Rosamund’s hand went straight to her holster. She was glaring at Oscar.
Paula coughed feebly, and brought her hand up to her throat. “I can’t confirm Rosamund was there with me.”
“You bitch.”
Paula waved her silent. “But she can for me.”
Rosamund gave the Investigator a suspicious glare. “What do you mean?”
“There is only one door to the Volvo rest cabin. If I was the Starflyer agent, I couldn’t have got out to do this without Rosamund knowing. She says I didn’t. It wasn’t me. It also makes it unlikely that it was her, but not impossible.”
“Okay,” Jamas said. “So who did murder him?”
“I don’t know. Yet.” Paula tipped her head back. “Wilson, where were you?”
“I went over to the generator building. I managed to start it up, as you can see. The town has power, the hypergliders are charging up.”
“It is not far to any building. Is the generator difficult to start?”
“No, it isn’t. It was primed ready. I had to physically press three buttons. It started straightaway.”
“Did anyone go with you?”
“No.”
“We left the hangar together,” Anna said. “I went to find the tether cables for the hypergliders.”
“Did you find them?”
“Yes. There’s a stores building at the end of the hangars. They’re kept in there.”
“Oscar?”
“Memory implant. The induction systems are at the back of this hangar. I didn’t know anything going on outside. In fact, the killer could have been in there with me, I wouldn’t have known.” The thought made him clammy with nerves.
“I see. Jamas?”
“Kieran and I went to find the jeeps to tow the hypergliders.”
“I called Adam and told him we found them,” Kieran said. “Their tanks were just about empty, so Jamas went and found the main tank. I stayed with the jeeps to take a look at their radio modules. We need them for the observation. I was going to look for the tether anchor drill, but I hadn’t heard from Adam for a while. Jamas came back, we headed right over here and found him.”
“And then the others arrived,” Paula said.
“Yeah, these two came in together.” His carbine pointed out Wilson and Anna.
“Is there any sign of anyone else here?” Paula asked.
“No,” Kieran said. “I’ve not seen anyone.”
“Me neither,” Wilson said.
“You and Adam were talking together in the Volvo after we found the sabotage,” Rosamund said to Paula. “Did you have any idea who the traitor was?”
“No.” The Investigator seemed to be losing interest.
“Adam was only going to take two gliders,” Kieran said; he gave Oscar a strange look. “That’s what he told me.”
“When?” Paula asked.
“It was just about the last thing he said. I’d told him we’d found the jeeps, and he said we only needed two.”
Jamas smiled brutally. “He knew it was one of you.”
Oscar held back from saying anything. The Guardian trio were so hyped up and trigger-happy they probably would shoot someone if they had half an excuse.
“He didn’t say that to me,” Paula said. “We were still trying to work it out.”
“Then there’s nothing else we can do right now,” Wilson said. “We need to get the hypergliders over to Stakeout Canyon. There’s not much time left.”
“Are you fucking insane?” Jamas cried. His carbine swung around to point at Wilson, finger tight on the trigger.
“This changes nothing,” Wilson retorted. “We kept going after the crates were sabotaged, we keep going now. Only this time we do not split up again. From now on we do everything in groups of at least three. Everything.”
“You’re not flying up that mountain,” Kieran snarled. “You’ll wreck the planet’s revenge.”
“There won’t be any planet’s revenge without the observation from Aphrodite’s Seat. All three of us will fly. That way the odds protect us.”
“Dreaming heavens!” Kieran appealed desperately to Jamas and Rosamund. “What do we do?”
“He’s right,” Rosamund said bitterly. “They have to fly.”
***
The control center for the planet’s revenge was huddled at the back of a cave in Mount Idle, named so because it was a lot smaller than the surrounding peaks. It had slumped over the millennia since the Dessault range had been formed, its rocky pinnacle crumbling away into a lackluster mound, while its sides were liberally smeared with long swathes of loose scree. Even the cave wasn’t worth the Guardians using as one of their forts: too small, too visible with its yawning mouth.
Samantha’s Vauxhall jeep reached the entrance long after dark, its headlights revealing a slight shimmer in the air caused by the force field the Guardians had established a couple of meters inside. Three sentries greeted her, and the force field reduced to allow her to drive right in.
There were a number of Charlemagnes stabled inside, along with a variety of battered four-by-four vehicles she knew only too well. Two huge dapple gray horses were also standing next to the Charlemagnes; the saddles on the posts beside them were beautifully sculpted black leather with embossed gold patterns of DNA.
“Barsoomians,” Valentine said in a respectful tone.
The control center itself was right at the back of the cave, which was illuminated in a soft green light. Ten wooden tables were arranged in a circle around the large array, covered in consoles, screens, and supplementary electronic modules. Three or four Guardians were sitting at each one, engrossed with the schematics and data flowing across the screens. The array itself was a black cylinder two meters high with a couple of small red LEDs glowing on the top. Samantha gave it a solicitous glance; she’d been part of the assembly team, which made it her baby. And a troublesome one it had been. It had taken them over a year to integrate the bioprocessors and get the software running smoothly as they ran innumerable simulations.
She went over to Andria McNowak, who was in charge of the control center. Heavily pregnant, she sat at the head table directing all the other operators as they gradually brought the network of manipulator stations up to their pre-storm readiness status. There was a constant background mutter as they talked to the array. Not for the first time, Samantha wished OCtattoos and inserts were as common here as they were in the Commonwealth.
The Barsoomians were standing behind them, monitoring the performance of the large array’s bioprocessors. In the gloomy light of the cave their gray robes of semiorganic fabric gave them a spectral presence, enhanced by the impenetrable shadows that filled their hoods.
Samantha gave them a slight bow.
“Greetings to you, Samantha McFoster,” one said.
She recognized the deep whispering voice from the faint reverberation it always carried. “Dr. Friland, thank you for coming.”
“These are fascinating times. We are pleased to help remove this blight from our planet.”
“There is a rumor your people will help Bradley Johansson on Highway One. Is that true?”
For a moment Samantha wondered if she’d been too abrupt. People always skated around issues with Barsoomians, fearful to give offense; but today was too important for that kind of political nicety crap. She was aware of Valentine holding his breath beside her.
“We are watching events along Highway One,” Dr. Friland said. “We will offer assistance where practical.”
“I’m sure Johansson will be grateful for any support.” She smiled awkwardly at the fluid shadows inside his hood, and turned to Andria, who was giving her a reproachful look. “Have you loaded in the Martian data?”