“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.
Zone 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.
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.
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.