The Machinery of Light (32 page)

“—about to get two megaships up his ass,” says the Operative.

“Or else Sarmax is going to hand the Eurasian fleet over to him,” says Haskell.

“Give me a break,” says the SpaceCom admiral. “Sarmax is out of the picture by now—”

“As opposed to you,” says the Operative. “Machinery to register mental emissions? Tracing Haskell’s telepathic signature? Not bad. And yet—”

“Not enough to get in on any conversations,” says Szilard.

“Though that might change if you got your hands on the rest of Sinclair’s files,” says the Operative.

“Are you trying to make a deal?”

“He might if he actually had those files,” says Haskell.

“I hate it when people play stupid,” says Szilard.

D
ata blurs in Lynx’s mind. He’s bringing all his zone-prowess to bear, triangulating across the decks of the
Redeemer
. But the static that’s engulfed Szilard’s signal seems to be intensifying. It occurs to Lynx that maybe
he’s
the one who’s getting punked—that maybe the SpaceCom marines are closing in on his position even now. He wonders if he should just have Linehan charge on in. He scans back over the
Redeemer
one last time.

F
uck,” says Jarvin.

“What?” asks Sarmax.

“EMP,” snarls Spencer.

“L5’s guns must have nailed the cockpit,” says Jarvin.

Meaning they’ve all got the same problem. The ship’s circuitry just went haywire. Backup comps are coming on, but the hack that Jarvin was running on the cockpit has been lost. The three men crouch in that access-shaft while a backup zone flickers on and Spencer and Jarvin try to get things back on track. Only to find that—

“No gunnery breakthroughs on the forward armor,” says Spencer.

“What?”
says Sarmax.

“That EMP,” says Jarvin. “It came from
inside
the ship.”

N
ot sure I follow,” says the Operative. “I don’t have—”

“You don’t
need
Sinclair’s files,” says Szilard. “You fucking
wrote
half of them anyway.”

“Or you were there while the recorders took dictation,” says Haskell.

“If you want to know what’s driving the retrocausality, you can forget it,” says the Operative. “I don’t know, and the only way to find out is—”

“To take me apart,” says Haskell. “Which Montrose is doing her best to do.”

“Even as you use that amplifier of yours to ransack the
Redeemer’s
systems,” says Szilard. “Turning me inside out, eh?”

“I already finished,” says Haskell. “Your ship’s mine. And you’re—”

“Full of surprises,” says Szilard.

A massive explosion rocks the ship.

W
hat the hell was that?” yells Linehan.

“All part of the plan,” says Lynx.

Though he’s a lot less confident than he sounds. Nothing was supposed to happen until they reached Szilard. The plan may just have gone belly-up. Or maybe he never understood the plan in the first place. He hopes he’s not getting sold down the river again. He hears something else—close at hand—gunfire—

“Someone’s lighting this place
up,”
says Linehan.

I
nside
the ship?” says Sarmax.

“Definitely,” says Spencer.

“Maybe a malfunction,” says Jarvin. “Or maybe—”

“We got combat ten decks down,” says Spencer.

K
ill him,” says Szilard—but the Operative’s already moving, leaping at one of the bodyguards, vaulting over its shoulder and landing on its back while Haskell hacks the bodyguard’s armor, handing control off to the Operative—who grasps it with his neural software on wireless,
starts riddling the other bodyguards even as they start getting their own shots off. Projectiles are flying everywhere. Szilard’s image has disappeared. An explosion tears away part of the ceiling—

—a
long with part of the wall. Lynx and Linehan blast through from different directions, add their guns to that of Carson, catching Szilard’s bodyguards in a crossfire. Linehan dodges a micromissile, smashes into one of the remaining bodyguards, rips its helmet off with jet-enhanced fists—rips off the head as well, screaming obscenities all the while. Haskell starts screaming too.

“What the fuck’s up with
her?”
yells Lynx.

“It’s not her,” says Carson.

N
ot anymore. She’s falling away from all of them—tumbling back from L2 as though she’s being hauled back toward the Moon on a tether. Space and time reel before her, reveal that her mind’s back in that tank again. She’s struggling to get her bearings.

Apparently everybody else is too.

“What the hell’s wrong?” asks Montrose.

“We’re still processing,” says Control. For the first time, Haskell hears emotion grip that voice—or more precisely, tension. Same with Montrose:

“Hurry it
up
,” she snaps.

“The Manilishi’s back online,” says Control. Haskell feels everything stabilize around her—a kind of equilibrium. It’ll have to do.

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

“I can,” says Haskell. She takes in the confusion that’s starting to grip the war-room. The battle-management computers are still
functioning, but not much else is. There’s something wrong. Some kind of—

Anomaly
.

“Fuck,” says Haskell.

“We’re under attack,” says Control.

F
ighting underway outside the cockpit,” says Jarvin. Spencer wonders whether that’s too fine a distinction. The cameras show that chaos is breaking loose throughout the
Hammer of the Skies
. Explosions are going off. Firefights are everywhere. It’s total pandemonium. And it looks like commandos are trying to force their way up the elevator to reach the cockpit—