“And even if we get to the next habitat, then what? We’ve only seen one, and aside from food, water, and one useless building, it doesn’t have much. Why would you assume you’re going to find Keanu mission control?”

“Does it hurt to give people hope?”

“Not until they realize it’s bullshit, and then it hurts a whole lot.”

“So they’ll be hurting later rather than sooner.”

He was flat on his back now, and Jesus, did it feel good.

“Are you fucking arguing with me, Harls?” Weldon and Harley had always had a commander-pilot relationship, with Weldon in the commander’s seat. Which was funny, because Harley’s chops and flying experience were substantially more varied and flashy…but Weldon had commanded Marine units, then moved into NASA management. Harley had commanded an airplane and did not enjoy telling other people what to do.

“Just helping you shape your argument, my friend.” He was troubled by Weldon’s reversals on the subject. Usually, once consensus was reached, he was Mr. Consistent. “Besides, didn’t you sign on to Zack’s bit about sending a signal?”

Weldon chose not to answer, finding another distraction.

Which was fine with Harley. They were all too worn out and stressed to have rational discussions. What they needed was sleep.

Assuming that was possible on the slatelike floor, even with the “cushion” Sasha had so thoughtfully provided. “You’re too good to me,” he had told her. Harley was, in fact, astonished to realize that he and the woman from Yale had been inseparable since the Keanu crisis went critical…four days ago?

“Oh, don’t worry: I know,” she said, rubbing a smudge of dirt off her face.

“What I can’t figure out is why.” He knew this was a stupid question. If she starts asking herself that, she’ll be gone!

“You mean, why is this goddess of a woman spending all her time with…?” She made a comic gesture toward Harley, including his useless legs.

“I know I’ve got tons of charm, but—”

“Well, sure. And fame. Let’s not forget the fame.”

“Yeah, me and your local member of the state assembly. Can you name him?”

“Her. Actually, I can.” She blinked, and he couldn’t tell whether she was joking. “But I take your point.” She thought for a moment. “Are you at least rich?”

“I make a living.” He had a pension and a little money put away in an IRA. No significant property, no anticipated inheritance.

And no sense of just how and why a casual conversation had turned into a game of Where Is This Relationship Going?

“Don’t worry, I have money.” She smiled.

“The question remains.”

“Well…maybe I was just between boyfriends.”

“I can live with that.”

“And you are kind of cute and funny.” She actually reached down to muss his hair. “Aren’t you just totally fucking tired, though?”

“I’ll shut up.” Just in time, too.

The moment Sasha was on the mat next to him, however, she said, “What do you mean, other vents and habitats?”

So he told her. And was gratified by her interest. In spite of his public position supporting Zack, fatigue, or innate pessimism, had convinced him that Weldon was essentially correct: Zack was giving them false hope. They were trapped here inside Keanu and would die sooner rather than later…new victims of the space age, like the Challenger and Columbia crews…just more numerous. Even getting back in touch with mission control—hell, anyone on Earth—meant little.

Barring some miracle, Keanu was where they would spend the rest of their lives. The challenge was to make that time less than “nasty, brutish, and short.”

Food, water, consumables—that was one major and likely ongoing challenge. And, in spite of what Zack Stewart had pitched, lack of rescue, lack of hope.

No one was talking about danger! About the fact that one of the first astronauts to enter Keanu had actually been killed…and that two of the others hadn’t survived the mission, either.

They’d been brought here against their will. Told nothing. Helped in no way that he could see, other than the simple fact that the environment wasn’t immediately fatal.

“Hey!” Sasha said. “Look who’s here!”

Camilla had approached them. The Brazilian girl looked unfazed by the suicide or accident or whatever she thought had happened.

“Hi!” Harley said, in his best tourist-friendly voice. He knew Camilla didn’t speak English.

Then the girl rattled off a phrase in a language that Harley recognized. “Is that German?”

“Yep,” Sasha said, and spoke quickly to Camilla. “I did two years of grad work in Geneva. I’m pretty fluent.”

“Lucky for her.”

Sasha didn’t miss the sarcasm. “Come on, she’s nine years old and the only person who speaks Portuguese is that weird Russian woman. Would you like that?”

“No,” Harley said, feeling selfish. He also felt that feeling selfish was a survival mechanism. “But I like so little these days.”

“Ha,” Sasha said. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

Harley accepted the new reality: He and Sasha were Camilla’s adoptive parents, much as the two of them had served in that role for Rachel Stewart back in mission control…four days ago.

Four days, or an entire lifetime.

As they reentered the cool, theoretically safer interior of the Temple, Harley noticed that Camilla was scratching at a place on the back of her left arm. Even a quick glance confirmed that it was lumpy and inflamed. “What happened there?” he said to Sasha, who had seen it, too.

“Bug bite, I guess.”

It wasn’t until they were all resting on their sides and backs, fighting off sleep, that Harley asked himself:

What bug?

Part Three

To the people on Keanu:

My name is Taj Radhakrishnan. I was the commander of the Brahma mission to the Near-Earth Object Keanu. My vehicle was destroyed two days after landing, two days after my crew and I joined Commander Stewart’s team in the first explorations of Keanu’s interior.

The exploration was…we were unprepared for what we found. I don’t believe anyone could have prepared us—

Only four of us made it home safely. Three others died. Zack Stewart bravely…stayed behind.

Bangalore and Houston have tracked the Objects back to Keanu. We assume that these things were a kind of transport system—why they took you, we don’t know.

But we hope you are alive. We are doing everything we can to contact you and see what we might do.

For my son, Pav, if you are listening…be brave.

BROADCAST FROM MOSCOW MISSION CONTROL TO KEANU BY TAJ RADHAKRISHNAN

SEPTEMBER 3, 2019

There are 186 or 185 or maybe 180 of us, it turns out, depending on who’s gone bugfuck and killed somebody that I don’t know about.

We’ve got some food, a bit we brought along, other stuff we’ve found. Some water, same deal. And the clothes we were wearing.

THAT’S IT! No alien masters, no mission, no instructions…just a big habitat like a mall, only instead of a Gap or Martin Spencer or GUM…there’s one building we call the Temple.

We’ve had an election, and an American astronaut named Harley Drake won, though I don’t think he considers it winning. He’s a good guy; my dad mentioned him a few times. Got crippled in the same car accident that killed Megan Stewart, Zack’s wife and Rachel’s mom, which is how, I guess, he wound up babysitting Rachel and getting caught up with the Object.

As for the whole Megan Stewart thing…the fact that she was alive here when Zack and my dad got here, don’t ask me. No one seems to be quite sure how the fuck that could happen, or even if it did. I’m willing to believe it, because it’s no weirder than anything else I’ve seen.