This Day All Gods Die (41 page)

Decisively, as if he already had all the answers he needed, he drifted to one of the chairs, pulled himself into it, and closed the belt across his lap.

Vestabule did the same. When he was secure in his chair, he made a series of guttural sounds—

speaking into his pickup

or addressing the guards, Warden couldn't tell which. However, the guards reacted as if they'd received orders. They retreated from the door. One of them palmed it shut.

Warden Dios was alone with his ghoul.

Defenseless, except for his fear—

He began at once.

"You have something you want to discuss—

something

you think is worth risking a war over." He spoke with force, but the strange walls seemed to absorb his voice, depriving it of resonance. "You said, 'all future relations between our species will be determined by the resolution of this matter.' And you suggested we might reach a resolution in person because your"—

he permitted himself a grimace—

" 'background'

helps you understand my concerns. Well, I don't know what your concerns are, but mine are simple.

"I want you out of here. Out of Earth's solar system. Out of human space. And I want you to go without firing a shot.

"Let me be clear about this. No casualties. No damage.

No fighting. None. You give me that, and I'll give you a safe conduct as far as your frontier. Then I'll let the diplomats figure out what you can do to make reparation."

Vestabule replied with a nod which somehow failed to convey assent. The fixed stare of his Amnion eye and the blinking of his human one gave a mixed impression of malice and anxiety. "That is indeed simple," he pronounced. "However, it is not acceptable. If our requirements were comparably simple, we would not have hazarded bringing our species to war.

"We are here." His shoulders twitched. He may have meant to shrug, but his muscles had forgotten how. "Our presence must be faced as it is, not as you wish to consider it. You have stated your desires. I will state ours. If our requirements are not satisfied by negotiation, we will conclude that we must fire upon you as hard and often as we can until we. are destroyed. We will crush your location of government. We will crush your own station. Then we will—

"

"I know, I know," Warden interrupted harshly. "You said all that before. But you still haven't told me what your

'requirements' are. So far we don't have anything to discuss."

"I await—

" Vestabule's voice trailed off into the distance. For a moment he turned his head: he may have been listening to his receiver. Then he faced Warden again. His alien eye glared like a pool of acid. "Now I am ready."

His metallic hostility tightened a knot in Warden's viscera.

"Warden Dios," the Amnioni scraped out, "a cyborg in your service was sent into Amnion space to destroy an installation. That in itself was an act of war, meriting reprisal.

In addition, however, this cyborg—

this Captain Angus

Thermopyle—

also stole two items of property which had come into the possession of the Amnion through open bargain-ing and the mutual satisfaction of requirements with another of your agents, Captain Nick Succorso. I refer to the human female, Morn Hyland, and her male offspring, Davies Hyland, force-grown on Enablement Station."

"You call them 'property,' " Warden snapped. "I call them 'people.' Succorso didn't have the right to bargain for them."

Vestabule stared and blinked like a schizophrenic. "Your response lacks relevance, Warden Dios. I speak of Amnion requirements. We require the restoration of our property. And in reparation for the wrong we have suffered—

so that we will

not be compelled to consider ourselves at war with humankind

—

we require Captain Thermopyle himself, as well as others who accompany him. In particular we require the man named Vector Shaheed."

He stopped as if he'd said everything that needed saying; as if he knew Warden had no choice except acquiescence.

But Warden was prepared for this. He'd known all along what Calm Horizons had come for. And he'd guessed how much Milos Taverner had told the Amnion. He was only surprised that Vestabule didn't demand Nick as well. Did the Amnion know what had happened to Nick?

Because Warden wasn't surprised, he was able to contain his panic. He snorted scornfully. "And you're human enough to realize demands like that would make anyone who heard them furious for your blood. UMCPHQ would by God mutiny if my people thought I would accept those terms. So you insisted on presenting your 'requirements' to me in person. In secret. You think you can extort an agreement from me without risking UMCPHQ's reaction. Not to mention Earth's. You think I can tight-beam orders to Trumpet, orders no one else hears—

hand you Morn and Davies and everyone else, then tell my forces to let you go unmolested. You get what you want, I get what I want. And nothing bad happens until I have to tell the people I swore to serve what I did.

"It's a nice, tidy picture," he observed in a snarl. "Unfortunately it has several flaws."

Vestabule sat without speaking, as if the idea of "flaws"

had no meaning in the language of his kind.

For one, Warden wanted to shout, roar, I won't do it. Hell, he wanted to spit in Vestabule's half-human face. But he wasn't ready to go that far yet.

Instead he said trenchantly, "For one, Trumpet isn't here.

And for another, what makes you believe she would obey orders like that if I gave them?"

Apparently the Amnioni didn't consider these significant obstacles. "She will obey," he replied, "for the same reason that you will order her. The cost of refusal will be measured in millions of lives. Also your power over your cyborg will enable you to compel him.

"Our instruments," he continued, "and your own system-wide scan network indicate that Trumpet is indeed here.

The vessel arrived a short time ago. For reasons which you will know better than we, it was transported from the gap by a UMCP cruiser which your network identifies as Punisher."

Involuntarily Warden recoiled. He couldn't help it: he needed a chance to collect his courage—

or his wits. Trumpet

was here? Transported by Punisher? He didn't doubt Vestabule for an instant. Nevertheless he couldn't begin to guess what the information meant.

But Trumpet's arrival made the crisis immediate.

Vestabule would push for a decision—

and action—

as quickly

as possible. Any delay weakened his position.

Stalling for time, Warden asked, "What's Punisher doing?"

Again Vestabule spoke incomprehensibly into his pickup, listened to his receiver. Then he answered, "Her targ is fixed on us, as ours is on her. However, she has withheld fire. The orientation of her communications dishes suggests that she is in contact with your station."

Good. Hashi would brief Punisher. He would tell Min what was at stake, here as well as in the GCES emergency session.

Warden had already made the decision to stake his hopes on Hashi's good faith.

He resisted an impulse to fold his arms across his chest.

He did that too often; closed his heart. Instead he braced his palms on his thighs for support.

"Why don't you hit her now? Kill her while you can?"

Vestabule's shoulders attempted another unconvincing shrug. "Your vessels have not arrived in a manner which we deem threatening. And we believe that our requirements will be better satisfied by your intervention." He paused, then added, "Doubtless Punisher will enforce your orders if Trumpet opposes them."

That may have been true. If Min's loyalty had limits, Warden had never reached them. And her example inspired loyalty in her people. Even Dolph Ubikwe would obey her in an emergency, despite his insubordinate nature.

But Warden believed that she was also capable of refusing—

He needed to take control of his circumstances before they became untenable. For Trumpet's sake, and Punisher's, as well as his own, he countered, "I don't know what 'manner'

you're talking about. I guess that's beside the point. Here's the point.

"I won't do it."

Vestabule's Amnion stare revealed nothing. His human eye seemed to flutter in distress. His heritage of humanity may have been difficult to access, but it remained a part of him: the part which made bargains with lies; sealed them with coercion.

"I know why you want Morn and Davies," Warden went on bitterly. "They've sent messages explaining the situation.

You haven't risked a war over mere 'property.' You want them because you think they represent the knowledge you need to win. Wipe out humankind completely." Anger thrummed in his voice. "And you want Vector Shaheed to help you develop defenses against us.

"It's too much." At last he let himself shout. "I will not threaten my entire species by asking or ordering them to turn themselves over to you!"

Despite his outrage and dismay, however, his assertion was dishonest; a lie to match Vestabule's. Humankind's survival was more important than a few million lives. But Warden had reason to fear that losing those lives would lead to Holt Fasner's elevation in the Council's place. Holt might become the government; the only power. And if that happened it also would endanger the survival of humanity.

To keep those few million people alive—

and give Koina

her chance at the Dragon—

might be worth the peril of letting

Calm Horizons have Morn and Davies, Angus and Vector.

In addition there were other possibilities—

too nebulous to

define, too precious to ignore. Warden hadn't yet decided how he would finally answer Vestabule. He refused in order to force Vestabule's hand; push the Amnioni into exposing his own falsehoods.

Vestabule faced him without moving. For a long moment the Amnioni didn't speak. His aura swirled and seethed like the radiance of a demon. When he replied at last, his tone remained inflexible and unmoved; beyond appeal. Words came from his distorted mouth like flakes of rust and ruin.

"It is a handicap for us that we do not understand deceit.

Lies are not"—

he seemed to search his memory—

"conceiv-

able?"—

he nodded at the choice—

"not conceivable among

us. Our communication rests on smell as well as on sound, and to some extent on vision. Pheromones do not lie. Hue and shade do not lie. For that reason we are alone in this chamber.

Other Amnion would be distressed by our discussion."

Distressed to be in the presence of treachery—

"I also am distressed," Vestabule continued. "Nevertheless I remember portions of my human nature, and of my experience. In particular I remember mutation. I remember my dismay that my humanity was threatened."

Warden scowled to conceal his reaction; his prescient dread.

"Because I remember," the Amnioni continued, "I know how I must respond to your refusal."

From a pocket of his shipsuit he drew out a hypo filled with a clear liquid and a vial of small pills.

At the sight, fear clenched Warden's guts so hard that he nearly gasped. There it was at last: the lie; the coercion.

"Attend this well, Warden Dios." Vestabule spoke like old iron. "I stated accurately that we gain nothing by your enforced mutation. The transformation would be detected.

Therefore your people would cease to obey you.

"However, this mutagen suits a special purpose. It is slow to act. Once injected, it will remain passive for perhaps ten minutes before it begins to alter your genetic identity.

"These capsules"—

he raised the vial—

"will cause the

mutagen to continue in its passive state. Each supplies an hour of prolonged humanity. The mutagen will live among the false strings of your DNA. But you will be preserved as you are while the counteragent is active.

"I will, inject you with the mutagen," he announced.

"Then I will offer you the counteragent in exchange for your compliance with our requirements."

Without haste or urgency—

inexorable as nightmare—

he

released his belt. He seemed certain he could do what he said; certain Warden would surrender, paralyzed by panic.

Or perhaps he simply trusted his own strength.

But Warden was ready for this as well, despite the primitive horror writhing in his guts.

He'd never heard of a mutagen or counteragent like this.

The prospect of being injected with such an evil appalled him.

Nevertheless the threat itself was simple: clear and easy compared to the question of sacrificing Morn and Angus, or of letting several million people die. Beyond doubt Marc Vestabule remembered much of what it meant to be human.

For that reason he was dangerous; and vulnerable.

Like the Dragon—

Warden raised his hand as if he had the power to stop Vestabule; the power to command him. "I hear you. Now you'd better listen to me. Before you do something rash."

Secretly he was pleased that his voice held firm. That small show of strength diminished the sting of his shame.

Vestabule paused in the act of rising from his chair.

With a sweep of his tongue, Warden moved Hashi's capsule to the front of his mouth; held it between his teeth so that the Amnioni could see it. Then he pushed it back into his cheek.

"It's called a suicide pill," he said as if he'd forgotten what fear felt like. "It's poison. Quick and sure. It doesn't dissolve. I'm safe right now. But if I bite down I'm dead."

To that extent he trusted Hashi absolutely.

"I'm sure you're strong enough to force that mutagen into me." He spoke in a slow, fatal drawl. "I might flounder around the room for a while. Eventually you'll get me.

"But there's no way you can prevent me from biting down.

"You know I'm serious," he added in case Vestabule missed the truth. "Maybe you remember how you felt before you were mutated. Maybe you remember that you would have done anything to save yourself. But even if you don't, you know you would do the same in my place. To save your people."