Mirrored Heavens

He walks to her, stands next to her. They don’t look at each other. They just watch the traffic rumble on the endless concrete, rise up into those endless skies. She reaches out, touches his hand.

“We’re going to the Moon,” she says.

“I don’t care where we’re going.”

“I do,” she replies.

He says nothing to that—just leans over, starts running a finger down her cheek. She puts her head on his shoulder. He turns into her, kisses her on the lips.

“About time we got this show on the road,” says Morat.

The words ring around their heads. The door to the room slides open. Morat’s standing there. He steps forward even as the buzzing of the room’s intercom subsides. The door hisses shut behind him.

“You often listen in on other people’s conversations?” asks Haskell.

“In point of fact,” says Morat, “I never stop.”

“Which is as it should be,” replies Haskell. “For a man who has no life of his own—”

“Please,” says Morat. “Which of us does?”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I’ll speak for all of us. Having no life is the price of being in the life. As you well know. Your transport’s here. They’re topping off the boosters. You’ll board in just a moment.”

“But first you’re going to brief us,” says Marlowe. “I mean, assuming you’re here for a reason.”

“I got a couple of good ones,” says Morat. “I got your number, Marlowe. You’d better not fuck this up and let our Claire get hurt. She dies and you’d better not come back. You’re expendable. She’s not. You got that?”

“Sure,” says Marlowe.

“Good. Because that’s the first item of the secondary briefing.”

“A joint briefing?” Haskell sounds amused.

“You have tactical command. But we need you to work as a unit. You’ll withhold nothing from Jason. That’s straight from the old man himself.”

She wonders whether the double meaning is intended. She wonders many things. “How can the secondary briefing compensate for the fact that the first involved no trance?”

“Because you and Jason come specially prepared,” replies Morat. “Item two: we now believe the Throne may be the Rain’s ultimate target. If that’s the case, whatever they’re up to on the Moon will be intended to get them closer to him.”

“Is there a Praetorian presence on the Moon?” asks Haskell.

“Item three,” says Morat without acknowledging her question. “The struggle between the Commands is intensifying in parallel with the search for Autumn Rain. Partially because the Coms’ individual investigations are all running onto the same track. But also because with the Throne threatened, other players in the Inner Cabinet become much more likely to attempt a coup. At the very least they need to be ready in case someone else tries one.”

“Can you project the latest strength estimates for the Commands?” asks Marlowe.

Morat sends a screen hurtling into their minds:

SpaceCom (Szilard) 28%

InfoCom (Montrose) 26%

ArmyCom (Secord) 5%

NavCom (Asgard) 22%

CICom (Sinclair) 19%

“The usual caveats apply,” he adds. “The current relative power of the Coms, expressed as infighting capability rather than firepower. ArmyCom alone could blow up the world ten times—but as a contender in the Inner Cabinet, it’s pretty much toast. The last few months have seen to that. And you can see who’s benefited.”

Haskell can. “Info and Space are really getting up there.”

“The hatred between those two runs deep,” says Morat. “Maybe too deep. One’s tempted to speculate that the Throne let Army get eaten a little too quickly. Or that he was anticipating it getting shared out more evenly. Usually he’s much more adroit at turning the Coms’ divisions to his advantage. Or perhaps he simply didn’t anticipate that matters would be interrupted by the likes of Autumn Rain.”

Marlowe and Haskell say nothing.

“Good,” says Morat. “Say nothing. Speculating on the Throne is my privilege. Sinclair has supported this president since long before he was president. He won’t stop now. Stay alert for the Rain trying to take advantage of the conflict among the other Commands. All of them save Army maintain units on the Moon. SpaceCom’s control of Agrippa and the fleet at L2 gives it the upper hand. But it’s hardly a settled issue. It’s made even less settled by the fact that at Zurich we gave the East a quarter of the whole damn rock. Which also happens to be item four— keep an eye out for any linkage between Eurasian agents and Autumn Rain. The hardliners in the Coalition appear to be gaining in power.”

A second screen flits into their heads. It shows dossiers of certain members of the Praesidium.

“The core faction of hardliners,” says Morat. “Their support is growing, in spite of the dominance of the moderates these last few years. All the individuals you’re looking at have consistently advocated that the Coalition intensify its confrontation with the United States. All were dead set against Zurich. We have reports that at least one of them advocated a general first strike against us during the ’98 Israeli-Arab nukeout.”

“Well,” says Marlowe, “speed-of-light weaponry favors the one who hits first—”

“I’m not talking about the theory,” Morat snaps. “I’m talking about the practice. So what if we switch on twenty thousand directed energy cannon and blow as much of their infrastructure as we can to pieces? What happens next? What about the hacker attacks? What about the secret weapons? What about all the things we don’t hit? What about all the things we never thought about? We’ve already de-targeted most cities because we’re going to need every scrap of firepower we can get to penetrate the East’s defenses. They’ve done the same. Amazing that in the twentieth century it would have all ended with nukes knocking out every city on Earth. We should have so many warheads. Only one in a thousand hypersonic missiles gets through a full continental screen; there’s no way we could ever be so profligate during the initial exchange as to fuck with cities. Don’t you dare think the Coalition has ceased to be a factor. Whether or not it or its hardliners set in motion Autumn Rain, the East will seek to exploit the situation. For propaganda if nothing else.”

“Are we being sent into Eurasian lunar territory?” asks Haskell.

“We’ll know that by the time you get there. But you might meet Eurasians anywhere. They have a way of getting where they’re not supposed to. Item five. Autumn Rain themselves. They may be somebody’s front or they may be autonomous. They possesses warheads, delivery vehicles, and an ability to strike high-profile targets. The question now is whether they can hit secure targets too. In retrospect, the Elevator was pretty vulnerable. Given that we had to trust the Eurasians and all that. The real targets are more critical: our inner enclaves, our fortresses, our fleets. And, as I mentioned, the Throne itself. Press any of us hard enough, and we’ll admit we have no idea as to the real extent of the Rain’s capabilities. Only a second strike can shed more light on the matter. And our lunar bases are all prime candidates for such a strike. But if you’re going to stop the Rain, you’re going to have to know the Moon inside and out. Do you know what it is that I found most disquieting about that place?”

The question comes out of nowhere, catches Marlowe and Haskell off guard. They aren’t even sure they’re expected to answer. They stare at him, but he’s not looking at them. He’s just gazing out that window.

“The color,” he says. “We imported all of it. It wasn’t there before us. It’s scarcely there now. Glare and black comprise that sky. Endless greys make up that ground. It’s a fraction the size of Earth. It seemed so much vaster. Even with that shoved-up horizon. Perhaps because it was such utter desert. Such endless mountains. Such a way to go, too: you carry that oxygen on your back like it’s some kind of god. The kind that dwindles as you worship. You measure all distances with that air: how far, how long, how much. How many times I wondered if I’d ever make it back. How many times I wished I hadn’t.”