Zhao had finally caught up with them. Panting, he said, “Why were you running?” Then, seeing what was around them, he stopped. “Oh.”
“This looks like what my dad was talking about, a Beehive,” Rachel said. “And that is one of the pods that just hatched...something.”
Pav grabbed her arm. “Someone,” he said, pointing down one of the passages.
Looking a bit like a revived mummy from an old monster movie, a human figure was shambling away from them.
Rachel gasped. It had happened before; why couldn’t it happen again?
“Mom!” she called.
“Hey,” Pav said, grabbing her. “Wait.”
He pointed down the passage to their left, the one that terminated in the Beehive.
The entire cylinder was rippling.
“That’s not good,” Rachel said.
The ripples were moving toward them, and they looked bigger and stronger than anything she’d seen. A big, nasty cat’s-eye was headed directly toward them.
VALYA
This had, without doubt, been the worst day of Valentina Makarova’s life. It wasn’t as long as the agonizing day when her father had been struck while walking drunk on a Moscow highway and been taken to a hospital to die. It wasn’t as physically taxing as the time she had contracted pneumonia and was out of her mind with fever and fear.
It wasn’t as disorienting as last week’s transit from Earth to Keanu in the vesicle.
But this day combined the worst of all three.
And it did not appear to be over yet.
In fact, confronting a large, terrifying alien just as she and Dale, Zack, and Makali had reached some kind of shelter meant there was only bad yet to come.
Valya knew she had not been an example of plucky pioneer spirit or gritty determination on the trek from Vesuvius Vent to this one. She had, in fact, spent most of the hike on the edge of hysteria—
To her amazement, Zack was right in front of the alien. Of course, there was almost nowhere else to go. Valya, Dale, and Makali were crowded behind him.
The Sentry was half again as tall as a human being, roughly symmetrical; it had a head, a torso, two arms, and two legs. But it also had two other pairs of arms protruding from its midsection. All arms ended in similar flaplike hands—each with half a dozen long fingers, at least two of them opposable.
The left lower arm was brandishing what looked a piece of aluminum tubing.
The creature was blue-green in color—that was either its skin or clothing or possibly armor. The skin looked shiny and hard to Valya.
The face was shadowed, hard to see. Complicating everything, the creature seemed to be swathed in the same flaking skinsuit material as the four humans.
“You know this thing?” Makali said.
“Its type. I’ve seen two,” Zack said. “Killed one.”
The Sentry, if that was what it was, remained motionless...like a jungle cat waiting to pounce, Valya thought. As Zack slowly moved side to side, apparently looking for a chance to dash around the Sentry, the alien reacted, rotating its big, thick body. On the second move, Valya saw something shiny and anomalous, a silvery piece of metal embedded in the Sentry’s back, and what looked like blood discoloring it.
Not that she had any right to think this, given her limited experience, but it seemed that the alien had trouble moving to its right.
“Zack,” she said.
“Something to offer, Valya?”
“I think he’s hurt!”
As if to prove her wrong, the Sentry took a swipe at Zack’s head, prompting a scream from Makali and, from Dale, “Val, just shut up!”
But Zack easily ducked the blow, and Valya grew more convinced that the alien was wounded.
“He’s not going to be able to hit you, Zack.”
“I hope you’re right!” he said.
“Zack, what are you trying to do?” Makali said.
“Get past him—” He tried it again; the Sentry took a second swipe at him, but this one was so slow and clumsy that Zack was able to grab the tube.
And yank it out of the Sentry’s grasp!
“Way to go!” Dale yelled. “See how he likes it!”
Fortunately, instead of clobbering the creature—which, given its size, would still be a bit of a trick—Zack merely brandished it...and was rewarded with the sight of the alien backing away and sinking down.
“What is going on?” Makali said.
“I told you,” Valya said. “It’s injured. Look at the back.”
The Sentry had lowered itself, folding its legs, until it was only as tall as they were. It leaned its good side against the wall of the Beehive...and now they could all see the obvious injury.
“Zack,” Makali said, “we can get past him.”
But Zack was regarding the creature, which was now gesturing with five of its six arms. (The one closest to the wound was hanging limp.) “I think it’s trying to talk to us.”
“I don’t hear anything,” Dale said.
“Sign language,” Valya said.
Dale turned to her and smiled nastily. “Oh, good, right in your wheelhouse. Translate, will you?”
“Fuck you,” she said. But Dale’s mean-spirited suggestion wasn’t too far wrong; Valya knew two different sign language systems. If anyone could figure out what the Sentry was trying to say, she would be the one.
Of course, it might take years. And given its physical condition, she wasn’t sure the Sentry would last another hour.
But Zack was already taking the lead. He slowly laid the tube on the ground—out of the Sentry’s reach, Valya hoped. Then he pointed to himself and his fellows, saying, in turn, “Human, human, human, human.” Then pointed to the Sentry, and opened his hands in what, for human beings, would have been an obvious Who are you? gesture.
The Sentry flapped its hands in what seemed to be a reply. If, looking from left to right, you numbered the alien’s upper hands as one and two, its middle pair as three four, and the lower, almost vestigial pair, as five six, the response went: two, one, four.
Or so Valya chose to see it. It would be difficult enough to decode these gestures in normal circumstances; the creature was wounded and likely not using hand number three. How would that change the message?
Zack was holding palms up, gently waving them, saying, We mean no harm.
The Sentry had no reply.
Zack carefully pointed to the wound. Then he tapped himself on the chest. “Ow!” He made a creditable howling-in-pain sound.
“Christ,” Dale said softly, but loud enough for Valya to hear.
All she could do was shoot him a dire look. Was he stupid or just evil? Any extraneous sound or movement was going to confuse the Sentry!
The Sentry used all three major arms to touch its chest. Then it pointed to the wound as best it could, all three hands.
And made a sound of its own! It was loud, like having a whale singing a meter away!
“Holy shit,” Makali said. This time Valya did not feel the need to offer censure; she was thinking the same thing.
Holding up his right hand, as if to say, Let me try this, Zack slowly reached toward the Sentry...toward the wound.
The Sentry’s head turned slowly, cautiously—or so it seemed to Valya. But it did not raise a hand to block Zack’s move.
Zack actually touched the metal shard with a fingertip.
The Sentry remained frozen, though clearly wary.
Zack closed index finger and thumb on the shard and tried to wiggle it.
The Sentry made a sound, but not the roar; this was closer to a growl.
But, Valya noted with fascination...no hand gestures at all!
Zack slowly moved his hand away. He thought for a moment, then brought his hands together, almost in prayer. “Stuck tight,” he said. The Sentry merely looked at him.
Now Zack turned to Makali. “How are your surgical skills?”
“Non-existent,” she said. “And I hope that doesn’t mean—”
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“We’re going to take that thing out. A little goodwill gesture.”
“Like Androcles and the lion?” Valya said, as amused as she was horrified by the idea.
“Didn’t the lion wind up eating Androcles?” Dale said.
Everyone ignored him. “It looks to me as though our friend was wearing one of the skinsuits, which really gives me some crazy ideas, given the blood you saw, and the fact that this piece of tube looks terrestrial. But to the point: I think the skinsuit sealed around the wound and is keeping that shard in place.”
“Why would it be better to have it out?” Makali clearly didn’t want to become the designated space surgeon, and Valya couldn’t blame her.
“If you had a bullet or an arrow stuck in you, you’d want it out.”
“I’m human.”
“The Sentry is a living being. I think the rule still applies: Foreign objects should come out.”
“Yeah,” Dale said, “we don’t want this guy to develop an infection. Although it might make it easier to get around him.”
“We can get around him now,” Zack said. “Consider that the habitat beyond is his. And that there might be a dozen just like him waiting for us.”
“One thing: You’re calling this guy ‘him.’ Can we just say ‘it’ for now?”
Zack ignored, that, too, turning back to Makali. “If you want me to do it, fine. But I’m a little shaky—”
“Okay, I’ll do it.” Makali smiled. “I’m the exospecialist, right? My bailiwick. What do I do, just...pull the thing out?”
Zack pointed to the ratted Hermes bag mushed against Valya’s stomach. “Anything useful in there?” he said. Valya shook her head.
Then Zack indicated the mesh bag around Makali’s neck. “Okay, then, what’s in that?”
“Probably screwdrivers and pliers.”
Zack smiled. “I think a pliers would be just the instrument.”
“I hope there’s a staple gun in here, too,” Makali said, slowly removing the kit and kneeling to open it.
“Why?”
She smiled, getting into the spirit of the insane adventure. “To stitch it up.”
Zack turned back to the Sentry, who seemed, to Valya, to be fading. Loss of blood? Or some similarly vital fluid? If so, given the paucity of fluid on the ground, it was likely internal bleeding.
Which argued in favor of Zack’s surgery.
“Needle-nose pliers,” Makali said.
“Let me have it,” Zack said. He plucked it from the kit and slowly brought it into the Sentry’s view. He opened it once, twice. Then he slowly, carefully moved the pliers over to the shard, then back.
The Sentry gestured—one flip of the number two hand. It’s a lefty, Valya thought. And said, “It was a simple gesture. It’s either yes—”
“Or no,” Dale said.
“Let’s assume yes,” Zack said. He was slowly handing the pliers back to Makali. Then, after again establishing eye contact with the Sentry, he moved Makali into position with the pliers.
“Okay, doc,” he told her. “Do your thing. Just move slowly.”
Valya could see that Makali’s hands were trembling. But her body language was completely resolute, like a high diver on a platform.
She took two slow, almost bridelike steps, which put her within reach of the Sentry and its shard. Then, like a mime, she slowly unfolded her hand and the pliers, and locked the nose onto the shard.
At that moment, Zack turned to the Sentry, clutching his left hand with his right, as if the left were injured, and making a growling sound.
Then he opened the hands and smiled, as if to say, It’ll all be over in a second.
And he told Makali, “Proceed. And everybody be prepared to jump back.”
Makali made a first, tentative tug, with no results, not even a grunt from the Sentry.
“He’s the size of an NFL lineman,” Zack said. “You’re going to have to pull harder than that.”
“I have no leverage,” Makali said. “It’s too high—”
“Just do it.”
Another tug. Nothing.
“Goddammit,” Makali said. But she kept her right hand on the pliers, using her left to wipe sweat from her eyes.
The Sentry made a gesture and a sound. This was unlike its early communications: the gesture used the lower working hand, and the sound was more high-pitched.
“It’s telling you to go ahead,” Valya said, unable to stop herself. How can you be sure of that?
“What if he bleeds out?”
“That’s a risk it will have to take,” Dale said.
As Valya watched, Makali put more and steadier pressure on the pliers, moving it ever so slightly from side to side.
And the shard began to move.
Valya could see the Sentry shudder, likely with pain.
In a few seconds, the bloody shard was out, dropping to the floor.
Makali was rooted where she stood, in shock at what she had wrought. Zack gently edged her aside and examined the wound. “Some bleeding,” he said. “Doesn’t look infected, though I’m not sure I would know it.”
The Sentry seemed to have its own idea about how to treat the injury. It used both upper hands to hammer at the covering of the nearest intact cell. Breaking through, it withdrew a handful of yellow substance that it swiftly transferred to the wound, which was now within reach.
Then it turned away and began shambling deeper into the Beehive.
“What, not even a thank you, masked man?” Dale said.
“It made some gestures,” Valya said, not entirely untruthfully; the creature had flapped its good lower left hand several times in what seemed to be movement unrelated to scooping and placing the goo. She chose to interpret that as Thank you, or even You can go now. She said, “It may not have a cultural history of gratitude. Even some human cultures are like that.”
“What next?” Makali said. She was busy trying to clean the bloodied pliers on her pants leg, then replacing the tool in the kit—all with trembling hands.
“I don’t know about you guys,” Zack said, “but I’m getting hungry.”
“And thirsty,” Dale said.
“I think we follow our friend and see if he has a cultural history of hospitality.”
XAVIER
Xavier Toutant doubted he would ever be as comfortable in the Keanu habitat as he had been in Houston—even though he hated Houston. Life here was too raw, too unfamiliar, and too complicated. He missed Momma and his friends, he missed television, he missed having fun.
He was having no fun here. None.
But the one thing in Keanu’s favor...there was no real night. No spooky wolf hours. Xavier had never liked the dark. Nothing good had ever happened to him much after the sun went down.
The lights in the Keanu sky never dimmed. It never got much brighter than twilight, but it never got much darker.
He loved that. It made him daring. He set off for the Beehive, on his own, without having to ask permission—without expecting to see anyone dogging his path. Should he be stopped, he had prepared an answer to the question, “Where do you think you’re going?” And it was, “To see if we’re going to have chickens or ducks.” He wasn’t doing any cooking, because there wasn’t any cooking to do yet, but Mr. Drake and Mr. Weldon knew that he had been a cook and wanted to cook again.
He even had a motive that he would keep to himself, which was this: He had gotten by for a couple of days trading those candy bars. But he was down to his last two, and when they were gone, he would need new currency.
He couldn’t get close to the machines on the second floor of the Temple, but he could explore the Beehive. Surely there would be something of use here.
Not that he expected to be stopped and questioned.
Whether it was having more and fresher food in their bellies, or cumulative exhaustion, the HBs turned in early and en masse that night. The only exceptions were Vikram Nayar’s Temple team; veterans of projects in the IT world, they seemed
eager to work all night unlocking secrets of the Temple.
Xavier wished them all the luck in the world. He was grateful that they’d figured out how to get some food out of the place, and even a few utensils.
They’d made a lot of progress in one day. Who knew what would be spilling out of the Temple over the next week or two months?
They might even build a house or twenty!
They could even build a whole town...complete with a farm, of sorts. Maybe a barn, too.
Because Xavier was seeing and hearing about animals emerging from the Beehive.
Xavier had seen the dog, of course. And then a cow, which some of the Houston people had claimed and were trying to feed.
And toward the end of this day, as operations and experiments in the Temple continued, he had seen birds flying against the strange ceiling of the habitat. He hadn’t been close, and the lighting was strange, but they looked like sea birds. Gulls.
That was all he needed. There was some weird shit going on in this Beehive place, and he wanted to see it for himself.
It wasn’t really very far, no worse than walking to Le Roi’s from home the time his truck broke down. And substantially less dangerous: no drunken cowboys gunning past him in their vehicles.
All he had to do was walk.
The whole trip took less than twenty minutes. Actually, he had a clue that he was approaching the Beehive before he could see it...there were muddy tracks everywhere, most of them leading out and spreading.
Xavier was no outdoorsman. He had never been hunting or camping or fishing in his life. So he wasn’t sure exactly what kind of tracks he was seeing, but even to his untrained eye there appeared to be at least half a dozen animals...and a couple of them with big hooves or paws or whatever the hell you called them.
And they diverged, too, some of them going up-habitat, back toward the vesicle port...some of them down-habitat.
Some unwary HB was in for a hell of a surprise, because whatever these animals were, they were sure to be hungry.
That thought made him nervous, because he realized the animals might be eating each other. Xavier was used to dealing with chickens and lobsters, so the thought of sundered animal flesh wasn’t itself a problem. But he didn’t look forward to the sight of a cow’s head ripped from its body, or a pile of entrails. No, thank you.
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