Judas Unchained

Alic’s e-butler alerted him to a priority news event. He didn’t even have to access it. The barman turned the portal behind the counter to a direct feed from the Alessandra Baron show. Wilson Kime was standing at a podium making a statement to the Pentagon II press corps. “The fleet of Moscow-class starships which were dispatched to attack the wormhole known as Hell’s Gateway have now returned and are in communications range with the Commonwealth. I regret to say that the attack was not successful. Our missiles did not manage to strike their targets. Hell’s Gateway remains intact and fully functional, as do the subsidiary wormholes which link it to the Lost23.”

“Oh, crap,” Marhol grunted.

“The Primes have developed a method of deflecting our Douvoir relativistic missiles while they were still in flight,” Wilson said. “I must emphasize that this setback is by no means critical to our campaign. The navy retains the ability to combat any further aggression by the Primes.”

“Bullshit.”

Alic wished he didn’t share Marhol’s opinion.

“Sir,” Lucius said quietly. “Is that him?”

The Agent walked across the bar as everyone was watching the news. He was wearing a suit of thin leather with a surface that glimmered like crude oil under the soft light of the trees. The girl on his arm was dressed in a small cream outfit with a tasseled hem; she was tall and muscled like a marathon runner.

“Robin,” the Agent said pleasantly, “how nice to see you again.”

Beard looked around from the projected image of the Admiral. His face softened into a forlorn expression. “Sorry,” was all he said.

The Agent’s mouth tightened with aristocratic disapproval. His force field came on, distorting the dark ripples flowing over his suit fabric. The girl extended both arms as small stubby nozzles slipped out of the flesh on her wrists. Blue and green OCtattoos came alight on her face and neck, sending out thin glowing lines to snake down beneath the dress fabric. She started to rotate slowly, covering all the patrons. The ones closest to her gasped and pressed themselves back in their chairs.

“Move in,” Alic ordered the arrest team. His own force field came on, surrounding him in a nimbus of soft scintillations.

“Do you want us, Chief?” Vic asked.

“Wait.”

The girl swung around fast, both her arms lined up on Alic. The skin on her forearms began to undulate in strange patterns. People sitting at the tables between the two of them jumped hurriedly out of the way, creating a wide empty corridor.

“Stand aside,” Alic murmured to the police officers. In a couple of seconds he was sitting alone at the bar. Admiral Kime carried on speaking behind him, voice muted to a buzzing drone.

“No way out,” Alic told the Agent. “Let’s everybody stay calm. Deactivate your weapons. Your bodyguards can walk. You come with us.”

“Was that supposed to be an incentive?” the Agent asked. He sounded truly intrigued.

“I can cut clean through his protection,” the girl said. “It’s just a government-issue suit, after all, weak as piss.” She smiled, showing a long row of silver-white fangs.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” the Agent said.

Jim Nwan landed on the bar’s wooden floor with a loud thump. He was in full armor, carrying a plasma carbine. Its targeting laser splashed a small red dot on the Agent’s forehead. His urbane smile faded. Two more of the arrest team jumped into the bar from their holding positions out in the jungle. Their weapons were leveled at the girl.

At a table a few meters away from a trembling Beard, three men stood up, cloaked in force fields, and targeted the arrest team with their wetwired weapons. The last two members of the arrest team arrived in the bar. And one more lone drinker swiveled around on his stool to aim at the detectives, who had switched on their force fields. The rest of the bar went completely silent as it was crisscrossed with the slender ruby threads of lasers. People were hunched down in their chairs, terrified expressions on their faces; couples clung to each other.

“I believe this is what they used to call a Mexican standoff,” the Agent said. “Now why don’t we all just walk away, and contemplate what the Admiral has been saying. There are bigger issues to consider right now, are there not?”

“No,” Alic said. He couldn’t stop his muscles from tensing up—he’d never known dread like it; during combat, the terror from being shot at lasted mere seconds at most. This was stretching out and out, and he couldn’t see a way to end it cleanly. The bastard Agent just refused to see reason. All he could think about was how long it had been since he’d backed up his memories in a secure store; if everyone opened fire there was no way his memorycell would survive. Even so, backing down just wasn’t an option.

“Chief, we’ve got the firepower to back you up,” Vic said. “We can be there in a couple of minutes.”

“No. You can’t fire while we’re in Treetops, it’ll be a massacre.”

“Just let us get out to you.”

“Wait!”