The Machinery of Light (69 page)

“Wait a second,” he says. “This is—”

“Shut up and hold on,” says the Operative.

S
pencer and Jarvin crawl through a narrow shaft that’s nearly identical to the one they had used to enter the cockpit on the
Hammer of the Skies
. Spencer was tempted to rig the Eurasian AI with hi-ex, but he realizes that would stretch the word
superfluous
to whole new levels. He’s got the files that machine downloaded in the back of his head. He’s got no time to bother with them right now. They reach the last hatch, shove it aside, fling themselves out into the abyss.

H
ow much do you know?” asks Sarmax.

“Enough,” she replies. “He’s been using us—”

“When did you figure it out?”

“After we realized we weren’t guarding Sinclair.”

“When did he leave?”

“Some point before the war started, I guess. Now he’s at the Room, I don’t see how the hell we can stop him in time.”

He stares at her. “We can fucking
try,”
he says.

Terrain starts to appear in the windows of the dropship.

C
iphers so next-level that only a brain like Haskell’s can hope to penetrate them. She’s tearing through them on overdrive—making them think that
she’s
the one who’s created them. Who’s now reversing them. She’s through. The locks
click
through her mind—

A
million shades of black and grey, a million lights flaring all around—and the soundtrack to all of it is silence as Linehan takes in the sight. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He suddenly feels that all the fighting and shooting and killing that’s going on around him isn’t really happening—that existence has dwindled to this tiny space inside his helmet even as he looks at all those stars. It seems like there’s a pattern all around, like somehow it’s all meant to happen. He and Lynx are freefalling, tumbling downward, that engine-that’s-now-a-bomb a distant firefly far below. Any moment now Congreve’s defenses are going to come to their senses. But a few moments more and it’s going to be too late—

T
hey swoop over one mountain, veer in toward another. A giant sinkhole stretches out before them, carved straight through adjacent hills and valleys. It doesn’t look natural. More like—

“Someone had some fun with blasting powder,” says Riley.

“Couple of nukes,” says the Operative.

“Autumn Rain?”

“Several days back.”

“And you were there, huh?”

“Hey,” says Maschler, “that looks like another ship.”

J
udicious bursts of their suit-thrusters as they exit—and the
Righteous Fire-Dragon
is rushing past, dropping beneath them as they gain height. It seems to have given up spitting nukes. It won’t matter—it’s still going to turn Copernicus into a big pancake. The sky above Spencer’s head is alive with lights, the vanguards of the American fleet clearly visible as they vector out from behind the Moon to do battle with the onrushing Eurasian fleet. Spencer can see quite clearly that the Yanks haven’t a fucking prayer. The ships of the East make the sky immediately above the nearside look like the center of the galaxy. The
Righteous Fire-Dragon
is dwindling below them as it moves into the last stage of its final plunge—

T
hey’ve seen us,” says the pilot.

Velasquez just nods. The ship rocks from side to side as its pilots keep the trajectory unpredictable, letting the craft drop lower all the while. Moon’s filling the window now. It looks as if they’re maneuvering amidst a mountain range. But Sarmax’s vantage point prevents him from seeing the whole picture.

Which doesn’t mean he can’t be kept in the loop.

“Your friend Carson,” says Velasquez.

“Where’s he going?”

“Right where we thought he would.”

S
he’s got everything right where she wants. She’s pressing her head against the surface of the door, feeling the vibrations rumble deep within. She envisions dominoes falling, endless chains of locks turning like gears, grinding in upon hinges that slowly start to swivel. She backs up, moving out of the way as the door to the Room starts to open.

T
he engine punches straight through the main dome of Congreve, red flaring out as a chunk of antimatter explodes into the city.

“Wow,” says Linehan.

“They were all fucked anyway,” says Lynx.

And then some. The two men drop through what’s left of the shattered dome, firing at everything in sight.

T
he Operative hits the afterburners, sending the craft on a barely controlled plummet into the sinkhole that sprawls across so much of Nansen Station. He rockets in toward the bottom. There’s no way they’re going to stop in time.