Resolution (75 page)

On the waiting-room couch, Deirdre jerked awake. She felt cold. Paula’s warmth was gone.

‘It’s all right.’ A young nurse, her eyes bruised with fatigue, held out a cup of hot chocolate. ‘Drink this. Your ... friend had to attend to something.’

Too weary to protest, Deirdre accepted the chocolate.

‘Thank you.’ She sipped, and shivered as the warmth slid down inside her. It revived her, just a little. ‘Is Kian ... ?’

‘Doing well. The doctors will tell you that things could still go wrong, and it
is
still early days ...’

‘But?’

‘But some people are natural-born fighters. You get a feel for it. And Mr McNamara is one of them.’

Deirdre nodded. She understood that intuition was based on more information than rational procedures coped with. She could have modelled it mathematically. But, ‘Thank you,’ was all she said. ‘That helps a lot.’

‘Good. Perhaps you should get to bed. Get some proper rest.’

‘I’ll try.’ Deirdre’s cup was empty, and she looked around for somewhere to bin it.

‘Here, give that to me.’

‘Thanks ... Um, do you know where my friend went?’

‘I’m not sure.’ The nurse shook her head. ‘Something about checking on a prisoner?’

‘Right.’

Deirdre hugged herself and shivered.

The runway was a pale ghost in the darkness. Paula stopped for a moment to stare at the silvery shape - moonlight on polished bronze - of the mu-space ship that stood outside its hangar.

‘It could have been so different. A simple test flight.’

One of the MPs beside her put a hand on his holster: an unconscious gesture.

‘Ma’am? Is everything all right?’

‘Not really, sergeant. Come on.’

At the steel-armoured security building, Paula held out her pass, stared into the retina-scan, and submitted her infostrand for resonance-inspection. The MPs passed quickly through the gates.

‘You want to see Prisoner McNamara?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Disturbing his beauty sleep, ma’am?’

‘Maybe. Do you care?’

‘Not after what that bastard did to dozens of innocent civilians and law officers.’

‘Right.’

Triple-armoured doors slid open.

‘This way,’ said the chief escorting officer.

Five burly MPs with armoured vests and mirrorvisor helmets, lineac rifles powered up, kept pace with her along the polished titanium corridor. When they stopped outside the cell door, they took careful aim.

‘Ma’am? You can reconsider, still.’

‘I want to see him in person. My responsibility.’

‘Be careful. OK... Hit it.’

One of the MPs touched a lock-plate then quickly stepped back, positioning his weapon. Paula stared into the bright-lit cell. It was stark and bare, designed to prevent a captive from falling asleep unless the custodians wanted him to.

‘Is this the right one?’

‘What—?’

The MPs stood frozen in place, unable to comprehend the blank walls, the made-up bunk, and the lack of any sign that the cell had ever been occupied. Then the officer slapped his throat mike into life.

‘General alarm. Escaped prisoner. Sound it now.’

White fire brightened the night.

A lineac cannon banged and sent tracer fire and explosive rounds  screaming low across the runway, spattering harmlessly off a shining hull designed to withstand the worst that two universes might throw at it.

The ship turned, straightened up, pointing dead straight along the runway. Jury-rigged metal sheets already covered the trench blasted by the Zajinet ship.

‘Aim for the undercarriage,’
came the order, and the cannon lowered its barrel as soldiers ran from the buildings, took kneeling stances, and joined their rifles to the fusillade.

Nova-bright, the white flame shone.

And the ship began to move.

The cannon swung its beam low but hit the temporary metal sheeting after the ship had rolled past, and the fragments blew apart, shielding the vulnerable undercarriage just for a moment, and then it was too late. Night air wavered as the ship slammed horizontally along the runway, covered its length in seconds, and its nose tipped up into the air.

The vessel rose.

Then it was arcing fast, turning starboard and upwards, becoming a streak too rapid for even automated weapons to follow; and there was a burst of light as the air itself tore apart and a new, ephemeral aurora formed.

By the time the accompanying crack of thunder reached the ground and UNSA’s fighters were rising to launch, the ship was already gone from realspace, flying into the golden vastness of a fractal continuum where few could follow - into a place where Dirk McNamara might remain unharmed, in a universe where he could make his home.

<>

~ * ~

46

NULAPEIRON AD 3426

Sun blazed through the membrane windows, caused the blue-and-white tiles to glow with an odd sharpness as if today the world was in stronger focus. A handful of the most senior commanders sat around the polished conference table. No holos shone.

Tom’s voice was sufficient to hold them captive.

‘General Lord Ygran.’ He nodded to the general. ‘You will be in charge during my absence. In the event of my failing to return ... you will assume command.’

General Ygran ran a thumb along his white moustache. ‘I’d rather not have to do that, Warlord.’

‘In that case, I’ll try not to let it happen.’

Lieutenant Xim eh’Gelifni’s ebony face cracked in a bright smile. ‘That’s good, sir.’

There were a few light laughs around the table, then serious expressions once more.

‘You’re the historian, General. Remember the Battle of Agincourt? Sometimes the ruler has to lead a strike force into battle.’

General Ygran could probably have come up with a dozen reasons why the analogy did not apply. Instead, he silently bowed his head.

‘Ankestion?’ said Tom. ‘Did you check in with Volksurd and Kraiv?’

‘Aye, Warlord.’ Ankestion Raglok’s slitted green eyes dilated, then narrowed, and his graphite eyebrows bristled. ‘The drop-bugs are already fitted, ahead of schedule. My clone-brothers are ready to go.’

‘Excellent. Xim? Did you complete your inspection of spheres ten through fifty?’

They had tried using separate names for the other terraformers, but there were too many. Instead, the planning staff resorted to simple numbering: chronological sequence as freedom fighters took possession.

‘Yes, Warlord. Shakedown flights of the shuttle squadrons went well.’

‘Then, with General Ygran’s approval, I’d like you to coordinate the squadrons. Assume command straight away.’

General Ygran nodded, and Lieutenant eh’Gelifni sat up straighter.

‘Aye,
Warlord. My thanks.’

‘Good.’

Tom looked around the table.

‘That’s all. Thank you.’