Forbidden Knowledge: The Gap Into Vision
Page 10
He seldom spoke to her; but he never let her pass without touching her. On the first occasion, he only repeated the caress he’d once given her hair. But on the second, he managed to rub a hand across her breasts before she moved out of his reach. On the third, he squeezed her breasts so hard that they ached for an hour afterward.
Later he caught hold of her and kissed her like a lamprey. She wasn’t able to break loose until she contrived to slam the heel of her boot against the back of his knee.
She hurt him enough to make him let go—but not enough to make him stop stalking her.
This was a crisis of another kind. She could have isolated herself in her cabin, of course. Or she could have told Nick what was happening: she knew him well enough now to believe that he wouldn’t tolerate Orn’s actions. But both those options stank of defeat—and she’d already suffered more defeats than she could bear.
She didn’t tell Nick. And she didn’t hide in her cabin.
Instead she went to talk to Vector Shaheed.
She found him, as usual, in the drive space. She couldn’t see him, but she heard him working inside the heavy shell of the gap field generator, still trying to repair the drive himself. To attract his attention, she pounded on the shell with her palm and shouted, “Vector!”
A variety of clunking noises answered her. Then the engineer emerged painfully from the service hatch, a circuit probe in one hand.
“Morn.” His round face was pink with exertion, but his manner was as mild as ever. “What can I do for you?”
She felt no need to pretend she wasn’t angry. She required anger. Without it, she would be at the mercy of her fear and revulsion.
“What’s the matter with that so-called friend of yours?” she demanded harshly. “I think he’s going to rape me.”
Vector blinked at her for a moment, apparently unable to guess whom she meant. Then his eyes cleared. “Oh, Orn.
“I told you,” he commented. “He has the glands of an ape—and no scruples. If you convinced him you had syphilis, I don’t think even that would slow him down. As far as I can tell, he has no physical fears. Sickbay can fix anything.
“Of course, Nick won’t like it.” He paused, considering the situation, then added, “You don’t really have a problem.”
Morn tried to replicate the lash she’d sometimes heard in her father’s voice. “I don’t?”
Vector smiled as if his thoughts were already back in the shell with the gap drive.
“You’re a big girl now. All you have to do is stop him.”
All those hours with Nick had left her primed for an explosion. “I’ll stop him, all right.” Fuming, she turned and strode away.
But she had no idea how to do it.
She’d been trained in the Academy: she knew how to defend herself. On the other hand, Orn Vorbuld was bigger, much stronger. And she couldn’t risk using the enhanced resources of her zone implant: quickness, concentration, numbness to pain. To do that, she needed to carry the control with her—and she could too easily imagine that it might be discovered.
She wanted a gun. A good impact pistol would be nice. Even a lasercutter would suffice. But nobody aboard Captain’s Fancy was likely to give her a weapon without Nick’s permission; and that would necessitate an explanation.
Fulminating like a vial of acid, she went to the galley for a mug of coffee and a chance to think.
As a precaution, she sat at the table with her back to the foodvend, facing the outer corridor so that Orn wouldn’t be able to take her by surprise.
He arrived so promptly that she almost believed Vector had told him where to find her. But of course the engineer hadn’t known where she was headed when she left the drive space—
Orn came into the galley, a flush of anticipation on his face. Not for the first time, she noticed how big his hands were; they looked like slabs of meat.
She stood up sharply.
He stopped. For a moment they confronted each other over the table.
Like his voice, his eyes were incongruously timid; he stared at her in apprehension, as if she were hot enough to scald him. But she already knew there wasn’t anything timid about him. She wasn’t misled when he said like a frightened boy, “I want you.”
“Too bad,” she retorted. “I don’t want you.”
If he had any ear at all for disgust, he would know she was telling the truth.
Obviously he wasn’t worried about her disgust. “Yes, you do,” he said with as much certainty as his voice could convey. “Women are like that. They don’t care who they get it from. They think they do, but they don’t. They just want it.
“Nick’s too soft on you. I’ll show you what it’s really like.”
Remembering Angus, Morn wanted to spit in Orn’s face. “You’re wrong about that,” she snapped. “I already know. I promised myself the next man who tries it is going to end up dead.
“Does Nick,” she countered before he could move, “know you’re like this?”
Orn’s grin bore no resemblance to his voice, or his eyes: it was bloodthirsty and unconcerned. “Nick knows something more important than that,” he returned, still sounding afraid. “He knows he needs me. He just doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know I put a virus in the computers—the same day I came aboard. I’m the only one who knows how to work around it. Usually I put it on hold. But it isn’t on hold now. Anybody who tries to get into the systems without me will trigger a complete wipe. Everything will disappear.
“Unless you keep your mouth shut and give me what I want, one of us is going to have to tell him about that.”
Despite her anger, he shocked her. A complete wipe! That was as good as suicide: it would kill Captain’s Fancy and everybody aboard. Despair surged up in her; despair and loathing. He was like Angus. He had more weapons than she could face, more ways to control her—
When he stepped forward and reached across the table to take hold of her, she flung her coffee into his eyes.
Take that and be damned, you sonofabitch!
Rounding the table while he yowled, she hammered him across the bridge of his nose with her mug. Blood spattered down his cheeks. As fast as she could, she followed that blow with a spear-hand jab for the base of his throat.
Although he was blinded by coffee and blood, he somehow managed to catch hold of her wrist.
That was all he needed.
She tried a whirling turn. If she could spin hard enough, catch him on the temple with her elbow, she might stun him, make him let go.
But he turned with her. Using her own momentum, he slammed her headfirst into the wall.
When she hit, her brain went to jelly, and all her muscles failed.
She kept on flailing randomly, but to no purpose. Gripping her wrist, he hit her again and again; she thought he was going to hit her until she broke. Then, abruptly, he stopped. He didn’t want her dead. He wanted her alive; he wanted her in pain. Like Angus. Releasing his hold, he snatched at her shipsuit with both hands and ripped it off her shoulders.
Voices came from somewhere, but they meant nothing; they didn’t make a difference. She fought for control of her limbs. The sleeves of her shipsuit were down around her elbows, binding her arms so that she couldn’t use them. And Orn was too strong for her. He drove her out of the galley, shoved her against the opposite wall. She was headed for the floor.
“Get her, Orn,” someone said happily. “Show her you won’t take no for an answer. Show her you don’t care what Nick thinks.”
“Fuck her!” another voice demanded. “Fuck her hard! Make her bleed!”
When he closed his fists on her breasts and tried to clamp his mouth over hers, she dropped into a crouch.
Despite her blank brain and her weakness, she coiled herself under him and brought her knee up into his groin.
With a gasp, he recoiled.
“Again!” a voice called like a cheer. “Hit him again!”
Staggering along the wall, she turned and tried to run.
“Clear the mess.” Nick spoke in a conversational tone, but his voice cut through Morn’s hurt. “We’re going to need some room.”
Orn froze.
Morn heard boots running. Then Nick said casually, “Orn, I think you’ve just made a serious mistake. In fact, I think it’s the last mistake you’re ever going to make.”
Morn caught a ragged breath as Orn scrambled off her and jumped to his feet.
“She damaged you,” Nick commented. “That’s good. Let’s go to the mess. You can wash the blood out of your eyes. Then we’ll see if there’s any way you can survive this.”
“Nick—” Orn began. His voice was full of incongruous panic and threats.
“Come on, Orn,” Vector said. When Morn sat up, closed her shipsuit, and raised her head, she saw the engineer standing beside his friend. “You must have known this was going to happen. At least he’s giving you time to think. Maybe you can think of something to save you.”
Drawing Orn along by the arm, Vector moved in the direction of the mess.
Belatedly someone offered to help Morn. She threw the hands off and levered herself stiffly to her feet.
Nick glanced at her. “How bad is it?” he asked as if he had no particular interest in her answer.
She shook her head. “Let me have a gun.” Her legs were frail, and her head reeled; she had to lean on the wall to keep her balance. “I’ll kill him myself.”
Nick chuckled harshly and followed Orn.
In moments virtually the entire crew was assembled in the mess. If anyone was left on the bridge, it had to be somebody Morn didn’t know. The tables and chairs had been moved out of the center of the mess; men and women stood among them around the walls. While Vector cleaned Orn’s face, Nick walked out into the middle of the floor alone and stood waiting. He was surrounded by grins and frowns, excitement and fear, but nobody said anything. Morn’s strained breathing was the only sound in the room.
Abruptly Nick remarked, “Orn, you’ve given me a problem.”
Orn turned to face his captain. “No, I haven’t.” His voice was more timid than ever. Nevertheless the way he turned, the way he moved, reminded Morn that Vector had said of him, He has no physical fears. “If you want her for yourself, all you have to do is keep her locked up. I told you—I warned you she would cause trouble. Since you decided to let her run around loose, I figured you didn’t mind sharing her.”
“You don’t understand.” In contrast to Orn, Nick sounded smooth and easy, as if he ran on frictionless bearings. “I’m not talking about her, I’m talking about you. You’re good with computers—maybe the best I’ve seen. Now I’m going to have to replace you.”
There was fright in Orn’s eyes, if not in his stance. “You don’t have to replace me.”
“You know better than that,” Nick replied. “You’ve been with me a long time. You know the rules.”
“But you never brought a woman like her aboard!” Orn protested. “Not a woman who looks like her. You should have kept her locked up. I’m only human, Nick. I’m just a man—like you. What do you want from me?”
Nick’s grin was as feral as a predator’s. “I want you to say good-bye, Orn.”
At last some of the fearlessness Vector had ascribed to Orn showed in his voice. “Nick, don’t do this,” he said almost firmly. “If you touch me, you’re a dead man. I won’t have anything left to lose.”
As soon as he said that, Morn knew she would have to intervene. The virus: a complete wipe. Somebody had to tell Nick—
Somebody had to tell him he couldn’t afford to kill Orn.
Hugging her sore ribs, she glared at Orn Vorbuld and said nothing.
“You’re going to end up dead,” Orn concluded. “Even if you beat me. Which I don’t think you can do.”
In response, Nick threw back his head and laughed.
He was still laughing as he kicked Orn in the temple.
Orn saw the blow coming in time to slip the worst of it past his ear. Despite his ungainly appearance, he was fast. The ease with which he’d mastered Morn was no accident. And he was bigger than Nick by at least twenty kilograms; he had heavier muscles. The punch that countered Nick’s kick looked powerful enough to topple a gantry.
Nick caught the punch with a rising block, snapped a short blow into Orn’s belly, then danced away before the bigger man could grapple with him.
Orn shrugged off the pain as if it were trivial. “You fucker,” he panted. “You’ve got a death wish.”
Unsealing his shipsuit, he reached inside it and pulled out a knife with a long, black blade. Steady in one fist, he held it poised for Nick’s vitals. With his other hand, he wiped fresh blood off his face.
“Now, aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” asked Nick sardonically. “Knives are against the rules. Do you think a little gut-sticker like that is going to scare me?”
Fast and deadly, he kicked again.
This time Orn was ready—and this time the kick was a feint. When Orn tried to slash Nick’s leg, Nick hooked his kick around and ripped the knife out of Orn’s hand with the heel of his boot.
The knife skittered away.
Stolidly Mikka Vasaczk stepped forward and picked it up.
Orn spat at her, “Bitch!” and flung himself at Nick.
For a moment Orn’s attack was so hard and furious that he seemed to have Nick on the defensive. Nick blocked with his fists and elbows, ducked and bobbed to avoid blows. One punch clipped his jaw with enough force to jam his teeth together loudly; another rocked his head back; a third made him stagger. He appeared to be going down—
Two or three people shouted warnings or encouragement—but not to Orn. Vector stood with his arms folded across his chest, shaking his head for his friend.
Morn watched the fight helplessly, so sick with anger that she could hardly stand. She was doomed either way. If Orn won, he would kill her—she was sure of that. Unless she found some way to give him what he wanted without being killed for it. And if Nick won, the whole ship was finished.
A complete wipe.
So why didn’t she do something? Why didn’t she try to stop the fight? Wasn’t it better to risk being raped a few times than to die? She’d saved Angus, hadn’t she? Why did she care how many other men who wanted to brutalize her she kept alive?
No, not again; not after Angus.
Let them die, she thought coldly. Let them all die.
Panting in hoarse, raw spasms, Orn drove Nick back against one of the tables. Nick was still on the defensive; he couldn’t retreat farther. He blocked hard and fast, misdirecting most of Orn’s force; but he didn’t land any blows of his own. No matter how well he protected himself, Orn was able to hurt him. One clear, solid hit would break his skull, or his neck—
“Stop playing with him!” Mikka barked suddenly. “He might get lucky!”
As if that were his cue, Nick lashed out with one foot; the side of his boot struck Orn’s shin.
The kick was hardly more than a slap: it was too short for power, had too little weight behind it. Nevertheless it made Orn shift his balance backward.
During that small instant, Nick hit him with three sharp uppercuts to the belly, three blows that had all the strength of his legs and all the torque of his shoulders behind them.
Orn stumbled—and Nick slammed the heel of his palm straight into Orn’s throat.
Gagging, Orn fell.
He tried to roll and rise. Nick promptly kicked him once in the stomach, once in the ribs, once in the forehead. The last kick was surgically precise: it lifted him up onto his knees and left him there with his head lolling as if he’d been positioned for execution.
Nick paused to evaluate his handiwork.
Orn couldn’t move. He could hardly breathe: he had bro
ken ribs, and his larynx may have been damaged. His eyes were glazed; his mouth hung open, drooling blood. Blood made most of his face look like pulp.
With an air of formality, Mikka Vasaczk stepped away from the wall and handed Nick Orn’s knife.
Orn didn’t move as Nick Succorso slashed his face, three times under one eye, twice under the other. More blood streamed from his jaw and splashed onto his knees.
“Morn,” he gasped as if he were drowning. “Morn, please.”
Orn’s appeal made Nick turn to look at her.
She came close to saying, Give me the knife. Let me finish him. Her wish to see Orn dead was so intense that it nearly swept all other considerations away. She wanted him dead, wanted to kill him herself. Seeing him beaten now didn’t satisfy her; not at all. Instead his helplessness seemed to stoke a dark fire inside her, feeding her hunger for his blood.
Let me finish him.
But then a strange dislocation of consciousness came to her rescue. She could feel Angus Thermopyle in her, thinking her thoughts, saying what she wanted to say. Give me the knife. Let me finish him.
That stopped her.
As if she were recoiling from a precipice, she panted, “He told me you can’t kill him. You can’t afford to.”
Nick’s bruises made his face look congested with fury; he might have been planning to hit her himself. Like his eyes, his grin was sharp and murderous.
“He says he planted a virus in the computers,” she explained. “And he’s the only one who can work around it. He put it in the first day he came aboard. You’ve been at his mercy ever since. If you try to do anything without him, you’ll trigger a complete wipe.”
Her words stung everyone around her like a stunprod. Mikka and Pup went pale; Vector closed his eyes as if he were ill; men and women Morn didn’t know stared horror and dismay at Orn.
Blazing, Nick wheeled back to the data first. As if he didn’t understand, he demanded, “You did what?”
With his remaining strength, Orn nodded once. The cuts Nick had given him ran like tears.