star’s corona; they also recorded the sudden and deadly rise in solar radiation playing over the planet.
Without warning or explanation, every Prime wormhole into the Commonwealth shut down. Humans had won—if you discounted the thousands of warships gathering like stormcrows around forty-eight Commonwealth worlds.
It was the weather that probably saved Edmund. He’d spent a couple of hours sitting at his desk accessing reports and firsthand accounts of the invasion, with the occasional foray over to the vending machine for cups of tea. After the wormholes vanished, he started tracking Boongate’s satellite sensor data, seeing the direct impact the radiation gale was having on the planet. Electromagnetic energy was absorbed and weakened to some extent by the atmosphere before it reached the ground. Even so, the dosage was far greater than most animals and plants could comfortably withstand. The first wave of particle radiation arrived not much later, virtually wiping out the ionosphere in the first few minutes. It was much worse than the news studio experts predicted. Power supplies outside the cities and towns protected by force fields became erratic or failed altogether under the surges. All the civil satellites dropped out as they were exposed, leaving sensors on the planetary defense platforms as the only source of information. Borealis storms swept down from the poles, their pale dancing colors bringing a weird beauty to the destruction falling silently across the world.
Edmund went outside to watch the first of the aural lightshows swirl around the city’s force field. The parking lot still had puddles left over from the night’s rainfall before the station and city force fields deflected the clouds. There was only one car standing on the concrete, his own, a fifteen-year-old Honda Trisma. He stood beside it as the mauve and apricot phosphorescence came rippling out of the horizon at supersonic speed. Even the winter clouds had retreated before the elementary tide, producing a clear winter sky. When he squinted up at the sun, he convinced himself he could see small bright spots on the glaring disk.
Sheet lightning flickered over the city. For a moment it outshone both the sun and the borealis lights. Small rivulets of purple ions skated down the curvature of the force field dome. Then the aurora was back in full, reflecting its hot luminescence across the wet concrete.
The unisphere was telling everyone still outside a force field to seek shelter immediately. Lightning flashed again, a longer burst this time. Edmund started counting for the thunder, until he realized how useless that was. There were long sparkles mingling with the borealis streamers now, adding to their intensity, helping to drown out the ordinary sky. Lightning snapped between the varied undulating color bands. It was a strangely beautiful death cloak for a planet to throw around itself, he thought.
His e-butler told him there was an emergency address to the Commonwealth by the War Cabinet. The planet’s cybersphere would carry nothing else. He didn’t even know the managing RI could do that. About time, he thought, we could do with knowing what’s going on, and what happened in the battle. CST still hadn’t reopened the wormhole to Wessex, though the parallel zero-width wormhole was obviously keeping Boongate connected to the unisphere.
The image that rose up into his virtual vision showed him President Doi sitting at the head of an imposing table, flanked by Nigel Sheldon and Heather Halgarth. Edmund pursed his lips: Impressive indeed. Captions labeled the other cabinet members for him; the amount of political power gathered together was an indication that whatever had been decided was definite. He leaned back against his Honda to listen to his fate.
“My fellow citizens,” Doi said, “I will start by telling you that the Prime incursions into Commonwealth space have now ended, at least for the immediate future. A frigate managed to get through to Hell’s Gateway and destroy the wormhole generators there. I cannot give you details about the ship or the weapon used for obvious security reasons, but suffice it to say we now have at our disposal a weapon of truly formidable power. Sadly, as I’m sure you are all aware, this does not eliminate the Prime threat entirely. There are many thousands of Prime warships already in Commonwealth space which will have to be dealt with. In addition, the Primes deployed flare bombs whose effects are still being felt on the Second48 worlds. There is nothing we can do to deflect the radiation saturating those planets. In short, their biospheres will in all probability be rendered uninhabitable. Even if a regeneration program were possible, as it may be on Wessex, all these worlds will see battle again as the navy combats the remaining Prime ships over the coming weeks. It is therefore with huge regret that I have informed the planetary leaders we have no choice but to evacuate their worlds.”
“Shit,” Edmund muttered. He’d known in his heart that the address was going to say something like that, but even so the enormity of what the President was saying was only just registering. But where are we all going to go?
“As accommodating an estimated thirty billion dispossessed people is a practical impossibility even for our society,” Doi said, “we will have to adopt a rather novel solution.”
Edmund didn’t like the sound of that at all. Then his e-butler told him a vehicle had just passed through the level two security cordon around the Far Away gateway section. He frowned. Who the hell was visiting this part of the station, especially now?
Nigel Sheldon leaned forward, taking over from the President, his expression earnest and supremely confident. “When we were building our first wormhole, Ozzie came up with some math for manipulating the internal temporal flow dynamic of exotic matter. We ran a small test a couple of centuries ago using one of CST’s exploratory division wormholes, and the concept worked. It hasn’t been used since, because we haven’t had a practical or commercial application for it. Until today. What we will do is modify the wormholes leading to the planets whose biospheres are dying. Within a week, they will be opened to the entire population in an exodus that will be organized by your national government. You will not be using trains to travel through; instead you will be asked to walk or drive, or take buses—you can even cycle if you like. The other end will emerge on a fresh H-congruous planet in phase three space; however, it will not emerge for another ten or fifteen years, or even longer if necessary. For you, only a few seconds will have gone past, but outside, the rest of the Commonwealth will have had enough time to build new basic cities and towns with a functioning infrastructure to accommodate you. I know this will seem shocking, but the worlds you are on now are dying, and we have to move quickly to insure against further loss of life.”
The car was a Mercedes registered to Grand Triad Adventures. Edmund stood up, staring out across the vast station yard to the road leading away to the terminal. He could actually see the car, a sleek burgundy-red limousine speeding along. It was under manual control, and it drove straight past the junction where it should have turned toward the single passenger platform. Not that anyone was using the Half Way wormhole anyway. Instead it was heading for the office block and the parking lot where Edmund was standing. Something was very wrong about that. He retained enough of his policeman’s instinct to check the small ion pistol he carried, then hurried toward the far end of the building.
“All of us pledge ourselves to seeing this rescue operation through to a successful conclusion,” President Doi said. “Senators, planetary leaders, the Dynasties: we are united in our determination. No matter what the cost or the effort, we will not fail you.” She sighed in compassion. “Godspeed, all of you.”
The Merc turned into the parking lot just as Edmund cleared the end of the building. He peered around the corner to see the big limousine pull up next to his Honda. A door swung open and a tall blond man stepped out. Edmund gasped as soon as he saw the face, recognizing him instantly. Tarlo. The Commonwealth-wide police alert had come through twenty-four hours ago. At first Edmund had thought it was some kind of mistake, or joke, but when he checked the warrant’s certificate it was genuine enough.
Tarlo stared at the Honda for a moment, then he turned his head slowly, scanning the deserted parking lot. Edmund ducked back around the corner. The warrant had said Tarlo was heavily wetwired, and extremely dangerous. He counted to five, then risked another look. Tarlo was walking into the office block. The door to the Merc was still open. Edmund used his retinal inserts to zoom in. A body was lying on the limousine’s carpeted floor, a young man whose neck had been snapped. His dead eyes stared up at the magnificent moire scintillations that now veiled Boongate’s sky.
***
The Five Stop Cafe was at one end of the Rocher strip mall, squeezed between a Bab’s Kebabs franchise and Mother Blossom, a budget maternity clothes shop. Highway B77 ran past outside, leading directly to Narrabri’s planetary station four kilometers west. Even now, with the borealis storm seething through the sky outside the megacity’s force field, thousands of alien ships loose in the system, and half of the station’s gateways still closed, the traffic was as thick as always.
Bradley Johansson and Adam Elvin paid little attention to the racing vehicles. The portal over the serving counter had just started to repeat the War Cabinet’s announcement.
“Dreaming heavens,” Bradley muttered. “I never expected that. What an ingenious solution. No wonder Sheldon looks so pleased with himself.”
Adam gave the portal a skeptical glance. “I think smug is more like it.”
“Now, now, Adam, you should learn to be more charitable, especially in times of crisis. Besides, building the infrastructure for forty-seven worlds is a massive centralist state project. Exactly the kind of thing you approve of.”
“Don’t stereotype me. I’m not a fan of centralist government; the tendency there is toward corruption and remoteness. An inclusive society should see a devolution of power down to local committee level.”
“Humm, remind me: How many angels have we counted on that pinhead now?”
“You started this. And it’s forty-eight worlds. Damn, how the hell are they going to transport all these factories to a new planet?” He stared out of the window. Beyond the highway, the megacity rolled away into the smoggy horizon, vast housing estates alternating with industrial precincts, stitched together by the curving lines of the railway tracks and highways. Every few kilometers, the really big structures of refineries or smelter plants rose up out of the low-level sprawl, like the cathedrals and castles of a medieval landscape. Dusk was creeping over the protective force field dome, giving an extra potency to the iridescence that besieged the sky outside.
“Forty-seven,” Bradley said firmly. “Hutchinson won’t move this; he’s already terraformed this world once. Even if the flare kills off every living thing outside the city, the tractorbots will just replant it all for him. In any case, the whole time travel enterprise will have to employ the wormhole generators at Narrabri’s planetary station. No, this world will remain no matter how much damage it suffers. Thirty-two billion people depend on it.”
“Yeah. Those bombs we have…I knew the navy must be developing stronger weapons than the Douvoir missiles, but hell, something that can damage a star? Do you think the Starflyer expected that?”
“No, I don’t.” Bradley smiled into his plastic cup of coffee. “Once again, it has underestimated us. This war was intended to wreck both species; now a decisive victory is within our grasp. Doi and Sheldon will use these weapons, whatever they are, against Dyson Alpha.”
“It wasn’t so clever on Illuminatus, either. Jenny reported that Bernadette was finally cornered by Paula Myo.”
“Really?” Bradley’s eyebrows rose. “How fascinating. Myo must be convinced that the Starflyer is a genuine threat by now. And the failed assassination attempt against Senator Burnelli will also add weight to our story. I wonder if we should attempt one last shotgun message to the Commonwealth.”
“Nobody will listen, not today, not for a long time.” Adam indicated the portal, which was now showing Michelangelo back in his studio. Even his composure had been shaken by the War Cabinet; the commentators he’d got with him seemed almost lost for words. “I’m more concerned that Starflyer agents captured the Agent’s head. Once his memorycell is analyzed, we’ll be looking at a major security breach.”
“I agree it’s upsetting, Adam, but I feel our time frame is measured in days if not hours. Even if the Starflyer worked out where we are and what we’re doing, it would take time to launch an offensive against us. If it was smart, it would have left the Agent to the charms of the navy. They’ll come in guns blazing at the slightest opportunity.”
