“At power threshold,” says the Operative.
“Main target acquired,” says Sarmax.
The Helios is only eighty klicks away. It’s far too big to miss. Nailing it is going to be a piece of cake. The real problem is nailing what counts within it.
“Acquire nexus,” says the Operative.
“Scanning,” says Sarmax.
Which is when lights suddenly start filtering into the room through the open door—lights of something coming their way. Something that’s not in the mood to be stealthy.
“Acquire nexus,” repeats the Operative.
“I’m working on it,” hisses Sarmax.
The two men shoot through the rift in the asteroid hull, surge on out into space—and total chaos. The spectrums are on overload. Directed energy’s flying everywhere, all too much of it aimed at the thing that’s towering above them. Linehan darts in toward it.
And Spencer follows. Because he sees the logic, mad though it may be. The only thing this thing can’t hit with its guns is itself; he charges after Linehan, thrusters flaring, as the surface beneath him erupts anew. The charges Linehan tossed down there are detonating. The drones are getting shredded. But the two men have bigger things to worry about.
One giant thing, in fact. Whose lowermost rear guns are lowering still further, unleashing plasma that’s spraying over their heads as they dart past it, grabbing onto metal paneling and …
“Get in there!” screams Linehan.
Got it!” yells Sarmax.
“Preliminary burst,” says the Operative. Energy streaks from one of the barrels of the gun, strikes the room’s window, melts a hole in it, melts the edges around the hole. Plastic drips. The light in the doorway’s growing brighter.
“Zero margin,” says Lynx.
“So take the shot,” says the Operative.
“With pleasure,” says Sarmax.
Energy streaks from the main barrel out into space.
They’ve got their laser cutters out, ripping away at the metal in this beast’s side. Linehan’s almost gotten a whole panel off. Spencer’s halfway through another when the panel suddenly slides aside—he moves with it just in time to evade the burst of KE rounds from the minigun that’s extending from the space within. In the next instant he’s slicing the barrel in two and pivoting past it, cutting through the metal beyond to reveal an opening. He and Linehan crawl through it as fast as they can go. As if sensing their intentions, the vehicle starts speeding up, trundling along the surface toward the hangar. More shots slam against it. Spencer and Linehan pull themselves up a narrow chute. A clawed drone leaps at them. They waste it, keep on climbing as the behemoth in which they’re riding accelerates.
First shot’s away” says Sarmax.
“And we’re still alive,” says Lynx. Meaning the Manilishi called it. Their laser just struck one of the antennas along the Helios, sandwiched between a solar panel and one of the microwave guns. Codes devised by the Manilishi and enclosed within the wavelengths of the laser are going to town, moving straight to the primary targeting system and paralyzing it. It won’t stay that way for long. Whoever’s aboard will find a way to beat it. Or else they’ll cut the wires and jury-rig the targeting.
But the Operative doesn’t intend to give them the chance.
“Round two,” he whispers.
And triggers the gun’s third barrel. This one isn’t a laser at all. Coils touch; electromagnetism surges; nuclear-tipped projectiles sail off into space. Even as machinery bursts into the room: three hunter-killer droids. The Remoraz’s rear guns start firing, lacerating targets. The three men spread out as they blast the intruders, trying to maximize cross-fire. Two of the droids are down. The third retreats.
“After it!” yells the Operative.
But Sarmax is already putting micromissiles down the corridor. There’s a large explosion.
“Scratch one metalhead,” he says.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” says the Operative.
“And leave those?” asks Sarmax, pointing at the laser cannon and the vehicle.
“Along with some souvenirs,” says the Operative.
• • •
The control room,” breathes Linehan. Only nothing human’s at the helm. Whoever was running the show before this thing got commandeered has been turned into sliced meat. It’s on autopilot now, with a very specific set of directives. The room’s shifting from side to side like a boat in an angry sea. The screens show carnage: bunkers getting burned, Praetorians getting laced, metal getting smashed.
“So much for the outer perimeter,” says Spencer.
“Shut up and burn it!” yells Linehan.
They lower their arms, start firing. Screens shatter. They start spraying the computers behind the screens. The floor’s tilting—Spencer and Linehan are firing their thrusters, trying to stabilize themselves as the monster they’re in revs up to speeds well beyond its safety margins. The screens that still remain show it’s no longer making for the Hangar.
“Going fucking haywire,” screams Linehan.
And then the screens go blindingly white.
Electromagnetic pulse washes across them, but only barely. The warheads weren’t designed to spray massive amounts of radiation everywhere. All they were designed to do was annihilate several klicks of target.
“It’s gone,” says the Operative.
They are too. They’ve left the room behind, and are now blasting through the gutted chambers of the ultrarich. They can see bodies everywhere. But it’s what they can’t see that’s worrying them …
“Pursuit,” says Sarmax.
“No shit,” says Lynx.
Shots are streaking past them. Machinery’s surging after them: droids, dust, minidrones, the works. They’re turning on their afterburners. But this place is a maze. They can’t hit full thrust. They’re heavily outnumbered. Meaning they’d better do something fast.
“Back to the cylinder,” yells Sarmax.
“Fuck no,” screams Lynx. “Let’s hit the hull!”
“Neither!” yells the Operative—and explains as they go.
They’re setting off nukes!” yells Spencer.
“Can you see where?”
“The direction of the cylinder! Can’t tell beyond that!”
Their sensors are overloaded, but their vehicle is still intact. Still running amok, it lurches across an uneven area of the hull—almost tips into a crevasse, but somehow finds the far side. The remnants of the screens show Praetorians and droids scattering, doing their utmost to give it a wide berth. It steams past the main fighting, starts to leave the Hangar behind.
“Let’s get out of this fucking thing,” yells Spencer.
“Why?” asks Linehan calmly.
Spencer stares at him. They’re both clinging onto the walls. “Because we could tip over at any fucking moment!”