They passed up one door because it appeared to be alarmed—why alert the new arrivals to their exit? A second door, at the end of a hall, led to the loading dock Taj had passed on his way in.
He could hear noise from inside the crematorium—raised voices followed by the crash of equipment. Or so he hoped; he had no desire to see young Ishat injured.
“I do not have my brother’s ashes,” Kalyan said.
“I fear you are unlikely to get them.”
Taj listened again; there were voices from people outside the crematorium, circling around it from his left.
He did not want to believe that they were hostile, a threat to his life and Kalyan’s. But he had to be careful.
He pressed his keys into Kalyan’s hand. “My car is the only one on the next street,” he said, nodding to the right. “Go there now and drive away. Don’t return to your hotel. Go to the nearest police station.”
Kalyan had slowly registered the danger of the situation. Now he displayed full panic. “I don’t know how to do this—!”
“Take the keys,” Taj said, in what he hoped was his command voice. “Go to the first car you see, get in, start it, drive away as quickly as you can.”
It worked. Kalyan merely blinked, took the keys, and, without another word, turned and ran off.
Taj pulled his service revolver and headed around the building to the left.
Hebbai Electric Crematorium was not large, though the press of neighboring buildings made it difficult for large formations to circle it.
Taj was waiting when the Aggregate formation came around the corner, two by two, a THE counselor in their midst.
“Who are you?” the counselor said. He was, like all THE, in his twenties. He actually appeared to be nervous.
“A hero of India,” Taj said, training his pistol on the agent. “Stop talking and stop walking.” He found himself distracted by the presence of the Aggregates . . . now a dozen anteater-like beings that came up to his shoulder. These were red and yellow, like characters from a superhero movie, and constantly in motion, each pair taking up a position around Taj that was either for observation or containment. They were not silent, either, but buzzing to each other like giant insects.
Taj kept his pistol aimed at the young man from THE. “I’m going to walk away,” he said. “Please inform your alien associates that I will shoot you if there’s a problem.”
The young man had his hands up in the classic posture. Taj slid to his right, hoping to reach the corner of the next building, so he could turn and run. The fact that he had not run more than two steps in a decade was of minor concern.
At some level of consciousness, he could not believe his situation. Threatened by an entire Aggregate formation in Bangalore? Pursued by body-snatching or grave-robbing criminals allied with India’s military?
Then he remembered his mission to Keanu, and the mix of the impossible and the insane he had experienced in that week, and he was forced to conclude: This was only the second most ridiculous thing he’d done in his life.
He was about to test his running skills when he heard, “General Radhakrishnan! You must stop!”
In truth, he had nowhere to run . . . only an open alley.
He turned and saw Kaushal walking toward him, two Indian Air Force guards at his side . . . two strange men and all three THE agents behind them.
And the Aggregates flanking them all.
“This is no longer your business,” Kaushal said. “We’re here for Sanjay Bhat’s body.”
“You’re too late. It’s been cremated.”
“That’s a disappointment.”
“To you?”
Kaushal grunted. “I’m indifferent.”
“Kaushal, what’s the point of this? The man is dead.”
Kaushal turned toward the others; the humans, all quite agitated, were conferring. The Reivers were arranging themselves in pairs, as if preparing to fan out. “He came from Keanu. Now that you allowed the others to escape, he’s all they have, or had.”
“But for what—?”
“You were there, General! Dead isn’t dead to these people, right?”
“Cremated is dead as far as I’m concerned.”
The civilians and THE types had come to a decision and were already in motion, some heading back to the crematorium, another group heading for Taj, and a third going the opposite way down the alley, toward Taj’s car.
He could not let them catch Kalyan. He had only met the man, their connection was only through the dead brother, the smart move would have been to simply hope he had already gotten away—
Even though Kaushal’s guards had guns on him, Taj suddenly started back down the alley toward his car, reaching for his pistol and shouting, “Stop!”
Ahead of him, a THE counselor and a civilian operative halted, but two pairs of Aggregates kept right on going. Taj fired twice, hitting one of the Reiver anteaters high on its back.
The sight—shards of “skin” flew off the Reiver, which stopped immediately—and sound—like breaking glass—were incredibly satisfying. Taj realized that he had unfinished business with these creatures.
But before he finished that thought, he felt a blow in his right side, a deep punch that staggered him even as he registered a gunshot.
Then he was on the pavement, lying on his side, gasping, hurting. There was tremendous commotion around him—voices, shadows.
The last thing he saw was Kaushal looming over him. The last thing he heard was Kaushal saying, “You idiot.”
FIRST LIGHT
22 APRIL 2040 0001:00 MDT
FIRE LIGHT
09 MAY 2040 0001:00 MDT
TIME TO FIRST LIGHT
23 hours and counting
COUNTDOWN CLOCK AT SITE A
CARBON-143
SITUATION: Carbon-143 returned to her workstation in a state of communal ecstasy. The knowledge that final Fire Light ignition of the Ring transmitter would have negative effects on organic and quasi-organic human life—quite likely resulting in her own destruction—was outweighed by her sense of triumph. She was designed to take satisfaction in working as part of her formation, which had been accomplished by participation in the assault force launch simulation.
She realized she was also experiencing an anomalous jolt of accomplishment combined with guilt due to her independent cybernetic sleuthing. This was a somatic state she was less familiar with. The only element—rather, individual—likely to assist her with an evaluation of this state was Randall Dehm. But encounters with Dehm were unpredictable. It was quite likely this state would pass long before Carbon-143 had an opportunity to disclose it.
Would she remember it? She would have a record of the facts, naturally, but these new somatic episodes were not formally accessible the way data or procedures were.
NARRATIVE: Two hours and nineteen minutes into the next shift, the entire formation received another general message: “Basic systems update. Disengage.”
As one, all twelve elements of the Carbon-143 formation disconnected from the assembly-line equipment and backed away.
Another general message followed: “Resumption of activity anticipated in seven minutes.”
Carbon-143 and the others found themselves with unanticipated and unprogrammed time. On the four occasions this had happened in the past, Carbon-143 had remained on station. Three times she had been able to interact with Dehm, whose workstation was adjacent, and whose systems were usually offline at the same time.
She did not have to wait long. Dehm emerged from the next station, looking troubled. Carbon-143 had no skill at initiating conversation with humans, though she had learned the utility of proximity: If you are in his path, he will speak.
/>
This time the maneuver failed!
“I can’t talk now.”
Dehm rapidly disappeared from the line, leaving Carbon-143 in the position she had assumed, some distance from the other elements, all of them still waiting for the signal to resume activity.
ACTION: She knew she should return to the formation immediately, and turned to execute that maneuver when she found her path blocked by Whit Murray.
“Sorry,” he said. He stepped to his left just as Carbon-143 moved to her right.
They were left in the same position. “Sorry, again,” he said.
Carbon-143’s programming indicated that she should remain where she was, allowing the more mobile and independent organic—Whit Murray—to initiate his own maneuver.
But in the long interval—from her perspective—between accessing that set of commands and initiating them, Carbon-143 realized that Whit had as much potential use as recipient of her information as did Dehm. After all, Dehm had connected them.
She stepped to her left just as Whit tried to get past her for the third time.
Now he stood there, saying, “Do you need something from me?”
Since he had initiated conversation, she felt empowered: “I have information to share.”
Whit flinched, a reaction Carbon-143 recognized as surprise. “What? And why me?”
“About the nature of the Ring and its possible side effects on the environment when triggered.”
Whit’s eyebrows rose, a reaction recognizable as curiosity combined with interest. “What are they?”
As precisely as she could, Carbon-143 referenced the radiation levels that would result from both a test pulse—the so-called First Light—and the operational firing known as Fire Light. “Won’t that be bad for all that stuff out there?” he said, jerking his thumb in what he obviously thought was the direction of the tank field. He was mistaken, by at least sixty degrees, but Carbon-143 elected not to offer a correction.
“Extremely.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“Not unless the goal is to leave nothing of use behind following the transfer.”
Whit opened his mouth to speak, then, strangely, closed it without uttering a word. And Carbon-143 received the formation-wide signal to return to her station.
As she turned toward it, Whit scurried around in front of her. “You can’t drop a bomb like that and just walk off.”
“I’ve been ordered back to my station.” She could see Eleven and Ten already plugging in. In seconds, her absence would be noted and cause for review.
She kept moving; Whit moved with her. “I’ve got it. I need to get back, too.” He lowered his voice. “We need to talk more. When does your shift end?”
“My shift never ends.”
“Oh,” he said, “right.” He followed Carbon-143 right up to her station. “Can you, uh, send me the material?” He obviously realized, belatedly, that their conversation might be unapproved or troublesome. He actually smiled at Eleven and Ten as he said, with a noticeable increase in volume, “I think we can help the Project.”
“I will locate you,” Carbon-143 said, suddenly and strangely unsure of her actions.
ANALYSIS: She had returned to her station and resumed her work with no detectable loss of performance. (She had received no queries about delays from higher on the information tree.)
Yet she spent the next twenty minutes in a state of agitation pondering two questions: Had she betrayed the Project by obtaining and now revealing certain information?
Had she betrayed Dehm by speaking with Whit?
She was uncomfortable with the realization that she had insufficient data to answer either question.
INDIAN SPACE HERO WOUNDED IN ROBBERY
Retired general Taj Radhakrishnan, 66, was severely wounded in an apparent attempted robbery in North Bangalore yesterday. He has been taken to Sagar Hospital, where his status is critical.
Reporting is still incomplete, but the incident occurred in the business district of Hebbal near 5th Main Road around 9 A.M. A shopkeeper found the astronaut shot and lying in an alley. His wallet had been taken.
An Air Force pilot by training, Radhakrishnan became the second citizen of India to fly in space in 2014, and again in 2019, when he commanded the ill-fated Brahma mission to Near-Earth Object Keanu.
More recently he has been involved in the return of inhabitants of Keanu, one of them his son, Pav.
Dr. Melani Remilla of the Indian Space Research Organization disputed the suggestion that the attack on General Radhakrishnan was related to this activity.
BANGALOREMIRROR.COM (CITY SECTION),
THURSDAY, APRIL 19, 2040
DALE
The trip by railcar from the vesicle factory to the human habitat took half an hour and was so noisy and rattling that conversation was impossible. Crammed into a single car with Makali, Dale found that the only thing the two of them could do was stare at each other awkwardly.
In any case, Dale had little to offer. Word that the Beehive had come to life had driven Zhao, Makali, and the others toward the railcars. Having just made the hike from the human habitat, Dale had been happy to be taken along for the ride, his first since the weird trek of 2019. He heard no invitation, but he heard no warning to get lost or stay out of this.
So far he was serene about his decision to reengage with his fellow humans, though he was disappointed that his communion with Keanu had not proved to be more useful—that is, that he was still having to prove himself.
That might change. In a major improvement over the previous seventy of his seventy-one years, Dale’s timing seemed to be good. Of course, his decision to visit the habitat had been spurred by the worrisome messages from the Keanu system about troubles for Rachel and crew on Earth. Nevertheless, he had followed up, and thus learned of the existence of the vesicle and the plans for its use . . . and now the Beehive had come back to life.
He was certain these were all related somehow, though cause and effect were still elusive. But if anyone could discover that linkage, it was Keanu-linked Dale Scott. He just needed more input, as they used to say at NASA.
The trip was not only an improvement over a second long walk through the tunnels, it showed Dale that the rail line was old, battered, and from the discolorations and wear had seen heavy use. Which suggested that the HBs were desperate for Substance K.
Desperate people did risky things . . . like put five humans, including a teenaged girl, and an alien aboard a thousand-year-old vehicle and fire them toward a planet that did not want them.
Such as come up with a cockamamie backup plan involving some kind of secret bioweapon they hoped to sneak into Earth’s atmosphere. Unless the Reivers had somehow managed to not only dominate Earth, but to make humanity forget whatever it had learned in the past hundred and fifty years, radar and missile defenses would still be in existence. It seemed to Dale that this vesicle gambit had little chance of success.
And what then? His concern for the outcome was not just academic—his fate was tied to Keanu. How would the Reivers respond to an invasion and/or an attack? Would they be content to let Keanu remain in orbit . . . indefinitely, untouched?
Or would they fire their own weapons? Worse yet, would they invade? They might feel that they had a right to retake the NEO, since it had been their home for a few millennia.
Dale had a sudden, unwanted image of Reiver microbes spreading up the walls of this very tunnel . . . and anteater model aliens marching toward him.
He couldn’t allow that. If—be polite and don’t think “when”—Harley Drake and Jaidev and Zhao’s big plans went to shit, Dale should be ready with his option.
Move Keanu.
And who better to pilot the NEO to a new destination, a new destiny, than former astronaut and test pilot, Keanu-linked Dale Scott?
The cars ar
rived at the loading complex outside the human habitat with a screeching bump. Everyone but Dale exited automatically and wordlessly, even though it appeared there was a turn in the rail that would allow the cargo car to move directly into the habitat.
But Dale chose to follow Makali and Zhao, who walked swiftly, their team members forming up behind them, not only creating a security barrier—deliberate? Or just habit?—but keeping Dale from hearing their words. It was obvious they were talking about the Beehive, and that all were agitated, even steady, unexcitable Zhao.
From the entrance, the whole of the habitat spread out like a landscape painting, neat little buildings clustered among fields and forests, the Temple dominating it all. It was a more pleasing view than Dale’s last, over his shoulder during the half-light of “night.” He was amused to realize that he had spent sixteen years away from the human habitat, and was now making his second entrance in the same day.
“Keep up, everybody. It’s at the far end.” Dale wondered why Zhao had to remind the others where the Beehive was located, but realized that two of the vesicle makers were in their twenties and had likely been brought to Keanu as small children with no experience of the place.
Or it might just have been a sign that Zhao liked to tell people what to do.
They reached the Temple within fifteen minutes, where Jaidev was waiting on the steps. “Harley and Sasha are already on their way,” he told Zhao. Only then did he spot Dale. “Why the hell are you back?”
“You welcomed me earlier, remember?” Dale said. “You wanted to keep me, too.”
Jaidev turned away, as if he could no longer bear to think about this.
As they continued their journey, Zhao asked what had happened. “You know little less than we do,” Jaidev said. “Jordana Swale was near the mouth of the Beehive and noticed a strange light.”
“I don’t know her.”
“She’s one of the senior farmers,” Makali said. “I know her. Very well grounded. I bet she didn’t investigate by herself.”
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