“Hello again,” Dudley said. He somehow slid in front of Mellanie to stick his own hand out.
“Dudley; glad to see you’re recovering.” Nigel avoided any inflection in case the neurotic astronomer picked up on the irony.
“That’s all thanks to my Mellanie.” His hand went around her shoulders. She didn’t try to hide her look of disapproval.
Nigel offered them all seats as the e-seal came on around the office. “Well, this is all very serious, Justine. It can’t just be about your committee battle with Valetta.”
“In a way it is,” Justine said. “The Halgarths now have control of the navy.”
“Yes, but I have the nova bomb. And the rest of us have a great deal of input into the navy budget. Heather is balanced. That’s the way the Commonwealth works.”
“I have a question,” Paula said.
“I imagine you do,” Nigel said lightly. “I’ve spent most of the last few hours trying to work out what it’s going to be.”
“For the past century, I’ve been pressing the Commonwealth Executive to impose inspections on all cargo being shipped for Far Away, with no success whatsoever. That kind of examination would have enabled me to restrict the Guardians’ weapons shipments, and possibly even shut them down altogether. Just before he was assassinated, Thompson Burnelli discovered that you have been opposing me for all that time. I’d like to know why.”
Nigel couldn’t help the way he sneaked a help me out look at Daniel Alster, who was in his usual position, a helpful couple of meters to one side. “Have I? I had no idea, or memory…”
“There’s no policy file on that,” Daniel said quickly.
“This is critical,” Paula said. “Thompson believed it to be true.”
“Find out,” Nigel told Daniel. “Call Jessica right now.”
“Sir.”
Nigel stole a glance at Mellanie, who gave him a playful wink and crossed her legs. He wondered what the best approach would be for a girl like this. Just come straight out and ask her to bed. Probably. Though the one thing he didn’t understand was: Why Dudley? What could she possibly see in him?
“Er, our political office has been pursuing that policy,” Daniel said; he sounded embarrassed.
“Why?” Nigel asked.
“Ozzie ordered it.”
“Ozzie?”
Some of the tension went out of Paula’s pose. “I had no idea Mr. Isaac had an input into your Dynasty’s political office.”
“He doesn’t, normally,” Nigel said. “Actually: ever, as far as I’m aware. But Ozzie has an equal share in CST, so as far as I’m concerned he’s entitled. Are you sure?” he asked Daniel.
“Yes.” Daniel gave Paula a curious look. “He instructed the political office to adopt that strategy in 2243.”
“Oh, my,” Paula said. “The year of the Great Wormhole Heist. The year Bradley Johansson formed the Guardians and stole enough money to begin their operations. So the Starflyer never had anything to do with it. The Guardians stopped any examinations. I knew they had high-level access to the Executive, but I never considered Mr. Isaac was behind them.”
“Okay,” Nigel said; he wagged his finger at them. “Explanations, please. Now.”
“Simple enough,” Justine said. “Wilson Kime is quite correct. The Starflyer is real. It funded Dudley’s observation of Dyson Alpha through a bogus educational charity. It had agents on board the Second Chance.”
“It has also infiltrated the navy,” Paula said. “Wilson uncovered evidence that its agents were on board the Second Chance, but that was subsequently tampered with by someone inside Pentagon II. He couldn’t go public with it. We believe a modified sensor satellite was responsible for interfering with the barrier generator and letting the Primes out. The whole mission was a gigantic con trick designed to start a war between us and the Primes, weakening both our species.”
Nigel finally knew how Wilson had felt when he landed on Mars. Today, he’d turned a star nova to neuter the greatest threat the human race had ever faced, then gone on to work out how to save thirty-two billion human lives; now he’d found out the war that had destroyed their stars was mostly his fault to begin with. “Oh, holy fuck.” He shot an appealing look to Nelson, but the security chief was struggling with his own shock.
“If you’re correct about this—” Nelson began.
“We are,” Mellanie said primly.
Nelson gave her a short annoyed smile. “Then the Guardians are probably right about the Starflyer infiltrating the Halgarth Dynasty.”
“Essentially, yes,” Paula said. “Our showdown with its agents on Illuminatus confirmed this. The majority of Halgarths are completely unaffected, of course. But those in strategic positions have been taken over. Christabel is slowly acknowledging something is wrong; she’s discreetly helping us keep track of suspects. It won’t be long before she takes her suspicions to Heather.”
“And Columbia?” Nelson asked. “Is he one of them?”
“We don’t know.”
“Son of a bitch,” Nigel grunted. “Well, that settles it, we do not release our nova bombs to the navy. Jesus! And Doi? What about her? The Guardians said she was one of them.”
“We believe that was simple disinformation,” Paula said. “Isabella Halgarth, a confirmed Starflyer agent, helped put that shotgun together. However, Isabella also had a relationship with Patricia Kantil.”
“She helped engineer the political decisions to form a navy,” Justine said. “We’ve all been played to some extent.”
“Alessandra Baron is one of its agents,” Mellanie said. “The bitch.”
Nigel felt numb as his expanded mentality began to examine the problem. There was a lot of anger building in his mind, the kind of straight animal antagonism that came from being fooled. But it was countered by the surprise and sheer worry of the situation. Goddamn, we were blindsided! “Whatever we do, we can’t make this public,” he decided. “Not right now. We need the public’s complete confidence in government for the immediate future. The populations we’re trying to save are dependent on the rest of the Commonwealth unifying behind the time travel strategy. That has to be our number one priority. Rooting out traitors can be done quietly in parallel. You guys must have some ideas how to do that; that’s why you’re here, right?”
“Primarily, yes,” Paula said. “To begin with, simply being aware of the manipulation effectively nullifies it.”
“What exactly does the Starflyer hope to achieve?” Nelson asked. “It’s got its war, what more can it achieve?”
“I’m uncertain,” Paula said. “The Guardians say it wants to destroy or at the very least weaken both species, leaving it to become the dominant power in this section of the galaxy. I would speculate that your nova bomb has upset those plans; humans are now capable of destroying the Primes. The Commonwealth will remain, and we will be considerably stronger. From a military point of view it has already failed.”
“Only if the navy and ourselves continue to press the attack,” Nelson said. “That’ll be where it concentrates its influence now. I would. After all, the Primes aren’t exactly helpless yet. They still have the Hell’s Gateway generator, and flare bombs. If we hesitate, thanks to the Starflyer, they could still manage a devastating blow against us.”
“Then we have to launch a strike against Dyson Alpha right away,” Nigel said. “That’s where the Hell’s Gateway generator is. Don’t tell the navy, don’t consult anyone else. Just do it.”
“The Charybdis should be back in communications range in another day,” Nelson said. “And the Searcher is already home. Frigate construction is already under way. We can launch within forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”
“See to it,” Nigel said. “You personally, Nelson. God knows if it’s infiltrated our Dynasty as well. Is there any kind of test?” he asked Paula.
“We have to wait until the results from Isabella come back. Once we understand what was done to her, we might be able to recognize it in others. But
don’t expect it to be quick or simple. It could well take decades to find the last of them.”
“You’re reading her memories?” Nelson asked.
“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 slus
hy 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 to 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.