“I don’t think we’re going to figure this thing out here,” she said. She was hoping they hadn’t.

She followed Pav out onto the tarmac. The air was thick, muggy, cool. In other circumstances, she would have enjoyed touring Darwin. For that matter, she would have enjoyed seeing some of Bangalore. Anything beyond the confines of Yelahanka Air Base.

“Were you able to connect with Keanu?”

Pav shook his head. “I think I got a link. You know that weird feeling you get behind your ear? So I transmitted the information—Sanjay, where we are now.”

That alarmed Rachel, and Pav noticed. “Nothing more, I promise. I got no response, but there’s some chance the message got through.”

“Only a small one.” She felt agitated and unsure. “We need to tell them about this Ring thing as soon as we can. And before we can do that with any confidence—” She turned, spotted her quarry heading for the aircraft. “Xavier!”

The rotund one detoured toward her. He still looked ashen and dazed, which made Rachel feel a bit worse about what she had to tell him. “We need the transmitter.”

“I know. If we would come to rest for more than an hour I might be able to do something—”

“Why can’t you work on the plane?”

That stumped him. He turned to look at the vehicle. “Well, it’s not stable . . .”

“Come on, even with the bumps we took going around storms, most of the flight was like glass,” Rachel said. “Are you telling me you can’t get anything done in three or four hours?”

Xavier blinked. “I’m not telling you anything like that. I just didn’t know how . . . dire this was.”

“It’s totally fucking dire. Please, please, please build that transmitter as soon as possible. Even if you only get some of it done on the plane, we’ll hold at our next stop to get it running.”

“Wait,” Xavier said. “The real problem is . . . well, power.”

“Where did we get it when all this started on Keanu?”

“From Keanu itself, the whole system. They were tapping into it inside the Temple.”

“I have an idea,” Pav said. He gestured to Xavier. “Let’s talk to Edgely and the pilots.”

To Rachel he said, “You should probably find Yahvi and get aboard.”

Has anyone heard from Colin?

As near as I can tell, he’s been dark for seventy hours—this from a guy who can’t take a breath without posting somewhere, and now that Keanu folks are back? Is something up? Is he all right? Someone tell us!

POSTER ZIRCONX, KETTERING GROUP,

TUESDAY, APRIL 17, 2040

WHIT

If not for the changed landscape outside his window—or just the fact that he had a window—Whit Murray could have believed he was still working in Las Vegas. There were the same cubicles, the same lighting, the same workstations.

Even the people looked the same. Most were in their early twenties, with a few outliers who might be Dehm’s age, or Whit’s. There were probably twenty in the place.

That number didn’t include the half dozen THE supervisors, two trios this time—including Counselors Kate, Margot, and Hans, who, along with their fellow monitors, patrolled the lab like herding dogs, silent and still until some worker stretched or showed physical stress of some kind.

Then one of them would swoop . . . gently, it must be said. Even supportively. “Is there a problem? Are you in discomfort? Is a command unclear? Is the task too challenging?”

Whit knew because he had been the subject of THE “support” several times in his previous posting, though there THE counselors had tended to be more gruff and impatient.

Here, though, they were all about helping you do the work, it seemed.

Maybe it was because they were all—field modelers and THE action teamsters—new here.

Or maybe it was due to the critical nature of the work.

What made the current level of THE monitoring slightly creepier and more intrusive was that they had three workstations dedicated to them, meaning that any THE agent could sit down and call up a record of every keystroke a modeler made. Whit had had experienced teachers and others checking his work; this was far worse.

“Hello, Whit.”

He looked up to see Counselor Kate, the slim redhead from the trio that had “recruited” him in Las Vegas. Still wearing her standard THE uniform, minus the jacket, she looked relaxed, indecently healthy and happy. She lowered herself to a stand that Whit, a longtime baseball player, always called “on-deck circle”: one knee up, one on the floor.

Arm on the back of Whit’s chair. “How do you like the work so far? The facility?”

“The place is fine.” He was able to be truthful; his living quarters were bigger and nicer than where he had lived at Nellis. He wasn’t in a bunk bed, for one thing, and he shared his room with only three young men, down from seven.

“But . . .” Kate was offering him an opening.

The only thing lacking so far was free communication, and Whit’s experience with THE encouraged him to raise it: “I wish I could talk to my mother.”

Kate was all sympathy. “We told her Friday night that you had been called away on a special assignment, and that you would be in touch . . . Tuesday! Right after your shift today.” Her whole chirpy manner suggested that this was a wonderful coincidence. Whit also knew that if he hadn’t said anything, it wouldn’t be happening.

Here came the hand on his shoulder. “Anything else?”

Whit pushed back. Maybe it was exposure to Dehm, maybe it was a sense that time was short and that people with his skills were rare. He might have a tiny bit of leverage.

“I would be more productive if I knew what I was working on.”

“You’re working on modeling electromagnetic fields. Very, very large and powerful ones. Me, too, by the way.” She nodded toward her cubicle.

“I knew that,” he said. “But I don’t know why. Or what for.”

Counselor Kate seemed to process this. Whit expected to see her glance toward Counselor Hans or Margot or one of the other three for permission, but she kept her eyes focused on him as she said, “Well, then, ask me.”

“We’re creating what appears to be a giant cone—or ring—of energy, out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Correct. We can’t be messing around with that kind of energy too close to population centers.”

“I understand that. I just don’t see the use of this energy cone.” He decided to press his luck. “Is it a weapon?”

Counselor Kate didn’t hesitate. “No, you have my word on that. And, since you have no special reason to trust me, look at this.” This time she did glance at Counselor Margot. Apparently having received permission, she called up a new schematic on her screen. It showed a dozen beams of some kind emanating from a projector at the center of the ring. The beams hit the ring, which then projected a gauzy cone into the sky.

Counselor Kate tapped on her mouse pad, pointing the cone in different directions. Apparently it could even be aimed parallel to the Earth’s surface. Having some idea of the energies involved, Whit hoped he would never find the cone aimed at him.

“Cool,” he said, trying not to be sarcastic. “What does the cone do besides make a pretty shape?”

“It literally bends space.”

“Okay,” he said, not entirely sure that he understood that—or accepted it.

“The ring accelerates subatomic particles to hypervelocities. When they collide with certain other particles, a . . . distortion is created. A wave of particles.”

“Sounds very quantum.”

Kate nodded so slightly that it was impossible to know whether she agreed or thought he was teasing her. “This . . . wavicle”—she smiled, pleased with her coinage—“somehow compresses or distorts the structure of space. Think of it as taking two ends of a flat tablecloth and bringing them together. You still have all the fabric, but you’ve connected the ends.” She smiled broadly now, pleased that she remembered an important lesson.