David Williams - The Burning Skies

The Operative shrugs, shifts slightly left as the tunnel undergoes a slight bend. He’s providing Sarmax with the real-time feed from his tracking—factoring out what he’s decided are decoys. Sarmax has made it clear he’ll shoot if that stops. The Operative’s tempted to hit the brakes way too hard. But he knows that’s the oldest trick in the book—and that there’d still be an opportunity for Sarmax to get off a shot, with a weapon that—when it comes to survivability at point-blank range—may as well be a heavy laser cannon.

“ You’re not that dumb, Leo. It’s my interface with the armor that’s doing the tracking.”

“ And that possibility is why I haven’t put one through you yet.”

“ It’s a possibility you’re going to have to get used to.”

“ Until we reach the target.”

“ You’re really putting pressure on me to make a move in the meantime.”

“ Go for it,” says Sarmax. “You’ll die before you can even turn around.”

“ Have to admit you have the advantage.”

“ The Rain have the advantage, Carson.”

“ To which I can only agree.”

“ They’re totally inside us.”

“ There’s still the chance to beat them yet.”

“ Sure there is. And it starts with me killing you and Lynx.”

“ You mean to be sure.”

“ Sure. Shit man, what would you do?”

“ Exactly that— if I was sure I wasn’t being fucked with myself.”

“ I’ll take my chances,” says Sarmax.

“ Not that it matters,” mutters the Operative. “Lynx will still be way ahead of us, even with our taking this train.”

“ So we make up for lost ground with a new route,” says Sarmax. Coordinates light up on the map within the Operative’s head.

“ That dotted line means it’s still under construction.”

“ But near completion,” replies Sarmax.

“ Even you aren’t that insane.”

“ Twenty seconds, Carson. You make that turn or I’ll blast you into the next world.”

“ The one where your Indigo is waiting?”

Sarmax doesn’t reply.

“ You killed your girl,” says the Operative. “That’s okay. She was Rain. She had it coming. But now you’ve got a death-wish and you want to nail us all to your fucking ferry.”

“ Who are you, Sigmund fucking Freud? Ten seconds.”

“ You’ve gone crazy.”

“ I’m the only one who’s definitely sane.”

“ Which won’t matter if this railcar bites it.”

“ Carson, I’ve got to be the one who makes the decision about the target. I can’t trust you or Lynx to do it. Two seconds.”

“ I see it,” says the Operative—and with that he sends the car hurtling down a much narrower tunnel. There’s only one other rail besides theirs. But then that other rail cuts out.

“ Faster,” says Sarmax.

“ Can’t,” says the Operative. “Not without fucking with the zone to get this bitch beyond capacity.”

“ Fuck that,” says Sarmax, “zone’s a party everybody’s gate-crashed.”

Gravity increases. The walls start to flicker on either side.

“ Hello,” says the Operative.

“ Jesus,” says Sarmax. “Is that what I think it is?”

It is. It’s space. They speed out of the tunnel and into the construction area. There’s nothing below their rail save vacuum. Scaffolding’s all around. The completed hull of the cylinder stretches right above them like some impossibly massive ceiling, sloping down to where their rail enters still another tunnel …

“ This rail’s really starting to vibrate,” says Sarmax.

“ That’s because it’s about as stable as you are,” says the Operative—and ducks his head as they rush into the tunnel. It’s narrow. There’s barely enough room for this single rail.

“ Sure wish we had a better map,” says Sarmax.

“ We’re through,” says the Operative.

And now gravity’s lessening slightly as they race out into a broader tunnel. But even as they do, something unfolds within the Operative’s head. He stares at the pattern that’s revealed. He traces all the implications.

And then suddenly he gets it.

“ Leo.”

“ Yeah?”

“ I just woke up to what’s so critical about this target.”

“ So talk fast.”

The fucking Eurasians,” says Linehan. “They’re here too.”

“ Is that what the rumor mill’s saying?”

“ That’s what the officers are saying! What the hell’s going on?”

“ Sounds like you already know it.”

“ You were going to tell me, right?”

“ I only just found out myself,” says Spencer.

And it’s all he can do to keep up. To say this operation’s need-to-know is an understatement. But the data overlays now lighting up across the bridge are nothing if not precise. On the opposite side of the Platform’s orbit are eight Eurasian ships, spread out the same way the American ships are, able to support each other and cover the Platform simultaneously.

“ They’re with us,” says Spencer. “Not against.”

“ You sure about that?”

“ Do I sound like I’m sure of fucking anything? I’m just saying what they’re telling us up here.”

“ Down here, too. This is a joint operation.”

“ Aimed at Autumn Rain.”

“ Or the Euro Magnates,” says Linehan.

“ Who may be the same thing by now.”

“ Who may have always been.”

“ You really think they’ve been pulling the Rain’s strings?”

“ I think you’ve got it backward, Spencer. What’s the story with that chase you’re monitoring?”

“ Getting weirder by the minute.”

Ice and tunnels and speed and it’s all falling short. They’ve got her number, suddenly springing to life, sweeping past her decoys, closing from both sides. Haskell shunts her ice-chunk off the main belt, sends it racing down an ancillary belt as she tries to figure out how the hell they’re tracking her. And while she’s at it, she’s trying to hack them directly.

But she’s unable to. She can’t seem to come to grips with them and has no idea why. It’s almost as though they’re not actually there, as though she’s clutching at illusion. It’s like they’re ghosts.