Stephen Donaldson - Gap 3 - The Gap into Power

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HOLT
Shortly before Angus Thermopyle and Milos
Taverner left UMCPHQ aboard Trumpet, Holt
Fasner visited his mother.
He did this despite the fact that the old harridan had
been in a foul temper for decades.
The medical advances which had kept him nearly
healthy, relatively strong, almost in his prime, for a hun-
dred fifty years had come too late to be comparably effec-
tive for her. In fact, they would have failed her thirty
years ago, if he hadn't insisted on plugging her into
machines which first pumped blood, then digested food,
and eventually breathed for her. She was technically still
alive, of course; but now she was only the husk of a
woman. Her skin was the blotchy color of rotting linen;
she could hardly move her hands; she hadn't lifted her
head from its supports for at least ten years. She no longer
knew the difference when tubes brought her sustenance,
or carried away waste.
She retained her mind, however. Bitter as a vial of acid,
Norna Fasner continued to think long after her body lost
its last capacity to do anything.
That was why her son kept her alive. Many years ago
she'd given up asking him to let her die. She knew from
old, painful experience that he would put her off with a
bland chuckle and a vacuous remark: 'You know I can't
do without you, Mother. ' And shortly afterward she
would find yet another video screen installed in the room
which she considered her tomb.
She studied the screens, even though she hated them.
Their images were all she had to think about. If they
were switched off, her brain would almost surely go null;
and she didn't want that. She desired death, not uncon-
sciousness. If even one of her screens had gone blank,
she might have wept in frustration and grief. Every
image, every word, every passing implication was a hint
which might eventually enable her to believe that her
son would be destroyed. Without hints - without the
possibility that she would receive hints — all her years of
paralyzed, unliving existence would come to nothing.
Her son was the United Mining Companies CEO;
unquestionably the richest and beyond doubt the most
powerful man alive. From his corporate 'home office', his
station orbiting Earth half a million kilometers beyond
UMCPHQ, he ruled his vast empire: the largest, argu-
ably the most necessary enterprise in human history. His
employees were counted in millions: men and women
who lived or died by his decisions and policies, in
billions. Disguised by the UMC charter, and by the
public democracy of the Governing Council for Earth
and Space - which was nominally responsible for control-
ling men like him, corporations like his - he raised and
toppled governments, destroyed or enriched competi-
tors, caused potential futures to take on substance or fray
away like mist. Behind his back, people who feared him
sometimes referred to him as 'the Dragon' - and only
people who had no idea who he was didn't fear him.
He stood at the nexus of human dealings with for-
bidden space. All human access to that imponderable
source of wealth passed through his hands. And human-
ity's only defense against that imponderable threat
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belonged to him.
The value of Holt Fasner's time couldn't be measured
in pure cesium. Nevertheless he visited his mother when-
ever an opportunity presented itself. He treasured her
advice too much to let her die.
Although he was sometimes hard pressed to interpret
it. Her wish for his ruin was so palpable that he had to
be extraordinarily careful in how he sifted her insights,
what valence he assigned to her pronouncements. As a
result, his encounters with her were a challenge which he
found profoundly stimulating.
In truth, he could almost certainly have afforded to let
her die any time during the past half-century. He liked
talking to his mother; he profited from her advice. But
he could have done without it. He kept Norna Fasner
alive precisely because she wished him ill with such steady
virulence; also because he took pleasure in her utter
helplessness; and finally because she kept him on his
toes. Otherwise he was inclined to forget that he was
mortal.
Men who forgot their mortality made mistakes. Holt
Fasner had paid blood — not always his own — for his
successes; and now that he had them, he didn't mean to
let them go glimmering in the name of a mistake.
So he visited his mother shortly before Trumpet's
departure. Risks were at work: small risks that might
metastasize at any moment. In themselves, Angus
Thermopyle, Milos Taverner, Nick Succorso, and Morn
Hyland were nothing more than three men and a woman;
pawns of Holt's larger policies, his grander dreams. But
stirred together with Billingate and the Amnion, they
might conceivably produce something more volatile,
with a lasting impact, like a minor thermonuclear pile
which went critical and rendered all its environs uninhab-
itable for centuries.
The director of the United Mining Companies Police
was in charge, of course; Warden Dios himself. The risk
was of his choosing, not Holt's: the negative conse-
quences, if any, would be his to clean up. But Holt cher-
ished the well-being of the UMCP as he cherished the
health of the whole United Mining Companies. If he'd
believed the risks too great, he would have forbidden them.
He hadn't.
Nor had he dismissed the situation from his mind,
however. Instead of trying to second-guess Ward — who
had spent the better part of three decades proving himself
as the Dragon's strong right hand - Holt went to talk to
Norna.
The room where he kept her immured was hidden in
the obscure recesses of the home office, in a part of the
station where no one ventured except men and women
with extremely specialized authorizations. As usual when
her several doctors weren't examining her, the only
illumination in her high sterile sickchamber came from
the twenty or so video screens which nearly covered the
wall in front of her. That dimness was her choice: the
little strength left in her fingers was enough to tap but-
tons that would raise or lower the lights, adjust her pos-
ture, summon assistance - or even turn off the screens.
Holt allowed her that freedom because he trusted the use
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she would make of it.
Stark and garish in the phosphor gleam, her face
looked like that of a mummy painted to appear ghastly
under UV lamps. Incessantly her thin lips and toothless
gums chewed food she hadn't tasted for decades. At inter-
vals she drooled unselfconsciously; a fretwork of wrinkles
spread the saliva into a sheen across her chin. She didn't
glance at her son as he entered: her eyes flicked restlessly
across the screens as if she could absorb and understand
them all simultaneously.
From them came a steady mutter of voices and
soundtracks, a muted and indistinguishable argument
interleaved with at least half a dozen kinds of music - a
noise like a rabble, uneasy and irate; but so blurred and
distant that it might have been the tectonic grumbling of
rocks, or the lost complaint of the sea. The sound alone
set Holt's teeth on edge: at times it seemed to muddle his
brain. It made him think there was something structurally
wrong with the home office itself.
He knew from experience, however, that Norna
absorbed and understood the voices as well as the images.
'Hello, Mother, ' he greeted her - artificially hearty, in
part as a matter of policy, in part because he had to do
something to counteract the effects of the noise. 'You're
looking well, better than ever. I do believe you'll be able
to get out of bed soon. I can certainly use your help
running the company. How are you feeling? What do
the doctors say?'
She met his blather with her usual disregard. The way
her eyes hunted the screens made him think of a chicken
trying to peck seeds out of stony soil.
He scanned the screens himself for a moment, but their
images offered him nothing. The typical collection: half
a dozen news broadcasts, all trying to reinterpret life for
their viewers, all reaching the same conclusions; three or
four sports programs showing acts of extreme violence
in varying degrees of simulation; four or five comedies
and satires which gave the impression that they all
repeated the same jokes over and over again; and half a
dozen romantic videos — 'Mother, really, at your age,
aren't you ashamed?' — reveling in the kind of mindless
and supernal lust which had apparently driven Morn
Hyland and Nick Succorso together on Com-Mine
Station. With such tripe masses of human beings were
tranquillized - until those rare occasions when they woke
up, saw what was really happening around them, mis-
understood it, and did their best to impose the stupidest
possible solution on the men who normally led them.
The Humanity Riots were a case in point. The rest of
the time, the world reflecting from the screens served its
purpose efficiently enough. But it had nothing to give
Holt himself.
For the umpteenth time, he wondered what it gave his
mother. Did she see in it something that he missed? Was
she simply hoping for news that some disaster had
befallen him? Or was she able to snatch a secret know-
ledge out of the gabble — knowledge which had somehow
eluded him, despite his vast resources?
The question added piquancy to his visits with her.
What could he have missed? Not much, obviously, since
he'd demonstrated his ability to profit - and profit hugely
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- from those times when the human billions kicked over
the traces and demanded irrationality from their leaders.
He still chuckled internally when he thought of the
Humanity Riots. Imagine trying to face the threat of the
Amnion without genetic expertise to match their own!
And yet humankind's outbreak of revulsion against gen-
etic experimentation had effectively delivered Intertech
into his hands. Owning Intertech, in turn, had given him
control over first contact with the Amnion - and that
had led as inexorably as a syllogism to his present position
as the arbiter of fate for his whole species.
If any man in history could claim to have not missed
much, Holt Fasner was the one. Nevertheless he kept the
question - and his mother - alive to help him ensure that
he didn't start missing things now.
At one hundred fifty years of age, he was almost in his
prime, still close to his middle years physiologically. But
his cheeks were just a shade too ruddy. He had to blink
a bit too often to keep his eyes from filming over. At
times he couldn't hold his hands steady: at times his
prostate troubled him. His doctors had advised him
against any form of strenuous exercise because they didn't
know how long the tissues of his heart could last. Now
more than ever it was vital to make no mistakes.
'Mother, ' he went on with the same bland heartiness,
as if she hadn't refused to answer his polite inquiries -
as if she had, in fact, given him the answer he desired
most - 'I need your advice. In the past few days, I've had
a couple of troubling conversations with Godsen Frik.
'You remember him, don't you?' Holt knew perfectly
well that his mother never forgot anything. 'He's Ward's
director of Protocol. For some reason' - Holt showed
his teeth in a salesman's grin - 'he thinks he has the right
to go over Ward's head when he doesn't like Ward's
decisions or policies. Reprehensible conduct in a subordi-
nate, don't you think? Ward wouldn't tolerate it if he
didn't know that Godsen is a particular protege of mine.
In time - ten years or so - I think Godsen will be ready
to do his duty to all humankind by accepting the Presi-
dency of the GCES. But it is a problem, isn't it? For
Ward as Godsen's director. And for me, as Ward's friend,
ally, and mentor. After all, I want Ward' - Holt had a
malicious love for phrases like this one - 'to be happy in
his work. All human space depends on him. '
Certainly all human space depended on the UMCP.
No other force strong enough to interdict the Amnion
existed. And therefore Holt's unique position also
depended on the UMCP. If he hadn't owned the cops,
the GCES could have dismantled his empire long ago.
Listening hard, trying to filter out the insistent mutter
of the screens, he heard Norna's almost inaudible ques-
tion, chewed out by her bloodless lips and toothless
gums:
'What's the situation?'
Ah, Mother, you live for me, don't you. You don't
want to, but you do it anyway.
Holt went on smiling.
Ward has decided that it's time to do something about
one of the worst of the bootleg shipyards that serves
forbidden space by helping illegals - as well as by what
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they used to call "fencing stolen goods". It's amazing
how many men want to get rich by aiding and abetting
our enemies. The Amnion want our resources - our raw
materials, our technologies, our genes. Pirates sell those
things.
'But piracy would be' - Holt pursed his mouth — 'inef-
fective without bootleg shipyards to build and repair
ships - and without dealers to transact business with the
Amnion. Ward would love a chance to blow them all to
dust.
The question is how. The particular shipyard he has
in mind this time just happens to be in forbidden space.
He. would lose his job if he committed an act of open
warfare against the Amnion. So he's planning a covert
strike.
'Do you remember that situation on Com-Mine, oh,
half a year ago? The one where it looked like Security
was in collusion with one pirate to frame another?' Of
course she did. The one that tipped the votes to pass the
Preempt Act?'
Holt had maneuvered hard to secure the passage of the
Preempt Act. It gave the UMCP jurisdiction over local
Security everywhere - thereby perfecting the UMCP's
hegemony by emasculating the only plausible alternative
to Holt's cops.
'Well, the illegal who got framed is called Angus
Thermopyle — one of the slimiest characters you would
ever want to meet. Ward reqqed him under the Act. Now
he's been welded and programmed, and he's being sent
against that shipyard. Today, I think. '
Right now, in fact.
'It's a complex issue. Please stop me if I'm boring you,
Mother. I had the distinct impression that Ward didn't
want to obey when I told him to set up that frame on
Com-Mine. Our Ward is still too much of an idealist. He
doesn't like to get involved in the practical side of politics.
I've actually heard him make speeches against
"descending to the level of our enemies". But he did it
because he could get something he wanted out of it -
which was this Angus Thermopyle. As far as I can tell,
he didn't actually want more authority for its own sake. '
As if to himself- but watching his mother closely - Holt
mused, 'I wish I knew how hard I would have had to
push him to make him follow orders if he hadn't wanted
Angus. '
If Norna said anything, he didn't hear it.
The point, however, ' Holt resumed, 'is that Ward did
follow orders. He is following orders. The next few days
should produce some interesting developments on the
fringes of forbidden space. '
Now Norna muttered something that sounded like,
Why does that bother Godsen?'
'Good question!' her son exclaimed jovially. 'As usual,
Mother, you've cut right to the heart of the matter. Why
does that bother a dedicated public servant like Godsen
Frik?
Well, of course, we wouldn't have been able to frame
this Angus Thermopyle if we hadn't had someone work-
ing for us inside Com-Mine Security. But it would be' —
Holt considered his choice of adjectives - 'unfortunate if
any local investigation uncovered the truth. We passed
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the Preempt Act on the assumption that local Security
couldn't be trusted - that Com-Mine had a traitor work-
ing for forbidden space. If word got out that the traitor
was actually working for us - well, I could probably keep
station votes in line, but the rest of the Council would
go absolutely shit-faced.
'To protect against that eventuality, Ward reqqed our
traitor at the same time as Angus - a sadistic little bureau-
crat named Milos Taverner. All well and good, so far.
But here comes the part that upsets Godsen. Angus is a
cyborg now, programmed down to his toes. He can't
clean his teeth without permission from his datacore. But
he still needs a control — someone who can adjust his
programming to meet unforeseen circumstances. In
addition, he needs crew. And on top of that, he needs
cover. He needs an explanation for why he's free, how
he got out of lockup, where he got his ship. '
Holt paused for effect, then said, Ward has chosen
Milos to go with Angus. '
Norna chewed her silence. Traces of saliva leaked past
her lips instead of words. Her eyes flicked rapidly across
all her screens, but never toward her son.
'Am I making this clear enough for you, Mother?' Holt
asked in a tone of cheerful solicitude. We know Milos
has the soul of a traitor because he betrayed Com-Mine
Security for us. Ward says he won't turn against us
because we've got him by the short hairs. ' That was
another phrase Holt Fasner especially enjoyed. 'If he
reveals anything we don't want him to reveal - or does
anything we don't want him to do - he's cooked. But
Godsen has a different perspective. A more "public" per-
spective. If these activities become known, what are "the
people", "the great unwashed masses'" - such words
rolled almost gleefully off Holt's tongue - 'going to think
of sending out a known murderer and rapist under the
control of a known traitor? What are the votes on the
GCES going to think of Ward's belief that Milos won't
turn against us?
'And what are the chances, really, that Milos wont turn
against us? He can probably make a stellar fortune by
selling everything he knows about us - not to mention
about Angus, ' although Milos couldn't literally sell
Angus himself, since the programming which made
Angus loyal to the UMCP was unalterable.
'Our Godsen knows his duties. It's his job to become
hysterical and froth at the mouth in situations like this.
And it's his job to come to me.
'I haven't backed him up, however. I don't want him
to forget his place -I don't want him to think he has the
power to tell me what to do. And I don't want to under-
mine Ward. ' Not in a case like this, where the potential
benefits were large - a dramatic victory against forbidden
space and piracy, wonderful for the credibility of the
UMCP - and the likely risks were small. After all, if Milos
misbehaved Ward could always order Nick Succorso to
kill him. 'He has a talent for this kind of delicate manipu-
lation. And he's the best UMCP director I could ask for.
He may be the only man I know who might be able to
threaten me - if I didn't own him down to his soul. '
In fact, Holt would have feared Ward if he hadn't
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gained a kind of absolute complicity from Ward by win-
ning Ward's acquiescence in the suppression of
Intertech's immunity drug.
A small voice whispered out of Norna's husk. 'But
you're still worried. '
'How right you are, Mother, ' Holt agreed. 'I'm still
worried. No matter how careful Ward is, he's still taking
a risk — and you know I don't like risks. That's the reason
I suppressed Intertech's antimutagen. It had at least the
theoretical potential to shift the balance of power across
human space. Any effective defense against the way the
Amnion impose mutation could conceivably undercut
Ward and the whole UMCP by making them appear
less vital, less necessary. That might have weakened my
position with the votes. '
He shrugged judiciously. 'Or not. Maybe none of
those things would have happened. But I didn't want to
take the chance. So I made sure that only Ward and
Hashi know the drug actually exists - and that only Hashi
can use it. To protect Data Acquisition's covert oper-
ations, don't you see?
'Now Ward's taking a risk of his own. Not without
consulting me, of course. His reasons for doing it are
pretty persuasive, ' if only because Angus Thermopyle
would have a chance to eliminate the problem of Morn
Hyland. She was a UMCP ensign with an unauthorized
zone implant and - presumably - knowledge of the
immunity drug; and if she ever left forbidden space to
tell what she knew, PR and the whole of the UMCP
would have a disaster of mega-proportions on their
hands. 'It's what you might call a surgical strike. ' Holt
licked his lips. 'Extirpate a melanoma before it spreads.
'So he's taking this particular risk with my blessing.
But I'm still worried about it. I think Ward is getting
himself in trouble. '
Norna's words were no more than a low growl against
the blurred mutter of the screens, but for some reason
Holt heard them as clearly as if her voice were the only
sound in the room.
'I think he's getting you in trouble. '
Holt chuckled automatically. 'Come now, Mother.
Don't be an alarmist. You'll get yourself all excited for
nothing. This is Warden Dios we're talking about. I made
him - he's my right hand. He can't use the san without
doing it to benefit me. '
He might have gone on; but his blather trailed away
as he saw Norna pointing a gnarled and tremulous finger
at one of the screens.
At first he couldn't tell which one. A romance? No, one
of the news broadcasts. Somewhere in the midst of the
intolerable babble a male face with an authoritative voice
and no mind was saying, '- this special bulletin. '
Special bulletin? What special bulletin? Nothing hap-
pened — nothing was allowed to happen - in human space
unless Holt Fasner knew about it first.
'A highly placed source in the office of the UMCP
director of Protocol on UMCPHQ Station has confirmed
that Angus Thermopyle has escaped. '
Without warning, a tingle ran down Holt's nearly
strong spine and tightened around his scrotum.
'Captain Thermopyle, ' said the male head as if he were
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anything more than a ventriloquist's dummy, 'is an illegal
captured and convicted approximately six months ago on
Com-Mine Station, and later transferred to UMCPHQ
by the orders of Hashi Lebwohl, director of Data Acqui-
sition. No explanation has ever been released for Data
Acquisition's interest in Captain Thermopyle. However,
as this news team reported at the time, he is no ordinary
illegal. The circumstances of his arrest and conviction are
widely held to be the precipitating factor in the recent
passage of the so-called Preempt Act by the Governing
Council for Earth and Space. Apparently Captain
Thermopyle was assisted in his piracies by a traitor within
Com-Mine Station Security. Doubts about the integrity
of station Security across human space persuaded the
members of the GCES of the necessity of the Preempt
Act.
'That Captain Thermopyle was able to escape from
UMCPHQ itself is sufficiently disturbing. However, our
source in the office of the UMCP director of Protocol
has confirmed that the situation is worse than it appears.
'The difficulties revolve around a man who was at one
time the deputy chief of Com-Mine Station Security,
Milos Taverner. '
Oh, shit, thought Holt. Anxiety spread from his groin
up into his chest. His lungs hurt as if they were getting
old.
Like all dummies, the male head in the news broadcast
was implacable. 'Because he was responsible for the
interrogation of Captain Thermopyle on Com-Mine
Station, Deputy Chief Taverner was brought to
UMCPHQ along with Captain Thermopyle, again on
orders from the director of Data Acquisition. Ostensibly
Deputy Chief Taverner was reqqed by Data Acquisition
to continue his interrogation of Captain Thermopyle. He
was considered to have a unique and invaluable know-
ledge of the prisoner.
'Now, however, our source has confirmed that Deputy
Chief Taverner was brought to UMCPHQ, not because
of his specialized knowledge, but because he was thought
to be the traitor who had betrayed Com-Mine Station
Security. He was brought to UMCPHQ so that Data
Acquisition might learn the truth about him — and so
that the threat he represents would be neutralized.
'For reasons which are not clear at this time, Deputy
Chief Taverner was not adequately guarded. Now, it
appears, he has succeeded at breaking his former partner,
Captain Thermopyle, out of confinement. Together they
have stolen a ship and escaped UMCPHQ.
The implications of this apparent incompetence on the
part of the UMCP are vast and frightening for a species
already threatened with extinction by the Amnion - a
species protected only by the same men and women who
have just allowed a convicted pirate and his most danger-
ous accomplice to slip through their fingers. '
There was more: a recap of Captain Thermopyle's
arrest and conviction, and a summary of Deputy Chief
Taverner's record, followed by an exhaustive analysis of
events by a whole panel of self-appointed experts - geno-
phobes, libertarians, free-market crazies, native Earthers;
every political fringe group that wanted votes on the
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GCES and didn't have them. Holt Fasner had stopped
listening, however. He was already on the intercom, sec-
uring a channel between the home office and UMCPHQ
- putting the fear of the Dragon into every technician and
secretary between his mother's sickchamber and Godsen
Frik.
His hands shook the entire time.
WARDEN
From his personal Command Operations Room in
UMCPHQ Center, Warden Dios watched Trum-
pet run out smoothly through Station control
space. Except for Min Donner, his Enforcement Division
director and occasional bodyguard, he was alone: he'd
sent everyone else away, even the communications techs
who were supposed to keep him in instant contact with
every department and activity of the United Mining
Companies Police. He hadn't locked the door, but he
had silenced all the CO Room pickups, monitors, and
logs.
Solitude was rare for the UMCP director. Silence was
even rarer. Being with Min may not have been the same
thing as being alone; but at least she didn't talk unless
she had something important to say.
So far Trumpet's departure was meticulous. The ship
hadn't filed any kind of destination report, and hadn't
been asked for one; but her blip on the screens showed
that she was following her assigned trajectory exactly: on
course at the correct speed; responding precisely to the
data and demands from the navigational buoys which
managed UMCPHQ's - and Earth's - heavy in-system
traffic.
Had Warden Dios expected anything else? Not really.
Trumpet had only two men aboard, and neither Angus
Thermopyle nor Milos Taverner was likely to begin
improvising so early. Angus was as perfectly welded as
Hashi Lebwohl could make him - and Hashi was a wiz-
ard of cybernetics. The idea that Angus would ever
diverge from his programming was almost inconceivable.
In any case, Milos would keep him in line.
And whatever actions Milos' uncertain loyalties might
inspire, they certainly wouldn't be of a kind to attract
attention - or doubt - this close to Earth and
UMCPHQ. He'd been too well trained, too thoroughly
threatened. In addition Warden had arranged to burn
Milos' bridges behind him. The news bulletin which Pro-
tocol had released through one of Godsen Frik's sub-
ordinates, announcing Angus' 'escape' and Milos'
'complicity", enforced Milos' cooperation. The former
deputy chief of Com-Mine Station Security might
eventually dare many things; but he wouldn't dare them
here.
The UMCP director had no reason to stay where he
was. He was a busy man. He should already have gone
on to other duties. Still he valued the silence and the near
solitude. Alone with Min Donner, he remained in the
privacy of his CO Room, watching Trumpet- and a piece
of his own fate - pass out of his control.
He believed the whole human species was at issue.
Otherwise he would not have been able to do what he
did.
He was a strong man, with a thick chest and powerful
file:///F|/rah/Stephen%20Donaldson/Donaldson...The%20Gap%203%20The%20Gap%20Into%20Power.txt (9 of 324) [1/19/03 11:47:28 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Stephen%20Donaldson/Donaldson%20The%20Gap%203%20The%20Gap%20Into%20Power.txt
arms. The lines of his face and jaw seemed hard enough
to have been cut from metal. And the patch glued over
the prosthesis of his left eye, like the crookedness of his
nose, only made him look stronger. But sometimes he
needed more than strength to stand the strain of his
oblique intentions. He needed to remind himself of the
consequences if he failed.
If he failed, Holt Fasner would win.
Warden Dios had done too much to help create the
Dragon's power: he couldn't turn his back on his res-
ponsibility now that he finally understood the danger of
what he and Holt together had made.
For a moment the out-going blip blurred slightly as
navigational transmission shifted from one buoy to the
next. In another hour, Trumpet would reach her assigned
gap range - considerably closer to Earth than other ships
were allowed, but well within the priority zone restricted
for the UMCP's use. Then she would be gone. And War-
den would have to live with the outcome.
Min adjusted her weight slightly; her fingers stroked
the butt of the handgun she carried everywhere. Warden
suspected that she wore her impact pistol to bed. Without
lifting her eyes from the screens, she asked quietly, 'Do
you really think this is going to work?'
He glanced over at her. The strictness of her mouth
never altered; her jet hair had been marked by exactly
those streaks of gray ever since she'd become his most
valued assistant. Her gaze was hot enough to scorch men
with less iron in their souls — or less scar tissue.
In an oddly impersonal way, he loved her. More per-
sonally, he respected her moral clarity, her loyalty to her
people in ED; her commitment to the law and power
which preserved the fragile integrity of human space.
Years ago those qualities used to swell his heart. Now
they made him grieve.
Because he was grieving, he was less cautious than he
should have been. 'I think, ' he replied, 'if it doesn't the
Dragon is going to force me to commit seppuku. '
That brought her around to face him. Her eyes burned
into his - the artificial orb behind its patch and the
human one. Her whole body blazed with infrared emis-
sions. Then why are you doing it?'
'Min-' No question about it: he should have been
more circumspect; should never have given her this open-
ing. She was already in enough danger, simply because
she was the Enforcement Division director - and honest.
What do you suppose my choices are?'
'You could send me, ' she said promptly, tightly. 'Or
you could let me put together a team. Instead of sending
out a cyborg and a traitor, not to mention sacrificing
Morn Hyland' - Min was not a woman who feared to
speak her mind - 'you could have let somebody you trust
try to do both jobs. Put Billingate out of business and
rescue Morn.
'It's suicide to leave her there, ' she pursued before he
could respond. The Amnion might get their hands on
her. And she doesn't deserve to be abandoned like that.
She doesn't deserve to just be put out of her misery along
with that shipyard. If you think Angus and Milos are too
chancy to rescue her' - Min's tone was acid; her body,
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摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Stephen%20Donaldson/Donaldson%20The%20Gap%203%20The%20Gap\%20Into%20Power.txtHOLTShortlybeforeAngusThermopyleandMilosTavernerleftUMCPHQaboardTrumpet,HoltFasnervisitedhismother.Hedidthisdespitethefactthattheoldharridanhadbeeninafoultemperfordecades.Themedicaladvanceswhichhadkepthimnear...

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