Forbidden Knowledge: The Gap Into Vision

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  She had to resist an impulse to put her arms around him as if he really were a child.

  Instead she eased her hand into the pocket of her shipsuit.

  She needed to be ready for whatever Nick might do when they boarded Captain’s Fancy. Yet she couldn’t risk betraying her zone implant by regaining strength too easily. When her fingers felt sure on her black box, she tapped the functions which would supply her with energy; but she set them at a low level.

  The effect wasn’t a relief. The same neural stimulation which sharpened her mind and quickened her reflexes also counteracted the drugs she’d been given to numb her pain. But she accepted that. Pain, too, was a resource: like her apprehension for Davies and her fear of Nick, it helped bring her into focus.

  The sled eased to a halt near Captain’s Fancy’s outer lock. The lock still stood open, waiting.

  Both Amnion got out.

  Nick and Morn did the same. After a moment’s hesitation, Davies swung his legs over the side of the sled.

  One of the guards spoke into its headset. To Morn’s surprise, Enablement continued broadcasting voices so that she and Davies could hear them and their translation.

  “You may reenter your ship,” the speakers announced. “Departure will not be permitted.”

  Nick wheeled on the guards. “What?”

  The Amnioni voice spoke again. “You may reenter your ship. Departure will not be permitted.”

  “You sonofabitch, that violates our agreement. Departure is part of the trade.”

  Neither of the guards answered.

  “Presumed human Captain Nick Succorso,” replied the alien voice, “departure has been agreed. It will be permitted. Delay is necessary. Established reality is in flux. Events do not conform. Consideration is required. Departure will be postponed.”

  “No!” Nick shouted back. “I don’t agree! I want out of here!”

  There was no response. The air was as empty as the dock.

  Both guards pointed toward Captain’s Fancy’s locks.

  Neither of them touched their weapons.

  They didn’t need to.

  “Goddamn it!” snarled Nick. “‘Trade’ with the Amnion is like swimming in the fucking sewer of the universe.”

  Nearly running, he headed for his ship.

  “Come on.” Morn took Davies’ arm and urged him forward. “Whatever he does to us, it’ll be better than being abandoned here.”

  Deliberately, as if he were making a point, Davies disengaged his arm. But then he accompanied Morn through the station’s scan-and decontamination-lock.

  Doom haunted his eyes. Yet with every passing moment his movements grew more secure as his brain and body adjusted to each other.

  In the ship’s airlock, Nick pounded impatiently on the control panel, muttering, “Do it, Mikka. Seal the ship. Let me in.”

  Almost on Morn’s and Davies’ backs, the door swept shut. Panel lights indicated that the Amnion air was being pumped out, replaced by the ship’s human atmosphere. Another light showed that the inner doors were being unlocked.

  Nick couldn’t wait for the air to clear. Roughly he knocked loose the seals of his helmet, pulled it off his head, then jabbed open the intercom and hissed, “Let me in.”

  Morn understood. Suit communications might still be patched through Enablement. However, the intercom was safe.

  “Nick,” Mikka demanded as the control panel went green and the inner doors opened, “what the hell’s going on?”

  Ripping open his EVA suit, he strode into his ship. “How in shit should I know?” he retorted; but he was too far from the lock intercom pickup to be heard. When he’d kicked off his suit, he toggled the nearest intercom.

  “Don’t ask stupid questions. You heard everything I heard. Those bastards! If they make us stay long enough, they’ll have time to test my blood. They’ll know I cheated.

  “Keep self-destruct ready. Start nudging drive off standby. Ease some charge into the matter cannon. And disconnect communications. Don’t let Station hear anything unless I’m talking to them.

  “We’re coming up.”

  Leaving Morn to close and seal the inner doors, he headed for the bridge.

  Quickly Morn pulled the breathing mask off her head; dropped it and her EVA suit beside Nick’s. Then she keyed in the close-and-lock sequence for the doors and started after him.

  But she stopped as soon as she realized that Davies wasn’t with her.

  He sat hunched with his back to the doors and his knees hugged against his chest. His forehead rested on his knees.

  In that posture, he was so unlike Angus Thermopyle that she nearly wept for him. He urgently needed his father’s obsessive and brutal instinct for survival.

  She went back to him. After she said his name, however, her throat closed, and she couldn’t go on.

  “I don’t understand this.” His thighs and the mask muffled his voice. “I can’t remember anything.

  “He’s going to do something terrible to me.”

  Harsh because of her own grief and desperation, she snapped, “That’s probably true. He’s not a nice man. But we’ve got to face it. We don’t have any choice. He can leave us here—he can leave us to the Amnion. Then we’ll lose everything. We won’t be human anymore. They’ll pump mutagens into us, and we’ll become like them. If we’re lucky, we won’t even notice that we’ve joined a race that wants to get rid of the entire human species.

  “Davies, listen to me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the second most important thing in the galaxy. You’re my son.” You’re the part of me I need to believe in. “But the first, the most important thing is to not betray my humanity. As long as I’ve got life or breath to fight with, I won’t let that happen to me. Or anybody else.”

  She knew how to reach him: she knew the motivational strings that pulled his will. They were still the same as hers; he hadn’t had time to change. And now she had the strength to convey conviction. Her zone implant provided that.

  Slowly his head came up. The look in his eyes reminded her of something she’d once loathed and feared.

  “If he tries to hurt you,” Davies said, “I’m going to tear his arms off.”

  She gave a sigh of relief and dread. “It doesn’t work that way. He doesn’t care about you, so he won’t try to hurt me. He’s more likely to hurt you as a way of getting even with me.”

  Despite his expression, he still sounded like a child, singsong and uncomprehending. “What did I do to him? I mean, what did you do to him when I was you?”

  As firmly as she could, she renewed her promise. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything. And you’re going to remember a lot of this, when you get the chance. But not now. We need to go to the bridge. If we’re going to defend ourselves, we need to know what’s happening.

  “Can you do it?”

  Just for a moment, past his dark, distended features and threatening gaze, she caught a glimpse of her own father in him, the man he was named for.

  “I can do it.”

  Then the glimpse was gone. He looked like no one except Angus Thermopyle as he threw off his mask and rose to his feet.

  Her heart shivered with love and abhorrence as she led him away.

  When they reached the bridge, it seemed crowded. Mikka’s watch was still in place, and Vector Shaheed occupied the engineer’s station. But Nick had taken the command seat from Mikka, which left her nowhere to sit. And she wasn’t the only one on her feet. Liete Corregio stood nearby, along with the huge, clumsy brawler, Simper, who served as targ third, and Pastille, the rank, weaselly helm third.

  Heads swiveled as soon as Morn and Davies stepped through the aperture. Vector’s mouth dropped open, perhaps in surprise at Davies’ resemblance to Angus; Alba Parmute gave the boy a quick glance of sexual appraisal. But Morn’s attention was instantly on Nick. At first she missed the way the other people looked at her: the hard glare in Mikka’s eyes; Liete’s shielded gaze; the targ third’s hunger; Pastille’s f
rank sneer.

  Until she felt the force of their stares, she failed to notice the fact that all four of them wore guns.

  “Are you sure this is necessary?” Mikka asked Nick. “They aren’t going anywhere. Hell, they aren’t trying to go anywhere.”

  “Do it,” Nick snapped without turning his head. “Lock them up. Separately. I haven’t got time to worry about them right now. And disable their intercoms. I don’t want them talking to each other.”

  “Nick—!” Shock snatched a cry of protest out of Morn before she could stop herself.

  In unison, Mikka, Liete, and the two men drew their impact pistols. Simper leered like he’d been given permission for some deliciously nasty self-indulgence.

  “Nick”—Morn tried again, more carefully—“don’t do this. He can’t be alone right now. Let me at least talk to him. We need to talk. He still thinks he’s me. If he has to be alone with that, he’ll lose his mind.”

  “Let him,” snarled Nick. “I don’t care how many minds he loses. You aren’t going to talk to him until I find out why you’ve been lying to me. In fact, you aren’t going to talk to him until I find a way to make sure you never lie to me again.

  “If you don’t shut up and go, you’ll pay for it.”

  The targ third grinned harder.

  “Nick,” Scorz said unsteadily, “message from Enablement.”

  Everyone froze.

  “Audio,” Nick ordered through his teeth.

  Scorz keyed his board. At once the mechanical voice said, “Enablement Station to presumed human Captain Nick Succorso, prepare to receive emissary.”

  Nick sat up straighter.

  “Trade is necessary. Speculation suggests negotiation will be”—a momentary pause—“delicate. Emissary will speak for the Amnion. To encourage negotiation, he will board your ship alone. Conformity of purpose will be achieved through the mutual satisfaction of requirements.”

  Nick leaned forward. “Scorz, copy this. ‘Further explanation is necessary. No Amnioni will board Captain’s Fancy if I am kept in ignorance. What are your requirements?’ Send it.”

  Hands quivering slightly, the communications second obeyed.

  Enablement’s reply was almost instantaneous. “The Amnion require possession of the new human offspring aboard your ship.”

  In that moment, Morn felt the bottom drop out of her heart.

  Wheeling his seat, Nick swung around to face her. His eyes burned with malice and triumph. “Tell them,” he told Scorz, “‘Your emissary is acceptable.’”

  Then he flung a burst of laughter straight into her panic.

  Clenching his fists, Davies took a step forward.

  At once Mikka aimed her gun at his head; Liete pointed hers into his belly.

  “Oh, hell,” Nick chuckled to Mikka, “let them stay. I want them to hear what this ‘emissary’ says. That should be the most fun I’ve had all day.”

  Liete kept her thoughts to herself; but a mixture of relief and anguish twisted Mikka’s features as she lowered her weapon.

  As hot as a welding laser, Nick’s gaze held Morn’s.

  “I don’t really care that much about making you tell the truth,” he said softly, almost sweetly. His mouth stretched tight over his teeth. “I prefer revenge. Something tells me you’re about to find out what it costs when you lie to me.”

  The only thing that kept her from jumping at Nick and trying to claw his eyes out was the look of dumb, desperate terror on Davies’ face.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Amnion require—

  The targ third was disappointed: he liked rape as much as demolition, and he wanted Morn to himself. But Pastille was smart enough to see broader possibilities of distress. He laughed soundlessly, like a mute echo of Nick, showing his unclean teeth.

  No one else except Nick looked at Morn.

  —require possession—

  Liete’s voice held a barely audible rub of tension as she dismissed Pastille and Simper from the bridge. They obeyed, handing their guns to Mikka on the way. Liete walked off around the curve, dissociating herself from Morn and Davies—or perhaps from Nick and Mikka.

  Mikka stowed two of the impact pistols in a gun locker. Like Liete, she kept her own weapon.

  Scorz concentrated on the communications board. Alba studied Davies some more; deliberately she pulled the seal of her shipsuit an inch lower. Ransum, the helm second, made a show of testing her station, her hands fluttering like scraps of paper in a breeze. The man on targ, Karster, stared at the back of Nick’s head. With nothing to do, the scan second sat in a meditative pose—hands folded in his lap, eyes closed.

  Vector, too, had his eyes shut; the muscles of his face were slack. Without his phlegmatic smile, his face seemed to lose some of its roundness, sagging over its bleak, underlying bones.

  —possession of the new human offspring—

  Ignoring Nick, Morn said to her son, “Hang on.” Her throat worked convulsively, jerking out words. “We’re in this together. He’s just making threats to scare you. He wants to punish you for not being his.”

  “Try me,” Nick put in harshly.

  Morn stepped between him and Davies; she turned her back on Nick to aim all her artificial conviction at Davies. “He can’t hurt you without hurting me. And he can’t hurt me without hurting himself.”

  “If you believe that”—anger throbbed in Nick’s voice—“you’re sicker than I thought.”

  “I’m his lover,” she continued to Davies, “the best lover he’s ever had. He’ll have to give me up if he hurts you. He’ll lose me completely. He can always kill me, but he’ll never be able to make me do what he wants again.”

  “You lied to me!” Nick shouted.

  Morn nearly turned on him; nearly retorted, You bastard, I’ve never told you the truth about anything. —require possession— She was frantic to deflect Nick’s malice from her son; frantic enough to take any risk—

  But the sight of Davies held her.

  As she watched, his resemblance to Angus increased. Catalyzed by fear and incomprehension, he seemed to take on the inheritance of his father by an act of will. The color of his eyes was wrong, but their porcine squint became pure Angus; and the darkness behind them, the fathomless dread, mimicked exactly the old, acid seethe of fear which drove Angus’ brutality.

  She’d sold her soul to the zone implant in an effort to survive the consequences of that brutality. Simply seeing Angus’ image in front of her cramped her heart, as if she no longer had enough room inside her for her own pulse, her own blood.

  But he wasn’t Angus Thermopyle, he wasn’t, he was Davies Hyland, her son. He may have had Angus’ genes and body; his perceptions may have been flavored by Angus’ particular endocrine stew; his knowledge of himself may have been tainted by her memories of Angus. Yet he’d received his mind from her. All his starting points were different than his father’s. She had to believe that he would also reach different conclusions.

  “Nick.” Scorz’s voice reached Morn through her turmoil. “Enablement’s talking again.”

  Morn heard a slight susurrus of bearings and servos as Nick pivoted his seat. Instinctively she turned as well.

  Again he commanded, “Audio.”

  “Enablement Station to presumed human Captain Nick Succorso,” reported the bridge speakers, “the Amnion emissary awaits acceptance aboard your ship.”

  “Tell them”—despite his fury, Nick had resumed his nonchalant, dangerous poise—“‘The Amnion emissary will be accepted as soon as an escort has been arranged.’ Send it.

  “Mikka,” he went on immediately, “you’re the escort. Don’t let that thing aboard until you’re sure there’s only one of it. Keep it covered the whole time—we don’t have to pretend to be nice about this.

  “Liete, it’s your job to make sure Morn and the asshole here don’t do or say anything to get in my way.”

  A small spasm like a clench of protest tightened Mikka’s scowl. Nevertheless she grunted an ack
nowledgment and left the bridge. Liete responded by coming down the curve to stand behind Morn and Davies with her hand on her impact pistol.

  Davies was still too naive to keep his thoughts to himself. And his mind had been formed from Morn’s: his thoughts grew from her need and revulsion. “Someday,” he muttered, “I’m going to give him a new asshole to remember me by.”

  Nick snorted another laugh.

  The Amnion require possession—

  Morn put her hand in her pocket and increased the intensity of her zone implant’s emissions.

  With Davies at her shoulder, and Liete Corregio’s gun at her back, she waited for the emissary.

  Abruptly Nick said to the bridge, “All right, listen. We’ve got things to think about before Mikka gets back.” He’d set his fury aside for the moment. “The Amnion want to make a deal. I would hate,” he drawled, “to miss an opportunity like this. But we’ve already got everything we asked for. Including”—he held up the credit-jack—“enough money to repair the gap drive. Hell, we’ve got enough money to replace that fucker. So what’re we going to bargain for?”

  Liete didn’t hesitate. “A chance to get out of here.”

  “Why?” he demanded. “They’ve already told us we can go. Why should we ask for something they’ve already promised?”

  Vector opened his eyes. “No, Nick. Liete’s right.” His gaze was dull, and he didn’t smile; if anything, the flesh of his face seemed to droop more heavily from its underpinnings. “It’s not that simple. You said yourself, if they keep us long enough, they’ll have time to finish testing your blood. But the situation is worse than that. If we leave slowly enough, they’ll still have time. And then they’ll come after us.

  “They’ll catch us.” His voice sounded as arthritic as his joints. “Right now, we couldn’t outrun a lifeboat—if it had a gap drive. And we’re”—his hands opened and closed on his board—“half a light-year from Thanatos Minor. A full year for us at our best speed. They’ll have that long to hunt us down, while we’re trying to survive on six or nine months’ worth of food.”

  “Get to the point,” Nick said with the same insouciant, ominous drawl.