“It’s good you don’t know the details of it, Rustem. Try to keep it that way. We’re not asking for you to think broadly—just deeply, about the problem that lies in front of you. So, I hope you were able to gather enough signposts from him to be of use—because so far it looks like you’ve been off wandering in the woods.”

“I’ve made progress,” Rustem said. “But I’ll admit I haven’t made it as quickly as I would have liked. What would help would be to see the original questionnaires, and the models themselves.”

“When you figure out how to plant an industrial spy that deeply in DIANIMA, you let me know.”

“Understood. Well, let’s get back to Astrakhan so I can continue my work.”

“You’re not going back to Astrakhan.”

“What?”

“Astrakhan is over for you. There is a room reserved for you here in the republic. At the Pera Palace.”

“I have a life in Astrakhan. There are people waiting for me there.”

In the bright sunlight near the dock, the cloud around the woman’s head shone like broken glass. She stepped onto the self-propelled landing pad. A robot arm unhooked it from the dock.

“There’s no one waiting for you in Astrakhan, Rustem. And in the future, if you want those around you to stay safe, I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

Chapter 26

Only recently has science begun to look beyond the physical structures of life to the relationships humans have with nonhuman beings in our environment—to our immersion in and reliance upon nature, which persists no matter how much we try to push it away with our constructed, unnatural worlds. Science has finally begun to admit that the nature we are immersed in also communicates, has values, and strives.

We have finally taken the first steps toward truly observing life—not at a distance, as its masters, but in fellowship, recognizing a part of our selves.

—Dr. Ha Nguyen, How Oceans Think

26

THE TIBETAN MAINTENANCE DRONES had the sleek bodies of dragonflies. Their surfaces scattered the sunlight back in violet and emerald. Slender legs protruded from their thoraxes on trochanter and coxa sockets, ending in grasping claws.

They moved with darting grace from one task to another in the temple courtyard. One of them swung out in an arc and came to hover in front of Altantsetseg’s face. The two conversed—first in English, then in a language Ha did not recognize—not Altantsetseg’s native Mongolian, but something else.

The temple was a disaster. The courtyard was littered with overturned plants, smashed terra cotta, torn prayer flags. The automonk that was missing an arm—one of the two that had spoken with Ha the night before—wandered the courtyard in a wobbling meditative circle. Its saffron robe was torn in several places. It never once looked in Ha’s direction.

We are not alive.