Peter Hamilton - Judas Unchained

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

“Oh, Christ, yes.”

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

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

The wormhole closed silently behind them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dudley swayed about, on the verge of apoplexy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very well,” the Bose motile said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I doubt it. Where are we, exactly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Just being alive was awful.

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

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

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