The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (68 page)

Waiting
for this moment to tear her completely apart.

Gutbuster
.

She
hardly heard Davies’ strangled shout; didn’t know that she herself had cried
out.
Gutbuster
! Vector reached for her. Sib groaned, “Morn, what’s
wrong, what did I say?” But she couldn’t understand either of them. Old
bereavement ripped her open, and nothing else could reach her.

“
Gutbuster
,”
she and Davies breathed in unison — the nearly voiceless wail of lost children,
umbilically linked by her past.

The
memory returned like the acid of withdrawal; it filled her head with vitriol.

She was
a little girl held in her father’s arms while he told her of her mother’s
death.

His
voice was steady and clear — the voice of a man who valued what his wife had
done too much to protest against it. Yet tears ran from his eyes, collected
along the certainty of his jaw, and dropped like stains onto Morn’s small
breast.

We
picked up a distress call from the ore transfer dump off Orion’s Reach. An
illegal came in on them hard —

She
called herself
Gutbuster.
She wasn’t fast, and she didn’t show gap
capability. But she was heavily armed — as heavily armed as a battle-wagon.

Her
first blast ripped one whole side of
Intransigent
open.

A
pure super-light proton beam.

We
immediately lost targ. Another beam like that would have finished us.

Your
mother was on station in targeting control. And targeting control was in the
part of
Intransigent Gutbuster
hit. That whole side of Intransigent had
been ripped open to vacuum. Targeting control began to lose atmosphere.

She
could have saved herself. But she didn’t. While her station depressurised and
her air ran out, she worked to reroute targ function so that we could use our
guns.

That’s
why
Intransigent
survived. She restored targ in time. We hit
Gutbuster
with everything we had.

But
your mother was lost.

She
gave her life —

Then
her father had made his promise.
No one in the UMCP will ever rest until
your mother has been avenged. We will stop
Gutbuster
and every ship like
her.

By the
time his story ended, Morn had decided in his arms ;that she, too, would be a
cop. She, too, would never rest. She’d been too ashamed of herself to make any
other choice.

That
was the defining moment of her childhood, the centre of her losses: the moment
which had made her into what she was when
Starmaster
died — a cop who
couldn’t defend herself against Angus. Her shame was too old; ran too deep.

She
hadn’t seen Davies move, but he stood in front of her now. His hands gripped
her shoulders as if he were lifting her out of herself. Except for his eyes,
his face was a younger version of his father’s — squat and bitter, congested
with venom. Nevertheless his eyes transformed him.

They
flamed with her memories. Fed on the same fuel which burned her.

Through
his teeth he told her, “We’re going after her.”

And she
answered, “Yes.”

But her
heart cried, No!
No.

Revenge
was too expensive. She’d learned that the hard way. Hadn’t she? She’d seen what
it cost Nick: his ship and his reputation; the only things that kept him sane.
And ever since
Starmaster
died she’d been paying the price of her old
grudge against herself. It didn’t
matter
who Sorus Chatelaine was; what
Soar
had once been. Only Vector’s research was important: only making his
antimutagen known meant anything. Revenge was for lost souls. No one else could
afford it.

Why
else had she decided to risk freeing Angus?

And yet
she couldn’t give Davies any answer except, “Yes.” Her mouth refused to form
any other response. She was ruled by her losses. Without them she had no idea
who she was.

No one
in the UMCP will ever rest until your mother has been avenged. We will stop
Gutbuster
and every ship like her.

Maybe
that wasn’t wrong. Davies obviously didn’t feel the way she did — and his mind
was almost hers. The fire which ate at her seemed to have the opposite effect
on him: he burned with certainty, purpose; life. Maybe she’d been prey too
long; had spent too many days and weeks thinking like a victim. Maybe it was
time for other predators to hunt.

She
could have saved herself. But she didn’t.

Remembering
her mother, Morn found that she could stand on her own: her legs were strong
enough. The neural sobbing of withdrawal didn’t control her. Abruptly she
laughed — a mirthless sound, raw with the harmonics of strain and regret. “We
don’t need to. She thinks she’s coming after us.”

Slowly
Davies nodded. His hands let go of her. He was ready.

“Morn?”
Sib asked apprehensively. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Nick
was still unconscious, breathing thinly against the deck. That helped. With an
effort, she forced herself to look at Sib and Vector.

Vector
shared Sib’s uncertainty. Nevertheless he didn’t appear alarmed. He had sources
of calm his companion lacked.

“Davies
and I have a score to settle with that ship,” she murmured weakly. “
Gutbuster
.
We’re going after her.”

Sib’s
mouth shaped questions he didn’t voice. Instead he observed tensely, “That’s
what Nick wants.” His gaze brimmed with fears.

“Too
bad,” she sighed. “This isn’t for him. It’s for us.”

But she
didn’t believe that, in spite of her efforts to convince herself.

“Let’s
go,” Davies insisted. “The longer we delay, the more time she’ll have to trap
us.”

Morn
nodded.

At once
Davies took Sib’s arm and pulled him toward Nick.

Sib’s
anxiety remained in his eyes, but he didn’t hold back. Together he and Davies
heaved Nick up so that they could drag him between them into the lift.

Morn
gestured Vector ahead of her. She entered the lift last, keyed shut the
airlock, then sent the lift sliding upward to the core of the ship.

 _

 _

By the time they all
reached the bridge, her scant strength had begun fraying. The memory of her
mother wasn’t enough to fend off her fear of Angus.

Davies
had been born with her mind, but they didn’t think alike. His months in her
womb had conditioned him to levels of stimulation which would have killed an
ordinary kid. In that sense his physiological state resembled her zone implant
addiction. Nevertheless the difference between them was profound. His needs
could be met by his own organic endocrine resources; hers required external
intervention.

Doubts
nagged at her.

She
couldn’t forget Mikka and Ciro.

She
couldn’t forget that the conflicting messages which had betrayed Nick as well
as everyone else aboard were intended to serve unexplained purposes in a larger
conflict; purposes she didn’t understand and couldn’t evaluate.

Above
all she couldn’t forget that she didn’t know how to trust Angus Thermopyle.

As
Davies opened the door at the head of the companionway, she saw Angus sitting
exactly where they’d left him: directly in front of — almost under — the
command board.

“Shit,”
Sib croaked. “What did you do to him?”

Angus’
bare back was a mess. Cut and torn tissues oozed blood the same way his face
oozed sweat; trails of blood ran down his spine into his shipsuit. From the
wide wound Davies had made between his shoulder blades, fine silver leads
webbed him to the underside of the command board — a delicate and apparently
random tracery protecting him from stasis.

Small
tools, keypad modules, a first-aid kit, and wiring were scattered around him
within easy reach, but he wasn’t using any of those things now. Instead his
fingers held a computer chip in front of his face. He studied it as if he might
penetrate its secrets by sheer divination.

His
datacore.

Davies
ignored Sib. “Are you done?” he asked Angus harshly.

“One
way or the other.” Angus’ voice was a frail sigh, scarcely audible. The
desperation which had driven him to this gamble was gone; burned out. He
sounded like a small boy who was too frightened to hope. “I can’t —” His throat
closed. A moment passed before he was able to say, “I can’t do any more.”

Pulling
Nick with him so that Sib had to follow, Davies started down the treads. “Then
let’s try it.”

Angus
continued holding his datacore up to the light; but his head slowly sank until
his neck bent as if he were waiting for the axe.

Davies
and Sib dropped Nick behind the second’s station. Davies gave his impact pistol
to Sib, then immediately moved to stand in front of his father. If he wanted to
hunt
Gutbuster
, he needed Angus.

Vector
glanced at Morn. When she didn’t move, he shrugged and descended the
companionway behind Sib.

She
thought that she would go after him. Yet she remained where she was,
immobilised by uncertainty. She told herself that she hesitated because she
wanted to go check on Mikka and Ciro. The truth was that she suddenly wanted to
flee; ached to
get out of here
before Angus recovered the power to harm
her.

“Morn?”
Davies asked; urged. He stood poised beside Angus, waiting for her permission.

No! her
fears answered. No! He’s a murderer — a rapist. He
broke
me. I’m a zone
implant addict because of him. I would rather see him dead. I would rather be
dead myself.

But she
knew better.

Revenge
was for lost souls.

You’re
a cop,
she’d once told her son.
From now on, I’m
going to be a cop myself.
Cops were predators, but they didn’t hunt for
vengeance. If she went after
Soar
, it would be because Sorus Chatelaine
was humankind’s enemy, not because
Gutbuster
had killed her mother.

Even
though Angus terrified her, and every moment of anguish he’d ever caused her
stuck in her throat, she’d said to him,
We’ll trust you.

Now or
never.

Gripping
the handrail for support, she started downward.

“Go
ahead,” she said through her terror. “We’ve come this far. There’s no point in
stopping now.”

“Yes!”

Davies
plucked the datacore from Angus’ fingers, moved around behind his father, and
dropped to his knees.

“Go
ahead with what?” Sib objected. He sounded nauseous with ignorance and anxiety.
“I don’t understand any of this. What are you
doing?
”

Morn
finished descending the steps. As she left the railing, she put her hand on Sib’s
shoulder, partly to reassure him, partly to help her keep her balance.

“Angus
says he knows how to edit datacores.” This was the best answer she could give:
she didn’t have the bravery for a complete explanation. Sib would have to fill
in the gaps as best he could. “We’re going to find out if that’s true.”

“Ah,”
Vector sighed in comprehension. “You don’t believe in half measures, do you.
This is the old kill-or-cure treatment with a vengeance.” He paused, then
asked, “Could I persuade you to tell us how? Editing datacores is supposed to
be impossible.”

Later.
Morn raised a palm to put him off. If we survive. And if we have time.

Davies
studied Angus’ back; swore under his breath; withdrew. From the first-aid kit
he snatched up swabs and began blotting the welter of blood so that he could
see the chip’s socket.

Angus’
head hung hopelessly. He endured Davies’ pushing and prodding as if the removal
of his datacore had deprived him of all normal sensation.

Abruptly
the bridge speakers snapped to life.

“
Trumpet
,
this is Lab Centre. We’re waiting.”

Waiting?
Oh, shit! In an instant Morn’s brain seemed to go numb. Waiting for what?

Davies
froze.

Panic
flared in Sib’s eyes; but before he could say anything, Vector intervened.

“You’d
better talk to them, Sib.” His calm suggested that he had complete confidence
in the former data first. “They’ll be surprised to hear from you, but there’s
nothing we can do about that. Morn, Davies, and Angus can’t do it — they aren’t
supposed to be here. And Centre won’t believe me. I’m just a geneticist. As for
Nick” — Vector smiled phlegmatically — “he looks like he’s going to be tied up
for a while. That leaves you.”

Sib
couldn’t stifle his alarm. His face seemed to sweat failure. Nevertheless
Vector’s confidence steadied him in some way. Or perhaps he remembered that
without his help Morn and Davies wouldn’t have beaten Nick. Despite his fear,
he moved to the second’s station.