The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (21 page)

Don’t
get cute with me, Dolph, she wanted to snap at him. Her dreams had made her
bitter. I asked a straight question — give me a straight answer. But she
controlled the impulse. He didn’t need her sarcasm.
Punisher
was already
in enough trouble.

Instead
she replied quietly, “Keep it simple, Captain. I’m still half-asleep. Where are
we?”

“At the
moment” — the intercom couldn’t do justice to his subterranean growl — “we’re
thirty thousand k off forbidden space on the far side of the belt from
Com-Mine. We would have been in position an hour and a half ago, but I haven’t
been able to find a hiding place that suits me.” His tone suggested a
humourless grin. “We’re just dodging asteroids and trying to look inconspicuous
until we locate the right kind of magnetic resonance.”

Now Min
had to clench her teeth to hold down a whiplash of anger. A glance at her cabin
chronometer told her that she’d been asleep for at least four hours — and she’d
ordered Captain Ubikwe to have
Punisher
positioned in three.

God
damn
it, you sonofabitch, I told you to wake me up!

He’d
been procrastinating; putting off what came next as long as he could —

With an
effort, she swallowed that irritation as well. If she weren’t willing to
tolerate his insubordinate approach to authority, she shouldn’t have left him
in command.

“Don’t
hail them yet,” she ordered. “Just keep listening. I’m on my way.”

Roughly
she thumbed off the intercom.

God
damn and
damn
it, she needed time. Time to rest; time to make sense of
Warden’s orders; time to talk to Dolph privately so that he would understand
what was at stake. But
Punisher
had already encountered traffic
out
here
, where there shouldn’t be any ships. That was why Angus had been
programmed to bring
Trumpet
here at his own pace, in the event that some
act of treachery by Milos Taverner had caused Joshua’s computer to supersede
its priority-codes. Even illegal prospectors with no brains weren’t likely to
be in this sector of the belt, this close to forbidden space and trouble, of
their own free will.

The
odds that those two ships had arrived here now by chance had to be calculated
in negative numbers.

Because
she needed the discipline, Min forced herself to use the san and wash her face
before leaving her cabin; and to walk all the way to the aperture and the
bridge.

Along
the way, her feet and now her ears received the impression that
Punisher’s
spin displacement was getting worse. The sensation affected her like nausea;
but she couldn’t do anything about it, so she schooled herself to ignore it.

When
she gained the bridge, she saw immediately that Captain Ubikwe himself was the
only one who remained of the dozen or so people who’d been here four hours
earlier. The techs were gone, along with the rest of the watch which had been
on duty when she boarded; new men and women occupied the bridge stations. So
presumably Dolph should also have gone off duty.

He
needed rest, that was obvious. His bulk seemed to slump on his bones, as if he
were melting into his g-seat; fatigue jaundiced his eyes. The sheen on his skin
made him look sick.

Now she
permitted herself to snap at him. “Captain, haven’t you ever heard of duty
rotation?” The fact that he’d made exactly the same decision she would have
made in his place didn’t deter her. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re as
human as the rest of your crew. Don’t you have at least one command officer who
can be trusted to follow a few simple orders?”

He gave
her a yellow glare; a snarl showed his gums, pink against his black lips. “With
respect, Director” — his tone was like a grimly muted trumpet — “I guess you
don’t
bother to read reports. If you did, you might have observed that my second was
one of our casualties. And my
third
lost most of her left arm. She got
caught by a vacuum seal the second time we were holed — confined to quarters
for medical reasons.
Fortunately
Command Fourth Margin Stoval has about
as much respect for ‘duty rotations’ as I do. Between the two of us, we’ve been
trying to avoid pushing duty on officers who are even
tireder
than we
are.”

Min
stopped as if she’d run into a wall of chagrin. Only determination and training
kept her distress off her face. Good, Min. Nice work.
You
feel like
shit, so you take it out on the first innocent bystander you see. And then you
get it wrong. Keep this up. Maybe you’ll come out of it with a fucking
commendation.

“My
apologies, Captain,” she pronounced distinctly. “I did read your report. And I
didn’t assign fresh personnel. I assumed you would prefer to work with people
you already knew.”

Dolph relaxed
almost immediately; he didn’t have the energy to stay angry. Slumping deeper
into his seat, he growled, “You were right. I don’t want new officers — this
isn’t the time or the place for them.” Taking a deep breath, he went on, “As it
happens, my fourth has the constitution of an ox. He can stand the extra
watches. And I’m” — he fluttered a hand to dismiss his weariness — “usually
tougher than this.

“What
really made me tired,” he continued before she had time to respond, “was seeing
those ships. If I could think of a better expletive, I wouldn’t have to ask
what the fuck they’re doing out here.”

Min was
accustomed to setting her own emotions aside. The exercise was difficult:
nevertheless it often came as a relief. Instinctively she moved closer to the
command station so that she could consider the bridge and
Punisher’s
situation from Dolph’s perspective.

“First
things first,” she told him. “Where are they?”

Captain
Ubikwe relayed her question. “Porson?”

“Aye,
sir,” the scan officer responded. “They’re right on the edge of our range. I
mean, one of them is.” He pointed at one of the displays. Scan plots showed the
trajectories of the rocks and asteroids around
Punisher’s
course. Beyond
them, at the fringes of the image, an insistent red blip indicated another
ship. “She’s still in forbidden space, but she’s heading this way. Not fast —
she’s probably studying us too hard to hurry.” He paused, then added, “If she’s
been on that course for a while, she came from the vicinity of Thanatos Minor.”

“Illegal,”
Dolph put in unnecessarily. “She wants to get away from whatever’s happening
behind her, but she doesn’t want to face us. I expect she’ll change course
before she gets much closer. We won’t find out who she is unless we go after
her.”

Min
nodded, concentrating on the screen. A small, combative tingle itched in her
palms. “What about the other one?”

The
scan officer, Porson, appeared to consider her question a reprimand. “Sorry,
sir.” In a rush he explained, “I said she’s on the edge of our range. I meant our
effective range.” He highlighted a second scan blip. “She’s a lot closer, but
she’s behind us. In the belt. If she were any deeper, we wouldn’t be able to
pick her out from the rubble.”

Min
studied him closely. He was an older man, but he had the same worn, uncertain
look she’d seen on the bosun’s face. Fatigue had eroded his confidence until
inquiries sounded like criticisms.

In
fact, none of the bridge officers appeared any more rested than the watch they’d
replaced.
Punisher’s
exhaustion was so severe that mere hours of sleep
couldn’t soften it. The whole crew needed an extended leave.

Min had
to admit that Dolph was right. He had to do as much of the ship’s work himself
as he could. His people were in no shape to take on more duties.

Turning
her attention back to the screen, she asked Porson, “Is she moving?”

He
shook his head. “Drifting, sir. With the rock.”

“Hiding?”

“Could
be, sir,” he answered. “But I don’t think so. Data reports one of our listening
posts at those co-ordinates. She’s sitting right on top of it.”

Min
cocked an eyebrow in surprise.
Trumpet
? Is she here already?

Suppressing
her impulse to jump to conclusions, she asked, “You still haven’t got id on
her?”

Porson
shook his head like a flinch. “No, sir. She isn’t broadcasting. And she’s drifting,
so there isn’t much emission data to work with.” Again he sighed, “I’m sorry,
sir.”

Pained
by the scan officer’s apology, she looked at Captain Ubikwe.

“Are we
close enough to access that post?”

She
caught him with his eyes closed. Without opening them, he rumbled, “Cray?”

“Affirmative,
sir,” the young woman at the communications station responded. “We’ve already
adjusted course to keep a window open. Three-second lag there and back.”

Min
nodded her approval. Leaving Dolph’s side, she walked the curve of the bridge
to the communications station.

Cray
watched her expectantly as if she could guess what Min had in mind. Perhaps
because she was younger, she didn’t look as worn down as Porson or the rest of
the watch.

“What’s
its status?” Min asked her.

At once
Cray began running commands. “Checking now, sir.”

Three
seconds there and back, Min thought. 450,000k.

For
reasons she couldn’t name, premonitions of disaster burned in her palms.

“It’s
on standby, sir,” Cray reported. “According to the log” — she had to swallow
her own surprise — “it flared a drone to UMCPHQ a little more than eight hours
ago. Now it’s just receiving. Waiting.”

Trumpet
? Is it really
Trumpet
?

“That
ship sent us a message,” Dolph remarked to no one in particular. “Now she’s
waiting for an answer.” His tone conveyed a shrug. “She must not have known we
would be out here.”

Would
Angus Thermopyle wait there, drifting like that — as helpless as a sacrifice?
Min dredged her memory for details of his programming; the ones Hashi had
bothered to reveal. If Milos had betrayed Joshua, his priority-codes would be
automatically superseded. But under those circumstances, on the assumption that
Milos’ treachery would entail secondary risks for everyone associated with the
cyborg, Angus’ instruction-set had been written to preclude his return to
UMCPHQ — or Earth.

How had
Hashi explained it? It was pragmatically impossible for any advance programming
to cover every conceivable eventuality. Discrepancies between what Angus could
do and what he needed to do were bound to arise. And as time and events
accumulated, the risk of such discrepancies increased exponentially. The
likelihood grew that programming inaccuracies might force Angus into some
perverse form of suicide just when his mission neared success.

For
that reason, among others, he needed a companion who could control him; impose
necessary adjustments to his instruction-set. But if Milos had betrayed him,
Angus was in a sense out of control.

In the
name of his own survival, and of the success of his mission, he needed
significantly greater latitude to choose his own actions. And yet any latitude
made him dangerous.

Therefore,
in the event that his priority-codes were superseded, his datacore required him
to report; to stay away from UMCPHQ and Earth; and to do whatever he chose to
keep himself and his ship alive until his new priority-codes could be invoked
by someone who was in a position to control him.

“Copy
that transmission,” Min ordered harshly. Her mouth was full of bile. “I want to
know what it said.”

“Aye,
sir.” Cray complied with a rush of keys.

Four
seconds later her readouts gave her an answer that turned her cheeks pale.

“Access
denied,” she reported in a thin voice. “It’s coded exclusively for Data
Acquisition. For Director Lebwohl.”

Dammit,
Hashi! Min swore. What’re you playing at now?

“Good
old Hashi,” Dolph muttered sardonically. “I always liked him.”

After
years of experience, Min had become adept at typing upside down. She hit a
quick flurry of keys, then stepped back from the board. “Use those codes,” she
told the communications officer. “Override the access restrictions. Override
every damn instruction-set in the log, if you have to. I want to know what that
ship told UMCPHQ.”

Fine
sweat beaded on Cray’s lip as she worked. When the answer came back, she
groaned involuntarily, flicked a look of chagrin at Min, then tried again,
stabbing urgently at her board. Every passing second seemed to cost her more of
her resilience.

“Negative,
sir,” she breathed without raising her head. “Access denied. I can’t crack it.”
Like Porson, she murmured, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Never
mind, Cray,” Dolph put in at once. “It’s not your problem. That’s why Director
Donner is here. We’ll let
her
worry about it.”

Min
gripped her handgun, clamped the butt into her palm to restrain her anger. “He’s
right,” she told Cray, doing what she could to ease the sense of inadequacy she
appeared to inspire. “You can’t play if they don’t tell you the rules.”