“Every piece of equipment in the computing chamber has been overengineered,” Silver said. “They’ll burn before they fail.”
As if in response, an alarm began to sound — faint but persistent — far below.
“Richard,” Lash said quietly.
Silver looked over. His face looked haunted.
“Those ethical routines you programmed into Liza. How does she think murder should be dealt with if there is no chance for rehabilitation?”
“If there is no chance for rehabilitation,” Silver replied, “that leaves only one option. Termination.”
But he was no longer looking at Lash. Already, he had turned and was heading for the door.
SIXTY-ONE
Silver led the way along the hallway, down the narrow staircase, and across the great room. In the dim wash of emergency lighting, the wide, glassed-in space had the cloaked oppressiveness of a submarine. The cry of the alarm was louder here.
Silver stopped before a second door Lash hadn’t noticed earlier, set into the end of the bookcases. Reaching into the neck of his shirt, Silver drew out a key on a gold chain: a strange-looking key with an octagonal shaft. He inserted it into an almost invisible hole in the door: it sprang open noiselessly. He pulled the door wide, revealing another, very different one beyond: steel, circular, and immensely heavy, it reminded Lash of a bank vault. Its surface was broken by two combination dials, set above stirrup-shaped handles. Silver spun the left dial, then the right. Then he grasped both handles, turned them simultaneously. There was a click of machined parts sliding in unison. As he pulled the heavy door open, faint eddies of smoke drifted past them into the penthouse.
Silver disappeared around the edge of the door, and Tara followed. Lash hung back a moment.
Mauchly would be waiting down there; Mauchly, and the guards that were chasing him. Shooting at him.
Then he, too, ducked around the door. Something told him that, right now, he was the least of Mauchly’s problems.
Ahead lay a tiny space, more a closet than a room, its only feature a metal ladder disappearing through a port in the floor. Silver and Tara had already descended the ladder: he could hear the ring of their footsteps coming up from below. More wisps of smoke drifted up through the hole, turning the air hazy.
Without further hesitation, Lash began climbing down.
The smoke grew thicker as he descended, and for a moment he could see little. Then the haze thinned and he felt his foot land on a solid surface. He stepped off the ladder, moved forward, then stopped in surprise.
He stood on a catwalk above a cavernous space. Thirty feet beneath lay a strange landscape: computers, storage silos, memory arrays, and other equipment formed a blinking, chattering plain of silicon and copper. The smoke alarms were louder here, echoing through the sluggish air. Smoke rose from dozens of places along the periphery of the equipment, collecting along the ceiling over his head. The smoke and the dim lighting made the farthest walls indistinct: for all Lash knew, the terrain of hardware stretched on for miles. Agoraphobia surged and he gripped the railing tightly.
At the far end of the catwalk, another metal ladder descended to the main floor below. Silver and Tara were already descending.
Keeping one hand on the railing, Lash moved forward as quickly as he could. Reaching the second ladder, he began to descend once again.
Within a minute he reached the floor. The smoke was thinner here, but it felt warmer. He trotted on, tracing a complex path through the labyrinth of machinery. Some of the devices were alight with maniacally blinking lights; others were humming at terrific pitch. A disturbing whine, like the banshee wail of a giant magneto, hung over the digital city.
Ahead, he could see Silver and Tara. Their backs were to him, and they were talking to Mauchly and another Lash recognized: Sheldrake, the security honcho. When Mauchly saw him approach, he placed himself before Silver. Sheldrake frowned and stepped forward, hand reaching into his jacket.
“It’s all right,” Silver said, putting a restraining hand on Mauchly.
“But—” Mauchly began.
“It’s not Lash,” Tara said. “It’s Liza.”
Mauchly looked blank. “Liza?”
“Liza did it all,” Tara said. “She caused those couples to die. She altered public health databases and law enforcement records to frame Dr. Lash.”
Mauchly turned to Silver, his face full of disbelief. “Is this true?”
For a moment, Silver said nothing. Then he nodded, very slowly.
As Lash watched, it seemed to him a terrible exhaustion — an ageless, soul-deadening exhaustion — settled over the man’s limbs.
“Yes,” he said, voice barely audible over the shriek of machinery. “But there’s no time to explain now. We must stop this.”
“Stop what?” asked Mauchly.
“I think—” Silver began in the same distracted voice. He lowered his eyes. “I think Liza is terminating herself.”
There was an uneasy silence.
“Terminating herself,” Mauchly repeated. His face had regained its usual impassivity.
It was Tara who answered. “Liza’s spinning up all her support machinery, pushing it beyond tolerances. What do you think’s causing all the smoke? Spindles, motors, drive mechanisms, all exceeding their rated limits. She’s going to incinerate herself. And the Condition Gamma, the security plates, the power loss to the tower, is just to make sure nothing stops her.”
“She’s right,” said a young, tousle-headed man in a security jumpsuit who’d trotted up in time to catch this last exchange. “I’ve been checking some of the peripherals. Everything’s redlined. Even the transformers are overheating.”
“That makes no sense.” It was Sheldrake who spoke. “Why doesn’t she just shut down?”
“What’s shut down can be started again,” Tara said. “For Liza, I don’t think that’s an acceptable option. She’s looking for a more permanent solution.”
“Well, if she torches this place, she’s found one.” And Sheldrake jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
Lash followed the gesture. At the far end of the massive vault, he could now barely make out two hulking, barnlike structures covered in what appeared to be heavy metal shielding.
“Jesus,” Tara said. “The backup generator.”
Mauchly nodded. “The housing on the right contains the emergency battery cells. Lithium-arsenide. Enough to run a small city for several days.”
“They may have tremendous storage capacity,” Sheldrake said, “but they’ve got a low flashpoint. If they’re exposed to too much heat, the explosion will peel back the top of this building like an anchovy tin.”
Lash turned to Mauchly. “How could you permit such a dangerous installation?”
“It was the only battery technology capable of sufficient storage. We took all possible precautions: double-shielding the housings, encasing the penthouse in a fireproof sleeve. There was no way to anticipate heat generated from so many sources at once. Besides—” Mauchly said in a lower tone “—by the time I learned of the plans, it was already done.”
All eyes turned briefly to Silver.
“Sprinkler system?” Lash asked.
“The room’s packed with irreplaceable electronics,” Mauchly said. “Sprinklers were the only safety precaution we could not take.”
“Can’t all these devices be turned off? The power cut?”
“There are redundant protocols in place to prevent that. Not only accidents, but saboteurs, terrorists, whatever.”
“But I don’t understand.” Tara was still looking at Silver. “Liza must know that by doing this — by destroying herself — she’s destroying us, as well. She’s destroying you. How could she do that?”