“A morphogenetic field,” Jaidev offered. Then he smiled. “Whatever the hell that means.”

That term resonated inside Sanjay’s head. “My particular morphogenetic field was apparently tracked and then retrieved for, uh, reuse?” He smiled at Maren as he said that. She shook her head at the wickedness of it all. But she had stopped sobbing. “I don’t think we’re ever going to know how,” he said. “But maybe we can figure out why.”

“Keanu wanted you back. That’s why,” Jaidev said.

“Which is obvious and still tells us nothing,” Zhao snapped.

“Keanu also seems to be monitoring us,” Sasha said. “It’s bad enough if it’s watching or listening. It’s terrifying to think that somewhere inside Keanu is a . . . a computer system that understands English and Hindi. But I can accept that. I can imagine it. What I don’t know is if Keanu is reading our minds.”

“Unlikely,” Jaidev said.

“And manipulating morphogenetic fields is likely?” Harley said.

“We can’t know the answers to those questions,” Zhao said. “Not yet. But add this to our list: Assume Keanu has been monitoring us all along, tracking our movements, growth—”

“Births, deaths,” Sasha said.

Zhao nodded. “Especially deaths. And ask . . . why did the Beehive stop working? We thought it had been damaged in the rebooting of the core. Right now it seems as though Keanu just turned it off.”

“And eventually turned it back on,” Sanjay said. “I can’t say I’m unhappy it did.”

Maren had returned, snuggling up to him and taking his hand.

Now Harley looked at the others, making some nonverbal exchange of information. Then he turned to Sanjay. “Would you be willing to talk to Dale Scott?”

“Why not?”

As Zhao went to retrieve Dale, Sanjay said, “When did he turn up?” Harley and the others briefed him on Dale’s sudden return. “Wait, he knew about our troubles?” Sanjay had to laugh. “He actually knew more than I did!”

“You had an excuse,” Harley said.

“Yeah, I was pretty dead.”

Maren got up. “I don’t like this.”

“You don’t even know Dale Scott,” Sanjay said.

“Why are you doing this?” she said. “Why are you putting yourself through it? You should be resting—”

“I’ve had enough rest,” Sanjay snapped, immediately regretting his sharp tone. He did not want to quarrel with Maren. But he faced challenges that were greater and more important, frankly, than their relationship. “Sorry.”

She looked at him, then shook her head. “Find me when you feel like it.” And walked away.

As Maren left, she passed the arriving scarecrow of Keanu, Dale Scott.

The moment Sanjay saw Dale, the noise inside his head increased. He could feel his heart rate spiking—the imagery was clearer now, the sounds less chaotic.

Something was definitely happening.

Then Dale Scott put his hands to his head.

“Are you feeling that, too?” Sanjay said.

“Probably.”

“What do you see or hear?”

“The vesicle, mostly,” Dale said.

Which confirmed what Sanjay had thought. “We’re on the same wavelength.” He knew all about the vesicle and the plan to use it as a secret strike weapon against the Reivers.

“I can speak for all of us, I think,” Sasha Blaine said, “when I tell you that you two are freaking us out.”

“Sorry,” Dale said. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to tap into the Keanu system. I don’t think I’ve mastered it.” He pointed at Sanjay. “But you’ve got it.”

Yes, he realized, as images and data seemed to come into focus, arranging themselves in accessible columns. He had glimpses of Keanu, both its interior and exterior. He saw Earthscapes, too . . . not just India and the Pacific, but a desert and a giant structure of some kind.

It was all linked, and he could feel the connections without being quite sure how it fit together. Nevertheless, the feeling was electrifying—almost worth dying for.

Almost.

“When do you launch the vesicle?” Sanjay said to Zhao.

“Within hours,” Zhao said.

“I need to be on it.”

Day Eight

FRIDAY, APRIL 20, 2040

No word now from Colin. It’s three hours past the time when he should have reached his destination.

Anyone? Anywhere?

I’m getting a bad feeling. . . .

POSTED ON KETTERING GROUP,

APRIL 20, 2040

XAVIER

The transition from free flight and nervous optimism to airborne captivity and depression took, Xavier Toutant guessed, about five seconds.

That was for him, and he was, as his momma and numerous employers used to say, slow on the uptake. He suspected that for Rachel and Pav, Yahvi, Chang, and Edgely, it was more or less instantaneous.

As for Zeds—

“What is happening?” the Sentry said. He had been in a quiet state akin to hibernation for several hours. It was, Xavier knew, a way of conserving his suit’s resources. And no doubt a means of coping with the tedium. He had been able to offer Xavier little assistance beyond holding large items, and the need for that had passed quickly. Xavier’s job soon became monitoring the proteus as it prepared the two biological packages.

And with their capture, to finish at least one of them before they landed.

“Okay, you probably saw, we’re being escorted,” Jo Zhang said. She finally opened the cockpit door ten minutes after the destruction of the decoy plane and the turn toward the coast.

“By whom?” Chang said. He seemed the most shocked of the group.

“Those are U.S. Air Force planes,” Jo said.

“Old ones, too,” Pav said. “F-22s. They were flying those when I was a kid.”

Rachel was slumped in her seat, rubbing her temples. Xavier knew that look; he had seen it frequently in the endless, contentious planning meetings for the Adventure flight. “What about Benvides and Quentin?” she said.

Jo hesitated. “I could tell you I don’t know, but you don’t need bullshit right now. Their plane was destroyed.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Edgely said.

Even from the rear of the cabin, dividing his gaze between the proteus next to him and the backs of everyone’s heads, Xavier could see that Jo’s blunt statement had not made Rachel happy. Her eyes filling with tears, she was shaking her head with great agitation. “Did we have any warning?” she said.

“Nothing,” Jo said. “One moment we were doing just fine, preparing to break off, the next . . .”

The only thing keeping Rachel from getting out of her seat and confronting Jo was Yahvi’s condition. The girl was sitting next to Rachel, hunched, probably hugging a pillow to keep from screaming. Rachel put her arm around Yahvi and leaned in to her.

Questions were still flying around the cockpit, from Chang and Edgely and Pav to Jo. None of the answers provided any information to Xavier . . . nothing he didn’t already know, that is.

They were screwed.

Jo finally said, “I’ll let you know the moment we learn anything. Right now, we’re just following our escorts.”

Leaving his machine to its final assembly, Xavier had started moving forward. “Any idea where?” he said.

“We’re flying north over the Los Angeles basin,” Jo said. “Steve thinks we’re headed for Edwards, since that’s the nearest military base.”

Xavier sat down next to Rachel. He’d always wanted to see Edwards. Living in Houston on the fringes of the space program and its culture of aviation, Xavier had grown quite familiar with the famous California base and its history of exotic aircraft and space shuttle landings.