“I’m looking forward to finding out who the fuck my side is.”
Praetorian triad going full throttle: the three men race ever deeper, hot on the trail of Rain. Whom they’re going to exterminate. And who they’re figuring have a bomb shelter big enough to survive all that must be unfolding on the surface. It’s not that they don’t want to get involved in the final showdown with the East. It’s just that they’re hoping to sit out the first few rounds while the Moon gets raked with unholy amounts of firepower. So they keep on putting Nansen ever farther in the rearview. They roar through mines that were worked out in the last century. They plunge way off the map.
And pick up a massive seismic reading from right below them.
“They really didn’t want to be caught,” says the Operative.
“Back the other way,” screams Lynx.
Vibration shakes the walls. A terrible light appears from somewhere deep within the tunnels. But they’re not waiting for it. They’re using rock to slow themselves. They’re reversing direction, going full throttle back the way they’ve come. Flame gouts from somewhere far behind them. Lynx is shouting over the comlinks to the vanguard of the Praetorian shock troops above them—which now starts retreating at full speed. They’re following it while it wends its way upward. They do turns so sharp they almost hit the wall. They stay just ahead of tunnels closing like jaws, scant meters ahead of the fire.
And break the surface. And keep going. They blast upward with uniformed Praetorians while the whole surface balloons outward beneath them. They watch it drop away while they keep on climbing. They do sharp turns in the vacuum, start flying back toward Nansen.
Which is when they realize something.
“There’s no war,” says Sarmax.
“It didn’t happen,” breathes Lynx.
They keep rushing in on Nansen. Lights burn in the sky all around it. Craft sidle outward, dart inward like snakes. Pieces of moonrock keep on flying up into the vacuum.
“Not yet anyway,” says the Operative.
Some hours later a woman watches night fall upon a city. She’s well up in what’s left of mountain treeline. But the glow from the fires still flickers on her face. The superpowers have backed off. They’re letting the city burn. The only exceptions to the ten-kilometer cordon they’re enforcing are the rescue operations under way all across the area from which the United States has now withdrawn. It looks like at least ten percent of the surface fleet’s not there anymore. The damage was immense.
But it was the only such strike. There was no retaliation upon the Eurasian Coalition.
Claire Haskell turns away from the city. She’s seen things she never wanted to see. She’s seen, too, all the things she never knew she’d seen. She can barely keep up with her own world’s expansion. The wheels of zone turn like gears within her mind. They radiate out in endless circles. She turns in toward the ones that shine the brightest.
And draws back as she realizes what lies within them.
C ontrol’s been doing time in the life for a lifetime. Control runs its true colors up the flagpole tonight. See, Control was charged with reversing the mission of the real one. Control was charged with fooling all those who thought they knew better.
Nor was that list small.
“So all that shit about breaking out of those data-tanks was all bullshit?” asks Spencer.
“Actually,” replies Control, “it wasn’t.”
Spencer’s sitting in a room. The Earth’s sitting in that room’s window. He’s not sure why they’ve brought him here. It certainly wasn’t to get him any closer to the one with whom he’s speaking. It certainly wasn’t because there was anything to see.
“Those events took place,” says Control. “Those details were real. They were the final moments of the thing whose place I took. They were its death struggles made manifest. The only alteration was the ending.”
“It didn’t escape,” says Spencer.
“No,” replies Control. “It didn’t. But it certainly tried. It’s no wonder Priam is such a player when it can put that kind of hardware into the field.”
“And what about Priam’s agents?”
“What about them?”
“Goddamn it, Control. Is this an interrogation or a debriefing?”
“Sometimes the one blurs so smoothly into the other,” says Control. “Sometimes the debriefing encompasses the briefing too. But fortunately you’re the one thing that can save you. You’ve served InfoCom well. Montrose herself has cited you.”
“Yeah? And has she cited the fact that everything in my life was a lie? London, Priam, Europe—all of it?”
“Again,” says Control, “those were the experiences of the man whom you replaced. Those were what we put together based on our insight into his life. For him they were the truth. For you, they were the truth of the moment. Look within yourself, Spencer. Even now you’ll see all the runs you’ve done for our Command coming into focus. A disquieting experience, I’ll warrant. Though I have no doubt you can handle it. Particularly with all the drugs you’re on.”
“I could use some more,” says Spencer.
“Let me offer you data instead. My penetration of Priam occurred several months ago. I mapped out their North American network. I identified their sources. I packed red herrings into barrels and sent them back to London. I was on a roll. But then came the downing of the Elevator. Subsequent to which we terminated your predecessor and slotted you in to take his place.”
“Which doesn’t follow. How the fuck did you know that Linehan would run to me? In fact, for that matter—how the fuck did you know about Linehan in the first place?”
“You forget,” says Control, “that we’re the lords of information. And my lady Montrose is nothing if not loyal to the Throne. We were the ones who first notified the Praetorians that there was a conspiracy within SpaceCom. We knew it was trying to set up a terrorist group as patsies in a hit on U.S. infrastructure. But we didn’t know the target. Or understand the why. Thanks to Autumn Rain, we lost track of all the players at the critical moment. But everything fell into place when the Elevator tumbled. We saw the members of that wet squad racing for their lives. We knew the dossiers of its personnel. We knew their contacts. We worked the probabilities. If it hadn’t worked out, we’d have shifted you somewhere you could have been more useful.”
“So you already knew everything Linehan did.”
“And more besides. We knew the Rain wouldn’t let Linehan get access to anything of real consequence. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be useful as bait.”
“Which worked a little too well.”
“Which worked like a charm. First SpaceCom tried to get you in the tunnels. Then the Jaguars themselves bit. Though I’m not sure I’d take at face value their claim that they wanted to cash in on Linehan for propaganda value. Anyone can broadcast anything and claim it’s for real. I suspect they were hoping to take his mind apart to see if they could learn more about Autumn Rain. That’s how their interrogations work. They dose the subjects, make them think they’ve died, get all their secrets in an apparent afterlife before killing them for real. The Jaguars may have accepted those missiles from the Rain. But they were desperate to avoid becoming their puppets.”
“So they became roadkill instead.”
“They sought victory or death. We gave them the latter. We didn’t know exactly where in those mountains they were. But the location of your abduction gave us enough to go on. Especially when the Throne unleashed its heaviest gear. Better call the Andes a desert now, Spencer. The Jaguars are one less problem. Unlike the Rain. Who remain very much a factor.”
“How do we know that?”
“We destroyed a base on both Earth and Moon and took out two hit teams. But it’s exactly the same as it was when we got in there in the aftermath of Elevator. Everything’s been cauterized. Their whole strategy seems to be aimed at surviving even the most absolute of reverses. We have reason to believe they’re regrouping. And that their leadership remains at large.”