The Burning Skies

“Relax,” says Sarmax. His gaze shifts to encompass both of them. “The East’s sacrifice may be in vain. Just because the Rain can’t capture their executive node doesn’t mean they can’t gain control of the Eastern zone. Or ours, for that matter.”

“How else would one do it?” asks Spencer.

“Well, that’s the problem. No one knows for sure.”

“Or at least they haven’t told you,” says Linehan.

Sarmax gazes at him without expression.

“Boss, I’m just pointing it out. I’m not trying to be rude.”

“You don’t have to try,” says Spencer.

But Sarmax just shrugs. “We’re in uncharted waters now. The Rain proved they could freeze both zones without recourse to either executive node. My guess is that they’ll ultimately figure out how to control one or both of them too. Somewhere out there a clock’s ticking. And if it hits zero, you’re going to know it. Because as soon as they restart either zone, they’ll launch all weapons at the other side. And destroy this asteroid for good while they’re at it. I can’t see how much longer we have. No one can.”

“None of which makes any difference now,” says Linehan.

“We’re expendable,” says Spencer.

“We all are,” says Sarmax.

“It’s all relative,” says Spencer.

“Too right,” says Linehan. “Aren’t you slumming it hanging out with us?”

“I go where things amuse me. And you guys should suit up.”

“Why?”

Sarmax gestures at a door some distance along the platform. Lynx and Carson have just emerged from it.

“Shit,” says Linehan.

“Gentlemen,” says Carson. “So glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of checking out early,” replies Linehan. He and Spencer start to climb into their suits.

“Leo,” says Carson, nodding to Sarmax—who raises a hand in mock-salute. He turns back to Spencer and Linehan. “Guys, I’ve got good news. I’m through using you as cannon fodder.”

Spencer and Linehan look at him.

“It’s true,” he says. “You’re off the hook.”

“What’s the catch?” asks Spencer.

“You mean besides the fact that you’ll get croaked anyway?”

“Yeah,” says Linehan. “Besides that.”

“You get to haul our luggage,” says Lynx.

They take a different route away from the center this time. They climb a series of ramps to where gravity dissipates still further—and then wind their way along more passages, back toward the side of sphere. Gravity starts to kick back in. What look like recently strung cables line the walls the whole way. Other Praetorians pass them on numerous occasions. Everyone seems to be going somewhere. Everyone seems to be getting ready.

“Hurry it up,” says Carson.

“Easy for you to say” says Linehan.

He and Spencer are almost staggering under the weight of the containers they’re dragging. The low gravity was providing some help. But now that it’s returning to Earth-like levels, the going’s getting tougher. Spencer almost trips, manages to avoid getting crushed by his container, and finally stabilizes it.

“What the fuck’s in these goddamn things?” he asks.

“Your mother,” says Lynx.

He’s carrying a container as well—a decidedly smaller one. Spencer figures that’s why he’s still smiling. Either that, or he’s relishing having someone beneath him on the totem pole. Spencer doesn’t plan on giving him any trouble. However …

“What’d you say?” says Linehan.

“He didn’t say a goddamn thing,” says Sarmax evenly. “Did you, Lynx?”

“Of course not,” says Lynx.

“Fucking liar,” says Linehan.

“We have those around here,” says Carson. He doesn’t turn around—just keeps on walking forward with the container he and Sarmax are sharing between them. “Doesn’t matter, Linehan. Draw on a member of my team, and I’ll toss you through an airlock.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” says Spencer to Linehan on the one-on-one.

“Carson’s half my size,” says Linehan. “I can take him no prob.”

“He’s a fucking bodyguard,” says Spencer. “Even if you killed him, you’d be court-martialed and assigned to orbit the Platform sans spacesuit.”

“Maybe,” replies Linehan. But he does nothing—just keeps on trudging forward with his burden. Spencer keeps waiting for Lynx to break back in and start baiting Linehan again. But Lynx seems to have lost interest.

I mean it,” says the Operative on the triad’s closed channel. “I’m sure you do,” replies Lynx. “You can fuck off anyway.”

“Say whatever you want to me,” replies the Operative.

“Just don’t provoke the minions,” adds Sarmax.

“A soldier should know how to withstand provocation,” says Lynx.

“A soldier should be above dishing it out,” says Sarmax.

“Everybody shut up,” says the Operative—and now he’s broadcasting to Spencer and Linehan as well. “We’re here.”

Almost on the outer perimeter. Which isn’t much. Just a metal grille staircase. The Operative peers carefully over the edge of the railing. Cables are strung down from the platform to a door at the bottom of the stairwell. The Operative broadcasts codes down to the door, which slides open.

“Let’s go,” he says.

They descend the staircase, go through the door, and find themselves in a room that extends up to a second level. Praetorians stand along the upper railing, regard them through the sights of mounted weapons.

“What do you want?” asks one.

“We’re looking for Garrick,” says Sarmax.

“He’s right here,” says a voice. A door on the lower level opens. Another suit enters the room. He wears a major’s stripes. Red hair dangles behind his visor.

“Carson,” he says. “Been a long time.”

“Long time for sure,” says the Operative.

They touch gloves. Garrick turns toward Sarmax. His eyes narrow.

“Leo?”

“The same.”

“Fuck’s sake, man. Didn’t even know you were up here.”

“That’s because you’re slipping.”

“I doubt it,” says Garrick—looks over Sarmax’s shoulder. “Lynx, you bastard. Ain’t a party unless you’re in it. What’s happening?”

“Way too much,” mutters Lynx.

“And who are these other guys?”

“Reinforcements,” says the Operative. He narrows the channel to one-on-one. “Expendable.”