The Mirrored Heavens (46 page)

The door opens. A SpaceCom marine in full armor enters the room.

“Are you my executioner?” says the Operative.

“Not quite,” says Leo Sarmax, throwing back his visor.

“But we’ve got a lot of people that need dying fast,” says the voice of Stefan Lynx. A massive explosion shakes the base.

Z
one like she’s never seen it. Existence like she’s never imagined. A view she’d never dreamt of attaining. The SeaMech shakes about her as the missiles fire. The nearest launch site is more than three klicks away. But there are hundreds more that aren’t much farther out than that. The room’s rocking like it’s in the throes of earthquake. Haskell watches on the zone as those missiles leap from the seabed, rush up through water. She races in behind them. She’s running countermeasures on the U.S. fleet. She’s running cover on the Rain’s hit teams engaged on their final runs. She realizes there’s no way they can lose. Not with her supporting them. Not with the zone blasting out in all directions: her mind surging outward, everything expanding toward infinity. She’s thrust far beyond herself now—out to where Claire Haskell seems like a dream. Yet through that blur she sees that all her life has led up to this moment—that the lost children of her past are going to rule all futures. She sees with sudden clarity the nature of those futures.

And in that instant she understands.

Cold heat and white light—she burns the Rain’s hit teams with all her strength: and sends that force rushing back in upon itself, smashing the SeaMech and its occupants with a zone-strike that’s far beyond anything she’s ever unleashed. She sees the room around her light up in one giant flash. And then she hears the missiles hit.

I
t sounds like the whole world is detonating. The simulation of sky suddenly gets replaced by a real ceiling that’s caving in. Spencer rolls to one side, knocks the Jaguar who’s standing over him off his feet—grabs his knife and shoves it into its wielder’s chest even as rocks tumble all around them. Something hits his head. He sees stars—he ducks low, starts running for what seems to be open space. He crashes past a metal-fitted doorway, finds himself in a passageway that’s still intact. The floor’s buckling under his feet. Thunder’s crashing in from every side.

“This is it,” screams Linehan.

Spencer turns around to see him emerging from the shattered room. He’s broken most of his chains. The expression on his face is one that’s left sanity far behind. But then that expression’s wiped away as Spencer suddenly finds access to the zone. He’d thought the ayahuasca precluded it. Now he realizes that prisoners in this complex are simply kept within shielded rooms like the one from which he’s just emerged. For he can see the American zone on wireless. It’s bearing down upon him. It’s not what he needs: he yanks a light fixture from the wall, grabs the wires behind it, enters the Jaguar zone, scans it in an instant. He retracts, stares at Linehan’s ever-shifting face.

And starts shouting.

“What do you mean that wasn’t him?” says Linehan.

“That wasn’t him, you asshole! Just because they’re crazy enough to believe in human sacrifice doesn’t mean they’re stupid enough to put their leader right next to live prisoners!”

“So where the fuck is he?”

“His throne room’s five levels down. He’s coordinating defenses from there. The Americans are tearing the lid off this shithole.”

“The Americans? You mean you! You mean us!”

“Yeah,” says Spencer, “I mean us. I hate your guts and you hate mine and we’re tripping our balls off and the clock’s ticking and we might just have time for one last run—”

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

D
istant 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.

C
laire 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.

T
hey’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.

T
he 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. And then they’re through. And into more tunnels. Lynx is screaming that they’ve got to shatter Autumn Rain. He’s screaming that they’re almost on top of them. They’re putting on one final burst of speed.

A
huge explosion that sounds like it’s right outside: the floor beneath Haskell slants as the whole SeaMech gets smashed upon its side. She’s hurled on top of Marlowe’s body. The two of them tumble forward. Pieces of metal fall past her. She’s trying to use Marlowe as a shield. She’s trying not to think about what she’s just done. She figures any moment now the ocean will break in and drown her pain forever. She figures she’s reached the end.

But she hasn’t. Because eventually the SeaMech stops moving. Distant depth charges keep on detonating. But she’s still alive. Still breathing.

So she stands up and looks around. The place is finished. Water’s pouring in from somewhere. She starts walking along stairs that are sloped so badly they’re almost like a floor. She climbs out into what’s left of the rest of the control room and heads for a trapdoor that’s now more of a hatch in the wall.

“Going somewhere?” says a voice.

She turns. Morat is clambering up toward her. His movements are jerky. But he’s closer to the trapdoor than she is. His expression’s one she remembers from the spaceplane.

“I’m getting out,” she says.

“Looks like Jason got out too.”

“I had to do that,” she says. “It was the only way I could be sure.”

“Of beating anything we’d rigged him with? Impressive resolution. But in a few moments it won’t matter.”

“You’d kill the one you serve?”

“I only serve the ones who lead.”

He’s almost reached her. She tries to hit him on the zone. But he’s no longer a presence there. He laughs, stretches out his hands.

“If we can’t have you,” he says, “then no one will.”

He grabs her with one hand. His other hand swings in with the killing blow. But she’s swinging in the same direction—lunging in toward him, shoving her hand up against his face, extruding the wire from her finger even as she pierces his eyeball and runs the hack. He writhes. Smoke streams from him.

“You’re right,” she says. “No one ever will.”

She releases him, lets his body flop down toward the others. She manages to get the trapdoor open. The tunnel-tube to which it leads has been stretched to its breaking point but is still intact. She hopes it leads somewhere. But really she’s done with hoping. She’s just getting in, getting moving, getting busy putting all those memories behind her.

F
lying on jets and ayahuasca: Spencer hacks the armor of the Jaguar leader and his bodyguards in a burst of light. It’s a glancing blow—they’re bunched tight, on a tactical mesh—but it leaves their reaction times fractionally slower and lets Spencer and Linehan get their shots off first. They fire everything they’ve got at the ceiling.

Which collapses with a massive roar. But Spencer and Linehan are already reversing their thrusters. Flame engulfs the room. Spencer gets a glimpse of rock burying the Jaguar leader. He gets a glimpse of rock about to bury him—and then that view’s cut off as he and Linehan blast down more corridors, rushing ever deeper, partly because they’re half-convinced they’ll find something else down there but mostly because they’re trying to get away from what’s turning the mountains into rubble. Warheads and lasers and slabs dropped from orbit: their own side has set about its work with relish. So Spencer and Linehan hit the Jaguars’ cellars. They find themselves in caves full of rushing water. For long moments they ride that water through the dark.