The Real Story: The Gap Into Conflict Page 13

  For the second time, he found himself staring down the pitiless gullet of enemy cannon.

  The sight made him want to weep.

  There was nothing he could do. All his anger and inspiration were gone, expended. His attacker was within range now, but it wasn’t worth the trouble to fire at her. He might be able to scar her a little, that was all. A few scars wouldn’t prevent her from eviscerating him and his ship and everything he’d ever wanted.

  Abruptly, a communication channel crackled.

  “Captain Thermo-pile.”

  Nick Succorso. Of course.

  “You’re beaten. Remember that. I warned you.”

  Angus had the distinct impression Nick was laughing at him.

  Without another shot, Captain’s Fancy shifted course and started to pull away.

  He couldn’t believe it. He stared at his displays, his readouts. His cameras couldn’t see far enough to be sure; but all his sensors agreed with each other. Captain’s Fancy had turned her back on him. With taunting ease, she ran out of his reach almost immediately. He was left alone and damaged.

  He felt like he’d been marooned. For the second time, he had no idea why he was alive.

  CHAPTER

  15

  Bright Beauty’s life-support didn’t seem to be working well enough. His mouth was full of sand. The whole inside of his head was a desert. You’re beaten. He wasn’t angry anymore. Remember that. He didn’t have any hope. I warned you. Something had been taken away from him—something he needed and couldn’t define and didn’t know how to live without.

  His ship was crippled. He’d been gone from Com-Mine Station for less than twelve hours, but he would be lucky to get back in thirty-six.

  Morn Hyland still slumped in her g-seat, deaf and blind to everything.

  He couldn’t afford to have Bright Beauty fixed. If he reached Com-Mine in one piece, that would be as far as he went. He couldn’t make any money without using her, and she was in no condition to be used. He was trapped; there was no escape. He might as well have been marooned—

  It was Morn’s fault, of course. None of this would have happened to him—or to his ship—if she hadn’t conceived a passion for Nick Succorso.

  And yet he wasn’t angry.

  He wanted to be angry. If he could get angry, maybe he would be able to think of something.

  After staring at his screens for a long time, he keyed the parallel control to Morn’s zone implant and let her have her body back.

  Trying to be angry, he didn’t look at her. Instead, he let his hurt, numb thoughts wander to the question of how much she remembered, how much she knew about what had happened. She’d been in the grip of her gap-sick vision, the message from the universe commanding self-destruction, when he activated her zone implant. Had she been lost in mad clarity all this time? Was she still sick? Or had she been capable of seeing, absorbing, understanding?

  She twisted against her seat, stretched her muscles, studied her console and the displays. Involuntarily he turned to watch her. Her features were pale and concentrated. Then, by degrees, horror crept into her face—the horror he recognized.

  In a stark and absolute whisper, she asked, “Did I do that?”

  He should have let her believe she was responsible. That would be worse than anything physical he could do to her. She was horrified of him, of course, revolted to the core and helpless; but to fear herself like that, to be revolted again at herself like that, to be helpless against her own destructiveness—that would be worse. It would be as bad as what he’d been striving for until the moment when she and Nick first saw each other—as bad as finding in herself the knowledge that she needed what he did to her and loved it.

  She deserved to believe she was responsible.

  He couldn’t do it; he had no idea why. Part of his brain was still planning what he would say to pin the blame on her as he replied, “Succorso got us. A trap—there was no supply ship. You can see the damage.” Her console would give her all the details she needed.

  For several moments she didn’t say anything. Her relief was so strong that she seemed unable to think. But then, slowly, she began to frown.

  Keeping her voice neutral, she asked, “Why are we still alive?”

  Angus shrugged as if he were the one who was helpless. “He let us go.”

  She had to consider that for a while: even in her condition, she could see it didn’t make sense. Nick attacked because he wanted to kill Angus. Then why did he leave Bright Beauty alive? He set his trap so that he could rescue Morn. Then why didn’t he? Why did he risk killing her?

  Nevertheless something made sense to her; Angus could read her expression well enough to know it when she reached a conclusion.

  Carefully she cleared her throat and said, “You’re beaten.”

  Oh, yes.

  “He beat you.”

  Yes.

  “You’ll be lucky if you can make this thing crawl back to Station.”

  The words were fierce, almost vindictive; she might have been gloating. But she didn’t sound that way. Her tone was too flat, too well-controlled. If anything, she sounded a little sad, as if she, too, had been hurt in some way.

  Trying to be angry, he growled, “Proud of him, aren’t you. You think that fucker’s some kind of hero. Beat me. You’re counting the minutes until you two”—he had no words strong enough—“until you can screw him.”

  Abruptly, she licked her lips; she appeared to have trouble swallowing. “Angus.” She’d never used his name before. “Angus, listen to me.

  “I can save you.”

  He thought his heart was going to stop beating.

  “I’ll testify for you. When you go back to Com-Mine, they’ll charge you with illegal departure. I’ll support you. I’m not much of a cop anymore, but I’ve still got my id tag. I’ll tell them you left on my orders. And I’ll tell them there was no supply ship. It was a hoax—that other ship set it up. I’ll tell them to arrest Nick Succorso. I can’t save your ship, but I can save you.”

  Tell them? Turn on Nick Succorso? Give up that piece of meat for me? Impossible. Angus felt sure he was losing his mind. For me?

  “Just give me the control.” Her voice was husky, full of need. “The zone-implant control.”

  Then he understood. Shit, how he wished he could be angry! She wanted the control. It wasn’t for him. Nothing was for him. She wanted all that power for herself. Power over herself—power to be whatever she wanted. No gap-sickness. No fear: immune to fear. And no consequences for all the harm he’d done her. The perfect cop. The perfect lover. As close as human flesh could come to immortality.

  He’d broken her in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Her damage was as profound as Bright Beauty’s.

  He had trouble seeing. His eyes ran and wouldn’t stop. “You’re crazy,” he rasped as if he were weeping. “That’s as illegal as what I did to you. You’re a cop. Your whole family will be discredited, heroic Captain Davies Hyland and his reputation shot to hell.”

  She reacted bitterly. “What does that matter?” she retorted. “They’re dead.”

  Angus tried a different tack.

  “You aren’t thinking straight. You’re a cop. It’s worse when a cop breaks the law. They’ll crucify you. Mandatory death penalty. They’ll find out. They have to find out. And then you’ll be finished.”

  Behind his tears, he could see her in lockup; see her waiting to be executed, vaporized. As precious as Bright Beauty.

  “I’ll lose my ship.”

  “You can’t save it,” she shot back, suddenly angry, more than a little desperate. “I can handle Station Security. And the UMCP. I’ll think of a way. But nothing can save your ship. It’s too badly broken. We’ll need a miracle just to get back to Com-Mine alive.

  “Please. Give me the control.” Now she was pleading nakedly. “I’m not going to use it against you. I need it to heal.”

  He tried to clear his vision. Softly he said, “And give up my ship. That’s the
deal, isn’t it. You’ll save me. If I let you have the control. But I have to give up my ship.”

  My life.

  She nodded. After a moment, she replied, “What else have you got to bargain with?”

  At last, something like his old energy came back to him. Roughly he undid the straps and pushed his bulk out of his g-seat. He needed to be angry at her one last time, needed to hate her the way he’d always hated her, the way he hated everyone.

  He went toward her.

  Clamping one hand on the armrest of her seat, bracing his feet on the deck, he struck her a blow like the one which had felled Nick, a blow with the whole weight of his existence behind it. If her seat hadn’t absorbed some of the impact, she might have been knocked unconscious. He might have broken her neck.

  “Bitch. I’ll never give up my ship.”

  Red welled in her cheek; blood trickled from the cuts of her teeth inside her mouth. Pain and shock glazed her eyes: for a moment, she couldn’t focus them.

  But she made no effort to defend herself. If he wanted to hit her again, she was there.

  He couldn’t do it. It was like hurting Bright Beauty. She was too beautiful. The stark red line of blood across her fine skin wrung his heart. He needed rage and violence, but they were gone.

  “Now you listen to me,” he panted as if he were groaning. “It’s impossible. You couldn’t get away with it.

  “Maybe you can get them to believe you ordered me to violate Center’s orders so you could come out here after Succorso. But they won’t believe anything else unless you file charges. If you don’t, your credibility’s gone. Then you’re in the same shit I am. Only you’ll be suspect for destroying Starmaster. If they find evidence of self-destruct, you’ll be court-martialed. They’ll find the zone implant and the control, and then you’re dead.

  “You’ll have to file charges.

  “But if you do that, you’ll have to give them my datacore. Otherwise you don’t have any evidence.” He could survive that—he could retain his life, if not his freedom—but she didn’t know that. And he had a horror of lockup. Imprisonment alone might be enough to ruin him. “You’ll end up killing me.

  “And if you do all that, they’ll still find the implant and the control.

  “Think about it. After what you’ve been through, they’re going to give you a physical. They’re going to insist on it. If you resist, they’ll get suspicious—they’ll force it on you. No matter what you do, you’re dead.

  “You’re going to have to play this out the way it is.

  “I’m trying to save your life too.”

  Now he wasn’t able to meet her dull, smoldering gaze. Slowly he pushed back to his seat. He strapped himself in. His movements were abrupt, jerky, as if he didn’t have them entirely under control; as if he could have used a zone implant himself.

  “We’ve got a holed thruster tube,” he muttered. “It’ll take everything I can do just to make her run in a straight line. You’ll have to handle everything else.”

  Glowering like one of the lost, he routed most of his command functions to her console. Then he concentrated all the determination he had left on making Bright Beauty go where he wanted.

  He knew Morn would do her part. What choice did she have?

  But he also knew what he’d done to her. He’d destroyed her last hope. And he’d hit her again, after all his gentleness; after his gentleness had almost persuaded her he could be reached.

  He understood the consequences.

  Now she had no choice but to help destroy him.

  CHAPTER

  16

  Two days and more after her departure, Bright Beauty sputtered back into dock at Com-Mine Station.

  The trip was harder and longer than Angus had anticipated. For the first time since Morn started crewing for him, he needed drugs to stay alert.

  In fact, she accepted stim herself. The chore of maintaining the ship while he navigated wasn’t exhausting, but his refusal to stop for rest wore her down. She had a hot glitter in her eyes and a feverish patch of color on each cheek as he settled Bright Beauty into the berth Center assigned; she looked like a woman whose life was on the line.

  He noticed that. Despite his own fatigue and the muzzy-headedness of drugs, he noticed everything about her. She needed sleep.

  If he could have let her have it, he would have.

  Unfortunately, there were Station inspectors pounding at his airlock. He’d ignored an order of curfew to go off after Captain’s Fancy. And the supply ship was still missing. The official search hadn’t found anything. And Captain’s Fancy hadn’t returned. A board of inquiry wanted to ask Angus Thermopyle questions. Until he answered them, he was effectively under arrest.

  He couldn’t afford sleep. And he couldn’t afford to let Morn sleep. He needed her to back him up again.

  He keyed off his console and got out of his g-seat, swearing uselessly at the force of Station gravity. “Shut her down,” he told Morn. “We’re going to be here for a while.” Then he added, “Don’t say anything. I’ll handle the fucking inspectors. You just sit there and do your best to look like a cop.”

  She nodded once, tightly. With her hands on the console, she got to work rigging Bright Beauty for rest.

  Angus was afraid he would never be able to warm his ship up again. But even that fear was good for something. Relying on it because he had so little anger or strength, he went to let the inspectors aboard.

  They had a lot to say to him: they made a number of demands.

  For once, what he told them came close to the exact truth.

  I don’t give a shit about the supply ship. I was after Nick Succorso.

  Really? A treasure like that—just waiting to be looted? Do you expect us to believe that, Captain Thermopyle?

  Do you think I’m crazy? A supply ship? Angus didn’t have to fake his exasperation. If I put one finger on her, the sewage in DelSec would have me for breakfast. And I sure as hell wouldn’t come back here. With a treasure like that, I could buy all the repairs I need somewhere else.

  Then what were you doing?

  I already told you. I was after Succorso.

  Why?

  Deliberately Angus looked at Morn. That also was the truth, but it had the effect of a lie. Snarling, he said, Succorso was after the supply ship.

  How do you know?

  Shit! Why the fucking hell do you think he broke curfew and blinked out of here? Why do you think he hasn’t come back?

  All right. What happened?

  I never found the supply ship. He attacked me. Holed my thruster tube. The only thing I’ve done since then is crawl back here.

  Why did he attack you?

  With difficulty, Angus refrained from yelling. Take a guess.

  Are you sure it was him?

  No. You got any ideas who else would jump me out in the middle of fucking nowhere for no fucking reason?

  The inspectors shrugged as if the list of people who might fit that description were endless.

  You broke curfew, Captain Thermopyle. That charge will stick. You weren’t docked, but you were in Station control space. You’ll have to surrender your datacore.

  The hell I will. I told you. I was after Succorso.

  That changes nothing. You broke curfew.

  I had orders. Again Angus turned his glare on Morn. I couldn’t obey them and you too.

  Still she didn’t say anything. This time, however, she took out her UMCP id tag for the inspectors to worry about.

  Faced with the unexplained possibilities she represented—the possibility, for instance, that she’d commandeered Angus Thermopyle’s ship to pursue Nick Succorso despite the curfew—the inspectors couldn’t shake Angus’ story. They searched Bright Beauty as well as they could without knowing her secrets, but they didn’t find anything. Finally they looked at the damaged thruster tube. It seemed to give them a certain amount of satisfaction.

  If Captain Succorso comes in, we’ll treat him the same way we did you
. If we find anything from that ship—anything at all—we’ll lock him up for the rest of his natural life. But if he’s clean, we’re not going to charge him for shooting at you. Not unless you can prove it was him. The inspectors smiled humorlessly. Not unless you hand over your datacore and let us read it.

  Thanks so much, Angus rasped. You’re all heart. It’s a pleasure getting justice and decent treatment from you.

  But he was too worn-out to feel much relief—or any hope. The ability to bluff the inspectors didn’t solve his problems.

  He was forbidden to leave Station, of course, but that was a minor inconvenience under the circumstances. When the board of inquiry granted him temporary permission to disembark and make use of Com-Mine Station’s facilities, he escorted the inspectors off Bright Beauty and sealed the locks. Then he put Morn to bed asleep and climbed into his bunk because there was nothing else he could do.

  A few hours later, he woke up in a sweat of alarm; a knife against his heart told him he’d forgotten something, neglected something. Something deadly. He seemed to be waking up from a dream in which a terrible mistake was made clear to him.

  Now, however, what that mistake was drifted out of his grasp while his lungs heaved and his chest pounded. Bright Beauty’s air conditioning chilled the sweat on his skin, but didn’t do anything to cool off his fright.

  Maybe it was just Station gravity weighing him down, making him feel leaden and defeated; maybe he was getting too old to shift easily between the presence and absence of g. He wasn’t used to thinking of himself as either old or young. In fact, he didn’t often pay much attention to his physical organism. But now he tried to comfort himself with physiological speculations.

  He was getting old. He was having trouble adjusting to Station g. That was all.

  No.

  He’d forgotten something.

  Nick’s taunts came back to him.

  You’re beaten. Remember that. I warned you.

  He still had no idea why Nick let him live.

  Neglected something.

  He went back to the beginning to try to reason it out.

  The explanation had to do with Morn, of course. Nothing else made sense. Nick let him live because killing him would kill her as well. Nick was willing to risk her during the fight, for the sake of beating Angus Thermopyle, for the sake of repaying what Angus did to him; but after he won, he held back so she wouldn’t be hurt.