“Well?”
“You can see,” says the Operative, “why I decided that you were more useful alive than dead. To both of us.”
“I can see that,” says Sarmax. “All too well.”
“Then—?”
“I can’t do it.”
“What do you mean you can’t do it?”
“I mean I can’t do it. I accept everything you’re saying, Carson. Believe me, I do. You’re right on all counts. You’re right on the implications too. But I can’t get involved.”
“Can’t get involved?” says the Operative. “You can’t stay out of it. You’re already in it. Don’t you understand that?”
“All I understand is who I am.”
“But this is your chance to put all that behind you.”
“I already did put all of it behind me, Carson.”
“But it’s going to keep coming back, Leo. Unless you deal with it once and for all. Out here in these cold hills—you’re not dealing with it, man. Nor are you dealing with—”
“Don’t say it,” says Sarmax.
“Her death.”
“Are you trying to provoke me?”
“It’s not just trying,” says the Operative.
“What’s your fucking point?”
“My point is that she’s dead. She died long ago. But even all this time later, she’d want you to stay alive.”
“Funny,” says Sarmax. “I always assumed she wouldn’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we’re still separate this way.”
“The way things are going, you won’t have long to wait.”
“You already told me that.”
“No, I mean you’re not going to have to wait more than thirty seconds at the rate you’re going. I’ll make it easy for you, Leo. We’re walking out together or not at all.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I assure you I’m not.”
“This is fucking nuts.”
“Call it what you want. What’s it going to be?”
“You’re a fool, Carson. I could say yes just to get out of here.”
“No you couldn’t,” says the Operative. “I know you, Leo. I know that the only reason why you’d say yes is if you meant it. Because I also know that you seriously believe you can kill me.”
“I believe that because it’s true.”
“So put us to the final test.”
“Carson, this is crazy. We walk out of here together, then head in separate directions.”
“I can’t let you walk after what I’ve just told you. I can’t do that. And I gave you your chance.”
“If that was my chance, then you’ve already made your choice.”
“I already had made my choice. To offer you yours. Get it through your head: you’re a wanted man. Without someone to fly you federal cover, you’ll be nailed. And then they’d nail me.”
“But out of everybody, you just have to be the one to try to nail me.”
“Starting to look that way,” says the Operative.
“You don’t want to do this,” says Sarmax.
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
“Then what does?”
The two men move suddenly, on the same instant. Both go for the jugular right off the bat. They fire all jets, charge in spraying bullets—cannon into each other with a noise that sounds like they’ve both been shattered. They haven’t. They’re just ricocheting off one another—and pivoting, turning, boots hitting ground, gloves gripping armor as they start to grapple. Through his visor, the Operative can see the eyes of Sarmax staring straight into his own. Next moment, that view is replaced by Sarmax’s fist as—augmented by wrist-mounted jets—it slams into his face. The Operative feels the force ripple through his helmet. He grabs Sarmax’s arms, feels the other grab his. For a moment the two are locked there, fire lighting up the night, muscle and machine straining for the slightest advantage while shadows play in unholy combination all around them. Their thrusters scorch their armor as each tries to power the other off his feet. Their helmets are locked up against each other. And now the voice of Leo Sarmax echoes through those helmets.
“Knew they would send someone,” he says. “Hadn’t dared to dream it would be you.”
“Looks like you got your wish without even asking,” says the Operative. He tries to bring his shoulder gun to bear. But Sarmax is just too close.
“I’ll get my wish when I rip your corpse from what’s left of that armor,” says Sarmax. “I’ll know my heart’s desire when I consign your body to the ice. You’ve no idea just how fucked you are, Carson.”
“Talk’s cheap,” replies the Operative. He leans his head back suddenly, lunges forward, headbutts Sarmax while firing all his thrusters on maximum. Sarmax doesn’t move. But his suit’s being plowed into the ground. Dirt and flame fly everywhere. Yet now Sarmax is firing all his jets too. The Operative’s being forced inexorably backward. He’s starting to realize that he may not be able to win this quickly. He’s starting to suspect that Sarmax might still be stronger….
“Think you can teach the man who taught you everything?” says Sarmax. “Think you can stay alive long enough to receive one last lesson?” His jets intensify. Now the Operative’s being pushed back toward the trees. His feet leave furrows behind him in the dirt. “Well, here it is: I’m going to wrap you around that wood.” More jets come to life atop Sarmax’s back. The Operative crams more fuel into his own motors. He’s urging them beyond their safety threshold. They’re starting to overheat. He and Sarmax are starting to pick up speed. The trees rush toward them. The Operative feels his course change slightly as Sarmax steers him straight toward what looks to be the nearest and biggest of them. He feels his suit vibrate as Sarmax feeds still more power to his own. He hears Sarmax muttering about how easy this is going to be. He’s got a nasty feeling that the man is about to be proven right.
Yet as that tree fills his own rearview, he reverses his own jets’ thrust, adds his power to Sarmax’s own—but at a slightly different angle. The two men suddenly speed up, whip past the tree, shoot into the depths of the grove. Sarmax keeps trying to run the Operative into something solid. The Operative keeps managing to avoid anything other than a glancing blow. They crash together through the woods, leaving a tunnel of broken branches behind them. They rush out over the water. They charge headlong into the fungus garden, tear through it, bear down upon the larger woods beyond. The Operative knows he’s got to put some distance between himself and his opponent. His smaller weapons aren’t going to be a factor. His larger weapons are too close.
But he opens up with them anyway.
The only thing he can think of: sow the road ahead with pitfalls. He starts using up all the hi-ex in his bomb-rack, flinging grenades forward. Some of them arc upward toward the roof. Some of them lance off into the trees. All of them are aimed not that far ahead. The forest is about to get pummeled into driftwood. Sarmax can achieve the Operative’s death in there but only at the price of his own.
So he does what the Operative thought he would. He changes course—hard to the left. But the Operative’s not buying it. He’s just careening on forward. The two men strain against one another. Their path starts to curve to the left. But not at a sharp enough angle to avoid the impending blasts.
And Sarmax knows it. He does the only thing he can do. He lets go of the Operative, hits the brakes, lets the Operative blast onward into the kill zone. The grenades start to detonate. The Operative steers in among the explosions. He knows where they’re going to occur. He knows where they’re not. He hits his camo, turns off his own jets. He gets as low as he can, and moves into the undergrowth.
He’s not a moment too soon. Because now flame’s cascading down from on high. The Operative quickens his pace. On his screens he can see Sarmax behind him and fifty meters overhead, almost touching the roof’s moon, lighting up the artificial night with his jets, not bothering to camouflage himself as he rains rockets and flame down upon where he thinks the Operative is. The Operative feels himself bombarded by Sarmax’s sensors. He realizes he’s being hunted down like a dog.