Stick to your training. Concentrate on what you can see, hear, feel, identify.

The floor was made of the same material as the doors and walls. As he walked, slowly but directly, into the nave or transept, Zack realized that sounds were deadened.

It was dark, but not like the total darkness of an underground cave. It was more like the let-your-eyes-adjust near-darkness of a warehouse. Somewhere some light was present . . . and not just behind him, where the door remained open.

He looked at the Zeiss unit. It was a camera . . . Holding the instrument two inches off the ground, he flicked it on. Yes! And there was light!

Another advantage. He could not only sneak up on the Architects, he could blind them.

Things were just getting better and better. All he had to do was find Megan, and her captors.

Assuming they were captors. So, Zack, don’t assume—

He was at the threshold of the main chamber. He glanced back . . . the giant door was now about the size of his hand held at arm’s length. A long way to run. But what was the point in running? He had only one choice—

Forward. Into the larger chamber. This is exploration, right? Going where no one has gone before? Hell, most space exploration would have to be via remote vehicles, given lack of oxygen (like Mars), or extreme surface pressure (like Venus) or too freaking hot (Venus again) or too much gravity (Jupiter and beyond). And those were just the solar planets . . . five thousand extrasolars, some of which he had discovered himself, only expanded the envelope of deadly environments.

He could have been doing this like some tele-operator in a sci-fi movie. Which at least had the advantage of being somewhat safer—

The immediate difference was the air. It was cooler, blowing somehow.

And smelled . . . just like the Beehive. Zack put out his left hand, found the wall.

It felt like the Beehive. Moist to the touch.

Zack wiped his hand on his undergarment—which would, he realized, never be remotely clean again.

Then he pressed the front of the Zeiss to his thigh and clicked it on.

He aimed at the wall . . . well, no surprise; it looked like part of the Beehive, but with what appeared to be several large cells as opposed to many small ones.

These were large enough to have held Sentries. Was it possible he had just walked into their incubator? Not the smartest move he could have made.

But it was difficult to tell. He didn’t want to wave the light—yeah, don’t give up that element of surprise—so he could not get true perspective.

He clicked off the light and turned back to the chamber proper. Zack’s spider sense told him it used up about a third of the Temple’s interior.

Well, there was no sense in waiting. Sometimes you just have to go off the high board or jump out of the airplane.

If only he could feel more like a diver and less like a soldier approaching Omaha Beach on D-Day. . . .

Vulnerable and blind, he stepped farther into the main chamber. He had ruined whatever night vision he had by flashing the Zeiss lamp.

Nevertheless, he knew there was something in front of him, something quite large.

He could smell it—some kind of scent, almost floral, but thick and, with each careful step, more intense.

Now he heard it, too. Over the increasingly draggy scrape of his own soles on the floor, there was a deep, slow hiss that sounded like a whale breathing. There was also a chittering sound from up near the ceiling.

As if the whale had a hummingbird flying around its head.

Stop anthropomorphizing. Deal with what’s really here.

Because it was here. If it was possible to see something blacker than pitch black, that was what Zack was doing: a large thing sat no more than five meters in front of him.

What the hell. He raised the camera. Thumbed the light switch.

The first image he registered was of ceiling and walls, which for an instant seemed to be teeming with maggots. As Zack’s eyes adjusted, he realized that he was seeing swirling dots and squiggles in no recognizable pattern.

What immediately consumed his attention, however, was a creature close to ten meters tall sitting—this was exactly the word—on a bench or chair. It had a head and four arms, but only a pair of legs. The face was too high up, too much in shadow, for Zack to count eyes or noses.

Assuming it had eyes or a nose.

Was it covered in armor? Or a space suit? Possibly. Maybe it was just . . . clothing. Zack always wondered why most sci-fi aliens went naked....

He had to assume this was an Architect.

And, if it noticed Zack at all, it was being patient—or totally indifferent.

Zack had no time for that. “Down here!” He waved the light, expecting the next few seconds to be his last, wondering, foolishly, if he would be resurrected on Keanu.

Fucking hell if the big creature didn’t turn right toward him, rotating its upper torso and face—which was either some kind of shiny, almost waxy and ill-defined collection of planes and reflections . . . or a mask.

A pressure suit mask? No, the Architect was wearing the same kind of second skin that had covered Megan and Camilla!

It was a Revenant, too!

Revenant or not, the Architect moved with frightening speed. Things this big did not, in Zack’s experience, move that fast. Which suggested a hellacious physical structure, including extremely fast-twitch musculature.

Just the one swift move, however. Then the Architect held all four arms close to its chest. The posture, for no good reason, reminded Zack of an Asian bow . . . the kind of gesture one might see performed by a solicitous waiter or shopkeeper.

As if the Architect wanted to know, What do you want?

The human race’s chance for a well-managed First Contact had been missed when Zack and crew encountered the first Sentry. It was too late to trot out the classic “We come in peace.” (Zack was no longer sure why humans had come to Keanu. To beat other humans, maybe.) Now he had to be practical, forceful. To hell with nuance—

“Give me back my wife!”

This is Destiny mission control. The uncrewed Destiny orbiter is currently at thirty-eight kilometers altitude, still on the far side of Keanu. Mission manager Shane Weldon and lead flight director Josh Kennedy have confirmed that, given the sporadic contact with astronauts Nowinski and Stewart and the corresponding lack of contact with the Venture lander, they will attempt to “snowplow” Destiny onto the surface of Keanu. . . .

NASA PUBLIC AFFAIRS COMMENTATOR SCOTT SHAWLER

The digital clock in mission control showed twenty minutes until burn. Harley heard confirmation that uploads had been completed, that every antenna but one had been retracted—and that the big circular solar arrays were going to be rotated sideways. (Seen nose-on in its nominal configuration, Destiny looked like a hat from the Mickey Mouse Club.) “They’ll be edge-on to line of impact during the snowplow,” Shane Weldon had said, briefing not only Gabriel Jones and Brent Bynum, but Harley as well. “That will minimize damage, we hope.”

“What if we lose both arrays?” Jones asked. Harley knew that Destiny depended on Houston for guidance updates in the best of times, in a mission that followed a flight plan. This situation was far more challenging.

“Then the crew is going to have to get off Keanu in a huge hurry. They only have a couple of days’ battery power if they can’t use the arrays.”

Bynum made a face. “What the hell is a ‘snowplow’?”

“That’s pretty much what Destiny will be doing.” Weldon said, unsuccessfully keeping contempt out of his voice. “Sounds better than crash-land , don’t you think?”