David Williams - Mirrored Heavens

“All the way to hell,” screams Linehan as they start sprinting.

Distant blasts keep on rocking the room. Sirens wail across the base. Lynx appears in the doorway.

“What the fuck’s going on?” asks the Operative.

“Exactly what you thought,” says Sarmax. “Matthias was keeping you alive because Lynx and I were still out there. Once the going got too thick I doubled back and nailed the ones who had Lynx pinned down. After which the two of us hid out.”

“They knew I was monitoring your location,” says Lynx. “They were trying to turn that around and figure out mine.”

“And they failed,” says the Operative.

“No,” replies Lynx. “They got it right. But Leo and I shot our way through. Even as I fucked their lasers.”

“And green-lighted the Praetorian assault that’s now in progress,” says Sarmax. “We really don’t have time to talk.”

They’re racing from the room, racing down a corridor. They round a corner, intercept marines rushing toward the cell. Their guns riddle the marines.

Most of them anyway.

“That one there,” says Lynx.

But the Operative needs no prompting. He’s ripping at the seals, pulling the corpse out. Lynx has just fucked the man’s systems. Not to mention his brain. The Operative slides in to take that body’s place. He seals the armor, watches screens fold in all around him.

“It’s not quite like the one you started out with,” says Lynx.

“But these will help,” says Sarmax.

He hands an ammunition rack to the Operative. “Minitacticals,” he adds. “Next stop Armageddon,” the Operative mutters. “Let’s make those fucks feel it,” says Lynx.

They blast together down the corridor.

Claire Haskell slowly gets to her feet. Heavy vibrations keep rumbling in from the sea outside. The room’s dark.

She switches on her lights. Everything’s a shambles. The bodies of Lilith and Hagen lie against opposite walls. Morat’s still twitching on the stairs.

“What have you done?” says a voice.

She turns to behold Jason Marlowe. He looks undamaged.

“I’ve spared you,” she replies.

“You shouldn’t have,” he says. She suddenly realizes he’s sundered all his links to zone. She couldn’t hack him now even if she wanted to.

“There was no room for me in that world,” she says.

“There’s no room for us in this one!”

“There’s going to have to be. Because I’m not going to be the one who’s going to end it.”

Marlowe says nothing—just steps to Lilith’s body. But Haskell’s already lunging to where Hagen’s sprawled, already grabbing his pistol in one smooth motion—and then sprawling on the floor even as she brings the gun to bear on Marlowe.

Who’s standing there pointing Lilith’s gun at her.

“Stop right there,” he says.

“Put your gun down,” she replies.

“This isn’t an even standoff,” he says. “I’m faster. Pull that trigger and I won’t even be where you thought I was.”

“You wouldn’t shoot me,” she says.

“Not if you jack back in and salvage what’s left.”

“Whatever they’ve done to your head,” she says, “now’s the time to fight it .”

“If they really did fuck with our heads to ensure we’d side with them: how come you’re pointing that gun at me?”

“They couldn’t tamper with me,” she says. “All they could do was activate me. I’m the thing that’s beyond all of this. The weapon they wanted to possess.”

“The weapon that might yet save us.”

“They fucked with you to get at me!”

“They’re the only family we’ve ever had,” he says.

“Which doesn’t give them the right to rule the planet!”

“They’re the only thing that can save humanity!”

“No,” she says. “Humans are.”

“Christ,” he says. His eyes narrow. His arm trembles. He shakes his head.

And lowers his gun.

“I can’t do it,” he says.

“I can,” she replies. She fires, hits him in the chest. He drops his pistol, staggers back against the wall behind him, slides down it. She walks toward him. She can barely see anything through her tears. She’s standing over him now, aiming her pistol at his head. She doesn’t dare get any nearer to him. He looks up into the gun’s barrel.

“I know,” he says. “You had no choice.”

“I’m dying too,” she whispers.

And fires.

They’re blasting through tunnels in suits they’ve commandeered, looking for gods to butcher.

They’re firing in all directions. But they’re moving in only one. They feel like jaguars themselves now. Spencer’s teeth sink into the throats of the people whom he’s killing. His claws separate heads from bodies. His mind’s a hammer smashing skulls. Burning fuel from the shattered rockets in the upper reaches of the base pours across his visor. He surges through it. Linehan follows him, gets out ahead of him. The tunnel’s convulsing. It’s collapsing in behind them. Spencer looks forward to being one with that rock for all time. But first he’s got to do what he came for. They shoot their way through the last of the Jaguar defenses.

And roar out into the real throne room. Suitless soldiers are running for cover. The Hummingbird’s messenger stands at its very center. He wears the most massive armor Spencer’s ever seen. Cat-skull banners adorn the walls behind him. His bodyguards surround him.

“It ends here,” he says.

“You got that right,” screams Linehan.

The Operative and Sarmax are on the wings. Lynx is in the center. They’re moving in close proximity to one another—never more than a single corner or corridor away, deploying interlocking fields of fire. When one encounters resistance, the other two move to outflank. When one breaks through, the other two swing in behind him. The marines in front of them are fighting desperately. The marines behind them are doing their best to run from something else. Lynx’s voice echoes through the helmets of his mechs:

“The Praetorians have broken the outer perimeter.”

“How far back?” says the Operative.

“Half a klick behind us.”

“And Matthias?” says Sarmax.

“Retreating deeper. We’re about to cut him off.”

He rattles off battle dispositions. But neither the Operative nor Sarmax is listening now. All they’re doing is seeing their own vectors slashing in upon each other. They see their target speeding up. They fire their thrusters on one last boost.

And make the intersection.

They’re through into a vast cave. Rails and equipment litter the floor. Several trains are on the rails. One of them is packed with marines and heavy guns. It’s picking up speed into a tunnel.

“Fuck those bastards!” howls Lynx.

But the mechs are already firing. There’s a blinding flash. What’s left of the floor collapses through several levels of floors beneath it. The walls are avalanching.

“The world’s caving in,” yells Sarmax.

“About fucking time,” screams Lynx.

“We ride it,” says the Operative.

They’re roaring downward through something that’s half crater and half maelstrom. Everything’s coming down on them from overhead. Trains fold up into abyss. Waterfalls of rock tumble past.