“I have a Raiel doing that for me, yes.”
Nigel couldn’t help an admiring smile. Investigator Myo was always one unexpected step ahead. “Do you think Ozzie is a Starflyer agent?”
“Difficult to say. From what I’ve just heard, I’d say he was helping the Guardians. We will need to read his memories to be sure. Do you know where he is?”
“We lost track of him on Silvergalde,” Nigel said. “His last message said he was off to ask the Silfen what they knew about the Dyson Pair barriers. He hasn’t been seen since.”
“I see,” Paula said.
“Do you have any idea what this Starflyer is?” Nigel asked. His expanded mentality began to access the Dynasty files on the Guardians. They weren’t a lot of use, summaries of investigations launched by the Serious Crimes Directorate.
“It’s the survivor of the Marie Celeste arkship on Far Away,” Paula said. “Which is about as much as we know. Bradley Johansson claims it took over the humans investigating the arkship, so any data from the Institute is obviously suspect. We have no idea where it came from, what it looks like, its size, even if it’s an oxygen breather. Even now its existence can only be deduced from the behavior of its agents. It is the perfect bogeyman myth.”
“Son of a bitch,” Nigel muttered angrily. He was indignant—no, actually affronted—that an alien like that could move humans around like chess pieces. An unseen malign influence creeping around his Commonwealth, subverting and corrupting whatever it touched, like some medieval demon. Small wonder nobody wanted to believe in it. “How could it have gone unnoticed for so long?”
“Because it’s cautious, and works on a long timescale,” Paula said. “Which actually gives us our first clue as to its nature. It is obviously long-lived. Given this strategy to eliminate us and the Primes so that its own kind can expand unhindered into this section of the galaxy, it thinks in terms of centuries if not millennia.”
“But it must have a base somewhere, a physical presence. We have to be able to track it down.”
“Bradley Johansson and Adam Elvin are both physical and real,” Paula said with a regretful smile. “I’ve never managed to arrest them. Which gives me a theory as to the Starflyer’s location.”
“Where?” Justine asked sharply.
Paula stood up and walked over to the office window where she was silhouetted by the blurry gray sky outside. She beckoned Nigel over. Together they looked down on the station marshaling yard, where long trains snaked their way along the silver and white rails.
“Johansson and Elvin know and understand the covert activity game very well,” she said. “They are always on the move, they have no permanent home, they avoid relationships, attachments, friendships, anything that can tie them down. That’s why I was always chasing them; they were never in one place long enough for me to catch up; that and their political cover from Mr. Isaac.”
Nigel felt as if the cold sea air trapped under the force field was permeating the office as realization dawned. Goose bumps pricked the skin along his forearms. Below him trains slid in and out of the tunnels that led to the cities of the East Coast states, from New York all the way south to Miami. The cliff face of gateways shone light from distant stars across the ground in long pale ellipses. “Oh, dear God, no.”
“It’s the logical conclusion,” she said. “The Starflyer is alien. At the very least it will require food proteins from its native world, either grown or synthesized. Its body would attract attention if it were ever seen. What could be easier than having its own freight wagon? It would always be traveling, always be free to go where it wanted, always have its own environment.”
“Our control RI can search the records, look for trains that never stop,” Nigel said with a dry throat. It was hopeless, and he knew it.
“The wagon will switch engines and even companies, it will spend months or years on a siding, or inside a warehouse, it will roam over planets wherever there are rails; the Starflyer will even change and modernize the wagons over the decades.”
“It could be anywhere,” Nigel said in an aghast voice.
“According to the Guardians it will go back to Boongate and from there Far Away.”
“The Boongate gateway is closed. And it will be kept that way now.”
“I hope so.”
“What do you mean by that? I won’t allow it to be opened.”
Paula glanced over at Nelson, then turned back to Nigel. “You and Nelson do realize that someone very well placed in your Dynasty has to be a Starflyer agent, don’t you?”
He inclined his head slightly, clearly loath to say anything. “If it travels the way you claim, that’s painfully obvious. It’s been given a lot of help over the years. I only hope it hasn’t subverted my Dynasty the way it has Heather’s.”
“There’s no evidence of that. And Johansson has never claimed it.”
“The ultimate approval,” he muttered sarcastically.
“I’d like to suggest we pull the Guardians in from the cold,” Justine said. “They know more about the Starflyer than anyone else. If we’re going to try to capture it, we could do with their help.”
“How?” Paula asked as she walked back to her seat. “We don’t know how to contact them. The navy lost their last serious lead, the Agent, on Illuminatus.”
Justine gave the Investigator an apologetic little shrug. “I’ve been in touch with Bradley Johansson for a while now.”
Nigel actually managed to chuckle—gallows humor. He broke off hurriedly when he saw the Investigator giving him a somber stare. “I like it,” he said as he slumped back into his chair. “A conspiracy within a conspiracy. Funny: I always thought I’d be on the receiving end of a secret resistance movement, not actually taking part in one. Contact Johansson for us, Justine; ask if he’d like to meet and pool resources. We should call Wilson in as well, he can help keep an eye on the navy for us; he’ll have enough sympathizers inside Pentagon II to stay on top of Columbia.”
“There’s someone I’d like to bring in as well,” Mellanie said.
“I’m sorry,” Nigel said. “I don’t entirely trust the SI, especially not after its lack of assistance today.”
Mellanie gave him a pitying look. “Me neither. And don’t be so patronizing.”
“Trust me. After what happened to Dorian on the Cypress Island, I wouldn’t dare.”
“How did you …”
Nigel gave the astonished girl a winning grin. “Told you I followed your activities.”
Mellanie sat back for a moment, then she recovered and flashed him an evil smile. “What I actually want is for one of your wormholes to recover the Bose motile for me.”
“What’s the Bose motile?” Nigel gave Dudley Bose a suspicious glance.
“The alien you’re calling the Primes is in fact a single consciousness distributed through billions of individual bodies,” Mellanie said. “The Bose motile is the one that contains Dudley’s memories; they were downloaded into it after he was captured. That’s who warned the Conway. It then managed to escape and make its way to Elan. My friends are guarding it for me.” She looked around the silent, startled faces in the office, before giving Nigel a sardonic grin. “I think that’s game to me.”
Morton’s e-butler woke him. The sensors that Cat’s Claws had emplaced all over the Randtown district were picking up a signal from a point two hundred kilometers directly above the Trine’ba. It was a repeated message on the same channel-hopping sequence that the navy used, yet the encryption was the one Mellanie had given him. When he used the key, text printed across his virtual vision. MORTY, I’VE GOT A WORMHOLE OPEN FOR YOU. PLEASE RESPOND. MELLANIE.
“Jeez!” He sat up fast. His body was stiff from sleeping in his armor suit. It was dark in the cave they were using. A couple of lights were showing a pale yellow glimmer, enough to reveal the slushy frost dripping down the rock. Rob was on duty, dressed in full armor, sitting up by the jagged entrance like some nightmare obeah idol. The Cat, who was supposed t
o be asleep, was in Moon Palm position on top of her sleeping bag. She stared at him wordlessly, which made him shiver despite the semiorganic fabric of his own sleeping bag maintaining his body temperature at a perfect level. The survivors were bundled up in their own bags and blankets like giant pupae lying together on the other side of the cave. They were motionless, apart from David Dunbavand, whose whimper would carry across the cave every time he quivered inside his thick wrappings. The medical kits had helped to stabilize him, but he’d made little progress recently.
Standing by the pile of equipment in the middle of the cave was the Bose motile. It had barely moved from that position since the day they’d marched up to the shelter. They had cloaked it in various sheets of semiorganic fabric to keep it warm and reasonably dry. Every couple of days one of them would drive a bubble down to the Trine’ba and load up with the polluted water for it to eat. Morton thought it was in pretty bad shape, despite Bose’s own protestations that it was fine.
“So what’s in the message?” the Cat asked.
Rob’s helmet had turned toward Morton.
“It’s Mellanie. She’s opened a wormhole for us. I knew it. I knew she’d come through.”
The Cat exhaled calmly. “I hope you’re right. The navy was very clear about its timetable.” She started pulling her armor on.
“Yeah yeah, screw you.”
The navy communication had come in that afternoon, telling them they were to be lifted off in three days’ time. Until then they were to cease all combat missions, and simply observe the Primes. It had been a big morale boost, and sparked an instant argument about what to do about the Bose motile. Rob had been all for shooting it there and then, pretending the whole episode had never happened. Even the survivors had objected to that.
Morton’s virtual hands moved quickly over communications icons, routing his reply through their network of sensor disks, so that the transmission wouldn’t come from anywhere near the mountain saddle where their cave was located. Just in case.
“Mellanie?”
“Morty! Hi, oh God, darling, are you okay?”
“Sure. Fine. How about you?”
“Good. We don’t have much time. This wormhole can take you off, all of you. Where are you?”
“Mellanie, what was the name of your stylist when we were living together?”
“What? Oh, I see, very paranoid. Sasha used to doll me up for you. Okay?”
“Okay. So what’s going to happen? Are we clear with the navy? My colleagues don’t exactly fancy going on the run after we get back.”
“You’re clear. I have some allies now, the best, you’ll see. Please hurry.”
“All right, this is the location.” He sent a file with their coordinates.
“Give us thirty seconds.” The signal cut off.
Morton stood up, and clapped his hands loudly. “Okay, people, we’re out of here. Let’s move! We don’t have long.”
The four survivors stirred as the lights were switched up to full brightness, blinking sleepily.
“Rob, get outside,” Morton said. “See if you can locate the wormhole. It’ll open any second now.”
“Right.”
“Dudley. You’re going to have to walk to it.”
“I can manage that, thank you,” the Bose motile replied through its array.
“I’ll just stay by your side when we go through,” the Cat purred smoothly. She was already standing at Morton’s shoulder, holding her helmet in one hand, a pack slung over her shoulder.
“Highlight of my day,” Morton retorted. He gave Simon and Georgia a hand lifting up David’s stretcher, and put his own helmet beside the injured man’s legs. The Cat simply walked alongside without volunteering any help as they picked their way over the slippery rock.
“Fuck me,” Rob said. “It’s here!”
“What’s on the other side?” the Cat asked sharply.
“Some kind of big room. Hey! I can see Mellanie. There are some troop types in there with her.”
Morton smiled to himself. He resisted the urge to say: Told you so.
It was sleeting heavily outside. Morton screwed his face up against the bitter cold striking his skin as he emerged from the cave’s narrow entrance; he wished he’d put the helmet on. The wormhole had opened a few meters beyond the cave entrance, a silver gossamer circle poised above the dirty slush, resembling a full moon. Dark shapes were just visible inside. Rob was standing directly in front of it, a tall black figure striding forward purposefully. Then the silver glow splashed around him and he was through on the other side.
“So Mellanie has pulled it off again,” Simon said. “You have yourself quite a lady there, Morton.”
“Yeah,” he drawled, suddenly very eager to see her again.
He picked his way over the awkward surface, paying more attention to his feet than to the glowing silver circle ahead of him. The cold was bitter, stinging his ears and cheeks. Then the air tingled around him, and he was through the force field. He blinked against the bright light. Warm air immediately started to melt the ice that had settled on his hair and suit.
They were in a CST exploratory division environment confinement chamber. He’d accessed news reports of their missions enough times to recognize one instantly: a spherical chamber fifty meters in diameter with black, absorptive walls. Yellow and red striped lines marked out airlocks and instrument recesses, while broad windows halfway up allowed the Operations Center staff a direct view of what was going on. A ring of lights shone down on him and the reception party. Morton didn’t even notice the rest of them. Mellanie stood out in front, wearing an agreeably short white skirt, and a blue denim shirt open virtually to her navel. Her hands were on her hips, and she was staring right at him, eyes shining and mouth smiling wide.
“Morty!” She ran forward.
He almost dropped David Dunbavand as her arms hugged him. Someone took the stretcher pole from his grip, and he hugged her back. Then they were kissing passionately, and he was ready to tear that shirt off and have sex with her on the floor of the chamber right there and then.
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 …” Spit
tle 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.”
The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle Page 188
