The past.
“Penny for your thoughts,” says Lynx.
“They’re not in the bargain bin just yet,” mutters Sarmax.
They’re at the junction of two of the catwalks that crisscross the now-pressurized hangar. Their visors are up. Lynx is sipping water from a tube within his helmet. He’s sitting cross-legged against the railing. Sarmax is leaning over it.
“Meaning what?” asks Lynx.
“Meaning I’m not in the mood for conversation.”
“With me, you never were.”
“That’s because you talk too much.”
“I’ve heard of worse weaknesses.”
Sarmax doesn’t reply. Just keeps on staring at the Hangar floor. The gunships have been moved out into the perimeter. The president’s ship is the only craft down there now. Sarmax has been keeping an eye on it for almost fifteen minutes—ever since he emerged from the crowded med-unit and climbed out into the catwalks. No one’s boarded that whole time. No one’s left.
“How long has he been in there?” he asks.
“I didn’t quite catch that,” says Lynx. “It sounded like you were asking me a question.”
“Don’t make me wait for an answer.”
“Easy, Leo. Carson’s been holed up in that ship for almost an hour. Along with the rest of the bodyguards.”
“What about the Throne? And the Manilishi?”
“No one’s seen ’em leave.”
“They’re trying to think up a way out of this mess.”
“You sad you weren’t invited?”
“You sad I shot your hand off?”
“Fuck you,” says Lynx.
“I’m going to go stretch my legs instead.”
Lynx leans back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“No one is,” says Sarmax.
• • •
Five minutes later he’s walking along a platform up in the Hangar’s rafters. Gravity’s a lot weaker up here. Praetorians pass him, salute, and keep going. He eventually reaches a point where the platform widens into a bona-fide balcony.
A single man’s sitting there, wearing a unistretch jumpsuit that does little to conceal his bulk. A suit of armor’s standing in a corner of the platform. Another suit of armor’s in pieces all around him. The man looks up from troubleshooting it.
“What’s up?” says Sarmax.
Linehan shrugs. “Figure you’d know that better than me.”
“Where’s your friend?”
“He’s not my friend, boss.”
“Whatever.”
“He went to try to get more ammo. We heard a rumor they were dishing it out on level H.”
“You could have asked us for some. We’ve got connections.”
“With strings attached.”
“Fair point.”
“Besides,” adds Linehan, “we couldn’t find you. Heard you were out for the count.”
“I was. But now I’m here.”
“So your man Carson can involve us in another suicide run?”
“He’s not my man.”
“Then whose is he?”
“The Throne’s.”
“So what’s going on out there, boss?”
“The Rain are massing for one last assault.”
“I meant out in the rest of fucking existence?”
Sarmax laughs. He glances at the Hangar ceiling, a scant fifteen meters overhead. He looks down at the Hangar floor. Back at Linehan.
“That’s a good one,” he says. “Life beyond the Europa Platform. Sheer chaos, I’m sure. There’s a lot of jamming going on. But that can’t disguise the fact that everyone and their dog are broadcasting. Though we’ve no idea who’s who. No one does. The Rain have frozen everything that counts. No one knows what the codes are. No one can launch shit.”
“Including the Eurasians.”
“The Eurasians are finished.”
“Are they?”
“Blew themselves up in their asteroid.”
“Must have been quite a sight.”
“It’s not like they had much of a choice.”
“Because otherwise the Rain would have gotten their executive node?”
Sarmax nods.
“And the Coalition couldn’t transfer it elsewhere,” adds Linehan.
Sarmax’s eyes narrow. “How do you know so much about executive nodes anyway?”
“I get around.”
“Because you used to run wet-ops for SpaceCom.”
“I wouldn’t say it that loud.”
“Son, they can’t bust me, I wrote half the rules. Besides, it’s not like your history’s a secret.”
“Yours is.”
Sarmax stares at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve been listening to the talk around the camp-fires.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“They say you got out of all this once upon a time.”
“Is that a fact?”
“I’m just saying what they’re saying, boss.”
“What else are they saying?”
“That you came back because of your pal Carson.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then why did you?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m just trying to build rapport.”
“That’s not a good way to do it.”
“The Throne’s going to nuke this whole place, isn’t he?”
“Why would he do a thing like that?”
“Same reason the East did,” says a voice.
It’s Spencer. He’s pulling himself up the ladder that leads down from the platform. He looks exhausted. But it looks like he’s managed to get his hands on several packs of ammo.
“Lyle Spencer,” says Sarmax.
“Sir,” replies Spencer, reaching the platform.
“Kissing ass as always,” says Linehan.
