Judas Unchained

“The furniture store just called. They won’t be delivering until Thursday.”

“But that’s two days. What are we supposed to do until then? We haven’t got much furniture.” He still couldn’t believe the size of the rooms; it was like a house made up from aircraft hangars. The few items they had brought with them wouldn’t fill his study, let alone the reception rooms.

“Good question. The marshaling yard at the station is just a mess, the container is there somewhere. They think.” Liz gave the hall lighting a suspicious stare. “Those aren’t the fittings I ordered.”

“Aren’t they?” Mark thought the gold and pearl fittings were quite nice.

“No. Where the hell is that development company rep? She should have been here when we arrived.”

“Yes, dear.”

“What’s that?” Liz was looking back out at the front of the house, where a MoZ Express courier van had drawn up next to the removal truck. “Never mind, I’ll find out.”

“Do you want me to help unpack some of the boxes?”

“No. You watch the show, it’s starting. The portals were all installed—at least they’d goddamn better be.”

Mark hurriedly found a big floor cushion in one of the boxes, and carried it through into the living room. He put it on top of the scuff marks. Liz would kill Barry if she saw them.

He sat down and told the house management array to access the Michelangelo show. The portal projected the image across half of the empty floor. The resolution and color definition was superb, even with the sunlight streaming in through the open veranda doors.

Michelangelo was dressed in a flowing purple silk suit, standing by himself in the middle of the studio. “Hello, one and all. This is the show we’ve been trailing for a couple of weeks now, the one where we promise to give you the real story behind the war. And believe me, I am not kidding. To prove it, we have Nigel Sheldon here in the studio.” The image focus switched to a line of chairs, Nigel sat at one end, and smiled at the studio audience as the applause started. “Ozzie, himself,” Michelangelo announced as if he couldn’t quite believe the guest list. “Retired Admiral Wilson Kime, Senator Justine Burnelli, Chief Investigator Paula Myo, and our two very special visitors, Stig McSobel, spokesman for the Guardians of Selfhood, and a MorningLightMountain motile containing the memories of Dudley Bose.” Michelangelo applauded the line-up, then smiled winningly out at the audience to show how really happy he was with the next announcement. “And although it’s technically my show, the interviewer of course simply has to be our very own Mellanie Rescorai.”

Mark chuckled as the image zoomed in on Mellanie sitting behind Michelangelo’s big desk.

“You should have gone,” Liz told him.

He looked up and grinned. “Not a chance. Remember the last time she interviewed me?”

“Yes,” Liz drawled. “Anyway, the delivery was for you.”

“Oh, what is it?”

Liz gestured at the trollybot. There were ten children’s school lunch boxes resting in its basket. “There was a note.”

Mark frowned as he opened the little envelope. “Fresh from the kindergarten,” he read. “Enjoy your new house. Ozzie.” He grinned and opened the first lunch box. “Hey, champagne!”

“Millextow crab salad,” Liz exclaimed as she opened another. “Thornton’s chocolates. Damn, we need more rich friends.”

Someone knocked on the front door. When they went into the hall they saw three people standing on the shaded porch. Mark did his best not to stare at the tallest of them, a lean man wearing a kilt and white T-shirt. Every part of his exposed skin had an OCtattoo; golden galaxies glowed on his bald head. “Hello there, I’m Lionwalker Eyre, and these are my life partners, Scott and Chi. We’re your new neighbors. Thought we should come and introduce ourselves.”

“Please, come in,” Mark said. He was now having trouble not staring at Chi, who was enchantingly beautiful. “I didn’t know we had neighbors yet.”

“Aye, well, we’ve been here a while,” Lionwalker said in a broad Scottish accent. “Normally I’d have moved planets by now. Don’t like the crowds. No offense. But there are no uncrowded planets anymore. So, best make the most of it, eh?”

“We were just about to open a bottle.”

“In the middle of the afternoon? My kind of neighbors.”

“I know you,” Chi said. “You’re the Mark Vernon.”

“Ah.” Mark casually sucked his belly back in. “Guilty, I’m afraid.”

“Actually,” Liz said, as her arm closed around Mark’s shoulder. “He’s my Mark Vernon.”

***

Bradley Johansson did the one thing he didn’t expect to do: he opened his eyes. “I’m alive,” he exclaimed. His throat had trouble forming the words, they came out very wrong. These vocal cords were evolved for more sophisticated sound, and song.

“Did you ever doubt that?” Clouddancer asked. “We named you our friend.”

“Ah,” Bradley said. He tried to get up. When he moved his arms, the wing membranes came with it, rustling heavily. He looked down in astonishment at his Silfen body. “Is this real?”