The Burning Skies

“The product of a common purpose. We had a common enemy. When that enemy was beaten, what was I to do?”

“Trust me.”

He laughs in a way that’s not unkind. “I’m not a normal human being, Claire.”

“You think I am?”

“I think you genuinely wished to help me.”

“Then why—”

“It wasn’t a case of what you wanted in the present moment. It was a case of what might happen next. Do you really think you’d have been happy carrying out my orders?”

“I could have given you advice—”

“And you really think I’d need it? I know what I’m doing, Claire. I’ve ruled this country for more than two decades. I led our people out of chaos. Out of cold war.”

“But now war’s right around the corner.”

“We’ll avert it yet.”

“And if we don’t? My battle-management capabilities—you’ll need me—”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. We’ll see where matters stands when Carson’s finished.”

“You fucking bastard,” she says. “You’re trying to turn me into a bunch of programs that you can copy. You want to own what’s in my head without having to deal with me.”

“You speak as though you were your own creator.”

“Jesus fucking Christ—”

“We built you. We paid for you. We’re not in a position to negotiate with you every time we want to take a step you might disagree with.”

“You mean like launching an all-out strike against the Eurasian Coalition?”

“You have to admit that if there was some way to just wipe out the East’s military at no risk to ourselves—just take them out and take their cities, let the population live beneath our guns—things would be a hell of a lot simpler.”

“But there’s no fucking way—”

“No,” he says. “There isn’t. War would be insane. That’s why I’ve done everything possible to preserve the peace. The only window of opportunity for striking the Coalition would have been if you’d been able to restart our zone without restarting the East’s. But since that wasn’t possible—”

She looks at him. She tries to stop herself from what she’s about to say. But she can’t.

“It was possible,” she whispers.

“And you didn’t tell us because you guessed I was contemplating a preemptive strike against the East?”

She says nothing. He shakes his head.

“You see what I mean? You’re too dangerous, Claire. Too many ideas of your own. Wouldn’t be long before you started wondering why the executive node was in my head instead of yours. Or wondering whether you could build a better one to supersede mine. You’re Rain, Claire. They wanted to rule the Earth-Moon system. Why should you be any different?”

“I never wanted to rule anything.”

“History is littered with leaders who said exactly that. Some of them even believed it.”

“You never did.”

“And I never said it.”

“You’re missing the point—”

“No,” he says. “You are. Because it doesn’t matter what you want. What matters is what you’re capable of.”

“Since you’re inside my fucking head, why don’t you tell me.”

“Anything,” he says. “You’re out of control. You’ve already gone beyond everything you were designed for. Why are you laughing?”

“Because that’s exactly what Sinclair said to me a few days back.”

“So why did you talk to him?”

“He—he was the closest thing to a father I ever had.” She’s surprised at how steady her voice sounds.

“Don’t you realize how black a mark it was against you when we found out?”

“You weren’t supposed to. It was a private matter.”

“My prisons aren’t some opportunity for therapy, Claire.”

“What will you do with him?”

“Execute him. Eventually. Once it becomes clear we’ve no further need for him. Once we can. Why are you crying? He would never have shed a tear over anybody.”

“I know,” she mumbles. “I know. He was cold and heartless. So are you. You all are. I’d sweep you all away if I could. I’d—”

“You see? You can’t hide anything from us.” He gets up, walks around to her side of the table. Looks down. “Not when we’re right here with you.”

“Fuck you,” she says.

“It’s a tragedy that you’ve so much power and so little idea of how to use it.”

“You’re the tragedy,” she says. “You’ll strangle yourself in your machinations yet.”

“You first,” he says.

And puts his hands around her neck, starts squeezing. She kicks against him. But his grip may as well be iron.

“It’s time,” he mutters.

She fights for air. There’s none. Everything goes black.

PART V RIPTIDE

Claire,” a voice whispers.

But it’s an eternity before she can process it. She’s dwelling in some darkness far beyond all pain. She hears her own name dripping down across some sky some sound in a world where all that lives is silent. She drifts in toward the voice.

“Claire,” it says. “Can you hear me?”

She can. But she’s not sure what she’s supposed to do, save to keep on forging toward it. But now she’s being buffeted by hurt that slams against her. She stumbles onward, upward, toward the light.

“Open your eyes,” the voice says.

She tries to. Fails. Tries again—manages to get one of them open. Through a blur she can see Carson’s face. She groans as headache engulfs her.

“That’s it,” he says.

She opens both her eyes. It’s agony. But she’s keeping them open all the same. She’s back in that room, still strapped to the chair. Carson’s floating in front of her. His legs are crossed.