This statement did require a response; even the formation cross-links approved. Carbon-143 made a more obvious turn and bow.

“Aren’t you going to say hello, Whitless?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that—”

“Mr. Murray, then. Please say hello to Aggregate Carbon-143, like all of us, just a tiny cog in the big machine.”

The younger man blinked and held out his hand. “Hi there, Whit Murray.”

“She’s not going to shake it, sorry.”

He lowered his hand. “Does she talk?”

“They do not vocalize as such,” Randall Dehm said. “But if you are wearing the proper comm device when you encounter an Aggregate, you will get some kind of response. It all depends on what you ask.”

Whit smiled at Carbon-143. “How did you get to know this particular one, then? Without being able to talk.”

“Six months ago, I had to do some repairs and reprogramming. No matter how much money and time we spend, sometimes shit breaks. The Aggregates can’t stand it, but that’s what they get for invading our planet and making us slaves, right?”

Whit appeared to be shocked by this bald, undeniably factual statement. So he said, “I always wondered . . . how come we always see the same types?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aggregates are made up of thousands of individual cells, right? They could form into anything.”

Carbon-143 could have explained this, meaning that, had Whit been wearing the “appropriate comm device,” she could have uploaded a human-friendly file about nine templates and why they had been chosen—and persisted.

“Don’t you like the anteater look?”

“I don’t really have an opinion. I was just—”

Randall was standing so close to Carbon-143’s left side that the formation’s proximity alarm system went on first-level alert. “I like it. I think it’s sexy.”

Then he laughed and slapped Whit on the arm. “Come on, man. I’ve got other stuff to show you.”

As they left, Carbon-143 had the clear impression that Whit stopped in the exit and looked back.

Meanwhile she tried to control the somatic discharge Randall’s remark had caused. It was likely a transient overload triggered by the unusual and prolonged Aggregate-human contact.

CONCLUSION: She could not let it distract her from her work.

The return of humans from Keanu continues to be a major story, topping the looming conflict between the New Coalition and Free Nations over trade and travel.

Four of the five humans and the sole E.T. in the crew have been briefly seen in public; one of the humans was reportedly injured in the crash landing at Yelahanka Air Base on Friday. Beyond that momentary exposure, they have been sequestered. Neither ISRO nor Bangalore government will answer any but the most general questions that interested and responsible citizens are asking:

What do they want? To sightsee? To open up regular trips between Earth and Keanu?

Why are they here and not in the Free Nations, where many of the crew originated?

What do they know of Earth?

What is life like on Keanu? How have they survived?

Have there been further returns of the so-called Revenants? For that matter, did the Revenants ever exist?

More to the point, does Keanu, now looming in the night sky like a death star, pose a threat to Earth—or perhaps only to certain entities on Earth?

It is now rumored that the Keanu travelers will soon emerge from seclusion within the next twenty-four hours, though it is a sad but inevitable sign that they have engaged a publicist and media agent. . . .

Will we have to pay to get answers?

“CAPITAL VIEW” COLUMN BY M. J. MUHAMMAD,

NEW INDIAN EXPRESS, 15 APRIL 2040

XAVIER

Pav’s plan, modified by his father and with suggestions from Edgar Chang, rolled into motion just before five A.M. the next morning, when a pair of twenty-five-year-old limousines, an ambulance, and two medium-sized trucks pulled up to the rear hospital entrance—where blood still stained the pavement and the walls still showed bullet marks.

It was raining . . . not the torrential tropical rain expected in Bangalore, just a morning shower.

For that reason, a tent was swiftly erected by enlisteds. This action also effectively kept observers—if there were any—from seeing who got aboard the vehicles in what order. Wing Commander Kaushal was everywhere, guiding the airmen with such vigor that in one case he actually shoved one aside and completed attaching the canvas to the frame himself.

Taj Radhakrishnan watched from farther inside the loading dock. He was pacing like a user waiting for his dealer.

Of course, this was just what Xavier Toutant saw as he and Rachel, Pav and Tea, Yahvi and Zeds slipped through the interior of the loading dock on their way to the ambulance garage.

Edgar Chang was waiting for them as they approached a van and a larger truck emblazoned with the logo of Prasad Stores, apparently a food supplier to Yelahanka. He was not wearing his customary suit and tie, but the more common khakis and white shirt of a clerical worker. He did not look Hindi, of course, but he looked less Chinese.

Xavier realized that Pav was also wearing the same clothing and had also had his hair trimmed. “Pav and I will ride in the van,” the agent said. “I’m driving. Pav and I, in fact, are the only ones who know our route.”

“Who’s driving this thing?” Tea said.

Chang pointed to a grim-faced Chief Warrant Officer Singh—Xavier’s associate during the transfer of Adventure’s cargo. Not that Xavier had any doubts that the man was a special agent, but here was proof.

He only hoped that he was one of the agents who could not be bought by their enemies.

“Are we fooling anyone, do you suppose?” Rachel said.

“Well, I’m confused,” Xavier said. Pav and Tea laughed, but Xavier was only half-kidding. There was the official plan, which involved a somewhat stealthy convoy of five vehicles heading up the Velur Bypass to National Highway 7 and Bengaluru International for a two-and-a-half-hour flight to Delhi. The carefully leaked story was that the Indian capital was a more appropriate temporary home for Adventure’s crew—and that superior medical facilities would be better for Sanjay Bhat.

Then there was the real, vastly more stealthy convoy that would leave Yelahanka by the main gate and head east to catch the Thanisandra Main Road, where it would turn south and eventually reach Hindustan Airport, the older facility now, according to Taj, largely devoted to flight test work.

From that point, the plans were vague and kept changing. Rachel and Pav, working with Taj and Tea and this Chang person, had made tentative plans for a flight to Shanghai, or possibly Buenos Aires—the destination kept changing, though the goal always remained the same: get as close to the Free Nation U.S. as possible, as soon as possible.

The giant flaw in any plan was Sanjay’s state: miraculously, he had not only survived but been stabilized. While he faced a long recovery and remained technically critical, he was expected to survive.

Chang had released a statement that exaggerated Sanjay’s condition, to justify the move to New Delhi. In fact, Sanjay would be staying right there at the Yelahanka Air Base hospital for several more days.

When it was safe, he would be flown to wherever the rest of the crew had come to rest.

Xavier didn’t much like the idea of leaving the engineer behind, but he liked the idea of all of them in New Delhi a lot less. He wanted to be in the U.S., “Free Nation” or not, to see for himself what it was like living under Reiver domination . . . and determine what, if anything, could be done about it.