This Day All Gods Die

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  This is no ordinary fear of death, Norna had warned. He wants to live forever. Haven’t I seen it? Why do you think he keeps me damned here? I’ve spent fifty years paying for what I see.

  Warden Dios had no choice. He desperately needed the time Vestabule offered him. Weighed against humankind’s future, the cost to himself was too slight to be measured.

  The CO Room techs—and half of Center—watched him as if they held their collective breath while he punched the toggle to activate his pickup.

  “Calm Horizons, this is Warden Dios.” He required all his force of will to keep his voice steady. “I’ll do what you want. I’ll come to you.” A mutter of dismay and protest spread outward from the CO Room, but he ignored it. Instead he added sharply, “Under one condition.”

  “Warden Dios, this is Marc Vestabule,” the Amnioni returned almost at once. “What is your condition?”

  Swallowing panic and old shame, Warden took the next step along his chosen path.

  “Calm Horizons, there are other stations hailing you. So far our scan says you haven’t responded to them. My condition is that you talk to me. No one else.” If I’m responsible for all this, I will by God be responsible. I won’t have the ground cut out from under me. “If you reply to any transmission that doesn’t come from this station, our discussion is over, and we will kill you as fast as we can.”

  His demand appeared to surprise Vestabule. Without warning, Calm Horizons’ transmission vanished from the intervening void: the speakers reported silence and cold static. Apparently the Amnioni had stopped to deliberate. Try as he did, Warden simply couldn’t think like an alien. He must have struck a nerve he didn’t understand; called himself into question somehow.

  Biting down curses, he waited for Vestabule’s response.

  When the former human being replied at last, his tone was as oddly inflected as before; difficult to interpret. Nevertheless it conveyed an unexpected note of caution.

  “Warden Dios, permit me to quote you. ‘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.’ Do you say now that you did not speak factually? Is there another authority which might countermand you? If there is, then I must speak with that authority, not with you.”

  Oh, shit! Whatever prescience Warden had must have deserted him: he hadn’t foreseen this. Possible failures churned in his guts; numberless deaths; treason beyond redemption—

  “Let me quote you,” he retorted, acid with fear. “You said that you ‘retain certain resources of memory, language, and comprehension.’ Maybe you can remember that there are always factions in human politics. By law the authority is mine. That doesn’t mean other people won’t try to make you think you should talk to them instead.

  “But no matter who they are, or what they offer you, they can’t control this station. They can’t control our ships. Our defenses take their orders from me. If you make a deal with someone else, it won’t mean anything. I am the director of the United Mining Companies Police, and I will decide whether you live or die.”

  Believe that, he demanded mutely; uselessly. I can’t think like you. Prove you can think like me.

  Apparently Vestabule wasn’t convinced. “Warden Dios,” he stated carefully, “we are being hailed by the United Mining Companies, in the name of Chief Executive Officer Holt Fasner. Is the United Mining Companies Police not a subsidiary unit of the United Mining Companies? Does Holt Fasner’s authority not transcend yours?”

  Warden swore under his breath, then snapped into his pickup, “Listen to me, Calm Horizons. I’m not going to spend the next several hours teaching a course in human politics.” He let anger mount in his voice until it became as heavy as a club. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.

  “You’ve been ‘invested with decisiveness.’ So have I. Warfare is the UMCP’s job, my job. Holt Fasner can’t prevent our ships from opening fire. I can.

  “You say you have something you want to discuss. You say we have to discuss it in person. That’s your problem, not mine. You can talk to me about it right now. You can put it on general broadcast and ‘discuss’ it with the whole solar system. Or you can accept my condition and get what you say you want.”

  Grimly he finished, “Just make up your mind.”

  Raising his fist, he poised it to strike his pickup silent.

  Some of the CO Room techs looked like they were praying. Others shook their heads dumbly. A persistent shuffling of feet from Center gave the impression that most of the staff had left their stations.

  Warden wanted to look up, see what was happening; but Marc Vestabule’s silence held him. His fist hung, paralyzed, over his pickup toggle. In another moment his hand would start to shake.

  Without warning the Amnioni answered.

  “Very well, Warden Dios.” Vestabule’s way of speaking was too stilted to suggest concession. “This vessel will respond to transmissions from no station except your own. In return, you will come to us alone and unarmed so that we may hold our discussion in person.”

  Warden’s heart lurched as if he’d been given a reprieve; as if he were eager for a chance to risk his fate aboard Calm Horizons. “I agree,” he replied brusquely. “Dios out.” Instead of punching his pickup, he toggled it with a gentle tap.

  When he raised his head, he saw the entire staff of Center crowded at the CO Room door.

  What—? Despite all his years of discipline and concealment and will, he was too surprised to speak.

  For reasons known only to himself, Hashi put on an air of lugubrious indignation. He may have feigned vexation to conceal amusement. Facing the nearest officer, an earnest man with a deceptively youthful face and a sergeant’s insignia, the DA director demanded, “What is the meaning of this, young man?”

  The sergeant didn’t so much as glance at Hashi: his gaze clung to Warden like an appeal.

  There was too much at stake: Warden needed a minute to pull himself together. Roughly he scrubbed at his face with both hands, trying to force his fear and urgency back from the surface so that they wouldn’t show; trying to rub away the sensation that he’d been touched by death. With an effort, he reminded himself that these were his people; that it was their job to serve him, just as it was his job to serve them; that they hung by his fate.

  Slowly he lifted his chin and met the eyes staring at him.

  They were somber and distressed, hurt by a shared need which he couldn’t identify, perhaps because he was so full of his own. The strength of their combined emotional aura seemed to cry out against him. Some of the women and at least a few of the men had to blink back tears.

  “Sergeant—” He cleared his throat. Ordinarily he knew all his people; but now for the life of him he couldn’t recollect the young man’s name. So much focused dismay confused his defenses. “Maybe you’d better tell me what this is about.”

  Stiff with awkwardness, the sergeant could barely speak. “Please don’t think we’re shirking, sir.” His larynx bobbed convulsively. “We’ll work twice as hard in just a minute. But I need—we want—”

  With a visible effort, he mastered his chagrin. “It’s like this, sir. You can’t go. It’s wrong. They’re Amnion. They destroy people—like they destroyed that Marc Vestabule. We need you here. If you go, they’ll turn you into one of them, and then we’re lost. We won’t have anything to hope for.

  “We would rather die fighting for you.”

  A throaty murmur of agreement from the techs made it clear that he spoke for everyone in the CO Room as well as in Center.

  A bitter retort swelled in Warden’s chest, driven by the pressure of his essential terror. He wanted to shout or wail, What do you mean, you won’t have anything to hope for if I’m lost? What kind of miracles do you expect from me?

  Before his grief and shame became strong enough to cripple his self-command, however, another emotion surpassed them: a strange pride, unfamiliar and unbidden, that his people cared for him so mu
ch; depended on him so completely.

  In another life—a life without the fatal mistake of trusting Holt Fasner—one moment like this would have been enough to make everything worthwhile. He might have been able to believe he’d earned it.

  In this life, unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to feel pride or be comforted. The harm of his complicity in Holt’s betrayals wasn’t so easily dismissed.

  Moving slowly, deliberately, he rose to his feet. As best he could, he meant to look every one of his people in the eyes; face them as equals.

  “Thank you, Sergeant, all of you.” He wanted to whisper; but he forced himself to speak so that his voice carried across the gathering. “I appreciate your concern”—he spread his hands helplessly—“more than I can describe in words.

  “But put yourselves in my place. If you respect me enough to believe I’m worth dying for, then you also respect me enough to know I feel the same way about you. That Amnioni wants to talk to me in person. And every hour we don’t fight improves our chances for survival. If I can protect Earth and keep all of you alive even a little longer by risking my life, do you really think I could bear to refuse?”

  One after another, he met every gaze around him. Then he straightened his shoulders, squared his chin.

  “We are the UMCP. It is our duty—and our honor—to serve and defend humankind.” For years he’d been telling lies he hated; lies that sickened him: first Holt’s, then his own. Now he told as much of the truth as he could. “My life is a pretty small thing to risk for a chance to do my job.”

  And it was a small thing to risk for any chance to make sure Calm Horizons didn’t simply blast Punisher as soon as the cruiser arrived. That truth he didn’t tell. Even now he couldn’t afford to admit how much he depended on Morn—and Min.

  He didn’t need his prosthetic vision to see that he’d swayed everyone except Hashi. Their eyes were bright with conviction or blurred with tears: the same loyalty and commitment which inspired their protest left them vulnerable to his response.

  To make it easier for them to give him what he needed, he shrugged ruefully and added, “Of course, doing my job won’t mean shit if you don’t all go back to your stations and do yours.”

  “Yes, sir,” the young sergeant answered in a thick voice. “Right away.” Almost fiercely, he called the techs, officers, and aides to attention. Like an affirmation, they saluted the UMCP director as if they were on parade.

  As a rule, Warden never returned salutes: he didn’t like them. But he made an exception in this case. How could he refuse?

  Nevertheless he took no time to savor the moment, or regret it. He was in a hurry. As soon as the crowd dispersed, he told one of his aides to order his shuttle for immediate departure.

  The thought of delivering himself into the hands of the Amnion appalled him. He couldn’t afford to put it off.

  He wanted to be alone. He’d been moving to meet his doom for a long time, but now that the crisis was upon him he felt a need to gather his resources; harden his heart. Unfortunately he didn’t get the chance. Hashi Lebwohl insisted on walking with him to the dock.

  Hashi had taken it upon himself to req some supplies for Warden. Before they left the CO Room, a DA tech had arrived in a breathless rush to deliver two things which Hashi then handed mutely to Warden: a breathing mask and an evil-looking black capsule the size of a throat lozenge. Warden had accepted both, thrust them into his pockets without comment. Instead of thanking the DA director, he’d allowed Hashi to accompany him away from Center.

  Driven by fears and furies, he set a brisk pace which made no concession to Hashi’s slack-heeled gait. Hashi contrived to keep up with him, however.

  Hashi held his tongue only until they gained the relative privacy of UMCPHQ’s open corridors. Then, in an unusually earnest tone, he spoke.

  “Permit me to say, Director, that in my view this is a mistake. The Amnion have nothing to discuss with you. That is pure chicanery.” He sounded certain. “They desire you as a hostage.”

  “A hostage?” Warden knew what Hashi meant, but he wanted to hear Hashi say it.

  “To be used against Punisher,” Hashi explained. “How else can they hope to extract what they want?”

  “Punisher isn’t here,” Warden remarked shortly.

  “She will arrive soon,” Hashi countered. “Doubtless Min Donner will invoke Gabriel priority to obtain Isaac’s cooperation. Then both Punisher and Trumpet will return at their best speed.”

  Warden had told no one that Holt had ordered him to betray Angus to Nick Succorso.

  “There are benefits, of course,” Hashi continued. “Director Donner will surely silence Trumpet’s unfortunate broadcast. That threat to the Amnion will be decreased. Therefore Calm Horizons may be less inclined to open fire on both Trumpet and Punisher immediately upon their arrival.

  “Nevertheless they will aggravate the more general threat. When they resume tard, they will recognize the nature of our emergency. They will become part of the cordon closing around Calm Horizons—their arrival will strengthen us. It will weaken the defensive’s position.

  “This Marc Vestabule seeks to purchase the success of his incursion with the only coin he can be certain Punisher will respect. The coin of your life.”

  Warden had just glimpsed how fatal the loyalty of his people might become. “That,” he replied heavily, “is one of the reasons Min Donner is aboard.”

  Min may have been the only UMCP officer capable of sacrificing the man she served. Certainly she could be trusted to refuse a direct order—under the right circumstances.

  Under these circumstances, that made her as dangerous as Marc Vestabule.

  “Ah.” Hashi’s sigh held a note of awe bordering on reverence. “You foresaw this also.”

  Warden scowled his vexation. “Not this exactly.” He was in no mood to be probed—and he was by God in no mood for awe. “But something like it.”

  Hashi didn’t stop. “Forgive me, Warden,” he pursued. “I still fail to grasp—”

  “Let it go,” Warden snapped. “It’s my problem, not yours.”

  At once, however, he felt ashamed of himself. Hashi had always served the UMCP with integrity, imagination, and diligence—at least by his own lights. As DA director, his love for covert schemes and baroque interpretations was a positive virtue. It wasn’t his fault that he sometimes misjudged the passion which impelled Warden’s actions.

  To soften the impact of his anger, Warden added more gently, “I’m going to leave you plenty of other things to worry about.”

  “I will do what I can.” Hashi sounded uncharacteristically subdued; diminished in some way. “In particular I will endeavor to complete our investigation of Clay Imposs and Nathan Alt.”

  Just for a moment Warden didn’t care about that: he had no attention to spare for kazes or the GCES. Without warning he was overtaken by a desire to be understood.

  He’d told so many lies and kept so many secrets for so long that he could hardly bear it. The thought of boarding Calm Horizons alone made his self-imposed isolation from everyone who valued or respected him seem insupportable. He stood by his reasons for what he’d done. Still he knew that none of the people he trusted—Hashi, Min, and Koina, Angus and Morn—deserved the way he’d manipulated and maneuvered them. Now he felt a profound, poignant desire to bare his soul.

  He had no time for a real confession—no time, and not enough courage. But he could give Hashi a hint. For the DA director, a hint would suffice.

  “Listen,” he said abruptly. “I have something to tell you, and I can’t wait for another opportunity.”

  Although the corridors were empty, cleared by the call to defense stations, he kept his voice low. But he resisted an impulse to bend his head down to Hashi’s. Instead he continued to stride ahead, forcing Hashi to keep pace with him.

  “I had more than one reason for sending Min aboard Punisher. I wanted to protect her from what’s about to happen on Suka Bator. From being tainted by
Koina’s revelations. And I wanted her to help keep Morn alive. In fact, I ordered her to do that. Because I’m hoping—”

  He spoke without glancing aside at the DA director.

  “Morn and Angus have already gone beyond my expectations. Broadcasting that formula, for God’s sake! I never imagined they would have the resources to survive this long and still cause so much trouble. But I’m hoping for something more.”

  Hashi made a small, hissing sound through his teeth, but didn’t respond in any other way.

  “When Morn gets here,” Warden went on, “I hope”—pray—“she’ll be willing to testify that Angus was framed.” If she did the blow would rock Holt’s power to its foundations. “And if she is willing, Min is the only one of us with enough moral authority left to make it happen.” The Council already distrusted Hashi. And Koina would effectively ruin Warden himself. “She might persuade Morn to talk. She can certainly make the Council listen.”

  Is that clear enough? he asked Hashi mutely. Do I have to spell it out?

  He wanted Hashi to understand that he’d done everything in his power to bring all his separate attacks on Holt together at the same time.

  Still Hashi said nothing. After a moment or two the silence compelled Warden to turn his head.

  Hashi cleared his throat without returning Warden’s gaze. “Are you bidding me farewell, Warden?” Unexpected emotions congested his voice. “Do you assume—as I do—that once you’ve become Marc Vestabule’s hostage he will never release you?”

  “Not necessarily.” Warden shrugged grimly. “Who knows what miracles Morn and Angus can accomplish? But I do assume that whether I live or die I’m going to be charged with treason.”

  He only hoped that Holt would fall with him when he finally cut all the ground out from under his own feet.

  At last Hashi raised his head to look at Warden.

  “It occurs to me that I have not thanked you for revealing the substitution of Captain Thermopyle’s datacore.” His eyes emanated a moist heat that Warden had never seen in them before. In some way Warden’s openness had touched the DA director’s cunning, unscrupulous heart. “That knowledge shamed me greatly. I had not grasped the true depth of your intentions. Nevertheless I am grateful. I admire your resourcefulness. You have allowed me an insight which I value. Likewise I value your purpose. And I understand the necessity of keeping it hidden.