The Machinery of Light

Yet Haskell knows it’s a mere fraction of the total sum of what’s enclosed within this part of the Moon. Most of it isn’t visible—just endless kilometers of piping running through tunnels too narrow for any but the most specialized of service droids. None of which matters as long as it works. And it’s all about to be put to the test. Her car drops through the cavern’s floor, slides to a halt. The door opens.

As the Eurasian megaships streak in from either side of the Moon, the American fleet opens up with all remaining guns. The rest of the Eurasian armada returns the favor. Both sides start taking serious damage. The Operative watches on the screens while ship after ship gets hit by DE fire—while simultaneously the KE gatlings throughout the U.S. fleet start churning metal out into vacuum at unholy rates, aiming along the vectors deemed most likely by the computers to intersect with the megaships, now rushing in upon each flank—

“How’s it looking up there?” asks Lynx.

“You don’t want to know.”

What kind of a flight plan is that?” asks Jarvin.

“It’s no flight plan,” says Spencer.

“You mean—”

“Yeah.”

The AI’s spitting out preliminary computations regarding the last section of the files that Sinclair possessed and Jarvin stole and Spencer almost cracked. The fact that Haskell augmented the AI is no small factor in the breakthrough it’s managed to make. The overall parameters on the remaining section of the file coalesce on zone. Row upon row of solved equations—

“Can we get this in English?” says Jarvin.

“Almost there,” says the AI.

“So are we,” says Spencer.

A withering barrage of KE hits the megaship.

Software uploads stream into Sarmax’s suit. Hands haul him up from his perch, drag him through a hatchway.

A voice echoes in his head.

“Christ, we’ve missed you,” it says.

Almost … there,” says Lynx.

He’d better be. And he’s got more than a few incentives to minimize the amount of time he spends near these microfission chambers. Radiation readings are going off the charts all around him as he runs zone. The Harrison keeps shuddering as it takes fire. Lynx can almost feel those battering rams in space streaking in toward him …

The AI will have it all figured out within the next thirty seconds. But they’re now hurtling in upon the left flank of the L2 fleet—which isn’t even trying for evasive action. Instruments show the nose of their megaship has been shot off. Doesn’t matter. The rest of it is still racing forward, like an ancient war-elephant about to hurl itself upon a phalanx that’s bracing desperately to receive it. The massed guns of the L2 fleet are a wall of flaring light.

“We’re not meant to survive this,” says Jarvin.

“You just figured that out?”

He’s dragged into some kind of confined space—opens his eyes to behold—

“Indigo,” he whispers.

“Hold on,” she replies.

The megaships spear through the L2 fleet, choosing courses that send them slotting in between the larger ships, smashing through the lesser ones. Total carnage ensues. Clouds of debris and flame show their paths as they rocket in toward the center, shedding pieces of their hulls the whole time. The Operative watches as they converge on the Harrison’s position. He knows better than to ask what the situation is back at the stern. On the outer bridge, Maschler and Riley are starting to look like they’d rather be somewhere else.

The computer keeps processing the last of the files as Spencer starts modularizing the cockpit, slamming all blast-doors in anticipation of imminent collision. So far the megaships coming in from both sides have avoided hitting any of the larger ships. But they’re clearly about to make an exception for the Harrison.

“Brace yourself,” says Spencer.

“Very funny,” says Jarvin.

Sarmax gets it now. He’s in some kind of dropship. So is she. Along with the triad’s two other members. He recognizes them, but they mean nothing to him. They’re manning the controls, powering up the craft, getting ready to launch. She’s holding his glove in hers.

She steps out of the elevator, into a chamber that contains a single mammoth door, reinforced and shimmering with energy. The gateway through the inner perimeter. She takes a deep breath—

Linehan watches the megaships fill all screens, then turns around as Lynx scrambles into view, slamming hatches shut behind him.

“Done,” says Lynx.

“Did you hear that?” asks Linehan.

“Believe it,” replies the Operative—

—as he fires the antimatter drive up. The Harrison suddenly lurches forward. Hammer of the Skies just misses the flagship, shoots behind it, smashes another dreadnaught dead amidships—the combined burning mass torpedoes like a meteor past the incoming Righteous Fire-Dragon—

—reaching out toward that door beyond which lies everything that matters—

Holy fuck!” yells Spencer.

“Here we go,” mutters Jarvin.

“Here’s the kicker,” says the AI.

Sarmax looks into the eyes of the woman he remembers all too well.

“You came back,” he says.

“I never left,” she replies.

—touches it—

Jesus Christ!” yells Linehan.

—and the Operative kills the antimatter, hits all retros—slowing the ship just enough to take it off the direct path of the Righteous Fire-Dragon. But it’s going to be close—

Too close.

“Hold on!” yells Spencer.

“You guys need to hear this,” says the AI.