Heaven's War (38 page)

“Zack,” she said.

“Something to offer, Valya?”

“I think he’s hurt!”

As if to prove her wrong, the Sentry took a swipe at Zack’s head, prompting a scream from Makali and, from Dale, “Val, just shut up!”

But Zack easily ducked the blow, and Valya grew more convinced that the alien was wounded.

“He’s not going to be able to hit you, Zack.”

“I hope you’re right!” he said.

“Zack, what are you trying to do?” Makali said.

“Get past him—” He tried it again; the Sentry took a second swipe at him, but this one was so slow and clumsy that Zack was able to grab the tube.

And yank it out of the Sentry’s grasp!

“Way to go!” Dale yelled. “See how he likes it!”

Fortunately, instead of clobbering the creature—which, given its size, would still be a bit of a trick—Zack merely brandished it…and was rewarded with the sight of the alien backing away and sinking down.

“
What
is going on?” Makali said.

“I told you,” Valya said. “It’s injured. Look at the back.”

The Sentry had lowered itself, folding its legs, until it was only as tall as they were. It leaned its good side against the wall of the Beehive…and now they could all see the obvious injury.

“Zack,” Makali said, “we can get past him.”

But Zack was regarding the creature, which was now gesturing with five of its six arms. (The one closest to the wound was hanging limp.) “I think it’s trying to talk to us.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Dale said.

“Sign language,” Valya said.

Dale turned to her and smiled nastily. “Oh, good, right in your wheelhouse. Translate, will you?”

“Fuck you,” she said. But Dale’s mean-spirited suggestion wasn’t too far wrong; Valya knew two different sign language systems. If anyone could figure out what the Sentry was trying to say, she would be the one.

Of course, it might take years. And given its physical condition, she wasn’t sure the Sentry would last another hour.

But Zack was already taking the lead. He slowly laid the tube on the ground—out of the Sentry’s reach, Valya hoped. Then he pointed to himself and his fellows, saying, in turn, “Human, human, human, human.” Then pointed to the Sentry, and opened his hands in what, for human beings, would have been an obvious
Who are you?
gesture.

The Sentry flapped its hands in what seemed to be a reply. If, looking from left to right, you numbered the alien’s upper hands as one and two, its middle pair as three four, and the lower, almost vestigial pair, as five six, the response went:
two, one, four
.

Or so Valya chose to see it. It would be difficult enough to decode these gestures in normal circumstances; the creature was wounded and likely not using hand number three. How would that change the message?

Zack was holding palms up, gently waving them, saying,
We mean no harm
.

The Sentry had no reply.

Zack carefully pointed to the wound. Then he tapped himself on the chest. “Ow!” He made a creditable howling-in-pain sound.

“Christ,” Dale said softly, but loud enough for Valya to hear.

All she could do was shoot him a dire look. Was he stupid or just evil? Any extraneous sound or movement was going to confuse the Sentry!

The Sentry used all three major arms to touch its chest. Then it pointed to the wound as best it could, all three hands.

And made a sound of its own! It was
loud
, like having a whale singing a meter away!

“Holy shit,” Makali said. This time Valya did not feel the need to offer censure; she was thinking the same thing.

Holding up his right hand, as if to say,
Let me try this
, Zack slowly reached toward the Sentry…toward the wound.

The Sentry’s head turned slowly, cautiously—or so it seemed to Valya. But it did not raise a hand to block Zack’s move.

Zack actually touched the metal shard with a fingertip.

The Sentry remained frozen, though clearly wary.

Zack closed index finger and thumb on the shard and tried to wiggle it.

The Sentry made a sound, but not the roar; this was closer to a growl.

But, Valya noted with fascination…no hand gestures at all!

Zack slowly moved his hand away. He thought for a moment, then brought his hands together, almost in prayer. “Stuck tight,” he said. The Sentry merely looked at him.

Now Zack turned to Makali. “How are your surgical skills?”

“Non-existent,” she said. “And I hope that doesn’t mean—”

“We’re going to take that thing out. A little goodwill gesture.”

“Like Androcles and the lion?” Valya said, as amused as she was horrified by the idea.

“Didn’t the lion wind up eating Androcles?” Dale said.

Everyone ignored him. “It looks to me as though our friend was wearing one of the skinsuits, which really gives me some crazy ideas, given the blood you saw, and the fact that this piece of tube looks terrestrial. But to the point: I think the skinsuit sealed around the wound and is keeping that shard in place.”

“Why would it be better to have it out?” Makali clearly didn’t want to become the designated space surgeon, and Valya couldn’t blame her.

“If you had a bullet or an arrow stuck in you, you’d want it out.”

“I’m human.”

“The Sentry is a living being. I think the rule still applies: Foreign objects should come out.”

“Yeah,” Dale said, “we don’t want this guy to develop an infection. Although it might make it easier to get around him.”

“We can get around him now,” Zack said. “Consider that the habitat beyond is his. And that there might be a dozen just like him waiting for us.”

“One thing: You’re calling this guy ‘him.’ Can we just say ‘it’ for now?”

Zack ignored, that, too, turning back to Makali. “If you want me to do it, fine. But I’m a little shaky—”

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Makali smiled. “I’m the exospecialist, right? My bailiwick. What do I do, just…pull the thing out?”

Zack pointed to the ratted Hermes bag mushed against Valya’s stomach. “Anything useful in there?” he said. Valya shook her head.

Then Zack indicated the mesh bag around Makali’s neck. “Okay, then, what’s in that?”

“Probably screwdrivers and pliers.”

Zack smiled. “I think a pliers would be just the instrument.”

“I hope there’s a staple gun in here, too,” Makali said, slowly removing the kit and kneeling to open it.

“Why?”

She smiled, getting into the spirit of the insane adventure. “To stitch
it
up.”

Zack turned back to the Sentry, who seemed, to Valya, to be fading. Loss of blood? Or some similarly vital fluid? If so, given the paucity of fluid on the ground, it was likely internal bleeding.

Which argued in favor of Zack’s surgery.

“Needle-nose pliers,” Makali said.

“Let me have it,” Zack said. He plucked it from the kit and slowly brought it into the Sentry’s view. He opened it once, twice. Then he slowly, carefully moved the pliers over to the shard, then back.

The Sentry gestured—one flip of the number two hand.
It’s a lefty,
Valya thought. And said, “It was a simple gesture. It’s either yes—”

“Or no,” Dale said.

“Let’s assume yes,” Zack said. He was slowly handing the pliers back to Makali. Then, after again establishing eye contact with the Sentry, he moved Makali into position with the pliers.

“Okay, doc,” he told her. “Do your thing. Just move slowly.”

Valya could see that Makali’s hands were trembling. But her body language was completely resolute, like a high diver on a platform.

She took two slow, almost bridelike steps, which put her within reach of the Sentry and its shard. Then, like a mime, she slowly unfolded her hand and the pliers, and locked the nose onto the shard.

At that moment, Zack turned to the Sentry, clutching his left hand with his right, as if the left were injured, and making a growling sound.

Then he opened the hands and smiled, as if to say,
It’ll all be over in a second
.

And he told Makali, “Proceed. And everybody be prepared to jump back.”

Makali made a first, tentative tug, with no results, not even a grunt from the Sentry.

“He’s the size of an NFL lineman,” Zack said. “You’re going to have to pull harder than that.”

“I have no leverage,” Makali said. “It’s too high—”

“Just do it.”

Another tug. Nothing.

“Goddammit,” Makali said. But she kept her right hand on the pliers, using her left to wipe sweat from her eyes.

The Sentry made a gesture and a sound. This was unlike its early communications: the gesture used the lower working hand, and the sound was more high-pitched.

“It’s telling you to go ahead,” Valya said, unable to stop herself.
How can you be sure of that?

“What if he bleeds out?”

“That’s a risk
it
will have to take,” Dale said.

As Valya watched, Makali put more and steadier pressure on the pliers, moving it ever so slightly from side to side.

And the shard began to move.

Valya could see the Sentry shudder, likely with pain.

In a few seconds, the bloody shard was out, dropping to the floor.

Makali was rooted where she stood, in shock at what she had wrought. Zack gently edged her aside and examined the wound. “Some bleeding,” he said. “Doesn’t look infected, though I’m not sure I would know it.”

The Sentry seemed to have its own idea about how to treat the injury. It used both upper hands to hammer at the covering of the nearest intact
cell. Breaking through, it withdrew a handful of yellow substance that it swiftly transferred to the wound, which was now within reach.

Then it turned away and began shambling deeper into the Beehive.

“What, not even a thank you, masked man?” Dale said.

“It made some gestures,” Valya said, not entirely untruthfully; the creature had flapped its good lower left hand several times in what seemed to be movement unrelated to scooping and placing the goo. She chose to interpret that as
Thank you
, or even
You can go now
. She said, “It may not have a cultural history of gratitude. Even some human cultures are like that.”

“What next?” Makali said. She was busy trying to clean the bloodied pliers on her pants leg, then replacing the tool in the kit—all with trembling hands.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Zack said, “but I’m getting hungry.”

“And thirsty,” Dale said.

“I think we follow our friend and see if he has a cultural history of hospitality.”

Xavier Toutant doubted he would ever be as comfortable in the Keanu habitat as he had been in Houston—even though he hated Houston. Life here was too raw, too unfamiliar, and too complicated. He missed Momma and his friends, he missed television, he missed having fun.

He was having no fun here. None.

But the one thing in Keanu’s favor…there was no real night. No spooky wolf hours. Xavier had never liked the dark. Nothing good had ever happened to him much after the sun went down.

The lights in the Keanu sky never dimmed. It never got much brighter than twilight, but it never got much darker.

He loved that. It made him daring. He set off for the Beehive, on his own, without having to ask permission—without expecting to see anyone dogging his path. Should he be stopped, he had prepared an answer to the question, “Where do you think you’re going?” And it was, “To see if we’re going to have chickens or ducks.” He wasn’t doing any cooking, because there wasn’t any cooking to do yet, but Mr. Drake and Mr. Weldon knew that he had been a cook and wanted to cook again.

He even had a motive that he would keep to himself, which was this: He had gotten by for a couple of days trading those candy bars. But he was down to his last two, and when they were gone, he would need new currency.

He couldn’t get close to the machines on the second floor of the Temple, but he could explore the Beehive. Surely there would be something of use here.

Not that he expected to be stopped and questioned.

Whether it was having more and fresher food in their bellies, or
cumulative exhaustion, the HBs turned in early and en masse that night. The only exceptions were Vikram Nayar’s Temple team; veterans of projects in the IT world, they seemed eager to work all night unlocking secrets of the Temple.