"Why the h.e.l.l would he be doing that?" that?"

"Because the Eurasians are like us, man: they're divided against themselves. Look at the way the ivans watch the c.h.i.n.ks and the c.h.i.n.ks keep an eye on the ivans. No one trusts anyone for s.h.i.t. And with things looking ever worse for Uncle Sam, the tension's getting cranked up ever higher."

"You really think the East might succ.u.mb to civil war?"

"Let's just say they wouldn't be the first."

The ship keeps on throttling heavenward. The Moon's now a ball in the window, and the L2 fleet is looking like a starfield preparing to engulf them. The Operative laughs.

"This hasn't a chance of working," he says.

"It working working and you and you living living are two very different things," says Riley. are two very different things," says Riley.

"Touche."

The most basic rule of a.s.sa.s.sinations: the shooter is expendable-or better still, marked for disposal. The Operative's pretty sure that's how this one is going to go down. Right after he's managed to kill the Lizard, he'll be gunned down by either Szilard's bodyguards or the men he's talking to right now. That's why Montrose has sent him up here in the first place. This is a one-way trip. Even so, he can't see how the h.e.l.l Montrose is expecting him to take out Szilard. Unless- "And here we were thinking that you're the expert in connnecting dots," says Riley.

"Sometimes I need a little nudge."

"That's for sure." Maschler looks like he's trying not to laugh. "Look, there are three ways to crack a fortress. You either blast your way in, you sneak on through, or else you ..." His voice trails off.

The Operative stares. "Or what? You're telling me we've been invited invited to see Szilard?" to see Szilard?"

"Why not? We're all trying to stop the East, aren't we?"

"He'll be suspicious as all f.u.c.k."

"Of course he will be."

"So what's the angle?"

Riley and Maschler look at each other.

"Well?" repeats the Operative.

"Maybe it's time to show him the cargo," says Riley.

The sun's face is one she recognizes. Even though she doesn't want to. Even though she hasn't seen it in so long. She stands in the midst of her own desert, endless wastelands stretching out on all sides as she looks up at what's leering down upon her.

"h.e.l.lo Claire," says Morat.

"That's not really you," she mutters.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you're dead."

"Am I really?"

"I saw you destroyed."

"And yet I live on inside of you."

"Only in my memory."

"More than enough. Shall we begin?"

She says nothing. The light of his face is getting ever brighter. The sky beyond it is going black.

"What the h.e.l.l's happening?" she mutters.

"Control is forcing its way ever farther inside you."

"And you're helping."

"Except for the fact that I don't exist."

"You're a part of my mind that's been set against me."

"I seem to recall I was on your side."

"You were my worst enemy," she says.

"Only after you betrayed yourself."

"I never-"

"Fooled yourself too. You know I speak the truth. You're Rain. Yet you denied them again and again. In that SeaMech beneath Pacific. At the Europa Platform. And then afterward, when you helped to snuff all your brethren. Thus were the Rain undone by the very weapon built to complete them. Thus was-"

"Not all of them."

"What?" asks Morat.

"I didn't kill all of them."

"Carson and Lynx and Sarmax aren't in the same league as-"

"I'm not talking about the original trio," she snarls. She feels she should shut up, but she can't. Not with Morat's disembodied head looking down at her like that. "There are still other members of the Rain left."

There's a pause. Morat flickers.

"How would you know that?" he asks.

"I've felt their minds."

Morat beams at her. "Oh good," he says.

So n.o.body's n.o.body's getting off this ship," says Linehan. getting off this ship," says Linehan.

"Give the man a hand," says Lynx.

They've come through into a wider set of pa.s.sages. The lights are few and far between. All they can hear is the continued clanking of distant guns. They're deep in the interior now.

"And we're staying in the bowels of this thing."

"It seems like the prudent thing to do," says Lynx.

"Because there's no point in going near the hull."

"Given that nothing's leaving: no."

Linehan nods. He gets it, though it took him long enough. Szilard knows which ship they're on. It would have been hard to miss. But the commander of s.p.a.ceCom can't afford to blow any more dreadnaughts just to get at rogue elements. He's way past that luxury now. So all he can do is take precautions. Which is why nothing's getting off the colony ship. At least until- "All debts will be settled when the war's over," Linehan mutters.

"And a lot of them long before," says Lynx.

Linehan nods. They keep on moving.

They leave behind the ledges where they rode out the launch and head out into the elevator shafts-riding cables, moving adroitly from one to the next. Spencer syncs up the zone with the topography that's all around them. Shafts extend down beyond his sight, electric light flickering in the distance. Elevator cars clank past, packed with soldiers. Machinery's everywhere. Spencer's view is shot through with the false color of augmented zone-vision. For a moment it seems to him like this ship has become the universe, like everything around him is just the gears of existence turning: the guns raining death out into the beyond; the armor taking fire from the ma.s.sed batteries on the Moon and at L5; the endless conveyor belts upon which nukes are slotted through the bowels of the ship and spat out into the vacuum beyond. But he's leading Sarmax in the other direction, moving into the middle areas of the ship, getting extra stealthy.

"We're almost at the troop quarters," says Spencer.

"Roger that," says Sarmax.

Riley leads the way-the Operative follows him, and Maschler trails after. The Operative appreciates the way they move-like the professionals they are-and even though they're probably not expecting him to try anything, they're ready for anything he might. He wonders how he could have let them fool him back at the Elevator. He's guessing it had more than a little to do with the fact that he had a lot on his mind.

He's got the same problem now. They descend a ladder into the ship's main cargo hold. Riley hits a switch; lights flicker dimly all around. Auxiliary holds sprout off from the main one. Containers are racked up everywhere, faint vibration washing through them from the engines directly below. The Operative wonders if he'll end up in one of those boxes. He can't deny it'd be fitting. He feels like his life has come full circle, that these two men may as well be the ferrymen taking him across the Styx.

"Is this the part where you try to off me?" he asks.

"Even better," says Riley.

"Right this way," says Maschler, heading in toward one of the auxiliary chambers.

A desert with a population of one. A woman with the feeling that the face that's leering down at her is getting a little too close for comfort. desert with a population of one. A woman with the feeling that the face that's leering down at her is getting a little too close for comfort.

"The Rain's out there," she says.

"Where?"

"At L5."

"With Sinclair?" asks Morat.

"They're guarding him."

"I would put it the other way around." One eyebrow raises. It looks obscene. "He shielded them from you when you were Harrison's servant. And he thinks we haven't figured it out since-"

"He's playing all the angles," she says. "You can't hope to beat him, Stephanie, please listen to me, you have to kill him now- now-"

"Spare me," snaps Morat. "The president can't hear you. She doesn't micromanage interrogations."

"She leaves that to something even colder than her."

"If you like," says Morat. He seems amused. "But I'm pleased to wear this face while I tear your skull apart."

"So now we see your real one."

"Oh," says Morat, "let's not get all literal here. I'm not Control Control. His mind's aware of what we're saying, but I really am am part of you. That's the point, you see. You think you're whole, but you're really scattered piecemeal. Taking you apart is just a matter of putting it all together." part of you. That's the point, you see. You think you're whole, but you're really scattered piecemeal. Taking you apart is just a matter of putting it all together."

She says nothing. Wind brushes sand onto her face.

"Can you detect Sinclair?" he asks.

"No," she says.

"You're both blind to each other," says Morat. "As it should be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Once posthumans get into the mix, the whole game changes, no? Especially if what makes them posthuman is mental. Especially if it can be replicated."

"Isn't that the big question? A man can be modified, but-"

"Can he beat that which is born into it? He might deceive himself that he could. Lynx and Carson and Sarmax certainly did. In the end they couldn't even keep their own team together. Who would have thought they would go out so early?"

"They're dead?" She manages to keep the edge from her voice, but it's as though Morat has heard it anyway.

"My condolences," he says. "Carson's f.u.c.ked you over for the last time."

"How did he die?"

"He's going to kill Szilard for his president."

"Going to?" to?"

"Or he'll fail in the attempt while our backup team finishes the job. Either way, he's dead. And there's no way off L2-"

"You're an idiot," she spits. "You're a f.u.c.king idiot. If you're going to kill Carson, then f.u.c.king kill him kill him. Don't try to use use him. Don't give him the slightest chance-" him. Don't give him the slightest chance-"

"Sounds like you want want him dead." him dead."

"I do do want him dead. I want him to live forever. Whatever. He's far more of a threat to Montrose than Szilard ever could be." want him dead. I want him to live forever. Whatever. He's far more of a threat to Montrose than Szilard ever could be."

"Abstract p.r.o.nouncements. All of Montrose's enemies now live on borrowed time."

"As does Stephanie Montrose. The f.u.c.king Eurasian fleet's steaming in toward you, or haven't you noticed? And for all we know, Leo Sarmax is in control of it by now."

"Or else he's dead in the Himalayas," says Morat. "What does it matter? It's still the same hardware. Still the reason why Montrose needs to attain control of you-along with total possession of the L2 fleet. The last thing she needs with the East's spearhead coming straight at her is to not be able to trust her second-in-command-"