The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order

BOOK
FOUR OF THE GAP SERIES

As the planetoid Thanatos
Minor explodes into atoms, the Trumpet hurtles into space only one step ahead
of hostile pursuers. On board are Morn Hyland and her force-grown son Davies,
cyborg Angus Thermopyle and Captain Nick Succorso — old enemies thrown together
in a desperate bid for survival.

For both the Amnion and
the UMC Police the immediate capture of the fleeing ship and the secrets it
contains is imperative. But for Trumpet’s exhausted crew the only hope lies in
an illegal lab in the distant binary solar system of Valdor Industrial. It will
be a journey of unpredictable danger — from which not all will return…

Works by Stephen Donaldson

The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, the Unbeliever

1. Lord Foul’s Bane

2. The Illearth War

3. The Power That Preserves

The Second Chronicles of Thomas Covenant

1. The Wounded Land

2. The One Tree

3. White Gold Welder

Short Stories

Daughter of Regals and Other Tales

Strange Dreams (Editor)

Reave the Just

Mordant’s Need

1. The Mirror of Her Dreams

2. A Man Rides Through

The Gap Series

1. The Gap into Conflict: The Real Story

2. The Gap into Vision: Forbidden Knowledge

3. The Gap into Power: A Dark and Hungry God Arises

4. The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order

5. The Gap into Ruin: This Day All Gods Die

To HOWARD MORHAIM:

a good friend,

a great agent,

and a hell of a ping-pong player.

MIN

B
attered, weary to the bone, and profoundly baffled, Min Donner
joined
Punisher
shortly after Warden Dios returned to UMCPHQ from Holt
Fasner’s Home Office. She hadn’t slept since the day before her visit to Sixten
Vertigus, hadn’t eaten since her ride back to UMCPHQ from Suka Bator. A
headache like a threat of concussion throbbed in her forehead. Occasionally her
hearing buzzed like neural feedback.

She
felt that her whole life was being rewritten around her; reinterpreted to mean
something she hadn’t chosen and couldn’t understand.

Why was
she
here?

In some
sense, Warden had answered that question. The last time she’d spoken to him, he’d
told her, to her utter astonishment,
I have reason to think Morn Hyland may
survive
— Even though he’d convinced her long ago that Morn was being
abandoned; that he’d sold her body and soul, he’d said,
If she does, I want
someone to make sure she stays alive, someone I can trust. That means you.
For that reason — apparently — he was sending Min away from her duties at
UMCPHQ.

Nevertheless
his reply explained nothing. All she really knew was that she was here now
because he’d lied to her earlier; lied to her systematically and incessantly
for months.

What in
God’s name was going on?

His
signal of farewell reached her as she rode her personal shuttle out toward the
gap range where
Punisher
had already turned and started preparations for
an outbound acceleration; but she didn’t answer it. She had nothing more to say
to him. Instead of returning some vacant acknowledgement or salute, she replied
to the questions of her crew by shaking her head. Let Warden Dios take her on
faith, as she was required to take him. He’d left her no other way to express
her galling confusion — or her blind, baffled hope.

With as
much of her accustomed grim determination as she could muster, she put kazes
and assassinations, treachery and intrigue behind her, and concentrated instead
on the job ahead.

Her
orders were superficially simple. She was instructed to take command of the
first available UMCP warship — in this case,
Punisher
— and go
immediately to the Com-Mine asteroid belt. Under cover of the belt, she was
supposed to “watch for and respond to developments” from the direction of
Thanatos Minor. In other words, to observe and presumably deal with the outcome
of Angus Thermopyle’s covert attack on Billingate.

That
was plain enough. But why was it necessary? After all, at Fasner’s orders human
space along the Amnion frontier — especially in the broad vicinity of Com-Mine
Station and the belt — was being webbed with the most intensive communications
network ever deployed. Any decipherable information from the direction of
Thanatos Minor would reach UMCPHQ in a matter of hours, whether she was present
in the belt or not.

What
kind of “developments” did Warden expect? Angus Thermopyle — Joshua — would
either succeed or not. If he succeeded, Nick Succorso and the danger he
represented would be finished. Min’s suspicions of Milos Taverner would come to
nothing. And Morn might — conceivably — survive. On the other hand, if Angus
failed, everyone and everything would be lost. Morn would be just one more
casualty.

Either
way, there would be nothing for Min to do, except possibly pick up survivors —
or warn off an Amnion pursuit. Com-Mine Station could have done that.
Punisher
herself, despite her battle-worn and depleted condition, could have done it.
Min Donner was the UMCP Enforcement Division director: she belonged elsewhere.
Back at UMCPHQ, rooting out kazes and traitors. Or even down on Suka Bator,
helping Captain Vertigus prepare and present his Bill of Severance. She had no
reason to be
here.

No
reason, that is, apart from Warden’s desire to get her out of the way — to
dissociate her from the fatal game he played with or against Holt Fasner. And
his unexpected assertion that Morn might
get away alive.

If
she does, I want someone to make sure she stays alive —

Was
that the truth? Or had Warden said it simply to ensure that she obeyed him?

She
didn’t know; couldn’t know. But in the end, his orders were enough. She obeyed
because she had sworn that she would.

Nevertheless
she couldn’t shake the dark feeling that she was doomed; that between them
Warden Dios and Holt Fasner were about to cost her everything she had ever
believed in or trusted.

At last
her shuttle thunked against the docking port in
Punisher’s
side;
grapples jerked home. Min nodded to her crew and stepped into the shuttle’s
airlock as if she didn’t care whether she ever returned.

The
bosun commanding the honour guard which greeted her inside the ship’s personnel
bay looked as worn-out and abused as she felt. Min winced inwardly at the
sight: she hated seeing her people in such bad shape. However, she kept her
chagrin and anger to herself while she returned the bosun’s salute.

“Captain’s
apologies, Director Donner,” he said. He sounded even worse than he looked — a
young officer who had been under too much pressure for far too long. “He can’t
leave the bridge. We weren’t expecting to head out — he hasn’t had time to get
ready —” The bosun caught himself, flushed like a boy. “You already know that.
I’m sorry.

“Captain
will see you whenever you want. I can take you to your quarters first.”

Min had
scanned
Punisher’s
reports before leaving UMCPHQ. The cruiser had just
come home from a bitter struggle with fifteen or twenty illegal ships which had
turned Valdor Industrial’s distant binary solar system into a virtual war zone.

Because
of the kind of mining, processing, and heavy manufacturing carried on by the
station, Valdor and the traffic it serviced were rich with prizes. And like
most binary systems this one was a maze of orbits — masses of rock revolving
around each other in patterns so complex that they defied mapping by anything
less than a megaCPU. The pirates were entrenched among the almost innumerable
planets, planetoids, and moons cycling around the twinned stars called Greater
and Lesser Massif-5.

Over a
period of six months, the Scalpel-class cruiser had engaged in dozens of
pitched battles, weeks of pursuit. And all to little avail. Two pirates had
been destroyed, one captured. The rest had fought back with such concerted
ferocity, or had fled with such intimate knowledge of the system’s hiding
places, that no mere cruiser could have hoped to deal with them all.

No
wonder the bosun was exhausted. No wonder the faces of the honour guard ached
with despair at the prospect of another mission.
Punisher
needed rest,
deserved
rest. The UMCP were spread too thin; would always be spread too thin, simply
because the gap drive made available more space than any police force could
control. Not for the first time, Min thought that as long as the threat of the
Amnion endured — as long as forbidden space offered wealth in exchange for
stolen resources — her people were doomed to fail.

As
usual, she kept that idea to herself. Instead she told the bosun, “I’ll go to
the bridge.” Then, before he could give any orders himself, she dismissed the
honour guard. In general she disliked the formalities of her position; and in
this particular case she actively hated wasting the energy of these weary men
and women on ceremonial duties.

Momentarily
flustered, the bosun began, “Director, Captain ordered—” But an instant later
he swallowed his discomfiture. With a salute, he let the guard go. “This way,
Director.”

Min
knew the way. On any ship the UMCP had commissioned, she could have found the bridge
blindfolded. She let the bosun guide her, however. She’d already undercut him
enough by dismissing his honour guard.

By the
time she left the first lift and headed forward through the ship’s core, she
knew
Punisher
was in trouble. Because of the recent damage to her
eardrums, she still couldn’t hear clearly enough to pick up the cruiser’s
characteristic hums and whines. But she could feel centrifugal g through the
soles of her boots; she could sense vibrations with the nerves of her skin.
Subtle stresses reached her like undamped harmonics.

“You’ve
got internal spin displacement,” she commented to the bosun. “Bearings are
grinding somewhere.”

He
gaped at her sidelong. “How—?” She was the ED director, however: he wasn’t
supposed to question her. With an effort, he mastered himself. “Forward,” he
answered. “We took a hit that knocked the whole core off true. But that’s not
all. We’ve got micro-leaks in some of the hydraulic systems. Several doors
stick until the pressure rectifies. Half a dozen bulkheads don’t quite seal.
And we’ve been holed twice. We’ve kept integrity, but we lost the conduit to
one of the sensor banks. Captain has men outside right now, trying to jury-rig
leads before we go into tach. For the rest—

“Director,
we haven’t had time to trace those leaks or patch those holes. We’ve been at
battle-stations for most of the past six months. And only a shipyard can fix
internal spin.”

The
young officer sounded so raw that Min frowned to herself. “No criticism
intended, bosun,” she told him quietly. “It was just an observation.”

He
swallowed hard. “Thank you, Director.” Until he blinked them clear, his eyes
were perilously moist.

Punisher
was desperate for rest.

Full of
outraged protectiveness toward her people, Min thought harshly, Fuck you, Warden
Dios, and the horse you rode in on. You had goddamn better know what you’re
doing.