A Dark and Hungry God Arises

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “That didn’t work, so after a while the cops—the United Mining Companies fucking Police themselves—decided to take over.” Angus probably didn’t need the help of his zone implants to lie as calmly as he told the truth. “They reqqed me, took me to UMCPHQ. Along with Milos here, since he presumably knew more about me than anybody else. I guess this new Preempt Act gave them the authority. And maybe they were glad Milos didn’t break me. Maybe they wanted to keep what I know for themselves.”

  Milos dropped his nic on the deck and lit another, hiding the tremors of his hands with smoke.

  “This is where it gets interesting,” Angus continued. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but the one they convicted me for I didn’t do. I was framed. If you don’t believe me, ask Captain Succorso. He’s in dock there, right? Ask him. He set me up. And eventually the cops figured out that if Succorso set me up, he must have had help. From Com-Mine Security.

  “Now Milos knew he was in trouble. He provided the supplies Succorso used to frame me. They must have been working together for years. It was only a matter of time until the cops nailed him. So his little scam was finished. The cops were going to catch him—and as soon as they broke him they were probably going to execute him for his crimes.

  “He didn’t like that much. But how could he get out of it? He was stuck in UMCPHQ. He never expected to be reqqed, so he hadn’t planned an escape. He can’t run a ship himself. What else was he going to do? Before the cops revoked his clearances, he got me out. We went to the docks, jumped Trumpet’s crew, and used their id tags to get ourselves aboard. Then we used his codes to clear her for a training run. Before UMCPHQ knew what was going on, we hit the gap and came here. End of story.

  “How do you like it?” Angus asked sardonically.

  On an impulse that resembled panic, Milos keyed his own pickup and said to Angus so that Operations would overhear him, “They don’t have to like it. Don’t be so hostile. We can’t go back. All they have to do is let us stay.”

  He thought Angus was going to cut him off. But Angus left both pickups active as he growled, “Oh, shut up, Milos. You’re just making it worse.”

  Milos flushed involuntarily. This was simply another calculated gambit in Angus’ game with Operations. In all likelihood, both he and Operations already knew what the outcome would be. Only Milos himself was left to sweat in ignorance and dread.

  Operations was silent for a moment. Then the speakers asked, “So what are you selling, Captain Thermopyle?”

  Faking abrupt outrage, Angus shouted back, “I’m not selling anything! I’m running away! Get it through your head! I’m fucking running away from the fucking cops! I only came here because I couldn’t think of anyplace better!”

  “Then how,” Operations inquired in a tone of suave malice, “do you propose to pay for the use of our docks and facilities?”

  At once Angus pointed a finger like a command at Milos.

  Sighing, Milos leaned over his pickup. “Operations, this is Milos Taverner. I made a fair amount of money working with Captain Succorso. But I couldn’t leave it lying around on Com-Mine. It’s in a safe account on Terminus.” This falsehood, which Hashi Lebwohl had prepared for him, was so close to the truth that Milos was able to deliver it with a minimum of distress. “Verification follows.”

  As steadily as he could, he tapped his keys, dumping the information Operations needed along Trumpet’s transmission.

  “Data received,” Operations reported in a more impersonal manner. “Steady as you go until you hear from us again, Trumpet. Operations out.”

  Obediently the speakers went dead.

  Milos should have kept his mouth shut: he knew that. But he couldn’t. He had too much tension in him; he was too dependent on people he didn’t understand and couldn’t control. Fighting to keep his voice flat, he asked for the second time, “Now what?”

  Angus’ grin was as sharp as a taunt. “Now they’re going to talk to your buddy, Captain Sheepfucker himself.”

  Milos tried to think of everything he knew about Nick Succorso; tried to imagine what orders DA had given Captain’s Fancy. Doubtfully he asked, “Will he back you up?”

  Angus swore. “Of course not.” Nevertheless his voice carried a note of grim satisfaction as he added, “Which is exactly why they’re going to let us come in.”

  Milos couldn’t restrain himself. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Sure it does. You’re just too stupid to see it.” Angus’ yellow eyes were full of threats. “Look at this from the Bill’s point of view. He’s got two Amnion warships on his hands. Captain’s Fancy is in—and she came from deeper in Amnion space, from Enablement Station. So Captain Sheepfucker has been screwing with them somehow. That’s why those warships are here. They may even be after Donner’s precious Morn Hyland.” Angus said her name like a curse. “The Bill is already up to his hips in shit he didn’t ask for and doesn’t want.

  “Now suddenly we arrive.” More and more, Angus’ explanation itself sounded like a threat. “About the best thing you can say for us from his point of view is—we’re dangerous. Especially at a time like this. But now we’re linked to Captain Sheepfucker. We claim he’ll back up our story. Sure as hell looks like we’re here because of him, doesn’t it?

  “As soon as Succorso refuses to confirm us, the Bill won’t have any choice. He’ll have to bring us in. Once we’re docked, he’ll have us under control. That way he can try to protect himself from all the different things that might be going on.”

  At last Milos found the determination to stifle his questions. They betrayed too much: ever since he’d been cursed with the job of trying to break Angus, his questions had betrayed too much. No matter how much he reminded himself that he still had secrets and options which Angus—and therefore Hashi Lebwohl—couldn’t guess, every passing hour seemed to bring him more under Angus’ power. He needed reassurance, needed it—

  Sucking smoke into his lungs while his crotch and armpits oozed and his heart labored, he forced himself to continue waiting.

  Scarcely ten minutes passed before Billingate spoke again.

  “Trumpet, this is Operations,” said the laconic voice. “You have permission to come in. Approach vectors and berth assignment follow.”

  Numbers began to scroll across the helm readouts.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense, Operations,” Angus put in quickly. “What did Captain Succorso say about me?”

  “Pay attention,” Operations snapped. “I’m not done. You have permission to come in, but it’s conditional. You won’t be allowed to leave until you satisfy us.”

  “You mean”—Angus concealed his grin with a sour growl—“Captain Succorso refused to back me up?”

  “He refused to talk to us at all,” replied Operations. “We aren’t going to let you out of here until you convince him to convince us we can trust you.

  “If you’re going to turn tail, you’d better do it right now. You’re already in range for fire from Amnion defensive Calm Horizons. Operations out.”

  The sudden silence seemed to throb in Milos’ ears like the pressure of his pulse. A shudder that should have been relief came over him. For a moment he couldn’t force himself to breathe.

  Then Angus hammered his board with one fist and snarled, “Got you, you bastards!”

  Milos exhaled as if he’d been released.

  Now.

  Finally he was done waiting.

  He hadn’t put his own neck into this noose. And he hated it. Now he could do something about that.

  As Angus processed Billingate’s instructions, Milos dropped his nic and unbelted himself for the second time. Drifting toward the command station, he said with his own kind of satisfaction, “That can wait. I want to talk to you.”

  Angus didn’t respond. The screens showed that he was programming helm to follow Operations’ instructions automatically.

  When he’d anchored himself on the back of Angus’ seat, Milos ordered, “Joshua, stop
what you’re doing. Listen to me.”

  As obedient as a piece of equipment, Angus dropped his hands. He started to turn his head; but some instinct or prewritten commandment stopped him.

  “Joshua,” Milos said softly behind Angus’ head, “you know everything they want you to know about why we’re here.” He didn’t need to explain who “they” were. “They’ve given you access to some of their databases, some of the information you need. You’ll get more as you go along.

  “But they haven’t told you why I’m here.”

  A muscle spasmed in Angus’ shoulder. He may have been fighting his zone implants.

  “They think they have,” Milos went on. “They think they’ve explained me well enough to let you function.” And they think they know the truth, whether they told it to you or not. “But they’re wrong. I’ve got my own reasons.

  “It’s time for us to start on them.

  “Angus Thermopyle,” he said from the bottom of his heart, “I loathe you. Your violence sickens me. Your person nauseates me. I despise your morals. Everything you do and everything you are is offensive to me. But more offensive than anything else is the fact that I have to act like your subordinate. Taking your orders is bad enough. Looking and smelling like you is much worse.

  “We’re going to change that right now.”

  As Milos unsealed his shipsuit he urged quietly, “Go on, Joshua. Ask me what that means.”

  Angus’ voice came out as if the muscles of his throat were in knots. “What does that mean?”

  From the core of his bones to the ends of his nerves, Milos Taverner understood humiliation and control. For the first time in months—perhaps for the first time in years—he felt a moment of happiness. Dropping his shipsuit, he moved his grip from the back to the arm of Angus’ g-seat. “It means,” he said with a complex smile, “you’re going to use that foul tongue of yours to keep me clean.”

  Careful to invoke the appropriate codes so that nothing could go wrong, Milos described exactly what he wanted Joshua to do.

  Later, when the dirtiness of his body and the fear in his soul had been relieved, he gave Angus a Jerico priority order which ensured that from now on Angus would allow him unrestricted access to Trumpet’s communications.

  ANCILLARY DOCUMENTATION

  UNITED MINING COMPANIES

  A BRIEF HISTORY

  ublicly the history of the United Mining Companies was a study in the exercise of economic muscle.

  How did the UMC become so big? How did it come about that humankind’s activities in space were not only directed but policed by the UMC? How were the governments of Earth finessed out of their familiar—if essentially arbitrary—sovereignty over their own citizens? By what right did the UMC become the sole legal bargaining agent, and therefore the sole viable defense, between humankind and the Amnion? How did a mere “private” commercial enterprise become responsible for the fate of the human race?

  The answer to all these questions was the same: economic muscle.

  If a corollary was required, it could be found in the development of the gap drive. Without the ability to cross—that is to say, explore and expand across—interstellar distances, questions of this scale would never have arisen.

  At the time when Dr. Juanita Estevez was in danger of destructing herself and SpaceLab Station with the first gap drive prototype, Earth was in a period of political and economic stagnation; a period of atrophy so profound that more than a few analysts concluded the planet had exhausted not only its resources but its ability to solve problems. One hundred fifty or so sovereign nations had become so interdependent that warfare was no longer viable as a means of economic and political revitalization. By the same token, mutual interconnection compelled each nation to share the deterioration of its neighbors. In other words, the inhabitants of the planet were being killed by precisely the same thing that kept them alive.

  Without enough fossil fuels to make energy cheap (except in space, fusion generators were prohibitively expensive to build and maintain); without enough trees to recycle the atmosphere; without new raw materials to replace the old; without any adequate way to make productive use of garbage, or to dispose of it in a nonpolluting fashion; without frontiers or wars to provide the sense of excitement or urgency which inspired creative problem solving: Earth had become a seemingly endless list of things her people had to do without. The planet appeared to have outrun its own future.

  In a last-ditch effort to save themselves, a number of commercial enterprises and quasi-commercial conglomerates put up space stations. These were research facilities, primarily, exercises in hope: huge orbiting labs, hydroponics tanks, launch platforms for probes toward the other planets, and high-tech development centers. The stated purpose for such vast expenditure was to make the discoveries that would restore the future of humankind. However, the actual result was to drain the planet’s waning resources so severely that stagnant economies around the globe sank into active decline.

  Paradoxically, the more these commercial and quasi-commercial adventures cost, the more necessary they seemed and the more powerful they became. Earth didn’t simply need them: it needed them to succeed.

  By the time SpaceLab Station did what it was supposed to do—that is to say, by the time Dr. Estevez discovered the gap drive which made exploration and development beyond the solar system first feasible and then practical—the Station’s parent conglomerate (then called simply SpaceLab Inc.) had become so necessary to the several nations from which it sprang that none of the relevant governments was able to take control of the Station’s products.

  That, in brief, explained why what followed was an exercise of commerce rather than of sovereignty. The only concession SpaceLab Inc. made to its governments—not to mention its competitors—was an agreement to license the gap drive patents for a bearable royalty.

  For a time, SpaceLab Inc. (now Sagittarius Exploration) naturally became the most potent commercial concern in existence. And its dominance was confirmed when one of its early missions brought home news of a rich asteroid belt. This was not the belt on which the UMC founded its wealth. It was a far smaller and thinner find, played out early; but it supplied enough raw ore to enable most subsequent exploration.

  However, despite its access to huge capital in the form of royalties, Sagittarius Exploration found itself without the corporate resources to take advantage of its find. Here the UMC (then Space Mines Inc.) entered the picture.

  At that time SMI was a relatively small and apparently harmless ore-smelting enterprise: it existed to make what it could out of the asteroids which were within reach from Earth at space-normal speeds. It was big enough to do the work Sagittarius Exploration (now popularly known as SagEx) needed, but not big enough to be a convincing competitor. Naturally, SagEx tried to absorb the smaller company. SMI managed to avoid that fate; and as a reward for its creative tactics it eventually gained a partnership with SagEx in the development of the belt.

  There Space Mines Inc. began the rise which eventually transformed it into the United Mining Companies.

  The SagEx belt—and Sagittarius Unlimited Station, in which SMI was also a partner—produced wealth on a previously unimagined scale.

  Because of its earlier smallness and pedestrian activities, SMI had no support from any of Earth’s governments, therefore no governmental restrictions. And the company’s new wealth gave it muscle. Using that muscle with both vision and cunning, SMI soon became one of the primary players in the exploration and development of space.

  If the story had ended there, however, Space Mines Inc. would never have become the source of so many interesting questions.

  Earth and its conglomerates still faced a limited future. Despite the gap drive, human space was effectively finite, limited by its own population base. Therefore wealth—and the opportunities for wealth—could only grow in proportion to the expansion of the species. That expansion took place steadily, in the stations around Earth and elsewhere, but the process w
as slow. As always, the economy could only support so much growth; after that, growth had to stop.

  Contact with the Amnion changed this equation.

  In a display of profound foresight, SMI used its new wealth, and every other dollar the company could scrape together, to acquire Intertech, like SpaceLab Inc. a research and development company which had expanded into exploration. At the time, Intertech was uniquely vulnerable to acquisition. In the aftermath of the Humanity Riots—which had been triggered by Intertech’s efforts to understand humankind’s first encounter with an Amnioni mutagen—the company itself was devastated. And no one else wanted it: no one else realized the potential implied by its role in the riots. The takeover of Intertech put SMI in the position of being the only human enterprise capable of both reaching the Amnion and responding to what they offered.

  To capitalize on this position, SMI used all of its recently achieved vigor and muscle to pursue trade with the Amnion.

  Suddenly a door of vast opportunity opened, and SMI held the knob in one hand, the key in the other. Intertech owned everything humanity knew about the Amnion: SMI owned the ships and facilities needed to take advantage of that knowledge. And Earth had a nearly bottomless hunger for new resources—as well as new markets. Rather than risk failing to gain the benefits offered by the Amnion, Earth’s governments rechartered Space Mines Inc. as the United Mining Companies and gave it the mission of developing Amnion trade for the sake of all humankind.

  Ultimately trade with the Amnion provided the UMC with both its reason and its means for being.

  That was the public history.

  WARDEN

  ventually, of course, Godsen Frik caught up with Warden Dios. The director of the United Mining Companies Police couldn’t avoid his own director of Protocol indefinitely.