“One of the people in the vehicle is issuing more messages than the others, which would indicate they are in charge. However, I do not have the capacity to break their encryption, so I cannot offer any guarantee of this analysis.”
“Doesn’t matter. If the other guys were from the Institute, this lot have to be Guardians. Find an access code for the leader’s interface.”
A city net personal address flipped up into her virtual vision. The rest of the imagery was shutting down. When she held up her arm, the lacework of silvery OCtattoos was fading from her skin. “Are you all right?” she asked Dudley.
He was curled up in the passenger seat, shivering badly. “Do you think they had memorycells?” he asked in a faint voice.
“I imagine re-lifing is part of their contract with the Institute, yes.”
“I want to go home.”
“That’s not a bad idea, Dudley. We’ll do that.” The wormhole opened again in two hours. She suspected their hotel would be under observation. If they left right away they might just manage to stay ahead of the Institute. “See if you can get us on the passenger manifest for the next flight back to Boongate,” she told the SIsubroutine. “And cancel the route back to the hotel. Take us toward 3F Plaza, but not actually into it, not yet.”
Mellanie took another minute to compose herself. The car crashes had been deplorable. But then, if the SIsubroutine hadn’t intervened, she and Dudley would be in the back of a Cruiser heading for a very unpleasant, and short, future.
She told her e-butler to call the Guardian member’s code.
Stig stopped the car at the end of Kyrie Street, just before it opened out into 3F Plaza. Franico’s, the Italian restaurant, was twenty meters ahead of him.
“You want to do this?” Murdo McPeierls asked.
“It’s not as if we’ve got the element of surprise,” Stig said. He tried to stop it sounding grouchy, but Murdo had been in the car when he’d got Mellanie’s call.
“I’ll scout around,” Murdo said. “Shout if you need me.”
“Sure.” Stig gave the traffic a slightly apprehensive glance. Kyrie Street looked perfectly normal. But then Olwen said there’d been nothing out of place on Cheyne Street until the cars started going berserk.
Stig squared his shoulders and went into Franico’s. Mellanie hadn’t chosen it for its décor or its menu. Gray curving walls and archways of dead drycoral divided up the restaurant into low segments modeled on some insect hive floor plan. The food was pasta and pizzas, with the house speciality of fresh fish from the North Sea.
It took Stig a moment to find Mellanie. She and Dudley were sitting at a table close to the door, half-hidden by one of the crumbling archways, which gave her a good view of anyone coming in while remaining out of direct sight. He went over and sat down. Dudley scowled at him; the young re-life astronomer was nursing a glass of water. Mellanie had a beer and a plate of garlic bread.
“Thank you for coming,” Mellanie said.
“Your call surprised me. I was interested.”
“I need to talk to the Guardians.”
“I see.”
She grinned and bit into a slice of the bread. Melted butter dribbled down her chin. “Thank you for not denying it.”
Stig nearly protested, but that would have been churlish. “How did you find me? More importantly, how did you get my address code?”
“I have a good monitor program. A very good one.”
“Ah. It was you who released it into the city net.”
Mellanie stopped chewing to give him a surprised look. “You knew it was there?” She dabbed a paper napkin to her chin.
“We knew something was there. It’s very elusive.”
“Okay, well, don’t worry. It’s not hostile.”
“I doubt the Institute would agree with you.”
“Their troopers had drawn weapons. They were going to take me and Dudley for interrogation. We’d probably be turned into Starflyer agents.”
Stig was silent for a moment while he reviewed what she said. “Very likely. Do you mind telling me what you know about such things? Frankly, I’ve never met anyone other than a Guardian who believed in the Starflyer.”
“I discovered my old boss was one, Alessandra Baron. She sabotaged an investigation I…” Mellanie stiffened, turning abruptly. Stig saw a dense, intricate pattern of silver lines flicker into existence on her cheeks and around her eyes. “What the hell are you?” she blurted.
He looked over his shoulder to see Dr. Friland glide out from the back of the restaurant. A faint purple nimbus had replaced the usual shadow inside his hood. It died away. When Stig glanced back at Mellanie, her complicated OCtattoos had vanished from view.
“Shall we call that an honorable stalemate?” Dr. Friland asked in his mellow, echoing voice.
“Sure,” Mellanie said guardedly.
“I am glad. As to your original question—”
“You’re a Barsoomian.”
“Correct. My name is Dr. Justin Friland. I’m pleased to meet you, Mellanie Rescorai.”
Mellanie pointed a finger, and switched it between Stig and the tall robed figure. “You guys working together?”
“We do on occasion,” Dr. Friland said. “And this is one of them.”
