The Machinery of Light

“Assuming Maschler and Riley are ready to run point,” says the Operative.

Maschler and Riley look at him. “Sure,” says Riley.

“What route?” says Maschler.

“We’ll tell you as we go,” says Lynx.

How does this work?” says Sarmax.

“You get in one of these alcoves,” says Spencer. “You first.”

“There’s something I need to do first,” says Spencer—starts working the console. The fact that it’s totally unintuitive matters not in the slightest when he’s already hacked the instruction manual—the manual that sat at the heart of the Kremlin for all that time, the one that Jarvin almost found. But not quite—and now Spencer’s the one who’s calling the shots. He keys in the last of the sequence. There’s a low rumbling hum. The alcoves light up, shimmer with a strange energy.

“Well don’t just stand there,” he says.

The pillar at the center of the room is a strange kind of metal Haskell can’t identify, without evidence of grooves or bolts. It looks more organic than mechanic. She’s got a funny feeling it’s made of the same substance as the rails that run along the floor and ceiling. She walks up to it.

“Don’t touch it,” says Szilard.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” she says.

They head through corridors that look like they could use some maintenance. It’s mostly dark, save for their own sensors. They’re seeing no one. Maschler’s voice comes through on the group channel:

“What are you expecting?” he asks.

“Surprises,” says Lynx.

The men on point get the message. They shut up. For now, at any rate. They keep on cautiously leading the way, Lynx and Carson following, Linehan walking backward, bringing up the rear. He figures that if anything was following them, it probably would have made its move by now. But he doesn’t know for sure. He watches the passageway recede, hears Riley’s voice echo in his head:

“Lights. Up ahead.”

Spencer walks calmly into one of the flickering alcoves.

Jarvin does the same. Sarmax simply stands there.

“Move,” says Jarvin.

“Why?” says Sarmax.

“What the hell’s your problem?”

“You guys really think you’re going to pull this off?”

“Got an alternative?” says Spencer.

“Take over this ship,” replies Sarmax. “Drive it into deep space.”

“And do what?” asks Jarvin.

“Live in splendid isolation.”

“Without your precious Indigo?” says Spencer.

Sarmax stares at him.

“She’s still alive,” adds Spencer.

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Better hurry if you want to find out.”

Sarmax walks into an alcove. There’s a blinding flash.

You do not want to turn this thing on,” says Haskell.

“It’s not a question of what I want,” says Szilard.

Haskell can see the president isn’t wasting any time. While he’s talking, he’s operating controls via wireless— she feels a low hum pass through her suit. Far overhead, the ceiling-rail starts flickering, along with the rail below. But nothing seems to be happening to the pillar. The humming intensifies.

“I’m begging you,” she says.

“You think I’m walking into Sarmax’s trap?”

“Try Sinclair’s.”

They’ve come through into an area of the war-sat that looks to be a lot better maintained. The lighting’s a lot more reliable. There’s an open door up ahead. Emanating from within is a noise that sounds a lot like someone’s fingers hitting a keyboard.

“Hmmm,” says Lynx.

“No shooting unless I say otherwise,” says the Operative.

“Now he tells us,” says Riley—gestures. Maschler moves through the doorway, guns at the ready.

The flash dies away. Spencer blinks, adjusts his vision. Looks at the alcove he’s in—at the room beyond that. It looks exactly the same as it did before. He feels like a jet engine just went through his head. Dust is everywhere. A lot of it looks like it just got blasted from the alcoves.

“What do you mean she’s still alive?” says Sarmax.

“I don’t think this worked,” says Jarvin.

Sinclair wants you to switch this on,” says Haskell.

“I’ll find a way to surprise him anyway.”

“You’ve got the coordinates?”

“Absolutely.”

“He’s way ahead of you, Jharek. Turn that on and God knows what will happen.”

“You know what they say about desperate times, Claire.”

The pillar’s starting to glow in a very weird way: some sort of greenish-blue. It starts to pervade the place, shadows running up and down over the walls. The two marines move in closer to Szilard.

They take the room like any good commando squad: those on point going through, moving out into the room in different directions, the rearguard suddenly charging past the guys in the middle and in after the point and—

“All clear,” says Linehan.

The Operative and Lynx move through. The room looks like any normal office. Fancy, though: wood panels along the walls and door opposite. Nice carpet underfoot. A well-appointed desk takes up most of one corner. A very attractive woman sits at it. She regards them calmly.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” she asks.

She’s not in armor—just civilian clothing. She looks so good she’s got to be genetically engineered. But it’s not her looks that are making the Operative nervous.

“We’re here to see Dr. Sorensen,” says the Operative.

“Are you nuts?” says Lynx, and shoots the woman in the chest.

They step out of the alcoves.

“You’d better answer my question,” says Sarmax, moving toward Spencer. Jarvin cuts in between them.

“Easy,” he says.

“You guys have been talking behind my back,” says Sarmax.

“Better get used to it,” says Spencer. “We’re the razors.”

“Where the hell’s my Indigo?”

“Where she’s always been,” says Jarvin.

“At Sinclair’s side,” says Spencer.