Judas Unchained

by Peter F. Hamilton

  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.