The Machinery of Light (56 page)

But then he hears a voice.

I
n the absence of external stimuli the mind creates its own. Claire Haskell knows this. But that knowledge isn’t helping. The voices in her head are really coming out to play. Some are her own. Many aren’t. None are saying anything coherent. Most of them aren’t even speaking English. They’re babbling in languages she can’t even identify, and she’s trying not to listen. She wonders if they’ve been here all along—wonders if she’s going to die. Maybe she already has. The fact that she can see a staircase up ahead doesn’t clarify things in the slightest.

C
heck it out,” says Lynx.

The Operative says nothing—just follows Lynx as he strides onto the bridge of the
Harrison
, which is about as large as one would expect for the flagship of the L2 fleet. Stairs lead up to an enclosed inner bridge. The walls are alive with window-screens—dominated by the Moon, with the massed Eurasian fleets splayed out beyond. Several officers are dead on the floor. But most of the bridge’s crew are still alive—though they clearly aren’t expecting to stay that way. They’re staring at the three mechs who’ve just shot their colleagues who tried to resist. The Operative pats Linehan on the shoulder.

“Nice one,” he says.

L
yle Spencer,” says the voice.

Spencer whirls. It’s coming from one of the consoles. For a moment he thinks someone’s hiding in the damn thing. But then he gets with the program.

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“Claire Haskell told me.”

S
he’s heading down those stairs. They look to be fairly recent in construction. Which might even be good news. It means she might be back on track. The vehicle that’s sitting at the bottom of the stairs is further indication.

T
he Operative scans the screens within his head. Everything’s checking out. The
Harrison
is in his hands. He and Lynx have already taken control of the flagship’s connections with the rest of the fleet, and have been broadcasting about how the rebel units from the
Memphis
are in custody and that the bridge is now secure. Linehan and Maschler and Riley are making it more so—sealing doors, getting emergency barricades up. The Operative and Lynx walk up the stairs to the inner bridge.

S
pencer’s at a loss. He stares at the console from which the voice is being projected. “Haskell told you who I was?”

“For sure. Sarmax and Jarvin too—hi guys.” This last as the two men walk up behind Spencer.

“And who the fuck
are
you?” asks Sarmax.

“Was might be a better word.”

T
he vehicle’s a modified crawler—a long-range explorer, tailor-made for rough underground terrain, with short-use rockets to navigate the more vertical spaces. She opens up the vehicle’s door on manual, climbs in, and seals it. It feels good to get off her feet. It’s even better to be able to
replenish her oxygen. She lets her suit drink its fill while she starts the crawler, then resumes the descent into lunar incognita.

T
he inner bridge of the SpaceCom flagship contains certain things. The rear admiral of the L2 fleet. Two flag officers. And—

“The codes,” says the Operative.

Rear Admiral Griffin looks up at him with an expression that’s one of near total disdain. “You expect me to give the executive codes for this fleet to a bandit?” he asks.

“I guess not,” says the Operative, and fires a shot into Griffin’s neck. The rear admiral pitches backward, starts dying noisily. The Operative looks at the flag officers.

“Your turn,” he says.

L
ook around you,” says the voice. “I was in charge of all of this. Until that she-demon turned my mind inside out—”

“You’re AI,” says Jarvin.

“State of the art,” says the voice. “Command node for both megaships. Until things went to hell. What’s it like in the rest of the ship?”

“Total shit,” says Sarmax.

“You mean you can’t see?” asks Spencer.

“She tore my eyeballs out. Made me her slave. And now I’m yours.”

“That’s what she said?”

“She did more than just
say.”

T
hat’s for sure. She’s hoping it works for them. Contingency plan in case she got cut off—she gave them their own heavyweight AI to play with, and maybe it’ll help them to keep the Rain at bay. She’s got far more immediate challenges now, like steering this crawler as fast as it’ll go down a passage that’s so steep it might be better termed a pit. She keeps having to swerve to avoid outcroppings, keeps having to apply retro-blasts from the crawler’s rockets. The voices in her head are getting ever louder. There’s an almost musical quality to their babbling. She’s almost starting to enjoy it. She takes that to be a sign of just how far gone she’s getting.