Peter Hamilton - Judas Unchained

“What the hell are you doing here?” Wilson said, smiling happily.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Oscar said after he’d collected his kiss from Anna. “You should have carried him off back to York5 and started a decent honeymoon,” he scolded her.

“Don’t think I didn’t want to,” she said wistfully. “So when did you get back?”

“About five hours ago.”

“Damn, I’m glad you’re okay,” Wilson said. “Are you reloading?”

“The Dublin is, yes. I’ve got another job.”

“What? Columbia isn’t being difficult about you being one of my placements, is he?”

“No, quite the opposite. Columbia is coming around to the idea the Starflyer might be genuine. I’ve been appointed as a glorified messenger boy.” He explained the Paris team’s mission. “Sheldon said you’d brief me on this little black ops setup you’ve got running here. Is that really a Raiel?” He was staring at Qatux.

“Yes, it really is,” Wilson said. “It’s called Qatux, and it’s agreed to help us root out Starflyer agents.”

“Uh huh.” Oscar faced the Bose motile. “And that alien?”

“It’s a Prime,” Anna said with a laugh. “Our deadliest enemy.”

“The good news is that this one is harmless and on our side,” Wilson said.

“And the bad?”

“It’s yet another version of Dudley Bose.”

Alic ran the integration program one last time. The additional weapons mounted on his armor suit responded properly. Two particle lances on malmetal arms that were secured to the base of his spine rose up over his shoulders, and swung from side to side as his sensors ran a targeting program. They locked on to Vic, whose armor suit had almost doubled in size thanks to the backpack missile dispenser.

“Hey, careful who you’re pointing those things at,” Vic complained.

The particle lances retracted, folding back parallel to Alic’s spine. He was as anxious as any first-day recruit to fire them. He hadn’t known particle lances could be built so small, and even with modern power cells he didn’t have many shots. Of course, without the armor and malmetal he could barely pick one up, they weighed so much; he couldn’t imagine what they were made out of, solid uranium by the feel of it.

John King and Jim Nwan both had rotary launches on their forearms, with a flexible feed tube snaking around to their backpacks. Matthew Oldfield was carrying all the electronic warfare systems; there were so many sneekbots clinging to his suit, he looked like the king of the insects. Matthew also managed the cage, three large matte-black mobile cubes that should be powerful enough to hold Tarlo.

Alic was mildly impressed that the carriage floor could take their combined weight. He brought the management array systems up into his virtual vision. Midnight-black hands flicked over the control icons. Narrabri station traffic control responded with a transit authorization, and they started moving with a small judder.

“We’re on the move,” he told Oscar.

“Okay, I’ll inform Alster. He’s in the gateway control center. What’s Tarlo doing?”

“Li says he’s still up in the security room.”

“You sure you want to do this?”

“It’s not quite what I thought I’d be doing when I woke up this morning, but yeah.”

“Good luck.”

“Yeah, see you in fifteen years.”

Their speed built up as soon as they left the track maintenance division shed. The station force field curved overhead, a gray film smearing the sky. Above that, the Narrabri city force field extended from horizon to horizon, its apex reaching out of the troposphere. The borealis storms had died down now, though the highly charged atmosphere was still plagued by severe lightning storms. Brutal blue-white flashes rippled around the boundary of the city force field. Alic felt ridiculously safe underneath all that technological protection. The Primes had flung their worst at Wessex, and the Big15 planet remained secure. It made him confident for the future.

The carriage snaked over points every few seconds, clicking and rattling as it moved to a different set of rails, then switching again. Long trains slid past on either side, blurs of lighted windows. Up ahead, a long stretch of pale rosy light spilled out from the gateways to douse the myriad tracks. It had gaps in it, dark shadowy sections. Gateways to the Second47, Alic thought. They’d never shine their unique starlight here again. The knowledge made him sad.

“Anything new on Tarlo?” he asked Matthew.

“No, Boss.”

“Okay.” He knew there wasn’t. Just had to do something to distract his nerves, which were far too jumpy.

The carriage lined up on the cliff face of gateways and carried on forward at a much slower speed. There were fewer trains running on this section of the station yard. They passed a GH7 class engine waiting on a siding; the massive machine only had five wagons attached, their pea-green metal bodywork caked in topaz sand thick enough to obscure their company logo.

His e-butler told him Daniel Alster was calling.

“You should be on the direct Boongate line in another couple of minutes,” Alster said. “Once you’re there, we will open the gateway and give you transit clearance. It will close thirty seconds after you’re through.”

“Right, thanks.”

“Good luck.”

“Looking good,” Alic told his arrest team. His heart started to beat a lot faster as the carriage squeaked and rolled onward.

Oscar simply couldn’t take his eyes off Tiger Pansy. She’d caught him staring quite a few times, and he’d managed to deflect her questioning gaze with a polite half smile. He knew it was getting close to rudeness now, but she was so out of place here her attraction was akin to a star’s gravity well. But then, would someone like her care about middle-class standards of rudeness? And what does that judgment say about me? Damn, was Adam right about what I’ve become?

“You’re going to have to stop that,” Anna said, and moved to stand in front of him.

“I know,” he mumbled awkwardly.

Her smile became evil. “If you’re a big fan, you should get over that shy streak and go ask her for an autograph.”

“Well, shucks, I guess I’m just too bashful.”

Wilson chuckled. “Stop letting her bully you, man.”

“Advice from the henpecked husband. Great, just what I need.”

Wilson’s tranquillity chilled rapidly. “Oh, hell,” he whispered. “Dudley Bose is on the way over. Both versions. The human one looks pissed.”

Oscar resisted the impulse to turn around. “Time to make a break for it?”

“Too late,” Anna said through gritted teeth and a broad false smile.

“Captain Monroe.” Dudley’s imperious voice cut right through Oscar’s residual good humor. He turned and summoned up a smile. “Dudley. I understand you’ve reacquired your memories.” His gaze flicked to the tall alien with its odd stalklike tentacles. It unnerved him to see something resembling an eye on the end of one bending around to return the gaze. This was worse than locking stares with Tiger Pansy.

“Yes, you bastard,” the human Dudley spat. “I got my memory back. So I know what you did to me.”

People nearest to them hushed up and stole some circumspect looks.

“Problem?” Wilson asked politely.

“Like you care,” Dudley sneered. “You who left me there to die.”

“You make it sound deliberate,” Anna said.

“Well, wasn’t it?” Dudley demanded. “You just kept telling us to go farther in. All the time: Just a little bit farther, Dudley. Go on, find out what’s around the next spiral. This is really interesting. And we trusted you.”

“I never said that,” Oscar insisted. He was racking his memories of those frantic last minutes by the Watchtower. “Your comrelay failed as soon as you entered the tunnel.”