Sudden sweat streaked his cheeks. His heart labored as if he were fighting for his life. That was Morn's Morn's smell; smell; her her ordeal, not his: it was ordeal, not his: it was her her memory. Her nightmare- memory. Her nightmare- When he lost the distinction, let himself forget who he was, he became as mad as she'd been then.

Oh, Morn.

No doubt he ought to be crazy. Nevertheless while he could still tell what sanity was, he clung to it. Morn needed him; that came first. Later he would try to get rid of the stink in other ways.

Grim with determination, he drew her weightless body into the san. His stomach twisted as he pulled off her shipsuit and propped her in the cubicle. At least she would be spared this one memory: she was still asleep. He set the jets to produce a fine mist which wouldn't drown her. While the water ran, he disposed of her soiled shipsuit, then hunted for a clean one that might fit her.

More jolts knocked him from side to side as Trumpet Trumpet dodged. Each one hit like a stun-prod of alarm: he feared its effect on Morn. But they weren't hard enough to hurt him. They probably weren't hard enough to trigger her gap-sickness. dodged. Each one hit like a stun-prod of alarm: he feared its effect on Morn. But they weren't hard enough to hurt him. They probably weren't hard enough to trigger her gap-sickness.

When he went back to check on her, he heard her coughing in the mist. She sounded conscious.

He raised his voice so that she could hear him. "I'm right here. Nick hasn't said anything yet, and I guess the others are still in their cabins, but I know we're in the swarm. I a.s.sume we're going to reach the Lab soon. I couldn't stand to give you any more cat, so I decided to take the risk of waking you up."

After a thin spasm of coughing, she murmured, "Thanks."

She was awake. And sane. A sudden rush of relief left him light-headed and vulnerable; close to tears. No gap-sickness: not this time. Until that moment he hadn't realized the extent of his fear. As far as he could remember, Morn had never tried controlling her mad certainty with cat. He hadn't known it would work.

Shaking, he left the san and closed the door.

While he waited for her to finish, he did more zero-g pushups, working his body until the alien fabric of his shipsuit chafed his skin and he began to sweat so hard that he needed another shower; working the dread out of his muscles.

She emerged clean and dry; but too many hours of enforced sleep had done nothing to improve her appearance. She looked pale and thin, almost emaciated, as if she hadn't eaten for days. Lingering cat dulled her gaze. Despite the absence of g, her movements seemed frail, confused. It was hard to believe she was the same woman who'd insisted, Don't fight. Don't refuse. Stay alive-don't give him an excuse to kill you. Don't fight. Don't refuse. Stay alive-don't give him an excuse to kill you.

There's a lie here. Somebody's lying. We need to stay alive until we find out what it is.

But Angus hadn't told Nick how to make another control for her zone implant. That memory belonged to Davies; he trusted it. He remembered it while he looked at her so that her weakness wouldn't fill him with fresh panic.

She didn't meet his gaze. Maybe she couldn't focus her eyes. "Now what?" she asked wanly.

He shrugged. Droplets of sweat detached themselves from his face and became perfect globes. They caught the light like gla.s.s beads as they floated toward the scrubbers. "I guess we wait." Wait for Trumpet Trumpet to reach the Lab. Wait for Vector to attempt his a.n.a.lysis of the mutagen immunity drug. Wait for Nick to make a mistake. Or for Min Dormer to perform some inconceivable intervention. "I don't have any better ideas." to reach the Lab. Wait for Vector to attempt his a.n.a.lysis of the mutagen immunity drug. Wait for Nick to make a mistake. Or for Min Dormer to perform some inconceivable intervention. "I don't have any better ideas."

She shook her head. She didn't either.

Trumpet remained relatively motionless for what seemed like a long time, then started moving again. Now every shift of course and nudge of thrust was gentle, cautious: the ship slid forward as if she were picking her way through a mine field. Davies fought an impulse to watch the chronometer. Instead he tried to guess by sheer intuition what remained relatively motionless for what seemed like a long time, then started moving again. Now every shift of course and nudge of thrust was gentle, cautious: the ship slid forward as if she were picking her way through a mine field. Davies fought an impulse to watch the chronometer. Instead he tried to guess by sheer intuition what Trumpet Trumpet was doing. was doing.

She'd stopped so that Nick could talk to the Lab, get permission to approach. Now she was moving in. Slowly, so the Lab wouldn't see her as a threat. So the Lab's guns wouldn't open fire on her. She must be close to her destination. If the matter cannon emplacements were too far out, rock and static would make accurate targ impossible. Scan installations might be anywhere in the swarm, reporting their data along long chains of remote transmitters, but the guns would be nearer the Lab.

OK: a.s.sume that made sense. How much longer? An hour? More? Less? Deliberately he avoided the chronometer. Because he needed movement, any kind of movement, he began doing push-ups again. Gradually, without noticing it, he increased his pace. Up. Down. The directions were meaningless, of course-simply a frame of reference. Up down. Nevertheless the action of his body generated its own g; its own significance. Updown.

"Waiting is hard enough," Morn murmured distantly. "You're wearing me out. Why do you do that?"

He stopped himself on the edge of his bunk. Breathing hard-but steadily, as if he could have gone on for hours-he said, "I don't like sitting still. I don't even like rest. It scares me."

As her last dose of cat wore off, some measure of elasticity had returned to her muscles, especially in her face. Her expression had slowly become more alert, less exposed. She tried to smile, with limited success. "How did I get a son like you? I feel just the opposite. I think I could rest"-she shrugged, grimaced-"practically forever. It's movement that scares me. I'm afraid of what happens next."

Then she added wryly, "I guess I'm turning into a coward in my old age. Considering the fact that I'm almost as young as you are, that isn't easy to do. I'm probably going to set some kind of record."

But Davies was in no mood for jokes. "Considering the fact," he retorted harshly, "that you've already been through a lifetime of h.e.l.l, you've earned the right to be afraid. It's about time some of the rest of us started helping you. But you're too far ahead of us. We can't catch up." Sib's attempt to guard Nick had been a debacle. Neither Mikka nor Davies himself had been able to handle Angus. "For some reason, you're always the one who helps us."

Morn frowned. "I'm sure you're right," she countered. "I distinctly remember rescuing myself from the Amnion."

"That was Angus and Nick," Davies protested. Mikka and Sib. And Captain's Fancy. Captain's Fancy. "All I did was stand guard." "All I did was stand guard."

Suddenly Morn was angry. "All you did," "All you did," she snapped back, "was stay sane when you should have gone completely crazy. she snapped back, "was stay sane when you should have gone completely crazy. All you did All you did was scare the Bill so much that he couldn't just hand you over to Nick or the Amnion. was scare the Bill so much that he couldn't just hand you over to Nick or the Amnion. All you did All you did was keep Nick from tricking Angus. How many of us would still be alive if you hadn't done that? And since then you haven't done anything except take care of me. was keep Nick from tricking Angus. How many of us would still be alive if you hadn't done that? And since then you haven't done anything except take care of me.

"Don't tell me you aren't helping. I can't stand it-I need you too much." tell me you aren't helping. I can't stand it-I need you too much."

Davies felt a rush of chagrin he couldn't stifle. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I'm just"-shame and ineffectuality affected him like rage-"just lost. I don't know who I am, or what I'm doing. You saved me twice when Nick tried to give me to the Amnion." Once on Enablement. Once in the ejection pod. "When you call yourself a coward, it sounds like you're telling me there's nothing left I can count on."

Morn took a deep breath, let it out in a long sigh. "I know. I don't mean to be so touchy. All this waiting-" She pushed her hands through her hair, pulling herself back under control. "It wears on me. It goes on and on, and I don't know what I'm still trying to hope for. Sometimes I can feel myself crumbling."

He knew that feeling-or one just like it. Gritting his teeth, he clung to the edge of the bunk so that the restless pressure inside him wouldn't take over.

He and Morn went on waiting.

They knew it when Trumpet Trumpet came into her berth. The hull sounds of approach and dock were unmistakable. First came the steadily more gentle pressure of braking thrust, the slim fire of att.i.tudinal jets: then the clangor of metal, amplified by constricted s.p.a.ce, as the ship met the berth guides and slid along them: then the slap and groan of grapples, the final settling. And after that came the insertion of air hoses and communications lines, power cables and waste pumps-each with its characteristic hiss or thud or click, its telltale echo. came into her berth. The hull sounds of approach and dock were unmistakable. First came the steadily more gentle pressure of braking thrust, the slim fire of att.i.tudinal jets: then the clangor of metal, amplified by constricted s.p.a.ce, as the ship met the berth guides and slid along them: then the slap and groan of grapples, the final settling. And after that came the insertion of air hoses and communications lines, power cables and waste pumps-each with its characteristic hiss or thud or click, its telltale echo.

Gradually the distant, visceral whine of Trumpet's Trumpet's drives subsided. She was at rest. drives subsided. She was at rest.

The apprehension coiling around Davies' spine pulled itself another notch tighter. Morn's fingers clenched and unclenched as she combed them through her hair: she might have been resisting an impulse to yank strands out by the fistful.

Abruptly the intercom crackled.

"All right, a.s.sholes," Nick announced cheerfully. "On the bridge. Right away would be good. Right now would be better. It's time for orders."

Immediately Morn bobbed up from her bunk as if she couldn't afford to hesitate; as if she knew that once she hesitated she would lose her capacity for movement altogether. But the sight of her stricken gaze and her pallor wrung Davies' heart. He caught her by the shoulder, turned her in the air to face him.

"I can tell him you're still asleep. He'll have to believe me-he doesn't know how much cat I gave you. You can probably stay in here as long as you want."

I can protect you that much.

She shook her head. "That would mean more waiting. I want to do something. Anything." A rueful smile shaped her mouth for a moment. "I guess I'm more like you than I thought."

He couldn't think of a response. His own need for activity left no room for argument. In any case he wasn't sure which one of them was protecting the other.

With his courage clenched in both hands, he pushed off toward the door.

He felt a downward drag as he moved-the light g of the asteroid, perhaps marginally augmented by gravitic fields from some of Deaner Beckmann's experimental equipment. By the time he'd reached the door and keyed it open, his boots touched the deck.

Perfect. Just enough weight to confuse his zero-g training; not enough to let him move normally.

Fear spiked along his pulse as he floated in a flat arc toward the head of the companionway.

He was the first to arrive: only Nick and Angus were on the bridge. When he started down the treads, Nick flashed him a feral grin, full of black scars and threats; but Angus sat motionless-shoulders hunched, head bowed-as if he'd fallen asleep at his board.

Then Morn reached the companionway behind Davies.

Nick's grin stretched wider. "You're sane again," he observed harshly. "I don't know whether to regret that or enjoy it."

"Enjoy it." Morn's tone was quiet and steady: she spoke from some distant place where Nick's malice didn't reach her. "You can't hurt me when I'm out of my mind."

Despite her plain weakness, her obvious vulnerability, she followed her son downward.

She may have been trying to defy Nick; but he didn't react to it. He was on fire with a strange, personal ecstasy. The pa.s.sion that heated his gaze and darkened his scars gave the impression that he'd achieved a state of exaltation in which he, too, couldn't be reached.

Something had happened-something as acute and fatal as Punisher's Punisher's transmission. transmission.

"You underestimate me," he retorted. "But at the moment I don't give a s.h.i.t. While you've been sleeping your d.a.m.n brains out, the game has suddenly gotten a whole lot bigger."

"Why?" Davies and Morn asked simultaneously. "What do you mean?" she pursued. "What's going on?" he added.

"Good." Nick nodded in satisfaction. "I like that. You two are so f.u.c.king identical, you might as well be twins. Maybe if you make a special effort to keep me happy, I'll let you entertain Beckmann and his collection of tech bozos by reading each other's minds."

"Fine," Mikka said from the head of companionway. "Morn and Davies are in charge of entertainment. Where does that leave the rest of us?"

She stood with Sib and Ciro on either side of her as if she needed their support. Sickbay had patched and bandaged her forehead: no doubt it had given her transfusions as well, pumped her full of drugs. Nevertheless the damage to her skull required more time to heal. She looked wan and uncharacteristically fragile, as if she'd broken more bones than sickbay could treat.

Behind her Vector moved stiffly, awkwardly: apparently his joints hurt even in this low g. Bandages made his cut hand thick and imprecise, like the head of a mallet, but he still had the use of his fingers. If he needed them. He was probably capable of operating the Lab's equipment with one hand.

Sib and Ciro were in better shape physically. Short of neural breakdown, the aftereffects of stun didn't linger. But Sib's cheeks were hollow, and his eyes had sunk in his head; he looked like he was being eaten alive by his fears and failures. And Ciro appeared to suffer from a kind of emotional nausea. Perhaps he felt sickened by the fact that he'd let Nick take his stun-prod away from him.

"It leaves you with me," Nick answered. His tone was like a ghoul's mimicry of his former ominous casualness. "I'm going to take Vector to meet Beckmann and use his facilities. You're coming along.

"Let me tell you something about that, just in case you're still groggy enough be stupid. You're going to take orders. You will f.u.c.king do do what I f.u.c.king what I f.u.c.king tell tell you." you."

He hit keys to clear his board, then unbelted himself from his g-seat and stood up, at least in part so that everyone else could see the impact pistol clipped at his waist. At some point during the past several hours, he must have paid a visit to the weapons locker.

"Never mind the fact that I'll shoot you if you don't. f.u.c.king heroes like you probably don't care. No, you're going to take orders because you can imagine what I'll make Angus do to Morn if you don't.

"Is that clear enough so far?"

Mikka and her companions hadn't moved from the top of the companionway. Her bandages seemed to twist her frown into an act of brutality. "I take it that means Angus and Morn aren't going with us. What about Davies?"

Nick shook his head. "He's staying behind, too. To tell you the truth"-his expression might have looked impish if his scars hadn't been so dark-"Center doesn't know they're aboard. I left them off the manifest. As far as Beckmann and his guards are concerned, there's only the five of us. Which means Angus here can give us all the cover we need while we're off the ship."

He turned toward his second. "You listening, a.s.shole?"

Angus' voice was confined in his chest, caught by conflicting pressures. "I'm listening."

He didn't lift his head or look around.

"Good," Nick rasped. He spoke to Angus as if none of the other people on the bridge existed. "Listen hard, because I'm not going to put up with any bulls.h.i.t.

"The five of us are leaving. We probably won't be back until Vector gets somewhere with that drug. Depends on how good he is. Right now he probably thinks he'll gain something by being slow. But after he's considered the situation, he'll realize that the longer he takes, the more people are going to get hurt.

"Until then"-Nick drifted a step or two closer to the second's station-"you'll cover us." Leaning forward, he demanded, "Are you listening? " "Are you listening? "

Davies held his breath. Angus must be Nick's weak point, the place where his plans could go wrong. If his control over Angus failed while he wasn't here to enforce it, he wouldn't have a ship to return to.

Angus still didn't look up. "I'm listening."

"You d.a.m.n well better," Nick shot back. Saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth like froth, but he appeared unaware of it. "I'll tear your heart out-and you know I can do it."

Angus didn't retort or protest; he hardly seemed to be alive. His nod was like the shudder of a broken machine.

But that was enough for Nick.

"Monitor every communications and scan channel you can tap," he ordered, "watch for trouble. If you see or hear anything that sounds like we've got problems, charge the matter cannon and start making threats. This ship has enough power to gut the whole installation from here. That's something Beckmann will listen to. His research is too precious-he won't risk it."

To himself, Davies admitted that Nick was right. Deaner Beckmann had made a serious mistake when he'd let Nick get this close to him.

Now Nick turned his baleful grin on Davies and Morn, although he continued speaking to Angus.

"In the meantime"-fires laughed in his hot gaze-"the Hyland twins are yours."

Davies thought he could feel his heart stop. He heard Sib choke in shock and chagrin, heard Mikka breathe a low curse; but those sounds meant nothing to him. For an instant the bridge constricted around him, shrank to darkness. In the void helpless memories beat about his head like black wings: Angus with the zone implant control; Angus c.o.c.king his fists; Angus erect past the seams of his shipsuit, charged with violence- He jerked a glance at Morn, saw the thin blood drain from her face. She held herself still, poised, as if she could bear anything; but the sudden pallor of her cheeks and the white rim of panic around her irises betrayed her fear.

Nick clapped sarcastic applause. Then he told Angus, "If that computer in your malicious little head will let you play with them, go ahead. I don't care."

Don't care, Davies heard. Don't care.

"Just don't let them out of your sight. Don't let them touch anything."

Anything.

"Don't let them do or say or even think think anything that gives them the impression they can get out of this. anything that gives them the impression they can get out of this.

"And don't kill them," he added abruptly. "I'm not done with them.

"Is that that clear?" clear?"

"It's clear," Angus answered in a dead tone.

Angus- "Good." Nick flashed his teeth. "When I get back, you can tell me all about it."

Morn, help me. Tell me how to help you. We've got to get out of this.

Mikka still hadn't moved; her companions hadn't moved. "It's not clear to me," she put in roughly. "You expect us to take your orders because we're afraid of what Angus will do to Morn if we don't. But you just told him to do whatever he wants. What have you got left to threaten us with?"

Despite her weakness, she was trying to put pressure on Nick; force him to give Morn and Davies some protection.

Nick swung toward her, flung his voice at her like a fist. "I didn't threaten you with what he he'll think up. I threatened you with what I'll I'll think up think up for for him." him."

Mikka shrugged stiffly. "Is that worse?"

"Try me," he countered, nearly shouting. Flecks of saliva sprayed from his lips. "Try "Try me." me."

Mikka faced him without flinching; but she didn't answer. Maybe she couldn't.