The place is in shambles. But the search doesn’t take long. It’s reasonably clear where the defenses were concentrating. Where the attackers closed in. Where the last stand went down.
“Got it!” yells Sarmax.
“Everyone hold their positions,” says the Operative.
He blasts in toward Sarmax while Linehan and Lynx and Spencer vector outward, sweep the vast room on a covering pattern. Sarmax is standing on a ledge that overlooks most of the cave. A smaller cave leads back into the rock. Several of the Praetorians sprawled on the ground wear officers’ uniforms.
“Where is he?” asks the Operative.
“Back there,” says Sarmax.
All the way back. A man in armor without insignia.
He’s been shot repeatedly through the chest. His helmet’s been pulled off. His skull’s been opened up by a laser scalpel. But his face is intact, and clearly recognizable. The Operative whistles.
“That’s Harrison alright,” he says.
“Minus his software,” says Sarmax.
“They’ve got the exec node.”
“Which will let them control the zone.”
“If they can get it to restart.”
The two men look at each other.
“They’re the ones who pulled the fucking plug,” says the Operative. “They probably know a way to switch it back on too.”
“Hey,” says Lynx. The words echo in their skulls. “The relief force.”
“Yeah?”
“It seems to be heading straight for the Hangar now.”
“Fuck,” says Sarmax, “why did they switch directions?”
“Don’t know. But it’s just as well they did.”
“Why? The node’s been taken. We need them here.”
“To do what?”
“Track down the Rain. Take back the node.”
“Don’t be stupid,” says the Operative. “As long as the Hand keeps his force bunched up, their search-and-destroy capability is for shit. And if they disperse, the Rain will take them apart.”
“The Rain may anyway,” says Sarmax. “Look what they did to this place.”
“Which doesn’t add up.”
“No,” says Sarmax. “It doesn’t.”
“These guys were dug in. They knew all about the nano. They knew what to expect. How did the Rain take down the perimeter so quickly?”
“They found another way in?”
“Sure,” says the Operative. “Where? These guys had every approach covered.”
They look at each other.
“Except for one,” says Sarmax.
“Shit,” says the Operative, and starts screaming orders.
Spencer hears the instructions, hits his jets even as he sees Lynx and Linehan do the same. The wall soars in toward him; the Window wafts away from him. He surges into the nearest cave—the one that Sarmax and the Operative entered. He can see them crouched against the far wall.
And then everything goes black. And white. And all the colors that ever were and might ever be invented: he’s hurled against the wall while his screens blast static and his heart surges to the point of explosion. Electricity chases itself across him. He lies there twitching. The Operative bends over him, stares into his visor.
“Still alive?” he asks.
“Unfortunately,” says Spencer. He feels like he’s been stuck into a socket—like his body just got aged past the point of no return.
“Helios nailed us again,” he mutters.
“And how,” says Sarmax.
“But I thought—”
“That it didn’t have the angle?” The Operative laughs mirthlessly. “You weren’t the only one. Looks like the thing’s got more mobility than we thought. They must have moved it round to the Platform’s south side and opened up.” Spencer hears a click as the Operative keys in everybody else. “The party’s over here. The Throne’s out for the count. The Rain ran off with the crown jewels. If they can restart the zone with that, they win. If they can’t—”
“Then they’ll need the Manilishi,” says Sarmax.
“Who seems to be racing toward the Hangar like her life depends on it,” says Lynx.
“Not that it matters,” says Linehan. “Carson, no disrespect, but we’re
“Or some nano booby trap,” says Spencer.
“That’s why we’re going to cut some more corners,” says the Operative. “Beat them all to the Hangars in one fell swoop.”
Lynx clears his throat. “Surely you don’t mean—”
“Sure I do.”
One final race to go. Shakers and suits and cycles are all surging forward, smashing their way ugh the resistance, blasting through a series of elevators and chutes—opening up the terrain with the remaining microtacticals. They tear their way into a series of industrial levels, peel back ceilings, carve through floors. The gravity’s starting to lessen.
Even as the pursuit’s starting to gain. And she knows why. Because the Rain’s no longer fooled. They know what they’ve got. They know what they’re missing. They’re coming after her with a vengeance. She can feel them as surely as she’s ever felt anything. She’s content to sit back and let it happen.
• • •
They drop past torn bodies and shattered machines. Drop past the last of the cave walls, shoot through what’s left of the Window.
Space opens up around them. Stars gleam. The Operative turns in one smooth motion, starts sidling along the side of the rock. The others follow him through a landscape of impossible contrasts. Horizon crowds up way too close. It seems like they’ve reached the end of the world—the world that streams below them in all its incarnations: hatches, metal panels, struts, wiring, pylons, all set within the same unending rock. The Window vanishes in their rearview They get out into the thick of the hostile landscape. There are no transmissions between them now. They’re just following the Operative as he darts forward, staying as close as possible to the surface while detouring as little as possible. Screens within the Operative’s helmet show vectors that trace around the Aerie—show him, too, the rock’s rotation putting ever more mass between him and Helios. He can’t believe how bad this has gotten—can’t believe there’s still a chance of pulling it off. The screens show him almost at the edge of the place he’s seeking.
But they also show him the last thing he wants to see.
“We got company,” says Sarmax, breaking radio silence.
The five men activate conduits, lock in the tactical grid. Blurring mars the horizon, as though the stars in front of them are getting swallowed by a wayward nebula. It’s swarming in toward them, blocking their way forward.
“On our left, too,” says Spencer.
“And the right,” says Linehan.
