The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (2 page)

The
ship was a swarm of activity. Men and women hurried in all directions, rushing
to and from the hundreds of duties required by a new mission. The few who
recognised Min Donner paused to salute; but most of them were concentrating too
hard — focused by fatigue and urgency — to notice her. Scalpel-class cruisers
carried a crew of sixty-plus, but
Punisher
didn’t have that many to work
with. Her reports had cited four dead and eleven confined to their quarters or
sickbay by injuries or battle-shock: fifteen crewmembers lost across the four
watches. As soon as Min had received Warden’s orders, she’d dispatched a
provisioning shuttle to meet the cruiser; but in the time available
Punisher
couldn’t be adequately re-supplied. No wonder the captain was too busy to leave
the bridge. Damaged, short-handed, and ill equipped, his command was a poor
candidate for any important assignment.
Punisher’s
best hope was that
this mission proved to be as trivial as Min feared.

With
one palm she stroked the butt of her handgun to steady herself as she
accompanied the bosun forward.

Aside
from weight, armament, and crew, one of the differences between a cruiser like
Punisher
and a destroyer like
Starmaster
was that
Punisher’s
bridge
occupied a command module which could be detached from the main ship to
function separately. If Captain Davies Hyland had had a vessel like this, he
might well have survived
Starmaster’s
destruction; survived to keep his
daughter out of Angus Thermopyle’s hands. That was another detail for which Min
blamed herself uselessly, despite the fact that she herself had approved
Starmaster’s
construction and had selected Davies Hyland as captain.

None of
that showed on her face, however, as she went with the bosun — ahead of him now
— through the aperture which linked the rest of the ship to the command module.
She encountered
Punisher’s
captain and bridge crew with her features set
in characteristic lines, stern and unreadable.

Almost
instantly all movement on the bridge stopped: techs working on the screens and
boards froze; the bridge crew — helm, targ, data and damage control,
communications, engineering, scan — hesitated momentarily, their hands poised
on their stations, their faces tense.

Their
attention made her feel that she deserved her reputation as Warden Dios’
executioner.

But
then the captain, Dolph Ubikwe, broke the pause by swinging his g-seat toward
Min. In a granite rumble, he said stolidly, “Director Donner. Welcome aboard.”

At once
the bridge crew rose to salute. The techs moved out of Min’s way as if they
believed — or wanted to believe — that they were beneath her notice.

There
was no welcome in Captain Ubikwe’s voice, however. It seemed to pulse from his
chest like the cut of a subsonic drill. Even if Min had been deaf, she might
have been able to hear him through the bones of her skull. Ensigns under his
command often said that his voice could strip paint at twenty paces.

He was
a large man — almost too large to pass the UMCP physicals — with a heavy mass
of muscle hidden under his fat. Too much strain and too few showers caused his
black skin to gleam in the featureless light. Red rimmed his bloodshot eyes;
they appeared to bulge in their sockets. Fists as heavy as cudgels rested on
the arms of his seat.

“Thank
you, Captain.” Min didn’t expect welcome. “At ease,” she told the bridge crew
without shifting her gaze from Dolph Ubikwe. As they resumed their g-seats, she
asked him, “How soon can you go into tach?”

His
fists tightened slightly. “Depends on whether that’s a request or an order. You
order it and we’re gone. All we need to know is where. But if it’s a request” —
he lifted his heavy shoulders — “we can probably be ready in three or four
months.”

In
another place, at another time, Min might have smiled. She knew this man well.
He had first come to her attention in the Academy ten years ago, when his air
of insubordination and his poor grades had threatened to deny him a commission.
She had overruled the Academy commander in person to make Dolph Ubikwe an
ensign. Despite his resistance to discipline, which had showed in his sloppy
classroom work as well as his excess weight, she had sensed a fettered
emotional power in him, a charisma similar to Warden’s. It might make him an
effective leader — if he ever learned how and when to unleash it. Since then,
he had vindicated her judgement by rising swiftly to the command of his own
vessel. Under other circumstances, she would have had no qualms about using him
to carry out Warden Dios’ orders.

“If it
were a request,” she replied to his tight stare, “I wouldn’t be here.”

His
mouth twisted. “Then perhaps the Enforcement Division director would condescend
to tell us where we’re going. It does make a difference, you know — heading,
velocity, all those troublesome little gap details.”

Now she
did smile — a smile as humourless and bleak as an arctic wind. Instead of
reacting to his sarcasm, she said simply, “The Com-Mine belt. Close to
forbidden space.”

At once
a new tension crackled across the bridge. The data officer breathed, “Oh,
Jesus,” and the man on targ muttered, “Shit!” as if he thought Min wouldn’t be
able to hear him.

A
muscle at the corner of Captain Ubikwe’s mouth twitched like a flinch. “Now why
in hell,” he asked Min, “would we want to do a thing like that?”

She
didn’t snap at him. She also didn’t drop his gaze. She could have made
Punisher
obey her blind — she could require unquestioning compliance from any ship in
the fleet — but she had no intention of doing so. For one thing, she owed this
ship an explanation. And for another, she knew that Dolph Ubikwe would serve
her better if she let him be himself.

“Because,”
she answered, “there’s been a covert UMCP attack on Thanatos Minor’s bootleg
shipyard. As I’m sure you remember, that planetoid is in forbidden space
relatively near the Com-Mine belt. For the better part of a decade, illegals
have been using the belt to cover them on their way to Thanatos Minor. The
Amnion tolerate encroachment from that direction, if not from anywhere else.

“While
we’re standing here, the shipyard is under attack. I’m not prepared to discuss
the nature of the operation here, except to repeat that it’s covert. For now,
the important point is this. There’s going to be fallout.

“I have
no idea what kind of fallout. I can’t know. There may be survivors.”
Morn
Hyland may survive
— “Our people, or illegals on the run. Or there may be a
full-scale Amnion retaliation.”

Borrowing
Warden’s conviction because she had so little to spare of her own, Min
concluded, “Whatever it is, we’re going out there to deal with it.”

The
bridge crew stared at her. They had all turned their stations toward her. From
their g-seats — command and communications in front of her, engineering and
data off to the sides, scan and helm and targ apparently hanging upside down
over her head — they studied her in fear or anger or despair or plain numb
weariness, as if she had just instructed them to commit suicide.

For a
moment Dolph lowered his eyes. When he raised them again, they seemed oddly
naked, as if he had set aside some of his defences. “Permission to speak
frankly.”

Just
for an instant Min wondered whether she should refuse. Then she decided against
it. By some standards, disagreements — not to mention hostility — between
commanders was bad for discipline. On the other hand,
Punisher
was his
ship: the tone which either inspired or dismayed his people was his to set, no
matter what she did. She was willing to trust his instincts.

She
nodded once. “Please.”

He
shifted his posture as if to launch his voice at her from a more stable
platform. “Then let me just ask you, Director Donner,” he said in a tone of raw
outrage, “if you are out of your incorrigible mind. Don’t you
read
reports anymore? Haven’t you got a clue what we’ve just been through? Or maybe
you think dodging matter cannon fire and asteroids alone for six months is some
kind of holiday. You sent us out to Valdor to do a job which would have been
too much for five cruisers. We’re lucky to get home limping instead of just
plain dead.

“We’re
short-handed here.
That
was in the reports, too. Some of my people are
drifting around Massif-5 in
caskets
. We’ve got holes and hydraulic leaks
and a scan bank with no wiring. But never mind that. After what we’ve been
through, we can stand a few minor inconveniences. We’ve got worse problems.”

His
voice was harsh enough to hurt Min’s ears, but she knew from experience that he
still had plenty of volume in reserve. For the sake of her personal comfort,
she hoped that he didn’t use it.

“Have
you
listened
to this ship yet, Director Donner? Or have you forgotten
what internal spin displacement sounds like? Have you forgotten what that kind
of displacement can do to a warship? In case you’ve been spending too much time
behind your desk and not enough on the firing line, let me remind you. If the
bearings go and internal spin freezes before we can shut it down, centrifugal
inertia is transferred to the whole ship. The whole ship starts to spin — which
is a nightmare for scan and helm, never mind targ.
Punisher
isn’t made
for that kind of manoeuvre. And if we start to spin like that in the belt — or
in combat — then you can kiss your hard ass good-bye along with all the rest of
us.

“This
is all crazy, Director Donner. How many warships have we got now? Fifty? Fifty
cruisers, destroyers, gunboats, and full battlewagons? Do you expect me to
believe they’re
all
unavailable for this job? That not one of them is in
reach?

“If
that’s true, let Com-Mine Station do it, whatever it turns out to be. Hell on
ice, Director, they’ve got enough in-system firepower to slag
three
ships
like this. Let them police their own goddamn belt for a few more hours.

“
We
are in no shape for this.”

For
reasons which she had never tried to explain to herself, Min often liked her
officers best when they were angry at her. Perhaps because she understood
Captain Ubikwe’s indignation and approved of it, or perhaps because she was so
angry herself that his ire formed a strange bond between them, she smiled back
at his protest with something like affection.

“Are
you done?”

“No.”
Her reaction disconcerted him, but he obviously didn’t want to show it. “I’m
going to say it all again, and this time I’m going to say it
loud
.”

“That
won’t be necessary,” she drawled. “You’ve made your point.”

Captain
Ubikwe studied her hard. After a moment he asked more quietly, “Then why do I
get the impression you’re not going to let us off the hook?”

“I’m
not,” she replied. “You
are
the only ship available. You’re
here
.
Sure, I could pull your replacement away from Valdor. I could signal a
battlewagon from Betelgeuse Primary, or take a destroyer off frontier patrol. I
could try Com-Mine and hope they do a good job.

“But
none of them can get
me
out there.”

The
bridge received this in surprise, dull shock, or dread. The man on scan let a
thin whistle through his teeth like an effort to ward away spooks. From above
Min, the targ officer muttered again, “Shit.”

Dolph
flashed a look upward. “Glessen,” he rasped at targ, as throaty as a combustion
engine, “if you say that again in front of Director Donner, I’m going to take
you out in the woodshed and cane you.” None of his people laughed: they knew
better. “In case you weren’t paying attention, the director of the entire UMCP
Enforcement Division, which we so proudly serve, has just announced that she’s
putting her life in our hands. She isn’t sending us out to the belt to see what
we’re made of — she’s going with us. Where I came from, we called that ‘putting
your money where your mouth is’” — abruptly he pounded a fist on his board — “and
we
respected
it.”

Suddenly
everyone on the bridge seemed busy with one task or another. No one glanced at
the Glessen as he murmured, “Aye, sir.”

Glowering
excessively, Captain Ubikwe returned his gaze to Min. She suspected that he was
swallowing a grin. His tone was grave, however, as he asked, “Are you telling
me ED has a stake in this covert attack? I thought only DA did work like that.”

Min
didn’t want to mention Morn Hyland. She wasn’t ready to open that door into her
own heart. Instead she said what she thought Warden Dios would have wanted her
to say.

“No. I’m
telling you the UMCP has a stake in it. Humankind has a stake in it.”

The
captain sighed. For a moment or two he peered at his hands while he considered
the situation. Then he dropped his palms onto his thighs. “In that case —” With
a heave, he rose from his g-seat and stepped aside. “As Enforcement Division
director and the highest-ranking UMCP officer aboard, the bridge is yours. Take
the command station. I’ll evict targ — I can work from there until we’re ready
to go into tach.”