“You people need to get out more,” Morton said.
“Whatever the reason, we’re glad you’re here,” Bradley said hurridly. “Er, what are these, exactly?” He nodded toward the huge avian creature Rebecca Gillespie had alighted from.
“To us, they’re king eagles; although the towns on the Iril Steppes already whisper rumors of dragons in the skies of Far Away.”
“Whatever, they’re very impressive. Are you going to fly into battle on them?”
“Good Lord, no, that would be insanity.” She reached behind her head, and pulled a rifle with a very long barrel out of its hidden sheath in her robe. “The Institute guns would find us easy targets. We will sharpshoot for you. These weapons will cut through an ordinary force field skeleton suit from a thousand meters.”
“That kind of support is most welcome.”
“Sir,” Scott called. “Movement at the Institute. Something’s coming this way. There’s a visual.”
Bradley scanned his virtual vision for the icon, and pulled the scout’s image out of his grid. The picture wasn’t high quality, but it showed him vehicles pouring out of the valley mouth.
“That must be every vehicle they’ve got in there,” Stig said. “Who the hell’s in them?”
“See if the scout can get a close-up,” Bradley said. He was disconcerted by the quantity of vehicles. The Starflyer would be truly desperate by now, but it was logical above all else.
The image blurred, and zoomed in on a pickup truck. Several dark shapes were wedged in the back. At first Bradley couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing; his mind simply rejected the profile. They can’t be here. But of course, Dudley Bose had discovered the Starflyer’s true origin. “Dreaming heavens,” he said fearfully.
“Motiles,” the Cat crooned joyously.
“There must be hundreds of them,” Morton said.
“Soldier motiles,” Rob said. “I think. They look different to the ones on Elan.”
“They’ll be the improved version,” Bradley told him flatly.
There had been some uncomfortable moments during the flight. Several of the Scylla’s hyperdrive systems threw up glitches that had to be dealt with immediately. Ancillary support equipment failed with dismaying regularity. Nigel had spent most of his waking hours troubleshooting, holding things together with patched programs and backup components. Otis and Thame had improvised a lot of procedures; flight experience and hugely detailed knowledge of the frigate allowing them to take near-intuitive shortcuts.
The reluctant ship had slowly been coaxed into producing a performance that matched the specifications its designers had originally promised. Nigel had gathered a great deal of satisfaction from wrestling the technology into shape. Hands on was the only management style that worked one hundred percent. Knowing that a single mistake would leave them as a smear of outré radiation across the cosmos also helped to focus the mind to an astonishing degree.
Now they were closing on Dyson Alpha, he pulled the sensor display out of his virtual vision grid and studied it. It surrounded him with a speckled gray cube, illustrating the star as a small kink in the fabric dead ahead. Dyson Beta was off to one side, showing a larger twist as the transdimensional resonance skittered off the barrier’s surface. There was also a slim conical wake approaching Dyson Alpha. Tracking the Charybdis wasn’t easy; the detector mechanism had proved one of the least reliable systems on board. There had been a whole twenty-eight-hour period when they had lost the Charybdis entirely. Nigel had worked hard at adapting the unit’s software until the detector functioned near flawlessly. Certainly the last few hours hadn’t seen a single hiccup. He suspected the way they were slowly overhauling the Charybdis played a big part in that. There was now less than fifteen light-years between them.
“Have you decided what to do when we get there?” Otis asked.
Nigel’s virtual hand pushed the tracking display aside, compressing it back into his grid. “Not yet.” There was a rattled edge in his voice. Damnit, this was Ozzie!
“Ninety minutes until we get there.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“We should have enough resolution to see if he heads for the homeworld or the Dark Fortress.”
Nigel shifted around on the couch’s padding. The voyage had been pretty miserable from a physical point of view: paste food, bloated sinuses, nauseous stomach, and teetering on the verge of claustrophobia the whole time. “You think it will track anything once they drop out of hyperspace?”
Otis gave a lame grin. “In theory.”
“This ship isn’t too hot on theory.”
“If he goes for the Dark Fortress he really will be trying to restart the barrier.”
“Possibly.”
“It means he isn’t a Starflyer agent.”
Nigel glared at his son. “I know that! That’s why I’ve come with you.”
“Sorry, Dad. It’s just … it’s Ozzie, you know.”
Nigel felt more than a little pique at the reverence in Otis’s voice. “Have you ever actually met him?”
“No. But you used to tell us about him all the time when we were young.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why it will be my hand on the trigger if it’s to be done.” He couldn’t help yawning, not that he slept well in freefall. “Let’s get ready. I don’t want to be distracted on our approach. Thame, load the nova bomb into the launch tube, I’ll authorize its activation.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nigel followed the procedure through the ship’s schematics. There was a problem getting the missile out of the magazine, but Otis did something to the handling mechanism to correct the flaw. Green symbols appeared when it was loaded and primed.
“Mark taught me that trick,” Otis said. “It’s to do with balancing the electromuscle.”
Nigel ignored the reproachful tone. There was something innately appealing about Mark, a human lost puppy. “Initiate the neutron lasers,” Nigel said. “Thame, you’re handling short-range defenses.” When he checked the timer, Dyson Alpha was seventy minutes away.
The jeeps had cleared Stakeout Canyon when they began to pick up the scattered fragments of Johansson’s reply. Paula programmed her array to piece together the vocal snippets as they repeated again and again. Static crashed out of the speakers as she played the message. It was a little bit longer and cleaner each time. By the fifth time there was no mistake.
“Is it him?” Rosamund asked. “Did you tell Renne that?”
“Yes.” Paula stared through the jeep’s curving windshield. The headlight beams were flowing over the blank, shiny surface of sand and shale as the sleek vehicle raced for cover. She thought the eastern horizon might be slightly lighter. The ache had almost gone from her limbs now, but she felt desperately tired, as if she hadn’t slept for months.
“So Adam contacted Oscar,” Rosamund said. “Does that help?”
“It makes a lot of sense, especially the why of it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Adam knew Oscar wasn’t the Starflyer agent. If Oscar had been, then he would have captured Adam and taken him for interrogation as soon as Adam made contact; Adam would have been totally unprepared.”
“Then why didn’t he just tell us?”
“He was protecting Oscar.”
“From whom?”
“Me. Turn around.”
Rosamund shot her a startled look. “Do what?”
“Turn around.” Her virtual hands fluttered over icons, trying to contact Oscar. The handheld array didn’t have the range, not with the canyon wall blocking them. “I have to get back there.”
“We haven’t got time!”
“Stop the jeep. You can get in with Jamas or Kieran. I’ll drive back myself.”
“Oh, dreaming heavens!” Rosamund wrenched at the wheel, sending the jeep into a skid-curve. It shook wildly as it chased the turn.
Paula gripped the seat, thinking they were going to flip over.
“What’s happening?�
� Kieran demanded.
“Oscar’s in the clear,” Rosamund said. “We’re going back.”
“What for? The storm’s going to be here in twenty minutes.”
The jeep had now completed its turn, nose pointing back toward Stakeout Canyon. Rosamund floored the accelerator. “I don’t know.”
“What?” he asked incredulously.
“I have to ask Oscar some questions,” Paula said. “I should be able to find out which of the other two it is.”
“Then what?”
“We might be able to reach the Starflyer agent in time to prevent them from flying. It won’t take much. Your ion carbines can easily disable a hyperglider.”
“But we wouldn’t get clear,” Rosamund growled. “The storm is at its worst in Stakeout Canyon. These jeeps couldn’t take the beating it’d give us in there.”
“I said I’ll drive myself.”
“No you don’t. You can barely stay conscious.”
“Thank you,” Paula said. She flopped back into the seat, and began thinking of the questions she needed to ask.
“Even if we don’t reach the traitor’s hyperglider, the other two will be warned,” Rosamund said. “We have to give them that.”
“It might be enough,” Paula agreed; she could sense the woman’s need to justify what they were doing, the courage she gained from the cause. “I don’t know what the agent is planning on doing. A kamikaze in the glider, possibly, or pushing the others off Aphrodite’s Seat.”
“It’s Adam, you know, he’s helping us.”
“How?”
“He’s looking down from the dreaming heavens, spurring us on.”
Paula didn’t reply. The idea was mildly discomfiting. She based her universe on solid facts. It was easier.
“Aren’t you religious, Investigator?”
“I don’t think I was designed to be, no. You obviously are.”
“I don’t believe in the old religions; but Bradley Johansson actually visited the dreaming heavens. He told the clans what they’re like, what we can look forward to.”
“I see.”
“Don’t believe me,” Rosamund said, laughing. “Ask him yourself afterward.”
“I might just do that.”
They drove on in silence. After a while, Rosamund began to shift the wheel slightly. The ground didn’t seem to be uneven. It hadn’t changed for a long time.
“Wind starting to pick up,” Rosamund said as she caught Paula searching the dusky landscape outside.
“Right.” Paula ordered the jeep’s transmitter to signal again. They should be in range by now. According to the inertial navigation they were level with the entrance to Stakeout Canyon, ready to curve around into it.
“What did you mean, Oscar wasn’t safe from you?” Rosamund asked.
“He and Adam were at Abadan station together; he was part of the terrorist atrocity. Adam knew that if I discovered that I would arrest Oscar.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Time is irrelevant. The people they killed are still dead. Justice must be served. Without that, our civilization would collapse.”
“You mean that, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“So you really would have tried to arrest Adam after this was over?”
“Yes.”
“We’d have stopped you.”
“Only this time.” Paula’s e-butler told her the jeep’s transmitter had made contact with the three hypergliders. “Oscar, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. We all are. What’s the problem? I thought you’d be clear by now. You have to get out of Stakeout Canyon.”
“Oscar, I’ve been in touch with Bradley Johansson. He told me it was Adam who made contact with you to ask for a review of the Second Chance logs, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Investigator, what’s this about?” Wilson asked. “We’re about to fly. And you need to get clear.”
“Oscar, that puts you in the clear,” Paula said. “If you were the Starflyer agent you would have taken him captive.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“What are you saying?” Wilson asked.
The jeep rocked to one side as it was struck by a sudden gust of wind. Paula tightened her restraint webbing. “It’s either you or Anna.”
“Oh, come on! We’re all navy, we’ve know each other for years. We already decided it’s either you or one of the Guardians. We’re flying to the summit, no matter what you say.”
“You were all on board the Second Chance,” Paula said. “Oscar, what did you tell Wilson when you went to him with the evidence? Did you tell him you were contacted by the Guardians?”
“Yes.”
“All right, Wilson, you knew there was a connection between Oscar and the Guardians. Did you tell Anna?”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Did you tell her?” The jeep was swaying about continually now as the winds picked up. Sand was scudding along the ground.
“I … I don’t think so. Anna, do you remember?”
“What did you say to her? Did you discuss the Second Chance data?”
“Anna?” Wilson entreated.
“She handled the sensors on Second Chance, that gave her easy access to the satellites and the dish. They were her systems; it would be easy for her to cover up any unauthorized use.”
“Anna! Tell her she’s talking crap.”
“Did you tell her Oscar had found the dish deployment?” Paula demanded.
“Anna, for God’s sake.”
“Did you?”
“Yes,” Wilson moaned.
“Anna,” Paula said. “I know your carrier wave is on, please respond.”
“She’s my wife.”
The jeep wobbled badly. Rosamund fought the wheel. “We can’t take any more of this,” she grunted. “We’re not going to reach Anna.”
“Damnit,” Paula said. “It can’t be much farther.”
“Investigator, we are going to die if we carry on.” Rosamund’s voice was emotionless. “That’s not going to accomplish anything, is it?”
“All right, turn around,” Paula snapped. Halfway into the turn another gust slammed into them, and she thought they really would flip over this time. Rosamund spun the wheel violently, countering the tilt. Outside, gray light was seeping into the sky to reveal a thick low cloud base that was moving at a daunting speed toward Mount Herculaneum. The jeep steadied. Rosamund was taking them straight toward the base of the canyon wall.
“Anna, respond please,” Paula said.
“Wilson,” Oscar said. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”
“She can’t be!” Wilson said. “She can’t. Damnit, she’s perfectly human.”
“I worked with Tarlo for years,” Paula said. “I had no idea.”
“Work?” Wilson spat contemptuously. “I married her. I loved her.”
“Wilson, Oscar, you have to decide what you’re going to do now. I know this is hard, Wilson, but I expect she will try to crash into one of you.”
“We’ll leave a gap between unhooking from the tether,” Oscar said. “That way she can only go after one of us.”
“That sounds viable.” Paula desperately wanted to offer some practical advice, but she couldn’t even think on how to improve Oscar’s suggestion. She saw the edge of the canyon approaching fast. There was sand under the tires again. Big worn outcrops of rock were cluttered along the base of the canyon wall. Rosamund steered them around a dark jag of abraded lava and braked in its lee; she raised the suspension so the rim settled on the ground. “I hope this is deep enough,” she said as she switched on the jeep’s emergency anchors. The screws on the chassis started to wind down into the hard-packed sand with a strident metallic whine.
“Good luck, both of you,” Paula said.
Rosamund cut the mike and faced Paula. “You didn’t tell him you know about Abadan.”
“Oscar has enough to worry about right now. I didn’t want to impede his e
ffectiveness. He’ll find out if he survives.”
“I don’t know about the Starflyer, but you frighten the living crap out of me.”
“She didn’t know.” Oscar repeated the phrase like a mantra; he’d lost count of how many times he’d said it now. The emptiness of human silence was oppressive and demoralizing as the furious wind rose in counterpoint around the hyperglider. A sense of isolation was folding around him like the caress of interstellar space. Anna: lost beyond redemption goodness knows how many years or decades before. While Wilson had withdrawn into a private hell of anguish and grief. “The human part of her was drawn to you. That’s still alive.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wilson answered curtly. “I’ve had wives before.”
“Not like this, man; we saw flashes of the real Anna. She’s still there. Lost. She can be re-lifed and her memories edited.”
“After we kill her now. Is that it?”
Oscar winced. The whole conversation was made even more disquieting by the little emerald symbol shining in the corner of his virtual vision showing that Anna was still on the air, receiving everything they said. Maybe silence is best. “What do you want to do?” he asked warily. Wisps of fine sand were drifting past the cockpit, whipped up from the wet desert out beyond the gaping canyon mouth.
“Get to Aphrodite’s Seat. That’s what we’re here for. That’s what we do.”
Oscar resisted letting out a long breath of relief. At least his friend was starting to focus. That was the thing about Wilson, an ability to put the human element aside while he made choices. It was probably what made him so good at command. The parallel between that and Starflyer agents was one Oscar didn’t like to think of.
“We’ll get there,” Oscar said. “After all, there’s not that much she can do.”
“You think?”
Oscar was very close to turning his radio off and just keeping the hyperglider on the ground while the storm raged. The universe can survive without me, surely? Just this once. If he could just do what Wilson did and turn off his emotions.
The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle Page 225