This Day All Gods Die (63 page)

"I hope so, Davies." For what may have been the first time since she'd boarded Punisher, Morn sounded like she was smiling. "I sure don't have a better one."

As far as Dolph was concerned, she didn't need one. He liked this answer just fine.

Davies returned to his station. He and Vector closed their belts. Dolph confirmed that his companions were secure, then began typing the commands to initiate detachment.

The metallic clangor of the locking clamps as they released sounded like the opening salvo in the battle for humankind's survival.

Vasaczk sat at Trumpet's

command station while Captain Ubikwe maneuvered to grapple onto the gap scout's hull, and Angus transmitted his last instructions to both the module and Punisher.

Her brother meant to die. If Angus understood that, he didn't admit it. Instead he made bizarre, implausible provisions for everyone's survival. But Morn knew. Mikka had recognized the knowledge in Morn's eyes when Morn had asked her if she would aid Angus. And she suspected that Vector knew as well. Sadly, awkwardly, he'd hugged Ciro before they parted; and Ciro had smiled his demented smile, but he hadn't returned Vector's clasp.

Yet they all—

and Ciro more than any of them—

wanted

Mikka to help him end his life.

"We've been ready, fat man," Angus had told Captain Ubikwe aboard the module.

When the module reached them, the grapples would take hold of Trumpet and position her so that one of her airlocks met an emergency access port in the module's hull. There magnetic clamps would grip her while Captain Ubikwe conveyed her across the fatal gap between Punisher and Calm Horizons. But there was nothing Mikka could do to secure the gap scout; nothing for her to do along the way. Her duties wouldn't begin until they reached the warship, and Angus and Ciro left the ship.

Ciro meant to die. Somehow Angus had offered him a way out of the distress Sorus Chatelaine had inflicted on him, and he intended to take it.

He wanted Mikka to help him. When Morn and Angus had asked her to run Trumpet's command board, they were asking her to assist as well as condone her brother's suicide.

"If this works," Angus transmitted to Morn while the gap scout drifted, "I'll get my ship back." Presumably he meant Trumpet, not Bright Beauty. His old tincan vessel was dismantled months ago. ''That makes it worth the risk."

Did he think the cops would let him go? Turn a welded cyborg loose, with all those enhancements, all that capacity for destruction? If he did, Min Donner didn't contradict him.

Maybe she trusted Warden Dios to control him.

"I hope so," Morn replied distantly. "This whole gamble is your idea. If you don't see it through—

" She paused as if

she couldn't find an adequate threat, then finished like a shrug,

"I'll kill myself."

Angus snorted a guttural laugh. "No, you won't. Not anymore." At once he added, "But you better jump like hell when the excitement starts. Even if everything goes right, there's going to be a gap where Calm Horizons can take a crack at you. You can bet your ass she'll do it."

His life depended on that gap. So did everyone else's.

Even his useless provisions for Ciro's survival depended on it.

"I understand," Morn answered. "I think Patrice can handle it."

That was all the farewell they said to each other.

It was more than Mikka and Ciro had done.

Earlier—

long hours of exhaustion ago—

Angus had taken

Ciro and Captain Ubikwe aboard Trumpet, ostensibly to repair the gap scout's drives. By the time they'd returned to Punisher's bridge, Ciro's fractured mind had found a focus. He'd learned how to name the death he desired.

Before Angus could stop him, he'd announced, He showed me how to use the singularity grenades. And when Mikka protested, he'd answered, You don't have any idea what it's like, feeling like you have to kill everybody you care about.

Although Morn must have known. Then he'd referred to Angus. But he does.

In turn Angus had defended him. Ciro is working for me now. None of you understand what Sorus Chatelaine did to him. As if he considered it an act of compassion, Angus had told the bridge, Instead of kicking him into a corner like a goddamn puppy, I'm giving him something to do.

At the time Mikka had been too stricken to argue. Or fight. Trapped by dismay, she'd made no effort to tear Angus'

head off. And perhaps she truly had not understood. But later, while she'd watched over Punisher's targ, brutalizing herself to perform that small service because everything else was beyond her, she'd learned to understand.

Angus was right. Ciro's plight was worse than Morn's.

In the end it wasn't the fact that Soar's captain had forced a mutagen into him which had broken Ciro. It was his own compulsory terror. After he'd revealed what she'd done to him

—

and after Vector had flushed the mutagen out of his cells—

he'd taken his first opportunity to obey her; sabotage Trumpet's drives. At the time he must have believed that was necessary. He was no geneticist: any evidence Vector had shown him to convince him he was safe probably seemed too abstract to outweigh his fear. Involuntarily, instinctively, he must have believed Sorus' threat more than Vector's reprieve.

But then the hours had passed; and the antidote Sorus gave him had run out; and he'd remained human. And then his sanity had cracked. The knowledge of his own weakness had been more than he could bear.

The death he named for himself was a form of restitution.

Mikka understood. She would have been more than willing to die herself if anyone had offered her a chance to repair the harm she'd done Ciro by taking him aboard Captain's Fancy; introducing him to Nick.

For that reason, when Morn and Angus had asked her to run Trumpet's command board, she'd agreed. Who could take her place? Angus, Morn, and Davies all had other parts to play. And no one else knew the gap scout as well as she did.

For the same reason, she'd gone to sickbay as soon as she reached Trumpet and keyed the systems to dispense every stimulant available: stim and hype; caffeine tablets; complex pseudoendorphin supplements. Her weakness was as great as Ciro's. She'd run out of strength and courage: her mortality was too heavy to lift without drugs. Everything Angus had in mind for himself and Ciro, for Davies and Vector, for the command module and Trumpet, would be wasted if she failed to stay alert.

Because she understood so well, she was going to help her brother kill himself.

Like Angus, he'd already put on his EVA suit, although they were in no hurry; the trip to Calm Horizons would give them plenty of time. Only his head remained exposed: he'd left his helmet beside Angus' on the second's g-seat while he wandered around the bridge, whistling softly to himself.

Mikka recognized the tune—

a lullaby familiar from her child-

hood, when her mother was still alive to sing to her.

The sound made her want to wail.

For as long as she could, she ran diagnostic and parameter checks on the gap scout, making sure that Angus' repairs were stable; that thrust was ready for cold ignition; that passive scan was adequate to give her the information she would need; that the energy cells still held enough power to handle the load of the dispersion field generator. Unfortunately no amount of hype and stim could relieve her loss. After a while her concentration frayed into anguish.

Ciro's whistling was going to drive her mad.

The next time he passed between her and the display screens, she snapped, "Do you have to do that?"

Inwardly she cringed at her unnecessary harshness. But his reaction hurt her more.

He stopped in front of her, faced her with sudden terror in his eyes and a bland, dissociated smile on his mouth. "No, I don't." His voice sounded as bleak as hard vacuum. The idea of singularity grenades had already sucked him away. And yet he offered softly, earnestly, "I won't do it if you tell me not to."

In dismay she saw that he was offering her the greatest and most terrible gift he could imagine: the gift of his life; of refusing his part in Angus' plans.

I won't do it—

At once Angus wheeled like a burst of flame on the boy.

He may have wanted to shout in rage. You what! he might have protested. You little shit, we're counting on you! But he must have seen the death in Mikka's gaze. He caught himself in time; clamped his teeth shut.

—

if you tell me not to.

She couldn't bear it.

They had alternatives. They could trade places. She could teach him how to initiate cold ignition. How to use the dispersion field. What to look for on scan. She could try to do his job for him. But the cost would be too high for both of them.

"Never mind," she told him. She felt her heart tearing like a sheet of hardcopy; but he needed this gift from her more than she needed his. "You know what you have to do. That's good enough for me."

Roughly Angus turned away as if he wanted to hide his relief.

By degrees the terror faded from Ciro's eyes. After a moment he began to whistle again; resumed wandering the bridge.

He intended to die. The prospect didn't scare him at all.

Fane, she moved through the

crowded tension of the GCES Members and their aides toward the dais where Maxim Igensard presided on the strength of his position as Sen Abdullah's proxy.

The Special Counsel had demanded, I have some questions I want to ask you. Questions about Warden Dios and Calm Horizons. About Trumpet and treason. But Holt Fasner's FEA had intervened at once. You don't have to submit to this, he'd assured her. I'll answer his questions. The UMC is responsible for the UMCP in any case.

Both Maxim and Cleatus must have been accustomed to men like the late Godsen Frik—

men for whom Protocol meant

ambition and manipulation, not honesty. Now, in their separate ways, for their separate reasons, they may have begun to suspect that Warden's actions had brought them to the brink of disaster. But neither of them knew Koina. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

She'd ignored Fane's efforts to stop her. Hiding her trepidation behind a mask of bland professional confidence, she'd risen to her feet and told Maxim, I'm ready, Special Counsel.

To some extent, she accepted the perilous burden of carrying out Warden's orders precisely because Cleatus Fane had warned her against doing so. He was afraid of her: the strain on his face made that obvious. Through his PCR link to UMCHO—

and Holt Fasner's informants in UMCPHQ—

he

probably knew as much as she did about what was happening in space. Like Holt, he must at last have seen that events were moving in directions the Dragon hadn't anticipated and couldn't control. Perhaps he was starting to guess just how much damage she'd been sent here to do.

The nature of his loyalties helped her be sure of her own.

His desire to silence her confirmed her determination to speak.

The UMC is responsible for the UMCP.

If it was possible, she intended to rub his nose—

and

Fasner's as well—

in that responsibility.

"Director Hannish" he hissed after her; but she didn't turn her head.

Clearly the Special Counsel didn't want her to join him on the dais. No doubt he preferred to thunder his accusations at her from above; overwhelm her with the sheer stature of his righteous indignation. I've been accumulating evidence of the most malign kinds of malfeasance and corruption. As soon as she left her seat, he raised his hands in a frustrated attempt to halt her.

"That isn't, necessary, Director," he snapped irritably.

"We can all hear you from there."

For the moment she ignored him as she'd ignored Cleatus. She had much to say: questions to answer; risks to take; fears to face. But her first priority was to weaken Maxim's grip on the chamber, if she could. Despite the objections and incredulity of Members like Tel Burnish, Blaine Manse, and Sixten Vertigus, Maxim had already half convinced the Council that Warden was guilty of treason. And in a sense he was right: Calm Horizons was here, with her super-light proton gun fixed on Suka Bator, as a direct result of Warden's decisions and actions. Before Koina did anything else, she needed to defuse the emotional force of the Special Counsel's accusations.

She made her way up to the dais in order to claim as much stature as he had.

Physically that was easy: she was a good fifteen cm taller.

But the ominous intensity he radiated, the sense of critical mass he conveyed, made him seem larger. He gave the impression that there was no limit to how far he might expand.

On the surface, she had nothing to oppose him with except her beauty, her feigned calm—

and her determination to

tell the truth. But she also possessed a certain low cunning which she'd learned from Godsen Frik. His restless machinations had taught her a great deal.

As she joined him at the podium, Maxim turned to Abrim Len as if her presence were a point of order. "President Len?"

Len had seated himself at the back of the dais while Maxim had the floor. He didn't rise to Maxim's demand; but he lifted his head with a cornered glitter in his eyes. "You asked her to speak, Special Counsel." His tone carried more resolution than Koina had expected from him. "If you want her to answer your questions, she might as well stand up here where we can all see her."

Before Igensard could reply, Captain Vertigus put in sharply, "Give her the floor, Maxim." The old Senior Member had his own reasons for outrage. As one of the UMCP's staunchest supporters, he must have been profoundly shaken by Maxim's allegations. "We already know what your questions are. Her answers are what matter now."

From the other side of the room, Punjat Silat offered,

"For what my poor opinion may be worth, I concur." It was the first time Koina had heard the Senior Member for the Combined Asian Islands and Peninsulas speak. Apparently the drug he'd taken a short time ago had calmed his unsteady heart, at least for the present. Like his illness, his diffidence seemed to give him dignity. "As spokeswoman for the UMCP