Nayar and Weldon, accompanied by a woman from the Houston group, were busy touching various surfaces on a control panel. Nayar was using a pen and the margins of a magazine to record positions and results: which lights went on or off or changed color, which temperature changes were triggered. “Goddammit,” Weldon said, “I wish we had a few pieces of clean paper so we could write this stuff down.”

“Is there any logic to it?” Drake asked. “I did some cockpit design for Destiny; we kept falling back on grouping systems.”

“Sadly, no,” said Nayar. “Of course, we’ve just begun our survey. For every panel or button we’ve found to be active in some way, there are two that are inert.”

“So far, you mean,” Drake said.

“Noted,” Weldon said. “Besides, we’ve got three upper floors to go through.” He indicated the “counters” and “consoles.” “They’re all packed with stuff like this.”

“Do you suppose any of it links to guidance, navigation, or propulsion systems?” Zhao said. He hadn’t exactly intended to speak up, finding fly-on-the-wall mode to be useful. But he had not given up on the idea of returning to Earth. He completely approved of Zack Stewart’s mission to examine the vesicles and learn whether they were useful, and he was all in favor of finding some way to control Keanu itself.

Besides…he had worked with Nayar and the ISRO team. It would not surprise them to hear from him.

Weldon was another matter, however. He looked at Zhao with irritation. Nevertheless, all he said was, “We haven’t forgotten—”

A pair of Indian engineers, one slim and Zhao’s age, the other fat and older, came down from the floor above. As if presenting a gift to a feudal lord, one of the men carried an object that looked like a super-sized candy bar…only blue.

He gently set it on the table. “We believe this is nutritious,” he said. Jaidev, Zhao remembered; that was his name. He was deadly serious, but not a bad engineer.

Drake, whose nose was close to the table already, leaned over and sniffed at it. “Doesn’t smell bad.”

The second engineer—Daksha—was openly enthusiastic. “In texture and aroma it reminded me of military food. Meals Ready to Eat.”

“Where did you get it?” Nayar said.

Jaidev turned to his compatriot. “Directly above. We were testing buttons and revealed a cabinet with a faucet.”

“Did it work?”

Jaidev frowned. “While we were trying, one of the machines activated, and this popped out.”

Weldon was clearly skeptical. “Blue food?”

“Whatever,” Drake said. “There it is. What do we do with it?”

“Someone probably has to taste it,” Zhao said. And before anyone could protest, he picked up the bar and bit into it.

The engineer had been right; the texture was much like that of an energy bar. The taste was undefined; nutty. As he chewed, Zhao said, “This is one of the things prisoners are for, isn’t it?”

“Nobody likes an asshole,” Drake said. “Even a brave one.”

“Think of all the time I’ve saved you, searching for a volunteer.”

Nayar was all business. He would have suggested Zhao as the test subject. “Well?”

Zhao was considering that exact question. His stomach was quite empty; what little food he’d had for the past four days had been unfamiliar, close to inedible. So initial conditions were challenging.

Yet, for the first minute or two…the blue bar rested happily inside him.

Then—

“Excuse me—”

He ran as fast as he could down the ramp and out the front of the Temple, where he vomited in front of Gabriel Jones and Sasha Blaine.

Weldon had followed him, less out of concern, Zhao felt, than out of curiosity.

Fortunately, it was only a single episode. Unlike the many times he had suffered food poisoning—another affliction he associated with warm climates—Zhao felt fine again, and quickly.

Weldon was busy explaining the experiment to Jones and to Sasha Blaine, who was cradling the sleeping baby in her arms.

Which led Zhao to his second great observation of the day: Something bad had happened in the general direction of Lake Ganges. A drowning? Zhao couldn’t be sure, but it was clear from the tones and body language that someone had died.

Two deaths now. If this trend continued, in three months they would all be dead. Of course, that was pessimistic; things rarely progressed on such straight lines.

Still, it wasn’t promising—

Jones was louder now. “Have we heard from Zack?”

Weldon said, “Harley got a squawk from Dale about half an hour ago, something about watching out for more animals from the Beehive.”

“It just gets better and better,” Jones said.

Harley Drake and Vikram Nayar had emerged from the Temple, Nayar pushing. The blue food bar lay in Drake’s lap.

“You’ve recovered,” Drake said.

“What are you going to do with that?” Zhao said.

“Throw it in the garbage, I guess.”

“Let me try it again.”

“Are you just a glutton for punishment?”

The same thought occurred to Zhao. “I’ve eaten nothing but crap for four days. I’d have probably thrown up anything new.”

Drake was reluctant, but Weldon saw the wisdom of another taste test. “If he’s right, we gain a lot,” he said. He didn’t add, nor did he need to, that if Zhao was wrong, he wouldn’t miss him. He smiled. “Bon appétit.” And handed him the bar.

Zhao took another bite roughly the same size as before. He used every trick of feedback and disassociation he knew—and his training in Guoanbu had equipped him with many such techniques—to suppress the urge to vomit.

He found, however, that he didn’t need them. As he had suspected on his first test, his discomfort was temporary. Jaidev and his friend had been correct; this object was edible.

“So far, so good,” he announced. “Whether it provides real nutrition or energy—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Weldon said. “We won’t know for a while yet.” He turned back to the other members of the council. “Meanwhile, we’ve got work to do.” And he led Jones and Nayar back toward the Temple.

Harley Drake remained behind, however. He handed Zhao the rest of the bar. “If you can stand it, you might as well finish it. Even if you ate a Power Bar, you wouldn’t get much benefit from a single bite.”

Zhao accepted it. Then Sasha said, “Harley, have you seen Rachel lately? Or Pav?”

“Not for a couple of hours.” He looked alarmed and guilty. “Have you?”

“Last I saw, she was at the lake. But she isn’t there now, and no one seems to know where she went.”

“Shit,” Drake said.

To Zhao, he seemed genuinely distressed. “I’ll go take a look,” he said. The offer was partly an attempt to get away from the Temple, but real nevertheless; he was stuck with these people. Their plights and problems were his.

“Are you just in a mood to volunteer?”

“Everyone has a job but me.” Zhao tapped his stomach. “While we’re waiting to see if I die or not, let me find Rachel.” He smiled. “Tracking people is one of my skills.”

Drake didn’t hesitate. “Go. And when you find her, feel free to subject her to intense criticism.”

Sasha slapped him on the shoulder, but Zhao sensed that Drake wasn’t kidding.

The last person he saw, glancing back at the Temple, was the little Brazilian girl, Camilla, watching him go.

PAV

The landing had been surprisingly gentle. For that matter, the fall had been surprisingly slow…a moment of sick panic—I’m falling!—followed by the drop into darkness, with enough time to wonder what lay below. And what had happened to the walls.

When he was nine years old, Pav had fallen off a slide and broken his right wrist. This felt the same, but took ten times longer.

At least nothing appeared to be broken.

He was on his side at what could easily be described as the bottom of a well. It was dark enough. The only light came from the slitlike opening, which appeared to be ten meters up.