The Machinery of Light

“Your real body is back on the Moon. We’re putting your mind through its paces. Seeing what it’s made of. Do exactly what we say, and you’ll return to your own flesh safely.”

“Who are you?”

“They’re InfoCom agents,” says the Operative.

“Assistants to your interrogation,” says Riley.

“Great,” says Haskell.

“I’m their prisoner,” says the Operative.

“Whose body am I in?”

“It’s yours now.”

“Whose body was it?”

“No one’s,” says the Operative.

She frowns. “I’m wearing my own face, aren’t I?”

The Operative can’t say anything. He just nods. He can see she’s trying not to cry. Then suddenly that face is all resolution.

“Let’s get on with this,” she says.

Master and servants,” says Linehan.

“Yes,” says Lynx.

“This is Szilard’s ship.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why you steered us here.”

“For sure. It’s his new flagship.”

“And his escape ship,” says Linehan.

Pause. Lynx’s smile cuts out.

“You’re quick,” he says slowly.

“If it all goes to shit—”

“Goes? Try going.”

“Those megaships are still coming on?” asks Linehan.

“Like juggernauts, man. Their speeds are insane—”

“He’ll send the L2 fleet out to do battle with them.”

Lynx gestures. “And be ready to fire this thing’s motors if that fleet gets shattered.”

“They’ll follow him to Mars,” says Linehan.

“They’ll have a lot to keep them busy in the meantime.”

“But eventually—”

“What makes you think he’d stop at Mars? This thing’s got some serious engines. He could go to ground in the rings of Saturn—or make a break for deep space, try to run this all the way out. At least lead them on a good chase.”

“With a fuck-sized entourage keeping him company,” says Linehan.

“And guess who gets to get in there and stop him.”

We need to take control of this ship,” says Jarvin.

“Precisely what we were thinking,” says Sarmax.

“Sure,” says Spencer, “but under what terms?”

Both men look at him. He shrugs.

“It’s a fair question,” he says. “Sarmax here is a member of Autumn Rain. And for all we know, you are, too —”

“I’m not,” says Jarvin.

“You sure about that?”

“Anyone who’s sure about anything is a fool. Same with all this member bullshit you’re on about. Like everyone in the Rain went to the same country club. So Sarmax was part of the prototype. So what? Whose side are you on now, Leo?”

“Mine,” says Sarmax.

“My kind of thinking,” says Jarvin. “You guys up for a three-way partnership?”

“For sure,” says Sarmax.

“So quick to agree.” Jarvin looks amused. “You can always take me out when we’ve hit paydirt, huh?”

“I wasn’t thinking—”

“Well, it’s about time you started.” Jarvin gestures at Spencer. “Maybe he and I will take you out.”

Sarmax laughs. “Give me a break—”

“Why should I? It’s not like your track record for team-ups is the best. You and Carson and Lynx sure ballsed up the reunion, huh?”

“That was Carson,” says Spencer. “He pulled the plug—”

“Shut up,” says Sarmax.

“I could have predicted that,” says Jarvin. He turns to Sarmax: “You should have predicted that.”

“I thought he’d at least wait until we’d won before going for the big backstab.”

Jarvin laughs. “Carson’s got a knack for devising schemes so complex you can’t even figure out what his angle is.”

“How do you know so much about us?”

“He’s got the file, doesn’t he?” says Spencer.

There’s a pause.

“And the one we took from you was bullshit?” asks Sarmax.

Jarvin smiles.

“And you still have the—”

“Of course I still have the real one.”

“And we’ve got the fake one,” says Sarmax. “Fuck.”

Spencer shakes his head. “But those schematics of the Himalayan black base were real!”

“Which ought to tell you something,” says Jarvin.

“It tells me you gave us the real scoop on the Eurasian base and the fake scoop on the Rain—”

“No,” says Jarvin.

They look at him.

“I held back nothing.”

Maschler’s drawn a sidearm.

“What’s that for?” asks the Operative.

“To encourage you not to do anything stupid.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You’ve been known to around Claire.”

“Just stay calm,” says Haskell. It hadn’t occurred to the Operative to be anything else, but maybe everyone’s way ahead of him. “Let them do what they’re here for,” she adds.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Easy,” says Maschler—a smooth, reassuring cadence the Operative uses himself when he’s about to kill someone. He’s still in the doorway, about four meters from the Operative. Riley’s on the other side of Haskell, punching buttons on a console. The Operative feels his head starting to spin. He feels like he’s having a stroke. He goes down on one knee.

“Carson,” says Haskell.

He drops. He’s kissing metal. Everything’s gone black. All he can hear is Haskell now. Though he’s not even sure about that. Just a faint voice he remembers from so long ago:

“Carson,” she says softly.