The Burning Skies (32 page)

“Say whatever you want to me,” replies the Operative.

“Just don’t provoke the minions,” adds Sarmax.

“A soldier should know how to withstand provocation,” says Lynx.

“A soldier should be above dishing it out,” says Sarmax.

“Everybody shut up,” says the Operative—and now he’s broadcasting to Spencer and Linehan as well. “We’re here.”

Almost on the outer perimeter. Which isn’t much. Just a metal grille staircase. The Operative peers carefully over the edge of the railing. Cables are strung down from the platform to a door at the bottom of the stairwell. The Operative broadcasts codes down to the door, which slides open.

“Let’s go,” he says.

They descend the staircase, go through the door, and find themselves in a room that extends up to a second level. Praetorians stand along the upper railing, regard them through the sights of mounted weapons.

“What do you want?” asks one.

“We’re looking for Garrick,” says Sarmax.

“He’s right here,” says a voice. A door on the lower level opens. Another suit enters the room. He wears a major’s stripes. Red hair dangles behind his visor.

“Carson,” he says. “Been a long time.”

“Long time for sure,” says the Operative.

They touch gloves. Garrick turns toward Sarmax. His eyes narrow.

“Leo?”

“The same.”

“Fuck’s sake, man. Didn’t even know you were up here.”

“That’s because you’re slipping.”

“I doubt it,” says Garrick—looks over Sarmax’s shoulder. “Lynx, you bastard. Ain’t a party unless you’re in it. What’s happening?”

“Way too much,” mutters Lynx.

“And who are these other guys?”

“Reinforcements,” says the Operative. He narrows the channel to one-on-one. “Expendable.”

“And the rest of us aren’t?”

“Seriously, do what you want. I’m finished with them.”

“And they’re still alive?”

“They’ve got a talent for survival.”

“They’ll need it out on the perimeter. What about you guys?”

“Is our vehicle here?”

“It is. And I gotta say, it’s pretty fucking weird—”

“Let’s go,” says the Operative.

M
arines hop down from the upper level, relieving the men of the containers they’ve been carrying.

“Thanks,” says Linehan. “No problem,” says one of them. “You two,” says another. “Come with me.”

“But—” Spencer turns, finds Carson trailing Garrick out of the room, Lynx and Sarmax following them. “Hey, what about us?”

“Told you I didn’t need you anymore,” says Carson.

“See you in Hades,” says Sarmax.

The door slides shut behind him.

“Ingrates,” says Linehan.

“You guys done whining?” asks the Praetorian who just gave them instructions. She wears a lieutenant’s stripes.

“Yes, ma’am,” says Spencer.

“Good,” says the lieutenant. “Let’s go.”

They follow her down another corridor, to a room lit by the spark of laser cutters. Praetorians are busy slicing holes along the walls. Spencer notices that those holes are mostly at gun height. He also notices a web of cables intersecting in this room.

“Sergeant,” says the lieutenant.

A man leaps to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”

“What’s the situation here?”

“Situation good, ma’am.”

“Can they spare you for a few minutes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Take these two to Outpost LK.”

“We withdrew from there twenty minutes ago, ma’am.”

Her face darkens. “It’s been taken?”

“No, ma’am. We just didn’t have enough men for some of the forward positions. Lieutenant Crawford felt that—”

“Never mind Lieutenant Crawford,” she says. “Have these two reoccupy it.”

“Ma’am,” says Spencer.

She turns toward him, impatience written on her face. “What?”

“I’m a razor,” he says. “Surely I can be of more service to you than this?”

She makes a dismissive gesture, turns away. “Razors aren’t worth much now,” says the sergeant.

“Not gonna see me complaining,” says Linehan.

• • •

S
o how’s the situation at the center?” asks Garrick. “Under control,” says the Operative.

“Now ask him to define that,” says Lynx.

They’re walking down more stairs. The lights overhead stutter fitfully Soldiers stagger under the weight of the containers. More soldiers walk behind and in front, their weapons at the ready.

“I heard the Throne’s got himself a new friend,” says Garrick.

“More like a prodigal daughter,” says Sarmax.

“Can she stop the Rain?”

“I guess we’re going to find out.”

They reach a door. Praetorians are positioned on both sides. Garrick flashes codes, confirms by retina—slots back his eye, confirms via the real retina behind it.

“Neat,” says the Operative. He lets the light flash across his own retina, gestures at Sarmax and Lynx to do the same.

“Thanks,” says Garrick. “But it doesn’t remove the problem.”

“How to make precautions Rain-proof,” says Sarmax.

“Exactly,” replies Garrick.

“Don’t wander off alone,” says the Operative. “That’s how.”

The door slides open. The soldiers within regard the ones now entering.

“Sir,” says one.

“At ease,” says Garrick.

A tarpaulin’s draped over what looks to be some kind of vehicle—five or so meters long, about the size of one of the smaller earthshakers. The contours are strange, though. So is the tarp: it’s wrapped pretty tight. None of its edges are visible. And even the most cursory of glances reveal that it’s resistant to all scanning. The soldiers eye it nervously.

“In one piece?” asks the Operative. “Yes, sir,” says one of the soldiers.

“We don’t know that for sure,” snaps Garrick. “We were told not to remove the cover.”

“And I’m glad you didn’t,” says the Operative. “Because it’s booby-trapped,” says Sarmax. “Tell your men to get out of here,” says Lynx. “You heard the man,” says Garrick.

E
ver get the feeling you’re being stalked? Here’s how it works. Everywhere you look there’s nothing. Not a thing—just the hollow sound of your own breath echoing through your helmet as you follow the sergeant along a corridor that feels way too empty. Linehan’s keeping an eye on the rear. Spencer’s keeping an eye on the sergeant. In this fashion they carry on their conversation.

“Tell me about these cables,” says Linehan, gesturing at what’s strung along the wall.

“That’s how we receive the word from center,” says the sergeant. “They’ve been strung all the way from the hangar.”

“Primitive,” says Linehan.

“Try realistic,” says the sergeant. “Anything that could be intercepted is right out. If we can see each other, we signal each other via tightbeam laser, and if we can’t see each other, we don’t signal. End of story.”

“So if you’re not in line of sight and you’re not near a cable, you’re not talking.”

“Most of it was pretty tedious anyway,” says the sergeant.

“But they’re not even trying to deny a zone to Autumn Rain,” says Spencer.

“Fine by me,” says the sergeant. “I don’t need nothing fancy. All I want to do is get those bastards in my sights.”

“You’ll get that soon enough,” says Linehan.

“You’ll
probably get it sooner,” says the sergeant. He descends a spiral staircase. They follow him down it. He opens a door. They stare within. Spencer whistles.

“Shit,” says Linehan.

“Outpost LK,” says the sergeant.

J
esus Christ,” says Garrick.

“What the fuck is it?” asks Lynx. “A secret weapon,” says the Operative.

One that bears an uncanny resemblance to a miniature brontosaurus. Four legs sprouting off an elongated body that narrows into a kind of head. It seems more organic than mechanic. It doesn’t even seem to be made of metal. More like …

“Is that
skin?”
asks Sarmax.

“Let’s not get carried away,” says the Operative. “This thing’s pretty much a tweaked-up Mark IIB crawler.”

“Some tweak,” says Garrick.

“Fuck, I hope so,” says the Operative. “It’s pretty much soundless. And what looks like skin is actually a kind of grown plastic. The latest camo alloys we could dream up.”

“Have they put this thing into production yet?” asks Lynx.

“No,” says the Operative. “It’s a prototype. The Remoraz.”

“How did it perform in field testing?”

“Who said it had been field tested?”

“Let’s load up,” says Sarmax.

They start unloading their containers, slotting pieces of machinery into the machine that crouches before them.

• • •

A
lmost makes me wish we were still part of Carson’s entourage,” says Linehan. “No it doesn’t,” says Spencer.

“I said
almost.”

But even when the Europa Platform was running like clockwork, this place probably wasn’t a destination spot. It’s basically a single room, a bunker that bulges out slightly from the curved edge of the asteroid. Narrow windows slice through the walls on all sides. And in those windows …

“Did you see the expression on his face?” asks Linehan.

“Whose?”

“The sergeant’s. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”