This Day all Gods Die: The Gap into Ruin

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Min had seen Patrice in action: she knew what he could do.

  She envied him the simple exigencies of helm. Demands labored at her as fast as Punisher’s dish could bring them in; but nothing she answered would make any difference if Angus and Morn failed. Patrice could at least try to keep the ship alive.

  Center on four.

  Adventurous on one.

  Downlink control on two.

  Morn was doing her part. After a few difficulties, most of them procedural, Min had forced a link through Suka Bator communications. Then Morn had persuaded the GCES to hear her. Fane and Igensard had objected. Of course. But Len silenced them. Apparently the President had discovered a backbone Min didn’t know was there.

  Past the PCR babble in her ear she listened to Morn’s transmission as Morn began to tell her story: the story for which she’d kept herself alive, commandeered Punisher, and come home; the story for which she risked her son on Angus’ good faith. The story of Warden Dios’ crimes—

  Min told Center to cancel her feed of the PR uplink. Punisher’s speakers brought her everything she needed TO hear from the emergency session. She would have cringed at the things Morn said if she hadn’t known that Koina had already betrayed the same secrets.

  Projecting relief and vehemence, Glessen had resumed the targ station when Mikka left. Porson ran scan at a scramble, pulling together input from UMCPHQ and all the other ships. Bydell helped him frantically. Cray worked communications support so that the gabble of channels in Min’s ear wouldn’t overlap each other.

  At the auxiliary command station, Morn slumped over her pickup as if she were about to collapse. Her hair hung in her face. Her elbows propped her on the arm of her g-seat. She’d been through hell—and not least during the last twenty-four hours. All the strength she had left was focused in her voice.

  If we want to affect the outcome of this crisis, we have seventy-one minutes.

  Her voice held. Min was certain that the Council—and above all Cleatus Fane—had no idea how close to exhaustion Morn was.

  Center on two. Message from UMCHO. CEO Fasner states that the GCES is about to strip Director Dios of his authority. A new director will be lawfully appointed. You’re warned the consequences will be severe if you refuse to obey orders.

  Ignore him, Min instructed harshly.

  Adventurous on one. We have power-spikes. Matter cannon unstable. Must be a short in some of the old conduit. Weil trace and reroute as fast as we can. Until then we aren’t good for much. Sorry, Director.

  Flash Attack on four. We can cover for Adventurous.

  Hold your position, Min ordered through her teeth.

  Director, we’re just sitting here!

  So sit. If you want to commit suicide, do it on your own time.

  Min fought to remain focused on her PCR, her duty. But she kept slipping away. The sound of Morn’s voice tugged at her.

  I went with Captain Succorso. The UMCP persuaded Com-Mine Security to let me go:

  It was the truth. Min hated hearing it anyway. If she was useless now, how useless had she been when Morn went through the Academy? Or when she’d brought to Morn’s home the stiff official condolences and empty honors for Bryony Hyland’s death? How had she so completely failed to convince Morn that no UMCPED ensign was expected to suffer hell alone?

  She’d failed because the truth was more convincing. If Morn had turned herself over to Com-Mine Security instead of running off with Nick, some other way would have been found to silence her; get rid of her. Holt Fasner would have seen to it. So that the Preempt Act would pass.

  They injected me with mutagens. More than once.

  Min winced. She hadn’t known that. Often she’d asked herself if this Ensign Hyland was really the woman Warden wanted Morn to be; a woman he could trust. Now she was sure. Morn had been in Angus’ hands for weeks—and Nick’s for months. She’d been sold to the Amnion. They’d injected her with mutagens. And yet she’d retained enough of her essential identity to come here and tell her story.

  The ED director wished that she herself could do half as much to repay Warden’s trust.

  Downlink control on four. There are too many people for the disaster installations. We’re doing what we can. Contingencies are ready for your approval.

  Flash Attack on three. Tell Calm Horizons your command module has thrust failure. Dispatch us to complete the tow. Weil get in close, then smash that proton emitter before she can use it.

  Center on one. Nonessential personnel are panicking. If we don’t evacuate them, they’ll go spaceshit.

  Useless. Procedural details. All the real work belonged to Koina and Morn, Angus and Davies and Dolph.

  Because she was useless, she toyed with Flash Attack’s suggestion. Then rejected it. Suka Bator would be saved. Maybe. But Warden, Angus, and Dolph would die. So would the others.

  And Angus’ plan might work. If he did what he’d said. If he was telling the truth. If she didn’t interfere.

  Center on two.

  Earth uplink on one.

  Out of the confusion she heard Morn say, I’ve seen his datacore.

  Min froze in midsentence. Seen—? A sensation of electric distress burned along her nerves. How? She forgot her PCR; forgot Center and her cordon of ships. Why?

  As if to answer Min, Morn told President Len and the Council, Davies and I cut out Captain Thermopyle’s datacore and let him reprogram it to block his priority-codes.

  For an instant Min couldn’t breathe. Shock paralyzed her synapses. Cut out—She hadn’t known that, either; hadn’t guessed—Angus had revealed that the Amnion taught him how to edit datacores. In exchange for Viable Dreams. He’d altered his datacore to block his priority-codes. But no one said Morn had anything to do with it.

  And yet he must have had help. That was obvious. Min should have realized it earlier. He couldn’t cut open his own back to remove the chip. He might have programmed Trumpet’s sickbay to do it for him—but then hardwired stasis commands would have left him helpless to edit anything.

  My God, Morn was a fool. Completely crazy. A man like Angus—

  But she was also wonderful. Somehow she’d kept alive the dreams the cops should have served; the ideals they should have lived by. No matter what it cost her.

  Suppressing an antimutagen is a crime, she told Fane. So is welding illegals. I’ll do anything I can to stop it.

  Min couldn’t see. She had sudden tears in her eyes and a knot of grief in her throat.

  Her PCR continued to demand her attention.

  Director Lebwohl on five. I should talk to Koina, Min, He sounded breathless with haste. I’ve reviewed her uplink. She needs help.

  Without transition Min found herself blinking at one of the auxiliary bridge displays—a scan plot of her cordon of ships—as if she’d noticed it for the first time. Punisher was there. Valor. Adventurous. Flash Attack and the others. The command module with Trumpet. Clustered around Calm Horizons. And UMCPHQ.

  But because of the positions she’d assigned them they were also poised around UMCHO. She didn’t trust the Dragon. That was the real reason she’d shut down the scan net in the first place.

  Help?

  Had Hashi succeeded?

  Koina had explained Warden’s secrets to the Council. With the passion of her personal experience, Morn was covering much of the same ground.

  But Hashi—

  He could raise the charges against Fasner to an entirely new level. If he hadn’t failed. If he knew what he Was doing.

  And Dolph was on his way toward Calm Horizons. He and Angus and Davies, Mikka and Ciro and Vector, as well as Warden: they might all survive—if Angus could keep his promise.

  If he couldn’t—if anything got in his way—they were as good as dead.

  Abruptly Min understood the problem.

  Timing.

  The divergent pieces of Warden’s hope needed to come together in a certain way. So that they would help each other succeed.

  And she
knew what she could do to help.

  Please go on, President Len prompted Morn.

  With a swift slash of her burned hand, Min gestured for Morn to stop talking.

  Morn raised her head. A bleak question filled her battered gaze.

  Director Lebwohl on three. Director Donner, this is urgent. Authorize a channel. I must speak to Director Hannish.

  Min ignored him. “We have a deadline,” she told Morn softly, intensely. “When I give you the signal, get off that channel. Finish what you’re saying and get off.”

  A frown of strain and coercion had settled into Morn’s face: it was becoming permanent. “What deadline?”

  “That’s my problem. I’ll handle it.” Trust me. But Morn needed more; deserved more. Quickly Min explained, “If you go on too long, Fane will run out of time. We need to make sure he has room to hang himself.”

  After a moment Morn nodded. The look she gave Min might have been the same one with which she’d received Min’s condolences and honors years ago.

  The ED director waited until she heard Morn announce to her pickup, I’m almost done. Then Min attacked the communications board with all her heart’s thwarted, iron conviction.

  Center, Director Lebwohl can have a channel to Suka Bator when I say so. Not before. Tell him to start the instant I give the word.

  The delay would infuriate him. Nevertheless she believed he would do his part. She’d learned a new respect for him when he’d resigned as acting director.

  Stand by to relay targ priority changes, she ordered. All ships. All guns.

  Rapid as automatic fire, she coded new commands. Dazed with exertion, Cray transmitted them for her.

  The response was immediate.

  Center on two. Are these priorities right, Director? She heard hints of hysteria. Are you serious?

  She showed Center how serious she was. Do it, she snapped grimly. Then get me a channel to Calm Horizons.

  Almost at once her PCR shot a burst of confusion into her ear.

  Valor on four. Adventurous on one. Flash Attack on five. Reconfirm targ priorities!

  Center on three. Calm Horizons, Director? Please confirm.

  She was still waiting for a transmission link to the Amnioni when the countdown in her head told her that the time had come for Morn to stop.

  CLEATUS

  Get ready, Holt warned the FEA. Len won’t let you tackle her yet. He’s being too damn protective. But you’ll get your chance when she’s done.

  After no more than a moment, several of the votes shot their hands into the air. Despite Holt’s warning, Cleatus wanted to ask her, Why the hell do you need time? But he was too angry to wave his arm for permission to speak like a goddamn school kid.

  For no apparent reason, Len indicated Silat. “Senior Member Punjat Silat,” he announced formally to Hyland, “Combined Asian Islands and Peninsulas.”

  Ponderous with superiority and heart trouble, Silat climbed to his feet. “Ensign Hyland,” he offered sanctimoniously, “I will not delay you by describing how profoundly I admire your resourcefulness and courage. However, we must be clear on essential matters.

  “Why does Calm Horizons pursue you? Why are the Amnion willing to risk a war in order to stop you?”

  Morn had her answer ready. Unfortunately Cleatus felt sure she would support Hannish’s accusations.

  “They know we have an antimutagen. They know we’re willing to broadcast it. They want to silence us if they can.

  “And they want Davies.” The strain in her voice gave the impression that she held her arms locked over her chest. “They were surprised by the results when he was force-grown.”

  In fatigue and ire she explained, “Simply turning a fetus into a physiologically mature organism isn’t enough. The new child needs a mind. Something to take the place of years of development. With their own kind, they imprint the mind of the host on the offspring. I guess it works for them. But in the past it hasn’t worked for human beings. When they tried it, they lost the host. Apparently having your mind copied makes you insane. I think it’s a fear reaction.

  “But I didn’t go insane when my mind was copied. My zone implant protected me. I had the control with me.

  “They knew I had an implant. They could tell. But I guess they never thought of using one that way. They don’t understand how fear affects humans.” She sighed. “So now they think maybe they can use zone implants to let them copy human minds onto Amnion. Or Amnion minds onto humans. And they want to study Davies to find out how successful the imprinting was.”

  Several of the sheep bleated aloud. Her explanation seemed more plausible than Hannish’s bald statement earlier: it made the idea of Amnion that could pass as human look real. But Silat received the information as if it were only of academic interest. “Thank you, Ensign Hyland,” he said impersonally as he sank into his chair. “A fascinating insight.”

  The smug bastard was probably planning his next monograph.

  Damn it, Cleat, Holt insisted harshly, I want that kid! He’s perfect. I can make a deal—

  As soon as I get the chance, Cleatus promised. After I’ve torn her apart, even these morons will vote to decharter.

  His grip on his bowels was so tight it made his chest hurt.

  More hands. Len had reduced the Council to a kindergarten class.

  His choices made no sense. He recognized Vest Martingale as if he felt sorry for her tarnished constituency; announced her to the room pickups.

  Martingale stood up. “Ensign Hyland, where is Captain Succorso now? Can we talk to him? His side of the story might shed some light.”

  Com-Mine was blamed everywhere for the passage of the Preempt Act. Martingale wanted to know what Succorso might say about Hashi Lebwohl and Milos Taverner.

  “Captain Succorso is dead,” Hyland answered flatly.

  That was a blow to Martingale’s desire for vindication. “Dead?” she demanded. “What happened to him?”

  “Member Martingale—” The woman sounded tired of trying to account for herself. “When we left Deaner Beckmann’s lab, we were under attack by Amnion surrogates and mercenaries. Captain Thermopyle used a singularity grenade to turn the battle. But Captain Succorso and Sib Mackern had left the ship to attempt an EVA ambush. As far as I know, they both died in the black hole.”

  “Wait a minute,” Martingale shot back. “Captain Succorso left the ship? After you made him prisoner?”

  Cleatus hoped devoutly that Hyland would admit she’d had Succorso murdered.

  No such luck. “The ambush was his idea,” she retorted. “He thought he could damage one of the ships we were fighting, an Amnion surrogate. And he had as much to lose as we did. We let him try.” For a moment her voice seemed to ache in the gap between her pickup and the Council’s speakers. “Sib Mackern went along to make sure he didn’t turn on us.”

  Martingale bit her lip in disappointment. “Thank you, Ensign Hyland.” She sat down heavily.

  Another flurry of hands. The sheep seemed to thrive on being treated like children.

  Len surprised Cleatus by nodding to Igensard. “Special Counsel Maxim Igensard,” he told Hyland, “in proxy for Eastern Union Senior Member Sen Abdullah.”

  Igensard jumped up so fast he almost tripped himself. The misguided idiot probably wanted to redeem his credibility.

  “Ensign Hyland,” he began as if he meant to sneer but had forgotten how, “you’ve had time to study the situation. You’ve talked to Director Donner.” They’d had plenty of opportunity to decide on a story. “You said—I assume you were telling the truth—the transmission you received from Punisher included two sets of contradictory instructions. In retrospect, how do you account for that?”

  He must have struck a nerve. Morn snapped, “Special Counsel, I’ve come too far to waste my time lying to you.” But she didn’t refuse to answer his question.

  “The orders that gave Captain Thermopyle’s codes to Nick Succorso were perfectly clear. Anybody who received that transmis
sion would have understood them.” Including, presumably, Donner herself. And Punisher. “But the programming which caused Captain Thermopyle to reveal his codes to us was encrypted. It was written in a kind of embedded machine language none of us recognized.

  “We asked Director Donner if she had anything to do with it. She states that UMCPHQ’s transmission was relayed exactly as the cruiser received it. Punisher’s communications log confirms this.

  “The transmission was coded from Warden Dios. He wrote it.”

  Oh, hell, Cleatus groaned in disappointment. She knew. The damn woman had figured out what must have happened.

  Why wasn’t she dead, where she belonged?

  As if she had the right to make such statements, she pronounced, “I believe that when Director Dios issued his plain instructions he was carrying out someone else’s orders. Or he wanted to mislead someone he feared. The encrypted instructions represent his true intentions. He meant to foil whoever wished Nick Succorso to have control of Angus.

  “As far as I know,” she finished in a spatter of static, “the only man in human space who can give orders to the director of the UMCP—or threaten him—is Holt Fasner.”

  Of course. Another accusation. But Cleatus didn’t bother to comment on it. He knew in his guts there was worse to come.

  Igensard made a desperate effort to recover his earlier righteousness. “You’re speculating, Ensign Hyland,” he countered. “You can’t prove any of that.”

  “True.” She was sure of herself; so sure that she didn’t falter for a second. “But I can tell you this, Special Counsel.

  “Captain Thermopyle has told me—and Director Donner has confirmed—that DA wrote his programming explicitly to prevent him from rescuing me. I was considered dangerous because I could testify that he was framed. But I couldn’t do any harm as long as I was with Nick Succorso. If he didn’t kill me, someone else would. Unless Captain Thermopyle interfered.

  “So why am I alive?”

  She paused as if she wanted to be sure all the votes were listening. Then she said, “I’m alive because Captain Thermopyle was given new orders. Just before he was released from UMCPHQ, Warden Dios switched his datacore. His new programming included instruction-sets which required him to save me.”