The Gap Into Power: A Dark and Hungry God Arises

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “I want to know why.”

  Even though Warden was braced for this, it still hurt him. Of the people in his office, only she had the power to cause him so much pain. He had to stifle his impulse to say, Min, forgive me. I’m so sorry.

  He glanced at his chronometer. Two minutes left. Apparently he would be on time.

  “Other problems?” he asked Godsen. “Worries?” he asked Hashi. “Objections?” he asked Min.

  The three of them regarded him without speaking. Godsen’s apprehension, Hashi’s hidden excitement, Min’s outrage: each had its own distinct infrared flavor; but none struck him as a reason for delay.

  Because he was a man who acted on his commitments, he took the next step along the path he’d chosen.

  “All right. Unless I’ve completely misjudged the situation, you’re about to get the answers you want.

  “You won’t be surprised to hear that Godsen’s news release is already stirring up trouble. Specifically the GCES is in an uproar. I don’t know what the council members are saying, but I would guess that terms like ‘incompetence,’ ‘dereliction of duty,’ and even ‘malfeasance’ are being shouted in all directions. An emergency session has already been declared to probe the situation.

  “The Council has demanded a video conference with Hashi and me so that we can account for ourselves. In fact, we’re supposed to downlink with them”—Warden checked the time—“right about now. As you know, our charter doesn’t require us to obtain GCES approval for our operations, but it does require us to honor requests for disclosure. So Hashi and I are going to talk to them.”

  He looked at Godsen and Min. “I want you to listen. What you’re going to hear is our official position—the position you’ll swear to from now on. Is that clear? If the explanation we give the Council doesn’t resolve your objections, I’ll go into more detail afterward.”

  Godsen nodded to demonstrate his dutiful loyalty. Min tightened her grip on herself and said nothing.

  “Hashi,” Warden continued as he tapped buttons which activated the broadcast equipment in his office, “we’ll sit on the edge of the desk. A little informality”—he hoped that his bitterness didn’t show in his voice—“might make us look like the kind of men who tell the truth.”

  While cameras and pickups came to life, and partitions unfolded to reveal a wide screen in one wall, Lebwohl pushed himself out of his chair and shambled to the desk. At the same time lights dimmed around the office so that only the desk remained bright. Warden chimed his secretary and told her to complete the downlink with the GCES on Earth. Then he joined his DA director on the front of the desk.

  Min Donner and Godsen Frik watched from the gloom outside the reach of the cameras as Warden Dios and Hashi Lebwohl settled themselves to talk to the Council.

  After a brief burst of static, the screen resolved into an image of the formal meeting hall of the Governing Council for Earth and Space.

  Much of the room was filled by a large, half-oval table. The twenty-one council members sat around the outside of the table, with small data terminals as well as hardcopy notes in front of them, and their personal advisers behind them. Usually individuals being questioned by the Council sat at a testimony table within the half oval, equally accessible to all the Members. Now, however, the screen which showed Warden to the Council had taken the place of the table and chair. His own perspective on the hall came from cameras above and behind the testimony seat; but what Holt Fasner called “the votes” faced him as if he were seated in front of them.

  A quick scan told him that all the Members were present. That didn’t surprise him: this wasn’t an occasion that any of the elected representatives of Earth and her farflung stations would choose to miss. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew all twenty-one by name, as well as a fair number of their advisers; circumstances would refresh his memory at need. And at any given moment Hashi could probably recite verbatim the UMCP file on every person in the hall.

  For the present Warden made a deliberate effort not to take notice of old Sixten Vertigus, rigid as steel in his chair despite his years, or of any of the other Members who might conceivably support a bill of severance. He didn’t want to give even the slightest indication that he was going to damage—perhaps ruin—their careers.

  The screen in his office had a distressing flicker. Sunspot activity, no doubt. Numbers running across the bottom of the image told him that his communications techs were attempting to filter out the distortion. Unfortunately the unsteadiness of the picture touched a sore place in his optic nerves, gave him the impression that he was coming down with a migraine.

  Members shuffled papers, verified or canceled their data readouts. In a moment every eye was fixed on Warden’s image. Because of his own angle of view, the Members appeared to focus their attention on his crotch. He missed being able to make eye contact with them, just as he missed the IR dimension which video denied him; but he was accustomed to the discrepancy.

  “Director Dios. Thank you for responding so promptly.”

  The man who spoke sat in the middle of the half oval. Only the position of his chair indicated his rank: he was Abrim Len, president of the Governing Council for Earth and Space. In the private rooms of UMCPHQ, ensigns and techs sometimes joked that Godsen Frik was a Len clone. Both men were capable of the same public posturing, the same orotund cadences. Len was no Fasner stooge, however. He was simply a man who preferred any sort of consensus, no matter how fatuous, over any form of confrontation.

  Prominent teeth and a receding chin made him look like a rabbit.

  “As you can imagine,” he was saying, “the news released by your Director of Protocol a few hours ago has given us all grave cause for concern. It’s our hope that you can explain what’s happened in a way that will relieve our fears.”

  The president paused expectantly.

  “Mr. President,” Warden replied in greeting, “Members of the Council. As you know, I’m Warden Dios, Director of the United Mining Companies Police.” He announced this as if he were stating his loyalties. “With me is Hashi Lebwohl, who serves as my Director of Data Acquisition. I don’t need imagination to understand your concerns. We’re more than a little concerned ourselves. Hashi and I will do our best to answer your questions.

  “I must tell you immediately, however, that my investigation is incomplete. Events are too recent—I haven’t yet had time to study them fully. Please keep that in mind if some of our answers don’t seem entirely adequate.”

  “Certainly, certainly.” Len’s impulse to soothe ruffled feelings was instinctive and automatic. “In any case, we’re all acutely aware of the rather specialized nature of the relationship between the GCES and the UMCP. It’s gratifying to see that you take the commitment to disclose so seriously.”

  “Mr. President,” Warden put in sternly because he didn’t like wasting time, “I take all my commitments seriously.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Len responded at once. “Your record is admirable in every particular. I speak for everyone here”—he gestured around the hall—“when I say that we hold you in the highest esteem.

  “Director Lebwohl, we appreciate your presence as well.” One of Len’s techniques for avoiding conflict was to keep talking. “This level of cooperation benefits all of us who are charged with the duty of guiding and protecting our people.”

  “Make no mention of it, please, Mr. President,” Hashi replied with a grin. “I am always eager to do whatever I can to redeem my own errors.”

  Despite his confidence in Hashi, Warden feared for a moment that the conference was about to go badly awry.

  “‘Errors’?” a woman snapped aggressively. “Do you admit errors?”

  With an effort, Warden identified the Junior Member for the United Western Bloc. Her name was Carsin.

  At the same time he flicked a look at Godsen and Min. They emitted nothing except tension.

  “All in good time, my dear, all in good time,” Len interposed quickly.
“We must consider every aspect of this unfortunate situation in its proper order. It is premature to discuss errors”—another man would have said, to assign blame. “Director Dios, Director Lebwohl, can we first agree on the facts?”

  Warden folded his arms across his chest. “Of course.”

  “Are the news broadcasts accurate?” Len pursued. “Is it true, Director Lebwohl, that a convicted illegal held for questioning by your department has escaped?”

  When Hashi nodded, his glasses slipped farther down his nose. He pushed them back up with a hand like a spider. “In substance, yes.”

  “This illegal was a man named Angus Thermopyle?”

  “Unquestionably.”

  “Has he escaped from you altogether?”

  “Do you mean, has he escaped from UMCPHQ, as well as from Data Acquisition? Yes.”

  “Do you know where Angus Thermopyle has gone?”

  Hashi shrugged delicately. “How could I? If we possessed such knowledge, we would already be in pursuit. However, we have no data except the tach parameters of the ship Captain Thermopyle has stolen. Certainly we can do the calculations to predict the direction and distance of his first crossing. But why should we trouble ourselves? Nothing in all space can prevent him from changing course when he resumes tard and then reengaging his gap drive with altered parameters. Under these conditions, we lack the means to trace him.”

  “Would you consider it trouble to do those calculations anyway?” the UWB Junior Member demanded sarcastically. “Just on the off chance that we might learn something useful?”

  “Not at all.” Hashi made a show of writing a note and handing it to an offscreen aide. For the sake of appearances, Min came forward to accept the piece of paper, then sat down again.

  “Please, Junior Member Carsin,” Len protested. “I’m sure that Director Dios and Director Lebwohl are willing to answer any and all questions. But everything will be easier if you’ll wait your turn.”

  Frowning as if she’d received an official reprimand, Carsin turned her attention to her data terminal.

  Len consulted his notes. “Let us continue with the facts. Is it true, Director Lebwohl, that this Angus Thermopyle was assisted in his escape by a former deputy chief of Com-Mine Station Security, a man named Milos Taverner?”

  “That also appears unquestionable. Considering the conditions of his imprisonment, I sincerely doubt that Captain Thermopyle could have effected his own escape. Indeed, in this context I would say that the term ‘escape’ is fundamentally imprecise. Captain Thermopyle did not escape. He could not have escaped. He was released by Deputy Chief Taverner.”

  Perhaps to preserve an air of impartiality, Abrim Len chose not to ask the next obvious question himself. Instead he nodded to the Senior Member for the Pacific Rim Conglomerate.

  “Director Lebwohl,” this man said immediately in a firm voice, “we’re in the dark here. We hardly know where to begin analyzing this mess. Instead of waiting for individual questions, why don’t you simply tell us what we all want to know? How did this happen?”

  Static split the screen momentarily. The sensation of migraine tightened in Warden’s temples. He resisted an impulse to rub his eyes.

  With his usual deftness, Hashi managed to convey both exaggerated patience and geniality as he replied, “It is no mystery, ladies and gentlemen. As a deputy chief of Com-Mine Security, Milos Taverner had certain clearances and authorizations at UMCPHQ. He used them to secure Captain Thermopyle’s release, as well as to obtain access to a ship. Because of the nature of those clearances and authorizations, only the most routine requests for confirmation were forwarded to me. By the time I received them, Captain Thermopyle and Deputy Chief Taverner were already beyond reach.”

  “That’s not the question, and you know it,” Junior Member Carsin sneered. “We aren’t interested in the mechanics. If your incompetence were that obvious, Dios would already have your head on the block.”

  “Then perhaps,” Hashi wheezed as if his lungs pained him, “you would be good enough to phrase your question more precisely.”

  “We want to know,” Carsin retorted, “how this whole situation became possible. According to the news broadcasts”—she pointed at her readout—“you reqqed Taverner from Com-Mine because you thought he might be a traitor. So why in hell did you let him have all those ‘clearances and authorizations’?”

  Min’s emanations were as sharp as a snarl. The PR director radiated a stew of anxiety and concentration.

  Hashi did a convincing imitation of a man who was gratified by Carsin’s explanation. “Thank you, Junior Member.” He placed no discernible stress on the diminutive. “Now I understand.

  “You must understand, ladies and gentlemen, that our position in relation to Deputy Chief Taverner was not as simple as the news broadcasts may have made it appear. None of you have forgotten, I think, the original case concerning Captain Thermopyle. He was convicted on Com-Mine Station of the burglary of Station supplies. He was a notorious illegal, however, believed to be the perpetrator of many, far more serious crimes—and yet insufficient evidence was found to convict him of anything worse than mere burglary. Later it became clear that even this crime could not have been committed without the assistance of someone favorably placed within Com-Mine Security itself.”

  Around the hall, Members keyed their readouts or turned to whisper questions to their advisers. However, the Member for Com-Mine Station didn’t need to refresh her memory. It was significant, Warden thought, that she kept her mouth grimly shut.

  “Because of the palpable absence of damning evidence,” Hashi continued, “Com-Mine Security quite naturally declined to let the matter rest. Deputy Chief Taverner was the officer assigned to Captain Thermopyle’s ongoing interrogation. Unfortunately no results were forthcoming.

  “It was at this point that we acted on our interest in the case. We were interested from the first, I must confess—Enforcement Division no less than Data Acquisition.” Carefully Hashi prepared the way for the issues on which Warden Dios hoped the Council would focus. “As you may recall from the original case concerning Captain Thermopyle, we had reason to suspect that he was involved in the destruction of the UMCP destroyer Starmaster. This suspicion revolved around his arrival at Com-Mine Station with Starmaster’s sole survivor, an ensign named Morn Hyland. What happened to Starmaster? How did Ensign Hyland survive? Why was she in Captain Thermopyle’s company? More to the point, why did she remain with him? We were interested—I might well say passionately interested—in the answers to these questions.

  “Unfortunately we had no jurisdiction. We were required to abide by the results of Com-Mine Security’s investigation.”

  By this time most of the Members appeared to have obtained the records or reminders they needed from their data terminals or advisers.

  Hashi adjusted his glasses again, then steepled his fingers like a lecturing professor.

  “The Preempt Act altered the question of jurisdiction, however. And it raised an additional consideration. Its recent passage gave us a clear responsibility for the integrity of Com-Mine Station Security. Why were no results forthcoming from Captain Thermopyle’s interrogation? Why had he been convicted of only so minor an offense? Had the records been expunged? If so, had they been expunged by Deputy Chief Taverner? Was his failure to obtain further information explained, perhaps, by complicity in Captain Thermopyle’s crimes?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I found these questions too fascinating to ignore. On my authority as the Director of Data Acquisition, I reqqed both Captain Thermopyle and Deputy Chief Taverner, so that I could learn the truth for myself.”

  Warden had no criticism of Hashi’s performance so far. Hashi kept his instinct for innuendo and misdirection in check: he sounded as plausible as Warden could wish. Still the communications techs couldn’t keep the screen from flickering as if it were distorted by Hashi’s—and Warden’s—duplicity.

  “But how to go about learning the truth?” the DA di
rector asked rhetorically. “That was the complex question. If I made my suspicions obvious to Deputy Chief Taverner—for example, by revoking his clearances and authorizations—he would certainly do his utmost to protect himself. Then I might never gain the information I desired. Therefore my best hope was to preserve the illusion that I had reqqed him because of his special knowledge of Captain Thermopyle. There was, after all, no reason why this should not be the truth.

  “Indeed, where Captain Thermopyle was concerned, I was daily given reason to believe in Deputy Chief Taverner’s honesty. My own interrogations were as unsuccessful as it is possible to imagine. Despite my most advanced techniques—within the limits of the law,” Hashi added piously, “I gained nothing which Deputy Chief Taverner had not gained before me.

  “Therefore what grounds did I have to treat Deputy Chief Taverner as a suspected illegal? Among the UMCP, we hold the principle sacred that a man is innocent until proven guilty.” Hashi was starting to play his part too thickly, but Warden didn’t interfere. “The more I interrogated Captain Thermopyle, the more my distrust of Deputy Chief Taverner evaporated.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I did not revoke his clearances and authorizations because I had no evidence against him. Until he released Captain Thermopyle and fled, I had no foundation for my suspicions.”

  Now Warden cut in. Impelled by the pain in his optic nerves, he asked roughly, “Does that help? You should be able to ask accurate questions now.”

  “Thank you, Director Lebwohl,” said Len. “An admirably lucid account. Do I understand you to mean, then, that the ‘error’ you made reference to earlier was an error in judgment concerning Milos Taverner?”

  “Just so, Mr. President,” Hashi agreed placidly, as if he were at peace with the universe.