The Machinery of Light (39 page)

“What about Carson?”

“What about him?”

“Back on Harrison’s ship. He knew what he was doing—”

“Thought
he did, sure. He had Sinclair’s backing, but Sinclair gave him only part of the data. The old man wasn’t stupid enough to allow your full powers into the hands of any of his minions. ’Cause suddenly the minion starts thinking they can be the master, right?”

“Just like you’re doing now.”

“And I’m not going into the lion’s den without some serious hardware. These last two days have been quite the journey, Claire. Quite the haul. The sequencing on your incubation. The diagrams of your mind’s metaprocesses, the way you run zone—I’ve got them now. I’ll be able to get past the hurdles that tripped up Montrose. All that’s left is one more step.”

“Assuming Sarmax comes through for you.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

Two marines step into the gazebo with them. The floor begins to descend.

A
shudder passes through the shuttle as it docks with the dreadnaught
Lexington
. Exterior hatches swing open. Everybody gets up and starts heading for the exit—or nearly everybody, anyway. Five people stay behind. Maschler and Riley look befuddled. Everyone else looks amused. The pilot appears in the cockpit doorway.

“End of the line,” he says.

“Not for us,” says the Operative.

“What’s your problem?”

“Check your schedule,” says Lynx.

“I already did,” says the pilot.

“So check it again,” says the Operative. There’s something in his tone that makes the pilot do just that—accessing screens within his head—looking bemused—

“I don’t understand,” he says.

“Last-minute update,” says Lynx.

“You guys intel or something?”

“Something,” says the Operative.

“And we haven’t got all day,” says Linehan, getting out of his seat. He’s twice the size of the pilot. The pilot re-enters the cockpit, the door to that chamber starts to slide shut—

“You can leave that open,” says Lynx.

The door slides back open. The pilot works the controls. Exterior hatches shut; engines rumble into life as the shuttle pushes back once more. The Operative hears the one-on-one start up within his head.

“You’d better be right about this,” says Lynx.

“Shut the hell up,” says the Operative.

W
e’re between floors,” says Sarmax, echoing Jarvin.

“Let’s go,” says Spencer.

They move through a series of passages that aren’t on any of the ship’s blueprints they’d had access to previously. They see no other sign of life, no sign that anything’s been here since it got built. There’s that much dust. It reminds Spencer of all that nanotech back on the Europa Platform. He hopes he hasn’t signed on for a repeat performance. They reach a door that looks to be quite strong.

“You got the key?” asks Jarvin.

“I’d better,” says Spencer.

Turns out he does. They go through more, each one thicker than the last. Each time he finds he’s got the right access codes. Turns out the cockpit wasn’t the most secure area on the ship, because everyone knew where it was. But this—

“Everyone stand back,” says Spencer.

The last door slides open.

T
he gazebo floor-turned-elevator trundles downward. Shaft walls slide by. Szilard’s two bodyguards eye Haskell. Haskell eyes Szilard.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Don’t you know?”

“Pretend I don’t.”

“Can’t you see the future?”

“It’s a very clouded view.”

“That’s about to change.”

They descend through the ceiling of a room unlike any Haskell’s ever seen.

W
ay out near the edge of the L2 fleet is a medium-grade war-sat that was obsolete as of ten years ago. It’s nothing special. It sees very little traffic.

That’s the point.

“We don’t even have clearance,” says the pilot.

“You will in a second,” says the Operative. He and Lynx are doing their damndest to make sure of that. None of this was easy to find. Sometimes the best place to hide secrets is right out in the open. Sometimes all you need to do is knock …

“Got it,” says the pilot.

“Told you,” says the Operative.

A battered hangar opens to receive them.

T
hree men pile into a room. The door slides shut behind them. There are no other doors visible.

“Jesus Christ,” says Sarmax.

Dust is everywhere. The place looks like it’s never been used. The walls are made of a strange kind of metal. Each wall has a suit-sized alcove cut in its center. Each such alcove looks as if it’s meant to be stood in.

“Well,” says Spencer, “here we are.”

“And no one else on this ship knows about this?” Sarmax looks skeptical.

“If they do,” says Spencer, “they’re not talking.”

“They don’t,” says Jarvin. “This was the trump card of the Eurasian leadership. In case their ships slipped the leash.”

“They didn’t count on us, though.”

“Maybe they did,” says Sarmax.

“Let’s find out,” says Spencer.

P
icture a square turned forty-five degrees. That’s what this room’s like—it’s set at angles. There’s no floor, just vast walls slanting down along diagonals to meet in a V-shape: a metal-lined groove that runs along the bottom of the room. There’s another such groove at the highest point of the room too—and a hole in the wall that rises up to meet that groove. The elevator-gazebo has just dropped through that hole, trundling along vertical rails down to the catwalks that crisscross here and there. A pillar is at the very center of the room, running from floor to ceiling.

“Quite a place,” says Haskell.

“Wait till we turn it on,” says Szilard.

T
hey don’t waste time. Lynx switches the shuttle’s zone classification to
undergoing maintenance;
the Operative switches the war-sat’s maintenance schedule to ensure that they won’t be getting to the shuttle anytime soon.

“And what about me?” asks the pilot.

Linehan shoots him through the head. “Are we ready?” he asks.

“I think we are,” says the Operative.

The shuttle door opens.

S
pencer’s sending out wireless signals at point-blank range. A panel unfolds from the wall, revealing a console.