The Mirrored Heavens (24 page)

Which is why the mech is here. And yet he couldn’t have reached the inner enclave without the razor. Who couldn’t gain control of the inner enclave without him. Thus the standard partnership. Thus the standard tension.

And sometimes it boils over.

“It’s not working,” says the Operative.

“What do you mean, it’s not working?”

“I mean it’s not working. I got access. But I can’t seem to do anything that matters with that access. Your fucking commands aren’t working.”

“Well, why the fuck not?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Get the base schematics on the screen.”

The Operative does. He keys in more commands. The master blueprints click into focus.

“Well,” he says.

“No difference between this and my blueprints,” says Lynx.

“What?”

“This base is exactly what it’s supposed to be.”

“What’d you think it might have been?”

“I don’t know, Carson. Jesus Christ, man, give me a moment here.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Lynx.”

“I was thinking there must be more to this base than meets the eye. More than my intel showed. Another inner enclave, maybe. Maybe this isn’t the real one.” The Operative’s never heard Lynx talk this fast.

“But according to these readouts, this is legit.”

“But we can’t control it.”

“We’ve got
partial
control, Carson. That’s it. We don’t have access to the overrides. We should. But we don’t.”

“So what do we need to get them?”

“I’m thinking we need Sarmax.”

“Right,” says the Operative. “I knew that already.”

“You don’t get it,” says Lynx. “There’s the chance that he built this so that
he’s
got override authority.”

“Isn’t your hack supposed to forestall that?”

“It’s supposed to. Look, we need to find Sarmax, Carson.”

“Say he comes back here while we’re looking for him?”

“He can’t. I’ve got this place in lockdown, right? He’d have to fight his own defenses.”

“Say you get kicked out?”

“The place would still remain in lockdown. That’s default now. And even if he got back here, he still needs the manual codes I just gave you to reverse the lockdown. I’ve set up that much, at least. Listen, Carson, I thought I’d rigged it so I didn’t need Sarmax to take control of his fortress. I thought we could take over this place and then take him out. Looks like I thought wrong. But finding him was always on the cards. Eliminating him was always part of the equation. You’re just not going to have it so easy now. So let’s take a look at those camera feeds before I start to get really
pissed off
.”

“Relax, asshole.” The Operative starts to bring up the camera feeds. “Try to keep in mind that I’m the one who’s actually standing here.”

“Sure, Carson. Myself, I’m sitting on a beach. Huh, look at that.”

For now the screens are lined with images of rooms. Of structures. Of exteriors and interiors. A boardroom, several laboratories, a warehouse, a leisure center and personal quarters, guard quarters, a gymnasium: all of it spread out upon the screens. Lots of bodies too, indicating those places where defenses have turned against defenders. Other rooms have simply sealed their doors, trapping their guards inside. The Operative and Lynx get busy comparing the camera feeds against the rooms shown on the blueprints.

“Shit,” says Lynx.

But the Operative has simultaneously arrived at the same conclusion: there’s one room that isn’t visible on any screen. One place into which this inner enclave has no visibility whatsoever. One place off the maps.

The biggest place of all.

“The main dome,” says Lynx.

“He’s in there,” says the Operative.

“He’s got something going on.”

“He always did.”

“We’ve got him trapped.”

“Are you sure it’s not the other way around?”

“Get in there, Carson.” Lynx’s voice is as far from calm as the Operative’s ever heard it. “Get in there. It comes down to this. It always would. You always knew it. This is your moment, Carson. This is your time.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” says the Operative.

The door to the control room slides open.

T
ransit nexus named after spaceport named after airport named after martyred president from the old republic. Kennedy: its bulk might seem to equal the city itself. Five percent of all transport arriving at it exists solely to supply it. Of the remainder: three-quarters is domestic. A quarter is international. But this last segment commands the lion’s share of the security resources Kennedy has at its disposal. That security is elite. They’re nobody’s rent-a-cops. They have the very best in personnel and equipment. Even so, they’re far from perfect.

Especially when a military-grade AI is fucking with their systems.

So somewhere in some basement a vehicle is undergoing the last stages of boarding. Somewhere in that vehicle a man’s taking his seat. He notes that there are no windows in here. He notes, too, that nobody’s sitting next to him. Yet even as he registers this fact, a man’s sliding into the seat opposite his. The newcomer nods politely at him, adjusts his strap across his chest, sits back. His face has that glazed expression that people get when they’re preoccupied with views that only they can see. Nor does that expression change in the slightest when he starts to speak to Spencer. He makes no eye contact. His mouth remains shut. But his words ring in Spencer’s head anyway.

“Nice to see you on the other side,” Linehan says.

“Say that to me when we actually get there,” replies Spencer.

“I meant customs,” says Linehan.

“I know what you meant.”

The two men don’t know one another. That way they don’t have to keep their stories straight. Control hates to give investigators free gifts. Control has given these two whole histories, has rigged vid footage to account for their movements across the course of the last several days. If anyone wants to probe back further than that, it can be arranged. Because Control’s a magician. Control knows the formula to grant the dead more life—keep the body’s corruption a secret, map out the paths that flesh might have taken had it not crossed paths with one of the Mountain’s predators, graft those paths onto new meat, set that meat in motion.

And hope for the best.

“But speaking of,” says Linehan, “what kind of welcoming committee have you got prepared for me when we get there?”

“Welcoming committee?”

“Don’t play the clown, Spencer. After we get through these fucking tunnels, who’s going to be in the arrival lounge at Cornwall Junction?”

“Like I’m going to discuss that.”

“Then how about if we discuss our deal?”

“What’s there to discuss? We’ve already made it.”

The car starts to vibrate. A humming reverberates through it: intensifies, drops away into a gentle thrumming. There’s the feeling one gets when forces go to work at the edges of one’s perception. There’s the sound of many doors closing, echoing. A chime sounds. The train starts to move.

“And we’re off,” says Linehan.

“About time,” says Spencer.

“And it’s about time we started talking about our deal.”

“I’m still not sure what you’re driving at.”

“Then let me help you out. You’re providing me with the means out of here. I’m paying for my passage with information. True?”

“It had better be true.”

“True. But that still leaves a lot of grey area.”

“For example?”

“For example, what happens after I turn over my data to you.”

“Isn’t it a little too late to start talking about that?”

“Hardly. If anything, it’s a little too early. All your Control was going to agree to was the general concept. And as for you—you can’t agree to shit. You don’t have the power.”

“And you’re saying you do?”

“In a word: yes. See, it’s not just your identity that I’ve placed out there on the vine. I also stashed a copy of the thing I promised you.”

“What the fuck are you saying?”

“You know exactly what I’m saying, Spencer. If your masters construe our deal to contain a claim to my person as well as to my information, they’re going to find out that the down-low’s been downloaded to the whole world. Now they can take the chance that they can take me and take me apart with enough ultraprecise butchery to preclude dissemination. They might even pull it off. But I’m guessing they’re going to regard it as far easier to meet me halfway. And I have a few thoughts on how to best ensure that which I’m looking forward to sharing with your bosses.”

“Sounds to me like you’re trying to change our deal.”

“Not at all. I’m just insisting on my interpretation of its terms.”

The train accelerates. The straps tighten. As they do, Spencer’s mouth opens, starts up a conversation. Introductions are made. Small talk begins. The rate of speed of this train, for instance. The economy of the undersea. The temperature in this car. The timing of the next meal. Small talk indeed—insisted upon by Control. The two men have to have a reason to remain alongside one another as they exit the train on the other side of ocean. They have to be talking as they make that exit. Otherwise, if they get shuffled or jostled, they’ve got no reason to drift back toward one another. Of course, Spencer knows that Linehan might drift the other way anyway.

But that’s what the welcoming committee’s for.

“So what exactly is it you want, Linehan?”

“I want what I’ve always wanted, Spencer. I want to be a free agent. I want to give you the information that will make Priam the most powerful data-combine on Earth. And then I want to get out of your hair for good.”

“And that’s it?”

“What do you mean, is that it?”

“What about the means for freedom, Linehan? What about funds? What about an insistence that we don’t track you?”

“Do you think I’d waste my breath? The latter—you’d never keep your part of the bargain. The former—you’d use that to accomplish the latter. No, I’ve got my bases covered, Spencer. I’ve got resources set up for a rainy day. Accounts, IDs, funds—the works. I know those Euro hubs, Spencer. I know the boardrooms. I know the bars. I know the places that are off the zone. Put me into London, and your trackers will be sniffing nothing within the hour.”

Spencer says nothing. Yet even as he does, his lips dish out commentary on these tunnels’ sealed-off southern reaches. He talks about things that everyone knows. How the main line through that segment of the warrens stretches from the mouth of Amazon to the bulge of Africa. How it was closed down when the superpowers set up shop down south. He comments on the long klicks that lie dormant. He speculates that perhaps with enough détente they’ll be opened up again. He says that he looks forward to that day. Linehan agrees.

And persists.

“So what’s it to be?”

“I thought you said I didn’t have power.”

“I did say that. I wasn’t kidding. But I’m going to need you to make sure that someone upstairs understands my position. As soon as we hit Cornwall, you’d better tell your boys what I’ve just told you. And you’d better get me a line to whoever the hell your Control’s control is.”

“You’ll get all the dialogue you want, Linehan. Beyond that, I can’t promise anything.”

“You can’t even promise that,” sneers Linehan.

“I’m on your side, Linehan. I’ve got as much riding on this deal as you do.”

“To be precise: you’ve got more.”

“How’s that?”

“Because if it all falls through, I’ve got at least a chance of evading Priam. You’ve got none. You’ll die for my sins, Spencer.”

“If that’s the price of your confession: so be it.”

Linehan starts to reply—but his words are cut off by a buzzing that suddenly leaps out of nowhere into Spencer’s skull. Spencer holds his face steady, gives no indication that he’s ceased to hear Linehan, that another signal is even now forcing its way into his head. He doesn’t know its source. At first he thinks it’s some viral attack of Linehan’s local node bearing fruit against the odds. He tries to blot it out, switch it off. He tries to stop it. But it overrides him like it knows his own codes. It swells ever louder. Now it’s overwhelming. Now it falls away.

To be replaced by the voice of Control.

“Spencer. Can you hear me?”

“I can,” says Spencer.

“Good. Because you’ve been rumbled.”

“By who?”

“By federal agents. They’re on the train already. More are boarding right now.”

“Boarding? From where?”

“From the vehicles they’ve brought alongside. Behind and in front. You’ve been made, Spencer. They know the names you’re using now. They know exactly where you’re sitting. They’ll be on you any moment.”

“Why didn’t they just bust us at customs?”

“Does it matter? Maybe my hack on security failed. Maybe they wanted you to think you had it made.”

“I was starting to.”

“So stop it. This is moving very quickly. They’ve wasted no time. We can’t either. In sixty seconds, I’m going to strike key elements of this line’s systems. I’m going to go through some back doors and hit some weak points. I suggest you sync with me. Maybe you can make something happen in the confusion.”

“Risking yourself to save us, Control? What’s got into you?”

“Spencer, I need you to concentrate on what matters. I’m downloading the map of this train into your head. Along with a map of the tunnels along the most direct route to border.”

“The border? How in Christ’s name are we getting through that
now
?”

“For now, why don’t you think about how you’re going to take those feds.”

“What?”

“You may as well try. That man Linehan’s a mech if ever there was one. And you’re my finest razor. You’ve got your backs to the wall. Fight them. Crush them. Take that train. Take it all the way east. This is for real. Forty seconds, Spencer.”

The connection terminates. In its place is static. And the words of Linehan.

“Let me guess: you’ve been talking to your bitch again.”

“Shut up,” says Spencer. “We’ve been made.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“There’s two men in this car I’ve had an eye on ever since they got on. They’re trying to blend in. They’re clearly tracking somebody. And if your Control just told you our number’s up, I guess that means that somebody’s us.”