This Day All Gods Die (20 page)

"Are we confused yet?" Captain Ubikwe drawled sourly.

"Sure we are. But there's more.

"Much to nobody's surprise—

certainly not yours—

Suc-

corso heads for a bootleg lab. And when we see Trumpet again, Vector Shaheed is broadcasting the goddamn formula.

Suddenly Succorso has been transformed. Now he's a philanthropist. He's an illegal and a covert operative, but he doesn't want to profit from what he knows. He wants to share it.

"And he's coasting. He's been on the run all the way from forbidden space, and suddenly he's by God waiting for us."

Min clenched her fists, held herself still. Dolph obviously wasn't done.

He took a deep breath to contain—

or focus—

his outrage,

then went on.

"Naturally Free Lunch has disappeared. Director Lebwohl must have canceled her contract as soon as he suspected that Succorso was going to make his precious secret drug public. That makes sense, doesn't it? Especially when you consider that as soon as this story gets out Director Lebwohl is going to spend the rest of his conniving life in lockup for malfeasance. Betraying his office, the UMCP, and most of his entire species.

"Meanwhile the Amnion have just committed an act of war, even though Thermopyle thinks they already have Shaheed's formula. In any case, if they didn't before, they do now. They heard it from Trumpet."

Min tightened her grip on herself. She didn't need Dolph to remind her that her decision to abandon the attack on the alien might have serious consequences for the whole human race. However, she believed that there was more at stake than Shaheed's formula. She risked everything on that conviction.

Captain Ubikwe made a visible effort to calm himself.

Slowly he sank back into his g-seat. When he spoke again, his voice was unexpectedly mild.

"Tell me what's going on here, Director," he finished. "I don't think I can stand any more surprises."

Min ached to snarl at him, Surprises? You don't like surprises? You self-righteous, overweight sonofabitch, what makes you think I care what you like and don't like? But she restrained the impulse. Despite the fire in her nerves, she understood him. For him what might happen to humankind if the defensive survived with Shaheed's formula was a secondary concern. He cared more about his relationship with his people; the moral authority which empowered him to hazard their lives.

"All right, Captain," she answered like acid. "I'll tell you what's going on. As soon as you tell me what Director Dios' message to Trumpet really said."

The words had been plain enough. Warden Dios to Isaac, Gabriel priority. Show this message to Nick Succorso. But they'd been embedded in some kind of machine code which Min hadn't recognized and didn't know how to interpret.

Dolph winced. Baffled indignation twisted his features.

"God damn it, Min," he rasped softly. "You know my people haven't had time to crack that code. They've been at battle stations, for Christ's sake."

Min met his glare without remorse. "Too bad. That's where the answers are."

He bared his teeth. Still softly, he asked over his shoulder,

"Cray?" Deciphering code was one of communications' responsibilities.

"Aye, Captain," Cray responded as she hunted her readouts. "As you say, we haven't had much time. But before we went to battle stations"—

she found what she was looking for;

pointed at her screen while she raised her head to face Dolph

—

"we set up a sequence of parameters to test the code.

Turned them over to data. They should have been running all this time. Maybe—

"

She glanced uncertainly at Bydell.

Flustered, Bydell croaked, "I'm checking, Captain." She hit keys as fast as she could; too fast. Biting her lip, she canceled mistakes, re-entered commands.

"I've got the results," she announced abruptly.

"The computer ran those tests. It doesn't recognize the code. But it thinks it's some kind of specialized programming language. Something similar to the one we use to write the instruction-sets for datacores."

By God. Min held her breath. By God and Warden Dios.

Under other circumstances—

in another life—

she would have

flourished her fists and shouted aloud. Now she kept herself still while her heart burned like thrust and her nerves were etched with incandescence. Yes! Programming language.

Wrapped inextricably around the words which had betrayed Angus and Morn and humanity.

Intuitively she understood what Warden had done. With one coded stroke he had outplayed Hashi Lebwohl and Nick Succorso and Holt Fasner. She thought she could feel the future he'd been striving for begin to take shape all around her; become real.

"Do you call that an answer?" Dolph asked in a congested voice, as if he were choking on uncertainties.

"Yes, I do," she asserted without hesitation. "It doesn't explain what's happened to Free Lunch." Hashi's proxy had probably died in the asteroid swarm from which Trumpet had emerged broadcasting Shaheed's message. "But it tells us everything we need to know about what's going on aboard Trumpet."

"Which is what?" Captain Ubikwe murmured helplessly.

Min scrubbed sweat like hot oil off her palms. "Director Dios has reprogrammed Angus Thermopyle." She was sure.

"The same transmission that turned him over to Succorso gave him new instruction-sets. New code.

"This is Warden Dios' game."

"Then what was the point?" Dolph protested. His tone hinted at anguish. "Why did he bother giving Succorso those priority-codes at all, if what he really meant to do was to change them?"

Min shook her head. "That's none of our business." She didn't need inspiration to guess that the reason involved Warden's secret, unexplained struggle with the Dragon. "The point is that this is Warden's game. The Director of the United Mining Companies Police," she pronounced fiercely, "is pulling the strings here."

This was why Warden had sent her aboard Punisher, to ensure that the game would be played his way.

"He hasn't told me what his game is. Are you going to say he's wrong?" She challenged Dolph squarely. "Are you going to claim he isn't doing exactly what his oath of office requires?"

No, Dolph wasn't going to make that claim. She could see it on his face. His resistance slumped like heated paraffin on his heavy frame. Like her, he'd been under Warden's spell for years. He would have followed Warden through the gates of hell as willingly as any of Punisher's people would have followed him.

He spread his hands to concede defeat. "Then I guess we'd better find out what's happening aboard that gap scout."

A glint of humor came back into his eyes. "Before Director Dios decides to chew off anything the alligators haven't already eaten."

Finally.

Min made no pretense that she wasn't in a hurry. Slapping off her belts, she flung out of her g-seat and strode swiftly toward the communications station.

By the time she reached it, Cray had already opened a channel so that she could hail Trumpet.

Min

The ED director hailed Trum-

pet for fifteen minutes, us-

ing every authorization she could think of—

except Angus'

priority-codes. Then she gave up in disgust.

The gap scout wasn't answering.

All the explanations she could think of were bitter.

Trumpet's people didn't trust her.

Or everyone aboard was dead.

If Morn and her companions had been killed by Trumpet's brutal acceleration away from the asteroid swarm, the small ship's scan would remain active. Shaheed's broadcast would continue automatically. But failsafes would have shut down the drives after the vessel resumed tard.

"Keep at it," Min told communications darkly. "Hail her yourself. Or just play back what I've been saying for the past fifteen minutes. If they don't answer—

if they don't let us

know they're alive—

that's all we can do for now."

"Aye, Director." Cray set to work at once.

Min turned to the command station. "Dolph, how soon can we catch up with her?"

"And match velocities?" he asked. "I assume you want to board her?"

Min nodded. Damn right she wanted to board the gap scout.

Captain Ubikwe referred the question to the helm officer who'd relieved Sergei Patrice. "Emmett?"

Emmett was a stolid man with a round face and unnaturally pale skin. His unreactive manner conveyed the impression that he was no match for Patrice. Nevertheless he knew his job: he already had the figures Dolph needed on one of his readouts.

"That depends on how hard you want to brake, Captain.

We're overhauling her at a good clip. At this rate, we'll be alongside in an hour and a half. But if we're going to match velocities for boarding, we have to decelerate first."

"And if we brake too hard," Dolph muttered, "we'll probably fall apart."

"We can take it, Captain." Apparently Emmett had a literal mind. "I can put us right beside her in two hours if we start a two-g deceleration in"—

he glanced down at his board

—

"make it seventy-eight minutes."

Double the effective mass of everyone aboard for forty-two minutes. They could bear it. They'd all endured much worse. Recently.

Dolph cocked an eyebrow at Min. "Good enough?"

She acquiesced unhappily. "But watch her. If she shows any sign of life, we'll have to be ready."

"I'm on it, Captain," Porson said unnecessarily.

"Go ahead, Emmett," Captain Ubikwe instructed.

After a moment's consideration he toggled his intercom to inform Punisher's people that they had seventy-eight minutes in which to eat something, relieve themselves, and complete their duty rotation before the ship began braking.

Because she needed to manage her tension, Min paced the bridge, working the cramps and helplessness out of her muscles, damping the fire in her hands; trying to center herself so that she wouldn't scream if she found Morn and Angus and Vector dead.

Despite the self-discipline she'd learned from years of action and experience, she felt the unexpected crackle of the bridge speakers like a jolt of stun.

"Punisher," a woman's voice said distantly, "this is Trumpet. We hear you. Can you hear us?"

Trumpet was too close to sound so far away. The voice in the speakers gave the impression that the woman was reluctant to stand near her pickup. Reluctant to take this risk.

Instinctively Cray moved to reply; but Captain Ubikwe stopped her with a sharp gesture. "Let Director Donner do it," he told her. His deep voice had a warning tinge.

Min threw a quick look at the nearest chronometer. Punisher was thirty-one minutes from deceleration.

A few swift strides carried her to the communications station. Poised over the console, she answered as soon as Cray keyed the pickup.

"Trumpet, this is Enforcement Division Director Min Donner aboard UMCP cruiser Punisher, Captain Dolph Ubikwe commanding. We hear you." Full of complex relief, she added, "I'm glad you're alive." Then she went on more carefully, "Who am I talking to?"

There was a delay. Not transmission lag: hesitation. After a moment the voice in the speakers said, "Director Donner, I'm Ensign Morn Hyland."

Morn was alive. After all this time: against incredible odds. Despite the fact that Nick Succorso had been given the power to use Angus against her. Min closed one fist on the butt of her handgun to steady herself. Suddenly she thought that anything was possible. The UMCP and humankind might survive. Warden might actually win—

She was in focus now, primed with flame. Her excitement and alarm seethed beneath the surface; hidden. Nothing except authority showed in her tone.

"Who else is with you, Ensign Hyland? Where's Captain Succorso? I thought he was in command."

Again Morn paused. Afraid to answer? Wondering where Min's loyalties lay? That was likely: she had reason to be suspicious. Plenty of reason.

But when she replied, her voice had more force. She must have moved closer to the pickup.

"Meaning no disrespect, Director Donner," she said distinctly, "but I have some questions of my own."

"No disrespect?" Dolph muttered under his breath.

"Who the hell does she think she's talking to?"

Min ignored him. Morn was saying, "When we left Massif-5, you were engaged with an Amnion warship. Calm Horizons. What happened to her?"

"Calm Horizons," Dolph repeated. "We've got id. Finally.

"File that, Bydell," he ordered. "Add it to our records on that defensive. UMCPHQ might find a name useful."

"Aye, Captain," Bydell returned softly.

At the same time Min countered, "Ensign Hyland, I'm prepared to make some allowances here." She concentrated exclusively on her pickup and Morn's voice. "After what you've been through, you probably deserve them. But I want answers, too. Where is Captain Succorso?"

She could almost hear Morn leave the pickup: the sense of withdrawal from the speakers was palpable. Morn didn't close the channel, but she moved out of range. Consulting with someone? Trying to decide how much to say?

Did she think she could bargain with the ED director?

What did she have to bargain with?

When it came, her response was stark and unrevealing.

"Nick Succorso is dead." For no apparent reason, she added shortly, "So is Sib Mackern."

Dead? That explained a lot—

and raised more questions,

Succorso held the priority-codes for a UMCP cyborg. Who could possibly have gotten past Angus to kill him?

But Min didn't pause to consider the implications.

"I'll ask how he died later." I'll ask you why you're talking for Trumpet. Why Angus is willing to let anyone else speak for his ship. "First I'll answer your question.

"Calm Horizons survived. We had to choose between trying to kill her and coming after you. She was on her way out of the system as we left. Her course didn't reveal where she was headed."

In the background of the transmission, a harsh male voice growled, "Shit."