“You’ve had First Encounter, Re-Encounter, Close Encounter—”

“—And Stupid, Senseless, What-Else-Can-I-Do-Wrong Encounter. That would be today’s.”

Williams actually shook with amusement. “I won’t ask you to believe that I’m in any way eager to stop living, but my gratitude at my continued existence has been seriously enhanced by this week . . . even allowing for the, uh . . .” He waved his hand at Harley. “What-Else-Can-Go-Wrong aspects?” He chuckled. “I lived through 9/ 11, but always thought that Pearl Harbor might have been more shocking. With this . . . now I have some idea.”

“This,” Harley said, “is like living through the week of the Crucifixion . . . or when that big asteroid killed off the dinosaurs.”

“True. Either way, it’s sort of a privilege to bear witness.”

“What was it Mark Twain said? About a man being tarred, feathered, then ridden out of town on a rail?”

“‘If not for the honor of the thing, I’d rather walk.’ Actually, it was Abraham Lincoln.”

“You’re the writer.” Harley looked at his bottle. “Are you sure this is nonalcoholic?”

“Fatigue and terror do strange things to the mind. Speaking of which,” Williams said, shifting to the lecture mode Harley knew so well, and hated, “I’ve been thinking. Thinking about what those fine folks you gathered have come up with.”

“Given that, so far, all I’ve gotten are some cute names—”

“Oh, we’ve got a model for your Revenants and such. The idea is, just as there is no true physical separation between your body and the universe—even when your core organism ceases to function, there are still atoms of moisture and skin and exhalation that linger, float off, whatever—the same thing applies to your mind, your soul, your life force. There is also some kind of physical connection between the electrical field that is you, Harley Drake, and the universe.

“Your carrier might be shut off. That is, you die. But the information lingers . . . like cloud computing, it’s all around us . . . accessible.”

“So our souls are some new kind of matter, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s one way to look at it. I mean, hell, the universe is largely made up of dark matter and energy, and we still don’t have a terrific handle on what that is or does. Why not some other kind of energy or information? It’s probably affected by gravity, too. The cloud of souls travels with the Sun.”

“Sounds like the opening line of your next novel.”

“Those days are gone, my friend. But the image is elegant, is it not?” He let the contents of the bottle slosh. “Everything that ever lived on Earth—or in the solar system—is still with us, in some fashion. It’s all information . . . the folks who built Keanu just know how to access it and repackage it.”

“They must have a pretty impressive search engine to pull Zack Stewart’s wife out of a library like that.”

“We suspect they got some clues or information from the arriving astronauts. We think the, ah, markers help. Scanned them, I think. Then they’re retrieved the same way the National Security Agency plucks a single cell phone conversation out of an entire city’s signals. Random frequency tracking, amped up a bit.”

“Yeah, a bit,” Harley said. “Then, of course, there’s the whole business of growing new bodies.”

“That’s just twenty-second-century Earth biotech, don’t you think? If we live long enough, we could have new carcasses, too.” Williams wheezed, tipped his bottle toward Harley. “We both could certainly use one.”

In shadow, another person came around the corner—female, tall, and, from the lingering odor, just off a cigarette. “Oh!” Sasha Blaine said. “There you are.”

“Caught,” Harley said. “We were about to head back in. . . .”

“Before you do,” Sasha said. “I’ve just had this mad cool idea and you should hear it in case it’s more mad than cool.”

“Hit me with it.” Harley was no longer convinced that the O’Doul’s was actually near beer; either that, or in his fatigued, stressed-out state, he was all raw emotion . . . because he suddenly, instantly wanted to hold Sasha Blaine. Gawky, too tall, too jumpy, it didn’t matter. He was in love with her . . . and there was a testament to the persistence of human emotions in the face of crisis.

Blaine blinked. “We heard that even though Venture and Brahma are gone, Destiny is still in orbit.”

“Yes.”

“And that five of the astronauts might still be alive.”

“Still good.”

“Which doesn’t mean much, because without Venture and Brahma, they’re trapped, and nobody has a vehicle that could be prepped and launched on a rescue for at least six months.”

“That would sum it up.” Harley had been so focused on the horror of this nuke that he had not gotten his head around the real collateral damage . . . the fact that the survivors were stranded with no hope of rescue.

Eyes closed, Blaine hugged herself, a set of gestures Harley always associated with brilliant, socially awkward types who were about to tell you something insane. Williams saw it, too, nudging Harley.

“Sasha,” Harley said, realizing he would have to drag it out of her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Why don’t we land Destiny on Keanu?”

What does it mean when you see the director of the Johnson Space Center collapsed in a corner? :( [ Wish I had a stronger emoticon]

POSTER JSC GUY AT NEOMISSION.COM

Tea’s run to rendezvous, even though she was barefoot and wearing nothing more than panties and a tank top, was quick and exhilarating. Maybe part of that was due to her near-naked state. She felt primal. Eve in Eden, maybe.

The only techie part of the experience was the Zeiss unit slapping at her back. (She had looped its strap over her chest, bandolier style.)

It was also helpful to find smooth running surfaces inside the chamber. Nothing would kill the runner’s high, amplified by danger and novelty, more quickly than bloodied feet.

The danger and novelty were enhanced by the apparent change in conditions. The interior seemed to be growing dark—it was difficult for Tea to see the glowworms through the overhanging vegetation, but it seemed redder and, though this could have been an illusion, briefly black, switched off or in some kind of Keanu eclipse.

The temperature seemed to be dropping, too, though that could have been due to her lack of clothing. And the oxygen content was changing—or was she feeling that because she was running hard while horribly fatigued, dehydrated, and out of shape?

Either way, though Tea wasn’t in love with the Keanu environment, given the unattractive options at the moment, she really wanted it to stay human-friendly.

After emerging from the Beehive, she made a quick pass through the campsite, where she stopped long enough to reorient herself. There was no high ground that would allow for a broader view . . . the best she could do was plunge back into the jungle on the same path she and Taj had used in returning from the Temple.

As she ran, she felt occasional flutters on her skin. . . . Keanu insects? Or just vegetative debris being blown by what was now a steady wind? None of it stuck to her long enough for her to tell, and she sure wasn’t going to stop to conduct a biotic study. Aside from the Zeiss, the only other piece of technical equipment she carried was her watch, and she had already been gone from the membrane for twenty minutes.

There it was, up ahead, the stony top of the Temple, still maybe a mile or more away—

—And here was Zack Stewart, no more than twenty meters in front of her, standing in a clearing with Lucas and Natalia.

“Zack!” She couldn’t believe how weak her voice sounded, how tired she felt! She had to stop, panting, watching helplessly as the other three reacted with what appeared to be confusion.