Heaven’s Fall

by David S. Goyer

  Then they were in a tunnel, and within moments through several doors and into a factory floor filled with Reivers working under dim lights.

  Xavier was first to comment, when it became obvious that he and Zeds were going to be working here, too. “We can’t see shit.”

  “We’ll fix that in a minute,” de la Vega said.

  He went off to issue more orders. Only then did Zeds realize that he was surrounded by Reivers of what the humans called the anteater variety, all of them busy at devices that emitted a low, rumbling hum and accomplished nothing Zeds could understand. (His sense of smell told him the walls were crawling with several of the smaller templates, too. His vision was not good enough to confirm this, however.)

  He must have reacted in a visible or audible way to prompt Xavier’s comment. “It won’t be easy,” he said.

  Xavier slapped him halfway up his back. “Don’t worry, this will all be over soon.”

  “And we may be dead.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  Compared to other sentient races, Sentries, Zeds had been told, were fiery by nature, freakishly quick to take action. These traits had recommended them to the Architects as allies in their war against the Reivers.

  They had also been their downfall, as their often-blind attacks—so valuable in early battles—eventually allowed the Reivers to develop strategies that defeated them. The colony within the Keanu habitat had ultimately been marginalized, supplanted . . . held as a reserve for that long-off day when the ultimate battle loomed, but used since then as guards or security.

  And given the few new races gathered by Keanu, not often then.

  The one constant in Sentry existence, however, was hatred of the Reivers—which was reciprocated. It went beyond their encounters with the half-carbon, half-organic beings in the Architect war; it was something in their nature, dry versus wet, aggregate versus individual, small versus large. They had, in fact, nothing in common, and everything in opposition.

  DSA, Zeds’s direct connate, suggested that the mutual hatred might have roots in an earlier conflict, when some form of the Reivers invaded the watery Sentry world. “We used to live on land as much as water,” DSA had said, itself a troubling thought. Zeds found it impossible to think of his people living on land by choice; certainly his experiences of the past few days had not caused him to think better of that idea.

  This also suggested that the Reiver-Sentry conflict was far older than even the ancient Reiver-Architect war.

  All of it made Zeds eager for a fight. Instead, he was locked inside this increasingly uncomfortable environment suit and forced to accomplish tasks better suited to humans.

  As Xavier began setting up the proteus, doors kept opening and other vehicles arriving with pieces of equipment, some of them blackened and burned.

  Other humans were brought hard copies of documents, something Zeds had only heard about.

  Still other humans arrived and began setting up data displays and a communication link.

  De la Vega directed all this activity with precision and threats of violence. He was almost Sentry-like in his methods.

  And he left Zeds alone, freeing the Sentry to take small steps in each direction, his natural way of judging the size and nature of his environment.

  From somewhere nearby he smelled salty water. The mere idea of being freed from the suit and able to submerge for even a short time was maddening. He looked at the many doors—one of them obviously led to that water.

  “Hey, I need you,” Xavier said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do and you may have noticed, we have unpleasant supervisors.”

  Zeds was ordinarily fond of the rotund, smart-mouthed man, but prolonged exposure had reduced his affection, at least for Xavier’s dogged methods. Laboring with the proteus printer was not fit work for a Sentry.

  Killing Reivers was better.

  In the next hour, several good things happened. He and Xavier made direct contact with Keanu, specifically with Jaidev Mahabala. After several moments devoted to pleasantries and catch-up (as well as veiled forebodings), they had uploaded schematics, imagery, and documents to Keanu. “Even after twenty years, I can’t predict what or when something will emerge,” Jaidev reported. “But I’ll ping you the instant we have it.”

  For a moment, then, Zeds and Xavier were alone and unmolested. De la Vega had departed some time earlier, no doubt to exercise his particular form of leadership on other humans.

  A signal sounded within the factory; the machines stopped, and the ranks of Reiver Aggregates separated from them, formed up, and marched out.

  Zeds and Xavier were kept company by a THE trio and as many human guards. “Hey,” Xavier shouted, “since we’re waiting and you’re giving the aliens a coffee break, how about some nourishment?”

  The three from THE conferred; two of them exited.

  “This is the thing people never seem to realize,” Xavier said. “And when I say people, I mean humans, because maybe Sentries are better about this.

  “Nothing gets done without logistics. You can’t fight wars without bullets, you can’t build machines without materials or factories, and you sure as shit can’t get any of that done unless you’ve got people in the right place . . .” And here he smiled and patted his ample middle. “And they’ve been fed.”

  “Sentries have no experience with logistics, as you describe it,” Zeds told Xavier. “My connate once compared us to humans who live in tropical zones. We would essentially be subsistence fisherpeople willing to spend our days in or near the water, eating and breeding and little else. Perhaps occasional fights.”

  “Add some music, and you’ve got New Orleans.” Zeds knew little of Earth geography but had learned that his friend Xavier had grown up in this near-tropical American city. “But, come on, you built spacecraft! Adventure was so durable we were able to fly it, more or less, after it had been sitting for several hundred years!”

  “Vacuum preserves,” Zeds said. “And there have always been a fraction of my people who are more ambitious and active. Or we would never have left the sea.” Or before that, the land.

  “That’s true of humans, too. And I am proud to say that I would happily be one of those subsistence fisherpeople you mentioned. That’s one of my problems with life on Keanu . . . it’s just too fucking hard.” He smiled again as the two THE officers approached carrying cups and trays of food. “And that was before we decided to turn the NEO into a warship.”

  It was all human food, of course. Before Zeds could say anything, Xavier snapped to the agents, “Did you happen to notice the fact that he’s an alien? With different dietary needs?”

  One of them looked chagrined. Again, Xavier spoke: “Show me where you got this stuff and let me pick something I know he can consume. Jesus.”

  So Xavier went off with the pair that gathered food, leaving Zeds even more alone in the Site A factory, except for a lone THE counselor and the guards, all of them off at a distance.

  He decided to investigate the pool. Careful to keep himself within view of the guards—though they must have known there was no possible escape for him—he systematically investigated each door. Naturally, upon reaching the last one, he was finally able to see to a loading dock, and beyond that, a glistening pool of water—not salty in a way he recognized, but still wet and likely restorative. It appeared that the pool existed for equipment of some kind, but that wouldn’t bother Zeds . . . as long as there was room enough for his body.

  He hoped he would have a chance to test it.

  As he turned, he was surprised to see a single Reiver Aggregate, anteater variety, standing in his way.

  Anticipating attack, he raised his two upper arms. The Reiver made no motion; it seemed frozen, staring with its blank, faceted eyes. The sight and smell of the creature was so overpowering that Zeds wanted nothing more than to grab the nearest portable object and smas
h the Reiver into its component units.

  Then squash each one.

  But he could not attack without some provocation, however slight. And none had been offered. So he said, “What do you want?”

  To his amazement, the Reiver spoke. “I am Aggregate Carbon-143 and I have important information for you.”

  “You what?” Xavier said. “With who?”

  It was ten minutes later. Zeds was back on the factory floor, the Reiver Aggregate having departed, Xavier having returned with some sort of vegetable stew that might have been Sentry-friendly if cold rather than cooked.

  Nevertheless, Zeds ate as he waited for the Reivers to return to their machines. And more importantly, for those machines to rev up and create a sound curtain.

  Only then did he recount, in general terms, the bizarre contact with a Reiver Aggregate and her apparent linkage to a human operator in the Site A hierarchy who would be standing by to perform certain actions. “I am to relay this information to Rachel immediately,” Zeds said.

  “This thing mentioned Rachel?”

  “No. She said our ‘human decision maker,’ but the implication was clear.”

  “What kind of actions?”

  “There was considerable detail. In general, it had to do with the activation of the Ring, a change in its size, orientation, and duration of operation. Also that we should make plans to be away from this facility before that activation.”

  “I hope you remember it all.” He looked around. “We need to get Rachel or Pav down here fast.”

  “I have an idea,” Zeds said.

  He stood up to his full height . . . and fell over backward.

  The suit cushioned the impact, but the floor was still hard.

  Xavier seemed genuinely upset. “Jesus, Zeds! Hey!” he called, and bent over him. “What’s the idea?” he whispered.

  But there was no time to explain. Zeds could hear and feel footsteps as THE officers and guards ran toward him.

  He began stripping off his environment suit.

  “Whoa, big buddy! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I have reached the limits of life support,” Zeds announced.

  De la Vega had returned, too, joining the throng around Zeds. “What does he mean?” he asked Xavier.

  “Ask him, for Christ’s sake. He speaks English.”

  The human leader turned to Zeds. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have been in this suit for days. Its support has expired and needs renewal.” He made a noise that in Sentry language indicated the looming moment of fusion, creating a connate, which to human ears sounded like a horrifying death rattle—or so Rachel had once told him.

  Xavier and de la Vega seemed equally alarmed. “I need medical attention,” Zeds said.

  “What kind of doctor could help him?” de la Vega said.

  “Not me,” Xavier said.

  Then Zeds croaked, “The only human capable of diagnosing me is Yahvi Stewart-Radhakrishnan.”

  “We’ll get her,” de la Vega said.

  “That’s the girl,” Xavier said. “Make sure her mother comes, too.”

  De la Vega was giving orders. Zeds made another horrible noise. “What can we do?”

  “I require immersion in water,” Zeds said.

  Day Eleven

  MONDAY, APRIL 23, 2040

  KEANU APPROACHES!

  No one in government will confirm, but Keanu is maneuvering! Approximately 28 hours ago several eruptions were visible on its surface, consistent with the NEO’s original departure from Earth orbit in 2019.

  But instead of shrinking in size and luminosity as it did then, Keanu is GROWING.

  It is coming CLOSER TO EARTH!

  And observers in South America noted a launch of some kind from Keanu shortly after it maneuvered.

  Are we being invaded?

  Or bombarded?

  KETTERING GROUP,

  MONDAY, APRIL 23, 2040

  WHIT

  “How much longer?”

  Whit Murray had been speaking into his headset, and thence into the entire Ring control system, for the past two hours, and was getting tired of hearing himself.

  He sat in the same mission control as the day of First Light, but now in the center and front. The screens in front of him were different; there were more of them, they showed more data. And in the upper right was a special window all his own . . . a simple purple rectangle with an OVERRIDE icon that had not yet been activated but would be at the minus-fifteen-minute point.

  It was his job to simply watch and listen; if everything was green and functional and there were no anomalies like weather or a flock of birds, Whit would click the icon and be presented with two additional options: AUTO or MANUAL. If he selected AUTO, things were out of his hands. The Ring’s moved-up Fire Light would proceed.

  If he selected MANUAL, he could HOLD the count or RETURN TO AUTO or UPDATE, then RETURN TO AUTO.

  It sounded as though he’d been given the keys to a car, but he knew he was not truly in control. There were, he knew, at least eight Aggregate formations in the top level of the Ring Light command structure. Representatives of each formation sat to his right, left, and rear.

  But they all had separate functions in the operations of the Ring and its aiming, and especially the planned transportation of all those invasion units through the cone of the Ring. They had to agree on every command decision, and all but one of them had no place for human input.

  None but the final one.

  “They expect to resume the count within the next twenty minutes.” That was Counselor Kate, promoted to voice link at the same time Whit Murray had become the lead “operator.” She sounded tired and tense, words that would have described Whit’s state, too. Everyone seemed tense; in his hourly breaks from the console, Whit found Aggregates buzzing up and down the hallways outside the center. Those inside—and their human counterparts—seemed jittery, constantly on the move, in contrast to the tomblike stillness of the awful First Light.

  Nervous or not, the ultimate go/no-go for the final triggering lay right here with him, Whit Murray, the lucky result of the Aggregates’ realization that one human individual might notice something all their other systems would miss.

  That, and having a friend on the inside.

  Accepting the position was one thing. Enjoying it was something else. He had accepted Carbon-143’s offer while in a state of rage and mourning for Dehm; more sober reflection shortly thereafter made him wonder just what he’d gotten himself into.

  But it was too late to back out.

  Whit had been on the console for seven hours, since late Sunday night. At that time, Fire Light was four hours off.

  It still was.

  He didn’t see the need for the big hurry. What was a few hours, days, months, or even years when you were invading a planet?

  And, given that the invasion would leave Earth wrecked, there was even less need for hurry.

  But the Aggregates had decided to move everything forward. They would have put Whit at his console Saturday evening, except they were, according to Counselor Kate, waiting for some major replacement parts.

  To be delivered or manufactured, Whit wasn’t sure. The integration of these parts had consumed the entire night and now most of the morning.

  He could only imagine the discomfort human soldiers would be feeling if they were stuck inside the various tanks, weapons carriers, and other vehicles. But who knew with Aggregates? How was that any different from their standard physical location?

  The moment he thought terrible things about the Aggregates, he felt bad; there was at least one that was different.

  How Carbon-143 broke free from her conditioning, or more to the point, why, Whit would have loved to know.

  He hoped he would live long enough to ask his Aggregate “frien
d.”

  She had not been in contact since offering him this job and giving him a few key instructions:

  “When the final command comes, take control of the Ring and disrupt its operations.”

  “They’ll kill me.”

  “Disrupting the operations will probably kill us all.”

  “Oh.” He thought. “Disrupt how, exactly?”

  “Your research will have shown you that the Ring must create a specifically shaped field at just the right moment and with a certain orientation. Change one of those and it will fail. There are also several humans present who will require assistance as they escape this facility. They are visitors from Keanu.”

  Whit had seen some mention of them on the news. “Why are they here?”

  “They are helping with operation of the Ring.”

  “Then why should I help them?”

  For just a moment, Whit thought he detected what, for a human, would have been exasperation. “Because it is necessary.”

  He had trusted Carbon-143 to this point—there was no reason to stop.

  He really wished he could talk to her now, though. He felt isolated, sent out on a mission with instructions that were sure to be difficult or impossible to carry out.

  And with little chance of success.

  At that moment, Counselor Kate said, “They’re resuming!”

  And the serene countdown voice noted, “Four hours to Fire Light.”

  In the control center, all motion ceased. Humans and Aggregates slipped back to their stations so smoothly that Whit hardly registered any motion.

  And his heart rate must have doubled. Oh my God, oh my God, he thought. This is really happening! He was at the heart of the opening of a door to another solar system . . . enabling an alien invasion! Less than two weeks ago he had been a lowly worker bee on a metro stop in Las Vegas!

  He thought about his father . . . and Randall Dehm.

  He thought about . . . well, everybody in America and the other Free Nations, and how many of them would be alive after today.