MORN

Two days later, when the Governing Council for Earth and Space met formally to consider recent events, Morn Hyland watched the proceedings on a video screen.

President Len had insisted on convening this session in the Council’s kaze-damaged meeting hall. He’d announced that he considered the venue symbolically important: he wished the split doors and cracked floor, the concussion-gouged plaster and paint, to serve as tangible reminders of the cost of what had transpired. In other words—according to Min Donner—he meant to rub the Members’ noses in the mistake of trusting Holt Fasner and the UMC. So humankind’s GCES representatives sat in their assigned places around the large, half-oval table which occupied much of the floor, with their aides, advisers, and secretaries ranked behind them in tiers of seats rising to the walls. Morn recognized the scene, although she’d never been to Suka Bator: it was familiar from any number of news broadcasts and UMCP briefings.

Within the oval, chairs had been arranged for the Council’s guests. Davies and Mikka sat there, accompanied by UMCP Acting Director Min Donner, PR Director Koina Hannish, Captain Dolph Ubikwe, ED Chief of Security Mandich, and Hashi Lebwohl. The former DA director currently had no title: he was officially under suspension pending a review of his role in Warden Dios’—and Holt Fasner’s—crimes.

Morn wasn’t with them because she’d refused to attend. She’d already told her story; laid bare her shame and pain in front of these same people. And she felt weighed down by loss. Ciro’s death, and Vector’s, and Warden’s, seemed to lie on her heart like slabs of lead. The memory of Sib Mackern’s abandoned end ached like a bruise. For a time even Angus’ disappearance had troubled her in ways she couldn’t name. She was afraid she might start to weep under the eyes of the Council—and once she began crying she wouldn’t be able to stop.

That crisis would come. It had to. But when it did, she meant to confront it in her own way; at her own time.

Somewhere Mikka Vasaczk had found the strength to face the assembled authority of humankind, despite her injuries. And Min Donner could do the same, even though she’d lost the man she served. But neither of them had accepted the control to a zone implant from a killer and rapist—or believed they couldn’t survive without it. Morn Hyland was no longer willing to endure the anguish of answering questions, or standing up under scrutiny.

Fortunately Min had accepted her decision; supported it. The acting director had assigned her a suite of rooms in UMCPHQ, given her codes to lock her doors against anyone. The suite was supplied with video screens and data terminals, if she wished to use them. She even had her own food-vend. And the entire station had standing orders to leave her alone; let her come and go as she pleased.

As much as possible, she was allowed to make her own peace with what had happened.

She didn’t think that she would ever be at peace again. Nevertheless she was deeply grateful for Min’s consideration. Real privacy comforted her even when it failed to relieve her pain. She didn’t keep to herself all the time, however. During the two days since Calm Horizons’ death and UMCHO’s destruction, she’d spent hours with Davies and Mikka, talking about what they’d done—and how they bore it. And she’d given Min as much time as Min asked for; done her best to explain and describe everything so that Min would understand the whole story.

But she found no solace in words, no matter how much she cared about the people who said them. Mikka’s courage and Davies’ desire to help did nothing for her. Messages of congratulations, thanks, and praise from the GCES and Koina Hannish, Earth’s planetary governments, other stations, even corporations once owned by the UMC: all arrived at her data terminal stillborn. She felt no triumph over what she and Trumpet’s people had accomplished; no vindication. The way Warden Dios had used her and the others—the way he’d trusted them—neither incensed nor gratified her. Apparently only solitude could reach her where she grieved. She clung to the loneliness of her quarters, unwilling to venture forth until she was ready.

During those two days, only one small bit of news lifted the edge of her sorrow. UMCPHQ had received a flare from Motherlode, tight-beamed moments before the gap yacht had disappeared into tach. Min had shared it with Morn as soon as it came in.

Dios told me to stop Fasner, Angus had sent. So I did. But I’m going to keep his ship. I like it.

Tell Morn that Fasner was easy. Dios did the hard part.

And tell her I told him to say good-bye.

For reasons she didn’t question, Morn was pleased that Angus hadn’t died on HO.

Min allowed her a moment to absorb the message. Then the acting director remarked, “You know what this means. Angus has Holt’s data.”

According to one of HO’s surviving techs, a man named Servil, the Dragon had downloaded all his essential files to Motherlode before leaving the station.

Quietly Morn asked, “Does that worry you?”

Min chuckled without much humor. “Not really. We have codes to fry his brain. He knows that. I don’t think he’ll want to call attention to himself by using that data.

“And Hashi assures me he still can’t come here. He’s been freed in other ways, but his datacore won’t let him do that. Which limits the amount of damage he can do.”

Then she added, “On the other hand, those secrets give him a lever. We don’t want to risk provoking him. If he thinks he’s being hassled, he might decide to strike back. It’s a standoff of sorts. Weil all be happier if we leave each other alone.”

Morn was glad that he was alive. She was even glad that he had the means to defend his freedom. And she was profoundly glad that he was gone. At last she could let go of the sore, conflicted part of herself which cared what happened to him.

For the rest of the time before she began to watch this session of the Council, only being alone helped her; protected her. The lock on her door was all that held back the consequences of her ordeal while she tried to gather her courage.

Shortly after Punisher had reached UMCPHQ, Min had informed Morn that Warden Dios had sent her a message before he died. He’d sent one to Min as well—and to Hashi Lebwohl. Morn’s was available on her terminal whenever she wanted to look at it. But she hadn’t read it. For two days she’d told herself that nothing Warden could say to her would make a difference now. In fact, however, she needed to isolate herself from him as much as from the GCES and most of UMCPHQ. She feared his message would break down the fragile barrier which prevented her from collapsing into her grief.

After a certain number of formalities, President Len began the session by describing briefly the aftermath of Calm Horizons’ incursion. The entire intricate complex of the UMC was in disarray, he explained, with staggering implications for the financial structure of human society; but few lives had been lost. Most of the deaths were the result of Acting Director Donner’s necessary strike against UMCHO—and of Warden Dios’ more ambiguous destruction of the platform. Financial structures could and would be repaired. Considering all the dangers that had been averted—by actions of almost unimaginable valor and resourcefulness—the planet should deem itself enormously fortunate.

Other issues were more disturbing. Len was sure that Calm Horizons must have communicated with forbidden space before approaching Earth. Therefore the Amnion possessed the Shaheed formula. And therefore it was only a matter of time before the formula was rendered ineffective.

For that, at least, Morn had forgiven herself. Long before Vector had begun to broadcast his formula, the Amnion had obtained it from her blood. She’d placed her entire species in danger for the sake of her own survival. But she’d preserved her humanity. Her only alternative had been surrender: a kind of self-destruct. She’d come to believe that the need for a better answer was more important than keeping Nick’s antimutagen secret.

Some of the Members, President Len now proclaimed, would argue that humankind should attack the Amnion immediately, while the Shaheed formula remained viable. A decision would be made in a few days. But he warned that he would strenuously oppose any hostile response. In his view, an assault on forbidden space would be desperately shortsighted: too unsure of success; too expensive to carry out. War was the worst possible solution to interstellar conflict, and he meant to stand in its way as long as he held office.

Apparently he, too, felt the need for a better answer.

When he’d finished stating his position, he asked for preliminary reports from Acting Director Donner and Chief of Security Mandich. Stiffly, Min discussed the disposition of Earth’s forces and the defense of human space in case the Amnion attempted a preemptive strike of their own. She also described the charges against the Home Security guards who had escaped UMCHO. Mandich talked about how the UMCP meant to handle the rest of HO’s survivors. He detailed the failure of security which had allowed Holt Fasner to send out kazes with legitimate id and credentials, and suggested procedural changes to protect against similar problems in the future.

With those issues out of the way, the Council turned its attention to the events which had brought Calm Horizons to Earth—and to the people who had saved the planet from both the Amnion and Holt Fasner.

In a tone that brooked no objection, Min explained Morn’s absence. Then President Len asked Davies to address the Members.

He was the logical choice to speak for Trumpet’s people. He had all of Morn’s memories up to the moment of his birth. And after that he’d participated in most of what she and Angus and Trumpet had done. But he was also the logical choice in another, more personal sense.

During the past two days, Morn had seen that he was changed. His confrontation with the Amnion and his own fear in order to rescue Warden Dios had transformed him in some way. She had the impression that he’d inherited a part of Angus she didn’t understand and couldn’t measure. He’d faced an even more global version of the fear she’d felt when Nick had delivered her to the Amnion. He’d committed him self absolutely to the fight for Warden’s humanity—and his own. And he’d succeeded. In that way he was directly responsible for Holt Fasner’s final defeat; for the destruction of HO, and for Angus’ presence aboard Motherlode.

A fundamental doubt had been burned out of him. Despite Morn’s memories, he’d begun to believe in who he was. For that reason he could face the Council with more certainty and clarity than she would have been able to muster.

Standing before the assembled Members, he told her story again; but it was also his own story, and Trumpet’s. He went into more detail than she had two days ago: he emphasized different aspects; arranged his explanations in a different order. But it was essentially the same story, extended to include her indirect dealings with Marc Vestabule and the rescue of Warden Dios. When he was done, her only regret was that he seemed to confuse shame and courage. He’d made her sound braver than she was.

She may have helped topple the Dragon’s empire; but she wasn’t yet brave enough to leave her rooms.

The ovation which greeted Davies’ tale nearly cost Morn her tenuous self-command. Surging to their feet, the Members thundered applause around him until her eyes burned and a thick heat filled her throat. He was her son. The voices which had questioned and challenged her when she’d spoken to the Council were nowhere to be heard. Everyone in the hall clapped and clapped as if they had no other language for their gratitude.

Swallowing tears, Morn left the screen; went to the san for a drink of water. She didn’t return until the applause had subsided.

Once the Members and their staffs had resumed their seats, President Len asked Mikka if she wanted to add anything.

Mikka shook her head. She didn’t rise. “I’m just a witness,” she answered gruffly. “I don’t have anything to say. I’m only here to make sure you don’t believe any lies about Ciro or Vector. Or Sib Mackern. Or Morn Hyland.

“I’ll speak up if I hear something that isn’t true.”

She may have been an illegal; but she seemed to sit in judgment on the Council itself. Her part in saving the planet and her bereavement—gave her an unimpeachable authority.

The President cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Are you satisfied so far?”

Mikka snorted, apparently at the idea that anything here could satisfy her. Instead of answering, she countered, “What’s going to happen to us? Applause is nice. I would rather have something more tangible.”

Min leaned forward, whispered to Mikka. But Mikka didn’t stop.

“I’m an illegal. Morn broke the law. Davies would make an interesting research subject Director Donner helped Warden Dios commit his crimes. And Captain Ubikwe let him go blow up a station, when it was obviously the captain’s duty to arrest him.

“There’s nothing you can do to Angus. I’m glad of that. But the rest of us have been sitting on our hands for two days, wondering what we’ll have to suffer. I would like to know how you propose to treat us.”

Morn smiled wanly at the screen. There were times when she admired Mikka more than she could say. Nick’s former command second didn’t hesitate to put the Governing Council for Earth and Space to the test.

However, Len’s expression and tone made it obvious that he took no offense. “Mikka Vasaczk,” he responded, “you’ve already suffered more than we can imagine. We certainly don’t intend to add to your distress by leaving you worried about your fate. But you can appreciate that the issues we face are complex. A number of select committees have been at work virtually around the clock since the crisis ended, studying various aspects of our situation. I won’t impose on your patience by asking you to hear what they all have to say. For this session we’ll only listen to recommendations from three of them.”

Without delay the President introduced Captain Sixten Vertigus, the United Western Bloc Senior Member.

The old man rose unsteadily to his feet. His hands shook until he braced his arms on the table. But his voice was clear and firm, and his eyes shone as he spoke.

“My committee,” he said directly to Mikka, “was charged to consider what we’ve been calling ‘Trumpet’s people’—you and your brother, Davies and Morn Hyland, Dr. Shaheed and Sib Mackern. And I have to tell you frankly that we’ve been given the benefit of Warden Dios’ opinion on the subject. His last officially logged order was addressed to Min Donner. It reads: Full pardons for Mikka Vasaczk, Ciro Vasaczk, Vector Shaheed, Morn Hyland. They can have anything they want. Relocation, treatment, money, jobs, new id—anything. All they have to do is name it. Apparently the director didn’t mention Davies because there aren’t any charges against him.

“But we don’t need that kind of guidance. Our gratitude toward you all is greater than any words can suggest. Whatever mistakes you’ve made, whatever misdeeds you’ve committed, you’ve spilled your own blood and risked your own lives for humanity’s sake. Cops are expected to do that. Illegals aren’t. The less reason you had to do it, the more we prize what you’ve done. You’ve humbled us all.

“My committee urges the Council to accept Warden Dios’ recommendations.” At once applause erupted again, filling the hall until the video pickup crackled. Captain Vertigus wasn’t done, however. Somehow he made himself heard through the ovation. “But those recommendations aren’t enough. You deserve more.”

By the time he sat down, the Members had voted the Emblem of Valor, the planet’s highest civilian honor, for Mikka Vasaczk and Davies Hyland; for Ciro Vasaczk, Vector Shaheed, and Sib Mackern posthumously; and for Morn Hyland in absentia.

Again Morn blinked at damp fire in her eyes, swallowed against the pressure in her throat. Bit by bit her restraint was being broken down. She feared what would happen when it failed, but there was little she could do to stop the process. Perhaps its time had come. She hardly heard President Len explain that the Emblem of Valor carried a sizable pension as well as the moral equivalent of diplomatic immunity.

Gently he asked Mikka, “Does that help?”

With an effort she nodded. “Yes, it does.” Like Morn, she may have been close to tears.

While Morn struggled to compose herself, Len called on Tel Burnish, the Member for Valdor Industrial. His committee had been assigned to consider the future leadership of the new Space Defense Police, with special attention to questions which had been or might be raised concerning Min Donner’s conduct and Hashi Lebwohl’s self-confessed dishonesty.

Burnish replied without hesitation. “We’re unanimous, Mr. President,” he reported crisply. “We recommend Min Donner’s confirmation as Director of the SDP. We see no reason to challenge either her qualifications or her integrity. Her loyalty to Warden Dios served him well. It will serve us better.”

Min bowed her head. Only the tightening in her shoulders betrayed what she felt.

“Further,” Burnish continued, “we recommend Captain Dolph Ubikwe’s appointment as Enforcement Division Director. His courage and dedication under all sorts of pressure is beyond question. And we respect his decision to let Warden Dios go to UMCHO. We think he should be honored for it.”

Dolph muttered something the pickup missed. A huge grin stretched his dark face.

“Finally,” the VI Member concluded, “we urge Hashi Lebwohl’s reinstatement as Data Acquisition Director. However, we do so primarily at Min Donner’s request. She observes that his skills and qualifications are irreplaceable. We’ve seen evidence of that in his efforts to expose Holt Fasner’s kazes. But in addition she’s shown us a transmission which she received from Warden Dios immediately before HO’s destruction. The director’s final message defends Director Lebwohl’s complete probity, and takes full personal responsibility for any actions which might cast doubt on DA. Warden Dios—and Min Donner believe that no man can or will serve SDPDA better than Hashi Lebwohl.”

Some of the Members appeared surprised by this; but no one objected. When President Len asked the Council to respond, all three appointments were accepted by acclamation.

Disguised by his smudged glasses, Hashi’s face revealed nothing.

Morn approved dimly. She didn’t trust Hashi Lebwohl; but she owed both Min and Dolph a debt she would never be able to repay. Under the pressure of her mounting grief, however, she felt too fragile to let their vindication touch her strongly.

She moved to key off the video screen. The session had become more poignant than she could bear. She wasn’t ready to let go of her defenses yet. But she stopped with her fingers on the keypad when she heard President Len announce that Punjat Silat would speak next. He was the Senior Member for the Combined Asian Islands and Peninsulas; and his committee had been formed to pass judgment on Warden Dios.

She didn’t want to hear this—yet she was transfixed by it. She’d hardly known Warden Dios the man. But Warden Dios the icon, the symbol and embodiment of the ideals and service of the UMCP, was one of the central figures of her life; perhaps the central figure. Her whole family had revolved around his ideas, his beliefs; his power of conviction.

Instead of blanking her screen, she sat down to listen as if she believed that any judgment of Warden Dios would be a judgment of her as well.

The scholarly Senior Member spoke in the slow, dignified tones of a eulogy. Nevertheless his presentation was admirably concise and coherent. For two days, he reported, he and his committee had gathered and studied all the information available on the actions—and intentions—of the former UMCP director. The committee had questioned Min Donner, Hashi Lebwohl, and Koina Hannish at length, asking them to place their personal knowledge in the context of both Koina Hannish’s and Morn Hyland’s testimony before the Council. In addition, the Members had examined the most readily accessible of Warden Dios’ private records—a scrutiny which Hashi Lebwohl had made possible by supplying some of the former director’s codes.

“Beyond question,” Punjat Silat stated, “Warden Dios violated his oath of office, as well as his own professed ideals, in profound and fundamental ways. That he did so knowingly, with full awareness of the implications of his actions, is made plain by his personal records. However, his records also indicate that he committed his crimes for the clear, unwavering, and single purpose of breaking Holt Fasner’s grip on humanity’s future.

“This is confirmed—albeit often inferentially—by the most trusted of his subordinates. And it is given circumstantial support by Morn Hyland’s remarkable evidence.

“Does that excuse him? Certainly not. His actions tainted the entire structure of humankind’s defense against the Amnion. They inspired an act of war. Millions upon millions of lives might have been lost, incalculable damage done. By that measure, his conduct was unconscionable in the extreme.”

For a moment Morn couldn’t see the screen through her tears. Now more than ever she missed her zone implant control; wanted to be able to stifle and manage her own reactions. But Vector had cursed her—or saved her—by breaking it. She had no artificial defense against herself; no induced strength.

Perhaps she didn’t need it. Somewhere inside her there had to be a better answer than self-destruct.

“However,” Silat was saying, “my fellow Members and I found that we could not ignore a question which Warden Dios himself often raised in his private records.

“What else could he have done?

“The path of his duty was sufficiently plain. From the moment when he first recognized Holt Fasner’s crimes, he should have worked to expose them. At the least he Should have resigned his position. But he should have done more. He should have arrested CEO Fasner and charged him before this Council.”

The Senior Member didn’t raise his voice. His dignity and gravity sufficed to fill his words with passion.

“Do any of you believe that he would have succeeded? At that time the GCES—and all humanity—were dependent on the UMC. Holt Fasner owned the UMCP. Both personally and publicly, our lives hung on his decisions. A man willing to send out kazes might have cheerfully murdered Warden Dios and defied the Council to hold him accountable. Or he could have simply threatened enough of us with ruin to block any investigation.

“Warden Dios was unable to endure the prospect of failure.

“Our committee believes that his actions were unconscionable. We also consider them profoundly realistic. Instead of offering a relatively small and premature challenge to the most powerful man in human space, he chose to risk the dangerous path of complicity. By participating in Holt Fasner’s crimes, he gained the CEO’s vulnerability. And when those crimes at last became large enough, heinous enough, to sway even this dependent Council, he took steps to expose them.

“In this way his own crimes became the weapons with which he put a stop to Holt Fasner’s larger wrongs.”

Oh, Warden. Morn groaned aloud without hearing herself. His name clogged her throat. Became the weapons— In her own, smaller way, she’d used the same argument to justify accepting her black box from Angus.

“Most difficult to forgive,” Punjat Silat admitted, “is the former director’s decision to instigate an act of war. There, however, my fellow Members and I believe that events ran beyond his control. His inclusion of the Amnion in his manipulations is clearly culpable, justified only by a desire to ensure that any challenge to the UMC would not be allowed to weaken the UMCP. However, he could not have known that Morn Hyland would give birth to a son in forbidden space—or that Davies Hyland would be a prize for which the Amnion would hazard an assault on Earth. He could not have known that Captain’s Fancy would learn Amnion secrets while Morn and Davies Hyland were aboard.

“And he did everything in his power to pay the price of his culpability. He went to Calm Horizons alone in a desperate and valiant attempt to negotiate for our survival. Remember this. He absolutely could not have known that he would be rescued, or that Calm Horizons would be destroyed, by the very people who had suffered most for his actions.”

Measuring out his words with the heavy tread of a funeral march, Silat concluded, “Our committee acknowledges the malfeasance of the former UMCP director. We recommend a full and complete pardon. If our mortality permitted us to truly honor the dead, we would drop to our knees at Warden Dios’ feet.”

It was too much. No longer sure what she did, Morn stumbled away from the screen. As the session ended, Len spoke of commendations for Koina Hannish and Sixten Vertigus; but she wasn’t listening.

A full and complete pardon. For a man who hadn’t known her at all—and yet had understood her well enough to abuse her to the core. Understood her so well that he could abandon her to Angus and Nick, and yet believe that she would act on the ideals he’d betrayed. That she would keep those ideals alive for him.

You’re a cop, she’d once told Davies. From now on, I’m going to be a cop myself. And she’d kept her promise. We don’t do things like that.

We don’t use people.

In the end Warden had put a stop to it.

Through a blur of tears, she found her way to a seat in front of her terminal. Her hands shook as she tapped keys to access his last message. Hugging herself to contain her distress, she picked his words out of the phosphors on her readout.

Two days ago he’d written:

Sobs rose in her chest before she finished reading. Hungry for comfort, she hugged herself the same way her father had held her when he’d told her about her mother’s death.

And tell her I told him to say good-bye.

Angus had suggested this?

Straining against her grief, she finished Warden’s message.

There her last restraint broke, and a storm of tears swept through her; carried her out of herself into shattering and unanswerable sorrow. Wailing like a child, deserted and bereft, she battered her hands on the board of her data terminal; pounded on her upper arms and thighs. For her this was the reality of being human and mortal, undefended by zone implants: utter pain; the opposite end of the universe from the clarity of gap-sickness. Sobs poured from her so hard that they seemed to tear her throat; seemed to cramp the muscles of her chest like spasms of nausea.

She wept for her parents and family. She wept for what Angus had done to her—and for the cowardice of accepting her zone implant control from him. She wept for the lies she’d used to manipulate Nick Succorso. She wept over the way Davies had been made to suffer by Nick’s justified outrage; wept over Angus’ welding. She wept for Mikka’s grim courage and Min’s determination. Finally she wept for the dead: for poor Sib Mackern, frightened and abandoned, whose self-sacrifice had helped protect them in the asteroid swarm; for calm, lonely Vector Shaheed, the “savior of humankind”; for Ciro Vasaczk, following Sorus Chatelaine’s example to its conclusion; and for Warden Dios, the last UMCP director, who had used Morn to preserve humankind’s future—and died proud of her.

She cried for a long time.

But when the storm finally receded, she found that she understood something she’d never grasped before.

She could bear it. She sufficed. Because she must.

Almost tottering in the aftermath of so many tears, she went into the san to clean her face. Instead of washing it, however, she immersed her head in vacuum-chilled water and let the cold baptize her until the sting had brought her back into her body; restored her relationship with herself. While she dried her hair, she stared at her reflection in the mirror as if she wanted to memorize her own face; confirm that it was hers.

Eventually she discovered that she could look herself in the eyes.

Once her hair was dry, she put on a fresh shipsuit. Then she unlocked her doors and went out to meet the future.