The Burning Skies (62 page)

“And Harrison—”

“—
thinks
he does, but his files are rigged with false data.”

“You really think you’ve beaten the Praetorians?”

“You’re the one who’s done that. It’s what you were designed for. Though finding out how much of you goes beyond anybody’s planning is what I’m setting in motion tonight.”

“I’ll tell you what I know,” she says, and she can’t help but say the words. She can’t help but tell him everything she can and then some. She has no idea what he already knows. She has no idea how she knows what she does. It doesn’t matter. Her mind twists and turns and it’s all she can do to hang on …

“I was to be the key node in the Autumn Rain mass-mind.”

“Go on.”

“The one that the second generation became. The one that Marlowe and I were shorn from.”

“The one you detected traces of at the Europa Platform.”

“And that I killed every last member of.”

“You sure about that?”

She stares at him. “What do you mean?”

“You sure you got them all?”

“Are you saying that—”

“You know exactly what I’m saying.”

“Don’t—fucking
do this
—”

But he’s already pulling more levers somewhere deep
within the canyons of her skull. Everything blurs around her—

“For the love of Christ, stop fucking with my—”

And suddenly her vision’s burning white.

L
et’s get this show on the road,” says Lynx. He emerges from an open hatch in one of the mainframes, wires trailing from it to multiple places in his skull. He looks at Szilard.

“Kill him,” he tells Linehan—but Linehan’s already opening up on Szilard, even as his target dives away, starts rolling across the floor. But he’s got no chance against a suit of armor. Linehan turns, catches up with Szilard in a single stride. Laughs.

And stops. For a moment he’s balanced on one foot. And then he topples over. His armor hits the floor with a crash. Szilard’s on his feet, leaping Linehan’s toppled suit, running straight at Lynx. Who’s fumbling for his pistols, raising them, opening up as Szilard hurls himself to one side once more and darts behind the mainframe to which Lynx is attached. Just as the back of the armor that’s sprawled on the floor opens and a very pissed off Linehan climbs out.

“What the hell’s your problem?” he screams at Lynx.

“What the fuck’s yours?”

“My armor just got hacked, and you didn’t stop it!”

“I never even saw it! For fuck’s sake, this is a live situation! He’s behind this console! He’s fucking with it and I’m losing control!”

“Give me that,” snarls Linehan, snatching one of the pistols from Lynx’s grasp. He turns toward the consoles, starts firing, advancing on the place where Szilard vanished.

“Does he have a way out of this room?” he yells.

“Back there? There’s nothing.”

“You hear that?” shrieks Linehan. “Szilard! This is it! You’re dead!”

“Don’t just tell me about it,” screams Szilard, “come over here and fucking
do it
!
”

With an unearthly cry, Linehan starts forward.

Y
ou lose, Leo.”

“What?”

“I just lost the Manilishi.”

“She’s—”

“Not calling the shots anymore. And neither’s Carson.”

“Where the fuck did they go?”

“How the fuck should I know? I’m my own man now.”

And he is. The waters of his life roar around him and he lets himself get caught in the rush. His mind’s still ablaze with static, but now it’s all insight that he’s gathering into himself. He focuses on Sarmax, wonders whether he should pull the trigger.

“One last chance,” says Sarmax.

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’m serious. Join us.”

“What?”

“Fuck man, we’re inside the Eurasian superweapon. No reason you can’t have it once I’m ruling bigger empires.”

“You’d put one through me as soon as you saw an opening. I’m not one of your fucking trinity.”

“I hate both those fucks, Spencer. Don’t—”

One of the doors slides open. A suitless Russian soldier enters the room. His eyes go wide with astonishment.

“It’s not what it looks like,” says Spencer.

“Drop your weapon,” says the soldier—and tries to signal backup. But Spencer’s hacking the signal. The soldier’s backing up through the door, but Spencer gets his mind around
the door, slides it shut with full force, smashing the soldier against the doorway, crushing his rib cage—but not before the man’s gotten off a shot. Spencer leaps aside as the projectile sears past him—even as Sarmax whirls to face him. Their guns are right up against each other’s visors.

“Shoot and you’ll lose your zone coverage,” says Spencer. “Shoot and you’d better believe I’ll get a shot off,” says Sarmax.

“I’m your only hope to crack the handler’s files.”

“I’ve done more runs against the East than anyone alive.”

“So? You still need me more than I need you—”

“To do what?” yells Sarmax. “To do fucking
what?
Are you going to try to take down this place or are you going to take this all the fucking way? Don’t you get it? The secret of the Rain is out there and whoever finds it can
build more of them
. And you really think you can get to the next level of this fucking game when you’re flying solo?”

“I think we should see what the hell’s in here with us.”

“I can think of worse ideas,” says Sarmax. Spencer nods.

W
hat the fuck,” says Haskell. “What are you seeing?” says Carson. “You just overwrote half of Lynx’s hacks! And God knows what you just did with my link to Spencer!”

“Never mind that,” snarls Carson,
“tell me what you’re fucking seeing!”

She knows damn well what he means even though she doesn’t know how the fuck it’s happening. All she knows is that there’s a new light burning out on the edges of her awareness—a light that’s like a cross between a star and fire, that can only be one thing—

“Another mind,” she whispers.

“Not Spencer’s either.”

“Rain—”

“Yes,” he says.
“Go on.”

“It’s—Autumn Rain—someone—”

“Who?”

“I—can’t tell—”

“Who? How many?”

“I can’t tell—it’s blurring—”

“Location,” he says, and his voice is very calm.

“L5,” she answers without hesitation. Vast mental geographies loom around her. “But—that’s where Sinclair—”

“That’s no coincidence.”

“But it’s not him—”

“Of course not.”

“He’s got someone else up there.”

“Maybe more than that.”

“Not all the original batch went rogue,” she mutters.

“And not all of the Praetorians who guard Sinclair are who they seem.”

“So I see.”

“Sinclair told me you’d read it loud and clear.”

She nods. Her mind is blasted open. She’s draped in the glow that lights up the no-sky of no-zone. She can’t communicate with whoever’s out there—doesn’t even know who the fuck it
is
—but it’s Rain, of that much she’s certain, because the mere
presence
in her head is more vivid than anything she’s ever known. And yet it’s all a mere fraction of how it was all supposed to be. Horizon sets within Haskell’s mind even as realization dawns. Lines align within her head, and it’s all she can do to keep up with them. Someone she was
born with
is still
alive
—she’s weeping and she’s conscious of almost nothing else.

And then there’s nothing she’s
not
conscious of. Reality
clicks
around her and something just folds. She gazes at Carson and it’s like his face is falling away from her down some endless shaft …

“What am I really?” she asks softly.

“Something that’s come unstuck in time.”

“That Sinclair can’t predict.”

“Presumably.”

She exhales slowly. “And the rest of the Rain?”

“May be related to that fact.”

“I can
feel
the Moon out there,” she mutters. “It’s hauling against me like a fucking lodestone.”

“It may yet drag you under.”

“What the hell’s happening?”

“You’re changing.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve been doing my best to crank you up across the last few hours. That suit I’ve rigged you with is worth the price tag. Overstimulating your system with electric shock and circuit overload and—”

“Fucking bastard.”

“We’re still not sure what we’ve got in you, Claire. And maybe it doesn’t fucking matter: off-the-charts AI or ESP gateway or crack in the fucking cosmic egg—doesn’t matter what we call it as long as we can use it. And with the East about to bring its own superweapon online we’d better make sure we’re maxing out on ours.”

“So why the fuck did you just shove both missions off the goddamn rails?”

“Getting exciting, isn’t it?”

“Because you fear Lynx and Sarmax more than anything else?”

“Because I’m giving up on breaking you open. For now.”

“You’re—”

“Out of time. And remember what I said about multiple bosses? I got
way
too many assholes on line one.”

“Christ almighty, Carson. Are you obeying Sinclair’s orders or have you sold him out too?”

“I like to think I’m carrying out the spirit of them.”

“And all your talk of love?”

“Just talk. But there’ll be time for action later.”

“I swear to God I’ll destroy you if I ever get the chance.”

“That’d be by boring me to death with your threats?”

The door slides open. Armored Praetorians enter the room. They’re wearing the uniform of the Core. They fan out, take up positions. Carson looks at them. One of them salutes.

“Sir,” he says.

“Half of you come with me,” says Carson. “The other half stay here. Seal this door. Don’t let anybody in until we’ve landed.” Soldiers head back through the door. Carson follows them—and stops as Haskell starts screaming at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Like you even need to ask,” he says.

The door slides shut behind him.

L
aughing like a maniac, Linehan fills the air with fire while he strides toward the console. Lynx has his last pistol trained on the only other exit from behind the equipment. He’s waiting for Szilard to come running out to get shot down like a dog. He’s desperately trying to bolster his disintegrating zone position through the wires that sprout from his skull. His connection with the Manilishi has been severed. He has no idea why. But something’s obviously gone wrong. And it’s rapidly getting worse. Szilard’s marines are right outside the door, trying to burn their way through.