This Day All Gods Die (59 page)

"He says he knows you."

That surprised Angus. He locked his arms across his chest; clamped his teeth together until the corners of his jaw ached. "He's probably lying," he snarled back, although he feared Vestabule might be telling the truth. "Even if he isn't, what makes him think I care?"

"He used to crew on a ship called Viable Dreams."

Heavy with accusation, Warden's reply carried through the static. "He says you captured his ship, took him and twenty-seven other members of the crew captive. Then you hauled them off to Billingate and sold them all to the Amnion.

"He hasn't told me what you were paid for that, but I think I can guess."

Oh, shit.

At once a stricken silence fell across the bridge. Min jerked up her head: an instant of fury flamed in her eyes; stretched her lips back from her teeth. Mikka lowered her head to the targ board, covered her skull and the back of her neck with her arms. Curses gathered savagely in Glessen's face; Patrice's; Porson's.

If his zone implants hadn't held him, Angus would have staggered. Dios caught him with a charge he couldn't answer; turned the bridge against him. Morn and Davies knew about Viable Dreams: he'd told them to explain how he'd learned to edit datacores. In spite of that, Morn had made the decision to help free him from his priority-codes. But everyone else—

Only Ciro didn't react. Morn hid her face behind her hair.

Davies lifted a look of dull speculation toward his father.

Min's hands strained for the gun she no longer carried.

In dismay Vector croaked, "You did what?'

Then Glessen and Cray started to shout.

Mikka's shoulders shook as if she were weeping. "Oh, God. I never knew—

" A sound like a sob closed her throat.

"Your own kind, Angus? Your own kind?"

Abruptly she wrenched up her head; cried as if her heart were torn, "What have you done to my brother? What in God's name have you been telling him?"

At the same time Captain Ubikwe wheeled to face the command station. "Christ on a crutch, Ensign Hyland!"

he roared. "And you listen to this bastard when he asks you to trust him? Are you insane?"

"You amaze me, Angus," Vector went on. Disgust or grief crumpled his round face. "I didn't think I could still be horrified. I thought Nick cauterized that part of me years ago."

Morn didn't touch her pickup; let Warden Dios hear it all.

Dread rose like fire in Angus' heart. If the revulsion around him mounted high enough, these people might call his bluff; might push him until they discovered that his programming still prevented him from hurting them. As long as they didn't threaten Morn, he might not be able to defend himself at all.

One way or another, they could force him aboard the command module. Even if his datacore allowed him to put up a fight, Punisher's crew could overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

He couldn't bear it,

"Stop that!'' he yelled like the report of a gun.

His shout seemed to crack against the bulkheads; fracture into echoes and old hurt. Darkness mottled his face: blood and dirt marked his skin like livid stigmata. His heavy arms beat anguish against his sides.

"Stop it! You haven't earned the right to be so fucking self-righteous with me!"

Instinctively he aimed his rage like despair at Morn.

There was no one else he could ask for help. "Tell them!", he demanded. "Tell them this is the only reason you're still alive!"

She shook her head. She was capable of opening fire on Calm Horizons; capable of refusing him. "You tell them."

For an instant he gaped at her. Then he whirled; grabbed Davies by the front of his shipsuit; ripped the boy to his feet.

"Tell them!"

Davies resembled his father, but he had Morn's eyes. He met Angus' desperation without flinching; without hesitating.

"She's right. You tell them."

He might have said, Don't try to make us responsible for your crimes.

With a strangled howl, Angus pushed Davies away.

An emotional convulsion came over him. Alone in the center of the bridge, with loathing all around him and nowhere to turn, he raised his fists to his head, set his knuckles against his skull. At that moment he was utterly and absolutely determined to cut his brain open with laser fire; squeeze coherent ruin into the core of his pain—

His programming declined to permit it. His zone implants sent out their emissions. Without transition he passed from despair to a sickening, fatal calm. His horror remained. The rage of his personal furies went on. Their wings seemed to labor in the background of his mind, covering him with their shadows; clattering for his heart. But the wildness disappeared from his body. Helpless to do otherwise, he lowered his arms.

Briefly he scanned the bridge. He might have been considering it the same way Warden Dios did. Then he picked Min Donner. You tell them. Since Morn had abandoned him, Min was the highest authority here. Despite the combative fury in her eyes, the judgment which lined her mouth, he moved toward her.

She met him with her fists poised to strike, as if he were an enemy she intended to defeat with her bare hands.

Dolph started forward to give her his support; but Morn halted him with a sharp gesture.

"Yes, I did that," Angus told Min's knotted outrage. Stifled vehemence seemed to strangle him; but only a hint of it showed in his voice. "Sold all fucking twenty-eight of them.

And the Amnion paid me by teaching me how to edit datacores." He grinned at the sudden shock in her gaze; the instant recoil. "It's supposed to be impossible, but I can do it.".

As if she were unaware of them, Min lowered her arms.

Stiffly he went on, "That's why Com-Mine Security couldn't find enough evidence to execute me. I deleted it. And it's why I don't have to listen to my priority-codes. I blocked them."

Everyone on the bridge stared at him. Min studied him as if he were about to reach critical mass. Mikka watched with her face full of tears. Under his breath Vector muttered something that might have been, "Well, damn."

From his g-seat Ciro smiled at Angus like a soul mate.

"If I hadn't done that," Angus said quietly while acid frothed and spat inside him, "they would all be dead by now.

Why do you suppose that asshole Fasner wanted Nick to have my priority-codes? So Nick would kill them. But first he would have hurt them so much they would have begged to die.

"I saved them," he insisted. "Because I could. Because I sold Vestabule's goddamn ship."

And because Morn had released him.

Abruptly he flung out his arm. Trembling with desperation and strain he couldn't show, he pointed an accusation at the speakers.

"He knew about it." The director of the UMCP. "He knew. Before he ever put me aboard Trumpet, and sent me to Billingate, and let Milos torture me, he knew. He told me so."

At last he found the strength to raise his voice: his datacore allowed it. "He's been counting on it!

"And he's still counting on it. I don't know what the fuck he thinks he's doing, but I am shit-positive he's still counting on what I can do! He's using all of us, right now, the same way he's always used us!"

Now Min's face showed nothing, gave nothing. She concentrated on absorbing what she heard.

Finally Morn intervened. "That's enough, Angus." She didn't shout. Nevertheless a vibration of force in her tone stopped him. "It doesn't make any difference. Not now. Not here. We can all yell about this later."

She may not have wanted Vestabule to hear him explain what he meant.

Roughly he swung away from Min to confront Morn across the gap between their stations. If he could have acted of his own free will, he would have howled, wailed, Do you think I fucking care what fucking Vestabule hears? You don't have the right to despise me! But now it wasn't his zone implants that restrained him: it was Morn herself. The impacted hurt in her gaze told him how she would respond.

While I'm in command, nobody will be forced to do something like this.

I don't sell human beings.

I need a better answer.

Mikka, prepare to fire.

She may have been the only one here who could imagine how much harm his welding had done him. If he couldn't match her, he could at least try not to get in her way.

He took a step or two toward her, then stopped like a man who didn't believe in himself enough to go on. Instead of resisting her, he groaned in the direction of her pickup, "Are you listening, Dios? Do you like what you hear?"

Then he lapsed into silence as if his zone implants had shut him down.

His voice conflicted by static, Warden replied at once,

"Oh, I hear you, all right. I hear you fine." Then he added,

"So does Vestabule. You've betrayed one of their secrets. Now he has even more reason to prefer a war if you don't give yourself up.

"There's just one thing I want to know, Morn," he went on before anyone could speak. "Did he tell you about Viable Dreams?"

Even more reason—

More reason for everyone aboard the cruiser to make Angus comply with Vestabule's demands.

But Morn didn't hesitate. "Yes, Director." Her tone was as cold as the gap. "He told me. Both Davies and I knew."

"He couldn't work on his datacore without help," Warden pursued. "I assume you helped him. When did he tell you? Before or after?"

"Before," she answered simply. "I knew before I decided to help him."

"I see."

Warden paused. During the silence Angus felt the last seconds of his life ticking away.

When Dios spoke again, his manner had changed. Almost gently, he said, "You know him better than I do, Morn. I'll trust your judgment."

Then his voice changed focus. "Angus, are you listening?"

Angus flinched inwardly. "I try not to," he growled. If he could have wept, he would have. "But I can't get you out of my head."

"You're damn right I've been using you, Angus." Warden pierced the distortion as if he intended to give Angus orders after all. "I've been using you and Morn ever since you reached Com-Mine. After Starmaster died. I was using you when I switched your datacore. And I'm going to keep right on using you.

"I've heard how you justify yourself, Angus," he pronounced harshly. "Now I want you to hear me.

"We're facing a total crisis here. An outright apotheosis."

Between one heartbeat and the next, Angus collapsed on the deck as if he'd been cut off at the knees. In the prison of his skull, a tidal wave of images and sensations broke over him. An inarticulate gargle of shock or surprise bubbled up from his chest. Spasms he couldn't control gripped his shoulders.

Davies gasped in dismay. Morn came half out of the command station, then froze.

Something Warden had said—

He was still talking. He might have been unaware of a reaction he couldn't see. "Are you listening, Angus?" he demanded. "Vestabule has his guns aimed at Suka Bator. If we don't do what he wants, he's going to give us a super-light proton vasectomy."

A thick cry tore its way past Angus' teeth. Before his zone implants could intervene, his synapses fired as if he were being transfigured. His knees jerked up to his chest. He tucked his head against them; cowered on the deck while everything he knew and understood came to an end.

Warden may not have heard him. Or maybe he knew exactly what was happening. His voice rang as he proclaimed, "I will use anybody I can to do my job."

frozen; caught between An-

gus' fall and the instant knowledge that Warden Dios had caused it. In response to Angus' defiance he'd invoked commands no one else knew about, and now the only man who might have helped him lay stricken on the deck, huddling into himself like an infant. The shock held her while she struggled to catch up with it.

Warden did this.

Because Vestabule had told him about Viable Dreams, and he no longer trusted his welded cyborg? Because he had no other way to enforce Angus' compliance; fend off the threat of war and untold bloodshed?

I will use anybody I can to do my job.

She couldn't catch up; not like this; not with Angus grov-eling on the deck, and everyone she depended on stunned to silence.

Abruptly she dropped back into her g-seat; turned to her pickup. "Director, Angus just collapsed." She made no effort to hide her urgency. "I don't know what's happened to him.

I'll call you back."

Warden shouted her name, trying to hold on to her, make her keep her channel open; but she hit her pickup toggle and cut him off in midsyllable.

Around her, everyone stared at Angus as if he were becoming an Amnioni in front of them. The only man who might have helped Warden—

They insist on Angus.

He wrapped his arms more tightly across his knees. His shoulders hunched: he might have been strangling something inside himself.

Christ, Warden! What have you done?

"Good God," Dolph protested softly. "Somebody help him."

None of the duty officers obeyed. In their separate ways, they all seemed too shaken to react; too confused. And Mikka had nothing left to give: she used the last of her will, her heart, to hold herself steady on targ.

But Davies lurched stiffly to his feet. Morn may have made the decision to help Angus block his priority-codes; but Davies had done most of the work. He'd cut open his father's back; dipped his hands in his father's blood. When the imponderable stresses of Trumpet's singularity grenade had driven Angus into stasis, Davies had spilled more blood to bring him back. Dismay and bafflement filled his face as he moved to Angus' side.

Awkwardly he knelt to the deck; put his hands on Angus'

shoulders to roll him over.

As soon as he saw his father's face, he recoiled in surprise. "Shit, Angus! What the fuck're you doing?"

A manic grin stretched Angus' stained face. Tears squeezed from his eyes: crazy humor flushed his cheeks. He looked like a man who'd locked himself into a ball so that he wouldn't break out laughing.

"It's got to stop," he croaked at Davies as if that were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "It's got to stop."