Peter Hamilton - Judas Unchained

“Oh, crap,” Marhol grunted.

“The Primes have developed a method of deflecting our Douvoir relativistic missiles while they were still in flight,” Wilson said. “I must emphasize that this setback is by no means critical to our campaign. The navy retains the ability to combat any further aggression by the Primes.”

“Bullshit.”

Alic wished he didn’t share Marhol’s opinion.

“Sir,” Lucius said quietly. “Is that him?”

The Agent walked across the bar as everyone was watching the news. He was wearing a suit of thin leather with a surface that glimmered like crude oil under the soft light of the trees. The girl on his arm was dressed in a small cream outfit with a tasseled hem; she was tall and muscled like a marathon runner.

“Robin,” the Agent said pleasantly, “how nice to see you again.”

Beard looked around from the projected image of the Admiral. His face softened into a forlorn expression. “Sorry,” was all he said.

The Agent’s mouth tightened with aristocratic disapproval. His force field came on, distorting the dark ripples flowing over his suit fabric. The girl extended both arms as small stubby nozzles slipped out of the flesh on her wrists. Blue and green OCtattoos came alight on her face and neck, sending out thin glowing lines to snake down beneath the dress fabric. She started to rotate slowly, covering all the patrons. The ones closest to her gasped and pressed themselves back in their chairs.

“Move in,” Alic ordered the arrest team. His own force field came on, surrounding him in a nimbus of soft scintillations.

“Do you want us, Chief?” Vic asked.

“Wait.”

The girl swung around fast, both her arms lined up on Alic. The skin on her forearms began to undulate in strange patterns. People sitting at the tables between the two of them jumped hurriedly out of the way, creating a wide empty corridor.

“Stand aside,” Alic murmured to the police officers. In a couple of seconds he was sitting alone at the bar. Admiral Kime carried on speaking behind him, voice muted to a buzzing drone.

“No way out,” Alic told the Agent. “Let’s everybody stay calm. Deactivate your weapons. Your bodyguards can walk. You come with us.”

“Was that supposed to be an incentive?” the Agent asked. He sounded truly intrigued.

“I can cut clean through his protection,” the girl said. “It’s just a government-issue suit, after all, weak as piss.” She smiled, showing a long row of silver-white fangs.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” the Agent said.

Jim Nwan landed on the bar’s wooden floor with a loud thump. He was in full armor, carrying a plasma carbine. Its targeting laser splashed a small red dot on the Agent’s forehead. His urbane smile faded. Two more of the arrest team jumped into the bar from their holding positions out in the jungle. Their weapons were leveled at the girl.

At a table a few meters away from a trembling Beard, three men stood up, cloaked in force fields, and targeted the arrest team with their wetwired weapons. The last two members of the arrest team arrived in the bar. And one more lone drinker swiveled around on his stool to aim at the detectives, who had switched on their force fields. The rest of the bar went completely silent as it was crisscrossed with the slender ruby threads of lasers. People were hunched down in their chairs, terrified expressions on their faces; couples clung to each other.

“I believe this is what they used to call a Mexican standoff,” the Agent said. “Now why don’t we all just walk away, and contemplate what the Admiral has been saying. There are bigger issues to consider right now, are there not?”

“No,” Alic said. He couldn’t stop his muscles from tensing up—he’d never known dread like it; during combat, the terror from being shot at lasted mere seconds at most. This was stretching out and out, and he couldn’t see a way to end it cleanly. The bastard Agent just refused to see reason. All he could think about was how long it had been since he’d backed up his memories in a secure store; if everyone opened fire there was no way his memorycell would survive. Even so, backing down just wasn’t an option.

“Chief, we’ve got the firepower to back you up,” Vic said. “We can be there in a couple of minutes.”

“No. You can’t fire while we’re in Treetops, it’ll be a massacre.”

“Just let us get out to you.”

“Wait!”

The Agent’s smile was constant. “Once weapons this powerful are fired, you can expect an easy eighty percent casualties among the civilians,” he said. “Are you willing to take that responsibility?”

“You can’t leave,” Alic said. “There’s only the cable car, and we control that.”

“For fuck’s sake, buddy,” a man shouted. “Show some sense. You’ll get us all killed.”

“I am,” Alic growled out.

“There are many ways out for me,” the Agent said. “I’m going to start backing away from you now. If you try and stop me, then you will be responsible for the subsequent slaughter. Think on that, government employee.”

For a brief moment Alic considered calling Paula to ask what the hell he should do. No! Not her.

“Chief?” Jim asked. “What do we do?”

“Move and I’ll fire the first shot myself,” Alic said.

“Well now, if I couldn’t see the panic in your eyes, I might just…” The Agent frowned and glanced up.

Alic heard a low roaring sound, which was rapidly increasing in volume. The few sensor inserts he had couldn’t detect the origin. “Jim? Can you see what that is?”

“Three large power sources, directly overhead.”

Alic risked a look up at the phosphorescent ceiling of fluttering leaves. “Helicopters? Vic, is that you?”

“No, Chief,” Vic replied.

“Descending too fast,” Jim said. “Those aren’t helicopters.”

“Vic, get out here,” Alic ordered.

“On our way.”

A plasma bolt slammed down into Treetops, blowing through the fragile canopy of branches and leaves to strike the wooden platform directly between Alic and the Agent. The oak planks detonated instantly, producing a lethal shrapnel cloud of hand-sized splinters. Alic’s force field flared bright purple as the smoldering daggers walloped him, their impact shunting him back into the bar. Flame swirled all around, drawing whorls of black smoke in its wake. The floor lurched down at such an angle he grabbed wildly, managing to hook some fingers around the counter.

Both the arrest team and the Agent’s bodyguard fired back up into the night sky at the intruders. The bar’s patrons were screaming, half from shock, half from injury as the scythes of wood stabbed into unprotected flesh. More plasma bolts struck the wooden raft, snapping it into ragged sections. People and furniture were flung about by the blasts. The leaves and branches above began to blaze, sending smoke fountaining down.

Alic saw the Agent on his back as the floor continued to tilt over with a violent creaking, opening a wide gulf between them. Flames licked along the edges. The Agent looked down between his feet, calculating a jump to the dark ground below.

“Don’t even think about it,” Alic shouted. He pointed his ion pistol at the Agent.

The Agent started to laugh. A couple of red lasers played across Alic’s eyes. “Kill him,” the Agent yelled.

Twin plasma shots pummeled Alic’s force field. A storm of seething white and purple vapor clawed at him. Tiny localized overloads allowed hot electron tendrils to gouge at his clothes and skin. The fast stabs of pain were incredible, sending him writhing helplessly. He lost his grip on the counter and wilted onto the dangerously angled floor. Roaring sounds broke out all around him as the arrest team fired back on the bodyguards.