Heaven's Fall (36 page)

What he found was coffee and some kind of granola cereal—Tea’s usual fare. Given the circumstances, this would suffice.

His operational choices were equally limited. He had no military command, not even any subordinates. No power or might.

He had few allies. So much of his recent life had centered around Tea that he had neglected his contacts in the defense ministry . . . not that he had any role to play in their covert and often overt war against the Aggregates. He considered telephoning Kaushal but rejected that: The Yelahanka commander was either working for the plotters—or likely to be ineffectual anywhere outside the base.

And even if he had possessed a team that could be called upon, what was the takeaway, to use a phrase from his time with NASA? In success, did he end up with Sanjay’s body in a hearse . . . with himself behind the wheel?

What he wanted, he concluded, was respect, for Sanjay Bhat, for the
Adventure
crew and his son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter.

He did have one weapon, however: his phone. Melani Remilla did have some information he did not. He glanced at the clock—5:20.

Taj reached the two-story Hebbai Electric Crematorium at 6:40, parking on a street a block behind the facility. He felt a bit foolish slinking past the loading dock at the rear of the building (with its curious smell of smoke and what he could only think of as cooked meat) while wearing his full dress uniform. But the need for precautions overrode his sense of dignity.

He had fallen asleep in his uniform, so his clothing had required a change, too. And there was nothing like a general’s rank and medals to encourage cooperation with certain individuals.

He had unpacked his service pistol and was wearing it, though he did not expect to use it. (He hadn’t fired it in years.)

The doors were still locked. The parking lot was empty.

He took up a position near the entrance where he could see without being automatically seen.

He had strategies for waiting. Breathing exercises.
Review steps taken, to be taken. Check equipment again.

It reminded him of guard duty as a cadet, and the bonus this morning was the sight of a crescent Keanu low in the southern sky. The Moon was close to new this time of month and was no competition at the moment. Keanu’s orbit was more inclined, and the NEO was not only farther away from Earth than the Moon, it trailed it by a hundred thousand kilometers, a figure that would change, of course, with every passing day. All of this caused Taj to wonder just how long Keanu would remain in orbit? Another week? A year? A century? He wished he had asked his son.

The door of the crematorium opened.

It was a young Hindu man—twenty at most—in T-shirt and jeans, clothing that was far too casual for a memorial worker. “I’m Ishat,” he said, and offered little more. It was obvious he was unhappy about being roused out of bed.

“Call me General Radhakrishnan,” Taj said, sweeping past him. “Are you prepared to conduct a cremation?”

“But we aren’t open yet!” Ishat said.

“This is an emergency. It’s why I telephoned the owner.”

“He only told me to meet you, not to—”

Taj held up his hand, silencing Ishat. “I’m telling you what needs to be done, and you’re going to do exactly as I say: Prepare the body of Sanjay Bhat for immediate cremation.”

Ishat frowned but seemed willing to do as told. “It will take a few minutes.”

“Don’t start until I tell you,” Taj said. “We’re waiting for someone.”

He returned to the front door, checking his watch. Almost seven. The army and its associates would be arriving within the hour—

A car appeared at the driveway entrance, moving slowly. Taj reflexively placed his hand on his holstered pistol as he watched the vehicle, an ancient electric Sierra, roll closer, then stop.

Kalyan Bhat emerged, looking both sad and bewildered. He was in his thirties, medium build, balding, dressed in a gray suit and tie, both donned in a hurry, to judge from the missed button and indifferent knot. “You would be General Radhakrishnan,” he said.

“Mr. Bhat. I’m sorry that we have to meet under these circumstances.”

“I remember your flights, sir. India’s first astronaut. They made us feel proud.”

Taj had heard this a number of times in his life and almost always corrected it: While he was the first citizen of India to command an indigenous spacecraft, the
Brahma
, and had made one earlier flight as well, an Indian astronaut had gone into space back in the 1980s with the Soviets.

Mr. Bhat was too young to remember that, of course. Taj merely nodded his thanks and guided the man into the facility, taking care to watch for additional vehicles. “Thank you for agreeing to come this morning on such short notice.”

“This is a very strange situation.”

“I understand.”

“I was already in the city, hoping to see my brother . . . alive,” he finished. “It was so hard to lose him like that.” Then Kalyan shook his head, as if appalled at his own rudeness. “I’m sorry, you suffered the same way.”

And I am in almost the same situation,
he thought. “We can only endure,” he said. Then he called. “Mr. Ishat? Would you lock this door for us, please?”

The ceremony was mercifully brief. Sanjay Bhat’s body was already in its sheet; his brother declined to view it. “I prefer to remember him alive,” he said. “As a young man, the smartest I’ve ever met.”

“His death is a great loss,” Taj said. “To my son’s community and likely the world at large.” He and Pav had spoken only briefly about Sanjay, but Taj had gotten the clear impression that the engineer was a rare talent, one that the humans on Keanu would require.

As would the Keanu humans hoping to accomplish their mission.

“Please tell me, General, why this haste? Why the unusual hour? My brother deserves better. I deserve an explanation.”

Taj’s innate reluctance to share secrets was enhanced by his need to protect Kalyan. He would have preferred to tell him nothing, especially since he could not be sure that Sanjay’s body was about to be stolen. Nevertheless: “You know your brother returned to Earth in an alien spacecraft, correct? That his death was the result of hostile action?” Kalyan nodded. “There are parties who wouldn’t offer your brother’s remains the proper respect. This is the best alternative.”

That seemed to satisfy him. The last prayers were said, by Kalyan and Taj, with Ishat the silent, sullen witness.

Then Sanjay’s body was consigned to the flames.

Ishat went off to collect the ashes, leaving Taj and Kalyan alone and now uncomfortable. Before either of them could utter an awkward word, however, the door buzzed.

“Wait here,” Taj instructed Kalyan.

Then he ran out to the reception area and glanced through the curtains.

There were now four new vehicles parked in front of the crematorium: two automobiles, an ambulance, and a bus. At the front door were Wing Commander Kaushal and a pair of civilians Taj did not recognize.

Waiting behind them were three members of THE in their distinctive uniforms. Taj wondered how they had managed to enter India, but that concern was quickly reduced to meaninglessness by the next sight:

A
dozen Reiver Aggregates
were emerging from the bus, forming up as one might expect.

Taj took one long moment to snap several images with his phone, then e-mailed them to an address he had created that morning, texting Pav the same information, in the hopes that it would be retrievable when his son resumed contact.

The buzzer sounded again. Ishat appeared from the rear of the building, looking worried. “Stop right there,” Taj ordered him.

“I have to answer the door,” the young man said. He held up his phone. “I am getting orders!”

“Fine,” Taj said, “but be prepared to be pushed aside. And before you do, count to ten.”

“But—” The buzzer sounded again. Now there was pounding on the door, too.

“Ten!” Taj said. And not waiting for further debate, he ran back to Kalyan, taking the man by the arm. “Come with me.”

Without knowing where he was going, Taj guided the man deeper into the facility, turning away from the actual crematorium itself and passing several offices.

“My car is out front!”

“So are some very bad people,” Taj said. “My car is out back.”

They passed up one door because it appeared to be alarmed—why alert the new arrivals to their exit? A second door, at the end of a hall, led to the loading dock Taj had passed on his way in.

He could hear noise from inside the crematorium—raised voices followed by the crash of equipment. Or so he hoped; he had no desire to see young Ishat injured.

“I do not have my brother’s ashes,” Kalyan said.

“I fear you are unlikely to get them.”

Taj listened again; there were voices from people outside the crematorium, circling around it from his left.

He did not want to believe that they were hostile, a threat to his life and Kalyan’s. But he had to be careful.

He pressed his keys into Kalyan’s hand. “My car is the only one on the next street,” he said, nodding to the right. “Go there now and drive away. Don’t return to your hotel. Go to the nearest police station.”

Kalyan had slowly registered the danger of the situation. Now he displayed full panic. “I don’t know how to do this—!”

“Take the keys,” Taj said, in what he hoped was his command voice. “Go to the first car you see, get in, start it, drive away as quickly as you can.”

It worked. Kalyan merely blinked, took the keys, and, without another word, turned and ran off.

Taj pulled his service revolver and headed around the building to the left.

Hebbai Electric Crematorium was not large, though the press of neighboring buildings made it difficult for large formations to circle it.

Taj was waiting when the Aggregate formation came around the corner, two by two, a THE counselor in their midst.

“Who are you?” the counselor said. He was, like all THE, in his twenties. He actually appeared to be nervous.

“A hero of India,” Taj said, training his pistol on the agent. “Stop talking and stop walking.” He found himself distracted by the presence of the Aggregates . . . now a dozen anteater-like beings that came up to his shoulder. These were red and yellow, like characters from a superhero movie, and constantly in motion, each pair taking up a position around Taj that was either for observation or containment. They were not silent, either, but buzzing to each other like giant insects.