The Machinery of Light (64 page)

“Now what?” says Linehan.

“Now get on that fucking motor,” says Lynx.

T
he doors are shut once more. The defenses are back up.

It’s just the two of them now. Their bodies are in opposite corners of the room, their minds creeping amidst zone fragments, flitting from sensor to sensor, tracking Sarmax as he makes his way deeper into the depths of the structure. Until—

“What the fuck?” says Spencer.

“He just vanished,” says Jarvin.

“Into the jaws of Rain.”

T
otal silence save for the feedback in his own helmet. He’s no longer on the zone. There’s nothing for him there. Nothing in his mind now either. No sign of Indigo. At all. A nasty suspicion’s forming in his head. He’s the one who almost killed her back in the day. If she really
is
alive, then maybe he won’t be staying that way for too long. Maybe that’s the way it should be. He primes his weapons, gets ready for what he’s been waiting for all along.

L
inehan opens more hatches and starts running wires into the microfission chambers while Lynx establishes a link back to the bridge. The Operative’s face appears on a screen.

“What’s the situation?”

“We’re here,” says Lynx. “It’s going to take awhile.”

“What’s going on?” asks the Operative.

“The comps are fucked. We have to program the thing by hand.”

“But it’s working?”

“We’ll find out.”

“Okay,” says the Operative. “Keep me posted and—
fuck!”

“What your problem?” asks Lynx.

“This,” says the Operative—beams over data—

“Fuck
me
,” says Lynx.

A
nd it’s all they can do to hang on. The megaships just changed gears yet again—heavier racks of nukes start slotting through them as they move to a whole new level of speed. If this goes on for much longer, all the humans aboard will be crushed by the G-forces. They’re starting to feel pretty squashed now. Spencer and Jarvin are pressed back in their respective corners. But at least they’re braced for it.

S
armax gets knocked sprawling. He grabs at a doorway, misses—tumbles down a corridor that’s become a shaft—he’s firing his suit-jets, but not in time—walls come rushing up to meet him—

T
here’s a lurch as the
Harrison
throttles up still further and the L2 fleet reaches its uppermost speed. Any extra margin is a function of what Lynx can achieve with the AM drive. He’s running through the circuitry now—

“No pressure,” says Linehan.

“Fuck you,” mutters Lynx.

“Take a look at this,” says the Operative on the com.

But Lynx can spare only a glance at the data that the Operative’s forwarding onto the screen. The vanguards of the Eurasian fleet are kniving in along two distinct vectors—releasing their tethers, slinging scores of troopships toward the Moon. Looks like the two megaships themselves are going to converge on a point behind it. More specifically—

“They’re coming for us,” says the Operative.

“I get that,” says Lynx. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“No,” says the Operative, “they’re coming for us.”

W
e’re heading straight for them,” says Jarvin.

The AI confirms it. The override back at the motors has got them on a collision course with the U.S. fleet, not to mention the other megaship. And now the AI starts to reel off more numbers …

“Holy mother of God,” says Jarvin.

W
aking up isn’t easy. Especially when it involves becoming aware of so much pain. Sarmax opens his eyes to find a metal surface pressed up against his visor. He’s pressed up against the rest of that metal, shoved against the edge of a doorway that acceleration has turned into the entrance of a rather deep pit. He’s trying to move. He can’t. His armor’s primary gyros are fucked. His secondaries aren’t reporting for duty. That’s when someone presses their helmet up against his.

L
ights gleam along the walls: the elevator car’s moving along grooves cut into the side of a vast cavern. Machinery’s everywhere, crusting along the walls and ceiling like some out-of-control growth.

Yet Haskell knows it’s a mere fraction of the total sum of what’s enclosed within this part of the Moon. Most of it isn’t visible—just endless kilometers of piping running through tunnels too narrow for any but the most specialized of service droids. None of which matters as long as it works. And it’s all about to be put to the test. Her car drops through the cavern’s floor, slides to a halt. The door opens.

A
s the Eurasian megaships streak in from either side of the Moon, the American fleet opens up with all remaining guns. The rest of the Eurasian armada returns the favor. Both sides start taking serious damage. The Operative watches on the screens while ship after ship gets hit by DE fire—while simultaneously the KE gatlings throughout the U.S. fleet start churning metal out into vacuum at unholy rates, aiming along the vectors deemed most likely by the computers to intersect with the megaships, now rushing in upon each flank—