The Machinery of Light (22 page)

“Everything you see around you is SpaceCom property,” Lynx says. “These schmucks signed up to go to Mars and here they are months later still stuck in the departure lounge.”

“Sure,” says Linehan, “but I’m still wondering what’s the point of having them here in the first place?”

“I’m starting to think it might have something to do with a master needing servants.”

S
o
you’ve
been running
us
,” says Sarmax.

“Indeed,” says Jarvin.

Sarmax doesn’t even bother to use the one-on-one: “What the hell’s your
problem
, Spencer?”

Spencer shrugs. “How was I supposed to know he was this good?”

“How the hell else could I have stayed alive in HK?” asks Jarvin. He’s smiling that smile again, and Spencer’s doing his best to ignore it. “Once I cut loose from Sinclair, I was a free agent. In more ways than one.”

“So what’s to stop us from just killing you now?” says Spencer.

“I don’t think you get it,” says Jarvin. “I’ve got Spencer’s whole zone-signature
covered
. Shoot me and there’ll be nothing to stop the East from seeing you.”

“You played us like a fiddle,” says Spencer.

“Pretty much.”

“You knew what we going to do the whole time.”

Jarvin laughs. “After I fed the Praetorians some dirt on the East’s secret weapon, it wasn’t hard to guess what their next move would be. Straight onto my little square of the board. I let you in first, gentlemen. And I gotta say, you did a nice job running point.”

“Fuck,”
says Spencer.

“That’s right,” says Jarvin. He looks around—like he’s glancing through the walls of this vast ship. Spencer suspects that’s probably exactly what he’s doing. Eyes snap back to face them: “Move on me, and the Eurasians will detect you.”

“Come on,” says Sarmax, “we need more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re done with you calling the shots.”

“I realize that. That’s why I let you into this room.”

“We need to team up,” says Spencer suddenly.

“Late to the party as ever,” says Jarvin.

T
oo late she sees the trap: Sinclair’s claws are reaching for her mind, far beneath any surface that Control or Montrose can perceive. Too late—and yet she slides aside and dodges past, slamming a door she didn’t even know she had. He gazes at her through its translucence.

“Claire,” he says.

“Matthew,” she replies.

“Open this door.”

“I can’t do that, Matthew.”

“What you can’t do is resist me. You’re not capable—”

“I am now.”

And for a moment she sees something in his face—utter animal rage—and she keeps her shields up. Even if she doesn’t know what’s shielding her. Even if this psionic power she has remains almost completely undefined, save for the fact that it has something to do with consciousness. Something to do with mind reading.

“And something to do with time,” says a voice.

There’s a blinding flash.

T
he woman’s face suddenly spasms. Her eyes shut.

“She’s flatlining,” says the Operative.

“No,” says Maschler, “she’s not.”

Eyes snap open. Haskell stares at the Operative.

“Carson,”
she says.

“Claire,” he mutters.

“The lady’s joined us,” says Riley.

“This isn’t really
me
,” says Haskell. She’s looking around the cramped room. She’s looking like she’s starting to panic.

“Easy,” says the Operative.

“Can you hear me, Claire?” asks Maschler.

Haskell says nothing—her face contorts—

“
Can you hear me, Claire?”

“Yes,” says Haskell.

“Your real body is back on the Moon. We’re putting your mind through its paces. Seeing what it’s made of. Do exactly what we say, and you’ll return to your own flesh safely.”

“Who are you?”

“They’re InfoCom agents,” says the Operative.

“Assistants to your interrogation,” says Riley.

“Great,” says Haskell.

“I’m their prisoner,” says the Operative.

“Whose body am I in?”

“It’s yours now.”

“Whose body
was
it?”

“No one’s,” says the Operative.

She frowns. “I’m wearing my own face, aren’t I?”

The Operative can’t say anything. He just nods. He can see she’s trying not to cry. Then suddenly that face is all resolution.

“Let’s get on with this,” she says.

M
aster and servants,” says Linehan.

“Yes,” says Lynx.

“This is Szilard’s ship.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why you steered us here.”

“For sure. It’s his new flagship.”

“And his escape ship,” says Linehan.

Pause. Lynx’s smile cuts out.

“You’re quick,” he says slowly.

“If it all goes to shit—”

“Goes? Try
going.”

“Those megaships are still coming on?” asks Linehan.

“Like juggernauts, man. Their speeds are insane—”

“He’ll send the L2 fleet out to do battle with them.”

Lynx gestures. “And be ready to fire this thing’s motors if that fleet gets shattered.”

“They’ll follow him to Mars,” says Linehan.

“They’ll have a lot to keep them busy in the meantime.”

“But eventually—”

“What makes you think he’d stop at
Mars?
This thing’s got some serious engines. He could go to ground in the rings of Saturn—or make a break for deep space, try to run this all the way out. At least lead them on a good chase.”

“With a fuck-sized entourage keeping him company,” says Linehan.

“And guess who gets to get in there and stop him.”

W
e need to take control of this ship,” says Jarvin.

“Precisely what we were thinking,” says Sarmax.

“Sure,” says Spencer, “but under what terms?”

Both men look at him. He shrugs.

“It’s a fair question,” he says. “Sarmax here is a member of Autumn Rain. And for all we know, you are, too—”

“I’m not,” says Jarvin.

“You sure about that?”

“Anyone who’s sure about anything is a fool. Same with all this
member
bullshit you’re on about. Like everyone in the Rain went to the same country club. So Sarmax was part of the prototype. So what? Whose side are you on now, Leo?”

“Mine,” says Sarmax.

“My kind of thinking,” says Jarvin. “You guys up for a three-way partnership?”

“For sure,” says Sarmax.

“So quick to agree.” Jarvin looks amused. “You can always take me out when we’ve hit paydirt, huh?”

“I wasn’t thinking—”

“Well, it’s about time you started.” Jarvin gestures at Spencer. “Maybe he and I will take
you
out.”

Sarmax laughs. “Give me a break—”

“Why should I? It’s not like your track record for team-ups is the best. You and Carson and Lynx sure ballsed up the reunion, huh?”

“That was Carson,” says Spencer. “He pulled the plug—”

“Shut
up,”
says Sarmax.

“I could have predicted that,” says Jarvin. He turns to Sarmax: “You
should
have predicted that.”

“I thought he’d at least wait until we’d won before going for the big backstab.”

Jarvin laughs. “Carson’s got a knack for devising schemes so complex you can’t even figure out what his angle is.”

“How do you know so much about us?”

“He’s got the file, doesn’t he?” says Spencer.

There’s a pause.

“And the one we took from you was bullshit?” asks Sarmax.

Jarvin smiles.

“And you still have the—”

“Of course I still have the real one.”

“And we’ve got the fake one,” says Sarmax.
“Fuck.”

Spencer shakes his head. “But those schematics of the Himalayan black base were real!”

“Which ought to tell you something,” says Jarvin.

“It tells me you gave us the real scoop on the Eurasian base and the fake scoop on the Rain—”

“No,” says Jarvin.

They look at him.

“I held back nothing.”

M
aschler’s drawn a sidearm.

“What’s that for?” asks the Operative.

“To encourage you not to do anything stupid.”

“Why would I do that?”