This Day All Gods Die

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  The intercom hinted at protests. Mikka or Davies—or even Min Donner—may have been arguing with Morn. But Morn didn’t make Angus wait. “All right,” she answered as if she’d heard his unspoken appeal. “Consider it done. Ciro is on his way.”

  At once the intercom speaker clicked silent.

  Dolph had planted his fists on his hips as if he was about to turn stubborn. “What do you want that boy for?” he demanded. “He’s already scared out of his head. He doesn’t need to help you. He needs treatment.”

  Angus didn’t respond directly. Instead he took Dolph’s arm, drew him back toward the lift. “Come on.” Relief and his zone implants made him positively companionable. “Let’s find out how much the fucking Academy taught you about drive repair.”

  Captain Ubikwe opened his mouth in surprise; but he didn’t hold back.

  Angus released his grip. With Dolph beside him, he headed for the airlock which linked Punisher to his crippled ship.

  WARDEN

  Urgent activity concentrated the atmosphere of Center. Nearly a hundred men and women sat at their consoles, studying data, typing furiously, barking or croaking into their pickups. Communications alone required at least fifty techs. One of them hailed the approaching defensive insistently, demanding some kind of response: the others had different duties. Some coordinated UMCPHQ’s efforts to protect itself. Others organized the cordon of ships; flared tight-beamed warnings and instructions to the planet’s diverse clutter of orbital platforms; rerouted in-system traffic; fielded panic from every direction. A team of specialists managed the massive job of downloading information—from Data Storage as well as DA’s dedicated computers—to secure planet-side megaCPUs. And members of Koina’s PR staff began the impossible job of preparing Earth’s vast population for disaster.

  In addition, data techs worked to glean and interpret every available fact about the alien vessel. Operations sent platoons to ready the evac boats. Gunners tested targ, charged cannon. Engineers rotated the station to present its best guns and strongest shields toward the defensive.

  The result was a constricted tumult which surged and throbbed like imminent hysteria.

  “Unidentified Amnion vessel, this is UMCPHQ Center.” The tech’s voice was already raw with repetition. “You must reply.”

  Despite the tension on all sides, however, Warden Dios presided over the turmoil as if he feared nothing. Swiftly scrolling readouts and frenetic blips lit his command board, tracing every action around him. From his CO Room he supervised Center as well as UMCPHQ. But he didn’t let their urgency infect him. Impassive as stone, he faced the ruin of humankind and his own dreams as if he knew exactly what was about to happen—and what to do about it. His people needed him now: needed his strength, his clarity. For their sake—and because this was his job—he appeared confident and calm; impregnable.

  His true fear and shame he kept entirely to himself.

  He was responsible for this threat. Directly or indirectly, he’d caused the alien defensive to come here. Now he had damn well better do something about it.

  For a start, he meant to take a risk which might not have occurred to five other people on the whole station. Humankind’s visceral terror of the Amnion was too acute to allow much room for thought.

  “Unidentified Amnion vessel, this is UMCPHQ Center.”

  “Hit her now,” Chief Mandich urged. He’d reached Center less than a minute after the klaxons first sounded. After a quick look at the situation, he’d joined Warden in the CO Room. “Don’t let her come in on us.”

  Warden turned a one-eyed frown on the ED Chief of Security.

  “What do you think that will accomplish?” His deliberate certainty didn’t preclude sarcasm. In any case he had no energy to spare for gentleness. “Have you noticed the size of that thing? She’s a Behemoth-class defensive. She’ll shrug off anything we can throw at her.

  “She isn’t firing. She could”—the scan displays indicated that the defensive’s guns were charged, her targ focused—“but she isn’t. According to her emission profile, she has super-light proton cannon.” Scan confirmed the information Min had sent by gap courier drone. “She could pulverize this whole station in fifteen minutes. And she still isn’t firing.

  “If you want me to start the bloodshed, tell me why she hasn’t already attacked.”

  He didn’t trouble to add that the danger wasn’t limited to UMCPHQ. His station was in synchronous orbit over Suka Bator. With her proton gun, the alien could take out the entire governmental apparatus of the planet. By their very nature, matter cannon were useless through atmosphere. The air itself would dissipate the beam long before it reached the surface. But super-light proton cannon didn’t suffer from such limitations. There was no theoretical reason why the Amnion warship couldn’t hammer the planet until its crust cracked open.

  A Behemoth-class defensive was probably capable of generating enough power to flatten Suka Bator with her proton gun while she used her other arms to cut UMCPHQ apart.

  That would be catastrophic: the worst of Warden’s fears come to roost on his culpable head.

  But she hadn’t fired yet.

  She would if he struck first. That was inevitable.

  “Unidentified Amnion vessel, this is UMCPHQ Center. You must reply. You have encroached on human space.”

  “Perhaps she holds back,” Hashi suggested, “because she desires something from us.” Despite his air of unconcern and his disheveled way of walking, he’d reached the CO Room almost as promptly as Chief Mandich.

  “Like what?” the Chief of Security retorted. “If she doesn’t plan to hit us and run, she’s on a suicide mission. She’ll never get out of here. Once she decelerates, she’s dead. She’ll have eight ships on her back in less than an hour. Nine, if you count Adventurous. Ten when Valor gets here.” He made no mention of Punisher. “And Sledgehammer’s on her way.

  “That Amnioni uses slow-brisance thrust.” He pointed at a scan readout for confirmation. “She may be powerful as hell, but she isn’t exactly quick. She can’t reacquire enough velocity to risk tach before Sledgehammer gets here.”

  Vehemently Chief Mandich concluded, “Whatever she wants, it won’t do her any good. She’ll be dead.”

  Hashi shrugged. His blue eyes gleamed with whetted humor. “Then perhaps,” he offered, “she means to surrender.”

  “‘Surrender’?” Mandich snorted. “An Amnioni?” His tone said as clearly as words, You’re out of your mind.

  Since Captain Vertigus and Deep Star had first made contact with them, the Amnion had never shown the slightest inclination to surrender. They may not have understood the concept.

  “In any case,” Warden observed firmly, “we can’t afford to shoot first.” He had too much to lose—and nothing to gain. “Right now she has the initiative. I’m going to let her keep it until I find out what she wants.”

  Outside the CO Room a hoarse voice went on hailing the defensive. “Unidentified Amnion vessel, this is UMCPHQ Center. You must reply. You have encroached on human space. We consider this an act of war. If you do not reply, we must assume that your intentions are hostile.

  “Our ships stand ready to repulse you. Consult your scan. You will see that you cannot attack us and live. If you do not wish to be destroyed, you must reply.”

  Chief Mandich couldn’t contain himself. “If they aren’t going to attack,” he demanded, “why won’t they talk?”

  “They will,” Warden answered evenly. “They just aren’t in position yet.”

  “‘Position’?” Mandich protested. “They could kill us now. You said that yourself. What does position have to do with it?”

  Warden shrugged; didn’t bother to respond.

  “Perhaps,” Hashi mused to no one in particular, “that will become apparent when we see the position she chooses to take.”

  Obliquely he hinted that he knew what was at stake.

  Mandich glared at the DA director. Possibly he believed that in a situati
on like this all positions were the same. If so, he was wrong. He was a competent Security officer; but he wasn’t equipped to carry the weight of Min’s job in her absence.

  “If you do not reply, we must assume that your intentions are hostile.”

  The strain of waiting seemed to squeeze sweat from Warden’s heart. Nevertheless he sat still and let nothing show.

  “Director,” one of the CO techs whispered suddenly, “she’s orienting her guns.”

  At once Warden turned to face the man. His hands lay like clamps on the arms of his seat.

  “Look, sir.” The tech pointed at a screen, where a 3-D scan projection of the defensive turned: she was firing small jets to adjust her attitude. “There.” He hit keys, and a luminous pointer marked a spot on the ship’s bulbous flank. “That’s her proton cannon emitter. If she has more than one, we haven’t been able to identify it.

  “That amount of braking thrust distorts some of our readings. But at this range”—the man faltered, then forged ahead—“we can be pretty sure what her targets are.”

  To his cost, Warden himself was past faltering. “And?” he inquired sharply.

  The tech took a deep breath. “There are five matter cannon aimed at us.” He couldn’t keep a tremor from his voice. “At least three of their torpedo ports have a good window. But her proton gun is aligned on Suka Bator.”

  Just as Warden feared. For reasons of her own the defensive still hadn’t fired. Nevertheless she obviously understood the tactical possibilities of her situation.

  “You have encroached on human space. We consider this an act of war.”

  “It’s still suicide,” Chief Mandich muttered. “Suppose she’s able to kill the Council, destroy us. Hell, suppose she takes out HO as well. She’s still dead.

  “And we’ll retaliate. We’ve got nine stations out there, all of them ready to fight. We’ve got shipyards and manufacturing they can’t match. We’ll strike so hard and deep into forbidden space they’ll think the damage they did here was a slap on the wrist.

  “If they want a goddamn war, we’ll make them pay forit.”

  Warden didn’t bother to reply. Of course the Amnioni hadn’t fired yet. And she wouldn’t—not unless he forced her to it. She’d come here because she’d failed to kill Trumpet. The mission which had taken her to Massif-5 hadn’t changed.

  That gave him no comfort whatsoever.

  Hashi peered at the scan projection over his smeared glasses for a moment, then turned to Warden. In an ambiguous tone, he asked, “I trust that Director Hannish is on her way?”

  His question touched the heart of Warden’s dread. “Her shuttle left an hour ago,” he answered dryly. “Unless someone starts shooting, she’ll reach Suka Bator before that defensive finishes deceleration.

  “Under the circumstances, the Council will go into session as soon as she gets there. They’re receiving all this.” He gestured at the screens. GCES Security had access to the scan net. In addition the Council would be given data by direct downlink from UMCPHQ. “Some of the Members probably wish they could go into hiding. But they’re stuck where they are.” They had no time to escape. “So they’ll have an emergency session instead.”

  They couldn’t do anything about the defensive, however. The protection of their planet was Warden’s job: they were helpless. For that reason—and because they were politicians—they would use the emergency session to assign blame.

  “If we can avoid a fight long enough,” Warden finished, “maybe Koina will have time to do her job.”

  From Center a worn voice continued hailing the Amnioni. “Our ships stand ready to repulse you. If you do not wish to be destroyed, you must reply.”

  Abruptly Warden decided that it was time to take a hand in events; remind his people that he wasn’t paralyzed. “Send a message to HO for me,” he instructed one of his techs. “Address it to CEO Fasner personally.

  “I don’t have time to talk to him, so I’m not interested in a reply. Just tell him for me that this is my problem.” He indicated the defensive’s blip. “I’ll deal with it. Advise him to hunker down and concentrate on survival until I’ve resolved the situation, one way or another.”

  “Right away, sir.” At once the tech started coding a transmission.

  Hunker down and concentrate—If Warden Dios had been a man who wagered for stakes as minor as money, he would have risked a considerable sum that Holt would do no such thing. The Dragon would probably use this opportunity to try to secure his hold on the GCES. In addition he might attempt to address the Amnioni directly; bluster the alien into negotiating with him. He might have enough leverage for that: he was the UMC CEO; the man who supplied the Amnion with all their legal trade.

  If Holt signaled the defensive, Warden would be able to respond. But the Council was in Koina’s hands. He couldn’t help her now. Only Chief Mandich and Hashi could do that.

  Or Morn and Vector Shaheed.

  Tangentially he wondered whether Min Donner knew that humankind’s future depended on her. And on Trumpet.

  He didn’t dwell on that kind of speculation, however. Instead he followed his message to HO with action of another kind.

  Tapping keys on his board, he opened a station-wide intercom channel. At the same time he routed his channel to Center so that what he said would reach every human ship and station around the planet. One way or another, his people needed to hear from him.

  “This is Warden Dios,” he announced in a voice as crisp and sure as he could make it. “I’m in UMCPHQ Command Operations.

  “You all know by now that there’s an Amnion warship coming in on us hard. She’s a Behemoth-class defensive. That means she’s dangerous. Dangerous as hell. She’s armed with super-light proton cannon. And she has enough other guns”—he forced a brief touch of humor into his tone—“to make us all wish we were somewhere else. But I don’t think she wants a fight. She’s here to negotiate.”

  Chief Mandich stared as if he were amazed or appalled; but Warden didn’t pause.

  “I can only guess what she hopes to negotiate,” he went on. “She isn’t talking yet. Until she decides to communicate, we’ll have to wait. But it looks like we’re in no immediate danger. If we have something the Amnion want, we may come through this with a whole skin.

  “That could change, of course. Especially if someone on our side gets trigger-happy. So now would be an especially good time to be sure we don’t make any mistakes.

  “I’m in no hurry to die myself,” he remarked firmly, “and I don’t want to lose any of you, either. I’ll do everything I can to keep us all alive. What I need you to do is follow orders, be careful, and don’t panic.”

  Don’t let an Amnioni this deep in human space scare you into thinking you would be better off dead.

  “I’m counting on you,” he concluded. “Dios out.”

  With a decisive snap, he silenced his intercom.

  He found it both ironic and shameful that he asked his people to trust him at a time when he was responsible for their danger. Nevertheless this was what he wanted: to face the consequences of his own actions; to stand or fall confronting a crisis which he himself had brought about.

  But he needed Trumpet. Without her he was sure to fail. Koina had everything she required to confront Cleatus Fane and the GCES—except proof.

  “We consider this an act of war.”

  Chief Mandich had kept still with difficulty while Warden addressed UMCPHQ, but now he abandoned restraint. Bristling, he planted himself in front of Warden’s station.

  “Did I miss something, Director?” he demanded bitterly. “When did we start ‘to negotiate’ with aliens that commit acts of war?”

  “Chief Mandich—” Warden sighed; rubbed his human eye with the heel of one hand. His prosthesis read the Security Chief’s underlying distress and incomprehension clearly; but he couldn’t spare the energy to deal with them. “You’re neglecting your duties.”

  The man opened his mouth as if he’d been slapp
ed.

  “You are the Enforcement Division Chief of Security,” Warden said slowly; harshly. “You’re responsible for the protection of the GCES, and for the safety of our personnel here. Among other things, that means you’re supposed to pursue your investigation of these kazes”—acid sharpened his voice—“not stand here telling me how to do my job.” For Koina’s sake, he’d specifically instructed the Chief to track down everything he could learn about Clay Imposs and Nathan Alt. “I don’t need a goddamn running critique, Chief Mandich. I need evidence.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mandich replied as if he were choking. His indignation couldn’t withstand a challenge. Warden knew the man well: he was deeply conscientious—and deeply ashamed of his failure to ward kazes away from the Council and UMCPHQ. “We’re working on it. I’ll inform you the minute we find anything.”

  “Do that,” Warden returned. “Inform Director Hannish as well. Inform Director Lebwohl. Then back them up. Is that clear? I don’t know what they might need from you—but if and when they need it, it’ll be urgent.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Chief of Security answered again.

  His consternation was plain; too vivid for Warden to ignore. Mandich hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of: he’d failed for the simple, sufficient reason that people with more power hadn’t allowed him to succeed. Rather than let him leave like this, Warden beckoned him closer.

  “Sir?” Uncertainly Chief Mandich approached Warden’sseat.

  Warden put a strong hand on the Chief’s shoulder and drew Mandich’s head down to his. Whispering so that he wouldn’t be overheard, he promised, “I know what I’m doing.”

  Chief Mandich couldn’t find a reply; couldn’t meet Warden’s gaze. His shame was too strong. Without a word, he saluted stiffly, then turned and left the CO Room, walking like a man with fire in his bones and no way to put it out.

  “It is with some chagrin”—Hashi tilted his head toward the ceiling as if to convey the impression that he spoke to no one but himself; that he meant no criticism of Chief Mandich—“that I find myself wishing for Director Donner’s return.” He and Min had never concealed the fact that they loathed and distrusted each other.