The Machinery of Light (80 page)

“Throwing the last switch.”

“He
wants
you to do that, Claire.”

“How the fuck else am I going to draw him out?”

Velasquez takes the meaning. “None of my triad—”

“Keep a close eye on them all the same,” snaps Haskell.

The canopy closes around her.

W
hat the hell’s going on?” asks Linehan.

“Shut up and get ready to fight,” says the Operative. He wasn’t expecting things to get so complicated tactically. Especially because now he sees that everybody’s starting to get it. Everybody knows everybody else is suspect. Just like everybody’s always been …

“Let’s hope it’s that simple,” says Lynx on the one-on-one—

—t
hough he’s not surprised when Carson refuses to respond to him. He gets it—the less said the better. He watches the contours of the Room all around him—watches Carson give orders as everyone takes up positions, spreading out along a quarter-klick radius around the Room’s hub. Lynx
doubts that whatever happens next is going to be pleasant. Especially because he’s heard enough about this Room to know that there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye. That no normal blueprint could possibly encompass all the spaces it contains. He watches as the machinery throttles up all around him.

S
he’s doing the same. It’s all swirling in toward her now and it’s all she can do to keep up with it. Her DNA sequences and brainwaves are interfacing directly with the Room now. The machinery is revving up along its final sequence, approaching the point of no return. Her mind flashes out through the minds of all those around her; she sees even deeper within, still doesn’t see what she’s looking for as she scans every meter of the Room, searching for the pockets and folds of the Room that are beyond all normal scans. She watches the external membrane blaze into critical mass as the energy from those dying outside keeps on pouring into it, keeps on dripping down toward her, surging her awareness to ever greater heights as she suddenly realizes the nature of Sinclair’s servants—

T
he Operative’s already on it. He’s whirling to confront them as they open fire. Everyone starts shooting. Riley and Maschler are getting knocked back by fire from every direction. They’re giving as good as they get—focusing on Velasquez and her triad, taking one of that team out as shots rock the core of the Room. The Operative finds himself wondering for a moment about the redundancy of the machinery around him—and then he and Linehan are catapulting into Maschler, knocking his already-damaged suit against the wall, smashing through the visor, watching blood spill down the man’s face.

Maschler’s eyes are still open, though. “Manilishi busted you,” says the Operative.

Maschler winces—looks over to where Riley’s dead body is getting dragged out of his suit. “Whatever happened to asking questions
first?”
he mutters.

“You happened,” says the Operative. “Where’s Sinclair?”

“Think I know that?”

The Operative reaches out with a fist, starts applying pressure to Maschler’s skull. “What
do
you know?” he asks.

A
nd even as Carson asks the question, she knows what Maschler’s going to say. Something funny about the consciousness she’s revving through right now—taking the retrocausality that defines her to the next level, effect preceding cause … fucked if she knows how that’s happening, but right now she’s got a couple of answers she hadn’t bargained on. Maschler and Riley weren’t just everyman pilots—weren’t just InfoCom agents either. They were Sinclair’s henchmen all along. And they showed their hand because—

“She’s got a nuke,”
mutters Maschler as his eyes close.

T
he Operative realizes immediately who he’s talking about, Haskell’s mental command redundant as he whirls to confront—

“What are you doing?” says Sarmax.

“Begging your woman not to do it,” says the Operative.

Indigo Velasquez looks at them both. Her remaining Rain commando has his guns out. Lynx has drawn as well. Spencer, Jarvin, and Linehan have positioned themselves between the stand-off and Haskell. Velasquez looks around—laughs.

“So I brought in a bomb,” she says. “So what?”

“So what the fuck did you do that for?” demands Sarmax.

“Because this place is accursed,” she says. “We need to—”

“Defuse that bomb,” snarls the Operative. “Indigo, we’re going to win through yet. You don’t need to—”

“I do,” she says—looks at him with a strange expression—

A
nd Haskell recognizes its meaning all too well. Indigo’s already made up her mind—already decided that humanity’s better off without this Room. And Haskell’s not even sure she can disagree. Even if America’s been lost, even if the Chinese are going to rule mankind for ten thousand years, even if all is pain and suffering from here on in, it might
still
be better than living on the sufferance of those within this chamber. Especially if that domination passed to Matthew Sinclair. But Haskell’s seen enough to wonder if Sinclair’s actually counting on that nuke being detonated. Maybe that’s the energy that’ll propel her through the real barriers she’s here to break. Even though those barriers seem to be coming down anyway. The membrane that surrounds the Room has gone white-hot. Her mind’s not far behind—

E
ither she hits the brakes or I hit this,” says Velasquez, holding up a fist-sized device.

“She can’t hear you anymore,” says the Operative. “Indigo,” says Sarmax,
“don’t do this.”

“I have to,” says Velasquez. “All
of you
—you all might be Sinclair’s slaves. He’s played us all and I don’t even know what to call his fucking game—”

“Save that it involves playing you even now,” says the Operative.

“You really believe that?” asks Sarmax.

The Operative shrugs. His mind is racing with no way out. By the time he fires, Velasquez can detonate. She probably has a dead-man switch anyway. She probably has it all taken care of. She’s made her decision. Sarmax will have to make his. The Operative gets ready to move quicker than he ever has before. He braces himself—

—j
ust as the three pods around Haskell glow; a suited figure steps from within one, firing as it emerges, catching Velasquez and the Rain commando in a hail of hi-ex rounds, blasting them both into the walls. The nuke tumbles down, bounces off Haskell’s faceplate—doesn’t go off. If it even
was
a nuke—the Operative’s already rocketing in toward Velasquez. Sarmax scrambles past him—throws himself onto Velasquez—