Yes, a history that he now shared . . . it was actually difficult to suppress the surge of sheer pride this swift kill triggered—followed almost immediately by shame. (He had grown up with humans, some of them eager to remind him of past Sentry crimes.)
What if he had erred? What did he truly know about this human’s motives or actions?
What if he had made matters worse?
Two more explosions, one right after the other, convinced him his actions had been correct . . . that these men were attackers. Pieces of the hospital building filled the air, raining down on Zeds. His e-suit provided a great deal of protection, but he still found himself taking shelter. Reflexes again.
Then, equally reflexive, he was in motion, running toward the site of the explosions and almost colliding with two of the attackers as they attempted to enter the hospital through a door they had blown open.
Both men reacted with surprise, possibly confusion—for them, fatal delays.
Zeds slashed first right to left, then left to right. Both men were down, in three pieces each.
The view inside the hospital was disturbing—two Indian Air Force guards in bloodied pieces, killed by the explosion. Zeds wondered about Rachel and Pav, Yahvi and Xavier—and Sanjay. Were they safe?
What other actions could he take? There had been three other attackers . . . where were they?
He retraced his steps back to the side of the hospital, where he had originally exited and spotted the attackers. Yes, there were the other members of the team, in full retreat.
Another Indian guard lay on the pavement—still alive, as far as Zeds could tell. He considered offering medical assistance but rejected the idea; he knew nothing of human physiology and could do nothing for the man.
And his appearance might worsen the guard’s condition. Best to return to the hospital and summon aid.
As quickly as possible, he made his way back through the side door and down the hallway. He could hear noise in the hospital now and saw four Indian guards hurrying past.
“Please!” Zeds shouted.
One of the hurrying men turned toward Zeds and stopped. It was Wing Commander Kaushal, the stout, energetic Indian Air Force leader who, at full height, reached barely to the middle of Zeds’s chest. “What are you doing out here? Are you injured?”
“No,” Zeds said. “Why do you ask that?” Of all the humans he had met since landing, Kaushal seemed the least ill-at-ease. Perhaps it was due to his age or seniority.
The wing commander gestured to Zeds’s midsection. Looking down, the Sentry realized that the front of his e-suit, and his two right arms, were covered in human blood. “I’m not injured. Sentry blood is a different color,” he said. “There is a human outside that door who requires assistance.”
Kaushal spoke, and two of the guards sprinted off in the direction Zeds indicated, leaving one behind. “Come with me, please,” he said to Zeds.
He didn’t wait for comment. Zeds saw no grounds for argument; in any case, he had been on his way back to the chamber.
“Are we under attack?”
“I can’t say at the moment,” Kaushal said. “How did you come to be so bloody?”
“I encountered three attackers,” Zeds said. As they walked, Kaushal’s deputy used a communication device—a cell phone, Zeds realized, something he had always heard about but never actually seen—to listen to reports from around the facility.
“They were human?”
“What else would they be?”
Kaushal ignored the question. “So it was self-defense.”
Zeds didn’t understand what Kaushal meant. “I was simply taking a walk.”
“How did you get out?” Kaushal asked.
Zeds considered several possible responses. A complete answer would require many words, so he settled on, “I opened the door.”
They had just reached the entrance to the isolation chamber. The heavy steel-and-glass door lay tilted against the wall; the hinges and locks were in pieces on the floor.
Kaushal glanced at his deputy, who was wide-eyed. “You had no help from anyone?”
“No.”
Kaushal reached for the door; he couldn’t move it. “You may have to wait a while for us to get you safely put away—”
“Commander,” the deputy said, waving the phone. Zeds chose that moment to march past Kaushal into the chamber. “I don’t need to be put away. I will reseal the door myself.”
To demonstrate, he picked up the heavy door and started moving it back into place.
Kaushal and his deputy backed away. The last Zeds saw of them was their backs.
ISRO PRESS RELEASE
Bangalore, April 14, 2040—The five humans and one Sentry in the crew of spaceship Adventure are continuing their adjustment to Earth at an air base in southern India in spite of a power system failure. “A transformer providing power to the hospital where the crew resides overloaded and exploded,” says Mrs. Melani Remilla, ISRO official supervising Adventure’s welcome. “It resulted in quite a fireworks display, but fortunately no one was injured.”
The crew will make its first public appearance Saturday at ISRO Headquarters in Bangalore.
Can you believe this bullshit? The Web is filled with reports and images of an attack on Yelahanka Air Base (yes, we know where the crew is being held) in which at least four people were killed. The identity of the attackers isn’t known, but ought to be obvious.
Pray for this crew, that somehow they can get free of ISRO.
COLIN EDGELY TO THE KETTERING GROUP,
APRIL 14, 2040
RACHEL
“They’re calling it green on green,” Taj Radhakrishnan said.
“What does that mean?” Pav said. Rachel noted that her husband was no longer hiding his impatience, not even from his father.
“The attackers were Indian Air Force,” Wing Commander Kaushal said. “At least six of them. Three were killed, three got away.”
With the exception of Yahvi—Rachel desperately wanted to shelter her daughter from this discussion—they were all in the conference room. Rachel and Pav, Xavier. Zeds on the video link. (Rachel had visited Zeds earlier and been horrified to learn that the Sentry had been part of the firefight.) Taj doing the briefing, Tea sitting next to him.
Next to Tea was Mrs. Remilla, and next to her, Edgar Chang. The gent was now a permanent part of their “team.” Also present were Wing Commander Kaushal and his deputy.
“You’re certain they were Indian Air Force?” Xavier said.
Kaushal answered: “They were carrying military ID. They were stationed on this base—”
“And you’re fine with that?” Xavier snapped.
Kaushal sat up as straight as he could. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Our attackers wore the same uniform you do! And don’t pretend you’ve been Mr. Helpful so far—”
Now Kaushal stood up. “If you’re suggesting that I had any role in this—”
“Commander!” Remilla said. She was literally out of her chair, her hand on the Indian counselor’s forearm. “No one is suggesting complicity.” She shot a look at Xavier that, to Rachel, clearly meant, You’d better not be suggesting complicity!
In the calm that descended on the room, Pav said, “Do we have any idea what this was all about? What was the mission?
“Isn’t that obvious?” Rachel said. She was pleased that Pav was acting as the voice of reason. That had never been her role. “They were coming to kill us all.”
“Or take you prisoner,” Kaushal said.
“These soldiers?” Taj said. “Not a chance. They were assassins.”
Now Remilla spoke. “Your landing has stirred . . . religious anxieties.”