The Machinery of Light (38 page)

And what it contains used to be a garden.

“Jesus,” she says.

It’s been burnt all to hell. Ash is everywhere. The skeletal remains of what might have been a forest jut here and there. Pieces of the ceiling hang like icicles, casting eerie shadows in the floodlights that have been set up by the marines standing sentry all around. Haskell’s escorts lead her through a path in the ash. It seems like maybe it might have been a stream once, but there’s no sign of water now. Up another hill of ash, and they reach what’s left of a gazebo …

Jharek Szilard stands within. Haskell’s escorts stop just short, motion her forward.

L
inehan stares out the window at the flickering lights.

They look all too familiar. L2’s the closest thing to home he’s ever known. That’s why he’s always wanted to see it burn. He’s glad he came back here to see it happen. Now he can barely wait.

“What’s up, boss?” he says.

“You’ve been talking with Maschler and Riley?” Carson asks.

“Sure,” says Linehan.

“What’d they say?”

“You don’t know?”

“Pretend I don’t.”

“Just low-grade bitching, boss.”

“Define ‘low-grade.’”

“The kind that’s only a problem when it stops.”

“Has Lynx talked to you?”

Linehan says nothing.

“Well?” demands Carson.

“No.”

“Why do I not quite believe that?”

“What do you want me to do if he does?”

“Hear him out. Laugh at his retarded jokes.”

“That might be tough.”

“What’ll be tough is if you cross me.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Other than the fact that otherwise you’re dead?”

“I understand sticks just fine,” says Linehan. “But I like carrot too. What are you and Lynx looking for anyway?”

“Who says we’re looking for something?”

“I’m not stupid, Carson.”

“Then you’ll appreciate the importance of finding a way off this goddamn fleet.”

“Sure, but you guys are running some other agenda. All this beetling back and forth to different parts of the fleet—you’re searching for something.”

“An interesting theory. What do you think we’re after?”

“Beats me.”

“Good,” says Carson. “Look, being kept in the dark is frustrating. But trust me, you don’t want to
know
the big picture.”

“How about letting me be the judge of that?”

“How about letting me worry about the shit that’s above your pay grade? Point is that when the moment comes, you’re going to have to make a choice.”

“Between you and Lynx.”

“Maschler and Riley are only along for the ride because we’re going to need all the muscle we can get for the stunts we’re about to pull. I know you won’t give anything they say a second thought. But Lynx is nothing if not persuasive. He’s got a way of getting inside one’s head with his twists of what he’ll try to convince you passes for logic. But he won’t forget the fact that you already fucked him over.”

“Szilard
fucked him over. Using me.”

“You think that matters to him?”

“Probably not.”

“What matters is that you never crossed
me
. And you saved us all at the Europa Platform. Stay on my side, and you’ll have anything you want, Linehan. Anything. Freedom from all this bullshit, no bosses, dominion over whatever—doesn’t matter. Fuck, you can have
Mars
if you want it.”

“That’s what Harrison offered me. A place up there—”

“I’m offering you the whole planet.”

Pause. “You’re not serious.”

“Why not?” says the Operative. “Not like I want the dump. Look man, the one thing I’m loyal to is loyalty. And I’m going to need it when the shit hits the mother of all fans.”

“And that’d be when?”

“Hate to say it, but probably before we’re ready.”

“You’re running behind schedule?”

“Now we’ll see if you can keep a secret.”

The shuttle initiates docking sequence.

T
hey head from the maintenance shafts to auxiliary shafts to elevator shafts. They reach the spine of the ship in short order and start making haste along it. There’s a clanking noise below them. Cable starts to reel past them.

“Grab it,” says Sarmax.

They do—it starts to haul them out of the forward levels of the ship. The elevator car whips past them, heading in the direction they’ve come from as they drop into the middle layers.

“Let’s change it up,” says Spencer.

“Agreed,” says Jarvin.

Spencer finds that annoying. It doesn’t matter what Jarvin thinks or says, now that Spencer has the data in his head—the vantage point on Eastern zone he’s been seeking, which in turn provides perspective on so much else. He steps from the cable onto the wall of the shaft, his magnetic grips clinging while his camo cranks away. The others follow him through a crawlspace that leads into one of the parallel shafts. This one’s much narrower. The elevators that run through it are intended purely for personnel. They grab another cable, alight on an elevator car that’s moving fast toward the rear of the ship—they enter via the ceiling into the empty car.

“Let’s hope your confidence is justified,” says Jarvin.

“Not my fault you couldn’t translate what you stole,” says Spencer.

“You really broke through on
everything?”

“Not all of it, no.”

“But enough of it to—”

“It’s their zone tactics,” says Spencer. “Their strategy.”

“Autumn Rain’s.”

“Like nothing I’ve ever seen. Precise guidelines—a fucking
manual
—for how to use the legacy zones to creep up and around the current ones.”

“Like they did in South America.”

“And at the Europa Platform. And everywhere else.
And
how to remain undetected while they were doing it. I took a tour through
yesterday’s Russia, climbed out into today’s Moscow, and got in behind the Praesidium’s firewall.”

“Penetrated it altogether?” Jarvin sounds skeptical.

“The next best thing. Managed to move a few files outside of it. Got the blueprints for what we’re heading toward—not to mention the real lowdown on the fleet logistics.”

“Which are?”

“They’re about to green-light the final assault,” says Spencer. He works a sequence on the zone; the elevator slows, slides to a halt.

“What the hell’s going on?” says Sarmax.

“We’re between floors,” says Jarvin.

The doors are opening anyway—

H
askell walks up to the president. He looks down at her, floodlights reflected in his visor. The blighted garden stretches all around them. Szilard’s bodyguards stand close at hand.

“Quite a place,” she says.

“It used to look a little more impressive.”

“I’ll bet.”

“What happened here?” he asks.

She shrugs. “Some Rain operatives had a dustup.”

“Fighting among themselves?”

“A habit of theirs.”

“Sarmax and Carson, right?”

She nods.

“Who won?”

“Does it look like anyone won?”

“And you know all this because—?”

“Carson told me.”

“He told you? Or can you
sense
it?”

“I’m not that good.”

“Not yet,” he says.

There’s a pause. “So how much
do
you know?” she asks.

“A lot more than I did.”

“These last forty-eight hours—where have we been?”

“All over,” Szilard replies. “Some backup mainframes beneath Agrippa. Some bombed-out tunnels beneath what used to be Eurasian territory. A storage locker in Congreve. Not to mention—”

“Nansen Station?”

Szilard shakes his head. “I delegated that one. Didn’t think it would be prudent to go there myself.”

“Too predictable?”

“‘Predictable’ is a word I rarely use,” he says. “If something’s predictable enough, then only a fool would do it, meaning no one expects you to do it, meaning more often than not you can pull it off. The possibility for double- and triple-fakes is endless, especially if you’re dealing with Rain. And God only knows how many would-be pretenders are trying to do to me what I did to Montrose. I’ve stranded most of the problem cases up at the L2 fleet, but the Moon’s crawling with collateral fallout from the last few days: surviving Praetorians, rogue InfoCom agents, everyone who’s been dispossessed by the constant regime changes—”

“But this isn’t just about your staying out of the crosshairs of those who would take your place.”

Szilard says nothing.

“It’s also about getting ready for the next phase,” adds Haskell. “And thus your scavenger hunt.”

Szilard nods.

“Found much?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I’ve found enough. Old files of Harrison’s, captured Eurasian intel briefings, interrogation transcripts—it’s strange how much got scattered across more than twenty years. You’ve got something you want hidden, you put it out of reach, and yet that doesn’t mean it gets passed over forever. These days your data often has a longer lifespan than you do.”

“Sarmax’s hasn’t outlived him yet.”

“No,” says Szilard. He looks thoughtful. “And yet I think that man died inside many years back.”

“Because of Indigo Velasquez?”

“Indeed.”

“She’s still alive.”

“You assert that with such confidence.”

“Because I saw her.”

“Along with who else?”

“She’s part of Sinclair’s team up at L5.”

“And what about Sinclair’s team down here?”

Pause. “I’ve seen nothing.”

“You hesitate.”

“I was thinking it over,” she says.

“I think you’re only seeing what he wants you to see.”

“Possibly.”

“That’s his M.O., isn’t it? All the way from the start, right? He put you and Marlowe alongside each other to keep you preoccupied, keep you distracted while—”

“He’s not invincible. Look at how Morat played him—”

“And now Morat’s dead.”

“Maybe.”

Szilard cocks his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Morat appeared to me when Montrose was interrogating me.”

Pause. “Montrose was using his image.”

“I’m not so sure,” she says. “His presence felt … real.”

“Well, of course it would—”

“And Sinclair appeared soon after, and he
was
real. That tank Montrose was holding me in had leaks. Maybe more than one. For all I know, Morat’s out there playing his own game. Or is back in the saddle with Sinclair—”

“But I thought
you
were the one to kill Morat.”

“I killed a robot. The original might have been elsewhere. Or somebody might have created more.”

“Well,” says Szilard, “one more reason for me to take my precautions.”

“It won’t save you.”

Szilard grins ruefully. “I doubt anyone thought I’d be the one to harness you either. Sinclair and Harrison cut me out of the loop from the start. They thought I was just one more nonentity. Harrison tried to take me out, and I took him instead. The Rain tried to play me, and I spaced their hit squad. Montrose tried to make me second fiddle, and now she’s a frozen husk. Because I do my homework, just like I’ve done with you. Everyone else just rushed in and got what they deserved. You’re something you don’t fuck with. You mind envelops anything that tries to control it. Your brain uses whatever tries to use you—you escalate automatically beyond the ability of any interrogator to reach. Montrose thought she’d cracked you, and all she’d done was undermine her own defenses.”