The Burning Skies

“You’re the last person I’d expect to say that,” says Sarmax.

Lynx shrugs. “I owe you a lot. Doesn’t seem much harm in admitting it.”

“And without your drugs you’d be perfect.”

“That’s what makes me perfect. How else could I get this city around my fucking brain?”

“Christ almighty. You’re high right now.”

“That’s how he does his best work,” says the Operative.

And who the hell can blame him? Not with Hades itself unfurling on the screens. Not with all these shattered roads to keep on reaching up to that wraparound summit so far overhead. But it’s what’s still moving that’s the problem now. It’s what’s close at hand.

“I see it,” says the Operative.

More important, their vehicle does. It gets low, gets crafty, slinks through alleys toward the activity that’s up ahead. Toward the new scene that’s getting built within the heart of the old ….

“Fuck,” says Lynx.

“Economy on war footing,” says the Operative.

He’s not kidding. Whole sections of buildings have been torn away. The chasm revealed stretches down through basements, through maintenance levels beneath, and into what was once the spaceport. The light that emanates up from that chasm isn’t visible from the rest of the cylinder. But it’s certainly visible to the ones peering beyond its edge. The walls are thick with machines of every size. Who seem to be busy slicing up everything in sight: floors, walls, spaceships, launch derricks, equipment. Not to mention …

“Yeah,” says Sarmax, “those are people all right.”

“The meat gets tossed,” says the Operative. “The implants get kept.”

“Not very efficient,” says Lynx.

“Doesn’t need to be,” says Sarmax.

• • •

Rumbling fills the room, dies away. Spencer and Linehan glance at each other, glance out the window. Nothing’s visible, save the Earth dropping back out of sight again. But something’s definitely happening out beyond the shoved-up horizon ….

“Kills you, this waiting,” says Spencer.

“Not much longer now,” replies Linehan.

“What the hell are they doing?”

“Getting ready to overwhelm the perimeters with their hardware.”

“Leaving open the question of where they themselves will strike.”

“Maybe they’ll come straight through our position.”

“Maybe they’re in our position already,” says Spencer.

Linehan stares at him. “I hope not.”

“Where exactly in Hong Kong did you meet the Rain?”

“Little Sydney district.”

“Where exactly?”

“Bar at the Hotel Rex. I ordered a coffee, and then handed them the keys to down the Phoenix Elevator.”

“How many of them?”

“A man and a woman.”

“Or not.”

“Might have just been robot proxies,” admits Linehan.

“Might have planted anything inside you.”

“I used to worry about that. But now I figure if the Manilishi couldn’t find it, we’re all fucked anyway.”

“Well,” says Spencer, “at least that story’s the same one you were telling InfoCom’s interrogators four days back. No one’s fucked with it since.”

“By changing up my memory?”

“I’m just checking. It’s all I can do.”

“Not for much longer. The Rain’s going to have to fire this party up before the Throne …” Linehan pauses, stares out the window at the Earth.

“Before what?” asks Spencer. Linehan looks back at him with a strange expression on his face.

“Before the Throne finds a way out,” he says.

“You mean by incinerating himself.”

“Sarmax was hinting to me that if he does that, the Rain may take over regardless.”

“So what’s your point?”

“That the Throne might just try to get out the same way he got in.”

A pause. Then: “You’re not serious.”

“Of course I am.”

“He can’t do that.”

“He sure as fuck can try.”

They’ve left that chasm behind. They’re moving into the very heights of the city. The gravity’s dropping away around them. There are signs of more combat here: buildings flattened like something’s plowed through them. The remnants of something lies in the middle of the street in front of them.

“One of our shakers,” says the Operative.

“Must have got nailed right out of the gate,” says Lynx.

The droids that did it lie in pieces all around. The main Praetorian spearhead exited the city far lower—went through the basements and then surged out into the suburbs. This was one of the flanking formations. Another shaker’s laying on its back, farther down the city slope, in the middle of a crushed bridge. The Operative maneuvers round it, takes the Remoraz up stairs that become ladders that lead past some of the more rarefied neighborhoods. Conventional wisdom says that people prefer gravity to its lack. But conventional wisdom ended up playing second fiddle to the law of scarcity. The views up near the axis are exclusive.

Maybe even more so now. The city falls away beneath them like a wall down the side of some dark well. Electric lights stutter here and there—stand-alone generators still holding out against the odds. The valleys beyond are just black, lit up by the occasional streak of sun. Nothing moves in all that gloom. Nothing visible, anyway.

The Operative works the controls. Their vehicle leans off the ladder, leans against a wall, kicks off with its back feet, drops down to a balcony, its front feet extended. Laser cutters set within the feet trace arcs in the window before them. The craft extends its nose, shoves. Plastic gives way. The Operative gestures at the shadowed city on the rear screens.

“Take a good look,” he says. “Might be your last.”

“Let’s hope so,” says Lynx.

“Let’s do it,” says Sarmax.

They start their journey into the interior.

Another rumbling shakes the room. The floor vibrates. “What the fuck,” says Spencer. “Take a wild guess,” says Linehan. The rumbling intensifies. The gun beneath their feet starts swiveling on automatic. They can feel it sliding back and forth, seeking targets, sensing them close at hand … “Jesus fucking Christ,” says Spencer. “Like he gives a shit,” replies Linehan. The vibrations are relentless now. The sensors show they run the gamut— ranging from almost undetectable to off-the-charts unmistakable. It’s almost impossible to discern the exact nature of any one of them. But in aggregation they tell Linehan and Spenser all they need to know about what’s clearly taking place. Explosions ripping apart bulkheads, shakers grinding through walls, shots slamming into everything