MORN

Pandemonium erupted on the bridge of the cruiser, Cray shouted warnings she received from UMCPHQ’s traffic buoys: Punisher was too close to the station, moving too fast. His voice cracking under the strain, Porson echoed confirmation. His hands raced to sort data from his sensors and Earth’s scan net. The man on targ cursed savagely. Patrice programmed helm like scattershot. The data officer, Bydell, made a thin keening noise in her throat as she scrambled to identify the scan blips.

Davies swore, too—a high, clenched sound, tight with surprise and terror. Ciro didn’t react; but Mikka groaned as if something in her chest had snapped. Pale and aghast, Vector stared mutely at the displays. In an instant Angus shifted positions; moved to the side of Morn’s console so that he could see the screens and still keep an eye on her. Min strained at her belts, her gaze as keen as a hawk’s; eager to strike.

Through the tumult Captain Ubikwe’s deep tones cut clearly. “Deceleration, Sergei. Burn it on my order. Prepare for evasive action.” He seemed unnaturally calm; impervious to surprise and danger. “Charge your cannon, Glessen,” he told targ. “Ready torpedoes. Stand by to open fire.

“Sound battle stations, Bydell. Deceleration alerts, proximity warnings—hell, sound them all.”

“Aye, Captain.”

At once the lorn wail of klaxons echoed across the clamor.

“Status on that bastard, Porson?” Dolph continued.

“I’m still reading, Captain!” Porson called back. “Scan isn’t clear yet. Too much gap static.” Then he croaked urgently, “She has us on targ!”

“Do it now, Sergei,” Captain Ubikwe instructed helm. “Put everything we can spare into it.”

Without transition the muffled thunder of thrust mounted to a roar as if Punisher had fallen into a smelter. The ship began to shudder. If she were still under internal spin, she would have torn herself apart.

Hard g; gravitic violence: the essence of reality.

Calm Horizons had reached Earth ahead of them. Because Morn had insisted on making the journey gently—

Fearing what might happen, she’d made exactly the wrong decision. She and her friends might have been safe if they’d beaten the Amnion vessel to Earth.

She was supposed to be in command: of herself as well as the cruiser. Yet she was paralyzed. Punisher’s gap drive had translated her from normal space into the domain of nightmare. Calm Horizons was here! Of course. What was the worst thing the defensive could possibly have done after failing to kill Trumpet? What else but this?—a gambit so extreme and lethal that Morn had never considered it.

She’d failed before she ever had a chance to begin.

And braking thrust shoved her into her g-seat with brutal force. Involuntarily her lips pulled away from her teeth. Her eyes seemed to bulge in their sockets. She could hardly breathe: shuddering thunder filled her chest, clogged her throat. Her arm had shed too much of its pain to protect her.

Cruel and compelling, g drove her out of herself into the place where all things became clear.

Clear as vision. Clear as the voice of the universe, of existence itself. Articulate and irrefutable beyond any possible resistance. She heard the voice, understood the vision; received its necessity like a sacrament.

Self-destruct.

Oh, yes.

She had the means. The universe had provided them for her: clarity provided them. The command board lay in front of her, willing and transsubstantial; as compulsory as a sacrifice. Luminescent certainty marked the keys she should touch, the sequence of obedience. Every question had come to an end. When she reached out her hands, she would be whole; her life made clean at last.

The universe told her what to do—and gave her the strength to do it. She stretched her arms for the keys.

Before she could touch them, Angus hit her so hard that she thought he’d broken her skull—

“Report, Porson,” Captain Ubikwe demanded through the roar. His battle-calm overrode the pressure of hard g. “I can’t see the damn screens like this.”

Valiantly Porson squeezed an answer past the mass in his throat. “Calm Horizons is orbital. Right on top of UMCPHQ. God, she must be within 50,000 k. Coasting. They’re both geosynchronous over Suka Bator.” He faltered, then somehow found a way to raise his voice. “Captain, Calm Horizons has a clear line of fire on Suka Bator! Her proton cannon is already aligned.”

—but she didn’t lose consciousness. Not quite. Instead the blow lifted her across the personal gap between clarity and pain. Shards of agony like bone splinters nailed her mind to the hard matter of her skull. She forgot the siren call of the universe. She’d been crucified: clarity and coercion couldn’t reach her.

Around her, shouts and orders swirled like panic. Davies may have cried her name; may have sworn at Angus: she couldn’t be sure. If Angus retorted, she didn’t hear it. The pain in her head had become exquisite grief. She was certain of nothing except that she’d lost her last chance to be whole.

There were no better answers: self-destruct was all she understood. And Angus had bereft her of it.

“Ready, Glessen?” Dolph asked.

“Damn right, Captain!” Glessen retorted.

Inaccuracy in the gap had brought Punisher too close to UMCPHQ: close enough to aim all her strength at the Amnioni.

“Ease deceleration, Sergei,” Captain Ubikwe commanded. “I need to see. Evasive action on my order. Make her dance. We’re in no condition to let ourselves get tagged.”

At once some of the cruel g lifted. Morn could breathe again, thin sips of air like constricted gasping.

“Wait a minute, Dolph!” Min barked promptly. “Look around! Who’s firing? How much support have we got?”

He may not have heard her. “All right, Glessen,” he growled. “Let’s see if we can do some damage—”

“Captain!” Cray yelled from communications. Fear and g pitched her cry to a shriek. “Hold fire!”

Hold—?

“Wait a minute, Glessen,” Dolph snapped quickly.

“Orders from Center!” Cray went on. “They’re shouting at us. Absolute priority. Don’t fire!”

“Have they lost their minds?” the captain demanded. “There’s a Behemoth-class defensive parked right on top of them, and they want us to hold fire?”

“Absolute priority,” Cray repeated.

“No one’s shooting, Captain,” Porson announced frantically. “Not UMCPHQ. Not Calm Horizons. We have ships in range. More on the way. They haven’t fired.”

With an effort, he fought down frenzy. “I see Adventurous,” he continued, “but she isn’t close enough yet. And Valor is here. Looks like she resumed tard ten minutes ahead of us. But she’s a lot farther out.” Out where Punisher should have been. “Too far to attack yet.”

Morn’s pain bled slowly into the lighter g. Angus must not have hit her as hard as she thought. She couldn’t speak; could hardly think. But she could listen.

Vestigial clarity flickered at the edges of her mind like heat lightning. The situation made sense in distant bursts. Calm Horizons had committed an egregious act of war—and no one fired at her. Of course not. The big warship hadn’t come on a suicide mission against UMCPHQ and the GCES. She’d come to stop Trumpet. Capture the gap scout if possible; kill her otherwise.

UMCPHQ and the GCES were hostages—

Grimly Morn began to fight the aftereffects of gap-sickness. Once Captain Ubikwe and Min understood the stakes, they might sacrifice Morn and her friends. To save UMCPHQ and the Council. If Warden Dios ordered it—

“Orders from Center,” Dolph snorted. “Whose orders? My God, are we surrendering? Who wants us to hold fire?”

“The order is from Hashi Lebwohl,” Cray answered. She couldn’t muffle her shock. “Acting Director, UMCP.”

In response Min snarled like a predator. “Hashi’s in command? How in hell did that happen? What happened to Warden?

“Communications,” she demanded, “get me a direct channel to Acting Director Lebwohl. Absolute priority. I can play that game as well as he can. I want to talk to him.”

“Do it, Cray,” Dolph said. But his confirmation wasn’t necessary: Cray was already at work.

The Amnioni’s targ continued to sizzle on Punisher’s sensors. Nevertheless Calm Horizons’ guns stayed silent.

Captain Ubikwe squinted at the screens. “Ease deceleration,” he instructed helm again. “We don’t have a lot of room. But we can turn.

“Give me a new course. I want to intercept that warship’s line of fire on Suka Bator. Coordinate braking so we match orbits and stay there. If we can’t do anything else, we’ll at least be an obstacle.”

G dwindled once more as Patrice obeyed. Stress vectors shifted. Morn’s pain settled into a basal throbbing she could almost bear. Her limbs and head remained heavier than they should have been, but they felt comparatively light. And the hull-roar of thrust continued to decline: she lost weight as if she were evaporating. Soon she might be able to raise her head.

Her arm had begun to itch and ache again.

“Morn,” Davies called across the bridge, “are you all right?” He sounded desperate with worry and fear. He must have known why Angus had struck her.

Angus bent over her. “Say something, Morn,” he muttered as if he was afraid of her. “Don’t make me hit you again.”

She put her hand on his arm, drew him closer. “You promised to back me up,” she whispered like a sigh. Davies deserved a response; but she didn’t have the energy to spare for anyone else. “I’m trusting you.”

Holding his arm for support, she pulled herself forward so that she could reach the command board.

She feared Hashi Lebwohl more than Warden Dios. Far more.

At last g shrank enough to permit cautious movement. Captain Ubikwe began to unclip his belts. “While we’re waiting, Cray,” he rumbled, “get me Center.” His tension seemed to increase as the threat of immediate combat receded. “It’s about time somebody told us what the hell’s going on.”

“Right away, Captain,” Cray answered.

Heaving against too much weight, Dolph stood up from his g-seat. Clearly he meant to assume the command station.

“Stop him,” Morn murmured to Angus.

For a moment she feared that she’d spoken too softly, weakly, to be heard. But then, without haste, he stepped away from her and aimed his armed fist at the captain’s head.

“That’s far enough, fat man.” He grinned a warning. His eyes were yellow and carious, like unclean fangs. “In case you’ve forgotten, you aren’t in command. You don’t Speak for this ship.”

Davies gaped in consternation. Abruptly, belatedly, he hauled his handgun out of his pocket and raised it; but he didn’t know whether to aim at Dolph or Angus. Mikka started to open her belts, then changed her mind and subsided in dejection.

Captain Ubikwe froze between one stride and the next.

“Back off, Captain Thermopyle,” Min rasped fiercely. Her tone threatened him; but she made no move to leave her g-seat. “Morn’s in no condition to command anything. You know that. My God, you had to hit her just to get her through hard g.

“Stay out of the way. This is our job. Let us do it.”

“And what happens then?” Angus countered between his teeth. “Don’t tell me, I already know. Hashi fucking Lebwohl tells you that damn Amnioni is ready to wipe out the cops and the whole government. He’s so sorry. You’ll have to turn us over to Calm Horizons. Unfortunate but necessary. And you’ll do it. You’re the UMCP director of muscle—you like following orders when you don’t have to count the bodies afterward.

“Get it through your head,” he finished. “Morn is in command. She speaks for this ship.”

Captain Ubikwe scrubbed his face with his hands, then dropped them to his sides. His grin matched Angus’.

“There’s just one thing you aren’t taking into account,” he drawled cheerfully. “A small detail, really—but it makes a difference. This is my ship.”

Ponderous with augmented mass, he pitched a fist like a bludgeon at Angus’ head.

Davies shouted an alarm; slapped to release his belts so he could move. But Angus didn’t need his help.

Dolph was too slow for Angus; far too slow. Despite the extra g, Angus’ response was so effortless that it seemed almost gentle. Smoothly he caught Dolph’s elbow and turned him; locked his arm behind his back; shoved him toward his g-seat.

“That’s enough, Angus,” Morn put in quickly. She didn’t want to see Captain Ubikwe hurt. Her pain sufficed for everyone. “He’s not the enemy. Neither is Director Donner. They just don’t understand.”

Angus didn’t reply. He stood with his fist pointed at Dolph until the captain sat down again; closed his belts. Then he resumed his position beside the command station.

Swearing in relief, Davies settled back into his g-seat. He held up his handgun indecisively for a moment, then kept it in his fist.

Min’s jaws clenched and loosened as if she were chewing iron; but she said nothing.

“Center is standing by,” Cray announced. Angry disapproval stiffened her tone. “Tight-beam transmission. The defensive can’t pick it up.”

Glessen leaned away from the targ board; folded his arms as if to say that he, for one, wouldn’t take Morn’s orders. Bydell looked back and forth between Captain Ubikwe and Min, her eyes wide with supplication. But Porson and Patrice kept working: Punisher’s survival depended on them no matter who commanded her.

“Thank you, communications,” Morn replied unsteadily. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

Distorted by thrust static, the bridge speakers spat to life.

“Punisher, this is Center,” a man’s voice began at once. “Captain Ubikwe, take no action. That’s a direct order. Decelerate to copy our orbit and hold there. Keep your cannon charged. But don’t show the Amnioni even a flicker of fire. If you do, we’ll court-martial what’s left of your corpse after we’re all dead.”

“Damn it, Morn,” Min hissed, “we don’t have time for this.”

Morn sighed. “I’m sorry, Director. I don’t have time for anything else.”

With one finger she toggled the command station pickup.

“Center, this is Ensign Morn Hyland.” Now more than ever she needed firmness, calm; needed to sound sure. But she couldn’t stifle the tremor of ruin in her voice. “I command Punisher. I don’t need orders, I need situation. We have a hostile alien charged to fire on Suka Bator.” Or any other target the defensive chose. “Why aren’t we trying to destroy her?”

“Morn Hyland?” Center’s surprise was plain despite the intervening static. “Who the hell are you?

“Wait a minute.” He must have been running feverish commands on his board. “You aren’t on Punisher’s crew manifest. You’re—” For an instant he paused in shock. “Shit, you’re that Morn Hyland. Off Starmaster.

“What happened to Captain Ubikwe?” the man demanded hotly. “What happened to Min Donner? What’re you doing in command?”

Morn took a deep breath. Min was right: they absolutely did not have time for this. But she saw only one way out of her plight. Open fire: start a battle. Yet that decision appalled her. She didn’t have enough information to make it.

“Let me repeat myself, Center. I don’t need orders. And I don’t need questions. I need to know why we’re all just sitting here while an Amnion warship sticks her guns in our faces.” She faltered momentarily, then added, “If I don’t get an answer, I’ll be forced to take action on my own.”

If Punisher opened fire, UMCPHQ and the rest of Earth’s defenses would have no choice but to join her. The cruiser would certainly die. UMCPHQ and Suka Bator might be destroyed. But Calm Horizons would die as well. The Amnioni’s knowledge of Vector’s antimutagen, and her samples of Morn’s blood, would die.

That might be a trade worth making.

“Don’t!” Center shot back. “Don’t do anything!” Distortion complicated the fear in the man’s voice. “Just wait.

“I can’t talk to you. I’m not authorized—” The bridge speakers hinted at muffled shouts in the background. Then Morn heard, “Punisher—Ensign Hyland—hold on while I connect you to Acting Director Lebwohl.”

He didn’t wait for a response. As he silenced his pickup, the spattering hiss of transmission noise filled the speakers.

“You hear that?” Angus sneered at Min. “Acting by damn Director Lebwohl hasn’t got time for you, but he’ll talk to Morn.”

“Leave the director alone,” Davies put in tautly; pulled tight by vexation and alarm. His loyalty to Min appeared to torment him. “For all we know, he won’t talk to Morn either.”

Min gave him a cold glare which made him wince. Still she kept her retorts to herself.

Morn ignored them. She had other problems. Turning her station, she faced Glessen on targ.

“Listen to me, targ,” she said grimly. “I’m only going to say this once. If I tell you to fire, I expect you to do it.”

Glessen didn’t look at her. His arms gripped his chest truculently. “Not unless Captain Ubikwe gives the same order.”

“What do you expect, Ensign?” Dolph demanded at Morn’s back. “We have direct orders not to shoot. Do you think we’re going to commit treason just because you happen to be feeling suicidal?”

Angus flashed his grin. “Maybe it’s time Ciro went back to Trumpet.”

“I know how to do it,” Ciro assented. He sounded eager. “Angus showed me.”

Without transition Morn’s mouth had become cotton. She swallowed roughly, trying to moisten her throat. “Don’t be in such a hurry. We aren’t that desperate yet.”

Urgently she swung toward Mikka. “Mikka, I want you to take targ. This officer has been relieved.”

Glessen started cursing, then bit his lip to stop himself.

Mikka replied with a shattered look, as if something inside her had broken during g, or in tach. Her reserves of intransigence or anger appeared to have cracked and spilled under the pressure of her brother’s madness—and Angus’ use of it. Even the blow which had cracked her skull short days ago hadn’t hurt her so much.

Nevertheless she was as loyal as Davies or Angus; as loyal as anyone. Her commitments held her. Slowly she fumbled free of her belts; left her g-seat by the bulkhead and plodded leadenly toward the targ station.

Glessen didn’t move. After one quick glance at Mikka, another at Captain Ubikwe, he sat still, staring straight ahead; immobile with rage.

“Acting Director Lebwohl is standing by,” Cray pronounced acidly. Her disapproval had become bitterness.

A new clutch of tension ran along Morn’s nerves. Pointing at Glessen, she murmured, “Angus, please.” Then she left the problem to him so that she could concentrate on Hashi Lebwohl.

Davies aimed his gun at the targ officer, leaning forward as if he wanted to deal with the problem himself. He must have needed movement; decisions; anything which might help him believe in himself. Being forced to sit still was a kind of torment for him. But again his father didn’t require his help.

Angus reached the targ station without apparent effort. Swift as a snake, he reached past the board to unclip Glessen’s belts. With his fists knotted in Glessen’s shipsuit, he heaved the man bodily out of the targ station.

Glessen had time to hit him once—a blow Angus hardly seemed to feel. Then the targ officer landed heavily; slapped to the deck; skidded.

Mikka trudged mutely past him to take his place at targ.

In a low snarl Captain Ubikwe said, “You’ve gone too far, Ensign.” His voice shook. “If you open fire, we won’t wait for Calm Horizons to kill you. My people will do it themselves.”

Without lifting his head from his readouts, Patrice muttered, “Damn straight.”

A moment later the frightened young data officer, Bydell, said clearly, “Aye, Captain.”

Angus faced each of them in turn with his teeth and his glare and his clenched lasers. Davies brandished his handgun threateningly. But Morn ignored them all.

The man who’d reqqed and welded Angus had somehow become “acting director” of the UMCP. To her way of thinking, that development was as dangerous as Calm Horizons’ presence.

Abruptly she toggled the command pickup.

“This is Punisher. I’m Ensign Morn Hyland.” The words seemed to stick in her throat: she had to force them out. “I’m in command here.”

“Ensign Hyland,” a man’s voice wheezed waspishly from the speakers. “I must confess that you continue to astonish me. Indeed, you are an ongoing source of amazement. If more of our brave officers possessed your affinity for the unexpected, civilization as we know it might totter and fall.”

“Is this Acting Director Lebwohl?” Morn demanded. She recognized his voice easily enough, but she wanted to prevent him from taking control of the situation.

Hashi ignored her question. “This time, however,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “I fear that you have exceeded yourself. My dear young woman, you really must return command to Captain Ubikwe. Then I will speak to Director Donner.

“Unless you have had the temerity to dispose of them?” he inquired severely. “I do hope not, Ensign. That would be quite unforgivable.”

Morn winced. “Captain Ubikwe is fine. So is Director Donner.” Hashi’s manner grated on her sore nerves. She couldn’t afford the time—or the energy—to trade barbs with him. “But they trust you. I don’t. I’m afraid that means you’ll have to talk to me. If you won’t tell me why you’re holding fire while an Amnion warship aims her proton cannon at Suka Bator, then stop wasting my time. We have work to do.”

“Do you?” Hashi’s voice countered. “How curious. I would have supposed that your work was identical to ours, considering that you are—or claim to be—an Enforcement Division ensign. Perhaps you will enlighten me concerning your intentions.” His wheeze sharpened. “Even you will not expect my connivance in the charade of your command if you decline to tell me what ‘work’ you mean to do.”

“Yes, I’ll tell you,” Morn retorted. Hashi’s attitude angered her more by the moment. Her arm throbbed in sympathetic irritation. Wasn’t he the man who’d programmed Angus not to rescue her? “We have your formula—the formula for the mutagen immunity drug you gave Nick Succorso. Vector Shaheed analyzed it for us. If I don’t get some cooperation—and get it soon—we’ll tight-beam the results to every ship and station we can reach. We’ll downlink it to Earth—to the Council, the major cities, every regional government.

“Then we’re going to open fire on Calm Horizons.”

With the back of her fist, she toggled the command pickup so that Hashi Lebwohl wouldn’t hear her panting to control her ire.

For reasons of his own, Hashi did the same. The bridge speakers fell silent.

In the sudden quiet Vector remarked phlegmatically, “So I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t arrive broadcasting. We wouldn’t have any leverage now. And we might already be dead.”

Captain Ubikwe gave a snort of contempt. “I warned you once, Ensign,” he growled. “I won’t do it again. If you—”

“That’s enough!” Davies raised his gun at the captain. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll stop you myself, and I’ll make it permanent. Do you think we like doing it this way? Do you think it’s easy? If Ciro hadn’t sabotaged the drives, God damn it, we would still be running circles around you, and your only choice would be to keep your opinions to yourself!”

Apparently he’d reached the end of his endurance. Inactivity and the strain of defying people he respected seemed to pain him more than he could bear.

Nevertheless his threat didn’t touch Dolph. The captain’s eyes widened in mockery. “You’re kidding,” he croaked. “You expect me to believe you’ll kill me in cold blood? Shit, boy. You aren’t that tough.”

Before Davies could fire a retort, Min Donner spoke.

“Calm down, Dolph.” She sounded unexpectedly mild; composed and sure. Nevertheless the note of authority in her tone was unmistakable. “What do you want them to do? What would you do in Morn’s place—if you were a good cop who’s already been sold out once”—Min may have been referring to the UMCP’s decision to let Nick take Morn off Com-Mine—“and doesn’t have any reason to think we won’t do it again?

“Don’t you think that formula should be made public? I know I do. Concealing an effective antimutagen is a crime against the people we’re supposed to serve. This mess should have been cleaned up long ago. But if it were up to us, we wouldn’t do it. We couldn’t release that formula without permission. If she wants to solve the problem for us, I don’t intend to get in her way.” The ED director smiled without a trace of humor. “Since I’m not in command here, I don’t have to.

“You said the same thing yourself twenty minutes ago,” she finished flatly.

“Shit,” Angus muttered in Min’s direction, “now I know we’re in trouble. I felt safer when you were acting righteous.”

Dolph stared at her. For a moment his mouth hung open. Then he closed it. “That was before—” he began. But he couldn’t go on.

Abruptly the speakers crackled. Without transition Director Lebwohl’s voice returned.

“Ensign Hyland, this is Acting Director Lebwohl.” His condescension was gone, replaced by concern and a note of frailty. “Please listen to me. I must urge you not to take such extreme action. Since you do not acknowledge Captain Ubikwe’s authority, or Director Dormer’s, I presume you will ignore mine as well. For that reason, I do not order you to hold back. But I ask—no, Ensign Hyland, I implore you to reconsider.

“To discuss either our tactical or our strategic situations is entirely outside my mandate. Neither you nor your companions can be allowed to affect the decisions which must be made here.

“If you do not restrain yourself, I must order our forces to support Calm Horizons’ defense against you.”

“Christ!” Davies protested. “If we don’t have the right ‘to affect the decisions,’ who does?”

Morn raised her hand to silence him. Hashi wasn’t done.

“I will mention one detail, however,” the DA director went on, “in the hope that you will recognize its significance.

“Warden Dios is aboard Calm Horizons.”

Morn flinched involuntarily. Davies yelped like a stung kid. Min stiffened as if an abyss had suddenly opened at her feet. Bydell and Porson blanched. With the heel of one hand, Captain Ubikwe struck himself on the forehead once; twice. Each blow made a moist, smacking sound, like a clap of despair.

“It’s got to stop,” Angus remarked through his teeth. “He said that to me once. Looks like he was serious.”

Hashi’s voice didn’t pause.

“His shuttle delivered him to the Amnion hardly ten minutes ago. In my view, he is effectively a hostage. Nevertheless the stated purpose of his presence is to negotiate the survival of both the UMCP and the GCES.”

There the DA director stopped. The speakers hissed and clicked with thrust static while he waited for Morn to find some reply which didn’t fill her with horror.