Get ready to run—

They broke into the clearing, where Zack took three steps, tripped, and sprawled on his face, taking Camilla down with him.

That was it. He had fucked up and now he was going to die, like Pogo, like Megan. . . .

With the last of his strength, he rolled toward Camilla, who was lying on her back, eyes closed, as if she had already given up. “Run,” Zack said, making shooing gestures. At least he could get the girl away safely, not that the poor child was likely to survive long here, alone.

But Camilla refused to move.

Okay, then, time to face the truth. Zack rose to a crouch, looking around for stalks or husks of whatever vegetation had been cleared for the Temple. He still believed that a sharp stick might be useful—

Crack! The top half of several trees less than a meter away disintegrated into a shower of sticks and knifelike shards, slashed away by the Sentry.

It had caught up to them.

The creature was growing in apparent size, its protective bubble expanding around its middle pairs of arms without hindering them. Now Zack could see that the semiliquid came from its vest. No matter . . . the Sentry was winding up for a killing slash at the prone Camilla. Without thinking, Zack reached for one of the shards at his feet and flung it at the Sentry.

The jagged spear bounced off the creature’s major right-side appendages, but not without leaving a wound.

The Sentry whipped all of its left-side arms at Zack, who fell flat on his back dodging the attack.

He found himself looking right up into the Sentry’s face. It wasn’t horrific, just cold, implacable, like that of an executioner about to trigger the guillotine—

This is it, Zack thought—

But the Sentry didn’t make the killing blow. It suddenly twitched to one side.

Camilla had flung herself at the creature and was clinging to its right leg.

As the Sentry turned to brush her off, Zack had enough time to locate a sharp, sturdy spear.

With a whimper, Camilla went flying.

When the Sentry turned back, Zack stabbed it in the vest, pushing through the colloidal bubble. Which collapsed in a shower of watery goo.

For a long, anguished moment, the Sentry stood in what could only have been shock and surprise, its appendages waving in confusion, a greenish ichor bubbling out of its torso, then its throat.

Then it collapsed and began to curl into itself, rolling into a ball that began to hiss and steam.

“Camilla!” Zack ran to the girl. She was crying, badly scratched, but not seriously injured. He picked her up.

Within a few minutes they had worked their way around to the rear of the Temple, the side that had opened for the Architect. It was still open, revealing the empty chamber where he and Megan had first encountered the being.

Where he had left his radio.

He thought of Megan. As a working reporter, as a mother, she was famous for making realistic assessments of situations. Her most overworked phrase was, “Hoping won’t make it happen.”

Zack was out of hope. He did not expect to leave Keanu. He did not expect to survive more than a few days at best.

But if he could get in touch with Houston, if he could somehow tell them what had happened.

If he could talk to Rachel—!

He left Camilla at the threshold of the chamber, making it as clear as possible that he wanted her to stay put. Then he began searching. . . .

It took only a few moments to locate the Zeiss right where he had set it down.

Five minutes later, he was ready to smash it. He could not make it work! All the buttons were operating as before—the power indicator lit. But there was no link, no response, nothing.

Where was Camilla?

Leaving the radio behind, he ran out of the Temple, calling, “Camilla!”

Off to his left, a few steps into the forest, a hand appeared.

Zack found that the girl had plucked some purplish soft gourd off a tree.

“Hey, don’t eat that!”

Too late . . . Camilla had already bitten off a good chunk. Zack reached for her, hoping to get her to spit it out, but the girl scampered away, chewing happily.

She climbed up one of the trees, parking on a branch just out of reach, and like a primate avoiding a keeper, happily finished the fruit.

Zack watched Camilla carefully. She showed no signs of instant rejection . . .

And she was starving. “What the hell,” he said. “Eventually we’re going to have to do this.” He went back to the tree and plucked his own piece of Keanu fruit. The texture was like a green pear; the taste reminded him of mango.

He must have liked it, because he devoured it right down to a core.

After a while, still feeling full—not poisoned—but terminally exhausted, he led Camilla into the Temple, where they curled up against the farthest wall.

His last thoughts, as he lost awareness, were sad ones. He would never see Megan or Rachel again.

We have entered a new age.

PRESIDENT’S REMARKS, AUGUST 24, 2019

. . . and I don’t like it much.

POSTER JERMAINE AT NEOMISSION.COM

Lucas Munaretto woke in great confusion. He was floating, though wrapped in a light sleeping bag. The Destiny cabin was dark, except for the gentle glow of several LEDs on the instrument panel. The windows had been covered. For a good few moments, he thought he was still aboard Brahma approaching Keanu.

Then he remembered, and wished he hadn’t.

He could see his fellow travelers, all asleep in their own bags . . . Tea, her hair an unbound halo, somehow appropriate for the sacrifices she had made, and the skill she had shown in getting them all aboard Destiny, off Keanu, and now falling toward reentry. She would be a hero once she returned to Houston . . . sadder, yes, but with an unlimited future.

Then there was Natalia Yorkina, wrapped too tightly, of course, like a woman in pain. Given nagging equipment failures—Lucas had done an EVA in an overheating Russian suit, and it almost drove him mad—she had done well. From the mysterious exchanges between Zack and her, and the quick disappearance of her Revenant, Lucas suspected a dark secret that would haunt Natalia. But only he and Taj could embarrass her, and neither would. Natalia would return to Russia and some make-work job with Roscosmos, slipping into anonymity.

The largest figure in the cabin was Lucas’s commander, Taj, who had submerged his intense dislike of American arrogance in order to bring most of his crew home safely. Taj would be publicly acclaimed in India; Shiva only knew what kinds of criticism he would face in private, both for the extraordinary losses of spacecraft and Chertok, and for allowing Zack Stewart to make so many vital, and possibly flawed, decisions. Ultimately, though, Taj would be promoted . . . he would go back to the Indian Air Force to command a fighter wing, or he might stay on as a leader in ISRO.

No, all of the others would be happy to reach Earth. Only Lucas Munaretto felt that he had left something undone.

Camilla, of course. He had never been that close to Isobel and her family . . . Camilla’s birth had occurred when Lucas was away training for his space station mission.

He never knew the girl, not really. Was that why he had been so useless to her in her second life? He had held her, yes, comforted her, fine, given her voice with the others, great, told her her mother loved her, all good. But that was all. He had not learned what she saw, what she felt. He had made no move to bring her back, had stood by helpless as she was taken.

And yet he did not know whether she was still alive, or as she had been before. What was he going to tell Sepal?

Then there was Zack Stewart . . . abandoned on an alien world, left to die.