David Williams - The Burning Skies

“ Don’t fight it,” he says.

Linehan definitely is. He’s trying to speak. He’s not succeeding.

“ I’m serious,” says Lynx. “You just said hi to a curare derivative. One that plays hell with your software interfaces and your voluntary muscle functions. People get aneurysms trying to be heroic. Everything’ll be fine.”

Linehan clearly has his doubts about that. Or else he no longer gives a fuck. He’s foaming at the mouth. Garbled transmissions on the one-on-one reach Lynx’s brain.

“ Ahh shut up,” says Lynx. He fires a second dart into Linehan’s back, turns to the two suited marines now entering the room. “Was wondering when you guys would get here.”

The marines salute, say nothing—just start strapping Linehan onto a gyro-powered gurney They fire the gyros up. One pushes the gurney. The other gestures at Lynx.

“ After you, sir.”

Lynx smiles, starts moving. They leave the room, proceed down a corridor, transition into one of the Montana’s rotating areas. Gravity kicks in. They step inside another room. Sensors sprout from every corner, along with what are presumably weapons. Lynx feels the prickle of spectra probing him. He feels the software in him going dormant. He stretches. Yawns.

“ Looks like you got them all,” he says.

“ Sir,” says one of the marines. He gestures. The sensors switch off. One of the walls slides away.

The office that’s revealed looks like it could have been ripped straight out of any modern corporation. Lavishly appointed furnishings center on an oversize desk. A man’s got his feet up on the desk. The name on his uniform says JANSEN. He claps slowly. Almost mockingly.

“ The prodigal son returns,” he says.

“ Just in time for the mother of all parties,” says Lynx.

Somewhere beneath the largest mountain chain on Earth is a tunnel. Just one among many. Only this one’s much darker than the rest. It’s off all the maps. No wires are strung along the walls. The maglev doesn’t go down here.

But something a little more primitive does.

The train now rushing down the tunnel was built to ride magnetic current. But it was also configured for old-fashioned rails—and the wheels that have extended out along each side are making for a far more bumpy ride than any modern mode of transport. Though the two men who just got aboard aren’t complaining.

“ And here we are,” says Spencer.

“ But where’s that?” mutters Sarmax.

It’s a good question. They’ve dropped from the tunnel ceiling. They’re spread-eagled in their suits, on the roof of the third car back. They’re worming their way into the gaps between the cars.

“ Somewhere off the zone,” says Spencer.

But somehow the Manilishi’s still with him all the same. He’s trying to figure out how she’s doing it. He’s guessing that she’s staging in from the end of the maglev rails—broadcasting via wireless down the tunnels. But that seems more than a little risky. Not to mention increasingly difficult as the tunnel steepens and the descent continues …

“ The Eurasians rigged a classic tech barrier,” says Sarmax.

“ Only way to beat the zone is to end it,” says Spencer. “But where exactly are we going?”

The last of the lights overhead are gone. They’re in total darkness now. The train’s accelerating. Spencer’s not even sure anyone’s really at the helm.

“ Where indeed,” says Sarmax. “Any thoughts?”

“ I’ve got lots of thoughts. The question is—”

“ What the hell the handler wrote down,” says Sarmax.

And Spencer’s making progress. The second part’s definitely a technical treatise. Of that much he’s now sure. Or rather, the Manilishi is. She’s cranking away behind the scenes while he’s struggling to keep up. The specifics are still holding out. But he’s ready to make some guesses.

“ There are only so many things it could be,” he says.

“ Right,” says Sarmax. “Let’s list out possibilities. Work from there.”

“ Well, for a start, how about another breed of nano.”

“ Christ, let’s hope not.”

“ They’d have had to solve the hack vulnerability.”

“ Which won’t have been easy. But I think we’re thinking along the right lines.”

“ With nano?” asks Spencer.

“ Actually I meant with some kind of zone breakthrough. Look at the sort of hacks that the Rain unleashed. What if the Eurasians were working on similar lines?”

“ Then they wouldn’t have let themselves get buttfucked in their Aerie so easily.”

“ Maybe,” says Sarmax. “Maybe not. But we’re heading into something that’s been cauterized from the rest of the zone, right? That’s not online, right? Maybe studying the Rain’s incursions allowed the East to put the finishing touches on their own stuff. Or maybe this lot just got caught napping.”

“ You could be right,” says Spencer.

“ You don’t agree.”

“ I think we ignore the physical at our peril.”

“ Got something in mind?”

“ I’ve got too many things in mind,” says Spencer. “Fifth-generation nukes. Tesla disruptors. Weather control. Anti matter bombs. Gamma ray pro—”

“ Half that shit isn’t even possible.”

“ Leo. We’re riding a train going Christ knows where beneath the Himalayas precisely because we don’t know what’s possible.”

“ But we’re about to find out,” says Sarmax.

And gestures at the faint light that’s growing up ahead.

So what the hell are they heading for?” says Haskell.

“ Don’t know,” says the Operative. And how the fuck am I even seeing this?”

“ The zone,” he replies.

“ But Spencer’s cut off from zone.”

He and Sarmax vanished beyond its edges five minutes ago. There’s been no sign of them since they took the train into the dark. But now this image is wafting through her head. She doesn’t know where it’s coming from. She can’t see why it should even be here. Unless she’s somehow found a way into whatever shard of zone Spencer’s now in. Or—

“ You’ll figure it out soon enough,” he says.

“ None of this adds up.”

“ Not everything does.”

“ And the fact that you don’t know what the fuck they’re making for doesn’t make you think twice about starting a war?”

“ It doesn’t even make me think once . Because whatever it is, we’re about to take it out.”