The Machinery of Light (58 page)

T
he minutes crawl by. The Moon looms ever larger, the hordes of Eurasian ships growing above the left and right horizons. The L2 fleet’s holding steady in formation. The
Harrison’s
holding steady under their thumb. Kill-crazy meat-puppets roam all corridors beyond the bridge’s blast-doors. Everything within is in total lockdown. The three mechs who comprise the muscle have got the situation handled.

Which leaves Lynx and the Operative to their own devices. They’ve been using their exalted position on the zone of the L2 fleet to ransack all the data they can find. But it turns out that Szilard had precious little left stashed up here—

“That’s the rest of it,” says the Lynx.

“Yep,” says the Operative.

“We’re going to have to wait till we get back to the Moon to figure out the—”

“We can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Wait.”

T
his is getting tight,” says Jarvin.

His face is on one of the screens in the main room of the cockpit. Spencer’s is on the opposite. Both men are still in the zone, meshed with the AI, scanning for the Rain triad that’s somewhere in the bowels of the ship. Sarmax is sitting in a corner where he can see both screens. He stretches, looks at the screens that show the two fleets closing.

“One last chance to talk,” he says.

S
he’s moving within range of her ultimate destination.

The one her life has been building toward for all this time. And the thing that’s now materializing within her mind is as much a function of what lies in the depths of Moon as in the deepest recesses of herself. She can’t explain it. Can’t understand it. All she can do is stare at the face of the child appearing before her. It’s a face she recognizes.

It used to be her own.

D
on’t bullshit me, Carson.”

“I’m not bullshitting you. We need to figure out the game plan
now.”

“You
really
want to go there?”

“Not a matter of want. A matter of necessity.”

“Because you thought you could win this game on your own and now you’re waking up to the fact that—”

“I was wrong.”

“You sound scared.”

“I
am
scared.”

“Given what’s going down, you should be.”

“So let’s talk about the gameboard,” says the Operative.

T
hose fucking
files
,” says Jarvin.

Spencer starts to speak—stops. He gets that he’s in over his head—that he’s taken this as far as he can go on his own. He knows way too much—needs whatever pieces of the puzzle the others have. His mind’s been searching for a way out and the only one he can come up with is—

“Spit it out, man.” Sarmax seems to be sinking ever farther back into the corner—

“Not even sure how to say it,” Spencer says.

H
askell’s inside a child’s mind now. Cathedrals of sensory impression from another era rise around her.

The universe fractals in vast kaleidoscopic patterns. The child’s eyes open. Her own follow an instant later.

T
ime machines,” says Lynx. “That’s what you said back—”

“Yeah,” says the Operative.

“Still a bullshit artist till the last, huh?”

“I’m not bullshitting you.”

“You and I both know that’s only the
start
of it.”

T
he Autumn Rain hit-teams were just the tip of the iceberg,” says Spencer.

“We
know
that,” says Sarmax. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? Time was I
ran
the Autumn Rain hit-teams for Harri—”

“The Manilishi was what mattered,” says Jarvin.

“You need to know what she really is,” mutters Spencer.

T
he child’s billowing through her mind now—like she’s in some kind of tunnel, walls flowing ever faster past her. Haskell realizes tears are running down her cheeks. The Moon around her seems to shimmer. Wind chimes ring out—resolve themselves into her own voice. The one from all those years ago.

O
nly the start of it,” repeats Lynx.

“I realize that,” says the Operative. He pauses.

“It’s all about Haskell—”

“No,” says Lynx,
“it’s fucking not.”

S
he’s just the key,” Spencer says.