Sick-out. Stung by alarm and indignation, Min stilled herself; became as poised and motionless as her handgun. Not an epidemic: a protest. Mute, pa.s.sive resistance to her orders. Disobedience which stopped short of mutiny. But the UMCP Code of Conduct made no provision for such an action. It was called "malingering": it was a court-martial offense.

"Captain Ubikwe," she asked softly, "what kind of ship are you running?"

Dolph's mouth twisted bitterly. "As far as I can tell, it's the kind I've been told to run." Anger ached in his stained eyes. A moment later, however, he said, "She's my ship, Min. My problem. I'll deal with it. But there's something I need from you first."

Min waited like a weapon aimed at his head. Punisher Punisher had been turned aside from a much-needed leave so that she could chase a UMCP gap scout all the way to Ma.s.sif-5-and then put Nick Succorso in command. This was the result. had been turned aside from a much-needed leave so that she could chase a UMCP gap scout all the way to Ma.s.sif-5-and then put Nick Succorso in command. This was the result.

That wasn't Dolph's responsibility. It was Min's. And Warden Dios'.

"I said a couple of things have happened," Dolph went on, holding her glare. "The other may be worse." He paused to search her face, then announced, "Trumpet "Trumpet has switched off her homing signal." has switched off her homing signal."

She didn't move; didn't react. Nevertheless her hands burned as if magnesium flares had been lit in her palms. If Nick Succorso had been there in front of her, she might have started breaking his bones, one at a time.

"We didn't lose it," Dolph a.s.serted flatly. "Cla.s.s-1 homing signals are just too d.a.m.n helpful to be lost. They tell you everything you need to reacquire them. And when they're switched off, they tell you that, too.

"Trumpet," he concluded, "is trying to get away from us." he concluded, "is trying to get away from us."

Min looked back at him as if she were impervious to surprise or shock. Past a fire which only felt like pain because she couldn't act on it, she asked, "What is it you need from me?"

"I need an explanation," explanation," he broke out in sudden pa.s.sion. "I need to know he broke out in sudden pa.s.sion. "I need to know who's who's doing what to doing what to whom whom in this G.o.dd.a.m.n farrago." But an instant later he stopped himself. "No, forget it. That was uncalled for. If you knew, you would have told me already." in this G.o.dd.a.m.n farrago." But an instant later he stopped himself. "No, forget it. That was uncalled for. If you knew, you would have told me already."

Controlling his emotions with formality, he said, "Director Donner, I need to know what we're going to do now. How can we follow Trumpet Trumpet if we don't know where she's headed?" if we don't know where she's headed?"

In silence, Min chewed flame and obscenities.

Warden Dios, you misguided, secretive sonofab.i.t.c.h, what the do you want want from me? from me?

Of course she saw Dolph's point. To confront his crew's fear and resistance would be costly for the whole ship. If his people refused him, hardened their position, they might all end up facing courts-martial. But if they backed down under pressure, they would lose respect for themselves-and cops more than anyone else survived on the strength of their respect for themselves. Why should Dolph try to persuade or intimidate his people back to work, if Punisher Punisher no longer had anything to do? no longer had anything to do?

So what were Min's choices?

Give up? Head home? Forget that she, too, needed self-respect? That questions which affected all human s.p.a.ce rode with Angus, Nick, and Morn aboard the gap scout?

Or search for Trumpet's Trumpet's particle trace? Quarter the complex sarga.s.so of the system until the cruiser's entire crew came down sick in earnest from simple strain and exhaustion? particle trace? Quarter the complex sarga.s.so of the system until the cruiser's entire crew came down sick in earnest from simple strain and exhaustion?

Or call in VI Security, req help? Help which might take days to get organized?

Or give up in another way? Find a listening post, flare UMCPHQ, ask for instructions?

Or guess. Stake everything on her own judgment or intuition.

Slowly, choosing her words with care, she answered, "I said they might go looking for a lab. Let's a.s.sume I'm right. How many bootleg research facilities are there in this system?"

Punisher had left her tour of duty around Ma.s.sif-5 only a few days ago. Dolph Ubikwe had everything he'd ever known about the system at his fingertips. had left her tour of duty around Ma.s.sif-5 only a few days ago. Dolph Ubikwe had everything he'd ever known about the system at his fingertips.

"Six. That we're aware of."

Six? s.h.i.t. Min wrapped a hand around the b.u.t.t of her gun to cool the fire in her palm. Ma.s.sif-5 was heaven for illegals. "How many of those could Trumpet Trumpet reach on the general heading of her last signal?" reach on the general heading of her last signal?"

Dolph gazed at her without blinking. "Two."

"Just two? That helps." She chewed her options for a moment, then asked, "Which of them is equipped to study drugs and mutagens? Which is likely to recognize Vector Shaheed's reputation and let him work there?"

Nothing moved in Dolph's face. He might have given up breathing as well as blinking. "Deaner Beckmann's."

Then he added, warning her, "But it's murder to get to. A gap scout-any small ship-can maneuver in there a h.e.l.l of a lot better than we can."

As if she were saying, I don't give a d.a.m.n, Min announced, "That's where we're going." She glanced at Foster's back, c.o.c.ked an eyebrow toward the corridor full of hammocks. "Unless you have a better idea."

Snorting softly, Dolph lowered his head. "s.h.i.t, Min, all all my ideas are better than that. But if I were in your place, I might make the same decision. At least I hope I would." Memories of Ma.s.sif-5 and damage seemed to weigh on his shoulders. Slowly at first, then faster and harder, he scrubbed his hands on his thighs. He might have been trying to generate courage by sheer friction. my ideas are better than that. But if I were in your place, I might make the same decision. At least I hope I would." Memories of Ma.s.sif-5 and damage seemed to weigh on his shoulders. Slowly at first, then faster and harder, he scrubbed his hands on his thighs. He might have been trying to generate courage by sheer friction.

Then he slapped his knees and looked up at her again. He'd reached a decision of his own. "In the meantime," he drawled, "it would help if you happened to consider this an appropriate occasion to yell at me."

He surprised her. Angrily she snapped, "Say what?"

"Chew me out," he explained. "Give me a dressing-down." Hard humor pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Blame me for this sudden outbreak of SAD. Say whatever you want, just so long as you mean most of it. And you're loud about it." When she went on staring at him as if he'd lost his mind, he grimaced. "I want them to hear you outside.

"You can do that, can't you?" Sarcasm gave his voice a taunting edge. "You've been wanting to tear into me ever since you came aboard. As far as I can tell, the only real secret of command is being able to pick your occasions to get mad. So get mad at me now. Be in command."

He met her glare of consternation with a sardonic smile, as if he'd tricked her somehow.

She wanted to retort, Chew yourself out, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You're a big boy now-you can supply your own abuse. But the humor behind his provocative smile told her that she'd missed the point. He thought he had something to gain if his sick-out crew heard her-a phrase popular in the Academy-"stripping the paint off his hull."

Maybe he knew what he was doing.

So she took a deep breath, held it for a moment while she tapped the depths of her old outrage. Then she spent the next three minutes doing her best to burn blisters into Dolph Ubikwe's fat cheeks.

When she finished, Foster was staring at her with his mouth open. Mute laughter shook Dolph's shoulders.

"Now you tell me," she rasped, keeping her voice low. "Why is that funny?"

He shook his head. "Wait. You'll see."

Lugubriously, pretending that even in zero g his bulk was difficult to move, he undipped his belt and drifted off his stool. Wearing a look of exaggerated pathos, he palmed open the doors. As he floated out of sickbay, however, his expression resumed its earlier fatigue and concern.

Min followed him far enough to hold the palm-plate so that the doors stayed open.

Out among the g-hammocks, he paused briefly as if he were surveying a battlefield. Then, apparently at random, he selected one and bobbed toward it. Curling his fingers in the mesh, he frowned sadly at its occupant. "How're you doing, Baldridge?" He could have read the man's id patch, but Min was sure that he knew all his people by name. "You must feel like h.e.l.l."

"Aye, sir," Baldridge answered thinly.

"What's going on? What's happening to you?"

The hammock shifted as if Baldridge were squirming. "Don't know, sir. I was working my board like always, just sitting there, and my eyes went spotty. Couldn't see the readouts. Then I started puking. Spots were so d.a.m.n big, I couldn't help trying to heave them up. My duty officer had to bring me here."

"Sounds miserable," Dolph rumbled sympathetically. "They're going to have to make the sickbays on these tubs bigger. You shouldn't have to hang out here in a d.a.m.n hammock."

"Aye, sir." The uncertainty in Baldridge's tone was plain.

Again without any obvious reason for his selection, Dolph approached another invalid. This time a woman answered him. He asked her the same questions in different words: she gave him her version of the answers. He patted her head through the mesh as if he wanted to comfort her, then moved to a third hammock.

Glancing aside, Min saw that Foster had come to watch from the doorway with her. He seemed full of his responsibility for his patients: perhaps he wanted to be sure that Captain Ubikwe didn't mistreat them.

When Dolph had expressed his solicitude a third time, he stopped moving around. Instead he told the man he'd just questioned, "You know, almost the same thing happened to me once."

He spoke as if he were talking to the man personally; but now his deep voice was pitched to carry, so that everyone in the corridor could hear him.

"It wasn't on my first ship, it was the second. I mean, I wasn't still wet behind the ears. At least I didn't think so. But it happened to me anyway. Our medtech-he was a crusty old SOB who'd been through the gap a few times too many-told me I didn't just have SAD, I was f.u.c.king depressed." depressed."

A grin flashed across his face. Then he became serious again.

"Before it happened, I thought I was doing pretty good. Only my second ship, and already I'd worked myself up to targ third. On my way to the upper ranks, where they get to make their own decisions practically every day. The fact is, I thought I was hot s.h.i.t. Unfortunately that turned out to be true."

His mouth hinted at another smile, but he didn't stop.

"We hit heavy action, four illegals, one really huge hauler and three gunboat escorts, and they were trying to duck us in an asteroid belt. It wasn't my first action, or even my first heavy action, that first tour wasn't what you could politely call a cake-walk, but for some reason it scared me different than I'd ever been scared before. The hauler wasn't agile, but those gunboats could spin rings around us, especially when we were moving slow enough to survive in a belt. They were coming at me from every direction at once, I couldn't keep all those trajectories on my readouts at the same time, not to mention in my mind. And for reasons which weren't exactly clear to me, the old man-our captain wanted us to call him that, G.o.d knows why-didn't let me put targ on automatic and just blaze away. No, he wanted to pick his own targets in his own sweet time.

"For a couple of minutes there, I thought I was about to die. My hands were sweating so hard my ringers skidded off the keys. By the time I got around to firing after the old man gave me an order, there was nothing to fire at at except rocks and vacuum. He swore continuously whenever he didn't have something else to say, and I knew he was swearing at me." except rocks and vacuum. He swore continuously whenever he didn't have something else to say, and I knew he was swearing at me."

Dolph paused as if he were lost in memory, then sighed. "That's when it happened."

He fell silent; might have been finished.

In spite of herself, Min wanted him to go on. His voice or his story had a mesmerizing quality: it carried her with it. And she wasn't alone. She could see at a glance that every head in the corridor was turned toward him. Foster bit his lip while he waited as if he didn't like the suspense.

Compelled by the unexpected silence, someone offered tentatively, "Hallucinations?"

Dolph shook his head. "Worse than that." Suddenly his dark face broke into a grin like a sunrise. "I fouled my suit.

"I mean the whole whole suit." Laughter welled up in him from some core of personal amus.e.m.e.nt. "Talk about hot s.h.i.t!" He started chortling, then began to laugh as if he were telling the best joke he knew, the best joke of his life. "You would think I hadn't been to the head for a week. By the time I was done, the bridge, I mean the suit." Laughter welled up in him from some core of personal amus.e.m.e.nt. "Talk about hot s.h.i.t!" He started chortling, then began to laugh as if he were telling the best joke he knew, the best joke of his life. "You would think I hadn't been to the head for a week. By the time I was done, the bridge, I mean the entire entire bridge, stank like a backed-up waste treatment plant. Our communications third actually bridge, stank like a backed-up waste treatment plant. Our communications third actually puked puked because she couldn't stand the smell." because she couldn't stand the smell."

His mirth was infectious. Several of his people laughed with him as if they couldn't help themselves. A dozen others chuckled.

While his laughter subsided, he concluded, "Our medtech was right. I was f.u.c.king depressed for weeks." weeks."

Shaking his head, he pulled himself past the hammocks and coasted away in the direction of his quarters. As he left, his shoulders continued to quake as if he were still laughing.

Together Min and Foster drifted back into sickbay and let the doors close.

The medtech didn't look at her. Frowning like a man who wasn't sure of the propriety of what he'd just witnessed, he asked, "Is that story true, Director?"

She nodded. "Yes. His captain told me years ago. I'd forgotten all about it." A moment later she added, "But the way his captain told it, it wasn't funny."

Sounding wiser than his years, Foster murmured, "It wouldn't work if it weren't true." Then he returned to his console and monitors.

An hour later, during another brief patch of clear s.p.a.ce, Dolph chimed Min in her cabin to let her know that twenty-one of his SAD-afflicted people had released themselves from sickbay and gone back to their duties.

She still wasn't sure what it was he'd done, but obviously it'd succeeded.

"You couldn't have faked that," she informed him sternly. "You really think that old story is funny."

She wanted to ask him, How? How do you do that? But the words stuck in her throat.

"Of course," he replied through a yawn. "I wanted to give them some other way to think about how they felt. I don't mean physically. How they felt emotionally. Mentally." Almost echoing Foster, he explained, "It wouldn't work if I had to fake it."

Another yawn came across the intercom. "Forgive me, Min. I'd better take a nap while I have the chance."

Her speaker emitted a small snik as he severed the connection.

For a while as Punisher Punisher wrenched and dove through the system in the direction of Deaner Beckmann's lab, Min lay sealed in her g-sheath and tried to imagine herself laughing at Warden Dios. Or laughing with him at the way she felt about some of his recent actions. wrenched and dove through the system in the direction of Deaner Beckmann's lab, Min lay sealed in her g-sheath and tried to imagine herself laughing at Warden Dios. Or laughing with him at the way she felt about some of his recent actions.

She couldn't do it.

DAVIES.

With Morn's training as well as his own experience, Davies listened to the ship. He felt the complex pressure of the drives, gauged the various vectors of braking and maneuvering g. When Trumpet Trumpet entered the asteroid swarm which surrounded and protected the Lab, he knew the difference. entered the asteroid swarm which surrounded and protected the Lab, he knew the difference.

The change was obvious. Quick variations on a comparatively low velocity had a different effect than changes to avoid obstacles at high speed. And each course shift as Trumpet Trumpet had crossed the Ma.s.sif-5 system had been followed by a matching return to the original heading: pressure on one side; then pressure on the other. But in the swarm every g-kick of thrust belonged to an ongoing series of new trajectories as had crossed the Ma.s.sif-5 system had been followed by a matching return to the original heading: pressure on one side; then pressure on the other. But in the swarm every g-kick of thrust belonged to an ongoing series of new trajectories as Trumpet Trumpet dodged back and forth among the rocks. dodged back and forth among the rocks.

Lying paralyzed in his g-sheath and webbing tormented Davies. All his energies-mental, emotional, metabolic-burned at too high a temperature: most of the time he needed movement more than he needed rest. In addition the discomfort of his ribs and arm and head galled him. Despite his elevated recuperative resources and all the drugs sickbay had given him, his body couldn't heal fast enough to suit him.

A restlessness as severe as panic impelled him. As soon as Trumpet Trumpet broached the swarm, he risked getting off his bunk. broached the swarm, he risked getting off his bunk.

He could use his arm: his cast gave the still-fragile bones enough protection. And the more flexible acrylic around his ribs supported his chest adequately. As long as Nick didn't hit him with too much g, he could move without damaging himself.

Simply because his need was so great, he spent ten minutes pumping himself like a piston between the deck and ceiling of the cabin-the zero-g equivalent of push-ups. Then he used the san cubicle; scrubbed himself in the needle spray for a long time, trying to clean away the sensation of Angus' betrayal.

But when the vacuum drain had sucked the water away and dried his skin, he decided not to put on a clean shipsuit. He'd worn the same strange black Amnion fabric since the hour of his birth. It wasn't especially comfortable, but he needed its alienness-needed external reminders of where he'd come from, who he was. Whenever he let his defenses down, he forgot that he wasn't Morn. Sleeping, he dreamed her dreams.

Maybe that was the real reason he couldn't endure much rest.

Thrust punched his shoulder against one wall. Not hard: just enough to remind him that he should be careful. And that he had to check on Morn.

Wrapped in her webbing and sheath, she slept the flat, helpless sleep of too much cat. Repeated doses which he'd pushed between her slack lips had kept her unconscious so long that he began to wonder if she would be able to wake up. The medtechs in the Academy had enjoyed telling cautionary tales about men and women overdosed with cat who sank so far down into themselves that they never returned.

He looked at the cabin chronometer: she was due to receive another capsule-or begin waking up-in forty minutes.

After a moment he decided he couldn't wait that long. In spite of the danger, he unsealed her from her bunk and lifted her out.

At once he noticed that she'd fouled her shipsuit. n.o.body could sleep as long as she had and stay clean.

Without transition the rank, sweet smell triggered memories- This had happened to her before; happened to him. When Angus had first brought him aboard Bright Beauty Bright Beauty, Angus had strapped him down on the sickbay table to immobilize him. Fresh with horror from the destruction of Starmaster Starmaster, the slaughter of the Hyland clan, Davies or Morn had cried and wailed, screamed against the deaf walls until he'd lost his voice; lost his mind. Then Angus had shot him full of cat- -and when he'd awakened, still in the EVA suit which had brought him to Bright Beauty Bright Beauty from from Starmaster's Starmaster's wreck, this smell was everywhere, filling the sickbay, filling his head. Angus' power over him began with murder and gap-sickness; blood and the clarity of self-destruct. wreck, this smell was everywhere, filling the sickbay, filling his head. Angus' power over him began with murder and gap-sickness; blood and the clarity of self-destruct.

Asleep in her son's arms, Morn whimpered softly and turned her head aside, as if he'd disturbed her with bad dreams.

Her small sound and movement brought him back to himself.