A Dark and Hungry God Arises

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “If you can.”

  “Oh, naturally. Of course. A bill of this magnitude, with these repercussions—Is there anything else I can do for you in my spare time? Write a novel? Assassinate the Amnion trade legation? Really, Director Donner, I think I need a breathing mask. There isn’t room in this office for your ideas and air at the same time.”

  “If you’ll take a look,” Min retorted with her own asperity, “you’ll see that I’ve already done most of the work. Of course, I’ve had to make a number of assumptions which you might not consider appropriate—concerning how the new GCESP should be funded, for example, or how authority should be transferred. But you can change anything you want when you put what I’ve written into the proper form. I’m not particular about the details. Only the central issue matters to me.”

  Captain Vertigus made no pretense of examining her work. “I’ll take your word for it,” he murmured. “I said myself that Dios’ people are well prepared. Now that I think about it, I’m sure most of your assumptions are acceptable. I can probably have a bill prepared—I mean, prepare it myself—to put in front of the Council tomorrow.

  “But that’s not the important question, is it?” His tone sharpened. “In any case, neither of us can afford the time to haggle over details. Let’s go straight for the heart, shall we? Tell me why.

  “Why this?” He flicked the hardcopy. “Why now? And why me?”

  Min restrained an impulse to stand up, pace the floor. “Because it needs to be done,” she replied. “Because the timing is good. And because the Dragon doesn’t own you.”

  The captain fixed her with a pale glare. “Don’t be cryptic. I need real answers.”

  She shrugged. “All right. But I don’t want to talk about that video conference. You were there—you saw everything, heard everything. Unfortunately Morn Hyland is one of my people. When I think about how she’s been used, I get too angry. And I don’t want to give the impression that I’m here simply because I’m angry. What you saw and heard didn’t determine my position. I made my decision earlier—I called you before the conference took place. So let me make my point another way.

  “You may recall hearing a rumor several years ago that Intertech was on the verge of developing an immunity drug for Amnion mutagens. Then later the research failed and was abandoned.”

  Captain Vertigus didn’t nod; didn’t react.

  “Well, the rumor was true. Intertech did come close, very close. But the research didn’t fail. It wasn’t abandoned. It was quashed, suppressed.”

  Slowly his jaw dropped.

  “I was there,” she rasped, “when the UMCP directors debated the subject. Hashi Lebwohl presented a report on the state of the research. Then Godsen Frik,” may he rot in hell, “argued that the research should be stopped. On the grounds that it represented a threat to the UMCP itself. First, he said, an immunity drug would force the Amnion to abandon peaceful imperialism and risk actual warfare.” A sneer tightened around her nose. “Second, he said, an immunity drug would undermine the ‘necessity,’ the ‘moral authority,’ of the UMCP—which would in turn undermine funding and support—which would in turn leave the UMCP less able to face the threat of a real war.”

  We’ve been waiting a long time for this, Frik had said. We can wait a little longer.

  “Warden Dios listened to Frik.” On this subject as well she couldn’t swallow her anger; but she tamped it down as hard as she was able. “He listened to all of us.” He heard me insist that stopping the research would be a crime against humankind. “Then he gave Intertech authorization to continue.

  “Frik was outraged. He threatened to ‘go over Dios’ head.’ And a week later the research was quashed. On Warden Dios’ orders. After Frik talked to Holt Fasner, enough pressure was put on the director to make him reverse his position.”

  The Senior Member gaped as if he’d swallowed his larynx. “Are you saying,” he gulped, “Holt Fasner personally stopped that research? Can you prove it?”

  Min scowled. “Of course not. It all happened behind my back. And Warden Dios’ name was on the order.

  “You didn’t ask why I’m here,” she rasped, “on my own, without approval or permission. Now you know. I’m a cop, Captain Vertigus. I believe in what cops are supposed to do. This isn’t it. I want to stop this kind of thing, if I can.”

  Harshly she continued, “I think that video conference was another example. The director made himself look like a man with no ethics, no scruples. That isn’t the case.” Whatever her doubts, she acted on that conviction. “But as long as the UMC own the police—as long as the Dragon has the power to determine and impose policy—the real director of the UMCP is Holt Fasner, not Warden Dios.

  “That’s why this bill is necessary. It will free the police to defend something larger than Holt Fasner and the United Mining Companies.”

  Now Captain Vertigus nodded. He closed his mouth carefully.

  After a moment he said, “Go on.”

  Min’s stomach twisted. “When I called you earlier, I wasn’t in a hurry. All I wanted was support, not immediate action.” Some of her anger was directed at herself. She hated telling lies. “But when I heard the conference, I realized that right now may be the best chance we’ll ever get for success.”

  That, at least, was true.

  “You don’t need me to tell you the Dragon will fight a Bill of Severance with everything he has. The UMC may be the biggest thing in human space, but all of it, everything Fasner does and has and wants, rests on the police. His greatest power derives from the fact that humankind depends on the UMCP for survival—and he owns the UMCP. If the police were reconstituted as an arm of the GCES, he wouldn’t be the Dragon anymore. He would be just another CEO with megalomania.

  “Ordinarily a bill like this wouldn’t stand a chance. He owns too many votes. Too many Members think they have too much to gain by giving or selling him their support. But I think that conference opened a window. It scared a lot of people. You were there—it probably scared you.

  “As far as the Council is concerned, there’s only one excuse for voting against a Bill of Severance—for supporting Fasner on a subject that could determine the future of the human species. That excuse is honesty. As long as the cops are honest, severance isn’t necessary. Therefore voting against the best interests and possibly the survival of humankind is just pragmatism, not malfeasance.

  “After that conference, the Members have to ask whether the UMCP really is honest. Maybe Igensard is right. In which case, a vote against a Bill of Severance becomes suddenly indefensible. Even Members who’ve already sold themselves may think twice about supporting the Dragon when it looks like treason.”

  As sudden as an epiphany, she thought, And if that’s what Dios had in mind all along—if that’s what he was aiming for when he commissioned her to come here and then besmirched himself in front of the whole GCES—he must have been living in hell for longer than she could imagine, and may God have pity on his soul.

  Abruptly Captain Vertigus lifted his hands. Small red spots of excitement or trepidation had appeared on his translucent cheeks. “Just a minute. Just a minute. This is all too plausible. I don’t trust it.

  “If what you’re telling me is accurate, why do you want to be kept out of it? Why does this legislation have to come from me, instead of from you—or from Warden Dios? Wouldn’t a Bill of Severance have even more authority if the UMCP proposed it?”

  Min shook her head. “Only if you believe we’re honest. Otherwise it’s just another ploy—but this time it’s Warden Dios’ plotting, not Holt Fasner’s. The same man who didn’t mind selling one of my people to illegals now wants complete power for himself, without even the Dragon to restrain him.

  “I don’t think that’s true, but I can’t guarantee it.” Sneering at herself now, she added, “If I could, I wouldn’t have had to come here on my own. However, that’s beside the point. If we proposed the bill ourselves—if the director did, or I did—the Dragon c
ould stop us. For one thing, he could fire us. But he could also go further—a lot further. In the time it would take the Council to read a bill, never mind debate or act on it, he could dismantle the entire UMCP. Leave human space defenseless. The GCES would be forced to create a new police force from scratch.

  “If he’s provoked into a threat that extreme, we’re all lost. I have no way of knowing whether he would go that far, but I’m not willing to take the chance.”

  Captain Vertigus look vaguely nauseated as he murmured, “I see what you mean.”

  A moment later he shook himself as if he were trying to clear his head. Small beads of saliva had gathered at the corners of his mouth; he wiped them away. Leaning forward to face Min closely again, he said, “This is still too plausible. It’s happening too fast. You want me to take on Holt Fasner and the whole Council for you, and you want me to make up my mind right now. I’m an old man, Director Donner. I can’t stay awake through any entire Council session. Sometimes I can’t stay awake through an entire sentence, even when I’m the one talking.

  “Why do you want me to do this? Why not somebody else?”

  Min spread her hands. “Who else is there?” She held his pale gaze. “Who else has your ‘credibility’? President Len? He’s probably honest—I’m not sure—but he hates conflict. If he proposed a Bill of Severance, the first thing he would do is attach an amendment postponing the effective date for five years.

  “You tell me, Captain Vertigus. Who else could I ask?

  “But tell me now,” she added roughly. “I’m running out of time. I want to be back on the shuttle to UMCPHQ”—she flicked her eyes to a chronometer—“in eleven minutes.”

  For several heartbeats he continued studying her as if he wanted to peer into the back of her brain. While he hesitated, she felt that more things hung in the balance than she knew how to name; the possible futures of the human race seemed to fade in and out of existence.

  Why had Warden Dios sent her here? Why had he waited until now? What game was he playing?

  Was it really conceivable that Holt Fasner would lose a GCES battle over a Bill of Severance?

  Softly, almost whispering, Captain Vertigus announced, “It occurs to me, Director Donner, that it doesn’t matter whether you’re telling me the truth. It doesn’t even matter whether you chose me because you think I might win or because you’re sure I’ll lose.” As he spoke his thin voice took on excitement until it sounded almost resonant, almost young. “What you’re asking me to do needs doing. It should have been done a long time ago. And the timing may never be more favorable than it is right now.

  “I like the idea of having something important to do—for a change. If you’re counting on me to lose, you’ll have an anxious time during the next few days.”

  Relief brought up a grin from Min’s heart. “Don’t lose. If you don’t trust me, you can always get me fired later.”

  Riding a wash of elation, she rose to her feet. After all, the worst that could happen to Captain Vertigus was that he would end his life on a painful political defeat. The Dragon had no history of punishing people who opposed him ineffectively: his malice was reserved for his successful enemies. And if the Bill of Severance passed, Holt Fasner would lose his ability to punish anyone.

  In the meantime a little excitement might be good for the captain.

  Glancing at the chronometer again, she asked, “When do you expect your people back?”

  Captain Vertigus stood as if he barely had the strength to keep his legs under him. “Your timing is good in more ways than one. You should still have about five minutes.” As she began to pick up her security devices, he added, “I’ll check for you.”

  Awkwardly he moved around his desk toward the door. Bracing his hands to steady them, he eased the door open a crack.

  Min groaned inwardly when she heard him breathe, “Damn. Why is Marthe back so early?” Nevertheless she didn’t stop detaching her equipment and stowing it in her pockets.

  In the same low voice, he asked, “Now who do you suppose that is?”

  She felt a sting of tension in her palms. One of the newsdogs? Someone in Maintenance? Just what she needed. Automatically she checked the location of her hidden handgun. Then she joined Captain Vertigus at the door.

  Through the slitted opening past his shoulder, she scanned the area where his aides had their desks.

  Seven—no, eight—desks; all of them with intercoms, data terminals, hardcopy devices, comfortable chairs; all of them unoccupied. Except one. Slightly to the left of the captain’s door and roughly ten meters away across the hall sat a plump, middle-aged woman with graying hair and old-fashioned glasses: Marthe, presumably. She had the air of a personal aide. Maybe she kept track of Captain Vertigus’ appointments: maybe she thought she took care of the captain himself. Her desk was positioned so that she could watch the approach to the hall on her right and the Senior Member’s office door on her left; so that she could see who came to visit him and when they went away.

  At the moment, however, she wasn’t looking at the door. Her attention was fixed on a man shambling toward her from the other direction.

  As Min Donner scrutinized him, adrenaline slammed through her, and her palms started to burn as if they were on fire.

  He was no newsdog. And he wasn’t from Maintenance, even though he wore an old worksuit and carried a small tool case; even though the security badge clipped at his shoulder was Maintenance green. The way he moved—stiffly, carefully, as if he cradled something fragile in his chest—told Min at once that he wasn’t here for any kind of repair or inspection.

  He moved like a man who hadn’t healed yet because he’d been operated on too quickly; too shoddily.

  She was the director of Enforcement Division, as well as Warden Dios’ sometime bodyguard and occasional executioner. She knew a kaze when she saw one.

  She didn’t hesitate. This was the work she did best. Her impact pistol leaped into her hand as she pulled Captain Vertigus back from the door. “Get down,” she breathed in an urgent whisper. “Behind your desk.”

  He stumbled against the edge of the desk, but didn’t move to obey. He’d been away from ships too long; no longer recognized an order when he heard one. Instead he gaped at her, his old face full of astonishment. “What … ?”

  She had no time for his confusion. Her attention focused like a laser through the crack of the door. The man had reached Marthe’s desk. He was talking to her, showing her what may have been a work order, gesturing toward the captain’s office.

  “I said get down,” Min hissed. “There’s going to be an explosion. That man’s a kaze.”

  She didn’t glance at Captain Vertigus: he understood what a kaze was. She could tell by the sounds he made that he was fumbling around the desk, crouching behind its inadequate shelter.

  Abruptly the intercom chimed. A woman’s voice said, “Captain Vertigus? There’s a man here from Maintenance. He says he needs to test the wiring of your data terminal.”

  “What about Marthe?” the captain croaked at Min’s back. “You’ve got to get her out of there.”

  She was Min Donner; familiar with extreme decisions and bloodshed. “If I do that,” she articulated so softly that he may not have heard her, “she’ll know I was here.”

  Nevertheless she had to make the attempt.

  To serve and protect.

  Through the crack, she heard Marthe say to the kaze, “I don’t think he’s in.”

  “I’ll just check,” the man replied. “This’ll only take a minute.”

  As soon as he stepped past Marthe’s desk, Min kicked the door open. With her gun aimed as steady as steel for his sternum, she roared at Marthe, “Take cover!”

  The kaze’s eyes widened in surprise; he faltered momentarily.

  Frozen, Marthe stared at Min as if she’d just arrived from forbidden space.

  Captain Vertigus’ voice cracked into a wail: “Marthe!”

  Then the kaze launched himself towa
rd Min and the door.

  Shielding herself behind the door frame, Min shot him in the chest.

  She’d waited too long: she should have shot him as soon as she saw him. When the explosives surgically implanted in him detonated, the blast caught her past her shield and flung her against the wall like a handful of rags.

  Chunks of concrete sprang off the walls; soundproofing and ducts ripped out of the ceiling; debris whined like shrapnel. Blood burst from Min’s nose; impact numbed her whole body. Yet the explosion didn’t seem to make any noise. As she rebounded from the wall and sprawled into the wreckage, she already knew that she was deaf.

  But she didn’t stop. Rolling to get her legs under her, she staggered to her feet.

  Swaddled in silence, she checked on Captain Vertigus.

  He blinked up at her, his eyes full of powder and shock. His mouth made noises she couldn’t hear. If he hadn’t been protected by his desk—and if his desktop hadn’t been made of crystallized formica—he might have been seriously injured; might have been killed. As it was, he was only stunned.

  Her sheaf of hardcopy was scattered around the office like confetti. Most of the pages appeared intact, however.

  Her own voice was nothing more than a vibration in the bones of her skull as she told him, “I wasn’t here. No matter what happens, I wasn’t here.

  “Get that bill ready as fast as you can.”

  Stumbling as if her neurons were no longer sure of their synapses, she left him alone.

  As she passed Marthe’s spattered remains and headed for the stairwell, she wondered which of the futures she and Captain Vertigus had tried to make possible no longer existed.

  MIN

  y the time the shuttle neared UMCPHQ’s Earthside dock, she began to recover her hearing.

  The process was slow. At first only a high, thin wail registered, barely audible: a sound like someone keening in the distance, grieving for the dead—or like the screech of a shuttle’s warning sirens muffled by an EVA suit. For a moment she thought it was the sirens; and her palms caught fire again. But neither the crew nor the other passengers reacted. Gradually the sensation of violence faded from her hands. The wail settled into the background until it became almost subliminal; mere neural feedback from her overstressed eardrums.