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THEY FOUND THE CAVE just before noon. Don stood watch at the entrance, while Amos crawled inside and down to the crevice. He stretched out, lying flat on his stomach, and reached into the gap, intent on the sliding stone.
Just before his fingers made contact, he jerked his hand back as if a rattlesnake had sounded its distinctive warning. His heart pounded, and he inched forward on his belly, squinting into the shadowy crevice. It took only a moment to realize what triggered his instinctive reaction.
A closer inspection revealed a faint glow behind the sliding stone. Under the glaring noonday sun, it would have gone unnoticed, but in the cave’s semi-dusk, the pulsating light was faint but unmistakable.
Amos pulled out his knife, using the long blade to push the sliding stone aside. He peered inside, barely able to make out tiny pinpricks of light playing back and forth across the Implant’s dark surface. This is new.
He used the long blade to extract the Implant, wary of touching it with his bare fingers. He backed awkwardly out of the cave on his hands and knees, and beckoned Don closer, pointing at the winking lights.
The tiny dots flashed—red, blue, green, white—visible even under the mid-day sun. There was no discernible pattern, but that did nothing to reassure him.
Don crouched down beside him, scowling at the Implant. He’s as baffled as I am.
“It wasn’t doing this when I left it here. Or when I first cut it out.” Amos frowned at the winking lights. Don nodded, making no move to touch the Implant. He was smarter than that.
The Implant shifted on the blade of his knife, tilting in a slight rotation away from him. It repeated the same action again. And again, over and over. It was, by very gradual increments, shifting back and forth on his blade.
Amos stood to his feet, angling his knife so the Implant slid onto the boulder above the cave’s mouth. The same spot where the squirrel startled him just days ago.
The Implant continued to squirm on the mossy stone, giving off the disturbing impression it was on a mission of its own.
Don swung the rucksack off his shoulders, digging out an antique photographer’s loupe. Amos recognized it at once. He’d seen Don use it on previous missions, whenever delicate work was required.
Don studied the micro-technology with a disapproving frown. The lights continued to flicker, and the tiny piece of technology rocked back and forth on the stone.
He handed the loupe to Amos, gesturing for him to take a closer look. “Look at both ends of the Implant. There’s tiny needles moving in and out. I don’t think it’s actually trying to go anywhere—it was buried in your side, after all—but those needles are definitely up to something.”
Amos stared in fascinated horror. Under the loupe’s magnification, the needles—minuscule strands of some unknown filament—leaped into disturbing focus, gliding in and out of the Implant’s body. The longer he stared at it, the more he noticed the gradual buildup of microscopic beads of moisture on the stone.
It’s coming from the needles. A chill ran down his spine as the implications sank in. A few days ago, this was still in my body. If I hadn’t used the dead Tracker’s scanner . . .
He remembered the loathing he’d felt when he cut the Implant out. The pain of the improvised extraction had been overshadowed by his visceral reaction when he’d held the bloody device in his palm. The assault on the Mission began less than ten minutes later, precipitating his headlong flight, but he remembered the waves of nausea and disgust.
The revulsion was still there, but now fear joined it with a vengeance.
He raised his eyes, swallowing convulsively to settle his churning stomach. “What’s going on, Don? The Implant—it looks like it’s alive.”
He closed his mouth, fighting the sudden return of nausea.
Don straightened, tucking the loupe into his rucksack.
“I wonder how long ago it was activated.” He scowled at the Implant as it continued to writhe back and forth, emitting tiny points of light. “Was it on a time-delay of some kind, or did a Hoarder push a button somewhere?”
Amos rubbed his jaw, considering the question. “Either way, we can’t take it back to the Hub. If Trackers can locate inert Implants, how much easier would it be if the technology’s activated? I say we put it back in the cave, at least for now, and see what Garr and Doc have to say.”
Don sighed, looking thoughtful as he stared at the tiny device. “You’ll get no argument from me. Garr won’t be happy, but taking it with us is too risky, in my opinion. The last thing we need is to another Tracker following us back to the Mission.”
Amos moved to recover the Implant, but froze as another chilling thought flashed through his mind. “What if this isn’t the only Implant that’s been activated?”
“I had the same thought.” Don met his gaze, his dark eyes troubled. “We’ve got to find Aubrey. She’s a walking time-bomb.”