The Machinery of Light (51 page)

“Oh
fuck,”
says Maschler—but they’re already being flung forward.

T
wenty 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 cushioning 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 ship in particular’s rushing in toward him.

T
hey’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.

T
hey’re about as fucked 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-shielding, 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.

S
pencer,”
says Haskell.

“Jesus Christ,”
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
.

“Do exactly what I say,” she says.

M
issile strike: an explosion rips through the hull of the colony ship
Memphis
. Metal tears away space—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.

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
attempt to seal off this section of the ship. 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.

T
he backup door to the bomb-chamber suddenly swings shut. Looks like they’re trapped in the shaft for real now—

“What the fuck?” 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—

D
eep within the Moon, working the gears of the
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—

S
omething wrong here,” says Lynx.

“No shit,” says the Operative.

But as to what it is, he doesn’t know. There’s definitely something funky about this ship’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
is working. But as for the crew—

“What the
hell
,” says the Operative.

“Doesn’t change a thing,” says Lynx.

S
pencer hits his jets—feels the ship 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 ship’s bombs detonating—

But now there’s not even that—

R
ighteous Fire-Dragon’s
acceleration slows ever so slightly as the bomb-feed halts and three men head out into space. She’s buying them time. It may be all she can give them. The Rain are resurging against her, forming a zone-shield 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—