The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order by Stephen R. Donaldson Page A

head, used it to
open a window on his databases. That worked: he hadn’t lost his computer — or
the information it contained. But did it still control him? Could he ignore its
unspoken requirements?
    A test:
he needed a test. Some way to confirm quickly whether or not his datacore still
ruled him. Some way to determine how far his ability to make his own decisions
extended.
    At once
his heart tightened like a fist. Nick was here: the perfect choice. He was
protected by his links to UMCPDA — and Angus hated him. If he spoke now,
ignored or taunted Angus in any way, Angus would hit him again; hit him hard
enough to splinter his skull, drive shards of bone into his brain, kill him
by tearing his cerebral synapses to shreds —
    “It’s a
little late for that,” Nick remarked. Angus’ distraction appeared to intrigue
him. “We’re here . And you can’t pretend there won’t be any consequences.
My God, Angus, what is Hashi going to think of you? Or Min Donner?
    “Sooner
or later you’ll have to start telling us the truth. You won’t have any choice.”
    Now.
Test it.
    Gathering
the strength of his shoulders, tensing his arms, Angus rose from his g-seat,
readied himself to strike —
    — and
stopped. All the muscles he needed froze. At that instant he couldn’t have
swung his fist to save his sanity. Even the effort of closing the distance
between himself and the second’s station was beyond him.
    He knew
the sensation too well. It was intimately familiar: as brutal as a rape; and so
compulsory that he would never be able to fight it. The emissions of his zone
implants were stronger than will and hope.
    Confusion
swirled through him, as complex as a masque; his breathing felt caged in his
chest. Damn you! he raged uselessly. Damn you to hell! His programming refused
to let him pound his fists on the command board, so he ground them against his
thighs. You bastards, why don’t you tell me the truth once in a while?
What would it cost you to let me know what you want?
    But he
couldn’t afford to fall into the abyss of his fury: not now, with Trumpet three light-years deep in Amnion space, and Morn aboard.
    Savagely
he hauled himself back from despair.
    All
right. Don’t give up. Understand it. His datacore still held him. He
couldn’t break past his programming. Nevertheless some thing had changed.
Neither Dios nor Lebwohl could have known that he would try to bring Trumpet here — and yet his programming had allowed him to do it.
    “Tell
you what,” Nick offered casually. “You sit there and think. Think until you
burst a seal.” He undid his belts, shifted to his feet. “I’ll go tell your
people and mine they can take a break from their cabins. Treacherous little
shits, they’ll like that. I’m sure they want to talk to you. They’ll love
hearing you refuse to explain why we’re here — or, for that matter, how you and
Milos managed to snatch Davies right out from under the Bill’s nose, or what
makes Morn so fucking important.
    “Along
the way I’ll bring you something to eat and drink. You look like you could use
it.”
    He
paused, waiting for some acknowledgement.
    Angus
waved a hand to dismiss Nick; ignored Nick’s departure from the bridge. He
wanted hope, wanted desperately to let himself hope. Nevertheless all his
instincts screamed against it.
    It didn’t
make sense that the fucking cops would turn him loose. Someone — Dios or
Lebwohl — had simply decided to pull a different set of strings. Strings and
more strings, manipulating him like a puppet.
    And yet
the impulse to hope refused to let go of his heart.
    Understand , God damn it!
    Surely
even his programming had limits. The more he did, the farther he travelled from
UMCPDA’s surgical wing, the more likely it became that cracks would appear in
the blank wall of his mental prison. That motherfucking Lebwohl couldn’t
foresee every thing.
    But of
course the cops knew that. They must have made some provision for it.