Judas Unchained

Wilson just had time for one final review of the stormrider before the wormhole closed. Like Icarus, its fate was now sealed; the thick current of plasma had pushed it a long way past the Lagrange point, its depleted thrusters no longer had the delta-V reserve to fly it back around. All that remained was the long, leisurely fall to oblivion in the neutron star’s awesome gravity.

The wormhole shrank away to nothing, its final closure sheering off the fiber-optic bundle, which fell back to the ground like a mortally wounded snake. The act of severance reinforced Wilson’s feeling of remoteness; they were truly on their own now. Judging by the silence he wasn’t alone with that thought.

“I don’t have much to say to you,” Bradley announced. “Which is just as well, for we are desperately short of time now. But I’d like to thank our non-Guardian friends for coming with us, and believing in us at the end. For those of you whose ancestors have been with me since the beginning, I would express my gratitude to them for their terrible and frequent sacrifices; it is their blood which has delivered us to this place at this time. As a consequence, the Guardians of Selfhood will be thanked by the rest of humanity for all we have endured so that our species can be free at last.”

Wilson glanced around, seeing all the Guardians who had come with them lowering their heads in respect. He joined in, more troubled than he liked to acknowledge by Bradley’s words. History would show the Guardians in a very different light from now on.

“As this is our time, let’s not waste any more of it,” Bradley said. “Ayub, would you try and contact the clans, please, quick as you can.”

“Stig!” Keely yelled. “Stig, I’m picking up something on the short wave! It’s our frequency.”

Stig leaned forward, frowning. It was dark in the back of the Mazda Volta four-by-four, a refuge where he could brood unseen. The little convoy of Guardian vehicles, five cars and seven of the lightly armored Voltas, had taken almost an hour to drive through the damaged city. All the while he’d been picking up reports from the Guardians covering the Starflyer’s exit route. Their various attempts to strike the big MANN truck had come to nothing. The Starflyer’s vehicles had good armor, and even better force fields. They also responded to any attack with extreme force. Over a dozen buildings harboring Guardian snipers had been reduced to smoldering rubble.

It had taken the Starflyer’s convoy less than thirty minutes to travel from 3F Plaza to the start of Highway One. Over two dozen additional Range Rover Cruisers had joined it, speeding out of side streets to join the convoy. With that much firepower available to the Starflyer, Stig had no choice but to order the rest of the snipers to stand down. They would have been slaughtered if they’d tried anything.

Stig’s own pursuit had been frustratingly slow, as they waited for other Guardian teams to join with them, on a route parallel to the Starflyer’s. Of course, the civic emergency services were starting to respond to the disaster as best they could by then, which pushed more people and vehicles out onto the roads Stig wanted to use. They’d eventually reached Highway One an hour later only to find the Starflyer convoy had scattered sophisticated mines behind them. The first one had taken out a Ford Shanghi, killing the five Guardians inside. After that, Stig had to order them to drive along the side of the road, avoiding the broad strip of enzyme-bonded concrete, which cut their speed still further.

“Who’s calling us?” Stig asked. He couldn’t think of any other Guardian groups operating around Armstrong City.

Keely’s smile was incredulous. “Bradley Johansson.”

“Not possible,” Stig said curtly, even as his virtual hands snatched the signal out of Keely’s specialist radio array.

“…rendezvous point four,” Bradley’s familiar voice was saying. “We should be there in twenty minutes.”

“Who is this?” Stig demanded.

“Ah, that sounds like you, Stig.”

“Sir?”

“Hey, Stig,” Adam said. “Good to hear from you, lad.”

“Dreaming heavens, you can’t be here.”

“I understand. After you were blown at LA Galactic, you finished up at our Venice safe house. Kazimir was assigned to bring you in.”

“Adam?”

“In the flesh, thankfully. We had a little trouble getting here, I don’t mind saying.”

“How? How can you be here?”

“This isn’t a secure call, Stig, I’ll tell you in a little while at rendezvous point four. Bradley tells me you ought to know where that is.”

“Yes, of course.”

“So if we’re the real deal, we’ll see you there.”

Rendezvous point four was a drainage pumping station a kilometer off the side of Highway One, sixty kilometers outside Armstrong City. There was a service track leading to it, which was unsigned. The station itself was around the back of a small hill, completely out of sight from Highway One.