DALE

The trip by railcar from the vesicle factory to the human habitat took half an hour and was so noisy and rattling that conversation was impossible. Crammed into a single car with Makali, Dale found that the only thing the two of them could do was stare at each other awkwardly.

In any case, Dale had little to offer. Word that the Beehive had come to life had driven Zhao, Makali, and the others toward the railcars. Having just made the hike from the human habitat, Dale had been happy to be taken along for the ride, his first since the weird trek of 2019. He heard no invitation, but he heard no warning to get lost or stay out of this.

So far he was serene about his decision to reengage with his fellow humans, though he was disappointed that his communion with Keanu had not proved to be more useful—that is, that he was still having to prove himself.

That might change. In a major improvement over the previous seventy of his seventy-one years, Dale’s timing seemed to be good. Of course, his decision to visit the habitat had been spurred by the worrisome messages from the Keanu system about troubles for Rachel and crew on Earth. Nevertheless, he had followed up, and thus learned of the existence of the vesicle and the plans for its use . . . and now the Beehive had come back to life.

He was certain these were all related somehow, though cause and effect were still elusive. But if anyone could discover that linkage, it was Keanu-linked Dale Scott. He just needed more input, as they used to say at NASA.

The trip was not only an improvement over a second long walk through the tunnels, it showed Dale that the rail line was old, battered, and from the discolorations and wear had seen heavy use. Which suggested that the HBs were desperate for Substance K.

Desperate people did risky things . . . like put five humans, including a teenaged girl, and an alien aboard a thousand-year-old vehicle and fire them toward a planet that did not want them.

Such as come up with a cockamamie backup plan involving some kind of secret bioweapon they hoped to sneak into Earth’s atmosphere. Unless the Reivers had somehow managed to not only dominate Earth, but to make humanity forget whatever it had learned in the past hundred and fifty years, radar and missile defenses would still be in existence. It seemed to Dale that this vesicle gambit had little chance of success.

And what then? His concern for the outcome was not just academic—his fate was tied to Keanu. How would the Reivers respond to an invasion and/or an attack? Would they be content to let Keanu remain in orbit . . . indefinitely, untouched?

Or would they fire their own weapons? Worse yet, would they invade? They might feel that they had a right to retake the NEO, since it had been their home for a few millennia.

Dale had a sudden, unwanted image of Reiver microbes spreading up the walls of this very tunnel . . . and anteater model aliens marching toward him.

He couldn’t allow that. If—be polite and don’t think “when”—Harley Drake and Jaidev and Zhao’s big plans went to shit, Dale should be ready with his option.

Move Keanu.

And who better to pilot the NEO to a new destination, a new destiny, than former astronaut and test pilot, Keanu-linked Dale Scott?

The cars arrived at the loading complex outside the human habitat with a screeching bump. Everyone but Dale exited automatically and wordlessly, even though it appeared there was a turn in the rail that would allow the cargo car to move directly into the habitat.

But Dale chose to follow Makali and Zhao, who walked swiftly, their team members forming up behind them, not only creating a security barrier—deliberate? Or just habit?—but keeping Dale from hearing their words. It was obvious they were talking about the Beehive, and that all were agitated, even steady, unexcitable Zhao.

From the entrance, the whole of the habitat spread out like a landscape painting, neat little buildings clustered among fields and forests, the Temple dominating it all. It was a more pleasing view than Dale’s last, over his shoulder during the half-light of “night.” He was amused to realize that he had spent sixteen years away from the human habitat, and was now making his second entrance in the same day.

“Keep up, everybody. It’s at the far end.” Dale wondered why Zhao had to remind the others where the Beehive was located, but realized that two of the vesicle makers were in their twenties and had likely been brought to Keanu as small children with no experience of the place.

Or it might just have been a sign that Zhao liked to tell people what to do.

They reached the Temple within fifteen minutes, where Jaidev was waiting on the steps. “Harley and Sasha are already on their way,” he told Zhao. Only then did he spot Dale. “Why the hell are you back?”

“You welcomed me earlier, remember?” Dale said. “You wanted to keep me, too.”

Jaidev turned away, as if he could no longer bear to think about this.

As they continued their journey, Zhao asked what had happened. “You know little less than we do,” Jaidev said. “Jordana Swale was near the mouth of the Beehive and noticed a strange light.”

“I don’t know her.”

“She’s one of the senior farmers,” Makali said. “I know her. Very well grounded. I bet she didn’t investigate by herself.”

“She came to the Temple first,” Jaidev said. “I wasn’t here and Harley was busy . . .” Here Jaidev glanced at Dale. Then he decided the information wasn’t worth hiding. “. . . talking with Rachel. So Sasha went off with Jordana.

“Fifteen minutes later Jordana was back again, saying one of the cells was active.”

“That’s a lot of back and forth for one woman,” Dale said, unable to resist. “Haven’t you guys reverse-engineered the Segway yet?”

Everyone ignored him, which diminished Dale’s glee not one bit.

The distance from the Temple to the Beehive end of the habitat was seven kilometers, a distance that, when added to his other movements for the day, made for a challenging walk. He began to feel tired. His feet hurt.

Nevertheless, he appreciated a phenomenon he had never experienced on Keanu. Every few hundred meters, more HBs joined them, slipping out of the fields one by one, or emerging from buildings in larger groups. The moving throng grew to more than a hundred, a significant percentage of the population of the habitat. Zhao, Makali, and Dale had to push their way through a crowd. It reminded Dale of a scene from some old movie about Moses.

There were so many people jammed into the narrow entrance that Dale found himself being jostled. “Sorry,” the person next to him said. It was a young man, blond, long-haired, clearly nervous. “I don’t know you,” Dale said, extending his hand. “Dale Scott.”

“Hey, the hermit!” the young man said. “Nick. So this must be auspicious, if you’re here.”

“We’ll see,” Dale said. He was growing more uncomfortable. Too many people . . . too many chances for conversations he didn’t want to have.

But Nick hadn’t finished with him. “Were you around the last time the Beehive worked?”

“Yes. It was sort of operating for almost a year after arrival.” Or so he remembered. But that had been for terrestrial animals . . . no human Revenants had emerged after Yvonne Hall, and she had not come from this place. (There were other Beehive-like structures within Keanu, even a long-unused one adjacent to the Factory. Dale had never seen evidence that they still functioned.)

The idea of humans returning from the dead, originally repellent, had consumed many hours of thought over the years. He was more tolerant of the idea now. He had often wondered if Zack Stewart, going to his death in Keanu’s core, had assumed or hoped he would be reborn . . . even for a handful of days.