The Machinery Of Light Part 33

Alarms are howling. Klaxons are wailing. Suddenly three men are feeling way too exposed.

"They've found us," says Linehan.

"Worse," says Lynx. "That's the general fleet alert."

"The East is on its way," says the Operative.

A quick glance on the zone confirms it. And the American fleet behind the Moon is going into ultra-lockdown mode- "We need to get out of here," says Linehan.

"Thanks for the newsflash," says the Operative. He opens up the one-on-one with Lynx.

"Is this for real? Looks like they just-"

"Sealed all s.h.i.+ps," says Lynx. "Yeah."

Meaning it's no longer just a matter of nothing being allowed to leave this fleet. Now the same rule's being applied to each individual s.h.i.+p. Total paranoia is in ascendancy. All intrafleet transport is at an end. Which means that- "We're f.u.c.ked," says Lynx.

"Not at all," says the Operative.

"We're f.u.c.ked," f.u.c.ked," repeats Lynx, "and it's all repeats Lynx, "and it's all thanks to you thanks to you. This whole Sorenson bulls.h.i.+t was a bridge too far. We'd already gotten all we needed these last two days-"

"We thought he might have a teleporter, remember?"

"So what the f.u.c.k are we gonna do now?"

"Show everybody why we're the best in the business."

Righteous Fire-Dragon is accelerating at a disturbing rate, moving well out ahead of the rest of the fleet, taking heavy fire from the American lunar positions. But all of that is mere background to what's front and center on Spencer's screen: only a few corridors away, the Rain triad is less than fifty meters ahead, steaming straight at them, operating on some kind of zone that's in a cla.s.s of its own. Spencer's only detecting it because he's using Rain protocols. But as to staying compet.i.tive with its- is accelerating at a disturbing rate, moving well out ahead of the rest of the fleet, taking heavy fire from the American lunar positions. But all of that is mere background to what's front and center on Spencer's screen: only a few corridors away, the Rain triad is less than fifty meters ahead, steaming straight at them, operating on some kind of zone that's in a cla.s.s of its own. Spencer's only detecting it because he's using Rain protocols. But as to staying compet.i.tive with its- "We can't fight this," says Jarvin.

"We're not going to," says Spencer. He meshes his mind with Jarvin, gets his zone-s.h.i.+elds up just in time to repel an incoming blow that would have fried the mind of any normal razor. As he does so, he lets the blueprints of this part of the s.h.i.+p whip through his head. Looking for- "Anything," hisses Jarvin. "No time for perfection." hisses Jarvin. "No time for perfection."

"Then you're gonna love this," snarls Spencer.

PART IV.

ETERNITY'S ASHES

The caves and tunnels beneath the South Pole are even more tangled than the craters that surround them. Haskell lets her lights s.h.i.+ne out ahead of her as she makes hairpin turns. She hasn't detected any pursuit yet. But she's under no illusions-it's underway. If Szilard wants to be a player in the endgame, he's going to have to get his hands on her brain. He'll be mobilizing all forces in order to do so. She rockets ever deeper.

A trashed antechamber that contains the shredded remains of the android-bodyguard-secretary of a man who no longer needs any of those services. Maschler and Riley look up as Carson, Lynx, and Linehan storm into the room. trashed antechamber that contains the shredded remains of the android-bodyguard-secretary of a man who no longer needs any of those services. Maschler and Riley look up as Carson, Lynx, and Linehan storm into the room.

"What's up?" asks Maschler.

"Everything," says Lynx as he sweeps past. Maschler and Riley get the hint-charge after the other three as they rush out of the room, firing their suit-jets. Maschler keys the one-on-one with Linehan.

"Do you know where we're going?" he asks.

"You wouldn't believe me," mutters Linehan.

This way," yells Spencer, firing his jets and letting Jarvin and Sarmax trail after him while he hurls zone-decoys out in every direction. The Rain triad adjusts slightly; the wings spread out as they vector in on their quarry's changing position. But Spencer's relying more on speed than stealth. He and the other two blast toward the rearmost portions of the s.h.i.+p, flying through into one of the bomb storage chambers, moving away from the main elevator- "Wrong way!" yells Sarmax.

"Wrong," says Spencer.

Haskell drops through some of the active mining areas. She's exposing herself, but it's the most direct route. She's f.u.c.king with the zone something fierce while she blasts through caverns filled with equipment. Miners stare agape as she burns past like a fever dream.

The five men careen out of the R&D areas and into the adjacent wing of the war-sat. It sports most of the s.h.i.+p's weaponry.

"This isn't the right way," yells Riley. "The hangars are-"

"Go for it," says the Operative. "You'll win the record for most guns to ever target a shuttle at once."

Though he knows it's unlikely to be anywhere near that dramatic. The bulk of the American guns are staying silent-not exposing themselves as they wait for the Eurasian armada to draw closer. But that leaves a lot of weaponry still in the game, firing away at the largest force ever a.s.sembled by the hand of man. The writing's on the wall. The Americans don't stand a chance. But right now the Operative has more immediate issues. The five men reach a chamber at the far end of the weapons wing-a dead end.

Spencer opens fire-lets shots streak past the thousands of nukes and along the conveyor belts, taking out the hatches to which the belts lead. The doors spin aside and he leads the way into the backup bomb shafts. They're not in use right now, but that could change at any moment. In which case it won't be pretty: bombs are slung through the shafts at railgun velocities. The three men reach the far end. Another hatch bars the way. Beyond it's vacuum. Not to mention nuclear explosions.

"You do not not want to open that," says Jarvin. want to open that," says Jarvin.

She's leaving the upper-level mines behind, dropping through shafts that haven't seen use in a long time. There are a number of active mines still beneath her, but she's hoping to steer clear of them. The fewer witnesses she has, the better. Even if she butchered them all-reached in and f.u.c.ked them via their zone-interfaces-the corpses would still be clues to her trail. And ma.s.s executions aren't her style anyway.

But running zone is. And she's never done it at this level before. Everything else has just been a precursor. Which makes it all the harder to take a route that will ultimately lead her beyond the reach of zone. She's considered the other options. She could head for Agrippa or Congreve, infiltrate their mainframes, and try to wrest control of the U.S. forces from Szilard.

But even if she succeeded, it would still leave the Eurasians to deal with. And the East is nearly invulnerable to her hacks. They got burned so badly by the U.S. zone a.s.sault in the opening moments of the war that their remaining forces have switched off all wireless interface save a few point-to-point communications within the fleet. So even if Haskell was in control of everything America has left, she doubts it would matter. There's only one thing that does. She plans on getting to it as fast as she can.

Here we are, says the Operative.

"Those are missiles," says Maschler.

"You're quick," says Lynx.

"Climb on," says the Operative.

Maschler and Riley look at each other, then look at the missiles racked along the wall, pointed at the ceiling. Each one's several meters long. They're standard s.p.a.ce-to-s.p.a.cers, with a range of several thousand kilometers. They're intended to defend against incoming missiles and s.h.i.+ps ...

"This is the dumbest idea I've ever heard of," says Riley.

"Not as dumb as yours," says Lynx.

"I didn't propose anything!"

"Meaning your plan is just stay here and eat it stay here and eat it." Lynx meshes his mind with the Operative's, a.s.sists him in stripping out the guidance controls on five of the missiles and reprogramming them with their own sequences. While they're at it, they're climbing onto those missiles, adjusting their suits' magnetic clamps, and deploying their tethers for addded effect. It doesn't take long.

"Everybody ready?" asks the Operative.

"Oh sure," mutters Riley.

Now what?" says Sarmax.

"Now we burn a hole through to the next shaft," says Spencer. "Get through to the maintenance shafts beyond that."

"Right," says Jarvin, "but there is is no next shaft." no next shaft."

"Yes there is," says Spencer. He glances again at the zone-does a doubletake.

"Well?"

"There was ten seconds ago. On the zone-"

"And guess who's been f.u.c.king with it,"

"f.u.c.k," says Spencer. says Spencer.

"You're a f.u.c.king idiot," says Jarvin. says Jarvin.

All the more so as the Rain are now entering the bomb-bays they just left. There's no escape. It's just a question of whether the triad meets with any resistance worth the name. Spencer starts to scramble back up the shaft- The U.S. zone is disappearing in the rear view. At least for now. Haskell pa.s.sed the last conduits on this particular tunnel half a klick back. She's losing herself amidst the moon, and silence reigns within her head once more. She's calibrating all the maps; that wilderness of man-made tunnels and natural caves that make the area beneath the South Pole such an intricate honeycomb. Yet as the zone drops away from her mind, other things are coming into focus; now that her suit's no longer locked, everything that Control stirred up within her is starting to crystallize. Her mind expands outward like a balloon inflating. It's the strangest thing she's ever felt-something she'd find impossible to explain. Her body's no longer the receptacle, just the focal point for an expanded consciousness that she's now bringing to bear upon the universe at large. She finds what she's looking for almost immediately.

The Operative keys the sequence. The hatches through which they've come swing shut. Airlock procedures initiate. The wall's sliding away ...

"Oh f.u.c.k," f.u.c.k," says Maschler-but they're already being flung forward. says Maschler-but they're already being flung forward.

Twenty missiles total-and the five that count have had their accelerations adjusted to make the launch something less than lethal. But even with their suits cus.h.i.+oning the blow, it's still a wild ride. The view's making it even more so. They're right in the thick of the L2 fleet. They just miss a frigate's antennae, zip past another war-sat and between two dreadnaughts. Linehan watches lights whip by and wonders if he's died yet. He feels like he must have long ago. One s.h.i.+p in particular's rus.h.i.+ng in toward him.

They've precisely calculated how much time they have before the fleet's defenses react-or rather, the backup defenses, since they're taking the precaution of hacking the main ones. Those defenses were designed for a lot of things, but being fired on from within the fleet wasn't on any of the automatic sequences. That gives the men now maneuvering through vacuum a tiny margin. It's still not enough to make it to their main objective. They're settling for the next best thing- "Brace for impact," says Lynx.

They're about as f.u.c.ked as it's possible to be. They're heading back up the shaft purely to sell their lives dearly. They've got essentially zero chance against a full triad. And in a few more seconds, that triad's about to pump this bomb-shaft full of grenades. Better to die meeting the enemy head on. Spencer adjusts his zone-s.h.i.+elding, takes in the Rain team's zone-signature as it enters the room that he and Sarmax and Jarvin just left. He can see them all too clearly.

And then he hears a voice.

Spencer," says Haskell. says Haskell.

"Jesus Christ," says Spencer. says Spencer.

Though of course he's not saying anything at all. It's all telepathy-the reactivation of her previous link with Spencer, the one that Harrison configured to expedite the run on the Eurasian secret weapon and that got shorn when everything went awry. But that time she was on the zone. Apparently she's come a long way in these last few hours. And she feels like she's still picking up steam. She keeps on dropping through the shafts of the Moon while she springs from Spencer's mind into the zone of the Righteous Fire-Dragon Righteous Fire-Dragon.

"Do exactly what I say," she says.

Missile strike: an explosion rips through the hull of the colony s.h.i.+p Memphis Memphis. Metal tears away s.p.a.ce-but it could have been a lot worse, since only one warhead detonated. Somebody went and tampered with the rest-and that same somebody's now steering more missiles toward the just-created hole, dodging past the chunks of debris flying out it- "The brakes," hisses Lynx. hisses Lynx.

Five missiles do a 180-degree turn, use their engines as retrorockets as they decelerate through the new opening, powering down the whole while. The Operative gets a quick glimpse of a corridor streaking past. He figures he won't feel much if the hi-ex aboard his missile ignites. He's trying his best to make sure that doesn't happen. An airlock door's closing up ahead as the computers of the Memphis Memphis attempt to seal off this section of the s.h.i.+p. But the missiles slide through the doorway, skid along the walls, and slow to a stop-even as the five men fire their suit-jets. attempt to seal off this section of the s.h.i.+p. But the missiles slide through the doorway, skid along the walls, and slow to a stop-even as the five men fire their suit-jets.

The backup door to the bomb-chamber suddenly swings shut. Looks like they're trapped in the shaft for real now- "What the f.u.c.k?" says Jarvin.

"Back the other way," yells Spencer.

"There's no other way out of this-"

That's when the trapdoor that leads to vacuum opens- Deep within the Moon, working the gears of the Righteous Fire-Dragon Righteous Fire-Dragon as it puts L5 in the rearview ... that's easy. It's dealing with the Rain that's the problem. She sees them clearly on zone-even sees them for real now as she filters out the wavelengths on the bomb-bay's camera-feeds to reveal them as they truly are: three figures in custom battlesuits, each one painted in a riot of different colors. She figures that's their private joke. But the joke's on them now-she cannons against them in zone, almost breaks through entirely. The razor and the razor-mech within that triad merge to fend her off, stopping their pursuit of Spencer's team while they deal with a whole new enemy- as it puts L5 in the rearview ... that's easy. It's dealing with the Rain that's the problem. She sees them clearly on zone-even sees them for real now as she filters out the wavelengths on the bomb-bay's camera-feeds to reveal them as they truly are: three figures in custom battlesuits, each one painted in a riot of different colors. She figures that's their private joke. But the joke's on them now-she cannons against them in zone, almost breaks through entirely. The razor and the razor-mech within that triad merge to fend her off, stopping their pursuit of Spencer's team while they deal with a whole new enemy- Something wrong here," says Lynx.

"No s.h.i.+t," says the Operative.

But as to what it is, he doesn't know. There's definitely something funky about this s.h.i.+p's zone, though. Especially when it's presenting to the rest of the L2 fleet as normal. Not that the L2 mainframes are looking too closely. All they care about right now is that the gunnery of the Memphis Memphis is working. But as for the crew- is working. But as for the crew- "What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l," says the Operative.

"Doesn't change a thing," says Lynx.

Spencer hits his jets-feels the s.h.i.+p lurch as he hurtles back down that last shaft-Sarmax and Jarvin following him even though it's plain suicide. Because out there is nothing but the s.h.i.+p's bombs detonating- But now there's not even that- Righteous Fire-Dragon's acceleration slows ever so slightly as the bomb-feed halts and three men head out into s.p.a.ce. She's buying them time. It may be all she can give them. The Rain are resurging against her, forming a zone-s.h.i.+eld that's meeting her halfway, pressing back on her onslaught. She's tempted to go for broke trying to finish them. But for all she knows, this is yet another of their traps. Nor can she rule out the possibility that there's another triad in these tunnels with her. She has to play it safe, can't overextend herself. Especially given what she's now detecting- acceleration slows ever so slightly as the bomb-feed halts and three men head out into s.p.a.ce. She's buying them time. It may be all she can give them. The Rain are resurging against her, forming a zone-s.h.i.+eld that's meeting her halfway, pressing back on her onslaught. She's tempted to go for broke trying to finish them. But for all she knows, this is yet another of their traps. Nor can she rule out the possibility that there's another triad in these tunnels with her. She has to play it safe, can't overextend herself. Especially given what she's now detecting- What the h.e.l.l's going on?" says Linehan.

"Shut up," says the Operative.

The five of them are streaking through one of the Memphis's Memphis's main conduits-part of the axis that runs from end to end. There are a lot of bodies. Dead s.p.a.ceCom personnel are floating everywhere. Nothing living. Nothing moving. But with his ayahuasca-soaked senses, Linehan's somehow main conduits-part of the axis that runs from end to end. There are a lot of bodies. Dead s.p.a.ceCom personnel are floating everywhere. Nothing living. Nothing moving. But with his ayahuasca-soaked senses, Linehan's somehow sensing sensing something all around. something all around.

"This is f.u.c.ked up," says Maschler.

"This is the least of it," says Lynx.

They're right where they shouldn't be-smack in the zone of maximum lethality. The surface of the pusher-plate stretches around them on all sides-a surface that could be shoved right up against the sun and still survive. The bombs that spit from the bays blast energy against it that sends the s.h.i.+p forward. But right now there aren't any bombs. There's just these three suits, making haste across a landscape no one's ever seen under these conditions, clinging to it so as not to be left behind. The Eurasian fleet spreads out before them, churning in their wake. Another trapdoor on that pusher-plate opens- -Like something sliding aside in her mind. There's a new peril, close at hand. The s.p.a.ceCom drops.h.i.+ps now plunging into the South Pole badlands are so real it's as if she's seeing them on camera-feeds. And she can't even reach their zone-it may be switched off altogether. She sees them anyway, though, but that's all she can do-other than increase her pace as she continues to duel with that Rain triad tens of thousands of kilometers away. They're falling back now, deeper into the mega-s.h.i.+p, and she's moving after them, springboarding off Spencer's mind, increasing the pressure on theirs- The Operative's mind is racing. All this butchery just happened. It's still fresh. The five men blast through what remains of it. Blood splatters against their visors. Most of the corpses have been torn from their suits, ripped apart.

"Those look like bite marks," bite marks," says Riley. says Riley.

"One guess as to why," says the Operative.

They head through the second trapdoor, back up a new shaft. Spencer feels like a herd of elephants are trampling on his grave. The Manilis.h.i.+'s using his mind to battle the Rain, and it's giving him one nasty headache. He's struggling to focus. He's half expecting more bombs to come flying down this new shaft at him. Instead, a hatch in the side of that shaft is opening-he leads the way through into a s.p.a.ce that's far wider- She's driving the Rain back on the s.h.i.+p's zone while the s.p.a.ceCom forces close in on her for real beneath the Moon. She can see how they're moving to cut her off. They're coming in from all angles, ready to join forces just beneath her and catch her. She's going to have to reckon against the possibility that she's going to be cut off from Spencer, too, that the Rain are going to find a way to sever that connection. But right now they're giving way before her-collapsing back into full defensive mode as she drives against them. She can see what their next move is going to be. That's why she's getting hers in first.

Someone hacked the whole place," says the Operative as they emerge into the main axis of the Memphis Memphis. It's empty. But they know all too well that s.h.i.+t is closing in- "Cramping our style," says Lynx.

The Operative nods. Then again, he wonders if it's just one of those things. s.h.i.+t happens. Particularly in war. Particularly in this one- "Here we go," says Linehan.

A s.p.a.ce that's as strange as it is large-and most of it's taken up by the gigantic springs that the pusher-plate shoves up against. The three men use their suit-jets judiciously to maneuver between the vast hydraulic presses-which are cranking back into action again as the bombs begin to fall once more. With each detonation, the springs shudder with enough vibration to rip lesser metals apart. Spencer feels like his mind's about to do the same. He feels Haskell reach out even farther- s.p.a.ce that's as strange as it is large-and most of it's taken up by the gigantic springs that the pusher-plate shoves up against. The three men use their suit-jets judiciously to maneuver between the vast hydraulic presses-which are cranking back into action again as the bombs begin to fall once more. With each detonation, the springs shudder with enough vibration to rip lesser metals apart. Spencer feels like his mind's about to do the same. He feels Haskell reach out even farther- She slices past the Rain to hit the microzone of the Righteous Fire-Dragon Righteous Fire-Dragon, slams through its c.o.c.kpit, hits the inner enclave, and f.u.c.ks it good. Network becomes maelstrom. As the zone of the megas.h.i.+p collapses, she rides it down in style, nailing the suits of the crew along with all the soldiers. Not enough to kill them, of course. Just enough to drive them really, really crazy.

There were ten thousand colonists aboard the Memphis Memphis. All of them woke up with some truly nasty programming. Some of them got taken out by s.p.a.ceCom marines. Still more got nailed when the marines blew the airlock. But ultimately numbers won out. There are several thousand left. And a large chunk of them are swarming in toward five men who have never seen anything quite like it. Soldiers less battle hardened might be undone by pure shock.

The five men start firing, accelerating toward the seething ma.s.s.

They're seeing no one. It's fine by them. They're following the route Haskell's given Spencer, moving past the swaying springs, crawling into the shafts that lead into the megas.h.i.+p's hull-and hitting their jets again as they streak between the layers of armor. If oncoming shots smash through the outer layer at the wrong moment, they're toast. It's an acceptable risk. Especially given what's going on inside the s.h.i.+p.

Total pandemonium. There are at least two thousand Chinese marines aboard. Half of them just went insane. And those who didn't are finding that their suits just did. The galleries of the s.h.i.+p are filling up with flame and metal. But Haskell's getting only the merest glimpse of it, basing herself in the wreckage of the AI that controlled the c.o.c.kpit, triangulating from that shattered mind along with Spencer's to continue to press the Rain triad while she dwells in this strange region that's half-zone and half-telepathy. It's as she figured. The triad has other things to think about besides tracking down prey. She's planning on giving them a few more while she's at it.

Utter carnage inside the Memphis Memphis. Half the colonists are still naked. They all look totally nuts. They're attacking with berserker ferocity, using pieces of metal and piping and- "Yeah," says Maschler, "those are bones." bones."

"Someone spiked the alarm clock," says Riley.

"Shut up and keep shooting," hisses Linehan.