Stephen Donaldson - Gap 5 - The Gap into Ruin

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HASHI

It was typical of Hashi

Lebwohl that he did not re-

port to Warden Dios as soon as he returned to UMCPHQ.

He wasn't trying to avoid another confrontation with the

man who had outplayed and, in a strange, piquant sense,

shamed him. On the contrary, he felt remarkably sanguine

about the prospect of talking to the UMCP director. He simply

made no effort to bring about a conversation himself. He as-

sumed that Warden Dios was perfectly capable of recognizing

an emergency when he saw it—and that he wouldn't hesitate

to summon Hashi when he wished to speak to his DA director.

A kaze had attacked the Governing Council for Earth and

Space in extraordinary session, apparently intending to exter-

minate Cleatus Fane, the First Executive Assistant of the

United Mining Companies. Only Hashi's personal intervention

had prevented serious—not to say embarrassing—bloodshed.

And as a direct result of the attack the GCES had voted to

reject Captain Sixten Vertigus' Bill of Severance. Indeed, the

Members had been stampeded into clinging to the status quo

for their lives; to Holt Fasner and the UMCP. None of them

had wanted to take on the responsibility for their own safety—

and certainly not for the safety of human space.

If Warden didn't call this an emergency, he must have lost

all contact with the world of factual reality. Or else his game

was deeper than anything Hashi had dared to imagine. Perhaps

it was deeper than he could imagine.

Neither prospect offered reassurance. On the whole, how-

ever, Hashi preferred the latter. That which he found impene-

trable today might well appear transparent tomorrow. And he

could always push himself to expand his own capacities. The

challenge might conceivably be good for him. In the meantime

he could endure the shame of being outplayed.

But if Warden Dios had lost his grasp on events—

From that fount endless disasters might spring.

This was all speculation, of course. Still Hashi wondered

—and worried. The quantum mechanics of his conundrum re-

mained as Heisenberg had defined them. By his own efforts he

had taken hold of events in flux in order to name them accu-

rately; establish them in their positions. Therefore he was pre-

vented from knowing where those events tended. Certainty

precluded certainty.

He chose not to report to Warden on his own initiative

because he wanted to know how long Warden would wait be-

fore summoning him. That interval would reveal more surely

than words the extent to which Warden had been taken by

surprise.

In any case the DA director still had plenty of work to do

in order to ready himself for Warden's summons; to confirm

and solidify what he'd learned on Suka Bator. No one would

criticize him for spending every available moment on an effort

to be sure of his facts.

Using a tight-beam transmission coded exclusively for

Data Acquisition, he'd begun speaking to Lane Harbinger as

soon as the UMCP shuttle had left the GCES island and bro-

ken free of Earth's gravity well; supplying her with prelimi-

nary data; preparing her for the research he required. He felt

some discomfort as he did so because he wasn't alone on the

shuttle. Protocol Director Koina Hannish rode with him, ac-

companied by her retinue of aides and techs. And UMCPED

Chief of Security Mandich was also aboard: he was on his way

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to explain his failures to Warden Dios, since his immediate

superior, Min Donner, was absent from UMCPHQ. He'd left

Deputy Chief Forrest Ing in charge of Security's version of

"martial law" on Suka Bator.

At the best of times Hashi disliked being overheard—

unless he had some use for his eavesdropper. But his present

circumstances didn't supply privacy, or justify delay. He owed

Warden restitution for his earlier mistakes. Instead of waiting

for the shuttle to reach UMCPHQ, he kept his exchanges with

Lane as brief as possible; and when he spoke, he employed the

impermeable jargon of DA to disguise what he was saying.

To all appearances Koina ignored him completely. No

doubt she had more than enough to occupy her contempla-

tions. Although she was new to her duties, she'd acquitted

herself admirably during the extraordinary session. And she

had reason to be grateful to Captain Vertigus, despite the fail-

ure of his proposed legislation. On the other hand, Hashi

deemed that most of her thoughts were more troubled. He

knew her well enough to suspect that she feared her perfor-

mance before the Council may have triggered or catalyzed the

kaze's attack. For her it must have been easy to believe that the

men who'd sent a kaze against the GCES would not have felt

compelled to go so far if they hadn't been surprised or fright-

ened by her declaration of the UMCP's neutrality in the debate

over a Bill of Severance; her declaration of Warden Dios' in-

dependence from Holt Fasner.

Hashi knew better. Earlier he'd been uncertain: now he

was sure. Her performance may in fact have been a catalyst.

Nevertheless it was essentially incidental. The men responsible

for Clay Imposs ne Nathan Alt could not have known that

Sixten Vertigus, Senior Member for the United Western Bloc,

would introduce a Bill of Severance. In addition, Imposs/Alt

had been moving past Captain Vertigus toward Cleatus Fane

when Hashi had accosted him. Therefore Captain Vertigus

wasn't the intended target. The motivations behind the kaze's

attack operated independently of the UWB Senior Member

and his bill, as well as of Warden Dios' neutrality.

Hashi said nothing to reassure Koina. She hadn't asked

for anything of the kind. And she would hear what he'd

learned soon enough.

In contrast Chief Mandich studied Hashi narrowly while

he spoke to Lane. Clearly Mandich was waiting for a chance

to talk to the DA director.

A pox on the man, Hashi thought with unwonted vexa-

tion. The Chief of Security's rectitude was as ironclad as Min

Donner's, but he lacked her flexibility of intelligence, her ca-

pacity to acknowledge concepts which violated her personal

reality. For example, Hashi didn't doubt that if Mandich were

suddenly exalted to the position of UMCP director, the man

wouldn't hesitate to fire Hashi for having done things which

disturbed the Chief's scruples. Min Donner, on the other

hand, might well retain Hashi in DA, even though she knew

far more about his actions and policies, and therefore had ex-

perienced far more outrage to her peculiar sense of honor.

Still Hashi did nothing to fend off Chief Mandich. Instead

he made himself accessible as soon as he'd finished his inter-

change with Lane.

The Chief took the opportunity to move to a g-seat beside

Hashi, belt himself down. "Director Lebwohl," he began

without preamble, "I need to know how you knew that man

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was a kaze."

Hashi's blue eyes glittered dangerously behind his

smeared lenses. "Do you?" he countered in a tone of false

amiability. No doubt Mandich meant, How were you able to

spot him when we couldn't?

"I do." Chief Mandich was a blunt man with a blunt

face; stolid as bone. His nearly colorless gaze had the dull

tenacity of a pit bull's. "And then I need to know why you

didn't do anything to stop him sooner.

"Something about him made you suspicious. You left

your seat and moved around the hall specifically so that you

could get close to him. But you didn't say anything."

Mandich spoke with undisguised bitterness. He hated his own

failures. "We're just lucky nobody in the hall was killed. If

you'd bothered to warn us, a GCES Security guard would still

be alive. Ensign Crender would still have his left hand.

"With respect, Director Lebwohl," he sneered, "what the

hell did you think you were doing?"

A tremor ran along Hashi's frame. His own reaction to

the danger and indignity of the past few hours seemed to shrill

inside him. "Very well." He folded his thin hands in his lap to

conceal their indignation. "You answer my questions, and I

will answer yours.

"To use your phrase, Chief Mandich, what the hell did

you think you were doing when you assigned a whelp like

Ensign Crender to take my orders?"

Mandich's eyes widened.

Wheezing sharply, Hashi sent his words like wasps into

the Chief's blunt face. "I made my needs known explicitly to

Deputy Chief Ing. I informed him that I desired him and his

men to stand ready to carry out my requests and instructions.

"He replied that he could not comply without consulting

you.

"I did not consider that adequate. 'If I ask you to "do

something," I will need it done without the delay of applying

to your chief for permission.' Those were my exact words. I

told him plainly that I did not know what to expect, but that I

wished to be prepared for whatever might transpire.

"Still he hesitated. I answered, 'Then kindly inform Chief

Mandich that I require him to assign personnel to me who

have been given his authorization to do what I tell them.'

Again those are my exact words.

"Director Hannish supported my wishes."

Obliquely Hashi observed that Koina was staring at him,

her lips slightly parted in surprise. It was probable that in the

years she'd worked with him she'd never heard him sound so

angry.

An undignified flush stained Chief Mandich's neck, mot-

tled his cheeks with his own anger. He opened his mouth to

deliver a retort. But Hashi wasn't done. He didn't give the

Chief a chance to speak.

"How did you respond?" he went on harshly. "By as-

signing to me a boy so untried that he was unable to react

without hesitation—hesitation which could well have resulted

in murder in the meeting hall of the Governing Council for

Earth and Space.

"True, he mastered his hesitation. He took the action nec-

essary to save lives. For that I honor him.

"But I do not honor you, Chief Mandich." If Hashi

hadn't controlled his hands, they would have flown like stings

at the Chief's eyes. "I am the United Mining Companies Po-

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lice Director of Data Acquisition, and you did not take my

stated requirements seriously enough to assign personnel capa-

ble of prompt obedience.

"Shall we discuss our separate motivations now, or do

you prefer to wait until we can explain them in front of Direc-

tor Dios?" Hashi shrugged dismissively. "For myself, I am

content to wait."

Chief Mandich closed his mouth. Congested emotion

made his features appear swollen. Poor man, he was cursed

with a sense of probity so strict that it left him defenseless.

Min Donner would have faced down Hashi's challenge in or-

der to pursue the answers to her own questions; but her Chief

of Security couldn't do the same.

After a moment he murmured through his teeth, "You

have a valid grievance, Director Lebwohl. If you want to cen-

sure me, I won't fight it."

Stiffly he undipped his belts and drifted back to his for-

mer g-seat.

Oh, censure you, forsooth, Hashi thought in the direction

of the Chief's retreat. I would not trouble myself. Our present

circumstances are accusation enough. We confront a dilemma

which censures us all.

Honesty with himself forced him to admit that he'd en-

joyed scathing Chief Mandich.

Koina met Hashi's look when he glanced at her. Gravity

and speculation darkened her gaze. "Aren't you being just a

little disingenuous, Director Lebwohl?" she asked crisply.

"Even a 'whelp' like Ensign Crender wouldn't have hesitated

if you'd told him what you were looking for."

Hashi spread his hands as if to show her that his equanim-

ity had been completely restored. "My dear Koina, have you

studied Heisenberg?"

She shook her head.

"A pity." He settled himself in his g-seat to await the

shuttle's arrival at UMCPHQ. "If you had, you would under-

stand that I could not possibly have known what I was looking

for until I found it."

That may have been as close as he'd ever come to telling

her the truth.

Lane Harbinger met him at the dock "as soon as the shuttle

powered down its systems and the space doors of the bay

sealed to restore atmosphere.

On Suka Bator he'd supervised the essential chore of

placing Imposs/Alt's earthly remains in a shielded, sterile

bodybag and loading them into the shuttle's cargo space. Now

he watched over the delivery of the bodybag into Lane's care.

A glance at the corridor in which the kaze had been deto-

nated had assured him that too many people had trampled too

much evidence—and indeed that the corridor itself was too

large—to permit the kind of meticulous scrutiny Lane had

given Godsen Frik's office. Of necessity he'd surrendered his

desire for some form of microscopic data from the region

around the body, and had instead concentrated on Imposs/

Alt's corpse—on the smears of his blood and the mangled

mess of his tissues. The body itself had been simply scooped

into the bodybag with a sterile shovel. But every streak or

droplet of blood Hashi could locate had been cut out of the

concrete with a utility laser and added to the bodybag's con-

tents.

He hoped devoutly that these remains would enable Lane

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to find the answers he needed.

No, not the answers: the proofs. He already knew the

answers.

A fuming nic dangled from her mouth as she joined him

beside the cargo space. Her eyes glittered like shards of mica

—a sign that she rode levels of stim and hype which would

have poleaxed anyone whose metabolism hadn't been inured

to them. In the pockets of her labcoat her fingers twitched as if

they were entering data on a purely metaphysical keypad.

While the bodybag was being loaded onto a sled for transport

to her lab in Data Acquisition, she asked tensely, "You sure of

his id?"

"My dear Lane," Hashi chided gently. She knew as well

as anyone who worked with him that he was unlikely to mis-

take an id.

She shrugged like a twitch. "Just checking. If you're

right, my job's that much easier."

Certainly she would be required to spend less time wait-

ing for Data Storage to run its vast SAC routines.

"Any chance I'll find a detonator?" she continued.

Hashi made a conscious effort to remain calm; amiably

unruffled. He didn't want to be infected by her congenital ten-

sion. "Who can say?" There were too many factors: the type

of explosive, its brisance, the shape of the charge, blast reflec-

tion from the nearby walls. "But if you do," he went on more

sharply, "the information will be vital. Do you understand me,

Lane?"

She sucked on her nic. "What's to understand? Isn't that

what it all hinges on?"

"Not all," he countered with a shake of his head. "But

enough." He knew the truth: whatever Lane learned wouldn't

change it. Nevertheless the proof he wished to give Warden

Dios depended heavily on what Lane could discover.

"In any case," he added, "these will be of interest."

Casually, almost covertly, as if he didn't wish to be seen,

he slipped Imposs/Alt's clearance badge and id tag into Lane's

pocket.

She identified them with her fingers, nodded decisively.

"I'm sure they will."

The sled was ready to go. Lane moved to accompany it.

Despite the nature of the emergency, however, and his own

desires, he called her back. Camouflaging his seriousness with

his peculiar sense of humor, he told her that he wished to see

her results "relatively instantaneously. Engage your gap drive,

Lane. Defy time if you must."

He wanted her findings before Warden summoned him.

She replied with a snort of smoke, "Don't I always?"

He wheezed a laugh. "You do. Indeed you do."

He waited until she and her sled had left the dock before

shifting himself into motion.

By then he'd already begun to wonder how much longer

Warden would delay.

More than an hour passed before a call from the director of the

UMCP reached Hashi, instructing him to present himself im-

mediately to one of Warden's private offices.

Hashi hadn't wasted the time. First he'd issued a number

of Red Priority—"screaming red," as it was sometimes called

—security locks: one for every communications channel and

computer that belonged or connected to Anodyne Systems, the

UMC subsidiary which manufactured SOD-CMOS chips; one

for the UMCP's own personnel files; and one for each of Holt

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Fasner's Home Office personnel, payroll, and Security Liaison

computers. A screaming red security lock didn't prevent any-

one else from looking at electronic files or using communica-

tions linkups; but it blocked changes of any kind to those files,

or to any transmission logs and records. At the same time it

warned DA that changes had been attempted, and traced the

codes and routing of the attempt backward.

He was morally certain that the Dragon's HO techs could

disable or deactivate a Red Priority security lock, no matter

how loudly it screamed. At the same time he was quite sure

that this would not be done, first, because Holt Fasner would

hardly imagine that crucial records were in any danger of ex-

posure, second, because Holt would believe that any embar-

rassment which might arise from his files could be quashed

through Warden Dios, and third, because as a matter of policy

the Dragon liked to preserve an illusion of openness and hon-

esty. Rather than resistance Hashi expected passive accep-

tance: another illusion.

An illusion which would reveal itself as murderous fury

against Hashi himself when the UMC CEO determined that

Hashi no longer represented a threat.

This prospect didn't trouble Hashi. He could say with

considerable accuracy that he did not fear the Dragon in any

ordinary sense. The possibility of intellectual inadequacy gave

him far more distress than a merely physical threat.

When his security locks were in place, he used his author-

ity under the provisions of Red Priority to compile the most

complete dossiers which Data Storage, joined by microwave

downlinks to GCES Security and Anodyne Systems, could

provide on both Nathan Alt and Clay Imposs.

Warden's summons found him just as he was finishing.

More than an hour since the shuttle had docked: several

hours since the kaze's blast. Apparently Warden hadn't been

taken by surprise to any meaningful extent.

That was good and bad; better and worse. The delay had

allowed Hashi to complete his immediate research. On the

other hand, a longer delay might have given Lane time to pro-

duce the results Hashi craved.

Despite the plain urgency of the summons—and the ne-

cessity of obedience—Hashi took the time to call her.

Her voice over the intercom was brusque and focused;

deep in concentration. "Make it quick. I'm busy."

Hashi couldn't restrain himself: his personal imp of per-

versity made him say, "Too busy to talk to me? Lane, I'm

crushed."

She let out a sigh that sounded like smoke. "If you want

me to work fast, I have to be careful. If you want me to work

faster than the speed of light, I have to be more careful than

God."

He relented. "I understand perfectly." Above all he val-

ued Lane for her meticulousness. "Nevertheless I must appear

before Warden Dios in a matter of moments. The time is apt

for results. He will certainly desire results from me."

"Then let's not waste each other's time. Here's what I

have so far.

"The id tag and clearance badge were easy." She didn't

need to organize her thoughts. Hashi suspected that she per-

mitted herself no disorganized thoughts. "They're legit. I

mean Clay Imposs is—or maybe was—a real GCES security

guard with a good record. He's been with them for years. The

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tag and badge say they're his. But the body isn't.

"You were right, it's Nathan Alt. Gene scan matches ex-

actly.

"So how did he get through his own Security?" She

asked Hashi's next question for him. "Right after that first

kaze attacked Captain Vertigus, GCES Security started using

retinal scans to confirm id. That should have stopped Alt cold.

"The answer is, this is a new id tag. Made for the job. It

says it identifies Clay Imposs, but the retinal signature and the

rest of the physical id belong to Alt."

"Is that possible?" Hashi inquired. He knew it was.

"Sure. It worked because the physical id was generated

by the same code engine that drove Imposs' clearances. Every-

thing looked legit on the surface. GCES Security didn't know

they had to run a full playback from the SOD-CMOS chips

and compare it to Imposs' original data to catch the switch.

Hell, Hashi, we aren't doing that here. It would take hours to

clear anybody."

Sadly, that was true. Indeed, the only reason GCES—or

UMCPHQ—Security functioned at all was that the expertise

needed to circumvent it was so specialized; and so closely

guarded.

"Are you performing this playback? I require evidence."

"One of my techs is."

"And—" Hashi prompted her.

"We haven't found anything yet."

"Have you encountered any patches, or other signs of

tampering?"

As Hashi had told Koina before the extraordinary session,

the code-strings Lane had extracted from the credentials of

Godsen's killer were current as well as correct. If that code

engine had been patched or altered—lawfully or otherwise,

by GCES Security, Anodyne Systems, or anyone else—the

change would have been apparent. Such adjustments trans-

formed source-code as much as mutagens transformed human

RNA.

But only older code required patching.

Lane restrained impatience poorly. "Not yet."

"Very well." He let that question go. "And the code

engine itself—?" he probed.

"It's valid," she returned at once. "Current and correct.

Which means exactly what you think it means.

"But if you want confirmation," she continued without

pausing, "the source-code strings we've picked up from the id

of the kaze who killed Godsen are a perfect match."

Hashi nodded to himself. "Confirmation is always wel-

come. However, this is hardly a surprise."

"No," Lane acknowledged.

He cast a worried glance at his chronometer, then asked,

"Have you gleaned any other data?"

"That's what I'm working on," she retorted. "The

body."

As she spoke, he heard a subtle shift in her tone; a change

of intensity. So far the results she'd given him had been rela-

tively routine, despite their importance: any of the techs in her

department could have supplied them. But now she sounded

more personally engaged; perhaps excited. At once he became

convinced that she was on the track of something vital.

"But I can tell you right now," she went on, "we aren't

going to find a detonator.

"The bomb has to be shielded in the body. Otherwise

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Security would catch it. And you know what that kind of

shielding is like." Hashi did know. Angus Thermopyle's body

was full of it. "It has to appear organic in order to pass scan.

On top of that, it has to reflect back what scan expects to see.

Unfortunately—for us—any shield contains the blast when the

bomb goes off. Maybe only for a millisecond or two, but that's

enough to throw some of the force back onto the bomb itself.

And the detonator. On a molecular level, I'll be able to find all

the pieces you want. But I won't be able to reconstruct the

device those pieces came from.

"So I'm concentrating on biochemistry."

Her voice conveyed an almost subliminal frisson, like a

distant electrostatic discharge. Despite the numbers ticking

away on his chronometer, he listened harder.

"His blood is a real witch's brew. Which is exactly what

you would expect if he was in a state of drug-induced hypno-

sis. I haven't had time to identify even half the chemicals his

body shouldn't have had in it." She paused to emphasize what

followed. "But there's one detail that looks a little strange. Or

a little stranger than the rest of it.''

"Tell me," Hashi put in as if he thought he could hurry

her; as if he didn't know that she was already moving as fast

as she could without stumbling into disorganization.

Instead of hurrying, she began to speak a bit more slowly,

articulating each word with deliberate precision.

"There's a coenzyme spike in his blood spectrum. I mean

a major spike. Of course, it's a coenzyme. It's inert. And it

isn't even remotely natural. But it combines with some natural

human apoenzymes to produce an artificial holoenzyme, and

that one is active. It bears some interesting resemblances to

pseudo-amylase, which is one of the enzymes we use to pro-

duce shielding in cyborgs, but there are significant differences,

too."

Involuntarily Hashi drummed his fingers on his desk. He

needed to answer Warden's summons. "Lane, please make

your point. I am not in good odor with our esteemed director.

This delay,while we talk will doubtless vex him."

"I'm trying, damn it," she snapped. "Nobody but you

ever gets to think around here."

He swallowed a burst of ire. He had called her before she

was ready to report. Her findings were partial or unclear. Nat-

urally she wished to express them cautiously. He would gain

nothing by reproaching her.

"If there were more resemblances," she explained stiffly,

"I would probably assume this particular coenzyme is there

because of the shields. But it wouldn't work well for that. The

differences are too significant."

Again she paused. In another moment or two, Hashi

thought, he would have no choice but to shout at her.

More slowly than ever, she went on, "If I were asked to

come up with a use for the holoenzyme this coenzyme creates,

I might say it would make a good chemical trigger. Release it

into the bloodstream, and one or two heartbeats later you get a

big bang. Like an orgasm so intense it kills you."

Without transition his irritation vanished. Lane Harbinger,

he hummed to himself, you are a marvel. Is it any wonder that

I endure your eccentricities?

Almost singing his excitement and pleasure, he said,

"Check his teeth, Lane."

Where could a coenzyme be concealed so that a man in a

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state of drug-induced hypnosis would be able to ingest it on

some preconditioned signal? Where else but in his mouth?

And absorption into the bloodstream would be slower. Ten or

fifteen seconds at least. Safer for the man who gave the signal.

"What's left of them," she returned. "I'm already work-

ing on it."

In a glow of perverse gallantry, he answered, "Then

please do not allow me to interrupt you. Perhaps when your

efforts are complete you will let me persuade you to marry

me."

So that he wouldn't hear her laughing in scorn, he si-

lenced his intercom.

No doubt she could never prove the conclusions he drew.

When her research was complete she would probably be able

to demonstrate that this particular holoenzyme would serve

well as a chemical trigger. Sadly, logic would preclude her

from concluding that this holoenzyme did serve in that fash-

ion.

Nevertheless what she had learned was enough for his

immediate purposes.

Gathering his rumpled labcoat around him, Hashi

Lebwohl left his office and walked as quickly as his untied

shoes allowed to his meeting with Warden Dios.

CIRO

Vector had told him he was

cured. Mikka told him over

and over again, holding him in her arms and rocking him as if

he were a baby.

Ciro knew better. The walls of his doom had closed

around him like the claustrophobia of Mikka's embrace. His

bunk was a coffin. Of course he knew better.

Sorus Chatelaine had injected a mutagen into his veins:

he understood that in the genetic programming of his DNA;

understood it more profoundly than anything anyone could

have said to him. No mere words could outweigh his cellular

comprehension of the way he'd been betrayed.

Somehow Morn had lured or tricked him into revealing

what had happened. Now everyone knew. By the hour his

doom became more certain, not less.

Of course she'd asked Vector for help. Why not? Why

should she grant Ciro the simple decency of facing his shame

and horror alone? No one had ever taken him that seriously.

And when the dilemma had been explained to him, Vector

had proposed giving Ciro some of Nick's antimutagen. Vector

had said, The drug is essentially a genetically engineered mi-

crobe 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. As he spoke, the man who'd once

been Ciro's mentor and friend had sounded confident and

calm, inhumanly sure of himself.

But his reassurances meant nothing. Ciro couldn't hear

them through Sorus Chatelaine's threats.

Her words were infinitely stronger.

The mutagen stays in you, it stays alive, it works its way

into every cell and wraps itself around your DNA strings, but

it doesn't change you as long as you have this other drug in

your system. The drug she'd offered him in exchange for his

compliance. How long the delay lasts depends on how much of

this other drug you have in you—or how often you get it. You

can stay human until you 're cut off from your supply. After

that you 're an Amnioni.

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That's why 1 serve them, Ciro. If I don't, they'll cut me off

from the antidote.

And that's why you're going to serve me.

When she'd injected him—while Milos Taverner had held

him—he'd grasped that she was telling him the simple truth.

He would stay human as long as his supply of the other drug

lasted.

He knew what he had to do.

She wanted him to sabotage Trumpet's drives. Both of

them. That was her price for keeping him human.

He would do it if he ever got the chance.

Kill everyone aboard; murder them—

Even Mikka.

Especially Mikka. The more she knew about her danger,

the more stubborn her loyalty to Trumpet's, people became.

She stood by them despite the fact that her interference was

going to kill him.

She didn't understand. How could she? She was stronger

than he was. They were all stronger. Instead of leaving him

alone—hadn't he begged her to leave him alone?—she'd

daunted him with her strength; smothered him with her devo-

tion. She'd prevented and prevented him. Gripped him in her

arms to comfort herself. And all the time his doom had contin-

ued counting down; approaching ruin.

Here, Vector had commanded when he'd returned from

examining Ciro's blood in sickbay. This is a dose of Nick's

antimutagen. He'd thrust a capsule at Ciro. Take it. Then come

with me. I want to run a series of blood tests in sickbay. We'll

be able to see it working. That way you'll know you're safe.

Ciro knew better. He'd always known better. But Mikka

and Vector were too strong for him.

While Trumpet ran a relatively quiet part of the swarm,

Mikka had compelled him to sickbay. At her urging, he'd

looked at the results of Vector's blood tests; seen the nucleo-

tide profiles shifting until they reached the range designated

"human normal." He'd listlessly watched a video display

which purported to give a real-time picture of the mutagen

immunity drug binding itself to Amnion RNA strings and car-

rying them away.

Vector clearly believed the results. Mikka believed them.

Beyond question Ciro knew better.

Sabotage the drives. Both of them. You've been trained in

engineering. You know how to do it. You make sure Trumpet

can't outrun me. She's finished if she can't run.

Back in his cabin, imprisoned by his sister, he continued

waiting.

Twelve hours. Sorus Chatelaine had said, If I don't have

what I want in twelve hours, you're on your own. That was all.

And only a portion of it remained. Whenever he was due for

another capsule, he made Mikka release him so that he could

go to the san: he swallowed his next dose of the temporary

antidote privately. He was strong enough for that. But the

dwindling store in his vial reminded him harshly that he didn't

have much time left.

Was it already too late? He couldn't tell. Without warning

Trumpet went into battle, and he couldn't have left his

g-sheath no matter how much he wanted or needed to obey.

The whole ship was filled with the frying sound of matter

cannon, the metallic clangor of impacts and stress. Accelera-

tion g slammed the gap scout in one direction after another.

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Stephen Donaldson - Gap 5 - The Gap into Ruin

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