The Machinery of Light

“Fucking download it!” screams Jarvin.

The Righteous Fire-Dragon swipes the Harrison just aft of where the Memphis is still lodged in the flagship’s side.

The dropship is still attached to the wall of the hangar.

It’s being buffeted worse than any atmosphere.

Sarmax feels Velasquez’s hack-sequences continue to course through him, repairing his armor where they can, tending to the software in his mind—

—She’s putting all that’s going on overhead out of her mind—begins running the sequence to hack the door that leads through the inner perimeter. It’s not just a hack on zone either. It’s also her mind: her psionic abilities surge against the defenses—

The Harrison’s been sliced almost in two. Lynx and Linehan are clinging to the walls via magnetic clamps while the rear section of the flagship surges out of control. Wall starts to rip away ahead of them. Colonists stream out behind them like water playing from a fire hose.

What’s left of Righteous Fire-Dragon charges on into the thick of the American fleet, smashing ships while getting smashed itself. The Operative’s screaming at Maschler and Riley to get inside the inner bridge. They’re leaping to comply as the Moon seesaws crazily in the window—

—It’s a demolition derby in the middle of the L2 fleet, and the megaships are coming apart under repeated impacts. Spencer and Jarvin are thrown back and forth as their ship plows on past the fleet, arcing back toward the Moon, the outer layers starting to shred—

At least I saw you again,” says Sarmax.

“We’re not dead yet,” says Velasquez.

The walls of the hangar start to tear away.

The sequences she’s running keep on building, as does the psychic backwash. Factors keep on dwindling toward zero, canceling out all infinities. Untold reverberations wash through her, but she anticipates each one, slides her mind at the precise angle to avoid insanity—

We are so fucked,” mutters Linehan.

“At least go out in style,” snaps Lynx. He’s trying to hack the motor directly. What’s left of the combined mass of the Memphis and the Harrison is falling away. The farside of the Moon’s coming in toward them.

Maschler joins the Operative on the inner bridge.

The outer bridge personnel are panicking. Riley pulls himself into the inner bridge, slams the door behind him.

“Now what?” he yells.

“Hold the fuck on,” says the Operative.

It’s all they can do. They’re being shaken ever harder as the Righteous Fire-Dragon barrels its way through the far flank of the L2 fleet, ships scattering on both sides like schools of fish before a shark. Moon’s rushing in toward them.

The dropship detaches in one fluid motion, firing motors and falling away from the disintegrating hangar and out of the megaship. Hull starts to streak past them.

The ceiling is disintegrating. Along with the floor.

They’re back against the bulwark of the motor itself now, holding on with those magnetic clamps. And suddenly that engine is firing again. Linehan feels his whole life flash before him. Lynx is laughing like crazy as he feeds commands into the motors and they rocket past what’s left of the Harrison, catapulting straight in toward the Moon.

The outer bridge personnel are hurling themselves against the door to the inner bridge, trying to somehow find a way in. It’s not like they have a plan. They’re just intent on killing the ones who have killed them. But the three men inside pay no attention—instead, they’re watching the Harrison’s wayward antimatter drive streak past them, two suited figures clinging to it.

“What a way to go,” says Riley.

“We’re going the same way,” says the Operative as he finishes the sequence he’s been keying. Explosions suddenly detonate throughout the outer bridge.

We’ve lost the engines,” says Spencer.

Jarvin nods. He brings up the trajectory and looks at the dotted line that shows the extrapolation—an arc continuing around the lunar surface, impacting on the nearside at—

“Hmmm,” he says.

They’re getting the hell out of the way of the nukes. The megaship falls away in the distance. The ships of the L2 fleet pour by overhead. The dropship’s plunging toward the lunar surface.

And suddenly they’re upon her. The guardians of the Room. Not just silicon either. She can feel the texture of their minds; they’re almost like her, living flesh linked to silicon to create something greater. She pictures living brains trapped within walls, pictures them linked together, swarming in upon her head—

Two men like insects on the edge of eternity, clinging to machinery that’s roaring full tilt toward the ground. The L2 fleet blasts above them, formation after formation surging around toward the nearside to face the main weight of the Eurasian fleet. But the American deployment is less than flawless—gaps are everywhere in the ranks, testament to the damage the megaships wrought.

“They’re fucked,” says Lynx.

“And we’re not?”

The Moon rushes ever closer.

Admiral’s privilege,” says the Operative.

He’s not kidding. The inner bridge of the Harrison doubles as an escape ship. Riley and Maschler can only watch as he takes that ship through a series of evasive maneuvers. The L2 fleet tumbles away above them. The Moon falls in toward them. Riley laughs.

“No one’s going to be fooled by this,” he says.

“Szilard will fucking nail us,” mutters Maschler.

“I think he’s got other shit to worry about,” says the Operative, gesturing at the explosions dotting the approaching lunar surface.

The last cameras are getting taken out. But as they go, they show clear evidence that the lunar garrisons are in very deep trouble. A couple of domes on the boundary between farside and nearside just blew—outposts that are clearly under coordinated attack by the Eurasian commandos that the megaships have scattered like countless spores across the Moon. But those ships are paying the ultimate price for the havoc they’ve wreaked. Hammer of the Skies is disappearing from sight, disintegrating across the horizon,