Read Online A Dark and Hungry God Arises by Stephen R. Donaldson - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Hyland; Morn (Fictitious character), Thermopyle; Angus (Fictitious character), Succorso; Nick (Fictitious character), Hyland; Morn (Fictitious character) - Fiction, Succorso; Nick (Fictitious character) - Fiction, Thermopyle; Angus (Fictitious character) - Fiction, Taverner; Milos (Fictitious character), Taverner; Milos (Fictitious character) - Fiction
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'
'That's easy. We've got traffic data. ' As a precaution against accidents, Operations transmitted information on all ships and movements in Billingate's control space.
Arkenhill hit keys, consulted his readouts. 'She calls herself Soar. Captain Sorus Chatelaine. Port of registry, Terminus. '
'She's a ways from home, ' Mikka observed dryly. Terminus was farther from forbidden space than any other human station - at least a hundred light-years farther than Earth.
Nick turned to Sib Mackern. What does data say about her?'
Sweat and lack of sleep made Mackern's pale mustache stand out and his eyes recede. His hands faltered as he worked his board. After a moment he reported, 'Nothing, Nick. We've never heard of her before. '
Involuntarily Nick's fingers curled into fists. Sib sounded like a weakling - and Nick despised weaklings.
He had to stifle an impulse to hit the data second.
'Cross-reference it, ' he snapped. 'Name, captain, registry, id codes. Give me a real answer. '
Among illegal ships, there was often a considerable discrepancy between public and private id. Ships and captains could change their names as often as they liked.
But they couldn't change their registrations — or the id codes embedded in their datacores. Not without swap-ping out the datacores themselves.
Even that was possible, of course. But then there would be other kinds of discrepancies -
'Do it by configuration, too, ' Mikka added for him.
Try their emission signature or anything else scan picked up on them. '
Now it was his second that Nick wanted to hit. Not because she was wrong, but because she helped him when he shouldn't have needed it; because he did need it. His brain wasn't working, and he hated that more than he despised weaklings.
Morn, you goddamn bitch, what have you done to me?
Who betrayed me for you? Who let you out?
'Here it comes, ' Scorz put in abruptly. 'Final approach and docking instructions. '
Nick held his breath while the communications second relayed the details to command and helm.
She was being treated like a visitor. A ship without cargo. A fugitive. An illegal in search of recreation. Or a dealer in information.
Certainly not as a ship that needed - and could pay for - massive work on her gap drive.
Cursing explosively, Nick strode to Scorz' station.
'Give me a channel!'
Scorz tightened the receiver in his ear, tapped keys.
Almost immediately he said, 'Stand by for Captain Succorso, ' and leaned away from his pickup to give Nick room.
'Operations!' Nick snapped, 'this is Captain Succorso.
Who's garbling your reception? Didn't you hear me say I need repair? Didn't you get my credit confirmation? I want a berth in the shipyard!'
'Captain Succorso. ' The reply which came over bridge audio was laconic; insufferably unconcerned. 'Our reception isn't garbled. And we aren't deaf. We just don't like ships that come in chased by angry Amnion. You're lucky we're letting you dock at all. But the Bill wants to talk to you. ' A pause. 'He wants to confirm your credit in person. '
All at once Nick's dread became as heavy as a blow to the stomach. For a second or two he felt that he couldn't breathe; that his voice would crack like a kid's if he tried to talk.
He couldn't wait for the shock to pass, however. Half-coughing, he rasped, 'Make sense, Operations. This is a goddamn credit-jack, ' coded to be read by a computer,
'not a physical transfer. He won't learn anything by looking at it.
'I need repairs. I can pay for them. Dock me in the shipyard!'
Operations forced him to wait for an answer. When it came, the voice from the speakers seemed to be laughing secretly.
'Apparently that credit-jack has been revoked. '
'You sonofabitch!' Nick hunched over the pickup, trying to drive his anger into the face of the man he couldn't see. 'It can't be revoked. It's money! You can't revoke money?
The radio voice permitted itself an audible chuckle.
Try telling that to the Amnion warship behind you. '
With a
'That's easy. We've got traffic data. ' As a precaution against accidents, Operations transmitted information on all ships and movements in Billingate's control space.
Arkenhill hit keys, consulted his readouts. 'She calls herself Soar. Captain Sorus Chatelaine. Port of registry, Terminus. '
'She's a ways from home, ' Mikka observed dryly. Terminus was farther from forbidden space than any other human station - at least a hundred light-years farther than Earth.
Nick turned to Sib Mackern. What does data say about her?'
Sweat and lack of sleep made Mackern's pale mustache stand out and his eyes recede. His hands faltered as he worked his board. After a moment he reported, 'Nothing, Nick. We've never heard of her before. '
Involuntarily Nick's fingers curled into fists. Sib sounded like a weakling - and Nick despised weaklings.
He had to stifle an impulse to hit the data second.
'Cross-reference it, ' he snapped. 'Name, captain, registry, id codes. Give me a real answer. '
Among illegal ships, there was often a considerable discrepancy between public and private id. Ships and captains could change their names as often as they liked.
But they couldn't change their registrations — or the id codes embedded in their datacores. Not without swap-ping out the datacores themselves.
Even that was possible, of course. But then there would be other kinds of discrepancies -
'Do it by configuration, too, ' Mikka added for him.
Try their emission signature or anything else scan picked up on them. '
Now it was his second that Nick wanted to hit. Not because she was wrong, but because she helped him when he shouldn't have needed it; because he did need it. His brain wasn't working, and he hated that more than he despised weaklings.
Morn, you goddamn bitch, what have you done to me?
Who betrayed me for you? Who let you out?
'Here it comes, ' Scorz put in abruptly. 'Final approach and docking instructions. '
Nick held his breath while the communications second relayed the details to command and helm.
She was being treated like a visitor. A ship without cargo. A fugitive. An illegal in search of recreation. Or a dealer in information.
Certainly not as a ship that needed - and could pay for - massive work on her gap drive.
Cursing explosively, Nick strode to Scorz' station.
'Give me a channel!'
Scorz tightened the receiver in his ear, tapped keys.
Almost immediately he said, 'Stand by for Captain Succorso, ' and leaned away from his pickup to give Nick room.
'Operations!' Nick snapped, 'this is Captain Succorso.
Who's garbling your reception? Didn't you hear me say I need repair? Didn't you get my credit confirmation? I want a berth in the shipyard!'
'Captain Succorso. ' The reply which came over bridge audio was laconic; insufferably unconcerned. 'Our reception isn't garbled. And we aren't deaf. We just don't like ships that come in chased by angry Amnion. You're lucky we're letting you dock at all. But the Bill wants to talk to you. ' A pause. 'He wants to confirm your credit in person. '
All at once Nick's dread became as heavy as a blow to the stomach. For a second or two he felt that he couldn't breathe; that his voice would crack like a kid's if he tried to talk.
He couldn't wait for the shock to pass, however. Half-coughing, he rasped, 'Make sense, Operations. This is a goddamn credit-jack, ' coded to be read by a computer,
'not a physical transfer. He won't learn anything by looking at it.
'I need repairs. I can pay for them. Dock me in the shipyard!'
Operations forced him to wait for an answer. When it came, the voice from the speakers seemed to be laughing secretly.
'Apparently that credit-jack has been revoked. '
'You sonofabitch!' Nick hunched over the pickup, trying to drive his anger into the face of the man he couldn't see. 'It can't be revoked. It's money! You can't revoke money?
The radio voice permitted itself an audible chuckle.
Try telling that to the Amnion warship behind you. '
With a
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