It was no wonder that Morn hesitated; waited—Davies would have done the same—if he could have borne it. But instead he stalked the bridge as if he were hunting for a way through his dilemma. A way out.
He couldn’t find one. He was too scared.
He’d said to Morn, We’re running out of time. We can’t let them get away with this. What’re we going to do? as if he wanted her to make his decisions for him. But he didn’t. His appeal was of a completely different kind.
Since the day he was born, he’d done little or nothing to determine his own fate. Nick had given him to the Amnion. Morn had sent him to the Bill. Angus had rescued him. He’d cut the datacore out of Angus’ back because Morn had told him to do it. Whenever he was desperate, Mikka or Morn or Vector or Angus or even poor Sib had picked up the slack of his inadequacy.
He didn’t want to be given any more answers. He was looking for some hint that might tell him how to go about saving his own soul. If he’d known what Morn meant to do, he might have been able to think about his plight more clearly.
But no one talked to him. No one shed any light. Morn simply bided her time. Angus had slammed some kind of door; barricaded himself behind his fear and refusal. Mikka was too bone weary and heartsick to think about anything except the targ board. Vector’s view of the situation was too simple to lift Davies’ confusion, and Ciro was crazy.
As for Min Donner, who at least valued the truth enough to tell it—
She made cryptic remarks about “restitution”: she confronted this crisis like a woman who saw dimensions and implications Davies couldn’t grasp. And her few explanations cast murk instead of illumination. Nick and Milos Taverner had framed Angus in order to secure the Dragon’s hold on human space. And Warden Dios had condoned it?—initiated it? Min herself had gone along with it? She revealed facts; but she said nothing about what lay behind them.
Think about it. You’ll figure it out.
Maybe Morn already had. Maybe that was why she could bear waiting. But she wasn’t the one Calm Horizons had come to damn.
Now Min was immersed in her dealings with UMCPHQ Center. Except for the helm officer, Sergei Patrice, and Cray on communications, she was the only one who had anything to do. Scan and data processed the same information again and again; Mikka confirmed everything she already knew about Punisher’s weapons status; Angus and Ciro muttered to each other like bitter conspirators; Morn and Dolph Ubikwe and Vector remained passive, as if they’d forgotten how to move.
In contrast, Min stood beside the communications board, holding her body like a gun. One hand cupped her PCR to keep what she heard to herself. When she spoke into her throat pickup, her voice was a crisp, low murmur that didn’t carry: most of the time Davies couldn’t make out what she said.
The weight of her impact gun in his pocket wore against his thigh.
At some point he thought he heard her address Hashi Lebwohl. Most of what she said to the DA director was a covered blur, however, and Davies ignored it. His dilemma didn’t hinge on what she and Hashi did together.
Later she recited the names of ships: Valor, Adventurous; others. By studying Porson’s scan display, Davies gleaned the information that she was making adjustments in the cordon around Calm Horizons. Deliberately she placed her vessels so that they all had clear fields of fire on both Calm Horizons and Punisher, as well as on UMCPHQ and Holt Fasner’s HO.
Punisher’s deceleration edged her closer to the same goal. The Acting Director was keeping her options open—
So was Morn, for that matter. But Davies seemed to have none.
Finally he crossed the cruiser’s g to stand in front of Angus and Ciro. He didn’t know where else to turn. He held himself rigid until Angus raised an acid stare to his face. Then he leaned forward and demanded softly, “Tell me how to do it. How to rescue Warden Dios.”
Please. I need something to think about that doesn’t feel so much like destroying everything I want to save.
Angus twisted his mouth in a grin like an act of malice. “Ask Ciro.” He indicated Mikka’s brother with a jerk of his head. “He knows all about it.”
“I know all about it,” Ciro confirmed. He, too, grinned—a complex, secretive smile that hinted at relief and dismay.
“That won’t help you,” Davies told the boy bitterly. “Not while he refuses to do it”—he slapped a gesture at Angus—“and won’t let anybody else try.”
At once, however, he regretted inflicting his anger on Ciro. The damaged kid lowered his head, shrinking into himself; but before his eyes fell Davies saw them fill up with darkness.
Swallowing a groan, Davies turned back to Angus.
“Vector still has some of Nick’s antimutagen.” Misery he couldn’t stifle thickened his tone. “Even if Vestabule gives Director Dios that mutagen, we could help him.”
Angus wasn’t swayed. “You haven’t been listening,” he rasped. “I’ve said all this before.
“Your Director Dios knew what he was doing when he sold Morn to Nick. He framed me. Cost me my ship. My life. Her—” He flicked a glance at Morn. “And he knew what he was doing when he welded me. He called it a crime against my soul. But that didn’t stop him. None of it stopped him.
“Now it looks like he’s found a way to stop himself. I want to make damn sure he doesn’t change his mind.”
Davies shuddered. As far as he could see, Angus’ indictment of Warden was valid. And Min’s obscure talk of “restitution” did nothing to soften it.
No one helped him answer his own questions.
“Morn,” Vector said unexpectedly, “I think we should go ahead. Take our chances.” He spoke gently, but his gaze was clouded with concern. “We can’t keep second-guessing ourselves. We’ve been told too many lies. There’s too much we don’t know. If we spend all our time worrying about whether we’re making a mistake, we’ll never do what we came here for.”
Morn didn’t reply. She may not have heard him. She sat in the command g-seat with her head back and her eyes closed as if she were asleep. Only the tension in her shoulders and arms, and the way the corners of her mouth reacted to every voice around her, betrayed that she was conscious; paying attention.
Abruptly Porson announced from scan, “Director, Calm Horizons is turning a dish on us. Looks like she wants to talk.”
Davies wheeled toward the communications station; froze. Morn jerked open her eyes and faced Min. Mikka made a small, thin sound that might have been a curse or a prayer.
I’m waiting for Director Dios to tell us what he thinks we should do. As far as I can see, he created this mess. Maybe he knows how to get us all out of it.
Min didn’t hesitate. “General broadcast, Cray,” she instructed. “UMCP cruiser Punisher to Amnion defensive Calm Horizons.” She made no effort to muffle her pickup. “We can’t hear you. We’ve been damaged. We don’t have a dish available. If you need to reach us, you can route your transmission through UMCPHQ Center. Repeat that until she does something about it.
“From now on,” she told the bridge, “nobody has any secrets. If Marc Vestabule wants to say anything—or Warden does—it’ll be on the record.”
Logged and stored by Center.
Davies found that he was holding his breath. On the record. With one quick stroke Min had shaken his distrust.
Nobody has any secrets.
Restitution. Honesty.
What the hell was she doing? What did she want?
“I guess she heard us,” Porson reported. “She’s shifting that dish away again.”
Captain Ubikwe straightened himself in his g-seat. “Can we tell who she is talking to, Porson?” Apparently he wasn’t as uninvolved as he might have wished.
“We can’t tap into tight-beam transmissions, Captain,” the scan officer stated unnecessarily. “And some of her dishes are occulted. But before the scan net was shut down, we got a pretty good picture of her. Good enough to know she has one dish fixed on UMCPHQ. And another on UMCHO.”
&nbs
p; “What about HO?” Dolph rumbled. “Who are the Dragon’s dishes pointed at?”
Porson consulted his instruments; calculated vectors. “UMCPHQ, Captain. Calm Horizons. Suka Bator.” He looked toward Dolph. “There’s one aimed at us, too, but HO isn’t using it.”
Abruptly Davies caught the point of Captain Ubikwe’s questions. A new pang twisted his heart. He turned to Morn. “What will we do if Vestabule makes a deal with Holt Fasner?”
“I’ve got a better question,” Angus put in sourly. “How are you going to know it if they have made a deal?”
Min interrupted her exchange with Center by lifting the pickup from her neck. “They won’t,” she asserted. “Fasner can’t give Vestabule what he wants.” She glanced at Morn, then added ominously, “But they will, if Warden doesn’t satisfy them.”
Angus swore. “Just what we need. Another threat.” His voice was harsh, guttural with strain, as if he had to fight his zone implants in order to speak for himself. “When Warden-fucking-Dios-full-of-mutagens tells us to surrender, you want us to do it so Vestabule won’t try to bargain with Fasner. You think maybe an idea like that ought to scare us into submission.
“Well, the good news is, I don’t care. If Fasner wants to sell off the whole damn planet, I say let him. Makes no difference to me.”
“You don’t care,” Davies rasped over his shoulder. “So you keep telling us. You won’t do it.” His desperation demanded an outlet. He feared that if he didn’t start shouting—if he didn’t do something soon—his heart would crack. “But some of us don’t feel that way, so why don’t you just shut up and let us think?”
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Angus countered roughly. “It still hasn’t penetrated your thick excuse for a brain that I’m trying to keep us all alive.”
Davies didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to tell his father that other things were more important than staying alive.
Morn had closed her eyes again as if she wanted to shut out distractions: Davies’ face, or Angus’; the scan displays; anything which might confuse her. “Cray,” she asked tensely, “does the Council know we’re here?”
Min answered before Cray could respond. Without turning her head or silencing her pickup, she said, “Center has a secure downlink open for Director Hannish on Suka Bator. She knows.
“But the general broadcast for the rest of the planet isn’t exactly complete. Center has its hands full trying to manage the crisis on Earth. And shutting down the scan net hasn’t inspired much confidence. Most of UMCPHQ’s microwave capacity is taken up with disaster procedures.
“If Koina hasn’t told the Members, they don’t know.” Min paused, then added, “Unless they heard it from Fane. I’m sure he’s in contact with HO all the time.”
Suddenly Cray went rigid. “Director,” she croaked. “Center is relaying a transmission from Director Dios.”
Oh, shit! Davies thought in misery. Here it comes.
He wasn’t ready.
Morn sat forward with a jerk; opened her eyes. Alarm flared whitely in her gaze. The crisis seemed to set her alight: Davies had the impression that the muscles in her shoulders and neck and arms were on fire.
Vector moved closer to the command station. Davies did the same, drawn by Morn’s urgency. Instinctively he closed his fingers on Min’s handgun.
“I have her on targ,” Mikka muttered in a worn growl. “I can hit her whenever you want.”
Ciro was her brother. She may have understood better than anyone what the mutagen Sorus Chatelaine had suffered and used could do.
But Min ignored the apprehension around her. She might have forgotten that fear existed. “Put it on the speakers,” she told Cray quietly. “And keep me off that channel. I’m busy with Center. Ensign Hyland will speak for the ship.”
Good God, Davies thought. She was serious. She was going to keep her word.
“Aye, Director,” Cray answered. Her hands shook feverishly as she tapped keys; brought the speakers to life in a muted crackle of thrust static.
Morn took a deep breath; braced herself—
A man’s voice carried firmly through the distortion. “Punisher, this is Warden Dios.” He spoke as if nothing could prevent him from being clear. “I’m aboard Calm Horizons. You already know that.
“Min? Dolph?”
Davies had never heard the UMCP director’s voice before. Nevertheless the sound stirred Morn’s memories of him. He felt an odd thrill, as if he’d been touched by the call of a trumpet. Warden’s power to inspire loyalty, dedication, and faith—or Morn’s ingrained response to it—reached him across the gap between his experience and hers.
In spite of everything, the director’s convictions and commitments defined the UMCP for Davies; gave substance to the honorable work of being a cop. Something in his heart turned at the call of Warden’s voice.
I think we should try to rescue him. Yes.
I still trust him.
Apart from Morn, he may have been the only one on the bridge who reacted in that way. Captain Ubikwe sank deeper into his g-seat; bowed his head as if he wanted to hide the shame of losing his command. Patrice attended to his duties, as focused and constricted as Mikka. Porson made a show of studying his sensors and readouts; but Bydell sat at the data station as if she were paralyzed by worry. Glessen clenched his fists and remained rigid, swearing to himself.
At the communications station, Min had resumed her exchange with Center as if she no longer cared what Warden might say. Davies envied her composure; her concentration. He couldn’t match them. His nerves rang as if he were stuck in a carillon.
With a stiff flinch of her shoulders, Morn toggled the command station pickup. “Director Dios—” Her voice caught. She grimaced in dismay at her weakness; swallowed to moisten her throat. “This is Morn Hyland. Aboard Punisher. I’m in command.”
For a moment Warden didn’t react. Static filled his silence with ambiguity: he might have been hiding behind it. Then he pronounced carefully, “Did I hear you right? You’re Ensign Morn Hyland? Off Starmaster?” His tone sharpened. “And you’re in command?”
Apparently he hadn’t discussed Punisher with Center. Or Hashi Lebwohl.
“Yes, sir.” Morn lifted her head; squared her jaw. “My father was Captain Davies Hyland. But I don’t think of myself as an ‘ensign’ now. I resigned my commission when I joined Captain’s Fancy.
“I took command outside the Massif-5 system. Director Donner and Captain Ubikwe are here. No one’s been hurt.” Grimly she finished, “But I make the decisions for this ship.”
Her tone said, Don’t try to give me orders. I don’t take them anymore.
Again Warden answered with silence. He may have been shocked. When he replied, however, distortion and distance conveyed the impression that all his emotions had been locked away.
“Forgive me, Morn. I’ve had too many surprises recently. It’s difficult to absorb them all.
“I’ve just been informed that you did this once before. Took over a ship you had no business commanding.” He didn’t explain; but Vestabule must have told him how she’d forced Enablement to return Davies, after Nick had traded her son away for gap drive components. “Obviously you’re good at it.”
Vestabule must have explained how she’d extorted Davies’ return.
“I won’t ask what you think you’re doing,” the UMCP director went on. “We don’t have time to go into it. But under the circumstances I can’t take your word for it that Min and Dolph are safe.”
“They haven’t suffered anything worse than a few insults.” To Davies Morn sounded as impersonal, as concealed, as Warden did. “You can confirm that if you want to. But you can’t talk to Director Donner. She’s busy. I’ve given her permission to serve as Acting UMCP Director in your absence. In exchange, she’s ordered Captain Ubikwe not to interfere with me.”
This time Warden didn’t pause. “Can they hear me?”
“I’m using the bridge speakers, Director,” Morn retu
rned acerbically. “We can all hear you.”
From now on, nobody has any secrets.
“Dolph?” Warden’s distorted voice asked promptly. “Are you all right?”
Captain Ubikwe opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. Deliberately he looked at Morn for permission.
She glanced toward him over her shoulder and nodded.
“No, Director, I’m not all right.” Dolph’s deep tones thrummed with bitterness. “Nothing is all right. But I don’t know what to do about that. I don’t even know how we got into this mess. All I can tell you is that for the past few days we’ve been making decisions that seemed reasonable at the time.”
“I’m sure they were,” Warden responded as if he were promising a pardon. “I’m not worried about that. I’m just glad for a chance to hear your voice.
“Morn,” he continued, “is Angus with you? Can he hear me?”
Angus cocked his head in surprise. The muscles at the corners of his jaw bunched.
Davies winced inwardly. For reasons he couldn’t name, he feared hearing Warden invoke Angus’ priority-codes. The resonance of loyalty and idealism in Warden’s voice held him. He was sick of coercion: he didn’t want to hear Warden try it.
But if Morn felt the same way, she didn’t show it. “Yes, Director.” Her tone hinted at acid and blood. “Everyone from Trumpet who’s still alive is here.”
Warden didn’t ask her who’d died. Apparently he wasn’t interested. “Angus?” he asked. “It’s good you made it this far. You’ve done well.” He waited, obviously hoping for a reply. When Angus didn’t give him one, he pursued, “Are you all right?”
Morn faced Angus gravely; gave him the same nod she’d given Dolph. Pain and need darkened her gaze.
Angus unclenched his jaw. “That depends,” he growled, “on what you order me to do.”
Davies clenched his fist on Min’s gun because he couldn’t reach his sore heart and made a conscious effort not to hold his breath.