Doesn’t want to be bothered? What was going on? Morn and Davies had guns. They were trying to ambush Nick in the airlock. And Angus didn’t want to be bothered?
Later: she would worry about all that later. If she could still bear it. When the lift opened, she pulled Ciro out.
The central passage was empty: the whole ship sounded empty. For the first time since she’d joined Trumpet, the door at the head of the companionway was shut. But she didn’t pause to analyze the situation. If anything happened now to delay her, she might begin to tear her hair; might beat her skull on the bulkheads. In four strides she reached the cabin she and Ciro shared. The door responded at the touch of a command.
She thrust her brother inside so hard that he staggered; nearly fell.
While he caught his balance and slowly, fearfully, came around to face her, she closed the door; locked it. If she could have dropped an iron bar across it to keep it shut, she would have done so. A glance at the intercom confirmed that the pickup wasn’t active.
Lungs heaving for air, she confronted Ciro across the small cabin. “Now.” Her breath scraped in her throat. “You’re going to tell me what happened.
“Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”
He stared back at her, dry-eyed, as if she’d offered to reach into his chest and rip out his heart.
MORN
Morn could feel withdrawal beginning to burn in her nerves like a slow fuse lit by Mikka’s frantic passage through the airlock. Until now she’d been too busy—and too scared—to take notice of her own condition; too full of adrenaline to want or need the artificial stimulation of her zone implant.
Angus wasn’t ready. In fact, at the moment he was virtually helpless. Even Ciro, despite his obvious fright, could have killed the cyborg now.
Angus’ struggle to free himself dismayed Morn. He was the victim of his zone implants: she knew what that was like. His helplessness touched sore places in her heart which she didn’t want to examine.
At the same time, she didn’t want him to succeed. She’d made the decision to let him try. Now it horrified her.
Yet without him she was lost. Her life—and her son’s—depended on him. And her ability to endure the things which had happened to her, as well as the things she’d done, depended on her determination to make decisions the way a cop should.
Because Angus was vulnerable, she and Davies were here in the airlock, waiting for Nick. Until he completed his self-transformation, he couldn’t defend himself; certainly couldn’t protect anyone else. Morn and Davies had to beat Nick themselves.
Just shoot him, Davies had suggested. They had guns. Angus had opened the weapons locker before they began his operation.
But Morn had refused.
Why not? Davies had pursued. If he’s dead, he can’t hurt us. And he can’t mess with Angus. We won’t have to stake everything on this weird idea that Angus can edit his datacore.
Because we’re cops, Morn had answered. We don’t do things like that.
And we might need him. We might need him to talk us out of here, in case Lab Center refuses to deal with anyone else.
And—the mere idea appalled her—we might need his help if Angus goes out of control. If his changes backfire. Or if he taps his core programming to somehow cancel his restriction against harming UMCP personnel.
Besides, we can’t be sure we won’t hit Vector or one of the others.
Nick would be here soon: Mikka had said as much. Vector’s done. The geneticist had succeeded at analyzing UMCPDA’s mutagen immunity drug: he knew the formula.He and Nick are dickering with Beckmann now.And Beckmann would want a share of that secret, if only for the wealth it represented. Under the circumstances, “dickering” wouldn’t take long. Nick would get everything he asked for and be ready to leave in a matter of minutes.
What had happened to Mikka? What had happened to Ciro?
Their distress brought back another nagging question: why had Soar left? Morn had assumed that Sorus Chatelaine was taking her ship out into the asteroid swarm to prepare an ambush. But Mikka’s actions, and Ciro’s face, suggested other possibilities.
Nick had committed some new atrocity.
Or he himself had been betrayed. Beckmann had turned against him—perhaps because Soar had set him up.
Morn had no intention of telling anyone, not even Mikka, how exposed Angus was until she knew what had happened in Deaner Beckmann’s domain.
I need time, Angus had insisted. You’ve got to keep Nick away from me until I’m done and one of you plugs the datacore back into my computer. After that I can defend myself, even if I’m still wired to the ship.
But I can’t rush it. It’s complicated anyway, but the really hard part is getting around the stasis commands. They’re hardwired. That’s how Hashi fucking Lebwohl’s techs used to handle me. They could pop my datacore in and out whenever they wanted because the stasis commands aren’t on that chip. They kick in automatically if my programming doesn’t countermand them.
So you can’t just cut me open, pull my datacore, and hand it to me. I won’t be able to work on it.
The solution he’d devised was elaborate as well as uncertain. It had involved opening his back to expose his computer and then running a complex series of leads between it and Trumpet’s command circuits—in effect using the ship’s datacore to override his hardwired instruction-set so that his own datacore could be removed without sending him into paralysis.
Will that work? Morn had asked.
Who the hell knows? Angus had answered. But what’s it going to hurt? Even if you end up frying what’s left of my brains, you won’t be any worse off than you are right now. At least you’ll have a better chance against Captain Sheepfucker. And maybe I’ll get to stop screaming inside where nobody hears me.
So Morn and Davies had agreed. As far as she was concerned, they’d had no choice. And once he’d been persuaded to take the risk of freeing Angus, he’d become eager to act on it.
She’d left the cutting and wiring to him—but not because he was eager. She hadn’t wanted to get that close to Angus. Hadn’t wanted his blood on her hands. While Davies stained himself red in the task of reaching Angus’ computer, peeling skin and muscle aside to lay bare his equipment, and then attaching leads exactly as Angus instructed, she’d helped by wiring those same leads into the command board.
At the same time she’d watched scan and communications, studying the Lab as well as the surrounding swarm for data or warnings. When she’d seen Soar undock, she’d spent a while on targ, tracking the other ship with Trumpet’s guns until she was sure that Sorus Chatelaine didn’t mean to attack the gap scout while Soar was still within reach of the Lab’s matter cannon.
In that way Morn had kept herself busy; distracted. Otherwise her apprehension and the smell of Angus’ blood might have made her weep.
The job had been long and arduous. But at last Angus had said, All right, we’re ready. As far as I can tell, everything tests out. Go ahead—pull the chip.
Now or never. Kill me or save me.
When Davies unplugged the datacore from its socket between Angus’ shoulder blades, Angus had rolled his eyes, grimaced like a convulsion, muttered a curse. Then both he and his son had begun to laugh like demented schoolboys; crazy with relief.
Maybe the three of them had a chance after all. Maybe by the time Vector finished his research Angus would be whole again, able to use his lasers and databases and other resources; and freed from the compulsion of his priority-codes.
But Mikka had keyed the ship’s exterior intercom too soon. And there’d been no advance notice from Lab Center. Angus wasn’t ready—he was still sweating over his datacore. While it was unplugged none of his equipment functioned. In fact, he couldn’t even move around: he was effectively trapped by the wiring which connected him to the command circuits.
A sitting target.
Snatching up their guns, Morn and Davies had run for the airlock.
On their
way off the bridge, they’d closed the bulkhead door at the head of the companionway. That wouldn’t protect him unless he remembered to lock it, however. Morn feared that he was concentrating too hard to think about things like that.
But it was out of her hands. In a rush she and Davies had taken their places in the airlock on either side of the doors; braced themselves for Nick.
Club him, she’d hissed to her son. If you can knock him out, our problems are solved. Even if he’s just dazed, we can handle him. And if you miss—Stiff with dread, she’d shrugged. I’ll have to try.
Davies had nodded bitterly. He still ached to kill Nick.
But when Morn unsealed the doors, Mikka came through the airlock like a flare of panic, thrusting Ciro ahead of her as if he were too frightened to make himself move.
Vector’s done. He and Nick are dickering with Beckmann now. They should be coming soon.
“What’s going on?” Davies demanded. “What happened out there?”
“Where’s Angus?” Mikka countered. “What’s going on in here?”
Then she and Ciro were gone, riding the lift upward.
“Jesus,” Davies breathed in shock. “What’s wrong with them? I thought this place was just a lab, not some House of Horrors like Billingate.”
Morn felt the raw touch of withdrawal crawling along her nerves. She didn’t know the answer. Somehow Mikka’s fear, and Ciro’s, pushed her to the verge of another attack. She’d been deprived of her zone implant’s emissions too long—Only hours of cat had postponed the onset of her mad hunger for clarity. Now it was overdue.
The same questions ran her in circles.
What had happened to Mikka and Ciro? What had they done?
Davies tightened his grip on his impact pistol. His body gave off tension like static. “You ought to go back to the bridge,” he told Morn. “One of us should be there to plug in that datacore as soon as Angus is ready. And if I can’t deal with Nick, you’ll still have a chance.”
To explain his concern, he added, “We don’t know what’s wrong with Mikka and Ciro. They could turn Angus off just by tugging on one of those leads.”
“I know,” Morn sighed. A familiar acid licked small streaks of pain along her limbs, through her joints. The back of her head throbbed. “But if I’m going to trust Angus, I’m certainly going to trust Mikka. No matter what’s happened, she doesn’t want Nick to run this ship.” Again she shrugged. “And I can’t leave you,” she admitted thinly. “I’ll lose my mind if I have to wait up there with him alone.”
Davies growled, but didn’t try to dissuade her. “Then we’ll have to do better than we did with Mikka. You go first this time. Step in front of him, point your gun at his face—whatever it takes to distract him. All I need is two seconds to key the door and then hit him.”
She nodded dumbly. Fear or withdrawal dried her mouth, desiccating what was left of her courage.
But she didn’t have time to be afraid. Before starting his operation, Angus had opened ship-wide channels for Trumpet’s internal communications. Now the airlock intercom chimed, and almost at once Nick’s voice crackled across the silence.
“Open up.” He sounded ebullient, nearly manic with eagerness. “I’m back. Whatever you’re doing”—he must have been talking to Angus, although the Lab’s personnel would have thought he addressed Mikka—“stop it. Get the ship ready. It’s time to leave.” He coughed a laugh. “Time to go have some fun.”
Fun. Sure.
Morn clutched her handgun.
They couldn’t afford to hesitate now. Nick would expect immediate obedience from Isaac. Any delay might warn him that he was in trouble.
Davies thumbed the airlock controls. He and Morn tucked themselves into the corners oh either side of the outer door.
Her heart beat hard enough to make her woozy. Step in front of him. Point her gun at his face. Arrest him. She was a cop, wasn’t she? She was supposed to know how to do this.
But between them Angus and Nick had nearly dismantled her. She was a zone implant addict. Weeks of overexertion and fear had exacted their toll. And the cops she’d trained to serve were corrupt. The laser pistol felt like an alien artifact in her hand: a construct she didn’t understand and couldn’t use.
And Nick sent Sib and then Vector into the lock ahead of him as if he wanted to make sure the way was safe.
Her hand, no, her whole arm had already begun to tremble by the time Nick crossed between her and Davies.
Sib turned at the lift, caught sight of her. His involuntary surprise betrayed her.
She jumped forward with her gun straining for Nick’s head. As if she were still a cop, still believed in herself, she barked, “Freeze!”
But she’d already failed. Her motion was too intense for the slight g. The pressure in her legs drove her past Nick toward the ceiling; out of control.
Sib’s surprise warned Nick; the sound of the airlock closing warned him. He ignored Morn. Sudden and savage, he whirled on Davies. Morn’s frantic shot scored the deck beyond his feet, but didn’t touch him.
Davies wasn’t braced for it. He was expecting to attack, not be attacked. As Nick spun, he jerked up his hands too late to stop Nick’s elbow from catching him squarely on the cheekbone. His head hit the wall with a sodden double smack like the sound of fruit being pulped.
The doors whined shut; sealed the fight inside.
Morn clashed against the ceiling and rebounded, flailing to aim her laser. But now Vector blocked her. Trying to get out of the way, he blundered in the wrong direction.
Nick swung at Davies’ head. Davies was stunned, barely able to move. Still Morn’s old training saved him. Reflexively he tossed up his forearm hard enough to deflect Nick’s fist.
An instant later Nick crashed into him. They both stumbled against the bulkhead as Sib drove into Nick’s back with all his weight and force.
Sib had failed too often, shamed himself with his own fears too much. Now his desperation transformed him. His eyes blazed as he planted himself and began hammering Nick’s back with his elbows, throwing the torque of his shoulders and the strength of his arms like projectiles at Nick’s ribs and kidneys.
Roaring with pain, Nick flung himself off Davies; twisted to fall away from Sib’s elbows.
“Angus!” he howled. “Angus!”
In a frenzy of alarm, Morn heaved Vector aside; thrust herself headlong after Nick.
She would have failed at that, too, if Vector hadn’t helped her. Awkward with old pain, he braced his arms and legs, anchored his body so that she could launch off him accurately.
She landed across Nick’s back as he sprawled on his face.
She couldn’t hold him down with her own weight; couldn’t fight him physically. She didn’t try. As he bunched under her to pitch her off, she knotted her free hand onto the collar of his shipsuit and jammed the muzzle of her pistol into his ear.
“I said freeze! I can’t miss from here! You can’t flip fast enough to make me miss! If you don’t freeze, I’m going to burn a red hole right through the middle of your brain!”
She didn’t know whether or not he believed her. She wasn’t sure that she believed herself. Nevertheless he faltered—
An instant later the butt of Davies’ impact pistol came down on his skull like a cudgel.
His body flopped raggedly, then slumped still. A small sigh like a groan escaped him. “Angus, you bastard—”
After that he was gone.
Blood trickled through the hair on the back of his head. More blood marked the deck under his face. Nevertheless he went on breathing thinly, like a man who didn’t know how to die.
“Shit,” Davies panted somewhere above Morn. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to beat him. Every time I fight him he does something I don’t expect.”
Slowly Morn, lowered her head, rested it for a moment between Nick’s shoulder blades while she let herself go faint with relief. She may have looked like she was grieving for him, but in truth she was suddenl
y so full of gratitude that she could scarcely contain it.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Vector breathed to Davies. His own relief was palpable. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re absolutely amazing. Whenever I make the mistake of thinking you Hylands have limits, you do something like this. How did you—” He cleared his lungs with a loud gust. “You take my breath away. How did you get past Angus? I thought he was unreachable. Not to mention invulnerable.”
“Can you move?” Sib murmured close to Morn’s head. “I’ll help you. If you can get off him, I’ll try to make sure we don’t have to go through all this again.”
Make sure we don’t—? With an effort she raised her head and saw that he had a roll of strapping tape in his hands.
“This stuff is as strong as flexsteel,” he told her quietly. “If I tie him up with it, maybe we can stop worrying about him.”
Vector began to laugh, a clean, happy sound like a blue sky. “Sib, you maniac, do you always carry a roll of strapping tape?”
Sib blushed. “I put it in my pocket after Nick took over. I couldn’t find anything that looked like a weapon. This seemed like the next best thing.” He met Morn’s gaze for a moment, then looked down. “I’ve been praying for a chance to use it.”
Morn managed a smile. “Do it.” Carefully, as if her relief were fragile, she rolled off Nick.
At once Sib set to work. He strapped Nick’s wrists together snugly behind him, ran loops of tape around his upper arms to secure them, then hobbled his ankles, leaving only enough slack to let him take small steps. Finally Sib stretched more tape between the hobble and Nick’s wrists so that he wouldn’t be able to jump or kick.
Davies watched with grim approval. When the job was done, he said, “Keep that roll handy. If his mouth starts to bother us, you can tape it shut.”
Sib nodded. If he felt any relief, it didn’t show.
Morn let some of her fear out in a long sigh. She met Davies’ questioning glance; nodded assent.
Thumbing the intercom toggle, he chimed the bridge.