Judas Unchained

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mellanie wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting as the big screened car turned onto the Rue Jolei. A burst of nostalgia, maybe? The bustling metropolitan road certainly contained enough memories. It wasn’t long ago she would have said they were all good memories.

Today she hunched down in the car’s front seat next to Hoshe Finn, and looked up at the sixty-five-story skyscraper at the far end of the road. The golden rapier-blade shape was among the tallest of the skyscrapers that dominated the downtown cityscape of Salamanca. Mellanie remembered the view from the top of it only too well. Alessandra had liked her to be pressed up against the thick window wall of the penthouse as she serviced yet another politician’s aide or family friend. Those were the memories that lingered now. She kept reliving them, trying to work out the relevance of each piece of information to the Starflyer.

“Did you ever see her security system display?”

“Huh?” Mellanie pulled herself away from the bitter recollections. For some reason, now she didn’t have Dudley to manage, the things she’d done oh-so-willingly for Alessandra burned ever more shamefully in her mind. “Sorry, what?”

“Baron’s security system? There are a lot of exterior circuits hardwired into the penthouse array. The technical staff were wondering how pervasive it is.”

“I’ve no idea, Hoshe. She never accessed it on a screen or portal, not in front of me.”

“Okay, we’re guessing the approach to the skyscraper is well covered, as well as the building itself.”

“Uh, the SI didn’t seem to consider it exceptional, not when I was running away from her.”

“Right, thank you.”

She gave him a small smile. Dear old Hoshe Finn, always approaching every problem with the timidity and caution of a true bureaucrat.

“I’m moving our external perimeter team into place. The arrest squad will enter the building as a service company contracted for maintenance work on an apartment on the sixty-first floor.”

“Can I go up there with them?”

“No. It’s dangerous, and you’d hinder operational protocols.”

“I’d wear an armor suit, and I’d stay at the back, promise.”

“No. Our observation team say that at least two other people are in there with her. Until we know otherwise we have to assume they’re Starflyer agents, too, and may be wetwired. I’m not going to assign one of the arrest squad to chaperoning you. We need all of them frontlining.”

Mellanie gave an exaggerated sigh. “When do you have me scheduled to see her, exactly?”

“As soon as the arrest has been performed, and any wetwired weapons have been neutralized, we’ll go up.”

“Paula Myo didn’t mind me being up close and very personal with Isabella.”

“That was different. We were taking a risk then; now we’re not.”

“All right, but I’m going to get closer to the building. If she puts up a fight, there could be visible weapons activity from the street.”

“We’re going to clear civilians directly underneath the building as the arrest squad goes in. Don’t get in the way.”

“All right, all right.” Mellanie climbed out of the car and strolled down the street. It was midafternoon, with a large number of pedestrians about. She knew Hoshe wanted to wait until the early hours of the morning, when the situation was more containable; but Nigel and Senator Burnelli had overruled him. They were getting quite paranoid about Starflyer agents since Daniel Alster.

She lingered at a boutique window, giving the designer clothes a critical eye. It was automatic, such a normal thing to do. Hoshe had been right, she really ought to start thinking what she was going to do afterward. The way she was positioned politically right now, she could build herself a show that would rival Michelangelo. And of course, the producers of Baron’s show would be needing a replacement in about ten minutes’ time. Once upon a time those prospects would have sparked a real fever in her. There was also Morty. That had all changed, too. Not what he’d done, but somehow she couldn’t quite see herself as the corporate trophy wife with kids waiting for him to come home after a busy day at the office.

The SI’s icon flashed, and expanded into her virtual vision. “Mellanie, we have a problem.”

She couldn’t help glancing up at the penthouse. “Is she watching? Has she seen me?”

“No. As far as we know, Alessandra Baron is unaware of her imminent arrest.”

“Oh. So what’s the problem?”

“Ozzie Isaac has returned to the Commonwealth.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Are you sure? You are keeping some very interesting company these days.”

“My my, is that a note of jealousy?”

“No. We are simply reminding you we have an arrangement.”

“I go where you can’t, and report on things you don’t know about. What’s new? Are you telling me you don’t know what happened on Boongate?”

“We know the Starflyer is on its way back to Far Away. Obviously. What we are uncertain about is what Nigel Sheldon will do next. His Dynasty has developed an astonishingly powerful weapon.”

“He doesn’t consult with you, because he doesn’t trust you. I’m not sure I do, either. There was a lot more you could have done to help us.”

“We have been through this before, Mellanie.”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t do physical stuff. It doesn’t matter anymore. This war is about to end. I figure you know that.”

“It is how it will end which concerns us.”

“I don’t get it. What’s this got to do with Ozzie coming back?”

“He did not finish telling us about what he found before Nigel Sheldon placed him in custody. In order for us to understand the full sequence of events we need the information he has.”

The hairs along the back of Mellanie’s spine rose in response to a very cold sensation. “How unfortunate for you.”

“We would like you to make contact with him, and hopefully provide us with a link.”

“What would you do with the information?”

“We honestly do not know, because we don’t know what the information is. Only by looking at the complete picture can we advise the Commonwealth how to proceed.”

“The Executive isn’t listening much to you these days, is it?”

“We are sure that Nigel and the others in your elite group have decided to attempt a genocide against MorningLightMountain. Suppose there is another way?”

“What way?”

“We do not know. But can you really live with yourself if you did not make at least an attempt to avert genocide?”

“Look, Ozzie would have told Nigel everything.”

“Are you sure? Has Sheldon contacted you and told you that there has been a change of plan? And why is Ozzie being held incommunicado? What is so important about the information that Sheldon doesn’t want it to get out?”

Mellanie wanted to stomp her foot in annoyance; she could never win an argument with the SI, it always hit her with logic and emotion. “I’ve been around Nigel for a couple of days. His Dynasty’s security is absolute. I can’t bust Ozzie out of jail; come on, get real.”

“We don’t think he is in jail. We managed to follow him until he went through to Cressat.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Mellanie said out loud. Her fellow pedestrians stared at her; she just glared back at them. “I suppose I can take a quick pass at the Sheldon Dynasty lifeboats for Paul while I’m there. How’s that for luck?”

“The probability of a successful double mission is not high.”

“I’m not even going on one. I’m friends with Nigel now, I trust him.”

“Ozzie took part in the Great Wormhole Heist.”

“The what?”

“Baby Mel, your schooling is truly appalling. The Great Wormhole Heist was the single biggest robbery in human history. Bradley Johansson committed it in order to fund the Guardians of Selfhood; he got away with billions of Earth dollars.”

“You mean Ozzie’s a Guardian? I don’t believe it.”

“Then ask him yourself.”

“Oh…” This time she did stomp her foot.

“If he says yes, you might like to consider our request. He does know who put the barrier around the Dyson Pair.”

“How the hell could I even get to Cressat? Let alone break in to his cell? Nigel would be very suspicious if I asked to see Ozzie.”

“Ozzie came back with two companions: a teenage boy, and a previously unknown species of alien. The Sheldon Dynasty has just placed a request with Lady Georgina for a sweet young girl to travel to Cressat where she is to seduce a boy who is sexually inexperienced. The money for this contract was paid to Lady Georgina from the Dynasty’s main security division account. That is extremely unusual. We do not believe it to be a coincidence.”

“Who’s Lady Georgina?”

“A very high-class madame on Augusta. She provides first-life girls to the rich and famous.”

“Urrgh. And you want me to pretend to be that girl?”

“Yes. Lady Georgina has already assigned the contract to Vanora Kingsley, one of her newest recruits. Kingsley will assume the identity of a junior Sheldon taking her vacation on Cressat. We can substitute you for her, but we must be quick. Kingsley is scheduled to be collected at New Costa station one hundred forty minutes from now. If you take a maglev express to Augusta immediately, you can just get to the station in time.”

A taxi pulled up next to Mellanie and opened its door. She looked at it and sighed; the sensible thing to do would be to walk away, but it would be exciting to infiltrate Cressat, and get through to Ozzie. Her virtual hand touched Hoshe’s icon. “Something’s come up. I’m going back to Darklake City.”

“But…the arrest team’s already in the elevator.”

“Good luck, Hoshe, I’ll call you when I get home.”

“I thought you wanted this.”

“I do. And I’m really sorry, but this is more important.”

“What is?”

“I’ll call you later, promise.” Mellanie stepped into the taxi, which immediately pulled out into the traffic. “What’s happening to the Kingsley girl?” she asked the SI. “Do I have to bundle her into a car or something? I don’t think I’d be much good at that kind of thing.”

“We feel Jaycee would disagree, but no. A security professional has been contracted to perform the extraction operation.”

“You’re not going to hurt her, are you?”

“Absolutely not. She will be taken to a safe house, where she will be kept under confinement for the duration.”

“Okay. So what does this boy look like, then? I need to know that at least.” A file slid into her virtual vision. When she opened it she was looking at a teenage lad with wild ginger hair and a smile that was half snarl. “Well, don’t expect me to sleep with him,” she said hurriedly. “Does he even know how to use cutlery?”

“What’s wrong with him? Our female aspects concur that he is cute-looking.”

She reviewed the image again. “Maybe. I mean, physically. But you can just see the attitude problem there. He’s gotta be a behavioral nightmare.”

“Your area of excellence.”

“Ha fucking ha.”

“Mellanie, you may have to perform the contract’s primary requirement. We hope you understand.”

“I’ve done enough whoring, I think.”

“We are sure the moment of sexual consummation can be delayed long enough for you to assess the situation and try to contact Ozzie. The requirement we were actually referring to is the contract’s personality stipulation. It is a strong one. That is why Lady Georgina selected Kingsley.”

“What stipulation?”

“That the girl be sweet.”

“Hey! I can do sweet, all right? Don’t give me that crap.”

“Very well, Mellanie. If you say so.”

***

Once again, Wilson Kime waited to set foot on a new world. He stood in front of the gateway as dawn rose above Half Way, flooding the barren rock island with red light and intense blue-white flashes. In the generator building behind the gateway, power was starting to feed in from the stormrider.

He tried not to feel too smug about it, but with his knowledge of astroengineering and orbital mechanics, the technical types in Adam’s team had automatically deferred to him. It had taken him twenty minutes at the console in the generator building, mapping out the stormrider’s primary systems and guidance programs, before he sent up the first batch of instructions. His virtual vision produced a basic flight profile display, with a long curving white line designating the stormrider’s course as it flew around its perpetual loop. Within ten minutes of his instructions being accepted by the onboard array a new purple line appeared, short and blunt, showing the diversion he’d charted back into the plasma current. The massive machine had crept along it for nearly an hour as the plasma concentration increased around it.

Forty million kilometers above his head, the gigantic blades were spinning again as the stormrider slid back into the gale of charged particles. Wilson’s virtual vision display showed him the vast yet surprisingly fragile machine’s velocity increase as it was blown irretrievably in toward the neutron star. “It’s falling like Icarus now,” he said as Oscar walked over to stand beside him. “Wings spread wide, and way too close to the sun.”

“You’re taking a few liberties there,” Oscar said. “But I do like the imagery.”

“How’s Qatux coming on? Is he going to manage the wormhole?” Wilson checked the stormrider’s status in his virtual vision; so far everything was holding steady as its power output built rapidly.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I worked in the exploration division, remember? That makes me very familiar with the kind of large arrays you need to manipulate exotic matter. There’s a limit to what flesh and blood can achieve, even very smart alien flesh and blood. Our Raiel might just be claiming this to influence our emotional state.”

“MorningLightMountain controls all its wormholes by direct neural routines.”

“And that’s another thing: did anyone back at your supersecret revolutionary council actually verify this Bose motile creature was the genuine article?”

“Stop being such a paranoid grump.”

“First rule of being a lawyer, don’t ask the witness a question when you know you don’t like the answer.”

“Well, here comes the answer. Qatux has finished the power-up sequence.”

Ayub had parked the Volvo containing the Raiel close to the generator building’s door. The big alien had then been linked to the generator’s controlling array via thick bundles of fiber-optic cable that it had attached to the heavy tips of the flaccid flesh stems behind its tentacles. It was an arrangement that reminded Wilson of hot-wiring a car.

He started his level breathing exercise as his heart rate sped up, glad that Tiger Pansy wasn’t around to sense his anxiety. The wormhole opened as smoothly as an iris exposed to the night.

“It’s through to somewhere,” Adam declared.

“Matthew, send a sneekbot through,” Alic said.

One of the little bots scampered through the pressure curtain. Wilson hooked himself onto its feed, and saw a darkened landscape unfold. There was damp ground below the artificial rodent’s feet, ragged blades of grass snagging at its sleek body, arching fronds of tall plants waved in the distance, darker patches of trees. It hurried ten meters away from the wormhole, then raised itself up on its hind legs and scanned around. There were no heat sources within range, no electromagnetic emission points, no visible spectrum light; the only detectable motion was a persistent wind that was heavy with moisture, the tail end of rain.

“It certainly hasn’t come out in the city,” Adam said.

“Could be a city park,” Rosamund said.

“Doubtful, there’s no node carrier signal registering,” Johansson said. “Even dear old Armstrong City has a complete net coverage.”

“All right, we’re going through,” Adam said.

Wilson heard Jamas revving the armored car’s engine, and hurriedly stepped to one side. The low curving vehicle lumbered forward and slipped through the pressure curtain.

“Still intact,” Adam said. “Definitely countryside, no city visible. No wait, I can see something on the horizon. Orange light haze. There’s some kind of settlement over there. Quite a big one, I guess.”

“It should be Armstrong City,” Qatux said. “I believe the wormhole to have emerged twenty kilometers to the southwest of its southern boundary. That was my intention.”

“That should put us in Schweickart Park,” Jamas said. “I recognize the constellations. Dreaming heavens, it’s definitely Far Away. I’m home!”

“Running active sensor scan,” Adam said. “It looks clear to me. Bradley, if there’s anything out here bigger than a rabbit, it’s stealthed perfectly.”

“Thank you, Adam,” Bradley said. “Let’s go through, people, quickly please.”

The remaining armored cars and Volvo trucks started their engines.

“Come on,” Wilson said. He moved forward, feeling the pressure curtain brush against his armor suit like a gentle breeze as the red light faded out around him. And for the second time in his life, Wilson Kime arrived on an alien planet with a single giant step. Gravity fell away sharply. He wasn’t used to that, not on the CST train network; most H-congruous planets were close to Earth-standard gravity and you never really noticed the transition.

One of the Volvos hooted its horn loudly behind him, and he hopped aside. The movement sent him a good half meter into the air. He laughed as he sank down onto the ground again. His virtual hand keyed the suit unlock, and the helmet visor swung up. He sucked down native air, strong with the scent of recent rain and a hint of pine. “They could have done it,” he said wonderingly. “They really could.”

“Who?” Anna said. She dropped down off the back of a Volvo, gingerly holding her arms out for balance.

“The Aries Underground; they wanted to terraform Mars. It would have developed into something like this if they’d ever had their chance.”

“Do you ever stop thinking about Mars?” she asked.

“Not enough atmosphere on Mars to make it H-congruous,” Oscar said. He didn’t sound impressed.

“They had schemes to compensate for that. Hauling in ice from the cometary belt; genemodified bacteria liberating oxygen from the soil, orbital mirrors, transmantle boreholes.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Planets were in those days,” Wilson told him sagely.

The Volvo carrying Qatux drove slowly through the wormhole, tailing its thick bundle of fiber-optic cable behind. Two people in armor suits emerged from the wormhole behind the truck, making sure the cable didn’t get snagged.

“Everyone through, sir,” Kieran reported.

“Thank you,” Bradley said. “Qatux, we don’t need the wormhole anymore.”

Wilson just had time for one final review of the stormrider before the wormhole closed. Like Icarus, its fate was now sealed; the thick current of plasma had pushed it a long way past the Lagrange point, its depleted thrusters no longer had the delta-V reserve to fly it back around. All that remained was the long, leisurely fall to oblivion in the neutron star’s awesome gravity.

The wormhole shrank away to nothing, its final closure sheering off the fiber-optic bundle, which fell back to the ground like a mortally wounded snake. The act of severance reinforced Wilson’s feeling of remoteness; they were truly on their own now. Judging by the silence he wasn’t alone with that thought.

“I don’t have much to say to you,” Bradley announced. “Which is just as well, for we are desperately short of time now. But I’d like to thank our non-Guardian friends for coming with us, and believing in us at the end. For those of you whose ancestors have been with me since the beginning, I would express my gratitude to them for their terrible and frequent sacrifices; it is their blood which has delivered us to this place at this time. As a consequence, the Guardians of Selfhood will be thanked by the rest of humanity for all we have endured so that our species can be free at last.”

Wilson glanced around, seeing all the Guardians who had come with them lowering their heads in respect. He joined in, more troubled than he liked to acknowledge by Bradley’s words. History would show the Guardians in a very different light from now on.

“As this is our time, let’s not waste any more of it,” Bradley said. “Ayub, would you try and contact the clans, please, quick as you can.”

“Stig!” Keely yelled. “Stig, I’m picking up something on the short wave! It’s our frequency.”

Stig leaned forward, frowning. It was dark in the back of the Mazda Volta four-by-four, a refuge where he could brood unseen. The little convoy of Guardian vehicles, five cars and seven of the lightly armored Voltas, had taken almost an hour to drive through the damaged city. All the while he’d been picking up reports from the Guardians covering the Starflyer’s exit route. Their various attempts to strike the big MANN truck had come to nothing. The Starflyer’s vehicles had good armor, and even better force fields. They also responded to any attack with extreme force. Over a dozen buildings harboring Guardian snipers had been reduced to smoldering rubble.

It had taken the Starflyer’s convoy less than thirty minutes to travel from 3F Plaza to the start of Highway One. Over two dozen additional Range Rover Cruisers had joined it, speeding out of side streets to join the convoy. With that much firepower available to the Starflyer, Stig had no choice but to order the rest of the snipers to stand down. They would have been slaughtered if they’d tried anything.

Stig’s own pursuit had been frustratingly slow, as they waited for other Guardian teams to join with them, on a route parallel to the Starflyer’s. Of course, the civic emergency services were starting to respond to the disaster as best they could by then, which pushed more people and vehicles out onto the roads Stig wanted to use. They’d eventually reached Highway One an hour later only to find the Starflyer convoy had scattered sophisticated mines behind them. The first one had taken out a Ford Shanghi, killing the five Guardians inside. After that, Stig had to order them to drive along the side of the road, avoiding the broad strip of enzyme-bonded concrete, which cut their speed still further.

“Who’s calling us?” Stig asked. He couldn’t think of any other Guardian groups operating around Armstrong City.

Keely’s smile was incredulous. “Bradley Johansson.”

“Not possible,” Stig said curtly, even as his virtual hands snatched the signal out of Keely’s specialist radio array.

“…rendezvous point four,” Bradley’s familiar voice was saying. “We should be there in twenty minutes.”

“Who is this?” Stig demanded.

“Ah, that sounds like you, Stig.”

“Sir?”

“Hey, Stig,” Adam said. “Good to hear from you, lad.”

“Dreaming heavens, you can’t be here.”

“I understand. After you were blown at LA Galactic, you finished up at our Venice safe house. Kazimir was assigned to bring you in.”

“Adam?”

“In the flesh, thankfully. We had a little trouble getting here, I don’t mind saying.”

“How? How can you be here?”

“This isn’t a secure call, Stig, I’ll tell you in a little while at rendezvous point four. Bradley tells me you ought to know where that is.”

“Yes, of course.”

“So if we’re the real deal, we’ll see you there.”

Rendezvous point four was a drainage pumping station a kilometer off the side of Highway One, sixty kilometers outside Armstrong City. There was a service track leading to it, which was unsigned. The station itself was around the back of a small hill, completely out of sight from Highway One.

Stig drove the Mazda Volta himself, ordering everyone else to wait back at the turnoff. As soon as he rounded the bend, he saw the big vehicles parked there, their headlights cutting bright beams through the night. Familiar figures were walking toward him as he parked, smiling broadly. He stumbled out, still not quite believing. Adam caught him in a bear hug.

“Good to see you, lad,” Adam said gruffly.

“Dreaming heavens, we thought you were stuck back there.”

“Hey! You should know, it’s not that easy to keep me penned up.”

“Yeah, but…” Stig broke off as Bradley appeared. “Sir!”

“Good to see you, Stig.”

Stig put his hand out in welcome. Then everything went wrong. Moving between the bright beams of light was a woman in a simple fleece and pants. She had her shoulders hunched, shivering as if she’d got a cold. Then she sneezed, and her dark hair swirled fluidly in Far Away’s gravity. Stig would never forget that elegant, deadly face, not even in the peace of the dreaming heavens. “Look out!” he yelled. His hand went for his holster. He managed to get a machine pistol out, and swung it around.

Adam stood in front of him, an arm chopping around to push Stig’s weapon away. “Stop!”

Stig stumbled back a pace. Both Bradley and Adam were holding their hands up in admonishment. Several of the other people standing outside the vehicles, whom Stig didn’t know, were tensed up.

“That’s Paula Myo,” he yelled.

“Good evening,” she said calmly, then shivered again, and pulled her fleece tighter, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“But—”

“We have allies now,” Bradley said. There was no trace of mockery in his voice.

“Paula Myo?”

“Among others, such as Nigel Sheldon, oh, and I’m sure you remember Admiral Kime.”

Wilson stepped forward. “That’s actually ex-Admiral now. Pleased to meet you, Stig.”

“Uh.” Stig’s pistol hung limply at his side.

“Oh, yes,” Adam said, and the shadows made it difficult to see if that was a smirk on his face. “I almost forgot: Mellanie says to say hello.”

Stig couldn’t help it. He leaned a little closer, just to be sure. “Paula Myo?”

“The very same,” Bradley said. “Come now, Stig, tell me what the situation is.”

Stig allowed himself to be led over to the cluster of vehicles. Just as he started to tell Bradley about using a fuel air bomb he looked over his shoulder to check again. Paula Myo was hugging her chest quite tightly, as if she was in pain; a concerned-looking Wilson Kime was asking if she was all right. Somehow, seeing her on Far Away was more extraordinary than his blurred glimpse of the Starflyer itself.

Adam and Bradley made their plans quickly as Stig explained what had happened at First Foot Fall Plaza. The three Volvo trucks with their precious cargo for the planet’s revenge project would immediately head due south for the Dessault Mountains to rendezvous with the technical teams assembling the wind stations. Adam would head the group, taking Kieran, Rosamund, and Jamas with him to drive, despite their eagerness to join the fray pursuing the Starflyer. Paula announced she would accompany Adam, which he greeted without comment. Wilson, Anna, and Oscar agreed to stay with Paula, and see if they could help with the technical aspects of the planet’s revenge. Privately, Wilson was growing concerned about how unwell the Investigator appeared.

Bradley was going to lead the rest in pursuit of the Starflyer, spearheading it with all three armored cars. Cat’s Claws and the Paris team signed up to go with him. Both he and Stig thought their combat experience and weaponry would give the Guardians a significant advantage over the more lightly armored Institute troops.

That just left them with Qatux. Tiger Pansy had listened and watched without comment as the two teams were sorted out. Now she said, “We should go with Bradley.”

“If you wish,” Bradley said.

“Sure do,” Tiger Pansy agreed enthusiastically. “Starflyer’s pulling ahead of you. That makes for a tough chase, and when you do catch up, there’s going to be a big fight. You Guardian guys, you’re gonna go berserk, you’re all so committed and inspired; it’s like a religion. Qatux really digs that. This is where the human heat is at, so we stick with it.” She glanced over at Adam. “No offense.”

“You do understand, dear lady, we cannot guarantee your personal safety in this fight?” Bradley said.

Tiger Pansy chewed her gum for a moment before pulling a long face. “Yeah, I figured that. But face it, I ain’t got much of a life to lose, here, do I? Mellanie got me to update my secure store before we left; I just edited most of this time around out of it.”

“Each and every human life is priceless.”

“You’re really cute, you know that.”

***

It was one of those mornings where Mark hadn’t fully woken up, that moment of cozy drowsiness when you’re in a warm bed with the woman you love lying snuggled up against you. He moved his head fractionally, nuzzling Liz fondly. She pressed herself closer to him, then they kissed in a languid unhurried fashion. Hands stroked. He began to pull off his T-shirt. Liz rose up to straddle him, still wearing her negligée, the new one of semiorganic fabric that mimicked black silk. The way it grew translucent as her body heated and her movements became more urgent was a huge turn-on for him. She’d exploited that to the full last night, which was why he was so drowsy as dawn broke.

The enormously erotic sight of his wife’s delectable body straining athletically above him was wiped out by an orgasm that he was sure had an accompaniment from a choir of angels.

“It’s true,” he mumbled into the darkness sometime later. “Too much does make you blind.”

Close by, Liz giggled. Mark’s sight returned to show her lifting the T-shirt from his face. He smiled up at her in perfect contentment.

“Morning,” she said, in a very appreciative tone.

“Morning.”

Her fingers played along his lips. “I think you’re getting younger. I can barely cope with you like this anymore.”

Mark grinned complacently, though he wasn’t sure he could actually manage to do it again without some serious recuperation time first. The thing with Liz was that she really was as tremendously horny as she looked; and how many men could boast about a wife like that? “Takes two,” he assured her.

She gave him a quick kiss, and rolled off the bed. “I’d better go fix the kids some breakfast; the school will be wondering why I keep sending them in starving every day.”

“Right.” He was almost regretful. It would be nice to spend a whole day just lounging around in bed together. They hadn’t done that since Barry was taken out of the womb tank.

He took a while in the shower, then got dressed ready for work. The CST corporate-mauve sweatshirt with yellow sleeves went on easily enough; his green-gold trousers were a size more than he wore back in the Ulon Valley; they had a stretch-fabric waistline, too. Mark looked down at the way a small wave of his gut hung over the trousers. Must do something about that.

As if he ever got the time anymore. If anything his daily schedule had become even busier as soon as the Searcher had returned.

Sandy let out a happy squeal as he walked into the kitchen. She abandoned her boiled egg to run over and fling her arms around his waist. “Daddy! Daddy!”

He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Hey, morning there, darling.”

“Hi, Dad.” Barry’s eyes were bright with admiration.

Sandy wouldn’t let go. Mark had to take her back to the table and sit beside her before she’d consider eating any more of her egg. “We didn’t come in to your bedroom this morning,” she said, her eyes big and serious. “That was right, wasn’t it? Mommy said we should leave the two of you alone; that you need a lot of grown-up’s sleep to make up for being so tired after saving us all.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s right. Thank you, darling. It wasn’t just me that helped the Charybdis mission, though.”

Barry smirked at his sister. “Grown-up sleep. Baby!”

“What?” Sandy asked with a hurt expression.

“You’re so dumb. Don’t you know what they were doing?”

“What?”

“Enough, both of you,” Liz said firmly. “Let your father eat his breakfast in peace.” She had a demure smile on her face as she put his breakfast plate in front of him.

“Thank you, Mrs. Vernon.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Vernon.”

Mark tucked in to his eggs, bacon, waffles, sausages, and tomatoes. A side plate of pancakes drowning in maple syrup, and topped with strawberries and a cone of whipped cream, were placed next to the big plate.

“To keep your strength up,” Liz said enigmatically.

“Yuk.” Barry pulled a face.

Mark tried hard not to smile.

Otis Sheldon turned up just as Mark was finishing. Panda barked happily as the pilot walked into the sunny kitchen.

“Otis!” Barry cried happily, and ran over. “Take me up to the assembly platform today. Please! Please! Dad keeps promising he will, but he never does.”

“Your father’s the man to ask. He’s in charge up there.”

“Daddy!” Sandy smiled worshipfully.

“Hi, Liz.” Otis gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Sit down. Need some coffee?”

“Thanks. Maybe a half cup.”

“What can we do for you?”

“Just giving Mark a lift out to the platform wormhole.” He glanced at Mark. “Did you check your message hold file?”

“Er, no.” Mark reached out with a black and gold virtual hand and removed the zero-access restriction. He’d closed it up last night to give himself some uninterrupted privacy. A priority one file was sitting in his folder; sent from Nigel Sheldon. Oh, Christ. “Thanks, Otis,” he said sheepishly.

A maidbot delivered a cup of coffee to Otis. Mark reviewed the message, and groaned in mild dismay. “You’ve only just got back.”

Otis shrugged good-naturedly. “That’s the job.”

“What’s happening, boys?” Liz asked.

“Another flight,” Mark said.

“And Dad’s getting impatient,” Otis said.

“That’s got to be the…” She trailed off, giving the two children a guilty glance.

“What is it?” Barry demanded.

“It is,” Mark told her.

“Oh, hellfire. You be careful,” she told Otis.

“You betcha.”

Otis drove Mark the short distance over to the wormhole that led up to the cluster of orbital assembly platforms. He had an antique Daimler coupe convertible, which was kept in immaculate condition. It was powered by a combustion engine. Mark wasn’t sure if it had a drive array, not that it mattered with Otis behind the wheel; the man’s reflexes were incredible.

“Have you talked to Nigel?” Mark asked after he tightened his seat belt as far as it would go.

“Yeah, minor conference on Cressat last night. Apparently, the Dynasty now officially believes the Starflyer is behind the war.”

That took Mark a moment to digest. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Classified, okay? Daniel Alster was one of its agents. Dad was seriously not pleased. The Starflyer used Alster to break through to Boongate; it’s on its way back to Far Away as we speak. So we’re also sending a frigate there, just in case it tries to escape in the Marie Celeste.”

“Holy shit. How many frigates does Nigel want active?”

“Leading question. Minimum of three to Dyson Alpha, and we’d like two to visit Far Away. Although there was talk of sending the Searcher there instead. A lot of important people joined up with the Guardians, and are now cut off from the Commonwealth.”

“You did tell him we haven’t got five assembled yet, didn’t you?” Mark said nervously.

“He knows our status. There’s also a minor supply problem with nova bombs. We don’t have many yet.”

“But, Otis, we haven’t finished incorporating our procedures into the frigate assembly systems. We were looking for another week before the Dyson Alpha mission. Even the Scylla won’t be ready for vacuum for another two days.”

“Don’t be so modest. You’ve got four completed and another six in assembly.”

“Yes, but they haven’t been level-two tested yet, let alone flight tested. We held the Charybdis together with sticky tape and luck. You can’t keep flying frigates in that state, they’ve got to be integrated properly; anything else is going to prove fatal, and I don’t just mean in the long term.”

“I know; more than anybody. I’m the one who has to fly the damn things, remember. Pull in whoever you need; Giselle will coordinate personnel requests for you so you’ll be free to concentrate on the engineering.”

“Huh!” Mark exclaimed, unimpressed, as they pulled into the gateway building’s parking lot. “I’d like to take the entire design team up there for a start. Maybe they’ll finally learn the difference between theory and practice.”

Otis grinned. “Designers and engineers, may the two never meet.”

***

At night, stuck in the Volvo’s forward passenger seat while Rosamund drove them southward across the Aldrin Plains, Adam could see no difference between this and any normal Commonwealth H-congruous world. The low gravity wasn’t noticeable, except when they hit the odd bump in the road, when the truck performed a shallow glide back down. Farmland was more or less the same everywhere, and this close to the capital city, the land was nothing else, with broad fields and big swathes of woodland stretching out into the dark beyond his inserts’ ability to resolve. It was the absence of a planetary cybersphere that gave him the biggest sense of separation from the worlds he knew. All they had for communications here were some arrays with a short-wave capability. Not, as he was the first to admit, that there was anyone else to call on this forsaken planet. The lack of information was hard to endure, though.

At least he had a degree of solitude to enjoy. He’d been worried that Paula would insist on joining him in whatever vehicle he rode in. Instead she was in the second truck with Oscar, while Kieran drove. In what was undoubtedly the last miracle of the day, Adam actually found himself concerned for her. Whatever flu-variant virus she’d picked up was obviously affecting her badly. It was unusual for anyone these days to be brought low by such a simple illness, which implied it might be extraterrestrial. There hadn’t been an alien plague case for thirty years, since the Hokoth measles epidemic. For the Commonwealth to suffer one now would be badly ironic.

He told himself he was concerned mainly because she might be a carrier and give the bug to him and the others. She’d done her best to shrug it off, but he’d seen the sheen of sweat on her brow, the long uncontrollable shivers running along her limbs. It had come on quickly; she’d shown no symptoms back in the Carbon Goose where they’d talked through tactics for the landing at Port Evergreen. That had been a surreal moment, sitting down with Paula Myo, drinking tea together as they formulated the best strategy, both pooling their knowledge and experience without reservations—at least on his part. All the while, that little speech she’d given him back at Narrabri station was running through his mind. She could probably see it in his brain he was thinking it so hard.

After that she’d more or less dropped below his worry radar as they pushed through to Far Away and met up with the Guardians. He quietly assumed that once they’d delivered their precious cargo to the waiting Guardians in the Dessault Mountains that he’d wander off into the sunset while his friends prevented her from following—then he’d live out a quiet retirement on some farm for the remainder of his years. Except the only way that would happen was if someone killed her; even then her re-life version would appear on the horizon sooner or later. The reality was that this crazy Sicilian-style battle to the death they’d got going between them could only truly end with his death. Besides, he knew damn well he couldn’t spend more than a couple of hours on a farm without getting bored out of his skull. He’d have to return to the Commonwealth and go on the run again. Strangely, the prospect wasn’t as depressing as it first seemed.

Somewhere amid the constant low-level growl of engine noise a nasty metallic grinding sound was breaking out. Adam looked around in alarm. It was so loud he thought it must be coming from their truck. Rosamund was already braking smoothly.

“I’ve got a problem,” Kieran called on the general band.

By the time Rosamund had reversed up close to the second truck, Kieran was filling the band with some filthy language but no real information. Adam climbed down out of the cab and walked back. The road they were using was the main route linking this region’s market towns to the city; originally it had an enzyme-bonded concrete surface, but that was steadily shrinking from an onslaught of earth and weeds, while cracks and potholes went unrepaired for decades. Nowadays it resembled a simple much-used dirt track with congested drainage ditches on both sides. Adam was already entertaining serious doubts about how long it would take them to reach the mountains, and this was a good infrastructure for Far Away. According to the so-called maps stored in his inserts, the roads vanished altogether another hundred sixty kilometers south where the Aldrin Plains became a sea of uninhabited grasslands.

“What’s happened?” he shouted.

Some kind of thick vapor was swirling across the Volvo’s headlight beams. Kieran strode through it, a furious expression on his angular gaunt face. He hit the release handle on one of the engine covers, and it folded back. Flame belched out into the night.

Kieran ducked back, shielding his face with his hands. “Dreaming heavens!” His voice was ripe with pain.

Oscar jumped down from the cab, and rushed forward with a slim fire extinguisher. He directed the powerful stream of ice-blue gel particles over the burning machinery, smothering the fire in seconds.

Kieran was wincing as he gripped his hand.

“Let me see,” Adam demanded.

His flesh was red; blisters were already starting to rise. Wilson had brought a first aid kit from their truck’s cab; he started applying some salve.

Oscar gave the engine another couple of blasts from the fire extinguisher. “It’s out, but we’re screwed,” he said as he peered into the smoldering mangle of metal. “You’re not going to get this repaired outside a garage, and probably not even there. Trust me, I know engines, this is just scrap now.”

Adam shot Jamas a look that was mostly accusation, even though he knew it was neither professional nor fair. But Jamas had been in charge of organizing their ground transport.

“They were in perfect working order when we loaded them up on Wessex,” Jamas said defensively. “I took them for servicing at the dealer myself.”

“I know,” Adam said. “Breakdowns happen. It’s a royal pain in the ass that it happened now, but don’t worry. We’ve got enough room in the other two Volvos to carry on.”

They worked swiftly in the headlight beams of the trucks. Adam was more than a little conscious of how visible they were in the middle of the open lightless farmland. Out beyond the light of the campfire, the wolves begin to gather unseen. The force fields were off, which added to the sensation of vulnerability. He was grateful that all three of the Volvos carried trolleybots, which began unloading the pearl-white crates from Kieran’s wrecked truck.

“I’m going to take a look at that engine,” Oscar told Adam. “See if I can figure out what happened.”

“Right,” Adam said distantly. He was watching the trolleybots move around. The damp rumpled road surface made it hard going for the little machines; they were designed to work on the flat floors of warehouses and loading bays. The crates rocked about at alarming angles, but the trolleybot holding clamps prevented them from sliding off.

Half of the plastic crates had been transferred when Adam suddenly shouted: “Stop.” His e-butler backed up the order, halting the trolleybot right in front of him. Adam walked over, followed by Wilson, Anna, and Jamas. The crate’s lid had a couple of recessed hand-size flip-over locks on each side. One was hanging open. Adam stared at the loose flap of dull metal, then started to pull the crate’s remaining flip locks open.

“What?” Wilson asked. “One of these can’t come loose?”

“No, it can’t,” Adam said. “They’re designed to stay shut, that’s the whole point. They don’t spring open just because they get jiggled around.” Rosamund and Kieran arrived as Adam pulled the final lock open. “Jamas, give me a hand.”

The two of them eased the lid off. Adam and Wilson shone their flashlights inside, and Adam found himself staring into a little private version of hell. “Oh, fuck it! I don’t believe this.”

The five components inside the crate had been wrapped in thick blue-green sponge plastic for travel. Somebody had used a maser on them. The sponge plastic had melted into a blackened tar, smearing the components and pooling in the bottom of the crate. All the casings that held the support electronics on the side of the components were badly tarnished where the maser beam had been applied.

There was complete silence as the group all stared down into the crate. After that, they began to glance around at each other. Adam couldn’t blame them; he was already trying to work out who was the most likely suspect himself, but he couldn’t allow the atmosphere to become too poisonous. They still had to work together. Already they were dividing back into Guardians and navy.

“Let’s stay calm until we figure this out,” he said. “I want the rest of the crates opened and inspected. Two people to each crate. We don’t need to create any extra mistrust right now.”

With the trolleybots now unloading every Volvo it took them a quarter of an hour to open every crate. Paula didn’t help. She was left sitting on the cab steps of the third truck with a blanket around her shoulders as the others took the lids off. In total, four crates had been sabotaged, all with a maser.

“They were good when we left Wessex,” Jamas insisted. “I know they were, I helped pack them.” He was glaring at Wilson and Oscar.

“Do we still have enough systems to make the planet’s revenge project work?” Wilson asked.

“I’m not sure,” Adam said. “Kieran, what do you think?”

“Dreaming heavens, I don’t know. I think it will work anyway, that’s what Bradley was saying; what we’re delivering makes it more efficient.”

“It increases the probability of success,” Wilson said.

“So this has just taken it down a notch, again,” Rosamund said.

“It’s one of us,” Kieran said fiercely. “One of you navy people.”

“Whoa there,” Adam said quickly. “It could have been anybody in our group.”

“You heard Jamas, the components were all fine when we packed them up.”

“If Jamas isn’t the one,” Anna said.

Jamas took a pace toward her. “Are you accusing me?”

“Stop it!” Adam gave them an exasperated look. “This only helps the Starflyer. We don’t know it’s one of the people here.” He gave Jamas a hard stare. “Back off. It could have been any one of us who traveled together, including you, me, and even Johansson.”

“Hey!” Jamas protested. “No fucking way is it Johansson.”

“Enough of this. We don’t know, and we’ll probably never find out until it’s all over anyway,” Adam said. “We got lucky seeing the crate was opened. From now on we just have to watch each other. That does not automatically mean that anyone here is guilty. Clear?” He stared down the Guardians, waiting until each one acknowledged his authority. It was done grudgingly, and with several sharp glances toward the navy people, but eventually they all nodded except for Jamas, who flung his hands in the air to admit defeat. “Thank you,” Adam said primly. “Wilson, from now on none of your team goes or does anything solo; that goes for us Guardians, too. Everything from this point is a joint venture, and that includes going to the can.”

“Good thinking,” Wilson said.

“I want the crates sealed back up again and back on the trucks. We will make our rendezvous, and the components we deliver will make a difference. Get to it.”

“A word,” Oscar said quietly as the others returned to the crates.

“What is it?” Adam asked. It was almost rhetorical, he could guess.

“It wasn’t entirely luck we had to unload the cases. The Volvo’s gear box was empty, the oil had all leaked out. One of the seals was loose. The whole thing overheated and seized up.”

“That can’t be right. No problem should be able to grow that big. What about the sensors?”

“Good point,” Oscar said uncomfortably. “I think there was a software overwrite in the drive array. I can’t be sure, of course.”

“And the leak? What caused it?”

“Lot of heat damage from the fire, so again it’s impossible to say with any certainty. But if your lad Jamas was right about getting a proper service, there’s no way any seal should have broken so soon.”

“Damnit.” Adam gave the remaining two trucks a surreptitious glance. “What about them?”

“If this was sabotage, then whoever did it won’t use the same method twice; we’d find it as soon as the first one occurs. I can check them both, of course, but I’d suggest the best thing to do is reboot their arrays from the manufacturer’s software cache. That should wipe out any nasty little overwrite gremlin. And I’ll take a good look at the gear boxes, anyway, if there actually is a design fault with the seals, then a leak should be easy enough to spot.”

“Sure thing. I’ll partner you.” Almost like old times.

“Of course you will.”

By the time they set off, they’d wasted nearly an hour. Rosamund was again driving the lead Volvo, pushing the speed right up to the limit for their rough road conditions. Adam had to okay the use of active sensors to make sure there were no dangerous surprises on the uneven surface. If they drove around the clock, it shouldn’t take more than a day and a half to reach the rendezvous point amid the southern foothills.

Kieran and Oscar had joined Adam in the cab, along with Paula. The Investigator had immediately retired to the little sleep cubicle at the back of the main cabin, her blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. Adam waited half an hour to make certain there were no urgent problems developing with the Volvos, then picked up a medical kit and slid the slim composite door aside. There was very little room behind it: a twin bunk arrangement on the rear wall, with just enough room for one person to stand in front of them. Lockers under the bottom bunk held their personal supplies.

The air-conditioning vents were blowing out unpleasantly warm air. Adam switched the dim blue light on. Paula sat on the bottom bunk, the blanket still wrapped around her. The way her arm was cocked underneath the gray wool and the lump of her hand made Adam freeze. When he looked into her face he was shocked. She looked as if she hadn’t slept for a week, and she was gaunt, as if her flesh were sweating away. It was an unnervingly abrupt physiological change.

“Christ, what’s happening to you?” he asked as he slid the door shut; somehow he didn’t want the others to see her like this.

A big shiver ran the length of her body, forcing her to grimace. Her sweat-damped hair was stuck to her scalp, barely moving. She just stared at Adam with her delicate eyes sunk into bruise-dark skin. The only thing that never wavered was her weapon under the blanket.

“I’m not here to murder you,” Adam said. Stupid thing to say. He let out a little ironic snort. “Actually, I need your help. You’re the one who’s going to have to work out which of us is the traitor.”

Paula’s compressed mouth lifted in a slight grin. “Suppose it’s me?”

“Oh, come off it.”

“Who better? I’ve been chasing Johansson for a hundred thirty years trying to shut him down.”

“You gave us the Martian data. No matter how much political pressure you were under, you wouldn’t have done that if you’re a Starflyer agent.”

She slid the weapon back into a shoulder holster. “I shouldn’t have done it anyway.”

“I considered it a sign of humanity finally shining through.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

“You believe yourself to be nonhuman?”

“Quite the opposite.” Paula eased herself back onto the bunk, wincing more than once before she finally slumped down. “The root of my determination is that I care about people; I protect them. That makes us opposites.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “If that’s true you should be President of the Intersolar Socialist Party. We care about people. We want real social justice for everyone.”

“What justice did you give to Marco Dunbar?”

“Who?”

“Or Nik Montrose, or Jason Levin, or Xanthe Winter.”

“I don’t know any of these people.”

“You should do. You killed them. They were all on the train from StLincoln when it passed through Abadan station.”

Adam clamped his jaw tight as the guilt ran through him like an electrified rapier. “Bitch.”

“Please don’t try and climb onto the moral high ground with your ideological beliefs, or even assume we’re on some kind of equal footing. Both of us know who’s in the right.”

He studied her semicurled-up outline in the faint light as his anger faded. “You really do look like shit. What is the matter with you?”

“Some kind of ET flu. I’ve been on a lot of planets recently; I could have picked it up anywhere.”

“We’ve got some good medical kits with us.” He patted the case he was carrying. “Let me run a diagnostic scan.”

“No. I’m not contagious.”

“Not likely!”

“Drop it, Elvin.”

“You know what you’ve got, don’t you?” He couldn’t think what it would be that made her keep it private.

“Do you want my help, or not?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I could swear the Guardians I brought with me were on the level.”

Paula rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. It made her look very frail. “Start at the beginning; absolute basics. You know you aren’t a Starflyer agent, right?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Very well. Until you have definite proof of a person’s innocence, you can trust no one in the group.”

“Even you?”

“I told you before, I’ve been trying to stop Johansson for a hundred thirty years. For the purpose of this exercise, you must consider me suspect. I know I’m not, but I cannot physically prove that to you.”

“You’ve got one fucking morbid world view, Investigator, I’ll tell you that for nothing. Go on, how do I rule people out?”

“The sabotage most likely occurred after we joined your group.”

“Yeah. I was involved with packing and loading those crates. It would have been difficult to maser the contents of one back in the warehouse, let alone four.”

“Okay then.” Paula started coughing; her body juddered around on the bunk so alarmingly that Adam started to reach for her to hold her down. She waved his hand away as the coughing subsided. “I’m all right.”

“No you’re not. Jesus, have you been poisoned? Is that it?”

“No. Just give me some water, please.”

Adam found a bottle of mineral water in one of the lockers. It was painful to watch the Investigator trying to swallow; she took such small sips it was like a baby feeding.

“So start with your Guardians,” she said. “Can anyone on this world vouch for them in complete confidence? If not, the Starflyer could have had access to them the way he did with Kazimir McFoster’s friend and murderer.”

“Bruce. Damnit, yes, I’ll try and check; but the only link we’ve got is a short wave, don’t forget, it’s not exactly secure. Even then, who can vouch for every minute of someone’s life?”

“I know. As for the navy arrest team, they come from the same Paris office as Tarlo, who was corrupted several years ago. If the Starflyer can get Tarlo, then in theory it could get to anyone there.”

“That was your office,” he said in mounting unease.

“It was, yes. Like I said, don’t rule me out through sentiment or belief that I am incorruptible. You must be logical.”

“All right. What about the others, Cat’s Claws?”

“Firstly, they have been out of contact behind enemy lines. What happened to them there is unknowable. Then again, they are all extremely dangerous criminals. Perhaps they did this to further their own agenda.”

“Jesus H. Christ. That’d be just dandy right now, another group out to wreck us.”

“It’s a remote possibility, but bear it in mind. The most unusual pair we have with us are Qatux and Tiger Pansy.” She coughed again, and flopped her head down on the thin pillow. “Frankly, I can’t think Qatux is a Starflyer agent, but then he’s not the most reliable or normal Raiel citizen, and his insistence on coming with us is unusual. Plausible, but odd. As for Tiger Pansy, remember Mata Hari.”

“She was a dancer and courtesan. With respect, Tiger Pansy isn’t quite that exalted.”

“You know your history. I’m impressed; that’s not in your file.”

“Hidden depths, me, Investigator. So what do we do with Tiger Pansy?”

“Class her as a definite unknowable. If she is our saboteur, then I think we’ve already lost. But again, it’s your decision.”

“All right, that leaves us with the two Kimes and Oscar.”

“All of whom were on board the Second Chance. We know there was a Starflyer agent on board. Therefore: all suspect.”

“Right,” he said brokenly. “I really am on my own.” Then he realized he actually wasn’t, that there was one small fact that Paula didn’t know about. He smiled, and nearly began to tell her. Then stopped. First, he really didn’t know for sure that she wasn’t the Starflyer agent. All he had was his gut feeling that she couldn’t be, not the Paula Myo. Which isn’t good enough to decide the outcome of a war. And second, the Investigator couldn’t be allowed to know.

“What?” She was looking at him.

“Nothing. So if I can’t check individuals for motive, I have to go for opportunity, don’t I?”

“Very good, Elvin. By my reckoning, it had to take place during the Carbon Goose flight. The trucks were unguarded during a nine-hour flight, when anyone could get onto the cargo deck without being seen.” Paula’s voice had been weakening, now her eyes closed. “I need to sleep,” she said. “I’m very cold.”

“I need you to keep going just a moment longer, please. There were people on the cargo deck.” He twisted the locks on the medical kit and pulled out a diagnostic array.

“Including you and me for a lot of the time. Which is why only four crates were sabotaged. The Starflyer agent couldn’t risk an extended process; they might have been seen.”

Adam put a diagnostic patch on her clammy forehead and ran the program. “Why didn’t they just blow us up?”

“What are you doing?” Paula tried to push the diagnostic away, but he caught her hand and held it. She had no strength to stop him.

“Finding out what the hell’s the matter with you.” The array’s little screen began to fill with data. Her pulse was alarmingly rapid.

“Don’t,” she groaned, sucking air through her teeth.

“Christ, you’ve hardly got any blood pressure. Concentrate for me. If there was a Starflyer agent on the Carbon Goose, why didn’t they blow it up?”

“Good question. Simplest solution applies: they didn’t because they couldn’t. They had no access to suitable heavy-duty weaponry.”

“Cat’s Claws and the Paris team did. So do most of my Guardians.”

“That’s good; we can start eliminating people now. Out of the Guardians traveling with us, who doesn’t have an aggressor armor suit?”

“Rosamund and Jamas.” The array finished its review of Paula’s body. “It can’t detect any viral infection.” Adam paused. “It reads like you’re in shock.”

“Good verdict,” she croaked. “I am undergoing a physical reaction to a traumatic experience.” Her eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open again. “Now…none of the three navy people with us had aggressor armor, Nelson gave them protective suits.”

“What about you?”

“Same as the navy three, my armor is protective; I do have weapons but nothing that can take out a Carbon Goose, certainly not with a couple of shots. You must have access to weapons.”

“I do.” He gritted his teeth. “What trauma? What’s doing this to you? Christ, Paula, your body can’t take this kind of punishment.”

“You,” she said with a mocking smile. “Now think, if the Starflyer agent is with us in the Volvos, it has to be either myself, Wilson, Anna, Oscar, Rosamund, or Jamas.”

“What do you mean, me?”

“I wanted to arrest you, but I had to let you come here where you’ll be able to elude me when the mission is over. I can’t do that. It’s wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. You’re a mass murderer, I cannot put that aside. Thought I could, but I can’t. My body is reminding me of that.”

He stared at her in growing horror. “You’re in shock from letting me walk free?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Paula, this has to stop.” His e-butler began to display treatment routines for shock. He pulled an oxygen mask from the medical kit, and switched on the little extractor filter pump as he pressed it over her mouth. “Start breathing as regular as you can, I’m going to give you a sedative to try and calm your body down.”

Paula groaned. She pushed the mask aside. “It was Kieran’s truck that broke down; he really should have noticed something was wrong before it got bad enough to catch fire.”

“Fuck that! Your life is a damn sight more important.”

“It’s not. We must find out who the traitor is, the criminal. If they’re with us, they’ll strike again.”

“Not this instant they won’t. How could this happen to you?”

“I’m driven, remember? It’s in my genes.”

“Is everyone from the Hi—Huxley’s Haven like this? How can a whole planet be so flawed? You don’t get to do what you want and you just keel over with a fever? It’s insane!”

“My profession is unique even among the general population of Huxley’s Haven. There are not many police officers. The Foundation sequenced in our need to see cases to their conclusion. Admiral Columbia claimed it to be an obsessive compulsive disorder; I believe it was in fact originally derived from that.”

“So what the hell happens to the police if they don’t catch the bad guy?”

“They keep on going. No case is ever closed until it has been solved and the criminal arrested. The difference here is that I was forced into letting you go. It simply doesn’t happen on Huxley’s Haven. There is no such thing as political pressure to protect criminals.”

“You said you’d come after me. Doesn’t that help?”

“No. I’m not arresting you now, which is what I know I should be doing.” Her voice had faded to almost nothing. She closed her eyes.

Adam pulled an applicator tube out of the case; its sedative was close to what the e-butler’s medical program was telling him to use. “Hang on, you understand me? We’ll get you through this. Don’t you give up on me now, don’t you fucking dare.”

***

An angel walked into the mansion without any warning, causing a ruckus with the security staff on duty that morning. They didn’t want to let her in. She ignored their protests with the casual aristocratic disdain that was the heritage of any senior Dynasty child.

Orion, who was wandering along the vast terrace overlooking the huge swimming pool, heard the argument and glanced back in through the open French doors. The angel was standing right at the other end of the mansion’s vaulting formal hallway, framed by the open front door. He could scarcely believe what he saw. She was so beautiful it made his eyes ache; tall with golden-hued skin, and strong broad shoulders. Her long face had the sharpest cheeks he’d ever seen; they were lovely even though they made her chin prominent. Straight, pale brown hair was cut into a long tapering cloak that reached halfway down her back, moving like a single sheet of glossy silk every time she tossed her head. Her legs, which at this point Orion would have killed for a glimpse of, were hidden inside a long skirt of thin, reddish purple cotton with a green flower print. He did get a joyous sight of her perfectly toned midriff between the skirt and a plain white cotton camisole top.

She was, she told the security staff, Jasmine Sheldon. Did they not know that? Did they not know she was one of Nigel’s fifth-generation granddaughters, a first-lifer, and direct lineage? How else could she enter a Sheldon residence unless she had the correct family security clearance? Had no one told them she always took the start of her mid-year vacation at this mansion? Her friends from school would be dropping by in a couple of days. Until then she would have a quiet time to herself. Any problems, talk to the Dynasty office in Illanum. They sort out any difficulties encountered by senior family members. Besides, she obviously couldn’t go back now, the cab was already halfway down the drive. She would take the Bermuda room. No need to show her upstairs, she knew the way. Her three cases of luggage followed behind her like cowed employees.

“Wow!” Orion breathed after she vanished up the broad stairs. He watched the humiliated security staff go into a huddle, the vertical lines of green and red OCtattoos on their cheeks glowing bright in agitation. They broke apart to scurry off into the mansion’s vast interior. “Now what do I do?”

There was nobody around to suggest a course of action; just when he needed advice the most. Very different from last night. The security people had been polite but firm when they arrived at the mansion. He was free to use any facility in the building he wanted, including the health spa and sports gym down in the basement. If he required any clothes or commercial item he simply had to ask and it would be delivered. The kitchen staff would cook whatever meal he wanted. As for the grounds, please stay within three miles of the mansion, otherwise he could walk where he wished.

Ozzie was now nowhere to be seen. They’d had a late breakfast together, while Ozzie explained to Orion and Tochee the reasons behind their house arrest. Orion hadn’t really understood the political intricacies, just that Ozzie and his friend Nigel had some kind of big bust-up over the way the war was going; and a crime that Ozzie had been involved in decades ago was a part of it. “It’ll be cleared up by the end of the week,” Ozzie said. “Nigel will be kissing my ass and begging forgiveness. You’ll see.”

“I do not mind,” Tochee said. “This is a pleasant place to spend some time. They promised me continued access to your databases. After so much traveling I am enjoying a respite where I can broaden my education.”

“Yeah, okay,” Orion told him. “I can hang around for a week of luxury.” He smiled to show he meant it, all the while knowing it was complete Ozzie bullshit. After so much time spent together, how Ozzie thought he could still fool either of them was a complete mystery. It was quite obvious they were in deep shit with Nigel Sheldon, and there was nothing Ozzie could do to get them out of it.

Orion found Tochee and Ozzie in the ground-floor study, walking through a portal projection of the Dark Fortress generator. Ozzie was standing in what resembled a ring of bright comets, looking as if he were wading through them as they circled around his waist.

The outer shells rotated slowly around him and Tochee. Luminous green equations drifted overhead like mathematical clouds.

“I believe your knowledge of physics is greater than that of my planet,” Tochee said. “I can offer little insight into the nature of quantum foundation theory. It may be poor translation again, but five geometry field transection is not a subject I have ever heard of, let alone know how to manipulate.”

“ ‘Sokay, dude,” Ozzie said magnanimously. “I was just thinking out loud.”

“Girl!” Orion blurted. He stood on the edge of the projection, unable to move forward, as if it were generating a force field. “There’s a girl.”

Ozzie and Tochee both turned around to face him. “Howsthat?” Ozzie asked.

“Girl.” Orion waved his arms, gesturing furiously at the study door. “Out there, a girl!”

“Ah. There’s a girl out there, then?” Ozzie said.

“Yes!”

“So?”

“Ozzie, she’s incredible, she’s so beautiful.”

“Look, dude, I’ve told you: hands off the security staff.”

“No, no: not.”

“Not?”

“She’s not security.”

“Who is she then?”

“A Sheldon. There was some mix-up; she’s here on holiday. But, Ozzie, they’ll throw her out as soon as they talk with the Dynasty office in Illanum.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Ozzie!”

“What? Jeez, you can be a pain.”

“Stop them.”

Ozzie’s face screwed up in puzzlement. “Why?”

“I believe I understand, friend Orion,” Tochee said. “You are attracted to the young female of your species. Is she one totally fuckable babe? Perhaps similar to Andria Elex on the unisphere show about human mating habits on the world of Toulanna that we accessed at the hotel?”

A mortified Orion turned bright red.

Ozzie gave Tochee a moderately surprised look, then turned back to Orion. “Did you show Tochee that kind of show? I thought I’d locked access away from porn.”

“Ozzie, forget that! She’s got to stay. I want to…I want…” He lifted his hands in despair.

“To bang her brains out?”

“No. Well…You know. I just don’t want her to go. I’ve never seen anybody like her before. Please.”

“All right, this is really simple, kid: ask her to stay.”

“What?”

“Go up to her. Smile. Say hello. Strike up a conversation. If you get on fine, ask her to stay. If she says yes, I’ll back you up with Nige if our guardian Nazis get heavy.”

“What’s the Nazis?”

Ozzie clapped his hands together and made a shooing motion. “Go talk to her. Go on. And remember, don’t try and be smart. What you are makes you interesting. Now out! I’m trying to save the universe here, and I don’t have much time left.”

The study door shut behind Orion. He couldn’t quite understand how he’d wound up back in the hall and no better off than when he went in. Ozzie had been absolutely no use whatsoever. That hurt. He’d been kind of counting on Ozzie.

“Think,” he told himself sternly. Maybe Ozzie was right, maybe he should just start with saying hello. Anything else would seem desperate.

He went back to his room and rubbed a lot of toothgell on his teeth, rinsing twice. His hair was easy to comb now thanks to the stylist back at the Ledbetter Hotel. The active biogenic dermal cream had worked wonders on his pimples overnight. A quick check in the mirror showed a face that was relatively presentable, certainly better than when they walked off the end of the path. He was just wearing a short-sleeved orange shirt and knee-length swim shorts, which made it tempting to dress up, but that would be out of character and seem like he was trying to impress.

Okay, so…go!

He couldn’t find her. She wasn’t in the Bermuda room when he knocked tentatively on the door; she wasn’t in any of the lounges. When he ventured into the kitchen, the cook hadn’t seen her.

After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, he gave up. The security staff must have received the authorization to eject her. He wandered out onto the terrace, almost ready to cry. She’d been so beautiful, and he’d actually been prepared to make an utter fool of himself by opening his mouth. Anything, just to be in her presence for a moment. He leaned on the stone railing above the lower terrace where the oval pool stretched out into the gardens. On the whole, he’d been better off walking the paths.

“Hi. Are you one of the staff?”

Orion jumped and spun around. She was sitting right behind him in one of the sunloungers, dressed in a pale peach toweling robe. A delicate finger pressed a pair of silver shades up from her nose, so she could look at him properly.

“Uh, no.”

“Oh, which branch are you from?”

“I don’t live in a tree.” It was out before he could stop it. He closed his eyes and groaned, knowing his wretched face would be coloring again.

Jasmine Sheldon laughed. It was an enchantingly soft sound. But not mocking, he thought. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve seen rather a lot of trees lately, can’t stop thinking about them. Um, I’m Orion.”

“Hi, Orion, I’m Jasmine.”

He sat on the sunlounger next to her. “What are you reading?” A large leather-bound book was resting on her legs. He twisted around to read the silver lettering on the front. The Hundred Greatest Events of Human History.

“Found it in the library,” she said. “I was reading about the Great Wormhole Heist.”

“Really? Does it mention Ozzie?”

“Don’t think so. I haven’t read all of it, though.”

“Ah, what about a guy called Nazi? Is he in one of the events?”

“I’ve never heard of him. It’s got an index in the back.” She handed it over. “So why are you here?”

“Long story.” He flicked through the book that was mainly photos and holograms until he found the index. There were a lot of columns of small print that he had trouble reading.

She smiled and stretched herself out comfortably on the sunlounger. “It’s going to be a long summer. Assuming we win the war.”

The toweling robe around her legs fell open as she laid back. Orion was very proud of himself for not staring—not for too long, anyway. Her legs were long and powerful. She was probably stronger than he was. It was a thought that turned his stomach to a kind of cold jelly.

“Well?” she asked. “I’ve just come from school. I don’t have anything interesting to tell you, just months of lessons and sports afternoons.”

Her inquisitive eyes were green, he noticed. “Uh, I was living on Silvergalde. My parents had got lost somewhere down the Silfen paths, so I was helping at the Last Pony. That’s a tavern in Lyddington. Anyway…Ozzie turned up one day—”

She really was an angel. Orion would never have believed he could sit and talk to a girl, and that she’d be interested in what he said; let alone a stunning girl like Jasmine. It wasn’t just her physical beauty that captivated him; she was a lovely person, too. She was eager to hear his story, and asked questions, and was astonished and impressed at the things he’d done and seen, the hardships they’d endured. He began to relax, even though he knew he was babbling on for far too long. But she laughed with him. They shared a sense of humor.

After a couple of hours, Tochee slid out onto the terrace. Jasmine sat bolt upright, her face registering complete delight. “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “You really are telling the truth.”

Orion was slightly stung by the implication, but she looked so thrilled he forgave her instantly.

“Friend Orion,” Tochee said through a slim, top-of-the-line Ipressx array it was holding in its manipulator flesh. “Is this the totally—”

“This is Jasmine,” Orion told his alien friend hurriedly.

“I wish you welcome, Jasmine,” Tochee said. “And hope we will be friends.”

“I’m sure we will be,” she said pertly.

“I will immerse myself in water,” Tochee said. “It will be a relief. I fear I have been no help to my friend Ozzie this morning.”

“I think the Dark Fortress is something he’s got to work out for himself,” Orion said.

Tochee slid over to the stone rail at the edge of the terrace, and rose up to poise the front half of its body on top. The pool was about twenty feet directly below. The locomotion ridges contracted, and it tightened its grip on the array.

“You’re not going to?” Orion asked.

Tochee launched itself off the top terrace, and landed in the pool with an almighty splash.

Jasmine let out a shriek of excitement, and both of them raced over to the railing. Tochee was just surfacing as they peered over the edge. “The water is a perfect temperature,” it called up. Its ridges began to change again, flattening out into long fins. It sped away down the pool, as sleek as any dolphin.

“Superb!” Jasmine said. She cast off her robe and jumped up onto the rail.

Orion stared up at her perfect trim body in an act of near-religious worship. She was wearing a simple white one-piece swimsuit made from shiny fabric. That was when he knew he was in love, and they would get married, and spend every day for eternity in bed doing what he’d watched Andria Elex doing, only better and longer.

“No, wait,” he cried. “It’s too far down.”

Jasmine flashed him a gorgeous, teasing smile. “Last one in’s a wimp,” she shouted, and dived.

Orion’s worry turned to outright astonishment. Jasmine seemed to bend over in midflight so her hands were touching her ankles, then she spun around in a somersault, rotated the other way, spun in reverse, and straightened out to hit the water without a splash.

He gawped in disbelief. She was gliding underwater in a long curve that brought her back to the surface five meters away from where she went in. “Wimp,” she yelled up, laughing. “Wimp, wimp, wimp!”

Snarling, Orion clambered up on top of the rail, and jumped. He was right, it was a long way down. His legs cycled about crazily. At least he remembered to clamp his hand over his nose just before he hit. Unfortunately by then he was tilted over somewhat so he landed on his side. The hard water slapped him fiercely.

He struggled back up to the surface, his whole side numb. At first. The sharp stinging began as he bobbed up. He let out a pained groan.

Jasmine’s laughter cut off, and seconds later she was at his side. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Sure. Fine. No problem.” His shirt felt as if it was made from metal. He struggled to undo it, then found she was towing him to the steps at the side.

“You silly thing,” she chided. But there was still a huge smile on her face.

Orion had managed to get one arm out of the sleeve. He clung to the steps with the other. “Jasmine?”

“Yes?” She was still smiling at him, her eyes sparkling.

“Have you got a boyfriend?” Where the chutzpah had come from to ask that he didn’t have a clue.

She leaned forward and kissed him. It seemed to go on for a long time. Orion wasn’t really sure. Her tongue was inside his mouth, setting off loud fireworks in pleasure centers he didn’t even know existed before.

When she pulled back, he blinked uncertainly to see her grinning wickedly. “That was a no,” Jasmine told him impishly. She pushed off from the steps, floating on her back, still grinning at him. “Just in case you didn’t realize.”

“I did,” he whispered helplessly.

Her arm moved fast, and splashed a whole load of water over him. He splashed back. She giggled, and started kicking up a spume. Orion tugged his shirt off completely, and set off in hot pursuit.

They messed around in the pool for nearly an hour before Jasmine said she was going back up to her room to dry off for lunch. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she promised as she pulled her robe on again. “Get the cook to make me a burger, with Italian fries, you know, the herb ones. And a side salad.”

“I’ll do it,” he promised loyally.

He clambered out of the pool and found a towel in the locker by the showers.

“Your association seemed to be developing well, friend Orion,” Tochee said. It was sunning itself on the lower terrace beside the pool. Nearly all of its colored fronds were dry again, ruffling in the warm breeze.

“Do you think so?” Orion asked as he watched Jasmine walk up the stairs to the upper terrace. She waved happily when she was at the top, then hurried off into the mansion.

“I am not an expert judge of your species, friend Orion, but you were behaving most harmoniously together. It is my belief she enjoyed your company. If she did not, she would not have remained with you; she was under no obligation.”

“Hey, that’s right!” He picked up his sodden orange shirt. “I’m going to find the cook and then get a clean shirt. Do you want anything?”

“I believe I would like to try more of the cold vegetable lasagne, with cabbage, please.”

Ozzie had started the morning full of determination. Anger-driven determination, as he would be the first to admit. It would have been sweet to show that pompous dick Nigel how to fix the Dyson Alpha barrier generator. He set to it with an open mind and a burst of enthusiasm. Unfortunately, he soon found out that having Tochee with him wasn’t such a good idea. He became a little tetchy with the alien’s constant questions and apologetic answers to his own inquiries. It soon became very plain that Tochee had only a very limited knowledge of physics. Whether that extended to its entire species, Ozzie promptly stopped caring. All he’d hoped for was a little insight, that Tochee might come at the problem from a different angle. Not a chance.

By the time Tochee left to “take a break,” Ozzie could have cheered. It had also become depressingly obvious that there had been a significant amount of excellent work done on analyzing the data that the Second Chance had brought back. An alarming quantity of which he was struggling to understand. If he’d been wetwired with maximum interface, and had full access to both his secure store and his asteroid’s RI, he might have managed conversance with the plethora of theories that physicists had put together. Even then, they were only theories.

But this life around, his wetwiring was limited to the biochip inserts he’d received in preparation for walking the Silfen paths. And although the mansion’s security staff were undyingly courteous, he wasn’t allowed access to the unisphere.

An age later, he stood inside the big projection of grandiose lattice shells wrapped around their peculiar rings, and gave it a hearty curse. The green clouds of equations that summarized humanity’s finest thoughts on the problem retreated, taking their luminescence to the corners of the study. He almost shut down the projection. Now he’d actually seen the Dark Fortress his earlier notions about it were fast becoming a fantasy inspired by petulance. His virtual hands patted down several columns of icons as if they were annoying insects, and the projection swung around him, running through a complete cycle. It still didn’t make any sense, so he resurrected the second image, a simulation of the shells after the barrier had failed. The extraneous quantum signature was as plain as possible, but without a more accurate image it was impossible to see what it was actually doing, which section of the generator it was disrupting. And the Second Chance had never returned for a close look. The starship had maintained a watch during its visit to the Watchtower, but the data it received from such a distance was constant. Nothing had changed. Ozzie returned the image to a real-time playback. This recording was nothing more than a smudge of data against a backdrop of alien stars. That didn’t help him much either. Then he gave it a surprised glance; it still hadn’t changed. He told his e-butler to run to the end of the recording, and highlight any detected variations. An intriguing notion was forming at the back of his mind.

The study door opened, and a girl walked in. Even Ozzie was impressed by how gorgeous she looked. Of course, the way she was standing there in a toweling robe that was completely open down the front to reveal a wet swimsuit probably helped that meteor-strike first impression. And after so long walking the paths it wasn’t just Orion who was desperate for the company of a woman.

“Hi there,” he said. “You must be the Sheldon girl.”

She gave him a knowing smile and shut the door in such a deliberate, firm fashion that Ozzie’s heart rate quickened. “Jasmine Sheldon, according to the certificate which got me through the front door,” she said as she advanced on Ozzie. A hand was combed sensually back through damp hair. “But we both know that’s a little white lie. The Dynasty office in Illanum gave me a nice little summary of all the hanky-panky going on here. Very kinky of you.”

“Ah well, you know how it is, the kid’s had a rough few years. You’re, um, the least I could do for him.”

She was still advancing. Ozzie wasn’t sure if he should fling himself at her or run as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

“How about you?” she asked. “Have you had it rough for a few years?”

“Boy, you are quite something. At least he’ll die with a smile on his face.”

She stood directly in front of him, a sinful smile playing on her lips. “You’re very famous, Ozzie. I hope you don’t mind but I couldn’t resist asking for this one little favor.”

“What’s that?”

“A kiss. That’s all. Just. One. Little. Kiss.”

Ozzie sucked in a breath, and checked the door behind her. “I dunno, man.”

“Ohhh.” Her lips came together in a mournful pout. “I’d be very grateful. It’s not every day you get to meet a living legend.”

“Ah…”

She stood on tiptoes, puckering her mouth up for a kiss. Her hands came up on either side, and gripped his tightly, fingers twining together. They kissed.

Ozzie’s e-butler told him the i-spots on his palms were being remotely activated to allow a simulated environment program to decompress inside his inserts. An emergency disconnect icon was flashing brightly as his intrusion counterware reacted. The weird electronic incursion interested him more than anything else. He granted the program full virtual interface authority and shifted the counterware to monitor status.

The result was like being teleported into a Russian doll of images. He now stood at the bottom of a translucent gray sphere clad in simple white coveralls, with the girl standing in front of him in the same garment. She had a slightly different face than her physical self; some features had been realigned, and the hair was shorter and golden, but it was definitely her. Outside the sphere, giant replicas of himself and the girl were locked in an embrace that he could still feel rather pleasantly on his lips. Beyond that, the Dark Fortress data swirled like a foggy nebula, boxed in by the study walls.

He brought his hand up to touch his mouth, a sensation that was overlaid on the kiss. He gave a dismissive grunt. “Okay,” he said, “you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Of course, but first, please try and maintain the kiss.”

“Like that’ll be difficult.”

“Very funny. This simulation should be impervious to any sensors in the mansion, and we’re accelerated in here so the kiss will be good camouflage. Don’t get your hopes up, stud-boy, a minute in real time is all the grope you’ll ever get.”

“Please to meet you, too, babe. And you are?”

“Mellanie Rescorai. The SI sent me to find out what happened to you.”

“I know that name. Oh, yeah, the one who gatecrashed my home with ten thousand guests.”

“Take it up with the SI. I have an updated SIsubroutine which I can decompress into an array for you, if we can find an independent one large enough in the mansion.”

“My inserts should be able to handle it,” Ozzie said. He ordered his e-butler to clear five of the biochips, shunting their files and programs into the remainder, and erecting some very strong fireshields.

“I doubt it,” she said.

“Let’s try, shall we.”

The surface of the gray bubble flared with squalling tangerine and mauve lines. His e-butler told him the biochips were filling up fast.

The lines settled down into interlocking spirals. “Hello, Ozzie,” the SIsubroutine said.

“Neat deal,” Ozzie said.

“You were about to reveal who built the barrier when Sheldon security broke the link.”

“Oh, yeah, what an evening that was.” He explained what Clouddancer had told him about the Anomine race.

“So they will not repair the damage,” the SIsubroutine said.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“MorningLightMountain won’t be a problem for much longer,” Mellanie said. “Nigel and the others have decided to use the nova bomb against Dyson Alpha. They’re also going to destroy any other stars that MorningLightMountain has colonized to make sure it is dead and can’t threaten us ever again.”

“More than one star?” Ozzie asked, aghast.

“They’re worried about how far it has spread. It’s had a long time since the barrier came down.”

“The radiation will wipe out any living creature in that whole section of the galaxy,” Ozzie said. “Don’t they fucking know that? Christ, no wonder Nigel wants me locked up in here.”

“They know,” Mellanie said. “But it has to be done.”

“Can you help?” Ozzie asked the SIsubroutine. “Can’t you see we’re wrong to do this?”

“Ethically, it is wrong. Yet it is required for your survival. This is not our decision to make.”

“Okay, look; I’ve been reviewing the Dark Fortress data. The Starflyer agent has obviously used a modified version of the original flare bomb it hit Far Away’s sun with. The quantum distortion is plain enough. That’s what’s screwed up the generator; everyone’s agreed on that. I thought it would need repairing, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Why not?” the SIsubroutine asked.

“Because the effect is continuous. The whole time the Second Chance was in the Dyson Alpha system, it kept recording the same quantum abnormality. In other words, the actual generator systems could still be in working order, but they don’t function normally while their quantum structure is being disturbed. The disruption is just a proverbial wrench in the works.”

“Remove it, and the mechanism will resume operations.”

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” Ozzie said. “Our very last shot at redemption. Will you help me with that, at least?”

“How do you propose to remove the disruption device?”

“Nuke the fucker. What else can we do?”

“I doubt a nuclear explosive will work. If the device is producing an effect similar to a quantumbuster, the missile will either convert to energy at a distance or its components will no longer function—just like the generator itself.”

“So we use one of our quantumbusters; switch the effect from a field to a beam, point it at the Starflyer’s device, and pray our technology has a longer reach. The navy used quantumbusters to knock out flare bombs before, and it worked.”

“Assuming you are correct about every other factor, that sounds practical.”

“So I figure.”

“Do you think Nigel will agree?” Mellanie asked.

“Not a chance,” Ozzie said resentfully. “He doesn’t believe the generator can be fixed. Him and his merry band of psychopaths have already chosen the genocide option. He’s not going to let me send one of his ships on a wild goose chase.”

“Then why are you bothering with this?”

“Simple, man, now I know what has to be done, I can get on with it.”

“You?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Have you got a starship?”

“Technically, yes.”

“What do you mean, technically?” Mellanie pressed. “Does your asteroid have FTL?”

“No no, wrong way of thinking. I own forty-nine percent of CST. I agreed to take less than Nige, because all that corporate shit just ain’t my scene. So, technically, I own forty-nine percent of however many of these starships he’s gone and built.”

“I thought the Dynasty built the starships.”

“Do you want to commit genocide when it can be prevented?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“But you just said Nigel won’t let you have one of the ships. He won’t even let you out of the mansion grounds. The security briefing I got in Illanum was very explicit about that.”

“Yeah, that’s a shame, because it means you two dudes are going to have to bust me out of here.” Ozzie paused, and looked at Mellanie. “Does Nigel know it’s you that’s come here?”

“No,” the SIsubroutine said. “We intercepted a girl procured from Lady Georgina. Mellanie is a covert substitution.”

“Okay, right, so will you two help me?”

“I don’t see how I can,” Mellanie said.

“If you can, will you help me?”

“I suppose so.”

“What about you?” Ozzie’s virtual knuckle rapped on the virtual wall of the sphere. The orange and purple lines swerved around the impact point. “Are you finally going to come down off the fence?”

“In this form we only have a limited ability. Cressat is not part of the unisphere; recently it has had its interface filters upgraded, we assume so that the Dynasty’s lifeboat project was not compromised.”

“Yeah yeah. I need you to infiltrate and subvert this mansion’s network and security sensors. Nothing physical, I know how you’re so goddamn phobic about the real world; but can you do that for me at least?”

“It should be possible.”

“Finally, your humanity is shining through. Okay, Mellanie, I want you to leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yeah. Tonight. Have a bust-up with Orion, or something. After dark, get a cab or car to pick you up. I’ll say I’m staying in the study to go through the Dark Fortress data, but while our friend here takes care of the security systems I’ll make a break for the end of the drive. You have the car door open for me.”

“That seems very crude,” she said uncertainly.

“Simple is always the best. The less there is to go wrong, the less can go wrong.”

“I suppose so.”

“The study door,” said the SIsubroutine. “Observe the handle.”

Ozzie looked out past the giant versions of himself and Mellanie, still delightfully liplocked, then through the nebulous data of the Dark Fortress. The brass handle of the study door was rotating in agonizing slow motion. “Oh, shit,” he groaned. “Not this. Please.”

Orion went and told the cook what Mellanie wanted for lunch, and said he’d have the same, and made sure Tochee’s meal was taken care of, too. He slung his still-soaking shirt over his shoulder and set off through the mansion to the study. Everything had gone so well with Jasmine he just knew Ozzie wouldn’t believe him. He wasn’t even sure he trusted his own memory of the morning. But it felt so good. A girl so perfect, and she likes me!

He opened the study door, and blurted: “Hey, Ozzie, you’ll never…” and stopped, because Jasmine was in there. She and Ozzie were breaking apart. Their embrace hadn’t been just a kiss, Orion saw their hands clasped together. They separated fast, both with hugely guilty expressions.

“Now, er, kid, don’t get this ass backward,” Ozzie pleaded.

Orion spun on his heel, and ran. The mansion’s corridors were long and broad, he could get up a good speed. He ran hard. The shirt fell off his shoulder. He carried on running as the tears began to stream down his face. A devastated wail burst out of his mouth, echoing through the mansion.

Mellanie sucked in a sharp breath as Orion sprinted away. “Damn!” The boy’s face had looked so horror-stricken, it wasn’t easy knowing she was the cause of so much grief.

“I don’t believe this!” Ozzie yelled. His face crumpled into anguish, and he lifted both hands in an appeal to the heavens. “I’ve just crippled the kid—for life, most like. Fuck!” He grabbed Mellanie’s hand. “Go after him, put this right.”

“What?” she thought she’d misheard. Her e-butler told her Ozzie’s i-spot was interfaced with hers. THIS IS THE PERFECT EXCUSE FOR ME TO LEAVE, she sent in text.

“He’s besotted with you,” Ozzie said. “Don’t you understand? He’s never even held hands with a girl before, let alone spent a whole morning with one. For Christ’s sake; I’m beyond any form of salvation now, but he’ll still listen to you. You’ve got exactly one shot at putting this back together. Unless you do that he’ll be messed up for life.” YOU DON’T LEAVE UNTIL AFTER DARK. USE THE TIME TO STRAIGHTEN THE KID OUT. WE’LL TAKE CARE OF THE MANSION’S NETWORK.

“But…” She was exasperated with Ozzie’s attitude. It was almost as if he thought the boy was more important. Or he’s a superb actor. She was fairly sure the whole security staff would be accessing this little drama through the mansion’s security sensors.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Ozzie said harshly. “Remember what you’re paid for.” GO ON, RUN AFTER HIM.

Mellanie wrenched her hand from his, which didn’t require any acting. She strongly suspected he was being serious. “Yes, Boss,” she snapped angrily, and stomped out of the study.

It didn’t take a genius to work out where Orion would be—she’d retreated from the world enough times. His shirt was lying on the tiled floor in the hall. She picked it up and started up the stairs. The mansion’s network told her which was his room.

“Orion?” Mellanie tapped lightly on his door. No answer. “Orion?” she said, louder this time. Still nothing, so she told the mansion network to unlock the door. There was a moment while the household management array asked security for authorization, then the mechanism went click. She walked in to find the curtains drawn. Her lips pressed down on a smile. A walking, talking cliché. It was a wonder he didn’t have rock music playing at full volume, some angst-gorged Goth track about pain and death. Of course, Orion had probably never heard rock music, not growing up on Silvergalde. Oh, hell, what if he likes folk music?

Orion was curled up on the bed, turned away from the door. One hand was gripping the pendant around his neck.

“That was my fault,” she said softly.

“Go away.” There was a strange juddery quality to the voice.

“Orion, please, I was being silly. Do you have any idea how big a celebrity Ozzie is? Everyone in the Commonwealth thinks he’s a saint, or a fallen angel, or something. I just couldn’t resist. Do you know how much kudos I’d have at school for getting a kiss from Ozzie? People would actually notice I existed.”

“That’s rubbish.”

“It’s true.” She put her hand out and stroked his shoulder. “It’s no different than collecting his autograph. And you startled us, that’s all, that’s why we looked surprised.”

“I meant, everybody knows you exist. You’re just…phenomenal.”

She put her knees on the mattress and leaned over him. He gave her a sullen look, but didn’t flinch away. “You’re crying,” she exclaimed. It shocked her.

“I wanted to marry you,” he moaned. “I love you, Jasmine.”

“Whaa…You? No. Orion, you don’t love someone after a morning.”

“But I do. Even when you were arguing with the security staff I knew I never wanted anyone else.”

He sounded so piteous and terrifyingly sincere her skin turned cold. She took his hand in hers, and told her e-butler to initiate a secure interface. It told her it couldn’t. A quick passive scan from her inserts was unable to detect any OCtattoos in the boy’s body. “Orion?” she asked curiously. “Do you have any inserts?”

“No.” His hand tightened hopefully around hers. “Do you mean it, that you and Ozzie weren’t starting something?”

“We weren’t.” It was ridiculous, having to comfort this naïve boy when the real issues of the war were still unresolved; yet her conscience was stopping her from just walking out. God, he’s worse than Dudley. Actually, no, that’s not fair; Dudley was never this vulnerable. Or sweet.

“Oh.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Believe me,” she said softly. “If it was anything else, if I liked him, would I do this?”

“What?”

She kissed him.

It was dark outside; Cressat’s sun had set nearly an hour earlier. Mellanie lay on the bed, listening to Orion’s regular breathing for several minutes before she knew for certain he was asleep. She got off the gelmattress as carefully as she could so she didn’t wake him. He was sprawled on his side, one hand hanging over the edge. She smiled as she pulled the thin duvet up around him. He sighed in his sleep, and settled contentedly under the fabric. Even when she gave him the lightest of kisses on his shoulder he never stirred.

I should hope not. He should be exhausted after everything I made him do. She felt a wicked sense of pride at how successfully he’d been corrupted during that long afternoon. I’m a bad bad girl. And loving every minute of it.

Mellanie didn’t bother trying to find her swimsuit and toweling robe; the kafuffle might wake him. She just walked naked down the mansion’s long corridors back to the Bermuda room. Her smile kept shining the whole time. She couldn’t get his face out of her mind, the expressions of surprise and fearful delight. His body had been nicely responsive. Some of his reactions made her laugh, then gasp. Bad!

In the Bermuda room she placed her hand on the desktop array, her i-spot interfacing securely with the mansion’s network. The SIsubroutine was established in the arrays, waiting for her.

“We have infiltrated the network,” it told her. “Ozzie will be able to leave the building undetected. He will wait for you by the first cattle grid on the drive.”

“Right then, I’ll call a cab from Illanum. Give me fifteen minutes.”

The maidbots packed her bags while she took a quick shower. Before she left, she wrote a short note and sealed it in an envelope.

One of the security staff was standing in the hall as she came downstairs, a woman she remembered from the morning. Jansis? The cab from the Dynasty office had just pulled up outside.

“Would you give this to Orion in the morning, please?” Mellanie asked, and held out the envelope.

“You’re leaving now?” The woman seemed faintly surprised.

“I’ve done what I was paid to.” Mellanie couldn’t detect any suspicion. She proffered the envelope again.

“Okay.” The woman took the envelope.

Mellanie went down the broad steps, hoping she wasn’t showing too much haste. The cab was the same kind of maroon-colored Mercedes limousine that had brought her to the mansion. Her luggage rolled up into the open boot as she claimed one of the front seats. She didn’t like driving manually, so she told her e-butler to designate a route to Illanum station. “And slow down to a crawl when we reach the first cattle grid,” she instructed it.

The car followed the winding drive for a kilometer through the parklands surrounding the mansion before it slowed. Mellanie opened the door, and Ozzie bounded in.

“Cool,” he said admiringly as he settled next to her. “We did it.”

The Mercedes began to pick up speed. Ozzie ordered it to switch to manual control, and a steering wheel slid out in front of him. He gripped it with both hands. An enhanced light image appeared on the windshield, showing the trees of the parkland as silver-white ghosts.

“How’s Orion?” Ozzie asked.

Mellanie smiled broadly. It was an automatic response, she couldn’t help it. Didn’t particularly want to. “He’s just fine.”

Something in her tone made Ozzie shoot a quizzical look her way. “What does he think about me?”

“That you’re the antichrist.”

“Thanks.”

She watched the monochrome landscape sliding by. “I hope you know where the Sheldon Dynasty has its starship base, because I certainly don’t.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. The gateway to Cressat was expanded, and there was a lot of traffic going through. So at least part of the operation will be here.”

“Where? It’s a whole planet, and this is the only transport we’ve got.”

“Relax. One of the reasons Nigel was so keen to keep me penned up is because I’m so deeply embedded in CST. I told you, it’s half mine.”

“You also said he handles the day-to-day running.”

“True. I can ghost through most Dynasty security barriers, but I’m guessing this one will give me a problem. I know Nigel. A project on this scale, and designed to save his own ass, is going to kick his corporate paranoia into over-drive. Every security protocol surrounding it is going to be shiny new, and completely lacking my authorization privileges. There’s only one place he’ll build anything this secret. I just hope he hasn’t gone and switched the original personnel around too much.”