“Good,” Ayesha Dani said. “Because we seem to have more of those than anyone. Now go unlock them. This will be the Indian Century.”

Varun Verma walked slowly across the Bangalore research campus, watching the restoration work in progress.

So much devastation had been done here in such a short time. More than a hundred killed in that attack. Scientists. Technicians. Soldiers.

He was thankful every day that it hadn’t been worse.

Thankful he was still alive.

Thankful the whole world was still here.

His mind drifted back to the top secret report he’d read on the events in Shanghai.

Varun shook his head in admiration. Lane had stayed true to his principles, all the way through. He’d seen the second order effects, the importance of precedent, of how a history of violence led to more violence, a history of cooperation led to more cooperation.

Simple iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma. But Lane saw it. Lane put it into action.

And he’d engineered cooperation, somehow salvaged it out of the worst possible case of enslavement, torture, and the very edge of the worst possible retribution.

Tit for tat on a global scale.

Interrupted.

Self-sacrifice salvaged out of mutually assured hatred.

The Division Six team had made it home, courtesy of the People’s Liberation Army, their tails between their legs. The official history would write it down as a joint operation between China and India, India offering assistance at the invitation of Chinese authorities.

And that was a win as well.

Had Lane planned all of that, Varun wondered?

No! It beggared belief. No one was that smart. Lane must have been lucky.

Unless…?

Varun was still pondering this when a technician yelled his name from across the field and came running towards him, a case in his hand.

“Dr Verma!” the man yelled. “Dr Verma!”

Varun stared at the man, a catch in his chest.

“We found it!”

The technician put the case on the lawn, delicately, so delicately.

Then he held his thumbs to the lockpads, unsnapped them, and opened it.

Varun exhaled, reached down, and pulled out the diamondoid data cube, still dripping with water from the salvage operation.

He held it up above him, his fingers at the corners. The cube glistened and glittered in the equatorial sun, refracting the light, sending out a bright prismatic spray that shifted as Varun turned it over.

His breath caught in his chest at its beauty. At what he held up to the sky.

A single drop of water dripped down his hand.

“This time,” Varun said aloud, staring up at the bright and shining cube, “I’ll do better by you.”