A Dark and Hungry God Arises

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Pastille made a sour gibe, 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

  avies 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 push-ups: 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  Beyond question he should have collapsed into raving or withdrawn into autism.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 inheritance 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 cardiac arrest in anyone else. In effect, he was an adrenaline 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 push-ups, sit-ups, 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.”

  Adrenaline 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 m
e.”

  “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. Noradrenaline 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—so special that the cops would rather chance losing her to the Amnion than say no to her. Or else being pregnant is part of what made her special—perhaps because it gave her an excuse to go to Enablement. The cops had a reason of their own for sending her and Captain Nick there.”

  “I guess,” Davies murmured thinly.

  The Bill’s eyes glittered. “You can do better than that.”

  “No, I can’t,” Davies protested. He didn’t like sounding so frightened. It came to him too easily. “You must know something about how the Amnion force-grow babies. You know I got my mind from her. That’s why you think I can answer your questions. But I have some kind of memory block. Maybe it’s amnesia. Or maybe those memories were never transferred. I can remember her whole life until Starmaster was destroyed. After that it all stops. I only know what she told me.

  “She didn’t have time to tell me much. The Amnion came after us—we were running for our lives all the way here.”

  “So what you’re saying”—the Bill ran his tongue around his thin lips—“is that our Captain Nick had the colossal and imponderable gall to cheat the Amnion on one of their own stations. Is that right?”

  “It’s more than that,” the woman interposed. “He’s saying Succorso had something so valuable to offer them that they were willing to trade force-growing for it. And then he cheated by not giving it to them.”

  “Is that right, Davies?” the Bill repeated. His eyes caught and reflected the light like polished steel.

  Here Davies was on surer ground. The Bill couldn’t possibly guess how the Amnion had been cheated, or by whom. Turning his fright to truculence, Davies answered, “I don’t know. I wasn’t born yet when they made their deal. All I know is, they came after us. They tried to blast us a few days ago, but Succorso evaded them somehow.”

  “That could be true,” the woman said to the Bill. “Maybe force-growing did leave holes in his memories. We don’t know enough about it to be sure. But didn’t you say Captain Succorso was about to make you some kind of offer when I walked in and”—she smiled sardonically—“distracted him?”

  “I did,” the Bill confirmed. “He was. He had a deal in mind. He may have been about to offer me the same thing he offered the Amnion.

  “But you weren’t the only distraction, you know,” he added. “Without belittling your effect on Captain Nick, I must point out that there were other factors.”

  The woman shrugged. “I’m not so sure. You saw the look on his face—he nearly had an infarction. I think you’ll be making a mistake if you believe anything is more important to him than getting even with me.”

  The Bill considered this as if Davies weren’t present. “Then you don’t credit the notion that he’s working with Morn Hyland for the cops?”

  “Of course I credit it,” she returned calmly. “It’s quite possible. He should have died after what I did to him. How did he survive? He must have gotten lucky—must have been rescued. That would have brought him to the attention of the cops. They could easily have recruited him them. Trained him, supplied him with a ship and cover, given him everything he needed. All I’m saying is that I think now his priorities have shifted.

  “Which,” she concluded, “only makes him more dangerous.”

  “On that we agree, at any rate,” the Bill said in his boyish voice. “Captain Nick is dangerous. If he weren’t, I wouldn’t have to take his demand for young Davies seriously.”

  His long head swung back toward Davies. “But there is just one small flaw in your intriguing theory that Captain Nick and Morn Hyland are working together—that they went to Enablement in order to cheat the Amnion and draw them here, so that they could spring some kind of unexplained UMCP trap. For the moment we’ll ignore the question of who the trap’s intended victim is. Could it be aimed at me? Is it designed for the Amnion themselves? Or is it merely a means to recapture Captain Angus? Never mind.

  “Young Davies, the flaw in your theory is this. A few hours after Captain Nick visited me and nearly made his mysterious offer so that he could buy you back, he personally delivered Morn Hyland to the Amnion sector. She hasn’t been seen since their airlocks closed behind her.

  “How do you account for this?”

  Like Nick, but for very different reasons, Davies nearly had an infarction—

  delivered

  —and couldn’t afford to show it. He ducked his head to shroud his eyes, but that wasn’t enough; he had to conceal the way his muscles bunched and knotted to fling him at the Bill’s long throat—

  Morn Hyland

  —had to conceal the passion and panic firing through him as if his nerves were high-tension cables; absolutely couldn’t afford to rage or cry out—

  to the Amnion.

  If he unlocked his heart for an instant, he would go berserk. Sobbing Morn Morn MORN he would attack the Bill and the woman until they killed him.

  As if his larynx were full of sand, he gritted out, “I’m not sure. I keep telling you she and I didn’t have much time to talk. And I can’t remember anything that happened to her between when Starmaster went down and I
was born.”

  Nick had given his mother to the Amnion. To punish her for rescuing her son from Enablement. For using her zone implant to mislead him. And to compensate them for his failure to deliver Davies now. But Davies was the one the Amnion wanted, not Morn; he should have gone to them in her place. He had nothing to lose except the few days since he’d climbed out of the crèche: she would lose an entire life.

  Yet it was already too late to save her. By now her genetic ruin was certainly begun and probably complete. Even if he threw himself on his knees and begged begged the Bill to trade him for her, even if he told the Bill everything he knew or could guess about her so that the Bill would understand how valuable she was, it was too late. Nothing could reach her now.

  Nothing of her remained human except the part Davies himself carried—the part he used for a mind.

  He couldn’t hide the focused yellow glare in his eyes as he raised his head.

  “But it fits, doesn’t it?” he said in the same abraded tone. “It’s consistent with the rest of what they’re doing. It looks worse, but it’s really no different than going to Enablement. They’re putting her neck in the noose because they’ve got something to gain by it.”

  The woman watched him steadily, as if she were starting to respect him. Softly she pronounced, “That’s absurd.”

  A wail Davies couldn’t quash rose up in his chest. Clenching his fists until his arms shook, he shouted, “Did she look like she was trying to resist? Did she fight him?”

  His loss seemed to recoil from the concrete and fall to the floor. Abruptly he regained control of himself. Almost quietly, he continued, “Or did they just talk to each other along the way?”

  The Bill, too, watched Davies. Shadows muffled the brightness of his eyes. “They talked,” he admitted. “I have it recorded. But their voices aren’t clear. I don’t know what they said.”

  “In that case”—because he was desperate, Davies let nothing wild or impossible stand in his way—“I think you should consider the possibility that she’s protected somehow. Maybe Succorso didn’t cheat the Amnion. Maybe he made a deal with them. The pursuit might be a ruse. Maybe the Amnion have already agreed not to touch her—and she has some good reason to trust them.