“You two have no experience on dealing with unknown terrain,” Oscar said. “Besides, I’m a serving navy officer.”

“Enough.” Nigel held his hand up. “The three of you and Paula can go with Cat’s Claws. That’s it. Nelson, get them suited up, the best armor we have.” He brought Johansson back on-line. “Bradley, we’re sending a team out to you, including Investigator Myo; they’ll accompany you to Far Away.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sheldon.”

“I also will accompany Mr. Johansson,” Qatux announced.

Tiger Pansy’s giggle was loud in the auditorium. “I guess that means I get to go, too, huh?”

“If you would be so kind,” Qatux said. “I do not believe anything you can experience in the Commonwealth will be as rich with emotional content as this chase.”

“Sure. Okay,” Tiger Pansy said. “It’ll be a laugh.”

“Qatux, you can’t go,” Nigel said.

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“That is for me to judge. I am an individual.”

“But we need you here,” Hoshe said.

“I will return to assist you in investigating Starflyer agents. I expect I will be of more use on Far Away in the immediate future; there are likely to be more Starflyer agents there.”

“Oh, why the hell not.” Nigel grunted with ill grace. “Anyone else?” He stared at Mellanie, who responded by looking up to study the ceiling.

“Could I ask you to hurry, please,” Bradley Johansson said. “We’re running out of time.”

There wasn’t much government left on Boongate by the time MorningLightMountain sent its ships and flare bombs into the star system. The population, too, was much reduced; people had been leaving ever since the Lost23 were invaded. For the rich it was easy: they could afford to switch home without too much trouble; the middle classes, well informed or with a young family, took the loss as the price for safety; for single people it was even easier to pack up and leave. Local government, assisted by the Commonwealth Senate, did their best to discourage the exodus. The navy strengthened the planet’s defenses, including the force fields that shielded cities and the larger towns. Recently a starship had been assigned to the system for patrol duties, complementing the orbital platforms. The displacement continued more or less as before.

So many police had left that Boongate’s First Minister was forced to ask CST for additional security staff to help with crowd control around the planetary station. Sure enough, Nigel sent them in from Wessex, though it was in their contract that they returned to that base between shifts. Without that concession they wouldn’t have taken the duty.

As more and more people drifted away from the countryside and villages, leaving for the far side of the Commonwealth, so the rural police were withdrawn to the towns. Eventually, they were brought back to the cities, and just patrolled the towns. Intermittently.

Best estimates were that thirty-seven million people had so far abandoned their world. That still left over ninety million living there in various levels of trepidation. When the flare bombs and quantumbusters detonated in the star there was no real mechanism left for counting how many people made it to safety under the force fields. The frenzied particle storms that swept around the planet disrupted power supplies and communications. Everyone who heard the warning did their best to make it to safety, cowering in cellars or behind thick walls, heading underground, driving into tunnels; a lucky few had caves nearby. Once the borealis blizzards had diminished, the agitated atmosphere hit the survivors with gales and hurricanes. People struggled on to the nearest population center with a force field.

The War Cabinet had given planetary governments of the Second47 half an hour’s advance warning before they made their public announcement. Boongate’s First Minister and the remaining members of the cabinet were left with the near impossible task of getting the survivors to the capital inside the one-week deadline for evacuation. Anyone with a car started to drive. Buses were commandeered. Train schedules were drawn up, utilizing both passenger carriages and cargo wagons.

The CST planetary station force field, which had powered up when the invasion began, remained on. With everyone left on the planet slowly congregating underneath the capital’s force field the government needed to keep the station clear to prevent a stampede. Within hours, the new deluge of refugees had ringed the entire station. Their numbers expanded constantly, without order. It was soon impossible for food, or police, or medical personnel to reach the innermost migrants pressed up against the force field. All anyone could do was wait for Nigel Sheldon to make good on his promise. The cabinet knew that as soon as the gateway was opened to the future, and the station force field turned off, there would be a panicked race for the gateway, with injuries reaching horrific numbers. Medical contingency plans were drawn up with little prospect of ever being implemented.

In the meantime, those who were inside the station boundary when the force field came on rejoiced in their amazing good fortune, and settled down for the kind of relaxed wait impossible outside. It lasted right up to the moment when the gateway to Wessex opened without any warning.

The battered old track maintenance division carriage burst through the opening. Its frame was shaking violently as its motors strained away at torque levels they were never designed for.

A host of vehicles was waiting on either side of the track. Big four-by-fours and covered vans, all of them equipped with bulky mounted weapons now openly deployed. There was a long moment broken only by the metallic screeching of steel wheels and bearings that were being pushed far beyond their safety margins. Armor-suited figures leaped through the carriage’s shattered windows as the vehicles fired lasers, kinetics, and ion bolts into the bodywork. The flimsy metal panels crumpled and vaporized, yet still the tormented chassis held together. It was nothing more than a fireball on wheels now, plummeting forward.

The giant GH7 engine raced through the gateway, its five big cargo wagons intact. All the vehicles stopped firing. Two seconds later, the GH7 slammed into the burning wreckage. What was left of the carriage simply disintegrated, its remnants forming a short-lived halo of flame around the front of the GH7.

Scraps of scorched twisted metal pattered down around Alic. His passive sensors showed him their blackened shapes bouncing across the stony ground. When he shifted the focus, he saw the GH7 slowing to a more reasonable speed now its mad dash for the gateway was successfully concluded. It was already half a kilometer away. The parked vehicles started up, and drove off after it, providing a tight escort on either side. They rocked violently as they cut across tracks and drainage ditches, always maintaining their position in the line.

The two vehicles bringing up the rear of the little convoy opened fire with magnetic Gatling cannons, strafing the area where the armor suits had landed. Instinct made Alic clasp his arms over his head as the ground erupted into clouds of stone chips around him. A couple of the projectiles struck his armor, punching him sideways, but the force field held. Their impact was like taking a kick in the ribs.

“Son of a bitch,” Jim groaned. “I got hit on the helmet.”

“You okay?” Matthew asked.

“Hangover like an eight-day stag weekend.”

“Boss, you want us to hit the vehicles?” Vic asked. “I can target at least eight with missiles.”

“No. They’re not important. The Starflyer’s all that matters now.” He saw a red square flashing in his communications grid. “Damnit. We’ve lost the unisphere, all I can hook into is the planetary cybersphere. I can’t tell Oscar what’s happened.”