And they took it, took its threads, stretched them out, lifted them up, separated them, brought them back together a hundred fold, a thousand fold, entwined, a tapestry. They took his sketch of plan, made it richer, deeper, a painting. They reached into him and took from him what they needed, more gently this time, mindful of what they’d done to him weeks ago. He felt the things they took. The million minds he still had addresses for from the pings of his bots. He felt new connections made. To the Mesh that Rangan and his friends had developed, to the combat tools he’d written, so very different from this plan, to Shiva’s tools for assimilating and processing data from millions of minds, to Shiva’s fleet of low earth orbit satellites.

They wove them all together and it was more than a painting, it was a multi-dimensional object, a sculpture that extended through space and time and higher dimensions yet. And he could see the shape of it, see how all the pieces of this plan fit, and he was momentarily awed that he’d brought even the sketch, even the seed.

And then they were lowering him, letting him down and out, gently, and wrapping him in love, bathing him in love.

And then he was out. And the stars were flaming in the sky. And there were tears on every face. And the night was bright. And the grass was green. And the smells were rich.

“We’ll leave for Thailand immediately” Ananda said. “This is best done with a concentrated node in one place to anchor things.”

Kade nodded.

And he would leave for Shanghai. Where the most amazing woman the world had ever seen, the most amazing being the world had ever seen, might be reborn at any instant, at the very height of her insanity, bent on conquering the planet.

Where it was his job to stop her.

100
Childish Things

Sunday 2041.01.20

Zhi Li padded quietly into the kitchen in bare feet and nothing else, leaving Lu Song sleeping, to make herself some tea.

The faint light that preceded the sun came in through the broad southern windows of her home. Out those windows, through the one-way glass that protected her privacy, she could see the first hints of light on the wide green lawn, the first hints of color on Lake Dianshan.

She loved this time of day best of all. Especially here, at her home, in the western suburbs beyond Shanghai. Lu Song could have his penthouse in the bright lights of the Pudong. She loved her garden, her hectares, her lakefront, her view of what remained of nature.

She held the mug of tea in her hands, letting its warmth comfort her.

Sleep didn’t come easy these days. Nothing did.

“Hey,” she heard.

She turned, and Lu Song was there, smiling at her.

She tried to smile back. She wasn’t sure she succeeded.