Mirrored Heavens

“Cut the shit, Carson,” says Sarmax. “Don’t make yourself look pathetic by trying to worm out of it now. Just get busy thinking on the irony—you came out here on the cold run, but it’s going to be you who gets taken out instead. It’s that simple, old friend.”

“No,” says the Operative, “it’s not.”

“Then tell me what you’ve come to do.”

“To deliver a message.”

“To deliver a message?”

“To deliver a message.”

Sarmax laughs, a sharp short bark. “You’re damn right you’ve delivered a message, Carson. You carve through my inner and outer perimeters in nothing flat, you slice your way straight through my household staff, destroy my machinery, fuck my systems—you’d better believe you’ve just delivered a message.” He puts one glove toward the left side of his helmet. “Heard you loud and clear, Carson. Heard you loud and clear.”

“Sure,” says the Operative. “Had to do that. Had to make it look convincing. Otherwise the message wouldn’t have been worth much.”

“So what the fuck is the message?”

“That I was sent to kill you, but I’m not going to do it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t take you down, Leo. I’m this close to putting your body through the roof of this dome, but I’m not going to do it.”

“Hardly the one to make threats, Carson. So you’re having second thoughts? So you want to slink back out? So what’s new? A man can do a lot of soul-searching when it’s time to ride that ferry. Particularly when he’s lived so long a life as yours.”

“So come on over here and get it over with.”

“No,” says Sarmax. “First I want you to tell me who sent you.”

“Like you can’t guess.”

“You’re still working for them.”

“I’m still killing for them.”

“And I’m next on the list?”

“Something like that.”

“So why the fuck did it take them so long? They have cause now, they’ve had cause for a long time. Why now?”

“Because,” says the Operative, “things are getting out of hand.”

“And I’m stirring them up?”

“I don’t know,” says the Operative. “Are you stirring them up, Leo?”

“Apparently I must be.”

“Leo. Are you dealing with the Rain?”

“Jesus,” says Sarmax. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Answer the question, Leo.”

“No,” says Sarmax, “I’m not.” A pause. Then: “They really think that’s the game I’m playing?”

“I have no idea what they really think.”

“I thought you said—”

“You didn’t listen,” says the Operative.

“I’m starting to think there’s been a pretty big mistake,” says Sarmax.

“No mistake,” says the Operative. “No mistake at all. They’re calling in all the variables. Biggest manhunt in history. Anyone who might have dealt with the new player. Anyone who might be the new player. Anyone at all. It’s a long list. And you want to know something about that list? An ex-Praetorian now ensconced in his own private fortress on the Moon isn’t going to be near the bottom.”

“I see,” says Sarmax.

“I hope you do,” says the Operative. “Because that’s why there’s a termination order on your ass.”

“And they sent you to carry it out.”

“Well,” says the Operative, “in theory, sure.”

“In practice?”

“Like I said, I’m not going to kill you. Not unless you draw first.”

Sarmax doesn’t move. Static. Then: “If you really were sent to kill me, then what was that about how they’d be more likely to sic a sat on me instead?”

“Oh,” says the Operative, “that. I was just tossing things out there. Trying to get you to calm down a little.” He laughs. “But I tell you where I wasn’t bullshitting you, Leo: I meant it with the hubris. Like they see you as worth blowing that kind of hardware on…” His voice trails off in a dry chuckle.

“So you were talking bullshit?”

“It’d certainly be one way to off you. But I guess they wanted to make this one less overt. Maybe even save on some expenses.”

“But still eliminate a variable.”

“That’s it,” says the Operative. “That’s all. It’s nothing personal. They’re calling in the variables.”

“When did they start cleaning them up?”

“Two days ago. But they started calling in the ones on the Moon last night.”

“Carson,” says Sarmax suddenly. “Do you really want us both to walk away from here?”

“I really do.”

“So why didn’t you make a run for it? Why come here?”

“I’m not sure I follow your logic,” says the Operative.

“I mean that you didn’t have to show up in the first place,” says Sarmax. “Just start your run and contact me later.”

“Would you have listened?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, that’s part of the reason then. But the basic issue’s a little more simple: anyone who makes a break too early’s meat. Only hope now is to get you out of here in such a way that they think you’re dead, and then set you loose as rogue. Rogue, but in contact.”

“With you.”

“With me.”

“With anyone else?” asks Sarmax.

“No.”

“What about your razor?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You’d tell your razor I was dead when I was still alive?”

“I’ll tell my razor whatever he wants to hear.”

“Your razor being Lynx?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact that this run bears all the hallmarks of that sick fuck.”

“I can’t say I disagree.”

“What precisely does he want to hear?”

“That you’re not breathing. That your systems are ours. That we can move on to the next phase.”

“Of course,” says Sarmax. He pauses. He smiles. He shakes his head.

“What’s so funny, Leo?”

“You, Carson.”

“So let me in on the joke.”

“I’d rather you let me in on whatever the fuck’s going on. C’mon, Carson. You’re a bullshit artist through and through. But you can’t bullshit me. You never could. There’s something else going on.”

“I would have thought that was obvious.”