“Everything.”
“Go on.”
“I know it all now. Where the implants start. Where they stop. What lies beyond them. I remember my sixth birthday for real and the counterfeit birthdays before that. Six days after being decanted and here I am thinking I’m a normal fucking kid.”
“And you weren’t even a normal member of the Rain. Just the capstone on the whole project—”
“You need to tell me exactly what you mean by that.”
“I’d rather have you show me everything instead.”
The head of U.S. Space Command has the look of an animal that’s been brought to bay. He’s staring down the barrel of the minigun mounted atop Linehan’s suit. But he’s maintaining his composure.
“The chickens have come home to roost,” he says slowly.
“That’s for sure,” says Lynx. His voice wafts out from behind the consoles he’s busy working on. Everything aboard the Montana has gone haywire. None of Szilard’s marines can get anywhere near this room. Half of them are dead due to suit malfunctions anyway. The lights of the L2 fleet flicker in the window.
“You bastard,” says Linehan. “Do you recognize me?”
“Should I?” asks Szilard.
“I was a member of the team you sent to help the Rain take down the Elevator.”
“An interesting theory.”
“I was there, asshole. In the heart of HK, meeting with those fucks. They fucked me good. So did you. And now I’m going to rip your fucking heart out—”
“So what are you waiting for?”
“Me,” says Lynx. “I might need to ask you a question or two about how you’ve wired this ship’s inner enclave.”
Szilard’s expression doesn’t change. “So you can control it.”
“I already control it, as swipe. I’m talking about the rest of your fucking fleet. To deliver to the president.”
“You mean Matthew Sinclair,” says Szilard.
Because that’s who we’re really talking about, isn’t it?”
“Have it your way,” says Sarmax. “But he—”
“Did it all through Carson? I know. Carson came to you and dragged you out of retirement and explained Sinclair’s whole scheme. Poured honey in your ears and—”
“You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Yeah?
“We almost killed each other first.”
“And I’m supposed to be surprised? When the whole MO of the Rain was to devour each other? Dysfunction junction from the word go and—”
“Fuck, Spencer, I know. Jesus Christ, that’s why I got the fuck out of all that.”
“I heard there was a different reason.”
“Don’t even go there.”
“The conditioning may have backfired on you. But the rest of it didn’t matter. You and Lynx and Carson were the originals: three Praetorians who’d kicked ass together for so long you could practically complete each other’s sentences. What better subject matter for the initial experiment? What better prototypes for the world’s most dangerous hit team?”
“The Manilishi’s telling you this?” asks Sarmax.
“Yeah. And I’m pretty sure the third part of the handler’s book says the same damn thing. Along with all the specifics.”
“The crown jewels, huh?”
“The exact nature of the Autumn Rain experiments, Leo.”
“The compiling of which drove the handler mad.”
“That may be its basic condition.”
“We were flatlined,” says Sarmax. All those years ago. That’s all I know. They took out our lights together: meshed us on the zone, crashed our systems, and then woke us at the same fucking time and after that we were fucking linked in some way. I don’t think it worked out quite as well as they wanted, though. I think they were thinking they were going to get some kind of group-mind effect, and it wasn’t anywhere near that precise. But our reflexes were off the charts. And we could sense when the others were near. I know that Lynx and Carson are heading toward each other behind the Moon right now. I know they know I’m back here. I know that—”
“It has to do with consciousness.”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“It was a specific process.”
“Or more than one.”
“Was it used on me?”
But Sarmax only smiles.
“Or am I Rain myself?” asks Spencer. “Goddamn it, Leo—”
“You’re just a guy who ended up running with the big dogs. Far as I know, anyway. Carson managed to hook you up to the Manilishi, but that was only thanks to software the Throne gave him to implant in you.”
“Rain software.”
“Presumably.”
“From the original tests?”
“Who knows? I’m just telling you what I was told. But the master process—whatever it was—was refined with the second team. They weren’t like us. They weren’t modified. They were—”
“—created. For that purpose.”
“They were hell on bloody wheels, Spencer. They put us in the fucking shade.”
“And now they’re in the shade forever.”
“She told you that?”
“And more besides.”
The final descent is under way. The last of the engines are firing.
“You shouldn’t have trusted Sinclair,” she says. But Carson just grins. “Who said I trust him?”
“Then why the fuck are you carrying out his orders?”
“Sinclair came to me two days before the Elevator went down. He restored what the Praetorians had stripped from me. My memory of those times. The training I’d received. The training I’d given. Said he was worried that his protégés were getting out of hand. Said he might need me to run some interference. Sarmax had left the service with his memories intact. His little secret. Arranged by Sinclair without the Throne’s knowledge. After the Elevator blew, I went to Leo. We struck a deal. We dealt Lynx in on the way back to Earth.”
“And after the naughty little children were defeated, why didn’t you just seize everything on that ship on the way back?”
“Because we needed you to find and destroy the rest of those fucks. Seizing control of everything with them still out there would have made us the target.”
“If Sinclair’s in prison, then how are you in touch with him?”
“I don’t need to be.”
“What?”
“You still don’t get it, Claire, do you? Sinclair’s sitting in his fucking cell watching the universe spin around him.”
“He’s reading minds too?”
“Have you sensed him? On any level?”
She shakes her head. “Not as far as I know. All I’ve got is Spencer’s and a shade or two of yours. Have you?”