This Day All Gods Die

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Morn kept as much of her own truth to herself as she could.

  From time to time—again at Min’s insistence—Punisher’s bosun brought food to the bridge. This was not for the duty officers, who could visit the galley when they were relieved, but for Morn, the others, and herself. Morn ate what she could. Vector roused himself to eat, but seemed more interested in coffee. Mikka gulped sandwiches where she stood. When Min had taken as much as she wanted, Davies devoured the rest.

  Nothing else passed the hours except the studied litany of reports from helm and scan: descriptions of navigational errors and open space; announcements of course corrections or tach. No other vessels left blips or particle trails across the cruiser’s course. Communications heard nothing. Whatever Calm Horizons intended, she’d apparently lost her strange ability to track Trumpet’s movements.

  By slow increments the distance to Earth diminished.

  Angus brought Captain Ubikwe and Ciro back to the bridge shortly after helm announced that Punisher would soon be ready for the last gap crossing to Earth.

  By then the rotation of watches had returned most of the officers Morn had first seen to the bridge: a woman named Cray on communications; Porson at scan; a shy, awkward young woman to the data station; a truculent, square-fisted man on targ. Only the helm officer was different: instead of Emmett a man called Patrice guided the ship.

  Captain Ubikwe saluted his people gruffly as he arrived. Ignoring Morn, he faced Min. “Is my ship all right, Director Donner?” he asked in a tired rumble.

  Min’s gaze had a sardonic cast as she referred the question to Morn.

  The sound of voices roused Vector from a final nap. He looked up, straightened himself in his g-seat; smiled a question at Ciro, but didn’t speak.

  Davies’ face showed relief. He may have been reassured by Angus’ return. Or he may have been glad to see that Angus hadn’t hurt Captain Ubikwe.

  Morn was troubled by the sensation that her features had gone numb. She rubbed her cheeks with her good hand, trying to bring them back to life. She would reach Earth soon, after all this time; after so much death and pain. As the weariness of her long vigil accumulated, it seemed to feed her shame. Soon she would be so tired that only her inadequacies remained.

  “We haven’t done anything to risk her, Captain,” she answered. “You know that.” He could interpret the gentle interaction of Punisher’s spin and thrust as well as anyone. “Your people have been cooperative, for which I’m grateful. Director Donner insisted, so we’ve rotated the watches pretty regularly. There hasn’t been any trouble.” Distantly she added, “No sign of any other ships.”

  That was about to change, of course. Morn hoped to resume tard as close to UMCPHQ as possible, in the UMCP’s dedicated gap range if helm could manage it. As soon as the cruiser entered Earth’s solar system, the traffic squall of navigational buoys would reach her, and the scan would fill up with blips.

  Punisher would have to be much more careful.

  Captain Ubikwe grunted an acknowledgment. Something in his tone—or his manner—tugged at Morn’s attention.

  He seemed tired to the bone: Angus must have kept him busy almost continuously. But behind his fatigue lay an adjustment of some kind; an amelioration. He looked like he’d been reconciled to the plight of his ship.

  Angus must have told him something—

  Morn turned to Angus; but he didn’t meet her gaze. Instead he studied the display screens, absorbing everything he could about the ship’s position and status. He, too, had changed—but it was a change she recognized. He emanated ferocity as if his zone implants’ emission had risen to an entirely new level.

  He was getting ready to fight for his life.

  “Are you all right, Dolph?” Min asked quietly.

  The captain shrugged his heavy shoulders; glanced at Angus like a man who didn’t know how much he was allowed to say. Angus didn’t react, however. After a moment Captain Ubikwe sighed.

  “Just tired. I haven’t done that much crawling around in small spaces since the Academy. But I guess we’re finished.”

  “Finished with what, Captain?” Morn asked. Angus hadn’t told her why he wanted both Dolph Ubikwe and Ciro aboard Trumpet.

  Dolph shrugged again. “We fixed the drives. Both of them. Sort of. They test green. Readouts sure as hell look stable. But I wouldn’t want to pin my life on that gap drive.”

  “You won’t have to,” Angus muttered.

  Captain Ubikwe plowed on, unheeding. “We couldn’t calibrate the hysteresis transducer. Not without activating the drive. So Captain Thermopyle did it by guesswork. I don’t care if he carries the specs for the entire created universe around in his head. You can’t calibrate the transducer without activating the drive. That gap field could disassemble the whole ship and leave it drifting in tach like so much dust.”

  “Captain Thermopyle,” Min drawled, “I don’t suppose you’ll consider telling us why you think you need Trumpet’s drives?”

  Morn also wanted an answer; but Davies distracted her by gesturing for her attention. When she turned to see what he wanted her to notice, she found herself peering hard at Ciro.

  More than either Angus or Captain Ubikwe, he’d become different. He wore a look of hooded concentration; of focus he meant to conceal. Somehow the guilt and horror tormenting him had eased. Or they’d taken root—grown to a kind of clenched, inarguable hysteria. He met no one’s eyes; hardly raised his head. But from under his lowered brows, his gaze glinted with intention.

  Mikka hadn’t seen him yet. She stood rigid at her post beside Patrice, her back to her brother.

  Mikka, Morn wanted to say. Mikka, look. What’s happened to him? What did Angus do to him? But Angus stopped her by replying to Director Donner.

  “Sure.” Abruptly he turned from the screens. A grin bared his yellow teeth. “I’ll tell you. Your precious Hashi Lebwohl programmed me to think about things like survival. Keeping people alive. Morn doesn’t do that, so it’s up to me. Trumpet gives us a way off this ship. If we need it.”

  Morn studied him in wonder and alarm. Was that really what he was doing—compensating for her weaknesses, her blind spots; her instinct for self-destruct—?

  When I’m in trouble, she’d once said to Davies, the only thing I can think of is to hurt myself. I need a better answer.

  Was Angus trying to help her find one?

  But at once Dolph put in heavily, “That’s not the whole story. Maybe it’s true as far as it goes. But he has a pretty extreme notion of ‘survival’ and ‘keeping people alive.’ We had a real shouting match about it. He showed this poor kid—”

  Angus whirled on Captain Ubikwe. “Stop right there, fat man!” he barked. “I warned you. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.” He raised his fists. “It’s not too late for a little BR surgery.”

  Rolling his eyes provocatively, Dolph closed his mouth.

  But Ciro spoke before Angus could prevent him. “He showed me how to use the singularity grenades.” He might have been staking a claim; announcing who he had become. “Arm them. Launch them. Detonate them. Suck everything into a black hole.” He smiled—a grin as thin as a cut. “Like Free Lunch. And Nick.”

  Showed me—

  That shocked the bridge—which may have been Captain Ubikwe’s purpose. Involuntarily the duty officers stopped what they were doing and stared. The woman at the data station had gone pale. The man on targ chewed curses under his breath.

  —how to use—

  “Ciro!”

  Crying her brother’s name, Mikka flung herself around to face him. Vector flinched in consternation.

  —the singularity grenades.

  For an instant Morn feared her heart would fail. Acid mortality burned inside her cast. With one stroke, Angus had taken away her control of the situation; transformed it into a confrontation charged with blood and coercion. He’d turned Ciro into a pawn in a struggle she hadn’t foreseen and couldn’t imagine.

  Suck
everything into a black hole.

  And she’d let him do it. Despite all the pain and abasement he’d inflicted on her, she’d trusted him. Trusted his impulse to stand by his commitments to her; trusted his gratitude at being freed from his priority-codes.

  Trusted his core programming—and the men who’d designed it.

  Like Free Lunch. And Nick.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t you suppose he has enough problems already?”

  Min didn’t need to be guarded. She’d made it plain hours ago that she accepted Morn’s command. In some way the actions of Trumpet’s people suited the ED director. Nevertheless she didn’t take Ciro’s revelation calmly.

  “Ensign Hyland!” she snapped like the crack of a whip. “You told me these people were under arrest. That makes you responsible for them. But a man in your custody has just given highly classified and dangerous information to a known illegal who also happens to be a kid hardly old enough to know his own mind.

  “This is on the record, Ensign. If you thought you could protect these people by posing as the arresting officer, you’re wrong now. Their conduct incriminates you as well as them.”

  Abruptly Patrice remembered his duties. He looked down at his readouts. “Captain,” he announced to Dolph, “in five minutes we’ll reach our tach window on UMCPHQ’s gap range. If we miss it, we’ll have to decelerate to compensate.”

  Five minutes? Only five?

  Angus had shown—

  “Ensign Hyland,” Min demanded severely, “is there anything you would like to say?”

  Yes! Morn thought; almost wailed aloud. This isn’t what I wanted! The stakes were already too high. I didn’t know he was going to do this!

  She’d killed most of her family. Now she was about to become the cause of even more death.

  But when she looked at Angus, the naked appeal on his face closed her throat. Without transition she felt that she’d been translated back to Mallorys Bar & Sleep. He was saying, I accept. The deal you offered. Her black box in exchange for his life. I’ll cover you. He might have been thrusting the control to her zone implant into her hand again: the need which wracked his gaze was the same. I could have killed you. I could have killed you anytime.

  Fiercely she forced down her dismay; her weakness. She didn’t want another zone implant control—or anything like it. But this wasn’t Mallorys, or Com-Mine: it was Punisher. Angus had shown Ciro how to use the singularity grenades. The grenades were aboard Trumpet, however, and Ciro was here. Whatever Angus had in mind wasn’t immediate. She could take the time to think about her choices; try to understand them.

  “Helm, I want fifteen minutes.” The steadiness of her voice amazed her. She sounded like a woman who still knew what to do. “Nudge braking thrust enough to cover the difference.”

  Patrice referred the question to Dolph. “Captain?”

  “Do it, Sergei,” the captain rumbled. “Ensign Hyland is in command. This is her mess. Personally, I’m curious to see how she gets out of it.”

  Morn nodded. “Thank you, Captain.” As soon as Patrice began tapping keys, she felt the viscid drag of Publisher’s deceleration tug her against her belts.

  Not enough pressure to threaten her—

  She didn’t wait for the stress to end. Facing Angus again, she demanded grimly, “I need an explanation.”

  “I need an explanation!” Davies moved through the inertia of braking toward Angus, clutching his handgun as if he meant to use it. His eyes bulged like his father’s. “God damn it, Angus, he’s hardly older than I am! Isn’t there anybody you aren’t willing to sacrifice?”

  Angus flung a snarl over his shoulder at Davies. “You mean ‘sacrifice’ the way you ‘sacrificed’ Sib Mackern? You think sending him out to die just so you could get rid of Nick is better?”

  That stopped Davies: he couldn’t answer. He lowered his gun until it dangled at his side, useless to him.

  Mikka might not have heard Angus and Davies; or Min Donner. She’d begun to shiver as if she were straining at a leash, held back by ropes from breaking out into blows and fury.

  “Ciro,” she groaned deep in her throat, “what in God’s name has he done to you?”

  Abruptly Ciro retorted, “Stop it, Mikka. You aren’t the one she gave a mutagen to. I am. You don’t have any idea what it’s like, knowing you have to kill everybody you care about.” He turned his head to look at Angus. “But he does.”

  “Sib volunteered,” Vector offered quietly. He studied his jerked a thumb in Vector’s direction. “Sib did what he wanted. So is Ciro. The only difference is, you liked what Sib did.”

  “I love this,” Captain Ubikwe snorted. “You’re all as charming as snakes. Exactly what did you do to poor old Sib? And what’s this about a ‘mutagen’?”

  Trumpet’s people ignored him. Min kept her attention focused on Morn and Angus.

  Angus still faced Davies. “Well, I don’t give a shit what you think. Ciro is working for me now. Instead of kicking him into a corner like a goddamn puppy, I’m giving him something to do.”

  “Angus”—Morn raised her voice to make him hear her—“that’s not good enough!” Did he call this a better answer? “I’m not interested in how you justify yourself. I want an explanation.”

  Angus tore his gaze away from Davies to meet Morn’s demand. His whole body was vivid with fury: he looked like he might spring for her throat. But then he seemed to take hold of himself, fight down his vehemence. He may have had some measure of control over his zone implants; may have used them to calm himself. Slowly his passion shifted from anger to supplication.

  He didn’t speak as if he were begging. Nevertheless Morn saw that he was in the grip of an old terror: the same mortal dread which had ruled his life. Driven by that darkness, he’d offered her her black box in exchange for his own survival.

  Stiff with reined brutality, he answered, “I don’t believe Min fucking Donner here is as pure as you think, and I don’t believe you can protect any of us. Least of all yourself. One way or another, the cops are going to feed us our guts before this is over. That’s their job.”

  The corners of Min’s jaw knotted, but she betrayed no other reaction.

  “You can probably face that,” Angus told Morn. “Hell, you can probably face anything. But I can’t. I am not going to let Hashi Lebwohl and his surgical apes get their hands on me again.”

  He moved toward her until he could close his fists on the edge of the command board. Strain whitened his knuckles. He ignored Min and Dolph and the duty officers; Ciro and Mikka; Vector and Davies: Morn may have been the only person aboard who truly mattered to him.

  “I’ll back you all the way,” he promised. “As far as I can. Until you fail. What you want to do can’t work. The cops have all the muscle—and muscle always wins. But I don’t care about that. I owe you. I’ll try anything to help you.

  “But I’ve already been welded once. I won’t go through it again. When I run out of choices, I’m going to take Trumpet and leave. And I’ll take Ciro with me. He’s my insurance. If I’m too busy to do it myself, he can launch enough trouble to let us get away.”

  He bowed his head momentarily, took a deep breath, then looked at her again.

  “Morn, trust me.” Traces of pleading left his tone raw. “If you can’t do that, trust him.” A twitch of his head indicated Ciro. “He’s right. None of you understand what Sorus Chatelaine did to him. I can use that.”

  “Use it?” Mikka wheeled on him, her eyes burning like black suns. “You sonofabitch, use it?”

  “Yes!” he retorted. His gaze clung to Morn; but he projected his voice to the entire bridge. “As of now, this whole damn ship has been taken hostage. You are going to follow Morn’s orders, and you are going to fucking like it. Otherwise—”

  “Otherwise,” Ciro finished for him, “I’ll go back to Trumpet and set off a grenade.” He made the idea sound simple enough to be sane. “I know how. I know all about it.”

>   And he might be able to do it. If Angus escorted him.

  Captain Ubikwe nodded as if he understood; as if Morn and Angus and Ciro had finally reached the point which had changed his attitude toward being deposed from his command. Before anyone else could react, he cleared his throat loudly enough to catch even Mikka’s attention.

  “He’s protecting us, Min.” He faced the ED director formally, with his shoulders square and his chin up, as if he were expecting a reprimand. Embarrassment twisted his mouth: he didn’t like defending Angus. Still he went ahead. “Sounds silly, I know. But he did a lot of talking while we were sequestered in Trumpet. Pretty oblique, most of it—but I got the impression he’s willing to cover our asses as well as his own.” of a singularity grenade makes us innocent. We haven’t been ‘derelict in our duty.’ We haven’t ‘given aid and comfort to the enemy.’ Nobody can challenge us for letting Ensign Hyland take over—or for letting her do anything else she wants.” His voice took on a subtle ring; a hint of excitement or hope. “The Dragon himself can’t challenge us. And he can’t fault Director Dios, either. Not when Trumpet is carrying singularity grenades, and a kid who’s already lost his mind knows how to use them.”

  When he stopped, his words seemed to echo off the bulkheads for a moment, as if their potential refused to did away.

  Mikka stared dismay at him. For her he might have been speaking in an alien language. Perhaps nothing he said could have penetrated her transfixed distress. But Vector had begun to grin—a harsh smile, whetted by recognition or remorse. Davies shook his head slowly, muttering to himself. Captain Ubikwe’s explanation didn’t match Ciro’s coherent lunacy.

  Nevertheless Angus bared his teeth as if he defied argument. He hadn’t wanted the bridge to know how he’d involved Ciro—but apparently he liked Dolph’s conclusions.

  “It won’t work.” Min’s tone cut through the hints of resonance. “Captain Thermopyle is a welded UMCP cyborg. Holt Fasner knows that, even if the Council doesn’t. He’ll assume Angus is acting on my orders. Or Warden’s. He probably won’t believe Angus doesn’t answer his priority-codes anymore.”