Heaven's War

by David S. Goyer

“Or Reivers,” Zack blurted. During their time together on Keanu, Megan—channeling the Architect—had mentioned “Reivers,” just the sort of vaguely Irish word she would have used for entities that could be pillagers or destroyers or wreckers.

  Valya looked at him. “You know this term?”

  He explained, then said, “Ask Dash who the Pillagers or Reivers are.”

  “The Builders’ enemy,” was all Dash would say.

  “Okay, I think that’s the best we can hope for,” Zack told Valya. “Is it my imagination, or is everything really slow with Dash?”

  “I would imagine that translation at this level—even for human languages it requires tremendous bandwidth—creates a lag.”

  “Sure,” Zack said, “if we were using our level of technology.” He nodded at Dash. “These people are centuries or millennia beyond us. And it’s not just speech. It’s everything. Movements, too.”

  Makali had been busy fiddling with the black box from Brahma. Now she said, “It’s the problem of scale, one of the things we investigate in exobiology. Muscle response times and even the transmission of thought in beings of different sizes.”

  “As in, ‘a brontosaurus would be slow to react’?” Zack remembered a statement like that from a comic book he had read when he was thirteen.

  “Something like that.”

  He thought it was exactly like that, especially based on his experiences with the even larger Architect...which had been, no fooling, really slow of foot.

  “If you’re going to talk about Dash rather than with him,” Valya said, suddenly assuming the role of hall monitor, “shouldn’t we let him go about his business?”

  “Sorry,” Zack said. He addressed the Sentry. “How does your connate DSZ relate to the Reivers?”

  “Ally,” Dash said. It rose at that point, as if fatigued by the interrogation—or just dismissing further questions.

  “‘Ally’ of which party? The Reivers or us?”

  But Dash returned to its pool without answering.

  “I think you offended him,” Valya said.

  Zack wasn’t going to debate that with Valya. He turned to Makali instead. “Not a whole lot on which to base a plan of action.”

  “Actually,” Makali said, “it’s more than we’ve had since we got scooped.”

  “Point taken.” He asked Valya, “When does it want to start with the war?”

  “One-seventh.”

  Which Zack took to mean...“soon,” or whenever Dash emerged from the pool. He was growing impatient. He needed his team to be moving, somewhere, anywhere.

  Valya dozed off while Dash remained submerged. Zack lay down and got what he thought of as waking rest. His headache was still present, but he’d been dealing with physical discomfort for so long that it hardly mattered.

  Dale Scott had proven he could sleep anywhere, any time; he actually snored.

  Makali gave up on sleep and, unbidden, did a bit of exploring. When she returned, Dash was out of the pool, dripping wet and performing some obscure alien rituals involving the closing and opening of its outer shell, the apparent inventory of tools and other objects in its prison cell, and what seemed to be grudging responses to repeated questions from Valya. “I don’t think he wants to talk,” she said.

  “It’s got to talk, or we’re not going to help. Tell it that.” He emphasized it over Valya’s growing use of he. Dash was not a human he, and Zack wanted the team to remember that.

  Makali told Zack, “I can’t find a way out.”

  “For Dash, maybe.” Zack had been considering this. “Remember your scale issue?” To Dash, he said, “Food and other supplies come in here, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me where.”

  The giant Sentry didn’t have to go far; its prison cell abutted the last chamber separating the Beehive from the habitat beyond. In that chamber was a slit about a meter tall and at least that wide...two meters off the ground.

  “Here’s the Mouse Door,” Makali said. It was clearly an opening of some kind. “It’s got stuff in it,” she said, tentatively probing with a screwdriver from her tool kit. To Zack, the stuff was a cross between the bubblelike material of the Membrane and the yellowish goo that filled the Beehive cells. Makali had sunk her arm into the opening up to her shoulder. “I think you can push through.”

  “Any thoughts on what it might be?” he said.

  “So far, all I’ve got is filling. Maybe it serves some disinfectant or sanitizing role for material coming in—or going out. Maybe it would cling to Dash or harden if it tried to escape. I’m just speculating, of course.”

  Dale Scott was awake now, standing with Valya just behind Zack and Makali. “We’re half the Sentry’s size! One of us ought to be able to squeeze through there!”

  Zack realized that, all things considered, he was the smallest human. Scott was bigger and heavier; Valya, bless her, shorter, but rounder.

  Makali spotted him ten kilos, but barefoot, she was at least two centimeters taller.

  He regarded the Mouse Door, then his clothing; he was still wearing his EVA suit undergarment, essentially a thicker pair of classic long johns, only with the added discomfort of a network of plastic tubing. He had been able to get out of it, wash himself, and at least rinse the outfit yesterday at Lake Ganges before having to re-don it. In spite of that, if he had the opportunity to shed it now...it might walk away.

  And, trouble was, not be available.

  Zack had trained for many uncomfortable situations in his astronaut career. EVA. Launch in a cramped Soyuz; landing in a cramped, spinning, vomit-inducing Soyuz. Microgravity toilets and showers. Winter and ocean survival training. Cold, water, vertigo—all good.

  He could not face this war naked.

  “Let’s try it,” he said. He knelt in front of the opening and put out his hands. As Makali had suggested, the bubbly material gave way. Zack couldn’t pull it out, but he could compress it.

  “I think we’re going to have to shove you,” Scott said.

  “Don’t look so happy about it,” Valya said.

  “One question,” Makali said. “Assuming you get through...what about the rest of us? What about Dash?”

  Zack thought for a moment. “Give me the screwdriver. If I make it through, I’ll start trying to widen the opening.”

  Makali handed him the tool and leaned closer. “For Dash, that’s going to be a lot of widening.”

  “I’m hoping this material fractures easily.” He grinned. “Hell, maybe I’ll find a big button out there that says PRESS TO OPEN BEEHIVE.”

  Holding his breath, he inserted himself into the bubble-packed opening. He could feel Scott’s hands on his feet, raising him and transforming him into a battering ram. As if through cotton, he thought he heard Scott saying, “Here goes!”

  He was propelled deeper into the opening...and then, just as quickly, he slid right through it, like a watermelon seed spit from a child’s mouth.

  And tumbled face-first down a sloping rock wall onto a sandy beach.

  Aside from a few scrapes to his palms—the rock wall had jagged edges—and a sense that he had been slugged in the midsection by some invisible assailant, Zack was unhurt. He got to his feet and regarded the scene.

  The Sentry habitat had the same glowworm illuminators in its ceiling and seemed to have roughly the same shape as the human habitat. But beyond that, everything was different.

  There was fog here...roiling, purplish, London-in-Sherlock-Holmes-era soup. It made it impossible to see very far, for one thing. Not that there was much else to see; the Sentry habitat was essentially a large lake. Aside from what appeared to be small islands in the distance—islands with trees and structures—the entire floor was liquid.

  And no watercraft that Zack could see.

  He knelt to scoop some, getting a minimal taste. Yes, water...the same brackish taste and texture as that in Dash’s pool.

  Straightening up and looking back, he saw that there were structures
embedded in the wall to the left and right of the Mouse Door. One was a platform that led to giant steps that marched right back down to the beach where Zack was standing.

  Okay, getting back up would be easier.

  The other structure, to the right of the Mouse Door, looked to be funicular—for delivery of materials? Removal of same?

  There was also a ramshackle building near the base of the steps. A shed twice as tall as Zack, and clearly not in use for quite some time: flat-roofed (absent weather, why would you need a peaked roof?) and entirely open on the side toward the beach (for launching a watercraft?), it was assembled from oblong plates, some of them missing. To Zack the shed look like a worn-out gingerbread house.

  Realizing that Makali and the others were probably curious as to his fate and whereabouts, he searched the place quickly, finding it filled with...junk. Discarded containers, bags of who knew what, odd bits of cabling, several exterior boards or plates, several long pieces of oxidized pipe.

  All of it, to Zack’s mind, at least half again as big as it ought to be.

  The pipe looked promising. He was able to heft it, though its diameter was too large to be comfortable in his hands, and the length was awkward. He felt like an out-of-shape pole-vaulter as he lugged it up the stairs toward the Mouse Hole.

  “Anybody hear me?” he shouted, only then wondering just how smart that was. (A) It wasn’t likely that Makali, Dale, and Valya could hear him, and (B) if Dash was a prisoner...wouldn’t there be guards or surveillance?

  Well, no one answered...and the Sentry habitat equivalent of a prison siren didn’t blare.

  Zack positioned himself in front of the Mouse Hole, debating the wisdom of shoving the pipe through the bubble goo. If you do it slowly enough, they’ll know it’s you.

  But then what? Would they know to start banging it on the edges of the Mouse Hole to widen it?

  Would that even work? Zack scratched at one of the edges with his fingernail. It did crumble. This might work—

  Suddenly the stuffing in the Mouse Hole bulged, and Makali’s head emerged. Like Zack, she was slipping and sliding, but she had Zack to catch her, though her inertia caused them both to fall flat on the platform. “There you are,” she said. “We were getting worried.”

  “Sorry.”

  She stood up, then went through the same reorientation Zack had, with the advantage of remaining on the platform, half a dozen meters above the beach. “Okay,” she said, “this is going to be a challenge.”

  “What, getting everyone else out? I didn’t think you’d fit—”

  “Nah, we can probably use your”—she nodded at the pipe—“big tool to open things up.” She waved at the habitat-sized lake.

  “I’m just wondering how we get across that,” she said. “Swim?”

  Extracting Dale, Valya, and Dash took hours and made Zack feel faint. It was true that the pipe was a useful tool for banging away at the Mouse Hole walls, especially when Zack squeezed back into Dash’s prison and worked from the other side. (This also had the advantage of allowing him to brief the others on this phase of “Escape.”)

  It was still a tight fit for Dash, even with Zack remaining behind to push him. But eventually the Sentry was out, free for the first time in however many cycles.

  The big alien immediately fell on its face on the nearest flat surface. “Well, it’s been a while since it could stretch out,” Dale said.

  “I think he’s praying,” Valya said.

  The posture did remind Zack of human religious ceremonies he’d seen. But he had to turn away; as arranged, Makali was poking the pipe back through the stuffing...Zack grabbed it and let himself be pulled through, marveling that with all the traffic through the Mouse Hole, and the serious beating it had taken, its weird colloidal stuffing was still present at all.

  He emerged to find that Dash had now motored down the stairs to the beach and, as Makali, Dale, and Valya watched with varying levels of interest, was busy rolling around like a polar bear on a hot day at the zoo. “I think Dash is happy,” Valya said.

  With their pathetic equipment—essentially Makali’s mesh bag and a pair of containers they had liberated from Dash’s prison—they descended to the beach and the shed.

  “Okay, well done,” Dale Scott said. “I mean that sincerely.”

  “Now what?” Valya said, likely beating Dale to the question. “Where do we go from here?”

  During the hours it had taken for the tedious banging and scraping to widen the Mouse Hole, Zack had been “working the problem,” to use mission control terminology. (How he wished he had access to that back room and its great minds! Or even Harley, Weldon, Nayar, and Sasha!) He had the germ of an idea. But given his fatigue, and recent track record, he was reluctant to pitch it.

  Besides, it was crazy. “Let’s ask Dash,” he said. After all, this was its own habitat. Maybe the water got sucked out every “cycle.” Maybe there were shallow places where you could walk—

  Valya picked a moment when the Sentry surfaced, and put the question to it.

  The immediate result was not promising. “We swim,” Dash said. It pointed down the rightward bank of the habitat.

  “No way, Jose,” Dale said, not waiting for Zack or Makali to protest. “I did that fucking Russian sea training and almost drowned. I don’t do well with this much water.”

  Makali was ready to argue on Dash’s behalf. “We can do this...it’s floating, not swimming—”

  “Oh, bullshit, honey,” Dale snapped. Zack would have preferred more tact, but had to agree; this was a several-kilometer swim, and they weren’t in shape to do it.

  Valya and Dash were having an exchange; the upshot was that the Sentry was amazed and horrified to learn that humans weren’t especially aquatic. For a moment, Zack thought the big alien would simply dive into the water and leave them.

  “I think he’s pleading with me,” Valya said. “It’s as if he wants us to transform somehow....”

  Zack realized that it was time for the crazy pitch. “There’s one possible alternative.”

  The three humans fell silent while Dash kept complaining, which, for the Sentry, consisted of repeating the words lie and stupid and dryers, which sounded derogatory, even in the neutral voice of the translation unit.

  Eventually Dash expended its energy, and looked to Zack.

  “Ah, one of my favorite books is Huckleberry Finn,” Zack said.

  Makali got it first, clapping her hands. “A raft!”

  “With what?” Valya said.

  Zack pointed back at the shed. “With that.”

  Zack turned to Dash again. The Sentry had been watching the human antics with its usual stolidity. “If we get across the habitat, is there a way out?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Dash said, with what Zack took to be impatience. “Escape. Transit. Reboot.” As if to say, Are you idiots? What have I been telling you!

  Dale was the first to respond. “Fuck it, let’s build a raft.”

  HARLEY

  “Just tell us what happened.”

  Nayar, Weldon, Harley, and Sasha had taken Chitran first to find her baby. Then, with great difficulty, they had gotten her to accompany them to Lake Ganges.

  They’d had to bring three of the Bangalore women along, for support and for translation. Nayar could have handled it and would provide a second voice...but Chitran was literally clinging to the women.

  They’d also had to promise her that they were actively looking for Camilla and would arrest her the moment they found her.

  “Assuming her story makes sense,” Weldon said to Harley, as they stood alone on the shore. Nayar and Sasha were helping Chitran retrace her steps from yesterday morning. “I still don’t see how a nine-year-old girl overcomes and kills a grown woman.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Harley said.

  “Really?” Weldon said. “I’m trying to think of any event since Venture touched down that hasn’t been bugfuck weird. I’d be hard-pressed to pick a number on
e.”

  “Oh, no challenge,” Harley said. “Dead people coming back to life, that’s easily number one through five—”

  “—Out of five hundred strange things. I hear you.” Weldon was silent for a moment. “I keep feeling as though we just learned something really significant, like discovering fire. And haven’t had time to think about it.”

  “We’re not in a place where we can afford the luxury,” Harley said. He, too, had been mentally buffeted by meeting aliens, being hauled from the Earth to a NEO, then trying to survive.

  But finding proof that there was life beyond death—however temporary. That there was something more to a human being than blood, bone, and brain...some spirit or soul or bioelectric field that could be recorded, stored, uploaded...yeah, that was fairly important.

  Weldon said, “I suppose we can always fall back on the excuse that NASA didn’t hire philosophers.”

  “Or theologians.”

  “NASA didn’t hire many police investigators, either,” Weldon said, nodding toward the “crime scene,” where Nayar and Sasha were trying, with some difficulty, to get Chitran to restage her death.

  “I still can’t get my head around the mechanics of this resurrection,” Harley said. “The principle, yeah. But how do you find a soul in the big empty universe—a specific one. And why? Why Megan Stewart? Why Camilla?” He pointed to Chitran. “And why her?”

  “Stewart said something about them being communicators. Messengers.”

  “Same thing as angels, if you know your Bible.”

  “And, since I don’t, I’ll take your word for it.”

  Sasha disengaged from the crime scene investigation and walked toward them, shaking her head. “Not going as planned?” Weldon said.

  “She says the Architects are talking to her.”

  “So I heard,” Harley said. “But what are they telling her?”

  “Apparently...find Camilla.”

  Weldon groaned. “Yeah, yeah. And why would they do that? Wasn’t she one of the Revenants?”

  “I hope you don’t expect me to have those answers,” Sasha said.

  Harley added, “Me, neither.”

  “I just want to be sure we get them.”