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 board 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 streamed 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.
"My apologies, ma'am," the guard said.
"It's okay," Sam mumbled, her face burning.
Then they checked Turner.
He set off alarm after alarm. They spent twenty minutes examining him, at least ten of that on his altered arm, verifying it contained no weapons. Turner waited patiently, holding his arms out, turning around, removing his shoes when they asked, and otherwise cooperating.
"Holy shit," one of the guards suddenly said. "He's got fusion components in there."
Well, hell. It annoyed Sam that they had detected what she missed in her first exam. She wondered if they were about to be thrown into a cell after all.
However, the major just watched as the guards inspected Turner. Then she said, "Can I ask you a question?"
Turner answered warily. "Yes?"
"I was wondering if you were an android or a robot."
His voice turned chill. "I'm a man."
A long silence greeted him. Finally the major said, "Ah—okay." She spoke to the guards. "Can we take him through?"
"He's not carrying any weapons," one of the men said. "Unless you count the reactor."
That response told Sam a great deal. They were treating her and Turner with kid gloves, which meant Thomas must have spoken with someone here; either that or Granger hadn't heard from Thomas and was being careful. She hoped it was the former, because if Thomas had betrayed them, he might deny any knowledge of this mess. Then she and Turner would be in big trouble.
Colonel Granger was a lean man of average height, with buzz-cut hair and icy blue eyes. Sam tensed up the moment she met him. He initially separated her from Turner while the mech-techs examined them. Now they had finished with that, at least for the time being. She sat at a metal table painted institutional green, with Turner across from her, slouched in his chair. Armed soldiers stood around the perimeter of the room.
Granger was pacing behind Turner. "The manipulations to your DNA are more knotted than an Abilene mesquite. It took our people hours to untangle your ID. But the final results fit the man you named in Portland." He stopped at one end of the table and regarded Turner. "A dead man."
"I'm not dead," Turner said.
"My dog could have guessed that." Granger lifted his left hand, which was covered with a mesh glove, and flicked his right thumb through several menus on the palm screen. Then he glanced at Sam. "We have no record of this call you claim you made to General Wharington."
Sam wished Granger would sit down. His pacing was making her nervous. She suspected that was his intent, though, so she tried to ignore it. "My car must have a record of it. Even if someone erased it, surely you can get it back."
He lowered his arm. "That's right. And your car has no record of any chase or message to General Wharington."
"Ask Thomas," she said.
"We did. He never heard diddly from you."
Sam didn't believe him. "My car must have a record of that call."
"All right," he drawled. "Let's say someone erased it, someone smart enough to remove all record of the deletions." He turned a hard gaze on Turner. "It would be child's play for an android with your sophistication."
"Don't call me a goddamned android."
"Most humans," Granger said, "aren't more biomech than human."
Turner shifted in his seat. "What do you want from me?"
Granger didn't hesitate. "The people who made you. Cooperate with us and you'll go free."
Turner just looked at him. He had no need to say he didn't believe Granger; it was obvious in his expression.
"What about the Needle that attacked us?" Sam asked.
"We haven't identified it yet." Granger's face gave nothing away.
Sam studied the colonel. Although he was noncommittal on everything, she thought he knew more about the Needle. But he seemed genuinely unfamiliar with the name Charon, whereas she had been sure Thomas recognized it. Either Granger was a superb actor or else he wasn't privy to Thomas's sources. The colonel might not have clearance to know, but if so, she would have expected Thomas to send someone for her and Turner.
Sam had to admit Turner might be right. Thomas might have betrayed them. But it just didn't fit; he was one of the most dedicated officers she knew, and she had known him long enough to have a sense of the man and his principles that went beyond the surface. Also, she doubted Granger knew as little as he claimed; otherwise, he would have slapped her and Turner in cells. He claimed Thomas never heard "diddly" from her on her car phone; he hadn't actually said Thomas denied knowledge of their situation. She was convinced Granger knew more than he admitted. He was trying to rattle them and see what information fell out.
Could Giles be the one behind this business of Charon? She didn't want to believe it of him, either, but it made too much sense. He was one of the few people with the expertise to create Turner. When she put Giles and Charon in the same thought, her pulse leapt. She wanted to push the thoughts away and she didn't know why.
A knock came at the door. Granger motioned to a guard, who opened it. A mech-tech hurried in, a woman with a long braid of brown hair down her back. Dressed in jeans, a knit shirt, and a white lab coat, she looked like a civilian. Excitement flushed her cheeks.
Granger motioned her to a chair. "What do you have, Ms. Hernandez?"
She slid into her seat at the table and leaned forward eagerly. "We caught it, sir! We tricked it into a neural corral and closed the gate."
"It?" Sam looked from Hernandez to Granger. "What?"
Turner gripped the table with both hands. He had that hunted look again. "Whose neural corral?" His usually vibrant voice had gone flat.
"I've been chasing the part of your EI you copied into the Rex." Her face lit up. "You have an incredible network. I've never seen one so complex. You even have an unconscious mind, code that runs in the background. Do you know what I mean?"
"No." Turner might have turned into a glacier. "How could I, if it's unconscious?"
"You sound annoyed." The tech seemed fascinated with him. Sam scowled at her.
"I am annoyed," Turner said. "What are you going to do with the copy of my EI that you stole?"
"It was in the Rex," Granger said. "Y'all stole our Rex. For all we know, you stole the EI, too." When Turner made an incredulous noise, Granger held up his hand. "Okay, we don't know yet who took what." He turned to Sam. "Maybe you stole an android from this man you call Charon."
If he was trying to shake her up, it wasn't working. "Then you admit the Rex is yours."
"No. But you see my dilemma." Granger braced his hands on the back of a chair and leaned forward. "No one admits to knowing a damn thing about how you got here, yet we have this incredible machine out on our field and this incredible construct who swears to high heaven he's human."
His phrasing caught Sam's attention. No one admits rather than No one knows. She would bet the original Monet painting she had hanging in her house he had been told to keep this under wraps.
"I want to know what you're going to do with my EI," Turner said.
"Study it," Granger told him.
"No. It's part of me. A self-aware part."
"What do you suggest we do?" Granger asked.
"Erase it."
"Son, you must know we can't."
"Damn it!" Turner hit the table. "How would you feel if someone copied your brain and fooled with it?"
"How would someone copy my brain?" Granger asked.
Turner started to answer, then closed his mouth, looking confused. "That isn't the point."
"But it is," Granger said. "You can do something the rest of us can't—download yourself to another machine."
"It isn't a complete copy of his brain," Hernandez said. "Just a few mods, enough to fly the Rex. It doesn't even have full evolutionary capability."
"It's still part of me," Turner said.
His distress on the subject continued to puzzle Sam. EIs downloaded themselves all the time. It was one advantage of being one. She had never known another to react this way. Then again, Turner was unique in many ways. No other EI she knew could have dealt this well with the flood of unpredictable input these past few days. Even a matured EI might have frozen up, and he had only been operating for a couple of weeks.
Turner had to analyze immense amounts of data just to deal with processes she took for granted, like laughing at a joke. It wasn't enough for him to remember what Turner Pascal thought was funny; he had to respond to new stimuli in a consistent manner. He might have to examine millions of possible reactions. He could manage within microseconds, but that was for one "common sense" response. Saints only knew how many he handled each day. Ideally, he would build a library of emotional reactions he could draw on without going through similar calculations every time. But if even a few of his analyses branched into unstable pathways, the effects could rapidly accumulate; given long enough, his personality could disintegrate.
What would help him now? Obviously, taking him out of stressful situations. Given their limited options, that wasn't likely. People had to sleep, though. Turner could use that time to integrate new input, clean up his matrix, fix errors.
"Maybe we could take a break?" Sam asked. It took no acting ability for her to look weary; her exhaustion was real.
Granger finally sat at the table. "It's about time for supper. Do y'all need to eat?"
Relief washed over Sam. "That would be wonderful."
Turner waited. "Does that include me?"
"Do you eat?" Granger asked.
Turner crossed his arms. "Yes."
"Incredible," Hernandez murmured.
"Well." Granger straightened up. "We've quarters on the base for both of you tonight. Tomorrow we'll be flying you to a more secure installation."
Sam was fine until his last sentence. Then her mental alarms went off. If Granger locked them away, it could be months before anyone realized she was gone. And Turner was dead. The only person looking for him was Charon, who might have links to Thomas. Or he might not. The "more secure installation" might be one of the only safe places for them. She didn't know what to think, and right now her brain felt like mush.
Sam stood up, rubbing the small of her back. Turner also rose, with that hunched look. The last time she had seen it, he had smashed their guards in the elevator and stolen the Rex. Charon's base had been relatively small and isolated, but Hockman was a different story. They had little chance of making a break from here. Even if it had been possible, she wasn't sure she wanted to "escape."
That was the worst of this, not knowing whom to trust.