The Machinery of Light (24 page)

“I realize that,” he replies.

But what he hadn’t realized was the path that InfoCom devised to thread the SpaceCom needle. He only got it just now. He’s going to walk in there, all right. But he’s not going to be alone.

“I’m coming with you,” says Haskell.

“One last time,” he replies.

It’s all he can hope for, really. He’s still out like a light, and her voice is the only contact he’s got with anything outside the island of his own mind. But that voice keeps on wavering in clarity, like a radio signal shifting across frequencies. The Operative thinks of Maschler tuning the dials, thinks of the creature called Control messing with Haskell’s brain.

“They’re killing all their birds with one stone,” he says.

“A page from your playbook,” she replies.

Not that the Operative needs to be informed of that. Uncovering something’s true capabilities means you have to push that thing to its limits. Which presumably is precisely what Stephanie Montrose is doing right now. Her servants are going to turn the Manilishi inside out while Haskell’s mind rides shotgun on the run on Szilard.

“Along with this body,” says Haskell.

E
xactly,” says Maschler.

He’s looking down at her the way a doctor might look on a particularly problematic patient. The furrows on his brow are making his eyebrows do strange things.

“You’re Carson’s ticket onto the
Redeemer,”
he adds. “Szilard’s new flagship.”

“A step down from the
Montana.”

“Or a step up,” says Maschler. “The
Redeemer’s
one of the Class V colony ships.”

She mulls that over.

“One of the
fully loaded
colony ships,” adds Riley.

“Damn,” she says.

“Szilard’s the man with the plan,” says Maschler.

Riley snorts. “He could be Noah to his own little ark if he had to.”

“Except he’s not going to,” she says.

“He won’t need to,” says Maschler. “Our best estimate is that the combined strength of lunar gunnery and the L2 fleet will take down those Eurasian megaships.”

Riley coughs. “After which we’ll just have to see how much we have left to deal with the rest of the Eastern forces coming up the gravity well behind them.”

“None of which is Szilard’s problem,” says Maschler.

“Given that he’ll be dead by then,” says Riley.

Haskell looks puzzled. “So what’s the story that Montrose has fed Szilard to get him to open up?”

“What do you mean?”

“Carson shows up on a flight from Congreve carrying the Manilishi, along with a little note from Montrose that she’s managed to clone the most powerful weapon ever built and here it is and go knock yourself out?”

Maschler laughs. “Not quite.”

L
ynx pulls the wires away from his head in a single stroke. “Let’s go,” he says, gesturing at the panel he’s slid from the wall.

“That looks like a tight fit,” says Linehan.

“Less so for me,” says Lynx, disappearing through the hole. Linehan pulls his way in after him—finds himself in a narrow space that seems to parallel the walls of the room they’ve just left. He follows Lynx, pushing through wires like they’re undergrowth in a jungle.

“The support systems around the sleepers,” says Lynx. “Try not to damage anything. We’re trying to keep a low profile.”

Linehan’s hoping that Lynx has got any alarms covered. The razor’s small enough to sidle through the narrow space. The mech’s a different story. Wires are getting torn. Circuitry’s getting shredded.

“Tell me we’re getting somewhere,” he mutters.

“I am,” says Lynx. “But you’d better pick up the pace.”

But that’s tough when wires are all Linehan can see. He shoves through them, thinking back to some scene in some book some girl told him about a long time ago. Some children were wandering in a closet and came out into some other land. Linehan can relate. He feels like he’s stepped into some other world himself these last few days. Seasoned wet-ops specialist, seen-and-done-it-all, wham-bam-thanks-man Linehan, the legend of the SpaceCom hard corps—and then suddenly he got launched against the Rain and propelled into a brand-new life. Linehan gets that lives like that don’t last. Ayahuasca’s afterglow reinforces the point, confirms it. Existence is moving toward some climax he won’t survive. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to. And now he’s emerging from the wires …

“Holy fuck,” he says.

“It gets even better,” says Lynx.

T
he special liaison of the Praesidium has left his quarters and is proceeding toward the cockpit of the
Hammer of the Skies
. He didn’t have a bodyguard when he got on, but he’s got two of them now. Zone is showing they were aboard already. Working undercover, all with the highest possible clearance: Jarvin, Spencer, and Sarmax have gone up three levels of ladders, taken an elevator up another ten floors. Now they’re approaching the elevator banks that are one of only two routes leading to the cockpit. A mixture of Chinese and Russian soldiers
cluster around those banks. They’re obviously on high alert. They seem to be as busy watching one another as those who approach.

“Let me do the talking,” says Jarvin.

W
hat are they talking about now?” asks the Operative.

“Maschler and Riley?”

“Who else?”

It’s not like there’s anybody else that matters right now. Unless there are more voices in Haskell’s head. He wouldn’t put it past her. Her signal’s all he’s got—even louder than his internal monologue. He no longer knows what he wants.

“Yes you do,” says Haskell.

“What?”

She says nothing—though it sounds like she’s laughing at him. Or maybe it’s his own mind cackling as it finally goes over the edge. He finds himself grasping at anything that’s solid. He can think of only one thing.

“So what the hell’s the plan?” he asks.

“You already know the plan,” she replies. “Convince Szilard that you stole the Manilishi from Montrose.”

“That’s not the only possibility,” says the Operative.

Haskell nods slowly.
“You
didn’t steal me—”

“Maschler and Riley did.”

“Right.”

“They’re SpaceCom agents.”

“They’re pretending to be.”

“Christ, Claire, they probably are.”

“I guess we’re going to find out.”

“How close to L2 are we?”

“Like they’d tell me.”

“Ask them anyway.”

S
he does. Maschler looks at her. “Getting warm,” he says.

“And you’re SpaceCom agents?”

Riley laughs. “Now what would give you that idea?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I doubt we could do it convincingly,” says Maschler.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“Szilard thinks we are,” says Maschler. “That’s all that matters.”

“You guys had better—”

Riley laughs. “Like we’d ever cross our lady. She sees everything.”

“Knows it all,” says Maschler.

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah?”

“You guys don’t
look
like you’re crazy. If you’re working for InfoCom, then you’re about to die. Killing Szilard’s a fucking suicide mission.”

“Not if it succeeds,” says Maschler.

“Even then the assassins will die—”

“That’d be Carson,” says Riley. “He’s the triggerman.”

“Or at least the guy who gets close enough,” says Maschler. “He’s a goner.”

“And you’re not?”

“We draw danger pay for a reason,” says Riley. “And we’re going to torch everybody on the
Redeemer
who can link this back to Montrose.”

“Me included?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” says Riley. “You won’t feel a thing.”

“Except for now,” says Maschler.

W
hat the hell is this?” says Linehan.

“What does it look like?” asks Lynx.

It looks like ice. Sheets of it stretch away on all sides.

“How big is this place?” Linehan asks. He pulls himself out of the last of the wires and crawls through the hatch that Lynx has opened.

“Couple hundred meters,” says Lynx. “This is the core of the ship. And over there is frozen methane, so we’ve got fuel and water from a single locale, and also the backbone of the sleeper freezing units.”