Near both poles of Keanu were a dozen tubes that were different from the internal tramway or Substance K piping . . . these had a slight conical shape, like trumpets, with their mouths appearing to reach Keanu’s surface.
Of course, Dale realized: These were scoops for sucking up interstellar gas and other materials to fuel the power core. (The schematic showed that there were other methods of gathering fuel or energy, including a network of grids on the NEO’s surface.)
Spaced equidistantly around Keanu’s equator and poles were smaller tubes that Dale recognized as propulsion jets.
And, finally, three other passages . . . vesicle-launching tubes.
Ultimately the schematic was a hodgepodge of different systems added over time. What else would one expect from a ten-thousand-year-old starship? It was likely that none of the equipment was original . . . that it had all been redesigned, upgraded, remade over the millennia.
And, given the variety of habitats, by different races, each with its own technology, and its own relationship to the now-absent or extinct Architects.
Humans were latecomers, Dale realized. And in twenty years had done nothing! We don’t even know what we’re living in, he thought.
But for the moment, one human had been empowered. Dale Scott had activated Keanu’s propulsion system for the second time in human history. The first activation, twenty years ago, had stopped Keanu’s flight out of the solar system and put the NEO on a long, slow trajectory back toward Earth.
That event had been controlled from the Temple, but only the way that a human space mission could be “controlled” from a backup center . . . basic commands could be given, but little else. The real calculations and decisions took place in the primary centers.
Here in the Factory node, Dale had finer, more precise control than the Temple.
He needed it, because he was not only blasting Keanu out of its circular orbit four hundred thousand kilometers from Earth.
He was sending it on a collision course toward Earth.
He wondered whether Jaidev and the others knew that. In the past month, Keanu had made a burn of its system to slow down enough to be captured by Earth’s gravity, so, Dale knew, the backup node in the Temple was still active. But would anybody be watching? Would its rudimentary displays suddenly flash red or sound some kind of alarm?
He would have loved to see the look on Harley Drake’s face when he realized that someone else had taken the stick and was flying his NEO.
There was still work to be done, of course. An object the size of Keanu—over one hundred kilometers across—and flying at a velocity that was steadily increasing to ten or twenty thousand kilometers an hour needed to be able to tweak its trajectory.
Because the idea was not to hit Earth. The idea was to fly close, within a thousand kilometers, possibly even lower, on a certain path over a certain spot at a certain time.
Dale hoped that someone on Earth would be aiming a camera at Keanu as it approached—and then he realized that every human on the fucking planet would be watching the sky! Having a bright white NEO the size of a major asteroid growing bigger and bigger would send people running for hills and shelters . . . at least, those too stupid to realize that the impact of an object the size of Keanu would be a civilization-ending event.
(The rock that had killed the dinosaurs was a third the diameter of Keanu.)
The smarter ones would hold each other’s hands, say their prayers, confront their fate, watching in horrified wonder as the shiny thing grew monstrous in the sky.
What a show that would be!
In spite of his years of solitude and systematic exploration of the Factory and environs, patience had never been prominent in Dale Scott’s makeup.
After several hours with no further update of the images and sounds in his head, he began to wonder:
Was Keanu finished with him?
He shouldn’t have been surprised. His communion with Keanu had never been consistent; indeed, at times the images and sounds had been absent for days or even months.
But he needed them now.
He returned to the control node and saw that the status screen continued to change. He also found a new panel that showed both “target” Earth, still small and largely in shadow, just a bluish crescent, and the Moon, far closer, half-shadowed, viewed from a completely different perspective; Dale realized he was looking toward its south pole . . . he could make out Shackleton Crater, the landing site for Destiny-5 more than twenty years ago, a mission he might have commanded instead of Tea Nowinski . . . if not for Zack Stewart.
No, don’t look back. Go forward.
But . . . how? Since he had commanded Keanu out of orbit, the NEO had crossed thousands of kilometers. Its speed had increased dramatically.
It was diving toward Earth! Surely Keanu needed his help with that incredibly dangerous operation—
Then he remembered: Keanu’s systems didn’t always work properly! That had been the problem when the HBs first arrived . . . dead passageways, failed equipment.
And since then . . . the dormant Beehive!
What if the stress of the de-orbit burn had damaged Keanu’s ability to communicate with its human links? Obviously the NEO was saying nothing to Dale. Suppose Sanjay on the vesicle was out of comm, too?
Then what? A missing tweak of Keanu’s trajectory at this moment could be disastrous!
One option was to run back to the human habitat, to see if the Temple node was online.
But that would take an hour . . . and if Jaidev and the others were in touch with Sanjay, or Keanu itself, then Dale’s efforts were not needed.
If not, though, he would have wasted precious time—
He went looking for his communion site.
The scooped-out depression was as Dale had left it. He peeled off his raggedy clothes and lay down, closing his eyes, regulating his breathing . . . all the yogalike techniques he had learned over the years.
Time passed, minutes at most.
Then he felt it—the connection was right there, begging to be made! He opened his mind, reached out, felt it all wash over him, ten or a hundred times more powerful than any link he had previously experienced.
It made him afraid. And it hurt . . . everywhere, chest, brain, legs, arms.
Too much—
Then everything went cold, silent, and dead.
(U) MSG NUMBER 51118-47308 (00217) USSTRATCOM/J36
(U) FLASH SBSS UPDATE 23APR2040 1811ZULU
(S) KEYWORDS “KEANU” “ORBIT” “MANEUVER” “THREAT”
(S) Orbital and Earth-based systems recorded propulsive events on NEO Keanu this hour resulting in change-of-orbit maneuver. Delta-V suggests close approach to Earth resulting in threat.
(SCI) Impact imminent within forty hours.
INTERNAL COMMUNICATION, U.S. STRATEGIC COMMAND,
FREE NATION U.S., APRIL 22, 2040, 11:12 MST
ZEDS
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Xavier Toutant said.
“I don’t understand the restriction,” Zeds said.
“I meant, try not to kill or injure anyone. At least, not until I tell you.”
Zeds and Xavier had been separated from Rachel and the others within moments of their arrival at Site A, hustled into a vehicle, and driven deep inside the long, broad building behind the administration center and its helipad. Their guards were human, not just a THE trio but armed military—and de la Vega.
Zeds barely had time to register the surroundings: the backs of giant mirror towers to the north, part of a ring that extended a long way east and west, then appearing to curve. Also the giant mound that blocked a portion of the view north.