The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle (222 page)

“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 moiré scintillations that now veiled Boongate’s sky.

The Five Stop Café 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.”

“Maybe, but we have to watch for the possibility. And with Kime removed, we’ve lost a major potential asset. Oscar won’t have anything like the same influence with Columbia.”

“Has he uncovered anything in the
Second Chance
logs yet?”

“I don’t know. He’s spent so much time on board his ship, I haven’t been able to contact him.” Adam’s e-butler told him Marisa McFoster was calling. “Yes?” he said.

“We’re on Boongate,” she told him. “Victor Halgarth has gone into a station warehouse belonging to the Sunforge company. Sir, there’s a lot of police-type observers following Victor as well as us.”

“I’m not surprised. The authorities were watching Bernadette on Illuminatus. You’ll find some of them are from Halgarth Security. Can you fit yourselves into a secure location?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a real mess here. The station is nearly in anarchy. After Doi’s announcement, everyone left on the planet is heading right for the terminal building; but the rest of the station is deserted. We’re not going to be able to do much without being seen.”

“I understand. We’ve got several teams on Boongate. I’ll authorize them to contact you and provide as much backup as they can afford. In the meantime keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Victor Halgarth on Boongate, and the whole planet about to be evacuated,” Bradley mused. “This is a remarkable opportunity for us, Adam. We might be able to intercept the Starflyer here in the Commonwealth. It hasn’t returned home yet, and it has only the shortest of times to get back to Boongate. CST won’t risk opening the wormhole for ordinary transport again for fear that there’ll be a stampede through.”

“Mellanie left Illuminatus with Paula Myo,” Adam said. “Shall I try calling her again, and see if she can convince the Investigator?”

“No, we’ll use Senator Burnelli; she’s better placed than Myo, and she has the necessary political strength to place a complete block on the Boongate wormhole.”

“How long do you think it will take CST to modify the wormhole generator to do this time travel trick?”

“Sheldon spoke of a week. I suspect it’s a question of programming rather than any physical modification—everything important is a software problem these days.”

“Okay, while you do that, I’ll prepare our train. We might need it yet.”

“Of course.” Bradley stirred the dregs of his coffee. “You know, it’s highly probable that the Starflyer is also in the Narrabri station, preparing to crash through the Boongate wormhole, just as we are. How ironic is that? I wonder if it has rented the warehouse next to ours?”

“It hasn’t.”

“If you say so, Adam. But we must reorganize our teams to watch the Boongate gateway ourselves.”

“I’ll put some people on it.”

“Have we got any? I understood we’re short, post-Illuminatus.”

“I can spare enough for a simple operation like this. We’re only going to notice the lack of muscle if we do have to crash through.”

“Well, as of now, you have one more piece of ‘muscle.’ I shall be joining your team permanently now. There is little else I can do in the Commonwealth anymore. And it is time I went home to face our nemesis.”

“That’s good; having you on board will be a big morale booster for the Guardians. They need a pick-me-up now we’ve lost contact with Far Away.”

CST’s Newark station had wormholes connecting it to over twenty planets in phase one space, including three wormholes to Augusta. Its terminals and marshaling yard squatted on the site of the old airport, sending out an arterial maze of road and rail connections into the surrounding sprawl of urbanization. Nigel gazed out of the manager’s office on the top floor of the station’s administration skyscraper, seeing the New Jersey Turnpike curving around the station’s perimeter. The ancient route still carried huge amounts of freight and passengers in and out of the station, though it was now being supplanted by the new tunnels that CST had drilled to carry trains directly to Manhattan and along the East Coast. Beyond the road the cold gray waters of Newark Bay surged against the shore of Staten Island. Today, the shimmering dome of the force field arched above the island’s buildings and parks, giving the air a filmy hue, as if a faint sea fog had settled over the land.