MORN

For a moment Morn remained frozen; caught between Angus’ fall and the instant knowledge that Warden Dios had caused it. In response to Angus’ defiance he’d invoked commands no one else knew about, and now the only man who might have helped him lay stricken on the deck, huddling into himself like an infant. The shock held her while she struggled to catch up with it.

Warden did this.

Because Vestabule had told him about Viable Dreams, and he no longer trusted his welded cyborg? Because he had no other way to enforce Angus’ compliance; fend off the threat of war and untold bloodshed?

I will use anybody I can to do my job.

She couldn’t catch up; not like this; not with Angus groveling on the deck, and everyone she depended on stunned to silence.

Abruptly she dropped back into her g-seat; turned to her pickup. “Director, Angus just collapsed.” She made no effort to hide her urgency. “I don’t know what’s happened to him. I’ll call you back.”

Warden shouted her name, trying to hold on to her, make her keep her channel open; but she hit her pickup toggle and cut him off in midsyllable.

Around her, everyone stared at Angus as if he were becoming an Amnioni in front of them. The only man who might have helped Warden—

They insist on Angus.

He wrapped his arms more tightly across his knees. His shoulders hunched: he might have been strangling something inside himself.

Christ, Warden! What have you done?

“Good God,” Dolph protested softly. “Somebody help him.”

None of the duty officers obeyed. In their separate ways, they all seemed too shaken to react; too confused. And Mikka had nothing left to give: she used the last of her will, her heart, to hold herself steady on targ.

But Davies lurched stiffly to his feet. Morn may have made the decision to help Angus block his priority-codes; but Davies had done most of the work. He’d cut open his father’s back; dipped his hands in his father’s blood. When the imponderable stresses of Trumpet’s singularity grenade had driven Angus into stasis, Davies had spilled more blood to bring him back. Dismay and bafflement filled his face as he moved to Angus’ side.

Awkwardly he knelt to the deck; put his hands on Angus’ shoulders to roll him over.

As soon as he saw his father’s face, he recoiled in surprise. “Shit, Angus! What the fuck’re you doing?”

A manic grin stretched Angus’ stained face. Tears squeezed from his eyes: crazy humor flushed his cheeks. He looked like a man who’d locked himself into a ball so that he wouldn’t break out laughing.

“It’s got to stop,” he croaked at Davies as if that were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “It’s got to stop.”

Abruptly Morn felt a new gulf yawn open at her feet. Hidden intentions and vast risks pulled at her like the strange forces of the gap. They would kill her, kill everyone, if she didn’t start understanding them now.

“Angus—” Her voice caught. She swallowed fiercely, tried again. “Angus, what’s happening to you?” What did Warden do? “What the hell is going on?”

I will use anybody—

With a conspiratorial roll of his eyes, Angus raised a heavy finger to his lips. Whispering intensely, he warned, “Don’t let Dios hear you. Don’t let Vestabule know.”

Davies jerked up his head; shot a frightened glance at Morn.

Quickly she turned to communications. “Cray?”

Cray took a deep breath; forced herself to consult her board. “We aren’t transmitting,” she confirmed. “We still have a channel to Calm Horizons through Center. They’re standing by. But they can’t hear us.”

An abyss of incomprehension—

Morn choked down a surge of bile. “All right, Angus. They can’t hear us.” Repeating Cray’s words seemed to be the best she could do. She took hold of herself; required something better. “Get up. Talk to me.”

As suddenly as he’d fallen, Angus uncoiled his limbs and sprang to his feet. Without transition his collapse ended—or changed. Wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, he moved toward her. His burst of amusement was over, but he went on grinning as if he’d been let in on one of life’s essential secrets.

When he reached her, he leaned over her console and growled cheerfully, “Jesus, Morn! If he can do that, I bet he can do other things, too. I bet he could have made me kill myself.

“Why do you suppose he didn’t? Get it over with? Put me out of my misery?”

If the idea frightened him at all, he didn’t show it. He faced her with his hands braced like defiance on her board and his chin up, still grinning.

Morn ground her teeth in frustration. “I can’t answer that. You still haven’t told me what happened.”

Glowering, Dolph raised his voice. “Captain Thermopyle, I want to know what’s going on.”

Min nodded harshly. “This isn’t optional, Angus,” she put in. “We need to know. If we have to fight now, for God’s sake say so. I can coordinate a first strike, hit that defensive with everything we have. We can’t save Suka Bator—or UMCPHQ—but every bit of hurt we put on her will reduce the slaughter.

“Stop smirking”—her voice sharpened to a shout—“and tell us what Warden did to you!”

Apparently Warden hadn’t explained his game to her. She and Morn had that much in common: they were both guessing. Min may have had nothing to go on except her faith in him—and her confidence in her own people.

But her demand didn’t touch Angus. He glanced at Dolph; turned a baleful glare on Min. Then he ignored them.

“He did that pretty well,” he told Morn. Moment by moment an eerie eagerness grew in him. Yellow excitement shone from his eyes. “Gave us the opening we need.” He slapped one palm on the command board. “Now we can get started.”

His attitude seemed to take her by the throat. She didn’t know how to answer him; had no idea what he was talking about. Started? Her arm in its cast seemed to throb with prescient dread. He knew how to rescue Warden—

Nevertheless she held his gaze. “Damn you,” she whispered thinly, “tell me what happened.”

Davies came forward a step or two, then stopped as if he couldn’t get any closer. Mikka had dropped her hands from the targ board in order to concentrate on Angus and Morn. Mutely her damaged face asked again, What have you done to my brother?

Vector had braced himself on the back of the command g-seat to take some of the strain off his joints. Frowning, he inquired, “Started on what, Angus?” Mikka’s question in different words. “I thought you refused to get involved in this.”

Angus paid no attention to Vector; focused exclusively on Morn. Perhaps no one else mattered to him. “Vector’s willing,” he reminded her. “Davies is willing. That’s all we need.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” he announced while his certainty strangled her. “First you’re going to call Dios again. Offer him the same deal as before. He can have Davies and Vector, but not you or me. Tell him”—Angus grinned maliciously—“I’m having convulsions, I must have burned out a circuit or something, fried a few synapses, you can’t send me over there because you can’t control me, I look like I’m already dying. Tell him whatever you want. He’ll accept it. This is a goddamn negotiation, isn’t it? Make him accept it.”

Morn opened her mouth to protest; catch her breath. But Angus overrode her.

“If he still objects, offer him Trumpet. Even if Vestabule is still human enough to want me for revenge, he can’t ignore bait like that. The datacore of a UMCP gap scout ought to be worth a fucking fortune. Not to mention all those singularity grenades, and that dispersion field generator.”

She stared at him as if he’d threatened to rape her. The pressure he exerted made her want to puke.

“After that,” he went on triumphantly, “you can concentrate on talking to the Council. Donner’ll help you. She’ll make them listen.” He sounded certain. Anticipation danced like flames of madness in his eyes. “Leave the rest to me.”

It made no sense. What had changed? What had Warden done to him?

God, she needed to understand!

Fighting for breath, she countered, “The rest of what?”

He didn’t explain; might have been too eager to see how completely he confused her. Instead he went on, “Give me Mikka and Ciro. Give me the fat man here.” He nodded at Captain Ubikwe. “Give me Trumpet and the command module. Then you can forget about Warden Dios. Forget Fasner. Forget that fucking Amnioni if you feel like it.

“I’ll deal with them,” he promised.

As soon as Angus mentioned the command module, Dolph started fuming. “That’s enough, Thermopyle,” he barked. “You’re going too far too fast. This is my ship, God damn it. If you think I trust you enough—”

“It isn’t up to us, Dolph,” Min interrupted quietly. Her tone seemed to ache with the force of her restraint. “This is Morn’s decision.” Whether or not she grasped what was happening had apparently become irrelevant. “That’s why she’s in command. To make choices like this. Instead of you or me. She’s paid for the right. Hell, so has Angus. And we’ve already been disqualified. Compromised—”

“Compromised?” Captain Ubikwe yelled at her. “How?”

She shrugged. “We take Warden’s orders. We’re cops—that’s what we do. We obey. And some of those orders come from Holt Fasner.”

Although the words seemed to hurt her, she said again, “This is Morn’s decision.”

Dolph may have wanted to argue with her, but his own pain stopped him. His dark face closed around the thought that he, too, had been compromised.

Morn held Angus’ gaze. “Why am I going to do all that?” she asked him bitterly. “Captain Ubikwe has a good point. Why am I going to trust you that much?”

Even though she’d set him free from his priority-codes, repeatedly staked her life on him, she still didn’t know what to believe about him.

Angus let out a burst of grotesque laughter.

“Because I was programmed to keep you alive.” Acid mirth left his voice raw. “I wasn’t supposed to be. Hashi Lebwohl told everybody my instruction-sets were written to prevent that. You were supposed to die. But at the last minute Dios gave me a new datacore. Right before I left UMCPHQ. He sent me to Billingate to get you away from Succorso. That may have been the only reason. Blowing up the installation was just an excuse.

“He let Succorso have you in the first place to protect you from Fasner. So Fasner couldn’t suppress you. As far as Warden Almighty Dios is concerned, you’re more important than God.”

Her mouth sagged open. Standing behind Angus, Davies gaped like her twin. He must not have guessed—it had never occurred to her—that Warden might have had a good reason for selling her to Nick.

But Angus wasn’t done. Without a pause he raised his face to the ceiling, stretched out his arms. Standing rigid, as if he were remembering a crucifixion, he shouted, “And you’re going to trust me because I’m free!”

The sheer intensity of his cry shocked the bridge like a static charge. In an instant it seemed to transport Morn into the heart of the gulf; drop her down the long wall of a chasm. She knew at once that he meant a freedom far greater than any mere relief from the compulsion of his priority-codes.

Free to rape and kill; demean; betray.

While she fell, he whirled toward Min Donner.

“You made a deal.” His voice sank to a malign whisper. “Morn is in command. And you keep telling us how you believe in Warden Dios. You talk about ‘restitution.’ Show me you mean it.

“Hold up your hand.”

Min faced him like the muzzle of a gun. Mounting violence beat in her temples; in the veins of her neck. She must have recognized the threat of Angus’ demand. Nevertheless her commitments required her to accept it. Slowly she lifted her right hand, the palm open and outward, as if she meant to take an oath.

“Min,” Dolph cautioned her tensely, “I don’t like this.”

Morn tried to say Angus’ name, urge him to stop. But an obstruction in her chest blocked her voice. She continued falling; plunging into the depths of an immeasurable realization.

Because I’m free!

Warden had—

Before anyone could react, Angus aimed one fist at the ED director. A thin streak of crimson fire shot out from between his knuckles. Instantly his laser burned a hole through the center of Min’s hand.

Morn gaped at the wound as if she’d struck the bottom of the abyss. Betray—

Angus had turned against them.

Warden had turned him against them?

No, this wasn’t the bottom: she had farther to fall.

Across the bridge, shouts of dismay and anger rang off the bulkheads. Too late, Davies hauled Min’s pistol out of his pocket; charged at Angus. Frantically he jammed the handgun at the side of Angus’ head. “You sonofabitch!” he yelped. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Roaring, Captain Ubikwe hurled his bulk at Angus. Glessen and Sergei Patrice were already halfway to the command station.

Min froze them with a raw shout: “Stay where you are!”

Dolph stumbled to a halt a stride away from Angus. His boots skidding, Patrice stopped. Glessen waved his fists, driven by fury; but Min’s authority held him back.

Terrible self-coercion intensified her features. Her cheeks and forehead seemed to burn, set afire by the heat of their underlying bones. Murder and restraint wailed against each other in her eyes.

“Don’t you understand?” she rasped at Dolph; at Glessen and Patrice. Her pain echoed as if she were screaming. “We don’t have time for this.”

Angus lowered his fist. “Oh, put that thing away,” he sneered at Davies. Cruel humor twisted his face. “You’re too scared to think. Deciding to let the Amnion have you has turned you stupid. She’ll heal. Hell, laser burns are self-cauterizing. She didn’t even bleed. And I made a point of not hitting bone.”

Involuntarily Davies lowered the gun. He didn’t know how to meet Angus’ scorn.

Not hitting bone?

Angus was a cyborg: maybe he could be that accurate.

If this wasn’t a betrayal, what was it?

Trembling, Min stalked over to the command station; displayed her burned hand in front of Morn. She’d been called Warden Dios’ “executioner.” Her arm shook with the force of blows she chose not to strike.

Transfixed, Morn stared at the wound. From Min’s palm she caught a faint whiff of roasted meat.

Even this hurt, this indignity, the ED director tried to endure in the name of her beliefs.

“Just so you’ll know,” she snarled like the cut of a drill, “I also have orders to keep you alive. They’re practically the only orders Warden gave me. He sent me aboard this ship to make sure you survive.

“If you decided to surrender yourself to Calm Horizons, I would have to stop you.”

For a moment she fixed a killing glare on Angus, She didn’t speak: at first she kept her fury to herself. But then her damaged fist flashed out like lightning; struck him high on the cheek. Despite her burned flesh, she hit him so hard his head rocked sideways.

He responded instantly. His return blow reached halfway to her head before she could react—before Morn even saw him move—

—carried that far and stopped. A forearm’s length from Min’s face, his fist paused, then withdrew. He lowered his arms. A red welt swelled on his cheek.

Grinning like a beast, he remarked, “I guess that’s fair.”

Deliberately he pushed his hands into the pockets of his shipsuit.

Poised on the balls of her feet, Min studied him as if he confused her. Dark speculation thronged in her gaze. Then she seemed to see something she recognized in him. She nodded once, harshly, and turned away.

“Warden must want you alive for a reason,” she told Morn. A stifled clamor frayed her voice. “I sure as hell hope it’s a good one.”

She might have been shouting, Make up your mind!

Stiffly she went back to the communications station.

Morn opened her mouth and found herself gasping. Her heart jolted as if she’d been struck, not Angus; as if the blow Min delivered and the one he repressed had both been aimed at her.

For a reason—

With a flash of laser fire and an instant of restraint, Angus had made the terms of her dilemma clear. He’d demonstrated his freedom—and his self-control.

In some way Warden had let him go. She was so precious to Warden that he’d released Angus altogether.

And now Min challenged her to make the choices she’d been given. Trust Warden. Trust what he’d done to Angus. Set aside her fears and her shame; her visceral revulsion.

Or reject—

There: that was the bottom; the final question. Earlier Min had talked about “restitution.” She believed Warden wanted to end Holt Fasner’s power over human space—and humankind’s future. She’d said, He’s going after Fasner. He’s trying to bring the Dragon down. That was restitution of a kind. And submitting himself to Calm Horizons was another. By that means he’d preserved his authority over—and his responsibility for—the UMCP: he’d created the conditions under which Min could lawfully refuse Fasner’s commands.

And now—

Because I’m free!

Was that yet another form of restitution?

Warden had freed Angus because she’d already done so. Before he caused Angus’ collapse, he’d said, You know him better than I do, Morn. I’ll trust your judgment.

Her judgment? Hers?

Here was the floor of the chasm. Humankind’s future, as well as millions of lives, depended on her judgment. And self-destruct was the only answer she’d ever truly understood.

It’s got to stop.

“Glessen,” Dolph ordered distantly, “get a first-aid kit for Director Donner.” Impotent passion seemed to drive him deep into himself, where he couldn’t be reached. “Help her take care of that hand. I doubt she’ll agree to go to sickbay.”

“Aye, Captain,” the targ officer answered through his teeth. Cursing under his breath, he moved to obey.

“You can sit down, Sergei,” Dolph went on. “Director Donner will let us know when she wants us to do something for her.”

Without a word Patrice did as he was told.

Morn inhaled with a shudder. A passion of her own gathered in her. I need a better answer. She felt it mount behind her eyes; flush like fever across her cheeks; burn in her wounded arm. For a terrible moment she seemed to understand everything—and she hated it all. Too many people had asked too much of her; cost her too much.

Her time had come.

“Angus, listen to me.” Her voice ripped at him. “Listen good, because I’ve had all of you I can stand.”

In time to the labor of her heart, she struck the edge of the command board with her cast, sending small shards of hurt like splintered glass along her arm.

“That’s Min Donner you shot. She’s been honest with us ever since we came aboard. She’s told us the truth. She’s kept her word. She’s left me in command, even though she knows why that’s wrong as well as you do. You are a butcher and a rapist, and you sell people to the Amnion! I will not tolerate any more damage from you!

“Is that clear?”

With all her strength she hit the board hard enough to shatter her cast.

An instant of pain stopped her. At first she couldn’t tell whether the partly healed bones of her arm held. She didn’t care. Peeling away broken pieces of acrylic with her good hand, she flung them one at a time at Angus’ face: accusations with ragged edges; raw demands; threats. But when her arm came free from the remains of the cast, she found that she could flex her fingers and elbow without too much discomfort.

Angus didn’t flinch as the light fragments struck him; made no effort to avoid them. If he blinked to protect his eyes, she didn’t see it. Instead of reacting, he faced her like a man who no longer knew anything about fear. Or maybe his fears had become so profound that they made him sure. He waited until she was done before he let himself rub a hand across his stung cheeks and forehead.

“I didn’t hit her,” he murmured thickly. “Don’t you get it? I could have broken her skull.”

He might have been echoing an earlier appeal. I could have stopped you. But I didn’t. Because I made a deal with you.

“Yes, I get it!” she flamed at him, fierce as impact fire. “I get it, God damn you. Warden removed the restrictions. Now you can hurt UMCP personnel. You can hurt anybody you want. But you haven’t answered any of my questions.

“I’m sick of it. You’re going to start now. Or I’ll tell Davies to shoot you where you stand!”

Davies may not have understood her; but he didn’t hesitate. He moved quickly away from Angus—out of Angus’ range—and raised his gun at his father. Like her, his eyes were shouts of panic and determination.

Still Angus faced her without faltering. The muscles at the corners of his jaw bunched and loosened.

“We’re going to rescue Dios,” he told her. “I said I know how. Isn’t that what you want?”

He shocked her out of her fury. Despite the glimpses of clarity he’d given her, she hadn’t grasped the full truth about him; hadn’t gone far enough to guess the changes implied by his new power to harm—and to withhold.

“Did you think Dios was playing when he talked to me?” he asked her stricken face. “Knocking me down just to show he could do it? You know better than that. You know him better—He has codes he never told me about. Commands I can’t block. And he untied me.”

A note of exultation began to beat in Angus’ rough voice.

“When he said ‘apotheosis,’ every damn database in my computer came on-line. Most of that stuff is there for emergencies. I couldn’t access it unless my programming decided I need it. But now I have it all.

“I know everything there is to know about this ship.” He indicated Punisher with a jerk of his head. “I know everything DA ever heard about Amnion equipment, weaponry, capabilities. Shit, I even know why I was designed this way.”

By degrees Davies’ grip on the pistol loosened. His hand sank, pushed down by the weight of Angus’ words. Like Morn, he stared as if he’d been rendered helpless.

Min waited, silent and motionless, while Glessen slathered tissue plasm onto her hand, covered her wound with a bandage. Bloodshed filled her eyes; but she did nothing to interfere.

Everyone else on the bridge listened like cold death.

Angus leaned his eagerness closer to Morn.

“But that wasn’t all. By itself it wouldn’t do me any good. When he said ‘vasectomy,’ he shifted my core programming. Erased the command that protects UMCP personnel. I shot Min Donner in the hand. You saw me. I could shoot her in the head, if I felt like it. If she quit being honest.”

Without warning he wheeled away from Morn and yelled savagely, “I could go around this bridge and cut every one of you bastards in half!”

But I didn’t.

An instant later an unnatural calm settled over him. He must have triggered his zone implants. Whether it happened voluntarily or involuntarily didn’t make any difference.

He faced Morn again.

“That’s why you’re going to trust me,” he informed her. “Because Dios could have forced me to do what he wants. I’m sure there’s a self-destruct code he could use. Or he could have given it to you. But he didn’t. Instead of putting a gun to my head, he let me go.

“Before he sent me to Billingate, he told me it’s got to stop. Crimes like welding me.” Reflexive anger darkened his gaze. “Making me into a machine. Or suppressing that antimutagen. He said they’ve got to stop.

“Well, he stopped one of them. He kept that promise.

“Once I get him off that fucking warship, I’m going to ask him why he picked us to stop the rest of his crimes for him.” At last Angus allowed himself a trace of sarcasm. “If I don’t like the answer, I’ll probably kill him.”

Still no one spoke. Davies and everyone else waited like Min for Morn’s response.

Kept that promise.

Smiling across the bridge, Ciro announced, “I know what to do. He told me all about it.”

The look in Mikka’s eyes as she watched Morn was bleak and beyond hope; desolate as a derelict.

Because she’d lived so long with self-destruct, Morn recognized that in his own mind Ciro was already dead. There was nothing she—or Mikka—could do to save him.

Angus seemed to press himself against the edge of the command board. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Despite his eagerness for freedom, he did his best to persuade her. “But you don’t need that. You just need to accept it. Stop suffering over what Dios wants, or Fasner, or Vestabule. You know what you came here to do. So get started. Leave the rest to me.”

Morn flexed her sore fingers; rubbed at her aching forearm. She felt strangely naked without her cast, as if she, too, had been released.

Her judgment.

Warden Dios thought she was more important than God. He’d saved her from the consequences of his own dishonesty by selling her to Nick. Then he’d welded Angus to rescue her. When the crisis of Calm Horizons’ encroachment became too great for him to control, he freed Angus to carry out his designs for him.

Humankind’s future depended on her.

Ciro knew what to do.

The decision was one she could make.

Nevertheless she postponed it for another minute. Studying Angus closely, she asked, “How much of all this is in your databases?”

She meant, How much do you know about what Warden wants?

If the UMCP director kept one promise, he might keep others.

Angus scowled at her delay. “Some of it.” He contained his frustration, however. “Resources, mostly. Possibilities. Applications. I don’t think even Dios saw this exact disaster coming. He’s just good at planning for emergencies.

“But I know how to use it,” he avowed. He might have been taking an oath—the same oath Min took when she’d raised her hand as a target. Then he laughed like a burst of thrust distortion. “Maybe that’s why he picked me. There’s nobody better.”

When she felt sure he’d told the truth, she was ready.

Days ago, in another lifetime, he’d pleaded with her to let him edit his datacore. I made a deal with you, he’d reminded her. I gave you the zone implant control. You let me live. Then he’d said, I kept my end. Whether you kept yours or not.

As far as she could tell, that was the truth as well.

When I hurt you, I hurt myself.

She knew how to trust him.

“All right.” To herself she sounded unnaturally calm; as calm as he was. Somehow she reached past her fears to the answer she needed. If lost Deaner Beckmann’s hypothesis was accurate, the sheer gravity of her plight had pulled her to a new kind of clarity. Davies had already agreed to take the risk. “We’ll do it your way. As soon as you tell us exactly what you’ve got in mind. You’re playing by new rules. So am I. Maybe we can change the rules of the whole game.”

Then she leaned back in her g-seat and let an unfamiliar quiet settle over her heart.