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Authors: David J. Williams
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the gigantic object that’s the center of more than a thousand searchlights.
“Saints preserve us,” says the engineer—and hits the brakes. The train slides to a halt on one of the adjoining platforms. Thedriver glances back at the major—isn’t surprised to see what’s in his hand. He holds up his own hands with an expression of what might be resignation.
“You deserved to see it,” says the man.
And fires twice.
T his is going to be bumpy,” says Spencer.
“I realize that,” says Sarmax.
They’ve done what they can. Each man has wedged himself into a corner of this particular part of the shaft, three levels down from the cockpit. Their armor’s magnetic clamps are on. But they don’t have the backup straps that the soldiers upstairs do. So they’re just going to have to see what happens next.
Which turns out to be a countdown.
“Three minutes,” says Spencer.
“Roger that,” says Sarmax.
Spencer nods—watches the ship’s zone as all systems sync with the countdown. All the exterior doors slide shut.
Except for one.
J esus Christ,” says Haskell.
“Thought you might say that,” says Carson.
Fun and games beneath the Moon: He’s propped her up in one of the driver’s seats of the railcar—has strapped her suit in. Through the windows she can see a large cave. The railcar’s sitting on a trestle bridge in the middle of it. Tunnels in the floor lead farther downward.
“What the hell was the East doing?” she asks.
“Not
was,”
says Carson. “Is. I only killed the ones up here. The rest are down there digging.”
“For what?”
“A way in.”
She stares at him. “How the hell do they know about
that?”
“Maybe you told them.”
“Just now? They’ve been set up here for a while.”
“But not for much longer. My charges are about to go off. We need to get the fuck out of here pronto.”
He hits the gas. She feels the vehicle lurch into life as its retrorockets fire. It starts reversing. She watches through the window as cave gives way to tunnel. The Operative works the controls, and the train does a smooth 180-degree turn—and then accelerates forward …
“We’re heading to Tsiolkovskiy,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“Is the East still holding out there?”
“Who knows?”
“Then why the hell are we going that way?”
“No one’s going to see us coming.”
T he view is almost overwhelming. The Moon’s just backdrop to frenzied space warfare. Ships are strewn all around, firing at will. The L2 fleet is locked in combat with an unseen foe. The DE isn’t on the visible spectrum. It’s lighting up their screens all the same, a barrage of every type of energy weapon imaginable.
“Any idea how it’s going?” says Linehan.
“We’re destroying ’em,” replies Lynx.
Though the East is clearly putting up a fight. Parts of some of the larger ships look like plastic when it’s hit by a blowtorch. A lot of the smaller ships just aren’t there anymore. Clouds of missiles start emanating from a nearby dreadnaught—firing motors, they streak off into space.
“Probably aimed at incoming Eurasian ones,” says Lynx.
There’s a flash: an entire section of another dreadnaught suddenly gets pummeled by long-range laser. Debris and bodies pour from the ship’s interior. As quickly as it began, the flow stops.
“Sealed,” says Linehan. “They’ve cauterized what’s left.”
“Heads up,” says Lynx.
The hangar doors beside them are sliding open.
W hat the hell …?”
“What’s your problem?” asks Sarmax.
“Someone else just got aboard,” says Spencer.
“What difference does it make? We’ve got a few thousand assholes on this crate already.”
“Seems a little strange to be so last minute.”
Sarmax shrugs. He seems lost in his own thoughts. Spencer’s running zone on the last man aboard this ship—the last door having slid shut right as he got in. An exterior camera shows a train’s engine car reversing away along a bridge. The
“Saints preserve us,” says the engineer—and hits the brakes. The train slides to a halt on one of the adjoining platforms. Thedriver glances back at the major—isn’t surprised to see what’s in his hand. He holds up his own hands with an expression of what might be resignation.
“You deserved to see it,” says the man.
And fires twice.
T his is going to be bumpy,” says Spencer.
“I realize that,” says Sarmax.
They’ve done what they can. Each man has wedged himself into a corner of this particular part of the shaft, three levels down from the cockpit. Their armor’s magnetic clamps are on. But they don’t have the backup straps that the soldiers upstairs do. So they’re just going to have to see what happens next.
Which turns out to be a countdown.
“Three minutes,” says Spencer.
“Roger that,” says Sarmax.
Spencer nods—watches the ship’s zone as all systems sync with the countdown. All the exterior doors slide shut.
Except for one.
J esus Christ,” says Haskell.
“Thought you might say that,” says Carson.
Fun and games beneath the Moon: He’s propped her up in one of the driver’s seats of the railcar—has strapped her suit in. Through the windows she can see a large cave. The railcar’s sitting on a trestle bridge in the middle of it. Tunnels in the floor lead farther downward.
“What the hell was the East doing?” she asks.
“Not
was,”
says Carson. “Is. I only killed the ones up here. The rest are down there digging.”
“For what?”
“A way in.”
She stares at him. “How the hell do they know about
that?”
“Maybe you told them.”
“Just now? They’ve been set up here for a while.”
“But not for much longer. My charges are about to go off. We need to get the fuck out of here pronto.”
He hits the gas. She feels the vehicle lurch into life as its retrorockets fire. It starts reversing. She watches through the window as cave gives way to tunnel. The Operative works the controls, and the train does a smooth 180-degree turn—and then accelerates forward …
“We’re heading to Tsiolkovskiy,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“Is the East still holding out there?”
“Who knows?”
“Then why the hell are we going that way?”
“No one’s going to see us coming.”
T he view is almost overwhelming. The Moon’s just backdrop to frenzied space warfare. Ships are strewn all around, firing at will. The L2 fleet is locked in combat with an unseen foe. The DE isn’t on the visible spectrum. It’s lighting up their screens all the same, a barrage of every type of energy weapon imaginable.
“Any idea how it’s going?” says Linehan.
“We’re destroying ’em,” replies Lynx.
Though the East is clearly putting up a fight. Parts of some of the larger ships look like plastic when it’s hit by a blowtorch. A lot of the smaller ships just aren’t there anymore. Clouds of missiles start emanating from a nearby dreadnaught—firing motors, they streak off into space.
“Probably aimed at incoming Eurasian ones,” says Lynx.
There’s a flash: an entire section of another dreadnaught suddenly gets pummeled by long-range laser. Debris and bodies pour from the ship’s interior. As quickly as it began, the flow stops.
“Sealed,” says Linehan. “They’ve cauterized what’s left.”
“Heads up,” says Lynx.
The hangar doors beside them are sliding open.
W hat the hell …?”
“What’s your problem?” asks Sarmax.
“Someone else just got aboard,” says Spencer.
“What difference does it make? We’ve got a few thousand assholes on this crate already.”
“Seems a little strange to be so last minute.”
Sarmax shrugs. He seems lost in his own thoughts. Spencer’s running zone on the last man aboard this ship—the last door having slid shut right as he got in. An exterior camera shows a train’s engine car reversing away along a bridge. The
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