The image blurred, and zoomed in on a pickup truck. Several dark shapes were wedged in the back. At first Bradley couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing; his mind simply rejected the profile. They can’t be here. But of course, Dudley Bose had discovered the Starflyer’s true origin. “Dreaming heavens,” he said fearfully.
“Motiles,” the Cat crooned joyously.
“There must be hundreds of them,” Morton said.
“Soldier motiles,” Rob said. “I think. They look different to the ones on Elan.”
“They’ll be the improved version,” Bradley told him flatly.
***
There had been some uncomfortable moments during the flight. Several of the Scylla’s hyperdrive systems threw up glitches that had to be dealt with immediately. Ancillary support equipment failed with dismaying regularity. Nigel had spent most of his waking hours troubleshooting, holding things together with patched programs and backup components. Otis and Thame had improvised a lot of procedures; flight experience and hugely detailed knowledge of the frigate allowing them to take near-intuitive shortcuts.
The reluctant ship had slowly been coaxed into producing a performance that matched the specifications its designers had originally promised. Nigel had gathered a great deal of satisfaction from wrestling the technology into shape. Hands on was the only management style that worked one hundred percent. Knowing that a single mistake would leave them as a smear of outre radiation across the cosmos also helped to focus the mind to an astonishing degree.
Now they were closing on Dyson Alpha, he pulled the sensor display out of his virtual vision grid and studied it. It surrounded him with a speckled gray cube, illustrating the star as a small kink in the fabric dead ahead. Dyson Beta was off to one side, showing a larger twist as the transdimensional resonance skittered off the barrier’s surface. There was also a slim conical wake approaching Dyson Alpha. Tracking the Charybdis wasn’t easy; the detector mechanism had proved one of the least reliable systems on board. There had been a whole twenty-eight-hour period when they had lost the Charybdis entirely. Nigel had worked hard at adapting the unit’s software until the detector functioned near flawlessly. Certainly the last few hours hadn’t seen a single hiccup. He suspected the way they were slowly overhauling the Charybdis played a big part in that. There was now less than fifteen light-years between them.
“Have you decided what to do when we get there?” Otis asked.
Nigel’s virtual hand pushed the tracking display aside, compressing it back into his grid. “Not yet.” There was a rattled edge in his voice. Damnit, this was Ozzie!
“Ninety minutes until we get there.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“We should have enough resolution to see if he heads for the homeworld or the Dark Fortress.”
Nigel shifted around on the couch’s padding. The voyage had been pretty miserable from a physical point of view: paste food, bloated sinuses, nauseous stomach, and teetering on the verge of claustrophobia the whole time. “You think it will track anything once they drop out of hyperspace?”
Otis gave a lame grin. “In theory.”
“This ship isn’t too hot on theory.”
“If he goes for the Dark Fortress he really will be trying to restart the barrier.”
“Possibly.”
“It means he isn’t a Starflyer agent.”
Nigel glared at his son. “I know that! That’s why I’ve come with you.”
“Sorry, Dad. It’s just…it’s Ozzie, you know.”
Nigel felt more than a little pique at the reverence in Otis’s voice. “Have you ever actually met him?”
“No. But you used to tell us about him all the time when we were young.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why it will be my hand on the trigger if it’s to be done.” He couldn’t help yawning, not that he slept well in freefall. “Let’s get ready. I don’t want to be distracted on our approach. Thame, load the nova bomb into the launch tube, I’ll authorize its activation.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nigel followed the procedure through the ship’s schematics. There was a problem getting the missile out of the magazine, but Otis did something to the handling mechanism to correct the flaw. Green symbols appeared when it was loaded and primed.
“Mark taught me that trick,” Otis said. “It’s to do with balancing the electromuscle.”
Nigel ignored the reproachful tone. There was something innately appealing about Mark, a human lost puppy. “Initiate the neutron lasers,” Nigel said. “Thame, you’re handling short-range defenses.” When he checked the timer, Dyson Alpha was seventy minutes away.
***
The jeeps had cleared Stakeout Canyon when they began to pick up the scattered fragments of Johansson’s reply. Paula programmed her array to piece together the vocal snippets as they repeated again and again. Static crashed out of the speakers as she played the message. It was a little bit longer and cleaner each time. By the fifth time there was no mistake.
“Is it him?” Rosamund asked. “Did you tell Renne that?”
“Yes.” Paula stared through the jeep’s curving windshield. The headlight beams were flowing over the blank, shiny surface of sand and shale as the sleek vehicle raced for cover. She thought the eastern horizon might be slightly lighter. The ache had almost gone from her limbs now, but she felt desperately tired, as if she hadn’t slept for months.
“So Adam contacted Oscar,” Rosamund said. “Does that help?”
“It makes a lot of sense, especially the why of it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Adam knew Oscar wasn’t the Starflyer agent. If Oscar had been, then he would have captured Adam and taken him for interrogation as soon as Adam made contact; Adam would have been totally unprepared.”
“Then why didn’t he just tell us?”
“He was protecting Oscar.”
“From whom?”
“Me. Turn around.”
Rosamund shot her a startled look. “Do what?”
“Turn around.” Her virtual hands fluttered over icons, trying to contact Oscar. The handheld array didn’t have the range, not with the canyon wall blocking them. “I have to get back there.”
“We haven’t got time!”
“Stop the jeep. You can get in with Jamas or Kieran. I’ll drive back myself.”
“Oh, dreaming heavens!” Rosamund wrenched at the wheel, sending the jeep into a skid-curve. It shook wildly as it chased the turn.
Paula gripped the seat, thinking they were going to flip over.
“What’s happening?” Kieran demanded.
“Oscar’s in the clear,” Rosamund said. “We’re going back.”
“What for? The storm’s going to be here in twenty minutes.”
The jeep had now completed its turn, nose pointing back toward Stakeout Canyon. Rosamund floored the accelerator. “I don’t know.”
“What?” he asked incredulously.
“I have to ask Oscar some questions,” Paula said. “I should be able to find out which of the other two it is.”
“Then what?”
“We might be able to reach the Starflyer agent in time to prevent them from flying. It won’t take much. Your ion carbines can easily disable a hyperglider.”
“But we wouldn’t get clear,” Rosamund growled. “The storm is at its worst in Stakeout Canyon. These jeeps couldn’t take the beating it’d give us in there.”
“I said I’ll drive myself.”
“No you don’t. You can barely stay conscious.”
“Thank you,” Paula said. She flopped back into the seat, and began thinking of the questions she needed to ask.
“Even if we don’t reach the traitor’s hyperglider, the other two will be warned,” Rosamund said. “We have to give them that.”
“It might be enough,” Paula agreed; she could sense the woman’s need to justify what they were doing, the courage she gained from the cause. “I don’t know what the agent is planning on doing. A kamikaze in the glider, possibly, or pushing the others off Aphrodite’s Seat.”
“It’s Adam, you know, he’s helping us.”
“How?”
“He’s looking down from the dreaming heavens, spurring us on.”
Paula didn’t reply. The idea was mildly discomfiting. She based her universe on solid facts. It was easier.
“Aren’t you religious, Investigator?”
“I don’t think I was designed to be, no. You obviously are.”
“I don’t believe in the old religions; but Bradley Johansson actually visited the dreaming heavens. He told the clans what they’re like, what we can look forward to.”
“I see.”
“Don’t believe me,” Rosamund said, laughing. “Ask him yourself afterward.”
“I might just do that.”
They drove on in silence. After a while, Rosamund began to shift the wheel slightly. The ground didn’t seem to be uneven. It hadn’t changed for a long time.
“Wind starting to pick up,” Rosamund said as she caught Paula searching the dusky landscape outside.
“Right.” Paula ordered the jeep’s transmitter to signal again. They should be in range by now. According to the inertial navigation they were level with the
