Read Online The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order by Stephen R. Donaldson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
Ads: Link
Tell the computer what happened so it
can compensate. I want to know what’s out there.”
“Captain.”
Vestabule turned his bifurcated gaze at her, one eye human, the other Amnion. “ Calm
Horizons reports no other surviving vessels. The planetoid Thanatos Minor
no longer exists. You are in no danger. Distortion should recede to the
tolerances of your equipment in four minutes. Calm Horizons has
identified your position. Co-ordinates will be transmitted to your helm.”
Sorus
nodded sharply. The helm and communications officers hit keys to route
information between their stations.
“More
data follows when you are ready to receive it,” Vestabule added.
“Not
yet,” she told him. “I’ve got other priorities.
“Data,
give me damage assessment on that holed cargo bay. And a repair estimate for
the deflector vane.”
With
her thumb, she punched open a ship-wide intercom channel. “All hands secure for
g. I’m going to reengage internal spin. Get to sickbay if you need it. The rest
of us have work to do. Damage control says we’re still true, but I don’t trust
it. We were hit too hard. Report anything that makes you think we’ve got
displacement.”
Glaring
back at Taverner’s soft calm, Sorus thumbed off the intercom and began to run
commands on her board.
Before
she could activate internal spin, Marc Vestabule said, “Haste is required,
Captain Chatelaine.” He sounded as inexorable as an iron bar.
Pain
made her feel her years — and the pull of time made her angry. “Haste for what?”
she retorted. “Where are we going? You just told me everybody else is dead.
Gone, blown to scrap.” The thought left a cold place in the pit of her stomach.
Even the Bill was gone. He’d been as untrustworthy as any man she’d ever known,
but he’d met some of her needs and supplied others — sometimes without knowing
it. She couldn’t imagine how she would replace him. Without what he’d given
her, how would she bear her indentured servitude to the Amnion? “If we’re in no
danger, what’s the hurry?”
“Decisions
have been made,” Vestabule replied in a tone like rust. “Action must be taken. Calm
Horizons instructs acceleration along an interception course. The proximity
of vessels will facilitate preparation.”
Perhaps
he felt the urgency of events after all: as he relayed Calm Horizons’ orders, he sounded more inhuman than usual.
Sorus
faced him while apprehension throbbed in her temples and the aftereffects of
g-stress ached in her nerves. Decisions? Action? Maybe as many as ten thousand
people just died here. How much more action do you need?
“If you
want me to take this seriously,” she said through her teeth, “you’d better
explain it.”
Vestabule
appeared to consult the alien coding of his genes for a moment before he
answered, “Scan data suggests that Trumpet was not destroyed.”
Incuriously
Taverner turned his head to look at his fellow Amnioni.
Hunched
over her readouts, the scan first muttered, “I’m starting to get something. One
ship — yes, that’s Calm Horizons . Can’t be sure of anything else yet.”
Sorus
swallowed a curse. She believed Vestabule the instant he spoke: the Amnion didn’t
often make mistakes in matters of factual accuracy. But if Trumpet was
still alive somewhere, still out there with Morn and Davies Hyland, Angus
Thermopyle and Nick Succorso, aboard —
Sick
with premonitions, as if she knew what was coming, she drawled sourly, “But you
told me we’re the only ships here. ‘No other surviving vessels,’ you said. So
if Trumpet isn’t here and wasn’t destroyed —”
She let
the implication hang.
“As the
wave front struck,” Vestabule said, “ Calm Horizons detected the
emissions of Trumpet’s gap drive.”
“So she’s
gone,” Sorus cut in harshly. “You lost her. All this plotting and manoeuvring,
all this destruction, and you lost her.” She made no effort to contain her
anger. She knew from experience that the
can compensate. I want to know what’s out there.”
“Captain.”
Vestabule turned his bifurcated gaze at her, one eye human, the other Amnion. “ Calm
Horizons reports no other surviving vessels. The planetoid Thanatos Minor
no longer exists. You are in no danger. Distortion should recede to the
tolerances of your equipment in four minutes. Calm Horizons has
identified your position. Co-ordinates will be transmitted to your helm.”
Sorus
nodded sharply. The helm and communications officers hit keys to route
information between their stations.
“More
data follows when you are ready to receive it,” Vestabule added.
“Not
yet,” she told him. “I’ve got other priorities.
“Data,
give me damage assessment on that holed cargo bay. And a repair estimate for
the deflector vane.”
With
her thumb, she punched open a ship-wide intercom channel. “All hands secure for
g. I’m going to reengage internal spin. Get to sickbay if you need it. The rest
of us have work to do. Damage control says we’re still true, but I don’t trust
it. We were hit too hard. Report anything that makes you think we’ve got
displacement.”
Glaring
back at Taverner’s soft calm, Sorus thumbed off the intercom and began to run
commands on her board.
Before
she could activate internal spin, Marc Vestabule said, “Haste is required,
Captain Chatelaine.” He sounded as inexorable as an iron bar.
Pain
made her feel her years — and the pull of time made her angry. “Haste for what?”
she retorted. “Where are we going? You just told me everybody else is dead.
Gone, blown to scrap.” The thought left a cold place in the pit of her stomach.
Even the Bill was gone. He’d been as untrustworthy as any man she’d ever known,
but he’d met some of her needs and supplied others — sometimes without knowing
it. She couldn’t imagine how she would replace him. Without what he’d given
her, how would she bear her indentured servitude to the Amnion? “If we’re in no
danger, what’s the hurry?”
“Decisions
have been made,” Vestabule replied in a tone like rust. “Action must be taken. Calm
Horizons instructs acceleration along an interception course. The proximity
of vessels will facilitate preparation.”
Perhaps
he felt the urgency of events after all: as he relayed Calm Horizons’ orders, he sounded more inhuman than usual.
Sorus
faced him while apprehension throbbed in her temples and the aftereffects of
g-stress ached in her nerves. Decisions? Action? Maybe as many as ten thousand
people just died here. How much more action do you need?
“If you
want me to take this seriously,” she said through her teeth, “you’d better
explain it.”
Vestabule
appeared to consult the alien coding of his genes for a moment before he
answered, “Scan data suggests that Trumpet was not destroyed.”
Incuriously
Taverner turned his head to look at his fellow Amnioni.
Hunched
over her readouts, the scan first muttered, “I’m starting to get something. One
ship — yes, that’s Calm Horizons . Can’t be sure of anything else yet.”
Sorus
swallowed a curse. She believed Vestabule the instant he spoke: the Amnion didn’t
often make mistakes in matters of factual accuracy. But if Trumpet was
still alive somewhere, still out there with Morn and Davies Hyland, Angus
Thermopyle and Nick Succorso, aboard —
Sick
with premonitions, as if she knew what was coming, she drawled sourly, “But you
told me we’re the only ships here. ‘No other surviving vessels,’ you said. So
if Trumpet isn’t here and wasn’t destroyed —”
She let
the implication hang.
“As the
wave front struck,” Vestabule said, “ Calm Horizons detected the
emissions of Trumpet’s gap drive.”
“So she’s
gone,” Sorus cut in harshly. “You lost her. All this plotting and manoeuvring,
all this destruction, and you lost her.” She made no effort to contain her
anger. She knew from experience that the
Similar Books
