A Dark and Hungry God Arises by Stephen R. Donaldson Page B

should have ripped out her female organs when he first heard she was pregnant, instead of taking her to Enablement to have her brat.
    He shouldn't be stewing about that now, of course.
    The past was the past: men who looked back got shot by what was in front of them. Until now, the only regret of his life was that he'd ever trusted anyone enough to let that woman scar him. Unfortunately his acid longing to take back the mistakes he'd made with Morn refused to recognize its own futility. Instead it gnawed inside him like cramps, hindering his strength, restricting his energies.
    She was so beautiful — Sex with her was the closest he'd ever come to healing his scars. And every bit of it was a lie. Like the first time, with the woman who'd cut him. The welcoming spread of Morn's legs had been a steel trap, open to shear off his manhood, his ability to beat impossible odds; gaping to amputate the part of him that never lost.
    What she'd done to him made his heart hurt as if she'd laid her knife there instead of on his cheeks.
    What the fuck's taking them so long?
    'It's not a simple question for them, ' Mikka answered unnecessarily. They have to figure out whose side they're on. Probably they've never had to do that before. '
    For the first time since he'd known his second, her habitual scowl didn't look merely closed, defended.
    Instead it conveyed criticism; even hostility. It gave the impression that she no longer trusted him — him, Nick Succorso, who had once been as unquestionable to her as the orbits of the stars.
    Morn had cost him that as well.
    'This may come as a surprise to you, ' he snarled from the burning depths of his regret, 'but I knew that already. '
    Mikka shrugged stolidly.
    Whatever they're talking about, ' Scorz reported in an abstract tone, 'they're beaming it too tight for us to hear.
    There's some residual buzz, but I can't pick up anything else. '
    Struggling to put Mikka and Morn and regret out of his mind, Nick muttered as if he didn't know he was repeating himself, 'Damn them all to hell and shit. '
    Operations continued to transmit routine traffic information, trajectory confirmation, station protocols; nothing else.
    He paced the bridge and tried to think.
    At some point he would have to resume his air of superiority and confidence; fake it if he couldn't actually feel it. His dread and regret were infectious: the more uncertain he felt, the more his people would doubt him.
    Mikka wasn't the only one - although she was the worst, because she was the most capable; because he'd trusted her the most. Sib Mackern seemed to flinch whenever Nick caught his eye. And Ransum's nervousness was spreading. Normally confined to her hands, it now affected the way she turned her head; it made her shuffle her feet as if she felt an unconscious desire to run.
    Already three people on the bridge distrusted Nick enough to be unreliable.
    Who else felt that way? Maybe no one except Vector Shaheed. And Vector's attitude was predictable: he had reason to think Nick was going to kill him. Hell, the phlegmatic shit deserved to be killed. He'd ignored an order. Maybe the infection hadn't spread any further yet.
    But it was going to spread. It would certainly catch Pup. The kid was Mikka's brother. And he admired Vector.
    And the rest of the crew would be exposed to the same illness as soon as they felt Nick's vulnerability and realized that the center of their lives might not hold much longer.

    Groping for clues - for ways to pull himself out of his stew - maybe for hope - Nick stopped at the scan station and asked harshly, Where did they take that damn pod?'
    'Cargo berth,' Arkenhill answered promptly without lifting his gaze from his board. He may have been trying to prove that he was as capable as Carmel. 'I guess they're planning to keep the pod. The ship docked a couple of minutes ago. You want to know which berth?'
    'No. ' Nick had only one reason for caring what happened to Davies Hyland. 'I want id on the ship.