Part 33 (1/2)
Alarms are howling. Klaxons are wailing. Suddenly three men are feeling way too exposed.
”They've found us,” says Linehan.
”Worse,” says Lynx. ”That's the general fleet alert.”
”The East is on its way,” says the Operative.
A quick glance on the zone confirms it. And the American fleet behind the Moon is going into ultra-lockdown mode- ”We need to get out of here,” says Linehan.
”Thanks for the newsflash,” says the Operative. He opens up the one-on-one with Lynx.
”Is this for real? Looks like they just-”
”Sealed all s.h.i.+ps,” says Lynx. ”Yeah.”
Meaning it's no longer just a matter of nothing being allowed to leave this fleet. Now the same rule's being applied to each individual s.h.i.+p. Total paranoia is in ascendancy. All intrafleet transport is at an end. Which means that- ”We're f.u.c.ked,” says Lynx.
”Not at all,” says the Operative.
”We're f.u.c.ked,” f.u.c.ked,” repeats Lynx, ”and it's all repeats Lynx, ”and it's all thanks to you thanks to you. This whole Sorenson bulls.h.i.+t was a bridge too far. We'd already gotten all we needed these last two days-”
”We thought he might have a teleporter, remember?”
”So what the f.u.c.k are we gonna do now?”
”Show everybody why we're the best in the business.”
Righteous Fire-Dragon is accelerating at a disturbing rate, moving well out ahead of the rest of the fleet, taking heavy fire from the American lunar positions. But all of that is mere background to what's front and center on Spencer's screen: only a few corridors away, the Rain triad is less than fifty meters ahead, steaming straight at them, operating on some kind of zone that's in a cla.s.s of its own. Spencer's only detecting it because he's using Rain protocols. But as to staying compet.i.tive with its- is accelerating at a disturbing rate, moving well out ahead of the rest of the fleet, taking heavy fire from the American lunar positions. But all of that is mere background to what's front and center on Spencer's screen: only a few corridors away, the Rain triad is less than fifty meters ahead, steaming straight at them, operating on some kind of zone that's in a cla.s.s of its own. Spencer's only detecting it because he's using Rain protocols. But as to staying compet.i.tive with its- ”We can't fight this,” says Jarvin.
”We're not going to,” says Spencer. He meshes his mind with Jarvin, gets his zone-s.h.i.+elds up just in time to repel an incoming blow that would have fried the mind of any normal razor. As he does so, he lets the blueprints of this part of the s.h.i.+p whip through his head. Looking for- ”Anything,” hisses Jarvin. ”No time for perfection.” hisses Jarvin. ”No time for perfection.”
”Then you're gonna love this,” snarls Spencer.
PART IV.
ETERNITY'S ASHES
The caves and tunnels beneath the South Pole are even more tangled than the craters that surround them. Haskell lets her lights s.h.i.+ne out ahead of her as she makes hairpin turns. She hasn't detected any pursuit yet. But she's under no illusions-it's underway. If Szilard wants to be a player in the endgame, he's going to have to get his hands on her brain. He'll be mobilizing all forces in order to do so. She rockets ever deeper.
A trashed antechamber that contains the shredded remains of the android-bodyguard-secretary of a man who no longer needs any of those services. Maschler and Riley look up as Carson, Lynx, and Linehan storm into the room. trashed antechamber that contains the shredded remains of the android-bodyguard-secretary of a man who no longer needs any of those services. Maschler and Riley look up as Carson, Lynx, and Linehan storm into the room.
”What's up?” asks Maschler.
”Everything,” says Lynx as he sweeps past. Maschler and Riley get the hint-charge after the other three as they rush out of the room, firing their suit-jets. Maschler keys the one-on-one with Linehan.
”Do you know where we're going?” he asks.
”You wouldn't believe me,” mutters Linehan.
This way,” yells Spencer, firing his jets and letting Jarvin and Sarmax trail after him while he hurls zone-decoys out in every direction. The Rain triad adjusts slightly; the wings spread out as they vector in on their quarry's changing position. But Spencer's relying more on speed than stealth. He and the other two blast toward the rearmost portions of the s.h.i.+p, flying through into one of the bomb storage chambers, moving away from the main elevator- ”Wrong way!” yells Sarmax.
”Wrong,” says Spencer.
Haskell drops through some of the active mining areas. She's exposing herself, but it's the most direct route. She's f.u.c.king with the zone something fierce while she blasts through caverns filled with equipment. Miners stare agape as she burns past like a fever dream.
The five men careen out of the R&D areas and into the adjacent wing of the war-sat. It sports most of the s.h.i.+p's weaponry.
”This isn't the right way,” yells Riley. ”The hangars are-”
”Go for it,” says the Operative. ”You'll win the record for most guns to ever target a shuttle at once.”
Though he knows it's unlikely to be anywhere near that dramatic. The bulk of the American guns are staying silent-not exposing themselves as they wait for the Eurasian armada to draw closer. But that leaves a lot of weaponry still in the game, firing away at the largest force ever a.s.sembled by the hand of man. The writing's on the wall. The Americans don't stand a chance. But right now the Operative has more immediate issues. The five men reach a chamber at the far end of the weapons wing-a dead end.
Spencer opens fire-lets shots streak past the thousands of nukes and along the conveyor belts, taking out the hatches to which the belts lead. The doors spin aside and he leads the way into the backup bomb shafts. They're not in use right now, but that could change at any moment. In which case it won't be pretty: bombs are slung through the shafts at railgun velocities. The three men reach the far end. Another hatch bars the way. Beyond it's vacuum. Not to mention nuclear explosions.
”You do not not want to open that,” says Jarvin. want to open that,” says Jarvin.
She's leaving the upper-level mines behind, dropping through shafts that haven't seen use in a long time. There are a number of active mines still beneath her, but she's hoping to steer clear of them. The fewer witnesses she has, the better. Even if she butchered them all-reached in and f.u.c.ked them via their zone-interfaces-the corpses would still be clues to her trail. And ma.s.s executions aren't her style anyway.
But running zone is. And she's never done it at this level before. Everything else has just been a precursor. Which makes it all the harder to take a route that will ultimately lead her beyond the reach of zone. She's considered the other options. She could head for Agrippa or Congreve, infiltrate their mainframes, and try to wrest control of the U.S. forces from Szilard.
But even if she succeeded, it would still leave the Eurasians to deal with. And the East is nearly invulnerable to her hacks. They got burned so badly by the U.S. zone a.s.sault in the opening moments of the war that their remaining forces have switched off all wireless interface save a few point-to-point communications within the fleet. So even if Haskell was in control of everything America has left, she doubts it would matter. There's only one thing that does. She plans on getting to it as fast as she can.
Here we are, says the Operative.
”Those are missiles,” says Maschler.
”You're quick,” says Lynx.
”Climb on,” says the Operative.
Maschler and Riley look at each other, then look at the missiles racked along the wall, pointed at the ceiling. Each one's several meters long. They're standard s.p.a.ce-to-s.p.a.cers, with a range of several thousand kilometers. They're intended to defend against incoming missiles and s.h.i.+ps ...
”This is the dumbest idea I've ever heard of,” says Riley.
”Not as dumb as yours,” says Lynx.
”I didn't propose anything!”
”Meaning your plan is just stay here and eat it stay here and eat it.” Lynx meshes his mind with the Operative's, a.s.sists him in stripping out the guidance controls on five of the missiles and reprogramming them with their own sequences. While they're at it, they're climbing onto those missiles, adjusting their suits' magnetic clamps, and deploying their tethers for addded effect. It doesn't take long.
”Everybody ready?” asks the Operative.
”Oh sure,” mutters Riley.
Now what?” says Sarmax.