Judas Unchained

Bring the joystick back carefully, allow the wings time to respond as you plummet down helplessly in a microburst. Airflow around the fuselage changes as the plyplastic adjusts in long twists. “Where is he?” Oscar demanded hoarsely.

Jamas jerked his head toward the door into the hangar office. “You saying you didn’t hear it?”

“It was a knife,” Wilson said in undisguised contempt. “There was nothing to hear.”

“I couldn’t hear a thing,” Oscar said. “I was having the memory implant.”

“Yeah, right,” Kieran sneered.

Oscar ignored him and swung his legs around off the couch. He was unsteady on his feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jamas asked.

“To see him.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Oscar straightened, one hand holding the side of the couch. Lights throbbed in time with his headache.

“Careful,” Anna said. “Memory implants affect neuron function for several minutes afterward.”

“I have to see him.” Because I don’t believe you. Not Adam. It can’t be.

Jamas and Kieran exchanged a glance, then Kieran nodded. “Okay, Rosamund will be here in a minute.”

With the others following, Oscar walked through into the office, then out into the hangar. It wasn’t just the effects of the implant that made his movements unsteady. He could see a pair of legs sticking out from behind one of the gliders, and slowed, not wanting to see.

Adam lay on the dark composite floor, legs and arms akimbo, the handle of a harmonic blade sticking out from the nape of his neck. A small puddle of blood had pooled around his head.

Oscar’s legs very nearly gave way. He clung to the fuselage to support himself. All he could think of was the look on Adam’s face when they saw the Abadan crash. The ghosts will be happy tonight.

“You okay?” Anna asked. She’d come up beside him.

“This can’t be right,” he said in a hushed croak. “Not here. Not like that. It’s not right. It can’t happen like this.”

“Well, it did fucking happen,” Jamas spat. “And one of you traitors did it.”

“Just kill them all,” Kieran said. He moved back from Anna to stand beside Jamas, his carbine covering Oscar and Anna. “That way we’ll be sure we got the bastard.”

“Where were you when it happened?” Anna asked.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

“I mean it,” she said, her eyes alight with cold wrath. Her gaze flicked over to Jamas. “Was he with you?”

Jamas shifted uncomfortably. “No.”

“Jamas!” Kieran protested.

“That means neither of you can vouch for the other,” Wilson said. He walked over to stand with Anna and Oscar.

“We were only apart for a couple of minutes, that’s all,” Jamas said.

Wilson gazed down at Adam’s corpse. “And how long did that take?”

“Are you saying we did it?” Kieran asked.

“Can you prove you didn’t?”

Kieran snarled at him, shifting the muzzle of his ion carbine around. Jamas’s hand slowly pushed the weapon down. “He’s right.”

“What? You can’t be serious!”

Jamas looked even more unhappy.

Rosamund barged in through the hangar door, dragging Paula Myo along. The Investigator was still wearing Adam’s cherry-red woolen sweater, her face was beaded with perspiration, while her lips had turned almost black. Oscar and Wilson automatically went to help carry her. Paula groaned as they took her weight; she was barely conscious. They lowered her to the floor with her back resting against the hyperglider’s cradle. She shuddered violently, her head lolling about. Then she saw Adam’s body and gasped. Her hands came up to rub at her eyes; she was blinking almost continuously. “Is he dead?” she asked.

“It pretty much fucking looks like it to me,” Kieran shouted.

“Shut up,” Wilson snapped. He was kneeling beside Paula, hand feeling her forehead. “Paula, can you understand me? Do you know where we are?”

Her eyes closed for a long blink as she switched her attention from Adam to Wilson. “Far Away, we’re on Far Away.”

“Do you remember the sabotaged crates?”

“Yes.”

“We need your help. Whoever did that has now killed Adam.”

“What if it’s her?” Kieran asked.

“Well?” Wilson asked Rosamund, who was staring down at Adam’s corpse.

The Guardian woman stirred herself. “We were in the Volvo the whole time.”

“So you say,” Oscar barked. He knew he shouldn’t have said it, they were already drowning in hostility, but he still couldn’t believe it was either Wilson or Anna, and that sounded way too much like a convenient alibi for comfort.

Rosamund’s hand went straight to her holster. She was glaring at Oscar.

Paula coughed feebly, and brought her hand up to her throat. “I can’t confirm Rosamund was there with me.”

“You bitch.”

Paula waved her silent. “But she can for me.”

Rosamund gave the Investigator a suspicious glare. “What do you mean?”

“There is only one door to the Volvo rest cabin. If I was the Starflyer agent, I couldn’t have got out to do this without Rosamund knowing. She says I didn’t. It wasn’t me. It also makes it unlikely that it was her, but not impossible.”

“Okay,” Jamas said. “So who did murder him?”

“I don’t know. Yet.” Paula tipped her head back. “Wilson, where were you?”