A Dark and Hungry God Arises (58 page)

Liete's stomach churned. The Amnion installation.

Nick! What're you doing?

'So much for your theory about the guns, ' Pastille snarled.

Without warning the scorched heat of the desert took her, and she lost control.

She flung off her belt, jumped out of her g-seat. Will you shut up? she yelled at the helm third, 'or do I have to send you off the bridge?' Any of the people around her could have shouted louder than she did, but none of them could make their voices carry and cut like hers. 'I'm sick of listening to you whine because you can't second-guess Nick! Believe it or not, Ransum can do your job -

and she won't bitch all the time!'

Pastille didn't look at her: he faced his board as if he were concentrating hard. 'Give me something to do, ' he muttered past his shoulder. 'I'm just sitting here. '

'I want noise!' Now that she'd started shouting, she couldn't stop. The wind in her ears seemed to carry her out of herself. 'I want emission chaos, as much as we can put out! I want to look exactly like a ship that's fighting to figure out what went wrong - fighting to bring up power somehow - fighting like hell to break loose!'

Abruptly vehemence and urgency let go of her. A strange stillness like the center of a storm filled her.

'I want camouflage, ' she explained calmly. 'I want to emit so much confusion that Billingate and Calm Horizons and Soar won't be able to tell the difference when we power up. '

Carmel didn't hesitate. 'I can run a feedback loop for some of our scan systems. Doppler sensors, radiant power emission receptors, particle sifters, things like that.

Use them for broadcast instead of reception. We'll look like we're going critical — like we're suffering some kind of meltdown. '

'Good. ' Liete nodded. 'Do it. '

Lind was already working. As his hands typed commands, he barked into his pickup, 'Captain's Fancy to all ships. Captain's Fancy to Billingate Operations. Captain's Fancy on all bandwidths. Emergency. Emergency. We are out of control. We have lost maneuvering power.

Stay clear. I say again, do not approach us. We have a thrust emergency. ' He hit more keys, then turned to Liete. 'That's on automatic across the operational spectrum. '

'Good, ' she said again. Bracing herself on the command board so that she wouldn't tremble, she lowered herself slowly back into her g-seat.

Malda chewed her lower lip. 'I might be able to dummy a short into one or two of the lasers. ' A taut vibration cut through her tone. 'Make it look like I'm trying to tap maintenance power, but the lines can't carry the load. '

Liete nodded once more. 'And while you're doing that, start leaking a little power back into the matter cannon.

Keep it slow - maybe it won't show. I want to be able to hit something in five minutes, if I have to.

'The same goes for you, Pastille. Bring the drive back up, but do it slow. Get ready to burn when the time comes.

'Lind, keep watching for orders from Calm Horizons.

Just like before -I want analysis the same instant we hear from them. '

Lind opened his mouth to reply; but before he could find his voice, Carmel cried out, 'Holy shit!'

'What?' Liete demanded. 'What is it?'

'That dish just went up like a flare!' Carmel shouted.

Almost immediately, however, she recovered her poise.

In an oddly formal tone, she announced more quietly,

'Billingate has experienced a complete power shutdown. '

'Operations is dead!' Lind gasped. They aren't making a sound. '

Liete's heart thudded with admiration. Oh, Nick!

She fixed a look on Pastille. 'Got any more complaints?'

But she didn't give him time to respond. As if she were singing to herself, she said happily, 'Analysis, Carmel. '

Carmel took a deep breath. 'Nick must have hit the dish with enough juice to trigger every failsafe in Operations. That won't stop them long. I mean they'll be able to get power back up almost immediately. Life support, weapons, things like that. Those systems are designed to protect themselves and come back on-line. They should be functional again in less than a minute.

'Communications is another matter. '

Lind was so excited that he hopped against the belt of his g-seat. 'Nobody designs communications gear to take that kind of jolt! If we're lucky, their central systems have been slagged. If they are, they'll still need hours to unscramble the damage. They may have to reprogram every computer in Operations — and that's after they find and fix anything that burned. '

Carmel peered at her readouts, then said, 'Right.

Billingate has power back. '

Lind tightened the receiver in his ear, listened hard.

Nearly crowing, he reported, 'Nothing from Operations.

They're still dead. '

'And' - Liete's heart went on singing, even though her voice was calm - 'we have exactly what we need. A diversion. Suddenly we're nobody's biggest worry. We're helpless - we don't matter anymore. What matters is what's happening to Billingate.

'This is our chance. ' She faced Pastille squarely. Nick has given us our chance. 'Let's not miss it. '

Pastille nodded as if he were in awe.

'Malda?' Liete asked.

The targ first hunched over her console, keying commands as fast as she could. 'I'll be ready, ' she murmured distantly.

Simply because Nick and his people were out on Thanatos Minor's surface and therefore vulnerable, Liete ordered, 'Fix targ on Tranquil Hegemony. That comes first. We'll tackle Soar when we know more about what's happening. '

Malda nodded.

Liete looked at the display screen which showed Captain's Fancy's position behind Soar on her way toward Calm Horizons. In silence she promised Nick that she wouldn't let him down.

Not after this. Now she understood completely that he could never be beaten.

The arc lamps were dim for a moment; they flickered as if they were sizzling inside. Then they came back up to brightness as if someone in Operations had dialed a rheostat.

Angus remained still on the edge of the concrete, waiting for his datacore to send him into motion again; plunge him back into a headlong rush toward Milos and doom.

'What went wrong?' Sib Mackern panted raggedly, as if he had no background in data and damage control.

'Nothing, ' Angus muttered. I hope.

'Power doesn't matter. ' Nick sounded abstract, thinking about something else. What matters is communications. ' His head tilted back: he stared upward as if he could see Captain's Fancy receding from him. But of course he couldn't: even with all her running lights ablaze, she would be invisible now, washed from sight by the intensity of the lamps. Nevertheless an odd note of yearning in his tone suggested that he spoke not to Sib, but to his ship. 'If we've fried enough of their circuits, they'll be paralyzed. They won't be able to talk to anybody. '

The Bill would be effectively helpless. Trapped in his strongroom, completely dependent on his communications network, he would have no idea what was happening. He would have to leave his reinforced hideyhole, ride the lifts up to Operations, simply in order to obtain information. Calm Horizons and Tranquil Hegemony could talk to each other: they could talk to Soar. But none of them could reach Operations or the Bill.

Which meant that the threat to Trumpet would be temporarily neutralized.

And the Amnion would be cut off from the Bill; they wouldn't be able to call him for help -

Without transition, as if he didn't know how he'd passed from immobility to motion, Angus found himself running across the gnarled and whetted rock.

He wasn't hampered like Sib: because of his zone implants he breathed steadily, strongly, despite his instinctive EVA panic and the knowledge that he was lost. Strutted muscles and joints carried him easily across the treacherous surface, as if he could never fall. The matter cannon in his hands might as well have been weightless.

Sib's hoarse gasping seemed to fill his helmet. He could hardly hear Mikka's labored respiration: he couldn't hear Nick at all.

Bounding between igneous outcroppings and glazed planes, Nick ran as if he didn't need welding to match Angus. In reaction Angus' lips pulled a snarl across his teeth. He wanted to run faster, leave Nick behind; outdo him somehow. Then he noticed that Nick was experimenting with his jets: teaching himself how to control them; using them to keep pace.

Their destination loomed ahead. Distance reduced the glow from the arc lamps; in their faded brilliance the concrete of the Amnion sector silhouetted itself against the absolute void. Above Thanatos Minor's surface the installation was like a bunker in size as well as configuration. The part which protruded from the ancient splash and swirl of the rock was nothing more than a small section of roof — an emergency exit. It gave the Amnion a way out. The dedicated berth where Tranquil Hegemony rested was half a kilometer away on the left. Docking lights picked the high bulk of the warship out from the dark; guns and antennae articulated her bulbous shape.

If her crew was running scan - if the Amnion were that cautious - they would see Angus and Nick, with Mikka and Sib lagging behind. Tranquil Hegemony might not be able to contact Operations - perhaps not even her own people in the installation - but she could send out forces of her own.

Between her and this bunker, the raw stone was marked only by a flat metallic sheet nearly thirty meters on each side, the sliding hatch of a shuttle port. It protected a small dock which could launch and receive personnel craft.

'Be more careful, Sib, ' Mikka ordered tightly. 'They'll wait for us when they need us. You won't do anybody any good if you fall and tear your suit. '

Sib didn't answer. He was panting too hard.

Nick waved a hand at the bunker. 'I presume, ' he said between breaths, You've got a plan for this, too. '

Angus didn't need a plan. He needed a design diagram.

His databases and his own experience suggested that this installation was large enough to quarter a hundred or more Amnion. Where would they keep Morn? How could he find her?

Assuming he survived that long, how could he locate the other thing his programming required, a way into Billingate's infrastructure?

On the strength of welded muscles and lesser g, he leaped in one long stride to the top of the bunker.

His immediate goal was on the far side. When he dropped over the edge, he landed on a concrete apron in front of the outer door of the airlock.

He hardly noticed as Nick sprang down beside him: his concentration had focused in like the beam of a laser as he studied the exterior control panel and intercom.

Under different circumstances the locking mechanism would have been no obstacle. If he'd been willing to open the installation to the vacuum - and warn the Amnion that they were under attack, give them time to seal their interior doors and marshal their defenses — he could have simply blasted his way in. But to rescue Morn he needed a better approach.

'Now what?' Nick sounded impossibly close, as if he were inside Angus' helmet. 'If you use the intercom and ask nicely, they'll probably just open up. Why not? That way they can get their hands on all of us at once. '

'Shut up, ' Angus muttered. His tension showed in his voice. Apparently his programming no longer cared how much dread he betrayed.

From a distance of half a dozen centimeters he glared at the control panel.

With his EM vision, he should have been able to read its circuitry exactly. For some reason, however, his prostheses had gone blind.

His heart lurched in panic, and his hands ran with sweat inside his gloves. What was going on? He couldn't see what he needed; his datacore had switched off his enhanced sight; Dios or Lebwohl had sent him this far only to make him fail -

Then an artificial calm slowed his pulse. From the window in his head came a flood of information about his prostheses.

He couldn't see, he was informed, because the polarization of his faceplate distorted his EM vision.

Shit! Just what he needed.

Urgently he adjusted the degree of polarization. At the same time he scaled it up and down the spectrum, hunting for a wavelength which would let him read the control panel. He didn't need polarization at all, not here in the shadow of the bunker, protected from the burning glare of the lamps; but the faceplate induced a distortion of its own, blurring EM emissions.

Scrambling through databases while he made his adjustments, he searched for settings to counteract the inherent refraction.

'What're you doing?' Nick inquired sardonically. Trying to unlock it by willpower?'

There: an imprecise flicker of electromagnetic tracery like a circuit board seen under a disfocused microscope.

Too much detail was lost; accuracy would be almost impossible. But Angus might be able to cut into the lock wiring without setting the whole installation afire with alarms.

As he reached for his laser, he told Nick, 'Get Sib and Mikka here. We can't wait for them. '

Nick didn't move; didn't obey. He stood still and watched while Angus narrowed his laser down to its smallest focus, aimed it into the center of the control panel, and fired.

A pinprick of metal flamed crimson, then denatured like smoke into the vacuum.

With luck, the alarm circuits were disabled.

Now a second shot, millimeters away from the first.

A moment later the outer door of the airlock irised open like a dilating eye.

'You amaze me. ' Nick's tone was too cold and dangerous for awe. The Bill doesn't know how much you know about his computers. The Amnion don't know how much you know about their airlocks. What's next, Angus? Are you going to simply wave your hands and undo what they've done to Morn? Do you know that much about mutagens, too?'

Mikka rounded the corner of the bunker and came to a stop on locked knees. Through her faceplate, she looked frantic with exertion. When she saw the staring airlock, she gaped at it.

'Where's Sib?' Angus demanded.

'Here. ' Sib stumbled onto the apron and caught himself on Mikka's shoulder. His handgun hung from his belt; he carried the extra EVA suit wrapped to his chest with both arms.