This Day All Gods Die (16 page)

needs to hear what you know—

about those high-g acceleration

experiments the Amnion are doing, if nothing else. Probably the GCES should hear it. And they all need to hear what I have to say about you.

"I may have committed a crime or two myself, but I'm still a cop. The UMCP and the GCES ought to be told what you've done"—

she quoted the official phrase exactly—

" 'in

support of a sworn officer of the law in the performance of her duty.' "

At first Mikka didn't react. Then, slowly, she lowered her hands from her board. Her head turned until Morn could see her good eye frowning like a sibyl's.

"You would do that?" she demanded in a clenched voice.

"A cop like you? If you got the chance? After what you just told us about the cops damaging themselves by manipulating the definition of their responsibilities?"

Another cutting surge caught Morn as Mikka spoke. From shoulder to wrist, hot iron seethed in her arm. For a moment she lost her balance; stumbled without transition into a sea of pain and dark rage. Try me! she wanted to shout. Try me. Do you think I'm lying? Do you think I came through all this just so I could feed you bullshit?

But Vector was already answering for her.

"Stop that, Mikka!" he said with unaccustomed vehemence. "You aren't paying attention.

"Morn can't testify for us without explaining why she was aboard Captain's Fancy in the first place. If you paid attention, you might understand what that means." He faltered, then continued more quietly, "Eventually she'll have to explain why she kept her zone implant control."

Why she'd helped conceal evidence of a capital crime by accepting her black box from Angus. Why she'd committed the crime of using a zone implant on herself.

Now Vector turned toward Morn. "Are you sure this is a better answer?" He sighed his concern. "It sounds like more self-punishment to me. Aren't you offering to damage yourself so that the rest of us will look good?"

The surge receded. Morn's head cleared with a sudden-ness that made her gasp. Abruptly she recovered her footing.

She was in a hurry now. She needed to finish this before the next wave caught her.

And yet Mikka and Vector asked important questions; questions which searched her more deeply than any of the issues she'd prepared herself to face. As deeply as Angus'

appeal for freedom from his priority-codes. They required answers.

Instead of rushing to reach the point where she could withdraw to sickbay, she stood her ground.

"I don't think it's self-destructive to tell the truth," she stated. "And justice doesn't mean anything if it isn't based on the truth. My job is enforcement, not judgment. That means I'm supposed to arrest you because I have reason to believe you've broken the law. But it also means I'm supposed to tell the truth at your trial. The whole truth, if I can. If I look bad in the process, I probably deserve it. I've broken the law myself.

"If it'll help you feel better, I'll arrest you right now."

She was entirely serious. "Although you might not notice any difference. As the arresting officer of record, I have certain rights. Legally they can't take my prisoners without 'cause.'

And they can't do anything to you without my testimony. That might give you some protection."

Unless they killed Morn herself to silence her.

To her surprise, Vector burst out laughing. He clasped his hands together, rolled his eyes upward. "Take me now, O

Lord." His voice shook with mirth. "First I'm declared a saint. Then I'm placed under arrest on a ship lost in the middle of nowhere with both drives ruined. Life holds no greater riches. If I go now, I'll die happy.

"Morn Hyland," he chuckled as he subsided, "you are an amazing woman. Absolutely amazing."

Mikka ignored him. Poised in her g-seat, she waited until he was done: she might have been holding her breath. Then she leaned forward to speak.

"Do you remember," she asked Morn softly, intently,

"back when we were on Captain's Fancy? After Nick killed Orn? It was practically the first conversation we ever had. You asked me how often I've been raped. Then you said, 'After a while you hurt so bad that you don't want to be rescued anymore. You want to eviscerate that sonofabitch for yourself.'

"I believed you. The way you said it, I knew you meant it. You were a woman who could cut a man's guts out. That's when I first realized Nick was in trouble. He made a serious mistake bringing you aboard. I wasn't even particularly surprised when you took over the whole damn ship to rescue Davies."

Involuntarily Morn closed her eyes. She felt another wave of pain approaching; felt the bitter waters rise around her head.

She didn't want to remember that conversation with Mikka.

She didn't want to think about Orn Vorbuld's attack on her—

or his death. Rage already had too much power over her.

Mikka wasn't finished, however. Her tone hardened.

"But you didn't do that to Angus, did you," she said as if she were challenging Morn. "You could have eviscerated him, but instead you freed him from his priority-codes.

"Now you say you want to testify for us. Plead 'extenuat-ing circumstances,' or some such shit." She paused, then admitted more weakly, "And I still believe you.

"Why is that? You should have ripped Angus apart while you had the chance. How can you talk about standing up for us and make me believe you?"

She might have been obliquely asking Morn for a reason not to give up on herself.

Morn didn't know how to answer.

The Amnion had injected their mutagens into her. They'd taught her that she couldn't afford to hold grudges anymore.

Not against Nick or Angus: not against herself. Not if she valued her humanity. Revenge was too expensive.

As the acid surge of her hurt washed back out of her, she opened her eyes so that she could face Mikka's demand.

Slowly she took a deep breath and released it, letting her anger and confusion drain away. Then she shrugged as if the issue were simple.

"I just don't want to end up like Nick."

For all his cunning and experience, and his talent for self-preservation, Nick Succorso had been reduced to suicide by his craving for revenge on Sorus Chatelaine.

Morn knew that feeling. She had turned her back on it because she knew it so well.

"Good cops tell the truth," she added softly. "And they don't do vengeance."

For a long moment Mikka held Morn's gaze, her reaction hidden by the darkness in her good eye. Then she nodded once, decisively, as if at last she understood.

"As long as we're telling the truth," she muttered, "I can't see how Ciro and I have earned any protection. But thanks. You can stop worrying about me. I'll do anything I can to help."

Morn felt a pang of relief and gratitude. She ignored it, however. She knew she wouldn't last much longer. Already another crest gathered its load of agony on the horizon. Soon it would roll toward her with the force of a breaker.

"I wasn't done," she said more abruptly than she intended. "I want to keep broadcasting Vector's message. I want to testify for all of you. And there's one more thing. But I need to finish quickly." She smiled like a grimace, trying to soften the edge of her brusqueness. "The painkillers are wearing off. If I don't get more soon, I'll start to babble."

At once Vector spread his hands as if to show that they held no more interruptions. "Please."

Mikka scowled in chagrin. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize—

" She bit her lip. With a gesture that seemed to indicate the whole bridge, she added, "This can wait. We'll still be here when you get back."

No, it couldn't wait. Morn needed to say it now; needed to make her intentions plain before another ship appeared on scan.

Although any movement might bring on the next surge, she straightened her back and squared her shoulders like a woman who meant to fill the command station completely. As firmly as she could with so much pain looming toward her, she announced; "I also want the GCES to hear my story."

Vector and Mikka probably knew what she meant, but she explained it anyway.

"The UMCP gave me to Nick. I don't know why. But they could have stopped me before I boarded Captain's Fancy.

Com-Mine Security must have consulted with them about me.

Com-Mine wouldn't have let me go without orders from UMCPHQ.

"The GCES needs to hear that. But there's more.

"I know for a fact that Angus was framed. He may have committed every crime we can think of, but he didn't do the one he was arrested for." Arrested and convicted. "He says he can prove Nick was in collusion with Milos Taverner. He found a datalink between them before he was framed—

a link

he could have traced. I assume the evidence is in Bright Beauty's datacore. But when the cops welded Angus and aimed him at Billingate"—

she still didn't understand any of

this—

"they sent Taverner along to control him."

More than anything else, that single fact had precipitated an act of war.

"The more I think about it, the uglier it looks. It stinks of conspiracy. Which is just another way for the cops to destroy themselves.''

Distress began to rise around her again, shrilling along her nerves, drawing a wail from every crack and tear in her arm. She couldn't wait any longer. With her left hand, she opened her belts so that she could drift out of the command station.

Pain and consequences. Better answers.

She held on to the back of the g-seat while she finished.

"I guess what I'm saying is that I want to get back to Earth. And when I get there I want to be free to make my own decisions. I want to be able to talk to the Council without interference from corrupt cops who've been ordered to stop me by Warden Dios or Holt Fasner.

"If that means I have to patch the drives with duct tape and fight cops the whole way home, I'm willing to do it."

That was enough. Clear enough: painful enough. She had to go now. If she stayed, she would cross the line into self-punishment; into shame and rage.

When I'm in trouble, the only thing I can think of is to hurt myself.

She pushed off toward the head of the companionway.

Vector actually saluted her while she coasted across the bridge. "Have I ever mentioned that I like the way you think?" he called after her.

Morn reached the companionway rails and kept moving.

She was sure he didn't mean to stop her.

But Mikka did. Raising her voice to make Morn pause, she asked, "What if Angus won't go along with it?"

Morn closed her fist on one of the rails, swung around to face the bridge.

"Then I'll convince him to change his mind."

One way or another, she was doomed to deal with Angus Thermopyle.

Moving one-handed, full of pain, as awkward as a cripple, she impelled herself in the direction of sickbay.

instant Morn said his name.

Without transition his zone implants imposed new conditions on him. The regular alpha of sleep was canceled: dreams he couldn't remember stopped as if they'd never existed: his long escape from the loud ravage of the swarm and the excruciating forces of the black hole ended severely, as if it had been cut off with a knife. Emissions programmed by his computer swept safety away; snatched peace out of his synapses and ganglia. Morn said his name, and his entire neural state of being was transformed. He didn't twitch or tighten: his body remained still. Nevertheless, from the depths of a fathomless, healing dark, he moved instantly into light and consciousness.

Morn spoke again. "Angus. It's time to wake up. We need you."

He heard the anxiety in her voice, the pressure of self-coercion. He knew her too fucking well. She loathed him: she'd always loathed him. If she'd consulted only her own desires, she wouldn't have come within thirty light-years of him. She was here because she needed him. Trumpet needed him. The people she cared about needed him.

Yet she was here. She'd survived hard g and gap-sickness in the swarm; come through them somehow.

What had Davies said earlier? When he'd risked removing Angus' datacore? Morn's going to wake up soon. I can't tell her this. After what she's been through—

Bitterly he'd

protested, I can't tell Morn that the only man who stands a chance of helping us is stuck in fucking stasis.

Something had happened to her. Something brutal. Like everything Nick Succorso and Angus himself had done to her.

And still she was here.

In a flash of disgust as swift as the effects of his zone implants, he realized that he was glad.

His eyes were open. For all he knew, they'd been open the entire time. Lying on his belly on the surgical table, with his right cheek leaning into the cushions, he had a clear view of the sickbay console and readouts.

The sterile light of the room illuminated the indicators distinctly. They told him he was awake. No shit. In addition they assured him he was healing rapidly.

But Morn was on the other side of the table. Maybe she couldn't see that his eyes were open. Or maybe she hadn't looked at the readouts yet. "Angus," she said for the third time. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know if you can hear me. But it's important. You've got to wake up."

Damn right Trumpet needed him. He's the only one who can repair the drives. That brain-dead little shit Ciro had sabotaged them. Carried out Sorus Chatelaine's orders even after Vector flushed her mutagens out of him.

No one else could get past the lock Angus had set on most of the gap scout's internal systems. He, on the other hand—

He had the necessary database in his head, ready and waiting on the other side of his datalink. He could rebuild the ship from scratch without consulting damage control. Hell, he could fabricate half the goddamn parts himself, if he had to—

He swallowed to clear his throat. He was going to say, Go away, you stupid bitch. I don't care how much you need me. I don't need you. He was going to say that and fucking mean it.

But it was bullshit. He didn't want her to go away. He no longer had any intention of hurting her—