Pav seemed to take the news calmly, even though Rachel knew he had been close to Amitra. Indeed, they had been with each other the fateful day of the Bangalore Scoop. Rachel reached for Pav’s hand.
Tea hugged him from behind.
Thinking of Pav’s mother made Rachel think about the humans in her life, pre-Keanu. Not just her father, with whom she’d shared at least one week on the NEO. Or her mother.
But, well, her friend Amy Meyer . . . the other of the two fourteen-year-olds running around the Johnson Space Center during the flight of Destiny-7, sneaking food and generally making themselves notorious. Did Rachel remember this correctly? Did one of them actually bring pot onto the center grounds?
Was it her? Or Amy? Not that it mattered now. She found it amusing that, among the many habits and practices of Earth life, HBs had done little with alcohol and almost nothing with recreational drugs. A few of the Houstons had experimented with the “fabrication” of beer and whiskey, and there were probably some who tried the same with marijuana . . . come to think of it, Xavier Toutant once confessed that that had been his business prior to the Houston Scoop. So maybe—
How had Amy Meyer weathered twenty years? Still the cute girl? Or had life, especially life under Reiver domination, destroyed her?
And what about Jillianne Dwight, the poor Destiny crew secretary who had had to corral Rachel and Amy during the horrors of that mission—?
The Jeep jostled as they went over a bump. Before they had all recovered, the convoy reached the base hospital’s emergency entrance. Here all of them, including the giant Sentry, got out, careful to keep clear of the ambulance team removing the injured man.
A small crowd of officials, military and civilian, was gathering, though they kept a respectful distance, except for a small woman in her sixties. “That is Mrs. Remilla,” Taj said, “director of ISRO Bangalore. If anyone is in charge here, she is.”
Wing Commander Kaushal reached Taj before Mrs. Remilla could. “Tell Remilla and the others that they can meet the crew inside, not out here. They need checkups.”
Rachel saw that Sanjay was headed for emergency surgery. The original plans called for Zeds to be taken to a special chamber inside the hospital; it had formerly been used for altitude training for aircraft crews.
“Rachel Stewart!”
Her head snapped to the sound of the voice, which was in a strange accent, certainly not Hindi-tinged English. She spotted a face at the back of the clutch of dignitaries . . . dark complexioned, younger, in military fatigues but with no rank.
“What do you feel being back on Earth?” the shouter said, pushing himself forward and brandishing a phone.
And he wasn’t alone. Suddenly, like roaches boiling out from under a rug when a light goes on, people were emerging from the alleys between buildings, not just reporter types, but older men, women of all ages, children. It was as if the residents of Yelahanka had been cordoned off in this spot . . . and were now breaking free.
Responding to Kaushal’s orders, the guards retreated, forming a perimeter around Rachel, Pav, Xavier, Yahvi, and Zeds. Taj and Tea were caught in it, too. The EMTs carrying the stretcher with Sanjay had made it inside, but the crowd had pressed close to the entrance and was almost blocking it.
“Okay, everybody,” Rachel said. She had anticipated a situation like this. “I guess we can take a few questions, though as you saw, one of our people is injured—”
Someone shouted, “Who is he?”
“Sanjay Bhat,” Pav snapped. “Born and raised right here in Bangalore.”
“Is that your daughter?” “What’s the girl’s name?” “Were you born on Keanu?” Suddenly Yahvi was the target of a barrage of questions.
Bravely, with only a moment’s glance at her parents, she answered them.
Rachel noticed Taj making eye contact with Kaushal. The wing commander leaned toward him and said, loud enough for Rachel’s ears, “More guards are on the way. We’ll have this sorted in a few minutes.”
“I thought everyone had been ordered to stay indoors.”
“They were.” Kaushal shrugged, as if that explained any of this.
“What is your mission?” an obvious reporter shouted to Pav.
“We come in peace,” he said, triggering some laughter. “Seriously, we’re visitors. More than tourists, maybe, but less than . . . space traders.”
“We want to see our old homes,” Xavier Toutant said, without being asked or noticed. When a follow-up made it clear to the crowd that Xavier’s home was Texas, the crowd reacted as if he had just admitted he was carrying the plague.
“No one goes to Texas,” one of the reporters said.
Rachel turned to Taj and Tea. Taj stepped forward.
“We will discuss the United States and the world political situation the moment we are inside.”
“To this alien being,” another voice shouted. “What are your impressions of Earth?”
Zeds wasn’t reluctant at all, which was a pleasant surprise to Rachel. The Sentry was fluent in English, but she had wondered how he would react to being surrounded by humans in open space. “The sky is very large,” the Sentry said.
“Rachel Stewart, Rachel Stewart!” It was the original questioner again. “What are your impressions, being back on Earth?” the original voice shouted.
“Hard to say,” Rachel said. “I was never in Bangalore until today. Has it changed?”
“Everything’s changed,” a middle-aged woman said.
So far everything had been peaceful, if you simply ignored the shouts for news-style comments from the crew. The biggest disturbance occurred when the sight of the Sentry caused at least one elderly woman to faint. (She had pointed to Zeds and screamed, “Rakshasa!”—a Hindi word that Rachel did not need translated: “Demon!”)
In a way, Rachel couldn’t blame them, not even the reporters who had wormed their way into the group, likely tipped off by friends or paid sources. Humans returning to Earth was the story of the year, especially in a year that probably had little in the way of happy news.
And there was the whole Revenant, back-from-the-dead business. Rachel was surprised that hadn’t been the first question.
Then she heard a smashing sound—a dropped bottle, perhaps, or a window. Either way, it was a reminder that the situation was not what she had wanted.
“Kaushal, get them inside!” Taj said.
The additional guards had arrived—possibly causing the smash—pushing the crowds back and clearing a path to the entrance.
Inside, Pav officially introduced his father to Mr. Toutant, who insisted on being called Xavier. Rachel noted that Xavier was unusually subdued, offering none of his usual wisecracks. She hoped it was a temporary situation. It wasn’t that she cherished Xavier’s wit, though it had its moments. It was just that with Sanjay injured, Xavier was the team’s all-around engineer.
Taj quickly arranged for Rachel and the others to have water, at least. After a quick poll of her crew, all of whom still seemed a bit subdued, an offer of food was rejected, for the moment. Rachel’s stomach was still performing regular somersaults, triggered by readjustment to gravity and the variety and intensity of smells, which ranged from curry to mold to automobile exhaust.
Even Zeds, who needed twice the calories of the most active human, was willing to wait.
One human was unwilling to wait: Tea took Rachel by the arm, walking her a short way down the hall, away from the others. “Don’t hate me.”
“God, why would I?”
Tea’s eyes were filled with tears. “The last time we saw each other, I was dating your father.”
Rachel tried to remember: Yes, sometime during Zack Stewart’s Destiny-7 mission, she had talked with Tea . . . then Zack’s girlfriend.
Before Megan Stewart returned to life and complicated matters to an extreme degree.