The Machinery of Light (81 page)

“Goddamn you,”
says Sarmax.

“Everyone stay where you are,” says a voice.

S
he’s the only one who’s still moving—dropping away at right angles to all reality, her last glimpse of the Room is of those three figures who have just emerged onto the scene—their visors opaque, but there’s something all too familiar about them—then her mind punctures through all barricades, leaving only blankness in its wake—

S
he’s done it,” says the voice.

The Operative stares at the figure that seems to be the leader of these three—the other two taking up positions. One of them strides over to where Velasquez is laying—to where Sarmax is bending over her. The visor of that suit goes transparent.

Revealing the face of Jason Marlowe.

B
ullshit,” says Lynx.

“Hardly,” says Marlowe.

“A clone,” says Carson.

The triad’s apparent leader raises his fist. “Spoken like a true Praetorian. Seen some files, convinced he knows the answer. But some answers are way beyond anyone’s guessing.”

“You can’t die,” mutters Sarmax. “You just can’t—”

“She didn’t have to,” says the third figure.

“Sinclair?” asks Carson.

The figure turns, smashes him across the head with a single blow. It must be on zone as well—because Carson’s armor is seizing up, sparks chasing themselves across it. His helmet’s come off. The figure looks down at him.

“The name’s Morat,” he says.

W
hat the fuck is going on?” says Linehan. He’s trying to target his guns on these three, but he can’t seem to pull the trigger. Something seems to be fucking with his armor. Something he can’t fight. He no longer feels Haskell’s presence in his mind. He hears Jarvin muttering to him about not calling attention to himself. But apparently it’s too late. The lead figure is turning toward him.

“Linehan,” it says.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Friend of your old pal Spencer’s.”

S
pencer’s staring. “Wait a second—”

No need for it,” says the figure.

“You’re not—you can’t be—”

“All this time, and that’s all you can say?”

“You’re Control.”

“Of course.”

F
uck,”
mutters the Operative, pulling himself off the floor, taking in the scene. Control, Morat, Marlowe—a triad if ever there was one. Though none of it makes any sense. Unless—

“So where the fuck’s Sinclair?” he mutters.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” says Control.

E
veryone out of your armor,” says Morat.

“Not until you tell me what the fuck’s going on,” says Linehan.

“We’re giving the orders,” says Marlowe.

And Linehan’s armor’s starting to shut down. Control apparently has the high ground on zone. And Haskell seems to have withdrawn from the picture, enclosed expressionless within that pod as the machinery goes nova. Linehan blows seals, starts taking off his armor. Everyone else is doing the same.

“What about Indigo?” asks Sarmax. Tears streak his face. Linehan never could understand how any man could shed them. But now he gets it. He realizes he’s crying himself—tears for all
those he killed, all those whose lives he took, all those dying outside right now …

“Who cares?” says Marlowe.

“It’s the rest of you that matter,” says Morat.

Y
ou guys are rebel angels,” says the Operative.

“Aren’t we all?” says Control.

“Sinclair charged you with running shit behind the scenes.”

“And all the while I was simply getting in behind him.”

The Operative nods. He can’t help but admire how state of the art Control’s suit is. He wonders at the software packed within—wonders whether Control was ensconsed within it this whole time. He thinks about all that this Room contains—struggles to contain himself. He looks at Haskell through that pod’s window, feels his heart overflowing. Everyone’s stripped down to vests and pants now. Everyone looks strange. The three who still remain in armor look even more so. Especially because at least one of those suits encases no flesh whatsoever.

A
nd now we’re down to bedrock,” says Control. “Either one of you is Matthew Sinclair or else the man’s in hiding somewhere in the folds of Room. And here’s how we’re going to find out—”

“The ‘folds of Room’?” asks Lynx.

Morat laughs. “Don’t play stupid with us, Stefan. We all know this thing’s a fucking tesseract.”

“And it’s about to be so much more,” says Control.

“Except you guys miscalculated,” says Carson.

“Why did you betray him?” mumbles Velasquez.

“Why did
you
?” Control moves over to where Velasquez is laying, Sarmax trying desperately to shield her—

“I realized what he was trying to do,” she mumbles.

“And that didn’t fill you with a longing to take it for yourself?”

“It filled me with a longing to somehow stop him.”

“And thus your nuke. So we can rule you out as the old man—”

“Unless she’s being particularly tricky,” says Morat.

“She’s not,” says Control—fires a single bullet through her head.

T
he Operative watches as Sarmax hurls himself at Control—watches while he gets punched in the face for his troubles, falling half-conscious across Velasquez’s still-twitching body.