Petra, the lead archaeologist, led the way into the mess tent. Despite being a tent, it was pretty big. Tvorh wouldn't have minded living under this in the Chasm, except for the whole "living in the Chasm" part of things.

The shape of the room came to Tvorh's ears carried on the low murmur of the tent's inhabitants. There had to be a hundred people in here, spread across a couple dozen long tables. Some were eating; others huddled around maps or shortsphere receivers. A lot of them seemed to be not much older than Tvorh, though he'd also noticed some men that age on the defensive line.

Those very men perked up when Thiyyatt entered the room. A flash of jealousy coursed through Tvorh's veins. He didn't know why. She was crazy.

But she was also mind-numbingly desirable.

"Sorry about the conditions." Petra led them over to one of the map tables. "They definitely degraded when the Chimeras hit about a day ago."

"Yeah, having to pull everybody into tight quarters will do that," Senrii said, following her. Piotr dogged her heels, though Aoife wandered off toward one of the serving tables.

Tvorh's stomach grumbled, but he went after Senrii. She was his Ductrix, and he was Gens Nethress.

Probably. The Princeps had sent Cornartis's men to pick them up, right? So he couldn't still be that angry with Tvorh and Senrii.

Over at the very end of one of the tables, the pudgy inquirer Tvorh had rescued--Morrison, he'd given as his name--sat across from the wispy forty-something woman who'd been managing their imager's defensive actions. Handes.

They had one of the shortsphere receivers, and the man was grimacing at it.

Petra's employees made way for her. She pointed to one of the maps; to Tvorh’s echolocation, it was a colorless slate of paper. "The dig was making enormous amounts of progress until recently. We accidentally activated a still-living Tool with our imagers' nerves. Luckily, it didn't self-destruct the city. It actually compacted some of the rock in the passages right under our feet and opened up a number of the tunnels."

Tvorh nodded to himself, remembering his sweat-and-blood-soaked ride up the Acerbian Libraratory elevator for the first time and how roots had drawn away the rubble blocking the shaft until it merged with the walls, leaving a clear passage behind.

"The things we're finding here might be of use to Tellus. All of Tellus." Petra glanced sharply at Senrii. And at Tvorh. "But then the Chimeras showed up. The heavy weaponry held them off until about 14:00, which gave us time to organize and consolidate, but eventually those positions were overrun. We're glad you showed up when you did. Our boys could use a break."

"Well, Cornartis will handle that problem," Senrii said. "And he'll do a good job, too, but it's not really our reason for being here."

"You didn't come to save us?" Petra rubbed her chin. "Damned shortspheres. The interference we're getting makes it impossible to send messages out sometimes. It started in the evening a couple of days ago."

Probably when Thiyyatt had unlocked the throne, then.

Tvorh heard Professor Morrison bang the receiver on the table once. Did impact therapy ever actually work?

"Yeah, no. No messages received, but all the same, I'm glad we could help. We're actually here for the Last Era secrets."

Petra gave Senrii a flat look.

"You know. The Master-Mind, the Synaptic Relay--right, Tvorh?"

"Right." Those were the words Pellnias's note had used. "Any records from the Last Era, sent by radio, hopefully transcribed by hand. I mean, sent by shortsphere. Kinda."

Petra put her fists at her lower back and stretched forward, groaning. "Why am I not surprised that the Gentes are here to take Hallard's hard-earned research?"

"It's not like that," Senrii said.

"Like hell it isn't." Petra leaned forward over the table again. "Well, I'm happy to tell you we haven't found anything like that."

"But--"

"All of the paper we've found has been decayed for eons. Books? Operational manuals? Sure. Not one of them intact." Petra grinned coldly. "If you'd just sent a message ahead on shortsphere, we could have saved you the trip."

Morrison banged the shortsphere on the table again, loudly this time. "Adon-damned worthless piece of crap." The whole room fell silent; super-sensitive ears weren't necessary to hear that outburst. "We're going to die here because of our broken shortspheres."

"They're not broken." Eztli pushed into the tent. "They're jammed." She looked wan and terribly tired, though she held herself up straight. She'd lost her Symbiont, Tvorh reminded himself. She'd had it for years, maybe even decades--how old was she, anyway?

Just like that, her power was gone. And probably her family, too. She was walking the same road Tvorh had, only backward. He felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the Nxtlu Generosa.

"Where have you been?" Senrii asked.

"Exploring." Eztli stopped in the center of the room, directing her questions to nobody and everybody. "You uncovered a shortsphere antenna, if I am not mistaken." She pointed off in the direction of the buildings near the underground dome. "A tall one."

Handes turned in her seat to face Eztli. "That's right."

"And the Archon Tool for the site."

"Yes," Petra said. "But it won't take our commands."

"That's all right." Eztli stared at Thiyyatt, who was already surrounded by a group of adoring young men--and one young woman--at a table. Another man bearing a platter of unappetizing looking food placed it in front of Thiyyatt as if he was a serving boy. "I suspect we have a Key." Eztli returned her attention to the tent at large. "Give me access to the Tool and the antenna, and I will clear up your interference problem."

***

"I am no mid-born servant, to be used for my blood," Thiyyatt protested. She didn't try to pull out the bundle of nerves wired into her arm, though.

Cornartis had provided them a platoon to escort them to the outlying building where the Tool interface had grown after the subterranean digging had awoken it. Now Eztli's whole team, plus a few of the archaeologists, including Petra, Morrison, and Handes, were crammed in the small room, surrounding the waist-high columnar blob that was the Tool's interface.

"Have it spin up the radio receiver, Regia Puella," Eztli said, standing over the pustule-keypad that the Tool had extruded.

"Nor am I a mid-born servant, to take orders--"

Tvorh was still irritated by Thiyyatt's willingness to surround herself with adoring men. "Fathers, Thiyyatt. Just do it."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but after a moment, a crackle filled the room.

"Just noise," Petra pointed out. "That's the whole problem."

Eztli shook her head. Her fingers flew over the Last Era control pad. She punched in eight numbers that Tvorh recognized from his lessons.

07041776.

The chaos of sound resolved into a voice. It spoke with the slightly inhuman diction and pronunciation of a Tool; Tvorh could tell even though the language was High Post-Exarchian.

"...ilver Suns repor...

...itical informa... ...reat to Telluri... ...ssible extin... level event... ...mmediate action..."

The voice crackled, fading in and out as the receiver warmed up. Were they missing part of the message? Well, they'd probably been missing the message for centuries, so a few more seconds probably wouldn't hurt.

"Stand... by for res... Please... ...eipt.

Rep... alone. ...oming.

...nding by... response. ...confirm receipt."

All at once, the message became clear.

"Operation Silver Suns reporting. Critical information discovered regarding threat to Tellus. Possible extinction level event. Recommend immediate action. Standing by for response. Please confirm receipt. Repeat, mankind is not alone. They are coming.

"Message iteration 1,327,272,831 completed. Now beginning iteration 1,327,272,832."

"Operation Silver Suns reporting. Critical information discovered regarding threat to Tellus..."

Everybody in the room fell deathly silent, staring at one another as the message repeated.

Twice.

Finally Aoife spoke. "How long has that been repeating, anyway?"

"Thirty-five seconds per repetition," Petra said. "1.3 billion repetitions. Assuming it's been constant... a thousand years, give or take a few centuries."

"Blood, bones, and bile," Senrii said.

"Listen to this." Thiyyatt's voice brooked no dissent. "Within the Archon Tool I have found a record that might be of interest. It also seems to have been a radio transmission."

A different message in a different voice began to play.

"Solid propellant reserves nominal, no degradation.

"Liquid oxygen reserves nominal, no degradation.

"Liquid hydrogen reserves nominal, no degradation.

"Nutrient reserves nominal, no degradation.

"Wisdom integration complete.

"Running diagnostics on SPELs... all registered sequencing templates viable. Telomeres intact.

"Running diagnostics on shuttle structural integrity...nominal.

"Recommend commencing Operation Silver Suns. Standing by for confirmation via radio integration only.

"Request received to roll-call critical SPELs. Comms integration, oxygen generation, photosynthesis, vacuum endurance, cling-vines, ocular lensing, fins, internal and external spatial manipulators, water recycling, engine control explicitly confirmed nominal. Recommend commencing Operation Silver Suns. Standing by for confirmation via radio integration only.

"Confirmation received. Commencing Operation Silver Suns in five... four... three... two...one...

"Lift-off."

"What on Tellus is that?" murmured Petra.

"Not on Tellus, but above it," Thiyyatt said.

"The satellites," Tvorh said, remembering the message from Pellnias. "They sent Tools up into space."

Thiyyatt wrinkled her nose. "I always found Daonial insufferable. Now I know he was a traitor as well."

"Bigger problems right now than your murdery inclinations," Senrii said. "Eztli, can you send a message back on the same frequency?"

"I can try." Eztli's fingers poked at the keys. "Are you ready?"

Senrii nodded.

"Very well. You're on."

"Message acknowledged," Senrii said in High Post-Exarchian. "Please advise next steps."

They waited a moment.

The radio voice spoke again. "Receipt acknowledged. Ceasing message transmission. Advise to send retrieval team for data."

"Send where?" Senrii muttered, more to herself than to the voice.

"We have no time for this," Thiyyatt said. "Operation Silver Suns, I am Regia Puella Thiyyatt. I command you to send us all of your data via Synapsis to the Strathlic Archon Tool."

"Synapsis counterindicated. No Synaptic SPELs integrated."

Thiyyatt scoffed. "There is not a satellite orbiting Tellus without access to Synapsis. Other than this one. Daonial was a fool in addition to a traitor."

"Advise to send retrieval team for data," the distant Tool repeated.

"Send where?" Senrii replied. "How? Can you send the data to us over the radio and save us a trip? Give me something to work with here, buddy."

"Database too large for radio transfer. Stand by... Advise transfer current Strathlic spaceport content data."

"What's that mean, spaceport data?" Senrii asked.

Thiyyatt's smile was insufferable. "Where do you think we stand at this moment?"

Alison Handes sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Well, there goes that secret."

Spaceport. This equatorial city was where the satellites had been sent up from. There was silence in the room as everyone digested the fact.

"Do it, Thiyyatt," Senrii said. "Please."

They waited.

"Data shows preserved rocket in Silo Three. Advise extending nerves and running diagnostics."

"What's a rocket?" Aoife asked. "My High Post-Exarchian's kinda rusty."

"It's a reference to the fiery new engines," Eztli said. "The sort on your drop pods, and on... Nxtlu's skywhales."

Aoife looked shaken. Tvorh squeezed her hand. "What does the satellite want with rockets?"

"I'm still not over the fact that you people have a rocket and didn't mention it," Senrii said.

"We don't answer to you," said Alison.

Petra held up a hand. "It's one of the discoveries I was telling you about earlier, but Inquirer Handes is right. You're not one of us. We owe you our lives, not the wealth of our discoveries."

"Lady, I'm a Nethress Generosa and I've been running around Vallus itself with an Adonist Sodalitatis, a Nxtlu Ductrix, and a friendly Chimera." Senrii waved a hand dismissively. "He died. I think. Point is, we're all in this together, all right?"

"A friendly Chimera? Hmm." Morrison looked thoughtful. "I vote to do it. I, for one, would like to know the result."

Thiyyatt must have given the command, because the voice spoke again. "Rocket subsystem DNA checksums indicate 97% accurate. Running corrections on failing subsystems. Estimated time to completion: three hours. Life support, propulsion, comms functional. Six acceleration-endurance stations functional. Uploading orbital coordinates. Advise sending retrieval team immediately after genetic correction completes."

It kept telling them to send a team. "Is it just me," Tvorh said, "or does this thing expect six of us to go into outer space?"

Judging by the looks of the people around the room, it wasn't just him.