Midnight had long passed when the small convoy drove through the center of Varlan without stopping. Orders had been issued from the master general himself, allowing them to pass any roadblocks—of which there were many—unimpeded.
Sitting in the front passenger seat of the lead car, Chaing looked out nervously at the darkened, deserted streets. Headlights picked out derelict stationary trams that had ground to a halt between stations. Every now and then, a regiment troop carrier would trundle the other way, but nothing else moved. That was unnerving. The capital had always possessed a thriving nightlife, and usually at this time the streets and boulevards would be thronged with people enjoying the multitude of clubs and theaters. But now there were no lights, either, save the occasional glimpse of a candle flickering behind curtained windows. The whole city was in darkness.
For all he knew every building had been abandoned. There was no way to tell.
“Is the blackout part of martial law?” he asked the uniformed PSR driver.
“No, sir. The bastards hit our power stations late this afternoon. I’ve heard on the radio the engineers will have the power back on by morning.”
“Good to know,” Chaing said, not believing it.
The Air Defense Force base just outside the city, where they’d landed, had been busy. In the few minutes they took to transfer Roxwolf to an armored prisoner transport truck, Chaing had counted five big, four-engined transport planes taking off and heading north.
Operation crudding Reclaim. Where every senior government official runs away to Byarn to try and save their arse. Well, if the Trees do fly down to low orbit and the egg bombardment begins, there won’t be anything to reclaim.
At the far end of Bryan-Anthony Boulevard, every window of the palace shone bright electric light out into the night, as if it were taunting the deprived city. Chaing had never been inside before, and found himself as daunted by its scale as any tourist. The convoy drove through archways to a courtyard, then down a ramp. They stopped in some big underground garage, where a squad of armed and nervous palace guards was waiting.
The chief scientist of section seven’s advanced science division was in charge. Chaing was interested to see it was an old woman wearing a thick beige cardigan against the cool night air. His first thought was: She’s old enough to be Stonal’s sister.
Faustina signed the release papers, and the palace guard lieutenant in charge of the detail marched Roxwolf away.
“See you at the end of the world, Captain,” the mutant Faller called out to Chaing.
Chaing gave him an icy stare that had reduced many an interrogation prisoner to a sweaty wreck, but Roxwolf just responded with a grin that showed off more fangs. Behind him, he heard Jenifa snort in contempt.
“I don’t like it,” she said. “He’s too confident.”
“Nothing to lose,” Corilla commented. The Eliter girl was busy looking around the bleak cavernous garage.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s where he wants to be,” Jenifa said.
“It was Stonal who ordered us to bring him here,” Chaing said. “Argue it with him.”
Faustina came over and shook hands with Chaing. “I heard you were the one who apprehended him, Captain. Congratulations. Quite a catch.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ve never seen a living breeder Faller before, and certainly not a mutant like him.”
“Are you going to dissect him?” Jenifa asked.
“Great Giu, no,” the old director said, quite shocked. “We know their biology. It’s their way of thinking I’m interested in. And from what little I’ve heard, I understand he’s disaffected with his own kind.”
“So he claims,” Jenifa said.
“But he volunteered the information that the Trees will fly into low orbit.”
“He’ll say anything to stay alive.”
“Right.” Faustina seemed perplexed by her attitude. “Director Stonal is waiting for you.”
“Including her?” Jenifa jerked a thumb at Corilla.
“Yes, apparently. I have your passes.” Faustina held out three laminated badges. “Please wear them prominently at all times while you are in the palace—especially down here.”
Chaing followed a corporal from the palace guard along several corridors, then down some interminable stairs. His leg was throbbing badly by the time they reached the bottom. This basement level was obviously newer than the rest of the labyrinth under the palace, with bright electric bulbs illuminating white walls; the metal doors were flush-fitting, with electric locks. The one at the end had four armed guards outside. They all had to show their badges before they were allowed in.
The stone-walled jail cell was a reasonable size. It had a bed with a decent mattress, as well as a table and chair. There was a shower in one corner, along with a toilet and basin. There was even a small bookshelf, stacked with some novels about regiment heroics, and Slvasta’s official biography running to more than a thousand pages. It lacked windows, but then it was six floors underground. To emphasize this, ribbons of slimy algae leaked out of the mortar and down one wall. Three meals were supplied each day through the hatchway in the door. Reasonable food, too.
Joey had stayed in worse hotels.
So far he hadn’t been questioned, which made him rather glad. There were residual Adolphus memories washing around in his head about PSR interviews, and he didn’t imagine he’d be able to do the whole hero thing and resist pain for the good of…Well, frankly, there wasn’t anything worth holding out for now. He’d given the King of the World gig his best shot, and the paranoid spook had known that something was wrong almost straightaway. And Paula—Paula was most likely dead.
That still brought him awake in the middle of the night with cold sweats. A species that used nukes so easily…He retained his own memories of the science expedition into the Forest of Trees; his contact with Faller copies of his crewmates. The way they’d forced him onto the surface of an egg, sticking him fast, its gradual absorption of his body. Only death—well, bodyloss—had saved him, with Nigel’s help. And for what?
He’d done everything possible to help Paula and her group, only for the Fallers to kill that last remaining hope.
Losing her had probably made him careless, confirming Stonal’s suspicions. He wasn’t surprised; such a massive loss of hope had been a terrible blow. After it happened, he hadn’t a clue what to do next; he’d only ever considered himself as Paula’s support team.
Now he spent most of his time lying on the bed, suffering recurring migraines—presumably due to his thoughts occupying a neural structure that wasn’t his own.
At least his suffering wouldn’t last much longer. Terese wouldn’t have any room on Byarn for her number one political prisoner. And the more recollections about Byarn that bubbled up from Adolphus’s subconscious, the more he didn’t want any part of their crazy Operation Reclaim anyway.
He heard noises in the corridor outside and opened bleary eyes to look at the door, expecting the hatch to open and a food tray to be shoved through. Instead he heard the sound of another cell door being opened. Some kind of a scuffle. The unique sound of a body thudding to the ground.
“And crudding stay there, filthy freak,” a guard shouted.
The door was slammed shut. Keys turned in the lock.
Just for a moment, Joey allowed himself to daydream it was Stonal being thrown into the cell next door. Terese being thorough in eliminating any threats to her new regime. “Meet the new boss,” he chanted. “Same as the old.” But Stonal wouldn’t make that elementary mistake.
He closed his eyes and sank back into the comfort of misery and self-pity. Then his OCtattoo reported a weak link ping. “Anyone receiving this?”
He almost ignored it. Probably a trap, but he was thoroughly bored, and anything was better than languishing in the cell until the Apocalypse hit. “Yeah, me.”
“Who’s that?”
“Adolphus.”
“No crud. The prime minister?”
“Ex-prime-minister now, thank you.”
“You’re an Eliter? We didn’t know.”
Joey heard the sound of guttural (and oddly liquid) laughter, and heaved himself off the bed. His world spun as he tottered over to the door, but he gritted his teeth against the nausea and abysmal headache. The link signal increased marginally as he pressed his head against the cool metal of the hatch in the door. “Not really. I acquired some Commonwealth enrichments recently. Who are you, pal?”
“Roxwolf.”
“So what did you do to get shoved down here?”
“You don’t know my name?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Crud. I’m not as notorious as I thought.”
“Yeah, don’t sweat it. I’m not quite what you’d expect, either.”
“So it would seem. You say you have some kind of Commonwealth machine that allows you to link; that’s very interesting. Are you in touch with the Eliters?”
“Nope. Not this far underground.”
“Ah. Pity. So nobody is coming to break you out of here?”
Joey grinned silently. His Commonwealth defense enrichments could probably cut through the door easily enough. But then what? The palace dungeons were a three-dimensional maze. Kill lots of guards—because they were doing their job. Not exactly the blaze-of-glory way he wanted to go. “No. How about you?”
“No, I am alone on this world.”
“So it looks like we’re here for the duration.”
“Uracus!” Roxwolf said. “Does the Commonwealth know of us? Will they help?”
“No. We’re on our own. Especially now Paula is dead.”
“I see. Ah well, at least it won’t be long.”
“So what are you in here for?”
“I am a mutant Faller; I had quite the gang empire going back in Opole.”
“No shit? Wait a minute, why would you want the Commonwealth to save us?”
“My own species rejects me. If the Apocalypse succeeds, I die. I was trying to make a deal with the human security forces: my life for information.”
“How’s that going for you?”
“I’ve had better days, my friend.”
“Yeah. This government isn’t the most enlightened I’ve known.”
“Even now, your nature puzzles me,” Roxwolf replied. “How can your species ever achieve anything when you exist in perpetual conflict with one another? You flew to the stars once. That is no small achievement.”
“Bienvenido is a special circumstance. We got hit with the Void, then your species. It hasn’t brought out our best behavior.”
“You speak as if you’ve seen other human societies.”
“I have. A long time ago now. I don’t have many memories of them in this stolen body, just enough to keep my faith in humanity.”
“So you are a visitor here? You did come from the Commonwealth?”
“Not exactly. It’s a long story, pal.”
“I’m not that busy right now.”
Chaing was slightly disappointed by the secure bunker with its stuffy, chemically tainted air and low ceiling; he’d expected something a little more striking, but this was just another government-issue office without windows. The command center itself was a wide room with radio and telephone consoles around three of the four walls, all staffed by communications division operators. The map table in the middle had a large-scale representation of Varlan, with the river Colbal running along its southern side. Young NCOs with long poles slid circular wooden emblems into place, setting out regiment positions and nest activity.
He could see that the Capital Regiment had troops deployed at the twelve major roads leading into the city; their reserves were stationed at six camps in public parks, ready to reinforce them. Two Air Force squadrons of AG-30 ground-attack planes were circling overhead. Nine marine attack boats patrolled the river. Eight black emblems were standing in various train station yards around the outskirts, which chilled him: Aseri batteries ready to fire their nuclear-tipped missiles at any large incoming force.
Stonal stood at the head of the table, his hands resting on the edge as he surveyed his doomed domain. Master General Davorky stood beside him, talking in a low voice as they ordered fresh deployments.
“Captain Chaing,” Stonal said, beckoning.
“Sir.”
“Did the mutant say anything new on the journey here?”
“No, sir.”
Stonal grunted. “Pity.”
“I’m not sure Roxwolf is telling the truth, sir,” Jenifa said.
“Oh, he was, Lieutenant.”
“Sir?”
“Three hours ago, the Space Vigilance Office reported that the Trees have begun to move,” Davorky told her. “They are flying down to a lower orbit. Their eggs will Fall on us, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”
“No,” Chaing said faintly. That’s the end. We lost. He heard Corilla gasp. She’d turned pale, and her hands were trembling.
Stonal gave her a sharp glance. “Hold off telling your friends that. I’d like to keep the capital calm.”
“Why?” she asked in a shaky voice. “What’s the point?”
“If the regiments have a clear field to move through, we’ll be able to inflict maximum damage on the nests as they advance. I don’t want panicked crowds blocking their way.” Stonal indicated a swath of red flags beyond the city’s outskirts. “Those are all incidents reported to us during the night, possible enemy incursions or gatherings. We’ve heard of villages cut off, unauthorized vehicles on the road, unknown creatures seen moving across the countryside, that kind of thing. Now we’re waiting on scouts to report in. But they’re clearly massing out there for something.”
“What about the prime minister?” Jenifa asked. “Is Byarn secure? Can we retaliate…afterward?”
“Her plane is still two hours out from Byarn,” Davorky said. “Nothing can happen to her while she’s flying over the ocean.”
Stonal raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Even if she gets to the refuge intact, communications between us and Byarn are poor. There’s been a lot of sabotage inflicted on our secure lines. We’re dependent on radio now. The master general and I were discussing whether to order the Operation Reclaim aircraft into the air as soon as we have any reports of Falling eggs. That way we can turn this continent into a radioactive Uracus. The Fallers will gain nothing.”
Davorky nodded solemnly, as if he couldn’t quite commit to agreeing out loud.
Chaing looked around as he heard a commotion. One of the console operators had a microphone held to his mouth, asking for urgent confirmation.
“What’s happening?” Stonal asked.
“Sir. It’s the river, sir. There’s—” He broke off and thumbed the microphone switch again. “Repeat please?”
“Put it on speaker,” Davorky ordered.
“…on the quayside…out of the water…huge…monsters…firing now…” The sound of machine-gun fire thudded out of the speakers above the console. “More. All along the docks…hundreds…Uracus, what are those…!”
An involuntary shiver ran along Chaing’s spine as he recalled the beasts in Port Chana’s harbor. And judging by the way Jenifa’s face had become still, those images were haunting her, too.
“Get reinforcements to the docks,” Davorky said at once. “And find out what’s happened to the marine attack boats. They should be responding.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s started,” Stonal said coldly. “Captain Chaing, a word, please.”
Chaing followed him over to a corner of the command center. “I have one final job for you, Captain. It’s not one I can entrust to most, but you’ve certainly proved your worth recently.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It’s not just loyalty I’m going to need, but a great deal of courage.”
“I think this day will see a lot of courage, sir. We’re just never going to hear of it.”
“No doubt.”
Stonal reached into his pocket and produced two long black keys. “These, Captain, are the triggers for a three-hundred-kiloton atomic bomb, which is here in the palace. I want you to assume command of the squad guarding it, and if I don’t make it, I want you to detonate it.”
“Sir?” he asked in a strained voice. For one ridiculous moment he’d thought Stonal had some miraculous fallback, that he’d somehow discovered how to open the wormhole to Aqueous.
“We’re going to lose, Captain. You know this, don’t you?”
Chaing nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“As Roxwolf so eloquently explained, those of us who survive the bombardment will be either eggsumed or eaten alive. All of us, men, women, and children. I believe it would be better for Varlan to die in a fast, clean blast of nuclear annihilation than be subject to that. I trust you share that view?”
“I do, sir,” Chaing said formally. “I understand true duty to this world. You can depend on me.”
“Good man. I’ll get there if I can. If not, it’s down to you. You’ll know the moment.”
Chaing put the keys in his jacket pocket and saluted. There wasn’t anything else left to say.
After seeing the palace guards escort Roxwolf off to the cells, Faustina walked through the palace gardens. Since the city’s main power grid had been sabotaged, the palace had been running on backup generators. The main building was well lit, but extravagances like the fancy path lights and splendid fountains all remained off. She wasn’t bothered by that. Enough light was shining from the palace windows for her to see where she was going, especially with her Advancer-heritage retinas. So she walked slowly through the ancient groves remembering the first time she’d been brought to the palace. They were bad memories, the lowest point in her life—or so she’d thought at the time.
Infrared vision showed her the Capital Regiment patrols moving across the grounds. It was easy enough to alter her walk to keep clear of them. She was beside a broad pond filled with ornamental dyllcod when she saw five men in regimental uniform hurrying through the cherry tree orchard ahead. She frowned, suspicious to see how furtively they were behaving—looking around nervously, keeping low, avoiding the patrols just like her.
She trailed after them, keeping a good fifty meters behind. They came to the perimeter wall. The old stone barrier was thick around the garden, topped with tangled firepine bushes, whose thorns contained a lethal venom. The little group must have known about a gardener’s concealed stairs, for they hurried straight up the wall to the top. Then they were gone, sneaking their way through a hidden gap in the bushes.
Deserters, she realized.
Faustina stared at the top of the wall for a long time, unable to condemn them. In fact, it was a wonder that more weren’t abandoning their posts to be with their families at the end. They must have known the Faller Apocalypse was starting, and it was going to be far worse than their most feared nightmares. She raised her gaze to the blank night sky, seeing the dreaded glimmering line of the Tree Ring slicing through space above Bienvenido. The Trees did look brighter—or maybe she was just imagining it. Everyone in the palace now knew the Trees were on the move, sliding down into low orbit. The bombardment would be starting soon, probably within a day.
After all she’d done, all she’d suffered, the world was coming to an end. She felt the tears building behind her eyes, and hated herself for the weakness.
Another man was jogging around the base of the wall, his bright infrared glow blurred into a wavering profile. He found the stairs and started climbing.
Desperate, yes, selfish undoubtedly, but he still clung to some kind of hope. Otherwise why would he do it?
That’s all any of us have left now: desperation.
Faustina wiped her eyes angrily and went back into the palace. There was only one guard on duty outside the crypt, where there were usually never less than five standing sentry over section seven’s greatest secrets. Despite the authority conveyed by wearing the smart palace guard uniform, the girl’s worried expression betrayed how young she was. Faustina suspected she was a probationary, one who didn’t know what to make of all the rumors echoed by the palace’s eternally gossipy staff.
She saluted as Faustina held out her laminated pass, and carefully wrote the admission in her log, noting the time.
As always, the lights were on in the crypt, as were the recording machines. Faustina turned them off and faced the space machine.
“How far can you extend your force field?” she asked Joey.
“Not much. Not enough to protect the city if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t. How about the palace? Can you cover it?”
“No. It’s too big. I might manage a hundred meters or so, but it wouldn’t be particularly strong.”
“Enough to deflect an egg?”
“Yes. I guess.”
“And bullets?”
“Yes. Why?”
She straightened her back, trying to appear dignified. “Because I’m desperate, Joey. Because there’s nothing else.”
“You want me to protect people?”
“Yes. Is there any way you can produce an ingrav drive, or repair yours?”
“Hoo, boy. I’ve only got the smallest synthesizers. I told you before, they were never intended for that.”
“Can you do it? Don’t make me beg, Joey; just answer me. If I get you the right raw material, is it in any way possible?”
“It might be. I could probably repair my drive units at least, but it won’t be quick. Where do you want to fly to? Byarn?”
“No.” She walked onto the white floor and touched the exopod as if she were seeing it for the first time. “If you can repair your drive units, could you fix them to this? Could you make it fly? It was built for space.”
“Wow, that’s…”
“Desperate, yes. But could it work?”
“Where do you want it to reach?”
“Aqueous.”
“Risky.”
She laughed brittlely. “More like crazy. But could it work?”
“Maybe, but I can’t even calculate the odds. Look, I get that you want to survive, but have you thought this idea through? That is one lonely life you’d be heading for, and when you got there, you’d know how everyone else died. That’s not a good way to spend your last years.”
“I’m not doing it for me. I’m desperate, not selfish. The exopod is big enough for two, but it would hold an adult and two children.”
“Hoo, boy. Yeah. I think I see where you’re going with this. It’s not good, girl.”
“I could ferry them over, two at a time.”
“Them?”
“All the ones your force field protects.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“I’m not. Joey, when I was Bethaneve I helped lead the revolution, and when we thought we’d won, we found out we were just Nigel’s puppets. We got through the Great Transition; then Slvasta, the man I loved and married, sank into psychotic paranoia. When I tried to stop him, I was thrown into the mines and only got out with Kysandra’s help; since then I’ve been her spy in the capital, and now she’s gone. Everything I’ve ever done has ended in failure, everyone I’ve helped is dead; in two hundred and seventy-five years, I’ve accomplished nothing. But I’ve always had hope. I believed people could do better for themselves, if we just had a chance. Let me have this, Joey. Let me have one last hope, however small it is. Please.” She stopped, not caring that her head was bowed and she could see nothing through the tears. “Please. Help me.”
“Aww, bollocks. All right, I’ll help. Like you said, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.”
She smeared the tears away from her eyes. “Thank you,” she sniffled miserably.
“But I need to get out of here. If the eggs Fall, we’ll be buried under the rubble, along with the exopod. And this crypt is a long way down.”
“Yes, yes; right,” Faustina tried to concentrate, to work out the practicalities of the outrageous idea. “I’ll order my assistants to drive the tractor and tow you outside.”
“Will they do that?”
“Yes. They’re completely loyal to me, and I’ll just say it’s orders from the security cabinet. Nobody will question that. It’s chaos upstairs right now. I can put you in the Rose Courtyard. It’s about a hundred meters across; you can shield that. The exopod will fit as well. We can convert it there.”
“You know, even if this actually works, it will take weeks to fit out the exopod. Then it’ll take you at least a year to ferry all the kids over.”
“Yes. I suppose it will.”
“They’ll need to be protected and fed all that time, as the Fallers are laying siege to us.”
“The Eliters will help me. I have contacts in Varlan. I’ll call them. I’ll get them to bring their children.”
“Okay…but, Faustina, not too many.”
“I understand.”
“Right, then. I’ll get you a list of chemicals and minerals I’m going to need.”
Paula stood in front of the gateway again as Demitri opened the terminus above Valatare. The washed russet light of the insipid clouds shone through, making the faces of her companions seem strangely malaised. She opened a link to the floater.
“Hello, Laura; we’re ready to connect to you now. Please shut down your wormhole to Ursell.”
“It is done,” Laura replied.
“All right, stand by.”
“I am recalibrating the floater systems to act as anchor.”
“Going for connection,” Demitri announced.
“Initiating,” Laura said.
“We’re there! Connected and stable.”
“Well done,” Paula told the ANAdroid. “Okay, Laura, you need to modify your force field profile for maximum streamlining. We’re going to move you.”
“Understood.”
Paula let the exovision data from the gateway fill her perception, monitoring Demitri’s control. The floater with Laura’s memories was eight and a half thousand kilometers from the equatorial anomaly. Demitri began to load new coordinates into the gateway, shifting the terminus and its new anchor. Laura altered the shape of the floater’s force field, elongating it to an ellipsoid, with the narrow section aligned along the direction of travel. Then she flattened it, turning the leading edges sharper, extending the nose to a point. Demitri began to increase the speed, lifting it to a higher altitude where the gas was thinner, so it powered along above the slow-spinning cyclones. They kept a close watch on the force field and settled for a speed of Mach seven, which it could withstand without undue strain.
It took an hour to fly Laura’s floater to the equatorial anomaly, ripping through the mélange of helium, hydrogen, and methane at the head of a roiling pristine-white contrail of ammonium ice particles that stretched out for more than sixty kilometers. When it reached the right location, Demitri brought it to a halt, the terminus connection locking it in place.
“Take it down,” Paula said.
He didn’t lower it at anything like supersonic speed, keeping the descent slow and careful. Laura reshaped the force field again, contracting it around the floater. Even with Valatare’s sluggish gas currents, it received quite a buffeting.
“There’s a lot of tension on the connection,” Demitri reported.
“Can it damage the wormhole?” Paula asked.
“Not the wormhole itself; that’s just a negative energy structure. But it’s placing quite a strain on the floater’s physical systems.”
“How much?”
“Within tolerance.”
“We can’t afford to lose the connection.”
“I am aware of that.”
It took quite an effort not to scowl at him.
The floater continued its drop. Demitri had reduced the width of the wormhole to a meter in diameter. It was like a porthole in the middle of the gateway, showing nothing but a gray haze through which occasional wisps of auburn vapor flashed. Paula’s exovision overlaid the gas pressure on the other side, and she did her best not to flinch. If it broke through, the jet of gas would be like an iron pillar pistoning out.
When the floater was three hundred kilometers deep in the atmosphere, the light around it had dwindled away to nothing. It was hard to make out the throat of the wormhole; the gateway was a simple black circle.
“Radiation rising,” Demitri said.
“Systems status?” Paula queried.
“So far, so good.”
At thirty kilometers from the boundary, a faint glow began to appear.
“Gamma radiation fluorescence,” Demitri told them. “And that’s going to grow.”
At this depth, it was questionable if the floater was immersed in gas or superfluid. Whichever it was, the density was extreme, and starting to stress the force field. The wormhole terminus was having to push the buoyant floater down—another function that was never included in its original performance specifications.
Paula began to wish the ANAdroids were more human. She was sure if they were they’d be panicking about now, giving her a better indication of progress than Demitri’s bland assurances. She was certainly starting to sweat.
The radiation glow was getting brighter, shining out at them like a lime-stained sun. Paula’s suit helmet activated several filters, protecting her retinas.
At one kilometer above the boundary, the temperature began to rise fast, as did the gravity. The data in Paula’s exovision didn’t match any gas giant environment on record; they were truly into the unknown now. Gamma radiation was heating the hydrogen to such an extent that the pressure on the floater’s force field was approaching overload. Paula noticed that the others had all backed a couple of paces farther from the gateway and smiled to herself.
Without warning, the dazzling miasma became clear, and she could actually make out the surface of the boundary two hundred meters below the floater. There was an immense circle of relative darkness directly underneath.
Five kilometers across, Paula realized. The generator. We’re on target.
“Acceleration stress,” Demitri said in surprise. “I’m going to have to—”
The floater suddenly lunged down, its force field slamming into the generator’s boundary layer. Paula took an involuntary step back, her arm coming up in instinctive animal protection, warding off the unknown threat. The glare cut off abruptly. But the floater was still intact; she could see its data displays in her exovision.
“Laura?”
“I’m here. I should make a pious first-footprint statement—if I had feet.”
“What just happened?” Paula asked.
“The boundary’s gravity field pulled it down,” Demitri said. “I had to let the wormhole expand freely or the anchor connection would have been ripped apart from tidal stress. Frankly, we’re lucky it’s only seventeen gees. The floater systems are only just strong enough to withstand it.”
“The boundary is seventeen gravities?” Ry asked. “How does that happen?”
“That’s how it pulls down the gas to fuel itself,” Demitri said, “and how it maintains such a thick atmosphere. This is the gradient Laura detected when she opened the first wormhole here. It’s a lot steeper than any natural one.”
“But everything is intact?” Paula said. Her medical display was showing her heart rate slowing back to normal levels.
“Stable for now,” Demitri said.
She was familiar enough with him now to hear the caution in that tone. “But?”
“The gravity is gripping the floater hard. Attempting to move the terminus will break the anchor connection; it’s not strong enough to lift the floater against that force.”
“Can we disengage from this end?” Paula asked.
“Yes, but I don’t think we’d be able to reconnect. Not in this environment. Effectively, we’re stuck like this.”
“Where did the light go?” Florian asked.
“It’s here all around me, but you just can’t see it now,” Laura said. “I’m orientated so the wormhole is directly on top of the boundary.”
“I thought the boundary sucked everything through.”
“The ordinary boundary surface consumes and obliterates matter to power itself,” Valeri said. “That’s where the gamma energy emission comes from, a tiny back-leakage from disintegrating particles. But the boundary above the generator isn’t permeable; it’s a protective field. So the floater didn’t get sucked through.”
“Did you know that before?” Florian said.
“It was a risk.”
“But…”
“I was prepared to take it,” Laura told him. “I am duplicated in the Ursell floater, so there was little to lose.”
Florian exhaled loudly. “Commonwealth people think so differently.”
“Rationality is a by-product of age and experience,” Paula told him.
“With a few exceptions,” Demitri added ruefully.
Paula grinned, knowing who he was referring to.
“So the boundary over the generator is like a force field?” Florian persisted.
“A very powerful one,” Demitri said.
Paula turned to face the towering yellow cylinder. “Is this connection good enough for you?” she asked the Planter.
“Yes. We will require you to allow me through your force fields so we may physically touch the anomaly.”
“Show me what you want,” Demitri said. “I’ll adjust as we go.”
A mound of Trüb’s shiny purple surface expanded right in front of the gateway machine. The top rippled and darkened. A thick strand of dark-gray material snaked up and bent horizontal to touch the gateway’s force field. It flowed through and kept going, probing down to the lightless boundary.
Paula realized she was holding her breath.
“Your assumption was correct,” the Planter said. “This is the generator. It comprises quantum phased matter formatting a specific warp within local spacetime: the boundary around a zone of zero-temporal flow.”
“They’re in stasis,” Paula mused. “That figures; the Void was constantly manipulating its internal time flow.” She took a deep breath, coming as close to praying as she ever had. “Can you switch it off?”
“No. We would have to manipulate a vast quantity of energy to override the warp—greater than the amount the boundary is producing. We do not have that quantity of energy.”
The atomic bomb was curiously innocuous—not that Chaing could actually see the mechanism itself. The casing was an olive-green metal trunk, two meters long, with small yellow alphanumerics stenciled on—the same as every munitions box ever made by the state armories. It sat on the marble floor beside the prime minister’s wide desk as if someone had dropped it there by mistake.
Even though he was growing used to the scale of the palace, Chaing was awed by how ostentatious the study was. A room bigger than a football pitch for one person to work in? Crud, those old Captains were decadent. And our prime ministers are so different. Yeah, right. Dawn light was shining in through the tall arched windows, illuminating the long wall paintings of the Air Force planes; regiment troops sweeping vigilantly through jungles and farmland; and heroic workers building Bienvenido’s new factories.
There were eight section seven guards on duty in the anteroom that led into the study at the opposite end from the desk; a further three secured the private corridor at the other end of the study. A major from the atomic weapons division had been waiting beside the bomb. He showed Chaing the keyholes under a small lid on the side. “You have to turn them simultaneously. Ninety degrees arms it. Wait thirty seconds for the trigger power sequence to run, then turn another ninety degrees.”
“That’s it?” Chaing asked in surprise.
“Yes.” The major saluted grimly and left.
As he went out into the anteroom, Corilla and Jenifa came in. Corilla had looked around in amazement as she walked the length of the study, shaking her head at the garish artwork, then recoiled as she saw the Faller skulls in the alcoves. She caught sight of the desk and hurried around to the polished leather chair behind it. “Got to do it once in your life,” she declared happily as she sat down. “You”—she pointed at imaginary aides—“have my opponents assassinated. You, fetch me strawberries and champagne.”
“Grow up,” Jenifa grunted.
“Never going to happen,” Corilla retorted, and all the humor drained from her face. “Not now. No time.” She spun the chair around to face the cheap wooden bookshelves along the back wall. “So what does a prime minister read?”
Jenifa ignored her and walked over to one of the big windows. She frowned as she looked down into the Rose Courtyard. “Why is the space machine down there?”
Chaing limped over to stand beside her and peered down to see the space machine in the middle of the courtyard, its unmistakable cylinder shape illuminated by the dull light creeping over the high walls around it. A couple of the white-coated staff from section seven’s advanced science division stood idly beside it. As he watched, a small tractor drove into the courtyard, towing a flatbed trolley. This one had a metal sphere on it, with a large viewport on one side and an open hatch on the other; a lot of segments were missing. He just knew it was some kind of Commonwealth artifact; it was too sophisticated for Bienvenido to manufacture. The thing put him in mind of a Liberty capsule, only bigger and better. “Being taken to Byarn?” he suggested. One of the women down on the cobbles was Faustina, directing more of her colleagues who were arriving with small boxes. It certainly looked like she was preparing to go somewhere.
“Why bother?” Jenifa said quietly. “We all know how this is going to end.”
Chaing turned away from her and walked across the study to the windows that looked out along Bryan-Anthony Boulevard beyond the palace’s sturdy perimeter wall. Troops and vehicles were mustering on the big parade ground, while civilians were starting to gather at the front gates. There were a lot of children out there, Chaing saw; everyone was staring up at the palace’s façade, not chanting slogans or shaking their fists. Just staring. Waiting.
“They’re expecting salvation,” he said in wonder.
“Then they’re fools,” Jenifa retorted bitterly. “They’ve only got a few hours left now. They should be at home with their families.”
Chaing could see smoke and flames rising across the city. The largest conflagrations were coming from the waterfront. “I’m not sure we’ve even got that long.” The faint sound of firearms was audible across the rooftops.
The palace gates opened and a convoy of tracked trucks drove out, racing down the slope.
Jenifa glanced back at the bomb. There was perspiration on her forehead. “This is stupid. We should just get it over with.”
Chaing shook his head. “Not yet. There’s still time for the Warrior Angel to contact us.”
“You’re pathetic, you know that?”
He drew himself up as best he could; the pain in his leg seemed to be a lot worse today. “Carrying out this order correctly takes more strength that you’ll ever have. As you’ve just demonstrated.”
“I am strong!” Jenifa snarled at him.
“Then have the strength to wait for the Warrior Angel.”
“Eliters have faith in their reactionary idol, not PSR officers.”
“I have faith in people.”
She smiled mockingly. “You can tell me now. It won’t make any difference; we’re all about to die one way or another. Come on, Chaing, I think you owe me that much.”
Just for a moment he actually considered it, but even now he held back. Never trust a PSR fanatic. “I know what I am, and I am completely comfortable with that. Isn’t that the goal of the world we’re trying to build, comrade? Justice and equality for everyone.”
“I’m not a politician. I just keep this world safe.”
Chaing laughed quietly. The convoy of tracked trucks had disappeared from view, and the palace gates were closing again. He saw more people coming out of the junctions along Bryan-Anthony Boulevard, turning to march toward the palace. “Well, you and I have both failed spectacularly on that front.”
“We can still save people from the Fallers,” Jenifa said urgently. “And we can take a crud-load of the bastards with us. End this, Chaing. Be brave, and you and I will go shout at Uracus together.”
“These people are frightened, that’s all,” Corilla said staring out at the approaching crowd. “We know the nests are moving into the city; we’re just trying to keep ahead of them.”
Chaing looked from the throng hurrying along Bryan-Anthony Boulevard, to Corilla, then back again. “They’re all Eliters?” There’s thousands of them.
“Yes,” she said softly. “We’re people, too, you know. And there’s nowhere else to go. This is the center of the city. The safest place.” She frowned. “There’s also a message in the general band saying children will have protection from the egg bombardment if they come here.”
“Stonal and Davorky aren’t going to like that,” Jenifa said flatly.
Chaing watched anxiously as palace guard squads hurried across the parade ground to line up on the high walkway behind the wall. They weren’t leveling their weapons. Yet.
Corilla let out a gasp of shock and gripped the edge of the desk.
“What’s the matter?” Chaing asked; she looked as if she was about to be sick.
“Link,” she grunted, and pushed off from the desk to stagger over to the first of the great arching windows. “It’s so strong.”
“Are you in contact with that rabble?” Jenifa asked suspiciously. She took the link detector from her uniform pocket and frowned. The red bulb on top was glowing brightly.
Corilla was pressed against the glass, staring in reverence up into the clear sapphire sky. “No,” she breathed as her eyes watered. “It’s not the crowd. This is coming from space.”
Paula stared at the dark center of the wormhole for a long moment, refusing to let the despair rise. Working the problem—as always. “But if you had that kind of energy, could you do it?” she asked the Planter. “Could you switch off the generator?”
“Yes,” the Planter replied.
She turned to the ANAdroids. “So where do we get that kind of energy from? A quantumbuster?”
“Nigel took them all with him on the Skylady,” Kysandra said. “There are none left.”
“Can the synthesizers build us one?”
There was a moment where the three ANAdroids faced one another. “The star,” Fergus said. “The barrier consumes a phenomenal amount of energy, but that is trivial compared with the star’s output.”
“Okay. So how do we tap that power?”
“Extend a wormhole terminus into it. A wormhole is an exotic matter interstice. If you pass super-density plasma through the open channel, it can be configured to suck energy directly from it—a function similar to the barrier.”
“But then you’ll need to transfer that energy to the barrier generator,” Demitri said.
“Second wormhole,” Valeri said.
“The Ursell floater,” Fergus said.
“That’s one.”
Paula had the impression the audible conversation was just an overspill of their thoughts working the problem. “The machine under the palace,” she said.
“You mean the BC5800d2 I repaired?” Laura asked. “Is it still working?”
“Yes,” Kysandra said. “I have a friend working in the People’s Security Regiment science team that analyzes Commonwealth technology. It’s still in the crypt and codelocked.”
“Do you have the code?” Paula asked the Laura personality.
“Yes, of course.”
“Then we just have to get back there and unlock it.”
“But this wormhole is fixed to Valatare,” Kysandra said.
“If the synthesizers can manufacture a regrav drive, I will fly a space capsule back to Bienvenido,” Ry said. “It would be my honor.”
“Nice idea,” Paula said. “But dear old Captain Chaing was getting quite eager to talk to me about opening BC5800d2—on the government’s behalf, of course. How organized are the Eliters in the capital?”
“As well as anywhere,” Kysandra said. “Why?”
“We link to them and ask for help. My old lifeboat package with Joey’s memories was being kept in the same crypt as the wormhole, right? We just have to get the code to him and tell him to open the terminus here.”
Florian’s arm thrust upward, pointing at the darkening green sky. “But Bienvenido is millions of kilometers away. We can’t link that far.”
“How long for the synthesizers to build me a transmitter?” Paula asked.
“We can send a signal for you,” the Planter said.
Along with the others, Paula stood on Trüb’s abnormal purple surface as the sun dropped below the horizon. The switch from day to night was quicker than sundown in any of the tropics she’d ever been to, leaving them immersed in an unnerving darkness. Without light, the purple surface was as black as the starless night.
Florian and Ry immediately switched their flashlights on. Paula couldn’t blame them for that. But all the limited beams did was emphasize how insignificant they were on any scale.
They didn’t have long to wait before one of the small moons came shooting up over the horizon. Even though it was gray, it shone brightly, illuminating the unsullied landscape before soaring into the planet’s umbra. As it rose above them, she saw it was changing color, the undistinguished gray transmuting to a dusky gold. The second moon to come over was red, the third a pale green. That was when they saw the petals starting to distort its shape. By the time the next one had its brief time between terminator and umbra, its silver petals were kilometers across, reflecting a wash of sunlight across the purple plain below, which cast a sharp shadow from the yellow tower, sliding around faster than any clock’s second hand.
“We will begin now,” the Planter said. “What is your message?”
Paula straightened her back and faced the pillar just as the silver moon passed into shadow, extinguishing its reflected radiance. “This is Paula Myo. I am a Commonwealth citizen,” she sent through the link. “The Warrior Angel and I are on Trüb, and we believe we have found a method of defeating the Fallers. But I’m going to need your help—”
“The wormhole!” Corilla exclaimed incredulously. “Paula wants us to unlock the wormhole. She needs it.”
“Paula’s alive?” Chaing asked. The relief he felt was extraordinary, banishing the pain from his leg and wrist. “Where is she?”
Corilla smiled, her eyes brimming with tears she was so jubilant. “Trüb!”
“This is bollocks,” Jenifa sneered.
“I have the code!” Corilla yelled at her, abruptly furious. “It’s in the message. I can unlock the wormhole. Do you understand that, you dumb bitch?”
Jenifa took an angry step toward her. Chaing’s hand came down on her shoulder.
“Is she going to evacuate us to Aqueous?” he asked.
“No, she thinks she’s found a way to defeat the Fallers. We have to get down to the crypt under the palace. Once it’s unlocked—” Her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes widened in shock. “The space machine!” She ran across the study to the windows overlooking the Rose Courtyard. “Oh, no. No, no!”
“Crudding Uracus!” Faustina exclaimed. She was standing in the middle of the Rose Courtyard, staring up in astonishment at the square of sky framed overhead. “Are you getting this?” she asked Joey.
“Very loud and very clear.”
She twisted her head around. There were only three of her staff left, delivering chemicals in big glass dewars. They were giving her strange looks. “Where’s the tractor? Oh, crud, it’s back down in the garage.” She spun back to face the space machine. “Can you do it? Can you open a terminus to Trüb if the code works?”
“Yes.”
“Then we have to get you back down there.” She froze as she was link-pinged, and jerked her head up to see a figure looking down at her from one of the big arching windows above.
“There’s a three-hundred-kiloton bomb in here,” Corilla told her. “And there’s a PSR lunatic desperate to detonate it!”
“What?”
“She wants to spare us all from suffering the Apocalypse.”
“Sweet fucking Giu!”
“I’m not sure my force field can stand up to that,” Joey said. “Not at all.”
“What have I done?” Faustina wailed. “You should be down there with the wormhole. You could have gotten us to Trüb by now.”
“I still can be. Get the other me out of the jail cell and run, Faustina. Fucking run!”
“She’s playing you,” Jenifa said heatedly as Corilla pressed herself against the window overlooking the Rose Courtyard. The red light on top of the link detector was still glowing. “Give me the keys. I’ll do it. I’ll end this if you can’t.”
“Not a crudding chance, Corporal,” Chaing told her. “This is what I was waiting for. It’s also what Stonal was waiting for. Now you need to calm down and carry out your orders.”
“Paula is Commonwealth.”
“She’s going to save us. Can’t you at least give her a chance to prove herself? It’s what Stonal and the prime minister wanted. Or do you consider yourself above them, too?”
Jenifa clenched her jaw but said nothing.
“I know admitting you might be wrong hurts,” he said more gently. “Believe me, I know.”
Corilla turned back from the window. “We need to get down to the crypt. Now!”
“I thought you said the space machine had to be there?” Chaing asked.
“Our senior palace agent has a way around this.”
Chaing couldn’t help but grin at the apoplectic expression on Jenifa’s face. “Let’s go then.”
It was Corilla who led them down to the crypt. They went along interminable corridors, down cramped little stairwells that had only a couple of bulbs lighting them. After the first five minutes, Chaing was thoroughly lost.
“How do you know where we’re going?” he asked.
“Link,” Corilla said. “It gave me the route.”
“Who linked to you?” Jenifa asked belligerently. “Is this coming from your reactionary agent? How do they know where to go?”
“Every Eliter knows,” Corilla answered. “Same as we know every city’s street map, every train timetable. It’s all there in the general bands.” She paused, then gave Jenifa a sly glance. “Once we’re back in the Commonwealth you can get yourself upgraded, then you’ll know what it’s like.”
As he limped along painfully, Chaing caught the way Jenifa glared at Corilla’s back. He unclipped the leather strap on his holster—just in case.
Finally they turned out of a dank narrow passageway into a much larger corridor. At the far end, tall double doors were set into the wall. There was a desk beside them, the kind guards would use—fussing about to check if you were authorized to enter, establishing their own status. There was no one sitting behind it. Chaing approached cautiously; something as important as the wormhole gateway should be guarded.
“It’s in here,” Corilla said eagerly, and turned the big iron handle.
Chaing gripped her arm. “Wait.” He still couldn’t understand where the guards were.
He took his pistol out before leading the way into the crypt. Given how far they were underground, the chamber was surprisingly large. Ahead of him, a broad circle on the stone floor had been covered by a sheer white plinth, which was empty apart from odd piles of components that clearly belonged to some larger machine. Tables with scientific research equipment lined the walls. He barely paid it any attention. His gaze was drawn to the big circular machine at the far end of the crypt. It was almost featureless—a thick rim of cerulean-shaded metal, with a center of a weird gray substance that his eyes couldn’t quite focus on. He couldn’t help the little burst of admiration he felt at the sight of it. This was true history; the gateway had been built in the Commonwealth thousands of years ago, then used by Mother Laura to destroy the Primes in Bienvenido’s darkest hour. The foundation of legends. Now here it was in front of him, solid and real.
“Great Giu,” he murmured, pushing the pistol back in its holster.
Corilla was standing beside him, her expression of awe matching his. “We can do it,” she said. “We can help the Warrior Angel defeat the Fallers.”
The sound of a safety catch being snicked back was loud even in the big crypt. “I don’t remember being given orders to do that,” Jenifa said softly. She was holding her pistol in one hand. The other hand was turning the door lock.
“We don’t need orders to save the crudding world!” Chaing shouted.
Jenifa pulled out the link detector, its green light shining on top. “If you link to that Commonwealth artifact, you little Eliter whore, if I see this light go red, I will put a bullet in your head.”
“For crud’s sake, Jenifa—” Chaing began.
She shot him.