Part 41 (1/2)
It'll have to do. The ceiling of the inner Room is peeling away above her. She's streaking in toward another elevator now-one among so many, this one part of a funicular ramp that she's setting in motion, her mind working its controls as she leaps on and turns to face the receding hub of the inner Room, targeting her guns and mind on it, waiting for what she knows is about to emerge- They're cutting in behind the s.p.a.ceCom rearguard, stealing between the units that are struggling to throw up a defensive screen. Lynx has got the Com's cookbook thoroughly cracked by now. Besides, that rearguard has made its deployments largely focused on the incoming Eurasians. Lynx and Linehan reach a network of more shafts and get within the area where the bulk of the president's forces are moving. But even here, there's still a lot of fighting going on. It doesn't take them long to figure out why.
Lot of free agents,” says the Operative.
He's got Maschler and Riley manning the guns while he works the zone. The train's racing out toward the center of the farside now, gathering speed with every minute, dropping ever farther. Velasquez is integrating her zone-readouts with those of the Operative. It's an exercise in extrapolation as the situation gets ever more chaotic. But the overall contours are unmistakable.
”Makes sense,” says Velasquez.
”You're being sarcastic?”
”Not at all.”
”What the h.e.l.l are you guys talking about?” demands Sarmax.
”Szilard's stirring up the refugees,” says the Operative.
”Those who fled the new orders,” says Velasquez.
Sarmax nods. Praetorians who made themselves scarce when Montrose took over. InfoCom soldiers who got the h.e.l.l out of there when Szilard f.u.c.ked their boss till she turned blue. Escaped convicts. Fleeing civvies. And the last of s.p.a.ceCom's marines. There's nowhere else to go but- ”Deeper,” says Sarmax.
Everyone's trying to get out of the way,” says Jarvin.
Spencer nods as their train keeps on hurtling through the warrens. He's been picking up many of the same signals. The lunar underground is like a jungle that's being overrun by army ants. All of the denizens are on the move. Everyone's under pressure. Including all too many who thought they'd gotten out of the way for good ...
”Choosing the wrong side can be a b.i.t.c.h,” says Jarvin.
”I guess you should know,” says Spencer.
”And you should thank your lucky stars for that.”
”You'd better put up or shut up. We need to find-”
”We're almost on top of it.”
”And the Eurasians are almost on top of us.” us.”
She knows it all too well. Sinclair's going to be on her any moment. She can feel his mind breaking out beneath her. The thought of seeing his face in the flesh terrifies her-even more so than the structures of the outer Room that she's being hauled past-all the structures that she couldn't see for certain on the way in, and that are now flas.h.i.+ng past her eyes: vast pillars-that-aren't-pillars, some of them supporting impossibly gigantic terrariums suspended like ma.s.sive pods, glowing green with the flora they contain, all of them wrapped in the endless labyrinthine piping that coils everywhere like the entrails of some giant beast. She can't even see the inner Room below her now-she's set the controls of the elevator for maximum speed and is streaking up the funicular far faster than she descended. The real zone of this place is coming alive all around her, a texture she's never encountered. She wonders what its next move will be. She jury-rigs the controls of the elevator to push it beyond its safety margins, hurtling upward to where she begins to glimpse something that just might pa.s.s for ceiling.
Explosions rumbling through long kilometers of tunnel, distant noise of firing, endless shards of fragmented zone: Lynx continues to take stock. He's got a better read on the s.p.a.ceCom forces now. The elite marines remaining to Szilard are bunched into two groups: rearguard and everyone else. The real question is where Szilard himself is. And farther down the fighting is intensifying- ”Not looking good,” says a voice.
”Who the h.e.l.l's this?” says Lynx.
That'd be me,” says the Operative.
”f.u.c.k's sake,” says Lynx.
”Whatever,” says the Operative. No zone now, all mental-and he's holding the channel open with almost no effort. He's surprised at just how adroit he's getting. It was strange to go through life for so long without any of this-even stranger to go through the next stage with the ability in latent form, just aware of the presence presence of Lynx and Sarmax, but with neither nuance or range beyond that. He's not even sure what's propelling him to these new heights. Maybe it's the influence of Velasquez. Maybe it's simply the onset of the end-times. Because now he knows how insignificant his abilities are compared to the real masters of the game. of Lynx and Sarmax, but with neither nuance or range beyond that. He's not even sure what's propelling him to these new heights. Maybe it's the influence of Velasquez. Maybe it's simply the onset of the end-times. Because now he knows how insignificant his abilities are compared to the real masters of the game.
”We're out of time,” he says.
”That's why we're on the line,” adds Velasquez.
”Who the h.e.l.l's that?” says Lynx.
”Your worst nightmare,” replies Sarmax.
That's about how Spencer's feeling. He and Jarvin are doubling back and forth through the nearside rail-networks, trying to triangulate on the place that Jarvin is so sure of yet just can't seem to find. Judging by the shaking of this tunnel, the Eurasian machinery is only a few levels up now.
”Other way,” says Jarvin.
”Again?”
”This time I'm sure.”
”No kidding.”
But Spencer turns the vehicle anyway, heads down the new pa.s.sage. Maglev gives way to rails-which give out after a few more klicks, leaving Spencer to power them onward by rockets. Lights flicker across the klicks. And finally- ”Dead end.”
”I don't think so,” says Jarvin.
Spencer doesn't either. Because there's definitely some kind of machinery on the other side of this rock. Some kind of zone. But it's not like anything he's ever seen. And as to hacking it- ”f.u.c.k!”
”What?” says Jarvin.
”That burns.”
”It takes a light touch”-and Spencer feels Jarvin's mind brush by his, reach out onto the zone. A section of wall slides away. Spencer stares at the elevator car revealed-and then he claps slowly.
”Never doubted you,” he says.
Jarvin looks at him, shrugs. ”Makes one of us.”
The ceiling of the outer Room hurtles toward her, the structures through which she's been pa.s.sing falling away like the tower tops of some vast, demented city. She has yet to see any sign of Sinclair coming after her. As far as she can tell, he's still exactly where he was to begin with-back in the hub. She's beginning to wonder if that's a decoy. He could be somewhere in the ceiling itself, hiding within the psychic emanations of the membrane, waiting for her. She's a.n.a.lyzing that membrane now-running her mind across it. She braces herself, runs the sequences on the trapdoors coming ever closer.
Okay,” says the Operative. ”We're all on the same line now.”
Or at least the ones who count. Velasquez is speaking for her triad. As far as the Operative knows, she's speaking for Sarmax, too. That man seems happier than he's been in years. It's something that seems to amuse Lynx considerably, a few hundred klicks distant.
”Finally found your dream girl, huh? Too bad the world's gonna end in a couple more minutes-”
”Go f.u.c.k yourself,” says Sarmax.
”Shut up,” says the Operative. ”All of you shut up and listen shut up and listen. Our only hope of getting through this is by combining all our forces. And that starts with us getting on the same f.u.c.king page. And we're in a combat situation, so here's how it's going to work: I'm going to make a series of statements, and if I say anything anything that that any any of you disagree with-or if you know something that puts that fact in a new light-then of you disagree with-or if you know something that puts that fact in a new light-then now's the time to f.u.c.king say it now's the time to f.u.c.king say it. Okay?”
No one says anything.
”Okay,” he says. ”Sinclair's in the Room and he's switching everything on.”
Static. The Operative watches on the zone as their positions close upon one another ...
”He's got Haskell in there with him,” he adds.