The Machinery Of Light Part 44

The triad's apparent leader raises his fist. "Spoken like a true Praetorian. Seen some files, convinced he knows the answer. But some answers are way beyond anyone's guessing."

"You can't die," mutters Sarmax. "You just can't-"

"She didn't have to," says the third figure.

"Sinclair?" asks Carson.

The figure turns, smashes him across the head with a single blow. It must be on zone as well-because Carson's armor is seizing up, sparks chasing themselves across it. His helmet's come off. The figure looks down at him.

"The name's Morat," he says.

What the f.u.c.k is going on?" says Linehan. He's trying to target his guns on these three, but he can't seem to pull the trigger. Something seems to be f.u.c.king with his armor. Something he can't fight. He no longer feels Haskell's presence in his mind. He hears Jarvin muttering to him about not calling attention to himself. But apparently it's too late. The lead figure is turning toward him.

"Linehan," it says.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

"Friend of your old pal Spencer's."

Spencer's staring. "Wait a second-"

No need for it," says the figure.

"You're not-you can't be-"

"All this time, and that's all you can say?"

"You're Control."

"Of course."

f.u.c.k," mutters the Operative, pulling himself off the floor, taking in the scene. Control, Morat, Marlowe-a triad if ever there was one. Though none of it makes any sense. Unless- mutters the Operative, pulling himself off the floor, taking in the scene. Control, Morat, Marlowe-a triad if ever there was one. Though none of it makes any sense. Unless- "So where the f.u.c.k's Sinclair?" he mutters.

"That's what we're going to find out," says Control.

Everyone out of your armor," says Morat.

"Not until you tell me what the f.u.c.k's going on," says Linehan.

"We're giving the orders," says Marlowe.

And Linehan's armor's starting to shut down. Control apparently has the high ground on zone. And Haskell seems to have withdrawn from the picture, enclosed expressionless within that pod as the machinery goes nova. Linehan blows seals, starts taking off his armor. Everyone else is doing the same.

"What about Indigo?" asks Sarmax. Tears streak his face. Linehan never could understand how any man could shed them. But now he gets it. He realizes he's crying himself-tears for all those he killed, all those whose lives he took, all those dying outside right now ...

"Who cares?" says Marlowe.

"It's the rest of you that matter," says Morat.

You guys are rebel angels," says the Operative.

"Aren't we all?" says Control.

"Sinclair charged you with running s.h.i.+t behind the scenes."

"And all the while I was simply getting in behind him."

The Operative nods. He can't help but admire how state of the art Control's suit is. He wonders at the software packed within-wonders whether Control was ensconsed within it this whole time. He thinks about all that this Room contains-struggles to contain himself. He looks at Haskell through that pod's window, feels his heart overflowing. Everyone's stripped down to vests and pants now. Everyone looks strange. The three who still remain in armor look even more so. Especially because at least one of those suits encases no flesh whatsoever.

And now we're down to bedrock," says Control. "Either one of you is Matthew Sinclair or else the man's in hiding somewhere in the folds of Room. And here's how we're going to find out-"

"The 'folds of Room'?" asks Lynx.

Morat laughs. "Don't play stupid with us, Stefan. We all know this thing's a f.u.c.king tesseract."

"And it's about to be so much more," says Control.

"Except you guys miscalculated," says Carson.

"Why did you betray him?" mumbles Velasquez.

"Why did you you?" Control moves over to where Velasquez is laying, Sarmax trying desperately to s.h.i.+eld her- "I realized what he was trying to do," she mumbles.

"And that didn't fill you with a longing to take it for yourself?"

"It filled me with a longing to somehow stop him."

"And thus your nuke. So we can rule you out as the old man-"

"Unless she's being particularly tricky," says Morat.

"She's not," says Control-fires a single bullet through her head.

The Operative watches as Sarmax hurls himself at Control-watches while he gets punched in the face for his troubles, falling half-conscious across Velasquez's still-twitching body.

"The picture of romance," says Morat.

"Careful," says Marlowe.

"So, Jason, let me guess," says Lynx. "Mr. Cyber promised you Claire when it was all over."

"So what if he did?"

"He already rescued her once," says Morat. "Kept her on schedule. Back at Leo's place, got his heart all a-patter-"

"Shut the f.u.c.k up," says Marlowe.

"Hang on," says the Operative, "how the f.u.c.k do we know you're Jason anyway? What the h.e.l.l are you, really?"

"Your worst nightmare," says Marlowe.

"A clone," says Lynx.

"No," says Control.

"A download," says the Operative.

"Nope," says Marlowe.

"I'm the download," says Morat. the download," says Morat.

"Leaving only one possibility," says Spencer.

They all look at him then, and he knows he'd better talk fast. They'll be suspecting he's Sinclair next-shooting him through the head on pure suspicion. But he's got to stand fast-got to get past this somehow. He can see there's still maneuvering room between the players-can see only one way to get the party started- "Marlowe's from a parallel reality," he says.

"No," says Marlowe, "you are." "you are."

Spencer shrugs. "What are your memories?"

"I-what do you mean?"

"Did you kill Claire Haskell in your world?"

Marlowe looks like he's just been shot-like he's about to gun Spencer down. But Control just laughs: "Both of you calm down. You're not so different, really. You were all prepared. All your memories-all the focus on on memory-and so many of those memories the recollections of your other selves. Thus the infinitely-reprogrammable agent. Thus the culmination of what those of you who survive might become-under memory-and so many of those memories the recollections of your other selves. Thus the infinitely-reprogrammable agent. Thus the culmination of what those of you who survive might become-under my my supervision, of course. Could there be a higher calling?" supervision, of course. Could there be a higher calling?"

"I'd like to think so," says Jarvin.

"You of all people should be on my side," says Control.

"You'd merely accomplish the abomination the old man was seeking."

"But with so much more aplomb, Alek. You're professional enough to admit that, no?" Control gestures at Haskell. "Sinclair prepared the ultimate bride-the end-of-all-flesh-and how can he be blamed for not seeing that the groom had to be silicon? Haskell's half synthetic herself anyway-receiving full-on transmissions from the beyond throughout both meat and circuitry. But it requires the machinery of the Room to exit the universe entirely. Powered by-"

"The minds of those dying outside," says Jarvin.

"You're joking," says Linehan.

"Wish I was," replies Jarvin.

"Sinclair should have had you terminated," says Control.

"He would have had he known about the file I was a.s.sembling."

"Which is where?"

"In my head. And you've damaged the software beyond repair-"

"I deliberately stopped short of that. So download the file before I remove it the old-fas.h.i.+oned-"

"It's yours," says Jarvin-a moment pa.s.ses- "This isn't complete," says Control.

"Spencer figured out the rest of it," says Jarvin.

Control steps away from Velasquez, moves in toward Spencer-who feels the scans within his body increasing- "Sinclair's files," says Control. "Give them to me." "Give them to me."

Spencer knows that Jarvin must be wondering if he's going to rat him out in return. He's severely tempted. It might redirect some of the pressure. Then again, it might prevent him from driving this conversation in the only direction that matters- "You're a quantum computer," he says.

"The first," says Control.

"The last," snarls Carson. "This thing means to rule all futures-"

"I am am all futures," says Control. "Calculations done across the multiverse-" all futures," says Control. "Calculations done across the multiverse-"

"That's all theoretical," snaps Sarmax.

"The theory's standing before your eyes," says Morat.

And Sinclair thought he could control it," says Lynx. He sees what the others are doing now, gets where the game to stay alive is going. But if you want to play, you've got to stick your neck out- "Those teleporters out there," he says.

"What about them?" says Control.

"They aren't remote duplication, are they? They're point-to-point connections sliced sliced through dimensional folds-" through dimensional folds-"

"Thereby enabling travel faster than the speed of light," mutters Sarmax.

"One implication among many," says Spencer.

"Let's not overstate it," says Carson. "You'd still need to get out there the old-fas.h.i.+oned way-cross the f.u.c.king empty to build build each gateway first. And that's a.s.suming it each gateway first. And that's a.s.suming it wasn't wasn't remote-" remote-"

"This is pathetic," says Control. "You think to keep me prattling while Haskell breaks through. Gentlemen, she's already there she's already there. And I'm riding her mind all the way while we speak. And the only reason I'm even tolerating this conversation is so I can take Matthew Sinclair alive-"

"And learn something along the way," says Spencer.

"So hand over the G.o.dd.a.m.n files," says Morat.

Spencer deploys what's left of his skull's software, beams the files to Sarmax instead. Who starts from where he's cradling Velasquez, whirls around- "What the f.u.c.k did you just do?" he asks.

"You've got copies of the files now," says Spencer.

"f.u.c.k's sake," says Sarmax, "I already know the-"

"Mathematics?" Spencer laughs. "The blueprints for Control?"

"How about giving me a taste?" says Lynx.

"I'll give you a little more than that," says Control.

"Otherwise you can't seal off Sinclair's escape route," says Spencer. "Right?" He looks at that sightless face, tries to see behind those eyes-that-aren't-eyes. He feels a strange buzzing on the edge of his awareness-feels the Room starting to somehow s.h.i.+ft s.h.i.+ft around him. The others seem to sense it too. around him. The others seem to sense it too.