Chaos and Order: The Gap Into Madness

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Nevertheless she was tense; emanations of strain colored her aura. If she was honest, she wasn’t done.

  Indicating his readout, he told her, “This is urgent. I need to deal with it. Is there anything else we should talk about before I let you go?”

  He’d been so difficult to track down, so preoccupied by the subtle and dangerous implications of the information he’d been given by Hashi Lebwohl, that by the time he’d granted Koina a private conference, she’d accumulated a substantial list of matters for discussion. But he’d already covered a number of items with her, primarily Special Counsel Maxim Igensard’s demands for data and explanation, similar requests from such GCES Members as Vest Martingale and Sigurd Carsin, and generalized appeals for cooperation and pacification from Abrim Len. For the most part, he’d simply reassured her that he did indeed want her to carry out her duties as she thought right. In particular he’d reaffirmed the importance of “full disclosure” to the GCES—although he hadn’t offered to fill in any of the gaps which prevented her “disclosure” from being truly “full.”

  Yet while they’d talked his heart had ached, as it ached more and more these days. God! why did he have to say these things? Was he so wholly compromised that his own people found him impossible to trust?

  What was left?

  Which parts of his complex and hermetic plotting had begun to spring leaks?

  “Just one more,” she assured him. Her manner remained calm despite the sudden increase in her tension; as loud to his prosthetic eye as a shout. “I took it to Director Lebwohl first because, frankly, I wasn’t sure what to do. But he urged me to bring it to you, which was what I preferred in any case.”

  Hashi, Warden thought. Again. First the DA director received information about events on Thanatos Minor from a source Warden didn’t know about—provocative information, ominous information. And now Warden learned that he acted as the Director of Protocol’s confidant and counselor. What was going on? Was Warden’s old shame making him jump at shadows, or was everybody trying to manipulate him?

  “Director”—for a fraction of an instant Koina nearly faltered—“I’ve received a personal flare from Captain Sixten Vertigus. The United Western Bloc Senior Member,” she added unnecessarily. “He feared that he was taking a serious risk by contacting me, but he felt—well, he said”—she quoted Captain Vertigus easily—“ ‘I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror on those few occasions when I wake up if I didn’t warn you.’ ”

  “‘Warn you’?” Warden put in more abruptly than he intended. He was in a hurry.

  Koina faced him firmly. “Director, he told me that as soon as the GCES reconvenes—which will probably be within the next twenty-four hours—he intends to introduce a Bill of Severance which will separate us from the UMC.”

  She paused, allowing Warden a moment to absorb this revelation. Then she continued.

  “He believes that’s the reason he was attacked, to stop him. And he believes Godsen was killed on the assumption that Protocol must have been working with him. For the same reason, he believes I might be next.” She shrugged slightly. “He felt he had to warn me, despite the risk.”

  Warden was too full of impatience: he couldn’t stifle all of it. Cursing the raw edge in his voice, he demanded, “What risk is that?”

  In response she lowered her gaze. Min wouldn’t have done that; but in other ways Koina reminded him of the DA director in the old days—before he’d begun to inspire so much outrage.

  “The risk that we might tell the Dragon,” she answered. “The risk that warning me might give the UMC and the UMCP time to work against him together.”

  Damn! Damn it to hell! Unable to contain himself any longer, Warden rose to his feet as if he were dismissing the PR director. Her qualms filled him with an acid chagrin, corrosive and bitter.

  He watched her stand opposite him. Then he pronounced harshly, “Hashi was wrong. We shouldn’t be talking about this. We shouldn’t know about it at all. As of right now, we don’t know about it. You’ve forgotten everything Captain Vertigus said on the subject, and if you made any record of your conversation, I hope you believe in an afterlife, because I won’t take pity on you in this one.

  “If and when the question of a Bill of Severance comes to your attention through normal, public channels, our position is one of strict and absolute neutrality. We have no opinion, for or against. Our only legal authority for what we do comes from the GCES, and it is the proper business of the GCES to make decisions about that authority. We accept those decisions, whatever they might be. We are the police, not the government. We have neither the competence nor the wisdom to sway the Council concerning a Bill of Severance.

  “Have I made myself clear?”

  “Not completely.” Koina didn’t hesitate to use her beauty, when she needed it. Her eyes were limpid and kind, and her mouth smiled with an endearing quirk; even her tone suggested affection. Only her words themselves conveyed a challenge. “Are we going to take the same position with Holt Fasner?”

  However, Warden was in no mood for her defenses—or her challenge. His shoulders hunched in a clench of disgust, which he deflected into a shrug. “Koina, do I look like a man who has the time to stand here lying to you?” Making a virtue of necessity, he let his exasperation show in his voice. “Of course we’re going to take the same position. It’s the right position.” Then he admitted frankly, “It’s also the only one we can afford.”

  At once—and smoothly, as if the transition were easy—she became all brisk professionalism. “Thank you, Director.” Already she’d turned for the door. “I’ll get out of your way now and let you do some real work.”

  Without his IR sight, he would have had no way of knowing that she’d been touched by his answer, or that she accepted it.

  Muttering imprecations at his lack of self-command, he stopped her. Before he keyed the door—before he opened the security envelope which kept their conversation private—he told her quietly, “By the way, I don’t think you’re in any danger.”

  She raised a delicate eyebrow, smiling as if she considered the question purely academic. “Why not?”

  “Because Captain Vertigus is wrong. That’s not what this is about.”

  “I see.” She considered his answer for a moment, then asked, “What is it about?”

  He had no intention of telling her that; her or anyone else. “Watch the next GCES session,” he returned. “It might give you some ideas.”

  To keep her from saying anything else, he keyed the door and waved her through it.

  The instant she was gone he sat down and faced Min’s message.

  A tremor of anxiety he didn’t bother to control afflicted his hands as he tapped his console. He could afford to be cryptic with Koina Hannish, but with himself he needed facts and accuracy. Without them he would never be ready to face the Dragon.

  How much time did he have left before Holt summoned him to demand an accounting? Would he be left alone long enough to make his own decisions and act on them, or would everything that followed from this moment be directed and shaped by Holt Fasner’s purposes?

  How soon would the Dragon learn the truth about him?

  Growling softly through his teeth, he forced his one human eye into focus on the readout.

  He noted the time-stamp and origination coordinates—Min’s message had taken roughly seven hours to reach him by gap courier drone from the far side of the Com-Mine belt—but ignored all the rest of the secondary codes and data. He wanted the substance of the transmission.

  When he found it, however, his heart lurched; missed a beat.

  The report began with a copy of a flare from Trumpet to UMCPHQ.

  No doubt the original of that message was still in transit, being carried Earthward by the listening post’s regular drone service. Min had used one of Punisher’s few courier drones because she felt her information couldn’t wait that long.

  Warden shut down his recognition of his unsteady pul
se and trembling hands; shut down his fear; shut down his awareness of ticking time; and read.

  Isaac to Warden Dios, personal and urgent, the flare from Angus began. Mission to Thanatos Minor successful.

  Gabriel priority activated. Milos Taverner has gone over to the Amnion.

  Personnel aboard include survivors from Captain’s Fancy:Morn Hyland, Davies Hyland, Nick Succorso, Mikka Vasaczk, Ciro Vasaczk, Vector Shaheed.

  Amnion vessels in pursuit.

  Urgent. The Amnion know about the mutagen immunity drug in Nick Succorso’s possession. It is possible that they have obtained a sample of the drug from Morn Hyland’s blood.

  Urgent. Davies Hyland is Morn Hyland’s son, force-grown on Enablement Station. The Amnion want him. They believe he represents the knowledge necessary to mutate Amnion indistinguishable from humans.

  Urgent. The Amnion are experimenting with specialized gap drives to achieve near-C velocities for their warships. Nick Succorso and his people have direct knowledge of this.

  We will try to survive until new programming is received.

  Message ends. Isaac.

  Warden could have stopped then; wanted to stop so that he could take all this in and find space for it among his complex priorities. He needed an opportunity to connect it to what he’d learned from Hashi; needed a chance to celebrate and worry. Morn was alive! Angus had gained that much for him, whatever else happened. But Min’s report went on at much greater length, and he had to know it all.

  What followed after Trumpet’s flare was a literal extract from Punisher’s datacore, beginning when the cruiser had reached her position near forbidden space on the far side of the Com-Mine belt. Typical of Min: the data was unedited; devoid of commentary or interpretation. She refused either to do Warden’s work for him or to risk slanting his perceptions. He had to consider every detail in order to pan out the nuggets.

  The nuggets were there, however. He identified them without trying to evaluate them yet.

  Angus’ programming still held: Trumpet had reached human space, flared a report, and activated her homing signal exactly according to his prewritten instructions. A ship from forbidden space—presumably an Amnioni herself, or an Amnion proxy—was heading across the frontier very much as if she were in pursuit of Trumpet. For that reason among others, Punisher was leaving the belt to chase the gap scout.

  And then there was the matter of Free Lunch, owner and captain Darrin Scroyle, an apparently legal merchanter drifting right on top of the listening post Angus had risked his ship and his life to reach. Free Lunch claimed that she had some kind of contract with Cleatus Fane—in other words, with Holt Fasner—to observe and report events from forbidden space. Warden didn’t dismiss that explanation, but he jumped to another of his own. Free Lunch was Hashi’s unexplained source for his knowledge of events on Thanatos Minor. This Warden deduced from the strange fact that Darrin Scroyle—or Cleatus Fane—had seen fit to route Free Lunch’s transmission through UMCPDA.

  It all looked like chaos; but Warden couldn’t afford to think like that, couldn’t let his conflicting emotions overwhelm him now. He’d put most of this in motion himself; perhaps all of it. If he lost his composure, if he failed to haul events into the kind of order he needed, then real chaos would result—pure, brutal, self-destructive anarchy.

  Morn was alive. And Angus would keep her alive as long as he survived himself. That victory lifted Warden’s heart when he considered it.

  Milos’ treachery didn’t dismay him. From the first he’d planned to lose the former deputy chief of Com-Mine Security. Making it possible for Milos and his headful of knowledge to go “over to the Amnion” was the most insidious attack on them Warden could devise; a crucial gambit in his efforts to protect human space while he betrayed Holt Fasner’s trust.

  Put baldly, his intent with Milos—as well as one of his several purposes for Morn and Angus—was to lure the Amnion to commit an act of war which he would be able to crush, thereby driving them into a psychological retreat just at the time when humankind was most vulnerable to assault.

  Therefore he wasn’t daunted by the prospect of an Amnioni in pursuit of Trumpet. His gamble with Milos was starting to pay off.

  At the same time, however, he tasted a tentative alarm at the idea that Morn Hyland had a son; a son the Amnion would risk much to recapture. Force-grown on Enablement. To some extent that explained Nick Succorso’s unauthorized foray into forbidden space. And it gave the Amnion more reason to risk an incursion. But how was it possible that the boy had any mind at all, not to mention a mind that represents the knowledge necessary to mutate Amnion indistinguishable from humans? By what conceivable method were the Amnion able to “force-grow” a functional human consciousness?

  The image of Amnion indistinguishable from humans made his skin crawl. Genetic kazes of one form or another were the stuff of nightmare. Yet that idea was less immediately appalling than the bare thought that the Amnion might have gained the means to achieve near-C velocities. If that were true, his efforts to protect his species had already begun to go wrong with a vengeance. No quadrant of human space would ever be safe again.

  As for Hashi’s dealings with Free Lunch—

  Just for a moment Warden gave in to an incendiary and betrayed rage. What was Hashi doing? Working with the Dragon? Had he gone over to Holt’s side behind Warden’s back? Was it possible that Warden had been that wrong about him?

  You sonofabitch, I know you don’t even know what the truth is, but I trusted you! I need you!

  He couldn’t afford that, however, absolutely could not afford to submit to fury; not now. Too much was at stake. His hopes, even his survival, depended on his ability to keep his head right now, to understand what was going on and make accurate decisions about it. He’d set himself up for this; set Holt Fasner up, and most of humankind as well. If he faltered or failed, he might as well go over to the Amnion himself: the harm he did would be incalculable.

  He brought his torn passions under control just as what he called the “disaster light” on his console began flashing at him.

  When he was in one of his secure offices, he officially ceased to exist. In theory no one could find him; no one could reach him. But in practice that was unworkable—not to mention irresponsible. His duties required that he could be contacted in the event of an emergency. UMCPHQ Center accomplished this by activating a signal in all his offices simultaneously.

  It was too soon—but then everything was always too soon when so much hung in the balance. At least he’d been given time to read Punisher’s report. He could think about it on the way.

  Already he could see possibilities—

  Faced with a crisis, he mastered himself. His hands were as steady as stones as he toggled his intercom.

  “Dios.” He announced himself as if he were immune to panic. “What’s going on?”

  “Director,” a young voice from Center answered quickly. “Sorry for the intrusion, sir. I didn’t know what else to do.” Too young: the officer on duty sounded like a kid. “Holt Fasner’s been yelling at us. No disrespect, but I thought he was going to burst something. He said—” The officer stumbled momentarily on the words. “Sorry, sir. He said if you don’t get your ass over there in five minutes, he’s going to feed your balls to his mother.” In chagrin the officer repeated, “Sorry, sir.”

  Five minutes. Well, that was impossible, at any rate. No matter what the Dragon wanted, he would have to give Warden more time than that.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told the duty officer. “If I thought you were accountable for what the Dragon says, I would order you to wash his mouth out.

  “Get my shuttle ready. Tell the crew I’m on my way. Then send CEO Fasner an ETA.”

  Warden clicked off the intercom and rose to his feet. If Holt could count, he would know that his UMCP director had responded to his summons immediately. Even a great worm—the term was Hashi’s—couldn’t demand more than that.

  Now more than
ever it was vital for Warden Dios to look like a dutiful subordinate.

  UMC Home Security delivered him to the same office where he’d last faced his master. Nothing had changed physically, either in the room itself or in Holt Fasner. Aside from a utilitarian desk and a few chairs, the office contained no furniture: the remaining space was thick with data terminals, display screens, and communications systems. And the Dragon wasn’t discernibly older. He wore his one hundred fifty years as if they were sixty or seventy; his heart still beat strongly; the working of his brain had lost none of its legendary fierceness. His true age showed only in the odd ruddiness splashed like stains across his cheeks, the rapid blinking of his eyes, and the way his hands sometimes shook.

  Warden was mildly surprised to see that Holt wasn’t angry. The Dragon’s IR aura conveyed a mortality which wasn’t obvious to normal sight: it was shot with acrid hues and fluctuations which Warden associated with hunger, distrust, connivance; an old and undifferentiated hate. None of that was new, however. Holt had roared at UMCPHQ Center with a vehemence he apparently didn’t feel—or no longer felt.

  Warden didn’t wait for a greeting. He didn’t sit down; didn’t approach the desk. As soon as the door closed behind him, sealing the room with security screens and baffles, he said harshly, “I hope you had a good reason for yelling at my people. They don’t need that, and I don’t like it.”

  Holt fluttered a hand as if he were waving away the needs—or the reality—of Warden’s people. “Sit down, sit down.” His tone was calm, but it held no welcome. “Your ‘people,’ as you so naively call them, are more interested in protecting you than in doing their jobs. I had to get their attention.”

  “Why?” Warden countered. “I don’t ignore you when you summon me. And I don’t keep you waiting.”

  Holt leaned forward; strange hungers pulsed in his aura. “This is urgent. You know that as well as I do. You received a report from the Com-Mine belt—a report on what happened to Billingate. I want to know what it said.”