“You didn’t say no,” Stewart said.
Before leaving Beijing, Zhao had been given a briefing on the Brahma and Destiny crews. Brahma was no longer relevant, of course, and neither were three of the four American Destiny astronauts.
But here was Zack Stewart. “Intellectually brilliant,” the Guoanbu analyst had written. “Possesses a rare talent for social adaptability, which allowed him to make a successful transition from an academic scientific career to the operational NASA universe.
“His flaw is hesitation. He will weigh all options five times before acting.”
Zhao had recalled those words when watching Stewart reacting to Bynum’s performance. A man who was prone to quick action would have put a stop to that long before Zhao was forced to act.
And now the American was focusing on Zhao. “You’re a man of the world, Dr. Stewart. Whenever NASA engineers visit another country, they’re debriefed. It’s the same in China.”
Weldon stood up. “You still didn’t say no.”
“What difference does it make?” Nayar snapped. “China, India, the U.S., who cares now? We are two groups that need to be one.”
Gabriel Jones intoned, “He still murdered a man.”
Zhao stirred at this. “I killed a man who was a serious threat.” Now, to use time-honored techniques from his years of training, he went on the offensive. “And what, in all seriousness, are the options here?” He nodded at Weldon, still cradling the Glock. “There are at least four rounds left in the magazine. But you aren’t going to execute me.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” Weldon said, “and I won’t need a gun to do it.” But Zhao knew he was bluffing and decided to press that point in front of everyone.
“If we’re going to survive here, we need every available pair of hands. And in spite of what Mr. Nayar knows, or thinks he knows…I’m technically trained. That may be useful.”
Weldon looked to Jones, Drake, and Stewart. None of the three called for Zhao’s execution. Then Weldon turned to Nayar. “Any suggestions?”
Nayar was shaking his head. “Do whatever you want with him,” he said. He seemed tired and distracted. Zhao decided the Brahma director was no longer a factor.
But Zack Stewart was smirking at him. “Mr. Zhao, you seem to have a keen sense of the world and its workings. Suppose the situation were reversed. What would you do with a captive like you?”
“Social norms require some kind of punishment. I should be confined for several days and limited to a strict diet of bread and water.”
Now Stewart laughed out loud. “I’d pay for some real bread and water right now.”
“I’m aware of the ironies,” Zhao said. “Obviously some adjustments will be required.”
At that moment a baby screamed nearby, and the whole issue of Zhao’s punishment was tabled, leaving him, finally with a moment to reflect.
For a man who didn’t want to be in India, who hadn’t wanted to be swept up by the Object, who was reluctant to call attention to himself—
And who didn’t want to shoot the American—
Zhao had sure stepped in it.
ARRIVAL DAY: ZACK
“She’s just hungry,” Sasha Blaine said.
Zack and Harley had gone around to the front of the Temple at the sound of the baby’s wail. There, at the edge of the sprawled, exhausted crowd, they had found Sasha Blaine walking the infant like a new mother. Zack recognized the familiar posture, carry, and rocking motion…he had done it enough with a colicky Rachel fourteen or so years in the past. “You’ve done this before,” Zack said.
“Two older sisters and four nieces and nephews. And I worked my way through MIT doing childcare.”
Sasha was even letting the baby suck on her finger.
“Couldn’t someone nurse her?” That was Wade Williams, speaking from the shadows. “Maybe we need a little pioneer spirit,” he said.
“After you, Wade,” Sasha snapped.
“Where’s her mother?” Zack asked.
“Not good,” Sasha said quietly, nodding to the far end of the crowd. “She’s over there somewhere, in a crouch, almost catatonic. Can’t say I blame her. It’s tough enough when you’re facing this yourself…I can’t imagine what I’d do if I felt responsible for a baby.” She made a face and cooed at the child, who was blessedly subdued for the moment.
Harley said, “Who is the mom? Bangalore or Houston?”
“What difference does that make?” Sasha said.
“I don’t know. Maybe it will make it easier to find out where her head is at if she speaks English.”
“Got it, but right now the priority is to get this child some nourishment.”
“Daddy, what about all these fruits and veggies you were talking about?” Rachel said, trying to be helpful.
“People are out gathering right now,” Williams said, pointing back the way they had come, and forward, indicating the range of scouting parties. “It’s pretty funny when you think about all this.”
“How so?” Zack said. Zack only knew the sci-fi writer Wade Williams from his books, and from infrequent appearances on television. He had long-ago outgrown his affection for the man’s work, and if his suggestion that Sasha Blaine should become a wet nurse was typical—
“Here we are, transported from the Earth to a small moon by advanced alien technology, being sustained in some kind of habitat…yet we’re reduced to life as our ancestors lived it before the invention of cities or even language. We’re hunter-gatherers.”
“I think we’re only gatherers, Wade,” said Harley Drake, who didn’t bother to conceal his scorn. “Unless you’ve spotted a Keanu wildebeest.”
“Have not, and do not expect to,” the older man said. “I doubt we could do much in the way of hunting, in any case. I see nothing we could use for spears or flints, just to be nearly Paleolithic for a moment.”
“There are tree branches,” Zack said. He had used one to spear the Sentry that killed Megan.
“Fine. That’s half of what we need.”
Harley looked at the Temple. “Maybe we can chip off bits of that thing and get useful flints.”
“I love optimism,” Williams said. “I often sneer at it, but I do so love it.”
“A far cry from the Neolithic Trilogy, aren’t we, Mr. Williams?”
Williams blinked and looked every bit of what had to be seventy-five years of age. “I wrote that series a long time ago. I was younger then.”
“So were your readers,” Zack said. At one time he had been a committed consumer of sci-fi and fantasy books and graphic novels, and he had read several of Williams’s books, which he’d found entertaining and provocative. Williams offered devastating critiques of modern technological society—heavy on the idea that children were being “softened” by a life of ease—in contrast to the benefits of pioneer life on habitable alien worlds or adventures in a different terrestrial past. “We must have some baby-friendly food around here.”
“Power bars and Red Bull?” Sasha said. “I got hold of a packet of Pop Tarts. God knows how long they’ve been sitting, or where.”
“Hell,” Williams said. “Those things contain enough preservative to make them edible for a century.”
“Going into Wade Williams mode, Sasha, how about this,” Zack said. “Think like a mama bird.”
Sasha stared. It took Rachel a moment to understand what Zack was suggesting. Rachel said, “Oh, Daddy, gross!”
But Sasha nodded. “That might be the only option.” She smiled. “Feel free to do some prechewing, too. Given the circumstances, I don’t think it’s going to make a huge difference to the baby.”
She ripped open the Pop Tart and bit off a corner.
Zack took one, too.
The sad thing was that Zack hadn’t wanted to share the mulched-up plastic pastry with the baby…he had wanted to eat it all himself.