Now the bridge has risen so far into the peaks that they’re starting to constitute a bona fide horizon. The light of the stars is dribbling onto moonscape. And Lynx’s smile is vanishing.
“So we got to change it up, Carson,” he says. “We have to draw first
So now grey going red is whipping out a knife and trying to cut himself some red streaks. But his target’s not the Operative: red going grey leaps backward, his left arm swinging around in front of him as he pulls his torso out of the path of the serration, his left hand flicking out with one of the many-shaped cards—this one’s a triangle and one of its tips is actually hard-edged sharpness to pluck the jugular, play the red like a firehose out of control. But the hell of it is that grey that’s going red forever is still on the attack. He grabs the wrist that holds the fatal card, tries to turn his assailant’s own limb against him while he stabs in with his other one. The frantic nature of his thrusts parallels the jets of blood flying everywhere. It sends shadows sprawling, bystanders ducking, scarlet splashing, and all the while that smiling mouth just keeps on talking.
“I think you see the way this is going to go,” says Lynx. Data blasts from behind him to grid the whole of zone. “You’re going to die unless you listen to me. This is our nightmare scenario come to life. This is the moment you and I have always dreamt of. So wake the hell up, Carson. Because that’s the fucking
Grey going red is nothing but red now, and a lot of that red’s rubbed off on red going grey, who’s also now getting stuck straight through the belly to add to the royal crimson. As if to keep from falling, each man grabs the other, twists his blade in deeper, one practically decapitating, the other impaling almost up to the heart.
“And you know what our biggest problem is?” asks Lynx. “It’s you. You’ve got to loosen up. This place is far colder than you could ever hope to be. I don’t need the man who thinks he can outchill the next ice age. I need someone who acts like a normal human being. Ever tried smiling, Carson? It’s not that bad when you get used to it. When all is said and done: it’s not such a contortion after all.”
The mountains writhe. The sky reels. The two flopping bodies are lost to sight up front. Unless they were a diversion of some kind, they had absolutely nothing to do with the Operative. No one in the car is standing now.
“You stand out,” says Lynx. “But no matter. With the Elevator down, all bets are off anyway. The prospect of Armageddon is growing. The other side seems to think we did it, we seem to think the other side was behind it, and no one but no one thinks that this outfit that calls itself the Rain is anything but a front for players hot on the trail of the main chance.”
Sudden rearview: the Operative glances backward as the doors behind him open and suits swarm at speed into the room. SpaceCom military police. They check the bodies. They eye the technicians. The technicians return the favor.
“So,” says Lynx, “try this on for size. Agrippa: don’t come back to it unless you have to. Sarmax: weighed in the balance and found wanting. You: dancing to the tune I call. And whatever you do, don’t sit still. Because there are no guarantees. At all.”
Medics enter. God knows where they were hanging out. They unzip some body bags, stuff ’n’ load, zip ’em up, head on out. The cops exit with them.
“As to contingencies,” says Lynx. “If they try to take you, let them. Play dumb. Buy time. Maybe you can fox your way out. And if they vector onto your identity, I’ll switch your ass, buy you a little margin.”
Information washes around the Operative, information shot through with moonscape. And what, he thinks, if they vector onto yours…
“But first they have to find me,” says Lynx. “First they have to see me. But see: I’m invisible, Carson. I’m the fungus that grows on the walls of the disused shafts. I’m the ghost in the final machine. It’s all around me, man. It’s like being in somebody’s skull. It’s almost as fun. Are you ready for the run to end all runs?”
Long bridge becomes long tunnel. Long chute torpedoes past. Then:
“So steel your heart,” says Lynx. “Prep those weapons. This’ll put us both on the map, Carson, on the map for keeps for sure. They’ll never forget this one. Not like we’re going to give them the chance. Not when we’re fishing for pearls of wisdom, Carson, pearls of wisdom. Data you can
Train emerges from tunnel: chute gets torn away, shell shorn off by a darkness abandoned by the sun. It’s all black. It’s all mountains. It’s all stars.
“And this is how you’ll work it, Carson. You want the formula, here it is: by keeping the Earth overhead and the zone at your back. By keeping your own counsel and playing all the ends against the middle. By making this Moon yours.”
Through the last peaks, and lights become visible in the depths toward which the train’s now racing.
“And we’ll start,” says Lynx, “with the place that’s south of every south.”
S omewhere back on Earth another train is rushing east. Somewhere in that train’s a private compartment. Two men sit within. The door’s shut. It’s sealed.
So now their mouths aren’t.
“Okay,” says Spencer. “I’ve got this place rigged. It’s time to continue our conversation.”
“Yeah? What’s to continue?”
“A lot, actually. We need to know a little bit more about one another if we’re going to pull this off.”
“Nah, Spencer. You’ve got it wrong. Less we know, the better.”
“I disagree. In fact, it’s about time you stopped lying to me.”
“What?”
“I mean it’s not like you’re some kind of zone god.”
“Did I ever say I was?”
“You damn well implied it. You think that just doing a hack on my apartment block is somehow going to convince me that you can tap into the lines at will? That you’re off the cameras altogether?”
“Never claimed either.”
“But having me believe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? I’d be less likely to bolt that way, wouldn’t I?”
Linehan says nothing. Just looks out the window.
“I’m talking to you, Linehan. Look at me.” Linehan’s head turns as though it’s mounted on a swivel. “What are you using? You’re not a razor yourself.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The fact that
“Of course you are. I knew that already.”
“Of course you knew that already,” says Spencer. “That’s why you came knocking on my door in the first place. But I can see straight through your parlor tricks. Straight through you too. You don’t talk like a razor, you don’t act like one, and you certainly aren’t thinking like one.”
“Alright, Spencer. How
“In endless circles.”
“Meaning?”
“Got ten years?”
“Your point being?”
“My point’s made. What were you using for that conapt trick? A local node?”
“Something like that.”
“So why haven’t they picked you up yet?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that there’s no way you could be on the loose with just a piece of localized shit. They would have rolled up your identity by now. There’s no way you should be sitting before me, breathing. There’s no way at all.”
“What are you getting at, asshole?”
“That you’re working for the feds.”
“Already told you I ain’t.”
“So where are the others?”
“What others?”
