But the real action’s on the screens within Haskell’s mind. The formation’s well into the inner reaches of the asteroid now. The core’s not that far off.
“It’s a trap,” she says.
“Of course it is,” says Huselid.
“And yet we’re still driving on it?”
“Not for much longer.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Absolutely”
They’re starting to feel a little gravity under their feet. They pull open a trapdoor; Linehan’s light plays along the corridor beneath. It’s ornately furnished. They’ve clearly come through into some of the living quarters. Carpeting’s burnt here and there. Mahogany panels along the walls are largely intact. Linehan lowers himself through, Spencer follows. They move down the corridor, reach oak doors that have been blasted off their hinges. They move through into the room beyond. “Shit,” says Linehan.
They’ve found some of the Magnates,” says the Operative.
“In what condition?” asks Sarmax. “Minced,” replies the Operative. “But no Throne,” says Lynx. “I thought I told you to shut up,” says the Operative. “I think Leo needs to hear this.”
“Hear what?”
“How you’re taking us way off the beaten path.”
“Yeah,” says Sarmax, “was wondering about that—Hello.”
He and the Operative have come into the rooms where Spencer and Linehan just were. The tether trails out the new corridor down which the men on point have gone. Gore is everywhere. Two of the Magnates and their families had their quarters in these suites. They were held in custody by the Throne’s soldiers. Until the Rain’s machinery butchered them.
“Not a pretty sight,” says Sarmax.
“Never is when hostages outlive their usefulness.”
Which is when Lynx enters the room. And almost gets shot by the Operative and Sarmax. Almost shoots them himself. A general standoff ensues.
“Easy with the guns,” says Lynx.
“Why the fuck are you leaving your post?”
“You know why,” snarls Lynx. “You’re taking us away from the main force. They’re cutting deeper. Driving on the core.”
“So?”
“So I thought you said we were the advance guard!”
“Let me be more specific,” says the Operative.
About two hundred meters out from the core of the asteroid, a switch-up’s in motion. The left; of the Praetorian formation slows while the right accelerates, wheels left as it unleashes a barrage of torpedoes into the tunnels that lead to the Aerie’s center … Aren’t you worried that’ll be too much?” says the pilot. “We know what we’re doing,” says Haskell. At least, the man beside her claims to. Huselid’s clearly gambling that the rock’s integrity will hold despite the tactical nukes about to start blasting away within its heart. Haskell starts plotting the route away from the asteroid’s axis as the pilot starts taking the shaker through a new set of tunnels. Just as shockwaves start tearing through them …
• • •
Jesus,” says Linehan.
“Is right,” mutters Spencer.
Someone’s pulling out all the stops. The walls are shaking like they’re going to fold up at any moment.
“That’s off to our right,” says Linehan.
“Is that the main force?”
It’s time you started talking sense,” says Sarmax. “Look,” says the Operative. “It’s like this.” He beams grids into the minds of both men. The view of the Helios covering the north end of the Platform collapses in upon the south end of the cylinder they’ve come from, closes on the asteroid they’re in: a rock that’s still rotating around an axis that extends through a core that must have just been completely hollowed out by the blasts. Off to one side—set in a southern-facing overhang along the asteroid’s equator—is the Window, the conduit via which heavy mining equipment is moved into the asteroid. Farther south along the asteroid’s opposite side is a door that bulges slightly outward.
“The Hangars,” says Lynx.
“Which is where the Throne originally landed,” says Sarmax.
“Probably,” says the Operative. “But to the extent that anyone’s still holding out there it’s only because the Rain have had bigger fish to fry.”
“But that’s where the spaceships are—”
“Spaceships aren’t what they used to be,” says Lynx.
“Neither are presidents,” says the Operative. “If the Throne stuck to the game plan, then he set up his HQ at the core, but he didn’t stay there when the combat hit. He was supposed to split for the Window as soon as the fur started flying.”
“Do the Rain know that?” asks Lynx.
“I’ve no idea. But what really matters is what they thought we thought. And when the main body of the Hand’s relief force reached this rock, they immediately drove on the core. So that’s where the Rain would automatically figure we still thought the Throne was. They were trying to egg on the Hand, draw the relief force in, and annihilate them accordingly.”
“So the Rain haven’t found the Throne yet?”
“Let’s hope not,” says the Operative.
“But now the Hand’s steaming up behind us,” says Lynx.
“And we’re way closer to the Window than the Rain know,” mutters Sarmax.
“Too right,” says the Operative. “Now how about we move.”
They’re moving at high speed now, charging in toward the Window. Seismic readings keep rippling in from the way they’ve come …
“Those aren’t just our bombs,” she says.
“They probably rigged the core with their own munitions,” says Huselid.
She nods. The Throne’s defenses in the Aerie were clearly overwhelmed early. Haskell can only hope that they kept the Rain as busy as possible while she and the Hand were fighting their way across the cylinder. Huselid’s indicated that the only two places that have a hope of still holding out are the Window and the Hangar. And the relief force just tipped its hand as to which one of those it deems as more important. Haskell’s working feverishly to keep her forces coordinated in the wake of the formation’s switch-up. Some of the outlying units have been cut off—swarmed by dust and drones like jungle creatures being brought down by army ants. She can’t do anything for them once they fall out of contact. In these tunnels, all she can reach is what’s available to her along a chain of vehicles and suits.
But now suddenly her mind’s reaching out much farther than that.