Rachel, Pav, and Yahvi were kept in the entryway as most of the gang from THE tried to go through a serious set of security doors. Rachel wondered just what kind of nasty chemicals or devices were normally found here.
The coming and going allowed Rachel and Yahvi a moment of privacy.
Rachel had noted her daughter’s pained expression of the last few minutes. “How are you feeling?”
To her surprise, it wasn’t the stress of her recent experiences that was causing Yahvi pain. She was actually angry, saying, “I hear voices!”
Rachel had swiftly taken them both into the nearest bathroom. There she told Yahvi that she had a transmitter implanted in her head, and instructed her in its use.
“It sounds like Sasha talking,” Yahvi said. “Why is it taking so long? Oh.” She remembered the lag.
She was a fast operator. Within moments she had relayed more vital information than Rachel and Pav had gathered in all their prior contacts.
The biggest news . . . the Beehive had come to life and disgorged its first Revenant in twenty years: Sanjay Bhat.
Rachel had had to fight the conflicting urges to scoff in disbelief and shout with excitement. Yes, it was unbelievable. But . . . yes, and double yes, it was wonderful!
“He’s fine, though shaky.”
And then the next large item. “He’s coming here with the vesicle,” Yahvi said. “What vesicle is that?”
“Tell you later.”
“Well, they’re saying ‘coming here,’ so I can get the idea. You and Dad didn’t tell me much, did you?” She listened again, touching the back right of her head and nodding. In spite of the terrible situation they were in, Rachel felt serene and parental. . . . You wanted your child to grow up in safety, of course, but that was never likely to be possible on Keanu. The next best thing was having her grow up and be useful, no matter how dangerous the situation.
Hearing someone entering the bathroom, Rachel pulled Yahvi into a stall. “Why—?” She put her hand on Yahvi’s mouth, shushing her.
They both waited, wide-eyed, hearts pounding. A female voice: “You can’t stay in here.”
“One more minute,” Rachel said.
That seemed to satisfy the female THE counselor, since footsteps and a door closing indicated a departure.
Yahvi whispered, “They want to know if we plan to destroy the Ring.”
There was the question of the moment. “Hoping to!”
“Is that the thing in northern Arizona?” Yahvi said.
“Yes.”
“Someone might have beaten us to it.” Yahvi quickly explained about the ominous pillar in the sky, and Counselor Nigel’s confirmation of an “event.” “Sasha says Sanjay wants us to take control of it instead.”
Control? Of the Ring? What the hell—? “What does that mean?”
Yahvi quickly vocalized the question, and Rachel had to wait through the double torture of the lag.
“Don’t destroy the Ring until the last possible minute. They want us to find some way to hack into its controls or something. And maybe steer it.”
“Oh, is that all?”
The door opened again. Before Rachel could offer another excuse, Yahvi called, “We’re done!” Then, in a lower voice to Rachel, “And we are done. Lost the link.”
As they washed up, Yahvi said, “When did you put that thing in my head?”
“One night when you were asleep, maybe three weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You can’t tell what you don’t know.”
“I am so sick of that.”
Rachel agreed. She was very sick of trying to accomplish the impossible. Destroy the Ring? Damage it further? Take control of it?
Right now all of those were fantasy.
Next Rachel had had to endure the demonstration of the proteus, a process that surely shortened her life—not that she expected to die of old age as a captive of the Reivers.
Everyone had been gathered in a two-story workspace, where, Pav suggested, aircraft engines might be suspended for repairs. “Look at those rigs hanging from the ceiling.”
Half a dozen THE counselors were present, as were several other humans—the ones who had let Chang be killed, notably de la Vega.
And, naturally, a dozen Aggregates, some of them swarming all over Adventure’s cargo and the proteus like ants on a spilled Popsicle.
The only good thing about that moment had been seeing Tea and Edgely alive and in good health—neither seemed to have been abused.
Xavier stood with Zeds. Both had obviously been wrung out about the printer and its uses. Xavier looked shaken and subdued. Zeds was stolid and serene, and still in his suit.
“How are you doing?” she asked Xavier, once they had all established that they were largely in one piece.
“Been better.”
“And you, Zeds?” she said.
“I share Xavier’s state.”
That was a surprise; Sentries were usually quite reticent when it came to emotional responses, especially expressions of weakness. Rachel assumed that the de la Vega and THE interrogations produced results from humans . . . what had they gotten from the Sentry?
Then the fun began.
For some reason the Aggregates seemed to think that the Sentry knew more about the Keanu assembler than the humans. Zeds was a capable operator, as was Pav, but neither was at Xavier’s level.
Xavier had to talk Zeds through the demo.
Before it really got started, there was a heated discussion about what the proteus could do—and should do. Xavier was clearly trying to be cagey. “It’s only as good as its input,” he kept saying.
“What kind of input?” de la Vega said. “Electronic? Paper? A model?”
And there Xavier was stuck.
Rachel had to save her friend. “Most of the inputs are preloaded on Keanu,” she said. “Without access to its data banks, we are limited to producing only a handful of items.”
From behind her came the voice of an Aggregate: “What handful of items did you have preloaded?”
“Weapons,” she announced. She didn’t bother to address the Reiver that had spoken; she knew that to talk to one was to talk to all of them.
And she didn’t have to force herself to smile when she added, “Devices that will kill Aggregates.”
Xavier just stared at Rachel. Even Pav looked shocked. “Yay, Mom,” Yahvi said.
A murmur passed through all nine humans, too. “Don’t worry,” Xavier said, picking up on Rachel’s lead. “The weapons aren’t active.”
And then Zeds said, “Yet.”
“Then,” a different Aggregate said, “we will destroy these devices and the materials they use, for our own safety.”
“Let’s not be hasty,” Rachel said. “Just because the proteus was preloaded with weapons doesn’t mean that’s the only thing it can produce.”
“But anything that might be useful requires input from Keanu,” de la Vega said. He gave off an air of smug superiority mixed with hostility. Even if she didn’t blame him for Chang’s death, Rachel would have enjoying punching the man in the face.
“Yes,” Rachel said. “I believe I said that.”
“But . . . we don’t have those inputs.”
He talked to her as if she were in grade school. Rachel took a breath. When she lived in Houston, her mother had insisted she learn not only to swim, but to dive. There she had been . . . eight years old on the low board at the Clear Lake YWCA pool, trying not to scream at Megan Stewart for making her feel afraid. She had closed her eyes and dived, smacking her belly and filling her nose with water.
That was how she felt at this moment. “We can get a huge variety of downloads when we regain communication with Keanu.” She addressed de la Vega. “You removed transmitters from our skulls.”
For a moment she thought the man was going to lie or evade. But then: “Yes. Are you telling us to put them back in?” His tone made it clear that wasn’t going to happen.