.

"That means if they survive-if they reach Amnion s.p.a.ce-they can figure out how to counteract Vector's formula."

Grimly she concluded, "Then if the wrong people get their hands on us, stop us, everything we've done is wasted. Even if VI hears our broadcast and takes it seriously enough to follow up on it, it's still wasted. Because the Amnion will have the formula. The drug won't be safe anymore."

Davies may have nodded. He wasn't sure: he couldn't feel his head moving. And he was no longer able to tell the difference between exhaustion and hopelessness. He'd brought Angus back from stasis: surely that counted for something?

With a thin sigh, he asked, "What're we going to do?"

For a moment she didn't reply. Then he felt her tighten and shift against his side as if she'd made a decision.

"You're going to rest," she announced in an easier tone. "That's enough for right now. There's no point in trying to make any plans yet. We don't know how much time we have. Or who they'll send after us. Or how badly Angus is hurt. Maybe his equipment's been damaged. Maybe his going to rest," she announced in an easier tone. "That's enough for right now. There's no point in trying to make any plans yet. We don't know how much time we have. Or who they'll send after us. Or how badly Angus is hurt. Maybe his equipment's been damaged. Maybe his brain's brain's been damaged. He may have more tricks up his sleeve. Or he may not. And if he does, he may or may not be willing to do what we want. been damaged. He may have more tricks up his sleeve. Or he may not. And if he does, he may or may not be willing to do what we want.

"It's too much to worry about when you can't even keep your eyes open. You can leave it to me for a while." She snorted softly, as if she were amused. "If the safety of human s.p.a.ce depended on my talent for worry, we wouldn't need cops at all."

When he didn't respond, she left the edge of her bunk, pulling him with her.

All the resistance had drained out of him. He was weightless: only his fatigue had substance. Floating, he let her pilot him to his bunk and ease him into the g-sheath.

Her lips brushed his cheek. Close to his ear she whispered, "Thank you. It helps to know what you were so angry about."

Without transition he dropped into the dark as if she'd kissed him to sleep.

MORN.

Ineed a better answer.

For some reason those words were all she remembered from the time Trumpet Trumpet had spent in the grip of the black hole. For a while she'd regained consciousness-just long enough to speak to Davies; see that he was alive. Then the pain of her shattered arm had forced her back down into the dark. And afterward- had spent in the grip of the black hole. For a while she'd regained consciousness-just long enough to speak to Davies; see that he was alive. Then the pain of her shattered arm had forced her back down into the dark. And afterward- I can't do this again. When I'm in trouble, the only thing I can think of is to hurt myself.

Someone must have taken her to sickbay. Davies, presumably. The cast on her arm and the straps holding it across her chest were unmistakable. And the m.u.f.fling of the hurt was also unmistakable. Drugs: lots of them. Otherwise she wouldn't have slept so long.

She remembered none of it, however. Only the unexpected promise she'd made to herself remained. Despite her conversation with Davies, her thoughts still moved slowly, wandering through veils of sleep and medication.

I need a better answer.

Saying that was easy. Doing it would be more difficult.

Forces she didn't know how to evaluate and couldn't control hunted the gap scout. With a Cla.s.s-1 homing signal to guide them, they could hardly fail. And Trumpet Trumpet had been damaged: sabotage. Poor Ciro-Angus surely knew how to repair her. But after his ordeal outside the ship he might not be in any condition to make the attempt. He may have been harmed in ways sickbay couldn't treat. Or his programming-or his own perversity-might interfere. had been damaged: sabotage. Poor Ciro-Angus surely knew how to repair her. But after his ordeal outside the ship he might not be in any condition to make the attempt. He may have been harmed in ways sickbay couldn't treat. Or his programming-or his own perversity-might interfere.

Eventually someone would have to deal with the pursuit. At the moment Morn couldn't imagine any way to do that which didn't involve sacrificing herself; buying the lives of her companions with her own.

Her arm should have hurt more than this.

If she meant to come up with a better answer, she'd better get started.

Nevertheless she spent a few minutes in her cabin with her son while he slept, reminding herself that he was alive and still relatively whole; worth fighting for.

Nearly coc.o.o.ned in his g-sheath, he lay motionless, heavy with exhaustion. For a while, at least, the tension which usually drove him was gone. From time to time a brittle snore caught in his throat, then sank away.

Asleep, he looked more like a kid, less like his father-more vulnerable and unformed, less accustomed to brutality. More like he needed cherishing. Yet his parentage was clear: she saw Angus in him more than she saw herself.

Looking at him, she felt a complex pang, despite the drugs. Angus had raped and abused her; done everything in his considerable power to break her spirit. This was the result. She had a son who was precious to her. In addition she had friends now-Vector and Mikka and lost, brave Sib Mackern-who were willing to stand by her.

Yet Angus himself was still the only person aboard who might be able to save her.

The pang in her heart was complex with a vengeance. It seemed to twist simultaneously in all directions.

Driven by the necessities of his tormented soul, Angus had allowed her to guide his decisions. First he'd rescued her from the Amnion. Then he'd let her convince him to take Vector to the Lab-and to broadcast the results of Vector's a.n.a.lysis. During the time he'd spent taking Nick's orders, anguish had poured off him like the raw sweat of his soul.

I didn't defend myself, he'd told her, trying to persuade her to free him from his priority-codes. Com-Mine Station Security had failed to find enough evidence to convict him of a capital crime; but still Milos Taverner had tortured him while he was in lockup, hurt and humiliated him to extract his secrets. And yet he hadn't revealed anything which might have eased his plight. he'd told her, trying to persuade her to free him from his priority-codes. Com-Mine Station Security had failed to find enough evidence to convict him of a capital crime; but still Milos Taverner had tortured him while he was in lockup, hurt and humiliated him to extract his secrets. And yet he hadn't revealed anything which might have eased his plight. I let them do whatever they wanted to me. So you could get away I let them do whatever they wanted to me. So you could get away.

Why? Because I made a deal with you. I gave you the zone implant control. You let me live Because I made a deal with you. I gave you the zone implant control. You let me live.

And I kept my end. Whether you kept yours or not.

That was true. It had to be. He'd known too much about Milos. If he'd betrayed any of it, UMCPDA's plotting with Nick and Milos would have been exposed. Then Angus wouldn't have ended up as a UMCP cyborg controlled by the man who'd tortured him.

She couldn't deny that in his own way and on his own terms he'd kept faith with her.

When I hurt you, he'd told her painfully, I hurt myself I hurt myself.

And since she and Davies had freed him, he'd done everything possible to keep her and the people she cared about safe.

She didn't know whether or not letting, helping, him edit his datacore const.i.tuted a better answer. a better answer. That decision might yet prove to be an oblique form of self-destruct. But she didn't think so. And even if she was wrong: where else should she begin her quest to reinvent herself, if not with the man who had laid bare the shame in the core of her heart? That decision might yet prove to be an oblique form of self-destruct. But she didn't think so. And even if she was wrong: where else should she begin her quest to reinvent herself, if not with the man who had laid bare the shame in the core of her heart?

Unaccustomed to maneuvering in zero g with only one arm, she moved awkwardly toward the door.

At first she couldn't figure out how to anchor herself so that she wouldn't rebound from anything she touched. But then she found that she could shift her right arm a few cm, despite its cast and straps-just enough to hook those fingers around a handgrip. Grateful for the a.n.a.lgesics remaining in her body, she held herself still while she dimmed the lights so that Davies might sleep more deeply. Then she left the cabin and pulled herself one-armed in the direction of sickbay.

The unnatural silence of the ship struck her almost immediately. The low, steady hum of the thrust drive was gone. At the moment Trumpet's Trumpet's energy cells held more than enough capacity to run the support systems-lights, warmth, air-processing, sickbay. Presumably most of the electronic equipment remained alive as well: the command boards, scan, communications, damage control. But power for the whole ship-including the gap field generator-was normally supplied by the thrust drive. The absence of that hull-noise made energy cells held more than enough capacity to run the support systems-lights, warmth, air-processing, sickbay. Presumably most of the electronic equipment remained alive as well: the command boards, scan, communications, damage control. But power for the whole ship-including the gap field generator-was normally supplied by the thrust drive. The absence of that hull-noise made Trumpet Trumpet seem irrationally desolate, almost dead, despite the obvious illumination and heat: a drifting tomb, or a derelict haunted by ghosts. seem irrationally desolate, almost dead, despite the obvious illumination and heat: a drifting tomb, or a derelict haunted by ghosts.

How long would the cells last? Surely no more than a day or two. If Angus couldn't repair the drives, everyone aboard might end up praying to be found, no matter who came after them.

A new urgency sharpened Morn's concentration. She began to move faster.

When she reached sickbay, she forced her right hand into another handgrip so that she could key open the door. At once she swung around the edge of the frame into the room.

Vector was there with Angus. As she stopped her momentum on the side of the surgical table, the geneticist turned away from the control panel and smiled at her.

"Morn. It's good to see you among the living. I'm sorry about your arm. On the other hand, I'm glad you're well enough to move around."

She ignored him involuntarily: she simply had to look at Angus first.

Held by the table's restraints, he lay on his face with his EVA suit pulled down around his waist. A new bandage covered the place between his shoulder blades where Davies had once cut him to access his datacore. Spots of fresh blood marked the gauze. She could smell metabolins and antibiotics. The low rasp of his breathing lifted and lowered his chest rhythmically.

The helmet of his suit bobbed forgotten against one wall.

He didn't react to her arrival. Davies had told her that the sickbay systems said he would be all right. He must have been as profoundly exhausted as his son.

"He's sleeping," Vector answered before she could ask a question. "Sickbay is satisfied with his condition. But we won't really know what shape he's in until he wakes up. Right now his zone implants are in control. I a.s.sume his datacore is taking care of him, forcing him to sleep so he can heal. We couldn't rouse him unless we found some way to trigger a survival reflex in his programming. I can't begin to imagine what being outside like that, doing what he did, may have cost him."

Vector paused for a moment, then went on with apparent detachment, "Watching the indicators, I get the impression sickbay has run diagnostics on his equipment. That makes sense. The same people who welded him probably designed these systems to take care of him. But the panel"-Vector grimaced ruefully-"declines to let me access the results. I guess I don't have the right codes."

Yes, Morn thought. That made sense.

Finally she was able to turn her attention away from Angus. She lifted her head; attempted a thin smile to thank Vector for his consideration.

Now she noticed the ashen hue of his skin, the sluggishness of his movements. Despite his familiar air of calm, his blue gaze was dull, and his round cheeks seemed unnaturally sunken, drawn tight against his skull.

"Are you you all right?" she asked. "Davies told me you brought him in. That must have been an ordeal, with your arthritis." Long ago Orn Vorbuld had beaten Vector up so badly that irreversible damage had been done to his joints. "Why aren't you resting? You look like you could use it." all right?" she asked. "Davies told me you brought him in. That must have been an ordeal, with your arthritis." Long ago Orn Vorbuld had beaten Vector up so badly that irreversible damage had been done to his joints. "Why aren't you resting? You look like you could use it."

Vector shrugged. Despite the absence of g, a twinge crossed his face. Distantly, as if he had no personal interest in the subject, he said, "Bringing him in was the hardest thing I've ever done. I mean physically. We were still in the gravity well. I had to rig a winch to move us. Now I probably need half a dozen joints replaced. At the very least I should let sickbay give me a whole pseudoserotonin multicortisone series. Reduce the inflammation, if nothing else.

"But really it doesn't matter," he added promptly. "Zero g helps. And we all have more important things to worry about."

Morn opened her mouth to object; but he wasn't done.

"Mikka said she was going to get some sleep"-his tone sharpened-"after she checks on Ciro. But I don't trust her. I think she's going to make herself crazy suffering over what he did. If one of us doesn't stay awake to stop her, she'll probably go start trying to fix the drives."

Morn frowned. Surely he didn't consider that their most important worry? But she wasn't ready to tackle larger issues yet. And she was concerned about Mikka-as well as about Mikka's tormented brother.

"How is Ciro now?"

Vector spread his hands. "I have no idea. To be honest, I didn't ask. Until Mikka and Davies left here, we were all too busy."

"Doing what?" Davies hadn't said anything about this.

For a moment Vector hesitated. He may have been wondering how much Davies hadn't explained to her-or why. Then he seemed to put the question aside with a turn of his head.

"When I brought him in"-the geneticist indicated Angus-"he wasn't unconscious or asleep. He was in stasis. His datacore had shut him down. We couldn't figure put how to reach him. As far as we could tell, he was stuck there permanently. We spent quite a while trying to get through to him, but we weren't able to do it.

"Then Davies decided to pull the chip." Vector's phlegmatic tone gave this detail no special emphasis. "When he plugged it back in, Angus' computer reset itself. Came back on-line.

"After that," Vector finished laconically, "his zone implants put him to sleep."

Pull the chip-? Morn thought in amazement. The muting of her mind had begun to fade: she could feel real amazement. Pulling the chip was a brilliant solution. She doubted that she would ever have conceived of it herself.

And Davies hadn't mentioned it?

"No," she said, answering Vector's hesitation, "he didn't tell me. He gave me a summary of what's been happening, but he kept it short." Because-she'd a.s.sumed-he was exhausted. "He didn't say anything about stasis. He didn't say anything about bringing Angus back."

Vector's mild gaze offered no comment.

"Do you have any idea why he kept that to himself?" Morn pursued.

Vector pursed his mouth, studying the question. Despite the blur of fatigue, his eyes hinted at penetration.

"Your son hasn't had what I would call an easy life," he said judiciously. "Early on he spent most of his time helpless while you performed miracles to keep him alive. And since then he's been struggling to figure out who he is. Not always gracefully, I admit. It's not a graceful process.

"If I were in his place, I might not tell you because I didn't want to scare you. Or"-Vector faced her squarely-"I might be trying to learn how to respect myself without outside help."

Trying to learn how to separate himself from her.

Slowly Morn nodded. That explanation made sense to her. And it matched Davies' unexpected apology. While she slept her son had grown- If she could keep up with him, she might yet discover a way to end her reliance on self-destruct.

"In that case," she murmured, "I'll wait until he brings it up before I tell him what I know about miracles."

Rescuing Angus was as much a miracle as anything she'd ever done.

Through his weariness, Vector smiled again.

She smiled, too. However, the thought of self-destruct reminded her that she didn't have much time. While Trumpet Trumpet coasted, helpless, other ships were moving: other forces were at work, seeking to impose their own priorities on the gap scout. She should get to work herself. coasted, helpless, other ships were moving: other forces were at work, seeking to impose their own priorities on the gap scout. She should get to work herself.

Changing the subject, she remarked with deliberate nonchalance, "In the meantime, I probably don't have to mention that we need Angus awake."

Vector shook his head. "I've been giving him the occasional cybernetic nudge"-he twitched a hand in the direction of the control panel-"just to see what happens. So far what happens is nothing. We'll have to wait until his computer decides it's time for him to start receiving external stimuli.

"As I said," Vector mused, "he might wake up if his programming recognizes a survival threat. We could set off the decompression klaxon, see if that reaches him. But I don't think it's a good idea. After what he's been through, he needs the rest."

Morn agreed. She was sure that Trumpet Trumpet didn't have much time. But the situation wouldn't become urgent until another ship appeared on scan. didn't have much time. But the situation wouldn't become urgent until another ship appeared on scan.