Mirrored Heavens

Marlowe has hit on a strategy he likes. It’s pretty much the only one he’s got left—smashing his way through wall after wall—but if he’s making better progress, that’s mostly because the ship’s finally coming out of its reentry. The angle of descent is decreasing. So is the deceleration, which ought to mean he can contact Haskell. But she’s not answering. Or she can’t hear. The drones keep sniping at him. His wrist gets hit hard enough to destroy the gun encased there. He’s pretty much down to the innermost shell of his armor now.

“But don’t worry, Jason. You’ll get that action yet. I’ll shear off your one last weapon and cram it down her throat. Partially to repay you for what you’ve done to my machines. But mostly to teach her for being such a troublesome cunt. Oh yes: she’s doing much better than you are, Jason. She’s still holding out up there. Whereas you’re about to meet with one wall too many. You’re about to meet with me, Jason. Come on. You’re almost there.”

Marlowe realizes that the attack of the drones is subsiding. They’re still pressing him hard. They still mean business. But they’re giving way in front of him and closing in behind. They’re herding him in one particular direction, which is fine by him. He’s being driven toward the very place he’s been trying to get to. He’s down to a single heavy pistol now. But it’s still got ammo. His shots are still crashing home. His boots are still crunching over what’s left of things he’s shot. He picks one up and flings it—scoops up another, uses it as a club against its live brethren. He gets through one more wall. He smashes through one last door, charges through into the main cargo chamber.

It’s completely bereft of cargo. All it contains is the elevator, set within four pylons that rise to the ceiling and end in the corners of a shaft. The trapdoor to that shaft is open. Marlowe can’t see where it leads.

But he can see Morat, standing suitless in front of that elevator, surrounded by several larger drones. He’s smiling.

Marlowe isn’t. He whips his arm up, opens up. But as he does so, the drones around Morat fire. They all hit in the same place. Pieces of Marlowe’s pistol fly through the air. Marlowe snarls, starts toward Morat. But the larger drones are forming up between him and his quarry. They form a wall. They train their weapons on him.

Marlowe stops. He brandishes his makeshift club. He stares at Morat.

“I’m not done yet,” he says.

“Well,” replies Morat, “that makes two of us.”

Marlowe steps toward him.

“That’s far enough.”

Marlowe lines his target up. Even though he’s got neither guns nor screens. All he’s got is a visor so cracked as to be useless. He pulls off his helmet, tosses it aside.

“Right here. Let’s settle this once and for all.”

“We already have,” says Morat. “Didn’t you notice?”

“I haven’t noticed shit.”

“Funny, neither has your bitch.”

“She’s not my bitch.”

“No,” says Morat. “She’s mine. Or at least, she will be in a few more minutes.”

“She still hasn’t blasted off?” Marlowe can’t keep the dismay from his voice.

“Strangely enough, she hasn’t.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” says Marlowe.

“I don’t know if she thinks that highly of you,” says Morat. “And yet I get the feeling there’s something down here she doesn’t want to leave without.”

“She’s crazy,” mutters Marlowe.

“For once we agree on something,” says Morat. “But give her some credit. She’s quite the feisty one. She’s up there waging all-out siege warfare.” He gestures at the roof. “She’s got one hell of a crossfire going, Marlowe. She’s racked up quite a score. Anything that I put in that shaft gets toasted. I’m starting to have my doubts that I can break through before we land.”

“You’re planning on landing this thing?”

“No,” says Morat. “I’m planning on circling the Earth forever.”

“You’re a fucking riot, Morat. Just where the hell do you think you’re going to down it?”

“Stick around long enough,” says Morat, “and you might find out. Have you tried to contact Claire since we emerged from reentry?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I can’t get through.”

“And you know why that is?”

“I presume it has something to do with that hack of yours.”

“More than just something.”

“Who’s running it? You?”

“Look around you, Marlowe.”

And Marlowe looks. And stares at Morat.

“You mean the drones?”

And Morat just laughs. “It’s tempting to think of them as plural. But it’s the same mind that spans them. I built them to the specifications furnished by the Rain. I uploaded their activation codes scant minutes ago. Brought to life with the Rain’s own essence—and your little strumpet couldn’t stop me. She’s been trying to slice her way into their circuitry ever since. She can’t make it happen. Nor will she. She thinks she’s the razor to end all razors. She has delusions of such grandeur. Now she’s learning just how pathetic those delusions really are.”

“So how come she’s still up there raining shit down on you?”

“Well,” says Morat, “that’s why you’re still standing there talking shit to me.”

“Oh really.”

“Yes. Because you’re going to persuade her to surrender.”

“The hell I am.”

“And that’s exactly where I’ll put you if you don’t.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

“You’ve got it wrong. I’m talking about a different kind of pain. I’ll blow the whole top plane. I’ll toss her ass into the fucking slipstream. I already rigged it. All I want to do is talk to her. That’s all. You don’t even have to say a word. You’ve got her life in your hands, Jason. All I want is conversation. Just a little chat.”

“And what are you going to say to her?”

“How foolish she’s being. Among other things. And how I don’t have time to fuck around. Five seconds, Jason. Four. Three. Two.”

“Fine,” says Marlowe. He sends out the one-on-one. It’s answered almost immediately.

“Jason. Where are you?”

“Right below you.”

“What’s—”

But now her voice cuts out. “I don’t want you talking with her,” says Morat. “I just want you telling her that she should tune in to the following frequency.” He names it. “You’ve got time to tell her that, and that’s it. Otherwise I cut you off again. You got me?”

“Sure,” says Marlowe.

“Good.”

“—son? Are you there?”

“Claire,” he says. “Morat’s got me down here. Tune in to this frequency.”

“Jesus,” she says—and her voice cuts out. Marlowe tunes in to the frequency in question.

“And now we’re all here,” says Morat.

“What the fuck do you want out of all this?” says Haskell.

“You,” says Morat.

“That’s not enough. That can’t be.”

“How about letting me be the judge of that?”

“You’d go to all this trouble to capture two runners?”

“I’d go to all this trouble to publicly expose the superpowers for the impotents they are.”