Aerie.”
“Whether the Throne has been successful in confining any infiltration to the cylinder.”
“The Rain might just nuke that asteroid.”
“And that asteroid could probably take it. Besides, it’s not enough to just obliterate the Throne. The executive node switches in that eventuality.”
“How the fuck do you know
“I’ve no idea.”
“That makes me nervous.”
“Yeah,” says Spencer. “Me, too.”
“You could be the Rain.”
“We both might be.”
“Christ, this is fucked up,” says Linehan.
“I noticed.”
“So what else do you know about the executive node?”
“That it’s transferred to the president’s successor in the event of his physical destruction.”
“And who’s the successor?”
“I’d guess Montrose.”
“I’d guess that too. And I’m thinking she’s nowhere near here.”
“Not much is.”
“Which is why the Throne picked this place,” says Linehan. “L3’s out of sight of the Moon and all the infrastructure around it. Only about twenty percent of our strategic weaponry has the angle and range, and —”
“Right. More than enough backup to bail the president out of whatever goes down here at the same time minimizing the assets he has to keep track of. This dump’s perfect.”
“I wouldn’t go
“Best among some shit options?”
“The logic’s clear enough,” says Linehan. “The two leaderships have to be in direct contact. But they had to pick neutral territory since neither leadership is about to send its executive node into the other’s terrain. And it has to be in space, because this way they can control every last approach. And then, when the Rain moves in, they can hit them in that cylinder from all sides, with overwhelming force.”
And emerge and declare that they’ve destroyed the Rain and forged a new treaty while they were at it—a second Zurich to divide the world anew.” Spencer shakes his head. “They can absorb what’s left of the neutrals and then get on with whatever the fuck they like.”
But now something’s happening on that nearer asteroid. Nothing that’s visible physically. In space the Aerie remains the same as it’s been this whole time: partially occluded by that cylinder, partially glinting in the sun, a metal-studded rock that keeps its own counsel.
In the zone, though, it’s a different story. Something’s happening on the asteroid’s firewall. On the part of the sphere that’s blocked by the cylinder.
“On the rock,” says Spencer.
“Yeah?”
“A door’s opening.”
They’re going lights out and hell for leather. No zone presence now, and they’re hoping nothing can see them on board the special train of the Euro Magnates. They’ve traveled three levels up—into a corridor that isn’t supposed to exist—through a door and into the transit-tube where the train was sitting. No sooner were they aboard than it took off at full speed—back toward the city-end of the cylinder. Sarmax is keeping an eye on Lynx, whose armor’s sensors and weaponry have been deactivated. The Operative’s keeping an eye on Haskell. Both men keep an eye on everything else as well. As far as they know, this train’s empty. But there are nine other cars beside theirs. And they’re not about to make any assumptions.
“So where exactly are we going?” asks Haskell.
The basements of New London,” replies Carson.
“For the greater glory of the Rain,” says Lynx. “Shut up,” snarls Sarmax, but Lynx just laughs. And keeps on talking. “Can’t you think for yourself, Leo? Don’t you see what’s happening? Carson and this— this
“I don’t think so,” says Sarmax.
“Enough with the mind games,” snaps Carson. “The Rain could be on us any moment. Here’s how it’s going to work. In about ten seconds, this train is going to stop. When it does, Lynx is on point. Leo’s next. Then the Manil—I mean Claire. I’ll be covering her and guarding the rear. Got it?”
“So that’s why I’m still alive,” says Lynx. Another target.”
“Basically,” says Sarmax.
“You must be enjoying this, Leo.”
“Am I that transparent?”
The train slides to a halt. The doors open—but Sarmax is already shoving Lynx through them, stumbling onto a narrow platform. Everybody follows. There aren’t many ways out of here. Just a stairwell and an—
“Elevator,” says Carson.
They press inside. It’s a tight fit. Haskell feels Carson’s suit press against hers. She feels as though she’s in a dream. It’s like she’s seen all this before—she feels the floor press up beneath her, level after level, they flick upward into the rafters of the Euro city. Gravity starts to subside. When they finally stop, there’s not much of it left.
“Ready?” says Carson.
“Let’s do it,” says Sarmax.
They hit their suits’ thrusters as the door opens, heading out into an empty corridor, then through what seems to be some kind of antechamber. Beyond it is a door so thick it looks like it was pried out of some bank vault.
“You got the key?” asks Haskell.
“I’d better,” replies Carson.
He triggers the necessary codes. The massive door starts to swing open. As the door gets past forty-five degrees open, Sarmax shoves Lynx forward, through that doorway and to the left, while he hits his own thrusters and heads to the right. Carson and Haskell wait.
But only for a moment.
“Clear,” shouts Sarmax.
Carson gestures at Haskell. She shoves off the floor, floats into the room alongside him as the door swings shut behind them.
“Not too far,” he says. She fires compressed air, stops—looks around to see that the room’s on two levels. She and Carson and Lynx are on the deck that constitutes the outer level, a circle around the sunken inner one, where Sarmax hovers, scanning surfaces. The walls curve between two windows situated opposite each other, each one cutting across the outer level. Space flickers in one of those windows—lights of ships and stars set against an all-consuming black.
The other window shows the interior of the cylinder. The lights of twilit city stretch away on all sides, descending to three valleys that look like the sides of some vast equilateral triangle whose segments have been thrust apart. One of the gaps between two of the valleys shows a sun on the point of setting. The other gaps contain largely darkened mirrors. Night’s almost fallen on the land.
