Judas Unchained

  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.

  “Let’s stay calm until we figure this out,” he said. “I want the rest of the crates opened and inspected. Two people to each crate. We don’t need to create any extra mistrust right now.”

  With the trolleybots now unloading every Volvo it took them a quarter of an hour to open every crate. Paula didn’t help. She was left sitting on the cab steps of the third truck with a blanket around her shoulders as the others took the lids off. In total, four crates had been sabotaged, all with a maser.

  “They were good when we left Wessex,” Jamas insisted. “I know they were, I helped pack them.” He was glaring at Wilson and Oscar.

  “Do we still have enough systems to make the planet’s revenge project work?” Wilson asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Adam said. “Kieran, what do you think?”

  “Dreaming heavens, I don’t know. I think it will work anyway, that’s what Bradley was saying; what we’re delivering makes it more efficient.”

  “It increases the probability of success,” Wilson said.

  “So this has just taken it down a notch, again,” Rosamund said.

  “It’s one of us
,” Kieran said fiercely. “One of you navy people.”

  “Whoa there,” Adam said quickly. “It could have been anybody in our group.”

  “You heard Jamas, the components were all fine when we packed them up.”

  “If Jamas isn’t the one,” Anna said.

  Jamas took a pace toward her. “Are you accusing me?”

  “Stop it!” Adam gave them an exasperated look. “This only helps the Starflyer. We don’t know it’s one of the people here.” He gave Jamas a hard stare. “Back off. It could have been any one of us who traveled together, including you, me, and even Johansson.”

  “Hey!” Jamas protested. “No fucking way is it Johansson.”

  “Enough of this. We don’t know, and we’ll probably never find out until it’s all over anyway,” Adam said. “We got lucky seeing the crate was opened. From now on we just have to watch each other. That does not automatically mean that anyone here is guilty. Clear?” He stared down the Guardians, waiting until each one acknowledged his authority. It was done grudgingly, and with several sharp glances toward the navy people, but eventually they all nodded except for Jamas, who flung his hands in the air to admit defeat. “Thank you,” Adam said primly. “Wilson, from now on none of your team goes or does anything solo; that goes for us Guardians, too. Everything from this point is a joint venture, and that includes going to the can.”

  “Good thinking,” Wilson said.

  “I want the crates sealed back up again and back on the trucks. We will make our rendezvous, and the components we deliver will make a difference. Get to it.”

  “A word,” Oscar said quietly as the others returned to the crates.

  “What is it?” Adam asked. It was almost rhetorical, he could guess.

  “It wasn’t entirely luck we had to unload the cases. The Volvo’s gear box was empty, the oil had all leaked out. One of the seals was loose. The whole thing overheated and seized up.”

  “That can’t be right. No problem should be able to grow that big. What about the sensors?”

  “Good point,” Oscar said uncomfortably. “I think there was a software overwrite in the drive array. I can’t be sure, of course.”

  “And the leak? What caused it?”

  “Lot of heat damage from the fire, so again it’s impossible to say with any certainty. But if your lad Jamas was right about getting a proper service, there’s no way any seal should have broken so soon.”

  “Damnit.” Adam gave the remaining two trucks a surreptitious glance. “What about them?”

  “If this was sabotage, then whoever did it won’t use the same method twice; we’d find it as soon as the first one occurs. I can check them both, of course, but I’d suggest the best thing to do is reboot their arrays from the manufacturer’s software cache. That should wipe out any nasty little overwrite gremlin. And I’ll take a good look at the gear boxes, anyway, if there actually is a design fault with the seals, then a leak should be easy enough to spot.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll partner you.” Almost like old times.

  “Of course you will.”

  By the time they set off, they’d wasted nearly an hour. Rosamund was again driving the lead Volvo, pushing the speed right up to the limit for their rough road conditions. Adam had to okay the use of active sensors to make sure there were no dangerous surprises on the uneven surface. If they drove around the clock, it shouldn’t take more than a day and a half to reach the rendezvous point amid the southern foothills.

  Kieran and Oscar had joined Adam in the cab, along with Paula. The Investigator had immediately retired to the little sleep cubicle at the back of the main cabin, her blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. Adam waited half an hour to make certain there were no urgent problems developing with the Volvos, then picked up a medical kit and slid the slim composite door aside. There was very little room behind it: a twin bunk arrangement on the rear wall, with just enough room for one person to stand in front of them. Lockers under the bottom bunk held their personal supplies.

  The air-conditioning vents were blowing out unpleasantly warm air. Adam switched the dim blue light on. Paula sat on the bottom bunk, the blanket still wrapped around her. The way her arm was cocked underneath the gray wool and the lump of her hand made Adam freeze. When he looked into her face he was shocked. She looked as if she hadn’t slept for a week, and she was gaunt, as if her flesh were sweating away. It was an unnervingly abrupt physiological change.

  “Christ, what’s happening to you?” he asked as he slid the door shut; somehow he didn’t want the others to see her like this.

  A big shiver ran the length of her body, forcing her to grimace. Her sweat-damped hair was stuck to her scalp, barely moving. She just stared at Adam with her delicate eyes sunk into bruise-dark skin. The only thing that never wavered was her weapon under the blanket.

  “I’m not here to murder you,” Adam said. Stupid thing to say. He let out a little ironic snort. “Actually, I need your help. You’re the one who’s going to have to work out which of us is the traitor.”

  Paula’s compressed mouth lifted in a slight grin. “Suppose it’s me?”

  “Oh, come off it.”

  “Who better? I’ve been chasing Johansson for a hundred thirty years trying to shut him down.”

  “You gave us the Martian data. No matter how much political pressure you were under, you wouldn’t have done that if you’re a Starflyer agent.”

  She slid the weapon back into a shoulder holster. “I shouldn’t have done it anyway.”

  “I considered it a sign of humanity finally shining through.”

  “Then you’re a fool.”

  “You believe yourself to be nonhuman?”

  “Quite the opposite.” Paula eased herself back onto the bunk, wincing more than once before she finally slumped down. “The root of my determination is that I care about people; I protect them. That makes us opposites.”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “If that’s true you should be President of the Intersolar Socialist Party. We care about people. We want real social justice for everyone.”

  “What justice did you give to Marco Dunbar?”

  “Who?”

  “Or Nik Montrose, or Jason Levin, or Xanthe Winter.”

  “I don’t know any of these people.”

  “You should do. You killed them. They were all on the train from StLincoln when it passed through Abadan station.”

  Adam clamped his jaw tight as the guilt ran through him like an electrified rapier. “Bitch.”

  “Please don’t try and climb onto the moral high ground with your ideological beliefs, or even assume we’re on some kind of equal footing. Both of us know who’s in the right.”

  He studied her semicurled-up outline in the faint light as his anger faded. “You really do look like shit. What is the matter with you?”

  “Some kind of ET flu. I’ve been on a lot of planets recently; I could have picked it up anywhere.”

  “We’ve got some good medical kits with us.” He patted the case he was carrying. “Let me run a diagnostic scan.”

  “No. I’m not contagious.”

  “Not likely!”

  “Drop it, Elvin.”

  “You know what you’ve got, don’t you?” He couldn’t think what it would be that made her keep it private.

  “Do you want my help, or not?”

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “I could swear the Guardians I brought with me were on the level.”

  Paula rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. It made her look very frail. “Start at the beginning; absolute basics. You know you aren’t a Starflyer agent, right?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Very well. Until you have definite proof of a person’s innocence, you can trust no one in the group.”

  “Even you?”

  “I told you before, I’ve been trying to stop Johansson for a hundred thirty years. For the purpose of this exercise, you must consider me suspect. I know I’m not, but I cannot physically prove
that to you.”

  “You’ve got one fucking morbid world view, Investigator, I’ll tell you that for nothing. Go on, how do I rule people out?”

  “The sabotage most likely occurred after we joined your group.”

  “Yeah. I was involved with packing and loading those crates. It would have been difficult to maser the contents of one back in the warehouse, let alone four.”

  “Okay then.” Paula started coughing; her body juddered around on the bunk so alarmingly that Adam started to reach for her to hold her down. She waved his hand away as the coughing subsided. “I’m all right.”

  “No you’re not. Jesus, have you been poisoned? Is that it?”

  “No. Just give me some water, please.”

  Adam found a bottle of mineral water in one of the lockers. It was painful to watch the Investigator trying to swallow; she took such small sips it was like a baby feeding.

  “So start with your Guardians,” she said. “Can anyone on this world vouch for them in complete confidence? If not, the Starflyer could have had access to them the way he did with Kazimir McFoster’s friend and murderer.”

  “Bruce. Damnit, yes, I’ll try and check; but the only link we’ve got is a short wave, don’t forget, it’s not exactly secure. Even then, who can vouch for every minute of someone’s life?”

  “I know. As for the navy arrest team, they come from the same Paris office as Tarlo, who was corrupted several years ago. If the Starflyer can get Tarlo, then in theory it could get to anyone there.”

  “That was your office,” he said in mounting unease.