Mikka foundered; she might have been drowning. She didn’t know how to deal with her fear that Morn was wrong; that Vector had come too late to save Ciro. Panting for air, she rasped, “What good is that going to do?”
Vector cocked an eyebrow at her. “I need a blood sample,” he explained. “The sickbay systems can analyze it. They might not be able to answer all my questions, but they can tell me how closely this mutagen resembles the ones Nick’s antimutagen can handle.” As if the point were incidental, he remarked, “I know a lot more about that drug’s limits than I did a few hours ago.”
Ciro seemed to cling to every word as if Vector might keep him human simply by talking to him. Nevertheless Mikka couldn’t stop. If she let herself believe that Vector could help Ciro, and he failed, she might kill him.
Nearly choking, she demanded, “And what good is knowing that going to do?”
Vector shrugged. “If there’s enough of a resemblance—and if the antidote really keeps this mutagen passive—our antimutagen should work. Remember, it’s not an organic immunity. It doesn’t make human DNA resistant. The drug is essentially a genetically engineered microbe that acts as a binder. It attaches itself to the nucleotides of the mutagen, renders them inert. Then they’re both flushed out of the body as waste.
“Of course, it wouldn’t normally accomplish anything to take this drug after a mutagen was injected. That’s because most Amnion mutagens act immediately. But if this mutagen is just sitting there, our drug should have time to catch up with it.”
Morn nudged him toward the door. “Do it now,” she urged him. “We can talk about it later.”
Vector nodded. Still he paused long enough to let Mikka raise more objections.
She set her teeth on her lip and knotted her fingers in the thighs of her shipsuit to make herself shut up.
Vector inclined his head like a bow. The movement seemed curiously formal—an indication of respect. A moment later he bobbed to the door and let himself out of the cabin.
At once Mikka left the wall to reach the bunk and Ciro.
This time when she wrapped her arms around him he returned her embrace.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to be so hard on you. I’m just scared out of my mind.”
He nodded mutely and tightened his grip.
From someplace far away, Morn said, “I’m going back to the bridge. They need to know what’s happening.” She meant Sib, Davies, and Angus. “And maybe Angus can help us. One of those UMCP databases might tell him something useful.”
The bandage blurred Mikka’s vision. She didn’t reply. She was too busy holding on to her brother.
DARRIN
Deep in the asteroid swarm protecting Deaner Beckmann’s installation, Darrin Scroyle sat at his command station and watched three of his people work. They’d gone EVA, but they were easily close enough for Free Lunch’s lights and cameras to reach them. He watched them on the largest of the display screens.
Through the fabric of his shipsuit, he scratched his chest absentmindedly. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen. His bridge crew would tell him quickly enough if their instruments picked up hints of trouble from the seething space around the ship; but if his people outside encountered any difficulties, he wanted to see what happened himself. That might enable him to react in time to save them.
They clung with grapples and compression pitons to the rough surface of an asteroid not much larger than Free Lunch’s bridge. At the moment they were anchored beside a concrete emplacement which held one of the relays that bounced scan data and operational communication to and from the Lab.
If the information Darrin had gleaned the last time Free Lunch visited the Lab was still accurate, his ship had reached this position without being detected by Beckmann’s scan net. Lab Center didn’t know he was here.
Unless he’d made a mistake—
He shrugged mentally. Mistake or not, he was here. And if his people did their jobs right, he would soon know if he’d miscalculated, one way or the other.
The sight of fragile human beings bobbing like bubbles amid the imponderable rush of so much rock made his stomach queasy. That was normal for him—he always found EVA easier to do than to observe—but he didn’t shirk it. If his people risked their lives outside the ship, the least he could do was to endure a little nausea in order to keep an eye on them.
After a few minutes, the bridge speaker emitted a spatter of static. “I think we’re done here, Captain.” A woman’s voice: his command second, Pane Suesa. “It looks like it should work. How’s it coming through?”
“Data?” Darrin asked without glancing away from the screen.
“Clear enough, Captain,” the data first answered. “At this range, we can handle the static, no problem. But we’ll have to crack their coding.”
“Is that going to be a problem?” Darrin inquired even though he knew the answer.
Data chuckled sardonically. “For me? No.” If he hadn’t routinely justified his high opinion of himself, he would have been insufferable. “We’ll know everything the Lab knows by the time our people reach the airlock.”
“Good.” Darrin leaned toward his pickup. “Pane,” he transmitted, “it’s coming through fine. You’re done. Get back in here before I get spacesick watching you.”
“Aye, Captain,” the speaker replied.
After another moment his command second and her two companions aimed their maneuvering jets and began riding gusts of compressed gas in the direction of Free Lunch.
From her place at the targ station, Alesha turned a grave look toward Darrin. Like him, she was belted into her g-seat. The ship floated without internal spin: centrifugal g would have made Free Lunch too hard to handle in the swarm. Alesha had to twist against her restraints in order to face Darrin.
“Are you sure they won’t detect what we’re doing?”
“‘They’? Succorso and Thermopyle?” His attention was consumed by Pane and her crew: for an instant he didn’t under stand Alesha’s question. Then he said, “Oh, you mean Lab Center.”
She nodded.
He shook his head. “Yes and no. If I’ve made a mistake—or they’ve moved their emplacements—they might know we’re here. But even if they do, they can’t detect our transmitter. It’s completely passive. It doesn’t add or subtract anything, interrupt anything, distort anything—or leave any ghosts. All it does is read the signals passing through the relay and echo them to us. So we’re safe, at least for a while.”
The cameras tracked Free Lunch’s people as they coasted for the ship. Changing focus slowly blurred the image of the asteroid in the background. More to calm his stomach than because Alesha needed the explanation, Darrin went on, “When data gets it decoded, that echo will show us everything in this quadrant of Beckmann’s scan net. We’ll hear every message Lab Center gets from this vicinity—or sends out here.
“We’ll know where Trumpet is. If she’s left the Lab, we’ll know where she’s going. We’ll know if there are any other ships around her—or after her.”
Darrin considered what he’d said briefly, then finished, “Also—if the occasion arises—we can blow our transmitter and knock out this whole sector of the net. That’ll blind anybody who happens to be relying on it,”
“Sounds good,” Alesha remarked with a hint of challenge in her tone. “In fact, it sounds too good. Too easy. If we can do this, why can’t Trumpet! Why can’t Punisher, or the ship that followed Trumpet out of forbidden space?”
“They could.” The closer Pane and her companions came, the less queasy Damn’s stomach felt. “But Trumpet won’t take the time. She’ll be in a hurry to get out of the swarm. And Punisher isn’t here yet.” His shipsuit protected his chest: he could scratch as much as he liked. “I don’t know where the hell that other ship is. She might not be in this system at all. Or she might be lurking right on top of Trumpet. That’s one reason we’re tapping into the scan net. We need to know who else we have to deal with.??
?
Alesha nodded again. “I know. I just wanted to hear you say it.”
On several occasions over the years, she’d told him—some times with more than a little exasperation—that he had the gift of making even the most impossible situations sound manageable. But there was no exasperation in her voice now. She’d put her larger anxieties aside in order to concentrate on the present; on doing her part to keep Free Lunch alive.
The cameras tracked the three EVA suits all the way to the waiting airlock in the ship’s scarred flank.
With obvious satisfaction, the data first stabbed a key. “Got it, Captain.” He made no effort to conceal his smugness. “I’m relaying to scan and communications now.”
“Looks good, Captain,” scan commented as he studied his readouts. “If you’re done watching Pane, I’ll put it on the big screen.”
Pane had taken hold of a cleat outside the airlock; she was ushering her companions inside. Darrin decided to believe they were safe. With a small sigh of relief, he said to data, “Nice work.” Then he told his scan first, “Do it.”
At once the video image flickered off the display, and a 3-D scan schematic took its place.
A maze of blue dots indicated rocks. Green showed scan emplacements and relays; yellow pointed to guns. A void filled one corner of the schematic: the clear space around the Lab. The image wavered slightly as Beckmann’s net adjusted itself to account for the shifting positions of the asteroids.
Two red blips amid the maze marked ships.
They were identified in the schematic by code rather than name. Nevertheless Darrin could see at a glance that neither of them was Free Lunch. Neither was this close to a relay. And both were moving.
The Lab didn’t know his ship was here. Therefore he could be morally certain no one else did, either.
One of the blips picked its way through the center of the quadrant, heading away from the Lab. The other was nearing the installation’s control space at the fringes of the schematic.
After a moment helm added a yellow blip to the image: Free Lunch’s position. She was no more than a couple of thousand k away from the vessel in the middle of the screen.
“Have you got id on those ships?” Darrin asked.
“I’m coordinating now, Captain,” the communications first answered. Transmissions between the ships and Lab Center were separate data-streams, distinct from the flow of scan. However, a quick time-slice comparison would enable him to determine which data-stream belonged to which blip.
Within five seconds, a name replaced the code over the red blip in the center of the screen.
Trumpet.
Unmistakably moving away from the Lab, out of the swarm. And only two thousand k beyond Free Lunch.
“Target acquired,” Alesha announced to no one in particular. At this distance through this much confused rock, she couldn’t have hit Trumpet if she’d fired all day. The gap scout was totally blocked from Free Lunch’s scan. Nevertheless Alesha’s words lit a small incendiary excitement in Damn’s chest.
Tension or eagerness tightened his bridge crew in their g-seats, sharpened their movements. Automatically, without orders, the helm first projected Trumpet’s course, plotted an interception, and posted both in the schematic.
Free Lunch would be able to cut off the gap scout and attack in three hours.
Darrin was about to say, Let’s go, when communications named the second red blip. The information surprised him to silence.
Soar.
“Damn,” Alesha breathed as if she were speaking for the whole ship. “She was at Billingate. What’s she doing here?”
Darrin knew. He didn’t need intuition; the logic of the coincidence was too obvious. “Soar, “he pronounced quietly. “Captain Sorus Chatelaine. According to her reputation, she worked for the Bill. And sometimes the Amnion.
“That’s who followed Trumpet out of forbidden space.”
He was sure.
“Problems, people,” Alesha warned the bridge. Experience and her relationship with Darrin gave her the right to say such things. “We’ve got complications. Be ready.”
He cleared his throat.
“If she knows where Trumpet is,” he said, organizing his thoughts, “we have competition.” He ran some rough estimates on his board, looked at the results. “She could turn right now and get to Trumpet before we do.” The gap scout’s pace through the maze was efficient and steady, but unhurried. Anybody willing to take enough risks could chase Trumpet down. “Even if she waits until she reaches the Lab’s control space so she can follow Trumpet’s particle trace, she’ll still be close.
“If she doesn’t know, of course, she’s out of it. She’s heading the wrong way. By the time Beckmann tells her what she needs, she’ll be too late to catch up with us.”
“What do you think, Captain?” communications asked casually. Not Alesha: Darrin assumed that his targ first had already made up her own mind.
He paused for three beats of his heart, simply looking at the schematic and letting the logic of the coincidence complete itself. Then he shrugged and took his chances.
“She knows. If she’s good enough to track Trumpet here, she’s good enough to finish the job.”
It was possible for him to take such things simply and act on them, as if they were facts instead of speculations.
A moment later he added, “But the Amnion don’t want Trumpet destroyed. They want her captured—they want her cargo back. Which means”—he looked around the bridge, faced each of his people in turn to confirm that they were prepared—“we’d, better make sure we get to her first.”
No one hesitated. “I’m on it, Captain,” helm murmured as data and scan fed information to his board. At the same time Alesha began tapping power to charge the ship’s matter cannon.
Darrin glanced at his indicators, saw that the airlock was secure. Pane and her people were out of danger.
He gave the order, and Free Lunch’s thrust kicked to life.
He didn’t recognize what he was feeling until he looked at Alesha. From this small distance, he could see delicate beads of sweat gathering at her temples. In all the years he’d loved her, he’d only seen her perspire when she was scared.
Then he knew that he, too, was afraid.
DAVIES
“We’re not closing.”
Davies was on fire. Hunger, rage, and a strange species of madness were burning him up.
“We’re going to lose her, Angus.”
Angus didn’t bother to answer.
In one sense, Davies had been living this way too long. But in another, he was dependent on it. He needed the pressures of his circumstances and his metabolism to deflect him, defend him, from the central confusion at the core of his being. He’d been born with the knowledge that he was a woman, despite what his eyes and his nerves and other people told him. He was a woman, he was Morn, in ways which had nothing to do with the shape of his flesh or the nature of his hormones. His bond with his mother was fundamentally false.
But if he allowed himself to dwell on the discrepancy, he would crack. The stress would burst his brain like a rotten fruit.
Unfortunately his defenses left him vulnerable to other forms of craziness.
When he’d learned that Soar had once been known as Gutbuster, the oddly fragile balance between his enhanced resources and his acute confusion had failed. He’d begun to burn inside like magnesium under water, devouring bound oxygen until he could reach atmosphere and take true fire.
Gutbuster had hit Intransigent with a super-light proton beam.
His mother’s no Morn’s no his goddamn it Bryony Hyland’s station in targeting control had lost structural integrity. She’d died because she’d stayed at her board to save Intransigent.
Davies remembered that. He’d become a cop because of it.
As a young girl, Morn Hyland had sworn in the silence of her heart that someday she would get that ship; avenge her mother. And she’d known how to hold a grudge. Somewhere
in the depths of her aggrieved soul, beneath all the harm which Angus and Nick and the UMCP had done to her, she’d kept that purpose fresh until it was imprinted on Davies.
Now he’d lost his ability to care about anything except retribution. It seemed to eat at his sanity like vitriol. Morn was able to think about other things, take them into account: he couldn’t. Instead he fulminated inwardly because Angus refused to go faster.
Trumpet was moving too slowly, following Soar’s particle trail and Lab Center’s departure protocols too cautiously; Angus was worrying too much. Davies wanted to make the ship burn like his heart, but Angus paid no attention. Instead he concentrated on data Davies couldn’t interpret, on questions Davies didn’t consider worth asking.
Despite the blood on his back and the shipsuit still rucked down around his waist, Angus had never seemed more like a machine than he did right now: blind, literal, and impervious.
Davies hardly noticed when Vector left the bridge. He ignored Sib’s moist anxiety as the former data first drifted around the command stations, explicitly keeping watch on Nick even though Nick could barely move. While Angus worked and Sib sweated—while Nick alternately gasped and chuckled to himself like a man fighting an internal battle which sometimes struck him as funny—Davies ran insistent course projections, feverishly comparing Angus’ decisions with Lab Center’s operational input and the swarm charts Deaner Beckmann had supplied; calculating and recalculating the lag between Trumpet and Soar.
“We’re going to lose her,” he rasped for the ten or even the twentieth time.
Angus keyed commands as if he were oblivious. “What’s Morn doing?” he asked without raising his head. “What does she need Vector for?”
Davies’ casts and the itch of healing fretted him: another distraction. He ground his teeth. “We’re going to lose her. You’re letting her get away.”
Artificially calm, Angus looked up from his readouts.
“You’re wasting my time,” he told Davies flatly. “If you can’t shut up, say something useful. Explain to me why Lab Center gave us exactly the same course as Soar.”