max fact

It feels like you've been gone a thousand years, but you only lost about thirty seconds of flight time. You are right back where you were, leaving Serge and the others behind at their new camp and striking off towards N-Ridge and the climax of the conflict at the mines.

It's not long before you come across the infamous gap. You are supposed to head straight for N-Ridge with best speed, but the temptation to look more closely into the ruined Grid is too great. You fly in over the original break, changing eye settings so as to look down into what remains of the well fluid as deeply as you can.

Something is in there, all right. In the green and violet murk Gossamer's eyes descry at first a vague bulk; then you start to concentrate. You add layers of interpretation and probability arrays,and the shape refines itself to become an oblong.The first thing that comes to mind is a shipwreck; then you think torpedo. After that the form resolves itself nicely into a shape that is shadowy but unmistakable. It's a MaxFact missile, still live: undetonated.

There are filaments extending from the downed missile into the well fluid. Soft lights glow from within the thing's main body; which doesn't make sense because you know MaxFact missiles to be densely constructed of metal. Yet this one looks translucent - almost gelatinous. It has begun to swell in the middle, pregnant with some unknown quality.The shell of its guidance fins has the soft look of warm glass, and you can see circuit boards and other components silhouetted within.

How did it get diverted so far from N-Ridge? And why didn't it explode on contact with the Grid? And if it hasn't exploded, what's the reason for the dead Grid . . .?

Gossamer is picking up airbornes. The fragrances match your catalog of malevolent agents. Once again, Goss is being chased away from this scene. The Grid doesn't like you spying on it – and come to think of it, Commander Galante won't appreciate your being late, either. You take a last look at the basking missile and bring Gossamer back to her original course before she can break away from you.

Gossamer tears towards N-Ridge on a stiff breeze. At a distance, the Grid soon becomes less threatening. Seen from a height the Grid reminds you of oil making art on water. It's like soap bubbles and candlelight; it's like the swerve of wind-sculpted stone that's taken ages to assume this form but looks as if it could deliquesce at any moment. The Grid is feminine like that; like the sea, like anything subject to change, like any body that yields and sacrifices its nature and transforms itself. Like any thing that pretends to lose and, in so doing, sometimes does lose. And sometimes, against all odds, that wins.

But these are armchair evocations; you can lie on the wind and dream all you like. You are not down there inside it. You are up high, reading the pollen, untangling the grammar of the winds, and in the end, you are speculating.

Nothing's at stake for you, in truth.

Probably you like it that way.

You follow the dead Grid to the mines. It has extended itself since the last time you were here. It ends at a point closer to the mines, and the Grid nearby is taking on the same signs of human-like structure as it was in the place where Serge made camp.

Such darkness as the Grid knows has settled over N-Ridge, and as Gossamer comes wheeling over the mine encampment and looks down, you think of cotton candy and Las Vegas; but only for a moment. The blossoming luminescence over and in the mines is a result of a major MF assault. The perimeter has been entirely surrounded by heavy machinery, and although golems swarm from branches of the Grid to counterattack from the rear, Major Galante's machines are smooth-surfaced and virtually impenetrable. These must be the vanguard of the Third Wave you have been hearing about: fully automated strike forces, unencumbered by humans with their emotional weaknesses.

Major Galante's forces have blown the perimeter fence in three places and as you watch they occupy the compound. The air above the Grid shakes and sings, and you spot two other fliers being blown X-ward across their flight planes, rippling like wayward kites.

You wonder briefly whose eyes lie behind the eyes of the other Gossamers recording the operation. Wendy of the candy machine? It's hard to imagine that. And you wonder if you are the only flier who is ambivalent about whether this assault is a good idea.

After that, there's no time to think anything. You are wholly occupied in watching, registering every detail. You see golems scatter and suicide; some hide within the mine compound. These you locate for MF, which targets some with micromissiles; others are hunted down on foot by Major Galante and her elite eliminatio force. Golems go up like torches as Galante takes back the mines.

The burn scars of the mines' former personnel are still visible. Youi can see where golems have hacked off sections of heavy equipment, as well as the places where they have dragged lighter pieces of machinery out of the buildings and left them, partially dismantled. The mines themselves remain sealed, but they won't be for long. Galante and her strike force leap back into their carrier and get set to blow the mine entrance.

‘I'm waiting for the all-clear from my fliers,’ she tells MF, who are anxious to get inside. ’We don't want any stray golems on the ground when we go in there.’

You and the other two anonymous fliers make your final passes, checking for golems. Another flier spots a band of a heavily armed golems hiding behind a water tower. While they are being targeted and disposed of, you see two of the Grid's children sitting on the perimeter fence, swinging their legs. Watching. You look away quickly and instinctively. There are limits to what you will see, and by seeing it, what you will be a party to.

Gunther's words come back to you. Something he said to you a long time ago, when you first complained about the ugliness.

It's what the Grid wants. The Grid will use your disgust against you. It will use your fear against you. Your morality. You play right into it when you let it manipulate you.

The child golems are dangerous. You have to report them. It's your duty.

GOLEMS ON WALL AT B-17, you compose. You try to send the message but the nex jams. Gossamer is resisting you. She actually turns around in the air and flies over a different part of the mine. You tug at her, wrench her mentally, but she will not obey.

What is happening here?

The third flier spots the girls, anyway. You turn in the air just in time to see a series of micromissiles strafe the perimeter wall where they were sitting. They jump down and land inside the mines.

Stupid fools. Gossamer lurches, goes flying in. You get the weird feeling that the flier is trying to protect these creatures – as if she could.

The girls are running for the breach in the wall. Their hair flies behind them in wet banners; their bare feet dance over rubble and through dust. Missiles stud the ground around them. The first one dives through the hole in the perimeter and seizes hold of a Grid branch likeTarzan grabbing a vine. An explosion throws the second one through the same breach. She lands in a ball, rolls, comes up disoriented. Foot soldiers are pelting after her. She crabwalks backward, one foot black and bleeding.

Major Galante herself is at the head of the team. She halts, steadies her arm to fire her weapon. You try to set yourself for what you know will happen.

Only it doesn't. In an eye-blink, the well opens beneath the child and swallows her. Major Galante's ray gun fires into the fluid, which bubbles with radiance and then subsides.

Suddenly Gossamer is pliant again. You bring her around and continue to sweep the area, alarmed that this could have happened. No one seems to have noticed that you spotted the girls first and failed to alert MF. There are no accusations or questions coming your way.

Gossamer is an indigene. Does she have some loyalty that she's never expressed before?

But how could she, without a cortex?

Eventually, the all-clear comes through and MF sends you back to Serge. You don't get a chance to see Major Galante personally, which is disappointing. It would have been nice to reconnect with someone you respected, to remind yourself that you're one of the good guys. But it doesn't happen.

And when you fly back over the Grid, you'd swear you could hear music. It's elusive, like the blurred bass of a car stereo as the car speeds by, or the inchoate warble between radio stations. But it's enough to drive you off the nex, seeking refuge.