according to these readouts, this is legit.”
“But we can’t control it.”
“We’ve got
“So what do we need to get them?”
“I’m thinking we need Sarmax.”
“Right,” says the Operative. “I knew that already.”
“You don’t get it,” says Lynx. “There’s the chance that he built this so that
“Isn’t your hack supposed to forestall that?”
“It’s supposed to. Look, we need to find Sarmax, Carson.”
“Say he comes back here while we’re looking for him?”
“He can’t. I’ve got this place in lockdown, right? He’d have to fight his own defenses.”
“Say you get kicked out?”
“The place would still remain in lockdown. That’s default now. And even if he got back here, he still needs the manual codes I just gave you to reverse the lockdown. I’ve set up that much, at least. Listen, Carson, I thought I’d rigged it so I didn’t need Sarmax to take control of his fortress. I thought we could take over this place and then take him out. Looks like I thought wrong. But finding him was always on the cards. Eliminating him was always part of the equation. You’re just not going to have it so easy now. So let’s take a look at those camera feeds before I start to get really
“Relax, asshole.” The Operative starts to bring up the camera feeds. “Try to keep in mind that I’m the one who’s actually standing here.”
“Sure, Carson. Myself, I’m sitting on a beach. Huh, look at that.”
For now the screens are lined with images of rooms. Of structures. Of exteriors and interiors. A boardroom, several laboratories, a warehouse, a leisure center and personal quarters, guard quarters, a gymnasium: all of it spread out upon the screens. Lots of bodies too, indicating those places where defenses have turned against defenders. Other rooms have simply sealed their doors, trapping their guards inside. The Operative and Lynx get busy comparing the camera feeds against the rooms shown on the blueprints.
“Shit,” says Lynx.
But the Operative has simultaneously arrived at the same conclusion: there’s one room that isn’t visible on any screen. One place into which this inner enclave has no visibility whatsoever. One place off the maps.
The biggest place of all.
“The main dome,” says Lynx.
“He’s in there,” says the Operative.
“He’s got something going on.”
“He always did.”
“We’ve got him trapped.”
“Are you sure it’s not the other way around?”
“Get in there, Carson.” Lynx’s voice is as far from calm as the Operative’s ever heard it. “Get in there. It comes down to this. It always would. You always knew it. This is your moment, Carson. This is your time.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” says the Operative.
The door to the control room slides open.
* * *
T ransit nexus named after spaceport named after airport named after martyred president from the old republic. Kennedy: its bulk might seem to equal the city itself. Five percent of all transport arriving at it exists solely to supply it. Of the remainder: three-quarters is domestic. A quarter is international. But this last segment commands the lion’s share of the security resources Kennedy has at its disposal. That security is elite. They’re nobody’s rent-a-cops. They have the very best in personnel and equipment. Even so, they’re far from perfect.
Especially when a military-grade AI is fucking with their systems.
So somewhere in some basement a vehicle is undergoing the last stages of boarding. Somewhere in that vehicle a man’s taking his seat. He notes that there are no windows in here. He notes, too, that nobody’s sitting next to him. Yet even as he registers this fact, a man’s sliding into the seat opposite his. The newcomer nods politely at him, adjusts his strap across his chest, sits back. His face has that glazed expression that people get when they’re preoccupied with views that only they can see. Nor does that expression change in the slightest when he starts to speak to Spencer. He makes no eye contact. His mouth remains shut. But his words ring in Spencer’s head anyway.
“Nice to see you on the other side,” Linehan says.
“Say that to me when we actually get there,” replies Spencer.
“I meant customs,” says Linehan.
“I know what you meant.”
The two men don’t know one another. That way they don’t have to keep their stories straight. Control hates to give investigators free gifts. Control has given these two whole histories, has rigged vid footage to account for their movements across the course of the last several days. If anyone wants to probe back further than that, it can be arranged. Because Control’s a magician. Control knows the formula to grant the dead more life—keep the body’s corruption a secret, map out the paths that flesh might have taken had it not crossed paths with one of the Mountain’s predators, graft those paths onto new meat, set that meat in motion.
And hope for the best.
“But speaking of,” says Linehan, “what kind of welcoming committee have you got prepared for me when we get there?”
“Welcoming committee?”
“Don’t play the clown, Spencer. After we get through these fucking tunnels, who’s going to be in the arrival lounge at Cornwall Junction?”
“Like I’m going to discuss that.”
“Then how about if we discuss our deal?”
“What’s there to discuss? We’ve already made it.”
The car starts to vibrate. A humming reverberates through it: intensifies, drops away into a gentle thrumming. There’s the feeling one gets when forces go to work at the edges of one’s perception. There’s the sound of many doors closing, echoing. A chime sounds. The train starts to move.
“And we’re off,” says Linehan.
“About time,” says Spencer.
“And it’s about time we started talking about our deal.”
“I’m still not sure what you’re driving at.”
“Then let me help you out. You’re providing me with the means out of here. I’m paying for my passage with information. True?”
“It had better be true.”
“True. But that still leaves a lot of grey area.”
“For example?”
“For example, what happens after I turn over my data to you.”
“Isn’t it a little too late to start talking about that?”
“Hardly. If anything, it’s a little too early. All your Control was going to agree to was the general concept. And as for you—you can’t agree to shit. You don’t have the power.”
“And you’re saying you do?”
“In a word: yes. See, it’s not just your identity that I’ve placed out there on the vine. I also stashed a copy of the thing I promised you.”
“What the fuck are you saying?”
“You know exactly what I’m saying, Spencer. If your masters construe our deal to contain a claim to my
