A tentative smile curved his lips. "Good."
"And you?"
He nodded, his gaze averted, his eyes veiled by his long eyelashes. "Yes." Finally he looked at her. "But Sam. Who would want a man like this?" He unbuttoned his cuff and pushed up his sleeve, revealing his arm. The transformation went all the way to his shoulder. The limb no longer had skin or muscles; it consisted of cables bundled together at intervals. Without speaking, he bent it at five different joints, forming a pentagon, his fingers just reaching his shoulder. The cables flickered with lights.
"Good Lord," Sam said.
"Yeah." He unfolded his arm.
The scientist in her admired such an achievement, but the woman was having trouble with it. "What happened to the skin and muscle?"
He pushed aside the outer cables and indicated one inside the bundle. "I can conduct biological material through conduits like this one."
Sam didn't know what to say. She couldn't figure out what he wanted, really wanted. He had come to her searching for an escape, a validation of his humanity, but the more she learned, the less she knew how to help. "Why do you need me?"
He reached out and caressed her jaw with the tip of his eighth finger. "Is this truly so offensive?"
Sam made a conscious effort not to recoil. "No." She folded her hand around his wrist, which consisted of a ninth cable encircling the other eight, and lowered his hand to the arm of her seat. But this time she didn't let go. The corrugations of the metal ridged against her palm.
"My arm is stronger now," he said. "More versatile."
"Can you feel my hand?"
"Yes. I kept the sensors that were in the skin. In some ways, they're more receptive than nerve endings. Now they're embedded in the cables."
"That takes energy, too. Does your reactor provide enough?"
"I have to recharge. Sleeping helps."
She thought about their situation. "I doubt we'll have much chance after we land."
"Land where?"
Good question. "We should contact the Air Force."
"No!" His hand clenched hers so hard, it hurt. "Not General Wharington."
"All right." She wasn't ready to believe Thomas had acted against them, but she intended to be careful. She doubted they would have much choice about who they spoke with, anyway. "We can probably reach the space command of a country. Someone will figure out we're up here pretty soon, anyway."
"They might shoot," he said darkly.
"We haven't done anything hostile."
"We're armed."
"With what?"
His expression took an inward-directed quality. He spoke as if reciting a list. "We have ASRAAMs and AMRAAMs with updated AI intelligence, fifth-generation LGBs with updated AIs, JDAM kits that operate with or without the GPS, though accuracy is better with GPS guidance, and an APSB with positron foil." He looked bewildered. "Do you know what that means?"
"GPS is the Global Positioning System." She scratched her chin. "I think the others are missiles. Can the Rex tell you more?"
He was silent for a moment. "Yes, missiles, both air-to-surface and air-to-air. Some are laser guided." He tilted his head. "These are really smart bombs, Sam. They can chase their targets."
It didn't surprise her. "What does positron foil mean?"
"It's the beam weapon."
"The what?"
He "listened" to the Rex. "It's some sort of offshoot from the ABL program, but it ended up a lot different."
This didn't sound like anything she had heard about. "What is ABL?"
"Airborne laser."
"You're kidding! This Rex carries a laser weapon?"
"No . . . it's completely different. Something new. It has less documentation—oh, wait, here we go. It's an antimatter beam."
"What?" Sam's mouth opened. "That's impossible."
He blinked. "It is?"
"Are you saying this craft can shoot positrons?"
"What's a positron?"
"The anti-particle of an electron."
"The Rex says the beam is anti-protons." He spoke slowly. "It's neutralized and focused by running it through a foil where it picks up positrons."
"Well, I'll be a frog on a fling."
Turner gave a startled laugh. "A what?"
Sam reddened. "It's a saying." She knew the cutting edge of research was always further ahead than most people realized, and that the pace of development had risen in recent decades, but this was beyond anything she expected. "This is a lot to handle."
"The Rex?"
"You and the Rex."
"You're afraid."
"And you're not." She didn't make it a question.
His anger flared. "You think I don't feel fear, dismay, desire, affection? My emotions are real, Sam. It affects me just as much as it would have Turner Pascal." His voice cracked. "I'm turning into something inhuman and I can't stop it. If you goddamn think I'm simulating that, you're even less human than me."
"I'm sorry." She didn't know how to react to him.
He opened his balled fist, the metal cables uncurling. "I don't know how to handle this. I liked being a bellboy. This is so far beyond my comfort zone, I don't know what to feel. But I can't make it stop. I'm on this horrible roller coaster and I don't see any way to get off."
"We'll make it through. Somehow." She just wished she knew how.
"I hope so." He watched her with a strange expression, as if he were dying inside. "Because I don't know how far I will change."
The shrill of an alarm cut through the cockpit.
VIII
Hockman and Beyond
Turner jerked. "We have company."
Sam swore under her breath. She did a mental rundown of who could come after them. Charon, maybe, though if he had just stolen the Rex, it seemed unlikely he would have more aircraft with its capabilities. The military of a country might have launched their own intercept aircraft, or it might be one of the corporations with a space division. That would be fast work, though; they had been up here less than an hour and supposedly shrouded.
"Does the Rex know who our company is?" she asked.
Turner answered slowly. "Something called a Needle."
"A spacecraft?" Needles were an offshoot of NASA's shuttle program. Although smaller than space shuttles, and unmanned, they had more maneuverability. A Needle already in orbit could conceivably be coming down after them, but someone from the ground had to be controlling its actions.
"Here," Turner said. Schematics of a narrow craft appeared on a display, along with specifications. This Needle was a dated model, about ten years old. It probably didn't come from the United States, which had upgraded its fleet of Needles a few years ago. The specs looked familiar, though.
"Maybe it's one of the old ships the U.S. sold to another country," Sam said.
He paused. "The Rex says it belongs to the Chinese, but that they junked it two years ago."
"Doesn't look junked to me."
"Maybe someone stole it."
"Or bought it illegally."
Turner raked his hand through his hair, a very human gesture that looked all the more eerie with cabled fingers. "It's armed."
"That's nuts! Needles aren't built for combat."
"Tell that to whoever gave it teeth." He indicated the schematic of their pursuer. "The Rex says it's a UCAV. What does that mean?"
"Unmanned combat air vehicle." It had to be an alteration to the orginial spacecraft. Usually Needles just ran micro-gravity experiments.
Circles appeared on the schematic. As they spread out from the Needle, the blood drained from Sam's face. Their pursuer had just fired at them.
G-forces shoved Sam into her seat as the Rex took evasive maneuvers. Spots danced in her vision. She could just make out new circles on the display, these moving from the Rex toward the Needle. Close behind, a cloud of flecks spread in a spherical pattern. It was hard to read stats when she was on the verge of passing out, but she thought the Rex had released any debris it had on bo
ard to confuse the Needle's missiles. Whether or not the ploy worked would depend on the quality of the AI brains in the bombs.
"Boom," Turner muttered.
Sam would have asked Why boom? but she couldn't speak. The webbing exerted pressure against her body, especially her legs, but she still felt ready to pass out. She could tell only that no circles overlapped on the display. Two were close, though, one from the Rex and one from the Needle. The circle from the Rex flared, expanding to encompass the other circle. Then both vanished.
Before Sam had a chance to feel relief, new circles appeared on the screen, spreading outward from the Needle. Another change in g-forces eased the pressure on Sam. She grunted as pinwheels danced in her vision. She felt ready to throw up.
"They can't keep shooting at us." Turner barely sounded affected by the acceleration. "They must have a limited number of bombs."
"So do we," Sam said. The Rex went into another maneuver and a massive, invisible hand slammed her into the seat. The circles on the display continued to move.
Turner spoke in a subdued voice. "That's it."
That's it? Sam would have asked what he meant if she could have spoken.
The Rex lurched as if a giant had kicked it. A line slashed across the display and they lost the image of the Needle. Tears blurred Sam's vision and her stomach felt as if it plummeted to her feet.
Suddenly the pressure stopped. Sam gasped, struggling to keep down her last meal. Blobs of color came back with her returning vision. It was a few seconds before her sight cleared, her stomach settled, and she could speak.
"Did we get away?" she asked.
Turner wouldn't look at her. "Something like that."
The display was a wash of green now. "What happened to the visual?"
"Nothing."
"But it's blank."
"It's not blank. Nothing is there."
"Where is the Needle?"
He finally looked at her. "We shot it with the anti-proton beam. It's gone."
Ah, hell. She could only imagine the trouble they had now. "No way can we hide an explosion like that."
His face paled. "I know."
She didn't understand why the comm was quiet. "If anyone detected the explosion, they would be trying to contact us now."
"They are."
Oh, Lord. "You better put them on."
A man's voice suddenly crackled with a British accent. "—identify yourself. You have violated U.K. airspace. Cease hostile activities and identify yourself."
"How do they know we speak English?" Turner asked.
"English is the aviation standard. Everyone uses it." Sam didn't know what would happen if they didn't respond, and she sure as blazes didn't want to find out. "We have to answer."
"I don't know what to say." Turner twisted his cabled hand inside his human one. "I can't deal with them, Sam. They remind me of Charon."
It wasn't the first time she had seen him close to panic. Anything he perceived as threatening his sense of self-determination set him off, including anyone that evoked Charon for him, which apparently included governments and militaries. Sam didn't know much about communications protocol for aircraft, but she thought she could stumble her way through.
"I'll talk to them," she said.
He stopped twisting his hand. "Okay."
"What do we call ourselves?"
"Three-Oscar-Beta is the name I found."
That would have to do. A wireless headset swung around to her mouth and she toggled it on. "This is Rex Three-Oscar-Beta. Our intent is peaceful. I repeat. We have no hostile intent."
"Three-Oscar-Beta, acknowledged." The man's voice lost a bit of its edge. "This is the HMS Westralia. We've identified abnormal radiation in space, what appears to be an explosion. What is your status?"
Good question. If she said they had just blown up a spacecraft from China, they would be in more trouble than she ever wanted to face. Well, hell. She had always been good at poker. Time to bluff. "We are on a non-hostile mission for the Senate Select Committee for Space Warfare Research and Development. They can give you further information on the nature of our mission. The contact point is Lieutenant General Thomas Wharington."
"You'll have to download your complete flight identification and plan," he said. "We have no record of your overflight."
Sam knew that if they were going at hypersonic speeds, they were probably almost out of U.K. airspace. He had to realize it, too; she only needed to stall longer. "This is an unscheduled mission on a need to know basis. You'll have to contact General Wharington for information."
The fellow paused. "I'm transferring you to United States Space Command."
Relief washed over Sam. "Thank you." She didn't think that was the usual way of responding, but she didn't know the protocols.
Another voice came on the line, this one with a Texan drawl. "Three-Oscar-Beta, can you read me?"
"Loud and clear," Sam said. "This is Dr. Samantha Bryton. I'm a U.S. citizen."
"Colonel Tyler Granger here at Hockman Air Force Base. We have been monitoring your communications with the Westralia and are unable to confirm or deny your information."
Hockman. Sam had heard of it. A relatively new base near Kansas City, it had been designed to handle the improved space capability of the Air Force. "Please don't shoot. We aren't hostile."
"Our chase planes will escort you in." After a pause, Granger said, "We're monitoring your course change."
Sam covered the microphone and spoke to Turner. "What course change?"
He met her gaze with a wide stare. "They're sending coordinates to the Rex. It's taking us to Hockman."
Sam took a deep breath. "Okay." She spoke into the comm. "Thanks, Colonel. We're coming in."
"Roger." Dryly he added, "Y'all must have one doozy of a story."
* * *
They landed in the sunlight of a late autumn morning, the Rex coming down in a flare of exhaust and steam. Sam couldn't sit still. By the time Turner unfastened his webbing, she was up and squeezing out of the cockpit. That was as far as she got, though. Red lights glowed on the mesh panel by the door, and it didn't respond to her input.
Turner came up beside her. "I think it won't open until the Rex cools down outside."
"How long?" Sam felt as jumpy as a flea.
A hum came from inside the door and the red light turned green. Sam answered herself. "I guess now." She opened the door into streaming sunlight.
Turner joined her in the hatchway. "That's bright . . ." His voice trailed off as he stared out at the landing field. About twenty soldiers with laser carbines waited for them, the massive guns as bright as silver mirrors in the sunlight.
"Hoo, boy," Sam said. She raised her hands above her shoulders, slowly, so she didn't startle anyone. Even without stairs, she and Turner probably could have climbed down from the hatch; they weren't that high above the ground. Given their reception, she didn't intend to twitch until invited to do so.
Turner raised his hands, and his sleeves fell down, revealing his biomech limb. The soldiers responded immediately, training their guns on him.
"He's not carrying a weapon," Sam called. "His arm is cybernetic."
A woman in a major's uniform came forward, lowering her gun, though the other soldiers remained poised. She stopped below the hatchway. "Can you jump down?"
Sam lowered her arms. "I think so."
The major narrowed her gaze at Turner. "You first." Then she stepped back and raised her gun.
His jaw worked. Given his skittish response to authority, Sam could imagine how he felt right now. She hoped he didn't panic and try to bolt. Although he moved stiffly, he did sit down, letting his legs dangle out of the Rex. His sleeve slid into place, covering his arm, but nothing could hide the eight cabled fingers that gripped the hatchway. Then he dropped down and landed gracefully on the tarmac, bending his legs to absorb the impact. He straightened carefully, holding his hands out from his sides, showing the major he had no weapons. Sunshine stre
amed around them, reflecting off his bundled hand.
The major stared at his hand. Then she gestured to the soldiers and a lieutenant came forward, a tall man with a rifle. He stopped a few yards away, out of reach. For the first time, Sam realized Turner's cybernetic arm was longer than his other one.
The major motioned to Sam. "You next."
With care, Sam sat in the hatchway as Turner had done. Her injured arm throbbed and she had to favor it as she slid into the drop. She landed awkwardly and stumbled, pain shooting up her legs. Someone grasped her left arm above the bandage, steadying her. As she regained her balance, she realized it was Turner.
She spoke in a low voice. "Thanks."
The officers were watching intently. The major motioned them forward. "Come with us, please. Colonel Granger has some questions for you."
Sam suspected that was a colossal understatement. At least the personnel here weren't treating them like criminals. Either Granger had heard from Thomas or else her invoking the name of a three-star general had bought her and Turner some time.
As they crossed the tarmac, the other soldiers fell into formation around them. It unsettled Sam that the brass here thought two people needed so many guards. Then again, in their position, she probably would have been even less friendly. These people knew little of what had happened beyond whatever they had picked up of the battle and her communication with the Westralia, and no one knew the full extent of Turner's capabilities, herself included. Who knew what else he had up his sleeve, literally as well as metaphorically.
"That's quite an aircraft you have," the woman said.
"You don't recognize it?" Turner asked.
"Should I?" she asked.
"It's Air Force," Sam said, puzzled.
The major spoke carefully. "You can tell the colonel."
They reached a security check, a gate and guard booth in a chain-link fence. Two men and a woman were waiting there. They checked the badges of the base personnel, touching the holographic squares, and waved them on into the compound beyond the fence.
The female guard, a stocky woman with dark hair, drew Sam aside and scanned her with a flash-rod. It buzzed, and the screen on its cylindrical body formed an embarrassing picture of Sam's bra with the underwire supporting her breasts. Mercifully, the guard didn't ask her to remove her underwear. She checked Sam with a retinal scanner, mesh glove, thimble skimmer, and imager. Sam glared when the guard patted her down, but nothing else raised any alarms.