Read Online The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order by Stephen R. Donaldson - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
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words, events weren’t moving as the Amnion wanted — or predicted. The
understandings which they’d shared with her prior to the arrival of the shuttle’s
passengers were inaccurate.
And Trumpet was behaving no more predictably than Captain’s Fancy .
Such
things forewarned Sorus before Milos Taverner told her what he knew of the
danger. By the time Calm Horizons ordered her to the warship’s support
against Trumpet , she’d already rigged her ship for battle or collision,
and had begun putting distance between herself and Thanatos Minor.
Her
preparations and those extra k proved critical. When Thanatos Minor exploded, Soar had every gun trained, not on Trumpet , but on the dark rock; had
every force screen and mass deflector on that side at full power. And Sorus had
reoriented her ship to present the stone barrage with the smallest possible
profile.
Soar endured the mad, hurtling onslaught of debris by
blasting stone to powder before it hit; by deflecting some impacts and
absorbing others. The shock wave tossed her toward oblivion as if she’d
received a direct hit from Calm Horizons’ super-light proton cannon; but
then the concussion ran on past her, leaving her battered and reeling, but
whole.
And Calm
Horizons survived in much the same way. The warship’s profile was larger,
of course. On the other hand, she was considerably farther from the centre of
the blast. And her guns — not to mention her targ — were superior to Soar’s :
able to destroy more of the careening rock before it hit.
After
the explosion, Thanatos Minor was gone.
Only two
ships remained — the two which had received Milos Taverner’s warning. Every
other vessel in this quadrant of space had been torn apart and scattered along
the subatomic winds of the dark. Soar’s receivers could pick up the
blind fallout of the blast, the enharmonic squalling of the debris, the
thunderous distortion of the aftershock, but no voices.
Sorus
clutched at the arms of her g-seat, fighting acceleration stress and nausea.
The wave front had flung her against her restraints as easily as if she were an
empty shipsuit: she felt like she’d been hit with a stun-prod. She wasn’t young
anymore, couldn’t suffer this kind of abuse without paying for it. The clamour
of shouts and the yowl of klaxons across the bridge told her that she was still
alive, that her ship was still alive — but not for how long.
A blast
like that could have broken Soar’s back, or torn the ship’s core open to
hard vacuum; could have snapped conduits like twigs, cracked drive housings,
crumpled vanes and antennae, ruptured fuel cells —
The
displays in front of her had gone crazy or blind; g pulled at her stomach,
partly because of the blast, partly because she’d shut down internal spin to
improve Soar’s manoeuvrability. Despite the racket of pain in her head,
the pressure like haemorrhage in her lungs, she hauled herself upright by main
strength and struggled to clear her vision.
“Damage
report!” she barked through the clamour. “Ship’s status!”
Her
command seemed to open a space for itself through the noise and confusion. “We’ve
been hit!” her data first shouted back, “three times, no, four!” giving her
information as fast as it came to his readouts. “Deflectors and screens couldn’t
hold.
“One
hit along the prow, glancing blow, no penetration, no structural damage. One
five-meter dent in the outer hull amidships, leaks at the seams, automatic
systems have it under control,” pumping plexulose plasma sealant into the gap
between the hulls. “One took out a midship deflector vane.”
“Captain!”
called the communications first. “ Calm Horizons wants —”
Sorus
cut off the interruption with a slash of her hand. She didn’t want to hear
anything else until she knew the condition of her ship.
The
data first hadn’t stopped.” — must be why the last one hit so hard. Breached a
cargo bay. Interior bulkheads show green, no
understandings which they’d shared with her prior to the arrival of the shuttle’s
passengers were inaccurate.
And Trumpet was behaving no more predictably than Captain’s Fancy .
Such
things forewarned Sorus before Milos Taverner told her what he knew of the
danger. By the time Calm Horizons ordered her to the warship’s support
against Trumpet , she’d already rigged her ship for battle or collision,
and had begun putting distance between herself and Thanatos Minor.
Her
preparations and those extra k proved critical. When Thanatos Minor exploded, Soar had every gun trained, not on Trumpet , but on the dark rock; had
every force screen and mass deflector on that side at full power. And Sorus had
reoriented her ship to present the stone barrage with the smallest possible
profile.
Soar endured the mad, hurtling onslaught of debris by
blasting stone to powder before it hit; by deflecting some impacts and
absorbing others. The shock wave tossed her toward oblivion as if she’d
received a direct hit from Calm Horizons’ super-light proton cannon; but
then the concussion ran on past her, leaving her battered and reeling, but
whole.
And Calm
Horizons survived in much the same way. The warship’s profile was larger,
of course. On the other hand, she was considerably farther from the centre of
the blast. And her guns — not to mention her targ — were superior to Soar’s :
able to destroy more of the careening rock before it hit.
After
the explosion, Thanatos Minor was gone.
Only two
ships remained — the two which had received Milos Taverner’s warning. Every
other vessel in this quadrant of space had been torn apart and scattered along
the subatomic winds of the dark. Soar’s receivers could pick up the
blind fallout of the blast, the enharmonic squalling of the debris, the
thunderous distortion of the aftershock, but no voices.
Sorus
clutched at the arms of her g-seat, fighting acceleration stress and nausea.
The wave front had flung her against her restraints as easily as if she were an
empty shipsuit: she felt like she’d been hit with a stun-prod. She wasn’t young
anymore, couldn’t suffer this kind of abuse without paying for it. The clamour
of shouts and the yowl of klaxons across the bridge told her that she was still
alive, that her ship was still alive — but not for how long.
A blast
like that could have broken Soar’s back, or torn the ship’s core open to
hard vacuum; could have snapped conduits like twigs, cracked drive housings,
crumpled vanes and antennae, ruptured fuel cells —
The
displays in front of her had gone crazy or blind; g pulled at her stomach,
partly because of the blast, partly because she’d shut down internal spin to
improve Soar’s manoeuvrability. Despite the racket of pain in her head,
the pressure like haemorrhage in her lungs, she hauled herself upright by main
strength and struggled to clear her vision.
“Damage
report!” she barked through the clamour. “Ship’s status!”
Her
command seemed to open a space for itself through the noise and confusion. “We’ve
been hit!” her data first shouted back, “three times, no, four!” giving her
information as fast as it came to his readouts. “Deflectors and screens couldn’t
hold.
“One
hit along the prow, glancing blow, no penetration, no structural damage. One
five-meter dent in the outer hull amidships, leaks at the seams, automatic
systems have it under control,” pumping plexulose plasma sealant into the gap
between the hulls. “One took out a midship deflector vane.”
“Captain!”
called the communications first. “ Calm Horizons wants —”
Sorus
cut off the interruption with a slash of her hand. She didn’t want to hear
anything else until she knew the condition of her ship.
The
data first hadn’t stopped.” — must be why the last one hit so hard. Breached a
cargo bay. Interior bulkheads show green, no
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