David Williams - The Burning Skies

“ 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.

Laughing 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.

But it’s not too late to salvage the mission. Linehan leaps forward, just as Szilard springs out from behind the console, dodges under Linehan’s gun, starts grappling with him. Staff officer versus wet ops veteran: it’s no contest. Linehan seizes Szilard, tosses him out toward the center of the room. Szilard mutters something.

“ Finish him!” screams Lynx.

“ Or you,” says Linehan—and turns, grabs Lynx, knocks the pistol out of his hands, hauls him bodily away from the mainframe. Lynx screams as the wires extruding from his skull snap. Linehan hurls him against the console.

And shrugs.

“ I’m a conflicted man,” he says.

“ Christ,” mutters Lynx. Blood dribbles from his mouth. He stares up at Linehan. “You’ve been rigged.”

“ By us,” says Szilard.

“ But InfoCom wiped all that—”

“ You’ve made your last assumption,” says Szilard. “Soldier, kill this traitor.”

“ Gladly,” says Linehan who whips up his pistol at Lynx, fires. The shot goes over Lynx’s head. Linehan fires again. The shot flashes past Lynx’s face. Linehan’s face is starting to twitch.

“ I said fucking kill him!” screams Szilard.

But now Linehan’s convulsing. He’s pitching forward. Szilard’s standing open-mouthed behind him. Lynx starts running. He’s got no weapons. He’s got nowhere to go. He’s heading there as fast as he can.

They’re getting the fuck out of that room at speed. They did their best to hide the body of the soldier who crashed their chat—pulled a panel aside, stuffed it in there. And that’s about all they’ve got time for. They’re climbing down ladder after ladder, descending through shafts, seeking out the depths of this place, since that’s where the heart of its zone activity seems to be. And Spencer’s riding toward it. Though without the Manilishi he doesn’t dare to try and hack the core. Not until he understands more about what’s going on.

Because it’s pretty clear something’s going on. There’s a lot of activity under way—a lot of soldiers and technicians going about their business. Spencer and Sarmax are doing their best to look like part of the scenery hiding behind doors, concealing themselves within shadows, keeping equipment between them and the other men and women within this place.