Mirrored Heavens

“You say otherwise like it’s some kind of alternative, Spencer. It’s not. It’s the default option. What in God’s name possessed you to come to Mountain?”

“I got flushed from cover.”

“And you ran straight to me.”

“Let me explain.”

“You just did.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s even simpler than that,” replies Control. “You know the rules, Spencer. If you’re flushed from cover, you’re on your own. You don’t compromise the network. You don’t contact other agents. And you never even think about getting on the line with me.”

“So cut me off.” It’s more curse than statement.

“But I already have,” says Control. “Do you think I’ve lost my reason? I’m speaking to you through more proxies than you’ve lived seconds in your life. I’m hanging by a thread. I’m still enough to get to the bottom of this. You shouldn’t be here. You came anyway. We may as well make the most of it.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Then follow this. You’re beyond salvation. You’ve placed yourself in my hands. Try to disconnect and I’ll make you writhe for eons. Make it easy for me, Spencer. I’ll end you far more quickly.”

“What about letting me live?”

“How can I do that when you’re so intent on condemning yourself? Who am I to stand in your way? Now tell me why you came here.”

“Because I’ve got what you want.”

“What is it I want, Spencer?”

“Information.”

“And what were you proposing to do with this information.”

“Get it out of the country.”

“So upload it. I’ll take care of it.”

“I can’t do that.”

“What you can’t do is strike a bargain with me, Spencer. You forget that for me none of this is new. I’ve had this conversation so many times that this is practically like listening to the tape. Compromised agents are always the same. They always beg. They always plead. They always try to bargain. I always sweep them from the table. I won’t tolerate it, Spencer.”

“You don’t understand, Control. I can’t give you the information because it’s in somebody else’s head.”

“Who?”

“Someone outside the network. Someone who’s right here with me.”

“Spencer: who?”

“I don’t know exactly. Potentially, an asset.” Data swims across the wires from inside Spencer’s head. Some of it Control accepts. Some of it Control doesn’t. But the conversation never falters:

“A potential asset? To what?”

“To us. Maybe. He’s good. He knows who I am.”

“And you don’t know who he is? No wonder you’re acting like meat.”

“But he gave me a down payment on that information.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“And do you have this down payment?”

“I do.”

“Then upload that.”

And Spencer does. More data winds its way through the circuits of the Mountain. Spencer pictures Control shielded behind a near-infinite proxy-series, scanning that data, scanning for hunters, scanning scenarios into which the current moment might lead.

And then responding.

“This is most interesting, Spencer. Assuming it’s genuine. Where did you get it?”

“I told you already. This man gave it to me.”

“Ah. And where did this man acquire it?”

“He says he stole it.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because it’s good, Spencer. It’s very good. If it’s real.”

“And if it is, does this change things between us?”

“Things between us can never change, Spencer. I’m your handler. You’re my razor.”

“I meant are you going to let me continue?”

“I know what you meant. The answer is it doesn’t matter. Even if I don’t finish you, this country will.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this information isn’t enough to buy your passage, Spencer. It’s still short of quota.”

“But there’s more where that came from.”

“You mean in your asset’s head?”

“Yes.”

“Yes—according to your asset.”

“He said if we got him out, he’d put what I’ve just given you to shame.”

“Did he give you any hint as to its nature?”

“He intimated that it involved the Rain.”

“And you believe him.”

“I don’t know what to believe, Control.”

“Then let me help you out. Of course he’s going to say that. Anything to light a fire under us. Anything to put us into motion.”

“He’s a player.”

“He’s a problem. He’s either a federal plant or else he’s a con artist way out of his league. Either way he’s poison. And so, I fear, are you. You’d have me risk exposing the backbone of the network to someone who’s showing us no cards whatsoever? I fear for your reason, Spencer.”

“The network already was exposed. That’s why we’re in this fix in the first place.”

“No,” says Control, “you were already exposed. Doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.”

“The times are volatile, Control.” Spencer chooses his words as though they’re stones atop which he’s stepping in rapid succession. “Who knows what piece of data could constitute the edge? You’re all logic, but you’re staring straight into unknown. Maybe this is the break that sets the whole thing on its head. Maybe this is what propels Priam to supremacy among the data-combines. Who knows? Who can say what will constitute that lever? Who can even call the odds? But one’s thing for sure: if I’m dead anyway, then isn’t it worth setting me and this man on one last run?”

“I think you’ve already made your last run, Spencer.”

“I’m making it right now. All you’re doing is getting in the fucking way. Give me a shot at border. That’s all I’m asking for, Control. Give me a shot at border, or off me here and now.”

“Indeed,” says Control. It’s rare that voice sounds hesitant, but hesitant is how Control is sounding. It means the calculations are that complex. That there are that many imponderables. That this is a tough call.

Or at least that Control wants it to look that way.

“Okay, Spencer. Give me a few more minutes here. I’m going to take a look at what you’ve given me. I’m going to scout out the current situation on the borders. And while I’m at it, I’m going to see if I can trace your friend.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Good thing I am, Spencer. What does this man call himself anyway?”