“The ICBMs just went active again.”
“Is it Fawkes?”
I felt Ai’s attention turn to me. “Zoe, what are you doing?”
When I opened my eyes, I saw her standing in front of me as the wind from outside whipped through her hair. The fragments of her consciousness were gathering focus, and turning that focus onto me. She knew, but she was too late.
Mr. Vaggot, I said. Launch the missiles.
Nico Wachalowski—Heinlein Industries’ Perimeter
Snow streaked past the window of the monorail car as it bulleted toward Heinlein’s main campus. Off in the distance, the last of the UTTC had crumbled into the angry glow lighting up the skyline. If they’d destroyed the transmitter like they’d wanted to, it might have been avoided.
My hands shook, and I felt sweat roll down the back of my neck in spite of the cold. The sickness was getting worse. I stared at the glow in the distance until it blurred, then closed my eyes.
Death tolls and damage assessments were all queuing up behind the block I’d put down. Carriers were being spotted closer and closer to the city limits. Time was running out. This had to work.
Wachalowski, pick up. It was Alice.
Tell me you have good news, I said.
Not exactly. Osterhagen’s team at Stillwell cracked the satellite. They took back control of the nukes just minutes ago.
And The Eye?
A superorbital EMP was standing by and has been launched. It won’t get a chance to fire again.
Then what’s the bad news?
The launch sequence was initiated on the nuclear satellite shortly after control was reestablished.
Alice, that doesn’t make sense. Who issued the code?
The only one that could have done it is Hans Vaggot, the engineer who retook control of the satellite in the first place.
Why would he do that? Is he alone in there?
Yes, she said. In fact, the security feeds inside the base show that as of a few minutes ago, Hans Vaggot inexplicably drew his weapon and shot to death the other engineers who were with him.
An image appeared in my HUD. Vaggot was seated at the control console with a bullet wound in one arm, the sleeve wet with blood. He stared at the screen intently, without expression.
He’s sealed himself into the room, Alice said. They’re attempting to gain entry now.
Alice, why would he do this? Why now?
She hesitated briefly.
We have reason to think that he might be under Ai’s direct control, she said.
What?
There’s evidence that his actions are actually being forced.
Ai’s devoted all of her time and effort obsessing over this possibility so that she could stop it, I said. Why the hell would she—
I don’t know, Agent. But when our people tried to contact him remotely, they found someone already had control of him. Someone else is in his head, someone powerful enough to keep anyone else out. We’ve traced the connections back, and we believe they’re coming from Alto Do Mundo.
Damn it …
Destroy the satellite, I said. Before it can launch.
Destroying The Eye was one thing; it was essentially privately owned. This is the UAC defense grid; we could trigger some kind of all-out response.
Then destroy the tower itself.
The Eye was knocked out. We’ll never organize another strike large enough in time.
This doesn’t make any sense! Why would she …
Before I could finish, though, it hit me. I remembered what Van Offo had told me shortly before he died.
“Zoe will stop him…. You will kill Fawkes—that’s what they think—but Zoe will stop him. That’s what she believes.”
“I pity that girl. All she ever seems to see is death and destruction, with her at its center.”
Zoe, I said.
What?
Alice, I think Zoe is behind this.
Why?
Because I think she believes, for whatever reason, that it might be the only thing she can do. To stop the spread. To stop Fawkes.
Look, even if there was anything to that, she’s in the Alto Do Mundo penthouse with Motoko Ai and the rest of the top brass. She doesn’t make a move that Ai doesn’t want her to. She’s powerful, but she’s not that powerful.
I rubbed my eyes. The truth was that Zoe was unstable. She was an extremely powerful, emotionally stunted, late-stage alcoholic, and she was a very mean drunk. If half the visions she described to me were true, then she lived her life in an almost schizophrenic state, and there was some part of her that hated the world she lived in. Part of her saw all those visions of destruction as inevitable.
Send a team in, I said. If you use the monorail, you can get a squad in there fast.
To do what?
To stop her.
She hesitated again, but again, not for long.
It will have to be Stillwell. We have a team nearby; we might be able to get them there in time. It has to be manned by our people. Anyone we’ve got up there will make mincemeat of them otherwise.
Understood. Just get someone up there.
Where are you now?
On the rail, approaching Heinlein.
A team is infiltrating Stillwell’s base to take out Vaggot, but we’re not going to be able to contain Fawkes’ ground forces much longer. After losing the UTTC and most of the Stillwell compound, the military is gearing up to come down hard on Heinlein and I’m not going to be able to stop them. An airstrike will be ordered just in front of them to knock out that transmitter and cut Fawkes off from his forces. You’ll be about ten minutes ahead of them. There will be a vehicle waiting for you at the platform. It’s the best I can do.
Understood.
Kill Fawkes. Get control of that transmitter back. Our best bet might end up being a good reason not to launch in the first place. Got it?
I got it.
Last chance—anything else?
Snow whipped by the window as wind whistled on the other side.
Yeah, one thing, I said.
Go ahead.
Can you direct a metro car to the city limits? Could you get someone through the blockade?
Why?
I’d like to get someone out of the city. It would be a favor.
Flax?
Yes. There were a bunch of reasons why she’d say no, but in the end, she surprised me.
I’ll see what I can do, she said. Good luck, Agent. She cut the connection.
The black disc of Heinlein’s tarmac loomed as the rail car glided closer.
Calliope Flax—Underground Metro
I came to on the tail end of a bad dream.
In it, I was back at my place in Wilamil Court, where I shoved open the door, then kicked it shut behind me. I’d scored some Zombie Makers from Al back at the Porco Rojo. The old man, Buckster, would be by later, and he had some kind of intel Nico wanted. I figured I’d loosen his tongue a little.