Judas Unchained

“Ah,” Nigel said. “Thank you for telling me.”

At his side, Giselle was glowering at Mark.

Mark blinked, suddenly recognizing who he was shouting at. “Oh. Right. Er, hi, sir. Giselle.”

Nigel watched the man’s face redden, but there was no apology. He rather respected that; Mark was clearly the boss in this arena. Then his e-butler flipped up Mark’s file, complete with interesting cross-reference. Goddamn! Is there anything in this universe that doesn’t connect back to Mellanie?

“Mark Vernon,” Giselle said in a half growl. “Our assembly bay chief.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mark,” Nigel said.

“Yeah,” Mark said grumpily. “You really have to be careful in here, sir. I wasn’t joking.”

“I understand. So you’re the competent man around here?”

Mark tried to shrug, forgetting he was in freefall. He tightened his grip on an alulithium strut to stop his feet from swinging around. “It’s a hell of a challenge integrating everything in the bay. I enjoy it.”

“Then I apologize, because I’m about to make your life miserable.”

“Er, how?” Mark flicked his gaze to Giselle, who was looking equally perturbed.

“I need a functional frigate in the Wessex system within the next thirty hours.”

Mark gave him a wild smile. “No way. I’m sorry. It’s just not possible.” A hand waved limply toward the exposed shape of the Charybdis. “This is the first one we’ve attempted to build, and we’re encountering a problem every ten minutes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they’re superb ships. And once me and the team finalize the assembly sequence then we can fast-track as many as you want, but we’re not there yet. Not by a long way.”

Nigel smiled back uncompromisingly. “Disconnect this assembly bay from the platform. Attach it to one of the completed lifeboat starships, and continue working on the Charybdis while you’re flown to Wessex.”

“Huh?” Even without gravity, Mark’s jaw dropped open in astonishment.

“Is there any technical reason why that cannot be done? Any at all?”

“Er, well, I hadn’t really thought about it. Suppose not. No.”

“Good. I want it attached and ready to leave in one hour. Take whoever you need with you, but get the Charybdis flight-ready.”

“You want me to go with it?”

“You’re the expert.”

“Umm. Right. Yeah. Sure. Okay. Er, can I ask why you want a frigate at Wessex?”

“Because I’m sure that star is going to be right up at the top of the Primes’ list of targets when they invade.”

“Uh huh. I see.”

“Don’t be modest, Mark; you did a terrific job helping people back in Randtown. I’m proud you’re one of my descendents. I know you won’t let us down.” Nigel signaled to Giselle and Otis, then pushed off from the manipulator track and headed back for the interlink tube. “We’ll move the weapons section onto the lifeboat as well. I’d like to meet the project scientists now. Which lifeboat will be easiest?”

“The Searcher has done two test flights already,” Otis said. “Shakedown’s almost complete. It should be the most reliable.”

“The Searcher it is, then.”

Mark clung to the slim strut as he watched Nigel Sheldon slide away down the interlink tube. Sweat was oozing out of every pore on his body and clinging to the skin to produce a horribly cold, sticky film of moisture. “Top of the invasion list,” Mark whispered forlornly. He glanced back at the incomplete frigate. “Oh, hell, not again.”

***

It was four in the morning Illuminatus time when Paula finally left for the CST station. Everyone in the Greenford Tower had been evaluated by the medical forensic team. Several criminals undergoing wetwiring had been hauled off by the local police. The city hospitals were dealing with casualties from both Greenford and Treetops. A civil engineering team was inspecting the remnants of the Saffron Clinic for structural damage. Forensics was removing all the surviving arrays ready to perform a complete data extraction.

Paula removed her armor suit in the control center, handing it over to the support team who were packing everything away. She put on a force field skeleton suit, then dressed in a long, plain gray skirt and thick white cotton crew-neck top. Her brown leather belt with its embedded silver chain looked decorative; it had even come from her own wardrobe, but Senate Security technical services had reworked it.

“You okay?” Hoshe asked.

“This didn’t quite happen how I was expecting,” she admitted. Her e-butler was running integration checks on the belt and force field skeleton. “Hopefully it’s not over yet. Are we ready for the journey back?”

“Teams are in position, equipment all set up”—he glanced down at the four black cases containing their cage equipment—“and activated.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

They went out into the subbasement garage where the holding areas had been set up. A single pen of wire mesh was left, with twenty guardbots surrounding it, weapons out of their recesses. Two local police officers stood on either side of the gate. There was only one person left inside.