The Burning Skies (37 page)

“I’m making this up as we go!” screams Linehan. He fires his suit-jets, starts heading out beyond the perimeter, down a corridor that seems like it’s going to buckle at any moment.

“Linehan! Come back!”

“Come with me!”

Spencer curses—but heads after Linehan. Who he figures has finally lost it. Or just bowed to the inevitable. Because the
shit’s hitting from every side. And Linehan’s right. Everyone who retreats is going to get run down or else be butchered by their own side. Spencer’s on the point of trying to do exactly that to Linehan. But instead he just keeps on racing after him, even as he realizes what the man’s up to.

T
he Remoraz,” says Lynx. “Yeah,” replies the Operative—and ignites a flamer, starts getting to work. Their vehicle’s skin looks so real he almost expects it to start screeching in pain. But it doesn’t. It just sits there, gives itself up to one last service.

“Did they build it like this?” says Sarmax.

“They built it with all ends in mind,” replies the Operative.

Because there are only so many reasons to do the infiltration run. You’re either taking a closer look or busting up the china. If it’s the latter, then you need to make sure you can pack a punch. Their vehicle’s got rear and aft KE guns, not to mention micromissile batteries. But sometimes you need a lot more than that.

“Tap its generators,” says the Operative.

“Tapping,” replies Lynx.

“Load the nukes.”

“Loading,” says Sarmax.

“Target sequencing,” says the Operative.

“Initiated.”

T
hey’re stumbling forward as the floor shakes beneath them. The walls are buckling. Vibration churns within their suits. Repurposed police droids are appearing at the end of the corridor. Three of them. One looks like a large spider; it clambers down the walls toward
them. The others rev their treads, close in. But Spencer and Linehan are already firing: letting their armor absorb shots, spraying KE into those treads, dissecting legs with a fusillade of fire. They charge past the wreckage, keep on going.

“Fuck yes,” says Spencer.

“We’ll break on through,” says Linehan.

Not that there’s much of a plan beyond that. Apparently Linehan’s just figuring that they might be able to get into an area of the asteroid that’s less trafficked. Somewhere they can await events. But those events have caught up with them anyway. Smartdust’s swarming into the corridor on both sides. Spencer’s suit is flinging out thousands of flechettes. He’s pumping hi-ex down the corridor. Linehan’s doing the same. The microshit disappears in sheets of light. The corridor crumbles under the blasts. The two men are knocked sprawling. The floor starts rising up behind them.

“What the fuck!” yells Spencer. He’s trying to get to his feet, gets tossed off them yet again. Linehan is firing his thrusters. He rises, grabs onto the shaking wall. Just as the floor bulges—and breaks. A huge tread smashes through it.

“That bitch is right on top of us!” yells Spencer.

“Below us,” screams Linehan.

“Whatever!” Spencer fires his thrusters, only to switch them off again as minidrones start pouring into the corridor’s far end. They’re a fraction of a meter in length. There are hundreds of them. They roar in toward Spencer and Linehan, who fire bombs down the corridor toward them. Explosions start tearing targets apart. But …

“Not enough!” yells Spencer.

“Only one way out of this,” says Linehan.

He gestures behind them, where the tread’s still slicing through the floor, leaving torn metal in its wake. Through that gaping hole Spencer can see stars. Linehan hits his thrusters, blasts out toward them.

• • •

T
heir vehicle’s looking more than a little skeletal. Strips have been torn from its sides. Half its head is gone. But the power plant in its belly is still intact. Cables run from beneath it to the multibarreled contraption that’s taken shape alongside.

“Stand by,” says Lynx.

“Scanning for target,” says Sarmax.

He’s looking down a barrel five meters long: straight out the window that looks out into space strewn through with stars. Some of which aren’t stars. Some of which have shown up a little more recently. Some of which are proving to be a real pain in the ass.

“At power threshold,” says the Operative.

“Main target acquired,” says Sarmax.

The Helios is only eighty klicks away. It’s far too big to miss. Nailing it is going to be a piece of cake. The real problem is nailing what counts within it.

“Acquire nexus,” says the Operative.

“Scanning,” says Sarmax.

Which is when lights suddenly start filtering into the room through the open door—lights of something coming their way. Something that’s not in the mood to be stealthy.

“Acquire nexus,” repeats the Operative.

“I’m working on it,” hisses Sarmax.

T
he two men shoot through the rift in the asteroid hull, surge on out into space—and total chaos. The spectrums are on overload. Directed energy’s flying everywhere, all too much of it aimed at the thing that’s towering above them. Linehan darts in toward it.

And Spencer follows. Because he sees the logic, mad though it may be. The only thing this thing can’t hit with its
guns is itself; he charges after Linehan, thrusters flaring, as the surface beneath him erupts anew. The charges Linehan tossed down there are detonating. The drones are getting shredded. But the two men have bigger things to worry about.

One giant thing, in fact. Whose lowermost rear guns are lowering still further, unleashing plasma that’s spraying over their heads as they dart past it, grabbing onto metal paneling and …

“Get in there!” screams Linehan.

G
ot it!” yells Sarmax.

“Preliminary burst,” says the Operative. Energy streaks from one of the barrels of the gun, strikes the room’s window, melts a hole in it, melts the edges around the hole. Plastic drips. The light in the doorway’s growing brighter.

“Zero margin,” says Lynx.

“So take the shot,” says the Operative.

“With pleasure,” says Sarmax.

Energy streaks from the main barrel out into space.

T
hey’ve got their laser cutters out, ripping away at the metal in this beast’s side. Linehan’s almost gotten a whole panel off. Spencer’s halfway through another when the panel suddenly slides aside—he moves with it just in time to evade the burst of KE rounds from the minigun that’s extending from the space within. In the next instant he’s slicing the barrel in two and pivoting past it, cutting through the metal beyond to reveal an opening. He and Linehan crawl through it as fast as they can go. As if sensing their intentions, the vehicle starts speeding up,
trundling along the surface toward the hangar. More shots slam against it. Spencer and Linehan pull themselves up a narrow chute. A clawed drone leaps at them. They waste it, keep on climbing as the behemoth in which they’re riding accelerates.

F
irst shot’s away” says Sarmax.

“And we’re still alive,” says Lynx. Meaning the Manilishi called it. Their laser just struck one of the antennas along the Helios, sandwiched between a solar panel and one of the microwave guns. Codes devised by the Manilishi and enclosed within the wavelengths of the laser are going to town, moving straight to the primary targeting system and paralyzing it. It won’t stay that way for long. Whoever’s aboard will find a way to beat it. Or else they’ll cut the wires and jury-rig the targeting.