The evening sun blazed atop the sea, shining brightly.

  She smiled.

  Yes, we did it.

  45

  February 7, 11:08 A.M. EST

  Washington, D.C.

  Several floors beneath the Smithsonian Castle, Gray thumped with a cane down the central corridor of Sigma’s buried command center. He checked his watch and scowled. His left thigh stabbed with every step. He passed Sigma’s intelligence nest. The spider of that technological web—Kat Bryant—heard his approach and met him at the door.

  She leaned on the frame. “You’re late.”

  He shrugged as he passed her. “Physical therapy ran long.”

  She called after him. “So it wasn’t because you stopped for a Starbucks?”

  Gray grinned. She was definitely the master of her domain. “That was part of my therapy. Plus, for this debriefing, I could use more than just caffeine.”

  “A triple espresso wasn’t enough?”

  He glanced back, but she had already ducked away. Had she tracked his coffee order or was it simply that she knew him so well? He didn’t know which was worse.

  He continued to the director’s office. The door was open, but he still knocked on the frame.

  “Commander Pierce, you’re late.”

  “So I’ve been duly informed.”

  Gray stepped inside. Monk was already seated and welcomed him with a big grin. Painter Crowe sat behind his desk. The director had shed his jacket and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. He combed the single white lock in his dark hair behind an ear and waved to the remaining chair.

  “Let’s get started.”

  Behind him, monitors glowed on three walls. One showed a map of Southeast Asia. Another ran with silent footage of the ongoing rescue operations. The third was a satellite view of Raoul Island. A large ship was anchored offshore. At its aft end, a tall glass sphere glinted in the sunlight.

  Gray settled in his seat. It had been two weeks since the region had quieted down, but the world remained tenuously unsettled. The ash clouds from the dozens of eruptions had circled the planet. A dense haze still persisted. It might take months, if not years, until it fully dissipated, with unknown climatic consequences.

  “What’s the word out of China?” Gray asked.

  “About what you’d expect,” Painter said. “They’re blaming the civilian deaths and military actions on a rogue unit in the PLA, led by an overly ambitious captain. They refuse to talk about the ELF transmission or their lost submarine.”

  Monk turned to Gray. “But no one’s fooled. The countries that were affected are holding China’s feet to the fire. Beijing is funding most of the recovery efforts, trying to buy their way out of what happened.”

  Painter nodded. “The Chinese have also been chastised enough to open a dialogue and work with NASA’s Artemis program when it comes to future lunar missions.”

  Gray frowned. “I wager that’s only so they can share the blame if anything goes wrong again.”

  “What exactly happened up there?” Monk asked.

  “As near as anyone can surmise,” Painter explained, “the Chinese were right about Theia—the ancient planetoid that smashed into the primordial Earth and created the moon. It left fragments not only under our mantle but also slivers buried in the lunar crust. Apparently, some force still connects those pieces and responded to the drilling of their lander.”

  Gray tuned out this explanation. He had kept in contact with Major Xue and had long conversations on this very subject. Much remained unknown. Only it was clear everyone needed to tread lightly from here on out, both on the moon and with the strange ecosystem discovered deep in the sea.

  “What’s the possibility of someone using that ELF transmission as a weapon?” Monk asked. “Of triggering more quakes?”

  Painter sighed. “Nations around the world have been informed about it and will be monitoring for those transmissions. With the knowledge shared globally about the bullroarers, any hostile usage could be mitigated, making any weapon useless.”

  “We had better hope so,” Monk added.

  “I also spoke to Dr. Reed about her initial work with the species that was discovered,” Painter said. “She’s continuing to explore how their morphology seems to blur the line between geology and biology. She believes the species utilizes harmonics as a means of communication and to manipulate their environment. As a vast colony, they seem capable of casting out unique frequencies that vibrate the crystalline nature of the Theia fragments. Thus triggering quakes or eruptions. All as a means to protect their territory.”

  “If Dr. Reed is right,” Monk said, “we’d better not piss them off.”

  “As a precaution, the seas around Raoul Island have been cordoned off. Research there will be limited. William Byrd is reestablishing the Titan Project in the waters nearby to oversee the effort.”

  “What about the claim that the species was born out of rock, seeded by those fragments of Theia?” Monk asked.

  “Too early to say,” Painter said. “According to Dr. Reed, it’s a chicken-or-egg situation. Maybe something was already in the crystalline planetoid and emerged out of its fringes, slowly shedding its silicon nature to become what was discovered. Or it could have been some deep-sea coral ancestor that abutted against the fragment and incorporated some of its silicon properties. Either way, the species does seem to have a harmonic relationship with those masses.”

  Monk frowned. “Could they truly be the great ancestors to the modern-day octopuses and other cephalopod species?”

  Painter shrugged. “Dr. Reed is starting to explore that very question with Datuk Lee. They’ll be bringing in scientists who have been studying panspermia, the theory that life on Earth may have been seeded—or at least, partially so—by cosmic bombardments. It’ll take a lot more research before anything can be substantiated or ruled out.”

  Gray shifted, his thigh wincing in complaint. It reminded him that he wasn’t the only one suffering in recovery.

  “I checked up on Kadir Numberi at the hospital in Jakarta,” he said. “He’s recovering from his belly wound. I talked to him about the Aboriginal connection to all of this. He’s already been invited to join the new Titan Project, to further explore the true history of his great-grandfather’s people. I think that story has yet to be fully told. He’s excited to challenge the Out-of-Africa theory of human origins.”

  “I look forward to hearing what he discovers,” Painter said.

  During the next hour, the three reviewed countless other details until the director finally stood up from his desk, clearly ready to dismiss them. But he motioned to Gray. “Commander Pierce, can you hang back for another moment?”

  “Of course.”

  Gray said his good-byes to Monk, hugging and clapping his friend on the back.

  Monk pulled away with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Having to stay after class? Sounds like someone’s in trouble.”

  “What else is new?”

  Monk left him with Painter.

  Gray remained standing. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “This.” Painter opened a drawer and pulled out a file that was stamped in red with the words TOP SECRET. “I was given permission to show you this by the Under Secretary of Defense for Intelligence and Security. It’s a deeply classified report by the newly established UAPTF.”

  Gray frowned at the acronym, not recognizing it.

  “The Unidentified Aerial Phenomena Task Force,” Painter explained. “The Department of the Navy leads this group, whose mission is to detect, analyze, and catalog UAPs.”

  Gray stared down at the folder as Painter slid it toward him. “What does it concern?”

  “It pertains to the topic we were just discussing. About the possibility that those fragments of Theia might have carried something with them, something that seeded our planet.” Painter pointed to the file. “The task force has noted an unusual pattern in UAP activity. It’s been noted by the general public, too, even drawing media attention. But it’s never been fully investigated.”

  “Until now,” Gray said.

  Painter nodded. “In light of all that’s happened, the task force believes its results are significant enough to share—at least with us.”

  Gray opened the folder and read the title of the report: THE PREVALENCE AND PREPONDERANCE OF UAPS IN TECTONICALLY ACTIVE AREAS.

  Gray stiffened. “Is this true?”

  “The report does show an unusual patterning of UAP activity in volcanic and earthquake-prone regions—especially along the edges of those LLSVP blobs, those regions that could be fragments of Theia.”

  Gray flipped through the pages of charts and pictures. One showed a ring of blue lights surrounding a fiery caldera.

  “It seems like someone is monitoring these areas,” Painter said.

  Gray looked up, his eyes huge, as he understood the implication. “Like gardeners tending a field they seeded.”

  Painter reached over and closed the folder. “If so, let’s hope they don’t have a harvest season.”

  2:00 P.M. WITA

  Raoul Island

  Standing at the bow of a Zodiac, Phoebe rode across Denham Bay toward the shores of Raoul Island. Her hair was bunched behind her head. The winds brushed her cheeks, and she inhaled the salty spray with each bounce over the waves.

  She glanced behind her. The afternoon sun reflected brightly off the blue waters, hiding the dark mysteries below. Closer at hand, the Titan X rose like a glossy white iceberg. Its glass sphere, wide decks, and long halls had been polished of any speck of ash. The insides had been scrubbed of blood and were undergoing repairs from the damage inflicted.

  It was all overseen by William Byrd, who had forced the Chinese to pay for repairs, along with doling out restitution to the families whose loved ones were killed. China was also funding the new Titan Project. This was achieved not because of Beijing’s guilt or sense of justice, but because Byrd was the owner and CEO of ESKY, the shipping conglomerate that orchestrated commerce across the world’s oceans. With a word, he could cripple the Chinese economy . . . so he got his way.

  Phoebe pushed such matters aside, finding it all disheartening.

  She knew what had drawn her to this topic. At the back of the Zodiac, Major Choi Xue and Dr. Luo Heng sat in front of Bryan, who piloted their craft. She did not know them well, but Monk had vouched for them. She had also reviewed Heng’s research on the cure for the biomineralizing disease that had afflicted thousands across the region.

  Including someone close to her heart.

  Jazz shoved up next to her. She carried her right arm in a sling. She had been released from the hospital a week before and had headed straight here. She had lost two fingers to that disease, but she remained in good spirits and was anxious to continue their partnership.

  The other researcher afflicted by the coral’s venom—Dr. Kim Jong Suk—had not fared as well. He had lost his left arm. Byrd had offered Dr. Kim a place on the new station once it was built. The man had bitterly declined.

  “When are you going to tell me why we’re headed to the island?” Jazz asked.

  Bryan cut them off, calling from the stern. “Better sit down, gals! Might want to grab on to something, too!”

  Jazz glanced back as she took her seat. “I know something I’d like to grab on to. That accent of his . . . phew . . .”

  Phoebe tried to frown at her but ended up smiling.

  Jazz turned forward. “A gal’s got to do something with her off time.” She eyed Phoebe sidelong. “Speaking of which, I heard Adam’s flying in tonight.”

  “To see how things are going. That’s all. It’s purely professional.”

  Jazz cast her a doubtful look.

  The conversation mercifully ended as the Zodiac reached the shore and beached high onto the sand with a grating bump. They all offloaded.

  Xue and Heng hauled out a large waterproof case and carried it to shore.

  Jazz kept alongside her. “What’s in there?”

  Phoebe knew the answer. Only a few others did. Still, Jazz deserved to be here, having paid in flesh and blood for this honor. If left untreated, her friend might have suffered far worse.

  Jazz was about to find out how much worse.

  2:11 P.M.

  Heng lowered the heavy crate to the sand. He wiped sweat from his brow and stared up at the ruins of the island. It was a charred husk of rock and charcoal. The caldera lay quiet but still seeped a curl of smoke.

  It was a grim place for a homecoming.

  Xue crossed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Heng took a deep breath. “I will be.”

  Guilt ate at him.

  I should’ve done more.

  Shortly after the tragic events, he had managed to distill the antitoxin from the sample they had collected near Mount Tambora. Dr. Reed had aided in this effort, supplying him with several samples of the nematocyst-tipped tendrils. The species had been dubbed Iridis serpens, in respect for the Aboriginal people who had first formed a relationship with them. The antitoxin ended up being an organo-silicon enzyme, one that was easy to mass produce via a solid-state fermentation process.

  Still, it hadn’t been quick enough to save everyone. He had managed to treat Sublieutenant Junjie back at the Réam Naval Base in Cambodia. But it had been too late to help Officer Wong. Heng regretted keeping the man alive for so long, repeatedly reviving him when there was no hope, making him suffer through a long, torturous decline to an agonizing end.

  He cursed Captain Tse—wherever she was—for forcing his hand.

  Still, I should’ve stood up to her.

  All Heng could do now was attempt to atone for his sins.

  Xue’s fingers squeezed his shoulder, offering reassurance. Though extremely busy, the major had agreed to travel with Heng to Raoul Island.

  Back in Cambodia, Xue had taken over Captain Tse’s facility. He was converting it into a new space research center. He was working cooperatively with NASA, trying to forge a more open relationship. It was a challenging assignment, especially with the pushback he was getting from his own father.

  They had learned that it was the elder Choi who had ordered Captain Wen to eliminate the Americans. Son and father were on opposite sides of a generational divide. His father adhered to a Maoist philosophy of isolationism and militarism. Xue believed China’s future lay in cooperation and mutual respect. It was a friction that might never end until the old guard let loose its grip on power.

  Something that would take time and patience to happen.

  It could not be rushed.

  To help prepare for that long-term goal, Heng had agreed to continue his work at the base. Xue had personally requested that he stay.

  Heng patted Xue’s hand, thanking him for his support in this venture. They had spent considerable time together during the past two weeks, having long conversations over dinner, well into the night. Heng suspected Xue’s request that he stay in Cambodia went beyond academic respect.

  But Heng remained unsure.

  For the moment, neither of them had voiced anything more.

  Maybe that would also take time and patience.

  And was best not rushed, too.

  Until then, Heng bent and unsnapped the crate’s clasps. He pulled open the lid. It was full of a saline nutrient solution. Floating and stirring inside was a gray-pink mass, draped with tentacles that had once been a single spinal cord.

  “What is that?” Jazz asked.

  Heng bowed his head in respect. “This is Officer Wong.”

  Xue stepped aside and lifted a small digital megaphone. He switched it on, and the warbling call of an ancient bullroarer echoed over the quiet bay.

  To the side, Heng heard Dr. Reed explaining to her colleague about Wong’s fate. Heng had been unable to save him, but he had preserved what he could.

  After a few minutes, Phoebe helped him carry the crate into the water. They waded to their waists and kept vigil. The bullroarer continued its deep-throated call out to sea.

  Heng stared across the bay. “How long do you think—”

  “Hush,” she said. “They’re coming.”

  Heng saw no change. He shaded his eyes against the sun’s reflection off the water. Finally, shapes shimmered into view, maybe a dozen. They swam and stirred, flashing with lights. Their pattern looked like a rainbow trapped underwater.

  No wonder the Aboriginal people had named them so.

  Iridis serpens.

  The Rainbow Serpent.

  “Ready?” Phoebe asked.

  He nodded, too anxious to speak. Together, they tipped the crate and spilled the remains of Officer Wong into the sea. The shape rolled and flailed.

  They both retreated.

  As they did, the brilliant polyps stirred closer, approaching gently. Tentacles probed the new stranger, dancing tendrils over its glistening surface. With each touch, bioluminescence suffused into the other. In turn, the gray-pink mass extended tendrils of its own. They wove and danced together, a luminous merging of light and flesh, of energy and substance.

  Slowly, the polyps drew the newcomer along with them, rolling into the depths, and vanishing.

  Heng stared after them. He remembered the Aboriginal legends told by Kadir, concerning how such creatures could plant tiny seeds into a body, and how those seeds helped the afflicted be born anew, to ready them to be carried to the sleeping giant under the earth.

  Where life became an endless Dreaming.

  Heng didn’t know how much of Officer Wong still persisted, but he prayed there was some part of the man still present, who could live forever.

  At least, long enough to forgive me.

  7:06 P.M. EST

  Takoma Park, Maryland

  Seichan battled demons inside her living room.

  She had pushed aside the sofa and coffee table. She stood barefooted in a black sports bra and shorts. Her taut skin shone as if she were carved of stone. She balanced on the ball of one foot, her other knee held high. She carried the Chinese saber low at her hip in a two-handed grip.

  With each breath, she moved through a set of moves in the Qingping Jian-style of sword combat: Beng, Ci, Mo, Gua, Lan . . . She dropped, stabbed, pressed, parried, and blocked. She moved faster and faster. The ancient dao blurred into a steely haze around her. She lined up the sequences into their ancient forms: Angel Threads the Spindle, Sun Moon Exchanges the Rays . . .