Judas Unchained

Gwyneth sighed, and examined her hands. Her skin was starting to wrinkle she’d been soaking so long. She really should try to get some rest, ready for tomorrow. For once she thought the case was actually progressing well. Beard had set up his meeting with the Agent for the following evening. She even quietly admired the way Tarlo had bluffed him into cooperating; that the Californian surfer could actually hit someone had been a mild surprise, but it had certainly produced a result. They were so close now to cracking the whole Guardian case open. Around the office, it was rapidly becoming a mantra; they had so much information that all they needed was the one lucky break that had eluded Paula Myo for a hundred thirty years. Her mouth lifted in a bad girl smile: the break just happened to be Beard’s nose.

Her e-butler told her Paula Myo was calling. Gwyneth grunted in surprise and told the e-butler to accept.

“Gwyneth, would you please acknowledge my authority certificate.”

A file icon with the Senate Security seal popped up in Gwyneth’s virtual vision. Her virtual hand in the colors of the old Welsh national flag reached up and touched it. For the life of her she couldn’t think what Paula was doing. The file opened up, containing Paula’s verified Senate Security authorization. “That checks out,” Gwyneth said. “What’s this about?”

“I am officially reassigning you to my interdiction team,” Paula said. “As of this moment.”

Gwyneth sat up fast, sloshing water over the edge of the big bath. “What interdiction team?”

“Senate Security has been watching Tarlo for some time. He’s just warned Bernadette Halgarth that Renne’s team is observing her.”

“He did what?”

“He’s a traitor, Gwyneth.”

“No. He can’t be.”

“I’m afraid I can’t debate this with you. We are going to arrest Tarlo.”

“You’re here?” Gwyneth slipped and slithered out of the bath, grabbing her towel.

“Yes. I require your assistance. Is there anybody in his room with him?”

“No. I don’t think so. We’re all supposed to be resting. Beard’s in custody at the precinct, and we’re not due to pick up the Agent until this evening.”

“Very well. I suggest you get into your force field suit. Don’t activate it. He’s next door, and will probably sense you switching it on.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No. Once you have it on, please call him. He won’t suspect you, and it will enable us to verify his position. The call may also provide a small distraction.”

“Oh, God.” She hurried back into the bedroom where her case was sitting on the bed. The force field skeleton suit was an awkward bundle of bands that was difficult to put on around a wet naked body. “It can’t be Tarlo; he’s got us so close to the Guardians.”

“I know this is difficult, Gwyneth. Just trust me for a few minutes more.”

Had it been anyone, anyone else, she might have doubted, and Senate Security be damned. But not Paula Myo. “All right,” Gwyneth said. The skeleton bands were chafing badly, but they were all in position and switched to standby mode. She didn’t like to think what she looked like. Surely there had been time to put on some underwear? “I’m in the suit.”

“Leave this channel open, and make the call.”

“What about?”

“Whatever, it only has to last a few seconds.”

Gwyneth took a calming breath. Her virtual hand reached out and pulled Tarlo’s icon from her grid. “Hi, Chief. I was just checking in with you before I go to bed. Any developments?”

There was a long pause.

“Why are you in your force field suit?” Tarlo asked.

Gwyneth jerked her head around to stare at the wall between the rooms.

“Shit!” Her virtual hand swiped at the suit’s activation icon as she dived for the floor.

The middle of the wall exploded in a gout of dazzling white plasma. Long ion flames seared across the room. One of them licked at Gwyneth. Her force field wasn’t quite established; it flared purple around her, allowing a weakened gust of the energized atoms to rake across her bare skin. She screamed at the pain, thrashing around as the force field stabilized, deflecting the rest of the blast. Flames burst out of the furnishings and carpet.

The room vibrated to the bass roar of more weapons being fired. Blinding light flared through the wrecked wall. Gwyneth rolled over, tears blurring her vision. She risked a glance down at the side of her rib cage where the ion stream had penetrated. Her flesh was blackened, with red cracks splitting open to weep blood and fluid. It was an agony so intense it was actually dull. She knew she was going to throw up. The sprinklers came on, spraying a glutinous blue foam. Nozzles automatically sought out the hot spots, directing the foam to the worst of the blaze. Steam and smoke churned into the air, obscuring the room.

More explosions sounded. One actually produced a quake in the floor that tumbled her about. The ceiling sagged, and what was left of the ruined wall collapsed completely. She tried to stand, but somehow her limbs didn’t respond. The best she could do was roll over into a crouch. An alarm was howling.