“Damn right I don’t!” He pulled himself hand over hand. “That’s why I excelled . . . in the service.” He was panting like a dog now. “It’s knowing one’s . . . limitations . . . and then ignoring them.” Halfway to her he grabbed a shard of glass—or diamond more likely—that was floating between them. He tried to bring her within reach, sweeping the shard before him as best he could.

She ducked under his swing and rained a series of sharp blows to his face. A couple of his teeth floated free along with blood and spit.

But still he pulled himself toward her in free fall against shifting and moving walls.

“Morrison, is your brain even connected to your body?”

He braced his feet against a wall and launched himself at her. She pushed off another wall and shrank back from a wicked swing that nearly slit her throat.

“The BTC is finished! We need to get out of here.” She could see he was panting for breath. “I can bring you out of here. Just surrender.”

Morrison shook his head. “We’re not . . . leaving. If it’s the . . . last thing I do . . . I’ll prove . . . I’m better.” He rolled the diamond shard in his hand expertly.

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe that . . . makes me better.”

He launched himself at her again, and she pulled herself along a bent and twisted stairwell. Suddenly a sucking wind started to rush past her, and she could see daylight.

There was a two-meter opening in the wall ahead, down a twisted and shuttering corridor filled with free-falling debris.

She glanced back to see Morrison climbing hand over hand to the top of the stairwell, diamond shard between his teeth. Blood all over his face, missing teeth reflected in the surface of the knife. He grabbed the shard and shot a furtive glance at the tear in the side of the building.

“That’s it? You afraid . . . to face . . . me?”

She shook her head. “No interest. That’s something you probably never realized, Morrison. Homo sapiens never killed off Neanderthal; they just outlived them.”

“The technology . . . it’s going with me . . . and this tower . . . into oblivion.”

“Looks that way.”

Morrison was panting, finding it harder and harder to exert himself at this altitude.

“It’s over, Morrison. Give up, and I’ll take you down to the ground.”

Morrison sucked for air. “Fuck you. How the . . . hell . . . can you breathe?”

“I have a third more lung capacity than you, and each of my breaths metabolizes twenty percent more oxygen.”

“Goddamned freak.”

She studied him as he clung to the twisted stairwell handrail. His weathered face and scar-ridden body. His uniform shredded around him. “Why didn’t you ever get cell repair therapy, Morrison? Why did you let yourself grow old?”

He was growing visibly more sleepy now. “There’s such a thing . . . as aging gracefully.”

Alexa laughed in spite of herself. Her visor display told her they were at twenty-eight thousand feet now.

He tapped the handrail with the knife. “Erasing . . . my only failure.”

“A man so demanding even his clones disappointed him.”

Morrison’s eyes were closing as ice started forming around his mouth. “Gotta have standards . . .”

“You’re not coming with me, are you?”

He held up the shard of diamond but was unable to speak.

Alexa glanced at the visor. Thirty thousand feet. She realized suddenly what Cotton was doing. “You’re going to collide with Kratos. You know that? That’s where this building is headed. Cotton’s going to destroy Kratos with the BTC itself.”

Morrison laughed, delirious. “It had to be Cotton . . .”

“Good-bye, Morrison.”

He saluted with the knife unsteadily, as if drunk.

With that she leapt from the opening, aiming to get as far away from the building with her leap as possible. However, she needn’t have worried because the wind blasting away from the blunt front of the BTC building swept her out and then down, away from the artificial gravity field and out into the morning sun. The bitter cold burned.

She glanced up to see the black tower rising into the sky, debris still trailing off it. The light shone dully from its black sides as it headed into the heavens.

 • • •

Grady adjusted his angle of descent, following the erratic trajectory of the sleek, black GMV—which was like a bird clamped to a weight. The exhibit mount apparently was outside the radius of the vehicle’s gravity mirror, dragging it down. Not quite like a stone, but inexorably down nonetheless.

Grady was half a kilometer behind Hedrick and could see Hedrick’s arms moving frantically, trying to keep the vehicle in a controlled descent.

They were just a couple thousand feet above the city now, and Grady glanced back to see the tower of black and white smoke that rose above the city. Debris appeared to be raining down everywhere. It was like a scene from the Rapture—but localized to Detroit. As if the city hadn’t suffered enough.

He didn’t know whether to blame Hedrick or himself for it. He wondered how many had perished. It had been dawn, though. He could see a twenty-story building downtown lean over and then disappear into the maw of the great hole the BTC tower had left behind. A waterfall of river water still roared after it with a great plume of steam, smoke, and dust.

He turned back toward Hedrick with renewed anger. And it became clear where Hedrick was headed. They had descended a couple miles south of downtown, and out here there were fewer large buildings—light industrial sites and scattered houses and businesses. As Grady came down behind Hedrick’s odd-shaped craft, he noticed only one large structure amid what was clearly a decayed urban stretch—a massive twenty-story art deco building shaped like a letter I laid on its back. The building stood beside a curve of rusted railroad lines, which branched out toward it into a series of railheads.

Grady nodded to himself. Hedrick might be making toward the nearest tall structure in order to land his vehicle somewhere where he could try to free it from its mount without being disturbed.

Sure enough, a thousand feet above and hundreds of meters behind, Grady watched the GMV descend at an angle onto the long flat rooftop of the massive building. It kicked up debris as it did so—apparently landing hard. He lost sight of it in the dust cloud and fell toward it at terminal velocity.

As Grady drew near, he realized this was the largest abandoned structure he’d ever seen. It was obviously a massive rail station with many floors of office space above it—and literally all of the hundreds of windows were blasted out. Nonetheless it was an artful structure—architecturally amazing. Grady couldn’t believe the place had been left to rot. It was surrounded at its base by barbed-wire fences, with huge arched windows and pillars—all of the glass broken, and the stone slathered here and there with graffiti.

Grady descended toward the crash-landed GMV below. It was half sunken into the rooftop, but he noticed the canopy was open. Not far away Hedrick was running along the rooftop toward a yawning stairwell door. To Grady’s dismay Hedrick glanced back behind him and on seeing Grady’s approach sprinted as fast as he could toward the door.

Hedrick didn’t appear to have any more weapons, but now the man knew he was coming. Grady touched down next to the stairwell doorway. The roof groaned as he glided toward it, and Grady realized that the decrepit structure wasn’t going to withstand odd directions for gravity. In truth it probably had its hands full dealing with regular gravity.

He killed the power to his gravis and rushed into the darkened stairwell, crunching across trash, broken plaster, and glass. He came down onto the next floor to see that many of the interior walls were missing. There was, instead, a forest of pillars stretching out in both directions and fields of debris and names spray-painted on the walls. The windows here at the penthouse floor were arched, providing a broad view through their empty panes to the Detroit River and lakes beyond.