The chapter begins with Milos once again fretting miserably over things completely beyond his understanding, let alone control. Still, he thinks it's within his ability to affect the course of events, that he's able to exert some sort of power.
It was time for him to crush out the spark of dangerous enthusiasm in Angus' eyes, time for him to erase the look of malign hope on Angus' face.
The longer he allowed Angus to experience anything other than hopeless domination, the more precarious Milos felt.
Yet he has more practical and immediate concerns.
Thanatos Minor had the firepower to laugh at any gap scout, no matter how many secret weapons she carried. Human ships all around the installation would protect it. And--Milos had already gleaned this information from scan, as well as from Billingate's routine navigational transmissions--there were two Amnion warships in the vicinity of the rock.
If Operations refused to let Trumpet dock, Angus was in trouble.
Milos could solve that problem himself, if Angus failed. But he didn't want to. It would force his hand; coerce him to commit himself when he wanted to keep all his options open.
Still, he fails to just wait patiently, and fails to reassure himself too.
No, Milos couldn't wait. He should, but he couldn't. In the privacy of his bowels, he feared Angus too intensely, despite Hashi Lebwohl's reassurances.
...
An uncharacteristic grin stretched Milos' face as he breathed, "Open your mouth."
Angus opened his mouth.
Carefully Milos dropped his burning nic onto Angus' tongue.
A flash of recognition lit Angus' eyes--a black glare of hate. His toadlike face twisted in a spasm of pain. Autonomic revulsion made his hands twitch.
Nevertheless he chewed the nic briefly; swallowed it. After flexing for a moment, his hands went back to his board.
"Enjoy it," he whispered thickly, as if the pain stiffened his tongue. "It won't last."
"Yes, it will. You know it will." For some reason, Milos still felt endangered. His power over Angus should have calmed him, but it didn't. Deep in his guts, where common sense and rationality never reached, he feared that Angus' essential malignance was indomitable
The moment comes to deal with Operations, and they're not exactly the least suspicious ship and crew around.
"We have your ship id," Operations cut in. "Come on, Captain. You're supposed to be smart--if you really are Angus Thermopyle. You know what the problem is."
"Give me a hint," Angus retorted. "I've been out of circulation for a while. I don't know what's changed since the last time I was here."
"It's your ship id." Operations and Angus might have been playing a game which they both secretly enjoyed. "That's what the problem is. Trumpet. A Needle-class gap scout. Unarmed. A UMCP ship, it says here. Are you getting the picture, Captain? Do you understand now?"
"What I understand," Angus replied in a tone of belligerence which may have been feigned, "is that you aren't doing your job. I'll talk real slow so you can get a good recording. I'm Angus Thermopyle. I've been here before, so I know you can do a voiceprint comparison to verify that. My second is Milos Taverner. Until recently"--Angus grinned fiercely at Milos--"he was deputy chief of Com-Mine Station Security. You can talk to him if you want, but it won't do you any good. He hasn't been here before.
"Call me back when you're sure who I am. Then maybe you'll ask some questions smart enough for me to answer.
...
They'll call again when they're ready to talk." Angus didn't sound worried. "They've already done their voiceprints. They're just shitting us to see how we react."
Milos sucked on his nic and did his best not to worry. Of course Billingate was suspicious. So of course Angus' programming had been written to deal with Billingate's suspicions. There was nothing to worry about.
Milos worried anyway.
Miserable people like Milos. They could fare a tiny bit better without their emotions, yet they just can't.
A slight intensification of Angus' posture warned him an instant before the speakers relayed, "Trumpet, this is Billingate Operations. It's time for answers. And you'd better make them good. We're in no mood for crap."
Of note - Angus reacts a moment before.
"Bullshit!" Angus grinned like a sneer. "Who says you don't care what I do? Even if the Bill is brain dead, he's bound to realize he needs to know what's going on here. If you fry me, he won't learn anything. And if I decide to go somewhere else, he won't learn anything. Either way, you'll be a prime candidate for some BR 'improvements.' If you haven't already had them.
Angus tells a story that can at least check out as believable, and Milos offers money, but of course there's also a question hanging about proving his story. But perhaps the Bill wanting to get more information and possibilities is one of the more important elements here, letting them live.
Milos should have kept his mouth shut: he knew that. But he couldn't. He had too much tension in him; he was too dependent on people he didn't understand and couldn't control. Fighting to keep his voice flat, he asked for the second time, "Now what?"
Angus' grin was as sharp as a taunt. "Now they're going to talk to your buddy, Captain Sheepfucker himself."
Milos tried to think of everything he knew about Nick Succorso; tried to imagine what orders DA had given Captain's Fancy. Doubtfully he asked, "Will he back you up?"
Angus swore. "Of course not." Nevertheless his voice carried a note of grim satisfaction as he added, "Which is exactly why they're going to let us come in."
Milos couldn't restrain himself. "That doesn't make sense."
"Sure it does. You're just too stupid to see it." Angus' yellow eyes were full of threats. "Look at this from the Bill's point of view. He's got two Amnion warships on his hands. Captain's Fancy is in--and she came from deeper in Amnion space, from Enablement Station. So Captain Sheepfucker has been screwing with them somehow. That's why those warships are here. They may even be after Donner's precious Morn Hyland." Angus said her name like a curse. "The Bill is already up to his hips in shit he didn't ask for and doesn't want.
"Now suddenly we arrive." More and more, Angus' explanation itself sounded like a threat. "About the best thing you can say for us from his point of view is--we're dangerous. Especially at a time like this. But now we're linked to Captain Sheepfucker. We claim he'll back up our story. Sure as hell looks like we're here because of him, doesn't it?
"As soon as Succorso refuses to confirm us, the Bill won't have any choice. He'll have to bring us in. Once we're docked, he'll have us under control.
Angus knows the whole scenario beforehand.
At last Milos found the determination to stifle his questions. They betrayed too much: ever since he'd been cursed with the job of trying to break Angus, his questions had betrayed too much.
This is a sure sign and consequence of trying to communicate with someone by far smarter then yourself, even without saying anything directly, any question - and even silence tells a lot.
No matter how much he reminded himself that he still had secrets and options which Angus--and therefore Hashi Lebwohl--couldn't guess, every passing hour seemed to bring him more under Angus' power. He needed reassurance, needed it--
...
Scarcely ten minutes passed before Billingate spoke again.
"Trumpet, this is Operations," said the laconic voice. "You have permission to come in. Approach vectors and berth assignment follow."
Numbers began to scroll across the helm readouts.
"Don't keep me in suspense, Operations," Angus put in quickly. "What did Captain Succorso say about me?"
"Pay attention," Operations snapped. "I'm not done. You have permission to come in, but it's conditional. You won't be allowed to leave until you satisfy us."
"You mean"--Angus concealed his grin with a sour growl--"Captain Succorso refused to back me up?"
"He refused to talk to us at all
...
Then Angus hammered his board with one fist and snarled, "Got you, you bastards!"
As expected.
But Milos wants a new attempt at finding his confidence.
"Joshua, stop what you're doing. Listen to me."
As obedient as a piece of equipment, Angus dropped his hands. He started to turn his head; but some instinct or prewritten commandment stopped him.
Quite an example of the zone implants at work.
they haven't told you why I'm here."
A muscle spasmed in Angus' shoulder. He may have been fighting his zone implants.
"They think they have," Milos went on. "They think they've explained me well enough to let you function." And they think they know the truth, whether they told it to you or not. "But they're wrong. I've got my own reasons.
Milos here is trying to sound important. Perhaps for himself more than for Angus.
"Angus Thermopyle," he said from the bottom of his heart, "I loathe you. Your violence sickens me. Your person nauseates me. I despise your morals.
Now here is one to speak.
From the core of his bones to the ends of his nerves, Milos Taverner understood humiliation and control. For the first time in months--perhaps for the first time in years--he felt a moment of happiness. Dropping his ship-suit, he moved his grip from the back to the arm of Angus' g-seat. "It means," he said with a complex smile, "you're going to use that foul tongue of yours to keep me clean."
...
Later, when the dirtiness of his body and the fear in his soul had been relieved, he gave Angus a Jerico priority order which ensured that from now on Angus would allow him unrestricted access to Trumpet's communications.
As much as Milos is a miserable groveler, he's on to something here. There are few ways to ease the mind of someone feeling downtrodden as efficient as trampling someone like an insect.
Yet there's a practical side to this. Such a pure expression of domination - complete submission to an absolutely disgusting and repulsive order. If only Angus could still exert his willpower to resist anything... a practically perfect way to make sure that's not possible.
I have many names... and may play many roles
So that it's clear: I'm not the Lord Foul who was on the Watch before, from 26.10.2002 to 16.06.2012
Pretty disgusting! 
