The Machinery of Light (42 page)

“Who the hell are you?” asks Szilard.

“The person who’s going to kick your ass,” says the figure—right before it starts firing.

T
he Operative and Lynx move through into what looks to be a standard office complex, though all the offices on either side are empty. Their sensors are cranked—they’re looking for anything with a heat source.

“You really think he’s here?” asks Lynx.

“Bastard never goes anywhere without that bitch of his.”

T
hey start getting ready to move out. Spencer does a quick scan on the zone around him. Sarmax keeps going on about teleportation.

“I’m still trying to get my head around this,” says Sarmax. “The amount of computational power needed—the amount of
energy
—you’re talking about something that’s—”

“Off the charts,” says Spencer. “But just so we’re all on the same page, spare us all and stop playing stupid.”

“Who says I’m playing stupid?”

“You know all about these fucking devices.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“Heard
about them, then.”

“Okay,” says Sarmax, “so I’ve heard about them—”

“In your goddamn basement,” says Jarvin.

F
lame streaks across the room. Szilard’s two bodyguards leap in front of him, taking the shots. One of them takes a few too many. His suit starts burning. Szilard’s grabbing at Haskell—but she’s leapt from the catwalk, finds herself tumbling down in low-gravity toward the rail beneath. The figure advances on Szilard’s remaining bodyguard, who closes rapidly, firing all his weapons. Szilard comes to a quick decision—he ignites his suit-jets and blasts upward toward the elevator shaft.

T
hey’ve left the offices behind and have come to what looks more like a lab-complex. Equipment’s everywhere, gleaming like it’s seen recent use. Standing in one corner is a man who looks at them like he expected this all along.

S
o I had one in my cellars,” says Sarmax. “So what?

Didn’t mean I ever switched the fucking thing on.

Problem with having a teleporter is—”

“Not enough to have just
one
,” says Jarvin.

“Got to know the location of the others,” mutters Spencer.

“If you don’t, having only one is worse than useless,” says Sarmax. “Never know when something just fucking
manifests—
”

“That’s what the Praesidium intended to do if rogue elements got ahold of these megaships,” says Jarvin. “They could just beam in commandos and—”

“So could the Rain,” says Spencer.

Jarvin laughs. “The Coalition’s has been played. If they have these devices, it’s only because the Rain wanted it that way.”

Spencer looks at Sarmax. “Who installed yours?”

“That’d be Sinclair,” says Sarmax.

“Let’s trash this place,” says Jarvin.

S
zilard shoots into the shaft and disappears from sight. His second bodyguard fights on for about two more seconds before getting torn apart. The newcomer vaults over the catwalk, fires its jets, speeds down toward Haskell. She’s still falling, picking up speed. The figure catches up to her just before she hits the bottom.

Y
ou’re well off the beaten path,” says the man.

He looks pretty old. His beard’s gone almost white.

His face is wizened, but his eyes are bright. He smiles like he’s trying to cover up how scared he is.

“Where the fuck is it?” demands Lynx.

D
estroying the teleportation chamber isn’t a no-brainer. Once it’s done, they can no longer get out. But the only place they can escape to is the ship they came from. And the risks of anyone else catching up with them using the same technology is just too great. A few silenced rounds of ammo and some good old-fashioned battering with their fists, and the room may as well have just been bombed.

“Nothing like burning bridges,” says Jarvin.

“Let’s go,” says Spencer.

The ship’s zone clicks in around him.

H
askell feels herself seized by gloved fists; she watches walls rush by as the suited figure fires its jets, hauls her back up, and dumps her unceremoniously onto the catwalk. The shattered bodies of Szilard’s bodyguards lie nearby. The president’s nowhere to be seen.

“He’ll be back any moment,” says the interloper.

W
here’s what?” asks the old man.