Peter Hamilton - Judas Unchained

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.

He told himself he was concerned mainly because she might be a carrier and give the bug to him and the others. She’d done her best to shrug it off, but he’d seen the sheen of sweat on her brow, the long uncontrollable shivers running along her limbs. It had come on quickly; she’d shown no symptoms back in the Carbon Goose where they’d talked through tactics for the landing at Port Evergreen. That had been a surreal moment, sitting down with Paula Myo, drinking tea together as they formulated the best strategy, both pooling their knowledge and experience without reservations—at least on his part. All the while, that little speech she’d given him back at Narrabri station was running through his mind. She could probably see it in his brain he was thinking it so hard.

After that she’d more or less dropped below his worry radar as they pushed through to Far Away and met up with the Guardians. He quietly assumed that once they’d delivered their precious cargo to the waiting Guardians in the Dessault Mountains that he’d wander off into the sunset while his friends prevented her from following—then he’d live out a quiet retirement on some farm for the remainder of his years. Except the only way that would happen was if someone killed her; even then her re-life version would appear on the horizon sooner or later. The reality was that this crazy Sicilian-style battle to the death they’d got going between them could only truly end with his death. Besides, he knew damn well he couldn’t spend more than a couple of hours on a farm without getting bored out of his skull. He’d have to return to the Commonwealth and go on the run again. Strangely, the prospect wasn’t as depressing as it first seemed.

Somewhere amid the constant low-level growl of engine noise a nasty metallic grinding sound was breaking out. Adam looked around in alarm. It was so loud he thought it must be coming from their truck. Rosamund was already braking smoothly.

“I’ve got a problem,” Kieran called on the general band.

By the time Rosamund had reversed up close to the second truck, Kieran was filling the band with some filthy language but no real information. Adam climbed down out of the cab and walked back. The road they were using was the main route linking this region’s market towns to the city; originally it had an enzyme-bonded concrete surface, but that was steadily shrinking from an onslaught of earth and weeds, while cracks and potholes went unrepaired for decades. Nowadays it resembled a simple much-used dirt track with congested drainage ditches on both sides. Adam was already entertaining serious doubts about how long it would take them to reach the mountains, and this was a good infrastructure for Far Away. According to the so-called maps stored in his inserts, the roads vanished altogether another hundred sixty kilometers south where the Aldrin Plains became a sea of uninhabited grasslands.

“What’s happened?” he shouted.

Some kind of thick vapor was swirling across the Volvo’s headlight beams. Kieran strode through it, a furious expression on his angular gaunt face. He hit the release handle on one of the engine covers, and it folded back. Flame belched out into the night.

Kieran ducked back, shielding his face with his hands. “Dreaming heavens!” His voice was ripe with pain.

Oscar jumped down from the cab, and rushed forward with a slim fire extinguisher. He directed the powerful stream of ice-blue gel particles over the burning machinery, smothering the fire in seconds.

Kieran was wincing as he gripped his hand.

“Let me see,” Adam demanded.

His flesh was red; blisters were already starting to rise. Wilson had brought a first aid kit from their truck’s cab; he started applying some salve.

Oscar gave the engine another couple of blasts from the fire extinguisher. “It’s out, but we’re screwed,” he said as he peered into the smoldering mangle of metal. “You’re not going to get this repaired outside a garage, and probably not even there. Trust me, I know engines, this is just scrap now.”

Adam shot Jamas a look that was mostly accusation, even though he knew it was neither professional nor fair. But Jamas had been in charge of organizing their ground transport.

“They were in perfect working order when we loaded them up on Wessex,” Jamas said defensively. “I took them for servicing at the dealer myself.”

“I know,” Adam said. “Breakdowns happen. It’s a royal pain in the ass that it happened now, but don’t worry. We’ve got enough room in the other two Volvos to carry on.”

They worked swiftly in the headlight beams of the trucks. Adam was more than a little conscious of how visible they were in the middle of the open lightless farmland. Out beyond the light of the campfire, the wolves begin to gather unseen. The force fields were off, which added to the sensation of vulnerability. He was grateful that all three of the Volvos carried trolleybots, which began unloading the pearl-white crates from Kieran’s wrecked truck.

“I’m going to take a look at that engine,” Oscar told Adam. “See if I can figure out what happened.”

“Right,” Adam said distantly. He was watching the trolleybots move around. The damp rumpled road surface made it hard going for the little machines; they were designed to work on the flat floors of warehouses and loading bays. The crates rocked about at alarming angles, but the trolleybot holding clamps prevented them from sliding off.

Half of the plastic crates had been transferred when Adam suddenly shouted: “Stop.” His e-butler backed up the order, halting the trolleybot right in front of him. Adam walked over, followed by Wilson, Anna, and Jamas. The crate’s lid had a couple of recessed hand-size flip-over locks on each side. One was hanging open. Adam stared at the loose flap of dull metal, then started to pull the crate’s remaining flip locks open.

“What?” Wilson asked. “One of these can’t come loose?”

“No, it can’t,” Adam said. “They’re designed to stay shut, that’s the whole point. They don’t spring open just because they get jiggled around.” Rosamund and Kieran arrived as Adam pulled the final lock open. “Jamas, give me a hand.”

The two of them eased the lid off. Adam and Wilson shone their flashlights inside, and Adam found himself staring into a little private version of hell. “Oh, fuck it! I don’t believe this.”

The five components inside the crate had been wrapped in thick blue-green sponge plastic for travel. Somebody had used a maser on them. The sponge plastic had melted into a blackened tar, smearing the components and pooling in the bottom of the crate. All the casings that held the support electronics on the side of the components were badly tarnished where the maser beam had been applied.

There was complete silence as the group all stared down into the crate. After that, they began to glance around at each other. Adam couldn’t blame them; he was already trying to work out who was the most likely suspect himself, but he couldn’t allow the atmosphere to become too poisonous. They still had to work together. Already they were dividing back into Guardians and navy.