Judas Unchained

CHAPTER TWELVE

Niall Swalt had been cycling to work at the Grand Triad Adventures office when the Prime attack started. He still came in every day, even though the tour operator hadn’t seen a single client since Mellanie returned from her short vacation. For some reason, head office on Wessex hadn’t canceled his employment contract. Every Friday night their accountancy program paid his wages; so every Monday morning he arrived back at the office for another week of doing whatever he wanted on company time. That was mainly accessing TSIs. He went through Murderous Seduction at least once a week.

It was the silence he noticed as he cycled along the last stretch of road toward the employee gate. With the office sitting on the end of the CST station’s main terminal, he was used to the constant mumble of the crowd that besieged the main entrance. According to local news shows, over a third of Boongate’s population had now left, with everyone else anxious to join them. Niall wasn’t so sure about the official numbers; he thought it was more than that. Every day he cycled to work from his two-room flat, going the long way around the massive station yard. That way he didn’t get caught up in the huge jam of people arriving on the highway. There were so many cars driven into the verges along the approach roads that the government employed seventeen crews towing the abandoned vehicles away, not that they could keep up. It wasn’t just the sides of the highway that were clogged, of course. A lot of people drove through the same maze of streets he used in the commercial district surrounding the station, and parked on any clear spot before walking around to the front. Some mornings he’d find hundreds of cars had appeared overnight, turning the roads into quite an obstacle course for him to weave his way around.

Anyone who arrived and dumped their car then had a wait of nearly two days as the massive throng of people slowly shuffled their way forward toward the haven of the terminal’s main entrance. Niall didn’t know how many people there were between the highway and the entrance; it looked like the entire population to him. They wore expensive semiorganic coats, or draped plastic sheets around their shoulders to protect themselves from the miserable rain of Boongate’s early winter months. There had been plenty of days when Niall turned up and it had been sleeting. Once it snowed for thirty-six hours. It subdued the crowd, made them miserable, made them bad tempered, but nothing had ever made them fall silent before.

Niall was only three hundred meters away from the employees’ gate when he realized the sound was missing; most days you could hear it over a kilometer away. He steered around a big Toyota ten-seater Lison that was parked across a warehouse delivery bay, and braked to a halt. When he pushed his goggles up, he found it had stopped raining. Good news, yes, but not enough to stop that constant growl of barely restrained anger. He looked up. The force field had come on over the city; dark clouds slithered around its shimmering surface. A second force field was covering the station, deflecting the mists that were trapped under the city’s dome. “Oh, hell,” he whispered in fright. He’d never allowed himself to believe that the aliens would return.

His e-butler’s news filter let through an alert telling him that wormholes were being detected in a lot of star systems across the Commonwealth. His instant response was to glance over at the giant terminal building with its long, curved glass roofs. Instinctive self-preservation kicked in, and he started to work out routes in his mind. As an employee, he had access to several restricted zones inside the station complex; there were a number of ways he could reach the platforms without ever having to join that horde outside.

He let go of the brakes, and began pedaling again. Today, there were eight guards outside the employee gate, all dressed in flexarmor and carrying weapons. Normally, there were just two security staff inside their cabin, who always waved him on when he showed his company pass. This time they made Niall put his palm on a sensor pad one of them was carrying to check his biometric pattern.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” the guard snarled from inside his helmet. “A tour company rep?”

“We’re still active,” Niall protested. “It’s genuine. Check my record; I’ve been in every day for weeks. I’ve got groups left on Far Away that are coming back. Somebody’s got to be here for them.”

“I’ve got news for you, sonny, they ain’t going to make it. Look around you.”

“And if they do?”

There was a long pause while the guard referred back to his superior. “Okay,” he said eventually. “You can go through.”

“Thanks.”

The reinforced barrier across the pavement swiveled up. Niall pushed his bicycle through, feeling his skin tingle as he went through the force field. Just as he was mounting up on the other side, the guard said, “Son, if you’ve got any sense at all, you’ll go straight to the platforms and catch a train to Gralmond or one of its neighbors.”

“If my group comes back, I’ll do it.”

Not even the thick armor could mask the man shaking his head.

Niall pedaled as fast as he could to the office. His e-butler was supplying situation updates the whole way. Alien ships were pouring into the Boongate system, out around the third gas-giant orbit. Thousands more were emerging in other systems. Local news told him that the wormhole to Wessex had been temporarily closed by CST. “Hellfire.” There’d be a riot. He knew there would be.

When he got to the office he wheeled his bike in through the reception area and parked it against the counter. There was a bag he kept in the back with some spare clothes. He fetched it out, and looked around the small room. Grand Triad Adventures had a floor safe to keep the petty cash and various travel vouchers. Mr. Spanton, the manager, had granted Niall’s biometric print a temporary access authority when he went “on holiday” right after the first Prime attack. Niall put his hand on the lock pad, and internal malmetal bands pushed the door up. The cash was all piled in different currencies. He didn’t bother with anything from Boongate or the neighboring stars, figuring those Treasuries wouldn’t be able to back the national currency for much longer. Out of the money that came from planets farther from this new attack, he had roughly fifteen thousand Earth dollars’ worth. He stuffed it into his jacket pockets and turned to the office array that had a direct link to the CST ticket and travel information system. Surprisingly, his access authority still got him in; not that there was much information available. Wessex seemed to have closed half of its wormholes to traffic, and there were heavy restrictions on the remainder. There was no indication when they would open again.

Only if the navy fights off this invasion, Niall thought. But if by some miracle it did, he was going to be ready. He used the Grand Triad Adventures account to buy a first-class ticket to Gralmond, just like the guard suggested. It was four hundred fifty light-years away, right across the other side of the Commonwealth, about as far away from Boongate as it was physically possible to go. He held his breath as the CST system processed the application, but after a few seconds it assigned his identity tattoo with the first-class ticket.

Someone knocked on the office door. Niall jumped, mostly from guilt. There was a man standing outside. Tall and quite handsome, with floppy blond hair. The type of guy who played a lot of sports; certainly his square-shouldered build put Niall’s rather more flabby frame to shame. He was talking, jabbing a finger at something in the office.

“Sorry.” Niall tapped his ear, and put his hand on the door’s lock pad. “Couldn’t hear you,” he said as the door opened.

“Thanks for letting me in,” the man said. His voice had a distinctive Earth-American twang.

“We’re not busy.” That was a dumb thing to say. Niall wanted to look at the door leading to the back room; he was pretty sure the man wouldn’t be able to see the open floor safe.

“I need some help. Ah…I don’t know your name.” His grin was the kind that took you straight into his confidence.

“Niall. What kind of help?”

“It’s like this, Niall. Some friends of mine have been stuck on Far Away for a while, but they’ve just sent me a message saying that they’ve managed to get off. They’re on their way back. How’s that for god-awful fucking luck. Coming back into the middle of an alien invasion. Anyway, I need to get out to the platform and meet them. Once we’re all together again then we’ll try to get off Boongate.”

“There aren’t any trains off Boongate right now. I was just checking that.”

“I know, but they’ll start up again as soon as the invasion is over. I’m not worried about that. My problem is my friends; I can’t let them down. Can you take me over to the Half Way wormhole gateway? I’d go by myself, but there are a lot of security systems around it; I’m worried I’ll never be allowed through to meet them what with everyone being so jumpy right now. They’ll get back and be stuck here. That would be serious bad news for all of us. If it helps, I can make it worth your while. Seriously worth your while.”

Niall liked the guy even more; he was obviously a regular dude, and rich, too. Everyone who went to Far Away was rich. And he was right about security: look at what happened at the employee gate this morning. Niall could come out of this very well if he played his cards right, maybe add a couple of grand to his newfound wealth. “Well, yeah, the company Mercedes is authorized to go right out to the Far Away transit area. I can take you through, no sweat.”

The man’s confident grin became even wider. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Hoshe had just reached the London office when the Prime attack began. Vast force fields came on over the ancient city, turning the sky a murky gray. Looking out over the Thames he saw the dark shapes of aerobots rising from their silos. They were bigger than any flying machine he’d ever seen before.

His e-butler told him Inima was calling.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m at the office. What about you?”

“We’re safe here, aren’t we, Hoshe?”

“Safest place in the Commonwealth, I promise. Shall I come home?”

“No. You stay there. I don’t want you worrying about me.”

“I don’t worry. I love you. I’m leaving now.”

“No, Hoshe. I’ve got the news summary in my virtual vision. The attacks aren’t anywhere near Earth. You stay at work.”

“I want to be with you, in case.” In case of what, he didn’t know. If Earth fell, it would all be over. And not even Paula could get them places on a Dynasty lifeboat.

“Should you travel now?” she asked.

“Of course. If anything gets through that force field it won’t matter where you are. I’ll get a taxi.”

“I don’t want to be trouble.”

“You’re not.”

Hoshe grabbed his coat from the hook on the back of the door. A red priority icon flashed up into his virtual vision; it was Captain Kumancho, who was leading the Senate Security detail following Victor Halgarth. “Damn!” Hoshe touched the icon with his turquoise virtual finger.

“We’ve just arrived on Boongate,” Kumancho said. “Victor went to one of the warehouses out in the station marshaling yard. It belongs to a company called Sunforge, local transport and courier outfit. We’re datamining it now.”

“Okay. Are you emplaced?”

“As best we can. Hoshe, it’s chaos here. There’s half the planet’s population camped outside the station. CST has just closed the wormhole. We must have been on the last train in. My people are worried we won’t be able to get back.”

“Shit. Right, leave it with me. Is the Halgarth team with you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, that’s good. I’ll get in touch with Warren Halgarth; we’ll coordinate our approach and put a process in place to extract you as soon as CST reopens the wormhole. I’ll try and get information on that as well.”

“Thanks, Hoshe.”

“Do you know what’s in the Sunforge warehouse?”

“Not yet. We’re going to start running an infiltration operation once we’re properly established.”

“Do you need help from the locals? I can run the request from this office. It’ll carry more clout.”

“I think we’re on our own, Hoshe. Government here has just about collapsed. CST’s station security teams and the city police force are still hanging together, almost, but they’re not going to be assed about a bunch of spooks asking for cooperation. Don’t worry, we can handle Victor and the warehouse.”

“Okay, keep me updated on an hourly basis. I’ll be in the office.” Hoshe stood perfectly still for a moment as he cursed every god he knew about, then hung his coat back on the hook. His turquoise finger touched Inima’s icon. “Darling, I’m sorry. Something’s come up.”

***

“Don’t worry,” Anna said. Her small mouth tightened into a smile as she straightened the shoulders on Wilson’s dress uniform, brushing away creases. “You know and I know that you did everything you could. There were no alternatives, no smartass answers. You told it to them as it was, and they gave you the budget they wanted to.”

Several people were looking at them as they stood nose to nose outside the Senate Hall’s underground chamber, aides to the other War Cabinet members who were in session, and had been for thirty minutes. It was as if Wilson and Anna were radioactive; nobody said hello, nobody swapped idle chat, not even Daniel Alster and Patricia Kantil. For Wilson not to be in a War Cabinet meeting was a clear indication of what was being discussed inside. There wasn’t any informed, measured debate going on in there; it was an open power struggle.

“Damn Nigel for not telling us what he’d got,” Wilson muttered. His voice carried just far enough to provoke some glances from the nearest aides. “Damn him for not sharing.”

“They only just got their ship operational in time,” Anna said, patting his arm.

“So he claims,” he hissed. “Hell, listen to me. Nobody trusts anyone else anymore.”

“How can we?” Anna looked around, and pulled him farther away from the immaculately dressed, polite, obedient aides. “We don’t know who is working for the Starflyer.”

“This isn’t just because of the Starflyer. Look at them all.” He tilted his head at the aides. “All the Dynasties and Grand Families see here is an opportunity to put one over on the rest. They’re concentrating on internal politics while the human race is faced with extinction.”

“That’s not quite fair.”

“Yeah yeah.” Tension and dismay were giving him the shakes. Being made to wait outside like a schoolkid hauled up before the principal; it’s not right. I did a good job. “Damn, I feel sorry for myself.” His virtual vision was showing a tactical display from Pentagon II, where the navy was keeping watch for any further sign of Prime activity. It was only seven hours since the wormholes into Commonwealth space had shut down. He didn’t have time for this bullshit. They had to organize the navy’s response immediately. That’s if he was going to be organizing it.

“Hey, stop it.” She nuzzled his face. “They’re probably just deciding which medal to give you.”

He gave her a tired look. “Thanks.”

“You know I’ll stay with you, don’t you?”

He kissed her. “Couldn’t have got this far without you.”

“It’ll be nice to have a real life together. I’ve never had a rich husband before. I still haven’t seen your home on York5.”

“You’ll love it. We’ve got an area the size of Oregon which I’ve been shaping and planting. And the Château needs refurbishing.”

“Sounds good. Me, an unlimited credit tattoo, and every interior designer on that side of the Commonwealth.”

He held her tight. “It will be good. It will.”

The doors to the conference room opened. Rafael Columbia strode out. He was also wearing his full dress uniform; immaculately tailored, it made him the perfect authority figure. Even the aides straightened up as he appeared.

Wilson hadn’t known Rafael was in the War Cabinet. It could only mean one thing. “Shit.” At least he didn’t have to wait anymore; he knew for sure now. I don’t even have to go through with this humiliation, not really.

“Wilson.” Rafael put on a suitably sober expression of greeting. He extended his hand.

I could just tell him to shove it.

Anna made a small sound at the back of her throat.

Wilson shook hands. Like a proper officer would, with dignity. They’d be proud of me back at the academy—if it still existed.

“I’m sorry,” Rafael said. “They called me in after they asked for you.”

“It’s okay.” As Caesar said to Brutus. “I don’t think either of us is in an enviable position.”

Rafael nodded sympathetically. “They’re ready for you.”

“Sure.”

Anna squeezed his hand. He walked with Rafael into the conference room to face the War Cabinet. Surprisingly, it was only President Doi who met his eye as he stood at the head of the table. Heather Antonia Halgarth simply looked bored, while Nigel Sheldon had a thunderous expression on his face. It was a hugely telling sight, that the man whose family warship and private weapons project had just saved the entire Commonwealth could suffer a political defeat directly afterward.

Rafael came to stand just behind Wilson.

“Admiral,” President Doi said, “we have reviewed the performance of the navy and yourself before and during this latest disastrous invasion. To say that we find it lacking would be the understatement of this century. In view of the catastrophic loss of life, we require your immediate resignation.”

Argue. Tell her to fuck off. Nobody could have done better. “As you wish,” he said coolly.

Rafael came up to him. “Admiral, your navy authorization codes have now been revoked. You will be placed on our inactive list, effective immediately.”

Wilson clenched his teeth. “Right.”

“Thank you for what you did, Wilson. The navy staff appreciate it,” Rafael said with emphasis.

Wilson turned to face the navy’s new chief admiral-in-waiting. “I want you and everyone else in here to know something.”

“If you have anything to say, please place it in your debrief report,” Doi said formally.

He smiled at her, enjoying the way she wanted him out of the room with a minimum of fuss. She didn’t yet have the confidence to try to snap an order at him. “The Starflyer is real.” He made sure he was looking directly at Rafael, seeing the small start of surprise in the man’s otherwise composed features. “It’s been manipulating us for a long while.”

“Enough! Mr. Kime,” Doi said.

“Its agents were on board the Second Chance. They switched off the barrier generator.”

Rafael was looking embarrassed now. Wilson glanced around the table. The only person who held his attention was Justine Burnelli. She appeared guilty rather than surprised. Interesting.

He shrugged at the War Cabinet, as if he wasn’t bothered anymore. “Check it out,” he told Rafael as he turned to leave.

Nigel watched Wilson’s back as he left the committee room. The man’s outburst was fascinating. He was amused by the reaction of the others around the table. Doi, predictably, was mortified at Wilson’s claim. Heather seemed bemused, Rafael concerned, while Justine was doing the same as him, checking around. He met her gaze and gave her a smile. She deliberately returned a blank expression.

He could hardly forget Campbell’s urgent call less than twenty-four hours ago, asking on her behalf what the Dynasty policy was toward Myo. After the Prime attack, Campbell had also told him the Senator and the Investigator were requesting an urgent personal meeting. He wasn’t sure what it was about, but given what Nelson’s observation team had told him about Mellanie’s activities on Illuminatus, it wasn’t a request he was about to refuse. Only now was he starting to wonder what sort of connections Justine had with Wilson. One thing was for sure, that meeting was going to be a lot more interesting than this one.

“I think we can move forward now,” Doi said once the doors were shut and the screening back around the conference room. “I would like to propose Admiral Columbia to assume overall command of the navy, effective immediately.”

“I second that,” Toniea Gall said.

You would, Nigel thought. He caught Heather’s smile of approval.

“All in favor?” Doi asked.

Nigel languidly raised his arm along with everyone else. Alan Hutchinson gave him a fierce, sympathetic grin, which he ignored. If Heather was surprised, she didn’t show it. The argument that the Dynasties had engaged in three hours ago via ultra-secure links had been ferocious. Only a small part of the bad feeling had spilled into the first part of the War Cabinet meeting. Even the intensity of that had mildly scandalized the likes of Crispin Goldreich and Toniea Gall. But then, behind strong seals, Heather always did swear like a construction worker.

“I would like to thank you for your confidence,” Rafael said. He sounded most sincere. “I want to assure you that I am determined to end the Prime threat once and for all. Mr. Sheldon, you said you will make your weapon available.”

They all turned to Nigel. Even now, he thought wearily. For a moment he felt like storming out, catching up with Wilson, putting his arm around the man’s shoulder and the two of them heading off to a bar together.

The Commonwealth he’d created and led for so long now wanted his weapons. That’s not how it was supposed to be. The day he’d stepped out on Mars to laugh at Wilson and the other astronauts was the day he broke the old system: he and Ozzie had set everyone free. And now, I’ve helped build the most revolting weapon anyone has ever dreamed up. I wanted us to live among the stars themselves, not snuff them out. “Yeah,” he said contemptuously. How very like the old military officers Rafael was, audacious in their smart uniforms, sounding positive as they gave their briefings on precision attacks and minimal collateral damage. “Unless the Primes agree to negotiate a cessation of hostilities, I will use our weapon against their homeworld.”

“Will that guarantee their eradication?” Hans Braunt inquired.

“The weapon when fired into a star releases a nova-level energy burst, and destroys the star in the process. Such an event will envelop the entire Dyson Alpha civilization. As they have undoubtedly spread beyond their original star by now, my Dynasty tacticians have proposed a firewall strategy. We will run scout missions centered around Dyson Alpha, and nova every star where we detect their presence. It will, of course, sterilize all life on neighboring star systems.”

There was complete silence around the table.

“You wanted to win,” Nigel told them uncompromisingly.

“We have been reticent about genocide in the past, and rightly so,” Rafael said. “For that is what makes us human. But we can no longer indulge ourselves in this case. If the Primes are allowed to survive, they will forever be a threat to our existence. They have flare bombs, and no reluctance to use them. They have wormholes, and from that will be able to develop FTL ships. If that happens, they will spread through this galaxy like a virus, and endanger even more species than ourselves. We cannot allow that to happen. It boils down to a very simple equation: them or us.”

“Very well,” Doi said. “It is the recommendation of this War Cabinet that every means possible is used to rid ourselves of the Prime threat, up to and including their complete extermination. I propose this motion.”

“Seconded,” Rafael said.

“Please vote, ladies and gentlemen,” Doi said.

It was unanimous.

“Thank you,” Rafael said.

“How are you going to deal with the Primes left in Commonwealth space?” Crispin asked.

“The Lost23 will be the easiest,” Rafael said. “They have very few ships in those systems. We will simply pull our insurgency troops out, and use a quantumbuster against each planet. They will not survive that. The New48 are more problematical.”

“You reckon?” Alan Hutchinson snapped. “For a start, you’re not classing Wessex along with the rest of the invasion. Drop a quantumbuster on my world, and I’ll fucking nuke your Dynasty back into the stone age.”

“Nobody’s going to wipe out Wessex,” Heather said. “Calm down, Alan. It’s a Big15, it can recover from the flare radiation. Narrabri is protected under force fields, and the farmland can be replanted easily enough. The rest of it, the land you’ve left uncultivated, doesn’t count; it has no economic value, and no one living there.”

“You still need a functioning biosphere,” Justine said.

“Half of the land mass will be completely unaffected,” Hans said. “The flare activity lasted for less than an hour in total. And the impact the radiation will have on the ocean is completely minimal. The biosphere remains essentially intact on Wessex as it does on the other New48.”

“It’s not that simple,” Justine said. “The particle swarm will spread around the planet. You’ll get fallout everywhere.”

“By far the worst impact is the hemisphere facing the star during flare time. The rest is manageable. Look at Far Away; the flare lasted for weeks there, and we managed to regenerate the continents. That whole planet is alive again. You’re not going to have people running out of oxygen. The time it’ll take to restore the carbon cycle is insignificant on a planetary scale.”

“I’ve actually been to Far Away,” Justine said. “It is minimally habitable, and that’s after over a century and a half of grueling effort. It’s a huge mistake to class it among normal H-congruous worlds. These New48 will not be habitable; we have to get the populations off. I don’t know about Wessex, that’s exceptional, but the rest must be evacuated.”

“I am not proposing abandoning Wessex,” Rafael said. “However, there are now four and a half thousand fully armed Prime ships in the Wessex system. We don’t have four and a half thousand Douvoir missiles in our inventory, let alone the hundred seventy thousand we’ll need to eliminate Prime ships throughout the New48.”

“Did they really send that many through?” Toniea Gall asked.

“Yes,” Rafael said. “Which means we will have to evacuate the majority of these systems. The navy cannot deal with forty-eight armadas.”

“How many can you deal with?” Doi asked.

“Assuming the Moscow-class production continues unabated, we estimate we can clear five star systems before we face a loss of containment. We don’t yet know what kind of threat the ships pose. They have two options, both of which present unique difficulties for us. Firstly, they can head in to the H-congruous planets, and breach our defenses through sheer numbers, then land and establish an armed colony. It does of course mean that we can use quantumbusters against them when they are down and concentrated.”

“And the second option?” Crispin asked.

“They make a break for it. With an average of three and a half thousand ships in each system, they’ll possess enough equipment and manufacturing capability between them to put together an FTL drive eventually. Again, they will have to rendezvous to begin a manufacturing process, which will leave them vulnerable to a Douvoir missile.”

“How long will it take to manufacture a hundred and seventy thousand Douvoir missiles?” Toniea Gall asked.

“We could probably get them completed within nine months, providing we authorize a super crash-priority project. I’m not sure we have that kind of time available. If they are still planning on colonizing the New48, they could be in orbit around each of them within a week.”

“You’re talking about evacuation regardless of the Primes,” Justine said.

“Yes. That is our preferred option. Let them all land and take them out with a quantumbuster.”

“We’ve already got a monstrous refugee problem from the Lost23, and most of them were low-population worlds. How many people live on the New48?”

“Not including Wessex,” Nigel said, “about thirty-two billion people.” This time the silence was even more profound.

“It can’t be done,” Hans Brant said. “Can it?”

“Physically removing them through the wormholes is possible,” Nigel said. “However, accommodating a diaspora of such magnitude within the remaining Commonwealth is totally impractical. There is nowhere for that many people to live; feeding them on basic rations alone would virtually bankrupt the rest of us.”

“Then we have to face that prospect,” Justine said. “I for one will not even consider any proposal that includes abandoning these people. Wars inevitably instigate societal change; it looks like this is shaping up to be ours.”

“A noble sentiment, my dear,” Hans Brant said. “But even if the Senate were to assume draconian powers, and force the refugees on the rest of the Commonwealth, some planets would resist.”

“We cannot turn our backs on thirty-two billion lives!” Justine stormed.

“There is an alternative,” Nigel said quietly. “A risky one, of course.” This time he felt almost nothing but contempt at the way everyone turned to him with hope and desperation in their eyes. “We open up forty-seven fresh planets, and simply transfer the populations over directly so they can rebuild their societies.”

“For Christ’s sake, man,” Alan said. “You can’t dump billions of people on undeveloped worlds. They need cities, and infrastructure, government…food!”

“I know,” Nigel said. “That would all have to be prepared beforehand.”

“But…we’ve got less than a week,” Toniea Gall spluttered.

“As Einstein once said, time depends on the relative position of the observer.”

When President Doi officially closed the War Cabinet session, Justine waited in her chair while the other Dynasty leaders went over to Nigel to offer their thanks and congratulations. Even Heather was conciliatory enough to congratulate him. As for Doi, Justine had never seen the President so pathetically happy; she almost ran across the anteroom to tell Patricia Kantil the outcome. Patricia’s face was soon beaming a huge, incredulous smile.

How stupid, Justine thought. It was as if declaring something were possible had made it happen. And everything they’d agreed in cabinet was dependent on nothing else going wrong. How’s the Starflyer going to react?

“You wanted to see me, I believe?” Nigel said. He’d come over to stand beside her chair. Justine looked up at him. And exactly how do I tell if I’m looking at the Starflyer’s number one agent in the Commonwealth? Her hand went to the slight bump in her belly. I need to secure a place on one of the lifeboats, just in case.

“I do,” she said.

“Excellent. On one condition.”

“What’s that?” she asked in trepidation.

“You and Investigator Myo bring Mellanie with you.”

Justine’s jaw dropped. “Huh?”

“Mellanie Rescorai. I’ve been wanting to meet her for quite a while now. She’s with the Investigator, isn’t she? They traveled back to Earth together from Illuminatus.”

“Yes,” Justine said, struggling to regain her poise. How does he know that? More important, why does he know that?

“Excellent. We’ll do it after we’ve all made this stupid public announcement. The CST offices at Newark should give us some privacy.” He smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay after the assassin’s attempt on your life. Tell Gore I’m impressed, as always.”

“I’ll let him know,” Justine promised.

***

Edmund Li knew he was being stupid staying on. He should have left Boongate weeks ago, when the loose collection of relatives and friends that made up his family all departed on a train to Tanyata. They’d called him every time a connection to the unisphere was available, a schedule that was even worse than the link to Far Away, showing him images of the tent they were living in, scenes from everyday Tanyata life. So he got a good sketch of them and fifty thousand others spread out in a makeshift township not far from the ocean, one of eight such townships centered around the CST station. Everybody was helping to lay down the grid of their new city, building up the infrastructure, doing the work normally left to bots. They all helped out, they all knew their neighbors. There was a pioneer spirit there that human worlds hadn’t possessed since the very first planets were opened up three hundred years ago. Despite the hardship, it looked like a good place to live.

Still, Edmund hadn’t left. The really stupid thing was, technically, he didn’t even have a job anymore. The Far Away freight inspectorate division had nothing left to do. Nobody on Far Away was importing anything. There was nothing for his team to scan and analyze; besides, the others had all left a couple of days after the navy intelligence people had visited; it was just him now. He’d watched all the other offices in the small administration block thin out and dwindle to nothing, which made him the de facto Boongate government official in charge of all travel to Far Away.

At first he kept doing it because of the navy’s Paris office, which had asked him to keep monitoring traffic to and from Far Away. It was important, Renne and Tarlo had said. After a while, he became intrigued by Far Away and what was going on there—that wasn’t a good enough reason to stay, he knew, and yet…The people leaving Far Away were nearly all the same; every Carbon Goose flight was packed full with migrants who’d sold virtually everything they had to buy a ticket. They arrived bowed under the weight of a world with a standard gravity, and burdened further with pitiful expectations of the Commonwealth. Edmund was doing well if he managed to collect all their names before they disappeared into the station terminal where they believed they’d find sanctuary. By talking to them he did manage to gather a picture of the strange turmoil afflicting Far Away, the criminal sabotage, the rise of the Institute in enforcing law and order in Armstrong City.

But it was the people who were still traveling to Far Away who sparked his real interest. Why anyone should choose to go there at this time was incomprehensible. Yet they kept turning up with their return tickets: technical staff for the Institute, security staff for the Institute, managers for the Institute. No Institute staff were on the flights coming back from Far Away; yet they would be the only people left on the planet with return tickets.

In his zeal to understand more of that benighted planet, he ran innumerable searches through the unisphere for information. For the first time ever he began to pay attention to what the Guardians were saying. Yes, they were a bunch of psychopathic terrorists, but put into the context of everything he was witnessing, their claims made unpleasant sense.

Last week even the Carbon Goose flights had stopped as the pilots and crews deserted to head for safer parts of the Commonwealth. Then the CST technical support staff began to slip away from the station. He was mildly surprised that the wormhole to Wessex remained functional, there were so few maintenance personnel left to operate Boongate end. A lot of everyday engineering was being carried out by remote from the Big15 world.

That should have been the right time to leave, Edmund knew. The RI controlling the gateway to Far Away would no doubt shut it down when enough components expired and preset safety limits were reached. It might last a day, or six months; Edmund was hardly an expert. Not that it mattered; without the Carbon Goose crews there was no way to get to Far Away anymore. He felt almost guilty thinking such thoughts; by now he considered himself the only person who cared about the fate of that remote planet, the lone watchman on the border looking out across the void.

Then three days ago something else changed. The communications link between Half Way and Far Away opened at the correct time, but the message traffic flowing into the Commonwealth unisphere wasn’t even one percent of normal, and all of it was encrypted. Any messages or calls going to Far Away were bounced back, including his own official request for information to the Governor’s House. Far Away was now completely isolated.

For three days Edmund Li kept a solitary vigil in his lonely office, waiting to see what was going to happen. Then the Primes attacked.

He followed the invasion through the news shows and official government information feeds. The swarm of ships emerging three AUs out from the star. The flare bomb fired into the star. A secret navy superweapon that was terrifyingly powerful, extinguishing the flare bomb, but with such a high price. Then another flare bomb was fired into Boongate’s star. The navy was forced to blow it up again. Sensors on the satellites orbiting Boongate captured the oceanic waves raging through the star’s corona; they also recorded the sudden and deadly rise in solar radiation playing over the planet.

Without warning or explanation, every Prime wormhole into the Commonwealth shut down. Humans had won—if you discounted the thousands of warships gathering like stormcrows around forty-eight Commonwealth worlds.

It was the weather that probably saved Edmund. He’d spent a couple of hours sitting at his desk accessing reports and firsthand accounts of the invasion, with the occasional foray over to the vending machine for cups of tea. After the wormholes vanished, he started tracking Boongate’s satellite sensor data, seeing the direct impact the radiation gale was having on the planet. Electromagnetic energy was absorbed and weakened to some extent by the atmosphere before it reached the ground. Even so, the dosage was far greater than most animals and plants could comfortably withstand. The first wave of particle radiation arrived not much later, virtually wiping out the ionosphere in the first few minutes. It was much worse than the news studio experts predicted. Power supplies outside the cities and towns protected by force fields became erratic or failed altogether under the surges. All the civil satellites dropped out as they were exposed, leaving sensors on the planetary defense platforms as the only source of information. Borealis storms swept down from the poles, their pale dancing colors bringing a weird beauty to the destruction falling silently across the world.

Edmund went outside to watch the first of the aural lightshows swirl around the city’s force field. The parking lot still had puddles left over from the night’s rainfall before the station and city force fields deflected the clouds. There was only one car standing on the concrete, his own, a fifteen-year-old Honda Trisma. He stood beside it as the mauve and apricot phosphorescence came rippling out of the horizon at supersonic speed. Even the winter clouds had retreated before the elementary tide, producing a clear winter sky. When he squinted up at the sun, he convinced himself he could see small bright spots on the glaring disk.

Sheet lightning flickered over the city. For a moment it outshone both the sun and the borealis lights. Small rivulets of purple ions skated down the curvature of the force field dome. Then the aurora was back in full, reflecting its hot luminescence across the wet concrete.

The unisphere was telling everyone still outside a force field to seek shelter immediately. Lightning flashed again, a longer burst this time. Edmund started counting for the thunder, until he realized how useless that was. There were long sparkles mingling with the borealis streamers now, adding to their intensity, helping to drown out the ordinary sky. Lightning snapped between the varied undulating color bands. It was a strangely beautiful death cloak for a planet to throw around itself, he thought.

His e-butler told him there was an emergency address to the Commonwealth by the War Cabinet. The planet’s cybersphere would carry nothing else. He didn’t even know the managing RI could do that. About time, he thought, we could do with knowing what’s going on, and what happened in the battle. CST still hadn’t reopened the wormhole to Wessex, though the parallel zero-width wormhole was obviously keeping Boongate connected to the unisphere.

The image that rose up into his virtual vision showed him President Doi sitting at the head of an imposing table, flanked by Nigel Sheldon and Heather Halgarth. Edmund pursed his lips: Impressive indeed. Captions labeled the other cabinet members for him; the amount of political power gathered together was an indication that whatever had been decided was definite. He leaned back against his Honda to listen to his fate.

“My fellow citizens,” Doi said, “I will start by telling you that the Prime incursions into Commonwealth space have now ended, at least for the immediate future. A frigate managed to get through to Hell’s Gateway and destroy the wormhole generators there. I cannot give you details about the ship or the weapon used for obvious security reasons, but suffice it to say we now have at our disposal a weapon of truly formidable power. Sadly, as I’m sure you are all aware, this does not eliminate the Prime threat entirely. There are many thousands of Prime warships already in Commonwealth space which will have to be dealt with. In addition, the Primes deployed flare bombs whose effects are still being felt on the Second48 worlds. There is nothing we can do to deflect the radiation saturating those planets. In short, their biospheres will in all probability be rendered uninhabitable. Even if a regeneration program were possible, as it may be on Wessex, all these worlds will see battle again as the navy combats the remaining Prime ships over the coming weeks. It is therefore with huge regret that I have informed the planetary leaders we have no choice but to evacuate their worlds.”

“Shit,” Edmund muttered. He’d known in his heart that the address was going to say something like that, but even so the enormity of what the President was saying was only just registering. But where are we all going to go?

“As accommodating an estimated thirty billion dispossessed people is a practical impossibility even for our society,” Doi said, “we will have to adopt a rather novel solution.”

Edmund didn’t like the sound of that at all. Then his e-butler told him a vehicle had just passed through the level two security cordon around the Far Away gateway section. He frowned. Who the hell was visiting this part of the station, especially now?

Nigel Sheldon leaned forward, taking over from the President, his expression earnest and supremely confident. “When we were building our first wormhole, Ozzie came up with some math for manipulating the internal temporal flow dynamic of exotic matter. We ran a small test a couple of centuries ago using one of CST’s exploratory division wormholes, and the concept worked. It hasn’t been used since, because we haven’t had a practical or commercial application for it. Until today. What we will do is modify the wormholes leading to the planets whose biospheres are dying. Within a week, they will be opened to the entire population in an exodus that will be organized by your national government. You will not be using trains to travel through; instead you will be asked to walk or drive, or take buses—you can even cycle if you like. The other end will emerge on a fresh H-congruous planet in phase three space; however, it will not emerge for another ten or fifteen years, or even longer if necessary. For you, only a few seconds will have gone past, but outside, the rest of the Commonwealth will have had enough time to build new basic cities and towns with a functioning infrastructure to accommodate you. I know this will seem shocking, but the worlds you are on now are dying, and we have to move quickly to insure against further loss of life.”

The car was a Mercedes registered to Grand Triad Adventures. Edmund stood up, staring out across the vast station yard to the road leading away to the terminal. He could actually see the car, a sleek burgundy-red limousine speeding along. It was under manual control, and it drove straight past the junction where it should have turned toward the single passenger platform. Not that anyone was using the Half Way wormhole anyway. Instead it was heading for the office block and the parking lot where Edmund was standing. Something was very wrong about that. He retained enough of his policeman’s instinct to check the small ion pistol he carried, then hurried toward the far end of the building.

“All of us pledge ourselves to seeing this rescue operation through to a successful conclusion,” President Doi said. “Senators, planetary leaders, the Dynasties: we are united in our determination. No matter what the cost or the effort, we will not fail you.” She sighed in compassion. “Godspeed, all of you.”

The Merc turned into the parking lot just as Edmund cleared the end of the building. He peered around the corner to see the big limousine pull up next to his Honda. A door swung open and a tall blond man stepped out. Edmund gasped as soon as he saw the face, recognizing him instantly. Tarlo. The Commonwealth-wide police alert had come through twenty-four hours ago. At first Edmund had thought it was some kind of mistake, or joke, but when he checked the warrant’s certificate it was genuine enough.

Tarlo stared at the Honda for a moment, then he turned his head slowly, scanning the deserted parking lot. Edmund ducked back around the corner. The warrant had said Tarlo was heavily wetwired, and extremely dangerous. He counted to five, then risked another look. Tarlo was walking into the office block. The door to the Merc was still open. Edmund used his retinal inserts to zoom in. A body was lying on the limousine’s carpeted floor, a young man whose neck had been snapped. His dead eyes stared up at the magnificent moiré scintillations that now veiled Boongate’s sky.

***

The Five Stop Café was at one end of the Rocher strip mall, squeezed between a Bab’s Kebabs franchise and Mother Blossom, a budget maternity clothes shop. Highway B77 ran past outside, leading directly to Narrabri’s planetary station four kilometers west. Even now, with the borealis storm seething through the sky outside the megacity’s force field, thousands of alien ships loose in the system, and half of the station’s gateways still closed, the traffic was as thick as always.

Bradley Johansson and Adam Elvin paid little attention to the racing vehicles. The portal over the serving counter had just started to repeat the War Cabinet’s announcement.

“Dreaming heavens,” Bradley muttered. “I never expected that. What an ingenious solution. No wonder Sheldon looks so pleased with himself.”

Adam gave the portal a skeptical glance. “I think smug is more like it.”

“Now, now, Adam, you should learn to be more charitable, especially in times of crisis. Besides, building the infrastructure for forty-seven worlds is a massive centralist state project. Exactly the kind of thing you approve of.”

“Don’t stereotype me. I’m not a fan of centralist government; the tendency there is toward corruption and remoteness. An inclusive society should see a devolution of power down to local committee level.”

“Humm, remind me: How many angels have we counted on that pinhead now?”

“You started this. And it’s forty-eight worlds. Damn, how the hell are they going to transport all these factories to a new planet?” He stared out of the window. Beyond the highway, the megacity rolled away into the smoggy horizon, vast housing estates alternating with industrial precincts, stitched together by the curving lines of the railway tracks and highways. Every few kilometers, the really big structures of refineries or smelter plants rose up out of the low-level sprawl, like the cathedrals and castles of a medieval landscape. Dusk was creeping over the protective force field dome, giving an extra potency to the iridescence that besieged the sky outside.

“Forty-seven,” Bradley said firmly. “Hutchinson won’t move this; he’s already terraformed this world once. Even if the flare kills off every living thing outside the city, the tractorbots will just replant it all for him. In any case, the whole time travel enterprise will have to employ the wormhole generators at Narrabri’s planetary station. No, this world will remain no matter how much damage it suffers. Thirty-two billion people depend on it.”

“Yeah. Those bombs we have…I knew the navy must be developing stronger weapons than the Douvoir missiles, but hell, something that can damage a star? Do you think the Starflyer expected that?”

“No, I don’t.” Bradley smiled into his plastic cup of coffee. “Once again, it has underestimated us. This war was intended to wreck both species; now a decisive victory is within our grasp. Doi and Sheldon will use these weapons, whatever they are, against Dyson Alpha.”

“It wasn’t so clever on Illuminatus, either. Jenny reported that Bernadette was finally cornered by Paula Myo.”

“Really?” Bradley’s eyebrows rose. “How fascinating. Myo must be convinced that the Starflyer is a genuine threat by now. And the failed assassination attempt against Senator Burnelli will also add weight to our story. I wonder if we should attempt one last shotgun message to the Commonwealth.”

“Nobody will listen, not today, not for a long time.” Adam indicated the portal, which was now showing Michelangelo back in his studio. Even his composure had been shaken by the War Cabinet; the commentators he’d got with him seemed almost lost for words. “I’m more concerned that Starflyer agents captured the Agent’s head. Once his memorycell is analyzed, we’ll be looking at a major security breach.”

“I agree it’s upsetting, Adam, but I feel our time frame is measured in days if not hours. Even if the Starflyer worked out where we are and what we’re doing, it would take time to launch an offensive against us. If it was smart, it would have left the Agent to the charms of the navy. They’ll come in guns blazing at the slightest opportunity.”

“Maybe, but we have to watch for the possibility. And with Kime removed, we’ve lost a major potential asset. Oscar won’t have anything like the same influence with Columbia.”

“Has he uncovered anything in the Second Chance logs yet?”

“I don’t know. He’s spent so much time on board his ship, I haven’t been able to contact him.” Adam’s e-butler told him Marisa McFoster was calling. “Yes?” he said.

“We’re on Boongate,” she told him. “Victor Halgarth has gone into a station warehouse belonging to the Sunforge company. Sir, there’s a lot of police-type observers following Victor as well as us.”

“I’m not surprised. The authorities were watching Bernadette on Illuminatus. You’ll find some of them are from Halgarth Security. Can you fit yourselves into a secure location?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a real mess here. The station is nearly in anarchy. After Doi’s announcement, everyone left on the planet is heading right for the terminal building; but the rest of the station is deserted. We’re not going to be able to do much without being seen.”

“I understand. We’ve got several teams on Boongate. I’ll authorize them to contact you and provide as much backup as they can afford. In the meantime keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Victor Halgarth on Boongate, and the whole planet about to be evacuated,” Bradley mused. “This is a remarkable opportunity for us, Adam. We might be able to intercept the Starflyer here in the Commonwealth. It hasn’t returned home yet, and it has only the shortest of times to get back to Boongate. CST won’t risk opening the wormhole for ordinary transport again for fear that there’ll be a stampede through.”

“Mellanie left Illuminatus with Paula Myo,” Adam said. “Shall I try calling her again, and see if she can convince the Investigator?”

“No, we’ll use Senator Burnelli; she’s better placed than Myo, and she has the necessary political strength to place a complete block on the Boongate wormhole.”

“How long do you think it will take CST to modify the wormhole generator to do this time travel trick?”

“Sheldon spoke of a week. I suspect it’s a question of programming rather than any physical modification—everything important is a software problem these days.”

“Okay, while you do that, I’ll prepare our train. We might need it yet.”

“Of course.” Bradley stirred the dregs of his coffee. “You know, it’s highly probable that the Starflyer is also in the Narrabri station, preparing to crash through the Boongate wormhole, just as we are. How ironic is that? I wonder if it has rented the warehouse next to ours?”

“It hasn’t.”

“If you say so, Adam. But we must reorganize our teams to watch the Boongate gateway ourselves.”

“I’ll put some people on it.”

“Have we got any? I understood we’re short, post-Illuminatus.”

“I can spare enough for a simple operation like this. We’re only going to notice the lack of muscle if we do have to crash through.”

“Well, as of now, you have one more piece of ‘muscle.’ I shall be joining your team permanently now. There is little else I can do in the Commonwealth anymore. And it is time I went home to face our nemesis.”

“That’s good; having you on board will be a big morale booster for the Guardians. They need a pick-me-up now we’ve lost contact with Far Away.”

***

CST’s Newark station had wormholes connecting it to over twenty planets in phase one space, including three wormholes to Augusta. Its terminals and marshaling yard squatted on the site of the old airport, sending out an arterial maze of road and rail connections into the surrounding sprawl of urbanization. Nigel gazed out of the manager’s office on the top floor of the station’s administration skyscraper, seeing the New Jersey Turnpike curving around the station’s perimeter. The ancient route still carried huge amounts of freight and passengers in and out of the station, though it was now being supplanted by the new tunnels that CST had drilled to carry trains directly to Manhattan and along the East Coast. Beyond the road the cold gray waters of Newark Bay surged against the shore of Staten Island. Today, the shimmering dome of the force field arched above the island’s buildings and parks, giving the air a filmy hue, as if a faint sea fog had settled over the land.

Nigel’s e-butler showed him security sensor images of Campbell greeting his visitors down in the lobby. Justine Burnelli unbuttoned a snow-white fur-lined coat and gave Campbell the demure kiss of a trusted friend. Nigel had only just realized Justine was pregnant when she arrived for the emergency War Cabinet meeting; now the little bump was quite visible under her stylish gray cashmere dress. It surprised him; someone of her age and status nearly always used a womb tank. When he checked with Perdita she hadn’t known either, let alone who the father was—also unusual—the Grand Families always had strong financial agreements concerning their children, yet nothing had been filed in the New York legal registry. The security sensors showed him her inserts were maintaining a heavily encrypted link to the unisphere, which he guessed led directly back to Gore.

Investigator Myo was exactly as he remembered, her lovely face forever cursed with a slightly melancholic expression, wearing a well-cut charcoal and blue suit with a salmon-pink blouse, her hair brushed to a gloss. Nothing to indicate that less than thirty hours ago she’d been crammed into an armor suit, in the thick of a firefight on Illuminatus.

His real attention, though, was reserved for Mellanie. Her wavy golden hair had been given a cursory brush, leaving it mildly unkempt; that and the way she kept clenching her jaw in a resentful fashion gave her an aggressive appearance. A dramatically short white skirt, long suede boots, and simple thin blue denim shirt managed to be both trendy and trashy. Dudley Bose stuck to her as if there were some kind of membrane holding them together. The petulant anger leaking out over his youthful face was exactly the same as Nigel recalled from the notorious “welcome back” ceremony.

Nigel faced the office door as the lift arrived. He noticed that Campbell had managed to stand as far as possible from Mellanie during the ride up in the small lift. Perdita was right, then.

“Ready?” Nelson asked. The Dynasty security chief had also picked up on the implications of the meeting, but then he’d been observing events on Illuminatus a lot more closely than Nigel.

“Be nice to get a few answers, finally,” Nigel said. He pulled his suit jacket straight. Stupid vanity.

He greeted Justine and Paula formally, then turned to Mellanie. “At last.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Excuse me.”

“I’ve been following your recent activities with a lot of interest. It’s very exciting for me to finally meet you in person.” Which was an understatement. In the flesh she was fabulously attractive, great figure, slightly wild appearance, as if she’d just finished having sex—and wanted more. He held on to her hand. She didn’t try to pull it back, just twitched her lips roguishly as she reviewed him.

“Me, too,” she said; her voice must have dropped a couple of octaves.

“Hello again,” Dudley said. He somehow slid in front of Mellanie to stick his own hand out.

“Dudley; glad to see you’re recovering.” Nigel avoided any inflection in case the neurotic astronomer picked up on the irony.

“That’s all thanks to my Mellanie.” His hand went around her shoulders. She didn’t try to hide her look of disapproval.

Nigel offered them all seats as the e-seal came on around the office. “Well, this is all very serious, Justine. It can’t just be about your committee battle with Valetta.”

“In a way it is,” Justine said. “The Halgarths now have control of the navy.”

“Yes, but I have the nova bomb. And the rest of us have a great deal of input into the navy budget. Heather is balanced. That’s the way the Commonwealth works.”

“I have a question,” Paula said.

“I imagine you do,” Nigel said lightly. “I’ve spent most of the last few hours trying to work out what it’s going to be.”

“For the past century, I’ve been pressing the Commonwealth Executive to impose inspections on all cargo being shipped for Far Away, with no success whatsoever. That kind of examination would have enabled me to restrict the Guardians’ weapons shipments, and possibly even shut them down altogether. Just before he was assassinated, Thompson Burnelli discovered that you have been opposing me for all that time. I’d like to know why.”

Nigel couldn’t help the way he sneaked a help me out look at Daniel Alster, who was in his usual position, a helpful couple of meters to one side. “Have I? I had no idea, or memory…”

“There’s no policy file on that,” Daniel said quickly.

“This is critical,” Paula said. “Thompson believed it to be true.”

“Find out,” Nigel told Daniel. “Call Jessica right now.”

“Sir.”

Nigel stole a glance at Mellanie, who gave him a playful wink and crossed her legs. He wondered what the best approach would be for a girl like this. Just come straight out and ask her to bed. Probably. Though the one thing he didn’t understand was: Why Dudley? What could she possibly see in him?

“Er, our political office has been pursuing that policy,” Daniel said; he sounded embarrassed.

“Why?” Nigel asked.

“Ozzie ordered it.”

“Ozzie?”

Some of the tension went out of Paula’s pose. “I had no idea Mr. Isaac had an input into your Dynasty’s political office.”

“He doesn’t, normally,” Nigel said. “Actually: ever, as far as I’m aware. But Ozzie has an equal share in CST, so as far as I’m concerned he’s entitled. Are you sure?” he asked Daniel.

“Yes.” Daniel gave Paula a curious look. “He instructed the political office to adopt that strategy in 2243.”

“Oh, my,” Paula said. “The year of the Great Wormhole Heist. The year Bradley Johansson formed the Guardians and stole enough money to begin their operations. So the Starflyer never had anything to do with it. The Guardians stopped any examinations. I knew they had high-level access to the Executive, but I never considered Mr. Isaac was behind them.”

“Okay,” Nigel said; he wagged his finger at them. “Explanations, please. Now.”

“Simple enough,” Justine said. “Wilson Kime is quite correct. The Starflyer is real. It funded Dudley’s observation of Dyson Alpha through a bogus educational charity. It had agents on board the Second Chance.”

“It has also infiltrated the navy,” Paula said. “Wilson uncovered evidence that its agents were on board the Second Chance, but that was subsequently tampered with by someone inside Pentagon II. He couldn’t go public with it. We believe a modified sensor satellite was responsible for interfering with the barrier generator and letting the Primes out. The whole mission was a gigantic con trick designed to start a war between us and the Primes, weakening both our species.”

Nigel finally knew how Wilson had felt when he landed on Mars. Today, he’d turned a star nova to neuter the greatest threat the human race had ever faced, then gone on to work out how to save thirty-two billion human lives; now he’d found out the war that had destroyed their stars was mostly his fault to begin with. “Oh, holy fuck.” He shot an appealing look to Nelson, but the security chief was struggling with his own shock.

“If you’re correct about this—” Nelson began.

“We are,” Mellanie said primly.

Nelson gave her a short annoyed smile. “Then the Guardians are probably right about the Starflyer infiltrating the Halgarth Dynasty.”

“Essentially, yes,” Paula said. “Our showdown with its agents on Illuminatus confirmed this. The majority of Halgarths are completely unaffected, of course. But those in strategic positions have been taken over. Christabel is slowly acknowledging something is wrong; she’s discreetly helping us keep track of suspects. It won’t be long before she takes her suspicions to Heather.”

“And Columbia?” Nelson asked. “Is he one of them?”

“We don’t know.”

“Son of a bitch,” Nigel grunted. “Well, that settles it, we do not release our nova bombs to the navy. Jesus! And Doi? What about her? The Guardians said she was one of them.”

“We believe that was simple disinformation,” Paula said. “Isabella Halgarth, a confirmed Starflyer agent, helped put that shotgun together. However, Isabella also had a relationship with Patricia Kantil.”

“She helped engineer the political decisions to form a navy,” Justine said. “We’ve all been played to some extent.”

“Alessandra Baron is one of its agents,” Mellanie said. “The bitch.”

Nigel felt numb as his expanded mentality began to examine the problem. There was a lot of anger building in his mind, the kind of straight animal antagonism that came from being fooled. But it was countered by the surprise and sheer worry of the situation. Goddamn, we were blindsided! “Whatever we do, we can’t make this public,” he decided. “Not right now. We need the public’s complete confidence in government for the immediate future. The populations we’re trying to save are dependent on the rest of the Commonwealth unifying behind the time travel strategy. That has to be our number one priority. Rooting out traitors can be done quietly in parallel. You guys must have some ideas how to do that; that’s why you’re here, right?”

“Primarily, yes,” Paula said. “To begin with, simply being aware of the manipulation effectively nullifies it.”

“What exactly does the Starflyer hope to achieve?” Nelson asked. “It’s got its war, what more can it achieve?”

“I’m uncertain,” Paula said. “The Guardians say it wants to destroy or at the very least weaken both species, leaving it to become the dominant power in this section of the galaxy. I would speculate that your nova bomb has upset those plans; humans are now capable of destroying the Primes. The Commonwealth will remain, and we will be considerably stronger. From a military point of view it has already failed.”

“Only if the navy and ourselves continue to press the attack,” Nelson said. “That’ll be where it concentrates its influence now. I would. After all, the Primes aren’t exactly helpless yet. They still have the Hell’s Gateway generator, and flare bombs. If we hesitate, thanks to the Starflyer, they could still manage a devastating blow against us.”

“Then we have to launch a strike against Dyson Alpha right away,” Nigel said. “That’s where the Hell’s Gateway generator is. Don’t tell the navy, don’t consult anyone else. Just do it.”

“The Charybdis should be back in communications range in another day,” Nelson said. “And the Searcher is already home. Frigate construction is already under way. We can launch within forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”

“See to it,” Nigel said. “You personally, Nelson. God knows if it’s infiltrated our Dynasty as well. Is there any kind of test?” he asked Paula.

“We have to wait until the results from Isabella come back. Once we understand what was done to her, we might be able to recognize it in others. But don’t expect it to be quick or simple. It could well take decades to find the last of them.”

“You’re reading her memories?” Nelson asked.

“I have a Raiel doing that for me, yes.”

Nigel couldn’t help an admiring smile. Investigator Myo was always one unexpected step ahead. “Do you think Ozzie is a Starflyer agent?”

“Difficult to say. From what I’ve just heard, I’d say he was helping the Guardians. We will need to read his memories to be sure. Do you know where he is?”

“We lost track of him on Silvergalde,” Nigel said. “His last message said he was off to ask the Silfen what they knew about the Dyson Pair barriers. He hasn’t been seen since.”

“I see,” Paula said.

“Do you have any idea what this Starflyer is?” Nigel asked. His expanded mentality began to access the Dynasty files on the Guardians. They weren’t a lot of use, summaries of investigations launched by the Serious Crimes Directorate.

“It’s the survivor of the Marie Celeste arkship on Far Away,” Paula said. “Which is about as much as we know. Bradley Johansson claims it took over the humans investigating the arkship, so any data from the Institute is obviously suspect. We have no idea where it came from, what it looks like, its size, even if it’s an oxygen breather. Even now its existence can only be deduced from the behavior of its agents. It is the perfect bogeyman myth.”

“Son of a bitch,” Nigel muttered angrily. He was indignant—no, actually affronted—that an alien like that could move humans around like chess pieces. An unseen malign influence creeping around his Commonwealth, subverting and corrupting whatever it touched, like some medieval demon. Small wonder nobody wanted to believe in it. “How could it have gone unnoticed for so long?”

“Because it’s cautious, and works on a long timescale,” Paula said. “Which actually gives us our first clue as to its nature. It is obviously long-lived. Given this strategy to eliminate us and the Primes so that its own kind can expand unhindered into this section of the galaxy, it thinks in terms of centuries if not millennia.”

“But it must have a base somewhere, a physical presence. We have to be able to track it down.”

“Bradley Johansson and Adam Elvin are both physical and real,” Paula said with a regretful smile. “I’ve never managed to arrest them. Which gives me a theory as to the Starflyer’s location.”

“Where?” Justine asked sharply.

Paula stood up and walked over to the office window where she was silhouetted by the blurry gray sky outside. She beckoned Nigel over. Together they looked down on the station marshaling yard, where long trains snaked their way along the silver and white rails.

“Johansson and Elvin know and understand the covert activity game very well,” she said. “They are always on the move, they have no permanent home, they avoid relationships, attachments, friendships, anything that can tie them down. That’s why I was always chasing them; they were never in one place long enough for me to catch up; that and their political cover from Mr. Isaac.”

Nigel felt as if the cold sea air trapped under the force field was permeating the office as realization dawned. Goose bumps pricked the skin along his forearms. Below him trains slid in and out of the tunnels that led to the cities of the East Coast states, from New York all the way south to Miami. The cliff face of gateways shone light from distant stars across the ground in long pale ellipses. “Oh, dear God, no.”

“It’s the logical conclusion,” she said. “The Starflyer is alien. At the very least it will require food proteins from its native world, either grown or synthesized. Its body would attract attention if it were ever seen. What could be easier than having its own freight wagon? It would always be traveling, always be free to go where it wanted, always have its own environment.”

“Our control RI can search the records, look for trains that never stop,” Nigel said with a dry throat. It was hopeless, and he knew it.

“The wagon will switch engines and even companies, it will spend months or years on a siding, or inside a warehouse, it will roam over planets wherever there are rails; the Starflyer will even change and modernize the wagons over the decades.”

“It could be anywhere,” Nigel said in an aghast voice.

“According to the Guardians it will go back to Boongate and from there Far Away.”

“The Boongate gateway is closed. And it will be kept that way now.”

“I hope so.”

“What do you mean by that? I won’t allow it to be opened.”

Paula glanced over at Nelson, then turned back to Nigel. “You and Nelson do realize that someone very well placed in your Dynasty has to be a Starflyer agent, don’t you?”

He inclined his head slightly, clearly loath to say anything. “If it travels the way you claim, that’s painfully obvious. It’s been given a lot of help over the years. I only hope it hasn’t subverted my Dynasty the way it has Heather’s.”

“There’s no evidence of that. And Johansson has never claimed it.”

“The ultimate approval,” he muttered sarcastically.

“I’d like to suggest we pull the Guardians in from the cold,” Justine said. “They know more about the Starflyer than anyone else. If we’re going to try to capture it, we could do with their help.”

“How?” Paula asked as she walked back to her seat. “We don’t know how to contact them. The navy lost their last serious lead, the Agent, on Illuminatus.”

Justine gave the Investigator an apologetic little shrug. “I’ve been in touch with Bradley Johansson for a while now.”

Nigel actually managed to chuckle—gallows humor. He broke off hurriedly when he saw the Investigator giving him a somber stare. “I like it,” he said as he slumped back into his chair. “A conspiracy within a conspiracy. Funny: I always thought I’d be on the receiving end of a secret resistance movement, not actually taking part in one. Contact Johansson for us, Justine; ask if he’d like to meet and pool resources. We should call Wilson in as well, he can help keep an eye on the navy for us; he’ll have enough sympathizers inside Pentagon II to stay on top of Columbia.”

“There’s someone I’d like to bring in as well,” Mellanie said.

“I’m sorry,” Nigel said. “I don’t entirely trust the SI, especially not after its lack of assistance today.”

Mellanie gave him a pitying look. “Me neither. And don’t be so patronizing.”

“Trust me. After what happened to Dorian on the Cypress Island, I wouldn’t dare.”

“How did you…”

Nigel gave the astonished girl a winning grin. “Told you I followed your activities.”

Mellanie sat back for a moment, then she recovered and flashed him an evil smile. “What I actually want is for one of your wormholes to recover the Bose motile for me.”

“What’s the Bose motile?” Nigel gave Dudley Bose a suspicious glance.

“The alien you’re calling the Primes is in fact a single consciousness distributed through billions of individual bodies,” Mellanie said. “The Bose motile is the one that contains Dudley’s memories; they were downloaded into it after he was captured. That’s who warned the Conway. It then managed to escape and make its way to Elan. My friends are guarding it for me.” She looked around the silent, startled faces in the office, before giving Nigel a sardonic grin. “I think that’s game to me.”

Morton’s e-butler woke him. The sensors that Cat’s Claws had emplaced all over the Randtown district were picking up a signal from a point two hundred kilometers directly above the Trine’ba. It was a repeated message on the same channel-hopping sequence that the navy used, yet the encryption was the one Mellanie had given him. When he used the key, text printed across his virtual vision. MORTY, I’VE GOT A WORMHOLE OPEN FOR YOU. PLEASE RESPOND. MELLANIE.

“Jeez!” He sat up fast. His body was stiff from sleeping in his armor suit. It was dark in the cave they were using. A couple of lights were showing a pale yellow glimmer, enough to reveal the slushy frost dripping down the rock. Rob was on duty, dressed in full armor, sitting up by the jagged entrance like some nightmare obeah idol. The Cat, who was supposed to be asleep, was in Moon Palm position on top of her sleeping bag. She stared at him wordlessly, which made him shiver despite the semiorganic fabric of his own sleeping bag maintaining his body temperature at a perfect level. The survivors were bundled up in their own bags and blankets like giant pupae lying together on the other side of the cave. They were motionless, apart from David Dunbavand, whose whimper would carry across the cave every time he quivered inside his thick wrappings. The medical kits had helped to stabilize him, but he’d made little progress recently.

Standing by the pile of equipment in the middle of the cave was the Bose motile. It had barely moved from that position since the day they’d marched up to the shelter. They had cloaked it in various sheets of semiorganic fabric to keep it warm and reasonably dry. Every couple of days one of them would drive a bubble down to the Trine’ba and load up with the polluted water for it to eat. Morton thought it was in pretty bad shape, despite Bose’s own protestations that it was fine.

“So what’s in the message?” the Cat asked.

Rob’s helmet had turned toward Morton.

“It’s Mellanie. She’s opened a wormhole for us. I knew it. I knew she’d come through.”

The Cat exhaled calmly. “I hope you’re right. The navy was very clear about its timetable.” She started pulling her armor on.

“Yeah yeah, screw you.”

The navy communication had come in that afternoon, telling them they were to be lifted off in three days’ time. Until then they were to cease all combat missions, and simply observe the Primes. It had been a big morale boost, and sparked an instant argument about what to do about the Bose motile. Rob had been all for shooting it there and then, pretending the whole episode had never happened. Even the survivors had objected to that.

Morton’s virtual hands moved quickly over communications icons, routing his reply through their network of sensor disks, so that the transmission wouldn’t come from anywhere near the mountain saddle where their cave was located. Just in case.

“Mellanie?”

“Morty! Hi, oh God, darling, are you okay?”

“Sure. Fine. How about you?”

“Good. We don’t have much time. This wormhole can take you off, all of you. Where are you?”

“Mellanie, what was the name of your stylist when we were living together?”

“What? Oh, I see, very paranoid. Sasha used to doll me up for you. Okay?”

“Okay. So what’s going to happen? Are we clear with the navy? My colleagues don’t exactly fancy going on the run after we get back.”

“You’re clear. I have some allies now, the best, you’ll see. Please hurry.”

“All right, this is the location.” He sent a file with their coordinates.

“Give us thirty seconds.” The signal cut off.

Morton stood up, and clapped his hands loudly. “Okay, people, we’re out of here. Let’s move! We don’t have long.”

The four survivors stirred as the lights were switched up to full brightness, blinking sleepily.

“Rob, get outside,” Morton said. “See if you can locate the wormhole. It’ll open any second now.”

“Right.”

“Dudley. You’re going to have to walk to it.”

“I can manage that, thank you,” the Bose motile replied through its array.

“I’ll just stay by your side when we go through,” the Cat purred smoothly. She was already standing at Morton’s shoulder, holding her helmet in one hand, a pack slung over her shoulder.

“Highlight of my day,” Morton retorted. He gave Simon and Georgia a hand lifting up David’s stretcher, and put his own helmet beside the injured man’s legs. The Cat simply walked alongside without volunteering any help as they picked their way over the slippery rock.

“Fuck me,” Rob said. “It’s here!”

“What’s on the other side?” the Cat asked sharply.

“Some kind of big room. Hey! I can see Mellanie. There are some troop types in there with her.”

Morton smiled to himself. He resisted the urge to say: Told you so.

It was sleeting heavily outside. Morton screwed his face up against the bitter cold striking his skin as he emerged from the cave’s narrow entrance; he wished he’d put the helmet on. The wormhole had opened a few meters beyond the cave entrance, a silver gossamer circle poised above the dirty slush, resembling a full moon. Dark shapes were just visible inside. Rob was standing directly in front of it, a tall black figure striding forward purposefully. Then the silver glow splashed around him and he was through on the other side.

“So Mellanie has pulled it off again,” Simon said. “You have yourself quite a lady there, Morton.”

“Yeah,” he drawled, suddenly very eager to see her again.

He picked his way over the awkward surface, paying more attention to his feet than to the glowing silver circle ahead of him. The cold was bitter, stinging his ears and cheeks. Then the air tingled around him, and he was through the force field. He blinked against the bright light. Warm air immediately started to melt the ice that had settled on his hair and suit.

They were in a CST exploratory division environment confinement chamber. He’d accessed news reports of their missions enough times to recognize one instantly: a spherical chamber fifty meters in diameter with black, absorptive walls. Yellow and red striped lines marked out airlocks and instrument recesses, while broad windows halfway up allowed the Operations Center staff a direct view of what was going on. A ring of lights shone down on him and the reception party. Morton didn’t even notice the rest of them. Mellanie stood out in front, wearing an agreeably short white skirt, and a blue denim shirt open virtually to her navel. Her hands were on her hips, and she was staring right at him, eyes shining and mouth smiling wide.

“Morty!” She ran forward.

He almost dropped David Dunbavand as her arms hugged him. Someone took the stretcher pole from his grip, and he hugged her back. Then they were kissing passionately, and he was ready to tear that shirt off and have sex with her on the floor of the chamber right there and then.

She pushed back, tossing her head. Golden hair floated about. Her tongue was caught coyly between her teeth. “Missed me again, huh?”

“Oh, Christ, yes.”

Mellanie laughed. It was close to mockery, certainly triumphant.

People were moving past him. Medics clustering around David Dunbavand. Security personnel with activated force fields carrying stumpy carbines helped Rob out of his armor, were taking the Cat’s bag and helmet from her, led the other survivors away from the wormhole. Three of them stood around the Bose motile, while another pulled off the sheets of cloth it had draped over its body. Mandy was crying, comforted by a medic.

The wormhole closed silently behind them.

“Please remove your suit, sir,” one of the security team said.

Morton did as he was told. The Cat stripped off her own armor, deliberately taking her time.

“All clear,” the security team chief finally announced.

An airlock door split open. Dudley Bose stepped into the chamber. It was the first time Morton had seen the re-lifed astronomer. He wasn’t impressed. Bose was a harried youth with a nuclear furnace of nervous energy that made his movements jerky, anxiety and incredulity pulling at his face like a heavyworld gravity field.

Morton braced himself for a small scene. After all, he was still smooching up against Mellanie. But Dudley ignored everyone else in the chamber to race over to the Bose motile. His speed almost tripped him; perfect coordination was still definitely lacking. He came to a shaky halt a meter in front of the tall alien. Two of its sensor stalks bent around to keep the man in view.

“GIVE ME MY MEMORIES BACK,” Dudley screamed at the motile. “Make me ME again.” His fists rose uncertainly.

“Of course,” the Bose motile said from its array. “What did you think I was going to do with them? We are one, Dudley, more than brothers.”

“I…I…” Spittle was shooting out of Dudley’s mouth. “I have to know. What happened? What did they do to me?”

“They killed us, Dudley. Shot us in cold blood. Our original human body died at Dyson Alpha.”

Dudley swayed about, on the verge of apoplexy.

“You didn’t tell him?” Morton asked her.

Mellanie shook her head. “I’d better calm him down,” she murmured; she sounded exasperated, a parent running after a particularly troublesome child.

Morton looked from her to Dudley. What in Christ’s name does she see in him?

“Come on, Dudley,” Mellanie said, holding him by the hand. “We can sort all this out later.”

“No!” He yanked his hand free, leaving her startled. She winced at the strength he’d used. Morton took a pace toward them. Rob and the Cat suddenly appeared on either side of him. The Cat’s hand rested on his shoulder. “No,” she purred.

“Just fuck off,” Dudley bellowed. “Fuck off and leave me alone with myself, you stupid little tart. I’m here, do you understand? I’m here, all of me. I can be me again. Don’t try and stop that, don’t interfere. Nobody interfere.”

Mellanie’s face hardened. “As you wish, Mr. Bose.”

“They…they have somewhere we can use,” Dudley said, looking up at the alien’s sensor stalks, his face pleading. “A medical facility. We can start right away.”

“Very well,” the Bose motile said.

Dudley’s head moved around in short jerks as if it were robotic. He focused on one of the medical team in the hugely attentive audience. “You. You said there was a treatment room.”

“Yes.” The woman walked over, and tipped her head up to gaze at the alien’s sensor stalks with an awed expression on her face. She took in the electronic module merged with its flesh, the optical cable linking that to the array. “I don’t know if this will work.”

“Trust me,” the Bose motile said. “This body is built around the concept of memory transfer. It’s just a question of modifying the interface.”

“Okay, then. This way.” She led the human and motile Bose toward one of the airlock doors. Five of the security personnel fell in around them, carbines not quite pointing at the motile as it waddled along, but close. Just before it reached the door, the Bose motile bent a sensor stalk around toward Mellanie. “Pleased to meet you, by the way. I can see I’m a lucky man, if somewhat ungrateful at this moment. I would enjoy talking to you later.”

Mellanie gave the alien a pleasant smile. “I’ll look forward to it, Dudley.”

“What do you mean, ungrateful?” Dudley’s whiny voice asked as they went through the door. “And what business is it of yours?”

“Never a dull moment with Mellanie,” a voice said cheerfully in Morton’s ear.

Morton turned, and did a fast double take. Nigel Sheldon was standing beside him.

“She said she had allies,” Morton said sardonically.

“She wasn’t joking.” Nigel gave the closed wormhole a nostalgic glance. “You might want to go back when she’s finished explaining what’s going on.”

“I doubt it. Where are we, exactly?”

“Augusta.” He gave Simon a short bow. “Mr. Rand, I’ve heard good things about you. I’m sorry for your loss. Randtown was a lovely concept.”

“Mr. Sheldon,” Simon replied gravely. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Thank Mellanie. Now, we have baths, food, and answers waiting for you. Take them in any order you want.”

“All at once,” Morton said. He went over to where Mellanie was staring at the open airlock, and put his arm around her. She grinned distantly, then glanced over at Nigel with an expression that was as confused as it was worried.

“Give me an answer when you’re ready,” Nigel said to her. There was a slight edge to his voice.

Rob turned to the Cat as everyone started to move out of the big chamber. “I don’t get it,” he complained. “She’s got Morton wrapped around her little finger. That looked like Sheldon has the hots for her, too. They say Michelangelo beds every assistant on his show, male or female. So what the fuck does she see in Bose?”

***

Alic Hogan had stopped wincing and sighing each time he squirmed in his seat. Every part of his body was in some kind of pain; movement created innumerable additional twinges. He couldn’t take too many drugs if he wanted to retain his mental acuity. Healskin wasn’t nearly the soft cushion its manufacturers claimed.

Just being alive was awful.

Nobody in the Paris office paid any attention to his misery. Half of them had suffered worse injuries than he on Illuminatus. Except Vic, of course. Vic was in a very different kind of pain. The big man sat at his desk for hour after hour, ripping through data like a metavirus. All of them were back reviewing Tarlo’s files, hunting for any clues that might lead them to him. A forensic team was going through his apartment, analyzing everything from his toothgell to the DNA in hair; just something—anything—that would tell them how he had been taken over by the Starflyer.

Jim Nwan handed cups of coffee around to the people working at the nest of desks they’d shoved together in the middle of the room. Alic took his without looking up from the results of the DRNG bonds; Tarlo had been quite diligent about tracing them, working up files on the buyers. None of which had been shown to Alic. But I bet the Starflyer got them all.

His coffee was just right, no sugar and a dash of cream. Acceptance was the one decent result to come out of Illuminatus; he was one of the Paris team now. Strange how much that meant to him. Strange the way loyalties shifted. Alic accepted the Starflyer’s existence now. So much of what had happened made sense once the alien’s influence was factored in. Not that he’d told the Admiral yet. The way Wilson Kime had been fired by the War Cabinet had sent a real shock wave through the navy. Even the Paris office that had always been under Columbia’s command thought the way in which Kime had been turned into a scapegoat was despicably shabby. Though the only real subject they talked about was the time travel project.

“I can’t find a damn thing on the Baron observation,” John King complained. “He must have wiped them.”

Alic glanced over at the big wall-mounted portal that was playing the Michelangelo show. Senator Goldreich was the guest, explaining how the fresh worlds would be prepared for the refugees. His e-butler changed the access to Alessandra Baron. Her guest was a pale man called Dimitri Leopoldovich, who was discussing what tactics the navy should use to engage the thousands of Prime warships remaining in the Commonwealth.

“Call the observation team direct,” Alic told John. “Get them to send copies of their reports.”

He gave the portal an evil look. God alone knew what harm Baron was causing in the long run. Now that he listened to her, really listened, he was sure he could hear nothing but contempt and mockery for everything the navy had done. She was hacking away at people’s confidence, undermining authority. All under the disguise of tough interviewing.

His e-butler told him a secure call was coming into the office for Renne. A file ran down his virtual vision, giving him Edmund Li’s record. The fact that he was from Boongate was enough to interest Alic. “Give it to me,” he told his e-butler.

“I was trying to reach Renne,” Edmund Li said.

“She’s not available,” Alic told him. Morale in the office hadn’t been helped when they all found out that there wasn’t a clinic place anywhere in the Commonwealth to re-life her; the most optimistic estimate was seven years before a slot became open. Everyone was backlogged with bodyloss victims from the Lost23; and that was before the new invasion. “I’m her commanding officer. What’s the problem?”

“Tarlo’s here.”

Alic snapped his fingers for everyone’s attention as he opened the call to a general link around his team. “How do you know?”

“Because he’s up in my office right now.”

“Where are you? What’s your office?”

“I’m at the Boongate planetary station, in the Far Away section. Right now I’m holed up in the Carbon Goose flight office in the administration block, ground floor. Tarlo is in the security office on the third floor. I managed to get a shadow scrutineer program loaded so I can follow what he’s doing.”

“How many people have you got with you?” Alic asked.

“None.”

“What?”

“There’s nobody else here. Just me and him. As far as I know, we’re the only people in the whole Far Away section.”

“Christ!” Alic could see his own dismay mirrored in the faces of the team around him. “What’s he doing?”

“Taking over the security systems which guard the perimeter. There are a lot of weapons here; they were installed in case anything hostile ever got through from Far Away. Old-fashioned stuff, but it still packs a punch. And he’s established complete control over the force field; there’s no way in and no way out. I’ve disabled a couple of the sensors in the room I’m using so he can’t see me; but if I move from here the building’s internal sensors will pinpoint me instantly.”

“I thought you said you’d got a shadow program loaded in the security arrays?”

“I have.”

“Then you must have copies of his codes. You can take command of the section’s network, shut it all down.”

“Not a chance. Now he’s in the network, he’s installing his own management routines. The shadow program is gradually being locked out.”

“Shit!” Alic thumped his fist down on the desk, wincing at the burst of pain from his burns. “All right, Edmund, are you armed?”

“Yeah, an ion pistol, Colt8000, eighty percent charge. I don’t think it’ll be much use against him. I accessed the warrant you issued. That wetwiring he’s got is heavy duty.”

“Listen, we’re coming to get you.”

“Ha! The wormhole to Boongate is closed. CST isn’t going to open it now; people would get back into the Commonwealth, Sheldon and Doi want to force everyone into the future. The only way you’re going to get to me is in twenty years’ time.”

“Unacceptable,” Vic said. The finality in the big man’s voice was intimidating.

“We’ll get you out of there, I promise,” Alic told Edmund, “even if we have to take a starship to Boongate. Now listen, I want you to keep this link open permanently. Transfer through all the data your shadow program has captured. Then I’m going to connect you up with someone in our technical department; they’ll see if there’s any way you can use your ion pistol to physically disable the force field generator.”

“You’re kidding. It’s in a building about three hundred meters from this one.”

“Okay, what about armor and force field suits? The security department must have some?”

“Sure. Up there where he is.”

“Then we’ll bring in a tactical expert to analyze your situation. Stay calm, we will get you through this.”

“If you say so. But I’d like to download my memories into a secure store if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, we’ll set one up right now.” He clicked his fingers at Matthew Oldfield, who gave a hurried nod.

“Do you know why Tarlo’s here?” Edmund asked.

“No, we don’t.”

“You can tell me, you know. It’s not like I’m going to be leaking classified information to anyone right now.”

“We genuinely don’t know, but it must be connected to Far Away somehow.”

“Yeah. I figured he’s here to help the Starflyer get home.”

“What do you know about the Starflyer?” Alic asked in surprise. Am I the only one who didn’t know it was real?

“Nothing much, really. There’s been some weird things happening on Far Away lately. It would make sense, that’s all.”

“You’re probably right. Listen, I’m going to leave you with my team now, okay? I’ll start working on a way to get to Boongate.”

“How?” Vic asked.

Alic stood up. “The Admiral. He’s got the clout to get us through.”

“Ha! He’s not going to accept this.”

“If he doesn’t accept this, then I quit.” He looked around at their startled faces, the faint smiles of approval. “It’s not much of a threat, I know. But it’s the only one I’ve got.”

“Then you tell him we quit with you,” John King said. The rest of them said, “Hell yes” and “Me, too.”

Vic put his hand on Alic’s shoulder. “Good luck. And thanks, Boss.”

When the door to Alic’s office shut, he had to sit down quickly and blow out a long breath. There was only so far impetuosity could carry you. The team was looking in at him through the glass. It actually felt very good indeed.

Oh, what the hell. That bastard Tarlo tried to kill me. That makes it personal.

His virtual finger touched the Admiral’s icon. No hesitation, he was pleased to see. The Admiral’s e-butler told Alic that his access level had been reduced to grade seven. “I’ll wait,” he told the program.

It took two and a half hours before Rafael Columbia responded. “I can give you five minutes,” he told Alic.

“We’ve located Tarlo.”

“Then arrest him.”

“He’s on Boongate.”

“Screw. It’ll have to wait, Hogan. We’ll grab him when he comes out wherever Sheldon sends him.”

“We need him now, sir. He’s a Starflyer agent.” Alic closed his eyes, half expecting a lightning bolt to slam down out of the sky and roast him behind his desk.

“Christ, not you, too? I thought you were reliable.”

“I am reliable, sir; that’s why I’m telling you this. Think about it. Tarlo’s a traitor, a double agent, that’s beyond question; I was one of the people he was shooting at on Illuminatus. Who is he working for, sir? If not the Starflyer, who is trying to destroy the Commonwealth? Tell me. Give me another name, and I’ll chase them for as long as it takes.”

There was a long pause. “You can’t get to Boongate,” the Admiral said. “This is classified, but the wormholes to the Second48 will not be reopened. The War Cabinet decided we cannot risk a stampede back into the Commonwealth. Those populations must go into the future.”

“You have the authority, sir. You can get CST to open the Boongate wormhole for us. My team and I will stay on Boongate afterward and go into the future with the rest of the population. But we must get there before the evacuation. We must establish the Starflyer’s intent. The navy needs to know. Surely you must see that?”

“You really believe it, don’t you?”

“We all do, sir.”

“Very well, Hogan, if this is to happen it doesn’t get put in the files until there’s a successful conclusion. Nonnegotiable.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good. Put your arrest team together and get over to Wessex. I’ll see what I can do at this end.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And, Hogan, if you’re wrong, stay on Boongate. There will be no future for you, not anywhere at any time. Understand?”

“Understood, sir.”

***

Mellanie walked down the mansion’s broad corridor with her black lacy robe flowing out behind her. The sculpted swan wall lights were turned down to a rouge glimmer, deepening the shadows between the arches. It was two o’clock in the morning, and no one else was about.

Guilt at what she was doing only made it more exciting. Morton hadn’t stirred when she left their room. Randtown had left him more tired than he was willing to admit.

The door opened before she even tapped on it. Nigel was standing there, dressed in a loosely tied emerald bathrobe. The greedy smile on his face was one she’d seen on men countless times before—she’d thought it might be different with him. He took her hand, and hurriedly pulled her into the bedroom.

“What—” she began.

“I wouldn’t want my wives to get jealous,” he murmured as he gave the corridor a theatrical check before closing the door.

“They’re not, so don’t pretend they are.”

“Okay.” He was pressed up against her, hands removing her gown. His mouth moved to hers.

Mellanie planted a hand on his chest and pushed them apart. “Are you going to say hello, first?”

“Don’t play the Victorian bride. You came to me.” He grinned, and walked over to the huge bed. “Now come here.” He patted the furry mattress, which rippled sluggishly.

“What is this, your main orgy room?” she asked archly.

“It would be your room.”

She gave the classic white and purple décor an appreciative glance as she went over to sit beside him. “Nice, I guess.”

“Course, we’d have orgies in it. Seriously.”

She had to laugh, he was so outrageous, and honest. “Yes, I know. I met Aurelie earlier. Talk about making a girl feel inferior. And she didn’t even need reprofiling to look like that.”

“You see, you even like my other wives. What more of an incentive do you need?” His hand slipped off one of her negligée’s shoulder straps and moved down to the exposed breast.

“This is very flattering, Nigel.”

“I want it to be pleasurable, not flattering.”

Mellanie moaned hungrily. He’d got her other shoulder strap off; the negligée crumpled around her waist. His hands knew exactly how to move over her skin, the way she had to spend forever teaching other men. “It already is,” she confessed.

“So say yes.”

“No. Ahha.” She actually felt her body shake from the gentle pressure his fingers applied. It wasn’t a response she could control.

Nigel lowered her down on the mattress, then unfastened his toweling gown.

Mellanie giggled. “Nigel!”

“What did you expect?” he asked modestly. “I am the ruler of the galaxy, after all.”

“God, a man who altered his cock to match his ego.”

He grinned. “What makes you think I had it altered?”

Mellanie’s giggles returned big time. “I take it back, your ego is bigger.”

“Turn over.”

“Why?”

“Massage. To start with.”

“Oh.” She rolled onto her front. Oil that was body-warm was dripped onto her spine. He began to rub it in. “How did you know about the Cypress Island?” she asked.

“If I told you that you’ll just be cross with me. I want to have sex with you too much for that.”

“I won’t be cross.”

“You will. Why won’t you marry me?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone. I like this, this is fun. And I’d even enjoy joining in with your other wives. But as a permanent thing…That’s not me. Sorry.”

“Hey, I love it. Jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous.” Mellanie tried to twist around to protest, but his hands reached her buttocks. She had to clamp her teeth to stop squealing.

“What does the SI get out of your arrangement?” Nigel asked.

“God, is there anything you don’t know?”

“I don’t know that for a start.”

“It says it just wants to know what’s going on, that’s all. I can get into places where there’s no unisphere coverage.”

“Figures. So it knew about the nature of the Primes?”

“It found out at Randtown. It hacked into their communications through my inserts.”

“Goddamn thing never told us. Bastard.” Nigel moved down to her thighs.

“Do you think it’s hostile as well?”

“I think it’s a snob. I think it looks down on us as the lower-class neighbors bringing down the tone of the galaxy. It’s not actively belligerent, but like all snobs it has a fascination for what it’s not. Hence you, and others like you. It also has sentiment, which is why it helps us out on rare occasions. Yet it will always rationalize that as something else entirely: charity or consideration born of superiority. The trouble is, I don’t know if it would help us in the face of genocide. It probably doesn’t know either. I suspect it will play its waiting game until the end. And that’s going to be too late for us.”

“Is that why you decided to nova MorningLightMountain?”

“It’s among the reasons. Nobody else is going to help us out. Does it bother you, that decision?”

“I felt MorningLightMountain,” she said slowly. “I could hear its thoughts. My inserts were blocking its soldier motiles so I was physically safe, but I was still frightened. I don’t think we can share a universe with it. You know, it completely lacked emotion; I mean there was just no analogue in its mind to what we have. I was going to say that you can’t rationalize with it, but that’s the whole problem: it’s ultra-rational. There’s no way to connect. Even the SI couldn’t make it see logic and reason. It has to go, Nigel, that’s the only way we’ll be safe.”

“Turn over.”

She did as she was told. The heat had gone out of her now; remembering Randtown and the monstrous mentality of MorningLightMountain was a guaranteed passion killer. Then Nigel began working on her belly, and breasts, and thighs, and she forgot all that again amazingly quickly.

“So how did you know?” Mellanie asked.

“Huh?”

“About Cypress Island.”

“Ah.” Nigel rolled onto his belly to face her. “Michelangelo is my son, my fifteenth.”

“What? You’re kidding. He never told me.”

“It’s not something he’s proud of. Quite the opposite, actually. He stormed out when he was seventeen.”

“Wow. I bet that doesn’t happen often.”

“No,” he said dryly. “It was a classic teenage rebellion, he even said I’ll show you, when he left. Then he went and carved that career out for himself. I’m actually quite proud of him for that. Normally the black sheep come slinking back a century later with their tails between their legs, and get a nice safe middle management position in the Dynasty.”

“So he told you I was going to Illuminatus?”

“No. We didn’t understand what was going on, Mellanie. Which comes very hard for people like me and Nelson, especially at a time like this. I cut a deal with Michelangelo. He told me you were hunting the New York lawyers, so Nelson found them in the Saffron Clinic, and gave him the information. We wanted to know why they were important to you. After all, it had the appearance of just another Wall Street finance scam.”

“I’ll kill him.”

Nigel ran his hand through her wild hair. “I said you’d be cross.”

“With him! How can I trust him again after this?”

“You trusted a reporter?”

“Touché.”

“So I’m still favorite, am I?”

“You’re in my top hundred,” she replied airily.

“This is why I want you. You are so unlike any of the other girls I have.”

She traced his lips with her finger. “You need to get out more.”

“Say yes. Just try it for a couple of years. You can still have a career, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“It wouldn’t be my own career though would it, not really, not if I was your wife. I’d get all the openings and all the breaks, but not because of being me.”

“And the difference between that and having the SI as your agent is…?”

“Perhaps there is none,” she said quietly. “Perhaps I’m just tired of being a whore.”

“Nobody said you were a whore.”

“I said it.” Mellanie sighed, and crawled over the undulating mattress to reach her negligée. She grimaced at the snail-trail of oil she left behind on the fur.

“To reach here from where you were after Morton’s court case takes amazing determination,” he told her.

“I thought it was quite easy to get into your bed, actually.”

“I didn’t mean my bed, I meant here, this little cabal, or rebellion, whatever you want to call our motley crew. Don’t you see, what we’re going to decide in a few hours is going to determine the future of the human race. Not Doi. Not the navy. Not the Senate. Not the Dynasties. Us. You made it to the showdown. You’re going to be history, Mellanie; you’re going to be your generation’s Queen Elizabeth, or Marilyn Monroe, or Sue Baker. Don’t blink now.”

Mellanie looked down sheepishly at the negligée she was holding in her hands. She didn’t feel very historical. “I don’t know who any of them are.”

“Really? Oh. Well, the point is you went and earned yourself a place at the table. That’s why you’re so irresistible; you’re gorgeous and tough, every man’s fantasy. And mine in particular.”

“You’re very sweet.”

“Haven’t been called that in a long time.”

She yawned. “I’d better get back. I don’t want Morty to wake up without me.”

“All right,” Nigel said miserably. “Just remember, it’s an open offer.”

“Thanks. It is tempting. Does it come with a place on your lifeboat if we all make the wrong decision?”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “You get a reserved cabin with a first-class view.”

“Let me guess. Your cabin is next door.”

He spread his arms wide. “Where else?”

“Is there a shower in here? I need to get this oil off.”

Nigel leered, and climbed off the bed. “I’ll show you.”

“That’s not—oh, all right.”

He guided her toward a misty glass door that was glowing turquoise. “Tell me something. What do you see in Bose?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, uncomfortable with the question, which was stupid considering what they’d spent the last hour doing. “He was useful.”

“And now?”

“I’m not sure. Do you think the memory transfer will work?”

“My e-butler says it seems to be running smoothly. We’ll know for sure after breakfast.”

The bathroom was only slightly smaller than the bedroom. Mellanie looked around in delight at the Egyptian theme, then giggled at the scandalous murals. Nigel went over to the sunken spa pool in the middle; it was filled with scented water that foamed away furiously. “Showers are so boring,” he said. “Let me sponge you off in this.”

Mellanie and Morton joined Nigel’s family for breakfast out on the morning terrace. Justine and Campbell were already there, fitting in just perfectly as they chattered away.

Mellanie took her seat, not far from Nigel, who gave her a courteous welcome. She told the waiter she’d have scrambled eggs and orange juice, then helped Nuala with little Digby’s bottle. The baby already had some of Nigel’s features.

Wilson and Anna arrived, to be given a warm greeting from Nigel. Mellanie thought the ex-Admiral appeared drawn and exhausted. The genuinely warm reception from people around the table helped perk him up slightly.

Mellanie’s plate arrived, the food cooked to perfection. She tucked in, trying to listen to all the conversations at once. The amount of political and financial power gathered around the table was fascinating. She found the way everyone was so casual about the influence they wielded to be quite enticing.

The mansion’s grounds were beautiful, even though the scale was a bit intimidating when it came to living a family life. It didn’t seem to bother the harem. Her e-butler accessed files on Nigel’s wives going back a hundred years, summarizing for her; they all seemed to be from rich families, not like her. Perhaps that was why they were so comfortable with their surroundings. She could sense Morton’s keen interest in the people around him, even though he was working hard at disguising it. This was the kind of super-power status he’d thought to build for himself, until Tara Jennifer Shaheef became a potential problem.

All in all, Mellanie decided, it was going to be a lot more difficult to say no to this than she’d originally envisaged. Perhaps just a couple of years’ marriage…

Paula Myo arrived, dressed as always in a trim business suit, easily the most formal person on the terrace. She turned down breakfast, but accepted a cup of tea from a waiter. “Qatux is ready,” she told Nigel.

Morton had stopped eating when she arrived, becoming very still. Now he put down his knife and fork, and stood to face her. “Investigator,” he said with forced politeness.

The terrace fell silent as everyone watched them.

“Don’t cause a scene,” a mortified Mellanie whispered through closed teeth. She didn’t think he heard.

“Morton,” Paula said.

“Pleased to see me?”

“I’m interested to see you.”

“Now, children,” Nigel said. “Play nice, please, you’re both guests.”

Mellanie had her hand around Morton’s wrist, pulling, trying to make him sit down.

“Interested, huh? Funny how life works out. You wrecked my life, now I’m essential to your future.”

“You might be involved in how we deal with the Starflyer. But you’re hardly essential.”

“What do you mean: involved?” Morton said. “Do you have any idea what risks we took to get the Bose motile to you? Do you?”

“I am very well aware of your propensity to take inappropriate risks, as well as the delusional self-justification which you indulge in subsequently.”

“Now listen—”

Mellanie was almost pulled out of her seat keeping hold of Morton as he tried to move toward Paula. “Stop it,” she barked. “You killed her, what did you expect?”

Morton gave Mellanie a shocked look. “Is that what you think?” he asked.

She wished her super-duper SI inserts had a function that could reverse time. Just a few seconds would do. “Well, did you?” she asked weakly.

Morton sat down, all his belligerence gone. “I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t remember.”

Mellanie’s arm went around his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, Morty. It’s all over now. It’s the past.”

Nigel gave a loud sigh, and crumpled up his napkin. “Well, as breakfast seems to be over, I suppose we’d better get started.”

***

Dudley Bose and the Bose motile were waiting for them in Nigel’s office. Mellanie could see Dudley obviously hadn’t slept last night. The skin under his eyes was dark, like it had been just after she met up with him. Stubble shaded his chin and cheeks, and he was still in the same clothes he wore yesterday, a rust-orange shirt and creased blue jeans. But it wasn’t the same haunted fatigue that used to be his permanent companion in those early days; Dudley actually looked contented. He was staring around the study with glazed eyes, almost as if he’d just emerged from a long sleep.

She hadn’t quite forgiven him for what he’d called her yesterday in front of everyone, even though it was heat of the moment, so she gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. “How are you?”

“Good,” he said, and smiled as if it were a revelation. “Yes, good. Funny, isn’t it, remembering how I died is actually quite liberating. Normally it causes tremendous trouble for people who are re-lifed. I remember you telling me about Morton’s ex-wife.”

“I think she was a bit bonkers before,” Mellanie said.

Morton had been snappy at being excluded from the meeting. “Arrogant prick,” he’d muttered at Nelson, after the Dynasty security chief told him he wasn’t on the list.

“I’ll tell you everything, I promise,” Mellanie had said. In fact, she was quite relieved he wasn’t going to be there. He and Dudley in the same room would be awkward. She still didn’t have a clue what she was going to do about that—let Dudley down gently, she supposed. Of course, Morton didn’t have quite the appeal he used to; he was exciting, but then so was Nigel.

“Was it…” Mellanie didn’t quite know how to ask. “Your death, did you—”

“It was quick. I didn’t even know it was going to happen. MorningLightMountain just shot me. The only vile part is having some of its memories from when it dissected me to extract the memorycell; that’s really stomach churning.” He looked around and raised an eyebrow as Wilson and Anna came into the office. “Admiral, good to see you again.”

Wilson gave him an astounded glance before being drawn to the motile. “Dudley, glad you made it back in the end.”

“It was an interesting route,” the Bose motile said.

“Thanks for the warning,” Wilson said. “I owe you one for that. The Conway wouldn’t have made it back otherwise.”

“The Commonwealth had to be told,” Dudley said modestly. “What else could I do?”

Wilson’s gaze flicked back to the human, slightly unnerved by the double act. “Of course.”

Mellanie didn’t know what to make of Dudley, either. It bothered her; usually Dudley could barely fasten his clothes without her being there to reassure him he was doing it right. Now here he was, self-assured and calm as he talked to the one person he hated most of all. This wasn’t her Dudley, not anymore; he wasn’t even stealing lustful glances at her.

Nigel walked around the Bose motile, giving it a curious gaze before sitting behind his desk. It was quite something to have a creature in his office whose other segments regarded every other species in the galaxy as aberrations to be exterminated. His e-butler reassured him that the office’s security systems were scanning it constantly.

That didn’t seem to satisfy Nelson, who took an unusually close position beside Nigel’s desk. Campbell showed Justine to a long leather chesterfield sofa, and put out a courteous arm to help her sit down. He’d become quite protective, Nigel thought, even taking the room next to hers last night.

The study door shut behind Paula. Its e-seal came on, turning the windows slightly misty.

“Paula,” Nigel said. “Would you like to kick off?”

“Of course.” Paula stood up in front of a large portal. It came to life, showing Qatux. “Thank you for joining us,” she said.

“It is my pleasure. I recognize many of the humans with you. So many powerful figures. How emotions must be charged in that room.”

“We’re all stimulated by what is happening,” Paula said. “I should tell everyone here that Qatux joins us today because after Illuminatus—”

“Actually,” Dudley said, “I think I should be first. I have the most relevant information.”

Nigel didn’t say anything; in fact, he was rather intrigued by this new, composed Dudley, who had all the brash confidence of the old astronomer who’d lobbied so effectively for a place on the Second Chance, but without the immense irritation factor. He caught Mellanie sinking down into the cushions, her hand rubbing at her forehead, avoiding all eye contact with Dudley.

“All right, Dudley,” Nigel said with bogus civility. “Please go ahead.”

“I know what the Starflyer is,” the astronomer said.

“What?” Nigel asked.

“There is something I’d like in return for participating today.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been through a lot, and I’m contributing more than anyone else. I believe that should receive some recognition, don’t you?”

“Dudley!” Mellanie said. “Don’t you understand what this is?”

“Perfectly, thank you, Mellanie. Are you sure you do?”

“What do you want?” Nigel asked.

“To continue as your chief advisor on MorningLightMountain should it be successful in destroying the Commonwealth.”

“Ah,” Nigel said. “I see. A berth on one of my lifeboats.” He saw Mellanie start to color, the girl’s shoulders lifted in anger.

“Hardly an extravagance for you,” Dudley said.

“No. Does this request extend to your new twin?”

Dudley shrugged. “If you wish.”

Nigel was tempted to wait long enough to hear what Mellanie was going to shout at her erstwhile lover, because she was clearly about to—unfortunately they didn’t need contention right now. “It will be done.”

“Thank you,” Dudley said. “Very well: while it was at the structure we named the Watchtower, the Second Chance transmitted a signal to the Dyson Alpha homeworld.”

“We know that,” Wilson told him. “Oscar found a record of the dish deployment in our log files. But the Starflyer got to them before we could tell anyone.”

“But do you know what it transmitted?” Dudley asked, keen to maintain his advantage.

“No.”

“It was a warning that the Second Chance was alien, and should be destroyed. The message was in the Primes’ communications pattern.”

“I don’t understand,” Wilson said.

“The Primes did leave Dyson Alpha before the barrier was erected,” Dudley said. “Their fusion drives were allowing them to colonize every other planet and large asteroid in their system. They could see that one day all their star system’s resources would be exhausted. Several of the immotile clusters sent ships out to their neighboring star, Dyson Beta, to establish colonies there. They are a very insular and arrogant species, the Primes; they assumed Dyson Beta would have material resources and nothing more. They were wrong. The immotile on board the first starship found another alien species. It followed its nature, and fought the new species into submission. After that, it absorbed their industrial and scientific base.

“That’s where the real problem started. The Primes on Dyson Alpha, the original Primes, have continuity built into their souls; it’s an integral part of their racial identity. They can remember their ancestors beginning to think, their own rise to consciousness. Those ancient thoughts lock them into what they are. A lone immotile three and a half years distant from its original immotile group cluster was a little more flexible in attitude. The native Dyson Beta species were developing genetics, the whole concept of which is verboten to the Primes. But the starship immotile started to use genetic science to modify itself physically, and God knows there are a lot of minor limitations and deficiencies in all creatures. The motiles were improved drastically, which led to a subsequent improvement in immotiles. For a start they regained their ability to move.”

Dudley gave his audience a mirthless smile. “The Dyson Alpha Primes were horrified. They called the Dyson Beta hybrids alienPrime, and regarded them as heretical abominations. A war started, then ended very abruptly when the barriers appeared around both stars. The next time MorningLightMountain saw the universe was when the barrier came down, and it received a signal from an immotile whose communications pattern identified it as MorningLightMountain17,735. That was a subsidiary group cluster MorningLightMountain had put on one of the early starships. That’s what the Starflyer is.”

“The Starflyer is MorningLightMountain?” Mellanie asked.

“An alienPrime version of MorningLightMountain, yes. It was on a starship that must have been in space between Dyson Alpha and Beta when the barriers were established. When it couldn’t attack its target, or go home, it must have flown off into interstellar space, and finally crashed on Far Away.”

“I’m afraid not,” Wilson said. “I checked with the Institute director, James Timothy Halgarth, personally. The Marie Celeste couldn’t have come from Dyson Beta; it hadn’t been in space long enough to travel that far.”

“If you’re basing that assumption on information from the Institute, then it must be regarded as invalid,” Paula said. “The Director would have lied to you to cover up the Starflyer’s true nature.”

“We’ve been sucked into the worst kind of war,” Nelson muttered.

“In what way?” Campbell asked.

“This is a civil war. They’re always the most violent and hard fought. And we’re caught in the middle of it.”

“No, we’re fighting for the Starflyer,” Nigel said. “We’re its storm troopers, whether we like it or not. If what Dudley has told us about the original Primes is true, then the Starflyer knows they will never allow the alienPrimes to survive. It’s using us to fight them, and conveniently ourselves, into destruction. We’re the new class of motile, to be manipulated and sent out to die while it remains intact behind the battle lines.”

“That’s why MorningLightMountain had flare bombs,” Wilson said in a relieved tone. “The technology didn’t leak from us to Dyson Alpha; the Primes had it all along. The Starflyer fed the theory to us. Oh! Wait. When the barrier fell we detected an unusual quantum signature inside the Dark Fortress. It wasn’t there before.” He turned to Nigel. “Have you got secure access to navy records?”

“Yes.”

“Get your physicists to compare that signature to the flare bombs.”

“Good idea.” Nigel’s expanded mentality extracted the records and began running comparisons. He still found it amusing the way people always forgot what he was before everything else; all they ever saw today was the imperial Dynasty leader, never the old physicist pushing back the frontier of human knowledge.

“This still doesn’t make sense,” Anna said. “The Starflyer obviously has the ability to switch off the barrier. Why didn’t it just do that when it arrived at Dyson Alpha in the Marie Celeste and launch the flare bomb? Or go back to Dyson Beta and let its own kind out?”

“The barrier builders were still around, maybe?” Wilson said. “It needed a decent interval to elapse before it could risk any kind of rescue attempt. That’s probably why it fled so far in the first place.”

“Even so, it engineered the Second Chance mission; why not have us sent to Dyson Beta and release the alienPrimes? The original Primes would remain locked up.”

“It didn’t know what would happen any more than we did,” Paula said. “This way it wins whatever the outcome. If the barrier builders were still around and it had tried to switch off the barrier around Dyson Beta, they would have detected the attempt and stopped us. By making the attempt at Dyson Alpha, it gets to see if the barriers are still guarded. If not, it releases an ultra-hostile species directly into conflict with us, a race with a proven record of warfare and a technology base advanced enough to construct the kind of weapons necessary to fight an interstellar war. The two of us fight and weaken ourselves, leaving it free to unlock Dyson Beta so its own kind can emerge into a galaxy where the two nearest threats have blasted each other to the edge of extinction.” She pursed her lips ruefully. “Almost exactly what Bradley Johansson claimed all along.”

Results slipped into Nigel’s virtual vision. “The quantum signatures are similar,” he told the room. “Not identical, but they’re certainly based around the same principle. From what we could determine, the Prime flare bomb works by altering the properties of the surrounding mass, which in itself is a none too distant relation to our own quantumbuster. We can surmise that if you change the properties of enough components in the Dark Fortress, then they’ll simply be incapable of performing their intended function: the barrier will fail.”

“So we finally know what we’re facing,” Justine said. “I take it nobody minds if I tell Johansson.”

“As long as he keeps quiet about it until the Starflyer problem has been dealt with,” Nigel told her. “This still isn’t for public release.”

“Well, how much of a problem have we actually got left?” Justine asked. “We have a weapon which in all probability the Starflyer didn’t expect us to produce. Your nova bomb will give us a total victory over MorningLightMountain. Now we know it exists, we can effectively neutralize it.”

“Paula?” Nigel asked. “Can we neutralize it?”

“I’m not certain. Qatux, do you know how far its influence extends?”

The portal image showed the Raiel watching them patiently. “This is obviously exciting for all of you,” it said in its soft wind-chime voice. “I wish I could share the experience.”

“Qatux, please answer the question,” Paula said sternly.

“Isabella Halgarth came into contact with many people who suffered the same compulsion overlay. They are arranged in a three-person structure based on the old human spy cell system. The controller can put them in touch with each other for specific operations, but apart from that they operate in isolation.”

“So you understand the method which the Starflyer uses to control her and the others?”

“It is a sophisticated technique, indicating the controller has a great deal of experience in manipulating the thought routines of other creatures. A Prime-type entity would have an obvious advantage over singleton mentalities; its understanding of mental constitution operates at an instinctive level.”

“What did it do to Isabella?” Mellanie asked, her voice heavy with trepidation. She obviously feared what she was about to hear, but had to know anyway.

“Her thought routines, what you would term the personality, were infiltrated with alien behavioral modifiers. She performed as a normal human under everyday circumstances, but within that framework she acted solely in the interests of the Starflyer. Think of it as having your mind cored like an apple, and the hole being filled with the Starflyer’s desires.”

“How old was she when this happened?” Paula asked.

“Five or six. The memory is hazy. She was on Far Away with her parents. They took her into a room that resembled a hospital; she was scared. After that, her mind was no longer hers.”

“Urggh.” Mellanie wrinkled her nose up. “It did that to a six-year-old? That’s so shitty.”

“Ahh,” Qatux sighed. “Sentiment. I have experienced it often in human memories. It is one of your more exquisite feelings. Would you consider sharing yours with me, Mellanie?”

“Uh. Like: no!”

“So you don’t actually know what the Starflyer is thinking?” Paula said.

“No,” Qatux said. “However, there are residual traces of its presence within her mind which betray certain aspects of its character.”

“Such as?”

“Alterations made to the original directives. Isabella and other agents very abruptly received new instructions when the Commonwealth first announced it was building a starship. They were originally working on the assumption that a series of wormholes would be opened to Dyson Alpha. Its whole strategy had to be altered to incorporate the development of superluminal travel. Isabella was also unaware of your quantumbuster weapon, she was expecting the navy to use flare bombs against MorningLightMountain’s second invasion. That was the information which her kind were supplying to the Seattle team.”

“And we improved on it,” Wilson said tightly.

“Has Isabella got any memory of Alessandra Baron being a Starflyer agent?” Mellanie asked eagerly.

“Yes. Isabella was brought into the operation to hide the New York lawyers when Alessandra Baron learned you were investigating them.”

“Gotcha, you bitch!” Mellanie punched the air. “Yes!”

“Not relevant at this point,” Paula said dismissively. “Qatux, does Isabella know where the Starflyer is, or will be?”

“No. She only knows what she is supposed to do. She was on Illuminatus to join up with the lawyers after they had been given new identities. They would all receive their assignment then.”

“Johansson says it will now return to Far Away,” Justine said.

“It can’t,” Nigel told her. “Not unless it’s already on Boongate, in which case it might stand a chance. The wormhole from Wessex to Boongate will not be opened to transport again.”

“Then it is confined to the Commonwealth,” Paula said. “Qatux, if we take known Starflyer agents into custody can you read their memories for us? At some point, we should encounter one who knows where it is. It is important that we apprehend it as swiftly as possible. Will you come to the Commonwealth to assist me?”

“I would find such a venture most appealing. I would wish to be engaged through your own perception and interpretation facilities.”

Paula faced the Raiel’s image, her face devoid of any expression. “We have discussed this before. You may not leech my emotional state.”

“Is not your task an urgent one? Is this not how humans behave? Is not the price negotiated in advance?”

“Well, yes,” Paula said, flummoxed by the request. “But you will access the agent’s thoughts, you will experience their emotions. That is our standard payment.”

“Their emotional levels are much reduced, suppressed by the Starflyer’s behavioral modifiers. They mimic true feelings, they do not experience them for themselves, there is nothing there for me. You, though, Investigator, would feel a great deal as this case is wrapped up, the culmination of a hundred thirty years of work. I would know what that is like.”

“I…” Paula looked around the study for help.

“I should let you stew in that one,” Mellanie said. “But I’ll be big. My price is an interview when all this is over.”

“You’ll let it feel through you?” Paula asked.

“No, but I know a girl who will, and she’s already wetwired for it.” Mellanie turned to the portal, already looking victorious. “Qatux, how about I get you someone who’s a lot more emotional than the Investigator is? Let’s face it, she’s a bit of a cold fish.”

“That would be acceptable.”

“Great. Nelson, I’ll need some bodyguards to help me collect her.”

“Bodyguards? You’re not going to kidnap someone, are you?”

“Not for her, for me. I’m not very popular with her friends.”

“You can have bodyguards,” Nigel said. He grinned admiringly. “Anything else?”

“An express ticket to Darklake City.”

“Of course.”

“Who are you going to arrest?” Mellanie asked Paula.

“Every agent Isabella came in contact with.”

“Good, that’ll include Baron, then. I’ll cover that arrest for Michelangelo.”

“It wasn’t her that used and abused you,” Paula said. “She is no longer human.”

“She never was,” Mellanie said gruffly.

“Assuming all this leads us to the Starflyer, what are we going to do with it when we find it?” Justine asked.

“Execute it,” Wilson said.

“Quietly,” Nigel said quickly.

“If Johansson is right about it trying to return to Far Away, and he’s been right about everything else, then it will have to reach Boongate via Wessex,” Justine said. “The Guardians are watching for that. Now might be a good time to help them. We’ve got Morton and his squad; they’d be able to take out anything guarding the Starflyer’s train.”

Nigel gave Nelson a questioning glance.

“They could spearhead,” Nelson said. “But it would have to be our operation; I’m not having rogue groups running around near the wormhole generators, no matter how good the cause. We’ve seconded half of our technical personnel to Narrabri to help modify the wormhole generators for the future settlement project. We can’t risk any kind of firefight there.”

“All right,” Nigel said. “We’ll set up at Narrabri. There’s enough space in our planetary station to hide this, and we can get Qatux there without drawing attention. Let’s get started.”