Judas Unchained

“Thanks a whole bunch. But my crime was in the past. The Starflyer agent is active now.”

“All right. Is their any indication, anything that might tell you one of them might not be genuine?”

“I don’t know.” Oscar picked up a tube of dental biogenic cream intended to treat abscesses, not looking at it.

“What?” Adam persisted. “Come on. We’re still fighting to stop this war, and more, stop it from happening again.”

“Someone tampered with the official logs stored in Pentagon II after I found the evidence that the Starflyer agent was on board the Second Chance. That little cover-up blocked us from using it to expose the Starflyer. Only Wilson and I knew about it.”

“Are you sure?”

Oscar closed his eyes. “No,” he said in a pained sigh. “A lot of people knew we had a private meeting, which is very unusual, especially as there was no official record of the topic. And then we invited Myo for an equally secret conference. But I swear that office is sealed up tighter than Sheldon’s harem.”

“You’re looking for a get-out clause. It sounds like a locked room to me.”

“It can’t be Wilson.” Oscar sounded deeply troubled.

“What about his wife?”

“Anna? No way. Nobody’s worked harder to defeat both the Prime invasions. She was the liaison between the tactical staff and Fleet Command; if she was the agent that would be the moment to ensure we were totally screwed.”

“Except the Starflyer wanted the Commonwealth intact to strike back at MorningLightMountain. According to Bradley it sees us as a couple of old prizefighters battering the crap out of each other until we’re both dead.”

“Christ Almighty. I don’t know.”

“Then give me your take on Myo.”

“Definite candidate.” For once Oscar sounded confident. “And what is up with her anyway? How sick is she?”

“She claims her body is reacting to her decision to let me go free. Think of it as neurotoxic shock, and you won’t be far wrong.”

“Jesus. She is one weird woman. That damn Hive!”

“It’s an illness which mitigates in her favor. If she’s having that reaction, then her genuine personality is intact.”

Oscar dropped the tube back on the rack. “Come on. Like she couldn’t fake the shakes.”

“The diagnostic array confirms it. She’s seriously ill, Oscar. I’m not quite sure…” He looked at the meager display of medicines, and shook his head sadly.

“Or she’s taken a compound to produce that effect.”

“I believe you mentioned paranoia?”

“Face it,” Oscar said, “you haven’t got a clue which one of them it could be.”

“Not yet. I fear I must rouse Paula to work this out for me. This is her field of excellence. Her only field, come to that. We need her…if it isn’t her.” He quickly picked a few packets off the shelf, mild sedatives and some biogenics designed to counter viral infections. They might help. Probably not.

“In the state she’s in?” Oscar said as they walked over to the shopkeeper. “Not a chance. She’s barely rational.”

“I’m aware of that. If it’s genuine.”

“What are you going to do?” Oscar asked with brittle humor. “Fall on your sword? If it is a genuine illness, it’s the only way to cure her.”

“Would that be so dishonorable?”

“Hey, come on, don’t joke about this.”

“After the Guardians win, where will I go? What will I do? There’s no one left to shelter me. No one that I’d accept help from, anyway.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I’m not.” But he didn’t like the fact that he’d actually thought of it. True desperation.

“Good! We’ll work it out; you and me, the old team. Damnit, there’s only three possibles. How difficult can it be?”

Adam gave that a lot of thought as the interminable afternoon rolled ever onward. They’d left the sparse road behind at Wolfstail, heading directly south from the town’s T-junction along a stony farm track that vanished a couple of kilometers later beneath the advancing Anguilla grass. Once they reached its outlying fringes, it quickly grew taller and thicker, reinforcing Adam’s earlier comparison to a sea. A heavily modified variety of terrestrial Bermuda grass, the Anguilla’s individual stalks were as thick as wheat; they clustered so densely the entire mass supported itself, swaying in giant slow waves as the winds gusted over the surface. No other plant could gain any kind of niche amid its indomitable all-pervasive root mat. It had been tailored by the revitalization project office to thrive on the area’s prevalent heat and moisture, and succeeded to a degree its creators never expected.