It’s all Haskell can do to keep up with it. She’s got the Praetorian force spread out along about ten interlocking routes, heading in toward the heart of the Aerie. She’s got hostiles coming through the walls. She’s chewing through them on overdrive …
“No wonder we got fucked,” says Huselid.
He’s back inside the shaker now, sitting right behind her and the pilot, watching things spray against the windshield. Things that she’s just nailed. Smartdust’s reliance on a zone makes it pretty easy for a razor to fuck with. Which is part of why it never really caught on for combat operations. But a situation where the defenders suddenly lost their zone is a different story. Particularly if those defenders got caught by surprise, hit from every side in a labyrinth that had suddenly become a killing ground … but Haskell’s doing her utmost to prevent a repeat performance. Her mind’s dancing among her vehicles and razors, leaping down passages and tunnels she’s got no line of sight into, out to the flanks where the small fry’s making some headway. And all the while she’s taking stock.
And realizing something.
“They’re not really trying to stop us,” she says.
“They’re drawing us deeper,” Huselid replies.
“What are your orders?” says the pilot.
“Hold course for the center,” says Haskell, as Huselid nods.
More combat,” says Linehan.
“Way behind us,” says Spencer.
“Somebody’s throwing some shit around back there.”
It’s hard to miss. The walls of the room through which they’re moving are trembling again. The pipes that jut out here and there are like reeds in a storm. Linehan shines his light around, starts down the next corridor that Carson’s prescribed.
“Way too quiet in our neck of the woods,” Spencer mutters.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Linehan replies.
Thanks for the news flash,” says the Operative. “Christ almighty,” says Sarmax, “is he still on the line?”
“Spencer? I just cut him off. He’s not saying anything we don’t already know.”
“Those two are just anxious ’cause they’ve figured out they’re bait.”
“Probably.”
“We could stumble upon the Rain anytime.”
“Can’t wait.”
They’re really getting into the swing of things, forging ever deeper toward the heart of this whole damn mess. Microtacticals plow the way before them, taking out smartdust along with mining droids and Euro mil-bots. Shit’s flying everywhere. Walls keep folding up, taking out Praetorians wholesale. But that’s the price they’re paying to keep moving. And now they’re coming out onto the greenhouse levels, though Haskell can see that it’s all just burnt-out florae and twisted trunks now. There’s not a single living plant left. What happened before they showed up saw to that.
But the real action’s on the screens within Haskell’s mind. The formation’s well into the inner reaches of the asteroid now. The core’s not that far off.
“It’s a trap,” she says.
“Of course it is,” says Huselid.
“And yet we’re still driving on it?”
“Not for much longer.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Absolutely”
They’re starting to feel a little gravity under their feet. They pull open a trapdoor; Linehan’s light plays along the corridor beneath. It’s ornately furnished. They’ve clearly come through into some of the living quarters. Carpeting’s burnt here and there. Mahogany panels along the walls are largely intact. Linehan lowers himself through, Spencer follows. They move down the corridor, reach oak doors that have been blasted off their hinges. They move through into the room beyond. “Shit,” says Linehan.
They’ve found some of the Magnates,” says the Operative.
“In what condition?” asks Sarmax. “Minced,” replies the Operative. “But no Throne,” says Lynx. “I thought I told you to shut up,” says the Operative. “I think Leo needs to hear this.”
“Hear what?”
“How you’re taking us way off the beaten path.”
“Yeah,” says Sarmax, “was wondering about that—
He and the Operative have come into the rooms where Spencer and Linehan just were. The tether trails out the new corridor down which the men on point have gone. Gore is everywhere. Two of the Magnates and their families had their quarters in these suites. They were held in custody by the Throne’s soldiers. Until the Rain’s machinery butchered them.
“Not a pretty sight,” says Sarmax.
“Never is when hostages outlive their usefulness.”
Which is when Lynx enters the room. And almost gets shot by the Operative and Sarmax. Almost shoots them himself. A general standoff ensues.
“Easy with the guns,” says Lynx.
“Why the
“You know why,” snarls Lynx. “You’re taking us away from the main force. They’re cutting deeper. Driving on the core.”
“So?”
“So I thought you said we were the advance guard!”
“Let me be more specific,” says the Operative.
About two hundred meters out from the core of the asteroid, a switch-up’s in motion. The left; of the Praetorian formation slows while the right accelerates, wheels left as it unleashes a barrage of torpedoes into the tunnels that lead to the Aerie’s center … Aren’t you worried that’ll be too much?” says the pilot. “We know what we’re doing,” says Haskell. At least, the man beside her claims to. Huselid’s clearly gambling that the rock’s integrity will hold despite the tactical nukes about to start blasting away within its heart. Haskell starts plotting the route away from the asteroid’s axis as the pilot starts taking the shaker through a new set of tunnels. Just as shockwaves start tearing through them …
• • •
Jesus,” says Linehan.
“Is right,” mutters Spencer.
Someone’s pulling out all the stops. The walls are shaking like they’re going to fold up at any moment.
“That’s off to our right,” says Linehan.
“Is that the main force?”
It’s time you started talking sense,” says Sarmax. “Look,” says the Operative. “It’s like this.” He beams grids into the minds of both men. The view of the Helios covering the north end of the Platform collapses in upon the south end of the cylinder they’ve come from, closes on the asteroid they’re in: a rock that’s still rotating
