This Day All Gods Die Part 10

And, she admitted to herself with another pang, she wasn't in a hurry to deal with Angus again. Too much depended on what he would be like when his zone implants allowed him to awaken. Or perhaps on her ability to hold him to his obscure bargains.

Let him sleep for a while. Everyone else needed a chance to rest. And think.

"In that case," she suggested to Vector, "let's go to the bridge. We won't learn anything here. There we can at least sit down. Look at scan, see where we are." See if the sensors had picked up another s.h.i.+p yet. "Maybe we can start trying to figure a way out of this mess.

"And maybe," she added, "we can rig the command board to tell us if Mikka tries anything rash. If we can get that far into the systems."

Vector considered for a moment, glanced at the sickbay readouts, then nodded. "You go ahead. I'll stop by the galley first-make some coffee, bring us food. Now that I think about it, I can't remember the last time any of us had a meal." He grimaced humorously toward Angus. "If you don't count IVs."

He was right. As soon as he said the words, she realized that she was acutely hungry. The prospect of coffee brought a rush of saliva into her mouth.

At the same time new pain throbbed along her arm. Sensations of several kinds began to return as the drugs withdrew their effects.

"Sounds good," she said to cover a wince. "Don't be long. I must be recovering, or I wouldn't be this interested in food."

Gingerly she nudged herself toward the door.

She didn't want to use her right hand again. However, without it movement in zero g was tricky. The same tap which keyed open the door moved her in the opposite direction. But then a lucky thrust with her leg caught one of the surgical table supports and impelled her gracelessly out of the room.

After that progress was easier: she didn't have to deal with doors. Protecting her cast, she launched herself from handgrip to handgrip in the direction of the bridge.

On the rails of the companionway she stopped her motion in order to s.h.i.+ft vectors toward the command station.

At once she saw Mikka.

Nick's former command second sat at the second's station with her back to Morn. Her head hung over her limp hands and the keys as if she'd fallen asleep in the middle of some task.

Another pang. As the drugs faded, Morn found more and more hurts. Vector was right: Mikka hadn't been able to let go of her grief and shame long enough to lie down on her bunk.

But she wasn't sleeping. As soon as Morn made a sound, Mikka raised her head, looked around.

Her features were drawn, haggard; sallow with exhaustion and loss. A bandage still covered one eye and part of her forehead where Angus had once hit her; nearly broken open her skull. Weariness blurred her gaze, but the distress in her good eye was too dark and deep to be hidden. Her habitual frown had lost its edge of ready belligerence: it had become a clenched effort to contain the effects of an inner crisis. She looked like a woman who'd lost her reasons for living-and hated herself for it.

"Morn"-a strained croak, barely audible. "I'm glad-" Her voice trailed away as if she had no words for gladness.

The sight hurt Morn like her shattered bones. She pushed off from the companionway, floated to the back of Mikka's g-seat. "Mikka-" She wanted to put her arms around the woman, try to comfort her somehow. But of course that was impossible. She needed her left arm to hold her at the second's station. "You shouldn't be here. Look at you. You need rest." rest." A clutch of empathy nearly closed her throat. "Good G.o.d, you need rest." A clutch of empathy nearly closed her throat. "Good G.o.d, you need rest."

Mikka made a small, aimless gesture. "I know." Her gaze wandered away. "I can't."

Morn glanced quickly at the screens, found a scan image on one of the displays. Someone-probably Mikka-had routed a steady stream of data from the sensors and sifters to that screen. As far as Trumpet Trumpet could tell, there were no s.h.i.+ps anywhere around her. In fact, there was nothing at all except the black void and the unreachable glitter of the stars. Only a faint spatter of dust occupied the vacuum. could tell, there were no s.h.i.+ps anywhere around her. In fact, there was nothing at all except the black void and the unreachable glitter of the stars. Only a faint spatter of dust occupied the vacuum.

No doubt astrogation could identify the gap scout's position; perhaps had already done so. But the information was useless. The numbers told Morn that the nearest hope of a star system was decades away at this velocity.

Until another s.h.i.+p appeared on scan, Trumpet Trumpet had nothing to fear. And nothing to hope for. had nothing to fear. And nothing to hope for.

"Mikka," she said as gently as she could, "you're not alone here. Vector's still up. I've had enough sleep for six people. Angus is probably going to wake up soon. You don't have to take care of everything yourself."

"I know," Mikka murmured. "I'm not trying to be a martyr. But Ciro's there. In the cabin. I can't"-her head drooped as if her neck had gone limp-"can't stand to be around him."

"Because he sabotaged the drives?" Morn asked softly. "Because he obeyed Sorus Chatelaine even after Vector treated her mutagen?"

Are you that angry at him?

Slowly, weakly, Mikka shook her head. "I might have done the same thing-"

Again she trailed away. For a long moment she was silent. When she went on, her voice ached like Morn's arm.

"He did what he was told. It's over for him now. Everything's over-All he does is lie there crying.

"I don't mean sobbing. He doesn't make a sound. He just lies there with tears streaming down his face. He won't talk to me. I'm not sure he hears me. I think he's deaf with grief.

"He's only a kid. As far as he knows, he's killed us all. That didn't mean anything to him until he did what he was told. It couldn't. Sorus Chatelaine made him crazy. But now- "I guess he can't figure out how to live with it."

Mikka's head hung over the console. She couldn't hold it up. "He's all I have." She sounded distant and worn, like the low plaint of the air-scrubbers. "All I've ever had. And I got him into this. I talked Nick into taking him aboard. I thought I could make a life for both of us.

"Now he's gone," she finished brokenly. "He did this, and he can't fix it. If I can't repair the drives for him, there's nothing left."

Pain whetted the edge of Morn's reactions. She valued Mikka too much to watch in silence while Mikka suffered. And Mikka was simply too worn-out to pull herself back from the gravity well of her despair. Some kind of intervention was necessary.

"I can't argue with you." Morn put words together carefully, hoping to string them in ways Mikka couldn't refute or deny. "You're the only one who knows what matters to you.

"You don't want to hear about the times you've saved my life, or the times you saved this whole s.h.i.+p. You don't want to hear that when you talked Vector and Sib into joining you against Nick you gave us our only hope-the only way any of us has to redeem ourselves. Without you, Vector and Sib would probably have been stranded on Billingate, we never would have gone to the Lab, Vector wouldn't have his formula, Nick would still be alive- "You probably don't want to hear me say I've got about as much tolerance for seeing you like this as you have for watching Ciro," who was by G.o.d old enough to be responsible for his own insanity.

Rough needles had begun probing the joints of her arm, the marrow of her bones. An irrational anger rose in her-a desire to yell at Mikka in order to contain her own pain. If Vector didn't get here soon with food and coffee and distraction, she feared that she might do or say something she would later regret.

"Maybe I can understand a little of what you're feeling," she continued with as much kindness as she could muster. "Angus is my son's father. Whenever my gap-sickness takes over I'm in love with self-destruct. Which is about the same as killing yourself with exhaustion. But I don't believe you when you say 'there's nothing left.' You're You're still here. Worth caring about. Even if you can't protect Ciro from himself." still here. Worth caring about. Even if you can't protect Ciro from himself."

At first she couldn't tell whether Mikka heard her. But then Mikka murmured, "That's fine." She spoke without bitterness; without hope. "Until the cops get me."

Morn groaned to herself. Mikka Vasaczk was a proven illegal: Nick Succorso's command second; a woman who'd partic.i.p.ated in robbery, murder, and treason in Nick's name.

Ciro had raised the same objection. Why is it worse for them to die now? Why is it worse for them to die now?-Mikka, Vector, and Sib. At least they can fight. They don't have to sit around waiting to be At least they can fight. They don't have to sit around waiting to be executed executed!

At the time Mikka had responded, I don't care about being executed! I don't care about anything that might happen days or weeks or I don't care about being executed! I don't care about anything that might happen days or weeks or months months from now, if we're lucky enough to live that long. I care about from now, if we're lucky enough to live that long. I care about you you!

If you want to betray us, then do it. do it. But don't use But don't use me me as an excuse as an excuse.

Now she felt differently: that was obvious. The danger of being captured was at least as personal to her as it was to Morn.

Morn had no answer. She didn't trust the UMCP herself. She was in no position to promise Mikka justice-or mercy.

For a moment a clench of pain threatened to make her gasp. When she'd pushed her arm past the support of her g-seat into the grip of the black hole's gravity well, she'd shattered the bones, damaged the joints, torn ligaments, shredded cartilage. Sickbay had probably worked on her for hours to put her back together. If she had any sense, she would get more drugs right away, before the pain grew worse.

But she didn't leave the bridge. She needed the pain-not to punish her, but to teach her the consequences of her own actions. If she hadn't been so frantic to escape pain and consequences, she wouldn't have accepted her zone implant control from Angus; wouldn't have fled Com-Mine Station with Nick. Instead she would have turned herself over to Com-Mine Security; put a stop to everything which had engulfed her-and Angus-since then.

Rotating around her strapped arm as if it were her personal center of gravity, she swung away from Mikka and drifted to the command station. Carefully she belted herself into the g-seat as if she belonged there. For a moment she closed her eyes and concentrated on simply breathing; exhaling the worst of her hurt.

When she looked at Mikka again, she'd recovered her composure.

Gently again, she asked, "What were you trying to do?"

Mikka had removed her hands from the second's console as if to disavow responsibility. Despite the absence of g, she slumped like a woman who couldn't support her own weight. But she was still Mikka Vasaczk, not some callow UMCP ensign appalled by gap-sickness and zone implants and Angus Thermopyle. Regardless of her own distress, she made the effort to reply.

"Get into the drive databases," she muttered thinly. "Find schematics. Diagnostic routines. Repair protocols. Anything that tells us how to work on the drives.

"Wrecking electronics is easy. Like murder. You don't need brains. All you need is a spanner. But you can't repair anything if you don't know what you're trying to fix."

"No luck?" Morn pursued, although she already knew the answer. She wanted to keep Mikka talking until Vector arrived.

Mikka wobbled her head negatively. "Everything that has to do with the s.h.i.+p is locked away. We can run helm-for whatever good that's going to do us. Targ, scan, communications. But the s.h.i.+p is hidden. I can't get into damage control. h.e.l.l, I can't even access maintenance. I can't find out how much food we have. I can't tell you how long our fuel would have lasted if we were able to use it."

"Are we still broadcasting Vector's message?"

"Sure. Now that it's useless, n.o.body can hear it, we're screaming it in all directions." Mikka paused, then added bleakly, "h.e.l.l of a drain on our energy cells."

The energy cells were all that kept Trumpet Trumpet alive. alive.

"Speaking of which," Vector remarked casually, "I've been draining them as fast as I can."

Morn turned her head, saw him at the head of the companionway. He looked at Mikka, and his eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged himself into motion. He was carrying a tray laden with g-flasks and food-packets in retaining clips. Steam curled past his shoulders as he floated down the treads.

"Coffee," he went on in his most avuncular manner. "Hot soup-black bean, if you can trust the smell. Steamed sirloin bars, according to the label. Wasting power like mad. The only things I didn't cook are the nutrient capsules."

He drifted in front of the second's station and stopped himself on the edge of the console, forcing Mikka to notice him.

"I thought you told me you were going to get some sleep," he said sternly.

She scowled up at him: a reflex; devoid of force. She didn't say anything.

"Oh, well." He shrugged again. "Who am I to talk? If any of us had the intelligence G.o.d gave curdled milk, we probably wouldn't be in this mess to begin with."

With a show of cheerfulness, he started distributing packets and g-flasks.

As soon as the steam reached Morn's nose, she nearly went blind with hunger and eagerness. Her pain seemed to vanish: for a moment her universe shrank until it contained only coffee, soup, and meat. One-handed, trembling with antic.i.p.ation, she set the coffee in a holder in the arm of her g-seat, pushed a couple of packets down into her lap, then raised the soup unsteadily to her mouth.

Black bean, h.e.l.l. It didn't smell like that-or taste like it. It was pure Heaven. She hardly noticed that the heat stung her tongue as she drank.

Her nerves hadn't felt a thrill like this since the last time she'd turned on her zone implant.

She took several swallows before she recovered enough awareness to realize that Vector was watching her intently. Making sure she was all right- "Vector Shaheed," she murmured, "you are a saint. You deserve to live forever."

He grinned at her briefly, then coasted away to the auxiliary engineering console and anch.o.r.ed himself to the seat with his zero-g belt while he ate.

Morn tore open a sirloin bar with her teeth, chewed a bite of the meat. Drank more soup. Swallowed her nutrient capsules. Sipped some coffee. And found that she felt better answers might be possible after all. Food certainly seemed to be one of them. Her arm resumed its sharp pulsing almost at once: if anything her pain grew stronger as her body took in sustenance. Nevertheless it had become less threatening. She could endure it better.

At last she looked over at Mikka.

Mikka sat with her head bowed over her coffee, her face in the steam. For a while she appeared content simply to breathe the aroma. But then she took a few small sips. Slowly her head came up, and she reached for her soup.

As she ate, her skin lost some of its pallor. Her movements regained a measure of clarity. She straightened her back a bit against the support of her g-seat.

Morn gave a private sigh of relief. She didn't want to lose Mikka.

Finally she was done eating. She secured her g-flasks, crumpled her empty packets to dispose of later, and rested her hands lightly on the command board.

"Now," she announced. "I don't know how much time we have left, but there's n.o.body else on scan yet." Numbers along the scan display confirmed the absence of blips within the sensors' reach. "This might be the best chance we'll ever get to make some plans."

"What plans?" Mikka snorted. Food had apparently given her the energy for bitterness. "The drives are dead."

Nothing was possible without power.

"And we might not be able to fix them," Morn added for her. "Angus might not be able to fix them. He might not even be willing. If he ever wakes up. We don't know whose side he's really on, who's responsible for his core programming," although she suspected it was Warden Dios. "If we start listing all the things we don't know and can't tell, we'll be here for hours."

The pain of her arm nagged at her in waves, each crest higher than the last; reminding her of consequences.

"But I still think we should try to figure out where we we stand," she insisted. "What's important to stand," she insisted. "What's important to us. us. What What we we want to accomplish. If we don't, we'll never accomplish anything at all. Even if we get the chance." want to accomplish. If we don't, we'll never accomplish anything at all. Even if we get the chance."

Mikka tapped a couple of keys on her board, refining the scan display. She didn't respond.

After a moment Vector cleared his throat. "That makes sense to me," he offered. "But I'm afraid I don't have much to contribute. I was never a very good engineer. And I can't fight worth a d.a.m.n." He shrugged eloquently. "For me it's all simple. My whole life is in that antimutagen. The formula. And the broadcast. I'm really not worried about anything else." A shadow seemed to pa.s.s across his gaze. "Except I don't want any more of us to die. I still haven't recovered from losing Sib."

Poor, frightened, valiant Sib Mackern, who had accompanied Nick Succorso in an EVA attack on Soar Soar so that Nick wouldn't be able to turn on so that Nick wouldn't be able to turn on Trumpet; Trumpet; so that so that Trumpet Trumpet would have a better chance to survive. would have a better chance to survive.

Sib's gesture, like Nick's crazy l.u.s.t for revenge, had seemed hopeless, doomed; an exercise in futility. And yet it had achieved something vital. Soar Soar had lost her super-light proton cannon. Nick and Sib must have damaged it somehow. They'd kept had lost her super-light proton cannon. Nick and Sib must have damaged it somehow. They'd kept Trumpet Trumpet alive with their deaths. alive with their deaths.

Morn had watched the Amnion inject their mutagens into her. She'd endured a terror as profound and personal as her own DNA while she waited to learn whether Nick's immunity drug would preserve her humanity. And then-for reasons which still seemed entirely incomprehensible-Angus had rescued her. Across the light-years, and despite the intervening layers of corruption, someone at UMCPHQ wanted her alive.

She knew from experience that she was too mortal-too rich with fear-to recognize doom when she saw it.

With a nod she acknowledged Vector's reply. For a moment she was silent while she settled her broken arm as comfortably as she could across her chest. Then she began.

"Sometimes I think the only things I've ever been really good at are holding grudges and being ashamed of myself." She needed to say this so that Vector and Mikka would understand her. "It makes perfect sense that I love self-destruct when I'm gap-sick. That's what I've been doing all my life, one way or another. Eating myself alive with misguided anger, and then punis.h.i.+ng myself for it. Making myself a zone implant addict. Shattering my own arm-"

Vector murmured a demurral; but Morn didn't pause to hear it.

"I'm looking for better answers."

A deeper surge of pain seemed to concentrate her mind. The distress of her damaged bones forced her to be clear.

"The UMCP has the same problem," she p.r.o.nounced. "As far as I'm concerned, suppressing Intertech's immunity research was self-destructive. So was sending Angus against Billingate under Milos Taverner's control." More than anything else, that single action had led to Calm Horizons' Calm Horizons' incursion into human s.p.a.ce. "If you're a cop, you can only damage yourself when you try to manipulate the definition of your responsibilities. incursion into human s.p.a.ce. "If you're a cop, you can only damage yourself when you try to manipulate the definition of your responsibilities.

"In some ways, the crucial question is, where does the damage come from? Is Min Donner honest? Is Warden Dios? Has the harm been imposed by Holt Fasner, or is it more internal-more organic? Is there anyone we can trust?

"But in other ways," she a.s.serted, "that question is irrelevant. We'll probably never know the answer. Or we won't know in time. We need to make our own decisions for our own reasons."

Another crest of pain rose remorselessly through her. The tide was coming in with a vengeance. Soon she would have no choice but to retreat to sickbay for medication. But not yet. In the s.p.a.ces between the waves she felt clear and sure. She seemed to see the consequences of what Holt Fasner or Warden Dios had done precisely, as if they were delineated on one of the screens in front of her.

"We may not be able to figure out what we're actually going to do until we see who comes after us." This had to be said as well. "I'm not sure which would be worse, Punisher Punisher or a s.h.i.+p from VI. or a s.h.i.+p from VI. Punisher Punisher fought for us against fought for us against Calm Horizons. Calm Horizons. But she also gave Nick Angus' priority-codes." At the same time she'd made it possible for Davies and Morn to free him from those codes. "And Valdor is a UMC station. For all we know, they could be taking orders directly from the Dragon." But she also gave Nick Angus' priority-codes." At the same time she'd made it possible for Davies and Morn to free him from those codes. "And Valdor is a UMC station. For all we know, they could be taking orders directly from the Dragon."