The Machinery Of Light Part 12

"Easier said than done," says Spencer.

"Apparently."

"Look, this is a whole separate net whole separate net, okay? Totally cauterized from what's left of the East's original. Deliberately kept dumbed-down and crude. Oh, and by the way, all external signals reaching us are occuring between nuclear f.u.c.king detonations."

"You sound like you're making excuses."

"I like to think of them as reasons."

"And I don't like it."

"Tough s.h.i.t, Leo. All I can hack is this ship."

"And not even all of that."

"Then how about you f.u.c.k off and let me get back to it."

"And the handler's file?"

"Has taken a backseat to cracking the ship's c.o.c.kpit."

"Maybe it shouldn't."

"And you're being such such a big help. Look, the file's insane. And I can't work miracles with the Eurasian zone, okay? Same way you wouldn't be able to take on the whole Eurasian army, all right? So you're going to have to deal with the fact that a big help. Look, the file's insane. And I can't work miracles with the Eurasian zone, okay? Same way you wouldn't be able to take on the whole Eurasian army, all right? So you're going to have to deal with the fact that so far so far I haven't cracked the c.o.c.kpit, and I haven't cracked the c.o.c.kpit, and so far so far I still don't know what's up with the newcomer." I still don't know what's up with the newcomer."

For a moment there's silence.

"What newcomer?" asks Sarmax.

"That guy who slipped aboard at the last moment."

"That guy?"

"Yeah, that that guy. You didn't seem that concerned at the time." guy. You didn't seem that concerned at the time."

"He didn't just head to the c.o.c.kpit?"

"Why would you a.s.sume he'd head to the c.o.c.kpit?"

"If he's impervious to hacking, he's obviously important."

"Doesn't mean he's in the c.o.c.kpit."

"Even though it's basically impregnable?"

Spencer shrugs.

"So where the f.u.c.k is he?" asks Sarmax.

"In his quarters."

"Which are where?"

"Other side of the ship."

Sarmax looks thoughtful.

"Wait a second," says Spencer, "you're not thinking-"

"Why not? Let's go say hi."

You're playing a dangerous game," says the Operative.

"You're one to talk," says Maschler.

"The difference is I'm under no illusions,"

"Name a single one that governs InfoCom."

"Keeping Sinclair alive is a good idea."

For a moment there's silence.

"We already discussed why that's necessary," says Riley.

"Have we?"

"He's the only one who knows the formula that created Autumn Rain."

"You sure about that?" asks the Operative.

"Who else did you have in mind?" asks Maschler.

"There must have been scientists. Technicians. Lab records."

"Yeah?" asks Riley. "You seen any?"

The Operative shrugs. "I heard Sinclair had a file-"

"Which went AWOL," sneers Riley. "As you d.a.m.n well know."

"News to me."

"I can't believe I'm even listening listening to this bulls.h.i.t," says Maschler. "For all we know you were watching while Sinclair burnt everybody involved." to this bulls.h.i.t," says Maschler. "For all we know you were watching while Sinclair burnt everybody involved."

"For all we know you were the one who did it," adds Riley.

"I didn't have that kind of access," says the Operative mildly.

"I'd bet you'd like to."

"Is that an offer?" asks the Operative. "Does this mean you're turning off the G.o.dd.a.m.n tape and beaming Montrose back some dubbed bulls.h.i.t while the three of us get down to business?"

"We've already gotten down to business, Carson."

"Then why don't you start acting serious, huh? Haven't you numb-nuts interrogated Sinclair already?"

"Harrison already tried," says Riley.

"Before you shot him," says Maschler. "As you well know. Christ, Sinclair's just f.u.c.king gone."

"Like nothing we've ever seen," snarls Riley. "f.u.c.ker taunts us and then he just seems to switch off. Even though he's still f.u.c.king breathing. Chemicals and pain and none of it matters. Not now. He's beyond our reach."

"As opposed to me?" asks the Operative.

"Ah, yes," says Maschler. "Riley, what do we think of what Carson told Montrose about what he'd done to his own mind?"

"I think we think it's bulls.h.i.t," says Riley.

"Though give him points for trying," says Maschler. "But Carson, even if you really did did rig yourself with death-switches to prevent your head from being skull-f.u.c.ked, what makes you think we'd hesitate to put you to the question anyway?" rig yourself with death-switches to prevent your head from being skull-f.u.c.ked, what makes you think we'd hesitate to put you to the question anyway?"

"Because it'd be the last question you'd get to ask."

"Is that a fact?"

"Or maybe you're just too chickens.h.i.t to take the chance and take me apart."

"Or else we'd rather have you take out Szilard instead."

The Operative yawns. The ship keeps on motoring toward L2.

She wandered in that desert for forty days and forty nights. The whole time she knew she was just moving through the wilderness of her own mind. It didn't matter-it was still as real as anything she'd ever seen. Or remembered: She trudged beneath two suns that scattered her shadow into long fragments across the sands-kept on stumbling through the desolation while evening draped around her and morning rose, and all the while she knew that scarcely seconds were going by, that the greatest war in history was still raging on outside, that she was still helpless in the depths of Montrose's command center with the creature called Control still crawling through her brain. She didn't dare go to sleep, not even for a moment. She knew as soon as that happened that Control would penetrate whatever was left of her: that he would rule her dreams and subjugate her to everything within her she'd feared and never understood. So she just wandered through those trekless dunes, fighting off that mounting urge through sheer force of will. Her eyes remained open and her spirit remained hers-and by night those suns gave way to starless expanse in which was set a single moon that shimmered in her heart and looked identical to the one that had swallowed her back in the world she'd left so long ago. She felt that moon all around her-felt it calling to her, telling her all the things she already knew and didn't want to hear. The fortieth dawn rose but there was only one sun now. It wore a face.

They keep on crawling through the industrial plant of the colony ship-turned-warship: an endless maze of crawls.p.a.ces and narrow pa.s.sages. If they're being pursued, Linehan hasn't seen a sign of it. Then again, he's figuring that by the time he does, it'll be too late anyway. Meaning it's all coming down to whatever's going on in Lynx's head. And Lynx is even more close-mouthed than usual. His standard c.o.c.k-of-the-walk att.i.tude seems to have faded a little. Linehan thinks about this. He opens up the one-on-one.

"So when do you kill me?" he asks.

"What?" says Lynx.

"You heard me."

"Why would I want to kill you?"

"Same reason you're keeping me alive."

"I told you, you're making your own decisions-"

"Tell me what you're planning."

"I'm making things up as we go."

"But you must have some some idea how we're getting off this ship." idea how we're getting off this ship."

"Who said we're getting off this ship?"

"We're just going to stay here?"

"Why shouldn't we?"

"Because we're in the middle of World War-"

"Sure we are," says Lynx, "but you're not thinking."

"Sometimes I have that problem."

"So let me spell it out for you. We got the drop on s.p.a.ceCom by getting onto this f.u.c.king ship, right?"

"Right," says Linehan. "Though it seemed more like luck than skill to me-why the f.u.c.k are you laughing?"

"Because luck's the best kind of skill," says Lynx.

You really want to pay this guy a visit?" asks Spencer.

"It's either that, or we have a crack at the c.o.c.kpit."

"Which we eventually have to try. So why take unnecessary risks in the meantime?"

"Define unnecessary unnecessary," says Sarmax.

Spencer shakes his head, ponders what he can see of zone and all the s.p.a.ce that lies beyond. The ship's still running smooth, putting the Earth behind it at speeds that ought to be illegal as it continues to vector in toward the Moon, taking increasing amounts of fire. It doesn't seem to be troubled in the slightest.

"Look," adds Sarmax, "it's real simple. This guy looks important. And he also looks like he's a d.a.m.n sight easier to get to than the c.o.c.kpit."

"Which may be the point."

"Meaning?"

"Could be a trap."

"Yeah," says Sarmax, "I thought of that-"

"Well, keep thinking. Because I can't think of a better way to catch whatever a.s.sholes might be lurking in the woodwork-"

Sarmax laughs. "We've snuck into a secret weapon that's gone operational and you're still clucking about the risks?" risks?"

"I'm just trying to calibrate them."

"Doesn't change the basic picture. We need to get control of this ship before it hits the Moon, sure. But maybe that guy has part of the key to doing so. Maybe he's planning the same thing himself."