The Burning Skies

seek remedial action to bolster a fragile peace. Mark my words: the peace of Zurich is as strong as it ever was. Even stronger, now that the Rain have vanished from the scene. But we shall not miss this opportunity to consolidate our friendship still further.

“And we cannot ignore the reality before us. The Rain hid behind the borders of neutral nations for a reason. They knew that trying to base themselves within either superpower was an impossibility. Knowing the neutrals’ military weakness, they used their territory, first as staging grounds and then as targets. Nor can we be tempted by the Rain’s destruction to deceive ourselves into thinking that future elements opposed to civilization and all it stands for will not follow the same strategy. The course before us is clear.

“We are thus coordinating with the Eurasian Coalition to extend our protection to the neutral territories. In doing so, we contemplate no violation of sovereignty. We shall not force ourselves upon any unaligned nation. However, we have every intention of offering aid to those neutrals who wish to secure themselves from future onslaughts like the one that engulfed the Europa Platform. It would be the epitome of injustice to deny intelligence data, military training, and advisers to countries that wish to protect their own citizens.

“Our initial efforts have focused on the Far East, where the Governing Council of HK Geoplex has already invited the superpowers to replace the local police and security units that were destroyed in the anarchy that the Rain unleashed. Rather than allow that city to continue to suffer, we have accepted the invitation. Our troops have taken up residence across one half of Hong Kong; the Coalition occupies the other. While this arrangement is merely a few hours old, we have already brought that great city a peace that its inhabitants had despaired of ever seeing.

“It is inevitable, of course, that there will be some in the neutral nations who disagree with our course of action. To them, we can only say that we hope to have the chance to prove ourselves worthy of your trust. But should anyone attempt in any way to harm our soldiers, we will treat them the same way we did the Rain. Let there be no mistake: if attacked, we will retaliate with a force that will ensure our blow will be the last.

“And to the American people, I say we are not about to underestimate the gravity of the course that we are now embarked upon. We must extend our shield across the world for the good of all. We must render sterile all ground from which the seeds of a future Rain might spring. And we must cement our partnership with the Coalition so that we may enjoy the fruits of a lasting peace.

“These last few days have witnessed the greatest trials faced by our nation since the signing of the Zurich treaty. We have paid a heavy price. But we have withstood adversity. Those voices who called for the unjust punishment of the Coalition have not been heeded. Those voices who said we could not defeat the Rain have fallen silent. As have the Rain themselves. We shall not hear from them again. May God be thanked for that. May God defend the United States—”

Linehan switches the vid off. The reflection on the empty screen shows Lynx standing in the doorway.

“Anything interesting?” he asks.

“The usual horseshit,” says Linehan. “Are we outta here?”

“Believe it.”

The room is lavishly furnished. Mahogany everywhere. The rugs are practically knee deep. Paintings hang along the walls. Set between two Flemish masters are several screens. The woman on the topmost one looks like someone caught between duty and fear:

“—that this is the latest shooting this morning. The victim, Shuryen Ma, was an outspoken critic of the Chinese leadership. We believe that his parents died in a camp in Burma in the 2080s and that he arrived in HK in 2095, but have yet to confirm this. According to our sources, Eurasian soldiers burst into his home without warning and shot him. Several witnesses were arrested.”

“How’s it looking?” asks Spencer. His voice echoes through the room from an adjacent one.

“So far, so good,” says Sarmax.

He’s sitting in the corner of the room behind a table. He spares scarcely a glance at the news. His attention’s almost totally monopolized by the camera feeds that show what’s going on in the rest of the city. His eyes dart among them as the broadcast continues.

“—and we must advise our viewers in the strongest possible terms not to attempt to cross from this part of the city into what’s now American territory. Again, we have confirmed reports that Eurasian soldiers have adopted a shoot-to-kill policy toward anyone trying to move between the sectors. And we have reports of mass arrests now under way in the American sector.”

“All depends on whose list you’re on,” Sarmax mutters to himself as he looks around the room. The body that’s sprawled on the rugs seems to have stopped bleeding.

“You done with this guy?” he yells.

“Not yet,” says Spencer as he emerges from the other room. His hands are covered with blood. So is his shirt. Razorwires hang from his head. Sarmax looks at him. Spencer shrugs.

“Turns out he’s got some kind of spinal backup,” he says—turns to the body, extends a laser scapel, scoops out the chip at the base of the spine.

“How much longer?” says Sarmax.

“How about telling me who I’m dissecting?”

Sarmax looks at him. Says nothing.

“Have it your way,” says Spencer, “but you’re slowing us down. The core data structures are a really weird hybrid. In fact—”

“A traitor,” says Sarmax.

“What?”

“The man was a traitor. Alek Jarvin. The main CICom handler in HK.”

“CICom? As in Counterintelligence Command—”

“Sure.”

“But the Throne had CICom annihilated when he locked up Sinclair.”

“All of CICom he could get his hands on, sure. Jarvin cut loose and hit the streets.”

“The streets? This is his fucking house.”

“No,” says Sarmax, “it’s his fucking safe house. From which he was building up as large a stockpile of data as possible in the hopes that he could stay alive for as long as possible. And maybe even win his way back into our good graces.”

“Guess that last one was a bit ambitious,” replies Spencer as he walks back into the room and shuts the door behind him. Sarmax shakes his head, turns his attention back to the screens where the action’s starting to pick up.

“—we’re getting reports now of shooting outside the studio.” The newscaster’s voice is edging toward panic now. Noises are coming from somewhere off-camera. “No, in the studio.” The woman’s standing up now. “I apologize but—”

Her body convulses, drops. She’s been hit by a taser. A suited Eurasian soldier steps in front of the camera, grabs the kicking woman by the legs, drags her off-screen. For a moment the camera’s focused on an empty chair.

And then a man enters, sits down where the woman was sitting. He looks like any normal newscaster.

“We apologize for the interruption,” he says. “We are pleased to resume normal service. The attacks against the Coalition’s liberating forces will continue to be dealt with severely. We are compiling a comprehensive list of all enemies of the people believed to be in residence in this city’s sector. There are substantial rewards for any information that leads to an arrest. Tune in to the following site for more information—”

Sarmax switches the screen off. “We’re out of time,” he yells.