A Dark and Hungry God Arises (30 page)

'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. '

Simply to release tension, Lind laughed like a crackle of static.

'Shut up, Ciro, ' Vector instructed. Ciro was Pup's real name. Vector said it in the same tone he would have used to offer Pup coffee. This isn't what it looks like. If I'm leaving the ship, I want you with me. '

Pastille made a sour jibe, which the rest of the bridge ignored.

Spasms pulled at Nick's cheek like an erratic heartbeat; but he went on grinning because he couldn't stop.

By the time he left Captain's Fancy himself to meet his deadline with the Bill, the people he distrusted most were no longer aboard. Mikka and Vector — and maybe even Sib - might have caused Liete trouble; but she could certainly handle everybody else.

And he was sure she would follow all the orders he'd given her.

He was no more than a minute or two late when he reached the strongroom and demanded to see the Bill.

Davies Hyland paced his cell as if he were measuring a grave. Six steps on one side, five on the other. Room for a head and a cot; a few pushups: nothing more. Walls and loneliness were his only companions.

At times he wanted to scream. At other times he wanted to sob. Occasionally he wondered why he was sane. Human beings weren't designed by nature or trained by society to withstand the stress of circumstances like his.

His mind and his body were fundamentally wrong for each other. He was male, yet he couldn't remember being anything except female.

And he was a prisoner: a pawn in a conflict over which he had no control - a conflict which he could scarcely comprehend because of the black hole in his head where crucial memories should have been. As far as he knew, no one wanted him alive except his mother, whose plight was probably even worse than his; and the Amnion, who intended to make him one of them.

Beyond question he should have collapsed into raving or withdrawn into autism.

But he didn't.

Despite all the force and harm arrayed against him, he was charged with survival; primed to fight for his life.

Behind his isolation, underneath his fear, every pulse and shimmer of energy was ready for battle.

Because of the black hole, he couldn't guess that a strange and fertile interaction had taken place between his father's biochemistry and his mother's use of her zone implant. He couldn't imagine that he'd been conditioned in Morn's womb to meet his impenetrable dilemma.

Angus Thermopyle had given his son a genetic inherit-ance of toughness, stubbornness; a grim and bloody-minded refusal to be broken. And Morn Hyland had spent months driving herself to sexual, psychological and physical extremes which she could never have endured without the artificial pressure and control of her zone implant. In a sense, her son had been inured to stress as a fetus. Every cell of his tiny body had grown accustomed to levels of stimulation which could have triggered car-diac arrest in anyone else. In effect, he was an adrenalin addict — and his addiction kept him whole when he should have snapped.

So he roamed the confines of his cell more like a caged predator than a sixteen-year-old boy. Ignoring the obvious monitors and the impersonal concrete, he paced from wall to wall, toning his strange muscles, training his mind to accept them. He already had his father's thick strength, if not his father's bulk: he tested it with pushups, situps, handstands, leaps. Exercises and skills his mother had learned in the Academy he repeated until his alien shipsuit was rough with sweat and his hands began to understand how the blocks and punches could be used. Then he continued pacing.

At the same time he chewed on his memories and his predicament with a doggedness which came from both his parents: trying to force himself to remember; trying to reason his way across the gaps in what he knew and understood.

He'd told the Bill that Morn and Nick Succorso were working together for the UMCP. Now the Bill was holding him here, rather than turning him over to Nick - or to the Amnion. Was there a connection? Did the Bill think the plot was aimed at him? Or was he afraid to take sides in Morn's — and Nick's — presumed connivance against the Amnion? If his only loyalty was to himself, in which direction would he move to protect himself from danger? To profit from the Amnion was one thing: to risk exposure to their mutagens was something else entirely.

Davies assumed that the Bill had no intention of letting himself be made Amnion. He wouldn't hesitate to sell his prisoner, but he would never sell himself. Therefore he had to keep his options open until he knew what was at stake. Other people think you're valuable, and I'm going to know why before I make up my mind about you.

That was probably why Davies was still a prisoner - still safe.

So it was only a matter of time before the Bill came to question him again. Sooner or later, the Bill would ask him for more information about Nick and Morn.

He wanted it to be sooner. Right now. While his tolerance for stress still protected him.

His cell contained a head, but no san. He would have liked to get clean. Even a fresh - a human - shipsuit would have been nice. Apparently the Amnion didn't sweat; the shipsuit he'd been given on Enablement didn't absorb much moisture. By now it was damp enough to chafe when he exercised.

Grimly he continued working under the eye of the monitors as if he never needed rest.

Come on, you bastard. Question me again. Ask me to tell you what's going on.

Give me another chance.

Before it's too late.

Nevertheless he did need rest. Despite his conditioning, he was only human.

No doubt because the Bill wanted it that way and was willing to wait for the opportunity, Davies was asleep when his captor came to talk to him.

Lost in dreams of sweat and Amnion, he heard the Bill's mocking voice. 'Ah, the innocent slumber of the young. ' At first he thought it came from an Amnioni.

But it smelled like the souring musk of his own body.

What a joy to be able to sleep and dream so cleanly. '

Adrenalin brought him back to consciousness like an electric charge. Nevertheless he was cautious. With deliberate slowness, he opened his eyes.

Tall and incongruously enthusiastic, as thin as a cadaver, the Bill stood by the door. This time his only guard was the woman Davies had seen with him before

- the beautiful middle-aged woman with the rich voice and the stiff carriage. She had a stun-prod tucked into the front of her shipsuit as if she felt sure she wouldn't need it.

Davies knew nothing about her, not even her name.

But she was the Bill's ally. On Thanatos Minor, in Amnion space, anyone who needed an ally was vulnerable.

Totally alert, and determined to conceal it, Davies fumbled for the edge of the cot to pull himself into a sitting position. Scrubbing at his face as if he were trying to wake himself up, he muttered, 'What do you want?'

Sounding deceptively happy, the Bill said, 'I want to ask you some questions. Be a good boy and answer them. '

Davies made an effort to look bleary-eyed. 'Are you going to let me out if I cooperate?'

The Bill chuckled shortly. 'Of course not. '

Groaning, Davies stretched back out on the cot. 'Then why should I bother?'

'Because it's less painful, ' the Bill replied with a grin.

'If I were feeling charitable - which I'm not - I could give you drugs to make you talk. Or I could install a zone implant in your ugly skull and take the matter out of your hands. Or' - he shrugged - 'I could do BR surgery on you until you begged me to let you cooperate. '

'Sure, sure. ' Davies dismissed the threat. 'You could do all that. But I'm only merchandise here. You made that clear. If you want to make a profit on me, you won't damage the merchandise. '

The Bill studied Davies for a moment. Then he remarked to his companion, 'Snotty little bugger, isn't he. Maybe you should tell him why he wants to cooperate. '

The woman didn't hesitate. 'Davies, you're smart enough to understand the position you're in.

Nobody ever accused your father of being stupid, and if your mother were she wouldn't have made it through the Academy. Sure, you're nothing but merchandise. But you care who you're sold to. Believe me, you care. '

'What has that got to do with answering questions?'

Davies interrupted. 'You're just trying to figure out how much you can get for me. You aren't going to let me choose who buys me. '

'It's not that simple, ' the Bill snapped; but his tone wasn't angry. 'Events are moving in too many different directions at once. There's too much at stake. I'm not worried about how much profit I'll make on you. I'm worried about selling you to the wrong party. Until I know what's going on, I can't decide whether to deal with Captain Nick or the Amnion. '

'If you're sold to Succorso, ' the woman put in, 'you'll go back to your own people. The cops. That is, if you're telling the truth about Succorso and Morn Hyland working together. But if you go to the Amnion, you'll end up like Marc Vestabule. '

Davies remembered Vestabule. Noradrenalin crackled through his synapses like static. The pressure in his veins was too intense to let him remain horizontal. Surging off the cot, he gained his feet and retreated to the wall opposite the door. With his back to the concrete, he faced the Bill.

Succorso intended to give him to the Amnion. Davies had told the Bill the lie that Nick and Morn were working together in a blind effort to weaken Nick's hand, strengthen Morn's. From that point of view, he had no reason to care who got him.

But if events were moving in too many different directions at once, the Bill might soon be forced to a choice, regardless of whether or not Davies cooperated with him. Then Davies' relative safety in his cell would end.

And he did care. The route which led to the Amnion through Succorso was less direct; maybe less inevitable.

If he went by that route, he might live a little longer. He might even get the chance to do Succorso some harm along the way.

Swallowing at the tension in his throat, he asked,

'What do you want to know?'

The Bill smiled. 'That's better, ' he said approvingly. 'I like cooperation.

'Why don't you start by telling me why Captain Nick went to Enablement?'

Davies' heart pounded in his chest. Alive with fear and energy, he said, 'As far as I know, it was so Morn could have me. She was pregnant, but she knew she couldn't raise me from a baby. They went to Enablement so I could be force-grown. '

'Why?' the Bill demanded shortly. What's so special about you?'

'I don't know. ' Davies didn't have to feign the distress in his eyes. They didn't tell me. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with me. I mean, anything personal.

Maybe she just wanted to keep me, but she couldn't afford what it would cost to have a - a normal son. All that time and care. ' Maybe she needed an ally so desperately that she wanted her mind imprinted on me rather than letting me learn my own. Maybe she couldn't wait sixteen years for me to be old enough to help her. 'Maybe what she and Nick are doing is so important that she couldn't afford to be hampered by a baby. '

The Bill twisted his mouth to one side. 'That is a provocative notion, young Davies. You're saying she's so special that she can demand and get that kind of risk from Captain Nick