Mirrored Heavens

“Sure. It’s obvious. So why don’t you tell me what the fuck it is?”

“Because you’re doing so well on your own.”

“This isn’t just about the elimination of variables, is it?”

“No,” says the Operative. “It’s not.”

“They want me dead for a specific reason,” says Sarmax.

“Of course.”

“What the fuck do they think I’ve done?”

“You sound so righteously indignant, you ought to be a case study.”

“Level with me, Carson. You know I can take the truth.”

“The truth,” says the Operative, “is that it’s not a matter of what you’ve done. Not a matter of who you were. It’s a matter of asset mobilization.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about why they sent me here, Sarmax. I’m talking about harnessing your holdings in the service of the Throne.”

“All the Throne has to do is ask!”

“You forget,” says the Operative, “that this is how the Throne asks.”

Sarmax shakes his head. “Those stupid bastards,” he whispers. “Those stupid. Fucking. Bastards.”

“Maybe,” says the Operative. “Maybe not. But at any rate: now we’re getting to the proposal I’ve come all this way to make. See, Leo, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking while I sat in that truck for two days and ran that deep. I’ve been thinking about what I’d do when I got here. Thinking of what it’d be like. Lot of folks watching now, Leo. Lot of folks waiting too. A lot of people are getting very nervous. So I knew the pressure would be on when I got here. I knew I’d better be ready with some fancy footwork. I knew I’d better be ready with a plan. Which you’re the key to making happen.”

“This plan’s yours?”

“If you even have to ask that, then you aren’t thinking. Or you haven’t been listening. Or you never knew me in the first place. I think the endgame’s upon us, Leo. I want to be ready when it starts to break. I want you ready too. I want you to listen to what I’m going to say.”

And Sarmax does. Nor is the telling short. It stretches out over the lunar surface, leaping to places far afield of the south pole. The exposition unfolds across the temporal too, weaves in whole series of events both real and hypothetical, spins out the web of permutations that link those events…and thus the larger structure is laid: possibilities, contingencies, all made manifest in the plan that the Operative now proceeds to outline.

When he’s finished, no little time has passed. The dome hangs heavy overhead. The artificial stars twinkle. And Sarmax is silent.

“Well?”

“You can see,” says the Operative, “why I decided that you were more useful alive than dead. To both of us.”

“I can see that,” says Sarmax. “All too well.”

“Then—?”

“I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it?”

“I mean I can’t do it. I accept everything you’re saying, Carson. Believe me, I do. You’re right on all counts. You’re right on the implications too. But I can’t get involved.”

“Can’t get involved?” says the Operative. “You can’t stay out of it. You’re already in it. Don’t you understand that?”

“All I understand is who I am.”

“But this is your chance to put all that behind you.”

“I already did put all of it behind me, Carson.”

“But it’s going to keep coming back, Leo. Unless you deal with it once and for all. Out here in these cold hills —you’re not dealing with it, man. Nor are you dealing with—”

“Don’t say it,” says Sarmax.

“Her death.”

“Are you trying to provoke me?”

“It’s not just trying,” says the Operative.

“What’s your fucking point?”

“My point is that she’s dead. She died long ago. But even all this time later, she’d want you to stay alive.”

“Funny,” says Sarmax. “I always assumed she wouldn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we’re still separate this way.”

“The way things are going, you won’t have long to wait.”

“You already told me that.”

“No, I mean you’re not going to have to wait more than thirty seconds at the rate you’re going. I’ll make it easy for you, Leo. We’re walking out together or not at all.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I assure you I’m not.”

“This is fucking nuts.”

“Call it what you want. What’s it going to be?”

“You’re a fool, Carson. I could say yes just to get out of here.”

“No you couldn’t,” says the Operative. “I know you, Leo. I know that the only reason why you’d say yes is if you meant it. Because I also know that you seriously believe you can kill me.”

“I believe that because it’s true.”

“So put us to the final test.”

“Carson, this is crazy. We walk out of here together, then head in separate directions.”

“I can’t let you walk after what I’ve just told you. I can’t do that. And I gave you your chance.”

“If that was my chance, then you’ve already made your choice.”

“I already had made my choice. To offer you yours. Get it through your head: you’re a wanted man. Without someone to fly you federal cover, you’ll be nailed. And then they’d nail me.”

“But out of everybody, you just have to be the one to try to nail me.”

“Starting to look that way,” says the Operative.

“You don’t want to do this,” says Sarmax.

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Then what does?”

The two men move suddenly, on the same instant. Both go for the jugular right off the bat. They fire all jets, charge in spraying bullets—cannon into each other with a noise that sounds like they’ve both been shattered. They haven’t. They’re just ricocheting off one another—and pivoting, turning, boots hitting ground, gloves gripping armor as they start to grapple. Through his visor, the Operative can see the eyes of Sarmax staring straight into his own. Next moment, that view is replaced by Sarmax’s fist as—augmented by wrist-mounted jets—it slams into his face. The Operative feels the force ripple through his helmet. He grabs Sarmax’s arms, feels the other grab his. For a moment the two are locked there, fire lighting up the night, muscle and machine straining for the slightest advantage while shadows play in unholy combination all around them. Their thrusters scorch their armor as each tries to power the other off his feet. Their helmets are locked up against each other. And now the voice of Leo Sarmax echoes through those helmets.

“Knew they would send someone,” he says. “Hadn’t dared to dream it would be you.”

“Looks like you got your wish without even asking,” says the Operative. He tries to bring his shoulder gun to bear. But Sarmax is just too close.

“I’ll get my wish when I rip your corpse from what’s left of that armor,” says Sarmax. “I’ll know my heart’s desire when I consign your body to the ice. You’ve no idea just how fucked you are, Carson.”

“Talk’s cheap,” replies the Operative. He leans his head back suddenly, lunges forward, headbutts Sarmax while firing all his thrusters on maximum. Sarmax doesn’t move. But his suit’s being plowed into the ground. Dirt and flame fly everywhere. Yet now Sarmax is firing all his jets too. The Operative’s being forced inexorably