Forbidden Knowledge (37 page)

“I’m not sure,” she replied slowly, feeling her way. “I’m not an expert on force-growing.” Or psychic trauma. “But I think it’s because the memories are so bad. I won’t lie to you. What happened was—hideous.” And to save her mind from her terror of the Amnion, she’d used her zone implant to blank her fear. Maybe that had inhibited the transference of the memories which scared or hurt her most. “What you remember,” she said as bravely as she could, “stops right at the point where I first came down with gap-sickness.

“That’s my problem, not yours,” she added, hurrying to reassure him. “You don’t have it. For one thing, it’s not an inherited trait. For another, you’ve already been through the gap. If you were susceptible, it probably would have shown up by now. I’m a rare case—my gap-sickness stays dormant most of the time. It only becomes active when it’s triggered by heavy g.

“When
Starmaster
started chasing
Bright Beauty
, we had heavy g for the first time. After that, terrible things started happening. If you’re lucky, you’ll never remember them.”

The intercom made Davies’ voice sound like it came from the far side of the galaxy. “They’re the reason Nick Succorso hates you.”

“Yes,” she answered thinly, as if his assertion left her faint. “Some of them.”

“Morn, I need to know what they are.” He was suddenly urgent. “Maybe you’re the one he hates, but I’m the one he’s taking it out on. He gave me back to the Amnion. Now he’s got me locked up—he’s just waiting for his chance to do something worse to me.

“I need to know why. Or I won’t be able to stand it.”

His demand hurt more than she would have believed possible. He was her son; the surviving remnant of her father’s beliefs and commitments. He would judge her by standards to which she’d dedicated her life—until gap-sickness and Angus Thermopyle had degraded her. To tell him the truth would shame her utterly.

So what? she asked herself. What does it matter now? If you were stuck where he is, you would feel the way he does.

Baring her soul, she answered, “Because I lied to him.”

“That’s all?” Davies rasped like his father. “He hates you because you lied to him?”

“Yes. Because I lied to him where it hurt the most.” Every word set claws of chagrin and remorse into her heart, but she forced herself to go on. “He’s a tormented man, and I used that against him.

“He never wanted me to have you. He wanted me for sex, that’s all. So he ordered me to abort you. He could have forced me—he could have done anything to me. I told him every lie I could think of that might change his mind.

“I told him you’re his son.”

“But I’m not,” Davies said across the gap. “My father is Angus Thermo-pile. He said so. Angus Thermopyle. The man who slaughtered those miners.”

The intercom muffled his implicit accusation, yet Morn heard it like a shout. You’re a cop, and you got pregnant with a man like Angus Thermopyle! You gave me
him
for a father!

But her son was too frightened to accuse her. Nothing in her background prepared him for his plight. “Is that really why he hates you?” he asked as if he were pleading. “They’re both illegals. I thought they might be partners. I thought my father was somewhere aboard.

“I thought he might come see me”—Davies’ voice broke like a kid’s—“might come help me.”

“No,” Morn answered miserably. “He isn’t here. He’s in lockup back on Com-Mine. They didn’t get him for what he did to those miners, but they found a charge they could make stick.

“He’s the only man in human space that Nick hates worse than the cops. If Nick had known before you were born that”—she said the name again—“Angus Thermopyle was your father, he would have aborted you with his bare hands.”

Without any warning at all, the door slid open, and Nick strode into her cabin.

Dark blood filled his scars, underlining his gaze with fury. A snarl uncovered his teeth. Both his hands clenched into fists.

“Morn?” Davies asked anxiously. “What was that?”

His voice over the intercom didn’t surprise Nick.

“You like to live dangerously,” he sneered at Morn. “Doesn’t it ever occur to you that you can’t afford to mess with me? I don’t have to put up with you”—abruptly he faced the intercom—“or with you, either, you fucking bastard.” His anger flashed like a cutting laser. “I can have you both
shot
, and nobody here or back at UMCPHQ will even bother to wince.”

“Try it,” Davies retorted, instantly belligerent—like his father—and too inexperienced to restrain himself. “Try letting one of your illegals get that close to me.”

Nick toggled the intercom with a blow of his fist.

“Liete,” he snapped, “disable Davies’ intercom. From now on, he’s
deaf
, understand? I don’t want him to hear
anything
.”

“I understand,” replied Liete calmly.

Nick punched the intercom off and swung back toward Morn.

He was going to hit her: she knew that. She could read the particular tightness in his shoulders, the knotted lines of his stance. He had no other outlet. He was going to wait and stare at her until her own fear paralyzed her. Then he was going to hit her hard enough to break bones.

He might shatter her ribs, or her jaw. If she were lucky, he might burst her skull.

She almost said, Oh, get it over with. I’m tired of waiting for you to go out of control.

The intercom stopped her.

“Nick.” Tension had replaced Liete’s usual stoicism. “You’re wanted on the bridge.”

That got Nick’s attention. He spun to the intercom again, keyed it with his thumb. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got company,” the command third reported. “An Amnion warship. She just resumed tard right on the edge of our scan.

“She’s between us and Thanatos Minor.”

Nick slapped off the intercom and hit the door at a run.

Morn followed before he had a chance to lock her in.

CHAPTER       
18

A
s soon as Nick noticed her, he wheeled on her. “Goddamn it—”

“Nick,” Morn urged, breathless with intensity, “you need me.” The passage was empty: no one was likely to overhear what she said. As fast as she could find words, she argued, “Maybe you can survive the Amnion. You can’t survive a crew that doesn’t believe in you. You need me with you. To keep alive the idea that we’re in this together. As long as you can make them think we’re on the same side, they’ll believe you’re still the Nick Succorso who never loses.”

“In other words,” he fired back at her, “you want me to trust you. You just disobeyed my direct orders, and now you want me to risk everything I’ve got left that you’ll back me up.”

“That was private,” she retorted. His interruption of her efforts to help Davies had left her terrified and furious; careless of consequences. “This is public. Even
you
can understand the difference.”

With an inarticulate snarl, he swung at her.

But he didn’t hit her; he snatched hold of her arm. Nearly flinging her off her feet, he impelled her toward the lift.

“Make it good,” he rasped as he rushed her along. “The harder you push me, the less I have to gain by keeping you alive.”

Make it good. She no longer had any idea what that meant. Minute by minute, she knew less and less about her own decisions; about the implications of her own actions. She’d lost control in more ways than one. The gap between what she thought or planned and what she did was growing wider. Everything about her had a tight, feverish quality, as if she were going into withdrawal.

Nevertheless she answered his demand as if he could count on her—as if she were sure of herself.

Together they hurried through
Captain’s Fancy
to the bridge.

Relief showed through Liete Corregio’s blunt competence at their arrival. Unlike Morn, she’d been to sickbay: her injuries had been treated. In addition, she’d had a certain amount of rest. And she’d never lacked confidence in her fundamental abilities. Yet she plainly didn’t want command of the ship in this situation. Her relief indicated that she no longer knew how to regard her captain. She didn’t want to face an Amnion warship without him because she couldn’t count on his approval.

Nick ignored her reaction, however. Scanning the displays, he snapped, “Status.”

Liete nodded at one of the screens. “She showed up five minutes ago. Popped out of tach just inside our range. Scan data on her isn’t very good yet. For one thing, we’re still fumbling with real-time distortion across our sensors. For another, we simply aren’t programmed for this much doppler. We’re having to oversample eight and ten times just to filter out the noise. At the moment, I can’t even tell you which direction she’s going.

“But she’s Amnion. We’re sure of that. And the emission signature resembles one of those warships we left back at Enablement.
Calm Horizons.

“By some monumental coincidence, she’s between us and Thanatos Minor. I mean,
right
between. Unless one of us shifts, we’re going to hit her.”

Frowning at the screens, Nick asked, “How is that possible?”

Liete nodded at the smelly and carnivorous helm third.

“Easy,” Pastille answered, twitching his whiskers. He was glad for a chance to show off his expertise. “Alba and I could do it.” His grin implied that the computational problem was simple, not that he thought highly of Alba Parmute. “Give them our velocity, acceleration, and vector, an accurate mass reading, reliable hysteresis parameters, and a good estimate of how much power our gap field generator can handle, and they can plot our theoretical crossings from Enablement to infinity.

“If they had to guess at our hysteresis parameters and power capacity, they couldn’t do it. But they supplied the components, so they had exact information. If they’re pessimistic enough to think we might survive their brand of sabotage, they wouldn’t have any trouble knowing where to look for us—as long as we resumed tard on their side of the border.”

Morn knew all this. She was sure Nick did, too. But hearing it gave him time to think—and gave the bridge crew time to absorb her presence with him.

Abruptly he turned to communications. “Are they sending?”

The communications third, improficient at the best of times, looked badly flustered now. “I—I don’t know,” he stuttered, “I’m not sure. There’s so much static.”

“Live dangerously,” Nick drawled ominously. “Take a guess.”

The targ third, Simper, sniggered behind his heavy fist.

The flustered man turned pale. Looking at Liete as if for protection, he said in a small voice, “I don’t think so. If they are, the computer can’t make sense out of it.”

“It’s still early,” Liete put in. “As I say, we don’t know yet which direction they’re heading. We can’t measure the distance accurately enough. Even if they started sending as soon as they hit tard, we might not get it yet.”

“Does it work both ways?” Morn asked quickly. “Are they having the same trouble tracking us?”

Liete considered the question. “I don’t see why not. At any rate, I think we can be sure they aren’t expecting to see us like this. They’re probably surprised to see us at all. They should be astonished to see us moving so fast.”

“Right!” Now Nick was ready. He began to issue orders. “You”—he stabbed a finger at Morn—“take the data board.” Grinning harshly, he added, “No offense, Alba, but I want someone there who doesn’t think with her crotch.”

Alba Parmute pouted like her swelling breasts, but she obeyed.

Nick hit the command station intercom. “Lind. Malda. I want you on the bridge.” He seemed to be turning up an internal rheostat, intensifying himself to meet the challenge. Moment by moment, he looked more like the Nick Succorso who never lost. “Right away would be good. Right now would be better.”

On her way to the data station, Morn passed Alba. The data third tried to sneer, but she couldn’t conceal her speculative sexual awe at Morn’s hold on Nick.

Morn grinned back—and was shocked when she realized that her grin was the same as Nick’s. She was becoming more like him all the time.

Like him. And like Angus.

For a moment, the recognition stunned her. Automatically she sat down at the data board, belted herself in. But the readouts and lights in front of her meant nothing. Without the defense of her zone implant, her identity was being transformed by stress; deformed beyond recognition.

Then Nick’s voice reached her.

“Morn, let’s assume we’ve identified that fucker right. Pull up everything we have on
Calm Horizons.
Let’s start calculating what we’re up against.”

As if he’d hit a switch in her, her ability to function clicked back on. She began tapping keys, executing commands; pouring data across the displays.

Shortly Malda Verone arrived to replace Simper. Muttering to himself, Lind assumed the communications station, screwed a pickup into his ear, and began applying filters to the blurred noise of the vacuum.

“Don’t miss anything,” Nick told him. “We need to make decisions fast. At this velocity, lateral thrust is going to be like cracking eggs with a sledgehammer. We need to keep our course corrections as small as possible. But until we know what they want, we can’t decide what to do about it.”

“I’m on it,” Lind reported without shifting his concentration. “If they fart, I’ll make music out of it.”

“Just be sure it still stinks,” gibed Pastille.

Nick ignored the riposte. “Malda, I want everything ready. Matter cannon won’t do us much good—unless we get a chance to shoot broadside—but I want them charged anyway. The same for the lasers.”
Captain’s Fancy
was well equipped with industrial lasers: they were invaluable for unsealing pirated ships. Like the matter cannon, however, they were light-constant—too slow relative to
Captain’s Fancy
’s present velocity. From that point of view, her speed was a disadvantage. It would reduce the effectiveness of her weapons. “And prime the static mines.”

Malda Verone didn’t acknowledge the order: she was already working on it.

“Allum,” Nick continued to the scan third, “I want more information. I want to know whether that fucker’s coming or going, and how fast.”

“So do I,” Allum responded in a discouraged tone. “But the readings just aren’t clear. If my board works any harder, it’s going to smoke.”

But a moment later he said excitedly, “Wait a minute. The computer’s catching up.” Staring at his readouts, he reported, “She’s going the same way we are. Exactly the same heading. Speed”—he hit a key or two—“approximately .4C.”

Which meant that
Captain’s Fancy
was overtaking the Amnion warship at half the speed of light.

Eagerness focused Nick’s attention. “Morn, what do we know about that ship? What can she do?”

Morn sorted data. “That class of warship uses a slow brisance thrust. They can go as fast as we can—I mean under normal circumstances—but they can’t generate as much g. So they aren’t very agile. That fits with our readings on
Calm Horizons.
That’s the good news.”

Abruptly her mouth went dry.

“The bad news is that she’s big enough to carry super-light proton cannon. That’s one of the advantages of slow brisance thrust—it allows spare power capacity.” Morn’s mother had been killed by a super-light proton beam. “We can’t survive a hit. If we have to fight, agility is about the only thing we’ve got going for us.”

Her feverish sensation began to feel more like chills. Adrenaline out of control. Withdrawal—

If Nick did any heavy g evasive maneuvers, she was in serious trouble. He had her black box.

Her mother had been killed.

Lind’s voice cracked as he announced, “They’re sending!”

Nick sat forward tensely. “Let’s hear it.”

Lind keyed the speakers. With a burst of black static, they came to life.

“Amnion defensive
Calm Horizons
to human ship
Captain’s Fancy.
” The flat voice came through particle noise as loud as a rattle of nails in a drum. “You are required to decelerate. Conformity of purpose has not been achieved. Amnion requirements have not been satisfied. If they are not satisfied, you will be presumed hostile.
Calm Horizons
will destroy you.

“To survive, you must decelerate.”

A sting of panic went through Morn.
Requirements have not been satisfied.
Phosphene bursts made it impossible for her to focus on the displays. Her mouth was so dry that she couldn’t swallow. The Amnion still wanted Davies.

estimate, but it should be about right. The computers are getting a better picture all the time.”

“Five minutes,” Allum verified from scan. “That checks.”

Ninety million kilometers. And closing at a relative velocity of 150,000 kilometers per second. Space enough to maneuver in. Time enough for desperation.

The ship’s scan wasn’t that good. Of course not. The Amnion warship could function because her equipment was superior to anything human: no human scan had that kind of range.
Captain’s Fancy
was reading old information—particle traces dispersing across the vacuum—and extrapolating from it. Ironically the velocity she’d been given by sabotage was what enabled her to interpret scan data over such distances; gave her a chance to defend herself. A station like Com-Mine would have been blind to
Calm Horizons
’ presence.

“Nick,” Morn said, forcing up words from her desiccated throat, “tell them we’ve got damage. Tell them when the gap drive blew it burned out the thrust control systems. We can’t decelerate.”

He shook his head. “They’ll know that isn’t true.” His concentration was so pure that he didn’t react to the message underlying her suggestion. “They designed those components. They know exactly how our gap drive failed.

“Lind, copy this. ‘Captain Nick Succorso to Amnion warship
Calm Horizons.
I have regained command of my ship. I regret that the satisfaction of your requirements was prevented by mutinous action among my subordinates. However, I am unwilling to decelerate. My own requirements were not satisfied. Gap drive damage necessitates urgent arrival at Thanatos Minor. Because of the nature of our damage, the satisfaction of your requirements is no longer compelling.’” Carefully he refrained from accusing the Amnion of cheating. “‘We will alter course to avoid collision.’ Send it.

“Pastille, this is your chance to prove you’ve got a right to be such a smartass. I want a one degree correction. And I want it
soft.
Less than one g. At this speed, that vector will miss them by a wide enough margin.”

“What good will that do?” asked the helm third. “They’ll shift to compensate.”

Calmly Nick returned, “Did I ask your opinion?”

“No.”

“Then just do it. If you can’t calculate your own algorithms, get the computer to figure them for you.

“Tell me as soon as they start to alter course,” he instructed the scan third.