Free Forbidden Knowledge by Stephen R. Donaldson Page B

“That fucking bastard,” he said in grudging admiration. “If I knew how to tamper with my datacore, we would all be safe forever. And rich. We could make enough credit selling that secret to buy our own station.”
    Before anyone else ventured an opinion, he pointed Morn toward communications and commanded Lind, “Record her. If we like what she says, we’ll send it.”
    Still obeying promptly, Lind got his console ready.
    Sustained by her reprieve, Morn walked the curve of the bridge to Lind’s post. He ignored her, kept his eyes on his hands, as she lifted her id tag over her head and plugged it into his board. There, just for a second, she hesitated. She was taking a dangerous step: as soon as she said her verification code, Nick would have it; he could use it and her tag however he wished. She would be that much more isolated, that much more exposed to him and his crew.
    Nevertheless she’d created this situation: she couldn’t afford to falter now. When the board had copied what it needed, she put the tag back around her neck inside her shipsuit. Then she spoke as if she were saying a final good-bye to herself and all her old life.
    “This is Morn Hyland, ensign, UMCP.” Distinctly she articulated the verification code. “I have authorized business aboard Captain’s Fancy , which does not fall under your jurisdiction. If you need acknowledgment, query Min Donner, Enforcement Division, UMCPHQ.”
    That was safe to say, since Com-Mine was certain to query Min Donner in any case.
    “I have no evidence in Com-Mine Station’s case against the captain of Bright Beauty. ” Her inability to utter Angus’ name eroded her stability, but she kept going. “To my knowledge, datacore tampering is impossible. I did not witness the removal of any chips. If they were removed, they were not given to me. My grievances against the captain of Bright Beauty are personal, and I do not choose to prosecute them publicly.”
    In that way, she kept faith with Angus Thermopyle. She may have betrayed everyone else, but she was true to him.
    “Captain Nick Succorso of Captain’s Fancy has my support and cooperation. Refer all further inquiries to UMCPHQ, Enforcement Division.”
    To her own surprise, she added, “Farewell, Com-Mine Station.”
    After that her throat closed, and she couldn’t say anything else.
    “That’ll do,” Nick told Lind. “Send it. No repeats. If they miss part of it, let them sweat.
    “Vector, I want you in the drive space. We’re going to give Station about ten minutes, so they’ll decide we aren’t running. Then we’re going to burn.”
    Without warning Morn’s stomach turned over. Again she felt the brisance of panic, compressing her heart and lungs against her rib cage. “Burn” meant heavy g. The hardest acceleration Captain’s Fancy ’s thrusters could produce.
    If Nick feared her gap-sickness, he didn’t show it. Instead he snapped out orders. “Mikka, take her back to her cabin. Lock her in. Be sure she can’t get out while we burn. I want her secure until we’re out of g—and she can convince us she’s sane.” Pivoting his seat, he faced Morn with a feral grin. “Staying alive is her problem.”
    Before Morn could think or react, Mikka grabbed her arm and pulled her through the aperture, off the bridge. A few minutes later she was back in her cabin. Outside, Mikka locked the door.
    Nick’s second left her alone with the gap-sickness which had killed her father and most of the people she’d ever loved.

ANCILLARY
DOCUMENTATION
    DATACORES
    F or convenience, history is often viewed as a conflict between the instinct for order and the impulse toward chaos. Both are necessary: both are manifestations of the need to survive. Without order, nothing exists: without chaos, nothing grows. And yet the struggle between them sheds more blood than any other war.
    The instinct for order is an expression of humankind’s devout desire for safety (which permits nurture), for stability