The Gap Into Power: A Dark and Hungry God Arises

  To some extent, the crowding was caused by the lack of internal spin. His people could only stand on that section of the floor which was oriented toward Thanatos Minor’s mass. When Captain’s Fancy first docked, the bridge stations had adjusted automatically to the rock’s g by sliding along their tracks until they rested almost shoulder to shoulder in the bottom of the curve. Because of that, the crew didn’t have much space.

  The entire group watched him enter the bridge as if he were an emissary of the Amnion.

  A quick scan told him that Liete and her watch were still in their g-seats. But Arkenhill had replaced Allum on scan; Karster had taken Simper’s position. That made sense: Mikka had almost certainly included Simper and Allum on her team. Yet both men were here, as were Mikka herself, Sib—who should have been resting while Alba Parmute had data—Scorz, Pup, Lind, Carmel, and several others. Vector sat at the engineer’s station as if he were on duty.

  Scowling in an effort to conceal the way the tic pulled at his cheek, Nick drawled, “All right, boys and girls. The party’s over. If you aren’t working, get off the bridge.”

  No one moved. A mild smile curved Vector’s mouth; his eyes were blue and cloudless, as steady as a clear sky. Carmel watched Nick with her customary bluntness. Pastille’s nose wrinkled as if his own reek disgusted even him. Except for the cut of his features and the spread of his hips, Pup bore no particular resemblance to his sister, Mikka: his face expressed naïveté and chagrin instead of her glowering competence, her clenched old ire. Allum and Simper, dissimilar in every other way, both grinned with exactly the same unsatisfied hunger for violence. Sib was sweating as if he were feverish: moisture made his pale mustache look like dirt on his upper lip.

  While he was gone, Nick had apparently lost them all.

  He didn’t hesitate. That part of him remained undamaged, at any rate. The worse the danger, the more quickly he moved.

  “Liete”—he let his voice uncurl like a lash—“is this the way you run things when I’m not here?”

  The command third faced him miserably. Strain darkened her small features until they were nearly black. But she didn’t try to apologize. “We’re all under a lot of pressure, Nick,” she said almost firmly. “I figured it was better to let them get together and talk. Get what’s eating at them out in the open. At least that way we know what we’re up against.”

  Her tone made it clear that “we” meant Nick and Liete herself.

  “Don’t blame her,” Mikka put in before Nick could respond. “It was my idea. I still outrank her—I told her it was all right.”

  Nick stifled an impulse to retort, You don’t outrank her now. You’ve got five minutes to get off this ship. But he knew intuitively that a premature show of authority would make the crisis worse. Before he did anything else, he needed to take the temperature of this gathering, learn how hotly the infection against him burned.

  “I’ll talk to you in a minute,” he told Mikka. “I’m not done with Liete.”

  Precisely because he still trusted Liete, he let his anger show in her direction. “I sent you a message. Did you get it?”

  “I got it.” Liete was tough: she didn’t flinch or falter. Despite appearances, she was the same woman who’d flung herself at him to prevent him from killing Morn when Morn’s finger was on the ship’s self-destruct. And she was still on his side.

  “Did you do what I told you?”

  “Of course.” She sounded slightly insulted.

  Nick permitted himself an internal sigh of relief. That was one less worry. Feeling marginally stronger, he demanded, “So what the hell happened to the drive? I left it on standby.”

  Liete had more than one reason to look unhappy. Her eyes seemed to beg him to let her apologize as she reported, “Operations sent us an ultimatum. I guess they got tired of ordering us to shut down. They told me if I didn’t comply they were going to undock us. Seal their locks, drop the lines, unclamp. You would have been cut off—you couldn’t get back.” As if she were holding her breath, she finished, “So I did what they said.”

  Nick needed time to absorb this; time he didn’t have. Instead of sending guards when his wire stopped transmitting, the Bill had taken action in other ways. But Nick couldn’t afford to consider the implications now. He had a more immediate crisis on his hands.

  With an effort of will, he gave Liete a nod. “All right.” Then he turned his attention back to Mikka.

  Facing his second as if he dared her to challenge him, he said, “I told you to put together a team for a raid. Did that get done?”

  Mikka’s capacity to confront him was more pronounced than Liete’s. “We’re ready,” she answered harshly. “I’ve got Allum for demolition. Sib knows as much about electronic jamming as any of the rest of us. Simper can supply firepower.” She shrugged. “I’ll handle the rest myself. We can go as soon as you give us a target—and tell us what you want brought back.”

  “‘Brought back’?” A laugh burst out of him before he could stifle it. Mikka was thinking about Morn: he was certain of that. But he had no intention of trying to recover Morn. She was simply bait; a way to get what he wanted from Milos and Angus—and maybe from Mikka herself. In any case, Morn was an Amnioni by now, as lost and damned as if she’d fallen into the gap. Mikka should have realized that the only thing Nick could possibly want “brought back” was Davies.

  Now that wasn’t necessary.

  But he wasn’t going to say so; not yet. “All right,” he drawled again. Although he faced Mikka, he directed his voice to the rest of the bridge. “You’re still following orders, so I’ll assume this isn’t an active mutiny. You’ve been talking about it, but you haven’t actually decided to do it yet.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you’re even willing to consider that kind of self-destruct?”

  “You’ve got it wrong, Nick,” Mikka began. “We haven’t gone that far. We—”

  “We want to know,” Carmel put in, “what’s going on.”

  At once Lind, Scorz, and several others nodded. Sib and Pup looked like they’d forgotten how to breathe.

  “We’ve all been to Billingate,” the scan first explained, “but you’ve never locked us in before. There’s an Amnion warship in dock and another out there ready to blast us. Without a gap drive, we might as well abandon ship—but Operations won’t let us at the shipyard. You gave Morn to the Amnion”—Carmel never hesitated to say what she was thinking—“which makes some of us wonder if we’re next. You keep leaving the ship and coming back, but we don’t know what you do when you go out. Liete says you’re trying to find a way to save us. Some of us think you’re making arrangements to sell us so you can save yourself.

  “You know me, Nick,” she concluded. “I like an explanation. I always feel better when I know what’s going on.”

  Nick glared at her so that he wouldn’t grin. The tic in his cheek wanted him to grin; it tugged at his scars to make him bare his teeth. If he gave in to it now, he might never recover.

  Glowering darkly, he retorted, “Is that all? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” A yell rose up in him; he fought it down, forced himself to speak quietly. “What do you idiots use for brains? If I could save myself by selling you, I would be tempted. But most of you aren’t worth betraying.

  “I’m the one who’s in trouble here. Haven’t you figured that out yet? It’s all on my head. The Amnion wouldn’t accept any or all of you as a substitute for me—and the Bill sure as hell won’t. If you want to come out of this whole, all you have to do is keep your fucking heads down and don’t get in my way.”

  His people watched him as if he were about to go nova in front of them.

  “You want to know what’s going on?” he growled. “I’ll tell you. Morn Hyland is a fucking cop! At first that wasn’t a problem. We had her with Hashi Lebwohl’s permission. But after we went to Enablement, DA and the whole goddamn UMCP stopped trusting us. Now they want her back. But since they don’t trust us—since they assu
me we’ve already sold her and ourselves—they aren’t just going to ask us nicely if we would please hand her over. They’re coming after us for blood.

  “That’s why Trumpet is here. Lebwohl has always had a hand in Taverner’s pocket. Most of the time when we worked with Milos he was working with DA at the same time. And Captain Thermo-pile may be the worst motherfucker in the galaxy, but he knows it when he’s been strung up by the balls. He gave Morn a zone implant—and by now the cops know that. So DA has given him a chance for a reprieve by letting him come here with Milos to get her back.

  “I found that out,” he went on before the crew could react, “by leaving you here to talk about mutiny behind my back. And I gave Morn to the Amnion so we wouldn’t be Captain Thermo-pile’s target—so he’d go after the Amnion instead of us.

  “Hell,” he snorted, “they’re only two men. All they’ve got is a gap scout. Do you think we don’t need to be afraid of them? I don’t think that. They’ve got the whole UMCP behind them. They probably have an entire flotilla right at the edge of forbidden space, just waiting for an excuse to come in and slag us. They could do that if we still had Morn. They could tell the Amnion, they could guarantee, they wouldn’t touch anything but us. This ‘incursion’ isn’t an act of war, just a rescue mission.”

  Now he had them. He could see it in Simper’s open face and Liete’s dedication, in Scorz’ astonishment and Pastille’s unwilling respect and Sib’s dismay. They may have wanted to reject his explanation, but they were seduced by it in spite of themselves. Only Vector Shaheed managed to look unconvinced.

  “I’ve already saved us from that,” Nick pronounced. “I’ve saved myself, as well as all of you. And now I’ve got a chance to solve the rest of our problems. Milos and Captain Thermo-pile are going after Morn. They can’t exactly negotiate her release, so they’re going to try to cut her out of the Amnion sector. And when that happens—when the fighting starts—we’ll be ready.

  “Unless”—he sneered—“we can’t move because we’re in the middle of something suicidal, like a mutiny.

  “While the UMCP and the Amnion are exchanging raids and threats and maybe even fire, we’ll do what we came here for in the first place. We’ll sell the Bill DA’s immunity drug—or what looks like DA’s immunity drug. He’ll buy—he won’t have any choice. He’ll believe that’s what the UMCP and the Amnion are really risking a war over. And he won’t have time to test it. This whole fucking installation will be in chaos. So he’ll do the only thing he can to protect himself. He’ll slap a new gap drive in here so fast it’ll make you dizzy because he’ll want us gone before the Amnion or the cops realize what we’ve done.

  “I’m going to save us—unless you idiots manage to get us all killed first.” At last he allowed himself to shout, “Have I made myself clear?”

  It was a tissue of lies, of course; almost entirely fabricated. Nick believed that Taverner and Thermopyle had come to rescue Morn: he’d invented the rest as he went along. Nevertheless it worked. Before any of the crew responded, he knew that he’d gained the time he needed for his other plans.

  His people were accustomed to believing him. Some of them were no longer looking at him: they were too shaken by their own thoughts to notice his wild grin and the flaring spasm in his cheek as he lost control of himself for a moment. Others clung to him with their eyes full of nausea or hope.

  “Jesus, Nick,” Lind breathed as if he were in shock. Carmel nodded to herself like a woman whose uncertainties had been relieved. The tremor of Mackern’s lower lip made him look like a kid being yelled at by his parents. Pup’s gaze flashed back and forth between Mikka and Vector, hunting for reassurance.

  Liete didn’t smile or sigh; yet her eyes shone as if she’d been given a gift—as if Nick had proved once again that he was worth everything she ached to offer him.

  Vector kept his opinion to himself. Of all the people on the bridge, only Mikka struggled against Nick’s explanation, trying to find the lie.

  “If what you say is true,” she asked slowly, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant, “why do you want a raiding team?”

  “I don’t,” Nick snapped, “not anymore.” He couldn’t help himself: he raised a hand to cover his tic. “It was just a precaution anyway, in case I was wrong about why Trumpet is here.”

  Mikka frowned doubtfully. She may not have believed him, but apparently she couldn’t think of a way to challenge him further. “In that case,” she said grimly to the scan third, “you’d better go stow your gear, Allum. I don’t want to leave all those explosives and detonators lying around.”

  Nick had won: that was obvious. It showed in the way Allum looked at him and waited for his nod before moving to obey the command second.

  Rubbing his cheek, Nick tried to feel that this victory wasn’t hollow.

  Liete would have reassured him, if he’d given her the chance. He could have tested his success by probing the people around him. But he didn’t have time: the chronometer was running on Angus’ deadline. And if his victory was hollow he needed to act on it now, before its illusions dissipated.

  Mikka had started to turn away. He put his hand on her arm to stop her. Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat—the distress of his awareness that she was the best of his people, and if he didn’t dispose of her soon she would eventually turn others against him—he said, “I’ve got a job for you.” His tone was casual and false. “While we’re waiting for Captain Thermo-pile to win his reprieve, we need to set up our own plans.

  “I want you to take somebody”—he made a show of scanning the bridge for candidates—“take Sib and go to the cruise. Find out where Soar’s crew is. Their captain has some kind of special relationship with the Bill.” Unnecessarily he pointed out, “Otherwise he wouldn’t have used her ship to pick up our pod.” Then he resumed, “Make sure you’ve put yourself where some of her people can hear you—and where the Bill’s bugeyes can pick you up. It’s important that what you say gets back to both of them.

  “I want you to start a rumor about the immunity drug. Talk to Sib about it. Say you’ve heard Soar’s captain has a drug that protects her from the Amnion. That’s why she’s so close to the Bill—why Billingate gives her special status. Talk about it until you’re sure her crew hears you. Then move on.

  “That should prime the Bill. When I’m ready to deal with him, he’ll be salivating for a chance to do business.

  “Don’t come back here right away. I don’t want them to think I sent you out just to start a rumor. Stay on the cruise for a while. In fact, stay there until I come get you. I’ll wait until Captain Thermo-pile makes his move. That way I can be sure the timing is right.”

  If this worked, Nick could launch his plans against Sorus Chatelaine and rid himself of Mikka and Sib with one stroke.

  Mikka’s eyes were dark with doubt. He knew her well: he could see her uncertainty in the lines of her frown and the angle of her hips. But while his illusions held the bridge she couldn’t oppose him. If she gave him a reason to demote her now, she was finished.

  “Do you think you can handle it?” he asked maliciously. “Or should I send somebody else?”

  “Oh, I can handle it.” Mikka’s gaze couldn’t hold his; it drifted almost involuntarily toward her brother. Pup was her only weakness—the only vulnerability she couldn’t ignore. As long as Nick sent her out and kept him, she would have to do exactly what she was told. In a beaten tone, she added, “Just don’t forget us. I don’t want to be stranded here.” As she turned toward the aperture, she sighed over her shoulder, “Come on, Sib. We might as well get started.”

  Mackern’s face twisted as if he were trying to screw up the courage for an objection. But his bravery was like his mustache, indistinguishable most of the time. The sweat on his face might have been tears as he followed Mikka off the bridge.

  And good riddance, Nick thought. He studied his crew again as if he needed more candidates: he didn’t want to make the fact that he’d already decided
whom to get rid of too obvious.

  Like a man who’d just had a good idea, he turned toward Vector.

  The engineer looked at him squarely. Vector should have been grateful that he was still alive; should have been eager to make restitution for his mistakes. But he didn’t appear grateful—or alarmed. His smile was calm and impersonal, as if he’d used up his ability to worry about what happened to him.

  “That was clever, Nick.” He sounded as mild and unthreatening as he looked. “Now I’m the only one left.”

  Because his tic was hidden by his hand, Nick let himself grin. “You and Pup,” he amended. “I’ve got a job for you, too.”

  Vector laughed softly. “Imagine my surprise.”

  Nick didn’t care how much of the truth Vector guessed. As long as Mikka thought he had Pup, she was helpless. And without Mikka—without her support, her determination, her expertise—Vector was nothing.

  “This is crucial,” Nick said past his hand. “You’re the engineers, so it’s up to you. I want you to take all the repair specs for our gap drive and go find the shipyard foreman. Make sure he has the parts to get us fixed.

  “He won’t want to talk to you without orders from the Bill. It’s up to you to convince him. Tell him it’s official—I’m talking to the Bill right now, all we have to do is work out the details. Tell him he’ll get his orders”—for an entirely different reason, Nick consulted a chronometer—“in about four hours, and when he does they’re going to have emergency priority. If he doesn’t fix us and fix us fast, the Bill is going to string his guts from one end of the cruise to the other.

  “If he hasn’t got the parts, make him scavenge them. Help him if you have to.”

  Holding Vector’s eyes—daring him to refuse—Nick waited for a response.

  Vector went on smiling like a man who’d already made the only decision that mattered and had nothing more to say.

  “Why do I have to go?” Pup put in with a hint of Mikka’s truculence. “I’m just a kid—I’m not going to convince anybody.”