"Yamanu," Kian said into the channel, keeping his voice level. "Talk to me. What are they doing?"
"Number One talked to Losham," Yamanu said, pitching his voice low. "He told Losham that it was a structural collapse, not a sabotage, and not a coup, which is probably what Losham was afraid of. He also told Losham that the eight of them were going to stay and secure the site through the night. Losham will go to bed thinking his loyal assets are guarding his treasure, so he won't send anyone else. We have the night."
Kian let out a breath. "What's your assessment of the Eight now that the jig is up?"
"They took it better than we had any right to expect. Number One said it straight out. He said that we hadn't trusted them, that we hadn't been prepared to put items of incalculable value in the hands of eight soldiers we'd never met, especially given their negative reputation. They understood, because they would have done the same. There was no anger and no threats were made, and he offered to help. Four of them are down here digging with us right now, while the other four are topside, keeping the guards off our backs."
Kian let out a semi-relieved breath. The worst case hadn't happened. The Eight had not walked, and they had not turned,and three of the chests were on their way to the cove with the Eight helping to free the other two.
"We got lucky," Kian said.
Turner arched a brow. "Did we?"
"What's on your mind?" Kian asked.
"They're behaving perfectly." Turner laid his hands on top of his yellow pad. "They've just discovered that we've been running a parallel operation under their noses, and their response is to calmly agree that we were right to do it, take no offense, and immediately make themselves useful. No friction and no recalculation, just a smooth pivot. Too smooth. That's not how most people would have reacted in a situation like that. They might be putting on an act, playing into our best expectations of them."
"Not necessarily," Onegus said from across the table. "To me it seems like a pragmatic response of people who think rationally rather than emotionally. They need us once they're off that island. The drugs that keep them stable come from Petrov and Volkov, and Petrov and Volkov need a laboratory and supplies to produce the medication they can't live without. So maybe they're being helpful because that's the only logical thing for them to do."
"Both could be true," Turner said. "That's what makes them dangerous. Their ultimate goals and their performance point in the same direction right now, so we can't tell them apart, and we won't be able to until and if those two things diverge."
"So, what do you suggest we do?" Kian asked. "Tell them to get lost? That we don't need their help? What are our options here?"
"We have no choice but to work with them, but we do that carefully and vigilantly, like handling a live grenade. It could be the thing that saves us, and it could be the thing that kills us. It all depends on when and how it is deployed."
It was a fair point, and Kian resented that because he couldn't argue with it.
Lokan shook his head. "The live grenade is a good analogy. The enhanced I encountered while Carol and I were running were vicious and very hard to kill. That one we took out in the end was like a damn terminator. He just wouldn't die. I hope that these Eight are very different because if they are like those Carol and I had to deal with, this is a disaster."
"They are not like the others," Turner said. "You misunderstood what I meant. These eight are not blunt tools of destruction. They want to save the people they care about, just like we do. They are killers, but not mindless or rabid ones."
"Great," Kian said. "So, they're immune to compulsion, they're harder to kill than other immortals, but the good news is that they are discriminating killers. That really makes me feel all warm and fuzzy."
From the corner of his eye, Kian caught his mother's worried expression and realized that he should change his tone.
"But then, we are discriminating killers as well, so I can't fault the Eight for the assassination of the same people we would have gladly eliminated if we could. They did our work for us."
26
DAVE
The four worked the rubble alongside Anandur, the two cyborgs, and the slim alien male. They were passing fractured slabs hand to hand down the slope, and things were moving at a good pace. Above, the other four held the periphery, spread across the backyard, their awareness woven into the collective so that the four below saw the dark yard through the eyes of the four above. The patrol that had passed by the back fence had been sent on its way to continue its rounds, convinced that everything was as it should be and there was nothing to report.
The alien male kept glancing at the four of the Eight as they worked, a quick assessing look that was faintly hostile, a warrior taking the measure of an unknown entity that he did not like having at his back.
The collective was curious about him and the three others of his kind. The constructs were also interesting. Skimming the thoughts of the immortals revealed nothing about the aliens or the cyborgs, so the only way to find out more about them was to start a conversation.
"You keep looking at us," Number One said, lifting a slab and passing it down. "Is there anything you want to ask?"
"I'm just curious. You are very strong for immortals. Almost as strong as we are."
"We are similarly curious about you, and how someone so slim can pack so much strength into those small muscles."
Anandur chuckled. "That's one of the things I love about the Kra-ell. They look so insubstantial while nothing could be further from the truth. They are built densely, and if you try to lift one of them, you will discover that they are much heavier than they look."
"The Kra-ell?" Number One asked. "What are they?"
"Might as well get the introductions over with, since we're all going to be elbow-deep in the same hole for the next day. The friendly one glaring at you is Pavel. The female who nearly put a round through your chest is Drova. The other two are Alexi and Jared."
