Sib couldn't meet her gaze: his eyes slid off as if they'd lost their grip. Some necessary part of him had screamed itself away into the void while his relatives were injected with mutagens. And yet somewhere he'd found the courage to help her when she'd needed it most; the courage to risk his life against Nick- "I'm sorry, Morn," he murmured toward his twisted hands. "That doesn't help. What good are cops, if they don't even try to do their jobs?"

"You've got it backward," Nick drawled from the pa.s.sage outside the galley. "It's worse when they do try to do their jobs."

Sib flinched in surprise, jerked up his head. Together Morn and Davies turned on their stools, pulling against their zero-g belts to look at Nick.

He floated at the edge of the niche which contained the galley, holding himself stationary on a handgrip. Because he was weightless, he could move in complete silence. And Sib had been looking down. As a result, Nick had been able to come up behind Morn and Davies without being noticed.

She panicked as soon as she saw his face.

His eyes burned as if they were lit by madness; as if a magnesium flare of insanity had gone off inside his skull. A grin like a snarl stretched his mouth back from his teeth. His scars were sharp with blood, as distinct and dark as the work of claws.

"You've all got it backward." He sounded lethal and relaxed; master of himself as well as of them. "This "This is what happens when the cops try to do their jobs." is what happens when the cops try to do their jobs."

She knew him too well: she knew what his expression meant. Without thought, without taking so much as a second to wonder what in h.e.l.l had gone wrong, she slapped at the cleats on her stool, unclipping her belt so that she could move; so that she could reach the zone implant control in her pocket.

Even then she wasn't fast enough. She'd suffered too much damage: her nerves and muscles were slow. Nick pivoted against his handgrip, bringing up his leg in an arc to kick at her head, and she could see that he wasn't going to miss. His boot came at her as if she were motionless; as if she were waiting for it.

But Davies was quicker. He had his father's reflexes; he'd been bred to adrenaline and urgency. And he also knew Nick too well; knew him with her memories, her pain. His fear was as swift as hers. Instinctively he flung his g-flask at Nick's face. With his other arm, he threw a block against Nick's leg.

Because he was anch.o.r.ed to his stool, he was able to stop the blow.

For the same reason, the impact slammed him onto the edge of the table. Morn thought she heard a snapping sound from his arm or his ribs. Even though Nick was weightless, his kick was charged with ma.s.s as well as inertia. And Davies' ma.s.s had nowhere to go.

The g-flask caught Nick's cheek and bounced away, leaving a round pale mark like a stain on his flushed skin. Momentarily out of control, he rebounded from Davies' block, tumbling for the far wall of the pa.s.sage.

The instant her belt came free, Morn flipped forward, using the table to somersault her toward the foodvends; away from Nick.

Sib had frozen for a second. Panic had that effect on him; incomprehension had that effect. And for another second he made the mistake of scrabbling at the cleats to detach his belt.

Then he forgot about getting loose and wrenched his gun out of his pocket. His hand clenched on the firing stud before Nick could recover from Davies' block.

Before Davies could duck out of the way- But Nick wasn't alone. Angus drifted in the pa.s.sage beside him, his toes barely touching the deck, his face black with murder. Steadying himself on a handgrip, he caught Nick's recoil easily, steered Nick's momentum aside as if the movement were effortless.

In the same motion he raised his hand toward Sib.

Almost too quick to be seen, a thin streak of coherent light shot between his fingers. Before Sib could finish squeezing the firing stud, Angus' laser slagged a hole through the center of the handgun.

Yelping in pain and shock-hurt by the heat rather than the laser itself-Sib flung the useless gun away. Oh, s.h.i.t!

Laser fire? From his fire? From his hand? hand?

Morn couldn't understand what she'd just seen, and didn't try. Reacting in pure pain, she snagged a grip on the nearest dispenser, c.o.c.ked her legs against the surface of a foodvend, and launched herself like a projectile at Angus.

For a splinter of time that seemed to sear her brain, even though it was too short to be measured, she stared straight into his eyes.

His whole face was black with blood, as if hundreds of blood vessels had ruptured at once, burst by the internal pressure of his heart. His eyes were as mad as Nick's; but they were insane with anguish, not glee; not triumph. Rictus stretched his mouth back from his teeth as if he were screaming; yet he made no sound. Nothing could get past the destructive pressure tearing through his chest.

The hand which had burned Sib's gun swung to meet her.

Again Davies was faster than she was. In that instant he came back off the edge of the table. Still secured to his stool, and hampered by damage, he nevertheless managed to hack his fist against Angus' arm.

Too fast for Davies to defend himself-too fast for Morn to see how he did it-Angus recoiled into a blow which struck the side of Davies' head with a crushing sound, like rock being pulverized. Davies slammed onto the edge of the table again.

This time he didn't get up.

The blow swung Angus out of the way of Morn's attack.

Out in the pa.s.sage, Nick had recovered control. Now he seemed to pour at the galley like a breaking wave, ready to hammer down on Morn's head.

Instead of trying to hit Angus, she caught her fingers in the back of his shipsuit and used his bulk to pull her into another somersault. With every gram of strength and momentum she could focus, she drove her bootheels into Nick's face.

The impact knocked him nearly cartwheeling down the pa.s.sage.

At the same time it shoved her hard against Angus' back.

Fighting for her life, she made a desperate effort to heave herself off him.

Easily, as if she'd used up her capacity to affect him, he caught her wrist in a grip as hard as a C-clamp.

Too late, much too late, Sib cried out, "Morn!" "Morn!" and grappled with the attachments of his belt. and grappled with the attachments of his belt.

A heartbeat later Mikka arrived.

She must have heard the sounds of trouble outside her cabin and come as fast as she could. Hurling herself along, she delivered a punch at Nick as he plunged past her; but she didn't pause to follow it. She was already committed to helping Morn.

Her brother floated behind her, directly in Nick's path. As Nick careened toward him, he raised his stun-prod.

Heavy with muscle, Mikka drove into Angus' arm.

Morn slipped free as if he'd thrown her away.

Spinning wildly, barely able to keep her head from colliding with the bulkheads, she dashed for the bridge like a feather in a torrent.

Somewhere behind her, she heard a cry that might have been pain; might have come from Ciro. She heard a harsh grunt of effort; heard blows as loud as shots. But she didn't stop. Driven by fury and terror, she shoved and heaved and rolled forward as fast as she could go. In panic she thought she could feel Angus' fingers clutching for her, grabbing at her. Thrashing her arms and legs so that she would be hard to catch, she flung herself along the pa.s.sage until she reached the companionway.

There she could stop her mad tumble on the handrails; steady herself. Still she didn't pause or look back. From the support of the rails, she pitched into another flip which carried her over the empty bridge stations almost headlong into the bulkhead near the auxiliary engineering console.

Vector looked up in shock. "Morn-?" Surprise seemed to take him by the throat, choking him. He'd been concentrating too hard to hear anything. "What-?"

She locked her fingers into a handgrip, pulled herself off the bulkhead, swung down beside him.

His blue eyes were stunned with fatigue and incomprehension; unable to speak, he stared at her as if she were starting to mutate in front of him.

She had no idea what had gone wrong, but she knew what it meant. Angus and Nick had joined forces. And Angus could do things she'd never suspected- "Self-destruct!" she cried urgently; blazed at Vector like a gun. "Blow us up! Do it she cried urgently; blazed at Vector like a gun. "Blow us up! Do it now now, while you still can!"

"Morn?" He gaped at her; hardly seemed to recognize her. "Morn?"

"G.o.d d.a.m.n d.a.m.n it!" He was too slow. "Let me at that board!" it!" He was too slow. "Let me at that board!"

Frantically she shoved him aside so that she could take his place in front of the console.

Self-destruct. Now or never. She would never get another chance. At any second Angus might shoot her in the back with his impossible laser. Davies was already lost, and she didn't believe that Mikka and Sib could beat him. There was no other way to stop him.

And yet the bare idea brought up agony from the core of her heart, filled her head with screams she didn't know how to utter. Self-destruct.

How many times did she have to face the same horror before she finally succeeded at killing herself?

"You can't!" Angus barked from the head of the companionway. "You can't access those functions. I've locked everything except Vector's research."

As soon as he spoke, she knew he was telling the truth. Despite his exertions, he wasn't out of breath; didn't seem to be in a hurry. He wasn't afraid of anything she could do.

"Give it up," he told her. "Don't make me hurt you."

She wanted to howl and weep, beat her fists b.l.o.o.d.y on the edges of the console. He was telling the truth: she couldn't stop him this way. Nevertheless she had no time for frustration; couldn't afford to give vent to her agony and despair. She needed them herself.

Still clinging to her handgrip, she turned to face the man who had raped and brutalized and now betrayed her.

Angus hadn't left the head of the companionway. He seemed to think that he'd already won; that he didn't need to approach her in order to master her. Yet his face showed no triumph-and certainly no satisfaction. He was sweating so hard that his skin resembled molten wax, and his teeth ground against each other as if he were chewing pain. The congested anguish in his eyes made him look like a man who knew what being raped meant.

"Christ!" Vector breathed softly. "What went wrong? What happened?"

Angus didn't answer the engineer. His attention was focused exclusively on Morn. He might have been trying to think of a way to plead with her.

There was no pleading in his tone, however. Harshly he said, "Nick gave Ciro so much stun he's puking his guts out. Mikka and Davies are unconscious. And Sib looks like he's having some kind of seizure."

Looming out of the pa.s.sage, Nick drifted to Angus' side. With one hand he caught the companionway railing to stop himself; in the other he held up the small stun-prod which Milos Taverner had left aboard Trumpet Trumpet The spot on his cheek where Davies'd struck him had turned a bright, mortal red, contrasting strangely with the darkness of his scars. The spot on his cheek where Davies'd struck him had turned a bright, mortal red, contrasting strangely with the darkness of his scars.

"Not anymore," he announced, nearly chortling. "He's puking, too. The air's full of it back there. When they recover, they're going to have fun cleaning it all up."

A sound that might have been a laugh or a snarl burst between his teeth.

"n.o.body's left to help you," Angus told Morn. "Give up before I have to do something worse."

Vector shifted his position as if he wanted to protest, then thought better of it.

"No," Morn panted. Now that she was motionless, she found that she could scarcely breathe. Strain and fear cramped her lungs; she was only able to force out a few words at a time. "I won't. Put up. With any more of this.

"I would rather be dead."

Her free hand slid into her pocket and brought out her zone implant control. Wrapping her fingers over all the b.u.t.tons, she put the black box behind her and held it there; shielded it with her body so that Angus couldn't fire his laser at it without killing her first.

"Morn," Vector whispered in horror. "Don't-I'll help you somehow. They need me-they want my research. I'll stop working if they hurt you."

She ignored him.

So did Nick and Angus. Instead Nick tensed, flashed a glare at Angus. "Why didn't you take that thing away from her? I told you to grab it."

Angus didn't bother to answer. Sweat dripped away from his eyes like tears. His face was livid with stress, as if he were strangling on his own tongue.

"Well, stop stop her," Nick rasped. Without transition his mad glee had become fury. "That's an order. I want her alive. After what she's done to me, I her," Nick rasped. Without transition his mad glee had become fury. "That's an order. I want her alive. After what she's done to me, I want want her alive." her alive."

Angus might have moved to obey. The distress in his gaze seemed to imply that he took orders from Nick, even though he hated them. But Morn didn't wait to find out.

"You aren't listening," she retorted. "I haven't got anything left. So there's nothing you can do to stop me. If you come"-somewhere she found the strength to shout-"one step closer, I'm going to clench my fist. I'll burn out my brain before you get anywhere closer, I'm going to clench my fist. I'll burn out my brain before you get anywhere near me!" near me!"

"No!" Vector croaked desperately.

Morn glimpsed his movement out of the corner of her eye, but the warning came too late. Anchoring his weightlessness against the auxiliary engineering console, he hacked her across the side of her neck with the blade of his hand, then grappled frantically for her zone implant control.

Ripped it out of her grasp.

And turned.

Launching his ma.s.s from the platform of the console, he slammed her black box against the bulkhead; drove it onto the hard surface with the heel of his palm.

Blood splashed from the impact as the box shattered into half a dozen sharp fragments, shredding the skin of his hand. Squirming red globules stained the bulkhead, swam through the air in all directions. The jolt seemed to shoot pain through his arthritic joints.

He hadn't hit Morn hard enough to stun her. Even though she was already lost, already doomed, she recovered in time to see his blue eyes glaze over as if he were about to faint. Beads of his blood struck her face like little wounds.

The sight of his mangled hand and the shattered box made hysteria bubble and froth inside her: as extreme as lava; as corrosive as acid.

Vector must have thought he was saving her life-repaying his debt to her by freeing her from external coercion. Nick couldn't replace her black box. He didn't know its transmission frequencies, its hardwired codes.

But Angus did. He could make another zone implant control for her whenever he wanted.

DAVIES.

Muzzy-headed with pain and cold fury, Davies hissed an obscenity when Mikka pulled him up from the edge of the table. It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd been able to float weightless, but he was still belted to the galley stool. Mikka's effort to raise him set the bones of his upper arm grinding against each other like the teeth of a saw; sent long knives of hurt probing between his ribs.

A spasm raked his face like claws. Locking his teeth together so that the pain wouldn't surge up from his chest and choke him, he snarled again, "s.h.i.t!"

Mikka released him slowly, letting him do what he could to hold himself. From what seemed like a great distance, she asked, "How bad is it?"

He closed his eyes to help him concentrate. Through the dark he tried to measure the severity of the damage. Then he muttered, "Sonofab.i.t.c.h broke my arm. And some ribs." As he spoke, he identified another hurt. "Feels like he split my skull."

"You're not alone," she retorted harshly. "Unfortunately I can't help you. We've been ordered to the bridge."

Ordered. To the bridge. Davies tried to make sense of the words and found he couldn't. He was distracted: pain and a hot, primal desire to strike at least one killing blow interrupted his attention. And the smell- Vomit.

The reek seemed so close to his face that he thought he might have done it himself.

When he opened his eyes again, his vision labored in and out of focus as if it couldn't support the pressure of his heartbeat. After a moment, however, he succeeded at clearing his sight.

Across from him, Sib Mackern sprawled facedown on the table. His posture looked unnatural for zero-g: ordinary muscular contraction would have caused him to float against the attachment of his belt. Apparently he was stuck in a puddle of his own puke. Viscid bile and lumps of food smeared his face and the tabletop: fine, rank beads seemed to orbit above him like constellations.

He was breathing, but he wasn't conscious.