The Machinery of Light

“They’ll be coming down here next,” says Spencer.

“Not if we convince their bosses they already did,” replies Jarvin.

The garrison of the Redeemer is trying to defend against the incursions now cutting through it, but it’s tough going. All the more so as the attacks are along angles that the original defenders didn’t anticipate—straight out of the off-limits high-security area along its axis. Alarms are sounding throughout the ship. Reserves are scrambling into their suits, all too many of which are getting hacked.

“They’re fucking reeling,” says Lynx.

“It may not matter,” says the Operative.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” says Linehan.

“Szilard might blow this ship at any moment.”

“Why the hell would he do that if he’s on it?”

“Don’t you love it when you answer your own question?”

“This whole thing was a trick?”

Neither Lynx nor the Operative bothers to reply. Of course the whole thing was a trick. It’s the only possibility that makes sense now. But as to what the Lizard’s game is … they’re still working on it. And right now they’ve got more tactical concerns. Marines block the way ahead—Lynx fucks their suits while the Operative springs open the triple-locked doors behind them. The three men blast on through. The Operative looks around at the room they’ve just reached.

“Made it,” he says.

“Not so fast,” says a voice.

The train abruptly slows, slides to a halt.

“What the hell’s going on?” demands Montrose.

“Not sure,” says a bodyguard.

“Then get out there and find out!” snarls Montrose.

But the bodyguards are already opening the doors of the train, heading out into the tunnel. Lasers and explosions start flaring. One of the bodyguards gets blasted back into the car. The SpaceCom marine who just shot him leaps in, followed by several others.

“President Montrose,” says one.

“You’re under arrest,” says another.

Hammer of the Skies and Righteous Fire-Dragon pour fire onto the L5 fortress at point-blank range. They’ve suppressed enough of the defensive fire to start deploying troops: clouds of power-suits billowing across the gigantic central station and its attendant war-sats.

“Impressive,” says Sarmax.

Neither Spencer nor Jarvin reply. They’re too busy trying to keep up with the shifting Eastern zone within this megaship. The Chinese zone continues to consolidate, taking control. But as it does, Jarvin’s mind slides in behind it, Spencer riding shotgun in a maneuver as quick as it is elegant—

“Got it,” says Jarvin.

The last of L5’s guns cease firing.

The room is almost empty. It contains only a single console—and a door, through which Maschler and Riley have just entered, their guns still smoking.

“Figured I’d find you guys here,” says the Operative.

“You always were quick,” says Riley.

“A little too much so,” says Maschler.

“And guess who’s holding your zone-leashes?” says Lynx.

“You’re kidding,” says Riley.

“Try us and see,” says the Operative.

Though he knows they’re figuring it out for themselves. He and Lynx snipped their link back to Montrose all too easily. Whatever shit’s hitting the fan back at the president’s HQ made that move even easier. Meaning that the two men who held his reins the whole way up just got co-opted. And they’re going to find it very difficult to do anything that Lynx and Carson don’t want them to.

Though right now everybody’s got the same objective.

“We’ve been trying to figure out the sequence,” says Riley.

“We’re one step ahead of you,” says Lynx as the Operative starts keying commands into the console.

The SpaceCom soldiers keep their guns trained on Montrose and Haskell while the train reverses back along the tunnel. Montrose is offering them riches beyond their imagination if they’ll let her go. They’re not saying anything in reply. They just let her plead while they keep an eye out of the windows on either side. The train pulls back into the station. Montrose and Haskell are hustled out.

A man’s waiting for them on the platform. He’s so tall his suit’s obviously custom built. His smile’s clearly visible through his visor. He looks down as Montrose and Haskell are thrown at his feet.

“Hi there,” says Jharek Szilard.

The sack of L5 is in full force. There’s a lot of it to bust up. The main structure is a kilometer across. Sections of the Lincoln have melted in the DE bombardment like wax in an oven. The thousands of Chinese soldiers storming through what’s left are meeting with little resistance. Feeds from the suit-cams of the assault troops churn through Spencer’s head as the soldiers close on one section in particular.

The prisons.

“What the hell’s going on?” asks Sarmax.

“We’ve got control of this ship’s net,” says Jarvin.

“Sure,” says Sarmax, “but what about Sinclair?”

“We’ll know in less than thirty seconds,” says Spencer.

The Redeemer’s disaggregation sequence is an absolute last resort. The fact that it needs to be triggered manually is one of several failsafes that keep it from getting activated accidentally. But the Operative and Lynx have already hacked through all the precautions. They’ve won through to this backup control room and killed almost everyone in the vicinity.

And Maschler and Riley were thoughtful enough to take care of the rest. They didn’t know they were working in coordination with the Operative and Lynx. They didn’t need to. All anyone needs to do now is hold on—

“Do it,” hisses Lynx.

The Operative hits the last command. Sirens wail. Airlocks slam shut. Explosive charges throughout the ship detonate.

“On to the next round,” says the Operative.

“Goddamn,” says Maschler.

The Redeemer is breaking into twenty modular pieces. Designed for emergencies that might befall the mother-ship in Mars orbit or beyond, each is a spaceship in its own right. Each starts maneuvering into the L2 fleet on routes already established by the Operative and Lynx. Some of the L2 guns begin firing at the anomaly that’s sprouting in their midst, but most of them hold off in the absence of orders—even as the Redeemer’s fragments close in on them—even as one fragment in particular closes in on—

“That one there,” says Lynx.

“Everybody brace yourself,” yells the Operative.

Still don’t think it’s over?” asks Haskell.

“Shut the fuck up,” says Montrose. “Jharek, this is an outrage. You shoot your way into my headquarters and—”