The Machinery of Light (23 page)

“You’ve been known to around Claire.”

“Just stay calm,” says Haskell. It hadn’t occurred to the Operative to be anything else, but maybe everyone’s way ahead of him. “Let them do what they’re here for,” she adds.

“What the hell’s going
on?”

“Easy,” says Maschler—a smooth, reassuring cadence the Operative uses himself when he’s about to kill someone. He’s still in the doorway, about four meters from the Operative. Riley’s on the other side of Haskell, punching buttons on a console. The Operative feels his head starting to spin. He feels like he’s having a stroke. He goes down on one knee.

“Carson,”
says Haskell.

He drops. He’s kissing metal. Everything’s gone black. All he can hear is Haskell now. Though he’s not even sure about that. Just a faint voice he remembers from so long ago:

“Carson,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” he replies.

“What are you seeing?”

The answer’s nothing. Except—

“You,” he says.

“Because I’m inside your head,” says Haskell.

“But I’m not in yours.”

“And that’s just fine by me.”

I
don’t like this,” says Linehan.

“You don’t have to like it,” says Lynx.

“Talk about obsession. You’re fucking crazy.”

“What’s crazy is thinking we can do anything else.”

“We should be thinking about getting off this ship!”

“Got somewhere in mind?”

“Somewhere that’s a little more solid than this fleet.”

“Like the Moon?”

“We should never have left that fucking rock.”

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda—
who the fuck cares?
We are where
we are. This place is in lockdown. Szilard knows we’re aboard, right? So now it’s set up like the
Montana
was. Nothing’s getting off.”

“Not even him?”

“Why would he want to leave?” asks Lynx.

“He knows rogue agents got aboard.”

“So?”

“So why the hell hasn’t he bailed? Rig a shuttle and scram?”

Lynx laughs. “Sums up why you’re
taking
orders and I’m
giving
them. Christ almighty, Linehan. This is a
big ship
. It’s not like Szilard’s in the next room. He’s camped out somewhere in the rear of this bitch, inside two heavily guarded perimeters, and you’d have him just shit in his pants and run for a
shuttle?”

“So he can set up shop somewhere safe—”

“Safe?
He knows damn well we’d be aboard that shuttle
waiting for him.”

Linehan shakes his head. He looks around at all the sleepers—looks back at Lynx and the wires sprouting from his head.

“Two perimeters, huh.”

“You know you want it.”

S
o you
didn’t
crack the files,” says Spencer.

Jarvin looks at him strangely—as though he’s just seeing him for the first time. He adjusts his major’s insignia idly.

“Not the core of it,” he says.

“All those goddamn languages,” says Spencer.

Jarvin nods. “Sinclair’s created a code that may be impossible to crack. Ironic, no? You’ve got what may be the master file on Autumn Rain right in front of your fucking
eyes
, and you’re still none the wiser.”

“But I know they’re records of the experiments,” says Spencer.

“Yeah? What else?”

“That’s as far as I’ve got—”

“Spencer,” says Sarmax, “shut
up—
”

“Interesting,” says Jarvin, and he sounds like he means it. “I got deeper than you. And here I was hoping it’d be the other way around. That you could help me.”

“Like we’d do that,” says Sarmax.

“Then you can hardly blame me for not returning the favor.”

“What else is in that goddamn book?” asks Sarmax. “Dammit, we need to know—”

“Nothing,” says Jarvin. “For now. How about we table the rest of it until we’ve taken over the cockpit?”

“You’re the boss,” says Spencer.

“For now,” says Sarmax.

“Nothing’s forever,” says Jarvin.

W
hat the hell’s going on?” says the Operative—and
says
nothing. His lips aren’t moving. He can’t even feel them. Nor can he feel anything else. He’s out cold on the floor, aware only of Haskell’s voice sounding in his head, a sound far more intimate than the wireless-enabled one-on-one:

“He’s adjusting the controls on my console,” she says.

She sends him the image, too: static, grainy. She’s still flat on her back. Riley’s got his gun trained on the prone figure of the Operative. Maschler’s working the controls again.

The image cuts out. The Operative’s back in black.

“What the hell’s he doing?” asks the Operative.

“Allowing us to do what
we’re
doing, I’m guessing.”

Which is something he’s never done before, even though he’s lived with its latency all his life. Even after so recently realizing his true nature—when Sinclair restored his memories, reminding him that all his life he’s had intimations of Lynx and Sarmax’s mental patterns; all that time catching glimpses of those other minds—
and all of it was nothing compared to what he’s seeing now: Haskell’s burning in his brain. He can’t help but draw back in pure astonishment.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters.

“Shut the hell up,” she says.

“I mean it.”

“Said the boy who cried wolf and kept on crying. They’re operating on my fucking mind
again
, and you’re the one who started it.”

“I—wanted to have you for myself.”

“You never will.”

“I get that now.”

“Then you also get that you’re not getting out of this one.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“I don’t believe this,” she snarls. “You’re out cold on that floor—Riley just prodded your face with his fucking
boot
—and you’re still convinced you’re walking out of here.”

“Because they need me,” says the Operative.

“For one last service,” she replies.

A
nd then he’s history,” says Maschler. “He’ll walk into Szilard’s ship while you fly shotgun via your amplifier.”

“My what?” asks Haskell.

“Your
body,”
says Riley, gesturing at her.

“You mean my new one.”

“Yours all along,” says Maschler. “It’s got your DNA.”

“Who grew it?”

“Montrose,” says Riley.

“How did she get my specifications?”

“She got into Sinclair’s files way back.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“We’re the lords of information. Why act so surprised?”

“Because you’re fucking crazy,” says Haskell. “You’ve only got whatever Sinclair wanted you to—”

“More theories,” says Maschler.

“Said the man whose boss tried to build another Manilishi.”

“Relax,” says Riley. “All we have is you.”

“Why I said
tried.”

S
o how are we gonna do this?” says Linehan

“We’re already halfway there, man.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Them,” says Lynx—waves a languid hand at the sleepers all around.

“I’m not following.”

“That’s ’cause you’re not listening. These guys thought they’d gotten the long ticket, but now they’re our ticket to the real show.”

“How’s that?”

“Their life-support systems are run by this ship’s mainframe.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,”
says Lynx. He fingers a wire almost lovingly. “From where I sidestep into the security databases.”

“Nice one,” says Linehan.

“Szilard will find it less enthralling,” says Lynx.

S
o how are we going to hit that cockpit?” asks Sarmax. Jarvin looks at him. “How were
you
guys figuring on doing it?”

Sarmax looks at Spencer. “How
were
we figuring?”

“Fucked if I know. There’s no way in.”

Jarvin laughs. “That’s why you had to come to me.”

“All right, asshole,” says Sarmax. “How
are
we getting in?”

“By staying in plain sight.”

T
hey’re going to have you just walk in there,” she says.