Free The Burning Skies by David J. Williams Page A

point. Leo’s next. Then the Manil—I mean Claire. I’ll be covering her and guarding the rear. Got it?”
    “So that’s why I’m still alive,” says Lynx. Another target.”
    “Basically,” says Sarmax.
    “You must be enjoying this, Leo.”
    “Am I that transparent?”
    The train slides to a halt. The doors open—but Sarmax is already shoving Lynx through them, stumbling onto a narrow platform. Everybody follows. There aren’t many ways out of here. Just a stairwell and an—
    “Elevator,” says Carson.
    They press inside. It’s a tight fit. Haskell feels Carson’s suit press against hers. She feels as though she’s in a dream. It’s like she’s seen all this before—she feels the floor press up beneath her, level after level, they flick upward into the rafters of the Euro city. Gravity starts to subside. When they finally stop, there’s not much of it left.
    “Ready?” says Carson.
    “Let’s do it,” says Sarmax.
    They hit their suits’ thrusters as the door opens, heading out into an empty corridor, then through what seems to be some kind of antechamber. Beyond it is a door so thick it looks like it was pried out of some bank vault.
    “You got the key?” asks Haskell.
    “I’d better,” replies Carson.
    He triggers the necessary codes. The massive door starts to swing open. As the door gets past forty-five degrees open, Sarmax shoves Lynx forward, through that doorway and to the left, while he hits his own thrusters and heads to the right. Carson and Haskell wait.
    But only for a moment.
    “Clear,” shouts Sarmax.
    Carson gestures at Haskell. She shoves off the floor, floats into the room alongside him as the door swings shut behind them.
    “Not too far,” he says. She fires compressed air, stops—looks around to see that the room’s on two levels. She and Carson and Lynx are on the deck that constitutes the outer level, a circle around the sunken inner one, where Sarmax hovers, scanning surfaces. The walls curve between two windows situated opposite each other, each one cutting across the outer level. Space flickers in one of those windows—lights of ships and stars set against an all-consuming black.
    The other window shows the interior of the cylinder. The lights of twilit city stretch away on all sides, descending to three valleys that look like the sides of some vast equilateraltriangle whose segments have been thrust apart. One of the gaps between two of the valleys shows a sun on the point of setting. The other gaps contain largely darkened mirrors. Night’s almost fallen on the land.
    “It’s almost here,” says Haskell.
    “What?” asks Carson.
    He looks at her, and she knows she can’t explain. How could she? Everything’s turned around her. She was going south and now she’s been slung back north, back into the heart of the city. Sixth-sense pivots within her head; the maps upon her skin take on new meaning. All this time she thought she was looking out through the lens of intuition and all the while it was looking in at her. Everything was leading here. She tries to speak, muttering something about how the view’s not cheap.
    “It wasn’t money that bought it for us,” says Carson. He floats near the door, closer now to Lynx than to Haskell. He nods in the direction of Sarmax—more one-on-one coordination, Haskell presumes. Sarmax makes a return gesture.
    “Shouldn’t I get away from these windows?” she asks.
    “They’re one-way,” says Carson.
    “So now we wait for your masters?” asks Lynx.
    “Yours too,” says Carson. “Have a seat.”
    He shoves Lynx into one of the chairs that ring the outer level of the room. Lynx sits there, stares at what’s left of his wrist. Haskell feels his amputation as though it’s her own. She doesn’t know why. But he has the demeanor of someone who owned the universe only to lose it. She senses much history among these three men. History it seems the files only hint at.
    “It embarrasses me for you to see us