Morn surged to her feet. “I said, stop it!” Dismay filled her chest, crowded her throat: she could hardly breathe. “That’s enough!”
Nick studied her dispassionately while he went on talking to her son.
“But here’s the interesting part of the story. Giving somebody a zone implant—an ‘unauthorized’ zone implant—is a capital crime. Why wasn’t your father convicted? If she had a zone implant, he must have had a zone implant control. Why wasn’t it found on him when he was arrested? How could he keep her from turning against him, if he didn’t have her under control?”
“Nick!”
He overrode her. His smile was sweet with affection.
“The answer is, she’d learned to like it. He’d degraded her so much that she fell in love with it. She wanted it, Davies. Eventually she wanted it so much that he could trust her with her zone implant control. It wasn’t found on him because he’d already given it to her. She loved using it on herself.
“So what did she do with it when he was arrested? She didn’t turn it over to Com-Mine Security like a good little cop. They would have removed her zone implant—and your father would have been executed. She couldn’t do that.
“Oh, I don’t think she cared what happened to him. But she was a zone implant junkie. She couldn’t let them take it away from her. So she hid the control and escaped with me. Instead of doing anything a cop should have done, she kept what she loved most.” Still his tone held only peace, no malice. “She used it to seduce me so that I would rescue her—not from Captain Thermo-pile, but from Com-Mine Security.”
“Morn?” Davies protested.
“All she’s done since then,” said Nick, “is perfect her addiction.”
“Morn?” The intercom gave out hints of anguish.
“Did she tell you she refused to abort you because she wanted to keep you? That isn’t strictly true. The only real reason she insisted on keeping you is that she couldn’t get an abortion without letting the sickbay test her. It would have recorded her zone implant. If she’d had an abortion, I would have learned the truth about her.
“That’s your mother, Davies. That’s the kind of woman you came from.”
“Davies!” Morn cried. “He’s lying! He’s got it wrong!”
She did her best to shout, Of course I didn’t want him to know about my zone implant! That was the only way I could keep myself alive. With all her strength, she struggled to tell her son, But that’s not why I refused an abortion! I refused because I wanted you!
Unfortunately none of those words came out. As soon as she started to say them, Nick touched one of the buttons on her black box; and pain as hot as a welding laser seared through all her nerves simultaneously. The only sound she managed was a thin shriek as she fell writhing to the floor.
“Morn!” Davies bellowed. “Morn!”
Smiling, Nick scrutinized the zone implant control. After a moment he found the function which allowed him to adjust the intensity of the emissions. Slowly he reduced her imposed agony to a simmer—hot enough to make her squirm and twist and whimper, not so hot that she couldn’t hear Davies calling for her.
“All right,” Nick articulated. Through a haze of pain, Morn saw that his eyes were underlined with darkness. His tone made Davies go suddenly silent. “I want you both to listen. When you hear what I have to say, I’m sure you’ll agree it’s important.
“There’s one little detail about our situation that I neglected to mention. Must have slipped my mind.” His smile had become a predatory grin. “As I told you, we’re about a day out from Thanatos Minor. At this velocity, that’s an easy distance for scan and communications. What I didn’t tell you is that there’s an Amnion warship almost exactly halfway between us and dock. Tranquil Hegemony. And they want the same thing Calm Horizons wanted. They want Davies.”
Morn gasped and groaned, but couldn’t force words through her excruciation.
The sound of hoarse breathing, strained and hollow, came from the intercom.
“Superficially,” Nick explained as if he were chatting casually in the galley, “it’s a complex problem for all of us. On the one hand, they want Davies. On the other, they don’t really want to fight for him. Not with the whole of Billingate watching. I’m sure they’re sure they’re in the right—but they know enough about ordinary human distrust to realize that none of their justifications will repair the damage to their credibility. And they can’t be entirely sure they’ll win in a fight. At these velocities, we can maneuver rings around a lumbering tub like that. We might cripple them. We might even destroy them.
“And if we couldn’t do it alone, we might get help. It’s one thing to do business with the Amnion. It’s something else entirely to sit still and watch them blast a human ship. Some unexpected allies might turn up on our side.
“They don’t want a fight if they can avoid it.”
Through her teeth, Morn gritted, “You bastard. You fucking—”
Nick tapped buttons on the zone implant control.
She didn’t have time to flinch. Before she could expect more pain, a wave of cold washed through her. At once she began to shiver so hard that she lost her voice. Her temperature plummeted, plunging her into hypothermia. Her efforts to curse Nick came out as an unintelligible judder.
“As for us,” he said comfortably, “well, I think I can beat them. And I know I can outmaneuver them. Are you listening, Davies? This is your life I’m talking about.”
A harsh rasp came from the speaker, but Davies didn’t reply.
Nick shrugged. “There’s just one difficulty,” he continued. “That fucker Calm Horizons is coming up behind us as hard as it can go—and I know I can’t beat two Amnion warships. The best I can hope for is to get out of this part of space on the run. But if I do that—if we get away from here alive—what have I accomplished? We’ll be an appalling distance from nowhere, with no gap drive, and no chance for repairs. We’ll die slowly instead of quickly, that’s all.”
Morn was nearly in shock; yet he didn’t let her go. A further experiment with her black box brought her temperature back up. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he managed to take charge of her limbs. Pulling up her arm, he jabbed her fingers into her mouth, forcing her to gag herself.
“Do you think Hashi Lebwohl will send help?” he asked her amiably. “You believe that, if you can. I think he’s cut me off. Before we ever went into forbidden space, he told me I was on my own. By now, he must have figured out that we made an ‘unauthorized’ visit to Enablement. I think he’s finally decided I’m more trouble than I’m worth. He hasn’t answered any of my transmissions—and I’ve made them as urgent as I know how.
“As I say, it’s a complex problem.
“Superficially.”
Grinning, he watched Morn choke.
“But when you think about it, it’s really pretty simple. Because, you see, I don’t want to keep Davies. I’ve been trying to get rid of him ever since he was born.
“So that’s what I’m going to do.
“I’ve already thrashed out all the details with Tranquil Hegemony. Twelve hours from now, when we’re alongside, I’ll send Davies to them in an ejection pod. Then they’ll let us dock in peace. In fact, they’ve agreed that both warships will go back to Enablement, just to demonstrate their good faith. We’ll be able to get our repairs without having the Amnion breathing down our necks.
“It’s the best solution all the way around.”
Through his calm, he sounded proud of himself.
Involuntarily Morn retched oatmeal and coffee past her fingers.
“What a shame,” he murmured happily. “Just a minute ago you were clean. You almost looked good enough for some man to want—if he were desperate enough. But now”—he chuckled—“I’m afraid all you look is bulimic.”
“What are you doing?” The flat tone of the speaker couldn’t conceal Davies’ distress. “What are you doing to her?”
Abruptly Nick swung his legs off the bunk. He stood up an
d stepped over Morn to the intercom. His scars gleamed like black gashes across his cheeks as he snarled, “You little shit, it’s called revenge.”
Davies began to howl.
Then his voice vanished as Nick toggled the switch.
“Mikka,” Nick said.
Impartially grim, the command second answered, “Here.”
“I’m afraid things have gotten out of hand. I had to tell her about Davies. She isn’t taking it well. You’d better close the channel to his cabin. No, disconnect his intercom completely. If they talk, they’ll just make each other worse.”
Davies’ howl echoed in Morn’s mind as if she could still hear it.
“Anything else?” Mikka asked.
Nick grinned. “Just make damn sure she can’t get out of here. I’ll deal with her when I’ve got time.”
He clicked off the intercom.
Nearly strangling on her own vomit, Morn watched as he opened the door and closed it behind him without canceling the emissions from her black box.
She wasn’t able to drag her fingers out of her mouth until he carried her zone implant control beyond its transmission range.
CHAPTER 20
Gagging to clear her throat, Morn fought her way to her hands and knees. One of her hands braced itself in a puddle of oatmeal, but she ignored the sticky mess. She needed air, needed to breathe; yet every inhalation seemed to suck acid and vomit into her lungs. Transition wrenched through her. Anoxia dimmed her vision to a phosphene swirl. The cabin spun around her as if Captain’s Fancy had lost internal g.
Breathe.
Acid cut into her esophagus, chewed on her vocal cords.
Breathe.
Straining her mouth wide, she began to draw air in small gasps.
Davies—
It wasn’t bad enough that he was locked up, helpless, that he’d been sold to the Amnion. It wasn’t bad enough that he had to face alone a crisis of identity so profound that it could have destroyed anyone. No. That didn’t suffice for Nick. To satisfy his old, personal outrage, he’d undermined Davies to the core.
It’s called revenge.
All her son had to work with, to use against the threat of madness, was what he could remember: his inherited self. Nick had made those memories, that self, look treacherous. He’d given Davies reason to believe that his worst enemies, the people who had hurt him most, were his mother and father; that his mind itself was a crime against him.
How could he hope to survive that kind of stress? How could she hope that for him? By the time the Amnion got him, they would be the only sanity he knew.
Morn reeled upright on her knees.
Another breath.
Another.
With her stained hand, she smeared vomit across her face, trying to wipe it away. She was insane herself, in the grip of a frantic and surreal clarity which understood everything and revealed nothing. She didn’t know what she was going to do until it was already done.
Pulling as much air as possible into her lungs, she stumbled to her feet.
Nick had told Mikka to disconnect Davies’ intercom; but he hadn’t said anything about this one. And he wouldn’t have reached the bridge yet. Surely Morn hadn’t knelt in her vomit long enough for him to reach the bridge.
Unsteady and thickheaded, blind to herself, she lurched to the wall and snap-punched the intercom toggle as if she could make the equipment function by force.
Indicators lit: a channel opened.
A background murmur came from the speaker, a sense of depth or ambience too great for the constricted space of the bridge. Somehow she’d reached—or been given—a general channel to the rest of the ship.
Someone wanted her to be heard.
“Listen to me,” she croaked, hoarse with acid and need. “He’s going to give them my son.”
Why should they care? Most of them—maybe all of them—already knew what Nick was doing. And she was a cop: she was the enemy. What did she hope to gain?
Who wanted to grant her this chance?
She took it without trying to understand. Frantic and clear, she put everything she had left into her voice.
“I know why you’re here—some of you. I know why you do this. For some of you, it’s just freedom, license. Being illegal gives you more choices, fewer hindrances. You’ve lost too much, missed too much. Now you can take what you want.”
She didn’t know what to say. She was too weak—and had no eloquence. To steady herself, she imagined her voice reaching all the rooms and cabins of the ship, echoing inescapably in the corridors. She imagined herself being heeded.
“Is this what you want? Do you want to turn human beings over to the Amnion? Have you thought about what that means? It means you could be next. This time it’s all right to give them my son. Next time it could be all right to give them you. Isn’t that right, Alba? Pastille? Do you think Nick considers you worth keeping? Are you sure? What if he finds somebody on Thanatos Minor who can do your job better—or fucks better—or worships him more?
“Is that what you want?”
Spasms of coughing rose from her damaged throat and esophagus. But she couldn’t afford to stop. She had no time: Nick would silence her as soon as he gained the bridge. In her mind, she could see him running to put an end to her appeal.
Weeping at the effort, she continued.
“But some of you have other reasons. You’re here because the cops are corrupt—the whole damn UMC is corrupt—and this is the only way you can oppose them. Vector? Sib? Mikka? Can you hear me? The cops are corrupt. I didn’t know that, but I know it now. I don’t like it any more than you do. I became a cop because pirates killed my mother, and I wanted to fight. I wanted to fight anything that threatened human life and liberty and security. The things I’ve learned make me sick.
“But that’s no reason to give my son to the Amnion! It doesn’t hurt the cops, because they don’t care anyway. It just betrays humanity, all humanity, you and me and every man or woman or child who’s still alive.
“You’ve all got families. You all came from somewhere—you must have had mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, relatives and friends. How about them? What would you sell them for? How would you look at yourself in the mirror afterward?
“Don’t let him do this.” Until she’d said it, she didn’t realize that she was urging mutiny. “Find some other answer. There’s got to be some other answer.”
She had no idea what that might be. In an important sense, Nick wasn’t just the captain of his ship: he was the ship itself. His codes ruled every function; he made all the decisions; his skills kept his people alive. Everyone who heard her was dependent on him.
Anyone who challenged him might end up where Davies was now.
Abruptly the intercom picked up her antagonist.
“I told you she wasn’t taking it well,” Nick drawled. He sounded perfectly sure of himself; impervious to her threats. “You’ve heard enough to know what I mean. You can cut her off now, Mikka.”
He’d been on the bridge the whole time. He’d been allowing Morn to speak; allowing the ship to hear her in order to prove himself. He was that secure.
She abandoned language and started screaming.
Raw with acid and strain, her visceral howl rang throughout Captain’s Fancy until the indicators on her intercom went dead.
Because she wasn’t done, she continued screaming. But now the walls of her cabin were all that heard her.
She didn’t stop until her throat gave out.
Then she collapsed in the chair and covered her face with her hands.
Patience.
The part of her that understood everything and revealed nothing didn’t explain why. It simply told her: patience.
Wait.
Davies wouldn’t be ejected to the Amnion for nearly twelve hours. A lot could happen in twelve hours. Entire lives might be won or lost. Hope and ruin could be as quick as gap-sickness.
First things first.
The first th
ing was to wait.
But not like this. From this position, she couldn’t see her intercom.
Without knowing why, she moved the chair so that she had a clear view of the intercom’s status indicators. Then, although she stank of hydrochloric acid and undigested oatmeal, and could probably have spared the time to go to the san and wash her face, she sat down again and waited.
Patience.
Every passing second brought the end nearer. The end of her son—and of herself. Nevertheless she was patient.
The sure, surreal part of her knew what it was doing. Nick was too curious about her, too interested in the progress of his revenge, to ignore her. When she’d been waiting, as motionless as catatonia, for an hour or so, the intercom status suddenly turned green.
He wanted to check on her by eavesdropping.
At once she began to whimper and mewl like a dying cat.
The strain of her earlier screams helped her sound broken and pathetic, demented beyond recognition. That was true, wasn’t it? As far as she knew, she was telling him the truth.
She kept it up until he switched off the intercom. Then she got to her feet.
Unsteadily she went to the san and picked up every hard object she could find: brushes; the mending kit; dispensers for lotions, depilatories, hair treatments. Back in her chair, she piled her collection on her thighs and resumed waiting.
An hour?
More?
Less?
The advantage of her insane, uncomprehending clarity was that it didn’t punish her for the passage of time. It told her to be patient—and it enabled her to obey.
Tranquil Hegemony and Thanatos Minor must have been looming on scan. By now, Calm Horizons was surely near enough to take part in whatever happened. She could think about such things, but she couldn’t worry about them. Her capacity for worry was gone—buried or burned out. Davies’ image was vivid to her, as if she could see every muscle of his face respond to the torment of his thoughts; but it didn’t distress her.
Right now—waiting as if she’d been left null by a stun-prod—she was doing everything she could for her son.
Try me, she cackled in the silence of her skull. Try to beat me. I dare you.