The Machinery of Light

floors. Now they’re approaching the elevator banks that are one of only two routes leading to the cockpit. A mixture of Chinese and Russian soldiers cluster around those banks. They’re obviously on high alert. They seem to be as busy watching one another as those who approach.

“Let me do the talking,” says Jarvin.

What are they talking about now?” asks the Operative.

“Maschler and Riley?”

“Who else?”

It’s not like there’s anybody else that matters right now. Unless there are more voices in Haskell’s head. He wouldn’t put it past her. Her signal’s all he’s got—even louder than his internal monologue. He no longer knows what he wants.

“Yes you do,” says Haskell.

“What?”

She says nothing—though it sounds like she’s laughing at him. Or maybe it’s his own mind cackling as it finally goes over the edge. He finds himself grasping at anything that’s solid. He can think of only one thing.

“So what the hell’s the plan?” he asks.

“You already know the plan,” she replies. “Convince Szilard that you stole the Manilishi from Montrose.”

“That’s not the only possibility,” says the Operative.

Haskell nods slowly. “You didn’t steal me—”

“Maschler and Riley did.”

“Right.”

“They’re SpaceCom agents.”

“They’re pretending to be.”

“Christ, Claire, they probably are.”

“I guess we’re going to find out.”

“How close to L2 are we?”

“Like they’d tell me.”

“Ask them anyway.”

She does. Maschler looks at her. “Getting warm,” he says.

“And you’re SpaceCom agents?”

Riley laughs. “Now what would give you that idea?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I doubt we could do it convincingly,” says Maschler.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“Szilard thinks we are,” says Maschler. “That’s all that matters.”

“You guys had better—”

Riley laughs. “Like we’d ever cross our lady. She sees everything.”

“Knows it all,” says Maschler.

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah?”

“You guys don’t look like you’re crazy. If you’re working for InfoCom, then you’re about to die. Killing Szilard’s a fucking suicide mission.”

“Not if it succeeds,” says Maschler.

“Even then the assassins will die—”

“That’d be Carson,” says Riley. “He’s the triggerman.”

“Or at least the guy who gets close enough,” says Maschler. “He’s a goner.”

“And you’re not?”

“We draw danger pay for a reason,” says Riley. “And we’re going to torch everybody on the Redeemer who can link this back to Montrose.”

“Me included?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” says Riley. “You won’t feel a thing.”

“Except for now,” says Maschler.

What the hell is this?” says Linehan.

“What does it look like?” asks Lynx.

It looks like ice. Sheets of it stretch away on all sides.

“How big is this place?” Linehan asks. He pulls himself out of the last of the wires and crawls through the hatch that Lynx has opened.

“Couple hundred meters,” says Lynx. “This is the core of the ship. And over there is frozen methane, so we’ve got fuel and water from a single locale, and also the backbone of the sleeper freezing units.”

“And the route past the outer perimeter.”

“You catch on fast,” says Lynx.

They extend crampons, start to rappel out onto the slopes of freeze.

Sir,” says a Russian sergeant, “your codes.”

“Here,” says Jarvin—sends them over. At least, that’s what Spencer is forced to presume. But now the Chinese sergeant steps forward.

“Your codes,” he says. “Sir.”

“Again?”

“I must insist.”

“Don’t you trust your colleague?” says Jarvin, indicating the Russian sergeant.

“I trust my orders.”

“In other words, no.” Sarmax’s voice is coming through loud and clear on the one-on-one in Spencer’s head. “Things must be getting tense in that fucking cockpit.”

“They’ve probably got the balance just so.” Spencer’s thinking fast. “Three more Russians may throw things out of whack.”

“But the Praesidium is supreme authority across the whole Coalition. So they have to let—”

“They don’t have to do shit,” says Sarmax—but the Chinese sergeant nods. The Russian sergeant clears his throat.

“You’re cleared, sirs,” he says. “They’re sending an elevator down now.”

“Very good,” says Jarvin—and now that voice echoes in Spencer’s helmet: “This whole place is in lockdown mode. God only knows what it’s like up there.”

“We’d better be ready for anything,” says Sarmax.

“We’ve got the highest clearance,” says Jarvin. “Theoretically, we can confront the captains and take command of the ship.”

“Theoretically,” says Spencer.

An elevator door opens. Jarvin starts toward it—just as the ship suddenly changes course without warning. Spencer’s hurled toward the wall—along with everyone else.

Fuck, she says.

“What?”

But there’s no answer. He gets a quick glimpse of what might be Haskell’s face, falling away from him as though it’s tumbling through some endless space. And suddenly he’s back in the real one—opening his eyes. A boot is prodding against him.

“Wakey wakey,” says Maschler.

She’s coming ’round,” says a voice.

It’s news to Haskell. She feels like a freight train just ran through her skull. She senses something fading that might be vertigo, but in reverse—as though she’s already hit the ground and is still getting used to that fact.