People like Ciro and Sib. Vector.
Morn and Davies.
She didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say.
“What is it you want to hear from Captain Succorso?” Sib put in. Maybe he hadn’t noticed his own futility yet. Or maybe he’d grown accustomed to the idea.
Vestele shrugged. “I’m just a guard. I don’t make policy.” After a pause, however, he added, “Mostly I think Dr. Beckmann wants to hear how Captain Succorso is going to pay him.”
Which might mean that Mikka and Sib were stuck here until Vector completed his analysis of UMCPDA’s antimutagen.
That could take hours. It could take days.
She wondered whether Morn and Davies would still be alive—and sane—when she and the rest of Nick’s people finally returned to Trumpet. Or whether Sorus Chatelaine would ever let them get that far.
• • •
In fact, two more hours passed before Vestele listened to his PCR again. He nodded to superiors who couldn’t see or hear him. Then he announced, “Dr. Shaheed is done. He and Captain Succorso are leaving thirty-one. Captain Succorso wants you two to meet him where Pup is—in the entry room. And he wants to talk to Dr. Beckmann.”
Sib scrubbed his hands up and down his face. “I’m not ready,” he murmured. “Two hours ago I was. Now I’m not.”
Mikka ignored him. Her heart thudded in her chest—as hard as a mine-hammer, but too erratic for anything mechanical. “Let’s, go,” she told Vestele.
The guard examined her narrowly; looked at Sib. After a moment he slid his handgun into its holster.
“This way.” He gestured toward the outer passage.
Driven by panic, Mikka left the room as fast as she could without losing her purchase on the floor.
Sib and then Vestele followed her quickly. At the first intersection she let the guard take the lead. In an effort to control her pulse—if not her dread—she concentrated on matching her pace to his as he guided her and Sib through the complex.
He was listening to his PCR again, receiving new orders. When they reached what appeared to be another of the Lab’s main corridors, he stopped; gestured for Mikka and Sib to halt. “We’ll wait here.”
She couldn’t help herself. “What for?”
“Mikka,” Sib breathed, warning her.
Vestele didn’t bother to retort. Instead he pointed down the corridor.
Nick and Vector had just come into sight. The man Dr. Beckmann had addressed as “Sven” was with them, in addition to two more guards. But Mikka ignored the Lab’s personnel. While the men approached, she scrutinized Nick and Vector as if the answers she needed might be legible on their faces.
They both looked vindicated, triumphant.
There the similarity between them ended, however. Vector’s smile and his mild, blue eyes had an ineffable glow, like those of a man who had been washed clean in the waters of a sacrament. He walked buoyantly, as if his joints no longer caused him any pain, and his lips moved as if he were singing to himself.
Nick, on the other hand—
His triumph was bloodthirsty and malign; full of threats. His scars were as stark as shouts under his eyes—so crowded with passion that they seemed to swell and throb—and his grin resembled a sadist’s perfect love for his victims.
The answers were plain enough: Mikka couldn’t mistake them. He’d staked Ciro out like a Judas goat. And Sorus Chatelaine had taken the bait.
He looks scared out of his mind—
For a moment red fury nearly blinded Mikka’s good eye.
Nick, too, walked quickly, in a hurry to follow up his advantage. As he passed her, he snatched at her arm, pulled her into motion beside him. His fingers dug like fire into her muscles; his whole body seemed to radiate heat like a furnace.
Bending to her ear, he whispered, “You like to live fucking dangerously, don’t you. I told you to guard the door until we were done.”
Slowly her vision cleared. She couldn’t fight him; argue with him. Not here, like this. Maybe never. In a dead voice she gave him the same story she’d told Klimpt and Retledge. She didn’t expect him to believe her: she was only trying to buy time until she saw Ciro.
Stupidly helpful, as if he thought Nick might listen to him, Sib put in when she was done, “That’s true.”
Nick didn’t listen to Sib: his contempt for his former data first was palpable. “I don’t care,” he answered Mikka softly. “You were too late to interfere. That’s what counts.” His joy glittered like a scalpel. “And you’re going to pay for it as long as you live. Which may not be much longer at this rate.
“Think about that” he advised her in a fierce murmur. “You’ll be dead—and I’ll still have Pup.”
The pain of his grip on her arm meant nothing. But the pain of being so close to him was more than she could bear. Planting her feet, she wrenched her arm out of his grasp. Before anyone could react, she pulled back to the wall of the corridor; separated herself at least that much from his triumph.
At the same time Sib hurried forward so that he came between them. Regardless of his fears, he intended to shield Mikka. Perhaps because he’d failed in the self-appointed duty of guarding Nick earlier, he seemed determined to sacrifice himself for someone as soon as he could.
Nick sneered at him harshly, then strode on.
As Mikka moved to follow, she found herself beside Vector.
He also put his hand on her arm—a gentle touch which nevertheless slowed her pace until she was five or six strides behind Nick. Like Nick, he bent toward her so that he could whisper into her ear.
“He’s wrong.” Vector spoke so softly that she could barely make out the words. “He’s missed the point.
“God, we were close.” He must have meant his research team at Intertech. “If the cops had left us alone for another month—or another week—we would have gotten it. I cracked the formula so fast because I already knew most of it.”
Bitterly, Mikka breathed back, “And you think that’s the point?”
“Don’t you see?” Vector tightened his grip for a moment, then remembered to ease it. “It won’t be a secret any longer. As soon as he makes his deal with Beckmann, it’ll be out of his control. People will know, more people every day. The cops are going to lose their stranglehold on human space. Right now they have so much power because they’re vital. They’re humankind’s only defense. But that won’t be true once this gets out.”
Vector smiled like a rebirth. Still whispering, he concluded, “Nick is obsessed with revenge. He can’t see that he’s already started to cut the ground out from under his own feet.”
Mikka understood him. He may even have been right. But she didn’t care. “That doesn’t help,” she answered. “He’s still got us.”
Us and Morn. Angus and Davies.
Vector sighed; straightened his back. “There’s nothing we can do about that.” He seemed to think that she, too, had missed the point. “We’ve been doomed ever since we joined Captain’s Fancy. No one recovers from that kind of mistake.”
Thanks a bunch, Mikka rasped to herself. You’re a real comfort. But she kept her bitterness silent. She couldn’t blame Vector for the fact that he didn’t have a younger brother.
One of the guards listened to his PCR, then turned and spoke privately to Sven. Sven nodded and left the group; apparently he’d been sent to other duties.
Accompanied only by guards, Nick, Sib, Vector, and Mikka reached the entry room where they’d first met Deaner Beckmann.
The director of the Lab was already there, along with Chief Retledge and half a dozen more guards. Their numbers in the small room almost concealed Ciro, who stood by the entrance to the airlock: they might have forgotten he existed.
Beckmann paced back and forth between the other men as if he were fuming or feverish; ruled by hungers he didn’t know how to feed. As soon as he saw Nick, however, he stopped with a jerk.
“Captain Succorso.” His voice sounded like the action of
a metal cutter. “It’s time for some answers.”
Almost in unison the guards dropped their hands to the butts of their impact pistols. They knew their orders.
Nick halted as promptly as he could in the light g. Behind him Sib, Vector, and Mikka did the same.
The director of the lab didn’t wait for his Security chief to speak. “You come here asking for help,” he snapped, “and all you offer in return is a vague share of Dr. Shaheed’s unspecified research. That’s fine—I’m willing to take a risk on a man of Dr. Shaheed’s reputation. But another ship, a ship we’ve known for years, tells us that you’re here to cause trouble. And what happens? You haven’t been here an hour before two of your people apparently disobey your orders. In fact, one of them”—he slapped a gesture toward Ciro—“disappears completely. And as soon as we find this Pup of yours again, the other ship leaves. If he didn’t look so frightened himself, I would almost think he scared her away.
“I want answers, Captain Succorso, and I want them now. What kind of harm are you doing at my expense?”
He spoke severely, but Mikka hardly heard him. Her attention was focused on Ciro. He was barely visible past the shoulders of the guards, but she seemed to see him as clearly as if they were alone.
He was too young to hide what he felt. By an act of will he kept his face still; stood without squirming. Nevertheless his entire body shouted that he was in mortal terror—that he’d been violated as profoundly as any rape and didn’t know how to bear it. Mikka knew him too well to be mistaken. His dismay and need were flagrant to her. Sweat oozed like wax from his skin; his bones might have been melting.
She thought she’d imagined the worst, but she saw now that she had no idea just how bad the worst could be.
She didn’t listen to Beckmann’s question; didn’t give Nick time to answer. Carried by a flood of anguish, she began thrusting her way among the guards to reach her brother.
“Mikka!” Nick barked after her.
Some of the men shifted out of her way. Others drew their guns. By the time she reached Ciro, there were at least three pistols leveled at her head.
She took no notice of them.
What has he done to you?
Her arrival only seemed to increase his distress. Chagrin pulled at his features as if she’d caught him doing something shameful. Unable to contain the frenzy rising in her—a wildness like a scream, shrill and tearing—she flung her arms around him, hugged him against her. But he didn’t respond; all his muscles were rigid with rejection. His fear had consumed him completely, swallowed him down to a place where she couldn’t reach him.
What have they done to you?
“Mikka!” Nick shouted again. And Sib croaked like an echo, “Mikka!”
She let go of her brother; whirled to confront three guns so close that their muzzles brushed her face.
Chief Retledge was saying something that might have been, “—pushing your luck, Vasaczk.”
She ignored him; ignored the guns and the guards. Instead she aimed her frenzy like a shaft of rage at Nick.
“I’m going to take him aboard.” Her voice was almost steady. “I need to talk to him. And you don’t want us here.”
Can you hear me, you bastard? Are you listening! You don’t want us here because if you try to stop me I’m going to take one of these guns and blast your face off. And if I can’t do that, I’m going to tell Retledge what the fuck I think you’re doing.
Nick appeared to understand her unspoken threat. She might say something which the Lab would pass along to Soar; which would warn Sorus Chatelaine. At once he said to Retledge, “It’s all right, Chief.” In one cheek small spasms tugged at the edges of his scars, but he didn’t seem to be aware of it. “We might as well let them go. The kid needs cat, or he won’t be able to talk to anybody. And she’s too worried about him to be good for anything else.
“Sib and Vector will stay here with me,” he reassured the Security chief. “We all have plenty to discuss.” An involuntary twist of his mouth showed a flash of teeth. “I won’t even mention leaving until you and Dr. Beckmann are satisfied.”
Past the guns Mikka saw Chief Retledge glance at the director of the Lab.
Deaner Beckmann nodded once, decisively.
A slight easing of tension ran like a sigh through the room. Slowly three guards withdrew their weapons from Mikka’s face. A fourth stepped past Ciro and began tapping codes into the keypad of the lock.
Mikka turned her back on Nick so that he couldn’t see how close she came to screaming.
“Take him aboard, Mikka.” He didn’t shout, but his voice slid along her spine like the tip of a blade. If he shoved on it, it would cut between her vertebrae and sever the cord. “I’ll deal with his insubordination later. And yours.”
Fine, she rasped. You do that. I’ll take my chances.
But she knew that she’d already lost all her chances.
Ciro still hadn’t moved. Maybe he couldn’t. He stood facing Nick and Sib, Retledge and Beckmann; his back to the airlock; rigid as the rigor of death. A different kind of knife had cut the link between his limbs and his mind.
Why did seeing her make him feel worse?
She put her hands on his shoulders, turned him forcibly, and pressed him forward as the door opened. Awkwardly she impelled him into the airlock.
Behind her the guard keyed the inner door shut again. After a quick series of automatic safety checks, the outer door irised aside. At once she hauled Ciro into the blank access passage which led to Trumpet.
What had they done to him? How could they have scared him so badly? He was her brother, but she’d never seen him afraid like this. Never.
The light was flat, vaguely inhuman. She didn’t spot any bugeyes or sensors. Maybe there weren’t any hidden pickups. She didn’t know the codes to open Trumpet’s airlock herself: she would have to ask Angus to let her aboard. But anyone who overheard her would realize that the gap scout hadn’t been left empty. That might unravel Nick’s schemes; but it would also doom everyone she cared about.
Assuming that Ciro wasn’t already doomed—
They reached the ship. Irrationally concerned that he might turn and run, she trapped him between her and the wall, leaned against him while she snapped open the cover which protected the exterior control panel, then thumbed the intercom.
“It’s Mikka.” She hissed the words softly so that she wouldn’t yell or scream. “Let me in.”
No one answered. The indicators on the panel showed that the intercom was active, but no reply came.
She hammered the ship’s hull with her fist. “I’ve got Ciro with me. We’re in trouble. Let me in.”
Of course Angus wasn’t going to answer. Nick had told him, The Hyland twins are yours. If that computer in your malicious little head will let you play with them, go ahead. He probably couldn’t hear her at all. He was too busy raping Morn. Or slowly flaying Davies alive—
Helpless to contain her anguish, she punched the hull again. Her knuckles left a smear of blood on the metal, but she didn’t feel any pain. She was past recognizing minor hurts.
“Goddamn you, let me in.”
“Mikka,” Ciro croaked brokenly, “please—”
“Please?” She jerked around as if she were turning to hit him. “Please?”
His eyes ached at her, raw for lack of moisture. He couldn’t have wept if he’d wanted to: he had no tears to weep with.
“Kill me.” His voice strained against a constriction in his throat. “Now. While you have the chance.”
Lights winked on the control panel as the airlock began to cycle open.
Mikka ducked her head. Dismay and rage mounted inside her. Howling through her teeth, she snatched Ciro off the wall and heaved him inward as Trumpet’s outer seal eased out of the way.
Sailing in the light g, he crossed the lock, smacked against the inner door, and rebounded toward the access passage as if he were trying to escape.
She leaped after him, c
aught him in the air, drove him back again.
If she hadn’t been moving so fast, Davies’ blow might have cracked her skull. As it was, she caused him to mistime his swing. The gun in his fist missed her head. Instead the butt pounded deep into the muscles of her left shoulder. Instantly her arm went numb as if she’d received a blast of stun.
“Shit, Mikka!” he protested softly, urgently. “What the hell are you doing?” Then he demanded, “Where’s Nick? We thought he was with you. What’s going on?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Mikka saw Morn at the airlock control panel, entering commands as fast as she could to close the door.
Davies. And Morn. But not Angus.
She didn’t try to understand it. Her left arm was useless; so completely numb that it might as well have been cut off. She had to release Ciro in order to key open the inner door and the lift. At once, however, she gripped him again, even though he hadn’t tried to get away.
“Mikka!” Davies barked. With the airlock sealed, he no longer needed to keep his voice down.
“Mikka, we’re sorry,” Morn said more quietly. “We didn’t mean to attack you.” Like Davies, she had a gun—a laser pistol, charged and ready. “We thought Nick was with you—we thought he might be trying to take us by surprise.”
Servos swept the lift doors out of Mikka’s way. She pushed Ciro inside, entered the lift after him, then turned.
“Vector’s done,” she told Morn and Davies as clearly as she could. “He and Nick are dickering with Beckmann now. Nick kept Sib with them. They should be coming soon.” Desperation leaked past the edges of her self-control. “Ciro and I need to talk, so leave us alone.”
Davies seemed deaf to the complex stresses in her tone. “What’s going on?” he demanded again. “What happened out there?”
Strange stains marked the front of his alien shipsuit. They looked like blood.
“Where’s Angus?” Mikka countered harshly. “What’s going on in here?”
Morn put her hand on Davies’ arm like a warning.
His mouth closed sharply.
Snarling under her breath, Mikka shut the lift and sent it upward. She barely heard Davies shout after her, “Stay off the bridge! Angus doesn’t want to be bothered!”