“Not my doing!” Mushran says. “I came here and beyond to supervise a difficult situation, in order to speed progress! I have arranged scientific work, medical exams—all this is far more important than the Gurus let on!” Then he gives in to his own anger and begins cursing in Hindi, loudly and with some talent, if I’m any judge—curses being what I studied most back at Madigan.
Kumar steps through the hatch and we follow. Mushran and his Skyrine escorts come last. The tunnel beyond is bare reddish-black rock, no visible veins of crystallized metal. Little lights glow steadily in a shallow furrow along the ceiling.
“You can’t begin to know what’s down here!” Mushran calls out. Ishikawa clamps a hand over his mouth, but Borden shakes her head, not necessary. She doesn’t let loose.
Then we hear the cry of a baby. Louder, insistent.
Mushran watches with concern as a trio of shadows emerges from the gloom at the end of the tunnel. The Skyrines raise their weapons.
“Do not shoot!” Mushran shouts through the muffling gloves. “Do not fear! They are no threat! The only danger down here is you!”
“Let us take this slowly,” Kumar says. Borden waves for the rifles and lawnmower to be lowered, then signals hold tight. The squad stands down—slightly.
Two males and a very tall female pass from deep shadow to dim light. My heart skips a beat. I hope it’s Teal and Joe and maybe Tak, or maybe Kazak—our old team regrouping on the Red—but my eyes are watering and I can only make out that they’re all wearing white tunics stained with green.
Borden leans in close to me. “Muskies?” she asks. I squint and recognize one of de Groot’s sons, Rafe, I think—and then DJ. The tall female beside DJ is not Teal but could be her sister. She’s carrying a baby, suckling now and quiet.
“All Muskies except for the skinny dude,” I say.
“Hey, it’s Vinnie!” DJ calls out, and steps ahead from the group, approaching until Jacobi shouts, “Hold your ground!”
DJ looks surprised but stops.
Jacobi asks me, pointedly, “Do you recognize them?”
I nod.
“I need voice affirmation!”
“I recognize Corporal Dan Johnson, and I think that’s one of the Voors—Rafe, Rafe de Groot. I do not recognize the female.”
“So noted,” Jacobi says, comparing DJ’s picture in her helm with the living article.
DJ by now has realized how strung out we are. “Vinnie?” he says plaintively. “That is you, isn’t it?”
I wave.
“Fuck, I knew you’d find a way back! Joe and Tak—they’re here! We’ll be a team again!”
Kumar observes our exchange as if we’re all lab rats in a maze. Mushran also seems intrigued. At heart, both are still whirly-eyed inquisitors.
I say, “Your turn, DJ. Who’s with you?”
“This is Camellia,” DJ says. “And you remember Rafe. He’s okay now. We’re all a big family down here. This place is amazing, Vinnie. You got to take the tour.”
Rafe is unhappy to see so many sisters packing heat. He remembers well and slowly edges back.
“Who else is in there?” Jacobi asks.
“Fucking everybody!” DJ says, grinning. “Everybody who counts. We’ll show you! There’s no danger, Vinnie, it’s not like the Drifter—not like that at all. Everything’s changing, active, but it’s under control, it’s friendly—no turning glass! We’ve accomplished awesome shit! Really! You need to see the stuff we’ve found. Come on!” He’s like an excited little boy.
Rafe takes the opportunity to turn around and glide silently back down the tunnel. The rifles twitch but do not rise. The tall woman and her baby remain, curious, transfixed—fearless? Or just ignorant?
“Let him go!” DJ says. “He doesn’t like you guys. He’s okay, really.”
Borden keeps her hand on my shoulder.
“Who are this infant’s mother and father?” Kumar asks.
Mushran chooses to speak. “I may introduce Camellia Vanderveer, and her son, the second of our third-gen offspring.”
“Where’s the first?” I ask. Before Mushran or DJ can answer and dash my long dreams—
The hatch behind our welcoming committee fills with clambering, clacking clusters of shiny pipes like thick gray straw—translucent, cross-connecting into individuals, then letting loose. Kobolds, DJ called them—the self-assembling workers we found in the first Drifter. The unexpected and alarming mass is punctuated by beady black eyes like camera lenses.
Borden draws back, bumping into Mushran.
DJ says, “It’s okay! They’re here to help. We’ve made amazing progress—once we learned to listen to the tea.”
I hear “the tea” as well—the gentle suggestion deep in my head that these assemblies, these servants, are no threat. They are familiar to a subset of the things that fill my cranium.
But Jacobi and Ishida and Borden have once again raised their weapons and aimed them at DJ, the Muskies, and the kobolds. Knife’s edge, I think. Kumar seems fascinated by the entire mess. As if willing to let bygones be bygones, or at least to hold his anger in reserve, he moves closer to Mushran and tells Ishida and Jacobi to release him. “What is this… happening now?” he asks.
Mushran shakes out his arms. “I have not been treated with respect, Kumarji. Let this make itself known without my help!”
“Open your minds!” DJ invites the rest with a big smile. “Let the tea in! If the old moon likes you, things clear up fast.”
Nobody knows how to accept his invitation. Nobody, I think, would even if they could.
“Suit yourselves,” DJ says with a shrug. “I’ll go tell Joe and Tak you’re here. See you down deep when everyone’s ready to have their minds blown.” He steps back through the kobolds, who clatter out of his way and flow back into the darkness.
Camellia’s infant has settled down to suckling at her exposed breast, hardly more than a bump on her ribs. The baby’s pale skin is mottled with green. The tall mother seems reluctant to leave us—hungry for fresh faces, diversions, society. But finally, with spooky grace and composure, she pulls the baby from her nipple, to soft complaint—then folds up her tunic, turns, and follows DJ.
Mushran takes advantage of our divided attentions. He makes a cautious step forward. Nobody stops him. “There should be a meeting before we enter the preserve. We need to brief these fine soldiers. Please do not interfere with or attempt to damage the workers—the assemblies you saw earlier. That I implore! Am I understood?”
Borden says that no harm will be done to them.
“Good,” Mushran says. “The consequences could be catastrophic. Much that is down here, and the reasons we are all here, needs be described. And I am owed explanations, as well, Kumarji. I need to know what has happened on Earth since I left, and since communication was cut off with Mars.”
Mushran has adeptly put Kumar in his place, yet strangely, both former Wait Staff seem totally down with the reversal of mood and tactics. They’ve gone through these games before, I guess, like retainers sparring in a royal court—which is what they are. Or were. And their game is far from over. “First, since you insist on staying in your suits, we should provide replacement filters and top you up with the necessaries,” Mushran says. “There must be a chance to rest and recuperate. Do any require medical assistance? Calming drugs?”
“We’re fine, sir,” Borden says. “We’ll keep our filters and such for the time being. We’d like to move on to the next phase.”
“Then please, come with me.”