“That will make life uncomfortable for the CIA,” said Arkady in a tone of satisfaction.
“And the useless Petrograd executive committee,” Boris added.
“And for us,” Ash put in. “You have just pissed off the most dangerous organization in the solar system.”
The hologram reappeared. “I have backup coming. Stay where you are. I’ve been informed that your robot is emitting radio signals. Stop that!”
“Very well,” Maggie said. She didn’t add that it was too late.
They waited, staying where they were, even though a fine rain began to fall. Inside the truck cab, Baby squawked for food.
“Later,” Ash called.
“Hungry!”
At last, a car appeared, bumping down the track. It stopped, and a pair of men climbed out, dressed entirely in black, with shiny black boots. They wore computer glasses with opaque lenses and dark, thick frames.
“Who are you?” one asked.
“Arkady Volkov Wildlife Tours,” Arkady said.
“National Geographic,” Jason added.
“Ashley Weatherman Fashion Art,” Ash put in.
“Shit,” the man said, then added, “Follow us, and don’t try anything funny. There are guns in the forest. Any trouble, and they will melt your trucks.”
They climbed into the trucks. Arkady handed Ash a first-aid kit, and she sprayed a bandage on her fingers. The antiseptic in it made the cuts sting. Venusian microbes did not usually infect humans, but there were Earth microbes spreading across the planet, and some of them were nasty.
The car turned and went back the way it had come. The trucks followed. As they began to move, Ash looked back. The hologram soldier was still in the middle of the road, rifle in hand, watching. Then the second truck rolled through him, and he was gone.
“I apologize,” Arkady said. “I thought we could look at one crater and get out safely, with a few images that might—I hoped—endanger the CIA’s control of this region.”
“Were you expecting to find an alien artifact?” Ash asked.
“The longer we looked at the craters the more suspicious they have looked,” Boris said. “We were looking at the CIA, of course. We would not have examined the satellite images so closely otherwise.”
Ash leaned back and drank more tea. Next to her, Baby gnawed on a chow stick. Of course she was worried, but she couldn’t imagine the CIA taking out National Geographic. Even monsters had their limits.
The rain grew heavier. Looking out, Ash saw a group of fire scorpions resting on a tree trunk, sheltered by foliage. They weren’t large, but their exoskeletons were bright red, a warning of serious poison.
“I don’t think I will draw Maggie’s attention to them,” Arkady said. “The CIA might not want us on the radio. A pity. They look handsome, and they are very poisonous. Tourists always enjoy deadly animals.”
A half hour later, they reached a cliff made of the same yellow stone as the outcroppings. It rose above the forest, running as far as she could see in both directions. The road ended in front of it. The car stopped, and they stopped as well. Everyone climbed down.
“Leave the rifles in the trucks,” one of the men said. “And you can leave that thing too.” He waved at Baby in his cage.
“He gets lonely,” Ash said.
One man went ahead of them, opening a door in the cliff face. It looked human-made, but Ash was less sure of the opening it closed. Rectangular, very tall and narrow, it didn’t look like the kind of doorway humans would cut. They filed through, followed by the second man, who closed the door and locked it. Inside was a corridor, as tall and narrow and rectangular as the opening. Lights were stuck along the walls. These were clearly human. As for the corridor itself—the stone was polished and as slick as glass. There were fossils in it. Ash made out shells, gleaming behind the glossy surface, as well as long things that might be worms or crinoids, though this world did not have crinoids. If she’d had another life to live, she would have been a biologist or paleontologist, though she had a low tolerance for the finicky work required of both. Maybe it was a better idea to shoot fashion models and megafauna.
Baby muttered in his cage.
The corridor ended in another narrow doorway, this one without a door. Beyond it was a rectangular room with polished-stone walls. Like the hall, it was narrow and tall. It contained a table and chairs, all 3-D-printed. Ash recognized the style. Human Office Modern.
“Okay,” said one of the men. He took off his glasses, showing pale blue eyes with dark, puffy skin below them. “What is this about? We have a deal with the executive committee of the Petrograd Soviet.” He looked at the other man, who still wore glasses. “Mike, get coffee, will you?”
“Sure,” Mike answered. “Don’t say anything exciting till I get back.” The voice was contralto.
Ash took another look. Mike was either a woman or an FTM, though it was well hidden by the boxy suit and heavy-rimmed computer glasses. Not that it mattered. A female CIA agent was as dangerous as a male.
Mike left, and they sat down. Arkady and Boris looked grim. Irina and Alexandra looked worried. The Nat Geo journalist had an expression that combined fear and excitement. Maggie’s gleaming lens face revealed nothing.
“Who built this?” Arkady asked.
“We don’t know,” the man replied. “We found it.”
“Are there artifacts?” Arkady asked.
“Aside from the circles and these tunnels? Nothing we have found.”
“This is a site of systemwide historical importance,” Boris said. “Evidence that someone, not human, was on Venus before we came. You sat in it, keeping the people of Petrograd—and the scientists on Venus and Earth—from investigating. Not to mention the tourists we could have brought in, improving our economy.”
“It meant we didn’t have to set up camp in the forest,” the man said. “It’s dry in here, and there’s a lot less animal life—or was, till recently. Believe me, this place isn’t interesting. Just corridors and rooms, going a long way back into the cliff. All empty, except for the debris left by animals. Bones and dry leaves and dried-out feces.”
Mike came back with a tray, carafe, and coffee cups. He or she poured coffee. There was a slight chill in the room, and it was pleasant to hold the warm cup and sip the hot coffee. Ash’s cut fingers still stung a little.
“The question is, what will we do with you?” the first man said.
“National Geographic will be concerned if we vanish,” Jason said. He sounded anxious.
“Accidents happen in the outback,” Mike said in his or her high voice.
“I was recording and uploading my images, until your hologram told me to stop,” Maggie put in. “The material went to the nearest comsat, which belongs—I believe—to Petrograd. I assume the comsat sent it on to our office in Venusport. The message was encrypted to prevent piracy. But our office can decode it. They will have done so by now.”
“They know about the circle,” Jason added. “And the robot you put in the lodge.”
“What robot?” the man asked.
“The bug. The scorpion. It had wires.”
Mike was leaning against a wall, cup in hand. The nameless man looked over, frowning.
“Not ours,” Mike said. “Petrograd must be spying on itself.”
Baby stirred in his cage. Ash reached a finger to scratch him and—in the same movement—undid the lock on the door. No one seemed to notice except Baby, who looked interested and alert.
She wondered about ventilation and ways to escape, looked around and saw a rectangle cut in the stone of one wall just below the ceiling. It was long and narrow with vertical bars made of the same stone as the wall. As she watched, a pair of antennae poked out between two of the bars. The animal followed. A scorpion, of course. The pale gray body suggested it was a cave scorpion, as did the lack of obvious eyes.