The Burning Skies (34 page)

“The asteroid,” says Lynx.

“Going to be quite a slam-dance,” says Sarmax.

O
nly question now is when it starts.”

“It may already have,” says Linehan. “Meaning?”

“They may have already gotten inside the perimeter.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Maybe sooner.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Spencer. “It means you and I are big fucking asterisks.”

“Said the man who used to be a SpaceCom assassin.”

“Used to be?”

“You about to tell me something I don’t want to hear?”

“Turns out they got in here as well,” says Linehan. “Who?”

“SpaceCom.”
“What?”

“While you were out hunting ammo, I was talking with some of the marines.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They said that SpaceCom managed to infiltrate a
bunch of assholes into the Platform to take down the Throne.”

“They were trying to use the Rain
again?”

“No one uses the Rain. The Com learned that lesson the hard way last time. No, this was a separate plot, aimed right at the president.”

“And they didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t get near him.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow. “And were you part of this?”

“If I had been, I’d
be
dead instead of just thrust out beyond the perimeter about to
get
dead.”

“The Manilishi definitely cleared you.”

“But the Throne still didn’t like the looks of me.”

“Can’t say I blame him.”

“It’s enough to make a man paranoid.”

“Isn’t that your natural state?”

“Paranoid about
you.”

“You need to relax,” says Spencer.

“You need to tell me who you really are.”

“Get a grip on yourself.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’m Lyle Spencer,” says Spencer as he readies his weapons. “Who are you?”

“Seb Linehan.”

“What the hell are you on, Linehan?”

“I’m high on life.”

“And a damn sight more than that.”

“So what if I am?”

“So what are you on?”

“Ayahuasca.”

“Getting dosed in South America wasn’t enough?”

“Same dose, Spencer.”

“What?”

“Same dose, Spencer.”

“You’re still—”

“Hallucinating. Yeah.”

“Three and a half days later?”

“Has it been that long?”

“You don’t
know?”

“I don’t even know which way is up anymore.”

“There is no up,” says Spencer. “Not out here.”

T
hey’re deep into the valley now. They’re sticking to the forests whenever possible, though far too many of the trees have been ripped from the ground, along with all the leaves. It’s like the land of endless winter now. There’s no sign of life anywhere. No sign of movement either.

“Too dark to see if that shit’s still up there,” says Lynx.

“We’ll dodge it if it is,” says the Operative. “They’re not looking for us. They’re just busy getting into their assault positions around the Throne’s perimeter.”

“Fucking great,” says Lynx.

They move out of the woodlands and start along a riverbed. The water’s at one with the vacuum now. Sun glints above them as the cylinder rotates, gleams off the tens of thousands of bodies drifting along the axis as Sarmax starts up the one-on-one again.

“I’m telling you it
was
her,” he says.

“You’re saying Indigo Velasquez has risen from the dead?”

“I’m saying I didn’t finish the job.”

“Oh,”
says the Operative softly.

“Oh. All that time, and all you can say is
oh?
I left her bleeding on the floor of a suborbital. I bailed out. Ship bit Pacific minutes later.”

“And her body was never recovered.”

“Nothing was,” says Sarmax.
“Carson, it was her.”

“Easy,” says the Operative.

“Ten years gone,” says Sarmax. His voice is hollow. “Ten minutes I lay senseless in those tunnels. I drifted against a wall and the combat raged around me. I opened my eyes and couldn’t move and
she
was moving past me.”

“Faces can be imitated,” says the Operative. “Just ask the Throne.”

“It wasn’t just the face,” says Sarmax. “It was the way she looked at me. The way her eyes narrowed. She
recognized
me.”

“She was the perfect soldier. If she saw you, she would have killed you.”

“She was the love of my life.”

“Exactly.”

“Look—”

“No,” says the Operative,
“you look
. You suffered head trauma in that fucking slugfest, and before that you’d been cowering on the bottom of the Moon for a fucking
decade
trying desperately to think of anything but her.”

“I’m not going crazy!”

“Who said anything about crazy? You’ve just been under a lot of stress.”

“Shit
, man—”

“What did your armor’s cam-feeds show?”

Sarmax hesitates.

“Have you even
looked?”
asks the Operative.

“They were junked. They showed fuck-all.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” says Lynx.

“What the hell are you doing on this line?” asks Sarmax.

“That’d be hacking it.”

• • •

S
o you’re still tripping,” says Spencer. “So what?”

“Would have thought you’d be a little more concerned.”

Spencer gestures at the view in the window. “It’s all relative,” he says.

“But after the Jaguars dosed us, InfoCom erased my systems and rebooted me. The Manilishi probably did the same.”

“So?”

“So how come I’m still tripping?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to answer that?”

“And why aren’t you still flying too?”

“Maybe the Jaguars gave you a heavier dose.”

“Fuck, Spencer, I saw the way your eyes looked back in that goddamn temple. The Jags were trying to interrogate us both, weren’t they? No reason they would have given you the lightweight version.”

“There’s
every
reason. You’re twice my size, Linehan. Maybe they were trying to account for it and fucked up. Maybe you’re just highly receptive. What’s your normal dosage on combat drugs?”

“I don’t take combat drugs.”

“You’re kidding me. I thought all mechs did.”

“My officers always said I was a natural born psycho.”

“No arguments there. Look, I take a lot of shit to let me run zone. Razors are used to altered states, that’s all we’re ever in. No wonder you’ve been having such a hard time.”

“It’s getting harder by the moment.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell InfoCom the ayahuasca was proving so persistent?”

“I figured your team wouldn’t be that happy.”

“We could have given you an antidote.”

“Assuming you let me live, sure.”

“One rogue factor gets past the conditioning, maybe there are others?”

“Exactly.”

“Not of the sort that would matter,” says Spencer. “The InfoCom reconditioning wasn’t aimed at any recreational drugs you might have taken—”

“Recreational?”

“Whatever. Point is it was aimed at your
loyalties.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Because you no longer feel like fighting for the Throne?”

“Fuck, man, as long as I was
fighting
, I was loving it.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“There’s no combat.”

“And?”

“And the suspense is getting to me.”

“You never struck me as the type to get scared.”

“Precisely why I’m getting so freaked out.”

T
hey’ve emerged from the riverbed, forged on into fields purged of all harvest. Dead valley stretches all around, with two more like it stretching far overhead … all three converging on the shattered city that dominates the northern end of this cylinder. Call that city capital of memory, because that’s all it holds now. And the men now approaching it have the same problem.

“I’m going to rip your head off,” says Sarmax.

“Not so fast,” says the Operative.

“He’s right,” says Lynx.

Of course he is. Combat inside the Remoraz would be insane. Sarmax would have to blow one of the vehicle’s hatches to even turn around to face Lynx. But Sarmax seems so angry right now the Operative’s not taking any chances.

“Anyone starts anything, I’ll take ’em out myself,” he says. “Lynx, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“I’ve
got some explaining to do?”

“So start talking,” growls Sarmax.

“What’s there to explain? Guess Carson’s not as good a razor as he thinks he is. I hacked his ass, and got my cock right up in it.”

“Or Carson let you do it,” says Sarmax.

“Why the hell would I do that?” asks the Operative.

“Maybe some misguided attempt to get us all on the same page.”

“Man,” says Lynx, “you do not want to tell him
any
secrets. Look, Leo, sorry to hear that you’re having problems with your woman, but—”

“Watch it.”

“I am. I’m watching you lose it and I think you might be missing the point. You’re too wrapped up in it, man. You need to think about this from the only perspective that matters.”

“Which is?” asks Sarmax.

“Autumn Rain’s,” says the Operative.

K
eep talking,” says Spencer. “About what?” asks Linehan.