A Dark and Hungry God Arises Read Online Free PDF

least some of the price of his, Milos', humiliation.
    But not here: not this close to UMCPHQ; not while it was still possible for the cops to monitor whatever happened aboard Trumpet. Milos was prepared to wait a while. At least until this gap scout — a ship which Angus knew intimately, and which Milos understood very little
    - resumed tard on the other side of the dimensional gap.
    So he didn't respond to the crude jibes Angus aimed at him almost incessantly. In any case, he knew perfectly well that those insults were just so much spatter and froth, an almost incidental by-product of Angus' seething malice. Angus wasn't paying any real attention to his second. All the important parts of the cyborg's mind were focused on his new ship: on feeling her energies under his hands; on studying every scrap of knowledge his databases contained about her. On imagining what he could do with her.
    No, more than just imagining: tasting; sensing with his whole body. Milos had seen enough malevolence in Angus' eyes to sicken him for a lifetime. He felt that he and he alone - certainly not Hashi Lebwohl or Warden Dios - could gauge the sheer potency of the venom which boiled and spat inside Angus Thermopyle like a witch's brew. He knew how alive with hate Angus was.
    But he'd never discerned in Angus anything resembling the look of unholy joy which burned across the cyborg's face while he familiarized himself with Trumpet. As he worked his board and studied his screens, Thermopyle looked like he was having an orgasm.
    Shit. And shit again.
    Once Trumpet crossed the gap, Milos would have to begin exercising his power over his putative 'captain' fast and hard. He wanted to crush that look of vile ecstasy almost as much as he wanted to live.
    But not now; not yet. Instead of reacting to Angus'
    sneers, Milos concentrated on his own board, learning as quickly as he could how his brief but primarily theoretical training for this ship functioned in practice.
    Damage control was easy: most of the systems, and all the reports, were automatic. Data wasn't much different than the kind of computer work he'd done for years as Com-Mine Station's deputy chief of Security. And, for reasons which were probably obvious, but which he never mentioned, he already knew everything he would ever need about communications. Scan was another matter, however. He'd never used doppler sensors or particle sifters or - was that a dimensional stress indicator? - and had only the thinnest understanding of the information they provided.
    None of his 'duties' affected the actual operation of the ship, however. That was a problem of another kind.
    Command, helm, targ, engineering; even life-support and general maintenance: Angus ran them all. In practice as well as in theory, Milos' survival depended on his capacity to run Angus.
    'You about ready?' Angus asked, sounding as cheerfully destructive as an ore-crusher. We're coming into the fucking cops' fucking private tach range in a couple of minutes. I don't want you shitting your suit when we hit the gap. I hate that smell. I get too much of it just having you on board. '
    'So what?' Milos muttered, keeping his attention on his readouts. 'You hate everything. ' He loathed and feared the very timbre of Angus' voice; but it was essential to show Angus that he, Milos, couldn't be intimidated. 'A bad smell won't change anything. '
    Angus snorted. 'So you say. But you haven't caught a whiff of yourself yet. You don't know as much about shit as I do. '
    Milos didn't bother to retort. He'd been raised among guttergangs. And he'd spent months back on Com-Mine interrogating Angus. He already had more experience than he would ever need with excremental human corruption.
    The helm screen informed him that Trumpet was fifty-three seconds from the UMCP's reserved gap range. She was assigned to go into tach in a minute and a half.
    Then human space would be out of reach.
    For both of them.
    Maybe forever.
    When that happened, Angus