Heaven's Fall (23 page)

COUNTDOWN CLOCK AT SITE A

CARBON-143

STATUS:
Humans assigned to the Project had long reverted to their centuries-old practice of working 6.5 days a week. The formations would have required more—the quotas certainly demanded more—but a decade of observation and interaction had proven that humans working seven days a week not only were not more productive, they actually made more errors.

There were also limits on the resources that could be shipped to Site A and processed for manufacture. So Aggregate Carbon programmed a Saturday workday that ended at 1
P.M.

Absence of humans did not mean that work ceased; far from it. Aggregates usually worked 23.5 out of every 24 hours, with the unused 0.5 hour devoted to system updates and checks or needed rotation of functions.

In addition, every week Aggregates in high-stress activities would have a programmed “refurbishment” session of two hours, in which new downloads from the formation were processed, and possible new aggregations were formed. (Carbon-143 “remembered” that she had been “born” as an aggregate of 11,211 “cells” that had first been aggregated into an intermediate stage of 89 “individuals” before becoming a “unit.”)

DATA:
In her five years as a unit, Carbon-143 had grown convinced that Aggregates needed additional “downtime” for maintenance, energy reboost, and additional programming in order to function at optimum efficiency. But she had not shaped this observation into an action statement, much less sent it up the information tree. That, as her human counterpart observed in other circumstances, would have been “pointless to the point of idiocy.”

ACTION:
So it was that Carbon-143 was at her assembly station with the other eleven members of her formation on Saturday afternoon when her human counterpart entered the facility.

“You need to check this out,” he was saying to another human: younger, clearly new, and nervous. Both were males—a distinction that did not apply to Aggregates. (Carbon-143 assumed a feminine aspect for linguistic reasons, and because her human counterpart insisted on addressing her in that mode.) But their gender did put the entire formation on alert; they had been programmed to expect a higher probably of mischief from off-duty males than females, especially deep into the leisure hours.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” the younger one said.

“Only if we get caught.”

“But there are Aggregates all over the place!”

“They don’t care, unless we try to break something. It’s fucking THE we have to watch out for.”

“Okay, then, what if
they
catch us?”

“They won’t,” the human counterpart said, moving behind other members of Carbon-143’s formation and making odd and very likely derogatory hand gestures behind their cranial structures. “They’re too busy singing and praying at this hour.” The human counterpart actually jumped up on the assembly-line structure.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious? Isn’t it worth a bit of risk to see what you’re working on?”

“I’m working on magnetic fields,” the younger one said. “They showed me the generator and I already sketched the power inputs. What else do I need to know?”

“How about what’s going through your big old portal?”

“Don’t call it a portal. I’m not sure—”

The human counterpart jumped down and took the younger man by the shoulder, turning him. “All those machines you saw lined up out there when we rode in?”

“I’m not sure, everything was so far away—”

“Thousands of them, maybe hundreds of thousands of them. Some of them are trucked in, but the most interesting ones are assembled right here.”

“Fine. Noted. Can we go now?”

“First, meet your team. It’s only common courtesy.”

“Meet an
Aggregate
?”

“Meet one. My girl here,” the counterpart said. “The one on the end.”

“They all look alike.”

“She’s always the one on the end, aren’t you, baby?”

Carbon-143 was unsure if this direct address required a response. Certainly the cold static of her cross-links with the other eleven members of her formation did not suggest so. But she interrupted her assembly sequence ever so slightly, to allow for a quick nod and turn.

The human counterpart clapped. “Thank you, darling!”

“Randall—”

“Carbon-143, meet Whit Murray.”

This statement did require a response; even the formation cross-links approved. Carbon-143 made a more obvious turn and bow.

“Aren’t you going to say hello, Whitless?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that—”

“Mr. Murray, then. Please say hello to Aggregate Carbon-143, like all of us, just a tiny cog in the big machine.”

The younger man blinked and held out his hand. “Hi there, Whit Murray.”

“She’s not going to shake it, sorry.”

He lowered his hand. “Does she talk?”

“They do not vocalize as such,” Randall Dehm said. “But if you are wearing the proper comm device when you encounter an Aggregate, you will get some kind of response. It all depends on what you ask.”

Whit smiled at Carbon-143. “How did you get to know this particular one, then? Without being able to talk.”

“Six months ago, I had to do some repairs and reprogramming. No matter how much money and time we spend, sometimes shit breaks. The Aggregates can’t stand it, but that’s what they get for invading our planet and making us slaves, right?”

Whit appeared to be shocked by this bald, undeniably factual statement. So he said, “I always wondered . . . how come we always see the same types?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aggregates are made up of thousands of individual cells, right? They could form into anything.”

Carbon-143 could have explained this, meaning that, had Whit been wearing the “appropriate comm device,” she could have uploaded a human-friendly file about nine templates and why they had been chosen—and persisted.

“Don’t you like the anteater look?”

“I don’t really have an opinion. I was just—”

Randall was standing so close to Carbon-143’s left side that the formation’s proximity alarm system went on first-level alert. “I like it. I think it’s sexy.”

Then he laughed and slapped Whit on the arm. “Come on, man. I’ve got other stuff to show you.”

As they left, Carbon-143 had the clear impression that Whit stopped in the exit and looked back.

Meanwhile she tried to control the somatic discharge Randall’s remark had caused. It was likely a transient overload triggered by the unusual and prolonged Aggregate-human contact.

CONCLUSION:
She could not let it distract her from her work.

The return of humans from Keanu continues to be a major story, topping the looming conflict between the New Coalition and Free Nations over trade and travel.

Four of the five humans and the sole E.T. in the crew have been briefly seen in public; one of the humans was reportedly injured in the crash landing at Yelahanka Air Base on Friday. Beyond that momentary exposure, they have been sequestered. Neither ISRO nor Bangalore government will answer any but the most general questions that interested and responsible citizens are asking:

What do they want? To sightsee? To open up regular trips between Earth and Keanu?

Why are they here and not in the Free Nations, where many of the crew originated?

What do they know of Earth?

What is life like on Keanu? How have they survived?

Have there been further returns of the so-called Revenants? For that matter, did the Revenants ever exist?

More to the point, does Keanu, now looming in the night sky like a death star, pose a threat to Earth—or perhaps only to certain entities on Earth?

It is now rumored that the Keanu travelers will soon emerge from seclusion within the next twenty-four hours, though it is a sad but inevitable sign that they have engaged a publicist and media agent. . . .

Will we have to pay to get answers?

“CAPITAL VIEW” COLUMN BY M. J. MUHAMMAD,
NEW INDIAN EXPRESS
, 15 APRIL 2040

Pav’s plan, modified by his father and with suggestions from Edgar Chang, rolled into motion just before five
A.M.
the next morning, when a pair of twenty-five-year-old limousines, an ambulance, and two medium-sized trucks pulled up to the rear hospital entrance—where blood still stained the pavement and the walls still showed bullet marks.

It was raining . . . not the torrential tropical rain expected in Bangalore, just a morning shower.

For that reason, a tent was swiftly erected by enlisteds. This action also effectively kept observers—if there were any—from seeing who got aboard the vehicles in what order. Wing Commander Kaushal was everywhere, guiding the airmen with such vigor that in one case he actually shoved one aside and completed attaching the canvas to the frame himself.

Taj Radhakrishnan watched from farther inside the loading dock. He was pacing like a user waiting for his dealer.

Of course, this was just what Xavier Toutant saw as he and Rachel, Pav and Tea, Yahvi and Zeds slipped through the interior of the loading dock on their way to the ambulance garage.

Edgar Chang was waiting for them as they approached a van and a larger truck emblazoned with the logo of Prasad Stores, apparently a food supplier to Yelahanka. He was not wearing his customary suit and tie, but the more common khakis and white shirt of a clerical worker. He did not look Hindi, of course, but he looked less Chinese.

Xavier realized that Pav was also wearing the same clothing and had also had his hair trimmed. “Pav and I will ride in the van,” the agent said. “I’m driving. Pav and I, in fact, are the only ones who know our route.”

“Who’s driving this thing?” Tea said.

Chang pointed to a grim-faced Chief Warrant Officer Singh—Xavier’s associate during the transfer of
Adventure
’s cargo. Not that Xavier had any doubts that the man was a special agent, but here was proof.

He only hoped that he was one of the agents who could not be bought by their enemies.

“Are we fooling anyone, do you suppose?” Rachel said.

“Well,
I’m
confused,” Xavier said. Pav and Tea laughed, but Xavier was only half-kidding. There was the official plan, which involved a somewhat stealthy convoy of five vehicles heading up the Velur Bypass to National Highway 7 and Bengaluru International for a two-and-a-half-hour flight to Delhi. The carefully leaked story was that the Indian capital was a more appropriate temporary home for
Adventure
’s crew—and that superior medical facilities would be better for Sanjay Bhat.

Then there was the real, vastly more stealthy convoy that would leave Yelahanka by the main gate and head east to catch the Thanisandra Main Road, where it would turn south and eventually reach Hindustan Airport, the older facility now, according to Taj, largely devoted to flight test work.

From that point, the plans were vague and kept changing. Rachel and Pav, working with Taj and Tea and this Chang person, had made tentative plans for a flight to Shanghai, or possibly Buenos Aires—the destination kept changing, though the goal always remained the same: get as close to the Free Nation U.S. as possible, as soon as possible.

The giant flaw in any plan was Sanjay’s state: miraculously, he had not only survived but been stabilized. While he faced a long recovery and remained technically critical, he was expected to survive.

Chang had released a statement that exaggerated Sanjay’s condition, to justify the move to New Delhi. In fact, Sanjay would be staying right there at the Yelahanka Air Base hospital for several more days.

When it was safe, he would be flown to wherever the rest of the crew had come to rest.

Xavier didn’t much like the idea of leaving the engineer behind, but he liked the idea of all of them in New Delhi a lot less. He wanted to be in the U.S., “Free Nation” or not, to see for himself what it was like living under Reiver domination . . . and determine what, if anything, could be done about it.

And, more to the point, what was this big double-secret crazy Reiver project—what would it do? How could it be stopped?

The
Adventure
crew needed some kind of base of operations . . . some set of rooms with sufficient power and secrecy and nearby transportation where Xavier (lacking Sanjay’s skills) would get the 3-D printers up and running.

The garage was barely large enough to park two ambulances, though tall enough to allow the Prasad Stores truck access. Xavier had been inside the truck two hours ago, when
Adventure
’s cargo had been transferred aboard.

Now, the lift still lowered, the vehicle’s rear stood open, revealing that five chairs—each with a seat belt and chest restraint—had been added. “Are we going over rough road?” Rachel said.

“Probably,” Tea said. “We’re supposed to stay on highways, but even those might be potholed. And we won’t have visual cues, so sudden moves will surprise us.”

In addition to seats, there was a chest for food and drink.

“Where do we go to the bathroom?” Rachel said.

“We won’t be inside long enough to worry about it,” Pav said.

“Easy for you to say.” But she gave him a hug and was the first to climb aboard.

Xavier extended a hand to Yahvi, which was silly, since the girl was taller and far more lithe than he would ever be. But she accepted it.

And sneezed. Xavier’s sympathy for the girl, who had never experienced a cold and was obviously deep in the worst of it, was counterbalanced by his worry that she had infected him. He hadn’t had a cold during his time on Keanu; his immune system was surely as compromised as Yahvi’s.

And it wasn’t as though he was going to be able to wash his hands right this minute. He had to settle for wiping them vigorously on his trousers.