Chaos and Order: The Gap Into Madness

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  A cry mounted in Davies’ nerves, strained against the muscles of his throat. Don’t you understand? I don’t care if he makes sense! I don’t care what it costs. Soar killed my mother. If we don’t go after her, I’m nothing. That’s all I have.

  He restrained himself somehow. “Morn’s already made her decision,” he retorted weakly. “We’re going after Soar.” To his own ears he sounded small and useless, like a beaten kid, but he didn’t know how else to defend what he needed. Morn was watching him with misery on her face, as if he’d failed her. “We’re going after Soar” he repeated. “She’s killed too many people. We’re cops, we can’t run away from this.”

  Abruptly he stopped in a flash of inspiration. His fire burned so hotly that it exalted him. Instead of protesting further, he said the only thing he could think of which might sway Angus.

  “She has Milos Taverner with her.”

  When Davies said that name, old rage smoldered again in Angus’ yellow eyes. His hate was almost autonomic: so visceral that even his zone implants couldn’t control it. His mouth twisted as if he were remembering hurts which sickened him.

  “It might be a good thing,” he muttered, “to put Sorus Chatelaine out of her misery.”

  “Let me loose,” Nick insisted. His fever was plain in his voice. “I’ll stop her. I know what to do.”

  “That does it,” Sib announced; unnaturally harsh and sure. “I don’t want to listen to this anymore. I’m going to gag him.”

  Grimly Sib shoved his gun into one pocket and retrieved his roll of strapping tape from another.

  “No!” Davies protested again. “Don’t.” Intuition ruled him now, as commanding as flame. Because he was desperate, he could see possibilities—“We need him.”

  Slapping at the clasp of his belts, he freed himself and swung out of the second’s station to intercept Sib.

  Sib stopped, stared at him in consternation. Morn opened her mouth as if she wanted to object. Vector must have swayed her; she wasn’t on Davies’ side any longer; she withdrew her support just when he needed it most. But instead of speaking she only watched him with dumb sorrow in her eyes.

  “Him?” Angus snorted in scorn. “You mean Captain Sheepfucker? We must be in worse trouble than I thought. What in hell do we need him for?”

  Davies didn’t try to answer. When he saw Sib stop, he redirected his momentum toward Nick.

  Nick rested against the rear bulkhead in a crumpled stance, as if his bonds prevented him from straightening his back. So that he wouldn’t turn into a projectile when Trumpet maneuvered, Sib had strapped one of his arms to a handgrip: he dangled there like a dressed beast.

  In a strange way, he looked like he’d been blinded by his scars. Their craziness consumed his gaze completely. Passion throbbed in them as if they were all he had left.

  Davies caught himself on the front of Nick’s shipsuit.

  Nick leered back at him from under his eyebrows.

  Ignoring the pressure of Morn’s dismay and Angus’ disdain, Davies met Nick’s eyes.

  “How?” he demanded. “How would you stop her?”

  Nick replied with an immured grin. “Let me loose.”

  “Sure,” Davies returned sharply; desperately. “Let you loose. Give you another chance to kill us all. Try to imagine Angus doing that. Try to imagine Morn doing it. Use your head, Nick. We’re going to keep you trussed up here until you rot.

  “You said you know what to do. I don’t believe you. How could you stop her?”

  A look of manic calculation came into Nick’s gaze. He glanced past Davies’ shoulders at Angus, at Morn, then focused on Davies again. Slowly his chin came up.

  “Let me loose,” he repeated in a conspiratorial whisper, as if he didn’t want Angus or Morn to hear him. “Give me a gun. A laser rifle—a big one. And an EVA suit.”

  “Oh, perfect,” Davies snapped. “What a great idea. That way you can fry us all without having to worry about it if you damage Trumpet’s integrity.”

  Nick shook his head impatiently. “Send me outside. Leave me. I’ll stop her.

  “She’s following us,” he breathed to Davies’ hunger. Husky and strained, his voice throbbed with his own desperation. “She knows where we are. Lab Center assigned us the same protocols. She’ll come after us on the same course.

  “Leave me outside. I’ll wait for her. She won’t see me because she won’t look.” His chest heaved. “I’ll peel her open like a bloated carcass. By the time she knows I’m there, she’ll be venting so much atmosphere she won’t be able to keep up with it. Then I’ll cut my way inside. I’ll cut her heart out—I’ll give her scars she can’t live with.

  “Let me loose.” He showed Davies his teeth. “I want to kill her.”

  Angus laughed like cracking wood. “You’re out of your mind, Captain Sheepfucker. Soar is too big. She can absorb all the damage one laser rifle would do. You won’t even slow her down.”

  Vector nodded. “You must think we’ve all lost our minds. How do you expect us to believe you won’t start shooting at us as soon as you get your hands on any kind of gun?”

  Davies didn’t care what they said. He waited to hear Morn.

  Vector fell silent. Angus didn’t go on. Sib said nothing. Everyone on the bridge waited.

  After a moment she cleared her throat.

  “Davies,” she murmured thinly, “this is impossible.” The crime which Nick and Sorus had committed against the Lab distressed her too much: she couldn’t see what was at stake. “What’s happening to you? You want to get Soar. I understand. But if that means you’re ready to start trusting Nick—”

  Her voice trailed away as if she were sinking down to some inconsolable place where he would never be able to reach her.

  Davies didn’t turn. If he looked at her and saw that she was beyond reach, his veins would burst.

  “No! “he shouted into Nick’s madness. “I understand him—I understand him better than you do! I remember what you remember.” The harm Nick had done to her was acid-etched in the channels of his brain. “And I’m male. Whatever that means. I know what he’ll do!

  “He needs this too much.”

  Nick’s blind craziness urged him on. At the same time, however, it helped him control himself. He stopped shouting. Instead he spoke in a guttural rasp from the center of his chest.

  “He won’t bother to turn on us. We don’t matter. We never did. Sorus Chatelaine is everything. She’s all there ever was.”

  Nick nodded as if Davies’ recognition pleased him.

  “If we don’t try to get Soar” Davies continued roughly, “if we can stand being that ashamed of ourselves, we might as well go into hiding for the rest of our lives.” At last he let go of Nick so that he could confront the rest of the bridge. “She’ll hunt us forever.

  “But if we do try to get her, he can help us. He can hit her while she still thinks Ciro might have sabotaged us.”

  Let him pay for his own crimes. And give us a better chance.

  Morn clenched her free hand in her hair and pulled as if she wanted to tug her mind out by the roots. “Do you think so?” she countered. “Look at him.” Her eyes were full of darkness as she studied her son. “Do you like what you see? He isn’t here anymore. There’s nothing left of him. He died when he lost his ship. That’s what’s wrong with revenge. It kills you. It’s just another kind of suicide.”

  God damn you, Davies groaned to himself. I backed you when you decided to free Angus. When you finally made up your mind, I stood with you. Why can’t you stand with me?

  He ignored her protest. Instead he retorted softly, “Do you really think it’s preferable to keep him tied up here like a piece of meat?”

  More than anything he’d said, that appeared to affect the people around him. Angus growled deep in his throat, but didn’t argue. Vector blinked as if he were abashed; as if everything that happened surprised him with new emotions.

  Pale and tense, Sib stared at his hands. He held the g
un in one, his roll of tape in the other. He might have been weighing one against the other; choosing his fate.

  The gun was heavier. Abruptly he shoved the tape back into his pocket, lifted his head. A cornered look gleamed like sweat on his pale features.

  “I’ll go with him,” he announced. “Make sure he doesn’t turn against you.”

  Vector and Morn gaped at him in shock.

  “You’re right, he can’t destroy her.” Shivers of apprehension ran through his voice. “But he could do some damage. He might hurt her enough so that you can beat her.” His throat closed involuntarily. He needed a moment before he could force himself to say, “When you’re done, you can come back for me.”

  “Motherfucker,” Angus muttered to no one in particular. “Motherfucking sonofabitch. It might help.”

  “Sib,” Morn cried quietly. She was weeping again. Small constellations of tears drifted in front of her face; pieces of loss. “You don’t have to do that. It’s too much. What if something goes wrong? What if we don’t find you in time?

  “What if she takes you?”

  What if she captures you and gives you one of her mutagens?

  Sib shrugged as if he were breaking inside. “I’ve been afraid all my life. I’ve let the Amnion have too many people. I need to make up for it.

  “When I let you out of your cabin, that was a start. Now I can’t quit.

  “And I think Davies is right. We have to stop Soar somehow. We can’t just run away from her. She’s too dangerous.

  “If I go with Nick, I can protect you. And maybe I can help him damage her.”

  “Sure,” Nick pronounced with approval. “Sure.”

  Morn turned away as if she couldn’t bear to look at the men around her anymore.

  Vector studied her for a moment, his concern plain on his face. Then he turned to Angus. “We ought to make a decision—while we still have time.” Unfamiliar dismay and anger plucked at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve told you what I think. You’ve heard Davies, Nick, and Sib. Now I guess it’s up to you.

  “What’re we going to do?”

  Angus bared his teeth, unconsciously mimicking Nick’s grin. He didn’t hesitate. A feral light shone on his features as he swung toward Davies and Nick; put his back to Morn.

  “I want to get rid of Succorso,” he answered. “I would have done it myself already, but my programming won’t let me. I want to pay back that fat bastard Taverner somehow. And I want help against Soar. That proton cannon is a hell of a gun. I don’t like tackling her without—something extra.

  “We’ll take a chance. See if Captain Sheepfucker’s as crazy as Davies says he is.”

  He considered Sib momentarily. Then he told Vector, “I don’t need him. If he wants to cover us, I say let him.”

  Sib sighed as if he’d hoped Angus would refuse him.

  Davies ducked his head to conceal a relief so intense that it brought tears to his eyes.

  Without pausing Angus ran a command on his board, wheeled his station so that he could see the results on the screen. “We’re coming up on a rock you can use. It’s big enough to hide behind—not so big it’ll get in your way. Time to move.”

  He aimed a glare at Sib. “Get it right,” he growled. “If you screw up, we’re all going to feel like shit.

  “Take him to the EVA locker. Strap his arms behind him after he puts on a suit. You carry the guns. I’ll take you close—you can drift to the rock. If you need them, the suits have jets. Don’t cut him loose until we’re out of range. After that he probably won’t turn on you. If he isn’t completely crazy, he’ll realize he might need you.

  “We won’t be able to talk to you for long. Too much rock and static in the way. And we don’t have Beckmann’s relay net. But those suits have distress beepers we can use to find you later. If we don’t come back, it’ll be because we can’t.”

  Angus made a rough gesture of dismissal. “Go.”

  Deliberately he began concentrating on his board as if Sib and Nick were already gone.

  Davies scrubbed his eyes clear. For a short time, at least, his relief had changed everything. The fire in him had been temporarily appeased. In its place he felt abashed at the scale of the risk Sib had agreed to take.

  Because he needed to express his gratitude somehow, he moved to help Sib with Nick.

  Sib nodded as Davies untaped Nick from the handgrip, but he didn’t say anything. His determination took the form of a dumb misery with no other outlet His skin was damp with anxiety: the moisture in his eyes was liquid fear.

  Nick paid no attention to them. He was murmuring to himself, happily repeating the same phrases and sentences over and over again. “Poor bitch. She’s dead, and she doesn’t even know it yet. She’s laughed at me for the last time. Poor bitch.”

  Together Sib and Davies steered him to the companionway.

  “Davies.”

  Morn’s low voice stopped him like a hand on his shoulder. Bracing himself against the rail, he turned to look at her.

  “What’s happening to you?” she asked for the second time. Her eyes were as dark as gaps opening on the abyss between the stars. “Who are you?”

  At once his relief died: flames leaped up to devour it. A blaze that might have been rage filled him like his father’s hate. When he needed her, she turned her back on him. Instead of backing him, helping him, she was afraid of him.

  “As far as I can tell,” he answered her, grinding the words between his teeth, “I’m Bryony Hyland’s daughter. The one she used to have—before you sold your soul for a zone implant.”

  Leaving a sting of bitterness in the air behind him, he tugged Nick and Sib up the companionway off the bridge.

  SIB

  Sib Mackern wanted to be spared.

  In retrospect, he thought that must have been what he’d wanted his entire life. Perhaps it was because he’d been spared so little, Unheeded supplication was his whole story.

  Spare me.

  No.

  Right from the beginning—

  His name was short for “Sibal”: his mother had wished for a girl. Ever since he’d become conscious of it, he’d wanted to be spared his own name.

  No.

  He’d never liked data work, never liked space or ships. In particular he hadn’t liked his family’s orehauler. Spare me, he’d said—not in so many words, but in every other way he could think of. Nevertheless his father had compelled him, because he was needed. And that had led him to the one crucial occasion on which he’d tried to spare himself.

  When an illegal had peeled upon the orehauler, he’d hidden between the hulls in an EVA suit. At the time he’d had the crazy idea that he might reach one of the guns and use it. An idea as crazy as Nick’s. That’s the only reason I’m still here, he’d told Morn and Davies. Still human—

  We weren’t killed. Instead of killing us, they lined us up and started injecting us with mutagens.

  I saw everything. If they were just being killed, I would have gone back inside and tried to fight for them. I might have. I was desperate enough. But I saw them injected. I saw them change. It paralyzed me.

  Then he’d started screaming. He hadn’t been able to stop. But first he’d deactivated his suit pickup.

  Sparing himself—

  He’d gone on screaming until he’d lost his voice. He was irrationally sure that as long as he could hear his own voice he wouldn’t be turned Amnion just by watching his family mutate.

  Of course, events had shown that there was a price to pay for being spared. Always. Inevitably. He’d been rescued by a pirate looking for illegal salvage. That had been bad enough. But a few years later, still hoping to evade his endless fear, he’d tried to change his fate by joining Nick Succorso.

  Crime after crime, Nick had taught him to hear that implacable no whenever he found himself begging the blank stars for mercy he couldn’t have and probably didn’t deserve.

  In a sense, when he’d first turned against Nick by helping Morn out
of her cabin, he might have been trying to deserve what was going to happen to him anyway.

  Now he was doing it again. Only this time it was much worse. This time he was helping Davies guide Nick along Trumpet’s central passage toward the suit locker. He was going to go EVA again in the wild hope that he would be able to protect the people he cared about again. And he was doing it in the company of the man he feared and distrusted most. He could feel everything inside him sweating with horror.

  Spare me.

  No.

  He must have been out of his mind.

  “She’s dead,” Nick muttered cheerfully, “and she doesn’t even know it. Poor bitch.”

  Davies ignored Nick. As they passed sickbay, he said suddenly, “Just a minute.” Releasing Nick, he opened the door and went inside. When he came back out, he had a scalpel in his hand. “For cutting tape,” he explained.

  “She’s laughed at me for the last time,” Nick promised nonchalantly.

  Steering him between them, Sib and Davies moved on to the suit locker.

  Indicators above the compartment showed that it was unlocked: Angus had entered the necessary codes from the bridge. Sib and Davies positioned Nick in front of the locker. Then Sib drifted a meter or two away and drew his handgun while Davies began slashing Nick’s bonds.

  As soon as his arms came free, Nick stopped muttering.

  In a spasm of activity, he stripped the rest of the tape off his limbs, wadded it up, flung it away. At once Davies floated out of reach. Instinctively Sib tightened his grip on the gun. He couldn’t hold it steady—he’d never been any good with firearms—but he hoped Nick would believe that he couldn’t miss at this range, no matter how much he wavered.

  Nick stretched his arms, twisted his back until his spine cracked. “That’s better,” he announced. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Without transition he looked like his old self—confident, cunning, and unbeatable. All sign of the tic which had once distorted his insouciance was gone. He cocked an eyebrow at Sib’s gun, bent his mouth in mock chagrin, then chuckled to himself and turned to open the suit locker.

  “Which one did I wear last time?” he asked rhetorically. “Oh, here it is.”