They follow Sorenson back into the rest of his labs. The Operative's keeping him in his crosshairs the whole way. He's got no idea what the guy might try. All he knows is that this is a man who's been on the run for a long time-who knows all the tricks. That's how he was able to seclude himself in the backwaters of s.p.a.ceCom-just another weapons laboratory among so many, this one producing something on paper and somehow never quite being called upon to produce it for real. None of which mattered when the funding kept on arriving and all inquiries got led down false trails. But every reckoning comes eventually.

They move through more corridors. Spencer's checking out zone-grids. Righteous Fire-Dragon Righteous Fire-Dragon turns out to be a very different proposition from its sister ship. It's a lot more complex. The c.o.c.kpit's even better defended than on turns out to be a very different proposition from its sister ship. It's a lot more complex. The c.o.c.kpit's even better defended than on Hammer of the Skies Hammer of the Skies. The ship's executive node is far more formidable. But Spencer's mind is sifting through it all the same. His new zone techniques put the old ones to shame. He and Jarvin triangulate on the area of the ship that's been turned into a prison. They're plotting their route in. But that route includes one preliminary stop-one they've almost reached. They prime their weapons.

She's roaring through more tunnels, and her mind's awhirl with a million thoughts. She's got a very narrow window on the zone now, too-the microzone contained within this tunnel. She can see the pursuit boiling in behind her. Szilard's marshaling the rest of his force. He's coming after her with the most elite marines s.p.a.ceCom can muster. He knows if he doesn't take her back he's meat. She feels the rock around her shake as though a large explosive just detonated. She can guess what just blew. She wonders how the h.e.l.l Sarmax acquired it in the first place-wonders if he even knew it was there. Her thoughts are racing-Szilard didn't seem to realize what he was dealing with, thought this was the gateway to Sinclair's true fortress-that he could get there before the old man himself showed up. But he ended up getting punked. Haskell's wondering whether maybe she did, too. She's still doing a.n.a.lysis on the nature of the device she was just face to face with-the radiations it emitted, the energies it was accessing. She reaches the end of a tunnel, drops through a trapdoor-sees what she's been told was there, starts its motors before she's even reached it.

They come through into the rear areas of the lab and reach another door. It's got several seals on it.

"We need to put on special suits to proceed," says Sorenson.

"We're dressed just fine," says the Operative.

Sorenson glances back at the Operative's armor. "At least let me-" me-"

"Fat chance," says Lynx. He rips off the seals, yanks open the door and- "s.h.i.t," he says.

They're into some of the more restricted areas aboard the Righteous Fire-Dragon Righteous Fire-Dragon.

They're still seeing no one. They transition from pa.s.sageways to shafts, quickly crawl down them, smash through a grille-and drop down into a room.

That room contains three Chinese soldiers in powered armor. They're still alive, but only just. Their armor's malfunctioning about as badly as Spencer's been intending it. Same as it ever was: once you get the high ground on the zone you can wreak havoc on everything below it. Spencer and Jarvin mesh minds and catch what's left of their targets in a death grip. The suits go haywire, electrocuting the men within them.

Sarmax climbs into the room and stares at the bodies.

"What have we here?" he asks.

"The key to Sinclair's cell," says Spencer.

More like a missile than a vehicle: it's a state-of-the-art maglev minicar, already starting to sling itself down the tracks toward the tunnel at the far end of the room. Haskell adjusts her thrusters, matches speeds-drops down into the single seat, straps herself in as the canopy lowers and the car accelerates. She catches a glimpse of suits pouring into the room behind her, but then rounds a bend in the tunnel.

Should have guessed it," says the Operative.

The room contains twenty transluscent cryo-units.

Each one's occupied. Half are male, half are female.

"And none of them are human," says Lynx.

"They're Rain," says the Operative.

Sorenson says nothing.

"Never mind the Rain," says Lynx on the one-on-one. "We need to find his G.o.dd.a.m.n teleporter." "We need to find his G.o.dd.a.m.n teleporter."

"He told you already," says the Operative. "He ain't got one."

"And you believe him?"

"It was always a longshot. His expertise never extended to that kind of stuff anyway."

"So how the f.u.c.k are we getting off this f.u.c.king fleet?"

"The old-fashioned way," says the Operative.

Who the f.u.c.k were these guys?" asks Sarmax.

"Us," says Spencer.

"You mean now we're them."

"I always was," says Jarvin.

Sarmax frowns. "What the f.u.c.k are you on about?"

Jarvin kicks one of the Chinese soldiers with his boot. Sarmax can't help but notice the major's insignia on the shoulder of the dead man's armor. And suddenly it all clicks- "My counterpart," says Jarvin.

"Oh," says Sarmax. says Sarmax.

"Yeah."

"You were sent by the Praesidium as one of the two interrogators of Matthew Sinclair. Took the place of the Russian one-"

"Who would have died anyway when the Chinese purged them," says Spencer.

"Maybe," says Jarvin. "Maybe not. Who cares? The point is, now he's dead. And so is this one. And we've got their codes."

"So let's go say hi to the head of CICom," says Spencer.

Haskell accelerates, pouring on the speed. But she still can't get access to the larger zone-just a mere fraction of it, a tiny thread that represents this rail line. Obstensibly, this particular tunnel is a component of Sarmax's ice-processing operation, eighty klicks north of Shackleton. Only now it's more like sixty klicks. Haskell's feeling okay about keeping the pursuit behind her for the next few minutes. It's what's in front of her that's got her worried.

So what exactly was your plan?" asks the Operative.

Sorenson laughs. "Who says I had a plan?" plan?"

"This flesh," says Lynx, gesturing at the cryo-tanks.

Though right now that flesh isn't saying much of anything. It's just sitting there, all life systems reduced to an absolute minimum. The Operative can't read anything in those faces. But he can see a thing or two in Lynx's. He opens up the one-on-one again.

"What the h.e.l.l's on your mind?" he says.

"The colony ships," Lynx replies.

"What about them?"

"They're full full of sleepers." of sleepers."

"That's why they call them colony ships, Lynx."

"The ships are a subterfuge. Why not the cargo?"

The Operative addresses Sorenson: "What about the colony ships?"

"Mostly just colonists."

"But not exclusively."

"There are a few anomalies here and there."

"Made by who?"-but even as he asks the question, the Operative realizes its absurdity. Everyone's been trying to duplicate the Autumn Rain batch ever since it came out of the vat. Every player's got their own breed of posthuman in the mix. Szilard's undoubtedly been working his own angles. But no one's ever been able to attain the breakthroughs that Matthew Sinclair made two decades back. n.o.body's come close to replicating them. Partially that's because he executed all the scientists.

Except for one.

"I never had the big picture," mutters Sorenson.

"Who the h.e.l.l did?" says the Operative.

"That'd be you," you," says Lynx. says Lynx.

Flanked by his escorts, the man who's been charged by the Praesidium with interrogating the most important a.s.set to ever fall into the Coalition's hands is approaching the section of the Righteous Fire-Dragon Righteous Fire-Dragon that's been designated as maximum security. All prisoners taken from the L5 fortress have been moved there. There weren't that many. Most of the garrison was killed subsequent to surrender. But there were a few exceptions ... that's been designated as maximum security. All prisoners taken from the L5 fortress have been moved there. There weren't that many. Most of the garrison was killed subsequent to surrender. But there were a few exceptions ...

"He's in there, alright," says Spencer.

"At least officially," says Jarvin.

"And where the h.e.l.l's Indigo?" asks Sarmax.

"Right here," says Spencer-beams the map over to him, showing the holding cells and their denizens. There are only five: Sinclair, and four of the soldiers who were guarding him. And Spencer's fairly sure not all of those soldiers are who they seem to be.

"When they took the libration point, the Eurasians killed everybody," everybody," says Spencer. "A total ma.s.sacre. They knew what they were up against. They knew that Sinclair wasn't an ordinary prisoner, that the Rain might have says Spencer. "A total ma.s.sacre. They knew what they were up against. They knew that Sinclair wasn't an ordinary prisoner, that the Rain might have infected infected L5. That's why they took no chances-why the only exceptions were quarantined and put into lockdown-why the only ones getting into this cell-block are-" L5. That's why they took no chances-why the only exceptions were quarantined and put into lockdown-why the only ones getting into this cell-block are-"

"Us," says Sarmax.

They turn a corner. Guards block the way ahead.

You're barking up the wrong tree," says the Operative. "Sinclair kept the whole thing compartmentalized. And only he had insight into the specifics of the core quantum processes-"

"Along with the physicists," says Sorenson.

"Who were the first to go," says the Operative.

"Because you killed them," says Lynx.

"On Sinclair's orders."

"But not before you made them talk."

"Let me a.s.sure you that Sinclair had already deprived them of that ability."

"I was a f.u.c.king biogeneticist," biogeneticist," says Sorenson. "I'd heard the stories, sure-of what was really going on at the center of his f.u.c.king Manhattan Project. Of tapping into nonlocalized consciousness to tune the mind as a neurotransmitter. Of-" says Sorenson. "I'd heard the stories, sure-of what was really going on at the center of his f.u.c.king Manhattan Project. Of tapping into nonlocalized consciousness to tune the mind as a neurotransmitter. Of-"

"Telepathy," says Lynx.

"-leveraging quantum entanglement to enable remote duplication of matter."

"Teleportation," says the Operative.

He and Sorenson look at each other.

"And?" asks the Operative. asks the Operative.

Sorenson looks as if he's about to weep. Lynx looks at the Operative.

"What do you mean, and?"

"You know what I mean," says the Operative to Sorenson. Sorenson closes his eyes.

"Say it," says the Operative. says the Operative.

"Something to do with time," whispers Sorenson.

Careening through a hollow tube beneath the lunar mountains: Haskell's halfway to Shackleton, and she can only imagine what she's going to find when she gets there. She feels the South Pole beckoning beyond it-feels it with an intensity that makes the antipodes at the Europa Platform look like the artificial constructs they were. Her awareness is cranking up to new heights. And all the while she's doing her utmost to dissect the nature of the machinery fading behind her.

Sinclair could see the future," says Lynx.

"So could the Manilishi," says Sorenson.

"Only Sinclair's ability trumped Haskell's," says the Operative. "She just had it in flashes. Sinclair's view was a little more comprehensive comprehensive, wasn't it?"

Sorenson shrugs. "But the Manilishi was able to deploy hacks-"

"Don't play the r.e.t.a.r.d," snaps the Operative. "This isn't just about precognition, is it?" "This isn't just about precognition, is it?"

"No," whispers Sorenson.

For a moment there's silence. Lynx whistles.

"f.u.c.k," he says, "if Sinclair can violate causality wholesale-"

"Then we'd know it," says the Operative. "We'd have already lost."

"And if one of those teleporters wasn't really really a teleporter," says Lynx. "And if it got switched on-" a teleporter," says Lynx. "And if it got switched on-"

"Like I said," says the Operative, "we'd know it."

Running scans, checking readouts: it's somehow only just beginning to dawn on her that she really is is on the Moon-that she's reached the object that she and Jason set out for so long ago. She feels like she's stabbed him in the back by arriving up here without him-feels like she's betrayed him repeatedly ever since. And somehow on the Moon-that she's reached the object that she and Jason set out for so long ago. She feels like she's stabbed him in the back by arriving up here without him-feels like she's betrayed him repeatedly ever since. And somehow feels feels him too, like he's somewhere out there even now. As if anything's possible. She watches walls streak past. Shackleton's drawing ever closer. him too, like he's somewhere out there even now. As if anything's possible. She watches walls streak past. Shackleton's drawing ever closer.

Time machines," says Sorenson. "He was trying to develop time mach-"

"Is," mutters Lynx. "We need to move-" mutters Lynx. "We need to move-"