strewn against the crescent Moon that dominates the sky beyond. But one of those lights is swelling by the moment—fragmenting into several smaller lights, set against a larger shape. The shuttle vectors in toward it. Linehan watches as it wafts in.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says.
“At least it’s a lot smaller than that Eurotrash rock,” replies Lynx.
It may be nowhere near as large as what was once the pride of the Europa Platform, but it’s still an asteroid, about fifty meters long, studded with guns and mirrors and the occasional shaft opening. The shuttle drifts in toward one such opening that’s been drilled along the axis. The pilot’s hands fly across the controls as he lines the ship up with the rotating rock.
“Fucking redoubt,” he says. “What the hell’re you guys doing here anyway?”
“Telling you to land this bitch,” says Lynx.
The pilot mutters something inaudible. Rock walls replace space as the ship glides into the shaft. They emerge a few moments later into a cave that’s been carved within.
“Here we go,” says the pilot.
But Lynx and Linehan are already hopping out, firing their thrusters as the pilot starts reversing back the way he’s come. The cave itself is empty save for mechanics working over another shuttle. They ignore the two newcomers, who continue along the shaft and into the labyrinth that honeycombs the asteroid. They encounter no one else. Linehan feels like he’s walking into a tomb.
“Don’t tell me there’s no one else in here,” he says.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” says Lynx.
Linehan knows he’s not kidding—that there’s got to be enough of a crew on this rock to make Lynx’s scheme work. No shuttle runs from the ships in the outer perimeter directly to anything that’s even
And now they’ve got company. Workers squeeze past. They reach an intersection, turn down one of the tunnels. A power-suited soldier blocks the way.
“This is a restricted area,” he says.
“I know,” says Lynx. “Here’s our clearance.”
The soldier’s expression doesn’t change. “Clearance for what?”
“Sorry?”
“So you’ve got the codes. So what? I can’t just let you through here without you telling me where you’re going.”
“Oh,” says Lynx. “Sorry. We’re going to the armory.”
“To do what?”
“Got a report that some of the suit-batteries were on the fritz.”
“How come I didn’t hear about this?”
“Feel free to check,” says Lynx. “But we’re behind on our schedule and really need to hurry it —”
“Cool your jets,” says the soldier. His eyes seem to lose their focus as he transmits via zone. And gets his answer.
“Fine,” he says. “Let’s go.”
“Great.”
“But I’m coming with you.”
“Then who’ll stand watch?”
“They’re sending down a replacement.”
“I’m telling you we’re running late already—”
“You don’t have to wait. Let’s go.”
“You’re leaving this place unguarded?” Lynx looks nervous. “Is that standard procedure?”
“Shut up,” says the soldier, and turns, leading the way down more tunnels. In short order they reach a dead end. The soldier shifts against the rock, swivels a piece of it aside. They proceed through into the armory as the door closes behind them.
The place looks like it’s been wallpapered with weapons of every description, from suits to small arms and everything in between. Chances are if this place sees combat they won’t get used. But that’s what war is these days—a question of contingencies. This asteroid is mainly intended as a KE strongpoint. And yet there’s more than one scenario in which it might need to shelter soldiers who have been moved from more vulnerable nearby ships. Soldiers whose own battle capabilities might have been degraded. Soldiers who might need the things this room contains …
“So get on with it,” says the soldier.
“So we will,” says Lynx. He heads toward the diagnostic panels set beside the door. Checks it out. The door slides shut.
“And hurry it—” The soldier’s voice suddenly cuts out. Along with the power in his suit. Lynx turns back toward the now-drifting figure.
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch that.”
The soldier’s yelling at him. It doesn’t take an expert in sign language to get the gist of what he’s saying.
“Yeah,” says Lynx, “sorry about that. Linehan, can you help out?”
“With pleasure,” says Linehan as he extends a drill from his suit and plunges it into the soldier’s back. The man’s defenses aren’t up. He can’t dodge. It’s over pretty quick. Linehan basks amidst the rush.
“Enjoyed that, did you?” Lynx looks at Linehan, hits buttons, starts pressurizing the armory. “Well, don’t let your sadism cloud your grasp of the big picture. This just became a clusterfuck now that there’s no one at that guard post.”
“I thought they told him there’s another sentry coming along—”
“That was me he was talking to, you dipshit!” Lynx is pulling off his suit. Linehan starts doing the same. “He was too curious. Too great a risk. He would have done some extra checking. So he had to come with us. But we haven’t got long before they figure out a sentry’s gone missing. We gotta get off this fucking rock and fast.”
“In what?”
“Well, as luck would have it another shuttle’s departing in three minutes. And by a strange coincidence, it’s en route to our next stop. So you’ve got thirty seconds to get
“I like it,” he says.
“Thought you might,” replies Lynx.
Tunnel walls surge past as the train charges ever deeper into the world beneath the mountains. On the zone, Spencer’s watching grids dance within his head. He’s pulling strings across the Eurasian zone, closing in on the moves that will take him and Sarmax to the next level within this place.
But he’s also trying to make sense of a whole new factor. He’s realizing just how out there the man who called himself Alek Jarvin was. The handler’s book consists of hundreds upon hundreds of pages of symbols, grids, numbers. And letters, of course: Spencer reckons he’s dealing with at least six different alphabets. None of which are even remotely discernible. The only thing he can make out is the initial section that Sarmax spoke of. Which seems to serve as a preface. Written in a low-rent cypher that was easy enough to crack, probably because all it does is make promises.
