“So think of us as free human beings you welcomed to your lovely nation . . . to your planet . . . who have certain tasks they wish to accomplish, and a limited time in which to accomplish them.”
“I’m sure Kaushal can be persuaded to accommodate you,” Remilla said, “with one exception.” Rachel had a good idea what the exception was, but she forced Remilla to state it. “He will never allow you to go to the U.S.”
“I didn’t realize it was up to him.” She smiled, though she wasn’t feeling the humor of the moment. “In fact, I thought it was up to you and ISRO, or possibly this Mr. Kateel and the local government.”
“ISRO won’t stand in your way, but Kateel wishes he and the local government had never heard of you, so he is likely to support the Indian Air Force, which in this case is Kaushal.”
“Why does he care?”
“He thinks you might start a war. Given that Aggregate-controlled U.S. warships came close enough to our coast to shoot at you, I must confess that he has a point.”
Rachel smiled. Kaushal was actually quite correct. Well, as her father used to say . . . it’s better to know who your enemy is as early as possible. “In that case,” Rachel said, “please tell Wing Commander Kaushal that we are grateful for his hospitality and that we have no expectation that he will help us travel to the U.S.”
“Which means that you will depend on others?”
“At this moment,” Rachel said, and she was quite truthful, “I don’t know who that would be.”
Both women had asked their questions and now seemed lost with each other. “Your daughter,” Remilla finally said. “Is she enjoying the Beta unit?”
“Very much,” Rachel said. “If she hasn’t said thank you, she will.”
Yahvi’s obvious fascination with the Beta actually surprised Rachel—her daughter had zero experience with recorded music, and damned little with music of any kind beyond unaccompanied singing. The number of instruments among the HBs was three: a guitar, a flute, and a harmonica. There were a few guitar players in the population, and several who had self-taught over twenty years. But overall, musical instruments were as high on the 3-D printer priority list as fashion accessories, which was to say not very.
But music was music, and you didn’t need training to be attracted to shiny toys, Rachel realized. Especially when you were miserable.
Finally leaving Remilla, she went off to find Yahvi, Pav, and the others.
First met as a creature, too-tall Frankenstein
You died for the third or tenth or a hundredth time
Yet in my wanderings I hear you feel you
Surrounding me
LINES CARVED ON FACTORY HABITAT WALL BY DALE SCOTT,
2015–2018
DALE
As he approached the Temple with Harley and Sasha, Dale said, “Do the lights ever go out?” He gestured toward the “ceiling” a thousand meters up, where snakelike “glowworms” provided daytime illumination for half the day, powering down to half-light at “sunset” and “dawn,” and even lower levels for ten hours of human “night.” “Ever have any droughts?” Rain inside the human habitat was benign, short, sweet, nocturnal. It reminded Dale of the old song from Camelot about rain falling only after sundown. Like that song, Keanu’s systems frequently created a morning fog for plants and crops. It always dissipated by “full morning.”
“Why do you ask?” Harley said.
“Why do you care?” Sasha snapped.
He chose to answer Sasha. “I’ve been in the other habitats and seen that there are hiccups in their daily weather.”
“Like a system rebooting?” Harley said.
“God, Harley,” Sasha said, “you don’t have to discuss these things with him!”
The rebuke was enough to stop Harley from answering . . . and just enough to confirm what Dale had suspected, that Sasha Blaine was still his enemy, and that all might not be paradise in Keanu.
The flatness of the terrain made it difficult for Dale to see much more. There were new buildings, of course, all small, no more than two stories, and largely clustered at the opposite end of the habitat, beyond the Temple structure, which still dominated the “skyline.” It seemed that a gate of sorts had been built in the entrance at the far side . . . with some kind of tram or train line extending from it and running toward one cluster of buildings. But all of that was still too far away.
Still, he was amazed at the changes just in the Temple. Formerly, and for years after their arrival, it had been a big, barnlike place with upper floors that resembled a college chemistry lab.
Someone with a sense of design had smoothed out the rough exterior, landscaped the approach, and performed a major renovation on the first-floor atrium—even planting flowers. It now reminded Dale of the lobby of a big-city bank, right down to a reception desk. The walls were white and gray, the furnishings black and chrome. The only feature that reminded Dale of the old atrium was the ramp that led to the upper floors.
Even that had been “improved” by the addition of a conference table in one corner, with more chairs, not just for the table but for spectators.
Harley and Sasha led Dale to that corner. The other humans in the Temple “lobby” turned to stare. Well, Dale thought, they didn’t see many strangers.
Waiting for Dale in the conference corner was Jaidev Mahabala. The ISRO engineer, master of manufacturing, had not changed in a decade, to Dale’s eyes. He was still small, dangerously slim, permanently nervous.
And of all the HBs who were not Dale Scott fans, Sasha Blaine included, Jaidev was number one.
“Let’s get this over with,” Sasha said.
“Where’s Makali?” Dale said. “And Zhao? I would have thought they’d be part of any council.”
“Zhao is a valued member of the council,” Sasha said.
“But not so valued that he can’t show up?” Dale said. “Or is it me? Never mind . . . Makali is a friend. Was a friend.” The Australian-born exobiologist, brilliant and dogged, and attractive as well, had been part of the pioneering Keanu trek team. She and Dale had quarreled then but had seemed to be growing closer in the year afterward.
Makali was just the kind of person to do her own exploring, too. Maybe—
“She’s busy at the moment,” Harley said, as if that explained anything.
It was clear to Dale that Harley and Sasha were both waiting for him to lay his data cards on the table.
A transparent curtain emerged from both walls, enclosing them in a conference space. “What’s this for?” Dale said.
“The Temple is our city hall,” Harley said. “This room is the city council chamber. Even if we have to have private conversations, anyone who wants can sit out there and see us.”
“So generous.”
Never known for his patience, Jaidev gestured toward the table. “Sit.” Without waiting, he took the chair at the head. “Why are you back?”
Jaidev was several decades younger, yet he made Dale feel like a student reciting for an aged, ill-tempered professor. Just for a moment, Jaidev’s attitude made Dale so angry that he almost stormed out. But, no, that was twenty-years-in-the-past Dale. “As I told Harley and Sasha,” he said, trying to keep calm, “I have learned that the Reivers are on Earth, as we suspected.
“They control something like forty percent of the planet, including all the best manufacturing and high-tech facilities outside China, primarily in the United States.
“Here’s the worst of it: They are hard at work on some large project that will be bad for organic life, which is no surprise, given that everything the little bastards do is bad for organic life . . . but this might also be fatal for Earth as a planet.