The Machinery of Light by David J. Williams

Author:David J. Williams
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: International relations, High Tech, General, Fiction, Science Fiction, Dystopias
ISBN: 9780553385434
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2010-05-25T00:40:11+00:00

PART IV

ETERNITY’S ASHES

The caves and tunnels beneath the South Pole are even more tangled than the craters that surround them. Haskell lets her lights shine out ahead of her as she makes hairpin turns. She hasn’t detected any pursuit yet. But she’s under no illusions—it’s underway. If Szilard wants to be a player in the endgame, he’s going to have to get his hands on her brain. He’ll be mobilizing all forces in order to do so. She rockets ever deeper.

A trashed antechamber that contains the shredded remains of the android-bodyguard-secretary of a man who no longer needs any of those services. Maschler and Riley look up as Carson, Lynx, and Linehan storm into the room.

“What’s up?” asks Maschler.

“Everything,” says Lynx as he sweeps past. Maschler and Riley get the hint—charge after the other three as they rush out of the room, firing their suit-jets. Maschler keys the one-on-one with Linehan.

“Do you know where we’re going?” he asks.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” mutters Linehan.

This way,” yells Spencer, firing his jets and letting Jarvin and Sarmax trail after him while he hurls zone-decoys out in every direction. The Rain triad adjusts slightly; the wings spread out as they vector in on their quarry’s changing position. But Spencer’s relying more on speed than stealth. He and the other two blast toward the rearmost portions of the ship, flying through into one of the bomb storage chambers, moving away from the main elevator—

“Wrong way!” yells Sarmax.

“Wrong,” says Spencer.

Haskell drops through some of the active mining areas. She’s exposing herself, but it’s the most direct route. She’s fucking with the zone something fierce while she blasts through caverns filled with equipment. Miners stare agape as she burns past like a fever dream.

The five men careen out of the R&D areas and into the adjacent wing of the war-sat. It sports most of the ship’s weaponry.

“This isn’t the right way,” yells Riley. “The hangars are—”

“Go for it,” says the Operative. “You’ll win the record for most guns to ever target a shuttle at once.”

Though he knows it’s unlikely to be anywhere near that dramatic. The bulk of the American guns are staying silent—not exposing themselves as they wait for the Eurasian armada to draw closer. But that leaves a lot of weaponry still in the game, firing away at the largest force ever assembled by the hand of man. The writing’s on the wall. The Americans don’t stand a chance. But right now the Operative has more immediate issues. The five men reach a chamber at the far end of the weapons wing—a dead end.

Spencer opens fire—lets shots streak past the thousands of nukes and along the conveyor belts, taking out the hatches to which the belts lead. The doors spin aside and he leads the way into the backup bomb shafts. They’re not in use right now, but that could change at any moment. In which case it won’t be pretty: bombs are slung through the shafts at railgun velocities. The three men reach the far end.

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