“Are deployed. We lost a few to weather. A dozen shot down before we got control of governments.” Yuri turned and led Conner to an airport lounge, where a scanner was waiting. “No matter. We still have enough to complete the transfer. We can always mop up with the drones.” He held his hand out, palm up. “One last backup before. Just in case.”
That was prudent. Danger awaited in Antarctica. Conner slipped into the machine and closed his eyes.
They boarded the plane thirty minutes later, and Yuri instructed the pilot to begin takeoff. In the cabin, he sat across from Conner.
“You know what we have to do.”
Conner knew what Yuri was asking him. He couldn’t bring himself to think it, much less utter the words. Instead, he said, “Get Rendition and get out.”
“He’ll never stop. You know that. Neither will Lin Shaw.”
Conner gazed out the window at the runway passing by, faster each second. “I can’t kill my brother.”
Sadness crept into Yuri’s eyes. “I’d never ask you to.”
“What are you asking me?”
“Not to stop me.”
Chapter 74
As the plane turned east and flew over the Andes, everyone on board was trying to sleep—or pretending to sleep. They were all worrying about the same thing, and thinking very different thoughts.
Desmond was thinking about what Lin had said: that Conner would have to die. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. But what would be the cost of that?
Peyton’s life? The rest of the world?
He knew it then: he couldn’t lose her again. Or his brother.
Peyton was trying to wrap her head around what she had heard. The Looking Glass was like a universe inside a universe—if she understood it correctly. What she had read in her father’s writings finally made sense. He had said that after World War II, the Citium had focused on creating a device that would answer their deepest questions—and make humanity safe from itself. The Looking Glass accomplished both. With Rendition, any catastrophe or war could simply be edited out—like removing a scene from a movie.
What she didn’t understand was how her mother’s device—the Rabbit Hole—was connected. How could a particle accelerator fit in with any of this?
She was sure of only one thing—her mother was still hiding something.
Lin Shaw saw all the pieces, and they were exactly where she wanted them. There was only one variable she couldn’t factor in: Avery Price. The young woman had surprised her once. And she sensed that during the discussion, she had held something back.
Lin remembered something then—from Avery’s initial job interview at Phaethon Genetics. It could be the key to controlling her—if it wasn’t a lie.
Avery stared through the windshield, thinking about her father. If what Lin and Desmond had said was true, he was dead—or his body was. And his consciousness was inside Rook, in a sort of digital purgatory. Not alive, not dead.
Over the past few years, she had watched him slip away, little by little, as if his consciousness was being uploaded slowly, a shell left behind, the body alive but the mind gone. She wished now that she had spent more time with him. But she had dedicated her life to stopping the Citium and the Looking Glass.
Now was her only chance of seeing him again.
“Hey.”
She jumped at the sound of Ward’s voice.
He shushed her and closed the cockpit door.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He plopped down beside her. “We need to talk.”
“About?”
“You know what about. I don’t buy that line they just fed us.”
Avery squinted. “Which part?”
“The part about ‘We can’t stop the Looking Glass.’”
“We can?”
“Of course. Lin Shaw is playing us. She’s got her daughter wrapped around her finger, and who knows what Desmond Hughes is thinking.”
“What are you saying?”
Ward broke eye contact. “When we get there, we destroy Rendition first. Then we take out everyone who can re-create it.”
Desmond. Avery couldn’t look at her boss.
“You understand what I’m saying?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember what I asked you, Agent?” Ward was staring at her now. “I asked you if Hughes had a gun to my head, if you would shoot him.”
“And I said I would shoot him in the shoulder and kick you in the balls.”
“Be serious, Avery. He’s got a gun to the head of every person on Earth. I know you love him. But you took an oath.”
“We can do this without killing him.”
“Maybe. But maybe not. I’m asking you right now—can you do it? I need to know.”
Avery swallowed. “What’s your plan?”
“Destroy Rendition. Take out its creators. Then we take Yuri and/or Conner. Interrogate them, figure out where Rapture Control and Rook are. We storm the beaches. Destroy both. Then the Looking Glass threat is over, the world goes back to normal, and everyone lives—and I mean flesh-and-blood life, not this upload to the quantum computer hocus pocus.”
Avery knew this decision would change her life forever.
“This is what we signed up for, Agent. Sacrifice. The hardest part isn’t giving your life for the cause, it’s knowing what your sacrifice and decisions will do to those you love. Seeing it. That’s the full price. The cost of being selfish is higher. Millions—no, billions of people are counting on us. We are the last line. No one will protect them. Not Yuri, or Conner, or Lin. It has to be us, here, now. I need to know if you’re with me. Will you help me finish this? Will you do what you signed up to do?”
“I’ll do whatever I have to.”
Chapter 75
The airport at Mar del Plata was deserted. The planes were mostly gone. Those that were left looked old and broken down.
They found fuel though, and Avery and Ward stood guard while Peyton and Desmond connected the hose and operated the pump. Lin Shaw slept through the landing and the entire operation.
As they were taking off, Desmond wondered how anyone could sleep at a time like this. Unless she already knew what was going to happen.
The frozen continent was breathtaking. The ice below glittered like a sea of diamonds. As they descended, a long white habitat stretched out like a caterpillar crawling across a white desert. The runway was nothing more than hard-packed ice, an indentation barely noticeable from the air.
Desmond moved to the cockpit and pointed it out to Avery. “Is this going to be a problem?” he asked.
“I’ve landed on worse.”
And she had—Desmond had witnessed it. He had supreme confidence in her. What he wasn’t sure about was how things would turn out after they landed. He felt as though he were about to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel. The edge was looming, everything beyond uncertain and dangerous and unavoidable.
The building that ran along the runway was shaped like a greenhouse with a field of solar cells nearby. The inside held barracks for the construction crew, living quarters, and supplies and equipment that couldn’t stand the elements. Beside it, Charter Antarctica’s fleet of snow vehicles sat idle. There were three snowmobiles and three PistenBully 300 Polar snowcats—large machines with tracks and instruments for moving ice and equipment. Each of the snowcats could be fitted with a pushing blade like a bulldozer, or a transportation bucket similar to a loader; one of them was already fitted with a radio-controlled hydraulic crane. The company had bought four of these large snow machines—so one of them was gone. Probably just left at the ice hotel.
The sun glared off the ice as they landed. The date was December 23—the summer solstice in the Southern Hemisphere—and the sun was at its zenith: 23.5 degrees in the sky. Every day after, it would descend toward the horizon until it finally set in March, during the vernal equinox. Darkness twenty-four hours a day would follow—for six months—until the sun rose once more in September, for the only time that
year.
Desmond had first come to Antarctica a year after he and Peyton had broken up. He had stayed at a luxury resort that featured excursions to the South Pole and to a colony of emperor penguins. He had come to clear his mind and get away, but he had left with a lifelong love for this beautiful place—and a desire to help others experience it, not just the wealthy. That had been the mission of Charter Antarctica—to make this adventure available to anyone intrepid enough to undertake it, regardless of their means.
As soon as the plane rolled to a stop, Desmond opened the door and gritted his teeth as the cold embraced him. He, Avery, and Ward had debated their approach at length and had decided not to radio ahead, but rather to storm the building without notice. Desmond was wearing the cold weather gear from one of the Navy SEALs who had protected Peyton and Lin in the Arctic during their expedition to the Beagle. Ward wore the other SEAL’s gear, and Avery had donned Peyton’s. Peyton and Lin were bundled below blankets at the back of the cabin, trying to stay warm.
Desmond let the staircase slam into the ice, then descended, Ward and Avery close behind. His breath came out in white puffs as his feet crunched into the icy snow. Soon his lungs ached from the cold, and the crunching sound seemed louder in the still quietness around them.
Avery pulled ahead and burst through the door, rifle held up. The antechamber had rows of boots and heavy coats, but no fresh snow, no puddles of water below, and not a soul in sight. Ward was last through the door, which he slammed behind him. He doubled over, hands on his knees, panting. “Keep going,” he managed between breaths.
Avery slipped through the next door, Desmond behind her.
They heard talking and laughing at the end of the hall. Avery crept along the narrow corridor. A tool room lay to their right. Empty. A supply room with cold weather gear sat open beside it—also unoccupied. A common bathroom and showers were on the left. Empty, water off. The doors to the bunk rooms on each side of the hall were open. Avery motioned for Desmond to pause.
With her rifle at the ready, she leaned slowly into the doorway, peeked quickly, then repeated it on the other side. Desmond could smell coffee now, and voices he recognized, though he couldn’t place them.
Avery met his eyes and motioned for him to cover the bunk room on the right. Ward was coming up behind them, but she didn’t engage him.
She crossed the doorway, sweeping her rifle across as she scanned the room. Desmond did the same on the opposite side. The bunks were empty except for a middle-aged man with a thick beard, streaked with gray, lying on the bottom bunk, a tiny light on, reading a paperback in his thermal underwear, like a child staying up past his bedtime. Desmond didn’t recognize the man, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t one of Yuri’s Citium Security operatives. He looked right at home in Antarctica.
When the man realized Desmond was there, he dropped the book and reeled back, his mouth open. Desmond held a single finger to his lips and nodded for Ward to watch the man.
The other bunk room was empty, and Avery led the way down the corridor to the rec room. She and Desmond burst through the opening at the same time, guns held out.
A ripple of alarm went through the room’s occupants: four construction crew members who were playing a game of Risk while a movie—Into the Sea—played in the background. They all froze, then slowly raised their hands. Desmond recognized one of the men: Lars Peterson, the construction foreman for the ice hotel.
“Who else is here?” he asked.
“Just us,” Peterson said in a Scandinavian accent. “Well, and Jacobs is in his bunk.”
“The people I sent here—where are they?”
Peterson furrowed his brow. “They left.”
A bolt of fear ran through Desmond.
From the hall, Ward yelled, “Hey, what’s our status?”
“Join us!” Desmond called back. “Bring Jacobs.” To Peterson he asked, “When did they leave?”
“I don’t know, a month ago. They heard about the outbreak on the radio and said they needed to get back to their families. Except for the young people and that scientist,” Peterson added. “They’re at the hotel playing their video game.” He scoffed. “Not enough juice here.”
Desmond spun to Avery. “The programmers are still here—only the boat crew left.”
“How far is the hotel?”
“Twenty miles inland.”
“Let’s go,” Ward said, already turning to leave.
To Peterson, Desmond said, “Lars, I need to borrow some cold weather gear and a snowcat.”
“Of course.” The man stood and began down the corridor to the supply room.
“Has anyone else been here?” Desmond asked as they walked.
“No, just the penguins and us.” Peterson eyed Desmond’s rifle, still looking a little disturbed by it. “We’re… making solid progress on the hotel. We think next season—”
“Good,” Desmond said. “This is about something else.”
“It involves the young people?”
“Yes.”
Peterson handed over the keys to a snowcat and gear for Peyton and Lin. The garments were a little large, but they would keep them warm. Ward complained about taking Peyton and Lin along, but Avery pointed out that if they left them behind, they could be used as hostages if Yuri arrived.
Desmond took Peterson aside and spoke quietly. “I need you to do something for us.”
The man raised his eyebrows.
“Watch the runway. Take shifts outside. If anyone lands, I need you to radio us immediately. Then lock yourselves in the barracks.”
Peterson grimaced. “Are we in danger?”
“I’m just being cautious. Will you do it?”
“Of course.”
Desmond pushed the snowcat to its limits. The engine screamed, and the tracks threw up snow in its wake, like a monster truck powering through mud. The glimmering white hills rolled by in a flash, a background on repeat in a cartoon.
The enclosed cab was surprisingly comfortable. Ward sat in the passenger seat, Avery, Peyton, and Lin in the back. They listened as Desmond described the layout of the hotel. He didn’t know its current status, but it was intended to be a ring, with a large lobby and open ballroom at the entrance. In the center of the ring was a solar power array that was disguised to look like a reflecting pool. A hallway ran the length of the ring on the inside, with the bedrooms all on the outside, so every guest could take in the views. Most were bunk rooms, like a giant hostel, but there were a few private suites. Desmond had insisted the architect design the structure to be both breathtaking and functional—to accommodate as many people as comfortably possible.
Ward opened the glove box and rummaged around. He took out a sheaf of papers and unfolded one. “Does your hotel look like this?”
He was holding a blueprint of the floor plan. It made sense the construction crew would keep this handy.
“Yeah, that’s it. But I think the far side of the ring is still under construction—based on the last report. The Rendition team is probably in the ballroom. It would be the warmest place because of the heat coming in through the ceiling.”
“The construction foreman said they needed juice,” Avery said. “For what?”
“Rendition. The developers brought the Rendition server from the office. It’s like a small Rook array that allows an instance of Rendition to run. It takes a lot of power though. The solar array at the barracks isn’t nearly as powerful as the one at the hotel. I think they’re using the power to run the portable Rook server and load Rendition.” He thought for a moment. “If they’re using it when we arrive, we’ll have to get them to exit the program.”
“Why?” Avery asked.
“We designed the Looking Glass to enable those with root access to move back and forth—between it and the corporeal world. It was essential. After all, someone has to oversee the maintenance of the Rook array. Anyway, we never had time to program the eventuality of the Rook array spontaneously shutting off. It’s one of t
he assumptions of the program: the underlying system will always be there. Long story short, pulling the plug could cause brain damage. I can go in using my Rapture implant and get them.”
The group was silent. Ward shot Avery a look that Desmond couldn’t quite read.
When the hotel appeared ahead, situated atop a ridge, Peyton, Lin, and Avery leaned forward to get a better view. The other snowcat was parked outside, and Desmond parked beside it. As they had done at the barracks, Desmond, Avery, and Ward got out and entered first.
The steel double doors creaked as Desmond pushed them open. The lobby was empty and eerily quiet. Desmond took off his goggles and pulled the insulated hood from his head.
The ice floor was pitted like travertine to provide traction. They crept across it carefully, rifle butts barely touching their shoulders. The ballroom loomed just ahead. Everyone at Charter Antarctica had taken to calling it “the rotunda” because of its domed glass ceiling and incredible acoustics.
In the middle of the room, in a six-foot-tall server rack, sat the Rendition server Raghav and his team had brought with them. Its face plates were obsidian, and they shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the ceiling.
Beside it, four cots stood in a row, each holding a programmer lying peacefully. No wires ran to the server—the implants communicated wirelessly—but Desmond knew from their breathing they were inside Rendition.
Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he spun and trained his rifle on a man wearing a heavy parka and reading glasses. Dr. Manfred Jung.
Desmond lowered his rifle.
“Doctor.”
“Hello, Desmond. It’s good to see you again.”
More footsteps behind them. Two women, both in their twenties. Desmond didn’t recognize them, but assumed they were Raghav’s girlfriend and Melanie’s sister. The hall behind them was sealed with a temporary construction wall, hanging strips of thick plastic—most likely to keep the heat in.