ANGUS

He wanted to reach Trumpet. That was the only escape he’d been able to imagine for himself. Board the gap scout before Mikka started burning: close the airlocks connecting the two vessels. Then he might stand a chance. If Ciro’s grenade devoured Calm Horizons—and Trumpet’s thrust was powerful enough to break the grip of the black hole’s feral g—and Min Donner’s ships relaxed their guard when they saw the Amnioni die: then Angus might be able to take the gap scout and run.

If he did all that, he would have to take Mikka with him. But the idea didn’t trouble him. She would be the best second he’d ever had. And he didn’t think she’d object. Ciro would be dead; no longer in need of her. On top of that, she might not like the uncertainty of her future in the cops’ hands. She might welcome the chance to get away from them.

Angus had endured a lifetime of terror during the crossing between the defensive and the command module. The velocity of his expulsion from Calm Horizons had increased his usual fear of EVA by several orders of magnitude. Instinctively he believed that if his zone implants hadn’t protected him his own blood pressure would have burst his heart.

Once the module’s airlock had cycled shut behind him, however, surrounding him with sweet, safe air so that he could breathe again, rip off his helmet, and really breathe, he forgot everything except escape. He needed a ship: needed to run. Nothing else could relieve his fury at the Amnion—or his dread at what Warden Dios and Hashi Lebwohl might do to him now.

But Trumpet was denied to him. Dolph Ubikwe had already sealed his hatchesair—a predictable precaution in case the grapples failed and Trumpet’s power pulled the two small ships apart.

And there was no time. Mikka hit thrust so hard, generated so much acceleration g, that even Angus’ reinforced strength might not have been enough to preserve him while he fought to gain Trumpet’s bridge. He was barely able to flip himself into one of the module’s g-seats and close the belts before the howl of the drive threatened to squeeze him unconscious.

He couldn’t escape. He was a welded cyborg: the child of the crib. He’d spent his whole life fleeing; but he’d never escaped anything.

Once he’d confirmed that Davies and Dios had also reached the protection of the g-seats, he let his tired limbs settle into the cushions as if he were surrendering to his mother; to Warden Dios and despair.

He didn’t see chaos erupt across the module’s scan as Trumpet’s dispersion field transformed matter cannon beams to boson madness. He wasn’t looking. But he felt the birth of the black hole. A terrible gravitic fist slammed against him when Ciro’s grenade bloomed into ravening and incalculable hunger.

Then he knew absolutely that Dios had won. Ciro’s rifle had supplied enough energy to spark the grenade’s nascent singularity. The forces he’d unleashed had killed him nanoseconds ago—a quantum eternity within the discontinuities of the event horizon. Now those same forces fed on Calm Horizons—dragged the immense defensive down to the size of a pinpoint—

—fed and grew stronger.

Just for an instant Angus wondered whether Mikka had considered how the black hole’s power would increase as it consumed Calm Horizons. But after that he wondered nothing; thought nothing. In spite of his zone implants, the pressure of g drained the blood from his brain, and he fell from consciousness into his mother’s forlorn embrace.

Finally fatal g faded to lightness like crossing the gap into death: a lifting evaporation so poignant that he didn’t think he could bear it. After aeons of cruel mass—ages which his computer measured in far smaller increments—the burden of his mortality dropped away, and he felt himself drift through relief and darkness as if in some nameless, essential form he’d been cut loose.

Somehow during the past few days he’d learned how to access his datalink without thinking about it. His computer informed him coldly that he’d been unconscious for thirteen seconds. So apparently he wasn’t dead. A dead man might not have been able to extract an answer from the machine window in his head.

Yet everything that had ever weighed him down was gone: mass; flesh; dread. Thirteen seconds had brought him to the far side of an inner abyss—a personal fissure like the cracks in his discarded faceplate.

Deaner Beckmann had speculated that a human bred for g might be able to survive inside a black hole; might pass through it to an entirely different kind of life. When Angus remembered that, he began to wonder what had happened to him.

He blinked his dry, sore eyes until they ran. Slowly the blackness dissipated as if it were being vented like waste from an overstressed scrubber; released to vacuum. With tears on his cheeks, he looked up at the command module’s display screens.

Scan was clear. For some reason that surprised him: he’d expected the wild aftereffects of a boson storm—or the distorted spectrum inside the black hole’s event horizon, Dopplering backward toward extinction. Yet screens reported data he could recognize. A helm schematic marked the module’s position relative to UMCPHQ, Punisher, Dormer’s ships, and the vanished Amnioni. Status indicators reported that the grapples still held Trumpet; that the last traces of matter cannon emission had faded; that the pressure of g was gone; that the module retained structural integrity; that UMCPHQ, Punisher, and several other ships signaled for contact Instead of burning, Trumpet and the module now coasted gently along the rim of a planetary orbit. Mikka must have programmed helm to take over when she lost consciousness; to assume this heading and drop thrust once the danger of the black hole passed.

But of course it made sense that scan was clear. Ciro’s singularity had gulped down the boson storm as easily as it had swallowed Calm Horizons. And since then the module’s instruments and computers had had plenty of time to reestablish their grasp on reality.

Morn had feared the singularity’s hunger. A force powerful enough to crush Calm Horizons might also snag UMCPHQ from its orbit; suck down Punisher and the other ships; even threaten Earth. But Min Donner had assured her that wouldn’t happen. The ED Director seemed to know by heart every spec and capability of every weapon the UMCP designed. She’d told Morn small black holes burned hotter than large ones—and the hotter they burned, the faster they consumed themselves. A black hole with the mass of a star would remain cool enough to feed and grow. But a black hole with no more mass than a planet might well be less than a cm in diameter—a tiny thing, despite its vast g; hot as the core of a sun. And Ciro’s singularity had only Calm Horizons’ mass to sustain it.

One of the module’s screens reported that the entire life span of this black hole had been 5.9 seconds.

Long enough to transform every exercise of power in human space; every interaction between humankind and the Amnion from now on. And every connection in Angus’ head.

He knew he’d lost his only chance to escape. If Dolph had sealed the module’s airlocks, Mikka must have done the same to Trumpet’s—for the same reason. By the time Angus reopened this hatch and coded his way aboard the gap scout, other people would regain consciousness. The fat man or Davies would start talking to Punisher: Dios would start talking to UMCPHQ. They would be able to warn Donner when Trumpet broke the module’s grapples—and her ships would have plenty of time to fix targ before Angus acquired the velocity for a gap crossing.

He couldn’t run. Just for the moment, however, he didn’t mind. The lightness of his body seemed to fill his head, as if the black hole had eaten away everything that normally drove him, everything he recognized about himself, leaving him as weightless as a new soul.

Entirely by coincidence, he’d belted himself into the module’s communications station. But the board lay lifeless in front of him: its functions had been routed to Dolph’s console. Demands for contact from UMCPHQ and Punisher blinked at Dolph’s face, not his. He felt free to ignore them.

While the sensation lasted, he let himself enjoy it.

It lasted longer than he would have believed possible. Parts of it were still with him when Captain Ubikwe abruptly jerked against his belts, blinked his g-stressed eyes, and peered urgently at his command readouts.

“Welcome back, fat man,” Angus drawled. “You’ve all been out so long I might have thought you were dead. If I hadn’t heard you breathing.”

Dolph flinched a look toward the communications station. His heavy mouth hung open, but he couldn’t swallow enough moisture to speak.

Piqued by an unfamiliar sense of affection, Angus added, “You snore, you know that? In fact you’re pretty damn good at it. On a scale of ten you rate at least eleven.”

Dolph’s throat worked for a moment. At last he choked out, “How long—?”

“Only about four minutes,” Angus answered. “You can relax. We aren’t in any trouble.” He bared his teeth in a predator’s smile. “But you missed the good part.”

Punisher’s captain frowned in confusion. “The good part?”

Angus gestured at the displays. “Calm Horizons doesn’t exist anymore. She fell into a black hole. Then I guess the black hole fell into itself.” He spread his arms expansively, stretched the muscles of his back until his spine popped. “I think this means we won, fat man.”

With an effort Captain Ubikwe consulted his readouts again. Slowly he seemed to gather strength from his board; the screens; Punisher’s familiar bridge. Data and circumstances he understood restored him like a transfusion.

He looked at Davies and Dios long enough to reassure himself that they were alive. Then he asked, “What about Mikka?”

Angus shrugged. “If she’s awake, she hasn’t said anything. Since we survived, I assume she did, too.” He was obliquely worried about Mikka himself. In another minute or two the man he’d become would feel compelled to go check on her. “But we’re safe enough,” he continued. “We don’t need Trumpet’s thrust. We can coast like this for quite a while before we need to worry about anything.”

Dolph considered the situation. “Well, by damn,” he muttered. His voice began to emerge from his chest more easily. “That’s amazing. Utterly—”

By degrees his mouth spread into a wide grin. “Of course,” he told Angus, “I had complete confidence. You have that effect on people. You can’t help it. It just happens. Automatic trust. Sort of like snoring, only less benign.

“I don’t know what Min’s going to do about you.” His eyes glittered humorously. “She’ll have to do something. You’re probably too dangerous to live. But if she decides to terminate you, I’m going to make sure you get a commendation before you die. That’s a promise.” He held up his hands as if to ward off thanks. “Anybody who accomplishes what you just did should have a commendation nailed to him somewhere, even if it has to be on your coffin instead of your chest.”

“How nice,” Angus growled in the same spirit. “I wish I could tell you how good that makes me feel. But it doesn’t. I’m so pleased I could puke.”

Because he knew Dolph was joking, he didn’t mention that he was prepared to fight for his right to go on living.

The captain replied with a relaxed chuckle. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I think they really do nail those commendations into you. Drive them right through your heart. Some people never recover.”

He might have gone on; but the UMCP director groaned suddenly. Warden made a convulsive effort to shift his hips as if he needed to adjust the vector of his suit jets. Then he jerked his eye open.

“Angus,” he croaked hoarsely. “Dolph. Where are we? What’s going on? Where’s that Amnioni?”

He could probably guess most of what Angus, Dolph, and Mikka had done. He’d seen it happen. But no one had told him about Ciro—

Dolph couldn’t restrain a quick laugh. “Gone!” he crowed. “Eaten by a black hole.” And then flung outward in an evanescent hail of subatomic particles when the black hole died. “Mikka Vasaczk’s brother, Ciro, set off one of Trumpet’s singularity grenades. The briefings I’ve read say those things don’t have much tactical use, but I’m here to tell you they work like magic if you do it right.”

Scowling, Dios rubbed his organic eye; slapped his face; straightened his back; pulled himself together by force of will. “Captain Ubikwe,” he ordered sharply, “start again. I didn’t understand a word you just said.”

On command Dolph dropped his levity. “Sorry, Director.” At once his gaze grew troubled; disturbed by images of Ciro—and Vector. “Nothing’s free,” he sighed. “We wanted to save you and Suka Bator. We wanted to save everything we possibly could. We’re just lucky the price wasn’t a hell of a lot higher.

“Ciro Vasaczk was an illegal. He served under Nick Succorso. But he gave his life to kill that Amnioni.”

Angus thought he ought to explain how Ciro had reacted to Sorus Chatelaine’s mutagen—the same mutagen Vestabule had inflicted on Dios. But he didn’t have the heart for it. An explanation would have made Ciro seem crazy. The boy deserved better.

Apparently Dolph felt the same way. He didn’t mention Ciro’s history. Instead he said, “He went EVA with a grenade. Attached it to Calm Horizons’ hull. After you joined me here, Mikka Vasaczk used Trumpet’s thrust to haul us out of range. She covered us with that dispersion field generator. Then Ciro fired an impact rifle at his grenade from point-blank range.

“We’re still here,” he finished simply. “The defensive isn’t.”

Dios happened to be at the targ station. A frown clenched his forehead, and he drummed his fingers on the edge of the inactive console, as if he were thinking furiously. His gaze flicked between Dolph, Angus, and the screens: he might have been measuring them against each other; estimating possibilities—

Damn, Angus breathed to himself. Damn it to hell. Warden was still scheming. He’d already won. If Fasner’s attack on the Council was any indication, Dios had gained everything he wanted. And yet he wasn’t done.

“It’s probably churlish to point this out,” Dios told Dolph gruffly, “but you took a hell of a risk.”

Captain Ubikwe’s eyes narrowed. All his muscles seemed to tighten, drawing his bulk into a harder shape. Grimly he answered, “Acting Director Donner sanctioned it in person.”

Without warning Davies raised his head, swung the data station to face Dolph and Dios. “Did you tell him this was all Angus’ idea, Captain?” he put in harshly. He must have been conscious for the past several minutes, listening with his eyes closed while he gathered his strength. Like Angus and Warden, he’d discarded his helmet in the airlock. The aftereffects of strain left his features livid and angry. “Vector and I were just going to sacrifice ourselves. We didn’t want the Council killed. Or a war. But Angus convinced Morn to let him do it this way instead.”

Bitterly Davies finished, “Did you tell him that’s the only reason he’s still alive?”

Angus stared at his son. Davies’ support surprised him. For a moment a strange emotion that might have been gratitude swelled in his chest. Apparently the man he’d become actually felt glad he had a son.

Lightness and release. Gratitude? Shit, his entire head had been filled with emotions he wasn’t used to and didn’t know how to handle.

If Dios was surprised, he didn’t show it. He faced Davies, searched the kid with his IR vision. Then he nodded to himself. “Davies Hyland,” he pronounced firmly. “You probably don’t need me to tell you you look like your father. But you think like your mother. That’s something to be proud of.”

Already his voice had recovered its natural authority. Angus remembered it vividly. The UMCP director had sounded much the same when he’d replaced Angus’ datacore.

We’ve committed a crime against you. In essence, you’re no longer a human being. We’ve deprived you of choice—and responsibility.

At the time, however, Angus had heard hints of self-loathing behind Warden’s ease of command. Now they were gone.

He’d avowed, It’s got to stop. And he’d kept that promise.

If anything, he’d become even more dangerous.

“Don’t worry about Angus,” he told Davies. “I have a pretty good idea how much I owe him. And I can at least guess what it cost him. I won’t forget.”

Then Dios turned back to Captain Ubikwe. “And I don’t object to the risk, Dolph. I’m just amazed by it. Grateful and humbled. You’ve given me a chance to finish what I started. I’ll try to make it worthwhile.”

Dolph nodded noncommittally. His heavy jaws chewed words he didn’t say; reactions he kept private.

Angus swore to himself. He thought he knew how Punisher’s commander felt. Make it worthwhile, shit. More plotting—more schemes. He’d had enough of Dios’ underhanded intentions. They were too expensive. He didn’t want to hear any more.

Before the director could go on, he rasped, “If you don’t call Mikka, fat man, I will. She’s been quiet too long.”

“You’re right,” Dolph agreed quickly. He seemed glad for the interruption. At once he thumbed his intercom. “Mikka?” he asked the pickup. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

Angus had watched him enough to understand that Dolph Ubikwe had his own reasons for outrage at Warden’s manipulations; a cop’s reasons. Maybe he didn’t think Warden’s actions were justified by Fasner’s defeat.

A moment passed before Mikka answered. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded thin and fragile; hoarse with coughing. “Sort of.” The voice of a woman who’d been beaten up. “I think—” She gasped weakly. “I think I’m bleeding somewhere. Inside. I’m going to sickbay—”

She faded out of the speakers as if she’d fainted.

“Damn it!” Angus slapped at his belts. “She needs help. I’ve got to—”

Davies cut him off. “No. I’ll go.” He gestured at the communications indicators on the status display. “Looks like Punisher and UMCPHQ are flaring us as hard as they can. I think there are some decisions that have to be made.” Suspicion and weariness stretched his voice taut. “I don’t need to know what they are. You do. They shouldn’t be made behind your back.”

More quietly he finished, “I can help Mikka as well as you can.”

Angus started to object, then relaxed back into his g-seat. Davies was right. If the UMCP director intended to make it worthwhile, Angus had to be ready to defend himself.

Dios’ victory was tarnished in ways Angus hadn’t expected.

Without waiting for a response, Davies unclipped his belts; drifted toward the hatch while Dolph cycled it open. But at the inner door he paused.

“Ciro was just a kid,” he said to Dios. “About my age—if I had an age. He was an illegal because that was the only life Mikka had to offer him. He didn’t deserve any of this.”

Warden nodded as if he understood; as if every suggestion of distrust made sense to him.

“Captain Ubikwe,” he commanded firmly, “log an order to Acting Director Min Donner. My last order. Full pardons for Mikka Vasaczk, Ciro Vasaczk, Vector Shaheed, Morn Hyland.” Morn had committed a capital crime when she’d accepted her zone implant control from Angus: she’d stolen the evidence against him—and used a zone implanton herself. In addition she was guilty of insubordination; perhaps even of mutiny. “They can have anything they want. Relocation, treatment, money, jobs, new id—anything. All they have to do is name it.

“Angus doesn’t need a pardon. He already works for us. And you haven’t done anything illegal.”

While Dolph murmured, “Aye, Director,” Warden held Davies’ gaze as if he wanted to ask, Does that help?

Angus could see that it did. Davies’ eyes softened, and some of the strain left his muscles. Relief or regret twisted the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you, Director,” he answered thickly.

With a quick jerk on the nearest handgrip, he pulled himself into the airlock and disappeared.

Remembering lightness, Angus waited to learn what Dios would do next. Whatever it was, he didn’t think he was going to like it. Nevertheless he was willing to be patient—at least for a little while.

He wanted to know whether Warden would leave him any choice.

“Director—” Dolph rumbled uncertainly. He pointed at the communications blips on his board. “I have to answer these. They’re getting frantic.”

“No!” Dios snapped at once. “Don’t answer them. That’s my last order for you.”

His voice had teeth: it could bite and tear when he let it.

“Min can stand the wait,” he went on. “And she can certainly deal with UMCPHQ. I don’t want you to say a word to either of them until Angus and I leave.”

“Leave?” Angus drawled. “I like the sound of that. Where are we going?”

A dark scowl closed Dolph’s face. “Director—” he began again. “I’m a UMCP officer. It’s my duty to report.”

Warden shook his head. “Of course. But not yet.

“Listen to me, Dolph. This is important.” He held himself still while intensity poured off him in waves. Yet his physical restraint only increased the force of what he said. “I want you to take Davies and Mikka to UMCPHQ. And protect them. Make sure Min understands I want them protected. Just in case the Council suffers a spasm of self-righteousness and decides to punish somebody.

“If I can persuade him to join me, Angus and I will use Trumpet to go visit Holt.” He permitted himself a stiff shrug. “You can talk to Min as soon as I’m gone.”

Angus felt a sting of surprise. Persuade? he wondered. Persuade him? To go visit Holt? Did Warden mean that? Or was persuade just a polite word for coerce?

Captain Ubikwe stared in distress at the man he’d served ever since he became a cop. “My God, Director,” he protested, “that doesn’t make any sense. You should talk to her yourself. Holt is finished. You can forget about him. You should—”

“No.” Dios spoke softly now, but his tone implied a shout. “Koina told the Council everything. Every crime I’ve helped commit—everything that makes you wonder whether you can trust me. I’m tainted, Dolph. I’m complicit in Holt’s crimes. As much responsible for them as he is. Even if the Council decided to pardon me, I would still consider myself responsible.

“If Min does her duty, her first action will be to place me under arrest for treason. She’ll order you to make me your prisoner and take me to UMCPHQ. And that might break her heart. She still believes in me.” He sounded certain. “I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on her. If she doesn’t arrest me, the Members won’t trust her. She’ll be tainted, too.”

He didn’t mention that Dolph might find it painful to arrest the director of the UMCP. He didn’t need to: the truth was plain on Dolph’s face. He recognized the accuracy of Warden’s prediction—and it horrified him.

Dios didn’t give him time to respond. The director’s vehemence mounted as he continued, “And Holt’s still alive. That I guarantee. Most of HO is intact. You can see it on scan.” He indicated the screens with a twitch of his head. “You can bet he made sure he was safe before he ordered that attack on Suka Bator. He is still alive.

“Worse than that, he still has most of his power. All his contracts and knowledge, databases, leverage—everything his real muscle is based on. He can probably ruin half the Members if they take direct action against him. He can destroy the entire fiscal structure that supports us against forbidden space. Hell, if he wants to he can even sell the whole lot to the Amnion. You know he has ships and drones that weren’t damaged. Right now there’s nothing to stop him from packing his entire power-base aboard that yacht of his and hitting the gap with it.”

“Min’s cordon will interdict—” Dolph croaked weakly.

For an instant Warden’s control slipped. He punched one hard fist in the direction of the displays. Almost shouting, he retorted, “Those ships aren’t in position.”

Angus believed him; but he glanced at the helm schematic to confirm it. No question about it: a ship could flee untouched from the far side of Fasner’s station.

Which suggested some interesting possibilities—

Dolph’s heavy frame slumped. In dismay he murmured, “Do you really think he would sell all that?”

Dios closed his arms like restraints across his chest. “The Amnion can force-grow fetuses,” he said through his teeth. “They can imprint minds. They can make him immortal. And they’ll be glad to do it when they see what he has to sell.Yes, I think he might go that far.

“That’s why I want you to let Angus and me go over there. Let us stop him. Permanently. Before he has time to commit a crime that’s worse than anything else he’s done.”

More gently he concluded, “And I want you to do it without disobeying orders from the acting director. You shouldn’t have that on your record. Which means you can’t talk to her until after we’re on our way.”

Dolph propped his forehead on one hand to hide his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at Warden anymore—or couldn’t bear the way Warden looked at him. For a moment he didn’t say anything. His shoulders knotted as he squeezed at his temples.

In a muffled voice he sighed. “You aren’t coming back, are you”—a statement, not a question.

Dios gripped himself hard. “What would be the point?”

A sound like a buried groan leaked past Dolph’s fingers. He didn’t go on.

“Fine,” Angus snorted. He couldn’t wait any longer: he wanted to know where he stood. “Let’s pretend everything you say is reasonable. And sane. Here’s my question.

“How do you propose to ‘persuade’ me to go along with you?”

Slowly the director turned his g-seat so that he could look straight at Angus.

“You need me, that’s obvious,” Angus stated. “If Fasner’s still alive, then he still has defenses. You won’t have an easy time tackling him alone.

“But why should I bother?” The first time Warden had talked to him, at the start of his mission to rescue Morn, Angus had hardly been able to meet the man’s piercing, augmented gaze. Now he held it easily. The more honest Warden became, the less Angus feared him. “Are you planning to threaten me with some kind of self-destruct? Some code that’ll fry my brain, or scramble my instruction-sets, or short-circuit my datacore? I’m sure you can do it. Hashi fucking Lebwohl wouldn’t miss a chance to hardwire me with something that nasty.”

Dios didn’t look away. “No,” he said flatly, “I’m not going to threaten you. I’m through extorting the kind of help I need.”

Then his voice showed its teeth. “You’ll go with me because I’m taking Trumpet. You’ll have to kill me to stop me. You may even have to kill Dolph.” He flicked a glance at Dolph, but didn’t wait for the captain to say anything. “And once I leave, you’re stuck. You’ll end up in custody on UMCPHQ. Unless you force Min to open fire on you. In which case Davies and Mikka will die with you.

“Either way, I don’t think you’ll like it much.”

Angus faced him with a feral grin. “Or,” he countered, “I could go with you part of the way and then kill you. I want a ship of my own. Trumpet suits me pretty well.”

Even then Warden didn’t look away. He’d been staring at the consequences of his own actions for so long that nothing could make him flinch. “I’ll take that chance.”

Angus sighed inwardly, where it didn’t show. For no good reason except that the director had finally begun to keep his promises, Angus believed him. Min Donner was right: Dios was trying to make restitution.

Still grinning, Angus shifted his attention to Captain Ubikwe. “There’s something he hasn’t told you, fat man. Vestabule gave him a mutagen.”

That hit Dolph hard. He snatched down his hand, jerked up his head. His eyes flared dumb anguish at Warden.

“It’s the same kind Sorus Chatelaine used on Ciro,” Angus explained harshly. “He’ll stay human as long as he takes the drug to keep it passive. Which he has in his pocket. A few pills—a few hours.”

Dolph tried to ask a question, but he couldn’t make his throat work.

“So it’s really worse than it looks,” Angus went on. “If you take him back to UMCPHQ, you can cure him. Lebwohl’s antimutagen will do it. Then you can execute him for treason. Or you can let him go after Fasner. Let him finish himself off.

“The way I see it, he’s tainted in more ways than one. He’s been a cop too long. He’s finally realized the same rules he kills other people for breaking should apply to him, too.

“I’m starting to like that about you,” he remarked to Dios.

Then he told Dolph, “I don’t think your acting director is going to thank you for bringing him in. She won’t want to watch what happens to him.”

For a moment Dolph seemed to stagger on the brink of a personal precipice, fighting for balance. Despite his insubordinate nature, he’d served Warden Dios—and Min Donner—with his life. But now all ordinary definitions of fidelity appeared to fail him. He looked as lost as Angus had ever felt in an EVA suit as he confronted his choices and tried not to fall—

By degrees he slumped forward until only his elbows kept him off the command board. Bowing his head, he muttered, “Oh, well. I should have known this was all too easy. You’re a hard man, Warden. Sometimes I wonder why everybody who works for you doesn’t commit seppuku.”

He nodded toward the open airlock and Trumpet. “If worse comes to worst, I can always say you were gone before I woke up. When sickbay’s done with her, Davies can bring Mikka over here. I’ll release the grapples as soon as we seal the locks.”

Softly he ended, “Warden Dios, you owe me for this.”

Dios nodded. A film of moisture blurred his human eye. He had to swallow a couple of times before he could say, “I’ll pay.”

But he didn’t allow himself time for emotion. He may have feared that his self-command could break. At once he asked, “Angus?”

“Shit,” Angus growled cheerfully, “I can’t miss this. I’ve done all kinds of hunting, but I’ve never gone after a dragon.”

He no longer recognized himself at all. Between the two of them, Morn and Warden had welded him in ways he didn’t understand and couldn’t measure. Some essential part of him had been transformed by people who kept their promises.

The situation was full of possibilities.