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

humans.”
    “We do
not understand human behaviour in this matter,” Vestabule put in roughly. “We
wish to understand it. But for the present understanding is not critical.
Rather it is critical that knowledge of this immunity has not yet been
disseminated in human space, and presumably will not be disseminated unless
Captain Succorso takes that action upon himself.
    “As for
your concern that Trumpet has fled to the haven of ‘a fleet of damn
cops,’ consider this.
    “Our
analysis of Trumpet’s departure emissions is complete. We have
determined her gap vector, calculated her velocity and acceleration, and
estimated her gap drive parameters. Here are the results.”
    Without
waiting for permission, he reached forward and began tapping keys on the
communications board. Almost immediately one of the main screens in front of
Sorus flashed to life.
    Vestabule
had called up a 3-D co-ordinates schematic for this quadrant of space.
Phosphors marked the spot where Thanatos Minor had once occupied the vacuum. Soar’s position blinked green; Calm Horizons’ showed amber.
    Swiftly
a red line traced Trumpet’s course in normal space: numbers along the
line indicated exact changes in thrust and vector. Then a small crimson cross
indicated her leap into the gap.
    Based
on Calm Horizons’ calculations, straight blue pointed the direction of Trumpet’s crossing. The Amnion warship could only speculate as to how far Trumpet had gone, but she was able to define the gap scout’s course precisely.
    That
blue line didn’t run anywhere near human space.
    Sorus
had used up her objections. Now she had nothing left except obedience — and
darkness.
    Deliberately
she thumbed the ship-wide intercom.
    “Stand
by,” she told her crew. “We’ve got our work cut out for us. First we’ll
rendezvous with Calm Horizons . Then we’re going hunting.”
    Wherever
Angus Thermopyle and his people were headed, it wasn’t back to the UMCP.

 
     
     
    ANGUS
     
    T rumpet came out of the gap with Nick
Succorso at the helm and Angus Thermopyle handling everything else scarcely
500,000 kilometres from Thanatos Minor — still within easy scan range.
    Proximity
alarms echoed the warnings of Angus’ datacore and the raw squalling of his own
instincts. Trumpet’s thrust drive still burned, piling on acceleration.
Nevertheless the instantaneous disappearance of brisance from the planetoid’s
destruction affected the ship like braking; slammed him and Nick forward
helplessly against their restraints. From a hand’s width away, he gaped at his
command readouts, but his eyes couldn’t absorb their information rapidly
enough.
    His own
calculations were quicker.
    Trumpet wasn’t moving fast enough to outrun Thanatos Minor’s debris.
    “Too
close!” he rasped urgently. “Hit it again, Nick! You cut it too close!”
    Nick
sprawled across the second’s station. His eyes were glazed; his hands fumbled
for a grip they couldn’t find on the sides of his board. He’d been hurt too much:
Angus had punched him in the forehead hard enough to crack his skull; Ciro had
jolted him with stun; his ship and most of his crew were dead. Lashed by g, he’d
gone limp — too limp to react.
    Angus’
brain and his computer ran decisions at microprocessor speeds, but on separate
tracks. Driven by pre-programmed exigencies, his fingers punched keys like
scattershot, routing helm control back to his station, adjusting thrust for
more power than Nick had known Trumpet possessed, defining gap
parameters for human space. At the same time, his brain scrambled to identify
his exact location, gauge it against the possibility of pursuit. According to
his most recent data — only seconds old — neither Soar nor Calm
Horizons had picked up enough velocity to attempt a gap crossing. And
certainly not in this direction. But Stonemason and some of the other
ships from Billingate were another matter. Milos must have told the Amnion why
Angus had been sent to Thanatos Minor.