“So do I,” Warden murmured. “So do I.”
But there was nothing he could do about it. In spite of all the things he knew and feared, he had to wait like everyone else.
Helpless as a bystander, he watched the screens with his heart caught in a fist of alarm and sweat oozing like corrosion down his chest and sides inside his worksuit.
The defensive continued her approach, remorselessly hauling down on UMCPHQ as she decelerated. If she felt anything like the trepidation which squeezed Center and the CO Room, it didn’t show in the throaty howl of her drives, the scan report of her targ, or the unmistakable orientation of her guns. By now it was clear that she would brake in time to shadow UMCPHQ’s orbit at a distance of little more than fifty thousand k: point-blank range for her matter cannon.
Hashi had been in and out of the CO Room several times, humming thinly to himself while he went about his duties; but he didn’t speak of them. All the rest of Warden’s people—like Warden himself—remained at their stations, glued there by sweat and suspense: by the unquenchable genetic terror of being so near the Amnion, who could dispense a ruin far worse than mere cannon-fire and death. One of Center’s techs had hailed the big defensive until his voice gave out: then he put his transmission on automatic and let his equipment handle it. Other men and women fielded demands, appeals, and hysteria from all across the planet. Still others sat with their hands poised near the keys for UMCPHQ’s few guns.
Holt Fasner hadn’t demanded Warden’s attention; but he wasn’t silent. Several downlink channels connected him to Suka Bator. And UMCPHQ scan reported that some of HO’s dishes were aimed at the Amnioni. Those dishes were active. Apparently the Dragon was trying as hard as Center to get a response from the defensive. Unfortunately UMCPHQ couldn’t intercept any message tight-beamed between HO and the alien. Fortunately none of the approaching vessel’s transmitters emitted energy in reply.
Finally Warden decided that he’d waited long enough. Slapping his thighs to snap his techs out of their transfixed study of the screens, he asked without preamble, “Would you say that by now she’s past the point of no return?”
Despite the tension roiling inside him, he kept his tone calm and clear.
A woman scrambled to catch up with his question. “Sure looks like it, sir. Unless she has secrets we don’t know about, she’s already lost too much velocity to attempt a gap crossing. If she comes all the way in, we’ll have nine ships”—three pocket cruisers, five gunboats, and Adventurous—“in position to hit her before she can accelerate again. Valor should be here soon. And Sledgehammer is burning now.” The tech ran a quick series of course-and-thrust algorithms. “If that defensive sticks around for eight hours or so, Sledgehammer will come into range before she can escape into tach.”
Warden was ready. “Good enough,” he announced. This was his job: if he couldn’t do it now, he deserved the disasters crowded about him. “She’s committed. Now let’s find out what she’s committed to.
“Tell Center to stop hailing. Then get me a channel for that ship. I’ll talk to her myself.”
“If I may, Director Dios—” Hashi put in thoughtfully while Warden’s staff hurried to obey. “It might be advisable to leave the initiative with her. The longer she elects to delay, the stronger our position becomes.” He shrugged, then commented with an air of indifference, “If we remain passive, it is conceivable that Punisher will arrive in time to play a role.”
“That,” Warden answered at once, “is why I’m not going to wait any longer. Since our visitor is here anyway, I want to make sure she deals with me, not Punisher.”
Hashi let out a sigh of comprehension. “I take your point.” He adjusted his dirty glasses to obscure his vision.
“My suggestion was unsolicited.” A smile twisted his thin mouth. “Perhaps you will consider it unspoken as well.”
Almost involuntarily Warden grinned at the DA director. “What suggestion?” For reasons he couldn’t explain, there were times when Hashi’s sense of humor touched him like a rush of affection. Perhaps it enabled him to feel a little less alone.
That helped.
“Director,” a tech said, “I have a channel ready.”
“Thank you.” At once Warden turned to his pickup.
“Unidentified Amnion warship, this is Warden Dios, director, United Mining Companies Police.” His voice seemed to convey a subliminal resonance, as if without shouting he could generate the force for an echo. “You have committed an act of war. We are in a state of war”—he repeated that word deliberately, reminding the Amnioni that the future of their respective species was at stake—“and in a state of war I am the highest authority in human space. I will make the decisions which determine the outcome of your incursion.
“You can no longer escape. Your scan will confirm that we now have enough firepower to stop you. And more of our ships will come into range by the hour.
“I’m tired of waiting. You will talk to me now. If you don’t, we will open fire”—he raised a finger to mark the moment—“in thirty seconds.”
With the back of his fist he silenced the pickup.
The CO Room and Center reacted as if he’d run an electric current through the floor. Men and women seemed to jump at their boards, despite the intensity of their concentration a moment earlier. Battle-alerts sounded like wails. Techs shouted into their intercoms, warning UMCPHQ to brace for combat; relaying Warden’s threat to Earth’s ships. “No mistakes!” an officer barked at the gunners. “Wait for the order! I’ll take the skin off anyone who fires without the director’s order!”
Ignoring the sudden clamor, Warden made a mental note to commend the officer’s caution. He was confident that the defensive would reply.
The response arrived in seventeen seconds. With a crackle of thrust static, the CO Room speakers came to life as if they’d opened directly on vast distances and hard vacuum.
Across the distortion a man’s voice announced, “Warden Dios, this vessel is the Amnion defensive Calm Horizons.” He sounded at once strangely human and entirely alien. “I am Marc Vestabule. I have been invested with decisiveness. You would say that I am the captain.
“Do not open fire. If you do, we will destroy you. Your scan will confirm that we possess the power to do so.
“It appears probable that you are correct. We also may be destroyed. During the interval which remains to us, however, we will crush your station utterly. We will unleash super-light proton fire upon the planetary island which is your site of government. And while we can we will wreak all possible devastation upon your ships and stations.
“Do not fire upon us unless you wish to die.”
The transmission ended in a burst of static. Hot-particle noise seemed to fill the CO Room.
“Marc Vestabule,” Hashi said in surprise. “That is a human name.”
Warden could hardly help noticing the same thing. “You mean the Amnion are using human names for some reason? Since when?”
“No.” By some trick of concentration or misdirection, Hashi appeared to reach a board without moving toward it. Rapidly he tapped keys, scanned readouts. A moment later he reported, “Voice analysis concurs. There are characteristic sound-production stresses when an Amnioni employs human speech. They are absent. It appears that the speaker is physiologically human. He has a human throat, vocal cords, mouth, and tongue.
“Unless the Amnion are now able to produce complete human beings from their own RNA,” Hashi concluded, “Marc Vestabule was once one of us.”
Warden nodded. An interesting detail. Maybe a useful one.
“What does Data Storage say?”
“I’ve entered an inquiry,” Hashi replied. “On short notice the results will be less than exhaustive. However—” He looked down at the readout, repositioned his glasses. “Ah,” he breathed in satisfaction. “The name ‘Marc Vestabule’ exists in our files.
“A number of years ago,” Hashi summarized from the screen, “he was among the register
ed crew of a vessel named Viable Dreams, an in-system hauler which served Com-Mine Station by transshipping ores from the belt. Sadly Viable Dreams was lost without trace, taking her ‘Marc Vestabule’ with her. Her fate is—or has been—unknown. Now I speculate that she fell prey to the Amnion in some fashion.”
The DA director paused, then added, “There are other vocal stresses which would reveal his underlying genetic identity. They cannot be determined without a referent, however. A recording of his voice prior to his mutation would provide a definitive comparison. Again sadly, our files do not extend so far in his case.”
That detail might also prove useful; but Warden let it wait. Still using the back of his fist, he activated his pickup.
“Calm Horizons, this is Warden Dios.” His air of poised calm cost him less effort now. For good or ill, the delay was over. He was free to take action. “With a name like Marc Vestabule, you must have been human once. Maybe you remember that our kind likes devastation. Some of us even like death. You’ve come a long way to stick your guns in our faces. Unless you like death yourself, I suggest you persuade us to hold back by telling us what you want here.”
Several of the Center techs stopped what they were doing to listen. Two or three of them raised their fists in the air.
Empty static filled the speakers for a moment. Vestabule didn’t pause for long, however. Perhaps the decisions he faced were simple for an Amnioni. Or perhaps they’d already been made.
“As you say, Warden Dios, my genetic material once resembled yours. I am now Amnion.” He stated this as if it were beyond question. His way of speaking, stilted and strange, gave the words an intensity his tone lacked. “Nevertheless the process by which I became Amnion enables me to retain certain resources of memory, language, and comprehension. For this reason I have been invested with decisiveness. In dealings with your kind, my former humanity may assist me to function effectively. I will exercise my human resources to satisfy the requirements which have brought Calm Horizons here.”
Warden said nothing. He’d presented his demand: now he waited to see how Marc Vestabule would answer it.
“Warden Dios,” the nearly human voice went on, “there is a matter which I must broach with you. It is an issue of some complexity, in part because it involves a response to concerns which have no meaning to us. I alone aboard this vessel recognize their importance to you. Nevertheless all future relations between our species will be determined by the resolution of this matter. A desirable outcome may only be obtained by”—he said the word as if it were unfamiliar to him—“discussion.”
Hashi nodded without surprise: like Warden, he’d clearly expected something like this. But some of the CO staff gazed at the director as if he’d confirmed his reputation for prescience.
“I’m listening, Calm Horizons.” Pointedly, Warden spoke to the ship instead of the man. He wished Vestabule to understand that he was certain of the Amnioni’s allegiances. “What do you want to discuss?”
“As I say, the matter is complex.” Thrust static emphasized Vestabule’s awkwardness. “In addition I find that my former humanity is”—he paused, apparently searching for a description—“difficult to access. I cannot—discuss—effectively in this fashion.”
Trying to think like the Amnion, Warden guessed that Vestabule was hampered, not by the word itself, but by the concept behind it.
Calm Horizons’ “captain” sounded as alien as the physics of the gap as he concluded, “I must speak to you in person.
Muted gasps broke from a few of the CO techs. Out in Center half a dozen men and women rose to their feet involuntarily and turned to stare into the CO Room. In a rare breach of discipline, Center’s officers didn’t call them back to their duties. The officers themselves studied Warden urgently.
Without transition he felt the fear gnawing at his heart turn cold and fatal, like super-cooled mineral acid. He didn’t need foreknowledge to sense what was coming.
“‘In person,’” he echoed darkly. Despite his determination to appear calm, his tone sharpened. “How do you propose to arrange that, Calm Horizons?”
Vestabule had his reply ready. “If we are reduced to combat, Warden Dios, the Amnion will lose one defensive. Your losses will be incalculable—in lives, in ships, in stations, in manufacturing capacity. This you know.
“To prevent a conflict which must be catastrophic for you, will you consent to come aboard Calm Horizons?”
In an instant all of Center was on its feet. The CO Room oburst into a babble of protest, quickly stilled. Hashi Lebwohl gazed at Warden with bemused speculation in his eyes. Even now he seemed to wish for a show of surprise from his director.
Warden ignored them. Between one heartbeat and the next, he found that he had come face-to-face with his true doom.
Go aboard Calm Horizons? Confront the Amnion alone; risk mutation? For what?
For time, he answered himself grimly. For lives. And for freedom from the UMC. For Morn and Koina, Angus Thermopyle, and Sixten Vertigus. Humankind’s future was at stake in a sense entirely different than the one Marc Vestabule intended.
The UMCP director had been prepared for his own death ever since he’d turned against Holt Fasner. Still he temporized. He had to: if he agreed too readily, he would be misunderstood—by UMCPHQ as well as by the Amnion.
“Are you out of your mind?” he croaked into his pickup as if he had trouble recovering his voice. “You come here.”
Vestabule had anticipated this counter. Again he was ready.
“That is not acceptable. If I am apart from Calm Horizons, I am powerless. You may choose to kill me, knowing that no other Amnioni aboard this vessel is able to replace me. If you are apart from your station, you retain all the strength of your ships and platforms. Your position remains intact in your absence. If we are to discuss”—still the word discomfited him—“we must meet on equal terms.
“This system is yours, Warden Dios. You must come to me.”
“No,” a tech breathed. Another said the same more loudly: “No.” In a moment half a dozen men and women from Center added their protests: “No. No.”
Warden toggled his pickup with a blow of his fist, then slashed a harsh gesture to silence his people before their rejection could take over UMCPHQ’s operational heart. Half rising from his seat so that he could look out across Center, he-shouted deliberately, “This isn’t a democracy, people! I make these decisions! You do your jobs—I’ll do mine!”
Quiet fell like a shutter on the room. In a rush the techs resumed their stations, bent over their tasks.
The nearest officer came to the open CO Room door. “Sorry, sir,” he offered uncomfortably. “They just—it’s just that they—”
“I understand,” Warden growled back. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer left the door and began to make a show of supervising the people under his command.
Warden took a deep breath to steady himself, then hit his pickup toggle. “You say you want me to go there, Calm Horizons. Under what conditions?”
“Warden Dios,” the former human being answered promptly, “you will come to us alone and unarmed. We will hold our discussion under any physical conditions which you consider necessary or comfortable. When we have attained mutual understanding and agreement, you will return to your station.”
“Will you let me remain in contact with UMCPHQ Center?”
“No. You will not speak to your station until our discussion is concluded.”
At the edge of his vision, Warden saw Hashi mouth, This is a trap. But he already knew that. He concentrated on his pickup; on the crackling transmission which linked him to his doom.
“Calm Horizons, you are Amnion. I’m human.” The most irreconcilable of differences. “How can I trust you?”
“Because we are Amnion, Warden Dios,” Vestabule replied flatly. “Unlike humankind, we bargain openly. Also we fulfill our bargains.
“There is this in addition, however. We gai
n nothing by harming you. If we kill you, another will take your place, and hostilities will continue as before. And if we enforce your mutation, so that you become one of us, the transformation will be detected by your station. Mutation will cause elisions of memory which will betray you. At the same time there will be unavoidable alterations in both your method and your manner of speaking, alterations which your station’s instruments will recognize. You would become one of us, but your station would no longer obey you, and so we would gain nothing.”
Vestabule paused, then added, “You will ask what I offer in exchange. I offer time, Warden Dios. The benefit of delay is yours. As your ships draw closer, our peril grows. Every passing hour diminishes the harm we will be able to commit before we are slain.
“I accept this in the name of discussion. You must accept a similar hazard.”
The Amnioni may no longer have been vulnerable to apprehension, suspense, or eagerness. Without discernible inflection, he concluded, “What is your answer, Warden Dios?”
Roughly Warden closed his pickup. Instead of replying, he took a moment to consider the nature of his dread.
Vestabule’s arguments were about what he might have expected. They were also realistic. The Amnioni had a clear grasp on his tactical situation: that was obvious. In a strangely human sense, he knew what he was doing.
No amount of delay would spare Suka Bator. Or UMCPHQ.
Risk mutation—?
That, however, wasn’t the true name of Warden’s fear. His dread ran deeper.
His complex, insidious attack on Holt Fasner may have brought about the ruin of his own desires. He’d created a disaster which might cost far more lives, resources, and hope than humankind could afford. A battle now, here, would effectively undo his long preparations: it would neutralize Koina and Morn, confirm the Dragon’s power. In a full-scale war, with UMCPHQ and the GCES gone, the planet would have no one left to trust except Holt. And Warden was sure that Holt would do everything in his power to seize the situation—
This Day All Gods Die Page 25
