The ceremony was mercifully brief. Sanjay Bhat’s body was already in its sheet; his brother declined to view it. “I prefer to remember him alive,” he said. “As a young man, the smartest I’ve ever met.”

“His death is a great loss,” Taj said. “To my son’s community and likely the world at large.” He and Pav had spoken only briefly about Sanjay, but Taj had gotten the clear impression that the engineer was a rare talent, one that the humans on Keanu would require.

As would the Keanu humans hoping to accomplish their mission.

“Please tell me, General, why this haste? Why the unusual hour? My brother deserves better. I deserve an explanation.”

Taj’s innate reluctance to share secrets was enhanced by his need to protect Kalyan. He would have preferred to tell him nothing, especially since he could not be sure that Sanjay’s body was about to be stolen. Nevertheless: “You know your brother returned to Earth in an alien spacecraft, correct? That his death was the result of hostile action?” Kalyan nodded. “There are parties who wouldn’t offer your brother’s remains the proper respect. This is the best alternative.”

That seemed to satisfy him. The last prayers were said, by Kalyan and Taj, with Ishat the silent, sullen witness.

Then Sanjay’s body was consigned to the flames.

Ishat went off to collect the ashes, leaving Taj and Kalyan alone and now uncomfortable. Before either of them could utter an awkward word, however, the door buzzed.

“Wait here,” Taj instructed Kalyan.

Then he ran out to the reception area and glanced through the curtains.

There were now four new vehicles parked in front of the crematorium: two automobiles, an ambulance, and a bus. At the front door were Wing Commander Kaushal and a pair of civilians Taj did not recognize.

Waiting behind them were three members of THE in their distinctive uniforms. Taj wondered how they had managed to enter India, but that concern was quickly reduced to meaninglessness by the next sight:

A dozen Reiver Aggregates were emerging from the bus, forming up as one might expect.

Taj took one long moment to snap several images with his phone, then e-mailed them to an address he had created that morning, texting Pav the same information, in the hopes that it would be retrievable when his son resumed contact.

The buzzer sounded again. Ishat appeared from the rear of the building, looking worried. “Stop right there,” Taj ordered him.

“I have to answer the door,” the young man said. He held up his phone. “I am getting orders!”

“Fine,” Taj said, “but be prepared to be pushed aside. And before you do, count to ten.”

“But—” The buzzer sounded again. Now there was pounding on the door, too.

“Ten!” Taj said. And not waiting for further debate, he ran back to Kalyan, taking the man by the arm. “Come with me.”

Without knowing where he was going, Taj guided the man deeper into the facility, turning away from the actual crematorium itself and passing several offices.

“My car is out front!”

“So are some very bad people,” Taj said. “My car is out back.”

They passed up one door because it appeared to be alarmed—why alert the new arrivals to their exit? A second door, at the end of a hall, led to the loading dock Taj had passed on his way in.

He could hear noise from inside the crematorium—raised voices followed by the crash of equipment. Or so he hoped; he had no desire to see young Ishat injured.

“I do not have my brother’s ashes,” Kalyan said.

“I fear you are unlikely to get them.”

Taj listened again; there were voices from people outside the crematorium, circling around it from his left.

He did not want to believe that they were hostile, a threat to his life and Kalyan’s. But he had to be careful.

He pressed his keys into Kalyan’s hand. “My car is the only one on the next street,” he said, nodding to the right. “Go there now and drive away. Don’t return to your hotel. Go to the nearest police station.”

Kalyan had slowly registered the danger of the situation. Now he displayed full panic. “I don’t know how to do this—!”

“Take the keys,” Taj said, in what he hoped was his command voice. “Go to the first car you see, get in, start it, drive away as quickly as you can.”

It worked. Kalyan merely blinked, took the keys, and, without another word, turned and ran off.

Taj pulled his service revolver and headed around the building to the left.

Hebbai Electric Crematorium was not large, though the press of neighboring buildings made it difficult for large formations to circle it.

Taj was waiting when the Aggregate formation came around the corner, two by two, a THE counselor in their midst.

“Who are you?” the counselor said. He was, like all THE, in his twenties. He actually appeared to be nervous.

“A hero of India,” Taj said, training his pistol on the agent. “Stop talking and stop walking.” He found himself distracted by the presence of the Aggregates . . . now a dozen anteater-like beings that came up to his shoulder. These were red and yellow, like characters from a superhero movie, and constantly in motion, each pair taking up a position around Taj that was either for observation or containment. They were not silent, either, but buzzing to each other like giant insects.

Taj kept his pistol aimed at the young man from THE. “I’m going to walk away,” he said. “Please inform your alien associates that I will shoot you if there’s a problem.”

The young man had his hands up in the classic posture. Taj slid to his right, hoping to reach the corner of the next building, so he could turn and run. The fact that he had not run more than two steps in a decade was of minor concern.

At some level of consciousness, he could not believe his situation. Threatened by an entire Aggregate formation in Bangalore? Pursued by body-snatching or grave-robbing criminals allied with India’s military?

Then he remembered his mission to Keanu, and the mix of the impossible and the insane he had experienced in that week, and he was forced to conclude: This was only the second most ridiculous thing he’d done in his life.

He was about to test his running skills when he heard, “General Radhakrishnan! You must stop!”

In truth, he had nowhere to run . . . only an open alley.

He turned and saw Kaushal walking toward him, two Indian Air Force guards at his side . . . two strange men and all three THE agents behind them.

And the Aggregates flanking them all.

“This is no longer your business,” Kaushal said. “We’re here for Sanjay Bhat’s body.”

“You’re too late. It’s been cremated.”

“That’s a disappointment.”

“To you?”

Kaushal grunted. “I’m indifferent.”

“Kaushal, what’s the point of this? The man is dead.”

Kaushal turned toward the others; the humans, all quite agitated, were conferring. The Reivers were arranging themselves in pairs, as if preparing to fan out. “He came from Keanu. Now that you allowed the others to escape, he’s all they have, or had.”

“But for what—?”

“You were there, General! Dead isn’t dead to these people, right?”

“Cremated is dead as far as I’m concerned.”

The civilians and THE types had come to a decision and were already in motion, some heading back to the crematorium, another group heading for Taj, and a third going the opposite way down the alley, toward Taj’s car.

He could not let them catch Kalyan. He had only met the man, their connection was only through the dead brother, the smart move would have been to simply hope he had already gotten away—

Even though Kaushal’s guards had guns on him, Taj suddenly started back down the alley toward his car, reaching for his pistol and shouting, “Stop!”