The Machinery of Light

He’s counting on you doing this,” says Haskell. “Just not so soon,” replies Szilard. The pillar is now blazing so bright they’re having to adjust the shades on their visors. Haskell’s watching everything get just a little darker. She realizes the equipment has reached activation frequency.

“It’s too early,” she says.

“You mean this doesn’t appear in any of your visions?”

She nods. He laughs. “Such a shame,” he says. “So sorry to disappoint you. But in truth, nothing’s written.”

There’s a blinding flash.

The woman’s blown backward out of her chair. She drops behind the desk.

“Suck it,” says Lynx.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” says the Operative.

“Let’s go see the doctor—shit!”

The woman’s coming up from behind the desk with a carbine, spraying explosive rounds. Lynx fires his suit- jets, leaps to one side and unloads on full-auto, unleashing in tandem with the four other men. Now the woman’s taking damage. Bullets slice through her flesh, starting to reveal the metal chassis underneath. The Operative tosses a grenade at the woman’s feet. It detonates, taking half the room with it.

How am I supposed to reach her?” says Sarmax.

“She’s within a klick of us,” says Spencer.

“But like Jarvin said—this didn’t work,” says Sarmax.

“I’ve changed my mind,” says Jarvin.

The flash subsides. The room looks the same as it did before. Szilard looks puzzled.

“We haven’t moved,” he says.

“We weren’t supposed to,” says Haskell.

“This didn’t work?”

“Depends what you mean by ‘work,’” says a voice.

The room’s a shambles. So is the secretary-android. Smoke’s everywhere. The opposite door’s been blown down. Lynx is already moving through it. The Operative turns to the other three men.

“You guys stay here,” he says. “Set up a perimeter.”

“Perimeter?” asks Linehan.

“This room is the only way to reach what lies beyond it.”

“How long will you be?”

“Depends on how many questions you’ve got.”

Linehan mock-salutes. The Operative moves after Lynx.

You’re saying we just—?” asks Sarmax.

“More than just saying,” says Spencer.

“Welcome to the Righteous Fire-Dragon,” says Jarvin.

“Jesus,” says Sarmax. He checks his suit readouts—they all check out. “Is this me?”

“Who else would it be?” asks Jarvin.

“Say hi to the new you,” says Spencer.

“What happened to the old one?”

“Nothing good.”

“Fuck,” says Sarmax.

“And you might have lost a thing or two along the way.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“No such thing as quantum cloning,” says Spencer. “Something always gets lost in the shuffle.”

“You’re saying we should check our memories?” says Sarmax. “Like they weren’t suspect enough—”

“He’s saying don’t be surprised if you start bleeding out,” says Jarvin. “We’re just going to have to see how this plays out, huh.”

Spencer nods. “Terra incognita for sure.”

“Teleportation’s real,” mutters Sarmax.

“Real question is who else knows it,” says Jarvin.

She’s been thinking in that direction for a while now. After all, Sinclair’s been fucking with the space-time continuum. Once you’ve sent messages back from the future, bypassing space isn’t so far beyond the pale. But now she’s face to face with it. Because everyone in this chamber’s whirling. Standing on one end of the catwalk is a figure wearing what looks to be a seriously sophisticated suit of powered-armor.

“Who the hell are you?” asks Szilard.

“The person who’s going to kick your ass,” says the figure—right before it starts firing.

The Operative and Lynx move through into what looks to be a standard office complex, though all the offices on either side are empty. Their sensors are cranked—they’re looking for anything with a heat source.

“You really think he’s here?” asks Lynx.

“Bastard never goes anywhere without that bitch of his.”

They start getting ready to move out. Spencer does a quick scan on the zone around him. Sarmax keeps going on about teleportation.

“I’m still trying to get my head around this,” says Sarmax. “The amount of computational power needed—the amount of energy—you’re talking about something that’s—”

“Off the charts,” says Spencer. “But just so we’re all on the same page, spare us all and stop playing stupid.”

“Who says I’m playing stupid?”

“You know all about these fucking devices.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“Heard about them, then.”

“Okay,” says Sarmax, “so I’ve heard about them—”

“In your goddamn basement,” says Jarvin.

Flame streaks across the room. Szilard’s two bodyguards leap in front of him, taking the shots. One of them takes a few too many. His suit starts burning. Szilard’s grabbing at Haskell—but she’s leapt from the catwalk, finds herself tumbling down in low-gravity toward the rail beneath. The figure advances on Szilard’s remaining bodyguard, who closes rapidly, firing all his weapons. Szilard comes to a quick decision—he ignites his suit-jets and blasts upward toward the elevator shaft.

They’ve left the offices behind and have come to what looks more like a lab-complex. Equipment’s everywhere, gleaming like it’s seen recent use. Standing in one corner is a man who looks at them like he expected this all along.

So I had one in my cellars,” says Sarmax. “So what?

Didn’t mean I ever switched the fucking thing on.

Problem with having a teleporter is—”

“Not enough to have just one,” says Jarvin.

“Got to know the location of the others,” mutters Spencer.